Now What?

I came back from the gym around 11am this morning after working out the muscle kinks from the half marathon I ran a few days ago. I felt refreshed and limber on this sunny, 60 degree October day. The agenda for the rest of the day was a visit from my parents. Our new den rug was arriving in a few days, and my Halloween costume was complete. Life was good. Then I checked my phone messages and realized something startling - my brain is a sieve. I gasped as I listened to the message from the Vietnam Vets donations rep who informed me that the driver was in front of our house earlier that morning for the "Pickup" but no bags were out. With a pang in my gut, I shamefully realized I forgot to pack up the kids old clothes and leave them out on the driveway. Last time I did the home pickup they came at the end of the 8-5 window. Figures today they came early. Figures I forgot. But there's really no excuse, except that now I'm in my 40s and my brain turn...

Over the summer I decided I needed a goal so I signed up for the Bay State Half Marathon. I love a good meaty challenge, and this race seemed like the perfect opportunity for me to get back into a regular running routine (and since I have the time, then hey, why not! The time off is a gift, right?). I also have this incredibly insane thought about running a qualifying marathon next year for Boston 2015. We'll see. First, let's start with 13.1. As a side note, I ran this particular half marathon back on October 18, 1998 with my friend Melinda. Sheesh, doesn't that sound like ancient history? And now, 15 years and 2 days later, I laced up my shoes and made the trek to Lowell for this fast and flat course along the Merrimack River. Running a big race again conjured many fond old memories and quirky race rituals yet provided a fresh perspective on what's new in the running scene in the twenty first century. Some things never change P...

My daughter will be four next month. It seems like yesterday she was this innocent little angel with a head full of soft curls who ate, pooped and slept her way into our hearts. We managed to get through her infant years blissfully unscathed from colic, reflux, "crying it out" and other sleep-inhibiting factors. The toddler zone was tantrum-free. We waited for Year Three to be THE year of fits, kicks and shopping mall embarrassments. But we got nothing. Her daycare teachers raved about her fierce independence yet warned, "You'll have your hands full with this one." Ignoring the warning, my husband and I high-fived our success. We were home free. Or so we thought. And now, on the cusp of Year Four, our perfect little princess has morphed into Demanding Diva. Her list of requests far outweighs Madonna's or JLO's. Urgent needs usually include immediate access to car keys, iPhone, Kindle, gum and lipstick. And when I say NO I immediately get WHY, ...

Last weekend a few friends and I headed down to Virginia Beach for the annual Neptune Festival for a girls get-a-way weekend. I decided that even after spending several weeks in Turkey with my kids and extended family this past August, this Momma needed a BREAK from EVERYONE right about now. So my latest Now What moment took a detour to Virginia Beach for some sun and fun while my husband and kids bonded back home. While this was my first time in VB, I am positive it will not be my last. Here's why. One big never-ending beach Virginia Beach is home to endless miles of clean, sandy beaches stretching along the Atlantic coast with a convenient paved boardwalk and bike path running parallel along the entire way. And let me emphasize the "clean" part. Not an ounce of seaweed, rock, shell, dead jellyfish or crustacean skeleton could be found along these sandy shores. Kudos g...

When faced with the choice between a sit down lunch or the chance to roam freely around a foreign land and sample different "grab-n-go" fare, the choice is simple: go wander with cash in hand.  I'm a bona fide snacker with a passion for sampling small bites. Turkey is a snacker's paradise where you can find unique (even healthy) treats on the street and the beach. süt mısır When you hear a guy calling out "süt mısır " immediately head over to him and grab a bright yellow ear of corn. Translated literally as "milk corn," these corn are boiled then grilled and sold by street vendors or some guy on the beach. They tend to be a little thicker and mealier than the crisp butter and sugar corns grown in the states. I delight in these healthy snacks as they are a perfect pick me up from a day of shopping or sun bathing and provide a good boost of salt and carbs to recharge without the guilt. midye dolma For t...

Going to the bazaar is an old world tradition that one must experience at least once while in Turkey. I've visited the Alaçatı Bazaar, held every Saturdayin the quaint old Aegean town of Alaçatı , for over ten years as part of our annual trips to Turkey. Give yourself a few hours and you will be able to find any essential item from street clothes, undergarments, toys, bags, jewelry, shoes, bed and dining linens, kitchenware, food, or anything else you need except furniture - all under one big tent with thousands of your closest shopping acquaintances. So here's some advice and insights on how to survive this unique retail experience that boasts 360 degree views of the merchandise. Preparations: Even if this is your first time at the bazaar, have a plan. Try to think about what you want to buy, how much you want to spend, and get ready to haggle (I'll touch more on bargaining later in the post). F...

The day I left for Turkey, I called my mom in the morning to say good-bye. We said our "I love yous" and she reminded me in her Italian mother tone to "watch those kids."  Traveling overseas with young kids is always a challenge, especially at the airports when everyone is beyond their wits and there's a million people around. In Turkey, extra caution is necessary even for trivial activities like crossing a street because, well, nobody pays attention to the pedestrians. Last Saturday afternoon the kids were playing in the back yard at the Cesme house when I heard my daughter Ayla scream. It was the kind of scream that pierced your gut with a feeling of dread. Before turning around, I knew instantly that something terrible occurred. I looked up the stairs and saw Ayla standing in the corner of the entrance with her tiny little thumb wedged in the hinge of the heavy iron gate. The next few moments spun in slow motion as I flew up the stairs t...