My Real Life

March 3, 2024

Finale

Filed under: Uncategorized — Amy @ 5:15 pm

In February 2004, I went on maternity leave, from the district where I taught, with Monkey Boy. While on leave, I saw an opening for a Social Studies teacher in the middle school I had attended, and the district in which I lived. I jumped on the opportunity.

In September of that same year, I started my new position. I missed my people from my old district, but being in that school felt like coming home. Slowly, I started to make some new friends, and as I got to know people, our conversations moved from the superficial to learning more about each other.

On one particular day, there was a meeting in my classroom. After the meeting, people were lingering and during the course of the conversation, I mentioned that I taught piano lessons after school. The heads of two women, Tara and Jean, whipped around and Tara asked, “You play piano?” I answered that I did, and she followed up with, “Do you sing?” When I said yes, my memory tells me that they rubbed their hands together and cackled with glee, but it probably was more like them simply asking the question, “Would you have an interest in being the musical director of the spring musical here?” To which I answered a resounding “Yes!”

That first year, we did The Wizard of Oz and I was absolutely hooked. Always a musician, and always a fan of musical theater, it just felt right. And working with my friends was the icing on the cake. For the next 20 years, I taught hundreds of middle school actors and actresses the words to every song that was sung on that stage, and taught them how to sing those songs. It was exhilarating. It was exhausting. I loved it.

Wizard of Oz. Annie. Peter Pan. Back to the 80’s. High School Musical. Shrek. Guys and Dolls. Willy Wonka. The Little Mermaid. Beauty and the Beast. Every year I got to see children come alive on the stage. Kids who never felt quite comfortable in a classroom became characters and sang and danced their hearts in that auditorium. Kids who didn’t connect with other kids and sat alone in the lunchroom became part of the theater family and were never alone again. Kids who thought they were one dimensional learned that they had so much to offer. And kids who didn’t speak above a whisper grew in confidence and often stole the show. And I got to see the magic.

I will scream it from the rooftops until my dying day. The arts matter.

Monkey Girl was on that stage for three years. Duffy, in Annie. Glinda, in the Wizard of Oz. Belle in Beauty and the Beast. Monkey Boy was a pirate in Peter Pan. Baby Monkey worked his way from backstage crew to Stage Manager. And, for the past two years, Tiny has worked props and backstage crew.

As I write this, tomorrow night will be my last show as musical director at the middle school. After 20 years, it’s time to pass the reins to someone else. I no longer work at the school, having moved to the high school in September 2022. There are so many young, fresh faces at the school, and I’m sure that somewhere in that building, is someone who will be an excellent musical director of that show, and bring a new perspective. And I’m so excited for them; for what lies ahead for their time in that auditorium. For their particular brand of magic.

I’m sad. As much as I know that it’s time to go, I’m sad. As much as I’m excited to see what comes next, I’m sad. I love those kids. I love that theater family. I have made some of my best friends in that room. I have shared laughs and tears and arguments and more outrageous stories than one could imagine with my fellow directors.

I’ll see them all again. I get visits in my high school classroom from former middle school theater kids, now almost grown. I am friends on social media with former middle school theater kids who are definitely grown, with children of their own now. This isn’t the end of my belonging in that theater family. Once a member, always a member.

But as for my time in that particular room, tomorrow night, when the curtain closes for the final time, that’s it. It’s over. I’m done. I am so proud of every kid that has ever graced that stage in any capacity. I am so grateful for the small part that I was allowed to play in their lives. We made magic together. and, in case you didn’t know, magic is always a part of you. No matter where I go, or what I do next, they all come with me, safely tucked away in my heart.

I leave you with my director’s note from the Playbill. And I challenge you to find some of your own magic; be it big or small. Something that makes your heart sing. Because the song may end, but your heart will always remember the tune.

Tonight marks my 20th and last FMS Spring Musical. Over the past 20 years, I have had the privilege of teaching every song that has been sung on our stage, and that is not an experience that I take for granted. Music transforms the human experience. The stories of adults with dementia coming alive when a tune from their childhood is played speaks volumes to the power of music. It is my greatest hope that, at any point in their lives, when our FMS Theater Alumni hear a song that they sang, played, or moved set pieces to, they are filled with the warmth and joy that I have when I remember our time together. We have sung Dorothy home from Oz, let our voices carry us to Neverland, musically transformed ourselves into middle school gamblers, and allowed music to take us to so many other magical places. Every year was my favorite year, including the nine years that each of my four children were involved; either on stage, in the pit, or behind the curtain. The friendships that I have made in this room are among the most meaningful of my life and will last far beyond the final curtain call tonight. The arts matter. Music matters. Children matter. As I turn out the lights on this chapter of my life, I thank you all for sharing your children with me over the years. Belle will ask the question tonight, “Is this home?” For me, this room and this stage was my home, and I am grateful for every moment spent here.

January 17, 2024

Mean Girls – Then and Now

Filed under: Uncategorized — Amy @ 6:00 am

So, let me start by letting you know, I’m not discussing actual mean girls, however, as a middle and high school teacher for the past 30 years, I can tell you PLENTY.

No, I’m discussing the latest iteration of Mean Girls. A movie based on the Broadway show based on the movie based on the book, “Queen Bees and Wannabes.”

Let me also say that there are…spoilers…I guess, if you don’t know the book/movie/show/movie at all.

Full disclosure, I’m an enormous fan of the original movie, and before it left Broadway, I was at 3 viewings. Am I a fan of how the original movie portrays teachers? No, I am not. But, as a teacher, I’m aware that they can’t all be “To Sir, With Love,” or “Dead Poets Society.”

The original movie, starring Lindsay Lohan, was a straight up movie. The Broadway show was a musical from top to bottom, and this movie, based on the Broadway show is also a musical. There are bound to be differences between a Broadway show and a movie, and people seem to be having a tough time with the differences between these two…this writer included.

I’ve listened to the Mean Girls Broadway soundtrack more times than I have, perhaps, ever listened to anything, over the years. Okay, that may be a stretch, because my childhood record collection, and later cassette definitely got workout, (#80skid, #80steen), but you get the point.

