Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts

Monday, September 4, 2023

The Ebb and Flow of a Mother's Nest

I would like to start off this blog by making an exciting announcement. Overnight I hit over 20,000 views of my blog! This is particularly shocking considering I've been playing all summer and haven't really been doing a whole lot of writing.  I only write when there's nothing I can do outside, and this summer has been particularly amazing so while I've played a lot of tennis and seen a lot of concerts, I haven't been particularly prolific in terms of my blogging. 

A few interesting things have happened. My blog is read by people from countries all over the world, but the bulk of my readers are obviously in the US.  At some point over the last six months, someone in Singapore found a link to my blog and it's been quite widely shared. According to Google Analytics, over the last six months, I have almost as many readers in Singapore as I do in the US...and I don't know anyone there. I had to pull up a map to even figure out exactly where it is!


Bottom line is apparently people in Singapore think I'm hilarious. I have absolutely no idea how anyone there has ever stumbled across my blog. It wasn't through social media, and I've never put a dime into promoting my blog through any means. It's quite curious, but let me just take a minute to thank my readers in Singapore. I truly appreciate it and keep reading!

It just shows you the power of social sharing with others. I hope you all keep sharing my blog. It encourages me to keep it up, and creating a big following will also be key to me landing that lucrative book advance and movie deal I have in the works. 😁

The Empty Nest Season

It's that time of year again. Your social media feeds are stacked with images of the smiling faces of kids returning to school. What you often don't see is the even happier moms. There's a reassuring ritual to sending kids back to school. It means an end to summer chaos and back to structured parenting; everything is now scheduled. School, homework, practice, meals, etc. Most moms are often quite happy to send their kids back to school.

Sending them off to college, however, is a whole different thing. Several of my close friends sent their one-and-only kids off to college this year, leaving their nest suddenly empty. My brother sent the last of his three daughters off to college this year.

Having gone through the process, I know how hard it is. You work so hard to get them to this point, you should be overjoyed; after all this is what successful parenting looks like.  As moms, we devote so much of ourselves to being good mothers that once they are gone, what is our purpose? It's also a reality that they do not come home the same kid as the one you waved to as you drove away from their dorm in tears. 

When my son went off to college, I couldn't wait for him to leave. He had spent most of his senior year being a complete a-hole. Apparently, it's life's way of preparing you for their absence. Well, it worked but as the days were counting down, he suddenly was not so sure he was ready. 

The check for his tuition had already cleared so he was going, one way or another. One day with near tears in his eyes, he said, "Mom, not every kid goes to college. Some just get married and start families." I honestly don't remember my response, but it was probably something super-sensitive like, "Shut up and go finish packing." 

The backstory was he was dating a very pretty blond she-devil who had convinced him he should stay home and marry her, once she finished high school. So going in he was not fully on-board with the plan.  Regardless, I dropped him off with a few tears and prayed he would last.

The first few weeks he continued to struggle, feeling like he didn't fit in and wanting to come home every weekend to visit the she-devil. I tried not to worry and assumed it would pass. Two weeks into classes, I woke up and checked his social media posts to assess how things were going. On his Facebook page, he wrote the following: 

"Officially a dropout."

I laid there in bed for several minutes, contemplating whether I should be concerned about my racing heartbeat and wondering what percentage of his tuition might be refundable. Once my pulse returned to semi-normal, I called him. 

"Is there anything you want to tell me?" 

Ben: "No."

"Really? You don't want to tell me about dropping out of school?"

Ben: "Mom, I joined the Miami University Skydiving Club and we're called the drop-outs!"

I probably should have worried about the prospect of him jumping out of a plane, but my only response was extreme relief. 

As a footnote, I will also add that my son who I struggled to get to college is now 30 and STILL IN COLLEGE! This year he kicked off his 11th year of higher education. While he's close to finishing his PhD and already has one Master's degree, he's already planning on a post-doc so clearly has no plans to ever actually finish college. 

When Laura left a few years later, it was a whole new ballgame. She was my last kid and since Ben left, it had just been the two of us, and we were super close. We got along well, and I was sad to see her go. I was truly going to be all alone at home. 

My young boyfriend at the time, who you'll remember from this blog, helped me pack her up and drove my car down while I quietly cried the whole trip from the backseat. Fortunately, she adjusted well so that part was easier but coming home to a quiet, empty house was tough. 

