I had gotten into cooking in the postage stamp size kitchen, (one can actually do more with less when forced to).  This particular Friday, I had prepared a very nice meal and we sat out on the terrace and enjoyed the view as we ate our meal.  Needless to say, having to go up 178 steps up a mountain has its reward with an incredible, unobstructed view. 

So we ate and then I cleaned up, we relaxed and eventually everyone went to bed.  Sometime around 11 pm I woke up and felt terrible.  I went downstairs, thankfully the house had two levels.  There were three bedrooms and one bathroom upstairs and one wee bedroom and a half bathroom downstairs with the living room, kitchen and dining area. 

So I went downstairs and tried to lie down on the couch.  My stomach was killing me and I felt sick.  Soon enough, I became violently ill and spent most of the next several hours in the tiny, wee, little, bitty half bathroom floor.  Finally, my moaning woke up Dennis around 4 in the morning.  That man sleeps hard.

There wasn’t anything that he could do for me, but it was nice to have someone around for a little bit.  I tried moving into the little bedroom and all I could do was moan and rock back and forth.  I am sure that at some point I began bargaining with God on various subjects. 

Dennis went back to bed, you know, to store up his strength.  I lasted another hour and a half before I dragged myself up the stairs to tell Dennis that I was finally willing to admit that there was something probably really wrong.  Even then, I am loathe to cause a ruckus, we called his Ma and stepdad.  As usual, they gave us good advice and that consensus was that if I still had the pain that I had, I should be checked out.  I hated to wake up the children, thereby breaking one of the golden rules, “never wake sleeping babies, children, etc”,  but it was necessary. 

So we loaded up in the car.  Um.  Where is the hospital?  Meanwhile, I am trying to not seem to be in too much pain so I don’t scare the girls. 

Thankfully, the car had GPS and my dear, sweet Dennis punched in hospital.  So we weaved our way through the Italian part we were in and headed into Switzerland, which is where the hospital was located.  It was about 6 in the morning.  We went to the Ospedale Italiano in Lugano.  They were closed.  They opened at 7 am. 

All I can think about is who in the hell closes a hospital.  Seriously. 

So Dennis tries another location.  There were three listing.  So we headed off to another address.  This one was a closed medical office building.  By now the sun is starting to come up, my pain is still there, I am still bargaining with God and thinking that by now we could go back to the first place because they will be open soon.   I am also considering just going back to the house and throwing myself off of the terrace. 

Dennis decides he doesn’t care for any of those options and he decides to go for address number 3, Ospedale Civico.  JACKPOT!!  They were open.  This was the 24 hour hospital.  Something the GPS needs to know, in my humble opinion. 

Being in Lugano, which is in the Ticino state of Switzerland, it’s mainly Italian.  So the nurse at the front only spoke Italian.  Dennis and I had taken lessons prior to coming on this trip.  Well, let me say we started out together taking the lessons, one of us dropped out.  So, I spoke to the nurse as best as I could about my malady. 

I was taken back and examined.  Luckily, all doctors in Lugano are essentially required to speak Italian, German, French and English.  So I had blood tests done and and exam and the guesstimation was that I probably had appendicitis but they actually expected me to be in more pain.  Because by now, I had lost my lungs during the night and was so weary that the pain had actually subsided and was just simply a constant serious annoyance. 

So we waited for a while.  Then I was given the option of going home and seeing how things went and they arranged for me to come back in the afternoon for addition blood work to see what it said.  Or they could just go in a take the appendix out.  I opted for the home option. 

We went home and I slept fitfully.  We then dragged back out for more blood work.  Still the same solid annoying pain but not gut wrenching, but SOLID.  I kept hoping that I had a really bad case of GAS. 

Bloodwork showed an infection, so again they considered it more than probable that I had appendicite, but I was hesistant to go under the knife.  In addition there was an overall, dreamlike, movie quality to that fact that I could NOT   BELIEVE   THAT   THIS   WAS   REALLY   HAPPENING   TO   ME   IN   A    FOREIGN   COUNTRY. 

So, they obliged me and let me go home to monitor it at home with me promising to come back first thing in the morning for a follow up unless something got worse during the night.  Needless to say by now, we were now very adept at getting to and from the hospital. 

Now I do need to let you all know that not once has anyone at the hospital come to badger us about money.  Or insurance.  Noone.  They have concerned themselves with my health care and making sure that I am not in pain.  That was such a bizarre difference from the American health care system that it was startling. 

