tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84380425494218600752024-03-13T10:09:56.141-04:00Planet LazenbyMaking it up as I go since 1969Stephanie S. Lazenbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339269674027091813noreply@blogger.comBlogger72125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438042549421860075.post-87090605649966952442013-05-02T15:02:00.000-04:002013-05-02T15:02:13.015-04:00I love the smell of flop sweat in the morning<br />
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<b>Listen To Your Mother</b> is only
days away. So close that as I write this
my hands are trembling just a little because of the adrenaline that is flying
through my veins. It is so close. I want to slow down time so I can savor the
anticipation and keep it slow so I can feel every moment on Saturday.</div>
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It has been a long time since I
have been back on stage. Actually, wait – My daughter’s elementary school does
a take on American Idol for their annual big fundraiser. It takes place at our city’s
high school auditorium. It has become a tradition and a big community
event. Last year, I was one of the judges. I was J Lo.
THAT was the first time back on stage.
As J Lo. </div>
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As silly as it may sound, it was
a watershed moment for me. Backstage,
before the show began, there was a buzz of energy and flop sweat. When I walked across the stage, and became J
Lo for the next ninety minutes, I knew there was no turning back. I was home again. I know this is dramatic – but I felt one with
the theater universe, a connection. </div>
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The stage has magic – whether that
stage is on Broadway or a community theater in Ohio or a high school stage in
New Hampshire. It all felt right –
making people laugh, staying in character, that specific sweat that only occurs
in nervous anticipation. I felt like it
was back where I should be. I made peace
– with my absence from performing – and with honoring the power of ANY size
stage. High School stage. The Majestic Theater in Boston. All of the same talents are required. All of them matter. All of these performers and stages make the
world go ‘round.</div>
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As I have prepared for LTYM, I
have been giddy with the entire process.
Submitting my piece. An
audition! It was so happy to just be
auditioning – even if I didn’t make it, I was so damn thankful to have that experience
– to have this affirmation that I am on the right path. (I think I have spent a great deal of energy
going the wrong way with my writing…)I have never been so excited to audition
for anything in my life. Because I
believed in my piece with ferocious strength.
Because I wanted this so damn much.
Because it felt right.</div>
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I have known for a long time that
I am better when I am collaborating. My strengths
come out when I am with a group. I experience
this when my girlfriends and I are creating songs or my husband and I team up
on our parenting and collaborate on our life together. I feel it when I am teaching with someone – I
am always better when I share it with a partner. When I lived in New York and I meet my friend
Kirsty and we collaborated and created our show, <i>Stephie in the Sky with Kirsty</i> – it was pure performance
magic. I am still looking for a partner to write and
create magic. I know he or she is out
there. But I now know I cannot put my
ideas on hold until I find this creative soul mate. I have important stories to tell.</div>
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I have found a new place with my cast members
in <b><a href="http://www.listentoyourmothershow.com/providence/">Listen To Your Mother</a></b>. It has been a dream. Supportive and honest and saturated with
talent. It has given my story a
platform and a home and a microphone and a stage.</div>
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I am on my knees with gratitude.</div>
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Stephanie S. Lazenbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339269674027091813noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438042549421860075.post-74281273518611116542013-03-27T22:16:00.001-04:002013-03-27T22:16:27.638-04:00You'll be swell! You'll be great! Gonna have the whole world on a plate!<br />
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Holyshit you guys, I auditioned for this amazing stage show,
<a href="http://www.listentoyourmothershow.com/providence/" target="_blank">Listen To Your Mother</a> and I had one of the greatest auditions I have ever had,
and that alone was the best feeling, knowing that I just killed it, because I
was prepared and rehearsed and my piece was fucking hilarious and I felt
confident and READY. </div>
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Ready to be on stage again. Ready to perform my writing. Ready.</div>
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So I fretted and bit my nails for
days and prepared myself for rejection – because that’s part of the business,
right - rejection. I gotta have a thick skin, and be ready for
people to say “NO”. But it still hurts
and I feel like I’ve been getting too many “No’s” lately, when really, my
favorite word is “YES!”</div>
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I left that audition soaring. </div>
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Last week I received the exhilarating
news that I had been chosen to be a cast member of the show – <a href="http://www.listentoyourmothershow.com/providence/" target="_blank">Listen To Your Mother.</a> </div>
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<b>Yes</b>
is a bright and shining atom bomb of joy obliterating the black hole of “No.” It
is the ego boost that I wanted and needed.
I got all squishy and Sally Field, jumping around my house saying, “They
like me! They really, really like me!” And then I turned into some character from a
Quentin Tarantino movie proclaiming, “Damn strait those mutha fuckah’s wanted
me! That shit I wrote was goddamn HILARIOUS! I pity the fool who wouldn’t take me.” (I guess I turned into Mr. T as well.)</div>
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<b>Yes</b> pointed me back into
the direction of stage. <b>Yes</b> confirmed where my passion and talent shine and
where (oh, help me, I’m about to get all Oprah-y) my soul does a Bob Fosse hip
swivel, high kick to the beat of the word, “Yes, yes, yes yes, yes!”</div>
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<o:p>Have I even explained what the show is about? It's a national series of original work on stage, about motherhood - and it takes place on or around Mothers Day. This year it be performed in twenty-four cities. Wow.</o:p></div>
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There has to be a yiddish word for how I feel - a word that puts together pride and confidence and happiness from deep inside. If you know it, please tell me.</div>
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Stephanie S. Lazenbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339269674027091813noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438042549421860075.post-57047565217389195882013-03-17T17:53:00.000-04:002013-03-17T17:59:45.768-04:00I heart Taylor SwiftThis <a href="http://femamom.com/2013/03/15/an-open-letter-to-taylor-swift/#comment-3744" target="_blank">letter to Taylor Swift</a> first appeared over at my friends, <a href="http://femamom.com/" target="_blank">femamom</a><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Dear Taylor Swift-<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Let me introduce myself – I’m Stephanie and I have two
daughters. We are huge admirers and
fans. I know you must be very busy right
now, getting ready for your tour – My daughters and I cannot wait to see you
perform this summer. Did you know that <i>you</i> are going to be their first
concert? Seriously – a big deal. For the rest of their lives, when they play
the getting to know you game of, “What was your first concert?” They will forever say, “Taylor Swift!” (My first concert was Duran Duran – I will
never forget my friend Alison crying during “Save a Prayer” and I was convinced
that Simon LeBon was singing only to me.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I want to tell you a story.
When I was in college I was at a party, hanging out and talking with the
bravado that only happens at that age.
The conversation turned to music and what instruments people
played. When I was asked, “Hey
Stephanie, what do you play?” I
answered, “ I play the skin flute.” It’s
crass, got a laugh and we all moved on.
But for years after, every single time I saw this one guy who was at the
party he would always say to me, “Hey, still playing the skin flute?” I always cringed. I just meant it as a quick one liner to get a
laugh – not for this shmuck to keep haunting me about it. I got off lucky – I just had this troll pop
up for years reminding me that I was such an expert at the skin flute. Taylor, you have to have every single,
impulsive sentence that comes out of your mouth blasted out on every online
source possible. And that can’t be easy. I am grateful that every stupid thing that I
said at 20 or 22 isn’t out there in the ethers.