After working so hard at parenting solo through the teen years and getting them both ready to move onto this next exciting chapter, it was time for me.

For me it was the beginning of a new odyssey. I sold the family house in Ohio, and the month I turned 50 moved to Chicago to start a new life for myself. I have lived in 10 states so moving is something I have done a lot of, but this was the first time that I decided where I wanted to move. I decided what place I would buy and how it would be decorated. Yes, it was empty but the nest was all mine! 

Until it wasn't. During the pandemic, Laura's job changed and became remote, so she rejoined the nest. Honestly it was nice to have company, and fortunately I bought a duplex with a separate garden unit so she has her own space. Then she moved out, and it was nice to have my place to myself for a bit.

Then a month ago, Laura moved back in temporarily. She is in the process of moving to Salt Lake but with me until then. I'm liking having her back, and having a free dog sitter, but she also brought another resident: her cat Alfie. 

I thought I was through with cats to be honest. The first week after they moved in, I was on a Zoom work call, and one of my coworkers said, "I didn't know you had a cat" just as Alfie knocks over a picture frame, which crashes to the ground. When I turn around and see the cat, hanging from one paw from my curtains. The next day, he came sauntering in with this little gift in his mouth. 


Anyone recognize that? That's one of the pulls for my blinds that no longer works. Alfie is a busy guy and as far as I can tell, has literally no idea he's a cat. Bowie in equal parts loves and fears him. The way they play with each other, it's clear that neither of them thinks Alfie is a cat. 


Alfie has certainly added some fun and hijinks to the household, although there are a few rugs and blinds that will never be the same. 

This blog is getting long soI'll close by telling all you new empty-nesters out there who just sent their last child to college, the empty nest eventually will feel normal. And, when they do come home, he or she will be different person, but for the better. They might actually surprise you and show some appreciation for all you have done for them. Or not, but I'm sure they think it. 😉

Enjoy what's left of warm weather and keep reading!

Ciao for now,

Barb


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Saturday, June 24, 2023

A Look Back: Wise Words from a 22-Year-Old Barbie

First off, my apologies for my rather prolonged absence. Nothing is wrong. It's just when the weather gets warm, it becomes less and less likely I will spend a weekend day inside writing but today is very hot and I've been outside a lot lately so thought I would spend some time writing a blog today. Wow, lucky day!

Lately I have had several friends and family members who have kids that are either graduating from high school or college. Many of those kids are being gifted with cars, which made me think back to when I was heading to college hoping that I would also be lucky and get a car. Looking back, I have no idea why I was so optimistic. 

I thought it might be fun to jump in the Hot Tub Time Machine and go way back 35 years and give you you all a glimpse into the crazy mind of 22-year-old Barbie, a sassy senior Journalism major at Texas A&M University, and at the time a weekly columnist at my college's newspaper, The Battalion. If you missed the whole Barbie story, you can catch up here. 

Being one of the very few liberals on campus and without question one of the most vocal because of said gig, my columns were typically met with more ire than most. Got loads of hate for my criticism of the students who destroyed the shanty shacks that had beeen set up on campus to protest The Apartheid in South Africa. You can't even step on certain grass on campus without getting yelled at. Yeah, it's a thing.

I eventually decided it was safer to just write about my life instead of tackling political topics. Less hate mail that way. 

So behold, the very earliest version of the "World According to Barb," that originally posted in 1988. Sadly, you will see my writing hasn't evolved much and my sense of humor is still quite immature today, to which you can all attest. 


Oh, Joy the Search for the Perfect Auto

Over the past weekend several important newsworthy events happened. The US warship mistakenly shot down an Iranian jetliner killing, all 290 passengers, Attorney General Edwin Meese announced his resignation, and my parents bought me a new car. Well, it's not really new, but close enough.

This might not seem to some of you as a monumental event, but then again maybe I should back up and bit and fill you all in on the whole story. 

First off, I must explain a little about my parental unit. My parents believe firmly in two principles: One is that regardless of the amount of money one has, children are not to be spoiled. They must work for things they want and not just be given them. 

The second principle is that a car is simply a mode of transportation from Point A to Point B, not material possession. As a result, my family's driveway resembles a used car lot. In my family, you don't stop driving a car until it stops running. My dad still brags of a car he once owned, appropriately named the "Vomit Comet," which he bought off a friend for $50 and drove for two years. 

