Hooray for Birthdays!

It has always been my belief that birthdays are meant to be celebrated regardless of the age of the celebrant. It is the one day of the year that belongs to you and you alone regardless of how many other people you share it with because no matter what comes after that day, your birthday is the most important day of your life. It only stops being that when the day of your death takes over and chances are pretty good you won't be around to celebrate that - at least not on this earthly plane!. Without your birthday there would be no other red-letter days to celebrate - no graduations, no wedding anniversaries, no births of your own children, no first cars, no first mortgages - zip, zero, zilch, nada!

We all know that children love birthdays because it's the one day out of the year that as my friend Andrew likes to say - "it's all about me!" You can be expectant on your birthday, you can be a bit demanding on your birthday, and you can want a little extra attention on your birthday and I see nothing wrong with that. What's wrong with having one day for you - one day set aside for celebrating the life that you have lived and the remainder that lies before you?

Today is the birthday of one of my fellow dispatchers - Erik - who we affectionately refer to as Boukie (don't ask me, he had the nickname before I got there!). Boukie had mentioned last week his birthday was coming up but I can't remember my own name half the time without the help of my name tag so I didn't remember the special occasion was today until he said that his girlfriend was going to take him to see "World Trade Center" tonight - which he had mentioned wanting to go see on his birthday. Well, of course we all had to wish him a happy day but he just slunk down into his chair and grumbled in his best Scrooge impression - "bah, it's just another day". To heck with that I say! It's NOT just another day - it's BOUKIE'S day and it should at least be acknowledged if not downright celebrated (full-blown celebrations in the dispatch center are hard to pull off in between 911 calls!)

In lieu of a cake, party streamers, and alcoholic beverages, I sent an alpha-mate page out to all of the crews on the road to be sure to let them know that it was Erik's special day. This, as planned, resulted in a flurry of well wishes that caused Bouk to slink even further down into his chair while still grumbling that it was "just another day". Good grief, where's Tiny Tim when you need him?!? (The Dickens character, not the falsetto singer of the 70's!). Obviously the guy needs a lesson in how to celebrate!

A little later in the day our second-in-command at American came into dispatch to extend his well wishes of the day and also to announce on the radio for everyone to wish Erik a happy birthday! and that really got our poor old Boukie flustered. Obviously the guy is not used to having any attention at all on his date of birth and that's just sad to me. He said that birthday celebrations should be reserved for children but I ask you why? Why should only kids get the joy of having their own special day? Who wrote the rule that says birthdays are not to be celebrated by anyone over the age of 16?? We should celebrate every single day of our lives that we wake up on this side of the dirt but, barring that, we should at least celebrate the important ones!

I'm hoping that Boukie was just being shy and demur (not traits you normally associate with a guy but who I am to question if he's in touch with his feminine side or not?!) and that he was simply playing the role of the hard-as-nails, nothing-fazes-me, I-have-no-real-feelings-inside dispatcher that all of us in this profession seem to want to portray ourselves as. I'm hoping that inside he was secretly enjoying the attention that he was getting despite his protestations to the contrary. And I'm hoping that he goes out with his girlfriend tonight and they have a great time celebrating his birthday complete with dinner out and a cake brought to him by a bunch of people he doesn't know singing some ridiculous "happy, happy birthday" song to him while he squirms uncomfortably in his seat!

Happy Birthday once again, Boukie, and don't be such an Eeyore - that's my job next month!

We pause for this brief political message

A few years back I decided to change my party affiliation so that I would have the opportunity to actually have a little more 'say' in the Democratic process that our country embraces. Truth be told I really don't believe in the two-party system but as they say "old habits are hard to break" so our country hangs onto the system like a dog with a favorite chewed-up-worn-out-shadow-of-its-former-self slipper.

Having just said that, I can hear my good friend Cyndi out in California tapping out my phone number so that she can call and give me a good blast - we have A LOT of political discussions, especially around the time of major elections, but she's much more passionate about politics than I am. I am, however, a registered voter (have been since I was a teen) and I take my responsibilties as one quite seriously.

That said, because I live in the grand old State of Connecticut which is overrun with Democrats it made sense to register in that Party as they're the ones that seem to always have primaries - especially here in Norwich. Apparently the Republicans in this State can't seem to muster the interest to even have two candidates oppose each other. It's kind of sad but points to why I think that the two-party system needs to be laid to rest. Granted, there are arguments that the two-party system provides a more stable form of government but I just don't think it leaves much room for free-thinkers. And free-thinkers were a major part of the foundation that this country was built upon.

I'm not going to get up on a political soapbox and start preaching about how I think that politicians should be able to follow their own minds and the voices of their constituency rather than their party lines for fear of losing their party's endorsements and financial backing - I'm sure that there are any number of political blogs out there where you can find that sort of rhetoric and more - but I am going to say that I think that it's very important for people to take part in the voting process itself. A lot of people lost their lives throughout history so that we have this opportunity and I believe that it's our duty as American citizens to exercise that right.

This is something that I have tried to instill in my children - at least those that are either a) old enough to vote or b) at all interested in what it means to vote. When Michael became of voting age I made sure that he got himself down to the Registar's Office and gave himself a voice (a small voice, yes, but a voice nonetheless) and when Amanda and Jamie get to be old enough, I shall do the same with them. At the rate I'm going I may be wheelchair-bound or using a walker but, either way, if I have to drag them down there myself it shall be done!

If we don't vote, we have no right to complain about our government or the people who run it. If we don't vote, we have no right to complain about our taxes. If we don't vote, we have no right to complain that our country appears to be going to hell in the proverbial handbasket. It is up to us as Americans to pay some attention to the issues, to pay some attention to the candidates, and to pay some attention to what the people we're sending to Washington to represent us are doing once they get there.

