It’s only day two, but spring break can be tiring so I definitely want to pace myself. I scheduled myself a day of ease today and decided to just stay home and do some baking.

I mean, it had nothing to do with the fact that I could not get out of my driveway.

Yep, that’s the view of my street from my garage. There is a giant truck blocking me from getting out.  I’m sure the county felt spring break was the perfect time to barricade people in their houses, because what fools would stay in Chicago this time of year?

I mean, why would I want to take advantage of NO PLANS on spring break by sleeping in? Sleep is overrated anyway.  Wouldn’t YOU just get up when you hear construction workers outside your house pounding and scraping and drilling at 6am?

Here is the view from the street:

Can you see my house?  You can’t?

I CANT EITHER.

So….what better to do with all my free time at home than bake? But not just any baking. LENTEN baking. Because when you’re Greek Orthodox you really shouldn’t be eating meat, fish, dairy or eggs for 40 days.  But actually it’s 49.  Nope. It isn’t 49 either.  It’s 55.  You think it’s 40 days your whole life until you become an adult and you really count it out and see that your mom and dad tricked you your whole life. But that’s a different blog. Anyway, THANK GOODNESS I am not in some tropical location with fresh fish and sprawling buffets during Lent!!  Who wants that?? I will stick with my pasta and salad with vinegar thank you very much.

Anyway, today I decided to bake a cake without eggs or dairy products.  Omitting what seems like essential items makes baking a cake challenging FUN!  First, google “vegan desserts” and then go directly to the grocery store because I guarantee you won’t have most of the ingredients in your cupboard.  Pick up your tahini, sunflower butter, and coconut oil and run home and start baking!!

The result was a spice cake that was a bit heavy on the clove flavor, weighed around 13 pounds, and had a bit of an after-taste.  But hey, if you gave up sweets for Lent and don’t want to feel guilty about enjoying yourself then this is the dessert for you!

What an amazing day.  I mean, can you bake at some lame resort in HAWAII?  I DON’T THINK SO!! They probably don’t even let you near their kitchen.  That would suck.  I mean, how are you going to get your soy milk and flax-seed??

Back by popular demand…SPRING BREAK…3rd EDITION!!

Every year since I first did this (2014), I have had people ask me if I am going to chronicle my Spring Break escapades again. Well, the moment you’ve been waiting for is here.

In honor of all of us who DID NOT GO ANYWHERE, each day of Spring Break I will be posting a picture of myself doing super awesome random things around the great city of Downers Grove.

As you scroll through Instagram and Facebook, please enjoy my pictures and anecdotes nestled in between the photos of your friends in warm and exotic locations.

Day One: Yesterday I went with my friend Kristina to pick up some magazines for her flight to Mexico and subsequent week on the beach.  Did we go to CVS? NO! Kristina doesn’t roll that way. We went to Barnes and Noble for the fancy stuff.  However, it ended up being a good call because I was able to get some light reading of my own to occupy all my free time this week.

And do you want to know what the greatest part is? I have all the time in the world to get through these books. No getting up to reapply sunscreen. No fighting with somebody over a beach chair. And best of all, no sand in my books! Fasten your seatbelts people. It’s going to be a crazy ride.

Above: Just a few of my favorite pick-me-up reads! !

Top Pic: Kristina taking a break from packing

I am hot.  All the time.

When I sing along to the songs on the radio (loudly and with glee I might add), my kids don’t hesitate to tell me I am getting most of the words wrong.

Wearing readers has become a full-time necessity.

I have no problem drilling Teddy and his friends with embarrassing questions about girls.

I have a days of the week pill-box.

All of these things can only mean one thing:

I have officially become my mother.

Several years ago when my sister turned 50 we had a girl’s weekend here in Chicago.  We presented her with all the usual gag gifts that come with turning older, including a pin that said “50” and would light up when you pushed a button on the front.  We made her wear it when we went shopping and vowed to push it whenever she did something “old-lady-ish.”   So there we were, walking around Oakbrook Mall….

Past Hollister with the heavy scent of young men’s cologne wafting out of the doors….”Ugh, it stinks in there!”  PUSH

Browsing the racks of Macy’s….”It’s SO HOT in here!” PUSH

Looking around Abercrombie….”This music is so LOUD!!”  PUSH

Outside of Lord & Taylor…”I need to stop and go to the bathroom again.” PUSH! PUSH! PUSH!

And each and every time we laughed harder at her complaining and impatience with the world.

Well, as Gomer Pyle says, “surprise surprise surprise.” Here I am.  (And if you didn’t think I was old before there’s a reference for you.)

And just like 40, it all seemed to happen overnight.

