Happy Birthday, Happiness

 I return to this completely ignored space to acknowledge my daughter's 19th birthday.  

[Gulp. 19.]

Darling Daughter,

I have that lovely joy of waking up in the middle of the night and unable to go back to sleep.  Not every night but enough to be annoying.  Early this Friday morning I awoke at 1am all grumbling that I had to face hours of lying in bed staring at the ceiling when I joyfully realized... 

I could listen to your radio show at 2am. 

Which is just bizarre because I had a radio show in early hours of Friday morning when I went to college. Adding to the bizarreness of it all is you are rowing like I did. You are also attending the same college I attended. 

Which is where the similarities stop. 

You are much smarter than I. Really.  Your focus and dedication to academics has earned you a spot in the college Honors Forum after only one semester. You also have a way more robust social life than I ever did in college.  You're telling me about parties and gatherings I never would have been a part of. I am so excited that you are making college yours.

When I called the radio station at 2am I knew exactly where you were sitting, how dark the room was and how it feels like no one is listening (which is kind of true since the live stream isn't working and what college kid owns a stand-alone radio these days).  You had me listen through the phone and I got to hear you introduce Scarlett by Claud and Stressed - A Colors Show by Doechii.  We talked while the songs played then you had me introduce myself on air and even announce that listeners heard Mariah the Scientist's 2 You. 

While it is an honor to have you in the spaces I once called my own, it is a joy to watch you make them yours and be even better than I dreamed I could be.

Happy 19th birthday.

I love you,

Mom 

Happy Birthday, Happiness

I return to this completely ignored space to acknowledge my daughter's 18th birthday.  

[Oh my god.  That says 18.]

Darling Daughter,

Earlier this week we sat in a sample lecture at the accepted students' day of a college you are considering.  The psychology professor talked about personality traits and stated there is research indicating that personality can be known within hours of someone being born.

Which is why your Birthday Letter is always titled "Happy Birthday Happiness".  

You prove this Professor's point.  You beamed out happiness within hours of arriving in the world on Friday, April 23, 2004. You have personified happiness since Day 1.

As you embark on adulthood hold onto your happiness.  You exude it when you get up and rarely have that grumpy teenager sheen.  You ensure your happiness when we travel by planning the itinerary.  Our trip to Southern California last month was pretty much all your planning.  You meticulously mapped out the great college tour of 2021 and were proud of how it all worked out.  You came up with fun ideas when you, Dad and I went to Iceland.

But it is not just when we travel (which I love to do with you because you are fun to travel with. And really hope this continues) but also in all parts of life.  You are genuinely happy when you complete a task, even before you receive feedback.  I admire that you appreciate your efforts. You have worked a variety of jobs and the act of working gives you satisfaction. 

You deserve to be happy.

Of course there will be days, weeks - painfully even months - when happiness could be elusive but that is different from being worthy of happiness.  You bring so much joy to the world and the people around you through your hard work, love of music, big smile and compassion.  Always remember that you also give yourself happiness.

As we drove back from the college this week we played - several times - Lizzo's new song About Damn Time.  It couldn't be a more perfect tune to celebrate you turning 18.

I'm way too fine to be this stressed, yeah

Oh, I'm not the girl I was or used to be

Bitch, I might be better

 

You get better every day and that is reason alone to be happy.

I love you,

Mom 

 

 

Love, more

It seems only fitting that the day my twin boys turn 21 years old we are preparing for the first hurricane to hit our region in 30 years.  Their shared arrival certainly upended our lives and changed our history as a family.  

However, this year feels different because while they are separate people my message to them is the same.  

So I return, once again, to this completely ignored space on the interwebs to acknowledge my twin boys' 21st birthday. 

Dear son and son,

Every year for your shared birthday I write each of you a letter that I don't actually give you but I post on this blog that I barely go to.  Every year I make an observation or five, impart some wisdom, assure you both I love you then wish you a Happy Birthday.

