Egg-scuse me?

 

A friend of mine has kids under 10 years old and told this story about his son.

Kid: This book says twins happen when a fertilized egg splits.

Dad: Yes…

Kid: So we all started as an egg in Mom’s belly?

Dad: Yes…

Kid: Then what happens to all the sharp pieces?

That reminded me of a Birds and the Bees convo I had with Chris many years ago. When the kids were really little, I told them that Mom has seeds in my belly and Dad adds vitamins to grow a baby. That is how they grew little bean plants in preschool and I thought this vegan option would make more sense to them than an egg scenario. Although I also told them that, when the baby gets big enough, it hatches out of my belly.

Little Chris Chris got to thinking about this one day when he was about six years old.

Chris: Mom, how does Dad give you the vitamins to make a baby?

Me: Ummmmm….

Chris: Do you have to swallow them?

I always wanted to be honest with my kids about sex, but it got tricky sometimes! What kind of hot water did you get into while teaching your kids The Facts of Life?

I hope your week is full of memorable surprises.

Thank you for reading!

Period End of Sentence

 

Girls are rare jewels in our family. While I’m super lucky to have the best sister in the world, Albert only has a brother. This presented issues when Albert and I started seriously dating. His mom said to me, “I always wanted to have a daughter and now I have one!” Sounds cozy and lovey-dovey, right? It froze me with anxiety. While I’ll always be grateful to my MFIL for raising my husband and for her delicious homemade pickles, her ideas of mothering mainly consisted of bossing kids around. You just might be able to imagine that I didn’t respond favorably to this.

My sister and I are blessed with daughters, and we are an independent, no-BS bunch. Audrey and Hayley are two granddaughters among five grandsons. Check out this beautiful gaggle of grandkids.

My niece, Hayley, started her period this past week. It started during school, which was NBD since her classroom equals her dining room right now. Thanks, COVID. My daughter’s reaction to this news? “Ugh. That sucks.” When I expressed curiosity about her reaction, she reminded me that periods are a giant pain in the ass. Oh, yeah…..

The time I was working as a dental assistant in my dad’s office wearing white pants? A creative and brilliant (if I may say so myself!) use of Wite-Out got me through the rest of the afternoon.

Or one Hawaiian vacation when we swam with dolphins and I constantly worried about attracting sharks that would eat me and my whole family and all the other vacationers.

Or one date night with Albert when he wanted to take me to the Heathman Hotel for drinks and dessert after a show. It’s no secret that perimenopause brings on “irregular periods,” but most women don’t know to expect occasional deluges like the Old Mexico Flash Flood on the Universal Studios Backlot Tram Tour.

I was soaked through but wanted to hang out downtown with Albert for a couple of more precious hours without the kids. When the server asked what she could bring for us, I whispered, “Could you bring me a tampon?” She scored some from the hotel and palmed those date-savers to me like the smoothest dope peddler.

So it’s double cool that periods are being celebrated more for the miracles they are, the stigma and shame gradually being abandoned. The comedian Bert Kreischer describes a “period party” he threw for his younger daughter in this delightful 4-minute clip.

Period Cakes. Virgin Bloody Marys. Pad Thai. OK, maybe. But I’ll pass (my endometrial lining) on these Tampon Pretzel Rods, thankyouverymuch.

I don’t know how I would have felt having a celebratory party for this occasion. A friend of mine told me that her dad bought her a dozen red roses to congratulate her on her entry to womanhood, and I kind of shuddered. I think my dad STILL doesn’t know that I started my period.

My Gift from Mother Nature was way more low-key than a dozen roses. I accompanied my mom to get supplies kind of late at night. Of course, we ran into her friend, the one who is always so friendly and cheerful.

Friend: Stella! Lisa! How are you? What are you doing here so late at night?

Mom: Lisa started menstruating today!

Oh, it gets worse. Mom’s friend smiled so big and said SO LOUD, “CONGRATULATIONS! YOU’RE A WOMAN NOW!” And then she gave me a hug RIGHT THERE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FEMININE PRODUCTS AISLE AT ALPHA BETA.

Audrey must have earned her Red Badge of Courage during December one year, because I went to Rite Aid to buy her an assortment of supplies. The cashier was Ebenezer Scrooge incarnate and insisted on cramming all of those lady goodies into a single plastic bag such that I could only carry it by hooking the tippy-tips of the handles with my thumb and forefinger.