Just remember - as Abraham Lincoln stated in his Gettysburg Address on November 19th, 1863, ours is a "government of the people, by the people, for the people" and it's up to us as good citizens to ensure that the right people are running it.

Did you vote?? I did.

This just in ...

While browsing the Web this morning for any interesting news stories I came across the one below and thought to myself "you've got to be kidding!". This world of ours certainly seems to have its priorities all screwed up. Of course I knew that was the case when there was such a big deal made out of the births of Shiloh and Suri. Why is the world so celebrity-obsessed?? Can someone answer me that one?

"Posted on Sun, Aug. 06, 2006, St. Paul Pioneer Press

First child of beautiful people likely to be girl

BY SHELLEY EMLING, Cox News Service

LONDON — When Hollywood's golden couple, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, had their first child, it was a girl. When Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes had a baby, and Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin had a baby, they also were girls.

Coincidence? Perhaps not.

Research from the London School of Economics indicates physically attractive couples are 36 percent more likely than unattractive couples to produce a girl as their first child.

The research — led by evolutionary psychologist Satoshi Kanazawa and published in the Journal of Theoretical Biology — is based on the study of 3,000 young American adults in 2001 and 2002 who were taking part in an investigation called the National Longitudinal Study of Adolescent Health. After hours of face-to-face discussions, interviewers ranked the attractiveness of participants using a five-point scale.

Kanazawa then compared the percentage of boys and girls born to the participants who were deemed very attractive with the sex ratio of babies born to everyone else. He discovered that 56 percent of first babies born to very attractive parents were girls, while fewer than half of the babies born to parents in each of the other categories were girls.

Why does this occur? Kanazawa said that the study supports the evolutionary theory that parents tend to produce offspring who benefit from their own attributes.

Parents who have traits likely to be more beneficial to boys — such as large size, strength, and aggression — are more likely to have boys. Parents who have traits likely to be more beneficial to girls — such as physical beauty — are more likely to have girls.

Kanazawa believes men value physical appearance more than women do when seeking a partner, and so beauty, in general, is a better attribute to pass on to girls than to boys.

Previous research by Kanazawa published in 2005 showed parents engaged in professions such as nursing, teaching and counseling — or those with empathetic "female" brains — were more likely to have daughters. Those engaged in more masculine professions such as math, science and engineering were more likely to have sons.

At the time, researchers explained that babies of people with masculine professions might encounter more testosterone in the womb and so would be more likely to be male."

Is It Me or ... ???

Maybe I'm just being ultra-sensitive these days but it seems that the people that we deal with in our lives are getting ruder and ruder. No longer do people greet you with a cheerful "hi, can I help you?" when you go somewhere but more often than not they have a look on their face that reads "oh great, now I gotta do my job because this #@*^ just walked in".

Case in point: Yesterday morning I took Jamie to the airport for her return flight to Kentucky. Her reservations had been made months ago by her stepmother and on Friday I called US Airways to ensure that everything was still a 'go'. The guy that I spoke with on their 800-line assured me that her reservations were all set and that upon check-in at the airport I would need to pay the unaccompanied minor fee of $40 for each leg of the flight. I'm pretty sure I understood him correctly despite the difficulties with his dialect and the bad phone connection that we had.

Jamie and I arrived at Bradley at approximately 5:15 to get her checked in for her 6:50 flight and, after standing in line with an awful lot of other people, we finally got to the check-in counter where the attendant proceeded to read me the riot act as no longer does US Airways offer connecting flight service for unaccompanied minors, they can be booked on non-stop flights only. I attempted to explain to the man that I had doublechecked with someone the day before who had assured me that Jamie's reservations were all in order but he wanted nothing to do with it. Apparently all he could see was the line of people behind me waiting to be processed so he figured the best way to deal with me and my problem was to be dismissive.

Obviously not being able to get Jamie on her flight home was going to be a problem so I asked Mr. Helpful what he suggested we do to which he snapped, "I don't know, we don't allow unaccompanied minors on connecting flights" - like he hadn't told me this several times already. Okay, I get that but what about her ticket? What about the money that had already been paid for her flight? "Not his problem", he said. Looking very put-out and disgusted when he realized that I wasn't going to just step out of line and go away, he finally called for his supervisor to come over and was quite successful in making me feel about six inches tall by telling him that my kid was booked on a non-connecting flight and they didn't do that! Obviously he was fixated on a theme.

Thank goodness Mr. Collins, the supervisor, seemed to be of a compassionate nature as he explained to me that US Airways had changed their policy in October and he wasn't sure why the gentleman I had spoken to the day before hadn't let me know that. He then told Mr. Helpful behind the counter to find another flight for Jamie to go on. His response? "We don't have any non-connecting flights for unaccompanied minors" (really - this was getting old!). At that point, Mr. Collins told the fine, upstanding employee behind the counter to "check with another airline" and see if there was a flight that she could be booked on as obviously there wasn't one with their airline.

Looking even more put-out, the "courteous" counter attendant picked up the phone and was able to get Jamie booked on a flight with Delta Airlines that was scheduled to leave ten minutes earlier than her original flight. After some audible grousing to his co-worker next to him he finally printed out the ticket then, speaking in the tone of an elderly teacher with a naughty student, told us we needed to get to the Delta counter quickly as boarding started in twenty minutes. He basically threw the tickets at me and then proceeded to yell "next!" so that he could, I'm sure, practice his helpful tactics on the next unsuspecting passenger in line.

