Selective Hearing

After a fun afternoon in a community pool I happily sang out to my six year old, “Ok, time to go. Please pick up the swim noodle and get out of the pool.”

There was no response although I was staring directly at her.

I then called out her name so there would be no mistake, “Autumn, please pick up the swim noodle and get out of the pool.”

I was met with a blank stare. I double checked the identity of the child. Yes, it was my daughter and not someone else’s. I tried again.

“Pick up the swim noodle.”

She made direct eye contact this time.

“The swim noodle.”

No response.

“The noodle,” I clarified.

“ The noooooodle,” I emphasized.

She stared at me with no emotion. I wondered if my voice had actually come out of my mouth.

“Noooooooodle!" I screamed. The child next her glanced furtively around and ducked her head under the water.

No response. 

A mother next to me confirmed that she had indeed heard my voice as had the rest of the neighborhood.

I tried again but with a hand signal, “Noodle.”

Again, no response.

I cleared my throat and bellowed, “ Noooooodle!”

By this time I no longer cared about the pool toy and called out, “Autumn, time to get out of the pool!”

“Time.”

“ To.”

“ Go!”

 Seven children got out of the pool.

“Go now!”

 I put on white face makeup and mimed getting out of the pool.

“Get out!”

A neon arrow flashed the way to the steps and I waved my arms like I was parking a 747.

My voice cracked, “Out of the pool.”

“The pool.”

“Poooooooooooool.”

That is when the light bulb went off. 

I decided then and there that when I get old I am going to fake deafness.

“Mom, it is time to brush your dentures and take your medicine.”

“Your dentures.”

“Your teeth.”

“Your teeeeeeeeeeeeth.”  “Teeeth.”

“Time for bed and medicine.”

“Mom!” she will yell in my ear, “teeth and pills!”

I will wait until she is good and frustrated and then I will do it.

I will also tell her not to yell at me.

After all, I heard her the first time.

I'd love to hear what you think!  To comment, click on the word comment below.

To Women on Father's Day

There really are good men in the world.
Men that are respectful and kind; men that have integrity and compassion.
I know because I am married to one.
He didn’t just appear. He wasn’t the object of a wish on a star. He didn’t fall out of the sky or pop out of a magic lamp. He wasn’t even born that way.
He learned how to be a good man from his mother, his father, his family, his friends, his teachers, and his faith.
He is a good man because he chooses to be. He was taught that actions have consequences that go much deeper than just “getting caught.” He learned that making bad choices not only affected his life but also those around him. Good relationships with family and friends were important. He treated his parents with respect and saw the value of education.
He wasn't the most suave person that I had ever dated.  He wasn't the most polished.  He was good-looking but not "my type."  In fact, I never intended to fall in love with him at all.
He was, however, the kindest person that I had ever dated. He was gentle and attentive but still masculine and strong. Superficial considerations quickly faded away and genuine love filled my heart.The honest truth is that I hadn’t realized until that time that I didn't know what real love was.
So many women settle for just OK or make excuses for the men that we think that we love. We tell ourselves that he will change. We excuse a man’s actions because he was mad, or drunk, or tired, or stressed, or whatever. We find fault in ourselves for his actions: “maybe if I hadn’t raised my voice” or “I should have been quiet” or “I should have worn something different.”
I firmly believe that love is a verb. It is an action and a choice. When you love someone you choose to do things that encourage, uplift and strengthen another person.
The opposite, my dear women, is not love.
Choose the man that treats you well.
Choose the man that respects the people around him, regardless of whether or not he likes them.
Choose the man that picks you up when you fall and kisses you gently at night.
This is the man that will make a good father.
This is the man that will raise children that will be good adults.
This is the man that won’t see your fat and wrinkles because he accepts you for your love.
I guarantee that there are many of them left out there. If you think they are scarce, you just don’t know where to look.
They aren’t the ones that start hitting on you at 2am when the bar closes.
They aren’t the ones that have the word “player” tattooed on their necks.
And they certainly aren’t the ones that lay a hand on you when they lose control.
Look for the ones that are kind to animals.
Look for the ones that love their mother and help their grandfather up from a chair.
Look for the ones that pay attention to you and what you are saying rather than the waitress or your cleavage when you go out.
Don’t look for perfection, though. They fart in public and wear stained t-shirt just like the others.
The best way to find a good man is to be the kind of woman that deserves respect and settles for nothing less. You will never find a man that respects you if you don’t respect yourself.
Happy Father’s Day to my husband, the love of my life, and the father to our three daughters. My greatest hope is that they one day will find someone that loves them as completely as you have loved me.
And Happy Father’s Day to all of the dads out there that teach their children to love and to be kind. It’s not easy but you are making the world a better place – one life at a time.
And blessings to all of the women that encourage fathers to be the men that their families need them to be.

(To comment, click on the comments button below).

Real News of the Day from Fox News: Dog poops on plane and forces emergency landing

The headline read, "Dog poops on plane and forces emergency landing".

What?

