Jordan has always been drawn to the older crowd. She has weekly dinners with her Grandma... often times the table is filled with Gram’s octogenarian friends as well. Last night she came home around 10pm and declared she was the youngest one at the “dinner party” by sixty years!!! It should also be noted she was one of the first to leave! 

Jordie makes us proud for all sorts of reasons. Any of you who truly know the Baker family dynamic also knows she drives us crazy with her stubbornness and “I’ll do things my way” attitude as well! Occasionally she has to backtrack... sometimes in grand fashion... but mostly she awes us. 

Today is an awe day; it’s the last day with her current company. Jordie entered Corporate America just shy of 3 years ago when she was hired for an HR position with a well known and respected global company headquartered here in KC. A year later... almost to the day... she was offered an opportunity with her current company which gave her much more responsibility and a nuthin-to-sneeze at pay raise. She also got her own cushy office with a real door... a rarity in today’s open-concept bullpen type work environments! But about a month ago... a different company came knocking on that door... thanks to her LinkedIn presence. It was several layers of interviews, some in person, others over the phone. I think there was a video call or two in the mix as well. After each round she’d text our family-text with, “Nailed it,” or “I’ve got this!” or sometimes just a long line of fingers-crossed emojis... revealing just her tiniest vulnerability.

They hired her. And they are giving her even more responsibility. And a mentor. And an opportunity for international travel. Oh... and a big fat raise which gets her a gorgeous new apartment that is more like a resort! 

So even though this post is (unabashedly) bragging on my oldest old-soul child... it’s also for any parents out there like me. I was a non-conformist... in regards to how Jordie was doing things. I bought into the bullshit our school district and society was selling us which was basically “If you want your child to be successful in life you better send them to a traditional four-year college.” Period. And we tried. First K-State. Then JCCC. She did a year at Fort Hays State. She hated all of it, did not do well, and all the time I was still insisting that this was the route she HAD to go. It... I... should have broke her. But in true Jordie fashion... she showed us. She got that first job and rocked it... gaining some of her confidence  back along the way. The second job was more of the same... operative word “more”. And Monday... after a quick girl’s-weekend in Denver... she starts anew once again. At each of these places... I’ll note... Jordie continued working toward her degree but this time on their dime. 

Making a living, getting an education, and taking-on no debt. My mom, Jordie’s other Gammie, used to say... “There’s more than one way to skin a cat.” I’m glad one of us was listening. Yep... I’m in awe.

 Love you, Jordie girl... you make this mama so proud and I learn from you almost every day!

My parents moved back to New York City in 1983 or 84; I'm not sure which. But I am sure that I felt very much abandoned by them, especially on holidays. I was the only one left in Kansas; Toby had moved to upstate New York to pursue her Phd and TC to southern Orange County for some California dreamin, years before my parents finally pulled up stakes. I wasn’t really surprised by their move; they’d been saying, basically since they moved us here in 1971, “Kansas is a good place to raise a family. But as soon as we do that… we’re outta here!” Sometimes I felt like they couldn’t wait for me to grow up.

But the feeling of abandonment quickly gave way to one of opportunity... and fun. Lots and lots of fun! My little humble abode became the go-to house for all my friends, (and lots of their friends), to gather on holidays... especially Thanksgiving, when few could afford to travel home. Collectively, we cobbled together a Thanksgiving meal. I remember making the turkey, not because I was any good at it, but because my employer gave me a free one every year! My two other specialties were sweet potato casserole and dressing; man I could throw down some dressing!

Years passed, friends married or moved away, I met Mikey, and the rest… as they say, is history. In retrospect, what that really meant for me, was that my cooking was history; Mikey is the cooker man in our family!

But lo and behold... I found myself in similar circumstances as 30 years ago, this week, because of my inability lately to look more than 2 days ahead! So just to cover my bases, (and admittedly prompted by the frozen butterball I found in the downstairs freezer while searching for wine), I picked up a few goodies at the store on Wednesday. Today... I set out to see if I still had it in me. The turkey is obviously overcooked... and why he looks like I do when I'm sleeping, all curled up on one side, is beyond me! But my dressing is SPOT on, and how can anyone screw up sweet potato casserole?!? I have wine, Netflix, crappy weather and fabulous memories of those days, I thought I'd been abandoned, to keep me company tonight.

So as I prepare to join Mike, in Beijing soon, I look forward to watching my own kids find their new normal, for just a couple of years, and I know from my own lessons that although it won't be easy at first... it will be worth it! The friends I made back then, alongside those delicious holiday dinners, are the same ones I count on today. And fortunately, for both me and Mike, they will be there for Jordie and Nick when they need a hand, a hug, or a good community meal!! ‪

It's Baaaaaack...

So my back goes out on me, I'm talking emergency-room-shoot-me-up-with-morphine-and-muscle-relaxers kind of out, every two years like clockwork. Well how time flies; this is apparently my lucky day!

Unfortunately, it happened halfway down the driveway while lifting a heavy trash bag.  I got stuck out there. Could. Not. Move. (Note: I was actually out of my jammies and dressed which is a rarity for that time of day. #Uptick)

No phone with me, no one home to hear me screaming... no one to help me.  BUT... at least three neighbors drove by and gave me a little wave as they scuttled past me for work.  Really?!? I looked like a friggin gumby doll flopping around in different positions desperate for relief from the intense pain surging through my upper torso. Yep... pretty sure my distress was obvious... thanks for nuthin neigh-bozos.

It took me 20 minutes to limp, hobble and eventually crawl back to the house, writhing in pain the whole way.  I call Mike. No luck, he just landed in Chicago.  I call Jordie... the soonest she can get to me was 10.  Then, magically... Nick calls ME! "My superhero is gonna save me" I thought.  Wrong again; his Landcruiser got towed from "the library" last night and he doesn't have the $175. to get it back. "Call your father", I grumbled.

Next I called Robin. If she didn't answer I was going to have to call 9-1-1. She answered... Yes!!! She was 30 minutes away yet but she was going to get me to the E.R.!  I managed to find a position on the couch where the pain was less intense; it just so happened to be right next to yesterday's $4760.80 Emergency Room bill for Nick.  "How can I get through this without another one of those?" I wondered to myself. 