This year is different.  This year you both are turning 21.  Watching and listening to you both this year has been watching you be the adults you are.  The adults you are becoming.  I finally get to truly marvel at who you each are and not worry that my awe will overshadow some lesson or punishment. Because it is hard to be the stern disciplinarian assuring you have manners and common sense when being awe-struck.  Now I just get to be awe-struck.

While being a parent of young children and teens is fun and rewarding, I've been waiting for this time.  The time I get to just listen and not have to fix something because now you both have the skills and resources to do it yourself.  The time when we talk not because of some obligation but because we want to share something, laugh about something, figure out something or just remember.  Rest assured I'll still listen to your problems but more often than not I hope you'll figure out that you have the skills, strength and means to fix them yourself.  It may take some time, even years, but you'll figure it out.  Then I'll get to be awe-struck again.

This is the big birthday for all of us.  You're adults and I'm your adoring mom.  A role I will treasure and relish and celebrate.

Just like I do each of you.

Happy birthday.

I love you so very much.

Mama

Happy birthday, Happiness

 I return to this completely ignored space to acknowledge my daughter's 17th birthday.  

Dear Darling Daughter,

Here we are again.

Another pandemic birthday.

This is not what you or anyone who has a spring birthday thought would happen when celebrations were squashed last year.  Your plans for a Sweet 16 party were dashed because we were still under stay-at-home orders.  We hoped by this time in 2021 it would be over, that we would be out and about and you could have the bash with twice the blast to make up for the missed milestone celebration.

But we aren't there yet.  And you are facing it with your humor, grace, intelligence and some grumbling.  I'd worry if you didn't grumble at least a bit.

The milestone you didn't miss this year, although was a few months delayed, was getting your driver's license. Yet even that was caught up in the first few days of the pandemic.  The day of your final driver's education class was the day the state shut-down and your class was in limbo.  The Registry of Motor Vehicles wasn't offering learner's permits or tests.  But you were able to finish your class via Zoom and take your permit test online at home - something that was only offered for a short time.  It seems so normal now but a year ago it was all weird and yet you handled it.

Then the actual driving - being behind the wheel - began.  

There were times you fought me, tooth and nail, when trying a new skill, a new situation or even driving when you were in a bad mood (because one has to drive in any mood). Even though you are normally fearless you were plagued with doubt about driving.  It is never fun to push you but when I know you can do something that is my job.

When you passed your driver's license, in a snow storm no less, earlier this year you subtly danced through the parking lot back to our car.  You celebrated and beamed.  You drove by yourself around that day and now drive yourself to the train station most days to get to school.  You've driven on highways, Storrow Drive and Boston streets.  There are still days you marvel that you can do this.  

I don't.  I know you can do the tough things.  You have a core of strength that you have barely tapped.

Not even a pandemic has scratched the surface. I know it.

I love you,
Mom

Love, More

I return to this completely ignored space to acknowledge my twin boys' 20th birthday.  I'm still marveling that these 6'1" young men started off on August 22, 2000 as 30-week preemies each weighing less than four pounds.

Dear son,

You were ready for college when you were 12 so finally getting to move into the dorm in a different part of the country was just a natural continuation of who you are.  You quickly made friends, settled into the rugby team and found the freedom of college life just what you hoped it would be.  Your rugby team even made national championship to be played in April and life was good.

Then a global pandemic hit.

You had to finish your freshman year in your childhood bedroom.  You couldn't return to your grocery store job because of concerns for my health.  You are facing a future that feels stunted and limited.

Yet you still have hope.  Still have purpose.  Still have your insane energy that makes you bounce around like a 6'1" Muppet.  You've been working on a U.S. Senate campaign and getting excited about how elections can make a difference.

We are navigating how to live together after you tasted the freedom of college.  You have generally been a joy to be around except for the late night kitchen raids (do the dishes).

Happy birthday.

I love you so very much.

