Have I been kidding myself?  I like to think I make the effort to eat a healthier diet, you know, quantity reduction, calorie reduction, no soda, reducing bad fats, increasing good fats, whole grain whenever possible, extremely limited fast food or packaged food, being careful with carbs, more veges/fruits - all that stuff.  But last night, for a friend, I wrote out my recipe for my daily morning smoothie.  Usually when I've created my own concoction I don't write it down unless someone expresses an interest in it.  Here's the recipe;

1 whole banana
1/2 cup froz. blueberries, or strawberries
1/2 cup of a low fat vanilla yogurt
1/2 cup cold water (sometimes an ice cube or two)
1/2 scoop vanilla flavored whey protein powder
1/2 scoop Chai Latte energy powder
  . . . . . and THEN
the heapiest, drippiest spoonful of Cool-Whip I can manage!

Uh-oh, wait.  That last ingredient is not exactly healthy eating friendly.  Crap, now I have to think about this for a minute.  Alright, thought about it - that last ingredient, the uh 'questionable' one, serves several purposes, several important purposes.  First it satisfies "My Rebel" (bad things happen if I neglect her). Second, by adding that whipped topping I get to feel I still have control over some things.  Third, it adds, you know, FLAVOR - what's the point of food if there's no flavor?!  But most importantly, I realized every time I add that silly spoonful I smile.  And THAT is eating healthy!!

After a doctor appointment this afternoon, I checked my phone which I’d set to ‘silent’ before I went in.   Six missed calls and three urgent messages, this can’t be good.  I played the messages;

First message, “Uh Mom, this is Pip.  Yah, all the students and staff are being evacuated because of some kind of bomb threat or something.  I don’t know where we’re going, but I love you and I’ll talk to you later.”  Uhhhhh,,,,,,,,,WHAT WAS THAT?!   My heart stopped, scenes of Columbine, 911, theater massacres all went flashing through my brain .  Next message, “Um, Hi Mom, this is Pip again.  Yeah it’s definitely a bomb threat and not a drill, they’ve evacuated us and won’t let anyone leave.  There are police and helicopters and everything.  Gotta go, love youuuuuu, talk to you later.”  And the blood that had stopped flowing suddenly started again, pounding, pulsing ten times harder and faster than normal to all parts of my body at once, was I going to fain?  My ears were ringing and I had to tell myself to breathe.  Next message, “Yeah, it’s me again.  Since it’s after school hours they’ll start letting us go, kids with parents and rides first, walkers last, but we can’t go back to the school so I can’t get my bike.  I don’t want to go home alone and don’t know when you’ll be done so I’m going to a friend’s house.  Love you!”  A fourth message had beeped in during the playing of the last one.  This new message was a message from the school principal.  “This is such and such, principal at such and such high school.  At 1:30 this afternoon we became aware of a legitimate bomb threat to the school.  The students and staff were quickly and safely evacuated to the nearby football field within minutes .  The police are still in control of the campus and no one is allowed to return.  Students are being released to parents and those walking will be released last and have been advised to head home immediately.  All students may pick up their personal belongings on Monday morning. “   I was numb.  My phone rang.  I said “Hello” to my daughter’s voice, I was trembling.  I was frightened, shocked and didn’t couldn’t think where to start.  Pip told me she was safe and where I could pick her up, she suggested tonight might be a good night for cookie dough.  Yes, cookie dough.  Every fiber and cell in my body wanted to race to her.  Ten deep breathes.  Still not good.  Called my other daughter on speaker phone as I was driving to get Pip.  No answer.  Ten more deep breathes, called my son on speaker phone, he answered and I let it gush.  I was panicked and it needed venting.  That helped, he’s a great listener AND he’s a parent so he gets it.  Pip called through to find out how I close I was, I was nearly there.  I turned up the street her girlfriend lives on and had to pull over to get a grip on myself.   Next thing I knew Pip and her friend were standing at the window.  They said their good-byes and she got in.  We just looked at each other for a loooong moment then I grabbed her and held her, still fighting tears.  Finally she said, “Uh, this isn’t the place for hugging Mom, can we go home now please.”  Whew.  Kiss on the top of her sweet head and we started off.

