Parenting in a 24-hour World

During my book club meeting the other night, we discussed parenting. A topic rich in opinions. The prevailing thought was “why don’t kids come with a user guide?” Sure, there are tons of parenting books, websites and blogs where you can find varying opinions about how to be a good parent. And, it’s probably ten times easier to get your hands on that advice than it was when we were kids. 

To add to the discussion that we started the other night, I wanted to share a couple of things I read recently which rang true for me. In an interview with Esquire, Ethan Hawke talks about his new film Boyhood, which was filmed over the course of 12 years with the same core of actors and directed by Richard Linklater. It’s about parenting and growing up. Hawke says, “we would sit there and ask, ‘Oh what  are some of the most important experiences you had with your father growing up?’ Because what we’re trying to avoid was things like losing your virginity, the day your dad got remarried...because those alleged important days are usually pretty obvious. And you don’t have many interesting things to say about them. What I remember about growing up with my dad was camping. And him sitting by the fire playing guitar. And us making hot dogs. That is where the real glue of our relationship is: those weird moments when my dad wasn’t at work, when he was free to be himself.”

Of course we remember the big events, but it’s those little snippets that we remember. I remember playing Monopoly, going to the movies, to the park, to Mayfest and other places of interest around my hometown. Those moments are what stay with me because I had my dad’s attention. We were focused on each other.

To contrast that, I recently read Sycamore Row by John Grisham. He writes, “a child is not born with the tendency to neglect; it has to be acquired. Herschel learned from a master.”

In our time of smartphones and 24-hour connections, I like to take time to put away that little screen which can consume our lives with email, news and social media and focus on those in my life who matter most today and tomorrow–those little people who still think we are giants. Those little people who will grow up and become giants. 

#parenting #socialmedia

Where's the manual?

For some reason kids failed to come with a manual. I’m not sure why they are born into this world without one. It seems like a horrible oversight. I mean even McDonald toys come with instructions, so why not kids?

The What to Expect series helps you out in those first few years, but what to do when they really have minds of their own and you have more than one? 

Discipline has been our number one conundrum in this child raising business. It never fails that our boys disagree and then that disagreement can eventually become heated. That’s when we intervene, but depending on the severity, my husband and I are often at a loss for what to do and a discussion ensues on what a proper punishment would be.

So, instead of trying to figure out what consequence the boys should suffer for their offense, I decided to come up with a cheat sheet so that we are all literally on the same page. Granted, I really wish I’d come up with this at the beginning of the summer. It would’ve been a great opportunity for them to tackle my honey-do list.

I’m by no means a parenting expert, but I’ve always heard that consistency is key and I can’t even remember what I had for breakfast this morning much less what we did the last time they did X. 

So, here’s my cheat sheet. I’d love to hear your thoughts and comments. 

Offense	What it Mean	Consequence
Fighting with your brother	Too much time on your hands	Take a chore out of the chore jar
Messy room	Not enough time on your hands	Lose Computer/XBox/TV time for one day per room
Throwing your clothes in your closet instead of hanging them up	Not enough time on your hands	Lose Computer/XBox/TV time for one day
Stuffing your clothes under your bed instead of hanging them up	Not enough time on your hands	Lose Computer/XBox/TV time for one day
Not doing your chores	Not enough time on your hands	Lose Computer/XBox/TV time for one day
Leaving your stinky hockey clothes in the bag	Not appreciating your mother’s time	Do a load of laundry
Leaving your dirty clothes on the floor	Not appreciating your mother’s time	Do a load of laundry

One more thing

Conversation with Trent:

I’m busy writing because I have an article due by end of day (read: scrolling through Facebook and checking my hair for split ends), when Trent walks in the back door. “Mom! Do we have any ant killer?”

“Probably, why?” 

“Because, I think we might need some. You should come look.”

“Do I have to?”

“Yea, come on.”

I walk outside in my bare feet because they’ve been tucked under me while I’ve been “writing”. He leads me to two of the trees that look like they’ve shed all of their leaves, but since some of them are still clinging for dear life, I refuse to rake until they fall and die. So, I tip toe over trying to get my little toes poked by sharp leaves and sure enough all of the ants in Round Rock have found two of my oak trees and are having some sort of field day marathon. 

