how it begins.

I originally wrote this post last July on a pity party day. I never published it because at the time, it was for me. Today, I feel the need to make it yours.

I don't remember the name of my 3rd grade teacher. Or the kids in my class. I don't really remember my classrooms or my bus stop.

But what I do remember was my best friend in the world, Heather, who lived two doors down. She was blond and beautiful and every one loved her. She had a queen size bed and a chocolate poodle named Coco. She had a piano and her mother let her eat spray cheese.

My mother scoffed at such requests. I thought I was neglected. No poodle! No over sized bed! NO CHEESE??

Heather and I used to collect gypsy moth caterpillars and make "homes" for them in her sandbox. We would crawl into the thicket in the woods and watch the sun filter through the leaves. We would put her Holly Hobbie dolls into her play baby carriage and walk them around on her drive way.


Heather was always the mommy and I was always the baby sitter. She said it had to be that way beacause she was older.

I have no memories of Heather ever being at my house.

One of my only young childhood school memories is from Kindergarten. I remember hiding underneath a table with my fingers plugging my ears. I remember belting out "The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow" to drown out the teasing chants of my fellow classmates. I remember Heather leading the pack. I have foggy recollections of sitting alone at recess while the other kids, following Heather, played "keep away" from me.

I never told my mother and I always went to Heather's house after school to play.


I clearly remember being in her basement with her puppy. I picked him up and spun really fast in a circle. When I put the dog down it wavered while walking. I felt awful. I still do. My adult self knows why I did it, but still I can not reconcile myself with it, to me it was cruel even then. I feel it speaks of my character but at the time I felt trapped inside myself with my feelings and I had no one to talk to.


I didn't know I was supposed to talk to someone. I thought I was supposed to just feel that way. That was how things were.



Heather moved that year. I only saw her once after. I went to her new house to play. I remember her new room and her things. I remember sitting in the back of her fathers car with her singing Johnny 'B' Goode. She made fun of me because I didn't know all of the words and told me I couldn't sing with her anymore.


My mother always said "I was delightful until I entered school". She thought it was the structure, she thought it was the curriculum. She said maybe I was bored, maybe I needed something more tailor made to the way my mind worked.


I was sent to private school in the 4th grade. My problems with other kids, teachers and discipline continued until I was in high school.


Had I been raised in today's society I believe I would have been 'labeled' and most likely medicated.



I've never really talked about this to anyone. I certainly have never breathed a word to anyone about the puppy. It shames me.


I am terrified for my daughter. I am so afraid of what her future may hold for her. The cruelty of children. The harsh and cold things that mold us into who we are just as much as the beautiful things. I see her compliance, her patience and how she yields to other babies and I'm afraid for her; she is so timid.


This story is only the beginning. For all of the wonder my childhood held there were dark secrets that I never speak of. Memories deep inside. I know the ugliness that can exist for a little girl and I have a fierce need to protect mine.


I just don't know how.

you can't always go home again; and maybe that's a good thing.

I have finally returned from my last trip to New Jersey for this summer.

Can I get a Hip-Hip-Hoooo-Ray?

Riley and I have spent the last 10 days packed into my childhood home with my brother and his family who were in from California.

I can't tell you how good it is to be home.

And since I can't tell you that, I am going to tell you a little bit about being away.

Namely, about my parents house. Nay, father's house. My mother has been gone over 12 years and while the rooms are still as she left them; her smell and her presence are long gone.

Something creepy happens when a person lives in a house 35 plus years as my father has. You begin not to see things anymore. Items outside of your everyday needs and activities just sit there, unnoticed.

Unnoticed that is until your daughter comes back for a visit with camera and boredom in hand. Each night I tried to see the things that havn't moved (for the most part) in many years so I could share them with you. Because I know you care about this right? Well at least my girlfriends care; this is their drunken teen aged years childhood too.

Exhibit A: The Shelf in the Kitchen.



Lets get passed the wallpaper first ok. Circa 1970's at it's best baby. You would never know that years later my mother would actually become a kick ass interior designer.

Please take notice of the Charms container. When my sister in-law was pregnant she craved Charms sour balls like crazy. She was in New Jersey only once during her pregnancy. However here the balls sit. 5 years later. In the exact same spot they were left.

In addition. We have the NY Giants Santa Claus ornament that broke 3 years ago. Sitting right where it was originally put when it broke. It's severed football hand is in a small dish above the sink.

Oh and no mocking of the duck and chicken. I love those guys and they do actually serve a purpose.

Exhibit B: The Weird Hanging Paper Puppets in the 1/2 Bathroom.

Again...wallpaper, oui!

Not much to say about these guys except they have hung there almost 30 years now.

...and when I was there last week a kid, I made their hands do this:

Funny right?

Exhibit C: The Creepy Clown Bank.

I am terrified of clowns and this freaking thing has been taunting me for as long as I can remember. I hide it and as soon as I begin to feel comfortable again it reappears. I would drive it out to the pine barrens and leave it there but I really think it would try and kill me in the process.

Exhibit D: The Cathy Book.

This is the only reading material in our 1/2 bathroom and has been for over 20 years. It was a gift to me from one of my crazy aunts....do the math, I was 13...what were they trying to tell me??

Today it stands as a shining example how things never move in the house....well that and I honestly think everyone is frightened of the bacteria on the book to even dare disturbing it.

Please don't think less of me...especially since I have more pictures to show you at another time and you will have no where to go with your contempt.

That and my father has a cleaning lady (also around for over 20 years) who dusts everything but the book because we couldn't pay her enough for that these objects while she smokes cigarettes in the house.

Whole other story that.

Now...to finish unpacking. Later this week I will share the trip highlights!!