The story of her afternoon unfolded.  First she reminded me the school has drills all the time.  But this afternoon, a woman came over the speaker and said “All staff are to evacuate their students immediately off campus following emergency protocol.  This is NOT a drill.”  The message was repeated.  “Well of course we didn’t know what KIND of emergency it was,” she said, “they didn’t use the fire alarm.  They didn’t use the GunMan on Campus alarm” – “What?  GunMan on Campus alarm?!”  “Yeah, we have a special alarm and protocol for Gun Man on Campus.”  She looked at me like how can you not know this?  Probably because when I was in school the only emergency alarms or drills we ever had were for fires!  I was unnerved.  An actual GunMan On Campus drill.  Holy CRAP!  And she looked at me like this was as common as a latte from Starbucks.   This is part of school life for our children in this country since Columbine and all massacres after.  Children killing children, bomb threats, terrorists, bullying – its disgraceful and terrifying when our children are calm about GunMan On Campus drills.  Add that to all the “normal” pressures (peer, drugs, gangs, sex, body/hormonal changes and status) of high school, it’s no wonder so many of our young people are stressed, anxious and depressed.  It’s scary to go to school!  And here I’ve been thinking, yes, some things have changed since I was in high school, but its still pretty much the same.  No - it’s really not.  These kids today deal with far more than I could have ever imagined.  She talked the whole way home about the eventful afternoon.  She knew I wasn’t ok and she tried to help me be.  She was also distressed that she had to leave her brand new book on her desk, one she was looking forward to reading this weekend for fun.  Her little face was pitiful when she realized everything that was in her back pack locked down at school – her make-up, her best drawing pencil, the drawings she was looking forward to showing me, her CHAPSTICK (that’s big time crisis right there, 17 and a whole weekend without chapstick – Mom do you know CPR?), her hairbrush!  How will we manage?!  Oh wait – NO HOMEWORK!  YEAH I CAN READ! CRAP – NO I CAN’T!  Whew what a ride we are on.

At home, she let me hold her.  She held me back.  I couldn’t stop with the random hug attacks and she handled it well – bless her .  One of her friends called.  Her parents had gone out and left her home.  She wanted to come hang out, maybe take Pip and go to a movie.  Pip told her she didn’t think I’d let her go tonight.  I know, completely illogical of me, but I couldn’t help it.  Emotionally I needed her close tonight. I think its pretty darn cool Pip recognized that without me having to say it, normally I’m the ‘yes’ Mom.  I asked her friend if her Mom was freaked out too.  “Yeah, she freaked, couldn’t stop hugging me either.”  Nice to know I’m not alone in the freak out department tonight.   

Her friend stayed for a while and we talked.  THEY talked about their day, they talked and talked, I listened and learned what it was like to be in their shoes for a day.  I hope they never have to know what it felt like to be in mine.

Musca Domestica - the common housefly.  A renegade of that species, very large, most likely on steroids, with anger management issues nearly destroyed our kitchen last night.  Ok, so maybe it was me with the rolled up newspaper and lousy aim that smashed the heck out of the kitchen - but hey, THE FLY started it!  I don't know how or when he got in but this guy was evil. 

Coming home for the evening, I opened the front door to see Piper standing in the kitchen, knees smashed together, feet spread wide, hands flexed into jerking perma-claws, eyes crossed. Sparks shot from her hair like she was being electrocuted. Before I found my voice, she growl-hissed, "FLYYYYYY!!! . . . . . . heavy breathing . . . . THERE'S A CRAZY ASS FLY IN HERE!"  I could hear it, them vrrrooooomm, here it came, diving right at me like a WWll fighter pilot!  I had to duck or be pelted!  Damn!  VWwwooshhhh!  This was a twin of the one that got in here two weeks ago!  Crap, what if it was the SAME one that got in here two weeks ago!!

The kind of flies that grow around here may look normal but they're not.  They can't be killed by routine methods.  They have to be killed repeatedly because they regenerate - it's true I've seen it with my own eyes.  The one that got in here two weeks ago - I had to kill that sucker THREE TIMES before it would stay dead!  I smashed it once, scooped up its squishy lifeless body, tossed it into the garbage can, but before it reached the rim, it went POP! in mid-air, was full-bodied and alive again. He turned and came right at me!  Next time I had another chance to whap it, I whapped it hard, I mean I NAILED that sucker!  He fell to the floor.  No movement, it was deformed and squishy again, pretty flat actually.  I poked it for good measure - yup, dead.  I scooped it up and tossed it into the garbage can for the second time.  Two minutes later, I watched it crawl, a little wobbly but still on the move, up and out of the garbage can - fully rejuvenated again!  Geeezzzzz, this was kind of creepy.  I was almost afraid to kill it again.  What if the next time it came back to life it grew 100 times bigger and turned into a flesh eating monster and tried to eat me?!  (I watched a lot of old black and white NightMare Theater movies when I was a kid.) The next time IT landed, BLAP!  . . . . . . . BLAP! . . . . . BLAP, BLAP, BLAP!  Carefully take a peek - didn't want my face bitten off.  Hmmm . . . . . . yeah, smeared into a blobby mess.  I soaked it up with tissues and flushed it down the toilet.  I was taking no more chances. Slept with one eye open for days after that, so see, when this guy showed up last night, I was still freshly traumatized.

