Post Mother's Day Celebration

Sunday was Mother's Day.  It was a day to remember, and I will, always.

Rachel couldn't be home because of the work she was doing at NYU, but she did give me a beautiful bouquet of roses when Wil, Hei, and I went to the city on Saturday to bring home some of her things for the end of the school year.

On Sunday, Wil spent the whole day WITH me and surprised me by taking me out to lunch at one of our favorite spots.  Ever the gentleman, he paid for everything and tipped well.

Rachel checked in twice to make sure I was enjoying the day.

Marc, Wil and I went to a friend's 50th late in the afternoon, didn't stay long because I was very tired, and headed back home to relax together.

I think it was my best Mother's Day so far.  Why?  Because my kids showed me they cared in ways that really meant something to me.  Every good mom wants to know she's doing a good job.  Having kids who show they care shows you're getting some things right.

And They're Off!

Boy, I just looked at my 4-16-11 post and realize it’s been a while, so I thought “I’d better post something new lest people think my Hell days continued. Actually, it’s been a busy 3 weeks but for the most part, it’s good. At work, we landed a very exciting new client and are having lots of good conversations with potential clients and potential strategic partners—I feel very energized.


And it's Kentucky Derby Day.  They're about to start any minute now.


So, I just got back from NYC, picking up some of Rachel’s clothes, books, etc. to help empty her room as her freshman year winds down. Wil and his girlfriend, Hei, took the ride with me and all 4 of us had lunch together at a little place on a corner of Greenwich whose name already escapes me. There was a street festival going on right outside, with booths and lots of decadent, fried food. The entire time we were in the restaurant I could see the Zeppoles, Deep Fried Oreos, Calzones sign taking up a good 33% of my view. I didn’t want them, but my brain kept reminding me they were a possibility.


Rachel had surprised me with a bouquet of beautiful pink roses for Mother’s Day when we got to her dorm today. She can’t come home tomorrow and I honestly didn’t expect her to give me anything. How sweet and wonderful it was. She’s turning into a really cool person. And a true New Yorker. Now when we need to go somewhere it’s she who knows where we’re going and it’s me who’s following. Although I did keep pulling her back when she tried to cross the street when the sign said not to—even when there weren’t cars coming.


We didn’t stay long, much to Rachel’s chagrin. I worked over 70 hours this week, and she didn’t understand that I'm tired and get anxious about the parking outside her building, the logistics of the luggage and other things we had to drag downstairs. We did get lucky and there was a spot when I came up the block with the car. Hei, Wil and Rach got everything in. It was good to see her and hug her. I miss her so much.


I know I was annoying her when I kept trying to protect her while crossing the streets. I told her when I Skyped her a few minutes ago—“You’re becoming quite a woman and I’m really impressed with you—but you need to understand that while I apologize for forgetting you don’t need me to cross the street, you’ll always be baby Rachel to me.”


Man, where does the time go? They’re almost both all grown up.  


The horses have reached the starting gate.  And they're off!


Thank you, Universe for all the good stuff. :-)

Day From Hell, Parts 1 and 2

We all complain from time to time about the day from hell.  Then we hear about someone else’s day from hell and ours doesn’t seem quite so bad.  So here’s my day from hell for Friday, April 15 (and what happened the day before that set it up) and how I got through it:

I woke up on Friday determined to shake off the day before.  Thursday had been a series of annoyances and challenging emotions--being upset and trying to understand the other person’s situation that was causing my upset.  I was great at making the other person feel okay, but I wasn’t doing well because each situation made me uncomfortable because I was the one “sucking it up” and going on as if everything was “okay.”  For example:  the cleaning lady who is a wonderful, sweet, reliable person overslept and called after she was an hour late saying it would be another half hour before she could arrive.  Okay, I rolled with it and moved some projects around.  Separately, a great person was leaving my company after many reconfigurations of trying to make things work and me finally pulling the trigger that it wasn’t.  The other employees don’t understand the situation and I’m left feeling like the bad guy that I’m not.

There were many new business projects in key stages to be dealt with, and then the emotions of the day got the better of me, I felt sad and awkward, and I went home early and planned to work late.  I was one cup of coffee into my evening when a series of unanswered calls to my son and ex-husband and his girlfriend revealed my ex had hit something on the road, had a flat, and was in a bad spot.  Discovering the approximate location, I drove out to try to help only to see flashing lights as I approached.  Heart in throat, I drove closer and saw they were both okay.  Emotional words about cell phones being off were exchanged as was a hug and kiss for Wil and I drove back home, shaken and tired.  