We rushed over to the Delta counter where the attendant was very nice and didn't treat me like I was a complete and utter moron for attempting to book my child on an airline that didn't take unaccompanied minors on connecting flights (even though I hadn't made the reservations to begin with!). With a wink and a smile, she even told Jamie that THEY treated their minor passengers much better than the other airline.

After finally getting her boarding pass in hand and checked-in luggage turned over to the TSA agents we then proceeded to the security check gate where, wonder of wonders, Jamie had been tagged as having to go through an extra security screening. Huh?? Let me get this right - she's 13 years old, I'm her mother, I'm putting her on a plane to fly to Kentucky alone, and someone thinks I might have packed explosives on her?? Can this day get any better?!?!

While the kindly TSA agent was going through Jamie's carry-on bag and purse and scanning it for any sort of explosive devices, I was trying to explain to Jamie that she was probably picked for the special treatment because of the change in airlines at the last minute. He concurred with me and said that he hoped we didn't mind the minor delay. Because he was very courteous and not treating us like suspected terrorists, I told him that it was okay and it was better to be safe than sorry with these things. This gentleman, who I am sure sees more than his fair share of rude passengers, was very nice to us and wished Jamie a safe flight as he sent her off with a smile. Big difference from Mr. Helpful whom we had started the day off with.

By the time we got to the gate (and of course it was the very last gate at the end of the terminal) Jamie's flight had already been boarding for some time so we only had the chance for a quick hug and kiss before saying good-bye. As she got on the plane, I took a seat to await take-off and called her Dad in Kentucky to let him know the change of flight plans.

Now all things considered, I could have been rude to him when I called. I could have called him an idiot for booking her on US Airways. I could have harangued him for booking her on a flight that was too darned early. I could have taken out my frustrations with the rude counter attendant on him but instead I decided to forego the rudeness and opt for civility. Obviously an error had been made but Jamie had been able to catch a flight out and I didn't have to return her all the way to Norwich to try to figure out what to do next. Stuff happens.

Still, the whole experience left a sour taste in my mouth as going to the airport to send Jamie away for months at a time is not #1 on my list of "Fun Things to Do" and to couple it with some disgruntled former-DMV-postal-worker-type guy did not help things at all. I wish I had gotten his name as I would be writing a scathing letter of complaint to US Airways but he wasn't wearing a name tag and I just didn't feel like pursuing it anymore at that juncture.

After watching Jamie's plane back out of its gate and down the runway, I wiped the tears from my eyes and trudged out of the airport to head back to Norwich and a 15-hour day in dispatch. On the way home I thought about my experience with the guy behind the counter and vowed that I would do my best not to make other people feel like idiots in the future. Is it that much harder to wish someone a nice day, to smile at them, to treat them with respect? I think not and I'm going to make more of an effort to adhere to that because I don't want to make anyone else feel like that guy made me feel.

As the song goes, maybe we should all "try a little tenderness". I don't know when manners and civility went out the window but I'm sure starting to miss them.

It's Been One of Those Days

That pretty much sums it up ... that cat looks like I feel.

I've been up since 3:30 in the morning to get to the airport on time, 911 basically rang off the hook at work along with every hospital in the area looking to send patients to all points on the map for the entire 15 hours I was there, and it was hotter than Hades up in ye olde dispatch centre.

Oh well, as Scarlett O'Hara said - "tomorrow is another day".

Feeling Like One of the Seven Dwarves

I'm feeling grumpy today - and miffed, ticked-off, out-of-sorts, grouchy - the list of adjectives could go on and on but I think you get the picture. I figure there are several reasons for this: I could blame it on the weather of which I am heartily tired, I could blame it on my gimpy foot of which I am heartily tired, or I could blame it on the more likely culprit which is the aggravation that grows while trying to get Jamie's stuff all packed up for our semi-annual way-too-darned-early-in-the-morning trip to Hartford.

I should be used to this by now. For two years I've had lots of practice at trying to repack someone's entire summer into two small suitcases. I've had lots of practice in trying to confirm airline reservations and paying the way-too-expensive unaccompanied child fee that the airlines gouge you with. And I've had lots of practice at getting up at some un-Godly hour of the morning to get to the airport because my ex never realizes that in order to get to to the airport for a flight out at 6:50 I have to be out the door not much later than 4:00 in order to get checked in on time, etc. Why he can't make the reservations for a more reasonable time is beyond me.

Of course Jamie has stuff spread all over the house from top to bottom. Trying to locate it all sends everyone on a search and rescue expedition under beds, behind couches, and out to the car because none of my children inherited my "neat-nik" genes. Oh no, they got their father's leave-it-where-it-drops attitude so that makes it even more difficult to get things together. And anal retentive, borderline-obsessive-compulsive person that I am I can't possibly pack anything into a suitcase that might even be remotely dirty. So of course that means everything goes into the washing machine and that requires climbing up and down the basement stairs (and anyone who has ever seen my basement stairs can tell you that it's quite the climb!) with loads of laundry (and darned if there isn't always at least one sock that got left out of the load!).

Underneath all of this runs a very fine thread of resentment - resentment at my ex that I should have to go through this several times a year, resentment at my children that they can't be a little more organized, and resentment at myself that I know why I'm so grumpy but can't seem to do anything about it. Again, I should be used to this by now but I guess I'm not. Does one ever really get used to sending their child 900 miles away? I'm beginning to think not.

Oh well, I'm going to grump off to the basement - yet again - to check on the last load of clothes I tossed in and then I'm going to try to get Jamie's stuff neatly packed without busting out into tears at the sheer frustration of it all. I doubt anyone would want to place odds on whether I succeed or not!