I was well aware, going in, that this wasn’t going to be a direct stage to screen translation of the show, however, I think I wasn’t quite as prepared for all of the differences.

Some of my favorite numbers in the show are favorites because of the volume and the pure power and force behind them. They bring chills to your skin as you are bathed in the strength of the voice you are listening to and there is nothing you can do but listen in awe.

In this movie, however, they reworked much of the music, I would assume to accommodate the different voices, but some of these big moments just didn’t work as well. They would use half of a song, instead of the whole song, or just make it more understated. Perhaps a first time Mean Girls initiate would be fine with it because it was all that they knew, this fan didn’t love the choice.

For example, I love a good cafeteria singing montage, (High School Musical, I’m lookin’ at you, kid), and the Broadway version of Mean Girls does NOT disappoint. The movie version pulled out much of the song, turned it into dialogue, and it just felt…underwhelming.

Even the opening number, which is a high energy, fast moving song that brings us from Kenya to North Shore high was different. The movie gives us this slow, pensive piece that just doesn’t give me the opening that I craved.

I think a TikTok that I saw the other day describes another musical choice best. The song “Revenge Party” was fairly well done, but they wrote parts of the song differently, again, most likely because it’s hard to match Erika Henningson’s range. The TikTok shows the person who made the video lip syncing the lines “I can’t even watch when she touches his hair, and I watched a snake eat a cow.” The first time, she mouths the words, it’s to the Broadway version, and the second time, it’s to the movie version. The side by side comparison just hits. One gets you riled up for Cady. The other? Not so much.

Same thing with another TikTok video. This one with “Stupid with Love.” When they play the Broadway version, you can feel the bloom of first love. But, over the movie version are the words “After a lobotomy.” And I’m sorry, but it’s true.

It’s not the fault of the actors. I think they cast it well, and don’t even get me started on Renee Rapp. The last time we saw the show on Broadway, she was Regina George, and I was nervous because I loved Taylor Louderman. My fears were unfounded. And she slayed as Regina, again, in the movie. Absolutely slayed. (And I hear she is killing it on the interview circuit as well.)

And, poor movie Karen. Her one song, “Sexy,” was auto-tuned through the roof, and they made her character almost unlikeable instead of lovable.

There were some changes that I liked, but then they didn’t follow through with, so that was confusing. For example, in the song where we are introduced to our villain, Regina George, she sings a song where she says “…and I never weigh more than 115.” They took that out, and I don’t remember what they used to take its place, but I was like “Okay, I like this…body positivity.” But, then later, they still ran with the storyline where Cady tricks her into eating nutrition bars that make you gain weight and she can only fit into her sweatpants. Sooooo…still focusing on girl’s weight?

I don’t know. It was okay. Would I watch it again? Maybe. But I’d actually opt for the original, non-musical version over this one, and we all know that I’m all about the music. So, I feel like that’s saying something. But, for people who are being introduced to Mean Girls through this movie, I guess this will be their canon and they’ll look at Broadway and the original and cheap imitations.

After all, don’t they all think they discovered Kate Bush through Stranger Things? Sorry kids…weep your way through “This Woman’s Work” in “She’s Having a Baby” and then we can talk.

September 2, 2023

It’s Time

I am well aware that summer doesn’t officially end until September 21st.

As I write this, it is September 2nd, and while we still have some time until the 21st, I’m done with summer.

This summer was kind of a bust. A summer of unfulfilled promise if you’ll indulge me in being poetic for a moment. In so many ways, it just wasn’t what I had hoped for.

Don’t get me wrong. There were bright spots.

Taking my bell choir to England for our summer tour, at the end of June, was positively magical.

Our extended family beach week with the in-laws was amazing and such a wonderful time to reconnect.

Being home with the monkeys and Real Man is always good for the soul.

So, this isn’t a pity party post. It’s just a post saying that I’m good with the end of summer and anxious to move into the new season.

It doesn’t hurt that autumn is my favorite season.

And, while technically autumn is the beginning of the death of nature so that it can sleep in winter and be reborn in the spring (how’s that for waxing poetic?), to me, it’s always been about new beginnings.

Perhaps it’s the teacher in me that recognizes autumn as a time to start over, moving into a new school year with new students and new opportunities, but I’ve always embraced this season as my own.

Yesterday, Tiny and I headed to the beach for one last beach day of the summer.

We got out early, beat the traffic, and sat on the beach and did puzzles from some of my Dad’s old issues of Games World of Puzzles magazines that he passes along to me when he’s done the puzzles he wants to do. We played some paddle ball. We walked the shoreline collecting shells and rocks, and we waded out into the calm ocean and just breathed in those last moments of summer.

And when we got home last night, I took down my summer-themed decorations (of which there are few) and decked the house out for fall (with decorations aplenty).

I belong to a hygge group on Facebook, (feel free to Google hygge if you aren’t familiar…it’s me embracing my Danish roots and trying to create a cozy space in which to live all year round), and someone had asked about podcasts or YouTubers to watch to help you with that feeling of fall and cozy, and someone suggested the “Darling Desi” YouTube channel.

I’m not a YouTube watcher. I don’t really get it, which is a stupid thing to say. I’m all over social media. I watch and stream things constantly. YouTube has always, somehow, evaded my interest and grasp. But, while decorating, I opened up my computer and started watching some of her “anticipating fall” videos and let me tell you…I’m hooked.

But I want more autumn.

The leaves aren’t going to turn quite yet. The weather forecast for the coming week is in the 90’s here in Jersey. On Tuesday, people are going to be talking about vacations and wishing summer would return, and I’m going to smile and nod and be imagining jeans and sweaters and orange and brown and crunchy leaves under my feet.

The whole point of this is to say, I’d love some suggestions for how you embrace fall in your homes. And maybe you don’t. But maybe you know some books or some shows that give that fall vibe, and you could recommend them to me.

Darling Desi has recommended a ton of books, most of which I now have on hold at the library, and some shows that I’ve already watched, but will watch again.

