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Have You Ever Had To Make Up Your Mind? And Say Yes To One And Leave The Other Behind?

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Well, it’s done… We’ve just finalized the decision of where to send our daughter, Mary Kate, to college and I can’t help but think of the line from Who Wants To Be A Millionaire, “Is that your final answer?” complete with ominous music playing. The process of choosing a college can be overwhelming, but I have to admit, this time it was absolutely grueling. And, what really kills me is that, upon hearing where she will be enrolling in the fall, I know almost everyone will respond with, “Well, that was a no-brainer. Of course that’s where she’s going.”  They’ll say this because it’s the same school that all three of our sons attended, as well. Yes, that’s right. The original list included becoming: a Huskie, a Leatherneck (I kind of like that one), a Redbird, an Illini and a Hawkeye. And…drum roll please…the final answer?…more drum roll… come this fall, she will officially become a  University of Iowa  Hawkeye. But, the decision was in NO WAY an easy one. Did you notice the capital letters? I hope so because I really meant them. In fact, Mary Kate said she was thinking that maybe she could be the different one in the family and make her own way at a different school. We assured her all along that she should not feel like she HAS to go to, what has become, quite unintentionally, the school of choice for our family. She could do her own thing. But, after an exceedingly agonizing deliberation, she settled on joining the percussion studio at Iowa. With her brother. Continue reading

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A Day In The Life…

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I am a dental hygienist by trade. I received my Bachelor of Science in Dental Hygiene from Loyola University of Chicago. Oh, and a Minor in Psychology, too, so…yeah. I’ll allow a few seconds for the inevitable “oooohhhs” from my impressed readers. Continuing….often, people will ask, with a look of distaste, how I can put my hands in people’s mouths for a living. Truth is, usually, it ain’t that bad. Usually. I’m pretty tough. It takes a lot to gross me out. Saliva? Child’s play. Blood? Please. Wanna’ get a little peek into the brain of your hygienist? Here goes: she probably won’t lose sleep over your not flossing every day. She really won’t. Periodontal disease is not what she lives for. Not if she’s normal, that is. What, then, you may ask, keeps her returning day after day? Her patients. I suppose, at this point, I can really only speak for myself. I work in a great office. The staff work well together and I have never seen a doctor who loves her patients (and is so loved in return) as much as she does. And, to be fair, there are a few patients I wouldn’t be heartbroken to learn that they moved far, far away. But, overall, our patient base is great. Every day I look at my next schedule and think, “Yes! Mary is coming in. Or Mark. Or Karen (you know who you are!).

My husband marvels over how emotionally invested I am in my patients. We talk. We confide.  And, well, we just become friends. We laugh like crazy. I’ve cried with them, too. We hug. And somewhere in between, I take care of all that nagging scraping and x-raying that is required for me to collect a paycheck.  So, today, I had one of those great moments. I saw a man almost ninety years of age. He was frail and in a wheelchair. I love this man. He is so gentle and sweet, you just can’t help but love him. He was a soldier in the Army and served in the South Pacific during WWII. He was shot in the leg. Twice. He still owns and wears his original pair of aviator sunglasses. And he is just one of the coolest guys I know. Because of a recent fall, he is confined to a wheelchair. He told me he hopes it’s only for a while, but I think it will most likely be for good. And that made me sad. He was accompanied by his son-in-law, whose compassionate tending to the father of his wife was nothing short of amazing and, quite honestly, very touching. He carried this elderly man out of his chair, transferring him into my chair and back again, all the while encouraging him with, “Come on Bud, we got this.” Old Jake cannot communicate very well anymore. But his eyes speak volumes. They sparkle when he smiles. And he smiles often. As they were leaving the office, his son-in-law told us that they were now going to enjoy beer and hotdogs for lunch together!  Seeing these two men really made my day and I just wanted to share that.

So, when people make faces and ask how I can do the same thing day in and day out, I counter that it’s not the same thing. Every day is different. Every day I look forward to catching up with my patients. I can’t wait to hear what their kids are up to. I love talking to my teenage patients about how their school’s football team went to state or what part they won in the school play or what college they’re thinking about attending, or what they want to major in. That’s the best part of my job. Quite honestly, the part I could do without is the scraping and x-raying. I know I’m not alone in that. But, hey, I gotta make a living. That Minor in Psych probably won’t lead to anything.

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Cellll-A-Brate Good Times…

champagne uncorked picThis week marks the first time, in over twenty-six years, that I’ve experienced no kids in the house. And, let me tell you, it has been  FANTASTIC. I love my kids and all, but, OMG, it’s been SO nice to not have them around. I mean I’ve fantasized about this for many, many years. Yes, many, many. People would tell me, “Oh that’s what you think now, but just wait. You’ll miss your kids. You’ll miss the noise. It will be too quiet.” To which I respond, “Are you on drugs or something?”

