Chuckle #476 | November 30th, 2011
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My family celebrated Thanksgiving, just the five of us, and it was very relaxing. Big family gatherings are nice too, but there are risks associated with having 4 cooks and 20 extra dysfunctional mouths to feed. One of those risks is incarceration. We’d all like to think we wouldn’t beat grandma senseless with a wooden spoon, but in reality, we could snap at any minute.
Why is Thanksgiving such an emotional holiday? Why are crimes of passion so prevalent?
Maybe it’s the combination of tryptophan and alcohol, or maybe it’s just that cooking together gets people’s dander up. The various family “stuffing factions” are intractable and belligerent, and holding kitchen knives. By the end of the meal, the pro-chestnut half the family won’t be on speaking terms with the pro-raisin half because, well, most of them are nuts.
And be honest...has the dog ever NOT thrown up on Thanksgiving? I rest my case.
I don’t want to go to jail simply because I was provoked into a violent act by an uncouth second cousin I never liked. Guests should behave like proper guests. Thanksgiving should not be treated differently from any other civilized event. Having dinner with your extended family is not an invitation to act like a caveman, really.
For example, if you are lucky enough to be invited to someone’s house for Thanksgiving, eat what your host serves, smile, and otherwise keep your mouth shut. Make polite conversation but refrain from expressing your opinion on how much celery to put in the stuffing. This is both unwelcome and potentially life-threatening.
Because we were on our own this year my husband got to cook the turkey and the stuffing all by himself, with only minimal interference from me. (And no, you may not ask my husband to define minimal.) Being in charge of the signature Thanksgiving dish is apparently very stressful, which explains the four fingers of Highland Park, but does NOT excuse the stuffing fiasco.
Let me summarize. The stuffing recipe that my husband chose (Betty Crocker, 1950) called for two heaping tablespoons of salt. Sadly enough, Betty Crocker died from hypertension in the 70s. Someone from the 21st century, with even a tiny bit of common sense might question that amount of sodium. My husband didn’t.
The stuffing was so salty that we could have used it to brine one of the kids.
The turkey, on the other hand, was stellar. You see, we always cook our turkey “breast down”, ever since the unorthodox but fortuitous Thanksgiving of ‘89. That was the year we accidentally learned that cooking a turkey upside down lets the legs and thighs cook more, while the breast stays juicy and moist. That was also the year I got to watch my husband awkwardly grope a turkey and fail to figure out where its breasts were located. You’d expect a guy to be better at something like that.
The pros of having Thanksgiving on your own is that you get to use as much butter, salt, and cream as you want, without regard to 15 other people’s dietary restrictions or unreasonable demands. The downside is that the day can be a bit dull without the traditional house full of sociopathic relatives.
The worst thing about our relative-less turkey day is that I don’t have any insanely funny Thanksgiving stories of near death to share with my friends like I usually do. They’ll be disappointed.
While I don't have any good in-law food fights or vicious femur snapping “touch” football tackles to talk about, I do have a tale of salty stuffing and a husband who got to second base with Tom the Turkey.
You know, on second thought, I might be able to get some mileage out of that last one after all.
---------------------------------------------------------------
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Copyright 2008-2011, LOLmom.com, Greenwich CT
Garage Hook-ups and Hang-ups
Chuckle #475 | November 23rd, 2011
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Rome wasn’t built in a day. That’s what I told my husband when he complained about not being able to fit a car in our garage. Let’s just say that the garage "situation” was a source of mild but constant friction between us, the elephant in the room, the poop on the shoe, the cap off the paste… You get the picture.
But I have good news. The car fits. And it only took me about a decade to accomplish the impossible. How did I do it? First, I joined “hoarders anonymous”; then I had three tag sales followed by a small, but effective bonfire. Then had my husband install about 25 hooks and floor to ceiling shelves on EVERY wall.
He was so ecstatic about finally getting a car in the garage that he barely complained at all. (“Barely”, in this case, is a relative term.)