So I called Mike's masseuse; she's incredible at manipulating the body back into submission. No go. Then I called my doctor (since his office was now open). Typically, if I'm in this much pain, he'll send me straight to the E.R. And typically, I would go. But that damn bill was staring up at me, not to mention today's 175 buck screw-up, so I did what most of us mothers do... I sucked it up.

Robin put a bag of frozen edemame on my back and fed me 4 ibuprophen with a banana and peanut butter.  The doc called back and after some haggling, (i.e.
pleading), he agreed to call me in some muscle relaxers.

So here I am... in bed... probably for the next three days, watching The Price Is Right.

Hmmm... the irony.

Damsel in Distress

A night out at The Hawk with your friends... $20.

Getting you ass kicked... $4760.80

Defending your (girl)friend's honor... Priceless.

#YourAGoodManNickBaker

#ButALoverNotAFighter

We're 0 for 3...

and at the plate.

Let me set the stage for you.  It was Nick’s first High School dance, he asked a lovely girl named Samantha to be his date, and she said yes.  We dutifully hit the mall and bought the obligatory black suit.  “Buy it a little big”, I was told by a more experienced mother of high school boy.  The hope of course was to get two years, four dances, and maybe a couple of weddings out of it.

I held off buying a shirt and tie that day knowing full well we had no dog in the fight.  Jordie was a senior by then, so from a girl’s perspective… this wasn’t our first rodeo.  Samantha would be deciding the color scheme of their ensemble.

I was delighted when Sam proved to be a “no fuss, no muss” kinda gal.  “Black and gold dress” she told Nick, with at least two weeks leeway before the big dance.  I was thrilled to find a gold, (but not too gold), paisley tie.  I love, love, LOVE me some paisley!  A complimenting pocket hanky I’m convinced was the key to channeling Nick’s inner ZZ Top that night; he was a Sharp Dressed Man.

As for Samantha?  She was a sight to behold in her black and SILVER dress!

sssssSTRIKE your out…

As we shimmy down Memory Lane, let’s now revisit the fashion fiasco of last year’s Sweetheart Dance.  This is the one where the girls ask the boys; Nick was asked by a very sweet volleyball player named Carly.  She gave us a much shorter window of opportunity to find a shirt and tie that would compliment her pewter dress and cranberry shoes, but all my angst magically disappeared when I found a lovely cranberry and pewter PAISLEY tie!  (Did I mention how much I love paisley?)

As soon as we arrived for the group photos that night it was clear once again, all was not in sync with the color Gods.  “Is cranberry the new pink” I wondered?   Admittedly… there are a lot of choices when it comes to pink. There’s pink, hot pink, fuchsia… there’s even that horrible 80’s version of pink called mauve.  Cranberry, I would argue… is a distant relative of pink at best.  Carly’s shoes however, were pink.  Hot-stinkin- pink. 

sssssSTRIKE your out…

Not to miss a beat, Nick was back in the game for Homecoming this year when  Belen, his close friend since kindergarten who had moved to Miami over the summer,  decided last minute to come back for Homecoming  weekend.  We were so thrilled with the news that I didn’t even gripe about having to run around the morning of the dance to find him a turquoise shirt.  In fact... it turned euphoric when I found another... wait for it... PAISLEY tie. (Be still my paisley-lovin heart!)

But here’s a question that comes to mind:

Has anyone born after 1990… ever heard of sea breeze green?  Because I’m here to tell ya kids... that dress is NOT turquoise.  It is sea-friggin-breeze-green! 

sssssSTRIKE your out…

So here we are again.  A mere 48 hours away from ‘Sweetheart Dance 2012’ and Nick just received photos of two different color pairs of shoes his date Jackie is vacillating between.   She did share however that her dress is a “flat” black…  (as opposed to shiny), which I suppose (?) matters. 

(Full disclosure: Nick’s suit is shiny black and it still fits… sorry Jackie.)

Perhaps I’m being too hard on these girls; not everyone is a control freak like me.  I used to discreetly snip a piece of fabric from Jordie’s party dress, then she’d deliver it directly to her date’s mother, always allowing ample time for her to shop.  Not only did this result in magnificent “his and her” party wear, but Jordan could count on a fabulous corsage as well. 

And the best part?  Those moms loved and appreciated Jordie.   OK, whatever… at least they didn’t write snarky blogs about her!!!

Which reminds me…  I better get Nick on the list for one of those crappy “extra” corsages the local grocery stores will have on hand Saturday in anticipation of those girls who don’t have their shit together.  Hope they have something in flat black.

Batter up…

"Mom...

does Dad have an STD?”


“No Nick, he does not. Why, pray tell, do you ask?”


“Because his meds came in the mail and they say they’re for an STD.”

Lord help me.


And for the record… Mikey may battle a little high blood pressure as well as cholesterol, but as far as “down there”… he’s perfectly healthy.


And clean...

Surprise!!!

We had a great evening this past Saturday. It was my friend Suzie’s surprise 50th birthday party and we pulled it off without a hitch. Great friends, lots of laughs and as an added bonus, we were in Lawrence: God’s country.



We wrapped things up around 11p.m., dropped our friend Diane off on our way home and pulled in our driveway just before midnight. Mikey had mentioned a few minutes earlier that our timing was perfect since we would be getting home right around Jordan’s curfew. At seventeen (going on twenty-eight), we always visit with her when she gets home from a night out just to make sure things are on the up and up. Boy Howdy!


Beating her home by just a few minutes, I ran up and put my jammies on before coming back down to wait for her with Mike while catching some late-night TV. And that folks was the beginning of the end of our peaceful, easy evening…


12:05a.m.: I am annoyed. Back in the day… we were smart enough to beat our curfew by a few minutes; call it common courtesy. And besides, it kept the rents happy and was no skin off our nose… as long as our nose was fairly clean!


12:10a.m.: I am pissed. Really Jordan? Ten minutes late and no phone call or text; my inner chatterbox is taking away privileges as fast as I can think of them.


12:15a.m.: Because we “Sprint family mapped” her and saw that she was very close to home, I deduced she was at our backdoor neighbor’s house… home of her “college friend” who is back for Thanksgiving break. Fury is fast approaching and when I share my suspicion with Mike, he drives off in the car to fetch her sorry-ass up!


12:20a.m: Mike returns sans Jordan. There is no sign of life going on over there he informs me and I should map her again. Same friggin result. I am certain at this point there is some illicit partying going on down in their basement and I am ready to live up to my reputation as “Mama-Buzz kill”. White-pages dot com and presto, I have their home number to call.


