Slow Comfortable Screw on the Wall

So, if you are reading this and you know me, you also know that my husband, Michael C. Horner, is predictably unpredictable. I have been recently riding his ass about his negativity and unrelenting criticism of my lack of enthusiam for making three meals a day for him (day after day after day). I am admittedly not a great cook, but I do make an effort to grocery shop, mix from scratch healthy waffle and pancake batter, make sandwiches on grainy bread and throw in a fruit or vegetable when I can. I kind of go thru my rotation of passable meals and then I do - I acknowledge without reservation - getting fucking tired of feeding this man.....so while his commentary may have some truth to it....we both need get over it.

This is where we have been for the last few weeks....in a marital stalemate about meals and attitudes and tone. Married people know EXACTLY what I am talking about. So, tonight I was late coming home and as I walked up to the back deck, I can see Mike in the kitchen. He is clearly talking to someone and is smiling and pleasant and happy. So I watch him, because this version of Mike has been absent from me (due to my enthusiam deficit). Anyway, I watch a few moments and decide to enter.

I am greeted with a kiss and asked about my day (NO ONE EVER WANTS TO KNOW ABOUT MY DAY)...so I am again pleasantly surprised. THEN I notice that Mike is wearing his socks and shoes AND his 'panties' (actually boxer briefs, but I prefer to call all underwear panties) and  a t-shirt. Mike is commonly seen (by anyone who has stopped by my house) in his panties....but he usually has taken his shoes off. Anyway, I stupidly ask him why he is wearing his shoes while being in his 'panties'....and he begins to dance a sultry dance in the kitchen in his underpants. NOTE: This entire scene is being witnessed by Simone, who is the last hope of us not ruining a kid with our poor parenting skills (we haven't messed Damek and Sadie up TOO badly - however, Simone has the potential to be the best one yet). The dance helps explain (and I am merely guessing here) that he is feels good about taking the recycling and trash to the curb in the panty getup, black socks and shoes. Why? Because it is COMFORTABLE......and THEN, Mike shares with me  that his attire is a shout out to the new Southern Comfort commercial (link provided).

Out of the blue - while jiggling and swaying around the kitchen sink, Mike announces that a Slow Comfortable Screw on the Wall is his ALL TIME FAVORITE DRINK (the drink involves Sloe Gin, Southern Comfort, orange juice...maybe something else). In my 31 year relationship with Mike (clearly I have not been paying attention), I have NEVER, not once, heard him order or make this drink. SO, once again, I am engaged, intrigued and entertained by the idiot I live with. He is a grown ass man, dancing in his panties (black socks, shoes) in the kitchen, declaring his fondness for an alcoholic drink (I am not even addressing the NAME of the drink) in front of the one kid we might not mar for life.

This whole episode delights me so much that I might just be inspired to rekindle my waning enthusiam for cooking. I am DEFINITELY buying some Southern Comfort. And, although I will not tell Mike - the confidence and positive attitude tonight was pretty hot....just like the guy in the ad... rocking it in your panties takes balls.

Relax You Are Going To Die

The Buddhists have a saying....Relax, you are going to die. It is a profound little ditty that sums "it" up quite nicely. Keep your shit together people, I am not suggesting that we all give up and commit mass suicide, just that maybe we need to spend a few minutes NOT FREAKING OUT and finding some pleasure in the present....while we are in fact not dead.

We are fast approaching the 10th anniversary of Mike's open heart surgery. On December 16, 2002, Mike had his Aortic Valve replaced. Thanks to a physical required for application for an Army ROTC scholarship, Mike's heart issue was discovered in the spring of 1983. Mike was 19 years old, an athlete, extremely fit and it was a shock to everyone. The Army turned him down, but eventually he found a way to serve.... a classroom warrier.

I can't really speak to the stress of knowing about his heart valve for Mike. He was aware, given his activity level and he knew he needed to watch for worsening symptoms (shortness of breath, extreme fatigue, light headedness). Overtime, migrains. Maybe from the stress...who knows. Later, he would complain that his extremities would get cold....and they would. ICE COLD! When he was sleeping, the whooshing sound of his heart was audible.