Marc was a a hockey game so I worked well into the night after 2 calls to my sister who has a way of making me feel better no matter what (thanks B!).  Sometime in the evening I found that one of the cats had, again pooped outside the litter box, off in a corner--a new twist on things that had started the previous Saturday when my son’s friends were in the basement where the litter box is kept.  I cleaned it up, ranting at both cats about how this was all they needed to do to find themselves back at the shelter from which we adopted them as kittens.  Unlike a dog who will at least act penitent, cats just look at you like the crazy person you clearly are.

During the long hours at my computer, the cats were nearby and at one point around 10:00 p.m. Glinda came up to me and I ruffed her head and we looked into each other’s eyes.  All was forgiven, as usual.

So I was determined on Friday to start fresh.  It was a day that should have gone smoothly.  We had officially landed a new client the night before (perspective:  so Thursday wasn’t all bad) and I had a call with another potential new client scheduled for 10:00.  There were some things I needed to review, a few strategic initiatives to tackle,  and then I was going to take my son to get his driver permit paperwork submitted and to look at cars.

Uh uh..

Right before the 10:00 call, I realized that I still hadn’t seen Glinda that morning and didn’t recall Marc saying he’d found her.  We both had observed not seeing her in the morning over coffee, but that wasn’t unheard of--her highness usually shows up later in the morning than the other cat, her brother, Jerry.

At 9:45, I started looking for her, expecting to find her under a chair in the bedroom of Marc’s daughter, Ali.  I could’t find her anywhere on the two main levels so headed to the finished basement, expecting to find her on the new sofa and ready to shoo her off.  

Instead, I found her dead at the bottom of the stairs.

I knew she was dead before I saw her eyes.  

I called Marc, then the vet.  The vet called me back.  I postponed my 10:00 call via Marc.  I spoke with the vet about Rachel having lost her dog, her grandmother, and now her cat in just a few months time.  The vet recommended against Rachel seeing the cat “like this” but I knew Rachel would need the visual confirmation.  I convinced the vet’s office staff to go against protocol and not freeze Glinda until Rachel and WIl could decide if they wanted to see her one more time.

Rachel was taking the train to Rutger’s to visit friends there.  I called her and said I missed her and could I come give her a hug at the station before she visited her friends.  She said, “Sure” and we agreed to meet at 1:35.  Then I drove with Marc to the vet, left Glinda there, went to Wil’s school, told him the bad news.  I had been concentrating on Rachel because technically Glinda was her cat, but realized of course Wil would be very upset too.  Of course he was upset and he came home with me.  Marc went back to the office, Wil and I waited around until it was time to go to the train station.  Then we waited, WIl hanging back until Rachel saw us.  She saw me and smiled, then saw WIl, asked him why he was playing hooky, the look that something was up spreading on her face.  I quickly hugged her, held her, and whispered that Glinda had died.  She instantly cried out “No!” and she became hysterical, wailing, chocking.  We sat--all 3 of us--and hugged her and waited for her wailing to subside.  She looked like zombie as we walked to the car and drove the half hour to the vet.  The emotion was about the cat, and then again, it was about more--just as we knew it would be. 

(Freshman year at college is hard enough.  Being in a challenging academic program makes it harder.  Put that program in NYC when you’ve only lived in the ‘burbs your whole life--more stress.  Roommate challenges--pile it on.  Have your dog be put to sleep right before you start it all at the end of August.  Wow.  Now add your beloved Nana dying right after spring break....  Had enough?  But wait, there’s more--now your 6-year-old cat just died.  Go ahead honey, cry--let it out!)

They were pulled together by the time we got back to vet in Princeton.  The vet’s team  made Glinda look peaceful, repositioning her and closing her eyes.  (Many thanks!)

Wil was very upset about the cat but also because by leaving school early, he didn’t get to spend time with his girlfriend before she left for a family trip to California for a week.  I said of course she can come over after Marc agreed to be chaperone because I assumed I was driving Rachel back up to Rutger’s right away.  It turned out that now Rachel’s friend couldn't meet her until 8:30.  Okay, change of plans:  Wil hangs out with his girlfriend, Rachel and I have mom-daughter time.  Marc goes to his home office and works.  (Marc, you are a trooper!)

Bill arrives to take Wil for the weekend and afterwards Rachel falls asleep on the couch.  Up at 7:30, out at 7:45 to get to New Brunswick by 8:30. Incoming texts say her friend is sending a proxy to meet Rachel because she’s tied up until 9:00.  Rachel knows the other girl and they exchange a series of text messages about where exactly to meet.  Frustration growing as pedestrian friend doesn’t know street names or building numbers and gives directions designed for other Rutger’s students.

