I think we’d all agree that no one should have to worry about being run over by a motor vehicle in their own shower. I’m a world class worrier but until it almost happened, it never occurred to me to worry that a stolen car would crash through our front fence and stop inches from joining me in the master bath. This wasn’t recent, fortunately, but it comprised one of the three times that a vehicle has taken out our front fence and come perilously close to ending up parked inside our home.
Somehow (an attack of divorce guilt, I think), I ended up becoming a Cub Scout Den Leader for my older son, Rory’s, den. It really wasn’t all that easy to find activities that I could do as a single mom with sons. They’d be willing to go to the occasional movie with me, and I could be a manager of youth sports teams, but even the latter didn’t give me much one-on-one time with the boys. They really weren’t interested in lunch and shopping. And that was probably a good thing.
Everybody has a fantasy about what they’d do if they won the lottery. I’ve always been clear about mine: hire a live-in masseuse. I’d get a minimum of two massages a day of about four hours each. In fact, some days I wouldn’t even get off the table, especially if I could figure out a way to simultaneously get a straw into a glass of chardonnay.
OK, it scares even me. Over the years, as new phrases came into the vernacular, my kids would hear them at school, start saying them at home, and pretty soon even mom was using them. Well, most of them. But now, more and more phrases have come into common use, which annoy me beyond reason. I know: it’s the first step toward terminal curmudgeonliness. I fear I’m steps away from morphing from the kid-adoring neighbor lady to the one who rolls out onto her front porch in her walker and hurls epithets at the skate boarders.
When my first husband and I were married, an insurance salesman advised us only to insure ourselves against serious losses: his life and my contact lenses.
I’ve finally come to understand the basic connection between grandparents and grandchildren: They really want to get out of diapers, and we hope never to get into them.
My husband Olof’s parents and mine were similar in many ways and the one precept that they both held most dear was the intrinsic value of child labor. No job was too menial or too boring if it paid.
I’ve known my husband Olof for a long time, so it was somewhat of a surprise to learn that he was masquerading as someone named Giselle who does outcall services. Fortunately, he’s recently retired as I do think this could have impacted, and not in a positive way, his security clearance.
Every election, I conclude that robocalls are God’s way of punishing people who still have land lines.
As a single working mom, I couldn’t spend much time at my kids’ schools during the day, which is probably how I got suckered into organizing an authentic Roman feast for my son’s classically-ennuied seventh-grade Latin class. An end-of-the-school-year celebration, it was an evening event so I really had no excuse.