If I can find “You’ve Got Mail” for free somewhere, I’ll be streaming that later. It’s one of my favorites (it’s about a bookshop…c’mon…and it gives incredible fall vibes). I already rewatch Gilmore Girls as I fall asleep at night, which has an autumn and cozy aesthetic in every single episode.

I’ve been starting my fall/spooky season reading, starting with “Slewfoot” that was recommended by my friend Tara and “Belladonna” another recommendation of hers.

Give me more. What should I be reading? What should I be watching that will let me immerse myself in a season that isn’t quite here yet, but is on the cusp of arriving in it’s darker colors, cooler air, and amazing scents.

For today, I’m going to drink my tea, eat a slice of the blueberry loaf I just made, and read a good, fall spooky story.

June 8, 2023

My Town

Disclaimer: I’m going to mention things in this post that won’t mean anything to you if you didn’t grow up in the same town where I grew up. However, I think this is a post that many people can relate to, just in different ways. So, read on!

On Memorial Day Weekend, we went to two parades, as Baby Monkey is in the Marching Band and we always want to support the team. (Longtime readers, yes, Baby Monkey, kid #3 is 17 and a junior in the Marching Band)

The second of the two parades was in my hometown. The town where I spent my formative years. The town where I shopped, hung out, and worked my way through high school at the local department store.

And, as Real Man and Tiny and I stood there, waiting for the parade, I had a moment to just pause and look around.

I mean, I’m in town all the time. Driving through, going to the rehearsals at the church where I grew up, and still ring handbells. Grabbing some Starbucks, dropping someone off to see their friends, collecting Pokemon with Tiny.

But, I’m always doing something and I’m never just absorbing the atmosphere. That day, I did.

I grew up here, in Morristown. And I loved this town. I still love this town, but it dawned on me that the town in which I grew up no longer exists, and that the kids who are growing up here now, the kids who I teach, are having a markedly different experience than I did.

The center of our town is called “The Green.” Historically, it’s an important piece of history, as George Washington and his troops stayed in Morristown from January through May of 1777. There are historic sites all over our town from our little piece of the Revolution. We even have statues of Washington, LaFayette, and Hamilton in the middle of the green as they discuss steps forward with the nation that was about to emerge.

The green, itself,  is still there, and with the exception of some beautification efforts, looks largely the same. Traffic still moves around the green in it’s own unique way, despite the fact that my students no longer have part of their driver’s ed class at the high school dedicated to the rules of the green, which have been etched on my brain for life. 

Don’t you dare try to move around the green in lane 2…one lap and you gotta move to lane 3, people!

The streets that encircle (or “ensquare”) the green, however…are a different story.

We would go into town after school and on the weekends and get milkshakes at Woolworth’s. We would buy stickers at Goffins or Razzmatazz. We worked our way through high school at Epstein’s, the local department store. We shopped at Bamberger’s and if you were me, you sat while your mom got her hair done on the 4th floor and then had lunch at the restaurant that was up there. You got shoes at Walk Well, and dresses at Lobel’s. Toys and candy could be purchased at Winston’s, and Baskin Robbins was a great place for summer, after dessert. Playing a sport? You’d run to Fitzgerald’s and grab your gear. You ran to the Filling Station for lunch if you had time, went shopping with your Dad at Salny Brothers, and had your film developed at Camera One. We’d grab the latest album, then cassette, or even camp outside for tickets to the latest concerts at Scotti’s Record Shop.

And if you were lucky, you had dinner at McDonald’s before hitting the Triplex for a movie.

Not one of these stores still exist on the green.

It was a town that was heaven for a teenager, and had anything that adults could need, as well.

It was a town.

In name, it’s still a town. And in many ways, it is still the same town in which I grew up. I mean, it technically is the exact same town in which I grew up, but it’s not.

When I ask my students what they do when they go to town, (which they still do), they tell me that they grab some Starbucks or Qdoba, and then they go hang out on top of the parking deck. 

The Bambergers became a Macy’s that became a Century 21 and now sits empty. The department store where I worked my way through high school and beyond is now a Starbucks and luxury apartments. No more Camera One, because no one uses cameras anymore. Everything has become something else.

Or, if it was on one block of the green, the store sits empty.

Don’t let that one empty block fool you, though. My town is, apparently, happenin’. 

There are more bars and restaurants than any one person could ever make their way through. What was once a town full of thriving small businesses is now a town full of sidewalk seating and bars with open doors to the sidewalk to extend their space. Wanna eat out? My town is the place to go, but if you are longing for some mom and pop stores and a more homey experience, you aren’t going to get it here.

Those of us who still live here, and who have always lived here, maintain our small town spirit, though. Recently, on our local FB page, someone mentioned that they hadn’t seen MaryAnn, one of our residents who has roamed and lived in town since I was in high school. She would often come into Epstein’s to take shelter from the extreme heat or the extreme cold, and when I graduated from college and worked at Goffin’s, a card/sticker/candy/you name it store, she would come in to use the mirror in the back of the flower case to do her hair.

MaryAnn is a fixture of my town.

And when she was missing for a month, when no one had seen her, people were concerned and started expanding the web of ways to find her. People continued to check in and speaking with authorities and searching for her until she was finally found, safe and sound.

The town may now be a city, but we lifers look out for our own.

This changing of the makeup of a town isn’t a phenomenon that is specific to my town. 

It happens everywhere, and I understand it. I don’t need time to stand still. Progress is important or things eventually die out, and my town is definitely not dying out. That’s a good thing.

But, I’ve become one of those people who mourn the “good old days,” which weren’t necessarily all that good, but this town…my town…is something that brought me joy and something that I wish our kids today could still experience.

It was a simpler time where success was measured more in happiness than in town revenue.

I wish my kids and my students could have just a day to see what it used to be like here. 
More to the point, I wish I could go back for a day. Stand in the middle of the green, look around, take a deep breath and just be.

Maybe it’s not the town at all that is my issue.

And for those of you who are interested, here is an article from the New York Times from 1985 when Headquarters Plaza was being built.

March 15, 2023

But I’m Still Going

Filed under: Uncategorized — Amy @ 6:00 am

I’m tired, friends.

And, even in my exhaustion, I feel the need to clarify that this is not a post asking for pity or accolades or any response at all, really.

