Ahhh, weekends. Remember when you were first married and weekends meant sleeping late and snuggling in bed with coffee and the newspaper? Then you have children and your weekend consists of 2 baseball, 1 softball and 3 basketball games. We’ve given up the newspapers for spreadsheets and flow charts to figure out who needs to be where with which child in what uniform. It’s kind of like the game of Clue. I’ll take Sara, in the Suburban with a softball bat. You feel like a drill sergeant with a whistle and yelling. Go, go, go.

Today we have two early shifts, a 7:00 o’clock and a 9:00 o’clock. There is never any question as to which of us gets the first shift, it’s always my husband. I always manage to get out of it by telling him it’s because I have “woman problems”. That’s all you have to say to a man and they won’t ask any more questions. “Honey, could you take him to his game, I have some woman problems and I’m not really up for it.” Done.   To be completely honest, my woman problems are that I’m lazy and don’t really like getting up early and rushing out of the house. I’m a woman and that’s my problem, I didn’t lie. Honesty is very important in a relationship, it’s the foundation of trust.

This morning the whistle blew, my husband and my son were out the door by 7:00 o’clock and then I tended to today’s woman problems. I sat drinking coffee in my bathrobe and starting writing a blog. My laziness is a problem for him so once again I didn’t lie. Some days when games overlap your woman’s problems can’t help you. You end up driving one child half way, giving them bus money and a taser and wishing them the best. The worst is when you have back to back games and you forgot a snack for your child. You will never forget to stop at Dunkins for your coffee but remembering to throw a granola bar in your bag seems impossible. Priorities I guess? Thankfully because I don’t vacuum my car I am usually able to find a handful of McDonald’s french fries under the seat. Before you judge me, I used Purell to clean them, I’m not classless.

Recently I was watching the movie Sixteen Candles, one of my all-time favorites. Back in the time of passing notes in study hall, pre-texting. Sam drops a note to her friend behind her and Jake Ryan uses his foot to grab it. Classic. I actually used to dream that when I turned 16 someone like Jake Ryan would have a birthday cake waiting for me and we would kiss over the candles while hoping our clothes didn’t catch fire. It didn’t happen in case you were wondering. Those were the days I would talk on the phone for hours, stretching the cord of the kitchen wall phone until it reached the bathroom to get away from the ears of my parents. The days when if we wanted to gossip in class we had to write it on a note and do a strategic stretch along with hand signals to ensure the note made it across the room to the proper person. We didn’t want just anyone reading our thoughts “Becky, look at her butt, it’s so big”. I’m not really sure why the 15 kids that passed the note for you never took it and read it. I guess it must have been an unspoken rule, instant death would become of anyone that dared to open that white triangular piece of paper.

I suppose teens these days don’t need to pass notes anymore right? They just text anything they are thinking about. We were a tougher breed, it took work to get messages across. We had to write down which boy we liked, go out of our way in school to find our BFF to give them the note, then that BFF had to write another note, go out of their way to find said boy and pass him the new note asking if he liked you, find the boy again to get a response, write out a new note, go find you, etc. By the time you found out if a boy liked you, you were over them and writing a new boy’s name down on another piece of paper. Then the BFF had to go find the boy to let him know you changed your mind. It wasn’t easy.

I had a boyfriend freshman year of high school that I never had any communication with during our entire three days of dating. A friend asked me if I wanted to go out with a boy, I said yes. Then she told him I said yes, then she told me we were dating. During our entire relationship, we never saw each other and/or spoke once. On that third day the same friend told me he wanted to break up. He probably wanted to break up the next day but it took an extra two days just to get the message passed along. It was heartbreaking, I’m pretty sure he was the love of my life. But like I said, we were a tough breed. I was handing off a new note to my BFF the very next day.

I’m not really sure which generation I think is better off, there are definitely pros and cons to each.  We didn’t have to worry about our notes being forwarded to the wrong person, we could have literally eaten or burned the evidence if you had to. However, it took forever to find out if someone liked you. We didn’t have to worry about sending a text to the wrong person. We never said, “Ooops I didn’t mean to hand you that note”. Unless we had just sprayed Aqua Net in our eyes by accident and were having trouble seeing. There was basically no chance of inappropriate photos being sent around unless we found someone to take a picture of us, brought the film to be developed, were actually brave enough to pick up the photos knowing the person who developed them just looked at them, then had multiple copies made and handed them out in school. However, we actually had to talk to people on the phone to make plans. Which is most likely the reason everyone my age hates the phone.