Most of it is in my journals, which come to think of it, it may be time
to burn them…<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m afraid that you are having your skin flute moment. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">You dared to criticize our Patron Saints of Comedy – Amy Poehler
and Tina Fey <i>and</i> you invoked the myth
of unilateral female solidarity by stating, “There’s a special place in hell
for women who don’t help other women”. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Because of your youth you </span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">didn't</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"> fully grasp that it was just
a joke- yes at your expense, and that hurts –to tell you on worldwide
television to stay away from Michael J. Fox’s son because you need a little
‘me-time’. Your inexperience </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">hasn't</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> burned you enough yet with the sad realization that just because we are girls, </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">doesn't</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> equate that we are all going to get along. (And if you really think
that there is a special place in hell for women who don’t help other women,
maybe you should swap out Tina and Amy for Camille Paglia </span></span><span style="background: white; color: #009933; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">www.hollywoodreporter.com/.../<b>taylor</b>-<b>swift</b>-katy-perry-hollywood-3.</span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Calm down Camille! We can’t all be
Rhianna and get the shit beaten out of us by our boyfriends and turn it into
creative gold or turn our asses to the camera like Jennifer Lopez and have it
be groundbreaking just because she is Latino.) <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Because you write publicly and successfully about boys and
breakups, desire and dreams -all real and worthy subjects – your music is up
for criticism. It’s the way the world
works. Ask any artist– there’s always
someone who is going to find some angle and flaw in your work and then tell you
about it. And since you haven’t given
the public a Britney Spears-style melt down and crotch-shot, then they really
have to dig to find something wrong with you. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">For what it’s worth –I am grateful that you are a strong
role-model for my young daughters. You
write and create your own music – which they can listen to. You
follow your dreams and your passion and you seem true to yourself – and the
women you are trying to become. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And as I am still learning– you can’t please everyone.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With love and respect and jumpy claps because I think you are
awesome,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Stephanie<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">P.S.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Maybe you want to give Amy and Tina another chance…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />Stephanie S. Lazenbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339269674027091813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438042549421860075.post-37823624496155186482013-02-05T22:55:00.003-05:002013-02-05T22:55:55.952-05:00What's new pussycat...The last two months of 2012 kicked my ass and ground me into the dirt. I was so happy to welcome in 2013.<br />
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It's a new year. I am feeling super hopeful right now - and not just because Obama was re-elected. There is nothing but change and action swirling around our home and lives right now - and I love it.<br />
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I have a bunch of exciting shit going on right now - and something needs to give. Writing my blog has been where it has to give. It was either the blog or exercise, going out with my girlfriends and getting booty.<br />
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We can have it all - just not at once. <br />
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My latest - I am proud and giddy to be a contributor for a fantastic and provocative site - <a href="http://femamom.com/" target="_blank">femamom</a><br />
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Here's my latest about how <a href="http://femamom.com/2013/02/04/i-dont-feel-sexy-with-grey-hair/" target="_blank">I don't feel sexy with grey hair</a><br />
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Along with a couple more...<br />
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About that asshole <a href="http://femamom.com/2012/12/03/elf-on-the-shelf-you-are-santas-little-narc/" target="_blank">Elf on a Shelf</a><br />
And trying to keep things <a href="http://femamom.com/2012/12/24/trying-to-feel-merry-and-bright-when-youre-not-feeling-so-merry-and-bright/" target="_blank">Merry and Bright</a> while grieving over the massacre at Sandy Point.<br />
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Stephanie S. Lazenbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339269674027091813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438042549421860075.post-37824388606061278762012-12-18T14:03:00.000-05:002012-12-18T14:03:11.178-05:00Heaven and Hell<br />
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These past few
days remind me of how I felt in the wake of September 11<sup>th</sup>. I kept
hoping that it really didn't just happen, that we all suffered from a massive
hallucination and when I woke up the next day it would be erased. And then when I accepted the awful truth of
what happened, nothing felt right. I walked
around feeling as if I were constantly at a funeral – long stretches of great
and uncomfortable sorrow, punctuated by side splitting laughter – the later
helped to remind myself that I was still alive.
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There are
multiple levels to how deep of a hole this tragedy has caused. I keep pealing back the layers of connection
and it is shredding me to pieces. My
connection starts at the top, being a human, an American citizen. I have the sad realization that there is
something fundamentally decayed in a
society that believes it is an individual’s right to own multiple high caliber guns, whose only purpose is to kill as many people
as possible. Since when did this ownership
of violence become a right? If you cannot smoke in a public restaurant, you
sure as shit shouldn't be allowed to carry a gun into that same space. Fuck this Wild West mentality, fuck your ‘right’
to bear arms, fuck all of these guns, fuck this selfish, greedy monster, this
I, me, mine attitude that is rotting us into oblivion.</div>
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As a mother I
am afraid. Afraid in a primordial
sense, the same way I felt exposed and incapable after September 11<sup>th</sup>. That fear will always reside inside of
me. That fear comes to the surface when
I bring the girls out, whether to the library or the supermarket and I always
check and double check the exits. My most basic job as a mother is to protect my
babies. When tragedies like these occur I am painfully reminded of
how little I can protect my girls. I tell myself, “You survived 9-11. You dodged that disaster. You
will be OK.” And now this massacre happens. The
game has been changed – again. My loved
ones survived – but once again I will be
fundamentally changed.</div>
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Our family
does not go to church for many reasons.
But I have always felt that our daughter’s school serves a very similar purpose
for our family. We believe in public
education and are proud to be a part of our school community. It is vital to the soul of our neighborhood
and an essential part of what makes our city thrive. Cliff and I volunteer at our school - as many
parents do- because we believe that it supports our teachers which in turn
helps the children learn and grow. We
have a responsibility to each other and we are united at their elementary school
for the same fundamental goals.</div>
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I am a
substitute teacher at my daughter’s school.
I substitute for classroom teachers and for the special education
teachers. Over the course of a school
year I experience the unique position of teaching and interacting with nearly
every child in that school. I think I
could name nearly every one of them. I love my job – truly, love it. I love
being a part of something that is bigger than myself. I
spend many hours each week at school, as a teacher and as a mother. It is a
focal point of my life. </div>
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School is a sacred place. It is where magic and inspiration occurs every
day. It is where children learn to read
and where many get their only meals of the day.
That sacred place has been violated.
I am so sad. I don’t believe in the afterlife of Heaven or
the damnation of Hell. I believe that
this earthly plane can be Heaven and Hell.
When Cliff or the girls tell me they love me I am in Heaven. When I am cooking dinner and the girls are
reading and doing homework I am in Heaven.
When we snuggle the girls to bed and after Cliff and I talk about our
day and hang out together with our cat George, our home feels like a raft of safety,
it is Heaven. But sadly, it is punctuated
by moments like this that we all have a bitter taste of Hell.</div>
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Stephanie S. Lazenbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339269674027091813noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438042549421860075.post-43489413482304697522012-12-12T17:28:00.000-05:002012-12-12T17:28:57.148-05:00Christmas in Rite Aid!<br />
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I ventured out to Target last week to try and score some cute stocking snuffers. Try as I might I could not get into the mood. Nothing seemed to fit or made me clap my hands with Christmas glee. Rare for any trip to the mega store I left with nothing. Nothing! In my despair, afraid that I was slipping into a Scroogian holiday mood - which is verboten with two kids who believe - I ended posting on Facebook something like, "If I can't buy it at Goodwill or Rite Aid it's not ending up under my tree". One friend suggested buying tampons for all and then another posted that this was the beginning of a great holiday song. So my friend, and funny man Rick Crowley and I wrote this one together. It has brought back the smile on my face and put the jingle in my step.</div>
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Christmas in Rite Aid</div>
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It’s that magical time of the
year</div>
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Filled with egg nog, parties and
good cheer</div>
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But life and get hectic and busy
and you need to buy gifts</div>
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For loved ones deserve a present
that fits</div>
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No need to go far a quick drive
in your car</div>
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It’s Christmas in Rite Aid!</div>
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<br /></div>
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Light up your Strikes and roll
your own smokes</div>
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Tampons, pads and two-liter cokes</div>
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Toenail clippers and a can of
Raid</div>
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It’s Christmas in Rite Aid!</div>
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<br /></div>
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There’s a nip and chill in the
air</div>
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So shower your loved ones with rollers
for her hair</div>
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Or maybe some Metamucil and Pringles
</div>
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Will make her holidays tingle</div>
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It’s Christmas in Rite Aid!</div>
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<br /></div>
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So let’s pop a few Zoloft’s and
burp-free fish oil</div>
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Maalox, Aveno, a balm for that
boil</div>
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A six-pack of Ensure and a
plug-on from Glade</div>
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It’s Christmas in Rite Aid!</div>
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<br /></div>
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Burts Bees for your chapped lips
and RID kill those lice</div>
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A romance novella and 99 cent
spice</div>
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Grecian Formula in a box cuz your
hair went and grayed</div>
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It’s Christmas in Rite Aid!</div>
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<br /></div>
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Everyone needs these items, there’s
no need to be shy</div>
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We’ve all had diarrhea, crabs or
a sty</div>
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No gift will be wasted when you
buy what friends need</div>
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To take care of gas, stinky pits
and each month when we bleed</div>
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Happy Holiday’s to everyone goodwill
to all</div>
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Please save yourself a stressful
trip to the mall</div>
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It’s Christmas in Rite Aid!</div>
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Stephanie S. Lazenbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339269674027091813noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438042549421860075.post-71123152414748411592012-11-28T16:43:00.000-05:002012-11-28T16:50:14.897-05:00Sexy Time<br />
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For the past two weeks, Cliff and
I have been consumed in our search for a new dishwasher. We have known this time would come; it’s been
on its last legs for a couple of years now.
One morning I tried to turn it on
and it was dead. No life. It didn't even
grind to a dramatic halt. Our dishwasher
just said, “Fuck-it. I’m done with you
Lazenby’s”. Kaput. And so, the search began.</div>
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<br /></div>
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There is no glamour or excitement
in researching and purchasing a major appliance. It is a very mundane, grown up thing to
do. I didn't look for ovens when I was 24. I can’t even attest to having one in my apartment
since I survived on bacon, egg and cheese sandwiches from the deli, take-out
and the French-fries served at The Bottom Line where I was a cocktail
waitress. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Cliff and I have been comparing, researching,
opening and closing doors and stood in many a store wide-eyed and feeling dazed
and confused. We dragged the girls to
Best Buy on a Saturday where they had their first lesson in never, ever stepping
into and closing the door on themselves inside of a refrigerator. We unsuccessfully tried to pull information
out of the world’s worst salesperson, a dumpy, over bleached twat of a woman. I asked, “Does this model have a food
grinder?” She would sneer and sigh and
point to a sticker on one of the many dishwashers that lines the walls, “Well,
all the information you need is right here”
Since I have never bought a dishwasher, I asked her, “Why would I need
to take the racks out and re-adjust them?”
