Here it is…my son Kevin and his girlfriend, Anna dancing in Times Square. Here’s the larger image with many onlookers and observers taking photos.
Yes, they danced and yes, there was music playing.
Kevin met Anna while producing, directing and acting in his first feature film, which he also wrote.
Maybe one day we’ll see this couple on the big screen…you never know.
A beautiful love story and a beautiful couple.
Makes my heart happy!
Well, it’s official!
Kevin is taking his girlfriend to her prom in Long Island.
I think that I’m more excited about it than he is. Kevin always keeps a calm, low-key demeanor about most anything exciting that is happening in his life… that’s just how he is and where I pick up the slack.
He is also the king of leaving everything for the last-minute, which always seems to include a lot of running around for all of us.
After a long weekend of doubles,which also included driving around with an 80 pound pig, (see that post for details) I found myself driving Kevin to Men’s Wearhouse to pick out a tux, with only days to spare before the prom.
I was shocked to discover that renting a tuxedo starts at two hundred and fifty dollars. Holy shit! Have I been living under a rock?
Maybe I have or I just haven’t ever had the need to rent a tuxedo or to date a man who wears one, for that matter…
Anyway, after style, color selections and much measuring, we had finally narrowed it down to a black tux with a single button jacket and pink accents to match Kevin’s girlfriend Anna’s pink gown.
“Do you want to wear a cummerbund?” Devin (our sales clerk asked).
“What’s a cummerbund?” Kevin asked, as if he had never heard the word before, while confirming that he most definitely hadn’t.
“A cummerbund goes around your waist.” I stated, “Why don’t you just go with the vest?”
“They call it a crumb catcher.” Devin added.
“I won’t need that.” Kevin replied, with a serious expression.
Devin and I both laughed. I admit I was feeling quite giddy about the whole prom thing and seeing my son in his first tux.
“Mom, can you calm it down a bit.” Kevin suggested, as if my excited mood was embarrassing him.
“Would you like argyle socks?” The sales clerk inquired, “They’re twenty dollars extra.”
“Twenty dollars for a pair of socks?” I laughed, “You’ve got to be kidding me! No, No…we don’t need argyle socks.”
The clerk handed Kevin a shirt, stock tuxedo and a pair of shoes to try on as he pointed him towards the dressing room.
Devin and I talked, joked and exchanged stories while we waited for Kevin to get changed.
Devin walked to the dressing room door and passed something over to Kevin.
“What’s this for?” Kevin shouted out.
“It’s to put on when you try on the dress shoes.” Devin replied.
“What?” Kevin said.
“Kevin, it’s a ped. You know, what you put on your foot to try on shoes… remember you and your brothers pulled them over your faces in Payless Shoes when you were little… you looked like you were going to rob the place…”
Devin was cracking up.
“Mom, can you take it down a notch, please.” Kevin yelled from the dressing room.
When the door finally opened and I saw Kevin in his tux, I couldn’t believe the handsome man who stood before me.
“Kevin, you look gorgeous!” I said with tears in my eyes, “The next time we’ll be doing this there’ll be wedding bells.”
“Mom, please don’t start crying.” Kevin pleaded.
Before finalizing our transaction Devin gave us a thirty dollar discount on the rental.
I paid for the tux (minus the argyle socks). Devin printed our receipt and explained the pick up and return instructions.
We had just enough time to get Kevin to work and I was quite pleased with all we had manged to accomplish in a short time.
As I pulled up in front of Kevin’s place of employment and put the car into park, Kevin leaned over and gave me a tight hug.
“Thank you Mom for paying for my tux. I love you so much.”
“I love you too Kevin. It was my pleasure. You and Anna are going to look beautiful!”
As, I watched Kevin walk into work, I thought, two hundred and fifty dollars isn’t expensive for a tux… in fact, it’s worth every penny.
I’ve been eager to get back to my blog after working long hours all weekend. I’m a waitress, which doesn’t seem very exciting… unless you work where I work.
After a long Friday night shift, I was back at work at 6 a.m. the following day. By 7:20 a.m I was pulling a large truck around to the backside of a farm to pick up an 80 pound pig that my boss had ordered for a pig roast that we were catering.
I stepped out of the vehicle and was greeted by one of the workers.
I told him the name of the restaurant and repeated the details that I had committed to memory.
“I’m here to pick up an 80 pound pig, gutted, split and de hoofed.”
My stomach turned at the thought.
“You need a fig?” The worker replied.
What? I thought, confused.
“A pig.” I stated.
He nodded, turned and walked into the shadows of the barn.
I chuckled to myself, you would think that this guy would learn to pronounce the word pig, seeing that he worked at a pig farm.
He returned with a large sheet of brown paper and laid it across the length of the interior of the truck.