When I turned 40 I remember everything hitting me at once. It was like Mother Nature said “Why have these things come gradually? Let’s just give you all your issues at once to get them over with.”  Fifty seems to want to continue her cruel trick.

Readers of my blog know that I have terrible eyesight.  For almost 40 years I could not see anything far away.  Suddenly I can’t see anything close up anymore either. My prescription is literally going in reverse.  You would think I would achieve a perfect balance and finally see 20/20.  Nope. I simply can’t see near OR far now. Hello, bifocals.

Here’s another one for you: Eyebrows. I have always had thick eyebrows. Once I got them under control I actually liked them. I don’t have to color them in or change the shape too much. Just some clean up every few weeks. Welp, no more. Once 50 was in sight I suddenly inherited my dads “tricky” eyebrows as we used to call them. Full and bushy with individual long wiry hairs with a mind of their own, trying to dislodge themselves from the pack.

At a recent dance I chaperoned for my 8th grader I found myself judging the outfits of the 13-year-old girls.  “Who is that?  That one’s wearing way too much makeup.  Don’t like that dress at all.  Oh she’s cute, I wonder if she knows Teddy.”

I am less and less patient with my kids and their stories. “And then we were playing football and I fell and….”  Yeah yeah yeah you told me this already.  Go watch YouTube.

It took 10 minutes trying to find the value of my house online until I realized I was on Reddit not Redfin.

It’s taking everything in my power not to tell my nephew to cut his hair.

I find myself criticizing Ariana Grande because of her high voice and whiny vocal runs. Usually I do this out loud in the car while her music is playing on the radio. Just enough so that none of the passengers can enjoy listening to her songs.   It’s like 1980 all over again with my mom and Madonna.

I asked my friend if her son and a girl he liked were an “item” yet. The minute it came out of my mouth I heard it. Oh Lord I am an old lady. Who says “item” anymore? Next thing you know I will ask if they are “necking.”

Also, I think I’m getting shorter.  For real.

It’s not the end of the world.  I mean,  I don’t look like the crypt-keeper.  It’s just, no one is going to mistake that I’m in my 30’s anymore.  In fact, now I’m going to be excited about people thinking I’m in my 40’s. Read that again.  I WILL NOW BE EXCITED ABOUT PEOPLE THINKING I’M IN MY 40’S!!

The good news is I’m not yet reading through the obituaries. I haven’t been spotted inside a Chico’s.  I don’t have season tickets to Ravinia.  In fact, now that I think about it, I’m still acting like I’m 43 at most.  Now excuse me while I go take a nap.

Above: For those who don’t understand the reference: She’s Sally O’Malley and she’s proud to say she’s 50 years old. She’s not one of those gals who’s afraid to tell her real age, and she likes to KICK, STRETCH, and KICK!  She’s FIFTY!!!

Year One

Year Two

Year Three

Year Four

Year Five

Year Six

Year Seven

Year Eight

Year Nine

Year Ten

Year Eleven

Year Twelve

Year Thirteen

This is the final blog in the series.

Jr. High is usually the time when most kids become interested in the opposite sex.  For Teddy, I did not notice much of a change. That’s because he has ALWAYS liked girls.  As young as preschool he would tell me about the girls he liked.  This has continued throughout his school years.  There has never been an “icky” period.  I worried this would be a problem when on the first day of kindergarten he ran out of the classroom telling me he wanted to invite a particular girl to his birthday party.   “Ok, bud.”  I said, wondering if he was aware his birthday was six months away.  “You met a nice friend today?”

“Yes,” he said, “I like her face.”

Skip ahead a couple of years to third grade when he and I were playing a flash card game. One card had a letter on it and another one had a category. On his turn Teddy had to name “something hot” that started with a particular letter.

Well, the letter he picked just happened to be the first letter of the name of a girl he liked.   He got a look on his face and I just knew exactly what he was thinking.  No, I thought, he’s nine.  There is no way his mind would go in that direction.  Sure enough….”I’m gonna take a risk,” he said.  And he said her name and collapsed into a fit of giggles.  “I can’t believe I said that,” he shrieked.  “Mom, you know I was thinking of the other kind of hot, right?”  Dear Lord child, yes, I knew you were thinking that kind of hot.  It’s what worries me.

Later on he was still talking about it as if he were embarrassed. “Teddy, it’s ok that you like girls,” I said, trying to reassure him.

“Good,” he replied, “because I do!”

Modesty came late for him and as I have already outlined, he was comfortable speaking freely with me.  So because of his transparency about girls, I was not expecting any embarrassment or discomfort when around 5th grade I handed him The Book.

Nope. I am NOT talking about the Bible.