Mikey makes the call, it goes something like this: “Hi Mr. Back-door neighbor, this is Jordan’s dad, Mike. I apologize for calling at this late hour and waking you, but can you tell me if Jordan is over at your house? No? Well is Kelly home? Yes? Would you mind waking her up and letting me talk to her, we can’t locate Jordan, she is not answering any of our texts or phone calls and we are very concerned... this is out of character for her.” About a minute later… “Hi Kelly, this is Mike Baker. Do you know where Jordan is?” She did not, and Mike asked her to please call regardless of the time if she hears anything, yada-yada.


12:25a.m.: I am vibrating, I am so mad. Mike is rattling things off like, “Tomorrow morning we take the Landcruiser and park it at my office, she has NO car starting NOW! Do NOT buy her ANYTHING for six months… I mean nothing! She’s going to JuCo!” Suffice it to say we were both of the same mindset, and it was less than pleasant.


12:30a.m.: Sirens. Loud sirens. Getting closer kind of sirens.   I am immediately paralyzed by fear; all my anger leaves me and is replaced with prayer. Out loud, down on my knees prayer.


12:35a.m.: Slight meltdown as sirens continue. Not crying, but definitely pacing and freaking out. I have such a strong feeling that something is very, very wrong… that I actually go take my jammies off and put clothes back on.


12:40a.m.: Messages and texts left on Jordie’s phone no longer have anger or consequences in them, just pleads to call us: “You are not in trouble baby, we are worried sick, please, please call, we’ll come get you.”


12:45a.m.: White-pages.com supplies me with yet another much needed landline number. “Hello Mr. B? This is Chris Baker, Jordan’s mom. I am so sorry to wake you at this hour but is Jordan over there? No? Is Ana home? What time did she get home? Wow, a few minutes after eleven, would you mind waking her up so I can find out if she has any idea where Jordan might be? Thank you so much.”


A minute or so goes by and I hear Mr. B talking softly to Ana. “Well when was the last time you saw or heard from Jordan, Ana”, I heard him ask. I struggled to hear her sleepy answer…


Wait for it… wait for it…


“When I dropped her home a little before 11p.m.”...


Oh. My. God.

OMG, OMG, OMG… It never friggin occurred to us to look in her bedroom. I thanked Mr. B, told him we would keep them posted then ran to Jordie’s room. I could make out a lump in the bed through the darkness and started screaming to Mike… “She’s home, she’s home, she’s home!”


“Where? What do you mean?” he says.

“She is sound asleep in her bed!” I yelled.


I don’t think his feet hit one stair on the way up. He flicked on her light and clearly relieved, yelled (in his big-boy voice)…. “JORDAN!" Her sleeping blue eyes popped wide open and without moving her head so much as an inch, they darted back and forth from Mike to me and back to Mike. “What?” she said quietly, obviously confused.

Absolute dead silence followed. I mean really… that was the million-dollar question… “what?”. It seemed as if time stood still when Mikey finally muttered, “Did you have a good time tonight”?


1. a.m.: We kiss the little darling goodnight, tell her to sleep tight and slink backwards out of her room; we cannot even look at each other. “A plan, a plan, we need a plan” I finally plead with him. “No way” he says. This is a bus-chucking moment and I am chucking you under it; dog-eat-dog baby, you should have checked her bed”.


1:02a.m.: I pop an ambien, hoping this whole mess might elude Jordan from ever finding out what freakazoids she has for parents.


5:30a.m.: “DAD… what the heck is going on? I have 72 missed calls and about a million text messages, everyone is asking where I am and if I’m ok.” Apparently, our little over-reaction the night before went viral. We’re lucky there wasn’t a damn Amber Alert!


I pry my eyes open as the pit in my stomach returns for an encore.  I struggle to read the clock and when my fuzzy eyes finally focus, I realize… it was exactly twelve hours ago that our evening of fun began. So in keeping with the spirit of the night, I look at Jordan and say… “Surprise”!!!


And one more MOTY award slips away…

House Divided

I grew up the youngest of three girls. Our Dad, to my knowledge, didn’t seem to mind missing out on doing “boy stuff” i.e. football, baseball, basketball. We girls each had a horse, and we spent our downtime riding. Many of our weekends were spent at horse auctions or participating in small-town rodeo’s; TC was a pretty good barrel racer and Lance, the horse she “rescued” from an imminent glue factory roundup, proved to be formidable around those 3 barrels.



Once the house emptied out, Toby to Colorado College and TC to K-State… I remember doing some of that “boy stuff” with my Dad. We would go hit a bucket of balls, his back was in too bad of shape to play 18 holes but we could manage to get through 100 balls in an evening. We would also watch Royals baseball together. Those were the glory days; George Brett, Freddie Patek, Darryl Porter (May he rest I peace), Willie Wilson, Frank White… heck, I even remember Cookie Rojas at first base! And Whitey Herzog was our coach; yep, those sure were the days!


That was about the time I fell in love with KU hoops too. Rock Chalk Jayhawk, go KU! I learned and loved the legends of Phog Allen, the “Father of Basketball Coaching” and James Naismith; he invented the game of basketball, originally hanging two peach baskets where the modern netted baskets are today. I remember my first KU game in Allen Fieldhouse and the awe I felt at seeing the banner I'd always heard about, “Pay Heed All Who Enter; BEWARE OF THE PHOG", hanging way up in the rafters. Legend has it, coach Allen's spirit haunts KU's opponents when they play at his namesake.  Larry Brown was the coach in those days and we were part of the now defunct Big 8 Conference. College basketball was nothing like it is today. Back then, heck… we had only recently been introduced to cable TV. But once the 1987-88 season of “Danny and the Miracle’s” swept through town, you were hard pressed not to find a KU fan, especially where I lived which is just 30 miles northeast of Lawrence, Kansas… home to “Phog”Allen Fieldhouse.


Personally, I did not choose KU for my college education, a regret I will always have. I had instead set my sights on the University of Michigan; yes, I was almost a Wolverine. Suffice it to say I was following a boy there, and it didn’t work out in the end. He ended up at Washburn pursuing a Law degree and I majored in “Cosgrove’s and Mike’s” at Rockhurst College. That love affair ended after six years, my love affair with KU basketball continues to this day; it does not suck to be a Jayhawks basketball fan.