That was my cue, I quickly got back into the vehicle and sat in the driver’s seat. I couldn’t bear to see this dead pig.
When I heard the back doors of the truck slam closed, I started the engine and drove away.
I glanced in my rear view mirror… thankfully I couldn’t see a thing.
Although it was the early morning, the temperature was already rising as I rolled down the truck’s windows to let in some fresh air.
I thought about how I’d rather be writing than driving around on a hot day with a gutted pig on his way to meet his barbecued fate.
I knew that this busy weekend was going to leave me neglecting my blog.
Oh well, I thought, I can’t blog while I’m driving around with an 80 pound pig…
But I can certainly write about it later.
Participating in this writing challenge from the braveandrecklessblog.
Here are the rules if you’d like to participate.
The Rules:
I’ve been invited to submit an article to Erma Bombeck’s Writer’s Workshop. How cool is that? Excited but feeling a bit intimidated. Going for it anyway. Was thinking of sending something that I have already written. John thinks that I should write something new. I’m probably going to write something new. If anyone has any suggestions, feel free to pipe up.
Aunt Betty, I promise that I won’t let you down.
Much love,
Erin Cooper Reed
P.S. – If you don’t know who Aunt Betty is, go to the “Read all blog posts” link at the top of my page and scroll to “The Center of Things” it will explain it all.
Wish me luck! 🙂
P.P.S – Actually, The Center of things is listed under this blog post. Just in case inquiring minds want to know…
It’s been three weeks.
Three straight weeks of my next door neighbor moving our trash cans from the side of my driveway adjacent to his property, and putting them at the apron of my driveway, right behind my car.
Everyday I move my trash cans back, slide both of his trash cans over to make room, and leave my trash cans to the left of my driveway next to the sewer.
When I return from work, I find my trash cans blocking the entrance to my driveway, get out of my car, slide both of his trash cans back over and move my trash cans back near the sewer.
The street we live on is narrow, hilly and woodsy which makes it feel more like a Vermont road than a street in Shelton, Connecticut. Parking is limited and I can’t put my trash cans to the right of my driveway because my landlord has had a vehicle parked there for over a year. (Another irritation)
To make matters worse, the Garbage Can Nazi next door thinks he owns the street in front of his house. He has gone as far as placing cement deck anchors on the road in front of his house so that no one can park there. Note: The road is public property, just for the record.
In case you aren’t familiar with what a cement deck anchor looks like, I’ve posted a photo below. Great way to add just the right touch of curb appeal to your home if you’re thinking of purchasing a few.
The Garbage Can Nazi has also taken the liberty of driving green metal stakes into the ground between our yard and his to mark a property line that he determined without consulting a surveyor. (Yet another beautiful upgrade to his home so feel free to swing by if you’re looking for some trendy new ideas)
I need all this stress like I need a hole in the head… yet, I have continued day after day, and week after week, to move my garbage cans out-of-the-way of my driveway only to find them moved back again.
This week was the final straw.
John had planted a patch of sunflowers in a rock garden on the left side of our drive way. Sunflowers are my favorite flower and I was so happy that they were growing so rapidly, each plant about a foot tall.
I was at work when John text me, “The Garbage Can Nazi weed wacked all of our sunflowers down… well, except for one.”
I was furious but I didn’t confront our neighbor about the sunflowers as the garbage can wars waged on…
I guess because I work nights and the Garbage Can Nazi works days, we have each continued to move the trash cans at off hours from each other’s schedule, leaving us no time to run into each other…
Until last night.
It was dark, maybe about 9:45 PM, as I carried the kitchen recycling bin out to the street, while wondering what it would be like if I had some teenagers who could perform this task for me… oh, wait, well, that’s another post entirely.
As I lifted the lid on the recycling bin, I heard a voice. When I lowered the lid, there he was standing before me in the pitch dark, the Garbage Can Nazi.
“I want to talk to you.” Bellowed the Garbage Can Nazi through a thick accent.
“Well, I don’t want to talk to you.” I said, as I turned and headed up the driveway, fully intending to go directly back in the house.
“This is mine!” he yelled, “Mine, mine, mine! This is MY property!!”
I dropped the recycling bin, spun on my heel and approached him as quickly as my injured knee would allow.
“Please explain to me HOW I am infringing on YOUR property?” I questioned, “You cut down all of our flowers, sunflowers, which are my favorite flower. All except one!”
“You can come talk to me and ask me if you want to plant flowers.” He replied.
“Talk to you? These flowers are on OUR side!” I yelled as I touched the one remaining sunflower, pointing out its position well below the crooked green metal stake that he had driven into the ground.”
“I am a nice man.” he said.