But here's where things got really weird - I was all for death by smashing and flushing, however, a gentler, kinder Pip didn't want it killed.  Still looking like she'd been attacked by lightening bolts, she whined "Don't kill it!  It has a spirit!  It's just lost!  You can't kill a living thing just because it's lost!"  Dropping my bags, "You wanna bet?!  Watch me - or not, maybe you should go to your room till this over, it's going to get ugly," I rolled up my sleeves, reached for a fresh newspaper and switched into WarZone Mode.  "Noooo Mooooom, Catch and Release Protocol!  Catch and Release!"
 
"What are you NUTS?!  I'm not doing Catch and Release on some evil demented zombie bred Fly!  If I don't kill it, it'll come back tomorrow and eat us!!" 

"Huh?" she looked her bewilderment at me - she never watched NightMare Theater, she didn't get it.  I probably could have swayed her to my line of thinking if only I'd mentioned the deadly germs (Pip is a germaphobe) The Fly had all over its creepy little body, probably enough to give us all the plague. Here came the The Fly, zoooowwwwwww . . . .  whoosh, I ducked then turned and swung hitting a cup and knocking it over.  He went into the dining room.  I devised a plan.  I wasn't going to chase it down, I was going to let it come to me.  Good plan.  I waited.  I listened.  I could hear it making the rounds, then silence.  I turned to see where it landed and blip! it came at me from behind and bounced off my head.  Up to the light fixture, bounce, bounce, . . . . I can't hit it there, that light fixture is expensive.  Bzzzzz, bzzzz, over to the frig.  HaHa, got you now!  Whap!, refrigerator magnets and papers flew everywhere. The Fly laughed.  Oh no, you did not just laugh at me!  Vrroooommmm . . . swoop over the stove, around the pot, around the tea kettle, I watched, he was still laughing and I was getting really ticked off.  He zoomed up at my face, almost touching me, then swoosh down to the pot again.  He slowed, teasing me, I took aim and BLAAAMMMM!!!!  Knocked the pot into the tea kettle and the lid went flying.  "What's going on out there!"  Pip yelled from bedroom.  "Death Brigade!" The delicate tinkle of fly laughter was all I heard after that.  He took off for the living room.  Alright, huff, huff, puff, puff, plan B, I'll pretend like I don't care anymore.  I wiped the hair out of my crazed eyes and turned my back on the living room - breathe, breathe.  Here he came again, swooping down from the ceiling right at my face, I ducked, he circled around, I started swinging, trying to hit him mid-flight.  The only thing I hit was the pot holder rack/key peg thing on the wall.  That's it, you evil little freak, YOU'RE GOING DOWN!!!  He zoomed over my pile of need to be checked mail, I swung again and wham! - mail everywhere - still no Fly carcass.  By now I was filled with intense feelings of malice.  Up to the light fixture he zoomed again, bounce, bounce - money, money I'm thinking - he kept bouncing, now he was slowing, slowing and teasing me.  Screw the light fixture, be fast as lightening!  Small inhale, tightened my grip and jumped swinging for the light with all my might at the same time.  The light rattled, The Fly fell to the ground, I pounced and banged the heck and the life out of that little sucker! bam, bam, . . . . bam, bam, bam, . . . . . . . . bam, bam, bam BAMMMMM!  I peaked at the intruder.  Looked pretty dead to me.  I gathered all the gross little parts and flattened pieces and gave them the 'burial by swirling water bowl'.

Crap.  Flies can't crawl backwards through bathroom plumbing can they?

Observation from the first day of school: 12 years of growing makes a Hell of a difference in a kid!!!  Pips first day of Kindergarten, she was absolutely adorable with her chubby little cheeks, bouncy long curls, bright new clothes and brand new backpack that was half as big as she was!  Everyone smiled at her sweet adorableness.  Yesterday, first day of her Senior year in high school, she got smiled at all right, long blonde hair, fully developed, shining spirit and beautiful.  I watched her walk across the parking lot to meet her friends at Starbucks, so did about six guys dropping in for their morning go juice - watched her coming and going.  I thought I might have to help one man put his eyes back in his head for him but he turned away just in the nick of time - whew, yeah, my girl has done a lot of growing in the last twelve years.  And a lot of maturing in the last one. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The first day of school is always special, Kindergarten through High School makes no difference. It's always fresh, always new and heralds the return to normal routines. Kids, as kids, don't realize that first day back is a bag of mixed emotions for their parents. Is there a parent out there who doesn't mark the growth of their child, and their childs' advancement toward the edge of the nest by the grade they're in?  As each new school year starts, it does so in a whirl of the bitter sweet that is life.