So again, I slept fitfully throughout the night.  We got up in the morning and went back to the hospital.  The doctors still felt is was appendicitis and wanted to remove my appendix.  Dennis was nervous about that so he asked if there wasn’t some ex-ray or picture they could take to confirm the diagnosis.   The doctors decided to do a CAT scan to confirm.  So I told Dennis to leave with the girls since I assumed the tests would take forever and it would be ridiculous for him and the girls to wait in the waiting room. 

So Dennis left and went and made arrangements with the Hotel Lago di Lugano for the girls to be in their Pinocchio Club so they could play and have some fun.   

Meanwhile, I am not sure if I have mentioned that EACH AND EVERY ONE of these doctors was better looking than the next.  And they had accents.    Really cool European accents.    And in my little curtained off area, I could hear these cute, attentive, European doctors talking to other patients in different languages, Italian, French, German.    It felt like I was in a foreign movie.   

Ok, back to me.  Within 10 minutes of Dennis leaving – I swear – they come to take me off to the CAT lab for my scan.  I was shocked.  Who the hell gets a test done that fast?  Not here in the US.   Now, mind you, while the doctors are required the learn and speak English, the nurses and orderlies are not, which they shouldn’t have to, English is not one of their native languages.  But they were so gentle and patient with me on my broken Italian.   And shockingly, we were usually able to communicate quite well. 

So I had my scan and the doctor told me the results should be back in about 30 minutes.  “Oh, ok“. I thought.  “I’ll just take a little nappy-poo!!  Test results take longer than that, Mr Cute, European – Accented Doctor”

29 minutes later he pops in and says, “ We have to take you into surgery right away.  It is your appendix and its swollen and we need to removed it.“

Excuse me?   

So I try to call Dennis on his cell phone and can’t get through because the hospital has one of those internal phone systems where you have to hit 9 and then call out which messes up trying to call our cell phone.  So I start to panic slightly.  One of the doctor’s sees this and asks me for the number and promises me that he will get through to my husband for me.  

So I get wheeled into the surgery room and the anesthesiologist (who is wonderful also) sees me silently crying, asks me what is wrong.  I told him that I was scared that I hadn’t been able to talk to my husband before I was going in.  

So this man picks up the phone in the OR and calls down to the emergency department and instructs them that when Dennis arrives to check on me, since he will think I am still down there, they are to call into the OR and have Dennis speak to him directly!!!!    Who does that?  Seriously.  Can anyone tell me someone that cares like that?  Also, they have STILL not asked us for money.

Turns out Dennis was just coming back in about the same time as I was going into surgery.  The doctor in the emergency room had reached him and he had spoken to the anesteoligist during my surgery.  It wasn’t until I was in surgery that payment was brought up. 

I made it through surgery fine.  My room was wonderful.  The sheets were soft with a high thread count, I could have been in a hotel room.  I even had a DUVET!!!   They served me tea in CHINA with a SAUCER!!  I had a view of Lake Lugano and a balcony. 

I have never received such incredible and personal medical care as I did at the Ospedale Civico in Lugano.  It did make me feel good to know that when we moved here the facilities were good. 

I did have to give Madyson a hard time since she was so involved in the Pinocchio club that she NEVER   CAME   TO   SEE   HER   MOTHER   IN   THE   HOSPITAL.    

I also lord over the family that I took a BIG one for the team by “researching” the medical care and making sure that it was worthy for the family. 

We are all sad.  Very sad.  It’s hard to find people like her; the kind that you would let take your kids for the day and not even need to worry about where they are.  So, I had to look around to find a place for Ava to go during my errand runs and appointments.  I found a wonderful place that is convenient, clean, well recommended and affordable.  It is also time for Ava to move into a social atmosphere outside of her cousins. 

So she starts this week, two days.  One full day and one half day.  She is excited to “start school” like Ada-which is what she calls Madyson.  Dennis asked me the other day, “what do we do when we take her there?” 

I looked at him. 

“You leave her there.”

“But what if she gets upset?”  I looked at him again. 

“I think it will probably be more like her saying, Bye Mommy, bye Daddy, see you later.” 

Me thinks it will be hardest on Daddy.  I have already cut my teeth on Madyson. 

Ava’s first day is this Wednesday.  Dennis is on board to take her to school on Wednesday’s and Friday’s because his gym is next door to her “school” and he can work out and then go to work. 

I have been asked to accompany him on the first day. 

Here in Massachusetts, children need to be tested for lead poisoning.  Ava was tested at 1, but was not tested at her 2 year check up and needed that done before she would be allowed at school, so I had to make an appointment for her to get checked. 

