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Ode to mothers everywhere: It’s a tough job, but we have to do it #mothersday

Posted in Parenting, tagged , , , , , on May 12, 2019| Leave a Comment »

Dear Fellow Moms:

Today I celebrate you. Actually, I celebrate you year-round. After all, you and I work our asses off every day, not just one Hallmark holiday.

I’m also celebrating you because, chances are, your family is not. If you are like me, you are the one in your house who plans the events, gets the cards and gifts, wraps them, and makes sure they get where they need to go.

Also, if you are like me, you recognize that no one is going to step up and do it for you for any holiday.

So, like me, you have to take care of yourself.

This is why I go to New York every year for my birthday. Alone.

Eddie doesn’t have to worry about planning or buying anything. He’s happy.

I get to be by myself, eat what and when I want to, go where I want to go, and have peace. I’m happy.

Last year, I stayed in bed for half of one day, drinking red wine and watching a “Friends” marathon. It was fanfreakintastic. (Could it BE any better?)

I return with patience restored. (And shopping bags, but that’s another story.)

Everyone wins.

My family “celebrated” Mother’s Day last Sunday because they forgot when it actually was. I came home to this:

It’s thoughtful, yes, but let’s take a closer look.

Do any of you really want to be called the “boss?”

That aside, let’s take a peek inside the card.

That’s Gideon, who usually is the nice one.

Here’s the other weighing in:

Perfect sentiment, even down to the signature. Dominic actually does have some self awareness after all!

Anyway, Happy Mother’s Day from one beleaguered mom to another.

I’ll raise a glass (or seven) to you.

Love,
Beth

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Irritant, thy name is Dominic: The retainer tale #SundayRead

Posted in Parenting, tagged , , , , , , on May 5, 2019| Leave a Comment »

Dear Dominic,

Yes, I’m writing to you again. Yes, it’s because you are driving me crazy. Again.

Want me to stop writing about you? Stop being a buffoon.

You had your new retainer for exactly a week. Then you threw it away with trash on your lunch tray.

No big deal, right? Call the orthodontist and ask for a replacement.

Oh, it IS a big deal. Here’s a timeline of why:

Friday, April 19: Braces off. There is much rejoicing.

Friday, April 26: The incident. (What were you thinking? Expensive retainer? Who needs that old thing?)

Monday, April 29: I call the orthodontist in Savannah — four hours away — where you completed your braces plan. “Oh, we don’t keep those molds. We need him to come in to get a new impression.” Not happening.

So I call the orthodontist on our health plan in Atlanta at the location that is closest to us. There is no answer. All day.

Tuesday, April 30: Resume calling. Finally get a voice mailbox. Leave message.

Wednesday, May 1: Call again. Get human who says the orthodontist is only in that location on Tuesdays and every other Thursday. What the flock? Human says we can take our chances during walk-in hours early Thursday morning in a different part of Atlanta.

Side note: Shall I remind you that Atlanta traffic is so bad that a five-mile journey might require us to tune up our car and pack a lunch?

Thursday, May 2: Wake up before dawn to make it to the walk-in appointment first. Beg the people to get you in and out quickly so you can make it to school. Your grades are not good enough for a day away from instruction. They make an impression — of your lower teeth. Why didn’t you tell them you needed the top instead? I had to tell them. Come on, Dominic!

They tell me to come back in the afternoon to pick up the finished product. So I battle rush-hour traffic to get there. Yet, they will not give me the retainer. They need to try it out on you.

For the love of God.

Couldn’t someone have told us this during the morning visit? I wasted 1.5 hours driving. Yay for the My Favorite Murder podcast. (Stay sexy, and chain your kid’s retainer to his body.)

Friday, May 3: Wake up before dawn to meet “Zane” at the orthodontist location closest to us. How dare you be cranky because I rushed you to get out the door on time! Don’t make me use what I learned via MFM.

Here you are with your new $200 retainer on your $3,000 smile. The sign indicates my feeling about all this business.

Don’t ever doubt my love for you. The fact that you are still breathing after all this should be proof enough.

