Yes, it’s that time of year again… makes me laugh every time.

I have 300 friends, or so Facebook tells me.  THREE HUNDRED??  I don’t think I can name 300 friends, let alone “friends” Facebook says I have. Let’s set aside larger questions of what is a friend, and when does someone become a friend vs. an acquaintance. Also a topic for another day –  whether someone who was a friend many years ago once again a friend today because, through the magic of Facebook,  I am constantly aware of the mundane details of their lives…they are a Yankees fan instead of a Mets fan, their kid was a robot for Halloween, they are sitting in traffic on 95…

I can’t remember when I caved and joined The Great Timesuck — it may have been around reunion time a couple of years ago when the curiosity about the kid who sat next to me in Mrs. Passor’s 5th grade class got the best of me. It gave me something fun to do on the train, too. I  friended everyone I used to know,  just to see what they were up to now. I accepted Friend Requests from everyone whose name I recognized…and some I didn’t. In at least 2 cases I had to message another FB friend or my brother (who refuses to get on FB because “if I wanted to be in touch with these people, I would be…”) to figure out who has contacted me.

Fulfilling voyeurish tendencies quickly lost its charm and, like many FBers, the “I wonder what happened to so-and-so” folks comprise a pretty large portion of the 300 “friends” I rarely interact with anymore. Unfriending them seems mean and unnecessary so there they sit. I don’t know why I care, as I am well aware I have been unfriended by several people I quite like and I don’t care (Joanna, Penny, Melissa, I’m talking to you…) so I don’t know why I think other people would care. Bygones.

Beyond scoping out what happened to the Head Cheerleader, Facebook has had some unexpected benefits.

I have a large, extended family. Raised Italian Catholic, it’s a requirement. Also typical for Italians, half of my family is not speaking to the other half at any given time. This means that I have a lot of cousins I have either never met, or haven’t seen in 20 years. I actually had to have one of my cousins raw me a family tree to help me figure out which kds and spouses went with which member of my dysfunctional family. But, Lo… through the magic of Facebook I chat with them far more than I otherwise would. Sometimes this means weekly instead of biennially; sometimes it means weekly instead of “ever”; sometimes it just means the potential for contact is increased.  My cousin Anna, who I more or less grew up knowing decently well, checks in every so often and we’ve reached out and touched someone fairly frequently. I’ve even seen her a bunch of times.  My cousin Jessica — I actually haven’t seen or talked to her since she was about 4 (she’s maybe 23 now) but we touch base and trade a few words at least weekly. Kinda cool, I think, and it has made me seriously consider making a trip to her hometown to see a lot of her aunts and uncles. My cousins Jeremy and Jenna…I don’t ever remember meeting them…but it’s nice to know they are there.

Reconnecting with friends I used to be pretty close to but since drifted away from. Jeanne, one of my best friends in high school, for example. We were close for years, we argued over something stupid, feelings were hurt, we drifted apart.  Bang, 20 years and one 20-year HS reunion later and I can’t tell you how delighted I am that we have reconnected. She is also conveniently married to another old friend I am delighted to get reacquainted with as an adult, and they are now one of my must-do visits when I go back to my hometown. A college pal, Ali. Three years younger than me, we didn’t overlap a lot in college and in all honesty she started out as one of those “oh wow,I used to know you…wonder what she’s been up to the last 18 years.” But guess what — if we go 3 days without touching base even  if just briefly, it’s a long time. And I am reconsidering Colorado as a potential location for work travel so that I can see her in person again. Claire in Australia, my uncle in Louisiana, and Megan in Pennsylvania — same deal…people I don’t see nearly enough, but have more of a connection to now.

Yes, it’s a time suck and yes, there are far too many stupid annoying applications and dumb pointless games…but overall, I’m hooked.

That I can still buy Christmas presents for my kids right in front of their faces and they don’t notice…or realize. I’m not sure which.

That the 10 year old was excited to find and hide the stupid Tinkerbell movie from the 5 year old. And that she is still innocent enough to not understand why she can’t hide it under her coat in the middle of BJs.

That I can still carry the 5 year old into the house when she falls asleep in the car.

That they still think it’s fun to hang out with mom and dad.

That they think it’s fun and not sad that I play PS3 with them.

That the 5 year old doesn’t yet remember which finger “is the bad finger.”

That given the choice of TV shows to watch, they will pick something on Animal Planet, The Food Network, or Discovery Channel.

That they still believe in Santa.

That the 10 year old thinks Monty Python and the Holy Grail is the best movie ever made.

The girls put on a 60-minute variety show for us tonight. They sang, danced, and made up skits. During that hour, inbetween laughing at their antics, I was struck by how much their own people they are, and how proud of them I am for it.  At 5 and 10, my daughters have already learned what it took me well into adulthood to learn — be yourself, love yourself, express yourself, and who cares what anyone else thinks.

My 10 year old LOVES her glasses. And she should -  they look way cool on her. When I was her age, I *hated* my glasses and couldn’t wait to get rid of them. She is so full of personality and not at all afraid to let it show. When I was her age, I wanted nothing more than to be invisible behind my book. She does not apologize for who she is; I didn’t know who I was until I was 30. This amazing small person, who looks so much like me it takes my breath away, can entertain herself for hours by building fairy houses, drawing, reading, building forts, cooking, or writing stories. She is happy to be with people, or to just be. She finds contententment within herself, and does what she wants, when she wants to.

My 5 year old is at a crossroads between baby and big girl, and depending on her mood she can be either. Her favorite place is sprawled in my lap, thumb stuck between her rosebud lips. She’s a mama’s girl like I never was. She is totally fearless, living like there is no tomorrow. This little girl is larger than life. She surrounds a room with herself, willing you to see her. She is both a pleaser and an adventurer. She can charm the socks off you before you know what hit you. She possesses an independence  that, if she can hold onto it, will take her far.