For Jenifer

Most of us come into this world kicking and screaming. With that first big breath we've each begun our journey on our particular road of life with all of its inherent twists and turns, ups and downs, and stops along the way. It can be a bumpy ride or a smooth ride, it can take us to points far away or leave us in our own backyards but for each journey there is no map, we navigate our life's road with our own personal compasses leading the way.

How we leave this life is as different as the ways that we live our lives - some quietly, some with dignity, some as large as the lives they've lived, some hell-bent for leather, and some fighting the whole way not wanting to let go until the very end. For the most part we probably don't have a choice in how our life ends. For some our lives are snatched away in the blink of an eye as the result of some unexpected tragedy, for some our lives end with machines providing our final gasps of air, and for others our lives end while we're so doped-up on medications to ease our pain that our physical bodies have no clue that our loved ones surround us while Death comes to greet us and extends his hand to help us over to the other side.

Jen's grandmother passed away this morning after spending 86 years on this planet following her own life's journey. From what Jen tells me, I picture her Gram as a fiercely independent woman - a woman who's family loved her for her feistiness as well as her kindness. As Jen was the child of a single parent household whose mother worked the overnight shift, her grandmother's house was her second home - the place she spent her nights before going to school in the morning, the home she spent summers at, and even now the place she lives with her own family while she awaits her house to be renovated. Because of this and more, Jen's grandmother was a big a part of her life and with her passing there is now a large empty hole that can only be filled with memories.

My own grandmother used to say "it's a shame to get this old and then die" and I guess I have to agree with her to a certain extent. It seems that just as we get to the point in our lives where we've figured out all the answers and can now pass some of that sage advice on to others so that their own journey might be a little smoother we come to the end of our road. For those who have lived long lives and are ready to lay down their burdens and rest, we can't begrudge them their passing though we know that we'll miss them for the rest of our own lives.

It's never easy to let someone go. My beloved grandfather died 34 years ago this on the 22nd of this month. He had leukemia and had become a shadow of his former self; he was ready to go and he welcomed Death into his home as he would have any welcome visitor for he felt that he'd lived a good life and his job here was done. As a 14-year old who idolized her grandfather, I wasn't ready to let him go but Death is Death and it doesn't care one iota about those it leaves behind. Over three decades later I still miss my grandfather like it was just yesterday but as an adult I can understand now his desire to leave this life to go onto whatever awaits us.

Jen's grandmother also opted to avoid the inevitable by refusing dialysis for her renal failure. I believe that she, like my grandfather, felt that she had lived a good life and was ready for her eternal rest. It wasn't that she wouldn't miss the people she left behind but she had traveled a long journey and had grown weary of the road. In our own grief and loss it's hard to understand why someone would want to leave this life behind but as I grow older myself, I begin to understand it better. In time I'm sure that Jen will, too.

In the meantime, I hope Jen remembers her grandmother as the vibrant woman she once was so that she can pass those memories along to her own children and they, too, will come to know the grandmother that Jen loved so dearly through the stories and remembrances that she shares with them. Someone is never truly dead or gone as long as we keep their memory alive in our hearts and take it out from time to time to cherish and share with others.

911 Is Heating Up

Sitting home in my semi-comfortable living room this evening, I decided to see what was going on in the rest of the world and switched the TV over to the CBS Evening News. Bob Schieffer, a grandfatherly newscaster reminiscent of Walter Cronkite and light years ahead of their soon-to-be-new anchor Katie Couric, proceeded to tell me that it wasn't just hot outside of my own humble abode but that the entire East Coast was baking under an unrelenting sun. Not living in a bubble or in a house with central air-conditioning, I was cognizant of this fact but as the saying goes "misery loves company" and it was nice to see my fellow Americans sweltering in the same manner I had been prior to retreating to the couch.

Bob turned the story over to reporter Trish Regan who had spent the day with an emergency services crew in New York City to see how people there were handling the heat. I must admit that I was rather surprised not to see a group of street-tough New Yorkers standing on the corner telling the news crew "So what it's hot?? Fuggudaboutit!" but people looking like they were ready to melt into the sidewalks. New Yorkers, in my mind, can handle just about anything thrown at them so if they're saying it's hot then you better believe it's hot!

According to the rather cool-looking Ms. Regan, 911 calls had risen 20% from normal in the Big Apple and this was going to be the 5th busiest day on record for them. My heart goes out to the men and women who staff those centers as I'm sure that a 20% rise in calls puts an already busy city pretty close to being over the edge and I've no doubt that, despite the air-conditioning, it was not a great day to be at work.

Those of us who choose this profession probably have a screw loose somewhere but we also know that we are an integral part of society. Without someone to answer 911 there is no one to send police, fire, or medical personnel where they're needed. People seem to forget that small fact and when the weather is like it is or another tragedy befalls them it seems that we're the first one that people yell at as if we had some sort of magical control over the universe and life. Thankfully, though, we're trained professionals and we understand that when the adrenalin starts pumping people don't always act their best. We're there to help - regardless.

Reporter Regan ended her broadcast tonight with a rather ominous note for those of us who work in 911 centers and for the people we dispatch ... "because it's only August, the forecast for 911 centers and emergency services workers will remain stressful and busy as they try to guard people against all this heat." That doesn't exactly bode well for the rest of the summer but as I said, we're there to help - regardless. Stay hydrated and stay cool as best you can. And remember, winter's only four months away!

"Dedicated, Professional People, Committed to Excellence - Caring for You!"

