tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-336655272012-02-02T13:45:03.626-05:00Musings on life, motherhood and things southern...from a northern point-of-view.Kristin Lamendolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01928497593496250533noreply@blogger.comBlogger221100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33665527.post-77222622869471665872012-01-20T08:58:00.004-05:002012-01-20T09:21:39.964-05:00

Nothing is more disruptive to New Year health and fitness goals than travel. When the travel comes early in the year, involves a combination of business and pure pleasure, and crosses three time zones, the disruption is potentially lethal. This has been my experience in 2012. Today it stops and my pursuit of a healthier lifestyle begins.I have made health and fitness goals every year, since

Kristin Lamendolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01928497593496250533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33665527.post-69156466725528343682011-08-30T10:23:00.010-04:002011-08-30T12:20:54.640-04:00

Today my heart is heavy with a stone sadness. My head is light as confused thoughts clamor for space with warm memories. My stomach is sour, for I am reminded yet again that the world is too often unfair. Heaven's latest angel no doubt took the fast track through the pearly gates. If there is an express lane to check in with St. Peter, Jeanne-Marie Gramlich Finan surely would have qualified

Kristin Lamendolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01928497593496250533noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33665527.post-52858140071588995512011-02-08T07:01:00.015-05:002011-02-09T11:36:02.603-05:00

Husband and I may have been the last ones in America to climb aboard the Mad Men Train bound for hysteria. After hearing all about the wonders of the smart, sexy television show from friends, family and the hosts of every conceivable award program, we added it to our Netflix queue. Having purchased two tickets on the Don Draper Express, we plowed our way through the first three seasons in

Kristin Lamendolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01928497593496250533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33665527.post-90320724961995813322010-09-25T16:03:00.006-04:002010-09-25T17:11:33.934-04:00

I am generally a healthy eater. I incorporate fruits and veggies whenever possible, drink more water than a bladder can reasonably hold, and truly manage my intake of all things white (bread, sugar, salt, cake frosting). You can imagine my disappointment then, when certain foods I once enjoyed proved themselves no longer compatible with my suddenly delicate constitution. About a year ago my

Kristin Lamendolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01928497593496250533noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33665527.post-91226464342355161282010-08-08T17:36:00.008-04:002010-08-08T18:19:50.523-04:00

With all due respect -- and in my opinion, not much is due -- to Ashlee Simpson, I'm going to borrow your song title for just a few minutes. My last post to this blog site was in February; I was bemoaning the frigid temperatures and our local school system's inability to make a wise decision. It is now August. I could bemoan the torrid temps and our local school system's continued inability to

Kristin Lamendolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01928497593496250533noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33665527.post-28767291221461739612010-02-02T06:43:00.010-05:002010-02-02T07:19:37.322-05:00

Note to my realtor: I want my money back. When I moved here nearly three years ago, I was sold a bill of goods. Okay, that's unfair. My beef is really with the weather gods, and the Wake County School System, in equal measure, as they share the blame for causing my feelings of being flat-out gypped.It was with nine parts glee and one part melancholy that I sold the sleds and all but one snow

Kristin Lamendolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01928497593496250533noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33665527.post-23367249305260136152009-12-14T06:57:00.003-05:002010-01-02T08:33:37.248-05:00

I am no Barbara Walters. It is painfully obviously to me now that other than our shared day of earthly entry {September 25th}, we have little in common. Thanks to the wonder that is DVR, I recently watched Bab's "Ten Most Fascinating People" program, even though it aired long before the Tiger mistress count entered double digits. Although I was cynical of some of her picks (Lady Gaga? Is she

Kristin Lamendolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01928497593496250533noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33665527.post-4130968373168251532009-12-08T06:29:00.015-05:002010-09-25T16:02:57.682-04:00

Stop my demographic. I want to get off.While preparing for my son's ninth birthday party -- a birthday which was a full week before Thanksgiving; a party which was several days before his birthday -- I made the fateful mistake of switching radio channels. As a stay-at-home Mom with kids in school (finally!) all day, I rely on talk radio to keep me from having full blown conversations with the

Kristin Lamendolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01928497593496250533noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33665527.post-54867186606609414892009-02-02T15:42:00.017-05:002009-02-04T17:38:37.017-05:00

Each year on February 2nd, a group of oddly dressed men pull something called Punxsutawney Phil out of his log / home in order to determine the length of winter. Sorry, Phil, but I prefer my forecasts from Doppler and not a member of the rodent family. (If it's any consolation, I would say the same thing to Al Roker). Last month, Raleigh had its first appreciable snow storm in five years. I

Kristin Lamendolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01928497593496250533noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33665527.post-64750630425096726982008-10-30T06:38:00.013-04:002008-10-30T07:10:28.585-04:00

I was watering the flowers on my front porch when he said it. It was a humid, early autumn day here in Paradise, North Cacalackey (go figure) and my hair was twisted into something resembling an "up" 'do. I was doing what I could to manage my new attempt at a hairstyle; I'm not sure my husband liked it."You know," he started, sounding unsure if he should continue. "All you need is a pair of Tiny

Kristin Lamendolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01928497593496250533noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33665527.post-90167126229090398892008-10-18T15:07:00.017-04:002008-10-26T07:16:31.769-04:00

I've never lived in the place where the State Fair happens. The closest I've come is the Fourth of July fair in my small New Jersey hometown. It was homey, intimate and reliable in its predictability: Each year the games of chance would yield the same poorly made stuffed animals and stenciled mirrors trimmed in wooden frames, announcing the names of our favorite bands; the Knights of Columbus