The doctor’s office sends me to the lab that is on the first floor of the building they are in.  Ava and I go in for the appointment.  She proceeds to entertain the staff while we are waiting with her singing and dancing.

We are finally called in and I am assuming they are going to prick her finger.  I assume wrong.  Ava is sitting on my lap and the technician comes in and with her she brings in two vials, a tournequit and a catheter attached to a needle.  My eye starts to twitch. 

Ava sees her set these things down on the small table next to her and leans back into my body and her small sweet voice says, “Mommy?”  As in, are you paying attention Mommy and is this OK with you.

I hug her and say, “Everythings OK, sweetie.”  What I am thinking is: Erika, don’t pass out, don’t pass out, don’t pass out.

The tech puts the tourniquet on her arm and again Ava says, “Mommy?”   I say, “It’s OK, Ava.”

My underarms are starting to sweat and I feel the blood drain out of my body.  Ava is intently watching the tech as she begins to tap her arm in search of a baby vein. 

I get one more, “Mommy?”  and I give one more, “Sweetie, you are doing great, it’s OK.”  I am thinking: your mommy is going to pass out on the floor because, SHE is not doing OK watching this about to happen. 

The tech puts the needle in her arm and then has to ROOT AROUND for the vein.  AllI can think about is that her arm is so tiny.  That little arm of hers is so, so tiny. 

I also tense up because I am waiting for the scream. 

The tech is waiting for the scream. 

The staff out in the hall is waiting for the scream. 

The scream never comes.  Not a peep. 

The vein is found and the tech is filling up the two vials of blood.  She is shaking her head in amazement as she is watching Ava’s face.  Evidently, Ava is watching the whole process with curiousity.   The tech pulls the needle out, puts the bandaid on and turns to me and says:  “She just put some grown men to shame.  She will probably be a doctor, she had no fear.”

We walk out into the reception area and the staff says, “oh, she didn’t do it?”  And I proudly say, “oh yes, she did.  She didn’t make a peep.”  They were incredulous. 

Now, on the opposite end of the spectrum, Madyson has such a reputation in the pediatrian’s office that they won’t even pretend to attempt to give her shots or draw blood.  They just pass her off to the lab downstairs and let them deal with her. 

As stoic as Ava is, is as panic-stricken as Madyson is about needles. 

My mom was raised Methodist but when she met Dad, he was jewish, so she converted to judiasm for him.  She didn’t just convert, she CONVERTED big time.  This woman went so far that every Friday night we had Shabbat dinner with the candles and the bread and the brisket.  Dad, the actual Jew, didn’t even remember until he came home and smelled the brisket cooking. 

We had front row seats at temple for the High Holy Days: Rosh Shoshana and Yom Kippur.  Mom demanded that we were dressed in our Sunday best; pardon the church pun.  I would get the slanted evil green eye look from Mom if I wasn’t intently paying attention to Rabbi Levy’s torah reading.  We had to pay homage to Ruth, the Rabbi’s wife after the services and hand shake our way through the throng that would part like the Red Sea. 

Mom also made me go to Sunday school.  Every Sunday.  For years.  Then when I turned twelve, she decided I needed to be bat mitvahed.  Great.  That meant I needed to learn Hebrew, no easy task.  So she hired Barb.  Barb was every body’s go to gal for learning Hebrew.  We had to wait to get squeezed in.  It got to be about 4 months before the date of my bat mitvah.  To my credit, and I don’t let anyone forget this and I put this in every time I get a chance, I learned Hebrew in three months.  I do better under pressure.

So I was bat mitvahed.  Mom as too old to be bat mitvahed, see.  The next step was to be “confirmed”.  I didn’t wanna be confirmed.  So I rebelled.  My staunchest supporter?  My Dad, the Jew.  God Bless that man.  

My poor Mom tried really hard to be accepted into this “community”.  But there was a problem she was never going to overcome.  This was only compounded by the fact that she was breathtakingly gorgeous, like in a Sophia Loren, Raquel Welch type of way.  This was 1979-1980 people. 

She was a “shiksa”.  What’s that you say?  Traditionally, the word shiksa is used to refer to a non-Jewish woman.  As in, “Oy vay, he is marrying a shiksa“.   Poor Mamma.  Now before the anti-defamation league comes after me, there are “shiksa’s in every community.  Whether its in junior high, high school, college, senior citizen’s center, Italian, Irish, African-American, etc.  You get the idea.  I don’t know what the Irish call the Italian girl that marries the good Irish boy, but you can be damn sure they call her the Irish version of a shiksa.  I sure you can see my point. 