 

 

 

 

Surprise, surprise, I have found another topic I find myself shaking my head at. People are looking to ban all plastic shopping bags. Before you start ranking and raving, hear me out. I understand that plastic bags are sitting in landfills and we do need to find a viable solution to this problem. However, have the people trying to ban the bags thought about what this ban will do? How might one clean up after their dog without a bag? It’s bad enough that bags are basically everywhere, you often see them blowing down the street like tumbleweeds, and a number of people still choose to leave it as it lay, so to speak. So if you make it more difficult to find a bag what do you think people will start to do? I’m not that bright and I figured that out in about 3 seconds.

So before you ban plastic bags do you really want to live in a world of crap? I can guarantee that if people have to go out and purchase a biodegradable bag, most people will not clean up after their pet. Not to mention, they are expensive bags. I purchase these bags but I am intelligent enough to know that many people don’t have the means to do so. If you really want to get rid of plastic bags how about you pay for those pet bags to be readily available to people? Or spend your efforts letting people know these bags exist and maybe more people will purchase them and then the number of supermarket bags used will decrease. But to just eliminate them all together is creating one problem to eliminate another.

So all of you politically correct people that have the solution to everything, how do you suggest we clean up after our pets? Don’t say a paper bag because I will use one, light it on fire and throw it on your porch. Often times I run out of my biodegradable poop bags or one of my dogs has an active colon and I have to reach for a shopping bag. What is a person to do if there are no shopping bags to reach for? Scooping it up in your hand and carrying it home is probably the most environmentally friendly way to handle it but sorry, not happening. It’s bad enough I can’t manage to keep the poop off of my hand even when using a bag. Side note, my husband can clean up after three dogs while carrying a cup of coffee and wearing gloves and never gets any on himself. I, on the other hand, try to pick up one poop and I look like I just came out of a mud wrestling tournament except with a stronger aroma.

Don’t get me wrong, I am all for saving what is left of the environment but sometimes some of the ideas people have just aren’t practical. I am also very tired of this group of people dictating what needs to be done and if you speak up against the idea, once again you are a hater. Encouraging or enlightening others is wonderful but let’s not force beliefs upon others unless you have a solution to the problem. Take away the bags, it’s going to be a poop show. I guess the only positive to come out of that is that it’s biodegradable.

Mother’s Day, the day I look forward to the entire year. The only day that is ever all about me. Me, me, me. The day I don’t need to feel guilty to sit on my butt and let my family figure things out on their own, which basically means everything just waits until tomorrow but that’s ok. The day that I don’t need to share my favorite candy my children bought me with anyone (but I still do). A day without cooking, cleaning, laundry and I get pampered with a fabulous breakfast in bed. The day my husband and children show their appreciation for everything I do for them. It also happens to be the day that one neighbor will coincidentally end up with one fewer tulip in their yard, we are all about tradition in my family so why stop now.

I absolutely love being a mom and don’t really need a day to celebrate it but I will gladly take a day off. If Hallmark considers it a holiday then who am I to argue. Being a mother is my greatest accomplishment and has been my full time job for 15 years. I’ve never regretted a day of it and count my blessings every day. Usually with a toast, I’ll take any excuse to have a drink. I know my husband likes to think he did all the work, his ten seconds of fame, but since I was the one that endured a fourth degree tear I think he can feed me breakfast in bed once a year.

It’s also the day that my children try not to bother me as much and realize that their father can actually answer a question they might have. Not all, but some. He usually has to ask me in the end but at least I get entertained watching them try to figure things out on their own. It’s like our own little family sitcom. Did you ever notice how children will walk right past their father and search the entire house and grounds to find their mother to ask what time it is or if they can have a snack?