She blew out crypt keeper smelling breath at me and replied, “I can’t
answer that question for you honey. I
don’t know your dish washing needs. ”
Here we were practically waving money in our hands because why else
would a person be shopping for an appliance – this is not a browsing for fun
kind of purchase- and this peach of a
woman couldn't wait to go on her cigarette break.</div>
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<br /></div>
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After endless comparisons and
conversations about stainless steel interior versus plastic and controls on top
or the front, we finally found one in our price range where the store offered a
special with free delivery, pick-up and thirty eight dollar installation. We pulled the trigger and bought it. It’s
a hard trigger to pull – not only because it’s expensive, but online we read
hundreds of reviews, and there isn't a single dishwasher out there that doesn’t
have at least one review that screams, “DO NOT BUY THIS DISHWASHER! THE WORST EVER! IT BURNED MY HOUSE DOWN AND ATE MY CAT AND IT DOESN'T T DRY DISHES PROPERLY!!!!!”</div>
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<br /></div>
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Yesterday Cliff calls me at work
and says, “I went back to Home Depot to look at the one we bought and I dunno,
I am afraid the racks are a little flimsy.
I was opening other racks and the ones on our model seems…weak. Can you just come and meet me at lunch so we
can compare the racks.” I said “Sure
babe, it’s a big purchase, I get it. I want you to feel good about it. And I giggle every time you say ‘compare
racks’” .</div>
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<br /></div>
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We meet and there Cliff is in a
sea of dishwashers, working up a sweat, comparing racks. “Look at this, see how it wiggles around,
flimsy – right? And this other one here,
more solid. Do you see it? Feel it?”
We compare more racks. When Cliff
gets focused on something, his eyebrows are mesmerizing. They arch up and have a slightly sinister
quality to the shape. His eyebrows do
this when he is pissed-off or when listening to some seriously heavy and loud
music. I love Cliff’s eyebrows. They are one of my favorite things about him.</div>
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<br /></div>
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“I don’t know babe – they all are
feeling nearly the same to me.” Cliff says, “You think I’m crazy? Can we check out one last store just to compare? How about Lowes. We haven’t been there yet.” “No babe, I don’t think you’re crazy. No crazier than I am. Let’s go - but I will not go to Best Buy with
Mrs. Good Mood over there.” We jump into
our separate cars and race two routes to see which one is the closest and
quickest. Cliff won.</div>
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<br /></div>
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At Loews, the rack slide show
begins again and we are approached with the opening line, “Can I help you?” By a salesman who looks a modern day Grizzly
Adams. I jump in and say, “Quite honestly, we have
already bought a dishwasher at Home Depot, but we are having buyers regret and
rack remorse.” I go through our entire spiel
with this guy who patently listens.</div>
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<br /></div>
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It turns out this guy was the
guru of dishwashers. He explained why
some racks feel loose, (because of their removability) and the ins and outs of
how Maytag, GE and Whirlpool are one company, which are built in the U S of A
and how Boch is anal retentive because it has a printout of how to precisely
load each wash. Cliff and the guru get
into the minutia of why he should not get too hung up on exact make and models
when looking at consumer reports and no, Home Depot is not trying to unload a
bunk dishwasher on us. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I think Cliff felt a bit
better. His eyebrows came down and
relaxed. “Thank you so much” I said, “I’m
sorry we aren't buying one from you.
This has been so helpful.” “That’s
OK. Glad I could help. Seems like you did buy a decent
dishwasher. But here’s my card – because someday you will
need a fridge.”</div>
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<br /></div>
Stephanie S. Lazenbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339269674027091813noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438042549421860075.post-22590560323190822882012-11-18T18:22:00.000-05:002012-11-18T18:56:48.846-05:00Every picture tells a story<br />
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Sophie is in an awkward phase right now – at least that is
how I am seeing it. Her body is growing
in all directions, she walks into desks, trips over imaginary dust bunnies, her
legs are hairy, her teeth are growing in all crooked and her hormones are beginning
to play tricks on her brain. Poor
thing. Even though I think she is lucky
with the group of girls in her grade – I am starting to see which girls are
going the too cool for school route, working the “What evah” attitude on for
size. Sophie has a heart as big as the
great outdoors coupled with social naiveté - I do not predict that she is going to be too
cool for school any time soon.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She is in good company, because I never was cool at that age
– or really anytime in those grade/middle/high school years. You can’t rock, “What evah!” with thick
glasses, a broken beak of a nose and braces.
But hey, if I wasn't saddled with those character builders, I wouldn't have developed my stellar sense of humor.
I pity all those pretty girls who turned out to be bland in their
twenties. At this point, their asses must
be huge too.</div>
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<br /></div>
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To help Sophie through this time, twice a week for ten weeks, she
has participated in Girls on the Run at school.
It is an amazing program that
promotes self esteem and empowerment through workshops and exercise. This program culminates in a huge girl power 5k.</div>
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<br /></div>
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This Friday when I picked Sophie up after school, she was a hot mess - didn't understand her homework, all sweaty from gym and lost her
sweater. As she flung herself up and over
to look in the lost and found, she slipped and twisted her ankle. The same one she cracked pretty bad at practice
a month earlier.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I was hoping it would be fine – because I knew that Sunday –
today - would be the big 5k day.</div>
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<br /></div>
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We arrived on time. The weather was perfect late fall, sunny and crisp. The stadium was filled with pop music, teammates,
coaches and parents vibrating with excitement, ready to run and
celebrate. Sophie and I start off the
race at a respectable pace – and barely
and half mile into it, she starts slowing down.
It was her ankle. Her slow down
became a stumbling walk, which turned into sobbing and limping. Crying and leaning on me, she came to a complete
stop on the side of the road. We sat
down in the grass and she bawled in my lap.
It was all over before it even started.</div>
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<br /></div>
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This event that she has worked towards all fall was just
shit down the drain because of a clumsy move days earlier. My poor little Calamity Jane.</div>
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</div>
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My heart just hurt with disappointment as she was crying and
watching groups of girls running by, doing what she should have been doing. Disappointed for my own unrealized
expectations – I was looking forward to this event with Sophie and as a family. I was saddened by the sweet signs that Cliff
and Katie made for us that they barely got to wave. Disappointed by my expectation that together we would
run over the finish line, smiling, buoyant with mother daughter love gliding in
on Spice Girl size girl power.</div>
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<br /></div>
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It was a total letdown.
I was simultaneously wrestling
with wanting to shake her and yell, “Are you kidding me?! Your ankle hurts?!!! Get up off your ass and do this shit! It can’t hurt THAT BAD!!” And my heart broken in two for her.</div>
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<br /></div>
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At this point Cliff and Katie have found us. Cliff
and I try to regroup and pull some parenting shit out of our asses. Nothing had gone as planned. We both looked at Sophie and said, “We think
you would feel better if you get up and finish this last loop and cross the
finish line. Just walk slowly. OK?”
She balked at this. That was when
I then said, “You will get up and you will walk across that finish line. I don’t care how slowly you go – but we will
do this.”</div>
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<br /></div>
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She was not too happy about it. She protested. She cried.
But Cliff and I stayed united on this one. </div>
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Sophie, Katie and I made it across. Not in any way like I expected. But we did it. Our car ride home was quiet. Just Sophie and I. At one point Sophie quietly chirped, “I love
you Mama. I’m so glad that I have you as
a Mama.”</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CX8jlcga4v4/UKlnTIwSQEI/AAAAAAAAALs/6BGdbQu7YhQ/s1600/gotr.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="274" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CX8jlcga4v4/UKlnTIwSQEI/AAAAAAAAALs/6BGdbQu7YhQ/s320/gotr.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Stephanie S. Lazenbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339269674027091813noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438042549421860075.post-90472865568216893372012-09-20T10:22:00.000-04:002012-09-20T10:22:29.605-04:00Happy New Year!