Ok, here is where the story starts to turn back upwards.  My grandmother is 83.  She moved into a wonderful senior residential community in January.  Mind you, this isn’t assisted living, she has her own place, but its like living in a resort every day.  Parties, happy hour, movies every night, outings and three meals a day. 

She moved in and became the belle of the ball.   She also met Irving.  Evidently, Irving is the hot ticket at this place.  So she calls me a few weeks ago like a teenager, all giddy and giggly.  She is regaling me with tales of her friends and activites, I would be worn out, when her voice goes down into a whisper. 

She whispers….”all of my friends, including Irving are Jewish.” 

I have to stop myself from laughing out loud.  You know those people that when they are talking and get to something that they think might be wrong, go down to a whisper, so as not to offend.  Well, there you go. 

I also have to stop myself from saying…”Um, Gigi, you know your son-in-law, (the one that has been around for 35 years) is Jewish too.”  And from saying this…”how evolved of you, Gigi.  Do you want a cookie or a medal”.   But I am a good granddaughter and I don’t.  I say this:

“So you are sort of dating Irving, right?”   She giggles on the other end of the phone. 

“Well, we eat lunch and dinner together every day and we see the movies every night.”

“Congratulations, Gigi, you are officially a shiksa, just like Mom.” 

Me?  I married an Italian, Irish, German boy. 

I have been trying to train Dennis on the art of the little white lie.  Not for the actual act to conceal something, but for the act of making life a little easier, smoother.  Let me give you an example.  When Ava wants another cookie, after having had four or five, I like to say, “Sorry sweetie, we are all out of cookies.  You can have more when Mommy gets them from the store later.”   Problem solved.  This horrifies Dennis.   He feels bad that Ava has been “lied to”.

I attempt to explain:  this way she doesn’t feel denied, per se.  Because if there WERE cookies left in the house, she is of the mindset she could whine her way into the remaining amount of cookies, of which, she is most certain, her Dad-dee, would give to her.   If there are no cookies in the house, then what can one do.   We parents are then able to preserve the energy that would be used up in that battle to use in other battles by utilizing this little “white lie tactic”.

We also only have a small window of time that we can use this tactic.  Soon enough, they learn that we are lying about the no more cookies in the house. 

Now, he is catching on to some things.  Madyson had her BFF spend the night this weekend.  We were dropping her off the next morning and two squirrels decided to race each other across the road at that time.  One, obviously the smarter one, saw us approaching, and put on his brakes.  The other squirrel, not so smart.  I, stupidly, yelled out, “watch out, honey“, causing the girls in the back to ask, “WHAT, what is going on.” 

“Oh, I was warning Dennis about the squirrel that ran into the road.” 

“Did he hit it?”  They asked, their voices starting to quiver.  As Dennis and I glanced at each other, and we could hear the back wheels go thump, we simultaneously said, “No, missed it!” 

On January 2, 2008, Madyson approached me with her birthday “plans”.

She wanted a slumber party.   The blood drained from my body; my palms started to sweat and my underarms started to itch. 

She presented her argument and her list of who she wanted to be in attendance.  She had 10 girls on the list.  Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen.  So I let her ramble on and then I said, “well, I need to talk to Dennis and I am not sure that we can handle 10, so think about who you would cut and I will get back to you“.

I fled to Dennis in a panic.  He said that sounded like fun to him.  Excuse me.  Fun…..fun….??  All I could think about was where would I put them, what do I feed them, how do I monitor the infighting that is bound to happen in a group of pre-pubescent girls.  HE  would be upstairs hiding behind his Rise of Nations game, sinking into the bed and I would have to go down and play bad cop.  So,  I devised a plan.  I would offer choices, tantilizing choices that would lure Madyson away from her desire of a large slumber party.  And I would make this seem like it was her idea. 

I raced to the computer and frantically searched for something great.  There it was; a hotel within an hour from us had an indoor water park.  Perfect!!  I would offer up a night at the hotel and a day at the water park with her BFF, and she would reduce her number.  Now for those of you reading this and saying, why not just tell her no or how many she could have- that is the easy way out.  I wanted her to think she was making the choice and that she had pulled one over on me.  Hee. 

She bit, big time.  And she thought I was the coolest.  For a day. 

So last weekend was the weekend we were taking her and her BFF to the hotel /park.  As Friday rolled around and I was getting everyone packed, I had a tickle of a thought that it might be smarter if one of us stayed home with Ava.  I brushed that thought aside and went about my business.  That, my friends, is called foreshadowing. 

