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Dear Fellow Moms of Boys:

I need to talk to you. I need some commiseration time. I need to know that I’m not alone in Crazy Town.

Please tell me that you also have to deal with:

1. Dirt everywhere: skin, nails, various orifices

2. Constant wiener grabbing (It’s still there, I promise! It hasn’t fallen off since you checked the last time!)

3. Watching truly dreadful movies like “Mortal Kombat” and “Mortal Kombat: Annihilation” (and then dealing with the aftermath of reenactment during bath time)

4. Noises

5. Minecraft

6. The world broken into good and evil (That’s it. No middle ground.)

7. Constant sibling harassment

8. Nerf guns and lots of them

9. Constant eating

10. Critters everywhere (“Look, Mama! I found a [frog, caterpillar, worm, roach, dead bird, tadpole, strange-looking bug, piece of trash that looks interesting because it looks like a bug]!)

11. Shoes that wear out in exactly 10 days

12. Knee holes in every single pair of pants (Ladies: Amiright?)

They are either turned up to 11 or asleep.

I feel like a stranger in my own house because I am missing a particular apparatus. Then I think about the alternative. Do I really want to deal with pink overload, dress-up clothes and Barbies? (Yes, I’m stereotyping AND generalizing. Sue me.)

Help me, ladies! While I endure the aforementioned “Mortal Kombat” sequel, remind me why having boys is a good thing.

Their unbridled love of adventure is infectious? Yes.
They simply don’t care about cleanliness? Yes.
They love their mamas? Yes.

Sigh. They really are inspiring. Fine. OK. I cry, “Uncle.”

See you soon; I’ll be out making mudpies.
Beth

 

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Dear 2014,

Well, 2013 came in sucky and left the same way (flu, among other issues). While there were a few positive moments, the year was a tough one.

But 2014, I like the looks of you already. In your honor, I’ve made some resolutions.

I resolve to:

  1. Buy this. (Note: We tried a muffin tin. It didn’t work.)
  2. Watch “Breaking Bad.” (Finally.)
  3. Vacation in Amsterdam on a houseboat or cruise the Rhine with our best friends.
  4. Write more blog posts about the strange things that fascinate me*.

    That sounds about right.

    That sounds about right.

  5. Refuse to feel guilty for simply being happy to keep my children alive day to day.
  6. Care less about the constant snubs from members of Eddie’s family (his birthday, my birthday, boys’ birthdays, other important life events).
  7. Focus more on mutually satisfying relationships with friends (give and take, as opposed to us constantly giving).
  8. Devote more time to eating bread and cheese and other things that are not so good for me.
  9. Watch this regularly for a good laugh.
  10. Avoid making any more resolutions.

Welcome, 2014! Let’s treat each other well. OK?

Love,
Beth

* The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2013 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 14,000 times in 2013. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 5 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete report.

 

 

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Dear Santa,

I’m running a bit late on this letter and I apologize. Clearly, I need plenty of help this year. I wish I could have given you more notice; I don’t think the elves can whip up the things on this list.

To borrow from Dr. Seuss and his Grinch:

Maybe Christmas doesn’t come from a store.
Maybe Christmas … perhaps … means a little bit more!

Here’s what I want for Christmas:

1. Some freakin’ patience. I’ve been with my children almost nonstop for weeks and there’s more to come as school is out. I’m trying to limit the “no more wire hangers” moments, but it’s rough.

2. A good, old-fashioned smiting. I know that’s usually God’s area, but I thought maybe you could help out a little with the hypocrites screaming that Phil Robertson‘s Freedom of Speech was violated. A&E isn’t the government, Freedom of Speech does not equal Freedom from Consequences, and weren’t these the same people calling the Dixie Chicks traitors?

3. Awareness of others for certain people. They clamor for attention daily (especially on Facebook) but cannot be bothered to remember other people’s birthdays or other important events.