Mike is a KU grad, so life has always been easy in our house, not like those “house divided” folks. You know the ones I mean… he graduated KU; she went to K-State. Iowa Hawkeyes for him, Iowa State Cyclones for her… what a drag; so much bad Juju in the house on game day.


Today however, that all changed. I have accepted, fully and finally that we are now “one of those”; our peaceful coexistence and camaraderie regarding all things Jayhawks has ended.


Jordan, our junior in high school is a Kansas State Wildcats fan. This is not as much a huge surprise to me as it is an acknowledgement of failure as a parent; the signs have been there for a while. TC was a Wildcat and her daughter Ashley, who Jordie adores and patterns herself after, has followed in her mother’s pawprints.  The stars are clearly aligned against me regarding any future for Jordan as a Jayhawk.


Now I have dressed this kid in Crimson and Blue since the day she was born. We were watching home video’s last weekend and there she was just a baby, on St. Pete’s Beach wearing a Jayhawk T-shirt over her bathing suit to protect her delicate skin from the sun. A couple of years later she wore a KU sweatshirt on an airplane to Colorado. We still have the picture of our pilot holding “Flat Stanley”, disguised as Drew Gooden, in the cockpit. This is the kid who stood in line with me so Jerod Haase could sign our copy of “Floor Burns”, the book he wrote which is a chronology of his senior year at Kansas. For Christmas 2002, Santa left Jordan an authentic KU basketball signed by every single player and coach on the team that season, among them: Nick Collison, Kirk Hinrich, Keith Langford, Michael Lee, Aaron Miles, Wayne Simien, Roy Williams and be still my heart… Danny Manning. I mean come on… who gets that… besides a little girl groomed to be a Jayhawk forever.

This evening is the big Kansas basketball showdown. The Jayhawks are in Manhattan to take on the Wildcats in Bramlage Coliseum. K-State is proving to be a good team this year, they are currently ranked 11th in the country (AP Polls) and are 3rd in the Big 12. (We are currently ranked 2nd in the nation and are poised to move up to the #1 spot the next time the rankings come out. Just sayin…) But their inconsistencies such as knocking off “then” #1 in the country Texas, losing to a scrappy Mizzou, and barely getting by Baylor this week does nothing for our pre-game jitters. We are after all, playing in the “Octagon of Doom”.


Jordan is in Manhattan this weekend for the debauchery. Our niece Ashley is “in charge” and we are comforted by the fact that Jordan being just 16 years old, looks like she is 16 years old. No Aggieville for her tonight… (Hold your comments folks, let me have my fantasy!).


Mike and I are heading to Lawrence to watch the game with our “Jayhawk” friends Suzie and Norm. Apparently, a swanky new Hotel just opened in Lawrence near the campus with a great bar we’re going to check out. A far cry from the pandemonium going on in Aggieville or on Mass St. tonight, but surely geared more toward our speed.


Jordie is in Manhattan amongst “fellow” Wildcatters, Mikey and I are in Lawrence cheering on our Hawks.


We are: A House Divided.

# 22

Nick has a football game this afternoon. It’s actually the third one of the season, but he missed the first game because of the flu, Mike and I missed his second game because of” life”, but today we’ll all be there, including Jordie.

Raising our kids, I’ve always (right or wrong) subscribed to the “Parenting by Fear” model. When the kids were younger, it was great. They feared us… at least we like to think they did. At the very least they understood cause and effect!

I grew up fearing my folks, and most of my friends feared theirs as well. I would march right up to that line drawn in the sand, literally teetering over it at times, but on rare occasion did I out and out cross it. The risk had to be worth the short-term reward for me to do so. Or maybe that’s just the convenient memory I have since my own kids are now at the teetering stage of their young lives and I want them to make the right choices.

What I failed to realize until recently however, is how the definition of “Parenting by Fear” so quickly changes.

I’m a freak about them driving, a nut-case over a bad grade, distrusting of most friends. I’m a walking infomercial invading their ears with safety tips and an encyclopedia chock full of horrific stories regarding young people’s bad choices. “Good kids make bad choices too” loops over and over in these poor kids’ psyches’!

Parenting by Fear… great model… I am now the fearful one.

I dread this afternoon. Nick is new to the game of football. These kids are big; thank God he’s among the larger ones on the field. “Teach him to hit correctly Coach” I implored at the parents meeting last month. “He’s a pleaser Coach, don’t let him get hurt trying to please you and the team”. “Tell him how you never, ever hit with your head Coach”. By the time I was done with the guy he wanted to hit me over the head.

Last week didn’t help when Nicky came barging in the door after the game all a twitter to tell me that another kid on his team was taken away in an ambulance. Apparently he took a cheap shot to the back and the coaching staff did the right thing by not taking any chances with his health. He was checked out at the local hospital and back at school the next day.

When Nick left for school today I was taken aback at how handsome and grown-up he looked in his game day jersey. I told him Daddy and I would be at his game and Sissy would meet us there too.

“I’m # 22 Mom, I’ll look for you guys and wave” was his reply. That’s him in a nutshell; carefree and happy, no outward sign of fear.

So this is me now…
Breathing deep, facing the fear and letting go.

Not just for today’s game, but for both Jordie and Nick’s young adult journey. I won’t be fearless, but I’m going to try very hard to no longer be paralyzed by that fear.

Wish me luck!

A Disgrace to my Heritage…

I just made a pound cake; the mix came from a box.
My first conundrum arose when the ingredients for me to add were a “choice”; add milk OR water.
For God’s sakes, don’t screw with me, just tell me!
“Mo”, (eenie, meenie, miney, mo…) landed on milk, so that’s what I went with.
Two eggs later, a quick couple of minutes with the electric beater and voila’, my culinary masterpiece was ready for the hot oven.
Unfortunately though, when I went to put it in… my heart sunk. I’d never turned the oven on to warm it up! But what’s another 10 or 15 minute delay when the result will be pure buttery goodness with a hot cup of Joe.

Cooking time said “48 to 52 minutes”.
I was using a glass pan and could swear from past experience (and I use the term loosely) that glass meant lower temp. But in my defense, no where did that bitch Betty mention that on the box!
So into a 350 degree oven it went, and I set the timer for a mere 45 minutes.
You know me… always playing it safe!!!

