Two Roads Diverge in a Yellow Wood I know ...

Nine years ago, a bleached, spikey haired soccer player with skater pants and an affection for punk music sent me an instant message on the now antiquated AOL. Those words set me on the path of life as I know it now. “Do you want to go running?” The first time he asked, I said no. He was obviously in better shape than I was and I did not want to embarrass myself. After all, I was his RA; I had to save face. I believe it was the second time he asked that I agreed. There I found myself, running uphill beside this guy I barely knew; huffing and gasping for air as he leisurely jogged beside me, pretending that it was much more than a stroll for him. I tried to carry my end of the conversation he was intent on having and found that I really liked this guy that, by appearances, I had little in common with.

After our runs, we would sit under the stars and talk. These were the “get to know you moments” that I love to think back on. I learned that he liked to eat a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Chubby Hubby after a run - in one sitting! My preference was Chunky Monkey. Being the lady I am (and with a much slower metabolism), I often opted not to gorge myself on ice cream. What I did not realize in those early days is that this guy I found easy to talk to was falling in love with me. I had never known love and didn’t know what to look for. From his experiences, he knew what he wanted and, it would seem, he had found it. Me.

So it began. And so it is. Brad no longer bleaches his hair, his musical repertoire has broadened and his pants have gotten skinnier, but he still has a great smile and the charming personality I fell in love with. Think back to our favorite B&J flavors. He’s my Chubby Hubby and I’m his Chunky Monkey. It was meant to be.

Thank you Brad for asking me to go running.

The Original Ace of Cakes

You may not realize it, but my mom is an artist.

Long before novelty cakes filled the bakery section at the grocery store, my mom was decorating masterpieces at our kitchen table. Over the years, she has created thousands of cakes to celebrate birthdays, retirements, holidays, special achievements, etc. etc. It’s hard to remember an occasion that has passed without my mom making a cake for it. If ever I need a thoughtful, carefully decorated cake, I ask my mom. I am guaranteed to have a cake that is not only beautiful but delicious!

You remember superlatives from way back when, right? They were all the rage among the Senior class in high school. Who was Most Attractive, Most Athletic, Most Likely to Succeed, etc. When we got our yearbooks at the end of the year, we sat around and gossiped about the accuracy of the awards. I remember my freshman year lacrosse coach gave out team superlatives. I was given Best Smile and Most Optimistic (or something like that). Why? Because when we’d lose a game – and we almost always lost the game – and everyone would have a storm cloud hanging over their head on the bus ride home, I was happy and cheerful and wondering why everyone was in such a funk. How could you be upset if you tried your best? I know I did the best I could warming the bench!

Ah yes, now you remember what a superlative is! If I were to give my mom a superlative, it would be Unsung Hero. She volunteers and is often volunteered to do many things to help others out, from picking up extra hours at work, to baking a cake for so-and-so’s retirement, to baking a lasagna for her son’s neighbor after his house caught on fire, to watching her grandkids with little notice so her only daughter can work an unpredictable and often chaotic schedule. I know my mom does not like telling people “no” when she is feeling overwhelmed and overburdened because she sees their need and wants to help as she can. I think that is what makes her an unsung hero: she gives her time and talents to help others even though she may receive nothing in return.

I want to end this entry dedicated to my mother with an exchange from my early teen years. (I hope my mom does not feel this is TMI because she is usually private about such matters … oh well, my blog, my decision!) We were visiting family in Texas, as we did every summer, when my grandmother’s refrigerator broke down. Without skipping a beat, my mom talked the situation over with my dad and bought a new fridge for my grandma. I remember thinking how my parents couldn’t afford such a large purchase and asking my mom about it. Her response has stayed with me and has guided me over all these years. When you do something to help another person, even if it seems outside of your means, the "good" that you gave will come back to you when you find yourself in need.