I don’t know if other women get as excited as I do about organizing stuff. I literally tingle with anticipation. The Container Store catalogue does for me what the Sports Illustrated Swim Suit issue does for guys, I think. I get goose bumps all over.
You have to understand. The garage has been my nemesis, my arch enemy for a very long time. Over the years I’ve shifted things around, like a giant shell game, but could never seem to clear more than a one-butt path through the ski helmets, beach chairs, rollerblades, basketballs, ice skates, craft stuff, and lifejackets.
When we bought our house fifteen years ago, we were not put off by the fact that it only had a one car garage. What were we thinking!? If we’d bought a house with a Taj Mahal sized garage we would have argued less and gone hot tubbing more. If we were smarter, we’d now have plenty of room to accommodate our kids when they – inevitably - return home to live after college.
The Pew Research Center has reported an astounding rise in the number of Americans living in multi-generational homes since 2008. This information cannot possibly surprise anyone. With congress doing its hapless best to destroy our economy, I am convinced that we will soon all be living together - grandkids, parents and grandparents. Whether it’s as ‘one big happy family’ remains to be seen.
The thought of my future wouldn’t bother me so much if I had a bigger garage. A three car garage could easily be pimped out with a mini fridge and a couple space heaters for the in-laws (or for the college boomerangs.) And there’d STILL be room for a car.
At the rate things are going in America, most of us boomers won’t be downsizing into a two bedroom condo in Antigua anytime soon. And my personal dream of turning my son’s bedroom into a craft/sewing utopia when he leaves for college will have to wait until the economy turns around and I can be sure that he’s gone for good.
I wonder what my husband would say if I set-up my sewing machine in our spacious new garage? Of course that would leave me with no place to stash the in-laws in the event of a complete economic meltdown.
But maybe I shouldn’t be so focused on the garage. I hear that sheds are surprisingly affordable. The shed commune could be the answer to America’s multi-generational housing needs.
Just don’t call it a “shed” when it comes time to discuss it with the in-laws. I’m going with “private studio apartment”.
----------------------------------------------
Get your Weekly Chuckle via email at http://www.laughoutloudmom.com/
Copyright 2008-2011, LOLmom.com, Greenwich CT
scroll down to leave a message
Rome wasn’t built in a day. That’s what I told my husband when he complained about not being able to fit a car in our garage. Let’s just say that the garage "situation” was a source of mild but constant friction between us, the elephant in the room, the poop on the shoe, the cap off the paste… You get the picture.
But I have good news. The car fits. And it only took me about a decade to accomplish the impossible. How did I do it? First, I joined “hoarders anonymous”; then I had three tag sales followed by a small, but effective bonfire. Then had my husband install about 25 hooks and floor to ceiling shelves on EVERY wall.
He was so ecstatic about finally getting a car in the garage that he barely complained at all. (“Barely”, in this case, is a relative term.)
I don’t know if other women get as excited as I do about organizing stuff. I literally tingle with anticipation. The Container Store catalogue does for me what the Sports Illustrated Swim Suit issue does for guys, I think. I get goose bumps all over.
You have to understand. The garage has been my nemesis, my arch enemy for a very long time. Over the years I’ve shifted things around, like a giant shell game, but could never seem to clear more than a one-butt path through the ski helmets, beach chairs, rollerblades, basketballs, ice skates, craft stuff, and lifejackets.
When we bought our house fifteen years ago, we were not put off by the fact that it only had a one car garage. What were we thinking!? If we’d bought a house with a Taj Mahal sized garage we would have argued less and gone hot tubbing more. If we were smarter, we’d now have plenty of room to accommodate our kids when they – inevitably - return home to live after college.
The Pew Research Center has reported an astounding rise in the number of Americans living in multi-generational homes since 2008. This information cannot possibly surprise anyone. With congress doing its hapless best to destroy our economy, I am convinced that we will soon all be living together - grandkids, parents and grandparents. Whether it’s as ‘one big happy family’ remains to be seen.