“See, mom, we need ant killer.”

“Yea, you should talk to your dad about that,” I told him as I walked inside. “That is totally his thing.”

I Should've Been An Expert

I’ve worked for about five and half hours today. I realized it was time to call it quits when I was spending more time researching how Dylan can get past a level in ACIII and updating Facebook, than researching the best methods of sealcoating. 

Besides, after spending much of my day emailing and calling experts that are clearly too important to have to work on New Year’s Eve, I began to see it was truly a wasted day. I need an Experts R’ Us. Do you think we can get one of those on tap? Unfortunately, I have seven articles due in two weeks. Two of them I can write in my sleep, but the others require these experts who are too smart to have to work today. I should’ve been an expert.

At this point in my researching day, it's probably better that I don't write anything that I'm paid to write or talk to anyone, because I'm more like the ginger-headed "This one time, at band camp" girl from American Pie, but without her meds. Clearly, I need to exercise. But, I took one look outside this morning when I was kissing my husband good-bye and saw the rain and fog and gray clouds and said forget that. I told him "good luck with that" and quickly shut and locked the door. 

This is how my writing day typically goes: Fix breakfast and get kids to school. Come home, look around and decide to either do laundry, take a shower, go workout, or write. I choose anything but writing. Then I do one of the other things (usually shower). After that, I’m feeling refreshed and usually famished so I make myself lunch and think about writing. Then I sit down at my computer and check my email, Facebook, the news. Half an hour later, I look at the clock and it’s almost time to get the kids. So, I get down to the business of writing something to make myself seem productive. 

So now you guys know why it’s taking me so long to finish my novel (at least I have a first draft). And, all of the above is for stuff I’m paid to do. But, I chalk it up to research and kind of writing, because I’m always thinking of things in my head. Trust me, the conversations in my head are way funnier. I just can't ever remember what I was thinking by the time I sit down in front of a computer.

Anyway, if I’d been an expert I wouldn’t have to track down all of those other experts who are too smart to have to work on New Year’s Eve and I could write my own article without them. I may do that anyway.

Happy New Year!!

Camping: A Cold Day in Hell

Let me just preface this with an admission: I’m not a camper. I like nice and comfy. But, as the mother of two boys, I try to be a good sport. So when my oldest asked to go on a Boy Scout winter camping trip, I said sure. I imagined myself relaxing in the tent reading the funny book I just started and laughing out loud without anyone looking at me funny. This summer, we purchased a gigantic tent and air mattresses, so why not. At least in the winter, you won’t melt.

What I didn’t imagine was shivering so much that I actually lost weight and couldn’t fathom pulling my hands out to hold my iPad. Or, waking up in the middle of the night needing to go to the bathroom and deciding I would rather risk a kidney infection than to get out of my sleeping bag. I did manage to inch my nose out from under the covers to hiss at my husband to turn on the portable heater. (After all, this is his fault right? If he had given me a girl, I would’ve stayed home with her.)

Have you ever seen a wet cat? That was me. Because, did I mention that it was drizzling and raining? We had to hike to the bathrooms. As one of only two moms on this ill-fated, windy, wet camping trip, I can say that it was not a desirable situation in the middle of the 40 degree night. The others had either learned their lesson before, or are just smarter than me.

Needless to say, I didn’t get any reading done. I did, however, get in my nice, comfy car the next morning and drive home with my youngest, feeling only a bit guilty at leaving my oldest and husband behind. Of course, not guilty enough to suffer with them for the next two nights. I’m glad I had only committed to one night. Now, I’m finally getting to read that funny book in the comfort of my big, warm, cushy bed.

Shades of Pink

The Fifty Shades Trilogy was wildly popular among moms here in the burbs. If you don’t believe me, you should’ve seen all of the happy husbands this past summer. It sparked such rampant reading that one book publisher noted it as a reason for their decrease in quarterly revenue. 

There have been many who tried to figure out what it was that made the books so popular. While some men try to claim that they get Playboy to read the articles, women can’t claim that they bought the 50 trilogy for its quality of writing. 