I work with an incredible group of people - men and women who have dedicated their lives to rendering medical assistance as Emergency Medical Technicians and Paramedics. These folks have devoted countless hours to perfecting their chosen professions and they treat their patients with understanding, concern, and care. How they treat fellow employees when it comes to medical issues is another story!

Anyone who has read some of my postings here may recall that I mentioned getting a sunburn a few entries back - in particular a sunburn on the top of my feet. Even though I had gotten the sunburn last Monday and it seemed to be healing in most spots, the burn on my left foot just didn't seem to be making any progress towards getting better. I had gotten permission from the Director of Operations to wear civilian clothes over the weekend as the thought of trying to put my boot on was not appealing at all even though I had crammed my feet into them on Tuesday and Wednesday. Damian granted said permission so I spent Saturday and Sunday hobbling around the dispatch center in my stocking feet.

Towards the end of my shift on Sunday I asked the on-duty supervisor if he might be able to extend my "civilian clothes" status to Monday as the burn was still pretty bad and suggested that perhaps he take a look at my foot to verify my claim. Now - let me just say that even though I have been dispatching ambulances for the better part of three years now and have gotten somewhat adept with medical terminology, I have no medical training whatsoever except for CPR certification. I can no more look at someone and say "oh, you're having tachycardia with bouts of hypertension and diaphoresis" then I can rub my stomach and pat my head at the same time. As far as I was concerned my foot had a bad sunburn and that's where it ended. Okay, so it was quite swollen, looked black and purple in places, and was extrememly painful but it was a sunburn, right? Wrong!

One look at my foot and Jeff said "that's not a burn, you've got cellulitis". I've got what?? Cellulitis. Definition: an acute inflammation of the connective tissue of the skin, caused by infection with staphylococcus, streptococcus or other bacteria. In addition to getting Jeff's diagnosis, my foot was examined by Sean (a medic), Russ (a dispatcher who's been an EMT forever), and Wayne (a former dispatcher who's an EMT going to school to be a medic) and the overall consensus was that I needed to go see a doctor unless I wanted to consider losing my foot sometime in the not-so-distant future.

So it was off to the emergency room at Backus, a place I hadn't been to since last year's three trips for my screwed-up back, and an hour later I was discharged with my foot wrapped in guaze, a pair of crutches, two prescriptions, a doctor's note to be out of work for several days, and orders to keep my foot elevated and avoid stairs. Okay, so it wasn't just a burn ... duh!

Today was my first day back and as I hobbled around still trying to get the hang of using crutches for the first time in 47 years do you think I got any sympathy from the good medical providers that I work with? Heck no! "For crying out loud what did you do now?", "Do you want a wheelchair?", and "Cellulitis is something old people get" were amongst the remarks I got to hear. Oh well, I guess that all of their sympathy and understanding go to the patients in the field that they treat which is as it should be but I just want to remind them of one thing ... they have an in-time and out-goal ... hint, hint!

The Countdown Has Begun

Up until two summers ago, I never really gave much thought to a "last" anything where my daughters were concerned - especially not when it came to the amount of time that I spent with them. Granted, I had given primary custody to their father but they lived a mere 20 miles up the road and we never fought about whether or not it was my day to have the girls. To say that visitation was liberal didn't even come close - if I wanted them for an extra day, no problem, and if something had come up where their Dad needed me to take them for some extra time that was generally no problem either as long as my whacked-out schedule allowed it.

All of that changed when the ex remarried in July of 2004 and relocated to Kentucky. In all honesty, I had always hoped that my ex-husband would find someone who loved him in the way I never had and I was truly happy that he'd met someone but I was also somewhat miffed that he had to find that someone over 900 miles away. Because of different child custody laws in Kentucky, she couldn't move her two children back here away from their father but there was nothing in Connecticut law that said my ex couldn't take the girls out of the State. According to the "Best Interest of the Child" law, as long as he wasn't moving them away just to tick me off then he could do it. Well, of course it ticked me off but he had viable reasons - new wife, new job, new home and there was nothing I could do to legally stop him.

In August of that year my mother and I packed the kids up and made a vacation of sorts out of the drive to Kentucky to drop them off at their new home. Except for the final destination it was a great trip - we spent several days in Pennsylvania and had a wonderful time at Hershey Park before continuing West. However, driving away and leaving the two of them in a strange place was probably one of the hardest things I have ever done in my life. On the long drive home the car was horribly quiet with no voices bickering, no feet kicking the back seat, and no one asking when we were going to stop to eat. When I got home to Norwich the house was quieter than what I imagine a tomb might be as I kept waiting to hear a voice yell "Mom, it's my turn on the computer" or "Do we have any snacks?" but heard nothing but silence.

Two years later things have changed a little as now Amanda won't be leaving in the next few days but the countdown has started for Jamie's return to Kentucky. Last night as I was trying to fall asleep the thought occurred to me that it had been her last Sunday here and that every day of this week would also be her "last" until whenever she came back out to visit again. As much as she can drive me crazy, she's my youngest and I miss her when she's gone. I worry about how she's doing in school, whether her Dad is being too strict on her in the overbearing way that he can be, how she's getting along with her stepmom and stepbrothers, and when she'll get to come out again.

I am not looking forward to Saturday morning's early trip to the airport where once again I'm going to have to put Jamie on a plane and then wait while it safely flys off into the sky taking away the child who can mess my house up in the blink of an eye while driving her sister crazy without even trying. Fortunately I'll have the drive back from Hartford to fight down the lump in my throat before I have to go to work but it's going to seem strangely quiet around here again on Saturday night despite having Amanda here. I doubt she'd admit it but I think Amanda will miss her sister, too, when she's gone and we're both going to have to get used to the emptiness that Jamie's departure will bring.