The thought of my future wouldn’t bother me so much if I had a bigger garage. A three car garage could easily be pimped out with a mini fridge and a couple space heaters for the in-laws (or for the college boomerangs.) And there’d STILL be room for a car.
At the rate things are going in America, most of us boomers won’t be downsizing into a two bedroom condo in Antigua anytime soon. And my personal dream of turning my son’s bedroom into a craft/sewing utopia when he leaves for college will have to wait until the economy turns around and I can be sure that he’s gone for good.
I wonder what my husband would say if I set-up my sewing machine in our spacious new garage? Of course that would leave me with no place to stash the in-laws in the event of a complete economic meltdown.
But maybe I shouldn’t be so focused on the garage. I hear that sheds are surprisingly affordable. The shed commune could be the answer to America’s multi-generational housing needs.
Just don’t call it a “shed” when it comes time to discuss it with the in-laws. I’m going with “private studio apartment”.
----------------------------------------------
Get your Weekly Chuckle via email at http://www.laughoutloudmom.com/
Copyright 2008-2011, LOLmom.com, Greenwich CT
Americans Know Diddly about Squat
Chuckle #474 | November 16th, 2011
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Once upon a time, when the big decisions about our new country were being made, America parted ways from the rest of the world. The Founding Fathers decided, in the spirit of self-determination, that the Squat Toilet was not for them. In America there would be only new-fangled sit on top toilets. This approach was deemed more couth, less “native”, and overall more hygienic.
How could we have been so wrong?
As a result of this unfortunate cultural choice, American girls are not exposed to the squat toilet. Such a travesty! What do these girls do when they travel to Asia, Saudi Arabia, or tiny farm villages in Greece or Italy?
I’ll tell you what the young American abroad does. She pees all over herself.
I’m a big believer in the benefits of squatting, and not just because I gave birth to my second child in Japan. (I have the “squatting pail” to prove it.) In a utopian “world without borders” there are certain skills that young ladies should master before leaving home, and the ability to pee anywhere is definitely one of them. Needlepoint is not.
Squatters enjoy shapely thighs, have better sex, and are able to hold yoga poses longer. They are less likely to develop hemorrhoids, and EVERYONE (outside of America) knows that there is no better preparation for giving birth than regular, sustained squatting.
Don’t scoff. This skill (and possible Olympic sport) is not just for jet setters. There are FILTHY restrooms all around us, and if you don’t teach your daughter to touch nothing with her nether parts, then you aren’t much of a parent, are you? I don’t care if you are filthy rich, even the very privileged might someday need to use the restroom during the ferry ride to Nantucket.
When visiting public restrooms we already teach our kids to open doors with their shirtsleeves, flush with their foot, and to turn off the faucet with their elbows. None of this matters if they then plop their bare bottoms down on the same toilet enjoyed by a bevy of Bangladeshis fresh off a flight from Dhaka.
And I’m not just gratuitously insulting Bangladesh like they do in the movies. I have facts. The 2010 Mercer Health and Sanitation Index ranked Dhaka as the dirtiest city in the world. Your personal bottle of hand sanitizer is not going to cut it there.
Given that little factoid, I don’t think it is so terrible to yell “Squat or Die” at my girls from the next stall over while we are traveling internationally, or just passing through Grand Central Station. They can roll their eyes all they want, as long as they do it from a squatting position.
I’ve tried to teach my children that every surface of a public restroom is teeming with infectious disease causing germs like bacteria, viruses, fungi and protozoa, and that the stall itself is the biggest petri dish of all. They just seem to think I’m nuts.
The day will come when I no longer have the strength to maintain a proper squat. That will be the day that I must say goodbye to public bathrooms and hello to Depends. I’m hoping that by then Kimberly Clark will be manufacturing Depends in cool colors, and will offer a choice of bikini or thong cut by virtue of a super thin, ultra-absorbent space age material, yet to be developed. As of right now, they aren’t looking so cool.
