It was when I worked as an Assistant Director in the dorms during my junior year in college, that I experienced death for the first time.

I had just checked into duty on Sunday morning and was sitting at my desk digging my way out of a pile of maintenance requests. Not an exotic job, but hey, somebody has to fix the toilets. The front-desk clerk came running into my office and exclaimed “somebody has killed themselves!” The words hung in the air like a cartoon bubble before I jumped up from my desk and flew downstairs to the room in question. I didn’t open the door. I never got the chance. Her roommates were curled in the fetal position, hovering against the wall and each other. They looked as if the Earth had fallen off its axis and if they didn’t cling to each other and that wall they would slide to one end of the hallway. The other students lingered in the hallway looking for somebody, anybody to take charge. The gray, metal door stood there; closed, locked and silent. Nobody needed to open it because we all knew what was behind the door.

What was behind that door was a 19 year old blond college girl who had hung herself from her loft bed in her dorm room. I sat in the Director’s office in silence as the Dean called her mother to tell her that her daughter was dead. I heard the cries of despair and torment. Three days later I stood at her funeral. Four days later I stood in her dorm room and packed up her stuff. A half-finished Diet Coke can, textbooks haphazardly tossed on the ground, dirty laundry that hadn’t gotten finished. The irony to this situation was that she had attended a high-school in the town next to mine. She lived only two stories away from me for two years. Yet, it took her death for us to meet.

I learned something really important about suicide that day – it’s selfish. You see, she hadn’t thought of her parents, or friends, or complete strangers that might still be thinking about her 18 years later. She hadn’t thought about the gut-wrenching discovery her roommates faced when they came back to school that weekend, or the fact that they had to drop out of school because of it. She didn’t realize that the pain she was experiencing had been felt by so many before her. She only thought about her own emotional pain in the moment.

This post was inspired by Post Secret. Frank has asked that if possible we promote Hopeline, a 24-hr suicide line, 1 (800) Suicide, and I am more than willing to do it.

I wish I could tell you that the story is fiction, but it is not. Her name was Colleen and I still think about her. I graduated, but we left Colleen behind.

One of the tell-tale signs that you have found yourself in the pit of summer is the endless stream of reruns and brainless shows that can be found on TV. Well, don’t despair gentle audience for I have discovered an oasis of entertainment within the blighted landscape of summer TV. If you have not discovered the light and funny “My Boys” on TBS well then, let me introduce you. This comedy is based on a 30-something young woman named PJ, who is a sports-journalist writing about baseball in Chicago. PJ is a younger, cooler version of myself (or at least I like to think so). She is surrounded by her poker-playing guy friends and brother (played by the crazy-funny Jim Gaffigan) and they seem to insulate her from dating. She is a tom-boy to beat all tom-boys but also sweet, tender and funny. The best part of the show is her narrative of the world around her, her analogies to sports and her relationship with her brother. (Jim Gaffigan’s running commentary on suburban living is hilarious). The show airs on Thursday nights at 8:30 central – I invite you to watch.

So remember when I made that pathetic plea for cookies while on a diet? Remember when I begged all of you to send me something I could eat that was also chocolate? Well, never underestimate the power of the Internet (or Grayskull but that is a different post). I’d like to let everyone know that I owe my friend Laura my next born child for giving me perhaps the shortest and most yummy and yet healthy brownie recipe known to man. Are you ready for it? Can you handle it?

1 box of low-sugar chocolate cake mix
1 can Pumpkin puree (NOT pie filling)

Mix, spread in a lightly greased 9×13 pan and bake for about 20 mins at 350.

I have to admit that I was highly suspect of this recipe. I’ve tried using vegetable purees in recipes before and they have been a disaster. When I mixed my two ingredients it appeared dry and gummy and I thought “this is going to taste awful”. I did use a lightly greased spatula to spread the batter because it was very sticky, but once baked these little morsels of chocolate goodness were heavenly. I think next time I’m going to add nuts and drizzle a little cream cheese frosting. Hhmm, perhaps that might negate some of the healthy goodness, you think?

Lucy: We’re going back to our house Max
Max: MY house?
Lucy: No, OUR house.
Max: MY house!
Lucy: No, OUR HOUSE
Max: MY house!
Lucy: Mommy, when there are two people and they are talking and one asks “is this your house” don’t you answer “yes, this is OUR house?”
Me: Well, yes, when you are referring to two people living in the same house you would use “our” and when it is only one person living in the house you would use “my”
Lucy: Right, Max you are supposed to say OUR house Ok?
Max: OUR house?
Lucy: Right, OUR house.

I’m so proud, I shed a small tear.