New Brunswick is an absolute zoo.  It takes us an hour to drive through this very very small city.  Bumper to bumper, lights changing with no progress, something is going on but we can’t tell what it is.  Inching--literally--our way down George Street I can feel my blood pressure going up, my face flushing from the agitation.  

Finally we get to Hamilton Avenue and see a host of firetrucks, ambulances, and police lights several blocks ahead.  Traffic is at all but a stand still.  I ask Marc to walk Rachel to meet her friend’s friend which will be faster than I can drive the last 1/2 mile.  Kisses and love you’s and Rachel is off.  I continue to plod along until I can finally turn onto College Avenue and pull off to the side, flashers on, parallel to the “grease trucks” and the hordes of students feeding on a Friday night.  

Marc finds me 15 minutes later and we head out, moving faster now, then turn right and see Route 18 and supposed paradise--the promise of open lanes and a fast exit.  

But of course not.  

Every driver seems to be on adrenaline and steroids and we witness (and are a part of) 3 near misses before, in seconds, we come upon a newly minted accident in the left lane, cars smashed, EMTs working hard to get things right.  The police haven't’ arrived yet so we’re able to move around the accident quickly.  Sidebar, the other side of the highway is at a stand-still just like in-town had been.  

I feel like I’m in the Murder by Auto video game, which is what my mouth says when I mean to say Grand Theft Auto as I quickly dart around the other cars and move to the fast lane, joining in the chaos and driving well over the speed limit, zig-zagging my way to Route 1 and the familiarity of insanely timed lights.

Two and a half hours after leaving our home for what should have been an hour-long jaunt, we sit down at the Ruby Tuesday’s on Route 1 in Princeton and I succumb to mac and cheese--the ultimate comfort food--and tears.

On an up note, today seems (suspiciously) quiet.

Hello Universe? I Think I Hear You Listening

This morning I wrote the outline of the table of contents for a chapter I’m doing for a book being written for a hot segment in the marketing industry.  It was flattering to be invited to contribute a chapter, and I’m thankful to be given a kick start for writing professionally.  

At the same time, Rachel’s screenplays are getting better and better.  She shared one with me on Wednesday that was very powerful.  I was so certain her class and professor would love it and was shocked that they “didn’t get it" when she read it for them on Thursday.  She’s being so cool about working in their notes and holding onto the integrity of her piece.  Her game plan is to resubmit what the people want but to hold onto her original, more streamlined piece to submit to writers’ contests or festivals or to wherever it is that screenplays get submitted.

Then, as it turned out, Marc and I were at separate networking events in the city that night and took Rachel out to dinner with us afterwards.  We ate at Gotham Bar & Grill on 12th Street in the West Village, one of my two favorite areas of the city (the other is Murray Hill).  She was so funny and intelligent that night.  The conversation the three of us had was one of the best I’ve had all year.  Very inspiring and motivating.  How funny that one of the sparks for my writing more often is my daughter going off to college to be a writer.

How nice that another spark is the woman who invited me to contribute the chapter.  Her name is Shari Thurow and we met when I spoke at conference last year.  I’d always admired her and she came up to me after the panel discussion and was so complementary of my company’s practical approach to social media.  And here it is, a year later, and she’s asked me to write a chapter for an upcoming book.

Another door that has opened is that American Express Open is looking for business owners to write content for it’s blog.  I requested more info and they asked me to submit some ideas for blogs I would post, so this is another potentially large-exposure writing assignment I’ll be doing.  Coincidentally (or is it the Universe making sure I know it’s paying attention?), I met the woman who heads Amex Open at the networking event/panel discussion in NYC on Thursday evening.  Her name is Marcy Shinder and she is brilliant and very down to earth at the same time.  She was one of the panelists at the event, which was hosted by the NY Business Marketing Association at the Forbes building.

The funny thing about all of this is that I’ve been actively thinking about ways to be creative, write more, and generate income from my activities.   I have just finished Stephen Covey’s The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People and am working through the companion workbook.  In setting out plans for one set of objectives I wrote about how important it has always been to me to write.  One of the exercises is to think about what kind of work you fantasized about doing when you were young.  I have fond memories of sitting at my roll-top desk in our basement “playing newspaper.”  I was the publisher:  I wrote editorial pieces and ran the business side too.  

Today I head a company that does a great deal of content marketing though I myself do very little writing other than proposals and presentations.  I need a channel for my right brain and for now, this blog and my little forays into writing more often professionally are helping.  It’s a start that I think is going somewhere.å

Bye Nana

Marge passed away last night.  It’s been a difficult time for Rachel and Wil.  What was originally predicted to be a few days of hospice care had rolled into 10 days and there was talk of moving her back to the nursing home because she was dying but wasn’t dying in a way that required hospice care, or at least that’s the transcript of what was going on as I heard it through the grapevine.  