Ok, in the spirit of full disclosure, there was one other tiny mishap.
I’ve blogged here before regarding my limited attention span.
About an hour after turning the oven on, I wondered why it kept “clicking”. Only then did I realize I’d forgotten to put the cake in. By this time the batter had (oddly) risen to about twice its original depth. This was my first inkling that maybe I should have gone with the water. Who knows?

WHO KNOWS???
I’ll tell you who knows… my Papa!!!
Francis Duddy owned and operated “Duddy’s Bakery” in Queens New York, from before my mother, her 6 sister’s and one brother were born, to not long before he died in the late 60’s.
From Grandma and Papa Duddy, I get my 50% Irish blood.
Duddy’s Bakery, the story is told (backed up by a torn and yellowed old newspaper article including a picture), used to have customers lined up around the block for one of their famous pies.
They offered all the goodies any bakery would, but Pies is what they were famous for.
I have never made a pie.

My 50% German veins also have incredible Baker knowledge and experience flowing through them.
My Oma, who baked the best damn Apfelkuchen and German Butter Cookies in the whole entire world…, is probably turning in her grave this morning at my lame attempt to bake!
From a BOX, no less!

To make a long and personally painful story short… yes, I burned it.
And then yes, I tried to salvage it by cutting the burnt ends, sides and bottom off.
Even then, it tasted somewhat like I would imagine a sponge to taste.
A clean one!
But in the end, I called it for what it was…
A complete and utter failure, as well as a disgrace to my family heritage.

I’ve still got my stinkin sweet-tooth, so I’m going out for a Ding-Dong now.
Sorry Oma and Papa.
But if it’s any consolation to you, your great-granddaughter is an awesome Baker… both kinds!

So how was YOUR holiday weekend?

Quite frankly we’re amazed it took this long for Nicky to break a bone.
Heck, Jordie had 4 by the time she was his age, and one since.

She’s a little pissed off that we took Nick to the ER on day one; further proof she tells us, that he’s the favorite child.
If it were up to me though, he’d probably still be holding his arm and whining about it this morning. But when it happens at someone else’s house and those parents make that fateful call, you kind of have to step up to the plate and take the kid in. I mean, “What would they think?”!!!

I still catch grief from friends and family for the time it took me 3 days to get one of Jordan’s broken arms looked at.
But in my defense, this is the kid who I had to limit her “Ouch’s” to three a day a few years back. If I ran off to the doctor every time she yelled “Ouch” the state of this country’s healthcare system would be even worse. As would my wallet.

So we got to spend yet another Friday night in an emergency room.
We got lucky though, Nick was about the biggest emergency they were handling that evening thus far.
They wheeled a guy in a little later who was passing a kidney stone, note to self: that is not how I EVER want to spend my time.

The funniest moment of the evening was when Nicky announced he had to pee. Two nurses and a female doctor all turned around and looked at Mike. Without missing a beat, Mikey turned to me and said, “Two shakes down and one to the left. No more.” The expression on Nicky’s face was priceless as the rest of us all bust a gut!

Nick will get a real cast put on next Tuesday; in the meantime he’s vacillating between KU blue, or Husky (his FB team) purple. I’m just trying to find a Sharpie that works!

Happy Labor Day!

“You Just May Start a Chain Reaction”

Rachel Scott.
The first person killed at Columbine High School, April 20, 1999.

Yesterday after Jordan got home from school and VB practice, she excitedly tried to explain a new program her high school is getting involved in this year; one she volunteered to participate in. She was having difficulty however articulating to me exactly what its purpose is. But she was so fired up about it she insisted we go to their website so I could see for myself. It’s called “Rachel’s Challenge” and by the time we got through just the video portion, we’d gone through quite a few tissues.

Today at school, Rachel’s father, Darrell Scott, came from Colorado to introduce the program at an all-school assembly. This was followed by a peer training session for about 50 kids who have committed to the program.

Today’s assembly will quite possibly go down in our school history as the most spellbound and inspiring presentation ever attended. I’ve heard from several people who were there today that you could literally hear a pin drop. That’s quite uncommon in any high school gym, especially one filled to capacity with 1600 kids. But even more relevant is that Rachel’s message, that kindness and compassion can and will replace violence and rage, made an immediate impact on these kids. By implementing their program in schools across the country (and the world), the goal becomes to turn those traits into a lifelong mindset, and in Rachel’s words, “maybe start a chain reaction”.

I went to the parent presentation this evening with Jordan, and I also can’t seem to articulate in this small space tonight’s experience. I was simultaneously overwhelmed with grief and hope. Grief, as this man shared his personal and tragic story about the senseless death of his daughter, 12 other young people and a courageous teacher nine years ago at Columbine High School. Yet hope, because of his daughter Rachel’s ethics and codes of life, which ultimately resulted in a challenge to the rest of us; Rachel’s Challenge.

If you live in the KC area, Mr. Scott is doing another presentation at Blue Valley West High School tomorrow evening (8/28) at 7p.m.. If you can… please go! It’s an incredible story about a beautiful girl whose simple and logical outlook on life, has begun to change the world.

If you aren’t in the area, and especially if you have kids in school, check out their site and invite Rachel’s Challenge to your school. It’s a beautiful message but more importantly, “it inspires, instructs and enables students to bring positive change to their own school atmosphere”.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah!!!

The little darling’s are back where they belong.
I had nary a blog entry all summer long and that is a direct result of what kind of summer it was.
In a word… “Speedy”!

Toward the end of June, we lost a very, very dear friend of ours, Bobbi.
She and her husband Doc were (are) basically surrogate parents to Mike growing up in Beatrice Nebraska. Bobbi truly loved Mikey as one of her own and her passing was a difficult time for all of us. It was, as services go, beautiful and fitting for such a grand lady with several services and Rosaries said from Dallas, to Beatrice to Omaha. Bobbi was the kinda gal that when you left her and Doc’s home, you couldn’t help but have a little more spring in your step than before your visit which was always filled with food, drink and an abundance of laughter. The family home is quiet now; we vow to do all we can in the coming months to help bring life and laughter back to it.

Most of the summer was a blur of volleyball camps and lessons for Jordie as well as trips to the lake with friends. She attended the University of Nebraska camp which really opened up her eyes to big-time VB. Today begins a week of tryouts for High School so it will be a bit tense around here for a few days. As a sophomore, the hope is to make JV; as a parent, the hope is to just make it… period!

