If you’re here looking for a post that explains how I installed our bamboo floors or how we replaced a toilet bowl in our house, you’re going to be disappointed. Maybe some other time. What I’m about to tell you will save you years of time – I’m sure of it. These words of maternal wisdom are the result of years of careful research and experimentation. I can tell you with nearly absolute scientific certainty (margin of error +/- 68%) that, instead of delegating tasks, you should do it yourself, Mom.
(Note: After this post was completed, my husband felt compelled to defend his position. You’ll see his comments after mine. Welcome to our first “He Said, She Said”, I guess!)
There are parts on men that are (I think we can all agree) not attractive. Entertaining? Yes. Nice to look at? Maybe. Does that extend to feet? Furthermore, does ‘unattractive’ trump ‘comfort’? I don’t mean pajamas at Wal-Mart, I mean flip flops.
Last winter, we all went on a cruise that included stops at some gorgeous Caribbean beaches. My husband, Dave, wore sneakers. On the beach. In the ocean! Pretty much everywhere. He is a conscientious objector to flip flops. In his words, “men should not wear flip flops.” For me, the day the weather finally becomes warm enough to wear flip flops, I get a pedicure, do a happy dance, and pop those babies right on my feet. What other item of footwear can be gotten for $1? The bargain price is obviously a sign that we are all meant to wear flip flops when summer rolls around.
When you’re the parent of teenaged girls, they ask you all sorts of questions. These questions seem straightforward enough, but like a desert in a war zone, they’re really booby trapped. Let’s face it, the reality is that we didn’t actually DO (or NOT do) many of the things we advise our own kids to do (or not do.) That’s how I found myself talking to kids about drinking the other night.
Let me set the scene: we were enjoying a sushi dinner the other night, with all three children, along with our “fourth child” – a friend of the girls’, who spends so much time with us that she might as well move in. Which, by the way, would be fine, because she’s definitely the most responsible of our kids. Considering our recent track record for peaceful meals out, we were having a surprisingly pleasant time. And then…
A bunch of my friends are celebrating big anniversaries this week…15 years, 20 years, one couple is even celebrating 25 years. I feel a twinge of jealousy, since I’m back at square one on the anniversary clock. Divorce is the final “Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Collect $200” card in the marriage deck. Do over.
While I’m much happier now than I was in my previous marriage, I’m not a proponent of divorce if it can be avoided. By “avoided” I mean that both people can find happiness and satisfaction in the partnership, not that one partner agrees to be miserable in order to stay married. I can say without equivocation that I put more effort into trying to avoid divorce than nearly anything else in my life…but in the end, our marriage couldn’t be saved.
I have a deep and abiding love for my car. In addition to being able to fit just about anything from IKEA in the back, and having the driver’s seat perfectly molded to the shape of my ass, it’s my home away from home. More accurately, it’s my home in the driveway of my actual home before I get home.
As a mom, we spend hours logging miles behind the wheel of our cars bringing our children to and fro. Driving to and from school, various sports activities, and evening events – our fingers spend more time clasped around that steering wheel than our spouse’s hand. It’s not an exaggeration to say that my Toyota and I are in a committed relationship. I look out for her, and she looks out for me. (Yes, she’s a she. The Supreme Court said we can make it official, so don’t judge me.)