A common conundrum plagues the male species. We dont listen. Our women know we dont listen. They use this knowledge against us so artfully that it has become mere reflex; so much so that they dont even realize they do it. How many times do you hear this exchange?
Honey. Did you drop off the dry cleaning?
No.
I asked you this morning to take the cleaning in.
No you didnt.
I absolutely did. See you never listen to me. You are so disrespectful. Bla. Bla. Bla
.
Thank Goodness It’s Friday! What will you be doing this weekend?
I know what I will be doing. Or rather, how I will be acting. The following conversation took place in the car after an accusation was made by Hunky Hubby.
Amber: Do you really think I’m bossy?
Jamie [diplomatically]: Only on Saturdays.
Amber: Hadley, do you think Mommy is bossy? SAY “NO!”
Hadley [emphatically]: NO!
Jamie: Does anyone else see the irony here?
To My Favorite Coaches:
Let me preface by saying thank you. Truly. Because if all the world were to line up from Most Sporty to Least Sporty, I’d be the woman standing behind the houseplants. So I sincerely appreciate the fact that you magnanimously dedicate your time to activities that stretch my child’s social and physical muscles long enough for me to open the fridge, take out some chicken, defrost said chicken and drive right back to the soccer field twice a week. I could never do your job. Not adequately. Not without medication and about a year to insert phrases like “penalty kick” into my vocabulary.
But, because I’m not carrying the gene that makes a person attracted to sweating and aching and running out of breath, I don’t understand what makes people want to do activities that engender those afflictions for longer than, say, one minute. Much less one HOUR.
Attention Mile High Mamas!
Just a note to remind you that our first contest will be ending on Sunday. Need a refresher? Read up on it here. Simply submit your entry on why it is great to be a mom in Colorado. The winner will receive four passes to Barnum and Bailey’s Bellobration next month and their entry will be published on Mile High Mamas.
Submissions should be emailed to [email protected].
I’m a little embarrassed to admit this, but in junior high I yearned to have a boyfriend.
(What? You too? Well, I’ll be darned.)
But the objects of my affection never returned that affection, and so I continued to pine after unrequited love – building up the idea of a boyfriend as the months and years passed – until one evening at a hockey game in January 1988, those affections were returned. By a really hot older guy who was an avid skateboarder. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.
I am going to get in soooooooo much trouble here.
But I am going to have to disagree (somewhat) with the buzz right now among the Mommy Blogs.
Yes, I have seen the clip of the Bill Maher breastfeeding thing. And I have to say, I agree with the gist of most of what he says (even when he makes fun of my beloved iPhone!). Except for the DOG comment, which was obviously made for shock value… so whatever, dude. What can I say? He’s a massive jerk! But a funny jerk!
There are some mornings when I wakeup and feel indomitable. Coincidentally, these are the same mornings I received minimal sleep. The result is a veritable delusion of grandeur.
I had a summer of these. Hey, why not climb limp crawl up Colorado’s highest peak? Or better yet, let’s bike 24 miles in the mountains hauling the kids. Gee, that sounds like fun!
Last week was no different.
Parenthood and pet ownership go hand-in-hand
Our family has owned a hamster for five months, but not the same hamster. We try to be conscientious pet owners. We prepared for our new pet in the same way we prepared for a baby: we read a manual, created a lovely habitat, and bought all the accessories and accoutrements needed to make our new addition comfortable. Just like many expecting parents, we even gave our hamster a name ahead of time: Penny.
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change
On the way home we noticed that Penny was different; Penny had red eyes. It made her look a little evil and rat-like, but it didnt matter. We were already in love with our odd little hamster.
Why do people turn to stare at crying children? And instead of giving the child (or the attending parent) a sympathetic smile and then going about their business, why do people KEEP staring?
Unless you have telekinetic powers that will stop my child from crying, please – I’m saying this as nicely as I know how – mind your own business.
My younger daughter is noisy. She’s always been noisy. If she’s not happy, she lets the whole world know, and she can go from zero to sixty so fast that it still makes my head spin.
When she’s calm and happy, she’s darling to behold (if I may say so myself). But she can turn on a dime.
We are so lucky. While we have no family in this part of the country, we are surrounded by lots of friends. Helpful, babysitting, diaper-changing friends.
And as the famous saying goes, it takes a village to raise a child.
Having said that, we have tried to balance the kindness of our friends and their needs as well as our own. Did our childless friends really want my baby punted onto their hips the minute I walk into the door? Did my friends who were already weary from their own children want to play with mine just because I needed a break?