In fact, while my daughter and I were talking by phone about Nana’s situation, Nana was quietly slipping away.  So when we were sharing how, for her sake, we wished she could go, she went, or, as best as I can calculate, she passed within that hour.

The same thing happened when my mother was dying of cancer back in 1988.  She was in a great deal of pain and, ever the mother, didn’t want us to see her suffering.  She forbade us (my brother, sister and me) to visit her after she said her good-byes, and she thought since she was  officially done, that was it.  Unfortunately, that wasn’t it, and as two emotionally painful days went by, by the third I decided to go back to see her.  I was talking with my secretary on the phone, sharing how I just wished my mom could pass and end the suffering, then headed to the office.  My plan was to go down to the shore that evening to sit with my mom for a bit again with my brother and sister, who had decided to go back too.  But when I got to the office, the VP of our group met me at the door and walked me back out, giving me the news (my sister had called my office).  So when I was ranting about how unfair her suffering was and how I wished she could go peacefully to the next place, she did.

I’m wondering if they heard me.  I’m wondering if they could feel the spirit in which those words were said.  I hope it’s not like the 1939 movie version of Wuthering Heights with Laurence Olivier in the shadows hearing Cathy’s harsh words about him and leaving before he heard the loving expressions that followed.  I hope they know how much they are loved, even now, and how the expressions of speeding them off were for their benefit, not mine, because the emptiness of the loss never goes away, no matter how long they linger or how quickly they depart.

My Relation to the Patient

“What’s your relation to the patient?” the nurse asks.

I think I’m going to get kicked out.  I blurt out the truth.  “I’m their mother,” I say, pointing to my children, Marge’s grandchildren.  The nurse is sweet but it’s clear I didn’t answer right.  “Her ex-daughter in law?” I say, my voice rising at the end like a teenager making a statement.

She smiles and begins telling me about the medications Marge needs and how they will be administered.  She is very kind and I smile. 

Marge is a sweet person.  I’ve never known her to be anything but nice and she’s always been so good to my children.  On the grandmother level, she definitely has sainthood status.

She’s been in a nursing home for several years, ever since she was hospitalized for stomach problems and kept falling out of the hospital bed, injuring herself.  She never went home again and it was, as they say, downhill from there.  But it’s been a long, low sloping hill with little hills of hope in between.  Sometimes she knew everyone’s names, sometimes she slipped on one or two but got the rest right.  But over time, the hills leveled and the downward slide continued.

Recently, the speed picked up and she’s tumbling headlong to hospice care.  

Rachel told me last night that “Nana” recognized her, but then admitted later that perhaps she didn’t know her name but seemed to recognize her face.  She said Marge couldn’t talk or hear and that she was heavily sedated. She then said that Marge is going into hospice care on Sunday and that she’s got renal failure and is teetering on pneumonia.  If her grandmother seemed somewhat “with it,” I wanted to see her.  

It’s been a while, I admit.  I take the kids to the nursing home but it’s so hard to see Marge like that, and she frequently doesn’t recognize us, is argumentative, or doesn’t want to bother with the protocols of visiting, its dialogue, its breaking of a pattern she knows and we don’t.

So when we went to the hospital and I saw that little slip of a body framed underneath the covers but a fairly alert woman in possession of it, I was a little surprised.  She smiled when she saw us and seemed to be struggling to say something.  She seemed to warm up under my touch and I smiled at her and said, “It’s okay, don’t try to talk.”  But she looked as deeply into my eyes as a person can look into another’s and she said, very clearly, “Thank you.”  She was so glad to see the kids, and I guess me too, and it made me feel good to bring her a little happiness.  I felt like the tumbling had returned to a gentle downhill ride.

We stayed for almost an hour and then promised to come back tomorrow.  The script writer in me, always running dramatic scripts alongside reality, suggested she may not be there, but I know it will be a few days, or weeks, before she slips away.  

I hope she gets some peace soon.  It’s been a long life, a fairly uneventful one, and one that she deserves to wrap up soon and move on.  Her body is a prison and her soul is somewhere in there as we had the joy of sharing today.  Who knows who will be in that body in that bed tomorrow.  

So now as she slides gently down the last slopes of the long long glide, I hope the grass is soft, the breeze is gentle and the sun is warm on her sweet smiling face.

Enjoy those you love while you have the time together, even if together is a term used loosely.  Today we felt together, and it felt good.