So when, at 38, his symptoms became acute, it was time to do the surgery.
And, HE DID NOT DIE... AND, neither did I - but it was terrifying. Damek was 12, Sadie, 9 and Simone, 5. 10 years have past. A lifetime. A day. A lifetime. The point is ....he is STILL going to die and so will I - just hopefully NOT TODAY.

At 48, I am quite sure not everyone 'gets' Mike and me. Let's just say, we drive each other crazy. I find him endearingly ridiculous. He finds me irritating. That said, I adore him. I do. He is predictably cranky and fussy. I do things 'willy nilly' - just to keep him on his toes. The small stuff of the day - ultimately none of it matters. It all matters.

I joke about trying to keep Mike alive, but something DID change when we were 10 years younger than we are now, considering that he might die. It is the knowing that today is what we have and trying to be PRESENT for the day. So if I am mad and swearing and yelling at Mike, I love him. If he is bitching about the cat litter or how much I paid for milk, he loves me. So we have learned to love and live with each other...and inspite of the look and sound of us, we are pretty relaxed knowing that ONE day we will both die.

"And, in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make." Lennon and McCartney.

November Blues

It is not a secret that I do not relish the 4 months of November, December, January, and February. Having just started November, I am trying to embrace the season. It kicks my ass every year. Thank goodness I live in the South, where the weather is usually better than many parts of the country. Having acknowledged that I have a problem, I would like to share a few things I hate about November....

The end of Daylight Savings Time....or 'Summer Time' as it is called in some parts of the world. Doubting that the time change advocates care what I think, but I actually do not care about saving energy. Don't tell Mike, he loves conservation and recycling and turning off lights everywhere he goes. I KNOW it costs more to heat my house than it does to cool it (thanks to my fancy Geothermal heat pump), but I am pretty sure that part of the increase in cost during the winter is due to the fact that we have the lights on for longer periods of time every day.  Obviously, the change in time is not SAVING me any money. I know once we adjust our clocks on Sunday that we are in the 'real time' but I like it the way it is NOW. I have a few more days!

Dismal fact! I lose my TAN. I look better with a tan. I draw the line at using tanning beds, but I love to sunbathe - as has been mentioned before. I did manage to lay out on my deck in mid October for about 3 hours (10/12 to be exact) in a last ditch effort to maintain my sun kissed tan, BUT even I will not lay out again until March. Without a tan, my skin turns pasty white requiring me to ACTUALLY pay close attention to my leg shaving regimen during the winter months....which is already really pissing me off. Just when I could benefit from NOT shaving, possibly gain some warmth from furry legs, I have to become more vigilant.

My feet hate the cold. Wearing socks and full coverage shoes is just awful! My feet actually SUFFER during the winter months by having to be enclosed in shoes. I try to be accepting and wear 'slids' or clogs and go sockless, but I am GIANT wuss. Once my feet get cold, I am not nice anymore. If my feet hurt even a little, I immediately contact my personal foot specialist orthopaedic surgeon. NOT THAT I WOULD EVER IN A MILLION YEARS UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE ALLOW CHRIS TESTERMAN TO PERFORM SURGERY ON MY FEET. Every fall, I do, however, feel it necessary to have her SCARE THE SHIT OUT OF ME about wearing properly fitted shoes and threatening to give me an injection, blah blah blah......Chris is a fabulous doctor and better yet a tolerant friend who UNDERSTANDS my feet. I am wearing smartwool socks and Keen clogs as I type this....not sexy, but Testerman approved. So there is that.

