Among the myriad of things that kept me busy this summer (and caused an unintentional blogging break) was a bucket list vacation to Hawaii.  It wasn't on my own personal list, but apparently, it appeared on a list created by my hubbie when he was in high school. 

Believe it or not, I balked a little at the idea of going.  I would rather have spent the money on new windows for the kids' bedrooms or on replacement carpet for the living room. 

At heart, I am not a vacation person.  I am one of those people that gets stressed out before the vacation even starts.  I'm the person that has to do all the laundry and clean the bathrooms before we leave.   After several days of hotel staff cleaning for you, the last thing I want to come back to is overflowing hampers and toothpaste residue in my sink. 

I also have to update my ICE list (In Case of Emergency List).  The sister-in-law that I usually give the list to always freaks out a little when handed the manila envelope.   I also go through everyone's suitcases with the zeal of a TSA agent, making sure enough underwear has been packed and that everyone's gels, pastes, or liquids are either packed or in the appropriate 3 ounce containers.

The Spouse on the other hand is a total vacation nut and doesn't stress over anything.  He was the one who went to the travel agent, got the brochures, and came home with a price that was hard to resist.  Don't get me wrong.  The trip did put a sizeable dent in our wallet.  (The recent credit card statement made me physically wince.)  But as I paged through the brochures, I remembered my mom, who passed away three years ago from lung cancer.

One of the things that I regret is that we did not have time to take one final family vacation with my parents and my brother and his family.  We had talked about it but never got around to it.  Then my mom was diagnosed with end stage cancer.  She chose treatment, and in the year that followed, she was never well enough to travel again.

So with my 81- year old dad in tow, my family and my brother's family took the plunge and went to Hawaii.  It was not without its bumps (with a party of 10, make dinner reservations WAY in advance), but it was worth it.  My windows may be a little drafty this winter, but hey, I can look back on the pictures of my dad doing the hula to the delight of his three grandchildren and get a warm, fuzzy feeling  inside.

The whole family finally went to see the movie "Up."   I don't think I've cried so much at a movie since watching "Madame X", an old Lana Turner film, with my mom when I was a hormonal teen.  (If you don't know who Lana Turner is, I don't want to know because that will make me feel REALLLY old!)

For the sake of those who haven't seen "Up,"  I won't reveal exactly why I was crying.  But the movie really drove home a life lesson for me, a lesson that I really didn't "get" until I entered my 40's.

There never is a "right" time.

There will always be another unexpected expense, a work conflict, or some other perfectly logical reason to put off something until the "right" time.  Unfortunately, what usually gets put off is the good stuff - a dream, a passion, a love.

So, whatever your dream, if you are still waiting for the "right" time, make sure you have "enough" time to enjoy it. 

In a household that consists of a spouse, two kids, and my 81-year old dad, I rarely am by myself.   How much I value "alone time" was made apparent to me a few days ago when I found myself eating lunch in my mini-van in the parking lot of Sendik's.

I didn't set out to do that, but it was one of those days where I felt like I was being pulled in a hundred different directions.  After a harried morning, I got my dad's lunch ready and then prepared to go to the grocery store, thinking I would just pick up something at the deli for my lunch, bring it back home with me, and finish up just in time to go pick up The Youngest from school. Quick and efficient.

But as I parked at the store, a local cafe right next door caught my eye, and in a moment of self-indulgence, I thought,  "Why not?" 

The restaurant was packed that day, and I didn't relish the thought of eating in such a crowded and noisy atmosphere.  So, armed with soup in one hand and a slice of pie in the other, I retreated to my car for a lunch in blissful solitude and silence.

I have to admit to a few moments of self-consciousness as I began eating, especially when one gentleman gave me a curious stare.  I thought: 

That guy probably thinks I'm weird.  What if someone I know sees me eating in my car?  I might as well just paint a big red "L" on my forehead.

That was quickly replaced by this thought: 

I am a 40-something woman, and I can gosh darn eat alone in my car if I want to.  So, just walk on by, dude.  

It was not the most efficient way to start my afternoon, but it sure felt nice. 

I am a fairly intelligent, confident woman.  I am surrounded by healthcare providers in my family.  Yet,  I am  somewhat "intimidated" when I accompany my daughter to her doctor appointments.  

