Which Type of Sports Parent Are You?

WHICH TYPE OF “SPORTS PARENT” ARE YOU? - As a longtime Family Law Attorney, I have been trained to understand the different types of Parenting: Good, Bad, and Indifferent. JK, of course, they’re called Authoritarian, Permissive, and Authoritative. In my many years as Team Mom for the Newburgh Rowing Club, and my short time as a Football Mom, I have found there are two types of sports parents: Crew Parents, and Everyone Else.

Let me explain how confusing it is for a Crew Mom to show up at a Football Stadium. First of all, the stadium is already built and there are people whose job it is to maintain the stadium and field. Not so with the Boathouse. Parents, rowers, and volunteers all came together and built the 6,000 square foot, two story Newburgh Rowing Club Boathouse. It took 12 years to clear all the garbage down there and put in the docks. The football coaches are very patient with me: “Thanks, Mrs. Lo, but no, the parents don’t need to chalk to the field or clean the bathrooms.”

At the Newburgh Rowing Club, Big Coach doesn’t need 100% parent involvement, he needs 200% involvement. I have always been in charge of fundraising, writing the press releases, the grants, and the Student Ambassador Program. I probably spend 20 – plus hours a week on the Newburgh Rowing Club, including water time and meets, on average. And of course, we go all year long. During practice, I typically either go in the motorboat with Big Coach to talk about all the things we need to do, or keep office hours and answer questions, take in money, sell stuff, or run a Parent Meeting so we can all stay on the same page. We have the world’s best parents at the Newburgh Rowing Club, everyone is super involved. Our kids love the sport and the place would not exist without every parent putting their heart and soul into it. We are invested.

When the Team Mom Mobile rolls up to the Boathouse, little Student Ambassadors run over the hug me and I get a high five from all the rowers. I hear my name everywhere I go from the kids, “Mrs. Lo, Mrs. Lo can I …. Could you … do you know how to … where is the …” and I couldn’t be happier.

I will be honest, I initially did feel a bit disenfranchised when I got to the Football field. Yes, I have gone around and picked up the garbage. Even at away meets. (“What the heck are you doing pickup up garbage for Cornwall?). Since that’s not really needed, I do the other thing I do best: take pictures.

Big Coach is more than happy to have my help on everything, and don’t think I haven’t weighed in on those boat lineups (“You’ve got to take Soup and Kelvin out of that sweep boat and put them in the Men’s Open 4x, they can scull and they’ve got a better chance of medaling in an Open.” Yes, they got Silver). And when we split the team recently to go to two meets, I accompanied Little Michael and some NRC rowers down to Rockland while the rest of the team went to Hartford. I took a bunch of rowers and met two of our newly minted NRC coaches there. The problem is, the older coaches want to talk to someone their age. They kept calling me Coach and I kept saying I’m the Team Mom, so they just called me “Mom.”

“Listen, Mom, we are so sorry but we are going to have to scratch your 4+, the water is too rough, we’ve got boats sinking all over. Have a good trip back.” I knew exactly what Big Coach would do and just channeled my “Inner Big Coach.” Are you canceling the meet, I asked? “No, Mom, we’re just scratching the 4’s, we’re only sending out 8’s.” There was no way in heck we had missed Hartford, gotten up at 4 in the morning, and gotten down here at 6 am, with fully packed coolers, and stood around in the pouring rain all morning so that we could turn around and go home. Then let me put together a Mixed 8, I said. I took stock of who was there and who could row, including myself, and said, “Actually, let’s make it a Mixed Open 8+.”

“OK, Mom, you won’t be in medal contention but you can row your race and take your pictures.” And that was good enough. We scrambled and put together an 8. “Good News, Mom, we’re sending out the 4’s!” We scrambled again. Before each boy got in, I said to each of them, including my 9 year old son, you remember your training, right? “Right, Mrs. Lo”. Listen, boys, 6 boats sank, you have a 50/50 chance that you will sink. You don’t have to do this. Do you understand what I'm saying? “We know what to do if we sink, we’re fine, it’s part of the sport, we just want to row.”

The Head Coach of North Rockland said it was the worst he has ever seen the Hudson River. We, the parents and coaches, ran alongside the 4+ on shore for as long as we could. When the boat went out of sight, we parents all bowed our heads and prayed. I won’t lie, I was more scared than I have ever been at a crew meet. Partly because Big Coach wasn’t there, this Meet was on me. There were 3 boats left in our race. Then, one of the teams pulled their boat, because they were worried about sinking, and there were two boats, including us. When our boat rounded the bend, we cheered like crazy because they were alive, and rowing hard. Michael was literally floating in the bucket (where the coxswain sits is lower than where the rowers sit). They boys were rowing with power but their stroke rate was perfect, not too high not too low, they looked relaxed and relieved. They said it was because I was so calm.