Kristin Lamendolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01928497593496250533noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33665527.post-14717591950944052182008-06-04T17:37:00.002-04:002008-06-04T17:39:04.986-04:00

Although the calendar swears there's another few weeks of spring, the weather agrees with Memorial Day. For all intents and purposes, it is summer. It is safe to pull out your white shoes and handbags, trade in the red for the white wine, and if you live in the Raleigh, North Carolina area, heed the warnings for DANGEROUS HEAT in this week's forecast. I'm not exactly sure what that entails, but I

Kristin Lamendolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01928497593496250533noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33665527.post-6572746384736752472008-05-29T15:09:00.010-04:002008-06-01T14:12:35.790-04:00

I have a confession. I commited a mortal Mommy sin this week by indulging in a purely selfish act. I could have been cleaning a bathroom, or teaching my daughter to tie her shoes, but instead I took some time -- indeed, a great deal of time as it turned out -- for me. What's worst of all is that I should feel guilty. But I do not. For this week I allowed myself to get lost, at times

Kristin Lamendolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01928497593496250533noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33665527.post-36584182590622405002008-05-19T15:29:00.009-04:002008-05-19T16:00:29.102-04:00

Although my ethnic heritage is best described as thirty-one flavors, I tend to wear my Italian legacy like the badge of honor that it is. I’m sure it has something to do with my rather obvious last name, and the fact that my very charismatic father could trace the roots of his entire family tree to The Boot. Add to it the colorful traditions, the over-the-top hip factor of fellow

Kristin Lamendolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01928497593496250533noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33665527.post-52402252048709718322008-04-08T17:12:00.018-04:002008-04-22T09:10:12.937-04:00

My kids blew off their tennis lessons this afternoon. I had signed them up without their consent, thinking, "They're seven and four. It involves a fuzzy green ball, a net and a big thing they can swing at each other. That's a typical Saturday around here. How can they NOT like it?" But they didn't. Dragging unwilling children to any event is unappealing. Dragging my children to something not of

Kristin Lamendolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01928497593496250533noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33665527.post-71430395087309939952008-04-06T17:50:00.004-04:002008-04-06T18:11:59.213-04:00

I am not a social animal. Some of the best moments of my day are those I spend alone. When I was younger and single and living by myself I might spend an entire weekend without company. Now that I am the mother of young children, my moments of solitude are roughly equal to those times in which I’ve had the good sense to lock the bathroom door behind me. Fleeting but precious those moments

Kristin Lamendolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01928497593496250533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33665527.post-86726902036902023192008-03-26T06:22:00.013-04:002008-04-06T17:03:23.978-04:00

While I respect those who do, I never considered home schooling for my kids. My children are the types who are far better behaved for strangers than they are for their own parents. That's okay. It beats the alternative. Every time I volunteer in one of their classrooms I have to remember to shut my trap upon leaving for I've usually spent the entire time in open mouthed wonder: their

Kristin Lamendolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01928497593496250533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33665527.post-29590788453233497202007-10-03T07:10:00.000-04:002007-10-27T08:29:58.120-04:00

This has been a summer for my faith to be tested. Beliefs I held to be self-evident were shaken. Much of what I deemed near-to-holy became vulnerable. Yes, the summer of 2007 was a tough time to a be a baseball fan.What was once our national pastime may indeed, be past its time. Ours is a world that relies on soundbites rather than meaningful dialog. Instant gratification is expected and catered

Kristin Lamendolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01928497593496250533noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33665527.post-3395537848076337262007-09-06T06:55:00.000-04:002007-09-07T11:08:33.580-04:00

I have lived in Cary, North Carolina for eight weeks. Making comparisons to the Colorado life I left behind are as inevitable as the heaping helpings of sugar in the tea around here; unless one specifically requests otherwise, it happens automatically.I’ll forego the more obvious climactic comparisons. While we happily turned the calendar page on the hottest and driest August in state history

Kristin Lamendolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01928497593496250533noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33665527.post-15187155766300831882007-08-23T14:47:00.000-04:002007-08-23T22:08:37.015-04:00

August 16, 2007I cop to a case of envy today. No, it was nothing usual, not house envy, nor lack of cellulite envy, or even "look how well her children listen to her" envy; it was frequent flyer envy. For a few fleeting moments, standing in a security line behind an obviously professional-minded woman, I longed for the life of a business traveler. She was sharp and chic, wearing a crisp tailored

Kristin Lamendolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01928497593496250533noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33665527.post-62044208784835484442007-08-15T08:51:00.000-04:002007-08-15T09:20:45.819-04:00

Phil Rizzuto, a former Yankee shortstop and broadcaster died this week. I heard the news on the radio, while searching -- so far, in vain -- for a decent talk radio station that discusses something other than the Carolina Panthers and basketball in the middle of summer, and I've been in something of a funk ever since. "He was 89-years-old," my husband chided. "I call that a good, long life."

Kristin Lamendolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01928497593496250533noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33665527.post-71202946649089211662007-08-03T17:25:00.000-04:002007-08-08T09:50:23.164-04:00

I was sent packing from my home today. Seriously. “Go and find your joy,” my husband ordered. Okay, I am paraphrasing. The only time I can recall my husband emitting the word joy, it was preceded by the word almond. His version, while far more true, was far less literary. “God, you’re cranky,” he spat, his nose crumbled up like someone who recently inhaled a whiff of Limburger cheese. “Why don’t

Kristin Lamendolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01928497593496250533noreply@blogger.com3