If you lose this retainer, I’m going to make you earn the money to replace it by cleaning my car with your toothbrush.

I’m serious.

Try me.

Love and kisses,
Your out-of-patience mother

 

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File under “never again”: Career Day #thursdaythoughts

Posted in Parenting, tagged , , , , , on April 25, 2019| Leave a Comment »

Dear Ms. Tiffany,

Thank you for contacting me regarding Career Day at the boys’ middle school. Here is my answer:

Last year’s experience was plenty for me, in that it was terrible, and I will never do it again. It was worse than Field Day at their elementary school. (Note to those who just subscribed to this blog: Please follow that link, and read the post. It’s one of my favorites, in a laugh-to-keep-from-crying kind of way.)

I spoke to four classes of sixth and seventh graders. No one cared about my current job at a university. They cared marginally more about my freelance work as a TV meteorologist and writer.

In my younger son’s class, his teacher didn’t even introduce me. She was too busy checking Facebook at the back of the room.

No one even made eye contact with me in two of the classes. It was like I was screaming into the Fortnite, hormone-filled void.

My older son’s class was the best. His teacher gave me a great intro, and his peers asked plenty of questions. Later, Dominic said he didn’t tell anyone his mom would be one of the speakers, which sounds about right.

But then, one of his friends turned to him and complimented my hindquarters.

(Hormones.)

Dominic told me he said, “DUDE, that’s my MOM!”

What can I tell you? I’m a hit with 13-14 year olds. Lucky me.

But the adoration of prepubescent males is still not enough to make me endure another Career Day.

I wish you all the best in your search for speakers.
Beth

 

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The weekend with a 14 year old: A dramedy in three parts/moods

Posted in Parenting, tagged , , , , , , on April 22, 2019| Leave a Comment »

Dear Dominic:

There’s nothing that brings people closer than a road trip. I’m glad we had this weekend together, though it did not start off well. You seem to have three moods: angry, goofy and asleep.

The first was fully on display on the way down to Savannah so you could finally (FINALLY) get your braces off. If I hadn’t grabbed your phone, rolled down the window, and threatened to throw it out, I’m sure you would have stayed in attitude mode the whole damn weekend.

I think you are angry so much because you need more sleep. Your prefrontal cortex isn’t developed yet, so you haven’t figured out why a regular bedtime is a good thing. Let me show you some pictures that illustrate just how freakin’ tired you are.

 

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And because you are tired, you have no energy and move slower than a snail.

Here I am, waiting 30 minutes for you to be ready to leave Tammy’s house for the orthodontist.

Maybe it was the excitement of getting your braces off, but suddenly your funny side emerged. I tried to take a “before” picture of you. You didn’t like this one, saying you looked challenged. (Not your word. Yours was a non-PC one that I’ve asked you repeatedly not to use.)


You didn’t like this one either, saying you looked like you had witnessed a murder but were trying to pretend like you hadn’t.

But these two photos passed muster. You look great with your new smile.

Maybe that’s why you tolerated my happy hour with Bingo/Goat Yoga Lisa so well.

At any rate, it was a turning point that lasted the rest of the weekend. I came home early from Ladies Night Out because I had fallen and hit my head. You actually showed concern:

And you even wanted to take a nice photo with me yesterday.


So what do I have to do to get you to be like this all the time?

What’s the secret?

For the love of God, please tell me. I’ll be straight: Angry Dominic might find himself shipped off to boarding school.

Don’t try me.

Love you!
Mama

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“GOAT” does not always mean “greatest of all time” #goatyogareview

Posted in Chickens, Guest post, Parenting, Random, tagged , , , , , , , , on April 10, 2019| Leave a Comment »

Dear Readers:

Occasionally, I am fortunate enough to have a post from a guest blogger. Today is my lucky day (and yours too)!

I present to you the story of goat yoga, a strange phenomenon sweeping the nation. Sounds like something I would try. Alas, Bingo Lisa tried it first. Here is her account (edited slightly for blog voice and flow).

I’ll be back with a Words With Friends dating update later this week.

