I’ve been thrift shopping for about the past 10 years or so. I’ve been a yard sale’r all my life thanks to my family on my Mom’s side. Although if my dad were here he would speak up about his frugal mother and that I also take after her because she was a regular at the thrift store. So I guess you can say thrifting and yard sale-ing is in my blood. When my kids were younger I used to love to put them in the car on a Saturday morning and hit the yard sales. Thomas was the best he loved it. He would always ask what are we going to buy? And I would always answer, “I don’t know… you never know what you’ll find at a yard sale”. And Thomas would agree. It’s one of my favorite memories with him.

So lessons learned at the thrift; what’s yours is meant to be yours. You can’t look at other peoples finds and wish you found something first, it wasn’t meant to be yours to begin with. Keep your eye on your cart! One time at the Sal Val this woman emptied my cart and walked away with it! I was so angry and was looking around when this woman quietly pointed at another woman and there she was with my cart; I knew it was mine because she left a handbag I found in the front seat. I went up to her and said, “You took my cart!“ I was pissed. The woman said oh yes, yes in broken English and gave me back the cart and tried to keep the bag! Unreal! So I said hey, and the bag, that’s my bag! She wasn’t happy about that part but she gave up the bag. So from then on I never take my hand off whatever is holding the stuff I find.

Google is your friend!! If you are not sure something is a good deal; google it (after you put the item in your cart). I’m a self admitted bag whore so I am always on the look out for designer bags and I’ve been quite blessed in my finds. But nothing has been found all at once. There are days I’ve left there without a bag, some days I leave with 2. I’m also a designer denim whore. And again sometimes I find a pair or two, other times not so much.

To thrift you have to have a lot of patience to comb through the racks. The best treasures are usually amongst things you wouldn’t look twice at. But I love thrifting and I love going through rack after rack. My girls say I have this facial expression that’s like, “I’m busy here…no talking..”. Haha. I love the thrill of the hunt and that you truly don’t know what you’ll find. I’ve found Lladro statues, Lenox bowls and vases, the list goes on. But not one group of items were found all at once. You have to decide what you really like, does the item need repair? Is it worth repairing, hemming, gluing, etc? Sometimes the answer is no and you have to leave something really cool behind. Same thing if you find a really cool piece of clothing but totally the wrong size. Too big? You could have it altered, but too small? No.

I wish all my fellow thrifters and yard sale-rs the best finds this spring!!

I work at a school that serves special education students and medically fragile special education students. The majority of the time I see mostly the medically fragile students. There are a large number of students I rarely to never see simply because they don’t need a nurse. One of the private duty nurses asked me recently what I liked most about working here. I had to think for a moment. It’s no secret that I love my job, but what makes me like it here so much? My answer is that even though I have a set schedule of nursing tasks for various students that need to be followed, every day is different. Every time I’m in the office someone different walks in with some sort of need. Sometimes it’s a student, sometimes it’s staff who were roughed up by a student and they need guidance to deal with their wounds.

Every day is the same; but different. The students I provide care for are different day to day. Sometimes they are very quiet and sometimes they are quite loud and very expressive. There are also situations that arise that are totally unexpected and emergent. Not that I like emergency occurrences, but it does get your blood pumping and brain chemicals flowing. You realize you can stay calm and you do know what to do and the staff here is wonderful in taking direction. All your nursing training for that situation comes flooding back like a river and you calmly perform nursing interventions specific for that student in that situation. And emergencies don’t have a time table or wait until it’s a “good” time. They happen when they happen. I’ve had to take care of a student in need at the end of the day, during the middle of PM bussing and everyone is waiting and wanting to go home, on a Friday no less. Everything worked out but I wanted to collapse when it was over.

I’ve decided that if I were to continue my nursing education I would like to go to school to be a Nurse Practitioner. I don’t see me returning to school soon but it’s something I’ve recently thought about.