It is impossible to be too quiet. In fact, my husband, who is slavishly working at his computer until the wee hours, desperately trying to finish tax returns before the dreaded upcoming deadline, is kind of making too much noise for me. It’s becoming more and more difficult to concentrate on my reality shows when I find myself continually needing to increase the volume of the television to drown out his sighing and moaning.

This small window into Life Without Kids is only temporary, though. My daughter will be returning home in two days from a spring-break trip to Florida. And in a few short weeks, her brother will be moving back home from school for the summer. With all his stuff. Unless, that is, he manages to get a job in Iowa City. I’m working on that now. Those are my babies. I’m working on the assumption that the older ones are gone for good – confident the married one has seen the last of his bedroom in the basement and my number two son might return home after finishing graduate school, but that won’t be for another year or so, according to my calculations. (I can just see him now dry-heaving at the thought)

But, I do see a light at the end of this tunnel when, come next fall, if all goes as planned, everyone will be safely tucked away in some sort of living quarters that is not here with me. The key word in that sentence is “away.”  Apartment… dorm…hostel…public housing…wherever, it won’t be at home. And, then, let the good times roll… But for now, I’ve just received a text requesting that I pay our U-Bill so my boy can continue his college studies without suffering the stigma of restricted privileges. Back to real life…fantasizing about the day my dog no longer lives with me. Another thing I’ve been thinking about for many, many years.

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Position Available For People With A Sense Of Humor…Sensitive Types Need Not Apply

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A sense of humor is a terrible thing to waste, which is why I am taking this opportunity to publicly announce my new New Years Resolution (stop judging) to surround myself with people who can appreciate a good joke. I’m not talking about practical jokes. I’ve never been a fan of those. No, I’m talking about dry humor. We, here at BWB, believe there is direct correlation between a person’s ability to understand dry wit and their intelligence level. Nothing screams I HATE YOU more than deftly dropping a remark so dry it threatens evaporation only to be completely missed by the intended recipient (thus evaporating) or worse, is met with a serious look of concern. What the world hears me saying, at this point is, “I was kidding…It was a joke…”  What I’m thinking is “OMG I hate you. Remind me to NEVER talk to you again.” What a waste of a perfectly dead-panned moment. Continue reading

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Spring Fakeout…Or Why I Hate Daylight Savings

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This morning , as I was trying to talk myself into getting out of bed amid my  Daylight Savings darkened room, I was reminded again how much I dislike this rite of passage into Spring. What follows is a blog I wrote back in March 2013. The only reason I mention the date is because of a reference to the winter we endured a year ago as not being so bad. No matter where you live in this country, you felt the frigid effects of that seemingly never-ending winter. So now that I’ve cleared that up, read on and see if you agree with me that Daylight Saving is just plain awful…

Daylight savings time is here again. The dreaded calendar date loudly announcing our shared loss of one hour of sleep.  As one who absolutely detests winter, I know I should welcome this moment enthusiastically, as it heralds the return of spring and summer. But, I question the whole one hour of lost sleep. I know logically, that’s the way it works, But, since logic and I have never been on very friendly terms, I contend that we actually lose about two weeks of sleep. Am I alone in this assertion? And, when I say two weeks, I don’t mean that April suddenly is here, with crocuses peeking through what is left of the snow, mistakenly believing Spring has  arrived. Oh no, we still have to endure March, which is the loooongest month of the year. I know, technically, it’s 31 days, but, it feels like about, maybe 52 days. That’s because, even though, mentally (and meteorlogically) spring arrives on March 1st, I’m convinced that’s just a ploy to get our collective minds off of the depressing winter which refuses to go away and on to sunnier thoughts.

The truth we Chicagoans, and all Midwesterners, know is that we are far from the danger-zone of snow storms. I can already hear many of you shrieking at your computer screens as you read this, “Hey, this winter wasn’t bad at all and last winter hardly existed.” Yes, I can feel the hate just oozing as you outdoorsy types derisively call me a wimp.  “Stop your crabbing and get out already and enjoy the beautiful winter wonderland.” To you, I say, “Oh shut-up and leave me alone, all nice and warm under my cuddly blanket.”

So, with Daylight Saving Time here, I suppose I should rejoice, and, fret not…I will (was anyone fretting?)  It will just take me a couple of weeks to re-adjust to the return of dark mornings, even though only temporary, I know, and brighter, longer evenings. So, to my comrades in hibernation, allow me to raise a glass to the return of sun and warmth. After I emerge from winter dormancy under my comfy blanky. Winter, be gone.  Welcome back, Spring.     🙂

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Post-Oscar Rants And My Advice To Future Nominees

82nd Annual Academy Awards - "Meet The Oscars" New YorkAhhh, the day after the Academy Awards. It’s a day spent reliving the moments of the prior evening. A day to indulge our superiority by loudly voicing unsolicited opinions (my favorite kind) about everything from the often unfortunate choices of Oscar formal wear during the insufferable red-carpet interviews to our views on the caliber of hosting performed during the show (um…awesome? Just wish we could have seen more of Seth).