A lot of kids, when embarking on their freshman year, are given cars for graduation gifts by their parents. Well Bob and Barb Jones were not those parents. It was entirely out of the question. "But all my friends are getting to take cars to school," I pleaded to no avail. My parents were not ones to fall for that sort of logic. 

Fortunately, it turned out to not be such a tragedy since I was living on campus and everything could be access on foot.

My sophomore year I again pleaded for a car; instead, I got a bike. Not a new bike, but a friend of my Mom's Sears Jiffy 3-speed with goober handlebars and a basket with plastic flowers hanging off the front. I was horrified. I was going to be living off campus with no car.

The nearest grocery store was three-fourths of a mile away. To get my groceries home, I would have to steal a grocery cart and cross a busy 4-lane road and push it all the way back to my apartment—a very humbling experience. I would try and look as it had forgotten where I had parked my non-existent car. My friends called me the "bag lady." What are friends for?

Then came my junior year, and I felt assured that this was going to be my lucky year. Well, there was good news and bad news. Yes, I was going to have a car to take to school with me. The bad news was the car I had to take. 

Close your eyes and imagine every student's idea of a nightmare car. Yes, that's right a station wagon! Not just any station wagon, however, but the same one my parents bought when I was 11. It had 130,000 miles on it and it definitely was showing its age. Now imagine the worst color imaginable. Right again...Yellow!



Since the car had been collecting dust in the driveway for a decade and not driven in ages, I felt certain the old bomb wouldn't start. My (bad) luck continued, and the "Banana Mobile" as my friends called it, started on the first try with a sizable cloud of blue smoke bellowing from its tailpipe. Lucky me, right?

So off I went cruising in the Banana Mobile. Now considering the advanced age of said car and high millage, I knew the humiliation of driving this car would be short-lived, and excitedly looked forward to its dying day. Well, it lived and it lived. It was the eternal automobile, and I felt sure that this car would see my death before its own ultimate demise. 

[SIDE NOTE: For some reason I don't add (probably because it was humiliating) that one day, the entire rusted-out bumper fell off and rolled down the street, just as I was driving past the Dixie Chicken, the school hangout bar. This bumper was made of steel and the size of a modern-day Kia Rio, so obviously I kept driving. I thought that would warrant a trade-in of sorts, but no. my mom just drove it to the junk yard and for $20 I got a new (old) bumper that came with a "Honk if you love Jesus" sticker. Yep, that happened. Sorry, back to story.]

I drove it my entire junior year and senior years, and just when I thought I would have to hire a contract killer to get rid of this vessel, it happened. While I was home for the weekend this spring, my Dad discovered some major problems and deemed it unsafe to drive.  That was one of the happiest days of my life. I was finally going to get a car...or so I thought.

Sunday rolled around and no new car had materialized. My parents smugly handed me the keys to the maxi-van. It is not a merely a van, mind you, but at MAXI-van—a whopping 3 feet longer than your average van. 


I stared at them in disbelief. I once thought you would have to work really hard to find a car that is less cool than the wagon, but let me tell you a white, wood-paneled (because they got a deal) maxi-van is about as close to uncool as one can get...unless you do airport pickups for a living. 

"You will have to drive this for a couple of weeks or so until we find something else," my mom said. Well, the weeks turned to months, and I was beginning to think I was cursed. But indeed, it happened, and the rest is history. I now have my new own car--and it's not yellow! 

UPDATE: Once my siblings and I finished college and moved away, my parents immediately moved to buying only expensive premium cars. 

Summer is here

The season we all live in Chicago for is here! I hope everyone is having a great one, thus far. I promise to write a few more blogs before summer ends, have a few topics in mind. Until then, I hope this finds everyone healthy and happy.

Ciao for now,

Barb(ie) 


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Sunday, April 2, 2023

Raising Teenagers: The World's Most Thankless Job

Ok, yes. I am aware that I no longer am raising teens, but I still remember those years quite vividly and have very helpful advice for those of you who are in the midst of raising those snotty, know-it-alls. I have many friends as well as family members who are still in the process.

I like to randomly throw out helpful advice like: "it's going to get worse before it gets better" when I see my brother-in-law dealing with my beautiful, but feisty 15-year-old neice. 

I've heard the effort of raising teens is akin to "nailing jello to a tree" and can't disagree with that analogy. Pretty sure the reason they make babies and toddlers so cute is so you won't kill them as teenagers. 