Most people who know me personally know I was fiercely loyal to my hair stylist, Natalya. I adored her and she always got me when it came to either changing the cut, color, style or all three at the same time. I believe I went to her for about 6 + years. Our relationship came to a crashing halt when last year Natalya told me she had gotten married (she was a single mom); I was so so happy for her, but…she and her family were moving to Florida. I was very sad for me as selfish as that sounds.

So I began going to a salon around the corner from my house that I had frequented many many years earlier. I really liked the cuts and color my new/old stylist did for me, he listened and would give great input. But my goodness they were so expensive compared to the salon Natalya worked at. I used to color my hair myself but once you get used to the salon doing it, it’s difficult to go backwards. Last month I did bleach it myself and just paid for the haircut around the corner, but when it came time to have a cut and color done I decided to call Natalya’s previous salon and start with someone new from there. All you women readers know how nerve wracking that can be!

So here I sit with blonde dye in my hair patiently waiting for the color to develop and then I’m going for a different short haircut that is similar yo my picture here on my blog. It’s buzzed sides and leaving the top longer. Should be interesting, I’m hoping I leave with what I want.

So since I’ve withdrawn from the Masters program I’m thrilled with the amount of time I seem to have in my hands. I’ve rediscovered my Kindle, downloaded a book from an author I’ve enjoyed in the past, vacuumed my car, oh the excitement ! Haha! When I made that final decision I felt like a weight was lifted from my shoulders. On Sunday Tommy and I drove around to an AT &T store to return the portable hot spot I ordered for my use for school work. I was able to cancel the service since I won’t need it anymore. From there we went to an Italian specialty store way on the South shore of where we live (we are on the North Shore). We ended up getting homemade pasta and had it for dinner, it was so good! Point is, I was able to go out with my husband and just “be”. No worries about getting home to read or work on a project.

I have decided to be certified in school nursing. It’s nothing prestigious but I want to do it. So in my spare time I’m reading the book and taking practice tests. I’m enjoying the reading since this is what I do. But there is very little about school nursing for the medically fragile students I care for, it mostly conditions that affect typical students, not that my students couldn’t have the same issues combined with what they are already diagnosed with; actually they do but the majority of my time here is taking care of the medically fragile students. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I’ve decided to withdraw from the Masters program I began a month ago. I just don’t have it in me. I read the assignments and the first thing that comes to mind is WTF…I don’t want to do this, I really don’t. I can’t say I enjoyed the bachelor degree program but I wanted that degree; like I really wanted it. I don’t feel that way about the masters program, not today anyway.

At first when I was thinking about withdrawing I felt like a failure, like why don’t I have it in me? Is there something wrong with me? But I’m over that now and I realize I’m not a failure. I’ve raised 3.5 children; one special needs, landed a full time job that I love and earned my BSN in under 2 years. Now I just want to hang out with my husband and kids when I have time off. Or sit on a beach when we go on vacation, or do nothing. Not worry about completing the next assignment or worry when it’s due. So that’s it for now

Since the middle of this past September I’ve been getting up at the early hour of stupid o’clock in the morning to work out before work. Honestly it’s the only way to fit it in my schedule, plus as an added bonus I do it in the morning and I’m good for the day. I attend classes at The Maxx Challenge Gym about 10 minutes from my house; well it’s 10min at 5am. That’s how this all works, I’m able to get to the gym and back in recorded time due to the lack of traffic.

It’s interesting working out that early in the morning. Most (mainly me) are quiet and we say good morning to each other. Then at 5am sharp class begins. Our instructor, Amanda is amazing. She’s beautiful inside and out and her workouts really get you going. Amanda takes the workouts seriously and it’s shows after you’re done. Love her!

After the workout I rush home to make a protein smoothie and get ready for work. If I know what clothes I’m wearing that day all is well and I’m out the door by 6:50am smoothie in hand. If I’m in a mood and can’t find a thing to wear just get out of my way. Thankfully I’m still the only one up at that hour, so no one is in my way.

So I’ve begun my Masters program. The first class is like an intro to becoming a graduate student. A lot about mindfulness and being present. I kind of like it. It reminds you to stop and take in what is really going on. I’ve been noticing I do that especially at work when one of my students needs extra care and it is a serious situation. I project a sense of calmness but inside I’m urgently trying to stay in the moment and appreciate what is going on and what is my next step?