It’s a day spent in either utter indignation over the venerated trophy being awarded to some undeserving actor/movie/hack or vindication that, YES, Argo won. Good for Ben Affleck. And, as always, exercising the enormous amount of self-discipline required to keep ourselves (or is it just me?) from dry heaving at the Academy’s inevitable love affair with certain films that defy rational thought. Continue reading

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“The hell with the rules. If it looks right, then it is”…Or Why I Suddenly Like Eddie Van Halen

MLA picSo, what I want to know is: when did the rule change? I am referring, of course, to the change in the rule concerning how many entered spaces is proper after a period. Of course, that’s what I’m referring to. I don’t know what you thought I was referring to. Just go with me on this, okay? I know I’m pretty old-school when it comes to some (okay, probably a lot of) things, but I do remember being taught, admittedly a few decades ago, that after a sentence, or any period for that matter (colon, for example) two spaces must be entered. Two abutting sentences must never come in such close proximity as one space, or God forbid, no space. This was firmly embedded in my teenaged brain back in the days of typewriters. Being a product of Catholic schools my entire life (well, except I was a Public for kindergarten), this was an unquestioned canon pretty much right next to the Ten Commandments as far as important rules to follow.  So, naturally, when my kids would, in a fit of exasperation, beg me to STOP using two spaces in between sentences, that it wasn’t necessary, I paid no heed to their unfortunate ignorance, while simultaneously regretting the gobs of money obviously wasted on their collective educations. Continue reading

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Have Stick Bag…Will Travel

MjAxMi0yNDdhODY2MDczNjNjZDc5Here we go again…in a few short hours, Mary Kate will begin her odyssey. Today marks her first music audition. Every weekend throughout the month of February, will find her performing her awesome skills before heads of departments at various universities.

We’ve learned a thing or two after having gone through this process a few years ago with her brother. At least now, we know what to expect. Mary Kate has  had the opportunity to meet and have lessons with almost all of the professors for whom she will audition. We didn’t do that with Peter, mainly because we were too dumb to know that we should. Or that that was even a “thing.” Pete was really on his own, and, fortunately,  had the chops to prove himself. But, it sure would have been nice to have a little advance coaching to prepare him (and Mom and Dad) for the whole audition process.

So, MK has been able to benefit from Peter’s baptism by fire. I know she’s nervous. Who wouldn’t be? But, she is a very talented percussionist and hopefully, the powers that be will recognize the gem standing before them in her cute skirt, new scarf and totally cool boots.  Auditions are scheduled after a student has already been admitted into the university itself. They determine whether or not she will then be admitted into the music schools within the universities.

So, wish us (yes – us) luck. I know she’ll be great, and I’m going to try to control the urge to psych out the other candidates vying for the coveted 4-5 openings. But, I gotta’ say, I’m not making any promises in that department. I am, however, bringing my rosary… Good luck MK!!! I know you’ll rock 🙂

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Just Breathe…

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My mom, like many women, battled breast cancer.  And, like many women, won that battle.  Several years after her victory, though, a malignant lesion was discovered on her lung.  Our first thought was that the breast cancer had reared its ugly head for a  rematch.  When a biopsy determined that the cancerous cells actually originated in the lungs, the diagnosis was one that shocked the entire family:  lung cancer.  Stage IV lung cancer.  My mom had never smoked a cigarette in her life.  She had never been exposed to second-hand smoke, as neither her parents nor my father ever smoked.  In fact, she detested being around smoke.  She was one of the statistics you hear about.

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A Guide To Reality TV For The Discerning Viewer…

honey-boo-boo-finagly-1030-600x558[1]Well, June, I’m not about all them big fenagly words, either.  In fact, I hate big fenalgy words.  I hate big, fenagly people, too. Although, I’ve found that I’m quite fond of commas.  Interesting, I know, but, not my point.  Anyway, back to the fenagly words.  By the way, in writing this post, I questioned whether that is actually the correct spelling of the word “fenagly”, but I couldn’t find it in the dictionary, so I’m just going with it.  Anyway,  in the spirit of the new year, I’ve decided to come clean with a confession :  I’m hooked on reality TV.  Wow, that felt so good.  Now, before you go gettin’ all fenagly on me, let me just say that I am discriminating in my voyeuristic drug of choice.   Okay, that was kind of a fenagly word. Continue reading

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