Mama

Dear son,

College wasn't your thing and you were scared to tell me.  I am sorry you were ever worried to talk about what was important to you.  Since then you found a job with a paving company and then, mere months later, took a job with another company that quickly trained you to hook up gas lines.  You come home with stories from the field, random baked goods from grateful residents and a strong sense of purpose.  You are valued at the job and have colleagues who are mentoring you.

You are managing to thrive during a pandemic.  It is exciting to watch you make your own decisions and deal with the consequences.  You agonized about telling your boss you were giving your two weeks notice.  While the easy way out was to text, you thought through what to say in a phone call. In the end he was gracious and you are still in touch.

Thank you for being true to yourself.

Happy birthday.

I love you for being you.

Mama

Happy Sweet 16, Happiness

I return to this completely ignored space to acknowledge my daughter's 16th birthday.  

Dear Darling Daughter,

This is not how you wanted your 16th birthday to be.

You had it all planned since January.  Well actually you started planning on the day you turn 15 because that is how you roll but we'll leave that part out.  You were going to have a dinner with friends this past Saturday, have cake and dinner of your choice this evening with me and Dad then head to your surrogate auntie's house to sleep over.  The day after your birthday you were going to Saratoga Springs, NY to spend the weekend at your first regatta as a varsity rower while your dad and I were going to fly super early in the morning to California to watch both your brothers in the National College Rugby Championships.  It was all planned.

Then a pandemic struck.  All those plans were cancelled and our lives were upended.

My worst birthday as a kid was around age 7 or 8 years old when I got a stomach bug and my parents had to postpone the party, stick the Ohlin's cake in the freezer and have the party a few weeks later.  But I still got to have my party pretty close to my actual birthday and Ohlin's cakes still tasted really good after being frozen.

Your 16th birthday, in fact this particular teenage year, can't easily be rescheduled or postponed.  You aren't getting to row with the varsity girls - a goal you've worked towards for over a year - and every regatta has been cancelled not to be rescheduled.  You were going to attend a dance with your boyfriend who you haven't seen in nearly six weeks.  That dance cannot happen and we don't know when you'll be able to see him.

That is what is so hard to watch for you, your friends and all other teens and young adults.  This is the age when you have big moments that can't be done over because they celebrate a distinct achievement, a particular point of time and age or a rite of passage.  There is nothing in our society that is particularly momentous about being 27 or 32 or 51 though ask someone about their teen years and there are stories, events, moments that could only happen during that age.

Yet, and yet, you have been the strongest, most reliable one in the house of five humans and one dog.  You have been diligent about your school work, take very seriously being engaged and present during Zoom class time and have stayed connected with friends via all those things you use (maybe that last one you were actually in-training for just this situation).  You have rowed every day on the erg your team loaned out.  You have, mostly, kept it together (hey, no one is perfect) and tried to stay positive through this.

Your happiness, the happiness you've had since you were born, keeps shining through.

That's what I hope you remember from this.  What your stories will be when you recount this time 40, 50, 60 years from now.

That you got through this with focus, determination, grit and happiness.

Happy Sweet 16.

I love you,
Mom

Happy Birthday, Happiness

Dear Daughter,

You love to perform.  Last month you had your own song for our local production of Schoolhouse Rock Live which you memorized in one week.  At Christmas time you were in The Urban Nutcracker and never has anyone been so proud of dancing on a blue and yellow-polkadotted bouncing ball.

But the work it takes to get there, to get to the performing, is something you don't love.

You manage the expectation of learning your part with both unrealistic fantasy ("Maybe I'll be the lead!!") and stoic team player attitude.  You accept your role and find something to get excited about ("I am the first person on stage for the second act!!").

Then the dreaded learning of the parts begins.  You squirm in your seat as the cast learns songs ("WHEN do we get ON STAGE?!?") and grumble as the dance sequence is gone over again.  And again.  And again.