Speaking of sexy, I lose my sex appeal...if you are one of my children...stop reading here. It is hard to maintain my well documented status as a vixen when I am wearing layers of super NOT sexy undergarments. I have a wide array of undershirts....wife beaters to high end high tech wools tanks. Not a one remotely sexy. Leggings and tights don't do much for my stocky legs - at least bare skin (when tan) has to possibility of sex appeal. Along the lines of having to shave...in the winter, my middle age facial hair becomes more visible. I have to step up my game managing my eyebrows and mustache issues.....IT IS A BIG DEAL and not very sexy.
The cold weather kills my sex life....WHY? cuddling in the cold should be good for the sex life you say....well maybe....but I don't really take my clothes off for the better part of 6 weeks in the DEAD of WINTER because it is COLD AS SHIT. IT IS NOT SEXY TIME. It is wear your moth eaten old cashmere sweaters to bed time with your wool long johns and smartwool socks.

Good things about November, Thanksgiving is a great holiday. I do love the family time and the food. So even though I have a lot of issues beginning in November, I am going to try not to let the November Blues get me down.

Chin up....but I better double check the chin hairs first :)!

....be a lot nicer....

Right now in the midst of an election year, I have friends on both sides of the political fence. I am not going to blog about my own particular thoughts about any of the candidates or issues...not because I don't care or  have opinions, but because I want to be my NICE self. In fact I want everyone TO BE A LOT NICER....

I think I may have mentioned that I have fabulous children. They are each individuals and each challenging from my maternal perspective. I was a bit apprehensive about my qualifications as a mom, so I was not a gal that had my kids TOO close together. I never had 2 in diapers or any of that nonsense. I had my babies ONE at a TIME (for my friends with twins and kids closer together - my respect for you is HUGE).

My first baby, Damek Maxey Izo is in EVERY possible way a drummer with his own beat. From the get go, I was overwhelmed both by the massive responsibility, total lack of sleep and the ensuing inability to function as if my life had not been totally ransacked by this little creature, but also by the complete and total devastating love affair that began for me the early morning he was born. I am not alone here - I have plenty of friends that know what I am talking about. Damek is 22 as the election approaches. This is the second presidential election that he will vote in. As family paintball fest is coming up, I am sure we will have some fun family political debates.

When Damek was 5, Mike was walking him to kindergarten. Mike had moved from California the summer before Damek started school. Sadie was not yet 2 years old. Anyway, Damek told Mike that if he (Mike) was going to be the dad around here, he (Mike) was going to have to be a lot NICER. Mike was 31 at the time. I had had 5 years to adjust to parenthood by then...Mike was just getting started. The point is Damek probably gave Mike the best advice given the challenges of his new role. Damek was just 5, folks, and could see that being a Dad was a difficult job. The stress of the new role and the unrelenting schedule could make anyone cranky....

I was thinking about this concept of BEING NICE as I watched the news. Yes, it is fun to make fun of the candidate you don't like. It is fun to debate the issues. What is the saying?....opinions are like assholes - everybody has one. Being President and Vice President are difficult jobs. I know a presidential election is important and the voting public has the right to know what the candidates stand for. I know that each candidate has a compelling personal story to tell and something unique to bring to the office. At the end of the day, I bet Romney brushes his teeth, puts his reading glasses on his nightstand, kisses Ann's forehead, and turns off the reading lamp - just like me. I bet Barack and Michelle have discussions about their kids - just like I do with Mike. Now, I fully understand MY day to day decisions do not influence MILLIONS OF LIVES. I completely get that if you are the leader of the FREE WORLD you can not always BE NICE. And that conflict arises when folks don't agree. However, we can all agree that these guys are HUMAN BEINGS - just like us. Their supporters are HUMAN BEINGS, too.....not to mention, your fellow Americans and neighbors. Be a lot nicer, people.

So, to all my friends out there on both sides of the fence, hang in there. We live in America, where we are allowed to discuss, bitch, make fun of, criticize and VOTE for our leaders. Let's all do this in the spirit of being NICER to each other even if we disagree. When the dust settles and the ballots are counted, the morning after the election on November 7th, we will know who will have one of the toughest jobs on the planet for the next four years. Who ever wins will  have plenty of staff to help them, plenty of advisors and be plenty stressed out. Just like Damek told Mike to be a lot nicer....WHO EVER WINS...could certainly benefit from that advice.