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It is that seasonal tipping point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The soft, beachy days of August are becoming
farther away in my rear-view mirror of life and the back to school, work,
volunteering, holy cow I need to use this crock-pot or we all are gonna only
eat at eight O’clock every night, after school activity shuffle is fully upon
our family. Kapow!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My tan is already
fading.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Boo.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I feel like a cross between the lady at the circus spinning
plates and a one-man band.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Part koo-koo
crazy, part, “Wow! How did she do that?!”</span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_3-5Fa76toQ/UFsf4VKVd-I/AAAAAAAAALE/PTq4Gs3ta0I/s1600/Spinning-Plates-China1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_3-5Fa76toQ/UFsf4VKVd-I/AAAAAAAAALE/PTq4Gs3ta0I/s320/Spinning-Plates-China1.jpg" width="211" /></a></div>
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</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--_VawW0g9kU/UFshCF31tEI/AAAAAAAAALM/ByW39evRQYI/s1600/one+woman+band.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--_VawW0g9kU/UFshCF31tEI/AAAAAAAAALM/ByW39evRQYI/s1600/one+woman+band.jpg" /></a></div>
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crazy - right?!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am trying to be very aware of the temperature my mood can
bring to my family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A harshly snapped
comment at Sophie while we are all careening around the house in the morning can
make or break a day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am learning that
it really doesn’t help anyone of I lose my temper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It doesn’t mean that I have to accept Sophie’s
eye-rolling, whiny protests at whatever is bothering her pre-teen, roiling
hormonal self.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can use my calm airline
stewardess voice – and simply take away her </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">i-pod privileges, continue
getting myself dressed (cue the evil, hand-rubbing, cackling, laugh of Mommy
get- back)and give her a kiss later.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don’t want the girls – or Cliff –or to see me as the
yelling, wheel spinning, not getting anything accomplished, late for everything
mommy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I’m not – most days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am thinking about all of these things this morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have
always thought of September as the start of the New Year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
believe that the new habits and rituals that I create and practice, the goals
that I write down – really direct my path for the year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I like to believe in signs from the universe. Signs that blink red-warning lights. And signs where the universe lovingly whispers to you -"Hey honey. You are going in the right direction."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> This is the first image that came up when I googled, "woman spinning plates". </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Look at Farrah - all back arched and sun in her California blond hair. She's not worried. Or crazy. Or yelling. She's spinning her wheels looking gorgeous and easy. If that isn't an exquisite sign, I don't know what is. Happy New Year.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iMNGGCClgCc/UFshuztuD1I/AAAAAAAAALU/vcWIwV9V1u8/s1600/Farrah+on+her+bike.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iMNGGCClgCc/UFshuztuD1I/AAAAAAAAALU/vcWIwV9V1u8/s320/Farrah+on+her+bike.jpg" width="255" /></a></div>
Stephanie S. Lazenbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339269674027091813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438042549421860075.post-46329610155741233392012-09-11T20:22:00.001-04:002012-09-11T20:22:17.041-04:00The sky today was just as blue as it was eleven years ago
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have never written about my
experience on September 11<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’m afraid that if I write about it, I won’t do any of it justice, and
my experience will be downgraded into a <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lifetime
Movie of the Week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Quite simply - that day just gutted me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is not about a recounting of
that day – although every year, Cliff and I do this together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
ritual makes us feel better even though we know where the story goes and how it
ends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This history that we share gives
us yet another layer of connection with each other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Here’s my thought - I feel as
though we don’t have a national ritual that honors this day in a unique and
respectful way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know that there are
the ceremonies at the sights, and I respect and completely agree that they
should remain solely for those people who lost their loves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure, we post pictures on Facebook,and there
are television shows dedicated the timeline of that morning - but what do we
actually do on September 11<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> to give it the respect it
deserves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I fear that if we had the day off,
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>it would become a <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Holiday”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In the way that Memorial Day has very little to do with actually
memorializing those who lost their lives protecting our country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure, there are parades, and for those
families who lost a loved one in war, the day takes on a deep and somber
meaning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But come on – we all know
Memorial Day as the kick off of the summer season.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of us have lost the meaning of Memorial
Day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know I have.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So this is what I think we should
do – September 11<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> should be a national day of service and beauty. We should
use this day to clean up beaches, plant trees, volunteer at a women’s shelter
or ASPCA –whatever it is that you want to help and to give.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We should take that day and create beauty on such an ugly day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-u-18ea-TWsM/UE_UGKnonpI/AAAAAAAAAKw/gdlY9C1iKZw/s1600/iheartny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-u-18ea-TWsM/UE_UGKnonpI/AAAAAAAAAKw/gdlY9C1iKZw/s320/iheartny.jpg" width="196" /></a></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
Stephanie S. Lazenbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339269674027091813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438042549421860075.post-24530322509036425312012-09-08T20:55:00.002-04:002012-09-08T22:17:58.678-04:00Yesterday was the earliest I've gotten up all summer - and it was worth it<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I took the girls to see Barack
Obama speak yesterday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More
specifically,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went with a powerful
posse of girlfriends and their daughters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s not every day that the President of the United States, the First
Lady and The Vice Pres come to town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
was an event that I wanted to take my girls to and that I was very excited to
attend.</span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yCnNgA3GOXM/UEvjqRYtTMI/AAAAAAAAAJw/JaykbgqEV1Q/s1600/119.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yCnNgA3GOXM/UEvjqRYtTMI/AAAAAAAAAJw/JaykbgqEV1Q/s320/119.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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I mean - we made t-shirts for the event!</div>
<span id="goog_758841379"></span><span id="goog_758841380"></span> </div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I knew it was going to be a long
day, with a fair amount of jostling for position and waiting in crowds in the hot
sun – but I have years of practice from waiting overnight in line for concert
tickets or attending many concerts and music festivals.</span><br />
</div>
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You talkin' to me </div>
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</div>
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I was getting a little loopy from the sun and sweaty bodies</div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was proud of my city – this massive event
went smoothly, with no crazies, and the crowd maintained a respectful and easy
atmosphere, despite the sweltering heat .<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There was airport –like security and we weren’t able to bring in
anything – no food or drinks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although
I did manage to smuggle in pretzels, which I doled out as if we were on
Survivor and I kept telling all the girls that they needed the salt because we
were sweating out our body weight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
there was water handed out constantly, which we drank and poured over our heads
and down our backs.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> This was the point that my upper arm strength was in full-effect</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt so gratified from our day – from the
girl power company, to attending this huge event<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>- I mean I took my daughters to see the
President and Vice President speak in our own city!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yowza!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But there was more to my
satisfaction - I realized I have had this same feeling when I take a road trip
with my daughters - solo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At some point
during every trip I think to myself, “ I’m in charge of these little creatures
– I am completely responsible for their safety and well-being.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wow!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’m in charge?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How can that
be?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I usually have a moment of complete
wonderment and holy-shit at the fact that I am adult enough to do this herculean
task of being a parent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The feeling quickly
passes,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and I think , “Well, frick yeah
I can do this – I’m Stephanie!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
kick-ass, I’m a damn good mom, and I never leave the house without a snack!”