A friend of mine recently commended me on having kids who appear to have good heads on their shoulders, in other words, who have their proverbial shit together. Indeed, for the most part, my kids are flourishing. 

Laura is killing it in the corporate world and Ben is relatively close to finishing his PhD. Bottom line is they are successful, and more importantly happy adults, and as a parent, that is really the best you can ask for. 

That, and neither of them are currenty on my payroll or living in my basement...

Looking back

I will have to say that this chapter of parenting was not easy. Going through a divorce during this time did not make it any easier. By the time my kids were in what I refer to as the "danger zone," I was parenting solo.

The difference being, post-divorce, I had no bad cop to back me up or to scare off dusty boys from my very pretty daughter. When her dad had been around, the boys would at least sit up and remove their hands from my daughter's body. After he was gone, they would barely even make notice of me loudly moving about the house while glaring them. 

I suddenly had to be both the good and bad cop, which isn't easy. And being the bad cop was in direct contradiction to my lifelong self-identity as the "cool" mom. I mean I really was the cool mom, something they now have finally accepted as adults. But you can't be the cool mom and the bad cop. It was new territory. 

Oh, and I was also trying to have an actual social life and date, which only added to the insanity of this period. 


We were really close though; naming ourselves the "Three Amigos" after the divorce, a title we continue to use to this day. Despite having a good, close relationship with both of them, I still lived in constant terror during these years that they would get in trouble.

Ride into the Danger Zone

What's the danger zone? The years when as parents you worry about the following: car accidents, teenage pregnancy, bullying, drug and/or alcohol misuse or addiction, failing in school, pursuit of life of crime, etc. You know, all the normal shit that people that look like adults but also don't have all the equpiment in full working order do. I mean that is fact. 

Just doing one of the possible menu options from the Danger Zone list and they got in trouble, it was going to be on me; it would be my fault as the single mom and one of the only liberals in a subdivision of conservative golfers. Nope, was not going to happen on my watch!

As teenagers, it's almost expected that they will do stupid things. Their teenaged brains are not even fully formed! Wait, that's actually not true. They have all the same equipement, in this case in the frontal lobe, but it's not fully connected yet so they don't yet connect action with consequences. Now, will this reality help you navigate the absolute idiocy of the teenage years? Absolutely not. 



Explains a lot of my own behavior as a teen actually. I was a handful so I naively thought this would give me a leg up during this chapter in parenting. I've written before about how I'm a rebel at heart, regardless of age. No way, those idiots were going to get away with anything on my watch! 

One of my rules was no one in the basement, unless you're playing ping pong. Reason was obvious; nothing good happens in a basement. Alcohol is consumed, pot smoked and virginitites lost. That's what happens in basements in the danger zone. 

It worked for a while. One day Laura was down there with one of our least favorites and Ben yelled up to me that he was no longer hearing the ping or the pong of the balls in the basement. Duly noted, I texted Laura a first warning from the 3rd floor, not wanting to embarass her. 

Unfortunately shortly thereafter, when once again no ping, nor pong was audible, Ben grabbed his handy airhorn and blasted a friendly warning from the top of the basement stairs to his sister and her little friend. You can imagine how that was received. 

Good times. 



I took it as my primary job to stalk my kids. Yes, you heard me. Digitally stalk, in most cases. I'm sure some of you are balking at this, spouting something about privacy. Yeah, no. If you're saying that AND have teenagers, I will pray for you. 

Why? Because teenagers lie. You can trust a teenager about as far as you can kick said teenager. Don't try it..but there will be moments you will want to. Bottom line: They all lie. And, if you are saying to yourself that your teen doesn't lie to you, then you're either wrong or your kid is weird. Sorry, but it's true. 

I hear parents say, "my teenager tells me everything." Well, if that is true, they again are either a weird kid (it does happen) or that kid is withholding some truths from you (or worse yet, is going to go buck wild the minute they get to college). It's part of the process. As such, I left nothing to chance and added an app to my kids' cell phones that enabled me to track them. 

When I first started using the app, I had other parents tell me that the kids would just leave their phone behind. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Clearly these idiots didn't have teens at home. 

They would be more likely to leave an organ, perhaps a kidney, behind as nothing is more important than that phone. It is their connection to their peers, which in case you have not noticed is now the voice they listen to. Once this happens, around 13-14, they are no longer listening to you and you better hope everything you said prior was taken to heart. 