Aging Boomers like me will be expecting a lot more style from our personal urination containment systems. And not calling them “adult diapers” would be a good place to start.
--------------------------------------------------------
Get your Weekly Chuckle via email at http://www.laughoutloudmom.com/
Copyright 2008-2011, LOLmom.com, Greenwich CT
scroll down to leave a comment
Once upon a time, when the big decisions about our new country were being made, America parted ways from the rest of the world. The Founding Fathers decided, in the spirit of self-determination, that the Squat Toilet was not for them. In America there would be only new-fangled sit on top toilets. This approach was deemed more couth, less “native”, and overall more hygienic.
How could we have been so wrong?
As a result of this unfortunate cultural choice, American girls are not exposed to the squat toilet. Such a travesty! What do these girls do when they travel to Asia, Saudi Arabia, or tiny farm villages in Greece or Italy?
I’ll tell you what the young American abroad does. She pees all over herself.
I’m a big believer in the benefits of squatting, and not just because I gave birth to my second child in Japan. (I have the “squatting pail” to prove it.) In a utopian “world without borders” there are certain skills that young ladies should master before leaving home, and the ability to pee anywhere is definitely one of them. Needlepoint is not.
Squatters enjoy shapely thighs, have better sex, and are able to hold yoga poses longer. They are less likely to develop hemorrhoids, and EVERYONE (outside of America) knows that there is no better preparation for giving birth than regular, sustained squatting.
Don’t scoff. This skill (and possible Olympic sport) is not just for jet setters. There are FILTHY restrooms all around us, and if you don’t teach your daughter to touch nothing with her nether parts, then you aren’t much of a parent, are you? I don’t care if you are filthy rich, even the very privileged might someday need to use the restroom during the ferry ride to Nantucket.
When visiting public restrooms we already teach our kids to open doors with their shirtsleeves, flush with their foot, and to turn off the faucet with their elbows. None of this matters if they then plop their bare bottoms down on the same toilet enjoyed by a bevy of Bangladeshis fresh off a flight from Dhaka.
And I’m not just gratuitously insulting Bangladesh like they do in the movies. I have facts. The 2010 Mercer Health and Sanitation Index ranked Dhaka as the dirtiest city in the world. Your personal bottle of hand sanitizer is not going to cut it there.
Given that little factoid, I don’t think it is so terrible to yell “Squat or Die” at my girls from the next stall over while we are traveling internationally, or just passing through Grand Central Station. They can roll their eyes all they want, as long as they do it from a squatting position.
I’ve tried to teach my children that every surface of a public restroom is teeming with infectious disease causing germs like bacteria, viruses, fungi and protozoa, and that the stall itself is the biggest petri dish of all. They just seem to think I’m nuts.
The day will come when I no longer have the strength to maintain a proper squat. That will be the day that I must say goodbye to public bathrooms and hello to Depends. I’m hoping that by then Kimberly Clark will be manufacturing Depends in cool colors, and will offer a choice of bikini or thong cut by virtue of a super thin, ultra-absorbent space age material, yet to be developed. As of right now, they aren’t looking so cool.
Aging Boomers like me will be expecting a lot more style from our personal urination containment systems. And not calling them “adult diapers” would be a good place to start.
--------------------------------------------------------
Get your Weekly Chuckle via email at http://www.laughoutloudmom.com/
Copyright 2008-2011, LOLmom.com, Greenwich CT
Sexier Titles for Stay-at-Home Moms
Chuckle #473 | November 9th, 2011
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Some stay-at-home moms and dads wallow in negative existential thoughts. Not me. I find my role as “homemaker” quite challenging, especially when the kids all vomit at once. The only thing I really object to is my title. I’m not Auntie Em, and I don’t make jam. I’m craving a better, hotter title, like “Bottom Line Babe”. Only then I could I justify wearing my pleather leggings.