I know it was December, because I also stopped by the liquor store next door to pick up a case of spiced rum to accompany the homemade hot buttered rum mix we were preparing for our friends’ Christmas presents. As I left the liquor store, case of rum under one arm, overflowing bag of menstrual hygiene precariously gripped in my other hand, who should hold the door open for me but the dad of one of my son’s buddies.

Friend’s Dad: Oh hey! What are you up to?
Me: Oh, just going to go home to get real drunk and menstruate tonight.

My sister handled my niece’s transition so beautifully. Hayley’s new Monthly Friend was welcomed with just the right amount of gratitude and excitement. They made little red velvet period bundt cakes to celebrate. Upon request from my nephew, they also made plain, non-period vanilla cupcakes and “Can we please quit talking about this now.”

May your shedding be swift and your cramps be fleeting.
Thank you for reading, my friends!

My Biscuits are Burnin'

 

“The baby is sleeping so nicely.” This is a remark made by dreamy-eyed, dum-dum noob parents. It only takes one or maybe two times to learn that this comment immediately causes the baby to wake up cry at a minimum. Even more often, the makers of this foolhardy statement are treated to some form of poop or barf to top off the recent elimination of peace and quiet.

A couple of weeks ago, I panicked because COVID Life in Dullsville gave me nothing to write about. That, my friends, is called ASKING FOR IT.

These crappy things happened over the past week:

😣 We lost power and part of a tree in our front yard as East Winds whipped through the Pacific Northwest.

😣 The Riverside Fire was started by “human cause.” This infuriates me. 2020 has already been such a shitshow already and you gotta go starting fires?? Our home was in a Level 1 Evacuation Zone for most of this week.

😣 Audrey had been planning to move out of her apartment in Eugene for weeks. Moving always sucks, but the fires further complicated an already complicated task.

😣 My little dog, Ollie, was really, really sick for days but perked up immediately before his appointment with the vet. She could find nothing wrong, but Ollie started crying again as soon as we got him back home.

😣 My dear friend’s breast and lymph node scan came back “abnormal.” Dammit.

😣 Our router broke. Bye bye, WiFi. A new router isn’t available until Wednesday.

THIS WEEK SURE WAS A LOT. But here’s what also happened.

😁 The electricity went out on Monday about 10 minutes after we had just finished dinner and a movie: “Bill and Ted’s Bogus Journey,” where Bill and Ted die and go to hell and have to do infinity push-ups. It was so silly. Lights went out, so we went to bed. No bigs.

😁 Without power, Chris learned how to make pour-over coffee.

😁 The power came back Tuesday night shortly before dinner, a full 30 hours earlier than anticipated.

😁 That big branch fell so that it blocked the road but JUST MISSED the neighbor’s car parked across the street. Chris knew how to use a chainsaw to chop up that big branch so we didn't have to call any expensive branch-choppers.

😁 We never progressed past Level 1 Evacuation (“Be alert”). Growing up in Southern California prepared me well so that I didn’t feel panic, allowing my family to remain calm. The anxiety and worry of others brought out expressions of compassion in my kids.

😁 Despite the fire and logistic complications, Audrey successfully moved out of her house like a boss, with the help of some wonderful friends.

😍 Speaking of wonderful friends, my college buddy, Eleni, dug up some old pics of Albert and me when we were probably 19 and 21. Albert used to drive eight hours from Los Angeles to come visit me in Northern California for a weekend in his lime green Pinto that had no air conditioner. Check out those hairdos, my snazzy white-on-white Swatch watch, and Eleni’s state-of-the-art Macintosh computer!

Seeing these pictures reminded me of how giddy in love we were way back then. I feel so lucky that we have grown together over these past THIRTY-THREE years……can it be?? We were completely different people when we started dating, and we could just as well have grown in opposite directions. To still be so secure and content with the same person over so many years seems practically impossible and pretty darned lucky.

My girlfriend, Eleni, and I used to prepare fancy baked goods. I’m certain that these were all her idea, because I have the urge to bake zero things now. I can’t imagine where we got these recipes way back then, since there was no Internet. Did we have a cookbook? At college? Check out this cake we made in the shape of our boarding house. It was chocolate with buttercream frosting.

Eleni is a famous singer-songwriter now with her own Wikipedia page and everything! We used to play this game when I hung out in her room. She would say, “Tell me something to sing about!” and I would say whatever I was thinking about. “Sing a song about the circus that we went to and the clown that threw pies in his own face!” And then she would play her guitar and make up a clever song right there on the spot. I have no idea how these wonderful people make their way into my life, but I sure do feel grateful.

I love you, friends! Thank you for reading!