I had booked us in a “junior suite” thinking that it would work for all of us.  It was to have a queen sleeper sofa and a king bed.   Ava is still in her porta-crib.  We walked into the room.  A big square room – like a studio, not very junior suite-ish but big enough for all of us.  We ordered room service and a movie, Alvin and the Chipmunks.   

Ava was wound up.  She didn’t like her pizza, didn’t want any fruit, etc.  She wanted to dance in front of the Chipmunks movie and sing along with them; overall, she was kind of acting like an annoying little sister.  So Dennis and I decided a walk in the lobby with her would be good idea.  The girls could finish their movie in peace. 

Walking the lobby, we found the arcade, a Chuck E Cheese type of place minus the scary mouse and greasy pizza.  They had Galaga!!!!  Needless to say, that Galaga game was all the way off in the corner, discarded and loney.  Must be for the parents when they need to blow off some steam. They also had skeeball.  Ava decided she like skeeball too, or rather she liked the balls.   I unsucessfully attempted to resist the urge to make her throw the balls as opposed to just play with them. 

I ran up to the room and brought the girls down to the arcade.  The arcade was a hit with the girls.  They got cards loaded up with money to play and I headed up to the room to attempt to put Ava down to sleep.  Now, I had shoved her crib in the closet in an attempt to make “another annex” that I somehow thought would be quiet and peaceful.   I have tried this in many hotel rooms we have stayed in.  I once was so desperate in Mexico, that I once put her crib in the shower area so she could sleep.  C’mon, people you know we will all go to great lengths to secure some peace and sleep for all. 

Things weren’t exactly going as I had envisioned.   Ava, who is our champion sleeper, was having NONE of her bed.   So Dennis came up and I went down to check on the girls.  When I left them, they had about 20 of the tickets that you win as you play the games.  I walked in and could hardly find them under the mountain if tickets that they had from a roulette type of game.   They had scored BIG time!!  We took the tickets up to the room to get organized and ready to feed into the counting machine.  They had won over 2,000 tickets!!! 

Ok- we got the baby to sleep; the girls in pj’s and in bed watching 27 Dresses with the lights out.  Dennis was snoring in bed and I was reading a magazine.  Double ok, movie over; tv off.  Girls are sleeping, after I SHUSHED them.  You know the kind of shush I am talking about; where you shush so hard, you think your teeth are going to fly out of your mouth because of your annoyance. 

Now, if I could only get to sleep.  If only the people that are running up and down the halls could be a little bit quieter.  If only that mouse in the next building would be quiet.   If only I had remembered to remind Dennis that I wanted decaf in the cappucino he got me. 

12:20 am.  Ava starts to cry over in her annexed closet and I go over to cover her up and try to rub her back.  Her arm swings around and bats my arm away.  Wow, she is getting strong.  She goes back to sleep.  Lucky.

1:20 am.  Ava starts crying and its to the point where not only is everyone in the room awake, I am fairly certain that the whole floor is awake.  I start throwing on my clothes and I make an executive decision to go home with Ava.  Dennis, groggy as hell, thinks we can wait it out.  Uh, no. 

We walk out of the room and she quiets down.  I drive home in the rain at 2:00 am.  Huh, this is where the foreshadowing issue comes in.  I am heading home, the place that I had thought perhaps I should have stayed in the first place.  I get into bed at 2:15 am. 

Next morning, I hear Ava in her room.  It’s 7:00 am.  She is talking to her doll, Emma.  I have decided that I will just stay home and Dennis and the girls can go to the water park.  I am firm in this decision, rock solid firm.  Wait, what did Ava just say?   She is telling Emma that she is going to the water park today and is excited.  Geeezzzz.  She is so cute as she is talking to Emma.  Then she calls for me…Mommy!  Comegetmeout!!!!  There went my firmness. 

So we get up and I put her in the car.  Yes, people – she still had her pajama’s on.  Her bathing suit and clothes are back at the hotel.  We get back just in time for me to pack up.  I get us organized and ready to go.  We have to check out of the hotel by 11 am.  The water park, which is attached to the hotel, opens at 11 am. 

We queue up and file in like cattle to the slaughter.  Everyone runs around dragging kids, bags and towels behind them in a frantic race to get the coveted lounges.   Parents look like they are walking into purgatory.  We get one and a table with 4 chairs behind it.  Whew.  The girls are gone, racing for the big kids part.  Ava is excited and Dennis, who now achieves God-like status in my eyes, gets into the kiddie section with her, which is in front of our lounge and table.  I get to sit on the lounge.  Well someone has to protect it from the lounge vultures lurking about.  