But I do my best to be transparent here, and that means sharing the good with the bad.

And right now, I’m tired.

But I’m still going.

If it gives you any indication of my current mental state, my Christmas tree is still up, the wreath is still on my front door, and there’s a cute little Santa sitting on the table on my front porch.

Yesterday, I posted on Facebook asking people to eat at our local pizzeria for the March fundraiser for the bell choir I direct.

Until someone wrote “I thought that was next week?”

Which it is.

I haven’t read a book in I don’t remember when.

And that’s saying a lot.

What’s it saying?

I’m tired.

But I’m still going.

I should also mention that I don’t want to hear anyone asking “Where is Real Man?” as I type this post, because he is working and spending a ton of time at his Dad’s house, pulling up carpet, pulling down wallpaper, sanding, painting, etc. And in between, he’s making dinner here and dealing with other things.

We’re tired.

Right now I’m part of the “sandwich generation.”

It sounds more delicious than it is.

The sandwich generation is the ever-changing group of adults who have at least one living parent over the age of 65 and at least one child under the age of 18, or are providing financial support for a child over the age of 18.

That’s me. That’s me. Oh, that’s also me, and me, and me, and me.

I’ve been mulling this blog post over in my head because I don’t want to come off as sounding whiny or “poor me.” But even as I write it, it’s how it reads to me.

And, with a very few exceptions, when people ask how I am, I say “Great, thanks, and you?” because I am mindful of not wanting to be the Eeyore in everyone’s day.

But, I think I’m not alone, and I think that most of us are just sucking it up and getting it done and not really saying anything about it.

And I think we are all tired.

As I mentioned in my “Turkey Driver” post, we lost my beautiful human being of a father-in-law in January.

Two weeks after we lost him, I wound up having to call 911 to take my Dad to the ER because he couldn’t walk, was hallucinating, and it was terrifying.

Turns out, it was a combination of dehydration and a urinary tract infection, which can be deadly in the elderly, because they don’t feel it.

(Take note fellow sandwichers…and keep an eye out for it in your loved ones)

He went from the hospital to rehab and for weeks and weeks, I did the “teach/play rehearsal/piano lesson/hospital/rehab/collapse into bed from exhaustion shuffle.”

And I was happy to do it.

I’m the only child of two only children.

There are no siblings, aunts, uncles, or cousins to go see or check in on my parents if I don’t do it.

And I am happy to do it.

I’m not sure my Dad enjoyed my constant badgering about the importance of staying hydrated and exercising, but now that he is home, he is on the bandwagon and is amazed at his own strength and stability and oh my goodness, if only someone had been telling him to hydrate and exercise all these years!!!

Ahem.

However, three days after my Dad was released from rehab, my Mom fell and broke her hip. She had to have a partial hip replacement and is now in…rehab.

So, the shuffle continues.

And I’ve used all my personal days for the year so that I can be there for meetings with doctors, etc.

And I’m happy to do it.

And don’t see my repetition of “And I’m happy to do it” as me trying to convince myself or me trying to convince you.

I truly am happy to do it.

I don’t want anyone to ever feel alone, especially my parents.

But I’m tired.

But I’m still going.

And, let’s be honest…the bad things aren’t happening to me. They are happening to the people around me. It’s not my tragedy.

I’m not going through rehab or laying in a hospital bed. I’m not relying on other people to do for me. I’m not having to relearn how to walk.

I am fortunate.

And I’m tired.

I’m also not the only one.

All of my friends my age are dealing with the same types of things.

And they are tired.

The other things I’m doing are all things that I enjoy.

I love my job. I love teaching.

But teachers are “on” all day long.

There’s no cubicle to retreat to. No office where we can go for a moment.

I’m on stage all day, currently trying to make the Industrial Revolution and the Age of Revolutions relevant and fascinating to high school students.

Love those kids.

We just finished play season.

Rehearsal until 5:00 every day, and all day every Saturday.

The kids KILLED on that stage and it was an amazing show.

Directing the bell choir, planning the summer tour, preparing for our concert in May.

I cannot wait to take these kids overseas.

Teaching piano lessons.

Every one of my piano students is a lovely little human.

It’s all good stuff and I enjoy it and am happy to do it.

Still, I’m tired.

But I’m still going.

I don’t even really know the point of this post, anymore.

I’m not complaining, I’m sharing.

And it’s okay for me to say that I’m tired.

And it’s okay for you to say that you’re tired.

We are all tired.

What I’m doing isn’t more than what you are doing.

Each of us are following our own schedules, battling our own demons, caring for our own families.

Still going.

And doing it tired.

I think the problem is that we all think we are the only ones.

We say “Great, thanks!” when asked how we are because we feel like everyone else has their *&^% together and we are the only ones who are overwhelmed.

We hide it. We smile. We fake it, thinking we just need to fake it until we make it.

So, take this rambling nonsense and know that you aren’t alone.

And, listen…

This year, we might break our record of not taking the tree down until St Patrick’s Day.

Hell, I might just leave it up all year at this point.

So, if you walk or drive by, or even come in…maybe don’t mention it.

But know that if you’re tired, too, I see you and you are not alone.

February 21, 2023

Where’s the Snow?

Filed under: Uncategorized — Amy @ 6:00 am
Tags: , , ,

If you are of a certain age (my age) you are hopefully saying the title of today’s post in a Clara Peller voice.

(If you don’t know who Clara Peller is, you probably aren’t old enough for this blog.)

Grumpy old lady voice aside, it’s the question I have been asking myself all winter.

Where’s the snow?

I know many of you have had a freezing, snowy, stormy winter, and I am sorry for all of the trauma that has caused those of you who are struggling with this.

And please know that my desire for true winter weather does not diminish my sympathy for the issues that many of you are having with the same thing that I am wishing for.

I just miss my snow.

I live in New Jersey for a reason.

Well, for a lot of reasons, I guess, but one of the main ones is that I love the seasons.

Anyone who buys the hype of New Jersey being a highway only, over-crowded, armpit of America has never really been here. You might have flown into Newark airport and considered that to be New Jersey. You may have visited one city and taken that to be representative of the entire state.