Love,
Beth

This kind of yoga really got my goat*
Guest post by Lisa W.

I’ll admit I was a bit excited about being invited to a baby shower where there would be goat yoga. I’m not a big fan of women-only baby showers. Unless I’m sure there will be alcohol, I usually avoid them.

My friend Trina, my 6-year-old daughter Cali and I drove out to the sticks in Ridgeland, South Carolina, to celebrate our friend Jessie and her baby boy’s approaching arrival.

I’d seen pictures of goat yoga online and all of it looked happy. People holding poses and nuzzling baby goats or having them on their backs.

Preggo Jessie (left) and a family member pose with four-legged friends.

Dorothy planned this event. She could not be more thrilled.

The yoga was supposed to be outside, which I now know is ideal. However, the weather was misty so the yoga class was moved inside into our host’s sunroom. We unrolled our mats with anticipation for the nearly ceremonial releasing of the goats. Oh, rabbits too. And chickens.
However. These animals are not potty trained. My expected serene yoga event turned into a literal shitshow.

The releasing of the goats quickly led to the goats releasing their bowels.

So much poop.

I attempted child’s pose and lowered my head per the teacher’s instructions. A baby goat then ran full speed at me and tried to head butt me. I realized I couldn’t let my guard down for a second.

Here’s Lisa on high alert.

The actual yoga lasted maybe five minutes because everyone spent the time either holding the goats, picking up their lovely presents, or trying to keep them from eating our mats.
We passed around tiny shower cocktail napkins to pick up nuggets and sop up pee. I joked that this was great training for the mom to be. If only those goats had worn diapers.

The goats show Jessie how she got pregnant, in case she didn’t know.

It seemed like most attendees had a great time.

Sara (left) and Trina appear to be having a blast.

Cali loved it too. Me, not so much.

Cali pats the bunny. Meanwhile, Lisa reports that her face looked like this the whole time.

I just couldn’t. I was counting the seconds till the end of goat yoga.
Bye Felicia.
When I got home, my husband Rob and I had this convo:
Rob: How was goat yoga?
Me: There are three yoga mats in the bed of your truck that belong in your work dumpster.
Rob: That fun, huh?
Never again. Thankfully, I needed a new yoga mat anyway.
Lisa

*Don’t blame Lisa for that headline. It’s all Beth.

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New day, new Dominic: What is the meme-ing of this? @scarymommy

Posted in Parenting, tagged , , , , on April 4, 2019| 6 Comments »

Dear Parents of Teenage Boys:

I’ve been on the struggle bus with Dominic, who is 14 and all eat up with hormones. You know this from posts like these.

We usually cannot speak without a fight.

But this week things have been different.

We are at the beach for spring break — just the boys and me because Eddie had to work.

He has been helpful when he does emerge from the cocoon of his room. But he has barely left that room.

On Monday, my phone rings. I see it is him. CALLING FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE. I do not answer it. Because:

  1. I hate talking on the phone.
  2. He was 10 feet away.

I go to the room. I hear him yelling, “Pick up the phone!” I open the door.

Me: What do you want?
Him: Why didn’t you answer?
Me: Because you are 10 feet away, and it is insane for you to call me. What do you want?
Him: I think my molar is loose.
Me: (Rolls eyes. Walks out of the room.)

Then he sends me this text:

The next day, I go in the room to make sure he is alive. I open the door, see that he is and leave. Then I get this text:

(Note: If you don’t recognize the Matt Foley reference, I’m afraid we cannot continue to be friends.)

Then he starts communicating in memes, to which I finally respond with my own.


 

So I guess what I’m asking is, is this normal? Is this what puberty looks like among Gen Z? Do I need to seek help for him? For myself?

Please advise,
Beth

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Personal space, hoochie shorts and music from the ’80s, ’90s and ’00s: Cherry Blossom Festival wrap up

Posted in Parenting, Random, tagged , , , , , , on March 31, 2019| 4 Comments »

Are you there, Readers? It’s me, Beth.*

It’s been more than two weeks since my last post. I’m sorry! To make up for it, I have a really long post today.