Soccer Season: A Day in the Life

As you know, I am by my own definition a happily married mother of three. I am blessed beyond my girlhood dreams. I have a full, active life but make NO MISTAKE I am HUMPING it most days like a storm trooper. We are down to ONE KID in the house.  I honestly do not know how we did it with 3 at home just a few short years ago. I am also in SOCCER SEASON…so this is a typical day.

My alarm goes off at 6 am. I hit the 10 minute snooze, lay in bed reminding myself how blessed I am ( I do my gratitude list while still in bed – because once I get up I am in POWER MOM mode). When the 6:10 am buzzer goes off, I am up. India, my sweet cat and I share the bathroom. India likes to drink water out of Mike’s sink….which Mike hates so I let her to this while I shower. I turn on the hot rollers and jump under the high water pressure. I am NOT saving any energy or water here, I am WAKING up and it requires serious water pressure. I dry off, blow dry my mane and hot roll away. I am a professional hot rolling queen. It is a modern miracle. I am not quite Farrah Fawcett, but I like my hair to have some fluff. While I am in my hot rollers, I trek down the hall to wake up Simone. When I turn on her light, she makes the sound of a small baby dinosaur….she does not actually move. I go back to the bathroom to put on my face. I can do most of this without my reading glasses – thank goodness! I dress for the day, determined mostly by what meetings I have at work or extracurricular activities I have (soccer and yoga). It is 6:30 am when I walk past Simone’s room again….she still has not moved….but she is now speaking English and promises she is awake and will be up. I turn on lights for Mike, he mentions in a LOVING tone that because of the OSHA noncompliant noise of my high watt blow dryer, he has NOT been asleep for the past 20 minutes. Not that he has been up making coffee or anything…..I go downstairs.

The morning routine is PERFECTION. I make coffee. Those of you who have had my coffee know that I am NOT MESSING AROUND. I drink STRONG FRENCH ROAST coffee. I do not want some half assed coffee. I want my coffee to mean business. I only drink 2 cups a day so it is a serious 2 cups.   I empty the dishwasher, make lunches for Simone and Mike (school lunches do not meet the healthy Massey Horner standards). I plug in the waffle iron or pancake griddle. I make my famous oatmeal whole wheat batter (a tweaked up version of Mike’s mother Pat’s recipe). I add stuff to it willy nilly….cinnamon, flaxseed, protein powder….just to keep Mike guessing about how I AM actually trying to kill him. I put out the vitamin supplements that we take – again, my ploy is to kill Mike so I make sure he takes a handful of vitamins to speed up his demise. I set the table, pour the juice and fry up some sausage (I know that full-fat sausage is not in vogue but I let Mike live a little before 8 am). Now, usually Mike strolls in to the kitchen, telling me how I need to get Simone’s act together and get her ass downstairs (like I have not been DOWNSTAIRS for the past 20 minutes doing EVERYTHING). So I go to the bottom of the stairwell, using my sweetest maternal voice and yell….GET YOUR ASS DOWNSTAIRS, Simone. It sets a fabulous tone for the morning.

We eat – not much conversation – usually some discussion of how I am attempting to ruin Pat’s perfect recipe by adding healthy stuff to it. A second favorite morning topic is pulp free vs. pulp orange juice…I cannot make everyone happy. Sometimes half and half is mentioned….my inability to purchase the right kind of half and half is legendary and does not have anything to do with the Kroger management at the Fellini Kroger wanting to mess with Mike as much as I do. I drink my coffee black so I don’t really care about this issue. Sometimes, there is a general discussion about dress code violations and cleavage. It is well known that I encourage my female teenage offspring to flaunt their breast development by wearing super inappropriate shirts. Don’t all mothers of teenage daughters do this? It is 7:20 am when Mike and Simone exit the house. I usually sit down with Ruby Jean Massey, the 17 year old tabby that understands me - which is why she gets to have my last name and not Mike’s. We watch a little TODAY show. Ruby loves Matt Lauer more than I do. I leave the house with my second cup of coffee by 7:50 am.