“I am NOT going to ask your permission to plant flowers in my own yard! Furthermore, what kind of nice man moves a trash can behind a neighbor’s car so that they have to move it in order to get in or out of their own driveway?” I replied.
He stood, hands on hips, towering above me on the elevated ground that was his yard.
“This is my property. This is mine.” He reiterated.
“What are you, two years old?” I yelled. “Mine, mine mine! That isn’t how the world works… at least not my world! You act like the garbage can is taking up a space the you actually use! Like your wife and kids are sitting in lawn chairs next to the sewer on a daily basis! The street is public property! I am not wasting another minute on this argument because life is too short! My father died, my mother has cancer and I have a teenage boy that is in distress, not to mention I have an injured knee and you have me dragging heavy garbage cans out of the way so that I can get in and out of my own driveway…”
Suddenly and unexpectedly, I burst into tears. I’m not sure why, I’m generally not a crier but I think that this was about all I could take.
The Garbage Can Nazi raised both hands, open palm, in front of his chest, like I was holding him at gunpoint.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He said as he slowly backed away and retreated into his house.
I don’t know if last night was the grand finale of the garbage can wars. I hope so, but only time will tell.
What I do know is this, life is too short to waste your time and energy on things that aren’t at all important in this world and I hope that starting today I’ll be able to smile at my neighbor and say hello.
Kindness, consideration, love and compassion are free to all who seek it, as is forgiveness.
And as far as I’m concerned, those are the only things that I want to call mine.
So there it is… that’s my plan and truth be told, I have no other back up plan. Writing is my passion, so I’m going to go with that. I just have to keep pushing forward.
The past few months have certainly been a struggle. I tore just about everything that a person could possibly tear in one’s knee, went to physically therapy, skipped the surgery part and went back to work at my job as a waitress. I had to and I’m still struggling to catch up on everything after going six weeks with no income.
“Mom, the internet is off!”
“Mom, we’re out of milk!”
I know, I know… I’m doing the best that I can.
Somehow I always manage to get by and make it all happen. I always do.
So, if it’s true that struggle builds character, then I’m filled to the brim!
Yet, as crazy as it may sound, I keep telling myself that I’m going to write my way out of this…
Out of this struggle,
Out of these financial problems,
And into a better life for myself and my children.
I’m aware that it’s a long shot… but I won’t give up hope.
But if it happens, when it happens, you’ll be the first to know.
And I’ll be, looking like the guy in this doodle…
Just minus the stick figure part.
😀
Erin
We have almost made it through the school year, but it’s not over yet. Apparently, my 15 year-old-son, Marc, (who has good grades and is passing) feels that it’s okay for him not to attend the last week and a half of school. Judge me here, if you dare… but I was stripped of my parental authority long ago, during my marriage. If you have never been there, you won’t be able to comprehend my predicament. If you have been there, then you know that I have a better chance of winning Powerball than I have of gaining my parental authority back.
To add fuel to the fire, Marc is pushing 6 feet tall and is almost 200 pounds, mostly muscle. Gone are the days of, “Get in the car, you’re going to school!”
Plus, parenting children of domestic violence is completely different from parenting by the standard of the hundreds of parenting books I own. Offering consequences like, “You’re grounded!” just doesn’t work. Saying, “I’ll take away your Xbox! leaves you up until two in the morning while your child flips the entire house looking for it.
What I have learned is taking away tangible things like an Xbox doesn’t work, but something that is intangible, like a sleep-over or the possibility of a trip to movies, works. What can I say? You’d never understand it unless you had lived it. If you have, I’m with you! If I ever get through this and figure it all out, I certainly will write a best-selling parenting book for children of domestic violence. For now, I take it day by day and do everything humanly possible to help my kids. (But I am taking notes.)
This week included a truancy meeting in the town of Bridgeport to get some support and guidance for myself and my strong-willed son.
I met with a lovely woman named Joanne, who not only recorded our session, but documented it, as she asked a lot of questions.
I’m an open person. She asked me about the counseling that we’ve had. I recounted the seven years of counseling for my children, all of the school assessments and explained what we all had to go through when I left my ex-husband, and as well, the aftermath.
I told her I attended counseling at the Woman’s Commission for Victims of Domestic Violence, in Charlotte North Carolina. Although I talked in circles at the time, and I couldn’t express a clear thought, it was then that I picked up a yellow legal pad and began writing.
I had no idea why, and I didn’t think that I had anything of value to say, until I showed it to my counselor and she said, “This is great! Can we use this?”
I said, “Sure, if it can help someone.” I had no idea where that was going to lead me.
We talked about Marc, all of his troubles and all of his strong, independent and humorous qualities. (He has many!)