It’s the equivalent of thinking that New York City is all that massive state has to offer and it’s just wrong.

I love watching New Jersey come alive in the spring, luxuriating in the summer sun on the beaches, and taking drives to see the amazing fall foliage that just doesn’t happen globally.

And in the winter, I love the snow.

I have always loved the snow.

Fall is my favorite season, but winter is a close second.

But only when there is snow.

My childhood winters were spent in snow forts, sled, having snowball fights, making snow angels, skating on Burnham Pond.

We’d suit up in the morning, feet in trash bags before our boots went on, snow pants, jackets, mittens, gloves, hats, scarves, and…being the 80’s…we knew we had to get ourselves geared up for a long, cold day with maybe one hot chocolate break in the middle of the day.

If we were lucky.

And we loved it.

In the snow, the world was new and the neighborhood, of which we already knew every inch, was transformed into a wonderland, full of new adventures.

My friend, Gail, had a backyard that was a straight down hill. We would spend hours sledding down that hill, slamming into the fence at the bottom, until her mother would come out and make us move before we broke the fence…again.

Then we would just find other hills to sled down, and after hours, finally exhausted of climbing back up the hills, we would lay in the snow and make angels.

With her brother, Greg, and the neighbors, Jennifer and Nicky, we would fashion, what we imagined to be, massive igloos and forts, in which we would take shelter from the ensuing snowball fight.

And finally, at the end of the day, we’d return to our homes, peel off our gear, watch the piles of snow, that had crept their way into our pant legs and sleeves, fall on the floor and melt.

Faces red, fingers numb, and bodies thoroughly exhausted from the physical joy of the day.

Gail (left) and me (right), circa 1981(?)

As an adult, I still enjoy the sledding, although I don’t have the same stamina for the climb up the hill.

And I’ve been known to pack a mean snowball and to hold my own in a snowball fight.

But, today, I love watching my kids do all the things that I used to do; not to live vicariously, but because they seem to get the same joy out of it.

They actively measure the snow on the deck, and giggle with glee once it surpasses the step up from the deck to the kitchen, and even further, the base of the sliding door. Because that, my friends, is “playing snow.”

They, too, don’t feel the cold, as they are caught up in the wonder of the moment, as evidenced by the time I looked out onto the deck to see how they were faring and found both of Tiny’s boots on the deck, and Tiny in the snow in his socks.

“They got stuck, Mama, but I still play. I not cold.” – Tiny, circa 2014

Our backyard, neglected for the majority of the year, becomes a slalom, a luge, a bobsled track, and for hours, they will play.

(I should clarify that the “they” which I discuss has dwindled down to Tiny and Baby Monkey, who always makes sure Tiny has someone to play with in the snow.)

I love standing outside and listening to the silence when the snow falls.

The world just settles and everything is muffled and quiet and for just a moment, the world feels at peace.

And, to be fully transparent, I love the anticipation of a snow day call.

Gone are the days of having to wake up at the crack of dawn to listen to 1250 am WMTR to see if they called our district off for the day, but I can find the same satisfaction in hearing my phone buzz with that lovely text.

And when it does, I can never fall back to sleep, but instead, I silently creep downstairs, make a cup of tea, build a fire in the fireplace, open a book, and settle in for the day under a blanket.

Can I build a fire any day of the year? Sure can.

Can I drink tea and read under a blanket any day? Of course.

But it just hits differently, knowing that there is nowhere I have to be, and even if there is, I probably shouldn’t brave the roads.

On a snowy day, I fully feel the hygge that I connect with my Danish ancestors. Outside it is cold and snowy, but inside, it is warm, and cozy, and calm.

I love looking up from my story every now and then, and seeing this in my backyard:

Just give me one, solid, good day of snow. At least 6″ of playing snow. Let my kids get the call that the day belongs to them, let me build my fire, and let me snuggle up and read.

However, not to be picky, but… let it happen after March 4 so we don’t have to cancel play practice.

Please, and thank you.

February 13, 2023

The Big Game

Filed under: Uncategorized — Amy @ 6:00 am
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I always have to laugh on Super Bowl Sunday.

My Facebook feed alternates between people saying “I couldn’t care less about the big game…anyone else?” and others changing their profile pictures to match the colors of the team they are rooting for.

Me?

I’ll admit. I’m a fan.

I am probably more there for the commercials, but football is my favorite sport (that one of my kids is not playing) to watch. (No one tell Real Man or Monkey Boy or their hockey hearts will be broken)

I’m disappointed when it’s not a good game, and I’m thrilled when it’s close and exciting.

I’m a lifelong Browns fan (no comments from the peanut gallery) so I’m against any team from Pennsylvania. So for tonight, I’m a Chief’s fan.

I enjoy watching the game with friends and dissecting the commercials, the halftime show, and generally chatting, but I also enjoy watching the game in my jammies on my couch.

Tonight is going to be a jammies on the couch kind of night.

And since it’s that kind of night, I figured I’d share my thoughts on the show with all of you, which is something probably NONE of you need in your lives.

Prepare for some stream of consciousness writing, friends:

Disclaimer: Jersey Mike’s had a “miscommunication” over my order and I missed half of the “Pre-Kick” show.

And why is it the “Pre-Kick” show? What happened to “Pre-Game?”

What is this Eagles intro with the guy introducing them all in a club? I think I’m too old for this.

I can’t see Erin Andrews without thinking of her season of Dancing with the Stars…I think it was the best season I watched.

I was eating my sub when the Pizza Hut New Yorker pizza commercial came on, and I have never wanted to throw my dinner in the trash and get something else faster.

The Tillman Scholars…loved that tribute. Beautiful foundation.

Guardians of the Galaxy…I’m so in. I love those movies.

As a teacher, watching the intro with the kids chasing “the impossible dream” hit my heart. Every kid in my class has a dream. A great reminder for all us to support and encourage them all.

OMG. The Eagles are gonna score on their first possession, aren’t they? Are you kidding me? My brother-in-law, a lifelong Chiefs fan, must be furious right now.

Unreal.