In this great position I actually was able to witness something hysterical.  In the kiddie pool area, it had spouts that would shoot water up in the air.  Dennis and Ava were sitting in the vicinity of a grouping of those.  A boy ran over to the spouts and starting putting his hand over the spouthole which caused the water to spray out in all different directions.  He also was waving his hand through the other spout which added a second layer of spray.  I became mezmorized by this boy’s kinetic water dance. 

Then I looked at Dennis. 

There on his face was a look of disgust.  I almost laughed out loud.  He was giving this boy the stink eye and slowly edging his body to become a force field between the offensive spraying water and Ava.  But it was the look on his face.  I have never see a look like that from him.  He looked as though he wanted to take this boy down; this boy that was splashing his little girl.  Meanwhile, Ava had no issues.  Just Daddy.  Granted, this boy was rude and obnoxious, but I was most amused by his Papa Bear stance. 

Then I glanced over at the other set of spouts on the other side.  There was a father with his son, also putting their fingers in the spout hole to see the results.  Boys are icky. 

I was tucking her into bed one night and she gives me that look; it’s the look of I need you need to be serious now Mom.

She says, “I want to start shaving my legs”.    I look a down at her legs;  they look fine to me.  Unable to help myself, I look down at my legs.  They need a shave.  Badly. 

I say  No.  I am thinking  HELL NO.  So she launches into her “sell speech.”  She was well prepared.  She explains that she doesn’t understand why she can’t start and that she would like it if I would take some time to think about it.  Yes, people, she is THAT good. 

As she rambles on….my left eye starts to twitch and I can feel the beginnings of a headache coming on.  I make several attempts to cut in with the excuses I give to my husband when I don’t want to shave.  The longer hair keeps me warmer in the winter;  once you start, you have to keep it up; your hair grows back thicker and blacker.  You could bleed to death in the tub.  You can have an allergic reaction to the shaving cream.  Ok, I didn’t say the last two, but I wanted to.

I have managed to deflect her for now.  She is afraid enough of the razor part to not venture in alone, as well as she does respect that no means no.   She hasn’t forgotten though, and I know it sits at the back of her mind just waiting to ambush me at any moment. 

We have also had “the talk”.  I was sure I would be so on top of that.  I thought it would be a walk in the park.  I thought I would be able to tell Madyson everything she needed to make her transition into womanhood.  After all I went through the 80′s and rode the wave into the 90′s.  Really, how hard  is it to have a little talk with my daughter about something that we all go through as women. 

Really, really, really hard.  No wonder our parents gave us that book.  You know the one, it had a purple cover on it.  Anyway, I cracked like a piece of glass.  I even resorted to begging Dennis to have the talk with her. 

So, when I actually had the talk with her, I chose to start with the scientific approach.  Not a good idea, at least in the case of Madyson. This dawned on me, as I was getting into cell division and I realized that Madyson’s eyes were glazing over and her foot was starting to twitch, that I had lost her attention.  Turns out, I had so turned her off of having “the talk” that when I asked her over the next two weeks when she wanted to resume our talk, she would quickly run in the opposite direction of me. 

I finally did successfully have the talk with her.  And it went really, really well. 

Next thing is her ears getting pierced.  However, we have already negotiated that.  I am going to take her to our pediatrician a few month’s before we leave for Italy and get her ears pierced. 

At least we have agreed on one thing as we head into this uncharted territory.

Every day when the clock sweeps around to the witching hour of 3:25pm and I know that Madyson is going to come bursting into the door; I tense up.  I do this because I never know if I am going to receive a happy Madyson, an OK Madyson, a hysterical Madyson, a crying Madyson or a Madyson that just really, really needs to go to the bathroom.  All of this is contingent on that days drama.  And in her world, it’s D-R-A-M-A!!!!   I thought that window that I had left to enjoy the fresh air of innocent youth was still open.  It has been slammed on my fingers.  Madyson is wearing deodorant.  DEODORANT!!!  Yet, as I discussed with my mom this weekend, I was starting to at this time as well.  Madyson has also asked to start shaving her legs.  That is another day, another blog. 

I digress.  Sorry.  

Madyson and I have come up with a tool that we use when she needs to let loose on her “feelings” aka opinions on other peoples way of doing things.  She tells me she is going to “vent“.   This is my hint to keep my mouth shut and not attempt to teach a lesson or try to fix the problem.  She just needs to blow off steam. 