Busted

 

While I was at work last week, I got a call from Guest Relations at my father-in-law’s senior living community. My FIL got busted. Good thing I knew how to remain calm with all the practice I got with the Principal’s office when my kids were in school. It was just so weird to be The Child in this case, rather than The Parent. Who’s the responsible party here? The roles are all jumbled up.

The caller—The School in 2005 and The Springs in 2020—is always mindful that the receiver—The Parent in 2005 and The Child in 2020—is going to be on edge right from the start. Until this moment of contact, I have been in the dark in one of two situations. The Thing has been going on for some time, and I am just now finding out. OR I have known that The Thing was barely under control all along and now it’s blowing up.

There’s always a moment of panic when I see the Caller ID followed by a lightning quick conversation in my head:

OhnoIt’stheschool/theSprings.Whathappened?Aretheyhurt?Aretheycrying?Juststaycalmandpickupthephone.

I always appreciated Alex when he called from a school phone. Remember this was way back in 2010—ten whole years ago—when it was rare for kids to have cellphones. Albert and I didn’t see the need for our kids to have cellphones until they were in high school. I’m thankful that we don’t have to navigate that conversation these days with young kids.

Alex used the phone in his teacher’s room, so I’d recognize the school number. He’d always start right off with, “Hi, Mom! It’s Alex. I’m not in trouble.” Immediate relief. Look at that cute face.

But this wasn’t always the case. There were often tears and sometimes it was a teacher or counselor or principal, and that is never a fun convo. But the adults always started off trying to keep the parent calm.

“There’s been an incident on the playground that we wanted to talk to you about. Nobody was hurt, but Alex choked one of the girls.”

Alarming, right?? This was in FIRST DAMN GRADE. I think we had lived in Oregon for maybe two weeks, and my kid was trying to murder other kids already. Here’s what happened. Kids were playing tag in September, and this little girl was wearing a hoodie. Alex was in hot pursuit, and his little six-year-old brain didn’t see anything wrong with grabbing that hood that was fluttering ahead of him just within his reach. Took that little girl right down.

Another afternoon I was treated to this call. “One of the moms was helping with hallway bulletin boards, and Alex walked by and touched her bottom.”

Six years old and he’s grabbing women’s butts? This is some jacked up Reverse Cougarism going on around here! EXPLAIN. This helpful-but-excessively-prissy mom was stapling things onto one of those large bulletin boards in the hallway. Alex used to like running his hand along the wall, feeling the rough texture of corkboard, the smooth paint of the walls, the little dip into the doorways of each classroom. As he walked through the hallway with his class, he didn’t even notice this woman as he ran his hand right over her ass. Until she screamed and scolded him and then complained to the Principal.

Am I a terrible mother for thinking these things are ridiculous and kind of funny? I appreciate communication and the opportunity to address these issues with my kids, but part of me thinks that a lot of regular kid behavior gets blown way out of proportion.

Take this instance of the time Chris was sent to the Principal’s office for “sexual harassment.” My Chris, the Fifth Grade Predator. Now, I’m not saying that some kids this age are not very troubled and dangerous, but here’s what happened. They were starting their Human Development curriculum, and boobies and penises and vaginas are hysterical to ten-year-olds! Heck, sometimes a well-timed butthole still cracks me all the way up!

During class, Chris reached over and wrote the word “penis” on his neighbor’s paper.

Naughty, yes. And the girl reacted just like a normal ten-year-old girl. She shrieked, “Chris wrote the word penis on my paper!” And that, my friends, is sexual harassment in the 21^st Century.

I got a call from the office, and Chris spent the afternoon in elementary school jail writing a “self-reflection” about his crime. By the time he got home, he was ashamed and teary-eyed as he confessed his story to me. I told him I thought it was silly that he got in trouble for that.

We went on to have an open conversation about misunderstandings and how things could go better the next time. I think that it’s important to hold kids accountable for their actions, but I also think it’s really important to remind them that you’re on their side and that adults aren’t always right and sometimes overreact.

This was just an extension of a similar conversation Chris and I had when he was in second grade and got busted for taking a grilled cheese sandwich for hot lunch instead of the yogurt his (very mean) teacher signed him up for. His teacher complained to me, “He just doesn’t like to be told he’s wrong.” Right. Nobody does, Lady. That was a rough year for our family, but I think mostly for Chris. Poor kid.

I got calls from the Principal about Audrey, too, but mostly just because she threw up.