This particular evening had been pretty typical for the Callaway family. I was about 24 at the time, living at home, and attending grad school. I had eaten dinner with my parents and we were sitting down together to watch a movie. As the opening credits warmed up my mother quietly got up and walked into the kitchen. I yelled out “what you eatin’?” and my mother, from somewhere deep within her soul exclaimed: “It is none of your damn business what I’m eating! I’m making myself a snack and I am not sharing it and I am not making one for you!!” My father and I looked at each other perplexed. Where did this deep-seeded anger come from?

Well Mom, I get it.

Something happens when you first become a wife and then a mother. Your ability to feed yourself suddenly falls somewhere below going to the bathroom and basic personal hygiene. In other words, optional. Every time I walk into the kitchen to make myself a snack or a meal I must first feed three other people before me, because if I don’t I will end up interrupting my meal three separate times. I’ve realized recently that I don’t ever eat dessert while the kids are awake. Because once Mommy is eating something it must be explored, shared, drooled upon, longingly admired until mommy surrenders such item. There are many parts of my meal that I am willing to share but dessert is not one of them (see previous post).

I feel that resentment that sometimes I wish I could walk into the kitchen and ONLY FEED MYSELF. I don’t want to make breakfast for three other people before me, I don’t want to make 5 sandwiches before I make myself one, I don’t want to share my ice cream – EVER.

Still, that is how my mother showed me that she loved me. She cooked for me. She fed me. She sacrificed her own meals for me. And now that I am a mother I do the same. I take pride and comfort in knowing that everyone in my house leaves in the morning with a belly full of eggs, sausage and love. It is how we nurture is it not?

I’m still not sharing my ice cream so don’t even think of asking!

Before I had gotten pregnant I wanted to take some time to get my body in better shape, due to the fact that I had been extraordinarily neglectful of it over the past couple of years (which is evidenced by the herniated disc and the fact that elastic waistbands have suddenly taken hold in my closet). However, before I had a chance to say “fruit not fries” I was pregnant, and not long after the first 5lbs of baby weight applied itself to my stomach I was NOT pregnant. I really thought that after the D&C that 5lbs would just magically disappear — it did not. Heavy sigh. So, I did what all women do in these dire circumstances, I recruited my sister to go on a diet.

My sister, being the kind of woman who always looks out for her baby sister, agreed. Together we have been trying to inspire our families (read husbands) and ourselves to eat healthy and exercise. Amazingly, it has worked. After two weeks of cutting out bread and most of my sugar I’ve lost 5lbs. Okay, not stellar weight loss, but hey it has got to start somewhere. The important thing is that I feel fantastic. Boy, there really is something to this whole “healthy living” thing. I’ve only got one thing I’m struggling with and you readers can help.

I LOVE sweets. Yep, got the sweet tooth – thanks Dad! The hardest thing for me to give up are cookies. That is right, cookies. Not bread, butter, french fries, fast food, ice cream — just cookies. Not store bought cookies – homemade cookies. Any good recipes out there that won’t break my fat/carb bank on a daily basis? Please share your recipes. I promise to make each recipe and highlight my tasty favorites on my site (with accompanying “linky love” to YOUR site if appropriate). Please hurry, the bag of chocolate chips is starting to look really good.

One of my fellow bloggers, Jane from “What About Mom“, ran this contest for a package of diapers and a DVD of Anita Renfroe. First, thanks Jane for selecting my personal vendetta against Diaper Genies as the winning submission. I think it is crazy how we all get sucked into buying the most useless piece of baby equipment known to man, but hey, they are still in business. I was very excited to win diapers because after all one more package of diapers is one less I actually have to purchase and after 4 1/2 years of buying diapers it is nice to get a break. I had never heard of Anita Renfroe and Jane was kind enough to embed two links in her post to Renfroe’s comedy. WELL, I must share because I laughed so hard I cried. Enjoy Mommies!!

Okay, so I have a Masters degree in English, literature specifically, which means there are certain things that I should just not watch. “Shakespeare in Love” – it might have been a delightful movie but it had nothing to do with Shakespeare. Except for the fact that the lead character was named Shakespeare and he wrote plays. I found the movie insufferably annoying. If they had just titled it “Bill, a guy who writes plays and is in love” I probably would have liked it a lot better. So tonight, upon the prodding of my students, I am watching “A Knight’s Tale”. For some reason my students actually believe this has something to do with Chaucer and the Canterbury Tales. Let me assure you that it has NOTHING to do with Chaucer or the Canterbury Tales. I am sitting here horrified. The opening sequence includes “We Will Rock You” by Queen and Chaucer with a gambling problem. Really? Chaucer was a well-educated local politician who traveled extensively due to his job. His tales are legendary due to their reflection of late medieval society and his political commentary. I admit that I’m a literature snob and yet I love reality tv. How does that happen?