Well, it turns out that all of that extra frisky time had some health benefits. In this article from Women’s Day http://bit.ly/UgQmHG, it suggests that time in the bedroom can make you thinner, your heart healthier, boost your immune system, improve mental health and sleep, relieve pain, and give you healthier skin. Some studies have even linked the frequency of orgasms to a decrease in breast and prostate cancer, a cure for PMS, and a surge of the anti-aging DHEA. So instead of worrying about that face lift in a few years, you can save yourself the trouble and money by grabbing that husband. 

To help you along, in their December issue, GQ came out with five dirty books for men to read. So I double-dog dare you to pick one up for your hubby this holiday season. It’s for your health after all. 

On their list: John Updike's Couples, Nicholson Baker's The Fermata, Alan Hollinghurst's The Swimming-Pool Library, Nic Kelman's girls, and James Salter's A Sport and a Pastime. The GQ article is worth a read because it gives you a sneak peak into each book so you can decide which one that man in your life would like best.

Happy reading and other stuff.

Advent ideas

Every year, I run into the same problem with Advent–what do I get? I try to strive for an average of $1 per gift. When the boys were little, matchbox cars were great. I've also purchased small Lego kits and split them apart to make it last longer (i.e. the person for one day, and the vehicle or other part the next). Now that the boys are older, cars don't really work and they already have tons of Legos. Last year, I started doing coupons that I made. This year, we came up with more ideas for the coupons because they were the biggest hit last year.

I've included some below in case you need ideas too. I have more designs and ideas too (like bake cookies, and Christmas Light Night). If you would like the word document, I can send them to you. If you have ideas to share, I'd love to hear them.
 

I Fought the Elf and the Elf Won

Having just served the boys breakfast and still a bit sleepy-eyed, I had yet to have breakfast myself, when Trent asked nicely if we could pleeeease get an elf.  "Mom,"he said sadly "everyone else has them."

But, we do Advent. We've always do Advent. The boys get a small gift every December day leading up to Christmas, which can get expensive I might add. 

So, what did I do? Did I tell him, "no, dear, you already get Advent"? No, I caved. I couldn't look at that sweet face that was asking so nicely, and tell him no. 

Now, I'm stuck with coming up with Advent ideas for 24 days as well as fun things to do with an Elf each night. Perhaps the elf will wake up one morning to an empty bottle of wine.

Photo Card

View the entire collection of cards.

Book Review: Chasing Fireflies

In the past year, I’ve read more than 26 books that I specifically remember. In addition, I read a number of chick lit, vampire thrillers, and unpublished manuscripts. Of all of those, Chasing Fireflies is one of my favorites.

The author, Charles Martin does a skillful job of interweaving several mysteries within the story while keeping the reader engaged. The story leads you through a range of emotions and keeps you guessing until the very end. However, I wouldn’t call it a thriller.

It’s marketed as a book of discovery, and that is certainly the case. But, it is so much more. After I finished reading the book, I reflected on the characters, their actions and the “what-ifs” long after I had finished reading the book. For me, that is a mark of a good book, and makes it one of the best I’ve read this past year.

The Happiness Project

Rubin focuses on love in February - how fitting (and cornily cute). She talks about the research that shows that marital bliss drops dramatically with babies and teenagers. Nothing new there although she adds some funny stories for us to chuckle about.

We are out of that stage since our boys are 9 and 7. We’re in the calm before the storm phase and living it up.

She talks about fighting right and all of the typical things you learn in communication and psych classes in college. Never say “you never” or “you always”. Blah, blah.

But, one thing that struck me as fascinating is that she came upon research that shows that time spent with women is the most reliable indicator of a person not being lonely. This holds true for both women and men. Time spent with men doesn’t make a difference.

I was so blown away by that nugget that I had to share with my husband.

His response after some clarifying questions?

“That’s awesome! So, you’re going to spend more time with your girlfriends, and I’m going to spend more time with your girlfriends! You get Fridays, I get Saturdays...”

Seriously! Men! I don’t know why I was so surprised. At least we had a good laugh before starting our day, and apparently, I get Fridays.