Nicky is playing football for the first time; the coach sure liked it when he sauntered up. He has grown over 3 inches this year and is tipping the scales like he’s been corn-fed. The issue however is not size, it’s aggression. He has none. Think “Gentle Giant”… that will be him. After the first full practice in pads and helmets the poor kid came home with some other kid’s jersey emblem embedded in his arm, that’s how hard he got hit. When I asked him how he was, all he said was, “I’ve got to get down lower Mom”. I hope not “stretcher” low… my old heart can’t take this! He did however take first place in the Skeet Shooting Finals at a 3 day camp he attended. I’m not quite sure what I should be hoping for here… gun accuracy or the ability to pulsate people. God knew what he was doing when he gave my Mom all girls; she would never have made it through the “boy years” and I’m not too sure I’m cut out for them either.

Mikey went back to work for B&V last winter, his travel is way down and we are all so much happier. (Well everyone but that “other” family I was convinced he had in New Orleans!) He’s all ours again with just the “right amount” of travel sprinkled in. One of his jobs is in Hawaii… so we don’t feel too sorry for him when he has to go although he whines about it pretty bad. I suspect that’s for our benefit, like we’re really buying it!

One of the highlights of our summer was the new addition to our family. “Murphy” is a hybrid… half Bichon Frieze, half Yorkshire Terrier. (Remember in the old days when dogs bred outside their breed and we called them “mutts”?) Murph is actually Mom’s dog… we have shared custody of him. When Mom travels, Murphy will come live with us. He is an absolute joy, Mom has just come back alive caring for and playing with him. He’s our newest blessing and we love him. As for Tucker, let’s just say he’s “practicing tolerance”.

As for me, I spent most of the summer building my Real Estate biz. I am under the umbrella of Keller Williams, but I am an independent contractor. I named my business “ChrissyCan” because TC always told me that. She always had incredible faith in my abilities from the time we were little girls. One time before her cancer came back, she, my Dad any I were having lunch together and I was lamenting that I had no idea what I wanted to do now that I was no longer working in Corporate America. It was a scary time for me and TC, having just been through what we thought of at the time as the battle of her life, basically dismissed my doubts. She looked at my Dad, rolled her big blue eyes and said to him… “Chrissy can do anything. Always has, always will”. I wish I could say that was an “immediate” defining moment, but her confidence in me at the time was clearly much higher than my own. It has caught up to me however and I appreciate those words and her undying belief in me more and more each day. Before she died I shared with her my intention to donate 10% of the profits from each transaction to the KU Endowment Fund in her name. Specifically, 100% of these monies are designated to the Kansas Masonic Cancer Research Institute. KMCRI is coordinating the designation plan for the University of Kansas Medical Center and the University of Kansas Hospital to achieve National Cancer Institute (NCI) designation as a Comprehensive Cancer Center. With this designation, Kansas City will join 39 other cities in the United States as home to an elite research, treatment and education center. This goes beyond breast cancer, one of the most highly funded cancers there are. These monies will help every one of us who sadly, the odds say, will be affected by some form of this monster disease.

TC cried and cried when I told her and showed off my new business card which states my donation intention; I will never forget that moment as long as I live. I have 4 closed transactions since January when I started and nothing excites me more than cutting that check to KU. It is my single biggest motivating reason to be successful; TC is proud of me and that’s enough for me.

Just last week we finally snuck a quick family vacation in, we headed to the mountains in Aspen and did all that “good-clean-living” stuff. My “arse” still hurts from our 5 hour trail ride, but not as bad as my heart from pounding. I had a stubborn horse named Tucson who was the horse-version of Tucker. He did what he wanted when he wanted, including stopping to graze on a 14 inch wet and rocky path which offered very little security between it and the canyon thousands of feet below. Between that and Mikey driving us over Independence Pass in a rainstorm, Jordie and I have decided unequivocally that we are “beach gals”. Plant my feet in and on the sand, give me a drink with a little umbrella coming out of it, a good book and sunglasses…voila’… that’s a vacation!

Jordie drove herself to school today for the first time (feel free to fill in your own interpretation of my thoughts on that!), the sound of Nicky’s bus is just a faint memory already, I just drained the last cup of coffee out of the pot, and I have a welcomed calm and quiet enveloping me at this moment. I’ve got to hurry up and enjoy it though… school gets out in a mere 4 1/2 hours!

I hope your summer was free of heartache, filled with fun and did not pass by near as quickly as mine. But I know there's fat chance of that last one being the case! At least we've got our memories... for now!

Do you think he’s going to eat her?

Meet Kip.
If any of you are fans of the show “Lost”, Hurley lives…
Right here in Overland Park, Kansas.

Today was the first day of Jordie’s official Driver’s Ed.
She completed the classroom work, and has about 30 hours of driving with Mike and me under her belt.
But this is the real (insurance mandated) deal.

First a little background.
How, you ask, do you “choose” a driving school?
Well by the CARS they offer you big sillies!
Harding Driving School offers the kids Mustang GT’s…
Nuff said.

The kids drive “alone” with the instructor 3 separate times for 2 hours at a stretch.
I was very clear that I wanted Jordan driving with a woman, or else I wanted a background check on whatever hormone driven male specimen was driving off with her.
They gave us “Pam” last Wednesday morning.

Wednesday came, and I offered to help Jordie out with her Nanny duties that day while she drove.
“Oh, I cancelled today Mom, I’m driving Saturday now instead”, she informed me.
No biggie, end of conversation.

Today roles around, Mike and I are out front with Tucker when the bright yellow Mustang with the blackened windows pulls up.
Expecting petite little Pam to step out, you can imagine the shock and horror on our faces when “he” emerged.

“Hi, I’m Kip”, he says reaching to shake our hands.
Small talk followed not really anything to do with driving or her current ability to do so.
No, it was more like babbling, clearly in shock that we were letting our little girl drive “into the country” without armed guards following her.
In our (lame) defense… it all happened so fast.

My motherly instincts must have kicked in though, because when I ran for my camera, much to Jordan’s chagrin, all I could think was “I gotta get an “Amber Alert” worthy picture and a good one of Kip for “FBI’s Most Wanted”!
And away they went.