As HR Director with 9 different locations, I go to whichever location the day dictates. I love my job – I really do. We have about 500 employees and no 2 days are the same. Some days are quiet, but most days offer interesting situations. I often eat lunch at my desk, but I am not complaining…my co-workers are fun and after 14 years, many are close friends…so again, I am blessed. The docs I work for are wonderful. I have a lot of autonomy which is certainly helpful for my POWER MOM duties. I know I am supposed to say it is great to work where I do as the HR person…..but it IS true, I work for a great company.

One day a week, at lunch I teach a 45 minute yoga class. I drive, change into yoga attire, teach the class, and am reminded during the short savasana at the end of class (where everyone lays down for a moment), that NAPTIME should be part of EVERYONE’s mid-day routine. I change back into my ‘work attire’, go back to work and feel gratitude for my job, yoga, and that I can face any challenge the employees want to throw at me for the next few hours. However, I have not factored in what my family might need.

My family might need all kinds of stuff. My family might need an appointment with one of the orthopaedic docs….kids and sports….they might need someone (me) to pick up concession stand supplies for the night’s home game. They might need to someone (me) to swing (inconveniently) by our house to pick up a lone athletic bra (or shin pad or something, ANYTHING) that might be needed. They might need someone (me) to transfer money to someone’s bank account to avoid bank fees or overdraft charges. Any drama – call me. You name it, if you need it, I am the gal to call.

I make it to the soccer fields (we have at least 2 games a week during the regular season) usually right as the game begins. I am still in my work attire – which as I mentioned earlier, I try to plan ahead enough to be fairly comfortable….it is 6 pm and I have not been home so I have to plan for heat, cold, rain, etc. My hot rolled hair is still looking pretty fluffy….even on yoga teaching days. The game lasts over an hour and a half. They are all exciting. Depending on the location, I am either sitting on a super comfy bleacher seat, the grass, or standing for the entire match. I am psychic so I do actually know from across the field what Mike as head coach is thinking at all times J.  Thankfully, the parents don’t seem too upset with him most of the time. A future blog might be about being the coach’s wife….fun stuff!

Game over, we eat dinner out…we get home by 9 pm.

On Monday and Wednesday nights we don’t have soccer games, I teach an evening yoga class at 7pm. I get home from work about 5 pm  and make dinner,   I eat light – due to the yoga class. Mike and Simone will be home around 6:45 or 7pm and will eat what I have made. I leave to teach class before they even get home. I do yoga because it allows me to SLOW DOWN enough to do the rest of my life. I come home from yoga about 9 pm.

On either Soccer or yoga nights by  9 pm, Simone has homework so I am consulted about whether she should shower first or do homework first….she is presently in a cast with a fractured wrist so I recommend the homework first. I load the lunch Rubbermaid into the dishwasher, open the mail, scoop the cat litter, do the trash roundup and eventually change into my pajamas. Mike is reclined in his man cave (just for a moment – because he is EXHAUSTED). Mike also has to catch up on the episodes of Judge Judy or Pawn Stars. I start a load of laundry. I remind Simone to bathe. She lollygags and plans her outfit for the next day. Finally, she hits the shower while I put the clothes in the dryer. Mike mentions he needs me to help him send out a team email (I am the IT Director at our house) so I get him started. I scream at Simone to HURRY up. There may or not be profanity involved. It is 10:30pm. Simone needs her sleep. I am folding laundry when Simone is ready for me to tuck her in. I KNOW she is 15 years old and that is probably TOO OLD for tucking in, but she is my last kid. I have already experienced 2 of my children moving out and NO LONGER NEEDING me to tuck them in. I will tuck her in, even if I spend the first and last 30 to 45 minutes of everyday trying to get her to move her ass a little faster. I rub her back and say goodnight.