At this same time, teenagers also magically become smarter than their parents. Or so they believe. There are literally years when half the things you say to your kids will be met with the standard eye roll. I mean clearly now that they have teen-fueled, super intelligence, despite the brain disconnect, their parents' stupidity is quite a burden to them.

One year, my son got caught driving through the neighborhood, while on his phone: a no-no. Once caught, his cell phone was taken away...and it was during Spring Break. Ouch. Yep, it sucked...for everyone because teens don't suffer silently. Below is what I found on my quite large, 28" Mac screen shortly after that ruling came down. He was not happy apparently.


It's hard to read, a screenshot of a screen but all Google searches like "what's the defintion of child abuse" and "what to do if your mom is crazy" all meant to communicate his ire. Mission accomplished. I had to laugh though. Both of my kids have inherited my and my ex's senses of humor: both a curse and blessing as illutrated above.

Obviously there were a few years when I did not win any popularity contests at home. Catching them in places they weren't supposed to be and doing things they weren't supposed to do was the norm. You would think that knowing full well their "awful" mom was stalking them, they would largely be where they said they were going to be but again, they are idiots. Note: see above about disconnected teenaged brain ☝.

I won't list all the things I busted my kids for as teens but suffice to say they were no angels, though neither have felony convictions either. 😀 

Note: as adults, they just love to regale me with stories of all the shit they did get away with. I find it a tad less amusing than they do at this point.

Below is their T-P kit packed and ready to go that I found when I was moving out of the house. Clearly derelicts in training...


Handing out punishments was not fun. Despite what kids think, we don't like it. That said, I think my dad did actually enjoy saying no during my hellish teen years and I'm pretty sure I still hold the record for the longest grounding on record in the state of Connecticut (3 months-don't ask, though duly noted in this blog).  

It's always easier to say yes. My Mom's go-to move when she just could not say yes to a query was to send it up to the Supreme Court (Dad) who would strike it down instantaneously. Wasn't really even worth the appeal process to be honest. Dad always said no. He didn't even pretend to be my friend, but as an adult, I get it. He was playing the role of Bad Cop and just refused to break character. I do understand.

I actually did want to be friends with my kids, and I'm happy to say that today I do think of them as friends in addition to being my kids. I love nothing more than traveling and exploring the world with my now adult children. 

But my job during those years wasn't to be their friend, but their guiding force, like it or not. And, I assure you they did NOT always like it.

A thankless job indeed but an incredibly important one so hang in there!

Happy Spring, everyone.



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Sunday, January 15, 2023

Bored Barb Takes up Yoga

Nope, not me. For those of you who don't know my mother, also Barb, consider this blog post your official introduction to the amazing matriarch of our family.  Certainly doesn't seem blog-worthy to write about my mom taking up yoga, but then again it wouldn't be if it wasn't her doing it.

I'm sure you remember my first foray into yoga. I chronicled my own yoga adventures at the beginning of the pandemic in my very first blog post back in 2020. From that blog: 

For years, I've watched as the flood of skinny bitches pour out the yoga studio at the gym. Clearly they are onto something.  I am quite the expert at wearing yoga pants (and leisurewear, in general) so I really felt like this was going to be the perfect at-home workout. 


I downloaded a free Peloton app, grabbed a mat and donned the garb. Unfortunately for someone who has never even come close to touching my own toes, this pursuit was a stretch...quite literally. I still have PTSD from the stupid Presidential Fitness Tests we were subjected to in grade school; my flexibility was notably bad. Certainly made me question whether I was built for this, but what the hell?


I'm not going to lie, there was a lot more sweating and shaking than I would have thought. And, contorting my uncooperative rigid limbs  in some of those positions — while also trying to crane my neck to see how the skinny bitch instructor was doing it — was akin to a playing a demented game of Twister that no one wins. My dogs watched with what appeared concern. My left shoulder is now spasming and my right buttock  hurts, but overall it felt pretty good. 


It was definitely touch and go initially, for both my rigid limbs and my dogs who both thought it was "Mommy and me" time on the mat and not yoga. I have improved slightly though still can't touch my toes. 


Being raised by a jock


My mom was born a natural athlete, meaning she can pick up nearly any sport and be good at it very quickly. My dad was also a good athlete but one who studied hard at it. Read everything, videotaped himself so he could study his motion, golf or tennis swing, and then methodically plot how he could get better. Not mom; she can just watch someone do something and mimic it naturally.