And I feel sure of myself and my ability and dexterity to navigate traveling
and parenting together – successfully.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I had that same
feeling of parental confidence after our experience at the Obama event.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt such pride - <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>in raising girls, speaking honestly with my
daughters about what I believe in and why, and including them in this
event.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Watching my daughters and her
friends I appreciated this deeply responsible moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hopefully, these girls will remember this day
(well, maybe not one friend’s daughter who is four and she was kinda falling
asleep).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As parents, we are building
memories that are shaping the narrative of who they are and the people they become. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> And I love that part of being a mother.</span></span></div>
<br />
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And Michelle Obama is just gorgeous in person - when she stepped on stage, the crowd roared. I
screamed like I was at a rock concert.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
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We got pizza and beer after - the best most luscious beer and pizza I've ever had. (that's pizza dough on Katie's head - of course!)</div>
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
Stephanie S. Lazenbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339269674027091813noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438042549421860075.post-21380198554804565772012-09-05T13:52:00.000-04:002012-09-05T14:02:48.513-04:00What you should NOT say to Stay-at-Home Moms the first week of school.<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Over the years, many well meaning people have doled out to me unsolicited,
misguided platitudes along the lines of, “Oh, they grow up so fast!” and “Enjoy
them while they are young.” And here’s one I love, “Breast is best!”(Not when I
have a fever of 104 from Mastitis and my nipples are cracked and bleeding!)<br />
<br />
<o:p> </o:p>Along those lines, here is a guideline of phrases and sentiments that you
should avoid.<br />
<br />
<o:p> </o:p><br />
10. <span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">After all those years of nurturing, quality time, won’t you miss
them while they are at school?</span><br />
<br />
9. See you at the supermarket!<br />
<br />
8. Oh Goody – new blood! The PTA needs someone to head up the Election Day
bake sale – come to think of it, have you considered being a class parent for
your child’s homeroom? Or maybe the school carnival? Book Shelver in the
Library? Hall Monitor? Book Sale?<br />
<br />
7. Don’t you just miss it when they were babies – why don’t you have another
child?<br />
<br />
6. You would be really good at selling, Amway, Jewelry, Natural Cleaning
Products, Vibrators, Nu Skin… Can I talk to you about how flexible the hours
are?<br />
<br />
5. You let her take the bus to school?! Don’t you know what happens on the
bus! Well, I guess it’s OK for you – I just would never feel comfortable.<br />
<br />
4. They don’t teach enough Arts at their school – Want to start a
Home-Schooling Co-Op?<br />
<br />
3. Honey, could you pick up my dry-cleaning?<br />
<br />
2. So, when are you going back to work?<br />
<br />
<o:p> </o:p><br />
And the number one thing to NEVER, EVER say....<br />
<br />
1. What are you going to do with all of your free time?<br />
<br />
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
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<o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></div>
Stephanie S. Lazenbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339269674027091813noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438042549421860075.post-12213738752737387192012-08-15T10:25:00.001-04:002012-08-15T10:25:54.714-04:00I have a tent for sale - cheap
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lately I have been thinking about revenge
versus karma, the timing of events and the meaning of why people enter your
life for brief moments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am trying to
understand what I am supposed to learn from these short and disastrous
unions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I was 24 I had a boyfriend
named Lou.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was the type of boyfriend
that you have when you are young and don’t really know any better. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn’t looking to settle down, just
practice what it was like to have a boyfriend. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was good looking in that, bad boy, dumb as
a pile of rocks, really honey, we’re not here to have deep talks, you’ll hurt
yourself, let’s just have fun with each other in New York City, kinda way.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We even took off on a
cross-country trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Together, we bought a bunch of camping gear,
including an ultra-deluxe LL Bean tent, plus the ugliest banana yellow 1979
Ford Country Squire Station Wagon, complete with faux wood-paneling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think it got 10 miles to the gallon and we drove
all over this country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had a once in a
lifetime experience, but at some point while we were driving through Tennessee
I knew that the shelf-life on this relationship had expired.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We got back to New York and sadly
had a very ugly break-up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember being devastated by the fact that
in one moment this person who I spent nearly every day with for <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>two years was completely erased from my
life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>True, we needed to end it, but it
still hurt and cut deep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were no follow-up phone calls after, no
running into each other at the same bars we used to frequent – nothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I kept imagining what I would say
when I finally did see him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I practiced
many witty quips and bitchy remarks and eat your heart out outfits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But our paths never crossed.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Until one day, nearly a year
after we broke up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By then, I was well over
him. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I wasn’t over the fact that he
owed me about two thousand dollars from the trip we took.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I couldn’t have planned the
moment any better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked good and I
was with friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We said hi and <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>talked in an easy, nearly flirty way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In all of my imagined scenarios leading up
to this moment,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never practiced what I
said next. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told Lou that I was going
camping in a few days with my girlfriends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I said, “Hey, isn’t this the greatest coincidence that we ran into each
other, because don’t you still have the camping gear? “ I continued, “I have a
great idea! Can you meet me tomorrow with the equipment and tent so I can
borrow it?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well, sure.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Said Lou.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“But I really need it back soon – it’s so funny that you are going
camping, because I’m taking my brother camping the day after you get
back.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I smiled and replied, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“ I promise, I’ll give it back.“ </span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As we walked away my friend Fred turned to me and said, “Steph – you’re
not going camping.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No I’m not Freddie.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We laughed and rubbed our hands like cartoon
characters with vengeful glee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was shocked that Lou actually met
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was standing at the entrance of
Central Park, at Columbus Circle with this massive amount of gear, stuffed into
an army surplus duffel nearly the length of my body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We agreed that he would call me the coming
Sunday and meet that day so I could return the gear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was going camping early Monday morning.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lou called when I ‘got back from camping’. I
politely explained to him that I would be happy to meet and give him the
camping gear, as long as he gave me a check for at least half of what he owed
me from the trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seemed like a fair
deal to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He didn’t get the tent. And I
knew that he would never give me the money.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I needed to get in that last killing blow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also took particular satisfaction in the
fact that I have never used the tent – I don’t really like camping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Right now it’s in the same spot I left it
back in 1995 - <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>in my parents attic. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This time last year I went
through a similar break-up with a friendship and I’m amazed at the parallels
between the two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were friends for the same duration as Lou
and I were together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our friendship had
its limitations as did my relationship with Lou.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The friendship ended ugly and we eviscerated
each other from our lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And over the
course of a year we never ran into each other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It will happen when the timing is right – just like with Lou.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Lou and I were never meant to see
each other until that exact moment. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
didn’t know this at the time, but my twenty something self needed time to heal
and recover from a nasty break-up. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe
it prepared me for what I have gone through with this grown-up version of
Lou.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a reason we have never run
into each other - <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>we have been like
opposite magnets, repelling each other, staying out of each other’s way.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I know I can’t really act in the
same youth-fueled vengeful way – although I’d like to sometimes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe that is where Karma comes in to
play.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve stopped preparing what I
would say to this ex-friend should we run into each other face to face in the
produce isle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My experience with Lou
taught me that I really can’t plan these moments.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Both of these shallow
relationships have truly taught me a great deal – about the distrustful nature
of some people, that everything, every relationship runs its natural course, and
we can’t always predict when it will end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some last a lifetime, some exist in
perfection in grade school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And some
only last two years.</span></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
Stephanie S. Lazenbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339269674027091813noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438042549421860075.post-48422852367065259762012-08-08T22:23:00.001-04:002012-08-08T22:39:18.577-04:00Happy Birth-day Sophie!<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
Today is Sophie’s birthday – She
is nine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every year I like to remember
moments of the day I gave birth to her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will spare you the details of
the labor and delivery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are equal
parts, gross and mind-bogglingly painful and miraculous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
I was thinking today about the cheeseburger I
ate right after Sophie was born.</div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
You see, once you are admitted to
the hospital you cannot eat anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They don’t allow you to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From
the time I was admitted to showtime it was some eighteen hours later. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When all was said and done, I was ravenous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To my great relief and joy, the
hospital was equipped with room service. </div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
I ordered my afterbirth
meal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It consisted of a cheeseburger, Mac
& Cheese, chocolate cake and a coke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">
</span><br />
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Within minutes – no kidding –
manna from heaven appeared right in the delivery room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The nurses took Sophie to do their routine
new baby check. I was left to savor the greatest, juiciest, most satisfying
burger I ever had the pleasure of devouring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was making love to this
cheeseburger, and the nurses came back with a minutes-old Sophie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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“Ma’am, your baby!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The nurse beamed at me.</div>
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I sat in bed chowing a mouthful
of burger, and I stopped and looked at her quizzically.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“My baby?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“She must have the
wrong room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t have a baby.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then it dawned on me, “That’s my baby!!