Even the ridiculously over-educated can find joy in staying at home. A Harvard MBA can be surprisingly useful in plotting optimal carpool routes against traffic light density, time/distance traveled, and the proximity of Starbucks.
To be honest, I’m tired of all this talk of “hostility” between stay-at-home moms and working moms. I agree that staying at home is a job, but maybe the answer lies in making it LOOK more like a traditional job, or even a business.
We’d get a lot more respect if we kept a balance sheet, published an annual report, and gave EVERYONE in the family annual reviews, even the dog. Don’t tell my husband, but the dog is a MAJOR drain on resources. (He’d be the first one I’d let go if we had to downsize.)
Let’s solve the stay-at-home brouhaha once and for all. Let’s require a solid background in economics and business before marriage. Catholics could fold Econ 101 into Pre-Cana. (Jews could simply take a refresher.) Other people would have to go back to school.
For example, economies of scale apply as much to the home as they do to widgets. Why produce a single, ugly kid when you could genetically engineer super intelligent blue-eyed triplets? Why go to all the trouble to clean your house for just ONE couple when, for very little additional effort, you could entertain twenty?
Do you see how much more efficient we would be if we had the right training and education? If you already have an MBA, use it to raise the bar on home management! Don’t ignore the bottom line just because you’re busy wiping the baby’s bottom. Don’t let your skills wither away in mind-numbing, (and often disgusting) repetitive tasks. And whatever you do, don’t let society scoff at your choice to stay home, especially if you are lucky enough to have that choice.
What is the opportunity cost of a three hour finger painting session? There is absolutely nothing wrong with asking tough questions like that.
Some moms and dads aren’t good managers. These are the people who always look disheveled and overwhelmed in the grocery store. They leave their kids stranded all over town and are always borrowing eggs. Most of them were art history majors.
A lot of stay-at-home parents complain that their role is not valued by society, and they expect society to change what it values. This is rather cheeky. What we need to do is change society’s perception of the homemaker role by becoming more business-like.
And that means retooling what has been passing as “home management” training for the past 40 years.
The “Home Economics” class that we all took in middle school had NOTHING to do with economics and everything to do with sewing ugly halter tops. This never was, and still isn’t a highly valued skill (unless you live in Bolivia and just got a microloan to make indigenous crafts).
Not much has changed.
My kids can make nut and gluten-free banana muffins, but they can’t determine the market equilibrium price of those bananas. Nor would they ever think to hedge against rising oil prices with the canny purchase of an EPA certified wood stove. I find this shocking.
If we are to achieve the home management equivalent of “no parent left behind”, the current curriculum needs a complete overhaul. This will take years to have any effect.
In the meantime, I highly recommend a change in title. How about “Home Efficiency Engineer” or “Family CEO”? Give me a CEO title (even honorary) and my entire perspective will change. I’ll start seeing my kids as free labor, my time as money, and all my talented friends as possible business partners.
Give me a CFO who isn’t under the age of 4 and I might even turn a profit. Sadly enough, that’s still the only sure way to change perceptions…
------------------------------------------------------
Get your Weekly Chuckle via email at http://www.laughoutloudmom.com/
Copyright 2008-2011, LOLmom.com, Greenwich CT
scroll down to leave a comment
Some stay-at-home moms and dads wallow in negative existential thoughts. Not me. I find my role as “homemaker” quite challenging, especially when the kids all vomit at once. The only thing I really object to is my title. I’m not Auntie Em, and I don’t make jam. I’m craving a better, hotter title, like “Bottom Line Babe”. Only then I could I justify wearing my pleather leggings.
Even the ridiculously over-educated can find joy in staying at home. A Harvard MBA can be surprisingly useful in plotting optimal carpool routes against traffic light density, time/distance traveled, and the proximity of Starbucks.