"The Happiness Project"

Okay, it isn’t all that bad. It’s an easy read and the author is surprisingly candid with a great self-effacing humor. One of the first things she tackles is clutter. I hate clutter myself, although you wouldn’t know it if you dropped by my house for an unexpected visit.

She sites all sorts of research backing up her data. I love research! She quotes all kinds of people. I love quotes too!! Reducing clutter is under the overall umbrella of increasing energy. She has the typical “go to sleep earlier” and “exercise better”, but the clutter was the one I found most interesting. According to Rubin, one study that she found said that reducing clutter can cut down the average amount of housework by 40 percent. What? Sign me up for that!

I cleaned out my dresser drawers and closet. It took a couple of hours, but I ended up with a HUGE black trash bag full of clothes for Goodwill and an almost equally huge pile of clothes for a garage sale that I keep saying I’m going to have.

A few weeks ago, the boys and I went through their playroom and culled toys that were broken or deemed “too babyish”. We came up with a couple of trash bags and a couple of moving boxes worth of stuff. The moving boxes have been sitting up in the loft waiting for us to have a free Saturday (yeah, right!).

So, with Thanksgiving company looming around the corner, we are having a garage sale this weekend! Woo-hoo!

It probably won’t have everything in the sale that needs to go in it, but hey, it’s a start.

And, for the record, it did make me happier!

Book Club entry

This month we have to read “The Happiness Project.” As you can probably guess, I’m less than enthused.

I’ve never been big on self-help books. They always seem to take 300 pages and a month of my time when I could’ve summed up the whole damn book in a paragraph. I like brevity when I’m reading; especially when I’m reading a book where I want to get the solution.

But, here we are. My book club voted and the majority rules. I promised that no matter what, that I would read the book that the club chooses.

I’m sure that a happiness project sounds like something I should be happy about, but I’m not. I’m not bitter, I’m not sad, I’m already happy. Why do I need to read 296 pages about another lady blathering on about trying to be happier? Sounds like trying to walk through mud with flip-flops and getting sprayed up the back with that fecal-smelling mud.

I’m already happy. I’m thankful every single day for my life, my husband, my boys, my family, my friends, and all of the things we have. I’m not sure how much happier this is going to make me, but I’ll give it a shot. There’s always room for improvement, right?

The author has divided her book into 12 parts. She will focus on improving her life in 12 areas - one for each month. I don’t have 12 months, I have 2 1/2 weeks to read this book, so whatever.

So, to break up the monotony of reading this book, I’m going to share with my two readers. Lucky you.

Twas the Night Before TAKS

Twas the night before TAKS, when all through the house,
moms were grilling their children like a nuthouse.
The clothes were laid by their beds with care,
in hopes of avoiding the morning warfare.
The children were cowered, strung-out in their beds,
while visions of math problems scatter in their heads.
And, I, in a panic, downed my first nightcap
While dad settled down for his long nap.
When upstairs there arose such a clatter,
We sprang from our bed to see what was the matter.
Away up the stairs, we flew like a flash,
Tore open his door, and fell down with a crash.
As the whelp on my cheek started to grow,
I knew I had reached a new low.
My son was sitting on his bed amid the clutter
of weeks of Flashbacks, fractions, and flashcards, with a stutter.
While I started to sputter,
my sweet little son had turned into a nutter
I brushed myself off and sat on his bed,
to see if I could ease his sweet head.
He muttered about fractions, perimeters, and patterns,
So I listened and tried to ease his concerns.
I told him TAKS really isn’t a big deal,
But if he fails, I’ll feed him to an eel.

Diary of a Wimpy Mom, take 2 and don't call me in the morning

Here’s a little tip: Don’t go to Sonic to pick up food for your family before you have boot camp. It smells too good and your willpower will fade while you are ordering for everyone but you. And, really, don’t inhale a cheeseburger, tater tots, and a vanilla coke minutes before your friends pick you up for boot camp.

Realistically, I probably should’ve stayed at home, especially after that burger, but Blondie and I went on a weekend retreat and I ate like there was a famine coming.

While we were gone, I received texts from hubby. Not wonderful love notes letting me know how much my family missed and loved me. No, just texts letting me know that my family was dropping like flies from the flu. I had left Friday with only one child down, by Friday night, hubby was down; Saturday night, little T was down. I soooo didn’t want to be next and asked if maybe we should just quarantine them and I should stay at the resort. No one agreed with my solution, so I went home on Sunday.