Holy cow – I have a baby!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had a
moment where I panicked, “I don’t think I can do this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe I don’t have to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I just keep eating she may just leave me
alone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Baby?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just want to eat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How am I going to eat?”</div>
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I took Sophie from the nurse and I
proceeded to successfully eat my first of many one-handed meals, one arm
wrapped around Sophie, the other feeding myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew that something inside of me had fundamentally
changed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My DNA was rearranged.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I crossed across the chasm and stepped onto
the other side.</div>
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</span>Stephanie S. Lazenbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339269674027091813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438042549421860075.post-35054502280902233222012-08-02T11:04:00.001-04:002012-08-02T11:04:32.575-04:00I enjoy being a girl<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I haven’t blogged in a few weeks –
and in blogging terms that can be the difference between gaining some new
readers and losing a few.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope I
haven’t lost any of you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe you have
all been having the kick-ass summer that we have been having.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One filled with ocean waves and parties, chlorine
stung eyes, hot dogs and movies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
have taken road trips and strengthened friendships, old and new.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our soundtrack has been full on sugar-pop
music, with Katy Perry as the band leader. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Right now, Sophie is having a
sleepover with three girlfriends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are giddy with girly silliness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Loud as bullhorns, these girls have scarfed
down pizza, created candy-filled sundaes and washed it all down with cokes
(gasp!).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all curled up and watched
the movie,<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Big Miracle</i>, about the
whales stuck in the ocean in Alaska.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
have come to realize that nine year old girls love animals, pop music, nail
polish and food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have all of these on
hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I woke up to the sounds of
giggling girls playing Mad Libs – it amazes me that they are really doing
exactly what I did as a kid on sleepovers – <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>calling out to each other, “OK, I need and
verb.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Pooping!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Now, a noun.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Boobies!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It never gets old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It never changes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I want to freeze this moment in
time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As much as I am starting to
realize that nine is a transitory year – she’s growing out of being a little
girl and I have already experienced the crazy brain of hormones starting to
wreak havoc on her moods-I don’t want her to forget this feeling of freedom. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sophie and her friends can fart
and laugh and cuddle with each other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They may have grown out of dolls, but stuffed
animals are still necessary for sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And even though boys have just begun to catch their interest, in a new “Oh
my gosh I think he’s cute!” squealing kinda way – they are still friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And these girls believe that they are smarter
than boys and their equal in sports.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sophie is free to eat anything and not criticize herself for being “fat”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We are going swimming later, so I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">need</i> more whipped cream on my
pancakes!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She regards her body as
strong and gorgeous - and she has her own style – as all her friends do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love their confident outfits of plaids and
leopard prints and feathers in their hair.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I know being a girl isn’t always
free – I respect that they have their own real worries and fears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The world is opening up, and not all of it is
nice and filled with My Pretty Pony.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
am not kidding myself; I know that other girls are sometimes their own worst
enemies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I say a little mommy prayer
that Sophie and her friends can keep this camaraderie and individuality going
through middle school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because being a
girl and having girlfriends is one of the most amazing things in this crazy
world. </span></div>
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<br /></div>Stephanie S. Lazenbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339269674027091813noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438042549421860075.post-45383582852302259552012-07-03T09:24:00.000-04:002012-07-03T09:24:30.166-04:00Anyone have a spare xanax for tonight?<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have a confession to make.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t like the 4<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> of
July.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I dread this holiday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The truth is, Fireworks freak me out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t stand them – there is not enough
xanax in the world that keeps me from simultaneously wanting to wrap a towel
around my head and crawl under a bed and haul ass far away when those
explosives go off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would lead a very
fulfilled life if never go to a firework display ever again, staying far away
from the crowds of knuckheads and the random, heart stopping blowing up of
cherry bombs and bottle rockets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am true to what I have felt since I was a kid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Loud noises have always made me shriek and
jump – <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the sound of a popping balloon
makes my heart race.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a kid I hid
under the blankets during a couple of firework shows <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and my parents were perceptive enough
to realize – “hmmm she really seems unhappy…”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I grew up not going into the fray
of bodies and noise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I was
seventeen,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gave it another<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>try<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>and my teenage bravado could barely hold at bay my internal terror of
the relentless blasts.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I lived in New York, I was able to escape the fireworks
and traditional hoopla – the city cleared out on holiday and unless you made a
point of going to the fireworks on the East River, I could easily avoid the
mess. One year, I had fun watching the movie <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yankee Doodle Dandy</i> in Bryant Park.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Another, there was a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Twilight Zone</i>
marathon on TV – I think I stayed indoors for twelve hours, only moving off the
couch to answer the door for delivery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That
was an ideal 4<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> of July.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I know that I am in the minority and I really don’t understand why I feel so strongly
against fireworks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am not an anxiety
riddled person – I just have always hated loud, blasting fireworks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But here is the rub – We live in a town that celebrates with
a huge fireworks extravaganza and we have close friends who host a fantastic
party right under the umbrella of the blasts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sophie loves the feeling of being so close to fireworks that it rattles
her body – and while Katie must have earplugs in for the big finish,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(she is my daughter) she enjoys the party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure,
my family could just go to the party without me –but <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I get worried that in such a crowed scene,
Cliff and I need to have one-on-one defense to keep an eye on the girls in this
situation. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel better thinking that
my presence will magically protect my children from an errant missile exploding
in their vicinity.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also can’t resist
good party –and this one is filled with delish food, interesting people, and
the greatest game imported from the mid-west…Cornhole!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Basically it’s bean bag toss, but the
fourteen year old boy in everyone can’t resist the endless jokes of, “I’m next
to Cornhole!”, “Wow, you are an amazing Cornholer.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> "You just missed the Cornhole!" </span>The Cornhole jokes never stop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hate to miss out on a good time with
rockin’ friends. (hmmm, maybe that was part of the problem in college…). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Maybe in a past life I was killed in the French Revolution
and I am trying to work out some karma.</span></div>Stephanie S. Lazenbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339269674027091813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438042549421860075.post-70553245939028745792012-06-18T19:08:00.001-04:002012-06-18T19:08:01.979-04:00Are you ready for the summer? Inspiration MondayAt the moment my front yard is a scene from summer since time began - I have five girls playing "Red Light Green Light" and boys from the neighborhood are riding their bikes by, being loud and trying to show off.<br />
<br />
Here we are at the super start of summer vacation. <br />
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It was highly unusual to have no snow days this year - in turn we ended the school year "early" since we usually have to add on at least a week for the make-up days. Because I don't feel beat up from winter, I feel as though summertime snuck up on us. I am happy to have this week to get ready for the summer - set some goals, firm up plans, sign the girls up for art camp and pray to Mother Nature in New England that we warm up consistently here. It's either 65 or 90.<br />
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Here's a sample to the grand start of the summer here.<br />
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A little poolside cuddle on the last day of school - always a day of mixed feelings for my girls. They had an amazing year, so it was hard to say goodbye to their teachers.<br />
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The next day the public library sponsored an event at a local park to kick-off their summer programs. <br />
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For Father's Day the girls got all crafty with a good friend and made these amazing flower arraignments for Cliff and my Dad. </div>
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Sophie and a friend giggling like girls in our front yard tree.</div>
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At one point we had four different dads from the neighborhood in our driveway drinking beer. </div>
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On top of all this fun, Cliff and I had a Saturday date and I painted and re-purposed two side tables and a shelf, a project I've been wanting to finish for a while, mainly because I hated looking at those scratched tables.</div>
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I love the summertime.</div>Stephanie S. Lazenbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339269674027091813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438042549421860075.post-84662221649727766172012-06-06T17:33:00.001-04:002012-06-06T17:35:12.070-04:00This is why I discovered there is a show called 'The Chew" on in the middle of the day<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I had another entire blog post
planned for today – which will just have to be put on pause for the moment<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>like everything else in life right now –
because my Sophie pie is a barfy, sad, sick mess.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Poor lamb cannot keep anything down all day
long. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I would rather have the <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>nastiest head cold and a fever any day over a
stomach bug.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And my poor little Sophie
is very prone to those stomach bugs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As my girls get older, their
colds come with less frequency than when they were babies and toddlers, but
they sweep over them now with such a swift ferocity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am always caught off guard by my
children’s otherwise independent demeanor to be swept away once they get sick
their neediness is that of little baby birds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am filled with contradictory
feelings as well today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In one part of
me I am satisfied by this caretaking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There is something elemental about knowing that I am the sole source of
Sophie’s comfort and ease while she is rendered useless and limp like an over
cooked noodle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is normally like a Thoroughbred,
with all the speed and grace that comes with that animal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But when she is sick like this – she actually
naps and cries in mews like a baby kitten and keeps a crinkled worried brow
glued to her forehead all day. Momma is all she wants and needs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that feels good because I am able to give
this little creature that I love so much a little ginger ale and it makes her
feel <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>better.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yet, when they are sick – all
time comes to a screeching halt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am
amazed that the earth keeps turning and that there are highways filled with cars
going somewhere because my world in an instant is telescoped into small,
focused areas and actions - <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kid,
kitchen, bathroom, couch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ginger ale, washcloth, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>warmed up boo-boo snake (a magical rice filled
tube sock, pre-school project, that cures all ailments)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All plans and items on my <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>to-do list I had for the day are done – and