We cheered and we wept when our kids crossed the finish line. We didn’t care what place they got we were so happy they were alive. Next to them, a mighty 8+ crossed the finish line, then sank. This is almost the equivalent of the Titanic sinking, 8-mans simply don’t sink. That’s how bad it was out there though.
Yes, we took Gold and we took it by a commanding several minutes. The thing with Crew is, when the team takes a medal, we all take it. Every person that came down, from the parents, to the coaches, to the rowers who helped out and were ready to hotseat an 8-man, to the Team Mom, we all felt like we took Gold. We are invested.

My son’s football team, the Goldbacks YFL D3, is 7-0 in an 8 game season. I could give you his stats, they’re good, but he wouldn’t want me to. I’ll say this, he plays both offense and defense and therefore plays the entire game. They’re going to the playoffs, maybe the SuperBowl. I am proud of him but, of course, I had nothing to do with it, other than paying and driving. Maybe he needed that: someplace where he's not known as Mrs. Lo's son.

You can take the Crew Mom out of the Boathouse but you’ll never take the Team Mom out of Mrs. Lo. And you can take my son out of the Newburgh Rowing club for football season but you can’t take the spirit of Newburgh Rowing out of him. One of the big differences about the Newburgh Rowing Club is we are more than a sports team, we are a community organization and we give back to the community more than any other sports organization I know of. Christian volunteers at Head Start through our school, Bishop Dunn. I asked him what he did with the kids, did he teach them anything, like how to throw a football. “No,” he said, “but that would be a really good project for the Goldbacks YFL.” It would, I said, it really would. The fact that he’s thinking that sports teams should be doing community service is good enough for me.

I don’t think I’ll be changing my Sport Parent style anytime soon. But then again, why would I want to? Have a great Sunday and a great 3-day weekend, everyone! Remember to count your blessings, I am sending you all Lots of Love  Mrs. Lo (Thanks to Mrs. Tompkins, Football Mom for the photo on the left, Photo on the right is the Boys 4+ at Brickyard after they brough the boat overhead)

 — with Juliana Muyot andNewburgh Rowing.

Mrs. Lo's Team Mom Quad - Rowing for a Cure

BREAST CANCER AWARENESS - it takes on a whole new meaning when someone you know is affected. When a family member, or in my case, a dear friend, is diagnosed with breast cancer, all of the Pink facebook profiles and Pink football helmets finally make sense. It's real, it happens. It happens with or without family history. It happens to good people who live clean lives. Approximately 1 in 8 women in the U.S. alone will develop invasive breast cancer over the course of her lifetime. That's an estimated 232,340 moms, wives, daughters, sisters who will develop new cases of invasive breast cancer in the U.S. in 2013. The good news is that the survival rate is going up every year. The thought of not being here to raise your children and grow old with your husband and loved ones is a terrible thing for any woman to have to think about. Awareness in October is great, let's keep being aware the other 11 months. I would do anything I can to help my friend. I will be rowing for a cure on October 19th. I bought 10 T shirts that I'm selling to sponsors for $10 each. I think there are 5 left. Then my law firm will match the money raised. The money goes to the American Cancer Society, via the "Making Strides Against Breast Cancer Walk" on October 20th, at Woodbury Commons. I couldn't be more proud of everyone who is walking and donating to help out. It feels right to do SOMETHING. In the meantime, ladies, please schedule your annual Mammogram, with a baseline at 30, and perform monthly self examinations. For more info go to: main.acsevents.org

 — withNewburgh Rowing and 4 others.

THE SACRED RITUAL KNOWN AS “SUNDAYDINNER”

Once upon a time, there was a single girl who went to the gym 7 nights a week, avoided carbs, and ate salads for dinner. Then the she married an Italian-American man. Over time, she came to understand that dinner was not just putting food in your system, it was a ritual to be savored and enjoyed nightly. She learned that Pasta is an essential food group in and of itself, even if the USDA doesn’t know it yet, and that other than the Sabbath, the highest holiest moment of the week is what is known as “SundayDinner,” also known to non-Italians as Sunday Dinner, two words.