My daughters are all these things that I was not when I was their age. I fought hard for these things as an adult; they efforlessly draw on a deep, seemingly unending sense of self. They will grow up to be what they want to be, not what I want them to be. They are this way because I remind myself each day to let them be who they are instead of my idea of who they should be.

And that is the greatest gift I can give them.

It is a well-established fact among my family and friends that I am a total dork. My kids know it, my husband knows it, my parents are *proud* of it (I think they believed that dorks don’t do drugs or get pregnant in high school). One of my friends and cow-orkers once counseled, “you really should let people get to know you a little bit before you show them what a spaz you are.” Not only am I a dork, I’m a musical, theatrical dork — and have been since I was 8. If there was a chorus, a choir, a church folk group, community chorus, or a cappella choir, I was in it. The group in my office that sings spoofed songs at holiday parties and summer picnics? Yep. Every musical and drama from 7-12 grades? Dork, Represent! These days, I sing at weddings, funerals, and karaoke bars (and office parties — see above). I sing in the shower and in my car. Yes, I’m the girl sitting next to you in traffic belting out Total Eclipse of the Heart into my water bottle-microphone.

So it should come as no surprise that I fell in love with Glee! from the moment it aired. It’s High School Musical for adults. It’s living vicariously through TV to become, for an hour a week, the thing I wanted most as a kid yet lacked the self-confidence and drive (and probably the talent) to achieve — a musical theater star. It’s the biggest feel-good thing going on TV. It makes me Smiley McSmilerson on Wednesdays. [I'm in withdrawal, though, since it's been pre-empted for the World Series. I was raised to believe the Yankees suck ass in general, but when they interfere with the only show I bother to watch on TV they move from blechy to downright sucktastic.] But I digress…

If you don’t believe me, check out the football team doing the Single Ladies dance and tell me you don’t Love. This. Show.

Love that song. Except when it’s my theme song of the day… as it was yesterday.

Adamant about eating breakfast with the girls…who cares that I will get to work at 9:45am… it’s worth it…

Just before I leave I get sucked into a debate about what to do about insulating the unfinished space in Muppet’s room…knock through the wall and expand her room, knock through part of the wall and make built-in cubbies, knock through the wall in a way that allows for a hide-a-bed… ok, we will talk about this when I get home…now I am really late…

Pull out of garage while Husband is pulling out of his side of the garage (in MY car — long story) and, in an attempt to close the garage door on my side, mix up the buttons and close HIS door…unfortunately, while he is backing the car out… Buh-bye, radio antenna… can’t wait to see how much that will cost to fix.

oops.

Drive away totally distracted…and get pulled over in a speed trap exactly 1.5 miles from my house. Thank you, Officer, for having a heart and a) not laughing at me when I told you about the garage door debacle and b) not even giving me a warning.

All’s well that ends well?

Sigh.

When I was a little girl, I wanted a sister sooooooo much. I wished it so badly that when I was about 10 or 11, I told my neighbor girlfriends that my mom was pregnant with a baby girl (you can imagine how well that went over with my mother when it got back to her…not.)  Yes, I have a little brother…but back then he was an annoying pest (as is any little brother worth his salt.) And a bit of a crybaby, if we’re being totally honest. We didn’t like any of the same things, and he always teased me and called me FAT [who knew we'd grow up to be best friends?]

If I had a sister, though, I’d always have someone to hang out with. Someone to laugh with, go to the mall and the movies with, to cry with, to share clothes with. Someone who saw right through my brother’s “I’m so cute and funny” act and recognized him for what he was — a pest. A sister understands your crazy parents and is a built-in early warning system that lets you know when you start acting like them, makes you feel better when you’re sad, is always up for a drink, never says she’s too busy to talk to you (even when she really is), always takes your side, and calls you out on your shit.  [Yes, yes, all of you reading this who have sisters are laughing hysterically about my roses and sunshine view of growing up with a sister... bygones.]

Over the years I made friends who were all the things I imagined a sister would be — and to this day I am blessed by and grateful for them. After all, we’re not stuck with each other as we would be if bound by family ties…we  chose each other. I thought that was pretty damned special. And then I hit the jackpot — women who are sort of stuck with me but like me anyway…my sisters-in-law. I have two and they are totally different from each other, but both are absolutely brilliant. They are strong, beautiful, funny, smart, warm, kind, generous, witty, and fun. One put up with my husband for 18 years and lived to tell about it; the other chose to be tortured by my brother, daily. If that isn’t strength of character, I don’t know what is.

Here’s to you, girls.

Dear Easter Bunny

I would like you to hide the eggs outside and hard for us to find because it would be funner.

No idea how I missed this the first time around but I found it today when Spring cleaning in K’s room…it loses something in translation without the illustrations…I’ll try and scan those in later.

That’s a reindeer. When the wind blowed there was a rainstorm in that magical forest.

There was a long long time before the rainstorm came. All it had was a blustering wind.

This is the orange.

This is the lemon. And then the girl, with her brother, found alemon. Her brother’s name is Davis. And my name was Katie.

This is his sled. And then before long the rainstorm pushed over leaving behind the lucky cloud.

That’s the animal. The person who rides it is Santa.

That’s Santa’s sled. There’s a seat right there. And a huge blustering rainstorm.

And then the wind blew and me and my brother ran away. And they told their mom and dad about their adventure.

And the wind came to run the rainstorm away. And along came the owl to sign the blustering wind.

And then Rachel came along and said “meet me tomorrow at the park” and the owl said “ok.” And then along came Lewisburg.