Yesterday, the family and I went to the Brookhaven Cherry Blossom Festival. Blackburn Park is about a mile from our place so we walked.

The draw (besides the fact that I had to work a booth for my job for a bit)?

Live music: The Romantics, Spin Doctors and Smash Mouth.

For free!

Side benefit?

People watching. There were plenty of people.

So let’s get this party started.

Festival rules said no chairs (or coolers, which was a literal and figurative buzz kill). So we spread out blankets. As you do. But here’s the thing: The rules of personal space still apply.

Not for some people, apparently. Like this guy who parked himself practically on my lap.

There’s plenty of room. It’s a huge park. So why is he four inches away from me?

And here’s his friend:

My leg. His feet. He actually put his feet under my leg at one point. NO!

The ladies with them were no better. No awareness.

Same group of people, now all up on Eddie.

And then there was this odd girl with those shorts I hate.

There she is with her boyfriend, Hodor (as Eddie called him).

Doesn’t look like a problem here BUT she kept bending over. Constantly. And when I’m sitting on the ground two feet away, well …

Girl, please.

So while she and her ass were harassing us, I was harassing the kids. Gideon liked the music. Dominic likes that thug crap, so he was not interested.

And he certainly didn’t like me trying to kiss him in public.

Look at his face!

Now for the music …

I’ve seen The Romantics in concert three times. I had the hots for the drummer, Jimmy Marinos, but he is no longer with the group apparently.

See? Totally my type.

The rest? Well. The years have not been kind.

I’m not sharing video because they really didn’t sound so great. (It pains me to say that.)

The Spin Doctors made up for it.

Smash Mouth also put on a great show.

Here’s something you’ll know for sure. Sing along if you are inclined.

It was during the Smash Mouth set that my two loves of live music and people watching came together. Check out this girl. I LOVE her!

It’s weekends like these that make me happy we moved back to my hometown.

Anyway, dear readers, I promise to get my act together and publish more.

Love and kisses,
Beth

 

*Apologies to Judy Blume.

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An episode of “I Survived,” starring the oldest son

Posted in Parenting, tagged , , , on February 6, 2019| Leave a Comment »

Dear Friends Worried About My Sanity and My Son’s Life:

Thank you for your concern. I’m speaking to him again. Why? He said some magic words:

Can I have a hug?

And that was it.

(Don’t tell anyone that I have a secret soft side.)

In return for putting up with his bad behavior, though, I secured the rights to publish a ridiculous picture of him.

Before I show it to you, let me set the scene:

Eddie is picking up Gideon from track practice. It’s only Dominic and me at home. I guess he doesn’t realize I’m home because he calls me on the phone. (And you all know how I feel about talking on the phone.)

(The call is coming from INSIDE the house!)

Mama! Can you come help me? I’m stuck!

Just then, Eddie calls.

Can you help your son? He is stuck in the bed.

Wait … what?

So I go in his room and I see this:

No child was harmed in the taking of this photo.

It’s an antique bed. This child slid off the end of it and trapped himself. I took the picture then helped him escape.

(For those of you wondering why I stopped to take a photo, it’s like you don’t even know me! In our family, if someone does something stupid, we laugh and/or document it first, then ask questions.)

Also notice his acid-washed jeans. Those are in style again, people (as are fanny packs).

Sigh.

Anyway, he’s fine. And we’re fine — until the next time the hormones take control.

I’ll be sure to update you.

Yours truly,
Beth

 

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No sympathy for the Devil, aka a pubescent boy (aka my oldest son) @scarymommy

Posted in Advice, Parenting, tagged , , , , , on January 27, 2019| Leave a Comment »

“The Omen 6”: Now filming in my house, apparently

Dear Satan:

I’m sure you think it was very funny switching bodies with my 14-year-old son. Hee hee. Ha ha. You’ve had your fun. Now I’m ready to have Dominic back.

What’s this? It’s not you? He’s just a typical 14-year-old boy. There’s more where that came from, you say?

Oh no.

A Dominic selfie: “Feeling cute. Might delete later.”