By Monday’s boot camp, I was ready to go run off the germs and scrumptious desserts. So, off I went, breathing like a 90-year-old emphysema patient with a cigarette. I didn’t care that I couldn’t breathe, I had weight to lose and germs to run from.
So off I went, filled up on germs, fast food, and fluid in my lungs. I was shocked to find out that I couldn’t make it through boot camp. I even had an asthma attack while I was there trying to run my hiney off, or maybe that was just my cheeseburger stuck in my throat – who could be sure?

After Drill Sergeant starting off yelling for me to get on the hop, and me telling him that there was too much hopping going on (without my usual zeal), he began to realize that I wasn’t just being my normal pain in the ass self – I was being an extra large pain in the ass and a whiney one at that.

Brownie and I were doing the hop scotch thing and I told him that the cones were too high. He told me that cones couldn’t take drugs so that was impossible. I looked at him with daggers and repeated that I was short and that they were too high. They were high too, because while I was walking/stomping through the obstacle course of hop scotch, he pulled me aside and told me he was concerned. Meanwhile, Brownie hopped but didn’t scotch and went down in the mud on her pretty face. She was whining in the background trying to get our attention wanting to know if anyone was concerned about her. Obviously, we weren’t. Drill Sergeant knows who the princess is.

After the hop scotch debacle, Brownie and I went on to the arm press, leg lift thing that has had me in traction for the past two days (which is why I’m late in posting). Then we did some weird oblique things. But, the best thing was the spider, because I was the only one who could maneuver on the bars backwards and forwards. It was beautiful, because while Brownie and I were giving the obliques our half-hearted attempt, we got to see Blondie up there asking at the top of her little voice, “Why is this called spider?!” She was spread eagle on these bars that are like uneven bars with her butt up in the air. She totally looked like a spider – a stuck one.

Oh, and, Blondie was already not talking to us. Brownie and I had paired up the first week. So on Monday, Blondie’s partner from the first week jumped on her like Blondie had started playing for the other team – you know, like white on rice, like a flea on a tick - you get the picture. We tried asking her when we all paired up after instructions if she wanted to be with one of us, but she just gave us dirty looks and walked away with her lip curled up. I think she might have been upset.

I’m sure she’ll get over it and pick me up today if for no other reason than to watch Drill Sergeant torture me.

Diary of a Wimpy Mom – Yes, I’m back.

Obviously, I haven’t posted in awhile. Well, it’s because I totally wimped out on those girls. Brownie and Blondie stuck with it and, of course, that’s when all the good stuff happened! But, once school started, I didn’t care if I got as big as a tent, there wasn’t any way I was rolling my ass out of bed at 5 a.m. for anything – not even a $1 sale at Neiman Marcus! Okay, well maybe if it was in the shoe department. But, especially not to flip 18 wheeler tires through the mud. I mean it takes effort to look this good and that extra hour of beauty sleep takes me from an 8 to a 10 baby!

So, while I was getting my beauty rest and workin’ up to that 10, that’s when this guy decides to die in the parking lot in his car to be found by my girls and the rest of the people who want to be skinny. I mean how fun of a post would that have been right? How cool is that to find a dead guy, right? I mean why couldn’t he be considerate enough to die earlier when I could’ve found him?

Oh well, it turns out, he was just a REALLY heavy sleeper because all of the tapping that turned to banging that those boot campers did he just slept right through. He finally woke up when the cops got there, so it was all good.

And, as it turns out, when you ditch boot camp in favor of more sleeping in, other things start creeping up to a 10. Someone who has a small frame and is barely 5 feet tall, really shouldn’t be in the double digits, you know what I mean? So, here I am again – flipping tires in the mud.

But, it sure isn’t at 5:30 in the morning. Oh, no! I convinced Blondie and Brownie that they needed my witty comments to keep things lively and the only way to get it was to sign up for the evening class. They totally bought it – suckers!