4. Relief from some of the holiday trappings. Call me Scrooge, but I despise the Elf on the Shelf, “The Nutcracker,” and Christmas cards that start arriving right after Thanksgiving. (I hate them because that means the senders have their shit together. I don’t, especially when it come to cards. I’m thinking New Year’s cards sound good. In 2015.)

5. An end to the ridiculous “Merry Christmas” flap. Look, some people are sensitive to the fact that many people don’t celebrate Christmas. It’s not an attack against Christianity to say “Happy Holidays.” Is there NOTHING else to worry about? Oh wait … see No. 2.

6. The chance for Jack Kingston to live within a poor person’s means for a week. Maybe then he will understand that we are not all born equal. Low-income families certainly don’t choose to be low income. To suggest that children sweep floors to earn their subsidized lunches is beyond crass. He’s a real-life Mr. Potter!

7. Blake Shelton.

8. A silencer for anyone who wants to talk about Crossfit. It works. It’s great. Now shut up. It’s like this:

religion-is-like-a-penis

9. Some cold weather. It doesn’t feel like Christmas when it is 77. Does Mrs. Claus need to make another appeal to the Miser Brothers? (My tropical husband disagrees, but whatever.)

10. A return to robustness for the aforementioned tropical husband. He’s been in bed with a fever since Friday. It means I don’t have to worry about No. 8, but that’s sad for him.

Oh yeah, and peace on earth and goodwill to men (which I’d like to include marriage equality and an end to racism and classism, but maybe that’s just me). Also, an end to poverty.

You may not be able to deliver. If not, I understand. It’s short notice, plus it’s a tall order. I know. And we regular humans should really be doing a better job of walking the walk of loving and understanding our neighbors. (Uh oh. Didn’t I just ask for a smiting? All right. I’ll take the coal.)

Thanks anyway. See you tomorrow night!

Still a believer,
Beth

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Dear Humanity:

My faith in you is restored, thanks to an honest person at Islands of Adventure who returned a Harry Potter bag containing a stuffed owl and my husband’s prescription Ray-Bans.

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That faith was sorely tested earlier when my oldest son discovered a different Harry Potter bag filled with pee in the line for the Pteranodon Flyers. Yes, pee as in human urine. I guess someone really had to go, but there are better options. Even my 8-year-old knows that.

Dominic: Maybe somebody doesn’t like Harry Potter, but they didn’t have to do that! They should have left the line to go to the bathroom.

Yes, they should have.

Anyway, we lost the aforementioned bag during the death-defying action-packed adventure called “The Harry Potter and the Forbidden Journey Locker Experience.”

We thought all hope was lost, but some kind soul did a good deed. While I was retrieving Jay the Owl and the glasses, the Keeper of the Loot told me that someone had turned in a wallet that day with more than $1,000 in cash. That buys a lot of stuffed owls.

It’s humbling, really, to be reminded that there is good in the world. It’s especially hard to fathom after a day pressed against the teeming, undulating flesh of other theme-parkers.

Thanks for the reminder.

Sincerely,
Beth

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Twerk it, girl!

Oh Miley

Dear Miley,

By now, you’ve likely slept off the adrenaline rush from last night’s performance at the VMAs. You have undoubtedly noted the less-than-stellar reviews of your presentation. Many people are wondering now (and were wondering last night), “What was Miley thinking?”

Will Smith and family react

Will Smith and family were fairly shocked, I’d say.

I bet I know what you were thinking.

I bet it was, “I don’t want to be known as Hannah Montana anymore.”

I get it. Many child stars go through the same thing. Look at Britney and Lindsay. Heck, even look at Judy Garland!

Reinvention is the name of the fame game. When Christina Aguilera wanted to show us she was all grown up, she gave us the “Dirrty” video (which made us feel like we could get herpes from contact with our TVs).

When Julie Andrews wanted to shed her wholesome Mary Poppins image, she took off her top in “S.O.B.”