To be honest, I’m tired of all this talk of “hostility” between stay-at-home moms and working moms. I agree that staying at home is a job, but maybe the answer lies in making it LOOK more like a traditional job, or even a business.
We’d get a lot more respect if we kept a balance sheet, published an annual report, and gave EVERYONE in the family annual reviews, even the dog. Don’t tell my husband, but the dog is a MAJOR drain on resources. (He’d be the first one I’d let go if we had to downsize.)
Let’s solve the stay-at-home brouhaha once and for all. Let’s require a solid background in economics and business before marriage. Catholics could fold Econ 101 into Pre-Cana. (Jews could simply take a refresher.) Other people would have to go back to school.
For example, economies of scale apply as much to the home as they do to widgets. Why produce a single, ugly kid when you could genetically engineer super intelligent blue-eyed triplets? Why go to all the trouble to clean your house for just ONE couple when, for very little additional effort, you could entertain twenty?
Do you see how much more efficient we would be if we had the right training and education? If you already have an MBA, use it to raise the bar on home management! Don’t ignore the bottom line just because you’re busy wiping the baby’s bottom. Don’t let your skills wither away in mind-numbing, (and often disgusting) repetitive tasks. And whatever you do, don’t let society scoff at your choice to stay home, especially if you are lucky enough to have that choice.
What is the opportunity cost of a three hour finger painting session? There is absolutely nothing wrong with asking tough questions like that.
Some moms and dads aren’t good managers. These are the people who always look disheveled and overwhelmed in the grocery store. They leave their kids stranded all over town and are always borrowing eggs. Most of them were art history majors.
A lot of stay-at-home parents complain that their role is not valued by society, and they expect society to change what it values. This is rather cheeky. What we need to do is change society’s perception of the homemaker role by becoming more business-like.
And that means retooling what has been passing as “home management” training for the past 40 years.
The “Home Economics” class that we all took in middle school had NOTHING to do with economics and everything to do with sewing ugly halter tops. This never was, and still isn’t a highly valued skill (unless you live in Bolivia and just got a microloan to make indigenous crafts).
Not much has changed.
My kids can make nut and gluten-free banana muffins, but they can’t determine the market equilibrium price of those bananas. Nor would they ever think to hedge against rising oil prices with the canny purchase of an EPA certified wood stove. I find this shocking.
If we are to achieve the home management equivalent of “no parent left behind”, the current curriculum needs a complete overhaul. This will take years to have any effect.
In the meantime, I highly recommend a change in title. How about “Home Efficiency Engineer” or “Family CEO”? Give me a CEO title (even honorary) and my entire perspective will change. I’ll start seeing my kids as free labor, my time as money, and all my talented friends as possible business partners.
Give me a CFO who isn’t under the age of 4 and I might even turn a profit. Sadly enough, that’s still the only sure way to change perceptions…
------------------------------------------------------
Get your Weekly Chuckle via email at http://www.laughoutloudmom.com/
Copyright 2008-2011, LOLmom.com, Greenwich CT
Reading is Dirty Work...but someone has to do it
Chuckle #472 | November 2nd, 2011
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I’m afraid that I am going to have to give up reading. When I’m hooked on a book the first thing that falls through the cracks is keeping house. And to be honest, my housekeeping skills aren’t anything to brag about even when I don’t have my head buried in a book.
When I’m deep into a good book the world around me ceases to exist. That is, until the world around me starts to smell like a hamster cage from the piles of laundry, the stinky dog, and overflowing garbage can. Who knew reading was such a filthy habit?
The situation has gotten especially bad since I discovered George R.R. Martin’s Game of Thrones series. I am enthralled. The man is a genius. As soon as I finished the first book I zipped off to the library for books two and three. Each thousand page treatise in the series takes George about five years to write. I finished the entire four book series in a single 20 day reading marathon.
I could have done it in less if it weren’t for the pesky husband who enjoys adult conversation and the perpetually hungry kids. Families can be so demanding.