So Brownie and I were up there in the drizzling rain in 40 degree temperatures ready to melt that fat away. Yes, Blondie wimped out on the first class – she said “I ain’t into all of that measuring crap. I don’t need to weigh in!”

I have to confess, I’m not sure anything melted because everything was frozen - even the mud seemed frozen. It was so friggin’ cold. I do think my butt froze up and fell off on that 1 mile test run though – so that’s a plus!

Of course, Drill Sergeant was SOOO excited to have us back. (Brownie and Blondie had actually bailed on him too during the last six week session.)

I don’t remember if I mentioned this before, but when we start a new session, we have to measure, weigh, and do a fitness test. So, Brownie was busy with her push-ups, and these aren’t girlie push-ups on your knees – oh, no, these are full-on push-ups with your legs straight and your nose touching the ground, but not your tummy. (I’ve tried that, but he said, “oh no Pebbles, I don’t think so.” He doesn’t know that my friends call me Princess, so he just calls me Pebbles.) So, she is going at these push-up things - up, down, up, down - just burnin’ up those muscles, and then she starts getting tired. But, she’s gotten me so into it that I’m cheering her on. So I say, “Hercules, Hercules! Keep it going girl, you can do it!” you know Eddie Murphy style, because I’m trying to encourage my girl to keep going. But all of the other boot campers start laughing so Drill Sergeant has to explain his peanut gallery to all of the newbies.

But, they didn’t realize that I was doing them a favor because after our fitness test (and you would think that we would’ve remembered this by now) we had to go and do it all over again and do the same number of reps when we were bustin’ a gut to do all of those sit-ups, push-ups and pull-ups during the test.

Oh, well! Some people never learn. I guess that’s why the wimpy mom is back in boot camp. I wonder if they have a remedial boot camp?

My attempt at domesticity

I had a pile of my husband’s shirts that came out of the laundry a little more wrinkled than normal. It might have something to do with having sat in the dryer overnight. But, who knows? Maybe the wrinkle fairly came and had a party on hubby’s shirt.

So, since the kids are out of school and I have a little extra time on my hands (because I don’t have to drive them all over the country), I decided to iron his shirts rather than just throw them back in the washer.

I got out my ironing board and found the iron. It still had a little water in it, so I plugged it in and waited for it to heat up. With Christmas music blaring and kids happily cleaning upstairs, I got to ironing all of the wrinkles out of his shirt, feeling very domestic. It probably took me a good five minutes for one shirt. I pulled it off expecting it to look wonderful. It didn’t. So, I tried another shirt, and then another, all with the same result. At some point (about 30 minutes of ironing later), that old adage about doing the same thing over and over popped into my brain.

I think my iron is faulty. I texted my husband with my conclusion and he thought my phone had been hijacked and wanted to know who was texting him. Because he knows his wife, and she doesn’t iron, she puts clothes in a bag on the front porch for the dry cleaning man.

This is why we dry clean.

My first day

Today was my first day to sub for our elementary school although I’ve racked up loads of volunteer time. I’ve only subbed at the preschool prior to this.

I have to admit that I was a bit nervous about how the day would go. Would the kids behave? Could I get everything done? Could I count to 22 all day long? Well, the day went great for me.

My bladder? Not so much.

While staying at home, or working from home, or even when I worked in an office, I could go to the bathroom whenever the need struck, which for my pea-sized bladder, it strikes fairly often.

So, you can imagine my dismay when I looked at my schedule to see that I would have to wait four whole hours without even the POSSIBILITY of a bathroom break!

We recently went to see our family for Thanksgiving. They live four hours away and we had to stop twice for potty breaks. Not for my eight-year-old, not for my five-year-old, but for me – both times. My boys LOVE driving with me.

I’m not really sure what happened, because before I had kids (Yes, I am blaming them. No, I am not above it, or ashamed about it.) I could go for hours and hours without having to stop.

So, I’m contemplating this whole four hour thing and thinking, “wow, it’s really hot in here.” I broke out into a sweat over the whole bathroom situation. So, finally, after morning announcements, attendance, running club (don’t ask), reading to the kids, circle time (we called it something else and I’m still used to subbing at the preschool so whatever), some writing activities, two, count them TWO bathroom breaks for the kids, but not for me, I take my kiddos down to lunch and then I’m off to find a potty.