Notice a theme emerging here. I don’t want to scream “gender issues,” but there is a problem. Why do women feel like they have to get naked, or nearly naked, to shed an image? In running away from Rachel Green, even Jennifer Aniston has headed down that path with “Horrible Bosses” and “We’re the Millers.”

Jennifer Aniston

And usually, the response is shock and dismay (OK, maybe not in Aniston’s case, but still). And the level of outrage seems greater than when male stars try to break out of their mold.

For example, there is no massive backlash against Bieber. Chris Brown seems to be doing just fine. Even Danny Bonaduce has a regular gig now.

Maybe this is on my mind because today is Women’s Equality Day.

Yes, it would have been nice if you had taken the Ron Howard route to respect. You didn’t. OK. All the haters need to just quiet down now and let you work this out. (Robin Thicke and his wife are the only ones who get to complain if they want.)

I hope you will consider carefully your next move. And I hope it doesn’t involve bending over and wiggling.

You stay classy, Miley.

Best wishes,
Beth

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Dear Adam,

It was lovely to see you again. I must admit that you are looking much improved over the last time I saw you .

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The huge cummerbund (ie. Man Spanx) is gone, I see. You have a new jaunty Hussar hat that appears lightweight and vented. I’m sure it is much more comfortable than that wool monstrosity you were wearing in October. Your voice also has improved over the past 10 months, and the near-yodeling section of “Stand and Deliver” has benefitted markedly.

The only problem? You look tired. Worn out. In need of a vacation. I grant that you’ve been traveling for about a year. I get it. But you can’t just phone it in. People are counting on you.

I drove hours and my friend Julia flew over numerous states so that we could celebrate the 30th anniversary of when we saw you together the first time (with my poor dad as chaperone). The least you could do was one of your high kicks. OK, you are 58. I would have settled for a low kick — or even a sultry move to stage left. Nothing. You were center stage at Center Stage the whole night.

And you wore this:

20130809-192108.jpg

It’s not wise to wear a young version of yourself. As my friend Royce noted, you are now “that guy.”

To add insult to injury, you skedaddled seconds after the last note, thus depriving us of the chance to squeal at you for old times’ sake.

Really, Adam. Fans deserve better.

The fans who, as pre-teens, wore “Pure Sex” on our backs deserve better. (And P.S., how did we get away with that?)

The fans who still count you on the GOOMF list deserve better.

I’m disappointed. Julia is disappointed. (I think our friend Colleen is fine, but that’s because she did not have your former concert self as a guide for comparison.)

Of course I’ll give you another chance.

Don’t let me down.

Love always,
Beth

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Color me happy

Captain’s Log: Day 5

In “Poetics,” Aristotle wrote:

Since the objects of imitation are men in action, and these men must be either of a higher or a lower type (for moral character mainly answers to these divisions, goodness and badness being the distinguishing marks of moral differences), it follows that we must represent men either as better than in real life, or as worse, or as they are.

I’m going for comedy out of tragedy here, so you all know that I pick and choose what will make the best stories. Heroes and villains and a story arranged just so.

You know that, right? Right?! I guess I know how Augusten Burroughs feels. Sigh.

Anyway, today made the whole vacation worthwhile. Family time all day with the Crayola Factory thrown in for good measure.

The place is pretty awesome. A Mecca for my artistic boys, although they were leery at first. A few kids in mid tantrum came out as we were going in. Dominic said, “What’s happening in there that everyone comes out screaming?”

It’s nothing a little nap couldn’t fix.

This was the best thing we could have done. Look at the boys with their cousins!

20130719-231256.jpg

Eddie just said, “I liked today.”
Yeah, me too.
Beth

Coming tomorrow: the home stretch

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Captain’s Log: Day 3

Eight states and 12 hours later, we arrived in the thriving metropolis of Newark.

You may be asking, “Why? Oh God, Woman, why Newark?”

Because the budget for this trip from hell does not include $400 per night for a New York hotel.

Featuring reasonable hotel rates and convenient (sort of) train service to New York City, Newark it is.