But when tech week begins, when costumes are worn, when bright lights are tested, you stand taller, throw your shoulders back and look out into the seats with eager anticipation.  When the shows begin you are both an eager kid goofing with friends backstage and focused performer quietly centering yourself (sometimes doing both within a minute).

This confidence carries through to school, standing up for yourself with your two older brothers, and your playing.

Because when I walk into the kitchen in the middle of you doing an imaginary cooking show you don't recoil from embarrassment that I am seeing this.  You smile, nonchalantly face the "camera" and say "and here is my mom.  Say 'hi', Mom!"

And I say "Hi" to the imaginary camera just as you direct me.

Happy Birthday.
I love you,
Mom

Photo by the always wonderful friend
Steven Davey.

Brave - Part I

During our recent vacation to the shore we dealt with pretty strong rip currents. Never far from my or my husband's minds was the knowledge that last year a 12-year-old boy drowned at the very beach we visit. He was taken by a rip current during our final day of vacation. We were not there but the news rippled through the little vacation community we visit.

We spent the two weeks this summer being extremely vigilant as my 10-year-old sons and 6-year-old daughter became more comfortable throwing themselves into waves and riding boogie boards into the shore. We talked with them about how to get out of a rip current. I never thought to talk through with them how long it would take or how much energy.

Every year as we return home we visit some of my family. On a beautiful sunny day this past weekend, the boys and I joined my cousin and her two oldest sons for a swim across the small bay to a dock and then swim back. My guys are full of energy and can run for hours. They are strong swimmers and I figured it wouldn't be too far for them. I grossly misjudged the distance since it was over one half a mile to the far dock and back. It was fairly easy for one of my guys.

It wasn't easy for the other one.

Before we had crossed over to the far away dock I heard a pretty sickening sound. The sound of someone gulping air, taking in some water then trying to cough it up.

My guy was really struggling.

I talked to him, encouraging him to get to the far dock. Once there he declared he wanted to get out and walk back. The other boys were ready to go back so my cousin swam with them to her dock.

After catching his breath, he agreed to swim back. We swam to the closest dock and I thought that would be our strategy - to go from dock to dock until we return to the original one. But he decided to go straight for it.

I encouraged him to swim on his back and use less energy. He did and stayed in control of his breathing. I told him how great his was doing, how we were getting closer, how he was showing real stamina. And I was thinking this was the best way to show what it takes to get out of a rip tide.

After a while, I waved to my cousin and she swam the last bit to us with a styrofoam noodle. Little man gratefully tucked it under his arms and did the breast stroke back to the dock. Then he pulled himself up the ladder, turned toward the water and jumped right back in.

Wicked Popular

In 2006 I wrote about how one of my sons and I sang For Good from the Broadway show Wicked in a musical review.

And how I barely made it through the performance without sobbing. Because I have been changed because I know him.

In 2009 I wrote about how a dear dear friend sent me a mix of songs which included Defying Gravity from that same musical. Which led to me lifting my daughter high in the air while we danced to this song and, of course, causing me to cry. Because I don't want anyone to bring her down.

So, incredibly, this past weekend, I finally saw a touring production of Wicked thanks to my fabulous sister-in-law. You would have thought by now I had actually seen it live and on stage. And we brought that 5 year-old girl I lift in the air.

Which led me to sob uncontrollably as Act I ended and Elphaba (the green witch) flies up singing "tell them how I am defying gravity". And led to my daughter to wipe my tears with her fancy party dress. And her winter coat. And then hug me. Causing many strange women around me to go "awwwwww......"

But that wasn't the song that grabbed my daughter. It wasn't the song that she sang over and over in the car.

No, that would be the song Glinda the Good Witch sings to Elphaba when she decides to "help" her.

Popular
I'll help you be popular!
You'll hang with the right cohorts
You'll be good at sports
Know the slang you've got to know
So let's start
'Cause you have a long way to go....

As she awoke the morning after seeing the play, literally the first words out of my daughter's mouth was "one, two, three BALLGOWN!!" as she waved a (practice) magic wand. Then she giggled and sang a little of Popular. Complete with hair swishing.