Don't get me wrong.  If I saw or heard anything that was a serious problem, I would have no qualms speaking my mind, but it's the little things that make me second guess myself.  I almost always give the benefit of the doubt to the physician/nurse/lab tech because I figure this is their job and they know what they're doing.  I don't want to be the "Pushy Mom".

However, recent events have made me rethink that.

In my last blog, I mentioned that I was taking my daughter to the allergist.  After her appointment, my daughter had to go to the lab to have blood work done.  This was the first time that she would have blood drawn.  In the clinic, her doctor suggested that numbing cream be applied to her skin so that she would not feel the needle stick.  So, a nurse came in, applied the cream to both arms, and stated that the cream should stay on for 30 minutes.

We went to the lab and handed in our paperwork.  When I handed the intake clerk the forms, I told her about the numbing cream and told her what time it had been applied.  She said she would make a note of it.

Well, 20 minutes later (NOT 30), we were called into the lab.  At this point, I should have said something to the lab tech about the time, but this is where the second guessing myself started. 

I figured the lab tech would have noticed the note about the time, that there was nothing to be concerned about, that she knew what she was doing.

Then, knowing something about having blood drawn, having been subjected to it myself on a regular basis, I mentioned to the lab tech that the veins on my daughter's left arm looked better than on her right.

So, the lab tech removes the cream and covering bandage on her RIGHT arm, either not hearing what I just said or, more likely, ignoring the advice coming from "The Pushy Mom."  The tech doesn't even bother to check the left arm.

So, again, I second guess myself and don't press the issue, thinking the tech does this everyday to dozens of children.

Well, you can probably guess what happened.  The lab tech didn't hit the vein, and my daughter felt it (although I think the cream did have some effect because she wasn't crying).  The lab tech ended up having to stick her left arm, the BETTER arm, after all.

After all of that, I couldn't help myself and had to get in a little dig by saying, "Well, I guess I was right about the left arm being better."  No response from the tech.  (Yes, I know it was bad form, but it made me feel a teeny bit better.)

I felt bad about not being a better advocate for my child on that day.

As moms, we know our children the best.  Yet, we hold back, thinking that others know best.  Sometimes they do, but sometimes they don't.  And you won't know which it is until it's too late.  So embarrassment and second guessing be damned, we need to speak up.

I am Pushy Mom.  Hear me roar.

Life-threatening illnesses aside, I can think of no other childhood ailment that causes more motherly distress than allergies.  For the last few weeks, my daughter has been breaking out into hives.  We don't know why, and it is really stressing me out.  At first, we thought it was something she ate because the hives were all over, even behind her ears!  I racked my brain, trying to think of what it could be, but she hasn't eaten anything new.  She is not big on change when it comes to food. 

We haven't changed lotions or soaps.  She has eczema, so we only use unscented products formulated for sensitive skin.  I only use Dreft detergent for her clothes. 

The break outs have occurred at different times and on different days of the week. There is no pattern, no common denominator that is readily apparent to me. The not knowing is what is driving me up the wall.

My daughter is a trooper though.  She takes her antihistamine with little complaint, but I think my freaking out is stressing her out.  As I checked her hives for the umpteenth time the other day, she said, "Mom, this is getting annoying."  

I've talked with other moms.  Of course it didn't help my stress level when I found out from one mom that her daughter was diagnosed with "chronic hives" of unknown origin.  Great.

We have an upcoming appointment with an allergist.  I'm hoping we'll be able to nail it down. 

I try and reassure myself that I am doing all that I can do, but I still worry.

I can't help it.  I just want to figure it out and make it better.  That's what moms do. 

The first time my husband and I had the discussion about spouses being each others best friends, we were instantly in agreement: My spouse is not my best friend.  

We're both fine with that. He has his guy friends, and I have the Cha-Cha's.

For years, I have had a core group of three girlfriends.  We style ourselves after the "Ya-Yas" from the book The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood.  (An "outsider" once referred to as the Cha-Chas, which I happen to like better.)   These women have kept me grounded and make me laugh louder than anyone I know, especially after a few cocktails.  The four of us are an interesting mix of characters.  We are all in our 40s, with the exception of one who soon will be.  One has been divorced, another single. Two of us are married with children.  One I have known since junior high.  We all graduated from college; some have more than one degree.  I know that if I have a question, one of them will have the answer.