So I felt very well prepared accepting this call about my FIL. He got busted for yelling at the housekeeping staff. Ever since he moved, the lovely staff consistently tells Albert and me how funny and sweet my FIL is and how much they enjoy having him around.

Don’t get me wrong, my FIL is a good person, but he is not easy to please. And he can’t hear shit, so yelling is not unusual. A big part of the problem is that he doesn’t realize that he can’t hear, which causes a great deal of confusion for all communicating parties. “You’re not talking loud enough. You’re mumbling your words. Why didn’t you ever tell me if it’s so important?” He’s also losing his cookies a little bit, so there is no shortage of misunderstandings.

We moved him into his new place with a lovely set of grey sheets, but he forgot that they weren’t the same white sheets he used to have, so he thought that the housekeeping staff swapped out his sheets or somehow greyed them in the laundry. And he also wanted his bed covers to be just so, but those details are difficult to explain when you can’t hear.

Albert had a talk with my FIL and then with the staff. I think he got things smoothed out for now. Just waiting for what’s next. My guess is that he will become excessively unruly during Happy Hour.

Here's hoping that you don't get busted for just living your best life, my friends!

As always, thank you for reading!

 

Mundane, FUndane

 

Another week of boring, same-old same-old. I kind of love it. I’m trying to remember to appreciate the mundane, because honestly, MY mundane is a pretty big treat. I have a nice house, very wonderful dogs, a pretty nice family, necessities covered. My humdrum day of sitting outside with a book and a glass of wine is legit vacation for a lot of folks.

Hold on just a sec! Is this a thought of, like, an old person? I feel like probably a lot of old people have this thought. But hey, if Antonio Banderas is covering AARP Magazine, SIGN ME ALL THE WAY UP!

You don’t have to be old to be content. Heck, I know plenty of old folks who are not at all content. I bet life experience and “enough” past excitement are helpful though. As a youngster, excitement is usually pretty fun, but as responsibilities accumulate, excitement morphs into college finals, work drama, having babies and not sleeping for five years straight, aging parents, the list goes on.

I’m also grateful for this breather, because it allows me to be calm-ish as my kids transition into adulthood and face turmoil of their own. It’s like sprinkling them with tranquility as they face challenges in life, and you can’t do this unless you are pretty full of it yourself. Good thing I AM full of it!! Sometimes they are so riled up that you kind of have to hurl it at them quickly or be sneaky and slip it in when they least expect it.

This week Chris is in Philadelphia moving into a new apartment that he will not be living in for the foreseeable future since Drexel is all online until further notice. Moving ALWAYS sucks. Add in the heat and traffic and crowdedness of Philly, planning the move from across the country, AND COVID, and typical relo anxiety explodes.

Chris and his roommates had a solid plan. Two of the guys live on the East Coast and one has an SUV. But alas, the best-laid plans…...TWO DAYS before Chris was scheduled to fly to Philly, a car crashed into the house he was supposed to move into. It was a terrible accident involving a 19-year-old driver, killing two pedestrians and injuring another. “The impact of the crash was so severe it sent one of the victims flying…into the front door of a nearby vacant property. Her body landed in the living room.” THE SAME LIVING ROOM THAT CHRIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BRING HIS COUCH TODAY.

We were all stunned and saddened, feeling so fortunate that we have the chance to recover, unlike the poor ladies who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time while picking up some dinner. Chris had a couple of days to make completely new arrangements, and he pulled things together so beautifully with a little help from some really good college friends. AND ME. I’m just going to take this moment to claim a little credit for being SUCH A CHILL MOM that I’m am AT LEAST 78-percent certain that some of that Mom-Chill rubbed off on my son when he needed it most.

Chris let me know this afternoon that he got all his things to the warehouse. He seemed relatively calm, and I hope he feels really triumphant. He’s staying with a friend for the next couple of nights in a sketchy area in West Philly. This is probably the same place where The Fresh Prince met those coupla guys who were up to no-good. I hope Chris doesn’t get murdered. This is one of my regular worries when Chris is in Philly, but he assures me each time I fret. “Mom. There are a lot of people walking around that are much more murder-able than I am.”

I’m grateful for a million things. That Chris and his buddies were NOT in the house at the time of the accident and that they have new place to stay. That Chris so successfully navigated this obstacle. That my family is alive and well, content with the mundane. Also for David Sedaris who made me laugh all week with this joke from his book “Theft by Finding.”

Q: Do you know how to bake toilet paper?

A: No, but I know how to brown it on one side.

 

I wish you a week overflowing with chill. Thank you for reading, my friends!!