Yes, that single girl married her Handsome Prince, they had two sturdy boys, and she is now known as “Mrs. Lo”.
My, how times have changed. Now, when people suggest doing a fundraiser on a Sunday night, I look at them as if they have just asked me to sacrifice a goat in my living room. The Sacrilege! “Sunday night? Have you lost your mind? Sunday night is for SundayDinner.”

Mrs. Lo has come a long way from the barely stocked cupboard of Single Gal days, with Ramen noodles and Wishbone Salad dressing. Now, I have a deep freezer downstairs which always has several trays of “extras”: the Good Lasagna (also known as Mrs. Lo’s Lasagna); the Quick Lasagna (good but lots of shortcuts); Stuffed Shells; Manicotti; Baked Ziti; a few trays of Meatballs, and of course the high holiest of them all: Holiday Lasagna, with homemade noodles, three types of cheese, three types of meat, and homemade sauce. Because there’s never enough time to cook during the week. And because you never know who’s coming to dinner. And you can pretty much tell where a visitor ranks on the LoBiondo Friend and Family Scale by which Lasagna I defrost for your surprise visit. Don’t worry if you’ve never seen the Holiday Lasagna: unless you’re a member of the Clergy or Sister Frances, no offense, but you’re not going to see it.

Scientific studies have proven that eating together as a family will do everything from raise your kids’ SAT scores to improve their ability to bond and trust others. We just do it because we enjoy each other’s company and it brings us together once a day.

Our kids, who are in 4th and 8th grade, are required to do well in school. It is their “job.” As we have always said to them, you see Mom and Dad go to work every day. We have a job to do and we do it well. Your job is to get top grades and get yourselves accepted into good schools. Period. Sports? That’s a treat you get to go to if your grades are top tier. Their reward for good grades is never money or objects. Instead, we let them pick out their favorite meal and I make it for SundayDinner. The most complicated request I ever got was Zuppa di Pesce, from Christian in 4th grade. But generally speaking, Christian will choose Spaghetti and Meatballs and Michael will choose Meatloaf. (“Mommy, I know I can pick whatever I want but you make the world’s best meatloaf.” Who can say no to that?)
Could the dinners actually be helping with the grades?

According an article published in USA Today: “The more dinners a week the better. With each additional dinner, researchers found fewer emotional and behavioral problems, greater emotional well-being, more trusting and helpful behaviors toward others and higher life satisfaction, regardless of gender, age or family economics.”

The idea behind the many studies is that families stay bonded when they have dinner together every night, children’s language skills are boosted by engaging in conversation with adults, and their self confidence and trust are cemented. Personally, I think it’s just as important for the parents, as it helps to keep up with what’s going on in your kids’ lives. Also, the structure and the tradition are what keep kids stable.

This semester is critical for Christian, our 8th grader, as he’s applying to some high schools with pretty high academic standards. He has consistently made the “Principal’s List”, our school’s equivalent of the High Honor Roll and we would like him to stay there. But I’m not upping the ante. If he makes it, his reward will still be getting to choose SundayDinner. He has been looking through my Giada cookbooks the way I have seen people look through BMW brochures, picking out his top choices. What will he be choosing for his reward should it come to pass? He’s really going outside the box on this one, the other day I saw him fold down the page for Eggplant Parm.

Have a great day, everyone, and remember to Count Your Blessings and enjoy Sunday Dinner!  Mrs. Lo

When It's Time to Just Say "No" to Botox

WANT TO KNOW HOW OLD YOU REALLY ARE?  Get in a boat with some varsity rowers 1/3 your age and see how you do.  Last night I was on Tadaa and a woman photographer, who usually posts sunsets, posted a heavily edited photo of herself and said, "I'm not going to lie, I'm turning 48!"  Everyone chimed in with things like, "You don't look a day over 38!"  I wrote, “I’m 48, and I’m having the time of my life, enjoy!”  Then I realized people were consoling her, or trying to make her feel younger.  Personally, I made peace with aging, or middle age, or whatever you want to call, it a long time ago.  Maybe it’s because my Home and Family are such a safe place to land.  My husband and two sons both think I'm the best thing since sliced bread.  Maybe it’s because I'm Team Mom, and I am around young people all the time, who are always happy to see me.  (This is why when Big Coach tells me to go yell at a kid, I say no way, I'm Team Mom, I give out cookies and hugs and the kids love me, you go over there and yell at them). 