Now, Madyson is very bright, so one has to counter this venting at some point because while venting is good, she does need to be TAUGHT things such as tolerance, compromise, forgiveness. compassion, defending herself, etc.  Otherwise, that girl will hide under the “Mom, I need to vent” cover and think she can get away with murder.  Oh no, no, no, missy.   Not in MY house!!

I digress again.  Sorry.

I got hit the other day with the line.  I am sure some of you have heard it. 

“Mom, you wouldn’t understand.”   

I started to laugh.  Out loud.  She didn’t like that very much.  I got the snippy stare down, which she has perfected;  it truly is an art form.  Although, I have been told that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. 

“What’s so funny, Mom“?  “I’m sorry, honey, it’s just that, I do understand.  I went through it, everyone goes through it in some way or another”.

You could smell the doubt on her.  So I decided to play to her weakness.  I told her a story about my experiences in school.  She eats that stuff up.  Kids are always fascinated that their parents were people before them.  It’s true, test out that theory, you’ll see.  I still am always open-mouthed to discover a juicy tidbit about my parents even now, as I approach 40. 

So I launched into my story and held her attention for 10 minutes and got my point across for that day.  It doesn’t stick, mind you.  Like with all things kid related, repetition is what it will take.  She needs to feel that I won’t understand; I need to try to connect that I somehow do and then we do it all over again for the next 15 years.     Yippy. 

Then I get to do this with Ava.    Double Yips.

So we had arranged for a group of us traveling down the coast to stay at a hotel near where Grandmom lives.  We got in Friday night.  There was a party planned on Saturday at 2:30pm at the place with Grandmom lives that everyone was going to attend. 

Simple, right?  No pressure.  We could sleep in, chill.  Well, in theory.  There was the blonde ambition, aka Ava.  She tends to shatter that theory as she wakes up early and we are always in one (usually small) hotel room.  She wakes up…wants out of her porta crib, which Dad obliges her thankfully as he is the morning person.  Then wants to go around to everyone that is still (trying) to sleep and gently whisper…”are you sweeping, mommy?”  “are you sweeping, Ada” (she calls Madyson, Ada- we still are not sure why).

So, Madyson and I got up, grumpily.  We are not the morning people in the group.  Went to the free breakfast buffet – whoo hoo!  Then went back to the room.  Um.    Ok.    Now what until 2:30? 

I decided to take over and like a drill sergeant, rounded up the troops into a shower and dressing line for the day.  That ate up and hour and half.  Ok.  Well, we need diapers, so lets go look for a Babies R Us, then we can do lunch, then nap for Ava and then OFF to the Party!!!  I have a plan!!!

So, off we go, we off to the store, spend some time there, get some lunch and go back to the hotel for Ava’s nap.  Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.  Ava had other ideas about her nap.  Dad, always the team player, decided to nap for her. 

So at 2:00pm we decided to get rolling, load everyone up in the car and head out to the party.  We got on the road at 2:10.  We were looking for Route 73.  And we looked and looked and looked as we drove and drove and drove.  Then we saw signs for Camden.  Huh.  I know  Grandmom does not live in Camden. 

Um, this isn’t looking good.  As we are cruising thru Camden, I slowly ease my finger over the automatic door locks and locked the doors.  Next up, we see signs for exits for Philadelphia.  So, not good. 

By now, the waves of annoyance and tension are coming off of me like tsunami’s.  Dennis happens to be exceptional at handling me at these times.  He is very good, he gets really calm, even calmer then he normally is.  He turns around and heads back in the direction that we have now traveled for the last half hour.  Words cannot describe my agitation. 

I say that maybe the road that ran by the Babies R US  was this elusive Route 73?  Well, let’s drive all the way over there and check.  Crap, no, it’s not.  And that clock keeps ticking away.

I now try typing into my blackberry to see if I can get directions as Dennis has pulled over in a gas station to ask for directions.  As I am punching the keys on my phone, I am grumbling in my head, how does Dennis NOT know how to get to his grandmom’s place.  She is his Grandmom, for crying out loud.  Now, I have chosen this time to ignore the well known fact that my beloved husband not only doesn’t have a sense of direction, in fact, he probably has a dyslexic sense of direction. 

The attendant, of course, has no idea where Route 73 is.  Natch.

