I said a hip hop a hippity hop...

Tonight I went to a hip-hop class. To truly appreciate the humor in this, you must first know that I am 42 years old. While 42 is not old, at least that is what I like to tell myself, it's not the age where you suddenly realize that what has been missing in your life is hip hop dancing. But at my daughter's last dance class for the year, the teacher handed out a schedule of "Adult" classes. Hip hop fit into my schedule (the most important factor in deciding anything) and also fit into my decision to reacquaint myself with my sports bra and get some exercise. Plus, I would get to meet some of the other mothers.

So, there I went. The first thing that I noticed when I walked in was that the other people waiting were young. I don't mean 30's young, I don't even mean 20's young, I mean teen-age young. Great. I suddenly felt like one of those people that I made fun of at Malibu for being too "ancient" to be there.

We started with stretches. OK, I can handle that. Then push-ups. PUSH-UPS? Then ab crunches. CRUNCHES? I didn't come here to actually exercise, I came here to dance!! (said in my best Kevin Bacon as Ren McCormack rebellious voice.) But then we danced. Learned a routine to the song that I think may be called "Low".

I would consider myself a person with rhythm. "Back in the day" I spent every weekend out dancing and was fairly proud of my 80's moves. However, back in this day, I felt like a fish, flopping around while a bunch of other, much more coordinated fish, did all their best fishy moves around me. At one point the teacher, seeing the frustration on my face looked at me and said "it gets easier."

I do plan to go back next week. I did get a good workout. Hell, maybe I can inspire those young girls to keep doing stuff like that when they, too, become ancient.

God Bless America. And cocktails.

When I first started dating my husband, he told me that there are fireworks every 4th of July at the athletic field down the block from his mom's house. I went that first year, expecting a quaint little fireworks show. Well, this Grucci-style extravaganza is FAR from quaint. It is filled with spectacle and color.

While others in the neighborhood surely pack their bags and head out of town to avoid the crowds, noise and litter, my mother-in-law, who never met a spectacle she didn't like, embraced this event. She started the tradition of having a BBQ and inviting everyone she knew, and encouraging her two children to invite everyone that they knew, as well.

Driving home tonight, after the annual trek to Queens to drive home my mother and godmother, I thought about July 4th. How this annual event has turned into not just an event itself, but a way to remember milestones. I remember my dad coming before his passing 12 years ago. I remember the 4ths when I was pregnant (two of them-oy, the heat!), I remember my older daughter's first, as she watched the fireworks from her stroller as I knelt next to her. (OK, full disclosure, here, I do not remember my second daughter's first 4th. Now, this COULD have been the year that the town decided not to have the fireworks. OK, we will go with that. Either way, my darling angel, your future therapy bills are on me.) I remember last year, when we instituted the annual Cupcake Challenge, which requires participants to shove an entire cupcake into their mouths without dropping any and without chewing (we had a male and female winner this year who will square off in the ultimate cupcake challenge championship next year.)

I remember the friends who have made appearances over the years. I will always remember that this year my dear friends could not attend because they were in a far away land adopting a beautiful little girl. And I will remember the cocktails. You see, each year seems to be marked by a different cocktail. One year my sister-in-law's phenomenal margaritas, one year Absolute Mandarin, etc. This year I went with Black Russians. This may, at first, seem like a pretty unpatriotic choice, but I like to think that it represents the diversity in this great country of ours (nice, huh?).

So, after another year of eating way too much, I head off to bed thankful for this annual event. And wondering what next year's cocktail will be.

And here we go...

If you know me at all, you know that I am not technologically savvy. Yes, I can e-mail, I can upload (or is it download?) pictures, and I can text. But that is about it. Blogging, to me, was something unknown, much like baking the perfect potato or going a day without the TV on. But here I am.

I have to say that it has been my husband who has been encouraging me to do this lately. Is it cause he thinks I have interesting things to say? Is it cause he thinks people can learn from my daily trials and tribulations? Or is it cause of the NY Times article he recently read discussing a woman who turned her blog into a million dollar business? Well, I'll let you draw your own conclusions about that one. But, for whatever reason, I decided to throw my cyber-hat in the blogging ring (I do look pretty good in hats so what the hell.)

I think part of the reason I never did this is that my target audience is way too busy to read these types of things. I am a mother of two young girls, work part time, and, yeah, there's the band also. (as I type my 3 year old is being yelled at by daddy for hitting the 7 year old-sound familiar, people?) So, the question is, will anyone read this? Even if they don't will it be some sort of cathartic experience for me to get my thoughts out? Make me a more focused, fulfilled, stable person? Give me a sense of purpose? Give me an excuse to lock myself in the computer room every now and then?? Stay tuned...