Real Man just said “That doesn’t bode well.” I concur.

And, so far, I’m not winning the pool.

When they do a close-up of both teams right after the hut, (I don’t know what it’s called, it reminds me of when I played rugby in college. Have I ever told you guys that story? Anyway, it reminds me of the scrum and makes me smile from my rugby memories)

I can’t watch Ben Affleck in the Dunkin’ commercial after watching him get yelled at by JLo at the Grammy’s. Have you seen that video? She scolds him, he rolls his eyes and sits up and they both sit there, looking miserable and then he realizes they are on camera and slowly gets this slow, fake smile, and then she does the same. It’s amazing.

No thanks, avocados. I do NOT need to see everyone in their birthday suits.

Okay, back to the game.

In our house, we like Pacheco because he’s from Rutgers, Real Man’s alma mater.

Whoo-hoo!!!

I’m still not winning the pool.

You had better be kidding me right now with the new Indiana Jones movie. Indiana Jones is MY FAVORITE. I’m not even paying attention to the eTrade babies right now because I am so excited about the new Indiana Jones flick!!! I know where I’ll be on June 30.

Wait, that was an alcohol commercial for Remy Martin? I don’t get it. I don’t see the connection. But, I’m not the target audience, too I guess that’s okay.

Bradley Cooper and his Mom were pretty adorable.

Clueless. Yes. please.

Okay, listen. Real Man and Tiny are just talking through the commercials, friends. This is not okay.

Real Man just asked the question “How many houses in the US do you think are watching the Super Bowl in a room with a still decorated, still lit Christmas tree?”

I don’t know the answer, but I know it’s at least one. Yes sir, it’s at least one.

And I don’t want to talk about it.

I wonder how many people just won money for the ball hitting the goal post. People will bet on anything.

Man, Serena Williams is getting paid this Super Bowl!

Unbelievable. Eagles score again.

And I still have no numbers in the pool.

Just realized that so far, there have been no Coca-Cola or Doritos or Budweiser commercials. I feel like those are usually an early staple in the Super Bowl. Maybe later.

I’m not sure how I feel about a Rhianna half time show. I’ll be honest, I haven’t listened to a lot of current music lately. Lots of my Spotify playlist. However, I do love a good show and I hear she puts on a great one.

I always love Steve Martin

Okay, as a diabetic, the Dexcom commercial Is intriguing.

Will Ferrell and electric cars, going through the different movies was fun to watch, but I’m not ready for an EV.

I wonder, though. Are people influenced by advertising? Like, do commercials really make people buy a product? I am certainly moved to watch a movie or a show that I see an ad for, but as for buying a product? I’m more swayed by someone who has tried it telling me if it’s worth the money. That’s why I like TikTok. Okay, it’s not the only reason I like TikTok, but I do appreciate watching people actually try things out that I was thinking of buying.

But that’s an awful lot of money to spend on an ad if it really isn’t going to make someone buy the product. I guess just putting the product in someone’s mind is the actual goal.

But how often do we say “I LOVE that commercial! Now, what are they selling again?”

Totally defeats the purpose.

Oh, HELLO!!! Scoop and Score!!!

That twitch on the last play just changed the game!

I’m still not winning the pool.

Turbo Tax. Please don’t do that to Safety Dance.

I just asked Baby Monkey (who turned 17 yesterday) if he could pre-heat the oven for our half-time snacks. He came back in the room and asked why I’m boiling a million dollars.

Took me a second and then I realized he was referring to the pot that still holds the eggs I boiled today for my lunches during the week.

Because, how about the price of eggs! Stupid avian flu.

I need something to happen here for me to win the halftime pool. I’m not holding my breath.

Eagles are going to score again before the half.

Yeah, I didn’t even finish typing that sentence before Hurts ran it across the goal line.

That wasn’t what I needed to win the pool.

Hmmm. I love my iPhone, but being able to fix your pictures makes the Google Pixel look mighty attractive.

I’m just saying, I’ve never gotten my hand stuck in a canister of Pringles.

Aw, Damar Hamlin!

That was a scary, scary thing. The human body, man. It’s so amazing and yet, at just the right moments, so fragile.

Oh no. Mahomes is limping off the field. Is that the game, folks? They just did a replay and he was tackled by the ankle, it seems, and now on the sidelines he is hurting. That poor guy.

Okay, Doritos. Jack Harlow. I liked it. Thanks for showing up.

Oh man, of course the puppy commercial comes on when Real Man is out of the room. The monkeys and I have been trying to convince him for YEARS that we need a dog. I just miss having a dog. It’s been 19 years since we’ve had one. Too long.

Nope. That’s not a catch by Smith, but we think they are going to give it to him.

Huh! We stand corrected!

You guys, it’s 8:13 and I have yawned three times in the past 5 minutes. AND, it’s a school night.

Once my potato skins are out of the oven, I’ll perk up.

No halftime pool win over here.

I think I’d like to take a cruise. There’s something a little claustrophobic about the idea, but at the same time, just being out there, being forced to relax, being fed all day. I’m in. Like, really in.

Are you kidding me? Is this a dating show for FARMERS???

I love farms and ranches. I have always loved them. And now a dating show set there? I may have to check this one out.

Wait, there was more than one Creed movie? I’m so out of the movie game.

Okay, the floating platforms? I dig it.

Tiny just said that he felt some of the dancing was inappropriate. 😂

Good show! Visually stunning and great music.

Ooh, loved the commercial for women in football.

I have now eaten the equivalent of two potatoes. I’m ready for the second half.

I wish we had those ShopRite chocolate brownies with the chocolate frosting and sprinkles on them.

They are THE BEST.

Nice run, Chiefs! And go Rutgers alum!

I never thought I’d want to see a movie about sneakers. But I will totally see that movie.

Wait, that’s not a catch, right? I mean, I’d love the touchdown, but is that a catch?

OMG! It’s a touchdown!

Nope. Not a catch, not a touchdown. Don’t play with my emotions, Super Bowl.

Bud Light. That counts as Budweiser. So, unless I’ve dozed off somewhere along the way, I’m only missing Coca-Cola in my Super Bowl commercial trifecta.