I'm not going to lie, I had a hard time initally letting my face age.  When I turned 40, I started going to a doctor to get Botox, to get rid of my "elevens", or the two lines that appear in the middle of your brow as you get older. (Yes, there are names for all these signs of aging.  I felt those “elevens” made me look angry.  The excuses we can come up with are really endless).  Botox needs to be done every 3 months.  Then I started to get Restalyn (a synthetic filler injected by needle) under my eyes to make me look like I'd had a good night's rest.  Restalyn is a lot more expensive than Botox and needs to get "refreshed" every 6 months.  Then I started getting Restalyn to get rid of the "Marionette lines" which are the lines that form above your chin, think about the name and it will become obvious.  Now it was starting to get really expensive.  You could really go on and on with this stuff, and turn into a frozen faced Botox junkie.  The turning point came for me when the doctor said, "and if we just put a tiny implant in your chin, we can structure up that soft chin," and showed me on the screen what it would look like.  That was my lightning bolt moment.   The horror!  Nooooooo, we don't want to do that, I told the doctor, That soft chin isn't from aging, it's from being half Asian!  "You're Asian," he said quizically, looking at the enhanced picture on the screen, then at me.  "Ohhh, yes, now I see it! OK, right no chin implant."  That's when I heard my grandmother in my head, "Jiminy Cricket, Jules, what are you doing to yourself?  All you need is a little lipstick, you don't need surgical intervention."  And she was right.  There comes a time in your life when you have to accept who you are, what you look like, and Just Be Thankful for what God has given you.  Neither my Grandmother nor my mother ever lied about their age or tried in any way to look younger than they were.  And they are my idols.  And so I just got up out of the chair and left.  I'm not going to lie, I do on occasion get my "elevens" done because I don't want to look angry, but in fact it's been well over a year so I think we might be done with that. 

If you ever want to know who you really are, here's a tip.  Take up rowing, then get in a crew shell with three varsity rowers.  Last week, during Newburgh Rowing's 5-Mile Paddle and Oars Challenge (it wasn't a race, it was a challenge), I rowed in a quad with 3 Student Ambassadors, Chico, Soup, and Kelvin.  These guys are my son's buddies, Soup being his best friend.  The course for crew shells was shortened to one mile because it was getting rough out there on the Hudson River.  Even though the boys slowed down and shortened their reach to accommodate me, it was still challenging for me to keep up.   It was really hard on the way up because we were rowing against the current, and blissfully easier on the way down, because we were with the current.  I was no never so happy to see the Boathouse behind us and I was ready to bring it in.  Then the boys saw two other boats coming up on us.  “Let’s smoke them,” said Soup.  Oh Boy.  Let’s not boys, I said, it’s a Challenge, after all.  And Mrs. Lo is a lot older than you.  “You got this, Miss L,” all three said.  And that was enough, that these boys believed in me.  They know what they’re doing and they wouldn’t be in a boat with me if they didn’t think I could do it.  “Get ready for a Power 15,” said Soup, which means you give it all you’ve got for 15 strokes.  And for 15 strokes, it didn’t matter who I was, how old I was, or where I was, all that mattered was burying those blades and keeping up with these boys who were rowing their true race pace.  Time stopped.  I rowed harder than I have every rowed in the 2 years I have been coming down to learn.  Just as I thought it was over, Soup called a Power 10.  Then a Power 5.  And that’s when I discovered, out on the water, that I could keep up with them.  I discovered that it didn’t matter if I was somebody’s mother or grandmother or great grandmother, the only thing that matters in rowing is: can you pull your weight in this boat? 

And really, that’s what matters in this world.  I, for one, do not care about your age or your physical appearance.  Do you pull your weight in this world?  Have you done all you can to contribute to your family and community?  Have you done anything to make this world a better place?  Do you just take or do you give back?  I am at a point in life where I am comfortable with my answers to all these questions.  And if you are too, whether you are 21 or 101, then more power to you, you have earned my respect, and baby, we have earned our stripes.  Have a great Saturday, everyone, and remember to count your blessings!  <3 Mrs. Lo (Photo of Mrs. Lo and the Team Mom Quad: Soup, Kelvin, and Chico, and Little Michael.  No filter, no edit, no botox, no makeup, just a lot of sweat and a lot of happiness)

From the Top of the Crew Mom Heap to the Bottom of the Football Mom Pile: Notes from a Rookie Football Mom

NOTES FROM A ROOKIE FOOTBALL MOM - Just when I became a really seasoned crew mom, just when I stopped being known as "Christian's Mom" or "Michael's Mom" and became known simply as "Team Mom," I have been thrust into a new world. The world of football. My child is 13 and has never played a contact sport before. That means I have never seen him make purposeful contact with another child. Ever. So perhaps the biggest milestone for me as a Football Mom was surviving That Sound.