She made her aunt and uncle play the newly purchased cast recording on CD as she pranced around their kitchen.

"Someday she'll get the irony" my sister-in-law said in a slightly hopeful, with a tinge of concern, tone in her voice.

But I know she will. Because as the play ended the day before in this incredibly grand and old theater, my little lady in her fancy party dress climbed into my lap. Earlier in the day she had expressed concern about seeing Wicked because she was scared of the green witch.

Now she clutched my neck and hid her face. Because she didn't want to see the green witch die from the bucket of water.

The play begins and ends with the line "no one mourns the wicked".

Fortunately, a little five year old did. Even if she does want a practice magic wand.

Finally saw something you should have?

Please join in Music Monday. Just leave a note if you play, write a post about music and link back to me. Music always makes Monday a bit more fun.

Just like Madeline

I would not say that the little girls at Miss Clavel's school, the smallest one being Madeline, were a big part of my childhood. I knew of them but don't recall reading the books as a child. We have a few of the books in the house but they aren't ones we read repeatedly - over and over again - like others.

That will change because I now share a special bond with Madeline.

It all started last Monday, December 7th, the day before my birthday. I started to feel a bit blah during a meeting (but then who doesn't feel blah during meetings) and noticed I wasn't hungry (an odd state for me). I made myself eat some soup with a friend and blessedly she was interesting and engaging so I could focus on the topics and not how I felt.

I had to leave the big city early to see the boys in a Musical Theatre review. They and 40+ other kids spent the last six weeks learning Singing in the Rain, We Go Together and other songs and this was the big performance. I got to the school auditorium and immediately started feeling chilled and then really hot. My gut started to hurt and all I wanted to do was curl up under the medal chairs.

I watched the performance, clapped and cheered. I thought I had done a good job covering up my discomfort. As the boys bounced off the stage one of them came up to me and asked "why are you so mad? You looked mad during the show."

So much for hiding it from them.

I managed to get us in the van and then realized I was really hurting. It was so bad I taught one of my sons how to make an emergency call on my phone. "Does this mean you are going to crash?" he asked warily. Fortunately we were able to retrieve their younger sister from her after care program and arrive home safely without crashing.

I told the kids to fend for themselves for dinner and not torture the dog. I curled up in bed, read on-line the symptoms for appendicitis, and laid there convinced it wasn't my appendix. It didn't feel like the flu - no achy joints or headaches - and it wasn't a stomach bug. The pain was all in my gut. And while it was painful, and I had heard all these stories of people suffering blinding, rolling-on-the-floor pain, it in no way compared to giving birth without an epidural.

So I laid there trying to convince myself that it wasn't my appendix.

And then I smartened up, called the after-hours staff at my doctor's office and called a friend to drive me to the hospital. By 9:00 pm I was drinking barium for a CT scan and by 2:30 am, my birthday, I was going under general anesthesia for an appendectomy.

And, just like Madeline, I now have a scar to the right of my belly button. And she is now one of my favorite characters from children's literature.

Now I just need a yellow hat with a black bow.

Today was wonderfully

low-key.

For more Singular Saturdays go visit its new home at
Finding My Way (aka MoJenn).

Accompany

Performing, with help from a 2-year-old cousin.

What is your post-Halloween candy policy?

The day after Halloween, the big city newspaper ran a piece about different families' post-Halloween candy policies. What to eat the night of. What to keep afterwards. What to throw away.



After about an hour of walking around the neighborhood collecting candy on Halloween this past weekend, one of my boys held up his bag and announced he had enough. We headed home, checked all the wrappings and let them eat four pieces of candy. After that it is two pieces after dinner. None goes to school in the lunch boxes. In previous years, the candy lingers for weeks until they forget about it and I take the leftovers to my office. Usually a little after Thanksgiving.