She's ambidextrous! When she wants to mess with someone, she simply changes the hand she's playing with. Talk about a mind fuck on a tennis court! 


She was the first female Little League player in the state of Arkansas back in the 50s. She got a hole in one on the golf course…7 times!! Not a typo.


She is just amazing at every sport she does, which is all the more surprising because she got sick when she was a baby and was hospitalized and didn't grow for an entire year. That is actually why she's short in stature; her twin brother and father were both 6 feet tall. 

Despite being barely over 5-feet herself, it never stopped her from competing and winning in sports her whole life.  Below is a picture from one of the many tennis tournaments she won as a kid. She's the one rocking the crop top before that was fashionable. FYI: she is the same age as the other kids in the picture. Not sure what to say about that haircut.





While I adore her, It wasn't always easy having a mom who can do every sport better than you. It's the reason neither my sister or I took up tennis until our 40s, despite having spent much of our childhoods hanging out by tennis courts while she played. Why take up a sport that you'll never beat your own mom at? I mean she's pushing 80 but I've officially given up the hope of ever beating her at tennis. 


I remember being 7 or so and being fearful of jumping off the diving board at the local pool. I mounted the board a few times before bailing in fear. Then my mom casually walks up to the diving board and with absolutely no preamble does a flip off it. Then a back flip. What? I mean I was aware she could swim but really? 


When she decided it was time for me to learn how to swim, she didn't bother teaching me or signing me up for lessons. She just signed me up for the local swim team. Didn't matter that I could only swim the width of the pool. "You'll get better," she assured me. I believe the term "baptism by fire" works here but hey, a few weeks later and many tearful pleas to quit, and boom: I learned how to swim. That was Parenting 101 Barb-style. 


Then I remember trying to learn how to water ski. My poor, very patient dad would drag me behind his boat for an hour but my little "Olive Oyl" arms could not muster the strength to pull my 75-pound frame out of the water. I cried, begging to get back in the boat. 


Shortly after that, my mom takes her turn, popping up within seconds and then within a few minutes, kicking off one ski and going slalom. What the...? All 3 of us kids looked at each other in bewilderment. Didn't they just buy these things? 


You can lead the horse to water...


I have tried since 2020 to get my mom to try yoga. She was getting increasingly bored being stuck at home and I thought it was the perfect way for her to stay busy and thought maybe the meditation part would be a good thing for her as well. 


As you might be able to tell she has the boundless energy so not being able to do all her various activities was making her a little crazy. I'm sure many of you enjoyed the pandemic videos she made and posted to Facebook. This one was one of my favs.





So I must say when she said she was ready to try yoga, I was excited to see how it would go. With no ball involved or thing to swing, I thought we might finally have arrived to a level playing field. 


Over the Christmas holiday, I spent a week visiting my parents, and daily Mom and I did yoga. It was fun and I must admit pleasantly surprising to see that there's at least one thing Barb Jones doesn't do well. Turns out she has the flexibility of a 2 X 4 (her words) and not stellar balance; both important things to have as we get older. After I left, she took a few classes. Review below.




Comedy aside, I'm quite certain that Barb Jones will become a yogi of stellar status. She never backs away from a challenge so I won't be the least bit suprised when she morphs into Rubberband Nana after a few months. 

Later this week on January 20th, my mom turns 79. Please join me in wishing this crazy lady and amazing mother a very Happy Birthday. Love you, Mom! 

Hope everyone's year is off to a good start and this finds you all happy, healthy and hopeful that 2023 will be an epic (in a good way) year.

Happy New Year,

Barb

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Sunday, May 10, 2020

Why is Mother's Day a Day and Not Week?

Greetings again, fellow quarantiners. I thought this week it would be a good time to recognize all the moms out there, the ones constantly in the trenches, quarantined or not. Time to give a well-deserved shoutout to the unsung heroes who keep families running under any and all circumstances. As women we do the heavy lifting in terms of creating new life, carrying  and delivering them just so we can then schlep them around for another year, at least. Then they get bigger and start talking. Adorable at first, sure, but then they start talking back to you, which can be decidedly less cute. Then you add in the realities of life: sports, music lessons, field trips, school projects, doctor appointments, and suddenly you morph into an Uber driver with ungrateful, complaining passengers.

Sums up my parenting philosophy beautifully. 