Guys…I’m so tired. My eyes are closing, but we’re not even close to being done yet.

I was up late with Baby Monkey, last night, watching movies and then was up this morning for piano lessons. So, tonight, 9:00 was my limit, apparently.

Love Dave Grohl.

What’s with all the QR codes? The last thing I want to do is pull out my phone and scan something. Let’s stop making tv interactive.

Hmmm…if the Eagles could get a safety I could win it all.

But then the Chiefs would lose and the Eagles would win. Ick.

Still…maybe it’s now sorta “Go Eagles?”

Nah. I’ll stay true to the Chiefs.

Was that just a Scientology commercial?????

Nice job, Chiefs.

Okay, this commercial isn’t helping Real Man want a dog. At all.

Oh, thank goodness…they got the puppy a puppy!

Rockstars…such a cute commercial!!!

I’ve perked up a bit and am hopeful for this fourth quarter.

Or maybe I’m just excited because I know it’s almost bedtime.

This is 51.

Do you think Mahomes is in, like, so much pain, and is just playing through it so he can see the game through? Do you think the trainers realize? I feel like they have to know how bad the damage is. Can they, in good conscience, or even legally, allow him to play if he is really hurt? Do you think his Mom is watching and yelling for him to get off the field before he permanently damages himself?

That was an AMAZING punt return!!! I thought he was going all the way! GO CHIEFS!!!

Hang on…how adorable are those Chiefs, before the play, dancing around each other in a circle?

Guys, our tv just started losing the signal. We have a big circle circling on our screen. Seriously?

Screen came back, apparently there was a touchdown.

And a safety?

OMG. A Tie.

Makes sense. They have the exact same stats for the whole season. This is the most evenly matched SuperBowl I think I’ve ever seen.

It’s gonna come down to a game winning field goal.

And guess what?

I’m not gonna win the pool.

Nice run, Mahomes. But I see you limping after that run.

Do you think John Travolta is doing that T-Mobile commercial now because Olivia Newton John refused to do Grease related commercials and he couldn’t do them without her before? And John Travolta and the guys from Scrubs? Interesting match.

People love cooking competition shows.

Not me.

I don’t like cooking, myself, so I am definitely not going to be watching other people cook. And get yelled at while cooking. That’s just an all-around no thanks for me.

Winning field goal was kicked, the clock is running down and the Chiefs just won the SuperBowl.

I did not win the pool.

And now I’m going to bed.

February 6, 2023

Can’t Take the Heat

Filed under: Uncategorized — Amy @ 6:00 am
Tags: ,

Every family has one.

You may say that you don’t, but I bet you do.

That one item.

The item that you have way more than you need because either:

  1. You keep losing them and purchasing more
  2. It’s an item that you think you just can’t get enough of
  3. You keep thinking they are broken and replacing them, but not throwing out the old ones because they just might un-break while you are sleeping

In our home, that item is a thermometer, and the reason is number three.

To illustrate…

One after the other, these thermometers have done their jobs, but then, suddenly, not so much.

I have changed batteries religiously, and yet, the numbers still seem way too low.

I’m aware that humans are no longer supposed to be 98.6. We’ve gotten cooler as we’ve evolved, and the prevailing theory is that we aren’t as active as we used to be, and that’s why our average is now in the 97’s.

And the 98.6 was a (not entirely) arbitrary number chosen as the average by a German doctor in the 1800’s and I think we all know that medicine in the 1800’s wasn’t exactly top notch.

But, our thermometers were registering us at 93, or sometimes even 92, and I knew that couldn’t be right, as I kissed a hot little forehead, and so I kept going out and buying new ones.

We even have (as you can see) the forehead strip thermometers. Something needs be to accurate, right?

So, over the years, I have accumulated the collection above. And when someone feels warm to me, I take their temperature not once, not twice, but usually no less than 3 times, with three different devices and none of them ever seem accurate to me.

And, full disclosure, friends…

I want to buy another one. I’m thinking maybe one of those forehead scanners would be more accurate.

Maybe I’m the one with the sickness.

A thermometer sickness.

But maybe, just maybe, none of those thermometers are broken and we are just a super cool family.

After all, when signing in to see my Dad at the hospital last night, my Mom’s temperature registered at 94.2.

And their thermometers HAVE to be right…

Right?

January 31, 2023

Theme Songs

Filed under: Uncategorized — Amy @ 6:00 am
Tags: , , ,

As I fall asleep at night, I binge watch/sleep through a variety of shows that I have loved in the past.

Following a story helps my brain not perseverate on whatever it is that I’m currently experiencing anxiety about, and having it be a storyline that I already know allows me to not have to focus fully, and drift off to sleep.

The only problem is, as I rewatch these shows, I am 100% positive that the theme songs are different.

The first time I noticed it was when I was rewatching Gilmore Girls.

Season One was definitely good ole’ Carole King, but then, suddenly, in later seasons, I swear the song was different.

I would flip back and forth between season one and whatever season I was currently on, listening and listening. I couldn’t mark the difference, but I swear it was there.

When I finished Gilmore Girls, I moved onto Friends.

Again, season one was super familiar, but by the time I hit the end of the show, I felt like it had undergone quite a few iterations.

And it was driving me crazy.

I couldn’t decide if I was really hearing it or if I had just forgotten how it sounded, way back when.

Flipping between seasons, like the eye doctor showing different lenses, “One? Or two? One? Or two?” I couldn’t distinguish between them, but again, I just knew they were different.

I’m currently falling asleep to Sex and the City.

And rather than fast fowarding through the intro, I have been paying close attention.

And I’m telling you…it is not the same as it was when I watched that show on tv.

And it’s not the same from season to season. It’s just not.

You probably think I’m crazy for obsessing about this. After all, the whole point of bingeing these shows is so I don’t have to think about them.

And, yes, I finally googled it.

It’s a thing. Producers don’t want to spend the money on the licensing of the song for streaming.

However, every article I find says that Gilmore Girls never changed their theme song from start to finish to streaming.

Yes, Gilmore Girls. Yes. You. Did.