Dennis’s cell phone rings.  It’s his mother wondering where we are.  I am mortified.  She hands the phone over to his brother, the one that has the sense of direction and he gives us directions and we finally end up at the place.  Here is the kicker.  We turned right out of the hotel and drove for miles and for almost an hour.  If we had turned LEFT out of the hotel, we would have reached our destination in 6 miles and 10 minutes.

Seriously. 

Second part:  DAY TWO

On Sunday we decided to head out for home early.   As usual, Ava gets up and does her whisper rounds to the dead people in the room EARLY.  I was going home, so I was fairly easy to get up and get moving.  I packed us up, poked at Madyson, prodded at bags, looked under beds and in closets to make sure everything was collected. 

We again ransacked the free buffet and loaded up the car.  We were so proud to be on the road by 9:15 am.  We would make it back at a decent time and be able to get some chores done and have time to relax and get back on track for the week coming up.  Dennis had decided to take a direct route back and shoot through New York City as opposed to go around it.  Sounded good to me.  We had done good. 

Ava was watching Max and Ruby; Madyson was chillin’ in the far back in her “crib” and Dennis and I were able to chit chat as we were cruising along, making good time.

I glanced up and saw a welcome to Pennsylvania sign and asked Dennis, “should we be seeing that sign”?   He said, ”oh yeah, we go thru a little part of it as we cut up.”   Ok, after all, I wasn’t the one that had spent all of my summers in NJ. 

We keep talking and we are having a wonderful time.  After about and hour and 10 minutes, I look up and say, “is that Philadelphia?”   Dennis gently says, “No,  honey,  Philly is way back behind us, that is New York.”

Oh, ok.  That’s good.  And then I say, “Oh yes, you are right, there is the Ben Franklin bridge.”  (note: not to be confused with the George Washington Bridge in NYC)

Dennis says, “The Ben Franklin bridge is in Philly.  Why do the signs say SOUTH 95?  We are supposed to be on NORTH 95.  Oh jeeeeez.  Does that sign say exit for the Philadelphia airport?     I feel sick”

I start to laugh.  You know when you get that kind of laugh when you are tired and it borders on hysterical and you actually can’t stop laughing and you have tears running down your face.  Yes, that kind of laughing.   Dennis is pale and actually kind of green.  I actually do think he is going to be sick. 

I pull out the map as he chooses an exit to try to get on the OTHER side of the highway, you know, the one that is going NORTH, the direction of our home. 

I was able to figure out how we got into this cluster; we got caught up into one of those around the city loops and if you don’t pay attention, you can circle for days.  We also figured out what exit we needed to jump off the merry-go-round and how to get back on track.  We also waved at the hotel as we passed it an hour and half after we left it the first time. 

As Dennis so eloquently said, “I have heard of people getting lost, but not of people getting lost and ending up further past where they started in the opposite direction of where they were heading.  That is truly a gift.“

Grandmom can’t see very well or hear very well, but she is sharp as a tack and knows her stuff and will tell you like it is.  Although, I suspect, when one reaches anywhere in the vicinity of a century mark, they should feel free to do and say whatever they wish, they have earned the right.  Grandmom delights in her daughter and son, my father in law, and their subsequent off-spring and so-on, and so-on, and so-on. 

I worked on a scrap-booking project for her present of a digital venue.  Instead of cutting and pasting, I used a software program and uploaded and scanned in pictures from the past and present and laying things out, etc.  For me, an only child, it was great fun to work on this project and see the growth of a family.  I did it from the prospective of my father in law’s side.  I started with Grandmom to him, to his kids and so on.  So by the time Grandmom has reached her 100th birthday, on her son’s side of the family, he had three children, who in turn, thus far have given her five great grandchildren.  Needless to say, if you were to include her daughter, who had four kids, who had eight kids between them, well you can see how it goes.  Big family.

Back to Grandmom.  She is a delightful woman, devoted to her kids, grand-kids and great grand-kids.  Always quick to have the candy bowl out and encourage you to eat, eat, eat.  That would be the Italian in her!!  I look at her with awe and always leave a visit with her asking God to have me in her condition if I make it to 100.  She is in her own place in a lovely facility.  Enjoys her bingo.  Is mobile and gets around just fine with her walker.  Her kids are devoted to her and enjoy her company.  

I find her stories about her life and the things that she has seen spellbinding and get grumpy if I have to get pulled away.  I could write books on things she has experienced in life.  So it is with a lot of fun and joy that a large group is descending upon NJ to celebrate this woman’s life, one who will be blushing and pooh-poohing us away and embarrassed at the attention, as though 100 years is really, no big deal.

No big deal, indeed!