In the meantime, we're going to try to enjoy these 'last' days as best we can and I'm going to try not to dwell too much on Saturday and the heaviness in my chest that grows with each passing day.

I Want My MTV ... Not!

"I wish I was in Tijuana, Eating barbecued iguana ..."
Does anyone besides me remember when MTV and VH1 actually played these things called music videos? One of my favorites was Wall of Voodoo's "Mexican Radio" ... it was a senseless song but it was fun and it translated well to the small screen. Now you're hard-pressed to find an honest-to-goodness music video on either station. Instead of video killing the radio star, reality shows seem to have killed the video stars. "Punk'd", "Real World", "Flavor of Love", "Celebrity Fit Club", "My Fair Brady" ... the list goes on and on.

Amanda has taken to watching quite a few shows on VH1 - in particular the "I Love the 80's" and "I Love the 70's" series. She's always trying to get me to watch these shows with her but I'm not so sure that I loved either decade enough to want to relive it via VH1's group of non-celebrities with their pithy, constant commentaries running throughout the shows. I mean, come on now - Ron Jeremy? Raine Pryor? Jason and Randy Sklar? You're kidding me ...

It's not like Amanda's actually getting anything constructive from these shows either. Instead of learning about the important things that happened in those decades - the collapse of the Berlin Wall, the Jonestown massacre, the first woman appointed to the US Supreme Court, the Chernobyl nuclear accident - she can tell me who had a "Farrah-do", what year people went crazy for Cabbage Patch dolls, and who "The Hot Rockers of 198_ (fill in a year)" were.

When people say "what's old is new again" they aren't kidding! Fashions that should have died in the 70's are creeping back into society (let's hope they draw the line at leisure suits!) and classic rock groups like Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, and Pink Floyd are all the rage again. Jamie, my 13-year old, is a die-hard AC/DC fan (much to her father's chagrin) and knows more about the group now than I ever cared to know when they were popular and Bon Scott was still alive and screaming his lungs out.

Oh well, at least Amanda knows who's having "The Best Week Ever" and keeping up on the pop culture which is oh-so-important to a 14-year old. I guess I'll just keep trying to explain to her why the original "Omen" was so much scarier than the remake and why anyone ever thought their hair looked good like that!

Awaiting the Arrival of the Stork

My weekend dispatch partner is just about 8-1/2 months pregnant with her second child - a boy who shall be named Cayden Jeremy once he makes his arrival on or about September 8th. Said arrival can come none too soon for my liking as this pregnancy has been just about as tough on me as it has been on Jen!

It's been said that women who work together will eventually sync and tend to run on the same cycle (chances are good someone somewhere paid good money to fund a research project on this) but I never knew this applied to pregnancies - especially when there is a chance of the proverbial snowball in hell of the other party even thinking about being pregnant! While Jen has been suffering from edema, heartburn, sciatica, and weight gain it has apparently been my duty as a good partner to suffer along with her. I've heard of the significant male half of a pregnancy having sympathy labor pains and cravings with their partner but this is ridiculous! I have already been through three pregnancies of my own with their own inherent aches, pains, and oddities and was not looking to ever go through another in this lifetime. However, I've got the edema and weight gain down perfectly and am just thankful that the sciatica and heartburn has not decided to join in ~ yet!

I'm sure that none of this would come as a surprise to our supervisor and lead dispatcher who seems to think that we're two peas in a pod most of the time anyway and refers to us as the "two red-headed dispatchers" on a regular basis (and other things that aren't exactly printable!). Despite the fact that almost 20 years to the day separate our ages (Jen's birthday is September 6th and mine is the 9th), we actually do have a lot in common which probably comes from sharing the same astrological sign. For some unknown reason, the best dispatchers always seem to be Virgos and Sagittariuns. My number one partner and still best friend in California is a Sagittariun and she will always stands out as one of the best dispatchers that I have ever had the pleasure to share a console with (miss you, Cyndi!).

At any rate, should the "sympathy symptoms" continue until Jen gives birth I am thinking of asking my supervisor if I can wear "sympathy civilian clothes" - it only seems fair! And the worst part of all this? Jen is thinking of having a third child after this one ... Say it isn't so!!!

Diversion Notes

Anyone who works in EMS (Emergency Medical Services), another medical field, or spends a lot of time in hospitals for one reason or another is familiar with the term "diversion". For the uninitiated, it basically means that every bed in the Emergency Room is occupied, people are stacked in the hallways like cord wood, and there's no place to put anyone else. This generally happens when there are no beds anywhere in the entire hospital to put patients in so people end up spending a lot of time in an ER bed prior to getting admitted to a floor. When that happens anyone coming in via ambulance ends up being diverted to another facility that has agreed to accept the overflow.

With the exception of the "Q" word (as in "wow, it's really quiet tonight!") there are few words that an EMD (Emergency Medical Dispatcher) wants to hear less than the "D" word. If a road crew member calls from Backus to give us a heads-up that the "D" word is being tossed around, it causes an immediate spike in blood pressure and much groaning and gnashing of teeth as it seems that invariably the only accepting hospitals are Day Kimball Hospital in Putnam or Westerly Hospital in Rhode Island - neither of which are just a stone's throw-away. Ambulances that are diverted to DKH in Putnam seem to magically disappear like hapless vessels that wander into the mysterious Bermuda Triangle and we can pretty much kiss them good-bye for the rest of the shift.