Football moms know what I'm talking about. Probably Hockey Moms and others. That Sound occurs the first time you hear your child getting hit. It is accompanied by your child actually getting hit, and either hitting back, getting knocked down, or ending up on the bottom of "The Pile." The shock to a mother's system, in hearing That Sound, is actually indescribable. The flood of emotions, and the willpower it takes to overrride the Mothering Reflex. Just as when your baby cries in his crib, you have an uncontrollable reflex that causes you to reach into the crib for your baby, similarly,when you hear That Sound, a mother has a reflexive desire to run onto the field, scoop up her child, and say, "OK, you win, I'll buy you whatever you want, just stop playing this barbaric game before you get hurt!" You want to say to that big kid on the other team, "get your big Shrek hands off my child!" But of course, for the first time in a long series of times, you must turn off the Mother Reflex. Yes, they're wearing helmets and pads and they're trained (or in my son's case, learning) to "hit" and "take a hit." But that first hit, whether your kid is in Mighty Mights or is a teenager, is actually sickening.

Don't get me wrong, he was fine. Me, not so much. I handled it the way I handle all stress. I either cook, throw a large party, or take pictures. Since the first two options were somewhat unrealistic, I simply turned to the sports shutter on my camera and started shooting. I took over 4,000 photos of Christian's first Scrimmage. Another football parent nudged me gamely and said, "Wow, did you get that touchdown?" I stared blankly. "What touchdown?" Now it was his turn to stare at me blankly. I had 4,000 pictures of Christian and, as a Defensive End, he generally was not where the touchdown was occurring. He also plays Tight End so, on those occasions, it's possible I may have a photo of the touchdown. But to be honest, unless he made the touchdown, I probably took the picture by accident. But I will make it to all of the games and cheer when my husband cheers, since he's watching the WHOLE game and not just our son. You guys know me. If my kid's in, then I am all in. Whether Christian plays for one season and moves on, or plays for several seasons, I will be there, with my camera. Maybe I will even move up the ranks to Concession Stand, or my specialty, 50/50 sales. He will go back to rowing when football as over. But in the meantime, he is thoroughly loving this game and this league. I do not exactly know or understand why. But it's not my job to understand, it's my job to support him. As long as he as he loves it, Anthony and I will take him to practices and games. And I alone will participate in the unholy nightly ritual known as washing the football uniform. This makes Little Michael's rowing clothes, soaked with stinky Hudson River water, actually smell like a rose garden.

Last week, there was a thunder delay during the game, played at the NFA Field. When play resumed, it was pouring rain, the cheerleaders had called it quits, and most parents, wisely, were sitting under shelter somewhere, watching the game. My son told me he knew, before he looked up, that I would be the only one, sitting there in the bleachers in the pouring rain. Sure enough, there I was sitting dead center in the bleachers in the rain with my Newburgh Rowing Club rain hood up. Hey, I told him, I'm a crew mom, at least 20% of my wardrobe is rain gear, from muckers to ponchos. I've spent 8 hours in cold, driving rain, just to get a glimpse of your boat for one minute. "I know Mom," he said, "I just knew I would look up and you'd be there in the rain. Like, I had not doubts at all." He's too young to articulate it, but he knows that being able to look up and see your parents every time, whether it's from the football field, your crew shell, or the school stage, is a blessing. And that was thanks enough for me. Have a great day, everyone, and remember to count your blessings!  Mrs. Lo

 — with Juliana Muyot andGoldbacks Yfl.