What do you do? How do you manage the candy? Do you think that leaving it around leads to hoarding and/or stealing? Or do you think it teaches restraint?




Curious minds want to know.

The Newest Member of our Family

Hello world,

Cannot tell you how long it took to finally get my paws on the keyboard.




The humans think I was born in January of this year, somewhere in Virginia. They also think I'm part black lab and some type of hound. Maybe a coonhound. Like the one banned from Nantucket last week.



I was found wondering around and brought to a shelter. One that would kill me if I wasn't adopted in so many days. I'm afraid of any floors that are white. The humans I live with think that is because I was scared in the Virginia shelter.

In the Virginia shelter different humans found me and drove me for a long time to a different type of shelter. One that would let me live until the right humans found me.

And the right ones came to the shelter when it was warmer outside (I'm told it was July). The little ones crawled into the crate I was in while I hid in the corner. The bigger human (he's really big) liked a different dog. One that jumped and crawled all over the little ones. But those little ones just kept saying they wanted me.

They wanted me.

So here I am. With my family.



from,
Zeke

Beautiful Day

A while ago, one of my boys declared that particular day was "a BEAUTIFUL day!" His exuberance caused me to break into U2's 2000 hit which led him to demand to hear the real version (as if my rendition somehow paled to Bono's).

And so a U2 fan was born.

When U2 announced their 2009 tour dates I promptly asked my husband (aka Amazing Guy) if we could take the boys to the show. He grumpily agreed to purchase three tickets but was convinced there was no way two 9-year-old boys would appreciate the value of these tickets.

Leading up to their birthday I cut out a U and a 2 from posterboard and plastered images of the band on them. I also included a note in each gift explaining they were being taken to the U2 concert on September 21st.

The evening of their birthday, after dinner, they were given their gifts. New ball caps, Elvis Pez dispensers, a DS game, and other items were unwrapped and appreciated. Then they opened the "big" gifts.

And stared blankly at the large U and large 2 in their hands. I finally mentioned the note and one guy picked it up and started reading.

And they started yelling.

And crying.

And fell to the floor.



And got up and hugged each other, yelling.

Then ran to me and Amazing Guy to hug us.

And Amazing Guy was crying too.

It truly was a beautiful day. And will be tonight at the concert.

Now we have an Ironman in the family

Over the weekend we drove to a smaller city in a neighboring state to watch a bunch of crazies attempt to travel 70.3 miles. On water and land. Without aid of a plane or train or automobile.

Or boat.

These crazies got up really early to swim 1.2 miles. As one athlete described it "the swim really sucked (white cap waves)". He ended up asking another triathlete, someone he surmised had done this before, how to manage the white caps. The experienced one said to just go with the flow and not fight it.



Then there was 56 miles on a bicycle. This athlete explained that the the cycling "kinda sucked". He went on to say that "everyone had Tri(atholon) bikes except me, which was kind of like running in flipflops while everyone else had sneakers".



Much yelling and screaming greeted the athlete as he finished his final mile on his non-Tri bike. Much running and jumping and down accompanied watching him get off his bike, switch to running shoes and take off for the next part.



And after he started off, little men decided to have their own running races.



They were pretty tired after a few hundred yards.



And the last part was a run. A mere 13.1 mile run (called half marathon in competitive craziness).



The athlete noted that "the run sucked, too (too humid and too hilly)".



And to say that my father (above), nephew (in his arms), sister-in-law, kids, husband, and mother were not insanely proud of my "little" brother (he is after all four years younger than me so I remember the day he came home from the hospital) for finishing an Ironman race - with a 1.2 mile swim, 56 mile bicycle race and THEN a 13.1 mile half marathon is an understatement. And that he finished this Ironman in 6 hours, 17 minutes and 23 seconds is just jaw dropping.

Because I remember him when he was first learning to walk. And it wasn't pretty.



According to the athlete, my brother, "overall, it was pretty fun!"