I stop at the ONLY adult bathroom in the ENTIRE school (a school for 1000 kids I might add) and someone is friggin in there!!! CRAP! They have no clue that I’m about to wet my pants, and going home and changing my clothes, is so NOT in my scheduled 20 minute lunch time (I had to make sure the kids got to where they are going and all – I’m sure I probably didn’t need to do that, but it was my first time). So, I politely knock. No one answers. I’m trying to decide whether to break down the damn door or call 911, when our receptionist happens to walk by. So, I ask, “Her Name, are these the only bathrooms?”

Luckily, they weren’t. They have two hidden bathrooms that are secret for people who work there and I (yes, I) got to use one. I felt honored and relieved to get to go.

Eight-year-old goes to the ballet

Today, my third grader went with a bunch of other third graders to see the Nutcracker. Just so you know, the Nutcracker ballet is one of my all-time favorites. It conjures up memories of me in a frilly taffeta skirt, patent leather shoes, and a pretty, frilly white shirt with my hair all curly and in bows. It gives me that same magical feeling you get when you go to Disney World. So, I always dreamed of taking my children with me to the ballet to enjoy this wonderful form of art.

So, naturally, I was a bit peeved, and more than a little jealous, when I discovered that the third grade field trip would be to one of my favorite ballets, and that they didn’t need any chaperones. In a 20 minute speech, I told my eight-year-old son how privileged he was to get to go and how much I love it.

This morning dawned nice and cold – perfect for my son to dress up in stuff that usually makes him hot and whiney. I sent my darling off and wondered during his time on the school bus if he was anticipating the magic that would happen on stage. I glanced at the clock later and knew that he was watching a beautiful performance and hoped that he could follow the story. Then it came time for me to pick him and some neighbor kids up from school.

“How was the play guys?” I ask.

An eight-year-old’s critique: “It was boring. And the guys wore tights!” Lots of giggling from boys and girls, and I’m thinking “Oh, great, what are they gonna say about what they saw in the guys’ tights?” And, I wait for it as the giggling dies down enough for them to speak. “ The guys wore tights, and you could see their butt cracks!”

A car full of kids erupts in laughter. And that is what an eight-year-old thinks of my favorite ballet. Oh, well, I guess I didn’t really want an eight-year-old that was cultured anyway. Then I was told that they looked like little Lego people on stage.

News Flash: I'm going to get REALLY old!

So, I had some lab work done and my doctor informed me that I’m going to live to be a hundred!

Wow! That is OLD. Although I wasn’t entirely surprised considering how long my great-grandmother and great-great grandmother lived (yes, I was privileged enough to get to know them both). But, to actually hear those words come out of my doctor’s mouth was a little surprising. He may have been exaggerating a little, but hey, who cares?

So, that puts my expiration date around 2076. If I’m going to get that old, then I expect science to make some advances in the last two-thirds of my lifetime.

We need a permanent fix to graying hair. After all, I can’t spend my whole retirement on getting my hair done. And, for those of you keeping track, I’m already retired. Yes, I know, I have a sweet life. Don’t you wish you could retire in the first third of your life?

Second, after watching my grandmothers, they really need to do something about arthritis. What good is it going to do me if I live to be 100, and can’t put on my jewelry, or write these wonderful posts?

Third, also after seeing my grandmothers, you have to do something about that whole hunched over thing. I’m already short at a whopping 5’1”. I’m pretty sure they don’t make cute clothes with a hump in your back. It’s hard enough finding clothes to fit as it is.

Fourth, you REALLY need to get cracking on this whole Alzheimer’s thing. Who cares if you’ve seen a century’s worth of innovation if you can’t remember how to walk in heels?

Fifth, you need to do something about heart disease. Hubby’s response to the news was “Wow, that’s great honey.” Quickly followed by “I guess that means you’re going to have a second or third husband.” But, really, how could I ever live without my wonderful, sweet, charming husband? Gag. Yes, well, maybe next time I’ll marry for money. Love you honey!

So, here’s to science and hoping they can learn to make cute shoes that don’t hurt your feet! Get crackin’ guys!