Mike, uncharacteristically, didn’t have much to say.
But as they drove down the street, he slowly turned to me and said, “Do you think he’ll eat her?”

They’re back now.
And in true Baker fashion, it was NOT uneventful.

Jordie got Kudos’ for hitting the squirrel in the road “dead-on” (pun intended) rather than steering into oncoming traffic in order to spare the little guys life. (R.I.P little fella!)
She also scored high on the back-ass gravel country roads (where the 2nd death of the day occurred, this time a big black snake slithering across Quivira), because that’s where most of her driving experience comes from.

The highlight of the day was still ahead.
Back within city limits, they came upon an intersection that was in Jordan’s words, “confusing”.
There were police and a lot of people, but no sirens.
The police officer directed her to turn, almost like a detour.
A minute or so later, 2 horses came up on either side of them; they were clearly suspicious that all was not right.
Startled by a toy sounding horn, Jordie “honked back” at the tiny little car that weaved its way right in front of her.

Kip realized it first….
Somehow they were directed to participate in the Shriners Parade!!!
Maybe they thought there was a Beauty Queen in the hot yellow Stang!

Whatever the case…
She’s home, she’s safe, and there is no flesh missing.
I hope the same can be said for Kip!

Like Mother, Like Daughter....

Trust me on this...
No four words in the Enlish language make me cringe more, when being told a story about my daughter.

Jordan had the good fortune to be invited down to her buddy's lake house over the holiday weekend.
The name of this playground is "Lake of the Ozarks" and I was younger than Jordie when I started to go most every weekend with my friend and her family.
Even in 5th grade, it quickly became clear to me that this was a Party place.
Me likey!

So when Jordie got home, sunburned to the bone, she had a zillion stories to share with us.
They rode the ski boat, partied on the Pontoon boat, raced ski-doos and caught major air tubing behind the boats. Fun, fun, fun in the sun.

Just as I thought she was wrapping up her stories about the lake, she blammed me with one more story. One I was clearly not ready for!

"We went to a bar called Big Dick's and I shot a minnow Mom!"
"Shot a minnow?" I questioned while (seriously) envisioning them shooting a 22 caliber rifle into the lake at unsuspecting minnows.

"No Mom, I had a shot glass of sprite with a live minnow swimming around in it. I shot it up and swallowed it, and slammed the glass back down on the table letting out a big howl, just like you and Aunt Tc taught me to drink my medicine when I was little!"

"Oh my God"... is all I could say. "What did the people around you do?"

"Well as soon as I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue, the crowd went wild! High five's were everywhere, it was awesome!"

Now I would like to state for the record UNEQUIVOCALLY, that I have never swallowed a live minnow. Or any other fish for that matter. A worm yes, one time....but that was under duress. Which quickly turned to undressed. Yes it's true... tequila makes your clothes fall off!

Jordie doing shots, slammin them down and firing up the crowd.
Somehow I'm oddly OK with that.

But the first time I see a worm in that shotglass... all bets are off!
This time it will be Daddy with the 22 caliber rifle.
And them won't be minnows he's shootin at!
Run Forrest, Run!!!

25 Reasons I Owe My Mother...

My friend Jeanie sent me this. She was a single Mom for a good portion of her kids upbringing and I used to chuckle when all she wanted for Mother’s Day was for her “Ex” to take the kids that day. I didn’t have kids of my own back then, and now that Mikey travels so much, I have a better understanding of her wish! Mike’s in Hawaii on “bidnez” for a couple of weeks… so my kids are up for grabs Sunday. Take a number!

1. My mother taught me: TO APPRECIATE A JOB WELL DONE .
'If you're going to kill each other, do it outside. I just finished cleaning.'

2. My mother taught me: RELIGION.
'You better pray that will come out of the carpet.'

3. My mother taught me: TIME TRAVEL.
'If you don't straighten up, I'm going to knock you into the middle of next week!'

4. My mother taught me: LOGIC.
'Because I said so, that's why!"

5. My mother taught me: MORE LOGIC.
'If you fall out of that swing and break your neck, you're not going to the store with me.'

6. My mother taught me: FORESIGHT.
'Make sure you wear clean underwear, in case you're in an accident.'

7. My mother taught me: IRONY.
'Keep crying, and I'll give you something to cry about.'

8. My mother taught me about the science of OSMOSIS.
'Shut your mouth and eat your supper.'

9. My mother taught me: CONTORTIONISM.
'Will you look at that dirt on the back of your neck!'

10. My mother t aught me about STAMINA.
'You'll sit there until all that spinach is gone.'

11. My mother taught me: WEATHER .
'This room of yours looks as if a tornado went through it.'

12. My mother taught me: HYPOCRISY.
'If I told you once, I've told you a million times. Don't exaggerate!'

13. My mother taught me: THE CIRCLE OF LIFE.
'I brought you into this world, and I can take you out.'

1 4. My mother taught me about BEHAVIOR MODIFICATION.
'Stop acting like your father!'

15. My mother taught me: ENVY.
'There are millions of less fortunate children in this world who don't have wonderful parents like you do.'

16. My mother taught me about ANTICIPATION.
'Just wait until we get home.'

17. My mother taught me: RECEIVING.
'You are going to get it when you get home!'

18. My mother taught me: MEDICAL SCIENCE.
'If you don't stop crossing your eyes, they are going to freeze that way.'

19. My mother taught me: ESP.
'Put your sweater on; don't you think I know when you are cold?'

20. My mother taught me: HUMOR.
'When that lawn mower cuts off your toes, don't come running to me.'

21. My mother taught me: HOW TO BECOME AN ADULT .
'If you don't eat your vegetables, you'll never grow up.'

22. My mother taught me: GENETICS.
'I swear you're just like your father.'

23. My mother taught me about my ROOTS.
'Shut that door behind you. Do you think you were born in a barn?'

24. My mother taught me: WISDOM:
'When you get to be my age, you'll understand.

'25. And my favorite: My MOTHER TAUGHT ME ABOUT JUSTICE:
'One day you'll have kids, and I hope they turn out just like you!

Happy Mother's Day ladies... enjoy!

The Little Team That Could…

Club volleyball officially ended on Sunday.
The culmination was a 3 day National Qualifier held in Minneapolis.
Our results, although not a bid to Nationals, surpassed our expectations.
We finished 31st out of 102 teams and competed for the Bronze medal.