On the way up, we stopped at a place that looms large in my memory from road trips with my parents: Roadside America.

My boys loved it as much as I did. That right there almost made the whole fiasco worthwhile.

20130717-093600.jpg

Today we head to NYC where the main attraction — and the reason we couldn’t cancel this trip — awaits us on the Great White Way: tickets to Spider-Man and Wicked.

We’re all pretty excited. We’re ignoring all the news reports that feature phrases we don’t want to hear — phrases such as “heat advisory” and “hottest day of the year.”

We’re going to make this work.
Beth

Coming tomorrow: Land of my father

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On the road again

Captain’s Log: Day 2

We are on our way. The “we” does not include my father.

I’m sorry (not sorry) to say we abandoned him and his motor home like rats leaving a sinking ship.

Let me explain.

When last I wrote, we were waiting for the RV to get out of the shop. We waited the whole day, trapped in the dollhouse. There’s nothing I hate more than waiting (except for maybe a guy named Tony, but that’s another story).

The estimated time for completion was noon. Then it was 3 p.m. Then “come on by and we will get it to you before we close.”

We showed up and saw this:

20130716-101821.jpg

Keep in mind that the mechanics had it since last Tuesday!

They got the tires on by 5:30 p.m. As we were paying, this happened:

Dad: “Did you check the generator?”
Shop dude: “No, we didn’t get to that.”

Uh oh.

No generator = no air + no electricity
No generator = no trip

Fine. Trip cancelled and we go home, right?

Not so fast.

Eddie and I had the bright idea to take the kids to New York to see “Spider-Man: Turn off the Dark” and “Wicked.” After all, NYC is only a little over an hour away from Easton.

Yeah, I bought tickets.
I’m a planner.
It’s a curse.
Clearly.

So we had to go or lose (more) money.

We threw sandwiches down our gullets, tossed the suitcases in the back of our truck, shoved the kids into the back, and took off in a cloud of dust.

We were headed north by 7 p.m. No lie.

We passed this on the way out:

20130716-101735.jpg

Dad killed Bobby the Lion with his mad RV driving skilz.

Maybe it’s best we postponed the RV trip with Dad until spring break.

Stay tuned,
Beth

Coming tomorrow: Glorious Newark, Treasure of Jersey

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Captain’s Log, Day 1 Day .5:

We were supposed to be approaching Easton, Pa. — my father’s homeland — in his RV by now. Yes, an RV. Specifically, an RV filled with my dad, his wife, their four dogs, two birds and cat, plus Eddie, the boys and me.

Pause for Xanax break.

Yet I am writing this at my father’s kitchen table.

Why?

Because my father insists I told him we would leave on July 18 instead of what I actually told him, which was July 14. I even confirmed this via text.

The evidence

He did confirm with the doctor that he could go, and we’ve been talking or texting every other day for weeks.

Those of you who work a regular M-F job know that it would be crazy talk to decide to go on a week-long vacation on a Thursday. You leave on a Saturday so that you only have to take one week of vacation off but you can have more time because of the bookending weekends. Right?

Anyway, my dad got it in his head that we were leaving Thursday, July 18. We were about to leave our house Saturday, July 13, as planned to go to his house but there was a huge storm. I texted him to tell him we’d leave once the storm abated a little. He immediately called me.

Dad: “What are you talking about? Why are you coming up now?”
Me (incredulous): “Because we are leaving to go to Pennsylvania tomorrow.”
Dad (also incredulous): “We aren’t leaving until next week.”
Me: “Um … no, that’s not the plan.”
(Argument ensues.)

No big deal right? He and Kat throw some things in the RV and get ready to go as planned. They are retired, so no worries.

Yeah, well. The RV is in the shop getting a workover and new tires. It won’t be ready until sometime today. Maybe. And in the meantime, we have to look at this:

The eyes, the eyes!

Surely you must remember my stepmother’s particular interest.

If you are a praying person, please do so for me now. If you are not, then simply wish me well.

Updates to come, of course.
Beth

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