Went to Nashville and visited Greece

One of the stranger things that came out of the 19th century are the remnants of World Fairs. Cities would compete to host these events. Devil in the White City was an incredible account of what Chicago did to get the 1893 World's Fair. Some cities would create something new - e.g. the Eiffel Tower in Paris or the first Ferris Wheel in Chicago - to make their Fairs memorable while others would bring the world to them.



Like the full replica of the Parthenon in Nashville, Tennessee. And as if to stress that this replica was built in the late 1890's, a guy rode up to us atop a replica of am early bicycle - one of those huge front wheel cycles with tiny back wheel and no chain to connect the two wheels. He let everyone who wanted to sit on it have a turn. And he just did it. No request for money. He wasn't part of any formal organization. Just a guy with a "penny-farthing" bike.



After Atlanta, we were back in Nashville to visit Amazing Guy's wonderful brother, his talented wife and their adorable two-year-old twin girls. Yes, marvel at the fact that two out of three brothers in Amazing Guy's family have twins.



We thought it was a brilliant idea to get the five cousins coordinated outfits, sit them on the steps of the Parthenon and take a happy photo. Early on we plopped a girl cousin on the lap of a boy cousin and started taking photos. What transpired was a 5-year-old girl sobbing in the middle because she didn't have a girl to hold. Which led to the girl cousins balling hysterically and trying to get off their boy cousins' laps. And boy cousins who wouldn't let go of the screaming toddlers because they didn't want to get yelled at for dropping a kid.

And those boys have the most plastered take-the-picture-now smiles they could muster. They got gold stars for being the only ones who played along with the plan.



So we grabbed the balls out of our mini-van and took photos of the kids chasing each other, kicking the balls and generally being silly. And in one of those 500+ photos taken by me or my lovely sister-in-law there is an awesome photo of the five cousins.



I just haven't found it yet.

Guess who is here?

The most perfect baby in the world is here!

That would be my nephew. My brother's son. And he is perfect in spite of being my brother's offspring.

Yet this little man isn't a baby but on the verge of toddler hood. He is here from the West Coast for the holidays and I get to see him today!

Excuse me while I get ready to hug.

Friends like this.....

Amazing Guy sent me the following link from CNN today. It is a clip from the Campbell Brown show. In it Governor Rendell of Pennsylvania is recorded on an open microphone having one of those "side" conversations. He clearly didn't realize the mike was on and said the following about current Arizona Governor Janet Nepolitano being nominated to head Homeland Security for President-elect Barak Obama:

"Janet's perfect for that job. Because for that job, you have to have no life. Janet has no family. Perfect. She can devote, literally, 19-20 hours a day to it."

I'm just flabbergasted that one of the more progressive governors would say something that moronic, that sexist, that so friggin' stupid.

But I can't talk too much about it now. I have to make dinner for those kids. Those kids that mean I can't devote 19-20 hours a day to a job. I guess that means I'm not a good worker.

Went to a hockey game, Part II

Really, you would think after the July, 2007 post I learned my lesson. But my Virginia cousin's kid is on some elite team based in New York state. She came to the northern part of our state this past weekend to watch his team play in a tournament.

My dad and I brought the boys to watch their cousin play in a tiny, cold and really smelly rink. At one point a puck flew over the protective walls. Fortunately no one was hurt and my guys got to keep the puck. I was thinking this wasn't going to be as bad as the game that was called due to excessive fighting (just think about that for a minute).

Then the shoving started. The pushing, the tripping, the smashing against the boards. Something happened so that a player from the other team was ejected for the rest of the game.

He was escorted by a referee off the ice. As he stepped over the threshold onto the floor he turned to the ref and loudly yelled "I'M GOING TO FUCK YOU UP!!!!!!!!"

My 8-year-olds, who are not allowed to say "butt" around me, were 5 feet away. They turned around and walked over to me and my cousin. One said,



"Mom, what does fuck you up mean?"

When will I learn?

(I explained it meant a horrible fight but that it was a really gross word.)