TRADITIONS: One of the Best Gifts You Can Give Your Children

TRADITIONS: ONE OF THE BEST GIFTS you can give to your children. We have just left Kennebunkport, Maine, where we have had another glorious beach vacation, for the 13th summer in a row. Christian was a year old when we first came up here; he slept in a little hotel crib at the famed but not so child-friendly Nonantum Resort. Michael was 5 months old the first summer he came up here. That was the year Mommy forgot to pack his clothes and we had to go to the Mall and buy whatever I could find for him (honest, that outfit was coral, not pink!) Now, we are heading home extra early in the morning so we can get Christian to his walk-through this afternoon, in preparation for his first Football game tomorrow. Things have changed over the years. When we first started coming up here, I was either not working or working part-time, and we saved all year to stay in a motor lodge for the week. Now we rent a small but classic house literally across the street from the Beach. We used to put up one of those "baby tents" because Michael couldn't tolerate the sun. We carried them down to the ocean and were amazed when they would splash. Now the two of them swim, snorkel and boogie board all day long. I used to buy groceries at the local market which would last all week. Now, I drive two towns over to Hannaford, fill up two grocery carts, then go back mid-week for more groceries. That's how much food this family consumes. We learned to avoid crowded, pricey restaurants and love to have breakfast, lunch and BBQ dinners on the beach or our sun porch. We have seen businesses in town come and go. But some traditions have remained the same. Early every morning, Anthony and I sit on the bench across the street from the house and have our coffee as we watch the sun rise over the beach. Every year, we go to Bartley's for lobster roll and homemade blueberry pie. Every year, we take the narrated Trolley Tour and I correct the driver on at least one fact (). And every night as we sit down to dinner with the sand all over our sun porch, we bow our heads and thank God for his bounty, especially allowing us to have this magical Kennebunkport vacation every year. Whether your family is small, large, intact, blended or all grown up, be sure to create traditions for your kids and grandkids. It creates a sense of stability and structure, which children so desperately need. Whether it's going camping or going to the Hamptons, what will matter is that you are together, and that your kids can count on it. Have a great day, everyone!  Mrs. Lo

My Wife Doesn't Make Mistakes Like That ...

"MY WIFE DOESN'T MAKE MISTAKES LIKE THAT," said my Husband, "You must have her mixed up with someone else." This was my loving husband talking to our realtor in Maine of over a decade, Kathy. "Um, I don't know how to tell you this any more clearly, Anthony, but your wife definitely made a mistake," said Kathy. "She didn't book the beach house for the week of August 17 - 24th, she booked it for August 24th - 31st. Do you want me to email you a copy of the Lease?" Only after looking at the hard, cold document did my husband realize that yes, Mrs. Lo made a mistake. I have been telling everyone and planning to leave today, August 17th, for our Beach House rental in Kennebunkport, Maine. I always do book the second to last week in August. But when I spoke to the realtor way back in January, someone else had booked that week, so I took the last week in August. Somehow I didn't change it in the Calendar. Had my husband not called to see if the owners had set up Wifi yet, we would have gotten up this morning and driven 5 - 6 hours up to Kennebunkport, only to find some other family in the house. While it would have made for great cocktail conversation, we actually have plenty to talk about at cocktail parties, and I am really happy we didn't make that particular trek. The point of this week's Blog is that my husband is just so used to me running the household, the business, and Rowing Club, and our vacations, like Margaret Thatcher, the Iron Butterfly. No mistakes, the itinerary all set, the kayaks pre-rented, restaurant reservations at Disney 180 days ahead of time. One year, I even ordered our entire groceries for the week online and had them waiting for us in Maine. I love that Anthony was so confident in my planning abilities, that he actually thought the realtor couldn't read the Lease. What can I say, Mrs. Lo had a big BRAIN FART! Whoooopsy!! Thank goodness, our guardian angel guided my husband's hand to the phone to call the Realtor and we didn't drive up to a grand disappointment. In true LoBiondo fashion, Anthony and I decided to make Lemonade out of them lemons. We will squeeze all our appointments into the next three days, and we are getting a hotel in the next town over Thursday and Friday of this week, thereby extending our vacation by a few days. Instead of getting to our beach house mid to late afternoon on Saturday, we can get in there early, and get settled in. Renting a house, for those for do that sort of thing, is a fair amount of work, we cook and grill all week, and pretend we live there, we don't really hit the restaurants much. The house is not fancy, but it is across the street from the Beach. It is one mile from the Village of Kennebunkport, where all the book shops, restaurants, cafes, candy shops, and boutiques are located. We either walk or bike in, we don't use the car once we get there. And we also spend the week swimming, boogie boarding, snorkeling, kayaking, and fishing. Of course, I indulge my passion for photography as well. It's a magical week, the one we really look forward to all year long. Although we have to wait a little longer, we will also have a longer vacation. So is my husband's confidence in my planning abilities shaken? Not at all, he views it as a happy coincidence, finally allowing us to take the 10-day Maine vacation we have always dreamed of. Have a great rest of the weekend everyone, and remember to count your Blessings -- including Blessings in disguise! Mrs. Lo (photo of the view out of our front door in Maine -- cross this street and you're on the Beach)