Mike makes his way upstairs to shower and change for bed. He asks me if I want to sit on the porch swing and have a beer (when the temps are cooler in November, he wants the beer in the hot tub), I feel like I might cry (remember when I get tired, I cry and at 10:45pm, I am officially tired), but I say YES. Why? Because I find Mike irresistible after 31 years and frankly I have not gotten a chance to REALLY look at him ALL DAY LONG. So we both grab beers, sit on the porch, talk about the day. I am reminded that he is every bit the boy I fell in love with. I am so grateful to be on the porch with this man. I am human and I am tired. I kiss him and go upstairs. I text or call Damek and Sadie, who no longer live at home. I love them. I want them to be careful. I remind them about something totally unimportant. I just want to connect to them and know they are okay.

Before my head hits the pillow, I yell to Mike, who is still up, to start the dishwasher and make sure Ruby, the cat, is in the house (at 17, she is too old for the out of doors at night and she is the only family member who likes me in the morning so I don’t want her pissed off by leaving her outside). I put in my pink earplugs and go to sleep. I have to do this again and my day starts at 6 am. I am the luckiest girl in the world.

They still like each other

Tomorrow is my parent's 54th anniversary. George and Faye Massey, married when they were both 18, on September 10, 1958. Truth be told, they practically eloped.  My Mom's parents knew they were getting married, but Dad's folks found out afterward. They were kind of rebels in love. If you know them, I think you might agree.

They grew up in Middle Tennessee, Lincoln County; Dad on the Massey Farm in Kelso...Mom grew up in town - Fayetteville. They went to the same high school. Dad played football, Mom was a homecoming queen and cheerleader. Classic American Apple Pie stuff. The first four years of their marriage, they lived in Knoxville where Dad got his undergraduate degree at UT. Mom worked on campus. By all accounts, they had a blast.

I wasn't born until 1964, so they had been married a while before starting a family. That said, I have had a front row seat to most of their marriage and can attest to the fact that they have it right.

Commitment - duh, right? 54 years! They have supported each other in many endeavors. My Dad's 21 year career in the Army - numerous moves. My Mom's sweat shirt business, that paid the bills while they transitioned from life in the military to life as civilians. They had 2 kids in college! None of us borrowed a penny to get our undergraduate degrees. Pretty impressive. I have 2 college kids myself now so NOW I get it. It sounds corny, but even as a little girl, I remember thinking about how much they depended on each other - both far from their families. George and Faye were a united front and both rock solid for me, my sister and brother.

Conflict. If you live with someone for 54 years, they are bound to get on your nerves. My parents didn't fight a lot, but ENOUGH. My Dad can blow up at tools, lawnmovers, cars, the last known location of his glasses, the newspaper, Mom's organization of the kitchen drawers, who has the keys to the house, who has the tickets to whatever event they are going to, what time family vacations begin....you get the picture. His bark is much worse than his bite - not that I plan to test my theory. Mom would listen to him and softly, in her quiet southern accent say, "You can kiss my ass, George Massey". More often than not, this would amuse him more than make him mad. You don't even want to see Mom get mad - I think I have avoided it since my teens. My point remains. They showed us that conflict is part of long term relationships. You can fight and stay together. You can agree to disagree.

Courage. My Dad served 2 tours of duty in Vietnam. I was too young to remember the first tour, but I was in second grade the second time he went. Dad sent letters at regular intervals to us. My Mom made scrap books of these and saved them for us - I still have them as well as the letters my second grade self sent to him. Mom never let on how hard it must have been for her with 3 little kids while he was gone. It was different than today (not to discount what troops and their families go thru in the present) - no internet, no cell phones. Lil G (as my kids call Mom - it's her gangster name, short for Little Granny) was a Rock. Dad did his duty, but Mom served as well. Courage - yeah, they've got it.