Just yesterday I was in the bathroom hiding and heard my son calling to me. I didn’t answer, hey I never said I was the best mother in the world. That always seems to be the time the children need you the most. You could be sitting next to them for an hour but the second you step into the bathroom, “Mom?” I should probably put an intercom in our bathrooms. They tried giving me a walkie talkie but I kept “dropping” it in the toilet. Anyway, I heard him ask my husband where I was because he needed help fixing the collar of his shirt. I’m pretty sure my children have seen my husband wear shirts with collars but he walked right by him looking for me. They don’t even think to ask him, why is that? He has an important job, provides for our family, dresses himself most days but yet, “where’s mom?”

Recently I was injured and my husband had to take over for me. Oh boy. My poor husband looked like he had gone 9 rounds in the ring with Mike Tyson by the time I was up and about. Common sense issues became a struggle for my husband and children. All things that they were able to handle on a normal day became challenges. No one could find their socks, uniforms, homework, the refrigerator, the washing machine or had any idea what food was edible in our house. It is a wonderful feeling to be needed and I wouldn’t change a thing but this one day of the year my family can go barefoot and hungry because it’s all about me.

Yesterday, I received a letter in the mail stating that I am being countersued for something and will in fact need to go to court. I am completely in the right but it isn’t going to matter if I am asked to testify. Not because I am unable to speak intelligently, but because I have this little problem of feeling the need to confess to things I didn’t do. I don’t know why, but I get very nervous around people in uniforms, or in this case it would be a judge, and can only imagine what I will blurt out. “Mrs. Morrison could you tell us your side of the story please”, my response “Yes I ordered the code red!” Then I would be taken out in handcuffs just like that time at jury duty.

The most flummoxing (great word) part about this little issue I have is that I grew up with a grandfather and uncle who were police officers. Yet, if you were to leave me in a police station for an hour I would confess to 90% of the unsolved crimes. The police would all be high fiving each other, “Looks like we’re going home early today Clancy.”  “Funny she doesn’t look like the 4 foot tall black man in the security video but she said she did it, so she must have.”  I am a volunteer for an organization that needs a police escort to the bank once a year and I break out into a cold sweat even at the thought of them taking me. Last year a very nice police officer asked me “Are you ready to go to the bank Miss?” my response “I have drugs in my underwear and I killed a man”. It’s not easy to come back from a statement like that, trust me, I know all too well.

A few years ago we had an issue with a portable space heater and my husband yelled to me to call the fire department. I froze. My fingers clutching the phone, 9… 1… come on Stephanie, just one more number, you can do it. It’s ok, breathe, you didn’t do anything wrong, they are here to help you, they are your friend. Ok, here I go… 1, “Hello 911 what’s your emergency?” “I just lit my 627^th fire because I’m a pyromaniac and I am the cause for the great Chelsea fire despite not even being born.” Crap.

Being a large breasted woman is not all it’s cracked up to be, there are quite a few challenges with managing the girls. These things take work to hold up considering they must weigh a good 20 pounds each. At least that’s what I like to think the reason is for my high weight. Subtract 40 pounds for boobs, yeah that’s not bad. I’m actually skinny. Think about it, 40 pounds of weight being carried around by straps and under wires. There is no way that I couldn’t have back problems. Sometimes I consider just throwing them over my shoulders but I might frighten too many people. So here are what I consider the top 10 struggles of having large breasts:

1)   Putting a napkin on your lap during meals basically has no purpose other than looking proper. The crumbs or spills never make it over the hills to your lap. However, you know where to look when you need a snack.

2) Stomach sleeping takes thought. You either put them directly under you and teeter on them like a seesaw or throw them off to the sides. That works until your left breast is suffocating your husband and the cat is playing with your right breast on the floor like a ball of yarn.

3) Running or jumping. If you haven’t taped yourself in like a football player with broken ribs, you run the risk of knocking yourself out cold or looking like you’ve been in a bar brawl.

4) Lying face down in the snow will get you a visit from the government when satellites report what they believe are crop circles in your yard.   However, once you open the door they will instantly say never mind.

5) When floating in the ocean boaters may try to hook up to you thinking you are a mooring. That’s gonna leave a mark. Ouch.

6)  Putting on a bra when it is warm out or right when you get out of the shower is nearly impossible. If you do manage to actually cover your breasts with the cups and not the back strap, you will definitely have punched yourself in the face in the process.