Our 9 girls walked into the MPLS Convention Center that first night like they belonged there.
They were pumped!
We got court time for an hour to familiarize them with the courts and to relieve any jitters the enormous tournament site may cause.
The next day, reality set in.

Our first opponent was made up of tall… very tall, strong athletes.
They had a fire in their belly that I’ve seen before in elite teams.
I don’t think you can coach that kind of fire; it must just come from somewhere within.

Our tallest girl is maybe 5’9 tops.
Jordie is the second to shortest at a little over 5.5
“Intimidating”… we’re not.

That first match was short; leading us to believe it was going to be a very long weekend.
Next up was the #1 seed in our pool out of Colorado.
“Fierce” is an understatement; they won the first game.
Game 2 was ours, handedly.
The 3rd game may as well been for all the marbles.

When we won it, our coach actually had to tell us parents to “Act like we’ve been here before”!!!
We were ecstatic, realizing that moment may just be the highlight of the weekend, possibly the season.

In retrospect, that match meant so much more than just a “W”.
It proved to the girls, they did indeed belong there.
And the better they played, the tougher competitors they’d draw, resulting in them raising their game over and over again.

It was a blast to watch.
Our nerves are shot.
And we can’t wait until next year.

To finish off our near perfect weekend,
Jordie and I, along with our travel buddies Kerri and Jamie K, pulled into a local dive in Osceola Iowa.

We needed to down some chow before hitting the road hard for home.
We were starving and Granny Grier's slogo on the billboard was enticement enough.

“Home cookin so good…
You’ll think we stole your Mother!”

That pretty much sums up the weekend...
Mmm, mm… Good!

Holy Homecoming, it's a Snake!

Here’s the scene:

It’s Homecoming.
Five little girls, (ok that’s a stretch), are getting all dolled up at our house.
Fun, fun, fun…hair, makeup and fancy dresses;
It doesn’t get much better than that when you’re 14.

Off to dinner they went with 15 of their other BFF’s, Mikey relegated to chauffeur.
I stayed home and nursed a glass of wine, exhausted by the festivities of the evening.
Finally, some peace and quiet.
But not for long.

An hour or so later… ring, ring, ring; Mikey was on the phone.
“You’re about to get inundated”, he told me. “The girls want to come back to the house before they go to the dance”.
Gulp went my wine; I was back in the game.

I went to the door to greet them, and there was a definite ruckus going on outside.
“Snake, snake” is all I could make out.
I went to see for myself.

Holy Snakes Alive…that ain’t no garter snake!
This big, fat reptile was at the foot of our driveway.
The girls went wild.

Mikey, lover of all things with a heartbeat, picked him up and insisted we save him.
I on the other hand, was looking for a shotgun!

Long story short…Mikey won.
The “Eastern Reticulating Python” as the animal control officers identified it this morning, spent the night in “Tina-the-tiny-widdle-turdle’s” now vacant house, down in my dining room.
I put a 50lb chair on top of it, with several phone books on top of the chair, before I retired for bed.
Suffice it to say…I’m a little cranky today; I did not get much sleep worrying about the possibility of a slithering bedmate.

The girls however, had a blast.
We got some great pictures and a unique Homecoming memory.
I can pretty much guarantee no one else had their Homecoming picture taken with a Python!

Maybe a couple of snakes…I guess that would depend on your date.
Ba-da-bing!!!

Put a Little Nick in Your Game

That’s what we tell Jordie when she’s taking her volleyball a bit too serious.
She’ll get stressed out over a missed serve or a bad set, and it really plays with her head.
“Put a little Nick in your game” Mike will tell her.
Armed with that advice, now she’ll smile and shake it off.

What it actually means is, Nick doesn’t take life too seriously.
Rarely does he get uptight or stressed.
Nick embraces the “it is what it is” theory, and accepts most things (and people) for what they are.
He is a peacemaker, with a wicked sense of humor.

Tonight, Jordie and I moseyed up to the High School to watch a varsity volleyball match which promised to be the anti-Nick.
A gymnasium filled with high energized students and parents alike, the tension rose right along with the score.

During a short break between games, my phone rang and it was a very excited Nick on the other end.
“Mom, I just had the most awesome past couple of hours, it was so great.”
“What did you do” I asked him while running quick little scenarios through my head.
(I mean I left the kid at home alone…how much fun could he have had?)

“I took my guitar outside and I strummed it while the moon came up. I also used the big tree as target practice with my Airsoft gun. It is beautiful outside tonight Mom, have you seen the moon”?

And I hadn’t.
Not yet at least.
But when Jordie and I walked out of that gym,
We were awestruck by its brilliance.
And for me, at that moment in time…
Nick hung the moon.

As we walked to the truck, I said out loud to Jordan…
“Man. I gotta put a little Nick in my game”.

Bring It

8 a.m. Psyched. Ten teams. Long day. Let’s do this.

10:30. 2 and 0. Move your feet. Square up. Setter gets the second ball. Smash it. Call the ball. Talk.

Noon. 4 and 0. Stay with it. Play through the whistle. Don’t quit. Talk to each other. Hydrate.

1:30. 5 and 1. Missed serves lose the game. Look alive. Fuel yourself. Power Bars. Eat them.

Fight. Dig deep. Side out. Every point counts. They win. 5 and 2.

Focus Husky’s. You gotta want it. Over the net. Pound it. Dropped ball. That’ll cost you. At practice. You’ll pay.

Second straight loss. They’re good. Undefeated. 8 and 0.

5 and 3. Good enough. In the playoffs. Refuel. No time for rest.

3:15. Game 1. Best of 3. Win. 25-16. Short bench. Getting tired.

Game 2. Bad start. Who gets the second ball? Setter gets the second ball. Play your position. Move your feet. Hustle.

Something's wrong. Why is she down? Gym is spinning. Disoriented. Did she refuel? Did she hydrate?

Get her out. Sub. Game going on. Get it together. Stay with it. Fight.

Game 3. Must win. Yes! In the Championship! Best of 3. Crowd goes wild.

Fight hard. 3 starters missing. Games are close. Lose them both. 2nd Place today.

6:00 p.m. Long day. Lotta ball. Go home. Refuel. Hydrate. Practice on Monday.


The high school Volleyball season has officially started.
Can you Dig it?