I firmly believe that women need at least one good girlfriend.  If you have more than one, even better.  These are the women who will support you no matter what.  This is the friend, who when your boyfriend breaks up with you at his apartment, will drive out there and follow you home to make sure you are okay.  These are the friends who, after you have had a major operation, will work out a schedule to bring you meals and entertain your child.  This is the friend who keeps sending you those inspirational, chain emails, even though you have told her time and time again that you don't respond to those things.

These are the friends that if you dislike someone, they dislike him or her too.  No explanation needed, no questions asked. They always have your back and are always on your side. 

I was reminded of the Cha-Chas when I saw a commercial about four girlfriends.  It turns out there is a "series" of clips about these women.  Here's the link to A Woman's World.

I end with a great quote that one of the Cha-Cha's sent me in a chain email: 

I am only as strong as the coffee I drink, the hairspray I use, and the friends that I have.

I don't know when it happened.  It definitely happened after I had my daughter.  I turned into a "schlumpadinka."   Don't know what that is?  Here's the definition.

I didn't realize how bad it was until the Friday I was supposed to be the "Guest Reader" for my daughter's class.

Let me give you the backstory first.  I drive The Youngest to school every morning.  Being a stay-at-home mom, I don't always feel the need to...shall we say... "look my best" when I am dropping her off, preferring instead to get ready after everyone else has left home.  I don't think I have to describe to any of you stay-at -home parents the joys of being able to shower and dress without a spouse or child walking into the bathroom every 5 minutes.  (Yes, I could lock the door but that would only aggravate the person on the other side who would proceed to pound on the door until it was opened.)

So, in the morning, as The Youngest is getting ready, I wash my face, brush my teeth, put on a pair of jeans and throw a sweatshirt/fleece jacket over my pajama top (which is usually a long-sleeve T-shirt) and BAM, I'm good to go in about 2 minutes.

So we were following our usual morning routine and were en route to school, when The Youngest and I had this discussion.

Her:  Mom, are you coming to school to be the guest reader today?

Me:  Yes, I'll be there this afternoon.

Her:  Umm, mom?

Me: Yes?

Her:  When you come to school, can you put on some REAL clothes?

(This is akin to a conversation that one of my gal pals had with her hubbie recently when she donned a pair of black yoga pants and he asked why she was all dressed up.   Mercifully, she spared his life.)

You know how it is, ladies.  There was a time in your life when you knew you were a hottie.  Then you had a child. Now, you value sleep more than you do eyeliner.  You'd rather take a few more sips of that magical life-imbuing elixir known as morning coffee, than take a curling iron to your hair. 

There's a saying I heard once on a T.V. show, which I think somewhat explains schlumpadinkahood.  It went something like this.  

Once you have children, you stop being the "picture" and start being the "frame."

 But maybe we don't have to be a plain, wooden frame all the time.  Maybe we need to bedazzle the frame every once in a while, if you know what I mean.

Hello Milwaukee Moms!  I am really excited to start a new blog on a site that is devoted to motherhood -- the good, the bad, and the ugly.  In a former life, I was a practicing attorney, but now I am a full-time, suburban-living, 40-something mom to a daughter and a stepdaughter, the former in elementary school and the latter in high school. 

Without really knowing much about blogs, I started blogging almost three years ago at BrookfieldNow.  Some of you may have read my blog, Brookfield Wannabe.  It's been a great experience.  Although my first blog didn't start out as a "Mommy Blog," I've found that some of my most popular posts are ones dealing with my family.   I thought it would be fun to start a new blog where I could in indulge in sharing more of my family's antics, and voila, here I am.

I'm hoping to keep the content of the blogs different, so I hope you will visit and enjoy both of them.

I am going to repeat something today, though.  It has to do with the title of my new blog -- Pizazz.

I really struggled with coming up with a title.  You know how it is.  You try to be funny, witty, clever, etc., and you just come off sounding...well... stupid. But then I had an inspiration.

Pizazz is defined as dazzling style, flamboyance or flair.  It is also defined as vigorous, spirit, energy or excitement. 

It is something that my daughter thinks I LACK, as witnessed by this little exchange.  You see what I'm dealing with.

So, join me in my search of "pizazz" while doing the ordinary things that moms do.