7) Trying to wear a tank top with a built in shelf bra. Other than playing your own X-rated game of Peek A Boo, you look like you now have four boobs. Nice.

8) You partner thinks they can be used as punching bags. Really? Come on. Would you want us to do the same with your testicles? Alright then.

9) You can’t wear anything low cut without the possibility of being arrested for indecent exposure. I can zip a shirt up to my neck and still have cleavage.

10) Button down shirts are not your friends. If you buy a shirt in your size, your buttons are popping and becoming deadly weapons. To get one that will actually button you need to buy a shirt four sizes too big which makes you look fat. Sexy.

This morning as I heard the familiar sound of the Purell truck backing down my driveway to deliver my weekly pallet, I thought about how amazing it is that we managed to survive our childhood years. Not just with germs but with everything, we must have been a very tough breed. We didn’t wear bike helmets, seatbelts, we talked to strangers and when we got concussions we were told to shake it off. When you got in a car accident and banged your head, you were worried about the car not your head. Right? It’s frightening to think about all of the things that happened to us as children that we would never allow to happen to our children. I’m telling you, our parents must have been drunk all the time.

We touched everything and never had any antibacterial to put on our hands before we licked the Dorito cheese off of our fingers. I grew up taking public transportation and never worried about the germs that I was exposed to. Now, I wrap my children in plastic wrap and put a mask on them before they even go outdoors. Whenever we are on the train or in Boston I find myself saying, “Don’t touch that, people pee there” more times than I would like to admit. I’m not really sure why people would be peeing on the escalator railing but you never know. Better safe than sorry. Once I was at an amusement park waiting in line for a ride and someone on the ride vomited down onto me. Yup, pizza chunks in my hair. Good times. It was the most horrific experience that I still have flashbacks about but if it happened today? I would have to dip my body in acid to feel clean again. Side note, never, ever stand under the pirate ship ride at an amusement park.

So what does that say about us as parents? Are we too overprotective or are we just more informed than our parents were? I believe the term for the type of parent I have become is a helicopter parent. If my hovering over my children makes them a little less tough but keeps them safe, so be it. My children should be aware of the possibility of there being urine on any surface. If my children get hit in the head I would rather be over cautious and pull them from sports unlike when we were young. Coach asks – “What time is it?” child responds – “Blue”, you’re fine, get back in the game. I may have survived all of the things I experienced but look at me, my mental state speaks volumes about the after effects. So say it loud, “don’t touch that, people pee there”.

Today, after hormones caused my daughter and I to go at each other like junk yard dogs fighting over a bone, which then resulted in tears, I thought to myself – it’s finally happened. Pheromones, or as they should be called, fear the mones. Pheromones by definition are unconscious chemical signals that influence behavior and physiology among humans. In other words, a payback to all men for any wrong doing they have ever done, aka – hell on earth. It’s a debated topic as to whether or not pheromones will in fact cause women who live together to become on the same monthly cycle. Personally, I think it’s true. I remember those days fondly as my mother and I would think of ways to dispose of my father’s body. Good memories really do make you smile, no matter how long it has been.

I don’t often get that hormonal but when I do, buckle up because you are in for a bumpy ride. So, not only does my ever happy husband have to deal with me telling him I will kill him if he sneezes one more time, now he has two of me to deal with.  Better him than me! Men don’t seem to understand that when we actually get to a breaking point and ask “Do you have to breathe that loud?” we are not feeling very in control. Just know it’s not fun for us either, trust me. I don’t like having thoughts about how if I have to listen to you chew one more bite of that food that I will stick my fork in your throat.  I am too pretty for prison and I don’t care what people say, orange is not the new black and don’t even get me going about horizontal stripes.

Women on the same monthly cycle are probably one of the scariest things imaginable. I’m not sure why a horror movie has never been made on that subject. Can you imagine? An entire town filled with hormonal women? It would make the Exorcist look like a feel good movie. What if the government decided to make chemical weapons out of pheromones or inject women and send them into battle? Forget about nuclear war, we would make that look like a campfire weenie roast. Women would have wanted terrorists hung up by their family jewels in a matter of days. No payment required, just some salted caramels waiting for us when we return. Most importantly, no talking.