The day my oldest child started Kindergarten I cried, then hurried home to tell my one year old he could never ever grow up. He grew anyway, like his juice was laced with Miracle Grow.  That day I decided I to make the first day of school extra special for all of us.  I baked homemade chocolate chip cookies. Did so every year after that too. Yesterday I baked my 24th, and FINAL, batch of First Day of School Cookies. Yesterday, my youngest child, last one still in the nest, began her Senior year of high school - Seniors need cookies too. Only this year, I think, Mom needed them more.  Bitter and Sweet.

I allowed myself a few minutes to grieve the passing of my young ones, then spent the rest of the day taking joy from the tradition I was able to give my children - and myself - these last 24 years.

A few years back I remember reading a list someone had put together of all the different jobs a woman does in her turn as wife/mother - Nurse, Accountant, Secretary, Chauffeur, Plumber, Gardener, House Keeper, Cook, and the list went on.  Then a dollar amount was added to each endeavor.  I don't know whose brilliant idea that was but it made millions of Moms and Wives across the country feel gypped.  I think the reason the list was prepared was so that others (namely husbands and children) could experience a greater appreciation for what we do.  I don't about you but I never saw an increase in appreciation.  I was still 'same ol' Mom' doing 'same ol' Mom stuff'.  No promotions, raises, tips or even vacations came my as a result of this cultural enlightenment.

On Saturday afternoon, as I sat outside the twenty ninth (no exaggeration) fitting room waiting for my daughter to find the perfect jeans - I realized there was a category left out of that "What Mommies Do" list.  The WAITING category.  Over the last thirty years, how many hours - YEARS in hours - have I spent waiting on kids who were trying on clothes for school? How many hours have I spent in hospital emergency rooms, how many hours waiting for doctors/dentist/and other health care specialists, how many hours in lines at the pharmacy, the grocery, the library, at the school sitting in a scalding or freezing car waiting for a child to remember you were there to pick them up, and again the list could go on.  I think the reason the question interrupted my school clothes shopping euphoria, was because I'd had it.  Five hours on Friday and SIX on Saturday!  By Saturday afternoon when the revelation left me unhappy but none the less enlightened, I was numb from the waist down.  Maybe from the waist up too. I began thinking if I'd had even minimum wage for every one of those hours, I could tour Europe over and over and over for three years!  Or buy a house, or a really cool car.  But alas, the fitting room door opened, blasting my thoughts and an unhappy daughter emerged.  "No go on the jeans Mom."  Fitting room number thirty - here we come.  wa-----freakin-----hooo.    In my daughters defense, this was no fun for her either.  Not one of my daughters enjoy shopping. They hate it.  "I" hate it.  Just before she came out of the fitting room, I hung my head and asked myself, "whyyyyyy am I here, why don't I just say that's it, enough is enough, we're done?"  I knew why.  Same reason I stuck it out all the other times.  I love my children.

Did we ever find the perfect jeans?  No, and we shopped the hell out of those two malls, the perfect jeans is a myth, they do NOT exist!  But my daughter, frugal little being that she is, got the majority of what she needed to get her started for school and still had .38 cents left!!!!!

Well Piper's been off teenagering for the last three days.  Kind of lonely around here without her.  Guess this is a glimpse of what things will be like when she leaves for good, I'm not ready for this.  I've been mothering for the last 30 years, that's all I've known.  I wanted to go out last night but all my friends are either married or in relationships. Guess it's time to increase the size of my circle of friends.  I went to water aerobics tonight - Friday night, what I really wanted was to dress up and hit a movie.  I so don't want to live out the rest of my life an old maid.  Never been very good at change or growing up and this growing old business so far hasn't been anything to be thrilled about. 

It is nice being here with Ginger and Buntah, just chillin, listening to good music and catching up on news.  Piper called a few minutes ago to say good-night and she misses us.  Guess we're both going to need to ease into the next stages of our lives.  Buntah and I are going to take ginger out one last time then we're going to bed to read for awhile.  Oh, silly Buntah, she helped me feed Ginger tonight.  I don't think she was impressed.  If she could have wrinkled up her little nose she would have!

HOT DAMN SHE DID IT!!!  WAY TO GO GABBY DOUGLAS!!! 
Congrats on making history and Congrats on your Golds!!!  Congratulations to the whole Womens Gymnastic Team!!!  And to all the other winners at the Olympics!!  What a joy it is to watch these athletes!