I need to be more mindful at home. Especially as my children just keep getting older. I’ve said in the past that grammar school seems to take forever (my gosh it really does…). Then there’s junior high in which 6 and 7 grade are pretty slow until grade 8 hits and the next thing you know you’re paying “senior dues” for a yearbook and cap and gown. Then; high school which IMO passes at the speed of light. Samantha is a sophomore. Her freshman year was spent virtually and I was so happy for her when it was announced that the schools here would be in person. These kids need each other! To meet one another and learn about themselves through their new friends and sports or extracurricular groups. I’m so glad Samantha had taken to joining sports teams. She’s met a lot of people and has made friends, it was truly a relief to me. When she was attending school virtually there wasn’t any interaction with the other students. Not good.

So here we are with Samantha having only 2 more years left of high school. Told you it goes fast. I want to be present in the lives of all my kids. Thomas’ childhood, adolescence and teen years were broken up by violent behavior, hospitalizations, residential school period of time living home with us and now he resides in a group home. Not what I wanted for my son. When he was about 14 years old and things were going smooth I pictured him living with us while attending a day program and awaiting placement in a group home. I never imagined we would be living this life with him the way we are. It’s not a bad part of my life, him being in a group home, it just is what it is. God always had his own plan for Thomas’ life. While I prayed for guidance the Lord led the way.

With my girls I enjoy being a part of their life and the closeness we have. Yesterday while Samatha was at a wrestling tournament in the Bronx she texted me, “Mom” twice. I answered yes what’s up? She texted back, nothing I just miss you. I was so so happy to read that and texted back that I missed her too. You see Samantha’s a tough one. I swear God knew I fervently wanted a fourth child 17 years ago; and he certainly did give me a fourth, but on His terms. And that’s ok. Samantha is nothing like our older 2 girls. She is sometimes like an only child and sometimes a young person that I’m still discovering what makes her tick. That’s cool though. It keeps things interesting that I know. I will now stop procrastinating doing my school work and get back to it.

It’s the day my dad passed from this world to be with The Lord. A quote from Billy Graham always comforts me when I think of daddy passing away. “Your last breath on earth is immediately followed by your first breath in heaven.” I love those words. At daddy’s wake I remember saying that I felt as if my dad was with us one minute then in the next he crossed over to a place we couldn’t go…yet. But that he was still with us spiritually, like his soul didn’t leave us just yet. I don’t feel like that anymore. I believe he’s watching over us but I’m not one that feels his presence next to me. I know there is no timeline for grieving but I never thought I would still cry when I think of him, talk about him or write about him after 4 years have passed.

There’s so much about my dad I wish the world knew. How funny he was, how he beat cancer only to have it rear its ugly bead again; and when it did how hard he fought until he couldn’t fight anymore. I don’t know if I’m like my dad. I take after him in some physical ways, we have the same skin complex too, we both tan in the sun. But looks wise I take more after my mom. I hope I’ve inherited his inner strength and ability to see past peoples bullshit. Daddy was good at that. He was also good at calling someone out. I really miss him. I miss laughing with him and listening about how “frugal “ his mom was, and that’s why I’m so “frugal” aka shopping the thrift stores. He loved to hear about my finds.

So it’s 4 years. Some days it feels longer and some days I see him sitting at my dining room table laughing at my cat listening to me talk about my kids. He was always there for us.

I

When Thomas was 5- 6 months old the pediatrician practice we used finally noticed that Thomas has a condition called torticollis, which is a shortening of the muscle that controls how you turn your head from one side to another. Thomas only turned his head to the right when he was sleeping which resulted in his head being terribly misshaped. His head was flattened in the back and was beginning to bulge in the front/forehead. One of the pediatricians in the practice took one look at him and the shit hit the fan. She was freaked out and combed his chart with a fine tooth comb and let the other partitioners have it. I felt somewhat vindicated because I was telling them this all along and that he was slow to meet his milestones but I was blown off by just about everyone.