Now don't get me wrong. I truly love my children and would not give back one day I had raising them. That said, it was hard work, every day. So really Mother's Day? Are you fucking kidding me? A day to celebrate the family's unsung hero? It should be Mother's Week at a minimum! Mother's month would be even better. And, let's face it, most Mother's Day celebrations last about 10 minutes. Do we ever actually get a full day? Maybe a breakfast is made, a few cherished gifts opened, and then boom, it's over. Now someone is asking if their soccer uniform is clean and another is asking what's for dinner. Wait, that's it?



I admit, there were many Mother's Days when I felt profoundly disappointed. I think as moms we buy into the "Hallmark" notion of what this holiday should be, believing that somehow these gestures are  somehow going to make up for everything we do for our families in the previous year. They are not. If you think your snotty teenager is not going to do some grand gesture to undo months of eye rolls and disrespect, you're probably going to be disappointed.

We do all that we do out of love and commitment. I think it's not until you are a mother yourself that you understand how important this day is. That said, reach out to your friends who are moms. With no opportunities to have massages, get their hair or nails done, or any other self-care activity, they might need it. I have received several lovely messages from girlfriends today. In a weird quarantine world, these kind words mean more.

I will say my adult children, especially my daughter, are very thoughtful now. Even my son has come around. During his high school "asshole" years, I was lucky to get a Happy Mother's Day text! I think what we all want on Mother's Day is just a little recognition.

I truly won the lotto with my mother. She is pretty amazing so I am thankful for her every day and cannot imagine my life without her. Even more blessed that she is now my friend as well. You all have gotten to know her as well through her crazy Facebook videos. Yes, she's funny and crazy (in a good way) but she's also kind, always upbeat and very loving. My mom is certainly irreplaceable and I hope she knows that every day, not just on Mother's Day.

The Mother's Day gift that keeps giving...and sometimes taking

Two year's ago, I got quite the surprise gift for Mother's Day. My kids conspired and surprised me with a puppy. Wow, right? Yeah, I know many of you are thinking, "Oh, that's so sweet!" or "OMG, what thoughtful children!" Sure, he's cute, but so are toddlers. When was the last time you heard of someone getting a toddler sprung on them? Yeah, that does not happen and surprise puppies should not either.

The picture below is a screenshot from the video that Laura took of the moment it was sprung on me. I think it speaks volumes, but if I would put words to the expression it would be something like: WTF??? This is going to destroy my summer; no street festivals, fun weekend trips, music fests, etc. Now I'm suddenly on puppy watch; can't leave for more than 3 hours at at time.



Don't worry; my retribution plan is in the works. I'll be surprising them with a puppy at some time in the future, perhaps when they have toddlers! I mean they can save on puppy chew toys because the puppy can just chew on the toddler! Brilliant, I know.



Now do I love said puppy? Of course I do. I'm not a monster. He's absolutely the cutest pup in the world but that's two years out. You have heard of childbirth amnesia? It's similar. I've had two years to forget about potty training, being awoken in the middle of the night, etc. It's just been in the last couple of months that I can leave toilet paper out. But yes, he's now a treasured member of the family and even Marley has decided to let him live.

Has everyone gone bipolar? 

How's everyone doing out there? I think this whole quarantine is making people bipolar, or at least it seems to be having that effect on me. One minute I'm happy to be outside and taking the dogs on a walk and the next minute one of them—most likely Bowie—misbehaves and I'm jerking his leash and screaming "If you pull me again, I'm going to rip your fucking head off!" Let's face it; if he were a kid, social services would probably have been called. I never actually entertained the idea of actually decapitating my dog, but bursts of anger just seem to be emerging much more frequently. The road rage is...well raging, even more than normal. Seems like there are few drivers around these days, but somehow magically the same number of assholes. My F-bombs seem to be flying more freely.

I'm sure there are some of you who have popped off on kids, spouse, partner or yes, even your dog, but I'm officially declaring we all get a sort of cosmic pass for this kind of shit. We are just human after all. Tears too, and I'm not a crier, but recently certain music, a sappy commercial and I can feel tears welling. It's like everything is amplified a bit right now.  Or maybe we are all a bit bipolar these days. Probably yoga is the only thing keeping me from true bat-shit craziness so namaste, bitches.

I hope this finds you all well. For all the moms out there right now, I'm giving you each a virtual hug and hoping you are all having a great Mother's Day or Hour or whatever. Hang in there, summer is coming and eventually life as we knew it will return or at least some version of it.

Until next time.

Barb

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