Daily Diary: Waiting for Hurricane Sandy

There is nothing like a summer at the Jersey shore. Living so close to the coast most certainly has its advantages. Unless, of course, a hurricane is predicted to slam directly into you.

Such is the case in my town. We could be a direct hit or Hurricane Sandy could make landfall just to our south or to our north. Either way, we are in for some trouble.

As we made some last minute preparations yesterday, we took some time to survey the situation on the beach.

Some VIPs came to town...

A lone reporter braves the elements while waiting to go on camera.

After we left the beach, we made one more stop to stock up. We do have priorities, after all!

Are you in Sandy's path? How have you prepared for this epic storm?

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Eyes wide shut

As parents, we hear it all the time. "Don't turn your back for a second. Anything can happen in the split second that you're not looking."

It really takes only a second for something to happen. Falling out of a highchair, touching a hot oven, pulling a heavy object. All of which can cause serious injury and sometimes can be fatal.

Last week, I had one of those "turn your back" moments. And although it was nothing close to fatal, it still served as a wake-up call for me, reminding me to keep my eyes wide open. Before you start thinking that I left my children how unattended, let me explain.

Harper was taking a bath, happily splashing away as I flitted in and out of the bathroom. After I helped her wash her hair, I set her up with her bath toys. She was playing contentedly. Or so I thought. After about 2 minutes, she asked me to turn to look at what she had done. I figured it was going to be a "smoothie". She adds a little bit of her bath wash to a cup full of water and voila! A smoothie for Mommy.

As I turned to look, I saw it immediately. I comb twisted around her hair. Her long bangs were twisted up to her scalp. I tried to muffle a scream. I went into panic mode. I didn't have to feel it to know that it was twisted so tightly that I feared the only option was to cut her hair. The comb wouldn't budge. There was no leeway for the hair.

I put conditioner on it and tried to soak it in the water to loosen it from the deathly grips of the comb. Not moving. I tried unraveling it strand by strand, but that was neither practical nor possible. We were both near tears. She had just had her hair trimmed a week prior and was so proud of her haircut. I didn't have the heart to tell her that they only way to get the comb out of her hair was to cut it.

The evidence

How could I possibly cut the comb out without totally wreaking havoc on her bangs? I envisioned spiky, punk-like bangs reminiscent of rockers from the 80's. But I had to do it. I had no other choice. I reached for the scissors and held my breath as I cut the comb from her hair. I feared super-short, choppy bangs. We were lucky. This time. Her bangs turned out fine. They are long enough to pull back, and if we don't, they don't look ridiculous. They are actually cute, side-swept bangs.

We got lucky. This time.

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A Visit From The Police

The girls are getting new furniture this weekend. To prepare, we've (OK, I've) been cleaning the room, moving furniture, and trying to de-clutter. I started this process last week because we anticipated the delivery to occur last weekend. It didn't happen...so hopefully tomorrow. The girls are incredibly excited for a brand new room.

Anyway, last Tuesday, when I had started cleaning, the phone rang. It was my sister, April who lives in Phoenix. We were chatting for a bit when I happened to look out the window and notice a car pulling up next to my driveway. It was one of those "official looking" cars, like a Crown Victoria or something like that...unmarked car. What the...??? A man and a woman step out of the car and approach the house. I tell my sister that I've got to go. I'll call her back. They ring the doorbell and they knock. OK, they mean business. A knock combined with the ring of the bell is some serious stuff. Doesn't look as if I can ignore this knock.

I answer the door, reluctantly. The man says hello and introduces himself as a local police officer (didn't catch his name). He introduces the woman as someone from the county prosecutor's office. "Is everything alright? Is my husband OK?" are my immediate questions. The man answers, "Yes, ma'am, everything is fine. Do you have a few minutes?" UH, NO. I can't even begin to wonder what they want with me. "Sure." I say, do I have a choice? He asks if they can come in, and I tell them that they can. I let them in the foyer and no further. He asks if there is somewhere we can go to talk. Are you kidding me? Talk? About what? We go into the kitchen and sit down at the table.

He begins by telling me that they are investigating a case involving sexual molestation. What? And how exactly am I involved? Last time I checked I didn't have a sexual deviant on my list of friends. He shows me a picture of a man whom they are investigating. Do I recognize him? Nope. Not one bit. Never saw the guy in my life. He says that they guy was my daughter's soccer coach, and I as well as others pressed charges against him. OK, but my daughter didn't play soccer. I wanted her to play, but she said no way. Then I notice that he has a spreadsheet in front of him with names and addresses on it that have been highlighted with a yellow marker. I see my address, but that's not my name next to my address. I realize that they've got the wrong person. I ask him if they are looking for the person whose name is on the spreadsheet. He says that he is. I tell him I'm not her. He realizes what they've done. They've made a HUGE mistake.


They both get up from the table like bats out of hell. I tell them that we've lived here for 2 1/2 years and that I don't know where this person is. He tells me that they'll find her. And just like that, they are gone. But I'm left with a heart that's racing and a nagging feeling that I know something about someone that I shouldn't. Something very personal.

Today, after a week and a half of dwelling on it, my husband contacted the chief of police with the hopes of speaking to him about the incident. He left a message. We'll see what comes of it.

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A Terrifying Feeling

Have you every gotten that heart pounding, heart racing, blood pressure rising feeling when you've lost something? It is something of significant value whether sentimental or monetary. I know you know what I'm talking about, and I know you've had the feeling. You're on the verge on hitting the panic button.

Well, a few days ago, I had that feeling. I was sitting at my computer making my selections for a just-for-fun NFL football pool in which I participate. I reached up to touch my left ear when I realized I was missing my diamond earring. OH. MY. GOD. My husband bought me those for an anniversary gift. Losing one is not an option. I jumped out of my chair and immediately started to panic. My 6 year old, Emma, started asking me questions about the earring in an incredibly rational manner. Surely, this isn't my Emma, the Queen of Panic. I can't remember when I last touched my ears or even noticed the earring in my ear. I couldn't BEGIN to guess where the earring could have been or when it could have fallen out. It literally could have been a hundred places. Just a few float through the mind, grocery store, Starbucks, down the drain, Emma's school, my car. The list is endless.

I decided to try the bed first, after all, it was the last place I had spent a considerable amount of time. As I walked into the bedroom, I saw something silver and shiny on the floor. A wave of relief enveloped me. Could it be? It wasn't my earring, but it was the back to my earring. Great! It's a start, and I was convinced that my earring was somewhere in the house. I checked the bathroom next. I showered that morning and was thinking that perhaps it fell out while I spent hours doing my hair and makeup. (A girl's gotta look good, right?)

There on floor was my earring. I was never so happy to see something so small in my entire life. I don't care about the monetary value of these earrings (which probably depreciated 70% when my husband walked out of the jewelry store). These earrings represent the years my husband and I have been together. The good times we've shared, the children we've created, and a lifetime of memories. I was scared. Dead in my tracks scared that I had lost something so special to me.

But, in the end, I did learn something about Emma. She came through for me when I was panic stricken. She was calm and collected...something I clearly was not. She focused me. That's my girl!! Thanks, Em!

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