It’s subtle. It’s barely noticeable. But you did, and I’m not crazy.

January 23, 2023

Shaun Cassidy

Filed under: Uncategorized — Amy @ 6:00 am
Tags: , , ,

I am well aware that 95% of the people reading this post have no idea who Shaun Cassidy is, and to that, I just have to say, I’m so sorry for you.

To those of you who DaDoKnowKnow who he is, then you will probably better appreciate this story.

So, over the summer, I was scrolling through TikTok and I came across this video. Everyone who commented went between thinking it was hilarious and thinking it was terrible of her dad to do this.

But friends, rewind that clock back to 1979/1980 and I WAS that girl.

We were out in Ohio with my grandparents and we were out to dinner and as a typical late 70’s 7/8 year old girl, I had THE BIGGEST crush on Shaun Cassidy.

Wavy golden locks. Big, beautiful eyes. Shaun Cassidy was the first boy to set my heart aflutter.

So, there we were in the restaurant (which I have a vague memory as being The Lobster Shanty, but is there a Lobster Shanty near Ashtabula, Ohio? It is near Lake Erie, so maybe? Are there lobsters in lakes? Are they just ocean creatures? I have no idea!) (also…I’m allergic to seafood…would my parents take me to the Lobster Shanty? Yeah, probably. Sorry Mom and Dad, but you know it’s true.) and the waiter came to the table and I was dumbfounded. Completely speechless.

Our waiter was Shaun Cassidy.

I was sure of it.

No thoughts crossed my mind like, “What would a mega superstar be doing serving at a restaurant in Ashtabula, Ohio?” (Just like, at the time, I didn’t question the existence of a Lobster Shanty in Ohio, but I digress…again)

Instead, my mind thought “Shauncassidyshauncassidyshauncassidy” over and over and over.

When he left, I leaned into my Dad and whispered “Daddy, I am pretty sure that our waiter is Shaun Cassidy.” And my Dad said “Oh yeah? Like, THE Shaun Cassidy?”

“Yes!” I said. “I can’t believe it!”

My Dad said “Me neither!” and patted me on the head.

I assumed that was the end of the conversation and that my Dad and I were in on some massive secret, and wasn’t that awesome, and weren’t we a sleuthy team?

And then the waiter came back.

And my Dad said “Excuse me, my daughter is positive that you are Shaun Cassidy. Are you Shaun Cassidy?”

Obviously he said no, but I have no idea as to the actual words he used, because, at that point I slid under the table, the original TikTok girl, embarrassed by her Dad. I’m pretty sure I stayed there for most of the meal, (because, again…seafood restaurant, so why not), because I was mortified.

Great story, right?

Well, that, my friends, is not the story I’m here to tell.

The story I’m sharing is not one of embarrassment. It’s one of triumph.

My parents moved from my childhood home when I was a sophomore in college. I was away at school when they moved, and so they packed up my belongings and the movers put them in a truck.

It took longer than expected to pack up our little home, and at the end of the day, the movers decided that it was better to move in the next morning than to try to get it done that night. So, my parents agreed for the movers to bring the locked trucks to their depot for the night.

Except, it rained that night, my friends. And the truck which held everything I owned that was not currently with me at college? Well, that truck’s roof had a leak in it. And it flooded. And I lost everything I owned. The clothes I hadn’t brought with me. Toys I had held onto. My books. My albums.

When they called, I was devastated. I can’t even talk about the books. My cassette tapes that I had spent hours taping off the radio.

But let’s discuss the albums. Sure, it was now the 90’s and cd’s were the thing, but I had some albums from my childhood that I had held onto because I just LOVED them.

The Halloween album that I’ve never been able to find again. My Grease double record set. Along those lines, (and RIP Olivia Newton John), my Olivia Newton John’s Greatest Hits album. Michael Jackson’s Thriller. Some Sesame Street albums. My first 45, Hall and Oates’ Maneater. The list goes on and on.

Among those lost was my favorite album from my younger childhood years, and what I believe to be my first album, Shaun Cassidy.

I had drawn lips and hearts all over that album. I loved it. I knew every word to every song. And, even though, by the age of 19, I had gotten over my crush on Shaun Cassidy, it just gave me memories of the mid-70’s, reminded me of the home we lived in from the age of 3-8, of which I didn’t have many memories, reminded me of singing and dancing with my earliest childhood friend, Judy, and just made me feel good.

For 30+ years, I have always mourned the loss of my books and albums (and some of my 80’s fashion that I had refused to part with). As an adult, when I go to garage sales, I look to see if I can replace any of what was lost so many years ago.

Can I buy them all new? Sure. But I like getting the beat up copies that look more like mine. I buy any Sweet Valley High or original Nancy Drew hardcover that I find. I pick through the albums at the Goodwill and drag whoever is with me in the car to every yard sale just to see if they might have anything I’ve been missing all these years.

With books, I’ve done well at replacing my collection. Albums? Not as much.

Over the summer, I was in an antique store, trying to sell some items, and after wandering for awhile, I found an album section and started thumbing through. And suddenly, I gasped. There it was. There he was.

Shaun. Cassidy.

And, so I had to buy it. (and no, the replacement did not have the full sized, autographed poster inside)

Listen, I don’t have a lot of vices. I don’t smoke, I really don’t even drink, I’ve never done drugs. But words and music? Those are my things. My Achilles heel. My books. My music. Aside from my friends and family, they are everything to me.

I brought that album home and played that record and sang and danced around the room for quite some time. Everyone here thought I was crazy, but for just those moments, I was transported to a simpler time where my greatest responsibility was remembering to take out the dog, and my biggest worry was the dirt spot on my rainbow pinstriped white jeans.

I’ve seen the videos of people playing popular music of their youth to patients suffering from Alzheimer’s disease, and I’ve watched them absolutely come alive. People who have been catatonic suddenly smiling and tapping their feet, and sometimes, even singing along.

I get it.

Music. Your music. My music.

It becomes part of us. It soothes our aches. It sparks our memories. It creates our joy.

Thanks, Shaun. For a little while, I was a kid again, this summer, and it was wonderful.

Signed,

Your Biggest Fan

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