For These Gifts, I am Truly Grateful

As a nice, long, Thanksgiving holiday winds to an end, I'm left with a little time to reflect on the things that make me thankful.

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

A strong faith in God, our Heavenly Father...
A wonderful husband who I found by chance and share a beautiful life with...
Two parents who I adore and never want to disappoint...
3 sisters who I would not trade for anything in the world...
An extended family who has grown in love together, through happiness and sorrow...
A relatively "new" family of in-laws who make my life that much sweeter...
Friends, near and far, who will drop anything to lend a helpful hand (or caring ear)...
A "job" that is so much more than that...
Co-workers who are my friends first, partners second...
Students who make me smile every single day...
A house that provides me with shelter and comfort (and sometimes a little drama!)...
Jack, my buddy, who always keeps me company (and slobbers on the floor)...
Food that sustains me (and more!)...
The comfort I feel knowing that I am loved...
Health...
Happiness...

For all of these gifts, I am truly grateful.

Flapjacks and Jumping-jacks

I have a goal.

To be honest, I have many goals.
Most would fall under the category of "Not in your wildest dreams"
(i.e. become an award-winning author of children's books)
while the others fall into the category of "Well, if you got off of your lazy patoot..."
(i.e. have organized closet space in my humble abode).
Anyway, my latest, most pressing goal can be filed under the latter "lazy" category.
"What is the goal?" you ask.
Well...it is to kick my hubby's butt in the battle of
"Biggest Loser: Herold Edition."
This is a contest not for the faint of heart.
It means saying "Adios!" to the foods I love so much, and "Hola!" to the gym I am so keen to ignore.
It means abdominal crunches instead of Nestle Crunches.
It means jumping-jacks instead of flapjacks.
It means dragging my hind quarters into the cold November air
and trying, TRYING to run at least once around my block (without passing out).
Yuck.
This is my goal.
And, if in the process I lose somewhere in the vicinity of 20lbs...
well then, that would be another goal accomplished.

Happy 30th Kenny G.

*The Birthday Boy*

The End of an Era

Isn't this cool?

*****
7 years...wow.
The end of an era.
No more MHS volleyball for the Sliwa family.
What will the next 7 years bring?
*****

A Walk Down Memory Lane (and the Bump in the Road)

Recently I found my self reminiscing about "the good old days." I had reconnected with a couple of my friends from college, which prompted me to go through a few stacks of dusty old photos. While doing this, I realized that the phrase "the good old days" isn't exactly accurate. For one thing, those days weren't good...they were great. Secondly, there was nothing old about me, my friends, or the days in question. In fact, I was pretty young. Which brings me to my next, albeit unpleasant, finding. I used to be skinny.

Now, I'm not complaining necessarily. Yes, I know I need to lose a few (or more) lbs., but who doesn't? My point here is that the "me" of ten years ago thought that I needed to drop ten pounds then, too. So... are we ever happy? Is it true that we don't know what we've got 'til its gone? (or at least hidden beneath a roll of blubber?) AND, and here's the scariest part, does this mean that ten years from now I'll look back at pictures from 2008 and say, "Man I looked good back then!"

*A note about picture number two: The outfits you see before you were not our usual "going out" clothes. This picture was taken at a costume party where we worked our go-go boots and psychadelic dresses like it was nobody's business. Just wanted to be clear about that. *

Finally

I was starting to believe that November 4th would never get here. It has felt like this election has been going on for eons, and I was really beginning to get sick of it. Because I was so anxious about today, I went to bed last night at 9:00 pm (with a little help from Mr. Advil Cold and Sinus!) so that I could be up at the "b-crack of dawn."

My plan worked, and the hubby and I were at our polling location by *5:45* this morning. A fun fact about our polling location: It is at Cheers. Like, the bar. Where we go for drinks. Well, technically it is in the hallway in front of Cheers, but I still think that it is cool to say that I voted for our next President of the United States at the place where "Everybody knows your name."
So, we got through the whole process in a matter of 45 minutes, which I thought was pretty good, considering there were only two voting machines. This gave me time to come home, jump on Facebook so that I could alert everyone to the fact that I had already voted, and get to school with a lot of time to spare. Oh how I love to multi-task!

A few observations I made this morning as I waited my turn to push the buttons:
1. People are stupid.
2. Lines should not be formed in front of doors...it makes it very difficult for people to enter them (the lines and the doors).
3. Old men are cute. Also in reference to this observation...Old men make very good greeters. The little old guy who stood behind me in line was very cordial, and politely reminded everyone that they should "sign in before you get in line." Cute old guy.
4. Well-lit corridors would make for better polling places than would poorly-lit corridors. Especially at 5:45 am. Just sayin'.
5. Having a driver's license comes in handy. Not just for driving, either.

On a serious note, I'm glad that this election is over because it means that there's a possibility we might see gas prices less than $1,000 a gallon, and I might even get a statement from AIG that says I have some money in my retirement fund. Here's hoping!

Mad Hops for a Tough Cookie

Molly is one tough cookie.

In June of 2007 my youngest sister tore her ACL while playing volleyball. A few days later my mom and I took her to the doctor in Chicago, where she got the news we were dreading. She was strong, sat attentively and listened, and waited until the doctor left the room before she showed her emotions. She would have to sit on the sidelines through a season that would have been her first on the varsity team.
Molly elected to have surgery in August instead of July so that she could walk down the aisle at my wedding without crutches or a brace. But even before that, she hobbled around Las Vegas on a bum knee to help celebrate my "bachelorettehood." She could have easily stayed home while we went, but she would never have done that. She wouldn't want to let me, or anyone else, down.
So, she endured her knee surgery right before the start of the school year. When she came home, she spent days laying on the couch, her leg in a machine that looked like it was built by NASA. Finally she went to class, physical therapy, and to as many practices and games that she could. She never complained.
This year is Molly's senior year, and she was back on the court this season. It may not have been all that she had hoped for, but when you come back from a serious injury, isn't just stepping onto the court what you hope for? She is a "smart" player, with a load of talent, who had to work extremely hard to win a spot back on the team. And because I had the privilege of coaching, I know that she never once pulled out of a drill, conditioning, or anything else because of the knee that gave her so much pain. In fact, most days she threw that large "robo-knee" brace off so that she could run faster, make quicker movements as she worked her way around the court.
And when Molly wasn't one of the six girls on the court, she was always cheering those girls on, always positive with her teammates. Just like she was last year.
I couldn't be prouder of my youngest sister. Most kids would have let an injury like that end their athletic careers. Most kids would have been discouraged, easily giving up. But not my sister. She overcame her injury, worked hard, and went on to Regionals this year. You may have seen her in the Post-Tribune this morning. She's the one jumping up over the net to block the ball (on a bum knee).

Tough cookie.