I told her stories you wouldn’t believe, but ones I may reveal in my memoir, “Sometimes You Have To Run In Bare Feet.”
(Stay Tuned!)
I told her how my ex-husband was staying overnight in my basement (unbeknownst to me) and how Marc ran off to the Bronx and the police issued a Silver Alert.
She was interested in my son, my life and my writing.
She was surprised when I said that my notes on a yellow legal pad snowballed into me writing for five domestic violence organizations in North Carolina and the Charlotte Court System.
When I returned to Connecticut, I gave speeches and wrote for the Center For Family Justice and was appointed for six months to the Restraining Order Task Force for The General Assembly to try to change Connecticut’s current restraining order laws.
I looked across the desk at Joanne, (her head in her hands) and said, “You must be exhausted just listening to me.”
To which she replied, “No, You are inspiring! I’m going to figure out what we can do to help.”
I left her, feeling hopeful and better than I had been in a long time.
It feels good to be heard and not to be judged.
It feels good to be validated and to be offered some help.
And, it feels good to know how I have dealt with difficult times and challenging circumstances, can be met with a comment like, “You are inspiring!”
Thank you, Joanne. I think you gave me the energy to keep going, and not give up hope my child will turn out okay, no matter how difficult it is right now.
I’m glad I inspired you.
Thank you for inspiring me.
Much love,
Erin Cooper Reed
Here’s my new promo video! Thank you for following and subscribing to my blog! I love and appreciate all of you! Enjoy the video and be sure to tell your friends about MY LIFE I SWEAR…I don’t even know what I’m going to say next!
Stay tuned for more crazy antics and inspiring thoughts.
And just for the record, this is my 100th post!! What a fun way to celebrate!!
Much love.
Erin Cooper Reed
It never fails…the 24 hours before I get my period is a roller coaster of emotions.
I’m moody.
I’m angry.
Sometimes I’m crying.
One night, I was discussing this with my female friends at work. We were all sharing stories and laughing at the things that have happened and the way that we have acted the night before we got our periods.
One of my friends recounted a story of arguing with her husband and running back and forth between the bedroom and the bathroom, locking the respective doors each time.
Another said she would go on endlessly about how no one had any idea how much work she did.
Another described having her anger escalate so much that she was ready to move out of her home.
And yet another, labeled herself “The Crier”, stating, “Every month I just cry.”
What a mess!
What’s behind all of the monthly arguments that have ensued with our significant others and all of the irrational crying?
Why do we continue to do this to ourselves and the people that we love?
My friends and I surmised that it really feels beyond our ability to control all of the pre-period mayhem that each of us have caused on a monthly basis.
There has to be something to it, I thought.
So I did a little research.
On the 14th day of your menstrual cycle, there is a peak in estrogen. While there are lots of benefits to this spike in estrogen, one of the drawbacks is that it can amp up your anxiety and cause you to stress over both big and small issues.
And, if that isn’t bad enough, there’s more…
(Quoted from Hormonology)
“As estrogen plunges during this premenstrual week, it can trigger moodiness, sadness, irritability, muscle aches, insomnia, headaches, fatigue and a wide variety of other PMS-related symptoms. Not every woman suffers from premenstrual syndrome and symptoms can be milder or more severe from month to month often due to diet, stress, medications, exercise habits or your body’s personal sensitivity to hormones.”
Well, that explains it! Now I’m feeling just a little less insane and I hope that you are too if you can relate to me and my friends at work.
Now, If someone would figure out a way to add estrogen to wine, the world would certainly be a much better place.
Just Sayin.
Until then, we’ll all just have to continue to deal with the mayhem, significant others included…well, up until Menopause anyway…but that’s a whole other roller coaster.
At the end of the conversation with my girlfriends, one of my post-menopausal friends said, “God, I miss my period!”
“Are you serious?” I laughed, “After that conversation?”
“Yes.” She replied, “I miss laying on the couch in my pajamas, watching movies and not having to do anything or even make dinner. I do miss all of that.”
“Girl,” I said, “You don’t miss your period at all.”
“I don’t?” she asked.
I laughed, “No, you don’t. You just miss the excuse!”
“I never thought of it that way.” She said, “I think that you’re right!”
We all laughed.
Now if somebody would just get on making that estrogen infused wine…
Cheers! 🙂
Erin Cooper Reed
mylifeiswear.com 
Convalescent Home
Another Day
Ticking Clock
Hospital food
Mopped Floors
Silent Phone
Medicinal Smell
Sharp Cries
Wrinkled Faces
Idle Hands
Four Walls
I worked at a convalescent when I lived in NC, it was an experience both good and bad. Everyday you showed up at work to find out that someone had died. It certainly wasn’t easy in that respect, but I loved the people. It really changed me in a good way.