This was the true beginning of our journey with Thomas. Thomas was to have skull x-rays, a CT scan and an MRI to rule out other structural abnormalities. Thankfully all were negative at that time. We found a neurologist who didn’t have a 3 month wait for an appointment who diagnosed the torticollis and put a name to what I had been noticing for the past 3 months. This started our time with Early Intervention and Thomas qualified for physical therapy. He also needed a moulding helmet to re-shape his head. For that we were recommended the head of neurosurgery at NYU. He prescribed the helmet. We then had to go to the guy who would actually make the helmet. They covered Thomas’ head with plaster of Paris, waited for it to become hard and then cut the mould off his head with a saw while Thomas sat on my lap. It was just him and me. I wanted to cry and yell but I couldn’t I felt like I had to be calm for my son. I was never so afraid in my life watching them with that saw.

So then they made the helmet from that mould. Thomas would wear the helmet for 23 hours a day for the next 6 months. Only taking it off to bathe. Thomas was such an easy baby he handled it all so great. He kept the helmet on with ease. Thank God. What I bothered me the most was not that he had to wear the helmet but people who would stare at Thomas and make up their own conclusions about the helmet without asking me. One time we were waiting in a doctors office and this girl who was about 7 years old and asked her mother why this baby was wearing a helmet. The mother looked over at us and said, “Oh… he probably has seizures or something…” I wanted to punch her. I spoke directly to the girl and told her the truth, that Thomas’ head wasn’t shaped right and the helmet would fix that, then I gave the mom a dirty look. It was really funny because it seemed that the “realist” people who just came out and asked about the helmet were store cashiers, people who worked in the deli, people who did not know us but acted in a kind and appropriate manner toward us.

Anyway you would think with all the appointments Thomas had in the city I would have learned to drive there alone. Nope. I would do the driving but had to have someone come with me. It sounds silly now but then I was afraid to drive in Manhattan with just Thomas and me. So I would recruit our good friends like Bill, Brant, even my mother in law. The best was when my dad was free. He would not only drive us but he stay outside in the car driving around the corner a dozen times so I didn’t have to pay for parking. Everyone who went with me never treated us like this was something wrong or out of the ordinary to do. I do have the best family and friends. I still have Thomas’ helmet.

The anniversary of my Dad’s passing is quickly approaching. I began to write what I remember during that time before he took his final breath here on this earth but then I began thinking of the good times and what a good Dad he was to us. My dad graduated from a local vocational high school here where I live. Growing up, he made a living as a truck mechanic. The big dump trucks. He occasionally would drive a truck here and there but he mostly repaired the trucks for the company he worked for which was owned by a very nice man named Sonny.

I remember some Saturdays when my grandparents weren’t watching us, when both my parents were working/mom in school; we went to the garage where daddy worked so he would “watch” us. Him watching us (us being myself, my sister and my brother) consisted of my brother usually doing tasks; don’t ask me what, I don’t remember; and my sister and I climbing all over the big ol’ dump trucks that were out in the yard. We would climb up and sit in the drivers seat and pull the cable that sounded the horn. It was a lot of fun. When we were bored of that we would run down the street which was a dead end street and all different garages; one after another. Some repaired cars, some were carting/private sanitation, etc…. All of the garages kept dogs as guard dogs. And there were always puppies at some one’s garage and just about everyone knew who we were: Walter’s kids. There was one car repair garage though that we weren’t allowed to play with the dogs because we were told those dogs were mean. You didn’t need to tell us twice because when you walked past their fenced in yard the dogs would bark and growl at you. So yeah, we stayed away from them.

Daddy had a German Shepherd named CB at his garage. CB was a great dog. He loved my dad, omg. And he was so good with us when we were young. Never growled at us or barked, such a good dog. And very protective of all of us. Not a traditional childhood memory but my dad wasn’t exactly a traditional dad. I mean he loved us I know that, but it wasn’t until we were all older, Daddy included that we would say I love you to each other. I’m glad we did grow to say I love you.