But reading is good, right? It sets a wonderful example for the children. (I do it for them, of course.) So where do you draw the line? Is it when you find yourself hiding in the bathroom just to finish a chapter? Or is it when you secretly feed your kids a kibble augmented casserole just so you don’t have to go to the grocery store?
For me, life takes on a “happy glow” when I have a book in hand. It is an entirely different experience when I don’t. If I can escape into an alternate universe where dust bunnies and dirty grout don’t exist, why on earth wouldn’t I go there at every opportunity? (And stay there for as long as possible.)
Reality, on the other hand, is a messy place filled with husbands who never finish their “to do” lists, hormonal teenagers (e.g. stinky AND grumpy), and dogs that roll in squirrel guts immediately after being bathed. Books let you forget all that, if only for a few hours.
The problem is that I have now finished the last book in the awesome “Game of Thrones” series. Withdrawal has set in. I now have to wait FIVE more years for the next installment. How will I last? How will I survive?
I suppose that I can spend the next few years catching up on my cleaning, poisoning hapless rodents, and preparing delicious homemade soups from scratch for my family. I could also, conceivably, rub my husband’s feet after a hard day’s work.
There is so much I could do with all this extra time…
On second thought, the library is FULL of books. It will just take a few minutes for me to drive over there and see what’s new. My husband’s feet may have to take a rain check.
And right after I get back, I swear that I will give the dog another bath.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Get your Weekly Chuckle via email at http://www.laughoutloudmom.com/
scroll down to leave a comment
I’m afraid that I am going to have to give up reading. When I’m hooked on a book the first thing that falls through the cracks is keeping house. And to be honest, my housekeeping skills aren’t anything to brag about even when I don’t have my head buried in a book.
When I’m deep into a good book the world around me ceases to exist. That is, until the world around me starts to smell like a hamster cage from the piles of laundry, the stinky dog, and overflowing garbage can. Who knew reading was such a filthy habit?
The situation has gotten especially bad since I discovered George R.R. Martin’s Game of Thrones series. I am enthralled. The man is a genius. As soon as I finished the first book I zipped off to the library for books two and three. Each thousand page treatise in the series takes George about five years to write. I finished the entire four book series in a single 20 day reading marathon.
I could have done it in less if it weren’t for the pesky husband who enjoys adult conversation and the perpetually hungry kids. Families can be so demanding.
But reading is good, right? It sets a wonderful example for the children. (I do it for them, of course.) So where do you draw the line? Is it when you find yourself hiding in the bathroom just to finish a chapter? Or is it when you secretly feed your kids a kibble augmented casserole just so you don’t have to go to the grocery store?
For me, life takes on a “happy glow” when I have a book in hand. It is an entirely different experience when I don’t. If I can escape into an alternate universe where dust bunnies and dirty grout don’t exist, why on earth wouldn’t I go there at every opportunity? (And stay there for as long as possible.)
Reality, on the other hand, is a messy place filled with husbands who never finish their “to do” lists, hormonal teenagers (e.g. stinky AND grumpy), and dogs that roll in squirrel guts immediately after being bathed. Books let you forget all that, if only for a few hours.
The problem is that I have now finished the last book in the awesome “Game of Thrones” series. Withdrawal has set in. I now have to wait FIVE more years for the next installment. How will I last? How will I survive?
I suppose that I can spend the next few years catching up on my cleaning, poisoning hapless rodents, and preparing delicious homemade soups from scratch for my family. I could also, conceivably, rub my husband’s feet after a hard day’s work.
There is so much I could do with all this extra time…
On second thought, the library is FULL of books. It will just take a few minutes for me to drive over there and see what’s new. My husband’s feet may have to take a rain check.
And right after I get back, I swear that I will give the dog another bath.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Get your Weekly Chuckle via email at http://www.laughoutloudmom.com/
Copyright 200-2011, LOLmom.com, Greenwich CT, Cathleen Blood
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