My Fair Lady.  The epitome of grandeur, poise and intellect; infused with a touch of commonness, elegance and love.

Yeah…I’m a romantic.  So sue me.  The football girl has a girlie-girl interior, albeit a small portion…its there nonetheless.

But this post isn’t about My Fair Lady, Rex Harrison, Audrey Hepburn or me, myself and I.

Its about those morons I lovingly call my children.  And yes, they know how to speak….but following through on a chore?  That, my dear reader, is a horse of a different color.

The battle lines have been drawn.  I am planning a blitzkrieg offensive of the massive I-will-conquer-your-ass kind of warfare.

I am serious as cancer and twice as deadly.  Hell hath no fury than Jen pissed off.  And man oh man am I furious as a filibuster tonight.  Its a good thing I have a quasi-level head or there would be dead children at the base of the staircase.

I don’t ask for much.  I really don’t.  Keep your room clean.  Make your bed when you get up.  Don’t leave your towels all over the floor.  Don’t leave your crap strewn all through the house.  Wipe up the counter after you’re done brushing your teeth.  If you want to clean, please be my guest.  The only way you’re going to learn is by trial and error.  BUT…if you cook, you must clean up after yourself.

This last one NEVER gets done.  And I do mean never.  Now I talked to them the other day and fully explained EXACTLY how it should be done.  And did it get done tonight when they cooked AND (because I’m a nice Mom and bought them the cookie dough…of which the teen ate a sizable portion…) made cookies? 

HELL SHIT DAMN NO.

I am really tired of talking.  Of patiently explaining to them that there is a method to my madness.  That it is my job as the female parental unit…to train them to be decent, tidy, law abiding, upstanding citizens in these United States.  They just don’t get it.

So here I sit, my dear reader, trying to let the steam out for fear of possibly slaughtering the babes that once had I intensely nurtured.  I’m talking Leatherface Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Jason Vorhees hockey mask machete chopping, Michael Meyers babysitter brain-crushing, Freddy Krueger knife gloved dream invading, death.

Yeah…I’m just a tad peeved.

Alright…football has ended for the night.  Lost one game, won another.  Its going to be a looooooooong NFL season.

Hey…maybe there is some kind of football murder I can come up with.  I’ll have to look into that and get back to you.  Until then…..Bonne nuit, cher lecteur (Good night, dear reader).

Granted, I’m not a fan of homework.  Well…of MY homework that is.  For the kids?  OH HELL YEAH.  BRING IT.  But for me….not so much.

Yeah…I’ve been in school now for about a month.  And sure, I’ve had homework.  I’ve got Algebra & French for 2 of the 4 classes.  Show me a 5-day-a-week class teacher who doesn’t assign homework & I’ll show you a cat with bad breath.

Its like Catholics without guilt, Scots without a drink.  (Shut it…I’m both, so I can rag).   The thing that separates this weekend from the others?

History.  2 papers worth.  WTF?!?!?

I have 2…yes, TWO papers due Thursday.  And since I have shit-megaton of homework for Algebra & French EVERY DAY….I figured out I’d knock both history papers out this weekend.

Easier said than done.

Yeah, I like to write.  But I like to write crap, I LIKE.  And stop with the “Hey!  I thought you dug history” looks.  Yeah…I DO like history.  But I also like watching boxing.  Doesn’t mean I wanna get punched in the face though.

So 2 papers.  One of them is for my oral presentation on Thursday (I’m writing it on the Zimmermann Telegram…don’t know what that is?  THEN OPEN A HISTORY BOOK!!) and the other is on the writings of Booker T. Washington & W.E.B. Du Bois, a comparative essay.

So here I sit…in massive pain (I can’t play Rock Band anymore without hurting myself…and yes, I WAS downstairs playing….shut it MOM!!), trying to figure out how to begin.

I think I’ll do the Zimmermann paper, the French take-home quiz (I LOVE IT WHEN SHE DOES THAT!!) and the algebra homework.  I’ll save the comparative essay for Tuesday night.

Hey….a girls gotta chill.  And besides…..it ain’t like Booker T. or Du Bois are going anywhere in a hot minute.  AND…tonight is my True Blood season finale.  I need to get my Eric fix. 

OK…time for this girl to chill in a cool bath.    Until later…..

-Jen…signing off.

Charles, Leslie, Zoe & Dana Falkenberg

Charles and Leslie boarded American Airlines Flight 77 with their two daughters, Zoe & Dana, en route to Canberra, Australia, for what family members said was a dream, working vacation. Leslie, who was an associate professor at Georgetown was going for a short stint as a visiting fellow at Australian National University at Canberra. She was bringing her family down under for a once-in-a-lifetime trip. They had just moved out of their home, in fact they spent their last few days before 9/11 in a hotel, and upon their return to the states, were moving into a new house in Chevy Chase.

To help cope with the grief of losing an entire family, the girl’s grandparents have asked people who wish to remember the Falkenbergs, to plant Zinnias, Zoe’s favorite flower.

Years ago, my family and I planted zinnias under an arch of jasmine. Each year they bloom stronger, larger, and more beautiful than before…

You will always be in my thoughts & prayers.

Years ago, my family & I moved from Los Angeles to Raleigh.  Instantly we became involved with our community & as such…we came to become part of the Muccio family.  Rob was like a father to me & D, beloved Uncle Rob to the kids.  Lou became my brother, Deb a mom & friend.

I also gained a whole other family…and instantly became directly connected to 9/11.

Every morning, Mark Zangrilli would get ready for work and kiss his wife and two sons good-bye, being careful not to wake them as he left for work in New York City.

Every evening, he would call his wife, Jill, around 7 p.m. from the Lincoln Park train station to let her know he was on his way home.

“We would always wait for him by the door,” Jill said. “Every day was a celebration.”

But on Sept. 11, everything fell out of routine.

Mark had an early meeting scheduled and was rushing around the house getting ready. His sons, Alexander, 3, and Nicholas, 11/2, were awake and upset that he was leaving, so he sneaked out of the house without saying good-bye.

“It was the first time in 14 years he didn’t get to say good-bye,” Jill said.

Mark, 36, of Pompton Plains, died in the terrorist attacks at the World Trade Center. He was attending a meeting at Aon Corp. at Two World Trade Center when a hijacked plane hit the tower.

Mark, who worked for AXA Corporate on Water Street, left a message on the answering machine after the first plane hit.

“He said they were going to start evacuating the 105th floor and he would call me soon as he got down,” Jill said.

More than 80 family members and friends scoured hospitals and lists of survivors on the Internet looking for Mark with no success, Jill said.

Mark was born in Passaic and raised in Pequannock before moving to Lincoln Park 14 years ago. The family moved to Pompton Plains in January.

Mark graduated from the New Jersey Institute of Technology with a chemical engineering degree in 1987. He worked as an insurance underwriter for Kemper National Insurance Co. at the World Trade Center for 12 years. He helped evacuate several employees out of their office after the 1993 bombing in the Trade Center basement.

“His former co-workers have sent e-mails talking about how well he handled it,” Jill said. “He was the last one off the floor.”

Mark’s weekends were dedicated to his family, taking his sons everywhere with him to run errands.

I never knew Mark.  But Rob, Deb & Lou spoke of his kindness and faithfulness to everyone.  At Rob’s funeral earlier this year, I met my “extended family” and they too remarked on how wonderful he was.

I wish we could have known you.

For Mark, Zoe & Dana…