“Here buddy,” I said as I handed him The Body Book for Boys. “Check this out and read the first chapters. We can discuss any questions you have after.”

Suddenly I witnessed a reaction I hadn’t seen since I made him eat chicken pot pie a few years prior.

“I don’t want to read this! I know everything! This book is stupid!” I stood dumbfounded observing the weeping and gnashing of teeth.

I tried to be sensitive. I tried to minimize things. Honestly, this book was the EASY stuff! Body odor, body hair, self-esteem, friendship.  It didn’t even cover the awkward parts.

He was not having it. I gave him space. I went back to revisit. Nope. It wasn’t going to happen. I told Ted he was NOT READY.  Ted decided I just hadn’t done it right.

SIDE NOTE:

Right now you are probably wondering why I didn’t have Ted present him with The Book in the first place.  Well, mostly because I am the primary caregiver.  I had found that up until this point he had shared more with me than with his dad.  Secondly, as you will soon see, when Ted DID make his attempt, things didn’t go so well. I won’t say I had a premonition this would happen but…

So when Ted became annoyed with me and decided to take over, he strutted confidently into Teddy’s room. The man of the house would take care of this.

He was gone and back in under a minute. “He doesn’t want to talk about it.”

No kidding. Well at least you tried your very best in that 45 seconds.

Later that evening when Ted and I tucked him into bed we made one last attempt.  Except the book was nowhere to be found.

“I hid that book where you will never find it. I hope I forget where it is and one day when I’m a grown man I’ll find it and say ‘Eww!'”

About a year later we did find it. It was in the pocket in the back of his armchair. I didn’t even know that chair had a pocket.  And I wish I could say we never spoke of it again, but that would be a lie.  In fact, by then he had attended the Robert Crown puberty presentations and we had already discussed everything.  And I really wish I could share THAT part of the story with you because that part has so many laughs (and a few tears); unfortunately, that’s more of an NC-17 post and I’m afraid that’s not the kind of blog I write.  But if you ever see me and ask, it IS the kind of story I will tell in person.  😉

PS. Like me, he either has no problem sacrificing himself for a laugh, or is self-assured enough to share his funny and embarrassing stories. Either way, rest assured, he gave me full permission to post this story.

Above: This is 14.

Top: Each year on his birthday I take a picture of Teddy in one of Ted’s old button-downs to see how he’s grown.  Some years are startlingly different from the next.  Others I have had to peer at closely to see what was on my bedside table or which comforter we were using for clues.   Although I wish I had picked a different background that was less subject to change and poor lighting, the gist is there.  This is the metamorphosis of my first-born.

This is a reprint of a Facebook post I wrote last year when my sweet boy turned 13. 

I have been looking through old pictures for days. I have been irritable. I have been sad. Teddy asked me twice last week, “Mom, are you going to cry on Friday?” Friday came and went and I did not cry. Yet I was still irritable and still sad.

Friday my first-born turned 13.

I didn’t post about it. I didn’t know what to say. What can you say about your tiny, sweet-faced child suddenly turning into a young man before your eyes?

This has been a year of growth for him; physical and emotional. He is tall. He is lanky. He finally has more hair on his upper lip than I do. He has random pimples he won’t let me touch. He puts his dishes in the sink when he’s done eating. He has polite conversations with adults and makes eye contact. He sometimes wears JEANS instead of track pants!! He showed me a science presentation on magnetism that I hardly understood. I barely know who this kid is that is living in my house.

Everyone tells you the same things: The days are long but the years are short. It goes by so fast. Enjoy it while it lasts. Eye rolling clichés. But all true. Wasn’t it just yesterday that he was listing the names of all of the Thomas the Train engines? Weren’t we just taking mom and tot tumbling class at the Rec Center? What happened? How was I not ready? Why is it so hard to remember those years we spent together, just him and me?

I have been looking at things in terms of years now. Three more years until he is driving. Five more years until he goes away to college and probably never comes back to live at my house permanently. (Okay, we are Greek so that last one might not be true. He may be back until he’s 30 and then that will be a whole different post.)

My Teddy turned 13 on Friday. He doesn’t need me to tuck him into bed anymore. He doesn’t need me to make him a snack. He doesn’t even remember the names of Thomas trains anymore. We took off the cars and trucks bedding and exchanged it with a sports theme. He’d rather be spending time with his friends than with us.

I wish I remembered each and every minute we spent together. I look at the pictures and I wish I could go back and revel in all the moments. The good ones and the bad ones. The thing is, very rarely do you sense you are experiencing one of those moments while you are in it. It’s the reflecting that punches you in the gut.

My sweet boy turned 13 on Friday. And things will never be the same.