Attraction. Okay, I am going to go here....but the PG-13 version. My parents have never made any bones about being attracted to each other. Even though Mom only admits to having had sex 3 times (all 3 times resulting in a child), I can remember them always being into each other. My Dad has always bought Mom sexy underwear for her birthday and Christmas and given it to her in front of the WHOLE family. I have to say, she has some sexy stuff. One year, Mom got Dad some silky boxers as pay back for all the years of embarrassing moments. He did not mind at all. Countless times, I have caught my folks in an embrace, flirting with each other when they did not know I was watching.

Autonomy. Mom and Dad do tons of stuff together, but they do stuff on their own as well. Dad golfs and tinkers, Mom plays bridge, quilts, and sews. They work on projects together. Obviously, they have had many years to work out the kinks, but again it has been a good example for us. Most recently, both at 72, they built a deck at their new house together.

54 years. And, as Mom told a friend of mine at dinner one night, they still like each other. They have 3 kids...me, Suzanne, and George as well as 3 in-laws....Mike, Doug and Monica. They have 6 grandkids...Damek, 22, Sadie, 19, Simone, 15, Libby, 12, Haley, 9, and Max, 4.

Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad. Your family adores you. Keep up the good work.

Bane of my existence - OR just my little sister?

Something or someone is "the bane of my existence" means that the person or thing is a constant irritant or source of misery....

47 years ago, my sister, Suzanne Maxey Massey, was born on what my parent's brilliantly designated 'NATIONAL PICNIC DAY', August 22, 1965. Explanation: I was born on Valentine's Day in 1964, 5 years later in 1969....little Georgie, my baby brother was born on Easter Sunday...so Mom and Dad made up National Picnic Day. National Picnic Day 1965 changed everything for me...and I was only 18 months old.

 I am the oldest kid, which folks who know me will tell you, is perfect for my personality. At 48, I still think if my siblings would do what I tell them, they would be a lot better off. This never really happened while we were growing up, doesn't happen now, but I still like to think I could help them out if they would just ask :). The sad part is they don't need my help - especially Suzanne.

Suzanne was always right behind me at every developmental milestone. I had 18 months on her and for awhile that worked for me. I did manage to stay one step ahead of her for years, but then when we became teenagers, she caught up. She was a super track star, running the mile relay and cross country. I eventually grew to love cross country, but did not actually believe in sweating until college. She was class president and very well thought of by her peers... while I was voted 'most eccentric'. (Note to my children - that does not mean 'most weird'). Needlesstosay, we are very different. I am naturally outgoing and (dare I say it) opinionated. Suzanne is ever the diplomat - unless you piss her off. - just ask Doug. She even thanks the cops who work at 5K road races...and will let someone pass her in the last 50 yards of the race. People say Suzanne is nicer than me....and I have to admit it is a little bit true.

Today, Suzanne, married to Doug, is a 'Big Dog'. She is the principal at an elementary school with 600 students. She manages a large staff, the PTA loves her, and she even has 3 grandkids (thanks to Doug's kids) that she gets to spoil. My kids know how to work her...Aunt Nan is a bit partial to my brats. I am grateful that they have her in case I lose my mind and they need a rational adult to talk to (Mike does not generally qualify as such if I have lost my mind - his is gone, too).

Suzanne's house is spotless, she is uber organized. Her car smells brand new and does not have any random sport bras or soccer cleats flying around in it. She always looks put together, even her under garments are pretty....mine are functional and boring. Her hair is a real style - she maintains it professionally. I cut my own bangs and sometimes don't wash my hair for 3 days in a row. She likes to shop - which I hate and my girls love....she lets them bitch about me, which I hate and they also love. She NEVER swears...well, sometimes, she says 'shit'....I have been known to swear on occasion (I taught most of Damek's friends to swear properly).

I could go on and on about all the things we have shared...bedrooms growing up, girlfriends - even now, vacations, heartbreaks, holidays, bottles of wine, parents...and even a brother. I totally take her for granted way too much. We have been team mates, roommates, enemies, and bridesmaids to one another. We share a million memories and the future.

Bane of my existence is probably a bit of much....Suzanne is my oldest dearest friend and knows all my flawed, limited, personality traits.

Happy National Picnic Day to my sweet sister! I love you!