Another Typically Busy Week

For those of you who know me, you’ll recognize that this is just the tip of the iceberg on a typical week for me.  But this is my place to share.  So while none of this is earth shattering, I do believe that, like the rest of my posts, there may be one or two little nuggets that helps you see we’re all in this together and none of us is ever really alone in our experiences.

So, it’s not that I haven’t been writing, it’s that none of it is making it to this blog.  One piece that started out as a post has morphed into more of a short story, so you may or may not see that at some point.  It was originally about how the cats that live with me are not mine, they belong to my 2 children, but it took on a life of its own as I thought about how the cats have personalities similar to their respective owners, how my “children” aren’t “children” anymore, how the cats are very close the way my kids are, and that’s where it went awry.  That’s because, right now, my daughter is off at NYU Tisch working hard to become a screen writer and my son is 15 going on 20, seeming to have gone from a boy to a man practically over night.  They went from being each other’s best friend and very close to hardly connecting at all.  I can go on, and I will, but not here, not now.

I’m investigating purchasing a decorating franchise to run in addition to my current business.  I’ve been working on a test project.  It doesn’t seem right to say I’ve been working on it--it’s too much fun to call it work.  I really love using the other side of my brain like this and it will be interesting to see where this all goes.

What else have I been doing?  Well, this isn’t where I’m going to talk about DBE but I will say that that business is growing too, knock wood.  But that’s all told on the DBE website.  

I haven’t taken a vacation in 2 years.  The day trips with the kids last year didn’t count.  This year I’m taking 3.  Rachel and I are going to France in the spring; Wil and I are going on a cruise to Bermuda in the summer; and Marc and I are going on a cruise with my brother, sister, and their spouses in the fall.  I’m looking forward to all 3 for different reasons.  

I always wanted to take Rachel to Europe and she’s always wanted to go, it’s just never never never worked out in these last 10 years.  

And the best vacation I ever had was when WIl and I went to Universal together when he was 11, so while this will be very different, I’m really looking forward to the 1:1 time with him, just him and me for 5 days.  

And then a cruise with Marc and my family will be great too.  The last time I went on vacation with my siblings was after my mother’s estate was settled and we thought it would be a good, recuperative and bonding experience.  I went with my then-husband.  Short story:  I have never been on vacation with my brother and sister since.  They are with the same spouses; I am divorced.  Marc and I have been together for 10 years (working together for the last 5 or 6).  This is our first vacation with my family.  I am nothing but positive we’ll have a great time.  

Stay tuned for updates after all 3 vacations.  If my life is any indication, there will be insights and stories to share.

Oh, and here’s the most interesting thing that’s happened in the last week:  first the backstory.  I haven’t slept well for more than 10 years.  It’s gotten increasingly worse.  A sleep study five years ago revealed mild apnea, mild as in “not worth doing anything about.”  This time, after two sleep studies, the report was the similar:  mild apnea, but clearly there was something else going on. A CPAP (air flow machine) was ordered as a first step but oh what a failure that was.  Not only did it not help, but I’ve been so exhausted by the lack of restorative sleep for the past 6 months that even a minute less than usual was intolerable.  (Yes, moving, Rachel going off to school and driving new business development for DBE were definitely stressors--all positive, but apparently our bodies don’t differentiate well between good and not-so-good stress, or, at least, mine doesn’t.) But guess what?  My sleep doctor said that perhaps if I just didn’t roll over on my back, I wouldn’t get apnea for any reason and maybe I’d sleep better.

Enter the shark fin.

Actually, it looks nothing like a shark fin.  It is a 3-bubble device that is attached to a wide black belt that Velcros onto me (this is not me, I wish I looked like this):  

Rematee.com

The hard bubbles keep me from rolling over in my sleep.  While I do wake up, I’m not waking up frantic (pulling out of REM from lack of breathing).  I can easily fall back to sleep.  So for 7 out of the last 8 nights, I’ve slept better.  This is by no means a 100% fix, but its at least a 40% improvement over where I was and it’s making me feel much more positive and energized.  I think as I get accustomed to it I’ll continue to sleep better, and being more rested makes me want to exercise and focus on eating right.  Who knew the shark fin would be the answer?  So if you’re one who suffers from apnea, you might want to try it too:  Rematee.com.  Look in products for the bumper bubble belt that’s right for you.  Yes, they call it a bumper belt, but to me it’s my shark fin (remember Land Shark from SNL?).

Well, that’s probably enough for now.  I’ve got to go finish my decorating project and the marcom plan for DBE.  And there’s more, so so so much more.  But this is a blog not an epic novel so I’ll save it for next time and again and again.

Enjoy the day!