Fortunately the last time Backus went on diversion was after I had gone home for the day and was happily parked on the couch playing Animal Crossing or watching a previously recorded episode of The Closer, I forget which. My company-issued pager was on the dresser in a room upstairs where Amanda was watching TV so when it chirped I asked her to read it for me. "432 is on diversion until further notice with 478 accepting" she yelled down the stairs immediately followed by "what's that mean?" Translation: the Backus ER is full to overflowing and all patients are being sent to Windham Hospital in Willimantic until Lord knows when. Further translation: I'm glad I'm home and not at work!

Now it should be noted that children who grow up in households where either Mom or Dad work for a law enforcement agency, fire department, or ambulance company (paid or volunteer) will eventually learn to speak in code. My kids were never told 'no' but got to hear 'negative' an awful lot, we don't arrive somewhere we're 'Signal O', and if I want them to forget about something it's either a 109 or 10-54 if I'm reverting to cop-talk. For Amanda, the word 'diversion' was just another addition to her "My Mom Talks on the Radio for a Living" vocabulary.

Several days later, we were driving down Salem Turnpike on the way back from visiting my mother and as we passed The 99 Restaurant it was it's usual packed self - the parking lot was crowded with cars and people were milling around outside waiting for their names to be called. Business as per usual on a Friday night when everyone decides that it's been a long week and they need to go out to eat and relax a little. In continuing down the road, we eventually passed Old Tymes Restaurant where I noted that the parking lot was surprisingly full for a change (it's no secret that when The 99 came in some business was pulled from other local eateries). As we drove by I commented to the girls that it looked like business was good tonight.

Without missing a beat Amanda turned to me and said "The 99 must be on diversion and Old Tymes is accepting". Yep ... she's definitely my daughter!

And then there were two ...

********************

Chronologically I knew that it had to happen sometime, that it was totally unavoidable and would have to be faced sooner or later, but sometimes I have to wonder how it is that "sooner" always seems to get here so darned soon and before we realize it "later" has zipped on by in the blink of an eye. The progression of time is a depressing thing! But, alas, I digress for no matter how much I might wonder how it happened so quickly I now officially have two teenaged daughters.

Yesterday was my youngest child's birthday - the day when Jamie made the great jump from pre-teen smack into teen as she turned the ripe old age of 13. Ah, 13 - probably one of the most confusing ages of all as you aren't a child anymore but neither are you technically a young adult. It's definitely an age of many possibilities as most kids this age are heading into their 8th-grade year and are ready to be the 'big man (or woman) on campus' at their middle school or junior high - for one glorious school year they are going to rule the roost before crashing back down to the bottom of the pile as a freshman in high school where, in the big pecking order of things, they are going to be made to feel virtually non-existent. For Jamie, she will be at the top of her game this year - may she enjoy it!

And speaking of virtually non-existent freshmen, I have one of them in the house also. Amanda turned 14 this past June and graduated from Teachers Memorial Middle School with a nice handful of awards and a good report card. Considering that she had transferred from Oldham County Middle School a few months into her 8th-grade year, I think she did fantastic and I am understandably proud of her. She stands poised on the edge of her high school carer with so many marvelous opportunities ahead of her - new friends, new experiences, new clothes ... well ... eventually the new clothes once we do some back-to-school shopping! Sometimes it's enough to make me wish that I could go back and do it over again armed with what I know now that I didn't know then.

Wouldn't it be great to have the chance for one "do-over" in our lives? But you could only have one so you'd have to choose very carefully and that's where the really tricky part comes in. My very good friend in California and I had a long talk about this one night thanks to the joys of unlimited long distance calling and we were both hard pressed to find the right spot for a "do-over". Yes, we could pinpoint times in our lives where hitting rewind and starting over definitely sounded like a good idea but then there were so many extenuating circumstances surrounding that period of time that it just didn't seem like a good idea.

For instance, I could do my life over starting from choosing not to marry my first husband but by doing that, I would never have given birth to my son so he would never have existed and I would never have known the fine young man he's become, my new daughter-in-law, or my grandson. If I chose to do my life over and not marry my second husband then I would never have my two daughters and how different would my life be then?

They may drive me completely crazy from time to time, especially now that they are both teenagers, but how empty would my life be if I didn't have the girls to leave things laying around everywhere, to constantly bicker with each other, and to leave the lights on all over the house?? Hmm - now that I think about it a little more ... tempting, very tempting ... but no, I guess not for after all, I fully believe that all things happen for a reason even if we may never know what that reason might be. I'm rather hoping that when I eventually die and go to wherever it is that I'm going (there's a good part of me that is expecting warm temperatures!) that someone will hand me a book chock full of explanations for the reasons so many things happened the way that they did. Now that would make for some marvelous reading!

How about you - ever thought a "do-over" would be nice? Ever think you could really do one if you could? I think I'm going to save mine until later.

Down By The Sea

********************

This past Monday I took a much-needed vacation day from work and with my former dispatch partner from Norwich PD and good buddy Paula (who deserves a major congratulations on the recent landing of a new job as an art teacher at Grasso Tech in Groton!) we packed the kids and a cooler into the car and headed East to Rhode Island and the Scarborough State Beach in Narragansett.

Turns out it was one of the few nice days we've had this summer so it was the perfect beach day and we'd even been unwittingly smart enough to avoid the beaches at Westerly that apparently had a man-o'-war outbreak. By 11:00 we had staked our place out on the sand with a plethora of towels, bags, the cooler, a boom box, and any of the other 'necessary' beach items that we had thought to bring.

The waves were glorious and once you got used to the initial slap of cold water and that first big gulp of salt water (eyuk!) it was quite nice and very refreshing. The girls actually seemed to be getting along for a change (I swear, they've got bickering down to an art!) so Paula and I congratulated ourselves on a successful summer outing.