I was certain he was inhabited by a demon Sunday (the Sabbath — oh the irony). He was so unusually awful that I told him I was done speaking to him for a while so I could preserve my sanity.

I didn’t say one word to him for five whole days. If he came into the room, I left. I’ve never done that before, but honestly, it gave me such peace.

At one point, Eddie and I had this conversation:

Him: When are you going to start talking to Dominic?

Me: I don’t know. It’s been kind of great.

Him: Maybe for you but you not talking to him means I have to, and he makes me want to kill him.

I felt like I had failed as a parent though. It was going to be my dirty little secret. But then I told another mom about it in confidence, and she said, “Yep. I’ve been there. You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do for your own sake. They suck at that age.”

Emboldened, I confessed to another friend.

She said, “I’ve totally done that. I’ve even packed a bag and left the house to stay in a hotel for the night.”

That’s some Big Mom Energy right there.

It’s nice to know I’m not alone.

Or is it?

Do you have a special treatment (i.e., tranquilizer or the like) for such creatures? Or do I need to take that up with another entity?

Let me know. Things are tough here, which you might love, but remember that the 14-year-old might even be too much for you to bear.

Yours truly from HOTlanta (tee hee*),
Beth

* No one in Atlanta uses this term for real. It’s cringey. And we all immediately know “you ain’t from ’round here.”

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New year, new me? Eh. Not likely.

Posted in Parenting, Random, Taxidermy, tagged , , , , , , , , on December 31, 2018| Leave a Comment »

Dear 2019:

Despite the fact that I likely won’t be awake to officially welcome you (I’m elderly and need my sleep), I really am looking forward to seeing you.

[As for you, 2018, don’t let the door hit you on the way out. Good riddance (we did not have the time of our lives).]

Readers who have been with me here for a while know that I’m not a resolution kind of gal. Why wait to make changes you need to make?

I needed to start a diet, so I did — in September.

I needed to rethink some relationships, so I did — in July.

I needed to get a project back on track, so I did — in February.

All that said, the first day of the new year offers a good time to reflect. And I have looked inside myself and found some internal shriveling. Hence (such a good word), here’s how I hope to improve while I’m in you, 2019:

  1. Refrain from strangling Dominic for one more year. It’s so hard. He’s 14; the hormones are strong with this one. Eddie and I take turns playing Good Cop and Bad Cop. Today, Eddie was Bad Cop, telling Dominic to turn in some missing school work. Then I get this text:
  2. Let Gideon hold my hand, even when his hand is clammy. His hand is always clammy. Or sticky. Dear God, WHY is his hand always clammy or sticky?
  3. Stop telling Gideon his hand is clammy/sticky, and that he needs to wash WITH SOAP.
  4. Resist the urge to roll my eyes at Eddie. Ever. No matter what silly thing he is asking/doing/saying. At least where he can see me. And he will do the same for me. (And believe me, I give him plenty of opportunities.)
  5. Avoid being a beer snob. If all they have is Coors Light or PBR, just walk away. Get some water, maybe even out of the garden hose (same difference). No need to make a big deal of it.
  6. Cut down on collecting dead things. Photos of dead things can be fine. And friends posting about dead things on my social media also is fine. And live things too.
  7. Refuse to engage with toxic people. Clearly, I’ll have to give up Twitter. (But then I’ll miss people posting about dead things and live things.)
  8. Write more; talk less. And don’t get sidetracked by Words With Friends. (Is this appropriate? Probably. I don’t know him.)
  9. Seek help for my Amazon Prime addiction. The plus side of this is that Christmas shopping was done by October.
  10. Invite people over. Yes, our apartment is the size of the Keebler tree. No one cares.
  11. Use the following words every chance I get: savory, shank, persnickety, moist, perfunctory, shocking, lollygag, kerfuffle, fracas, soiree, illicit, nefarious, supine, incandescent, degloved and mollycoddle. They just have a remarkable mouthfeel.

As for you, 2019, we will chat again when your 90-day probationary period is up. And mine too, I guess.

Happy new you,
Beth

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