because of her frequency to use the bathroom – anything I start has to stop at
any second.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(The only reason why this is
even written is because Sophie is napping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>For the briefest of moments. )<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Time really does stop for me –
because anything place I was planning to be, go and do are done. And today was
one of those days where I had it mapped out to the hour – and none of it is
happening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is hard – but I have to
let it go.</span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is where the smashing
contradiction of motherhood happens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>How can motherhood be so deeply gratifying yet soul sucking at the same
time?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why does holding her hair while
she pukes feel so Nobel Prize worthy, so utterly<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> necessary</i> to keep the world turning? </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I really don’t know why the New York Times
isn’t covering the fact that I warmed up that Boo-Boo Snake 14 times today,
wiped barf over 10 and sat on the bathroom floor with Sophie for countless
hours and rubbed her back while she cried through each heave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">I have to go - Sophie just woke up. She rolled over, smiled at me and said, "Hi Momma."</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>Stephanie S. Lazenbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339269674027091813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438042549421860075.post-56502075693189188492012-05-30T10:42:00.000-04:002012-05-30T10:42:38.231-04:00Does this housework make my butt look fat?<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It is May, so that means the
bi-annual summer/winter switch of clothes is upon me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every May and October I have the massive
undertaking of weeding through the girl’s clothes – what fits, what doesn’t,
properly storing snow pants for next season, and then selecting what clothes I
will take to Goodwill or which ones I will pass onto friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is an essential pain in the ass task that
seems to take forever, and with the picky New England weather, it comes in fits
and starts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I embark on a similar undertaking
for myself, switching out woolen sweaters for cotton skirts and tall black
boots for open toed anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I was
trying on skirts the other day I came to realize that some of my skirts were
feeling a wee bit tight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I put on my
trusty teal green cropped pants and lo and behold, they betrayed me and were a
little snug as well.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now, I am not a girl who has
weekly weigh-ins. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have always gone by
a simple measure of how my clothes fit - and by the adage of everything in
moderation- so I enjoy my cheeseburgers as much as I appreciate a damn good
salad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also try very hard to never, ever call
myself fat, especially in front of Sophie and Katie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am acutely
aware of girls and self image and how much of a direct – and hopefully -
positive influence I have upon their growing little bodies and self
esteem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I tell them that I run
because it makes me feel strong and happy and it is good for my body and they
should enjoy sports or being active for the same reason.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I think that Fat and Diet are
mean, nasty curse words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Too many women
have these words embedded in their brains and vocabulary and I refuse to be one
of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I exercise because those
endorphins rush through me and that feeling translates into feeling confident
in a bathing suit - that is what is important.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I know that I will never be a size four, so I will make my body size the
best it can be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But trying on my clothes the
other day I began to realize that I had put on a few pounds – not much, but
enough to make my clothes feel snug.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So
I tried to think about what I have been doing to cause this small weight
gain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I came to realize that it has
been what I have <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> been doing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I realized that I had not exercised one bit
in the past three weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried to
figure out and sift through my daily time to understand why.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I realized it is just so hard to squeeze it
all in, every single day - work, sleep, play, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>what not, and my most dreaded of all life
maintenance, housework.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Anyone who knows me knows what a
joyless task I find cleaning to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
know that adult life can be littered with tasks that must be performed to keep
it all chugging along, but the amount that has to be done to just keep a path
clean from one room to the next is depressing to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is one the ultimate catch 22’s in my
life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love my home – I spend a great
deal of time in it and I love having it filled with friends and family, so some
sort of order must be maintained.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet I
resent every moment that I spend sweeping the kitchen floor of crumbs that magically
appear three minutes later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And I don’t care so little that I
am just going to let it go to squalor, because, well, I don’t want my house to
look like total crap.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I clean, I begrudge every
second I spend doing something I hate, wishing I was doing something else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When my house is a mess of piles, sticky
floors and dust bunnies it makes me cuckoo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And I don’t think it is fair to ask Cliff to do more – he is not one of
those guys who <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>complains while <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m vacuuming,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>telling me to keep it down so he can watch the
game, and get me another beer while I’m up. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is a full, contributing member of this
home, with an overflowing amount of life to contend with as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have been sacrificing my work-out time for
housework – and that is not cool. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something has to change.</span></div>
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<br /></div>Stephanie S. Lazenbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339269674027091813noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438042549421860075.post-3413316736786065782012-05-14T22:03:00.000-04:002012-05-30T10:43:33.210-04:00Inspiration Monday - My new love, George<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-W3C2F0CDw0U/T7GxLy2H2EI/AAAAAAAAAHo/5FX9Y-V88nc/s1600/088.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-W3C2F0CDw0U/T7GxLy2H2EI/AAAAAAAAAHo/5FX9Y-V88nc/s320/088.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
This is our new cat, George.<br />
<br />
We just adopted him from the animal shelter two weeks ago. As we were looking at the cats, I watched Cliff stroking his little cat head, and I saw them look at each other - I saw "The Look" exchanged between them. <br />
<br />
You know, "The Look". The one where you go to an animal shelter and you connect with an animal, and not in a superficial, "Oh I feel sorry for him, isn't he cute, I just want him." No. "The Look" is when an animal gazes into your eyes - your soul - and says, "Haven't we meet before in another life. Take me home. We belong together." <br />
<br />
The girls and I rush home from school to see him because we miss him and we eat our snacks and play with him.<br />
We sit in the living room and watch George clean himself and we marvel at how cute and amazing he is, and ask each other, "Why is it so fascinating to watch this cat?! Don't you just LOVE him!"<br />
<br />
He talks and sleeps with the girls and is not afraid of water, so when he drinks he submerges his paw into his water bowl and then licks it. We also find him curled up in the bathroom sink sometimes.<br />
<br />
He is everything that I want in a cat. He purrs and flops and is social and hangs out. He is not skittish and George is not an aloof cat. He likes to be a part of the action and he needs to be loved. And we are all to happy to pet him and love him.<br />
<br />
Years ago, when my cat Milo died, I was devastated. He died just a couple of months after September 11th and a few weeks shy of moving out of New York City, so it was a very emotionally raw time. I haven't had a cat since - I couldn't. I have always hoped that I would find a cat that was Milo-esque.<br />
<br />
Our George is that cat. <br />
<br />
I am head over heels in love with George. I am so happy that we found George. Or that George found us - same thing.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EITAOlMkL6o/T7G3xTpO7RI/AAAAAAAAAH0/JunkdLWdbsk/s1600/028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EITAOlMkL6o/T7G3xTpO7RI/AAAAAAAAAH0/JunkdLWdbsk/s320/028.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Stephanie S. Lazenbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339269674027091813noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438042549421860075.post-73142430632650362672012-05-07T11:26:00.000-04:002012-05-07T11:26:47.156-04:00Namaste MCA<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I first saw the Beastie Boys in
concert in the summer of 1987.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a
long time ago – but with the devastating death of Adam Yauch, I have been
trying my best to remember as much about that night as I can.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found this <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/1987/08/19/arts/rock-run-dmc-and-beastie-boys-at-the-garden.html" target="_blank">article</a> in the New York Times –
and I believe this was the show I went to. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can recall flashes of that night, like going
with my beloved boyfriend and friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
remember the thick, August humidity that only a New York summer can
deliver.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember the massive police
presence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I also remember the unity
and exhilaration that all of us felt seeing this concert.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the kind of night that you only
experience as a teenager.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It can be strange how we people
react when someone famous dies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never
hung out with MCA – but I sure felt like I did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Adam Yauch felt like a
friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was an artist that has sung
to me since I was ridiculous teenager.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
have been inspired by his music and have always felt personally connected to
the Beastie Boys– they sung about places or television commercials that I
recognized as a New Yorker, (“Got more suits than Jacoby and Myers” only a New
Yorker knows what that is!).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt like I was listening to people that I
knew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Cliff and I lived in NYC on
Prince Street we had numerous Adam Yauch sightings – at the pizza place,
picking up laundry or pushing his baby girl in a stroller.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These run-ins always gave us an excited tingly
feeling, like we were living near greatness, but also near our friend.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">His death brings another level of
identification, in that he was a peer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Adam was only 47 years old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
had a child and a wife and a large circle of friends. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I break it down like that he was no
different than you or I.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn’t blow
his brains out like Kurt Cobain or waste away on drugs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He died of Cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Any one of us can get cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A stone cold reality as we age – and that is
a scary pill to swallow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His death has
forced me to contemplate the inevitability of my own death and the legacy that
I hope to leave behind. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have asked
myself over the past few days, “Have I done enough?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Am I living the life I want to live?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These are heavy, reflective questions to ask
while in the torrent of everyday adult life - <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But they are also healthy and necessary as
well.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Maybe that duality is why Adam
Yauch’s death is so hard <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>– I have come
to realize that I thought of him as a friend, a mentor, who has been with me
each step since I was a teenager. And what is different about his death, than the
passing of Michael Jackson, is there has never been any scandal or drug abuse with
MCA.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Michael Jackson, as gifted and
brilliant musician as he was – I perceived him as a sad, incomplete human.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His childhood was stunted by crushing fame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And even though he created music that is
indelible and enduring, Michael Jackson was living on a bankrupt ranch named
Never Land and accused of diddling little boys, his death hastened years of
drug abuse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sad – yes. But I found it to
be merciful and not surprising.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Adam Yauch doesn’t have any of
those tainted qualities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was never
mired in scandal, and the Beasties were not only adored by fans but they were
respected musicians who crossed and erased racial boundaries through music.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was a Buddhist and a humanitarian. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was a filmmaker, writer, a father a husband
a son and a friend.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If there was any religion I would
consider following, it would be Buddhism.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Adam Yauch was a Buddhist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
Buddhists believe that death is not the end of life, but simply the end of this
body we have inhabited.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we die our
spirit continues and seeks out a new life or new body. Where and how we are
reborn is determined by the accumulation of positive and negative action, which
is our Karma. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I believe that MCA
accumulated some amazing karma in his short life.</span></div>