Perhaps the celebration was a bit premature ... I should take the time to explain here that Jamie, my youngest daughter who resides full-time with her Dad in Kentucky but spends the summer here, can only be described as a headstrong, spit-in-your-eye, nothing-scares-her-at-all kind of kid. To tell her not to do something is more or less a waste of time and breath for Jamie has selective hearing - always has and apparently always will. Amanda, on the other hand, has always had more of a sensitive and tentative nature - the devil-may-care genes went entirely to her litle sister - but as the oldest, she feels that it is her duty and responsibility to try to keep her younger sister in check.

And that became part of the problem on Monday ... Jamie kept wanting to go out further than Amanda did in order to catch the bigger waves and ride them in but Amanda thought it smarter to stay in closer to shore and not go out so deep just in case one of the waves decided to not only drag you under but pull you out to sea. For Jamie, that was half the fun of it and she wasn't going to listen to her older sister for love or money - there was adventure to be had and by golly, she was going to have it! This, of course, caused Amanda no end of frustration and in trying to get close enough to tell Jamie to come back in, she kept standing right in the spot where the waves were breaking and knocking her over. With high tide approaching, the waves were coming in at a pretty good clip so there really wasn't much time to get too far out in between waves. For every step forward she took, Amanda ended up backing up another three and her frustration level was visibly rising.

Paula and I stood closer in towards shore and watched this unfold for awhile - Jamie out riding the waves and having a grand old time while Amanda got more and more aggravated at not only her sister but at the waves that kept knocking her over. I finally called her in and explained to her that neither the waves nor Jamie were going to listen to her so she might as well enjoy the day and not worry about either. At that point, I believe that Amanda saw the futility of it all and just decided to hecks with it, she'd hang out closer to the shore with us old people. And, of course, without an audience, Jamie eventually came in on her own.

After close to five hours of being tossed around by the waves (memo to self - you're old, you had back surgery last year, and doing underwater somersaults really isn't a good thing!) and being baked in the sun for way too long (what good is SPF-30 to someone who never goes out in the sun???) we packed up the kids and gear and drove over to Point Judith for dinner at Champlin's. The place had been recommended to me by one of my supervisors at work and backed up by one of our medics who actually hails from Rhode Island. To say that it was excellent would have been an understatement - it was the perfect ending to the perfect day (thanks Brad and Sean!)

Now I just wish this sunburn on the top of my feet would heal so I could wear my workboots comfortably and stop hobbling around like Quasimodo on my way to ring the bells!

How I Got Here and Where I'm Going - Maybe!

Hello and welcome to my blog! Happy to have you stop by!

To give you some additional background on what this blog is “supposed” to be about ... once upon a time, in the early 1980's, after four years of marriage and one child my first husband decided that there were too many single women in the world for him to deal with the responsibilities of being a husband and father and thus began my first journey in the Land of Single Parenthood. Luckily I was young and possessed the energy, eternal optimism, and resiliency of said youth. It was also at this time that I took my first job in emergency dispatching for the City of Stockton Police Department in Stockton, California. This was when I first learned to juggle a stressful career with being a single Mom.

Fast forward to the early 90's when I moved back to Connecticut to be closer to family and where I eventually became one of the first civilian dispatchers at the Norwich Police Department while still raising my son on my own. Shortly after that, I married my cousin's brother-in-law and heaved a sigh of relief that I was no longer going to be the only adult responsible for the raising of my then 10-year old son. Soon Michael had two sisters, Amanda and Jamie, and I took a brief respite from dispatching to be a Navy wife and stay-at-home mom.

To make a long story short, the marriage lasted ten years before we parted more or less amicably and I granted my 'ex' primary physical custody of the girls in order to avoid a long, nasty, drawn-out court battle. I had been dispatching back at Norwich PD since 1997 and also learned how to deal blackjack and was working part-time at the Mohegan Sun. As their Dad had a "normal" schedule compared to mine it seemed the ideal situation that I took the girls every week on my days off and they lived the rest of the time in Plainfield with dear old Dad and several cats.

Everyone was happy, give or take the usual fall-out from a divorce, until the ex-husband ventured over to eHarmony.com and met the love of his life (see? it does work for some people) - who happened to live in Kentucky. Kentucky?!? With nary a thought for my feelings or those of his daughters, he married after a whirlwind long-distance courtship and packed everyone off to Louisville to live with his new wife and her two sons.

Now everyone was definitely NOT happy! I missed the girls (truth be told, I was bereft) and the girls missed me - especially my oldest who was entering that explosive and volatile pre-teen age. Occasional visits back to Connecticut during Christmas and other school breaks just wasn’t doing it for Amanda so her Dad rather grudgingly decided last October that she needed to move back here with me in order to get a little peace in the new homestead.

I guess you could say that things have gone full circle at this point – I’m back to being a single parent and still working in emergency dispatch though now as an emergency medical dispatcher with American Ambulance in Norwich. To say that things have changed in the past 15 years since I was last raising a child on my own would be an understatement! No longer do I have the energy, eternal optimism, or resiliency of youth but rather the aches and pains of middle age, the worries of ever being able to retire, and the awful feeling of deja-vu all over again! Add on the complexities of raising a teenager in this day and age and well … it keeps me on my toes!

I hope you’ll join me on my journeys – through the laughs & the frustrations, the tears & the smiles, and everything else that goes along with juggling work and home while trying to maintain at least a small bit of sanity on the side! I welcome your stories and your comments (though bear in mind, I have the power of veto when it comes to posting your comments or not so please be nice!).

On that note – let the journey begin! As soon as I rest up for a minute or two …