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<br /></div>Stephanie S. Lazenbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339269674027091813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438042549421860075.post-62936232564939503072012-04-30T22:06:00.001-04:002012-04-30T22:06:50.374-04:00Inspiration Monday - I Love New YorkEvery year for Spring break the girls and I pile into the car and road trip it on down to the New York City area. I have posted about this <a href="http://planetlazenby.blogspot.com/2011/05/yes.html" target="_blank">journey</a> in May last year.<br />
<br />
It is an epic trip filled with friends and family, subway rides, late nights and a Mommy (that's me!) who likes to say "Yes!" all week long. "Mom, can we have new flip flops?" "Yes you can! And how about some cupcakes too!" I have learned that we all need a break from the daily routine. It is fun to be the mommy who says yes on vacation. And let me tell you and brag a moment - my girls deserved every yes I served up. They were fun, game for anything, and great traveling companions.<br />
<br />
I never get to see everyone that I want. It is hard to squeeze in everything we did in just a few days. But we always come back. Momma needs her New York City fix.<br />
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Here's a sample of our week of "Yes!"<br />
<br />
Nothing satisfies like a real diner. Katie sees the world with Pancake glasses.<br />
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"Mommy, can I pour you some more wine?" "Why, yes you can Sophie - and don't give any to that guy at the other table!"</div>
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Katie enjoys crunchy wantons as Sophie reads People Magazine<br />
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"Would you pour me some more wine please Sophie!"<br />
<br />
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<br />The next day, Sophie contemplates what a silly lady her mother is.<br />
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No trip to New York is complete without some real frickin' pizza</div>
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Katie sees her future - and it is filled with hair products and gorgeousness<br />
(we all got haircuts, but Katie looked the most glamourous during hers.)<br />
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I think this one may be the album cover<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MfzBBsQYrXA/T59EYBt_1HI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/FMT3_SHOaxQ/s1600/222.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MfzBBsQYrXA/T59EYBt_1HI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/FMT3_SHOaxQ/s320/222.JPG" width="240" /></a>Or maybe Sophie picking Tupac's nose...</div>
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<br /></div>Stephanie S. Lazenbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339269674027091813noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438042549421860075.post-78757972303400935932012-04-16T14:18:00.001-04:002012-04-16T14:18:35.406-04:00Inspiration Monday - Piles and Smiles<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am amazed at the constant acceleration that takes place in
everyday life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some moments it feels
like too much too fast and I get nothing done, and I feel nearly paralyzed by how
much needs to happen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And then I have a moment like I’ve been in for the past week
and I just want to ride this wave for as long as possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel
strong and flexible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> I
am accomplishing goals and having fun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
I am smart enough to know I can’t take it ALL on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I make choices each day, and I cannot do
everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am happily having a
moment where my domestic piles aren’t signs of failure, but just a task that I
will eventually get done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And they will eventually
build up again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These house chores are
like the tides.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In and out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Up and down. Constant and always changing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Here is our dining room table – overflowing with Easter
baskets, school work, hairspray and clothes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And for some reason, it makes me giggle. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Maybe because it is so messy it is comical.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe because I am not taking the mess so
personally – like if I were a better housewife/mother/woman I wouldn’t keep my
home in such a state.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe because I
look at it and I know today I have ideas to write, acting class to teach,
dinner to make and an ice cream social to attend at school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And all of those things take precedence over
that table.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is sign of action in my
house.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don’t view my mess with despair – it is showing that I am
making choices today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And cleaning is
not one of them.</span></div>Stephanie S. Lazenbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339269674027091813noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438042549421860075.post-92002013615368646832012-04-09T14:59:00.000-04:002012-04-09T15:08:53.611-04:00Inspiration Monday Medley<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I skipped last week due to a bad case of writers block.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just couldn’t cough up the smallest piece
of writing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It happens some weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As one of the worst bosses I’ve ever had always said much to my
annoyance, “Onwards and Upwards!”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Here are a few highlights that are keeping me smiling…</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Last Friday was Colonial day in Sophie’s third grade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Third grade has been studying life in
Colonial times and her amazing teachers wanted to bring the understanding of
this unit to an even deeper level.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So
kids and teachers dressed in Colonial garb and were immersed in ye olde
activities all day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Parents were invited to
volunteer and help out – in full costume off course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh you know where I was all day Friday!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead of being called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Missus</i> Lazenby we used the name, “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Goodwife</i> Lazenby”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>as was
done in Colonial times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So all day we
stayed in character, saying things like, “Goodwife Fagan how may I help you
with the children today.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or we would
get silly and call each other hussies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Dads volunteered too and it was amazing to see these guys, in full
Colonial garb – I’m talking buckles on the shoes, hats and wigs, being a part
of this celebration of learning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all
stayed in full character, feeling proud to a part of such a successful
day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And calling each other “Goodwife”
and “Goodman” never gets old.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Here is Sophie doing some cross stitch</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My Christmas cactus is blooming again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This plant was on its death bed (or death
pot) a few years ago when the girls were itty bitty and the thought of taking
care of yet one more living thing was too much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My plants are grown from cuttings of my dad’s plants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It made me sad to see them slowly dying of
thirst.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But now it is blooming again –
and it just massively bloomed at Christmastime!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It just makes me happy to see these bright blooms.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This week our school does a huge fundraiser that has the
same basic structure and idea as American Idol. (but without any criticism – we’re
talking about kids and teachers here!)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s this big event at the high school and it features the graduating 5<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup>
grade class singing and dancing to pop songs plus staff members doing the same
- <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>in full costume as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Total Fun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Well, since it is like American Idol, they also need judges up there –
and I was asked to be one of the judges!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Super Duper Fun! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But wait, it gets
better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to be in character as one
of the judges so…I am going to be…J Lo!!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Aww yeah!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I get to do my best New Yawk Jenny from the
Block accent, wear tons of glitter and make people laugh and have a good time –
Woo Hoo!!!</span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Don't be fooled by the rocks that I got - I'm still Stephie from the block</span></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>Stephanie S. Lazenbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339269674027091813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438042549421860075.post-91812776243164450132012-03-26T11:51:00.002-04:002012-03-26T11:51:50.030-04:00Inspiration Monday - I got the sun in the morning and the moon at night<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My parents came up this past
weekend for Katie’s dance recital and to get their monthly fix of the girls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When my parents visit there are a
multitude of reasons why I spend every moment with them for but for here, I
will list two. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I like being with them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are fun, loving people and when they
visit (which thankfully is often) the house is filled with noise and laughter
and singing – all delivered in a solid New Yawk accent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mom is a treasure trove of musical theatre
knowledge and she has a song for every occasion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She will belt it out and teach the girls the
words and my whole childhood comes flooding over me as I remember growing up
with a healthy dose of classic American musical theatre.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was reminded of where my love of musical
theatre comes from. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sunday morning she
was singing to the tune of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Whatever Lola
wants Lola gets</i>, to “Whatever Katie wants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Katie gets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And little man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Katie, wants you!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mom knows all of the words, and the play
that it is from. (<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Damn Yankees</b>)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is amazing to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When my mom and dad visit, my
girls are treated to songs tailored to them, treats and tons of attention. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not a bad way to spend a weekend if you are
six and eight – actually any age.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The other reason why I spend
every moment with them is because I know what a handful my children – really
any child - can be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With Cliff away
for the weekend, I tell myself that I must be there for the daily administering
of chores and scolding and just helping in the heavy lifting of two kids on a
weekend afternoon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I keep telling
myself, my folks are getting older, they can’t handle as much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or whatever guilt bullshit guilt I slather on
for the day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> For the first time in a
while when they visited – <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said to my
parents, “You know what I need today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
need to escape to the library and write. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I need to hear nothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My only child ears are bleeding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
then I’m gonna go and buy the best electric pencil sharpener that I can
find.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because every day, we waste time
looking for a pencil that isn’t worn to the nub. And it drives me crazier than
I already am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then… I am going to J
Crew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will see you at dinner.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And my amazing and generous
parents said with ease – “Alright – bye bye!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My dad added, “We will take the girls for ice cream and then I’ll make
Chicken Marsala with the girls for dinner.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I am getting dressed my mom is
belting out from <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Annie get your Gun</b>,
“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Got no diamonds. Got no pearls, still I
think I’m a lucky girl! I got the sun in the morning and the moon at night</i>.”
And I was reminded – really thunderstruck - by how much I have and the good
fortune to experience. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am grateful that I can have a
heartfelt conversation with my dad who listens to me and dispenses solid and
gentle advice about a problem that I am having parenting Sophie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And time, precious, luxurious time to myself
– the luxury to say to my parents,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Please,
I need the afternoon off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I need to walk
out of this house and know that everyone is good and happy.” They gave me the permission
to just leave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t plan out their
afternoon, pack lunches or get the girls dressed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t think about what to eat for dinner
and then prepare.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I feel like I hit some sort of
internal re-set button.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Colors are
brighter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel like I can think and
breathe properly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My dad’s chicken marsala
never tasted so good.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It really is so true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The job of being a parent never stops.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am forty-something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My parents are still helping me – they helped
me so much today.</span></div>
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<br /></div>Stephanie S. Lazenbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339269674027091813noreply@blogger.com1