I read it again.
"Dog poops on flight and forces emergency landing"
OK.  Um.  Why is this news?
And why am I clicking on it to read more?
I would have loved to be a fly on the wall in that phone call.
"Hey, reporter, this is the editor.  You need to get over to the airport right away.  A golden retriever took a dump in the aisle of a plane."
"What?  Now?  It is 3am."
"Yes, we need to air this story while it is still ripe." (barump bump).
Apparently, this was a real news story about how a couple of dog turds caused a plane to have to land at the nearest airport to air out.
Let's see how else the headline could have read...
"Massive evacuation causes airline turmoil"
"Giant turd brings down plane"
"Dog drops a deuce and plane drops altitude"
"Shitzu lives up to his name"
"Log jam causes backup for US Airways"
"Heavy load too much for 747"
"What can brown do for you?" (I am kidding UPS... I am kidding.... Please do not lose my packages "accidentally"... again.)
So anyway, I read the article and they have quotes from passengers...
(Oh my gosh, I can't make this stuff up!)
"..passenger Steve McCall told Inside Edition [Inside Edition!!!?? ha ha!  OMG!  Perfect!], 'I look up the aisle way and there's a dog pooping right in the middle of the aisle.  It's a big dog, three or four feet tall or long, and he was just going!'"?
Three or four feet tall or long?
Ring Ring...
"Yeah?"
"It's me again... the Editor.  Be sure to get a quote.  Something descriptive."
"Of course, boss."
Can you imagine that interview?  "Yes, this is Reporter XYZ.  Now Passenger, what happened?  what did you see?  Can you describe it?"
I would have loved to have been interviewed...
"Absolutely. Oh gosh yes!  I would be happy to answer any questions.  Well, there I was just sitting there thumbing through the Sky Mall magazine and wouldn't you know it a dog just walked up the aisle next to me... just sniffing around...I tried to give him some of my vodka cranberry but he just ignored it and ate my peanuts instead.  And wouldn't you know it - about five minutes later he comes back but he is looking around all weird.  I say, 'hey boy, what's up' and then it happened.
He just got this weird faraway look in his eye and then he squatted.  He dropped the biggest deuce I ever saw.  I mean it was huge, man!  Epic!  Gigantic!  I was amazed!  I could see all kinds of corn and peanuts, and a corner of the US Airways magazine in it..."
"Ok, thank you Melissa.  Here you have it.  Live from Kansas City."
"No, seriously, you gotta hear some more.  He didn't stop at one!  He dropped another about ten minutes later!  It was all warm and steamy.  Kind of looked like an S with a luggage tag sticking out.  That dog was amazing.  Took the Browns to the playoffs AND the Super Bowl..  Built a log cabin right there next to 7c.. Code Brown on flight 598..talk about twisting out a nine coiler.. hey and-"
"Back to you, Chet."
The story went on "The airline crew cleaned up the mess, but anyone who has ever stepped in dog poo knows it can leave a lingering stench."
Dog poo?  Is this in the AP style book?
So I guess they tried to clean it but it was too formidable.  Fair enough.  Sir Dukie wins this round.  Let's not make a federal case about a poor dog that obviously couldn't fit in the lavatory. I am sure the owner is mortified.  It read that he/she is sending out Starbucks gift cards to passengers to apologize.
I don't know about you but coffee makes me shit, too.

You can read the whole story here:
http://www.foxnews.com/travel/2014/06/02/dog-pooping-on-flight-forces-emergency-landing/?intcmp=trending

Hiding Candy from Children

I hide candy from my children...
I am preventing diabetes.  I am saving money. I am preventing cavities.  I am teaching them how to eat healthy. Processed sugar is not good for their growing bodies... 
Candy is the devil.
Lies...  All lies. 
I do it so I can eat it all myself.
My days of eating candy without a chaperone are gone.  I do not have children when candy appears; I have birds of prey.  Not even half a rice krispie from a Krackle survives with those vultures circling.  Beady eyes with sharp beaks moving and pecking all around...
Now I resort to desperate measures.
I buy it and deny it like a junkie in rehab.  I search Craigslist and pay with cash. 
No receipts. No records.
I meet “a guy” for a bag of Skittles and a fun size Kit Kat. I tuck away Hershey bars in a tampon box under the bathroom sink and shove Lemonheads in a hollowed out college Calculus book .
 A half-eaten Chick-O-Stick and a watermelon BlowPop reside in a box of Super All-Bran on the top shelf of the pantry.  An Almond Snickers takes up space in a Velveeta box while a bag of Hershey Kisses takes up residence in a box of frozen peas.  They never think to look under the beet salad or the half a head of leftover cabbage.
I have been getting bold lately, though.  
I recently stuffed a box of Peeps up the sleeve of my shirt and waved to my children as I walked by. Daughter Number Two asked me what was wrong with my elbow.
Last Saturday after I returned from grocery shopping, I put M&M’s in my hand and brought it to my mouth with a fake cough to secretly flaunt the candy coated gems and send them into my mouth - right under their tiny little beaks.
“Did you smell that?”
“What?”
“Chocolate.  Mom bought chocolate!”
 Poor little birds.   Scratching through bags. Searching fruitlessly.  Broccoli and cauliflower strewn across the counter.  A jug of milk cast off in despair.  Dented cans of tomatoes forlorn and abandoned.
Unfortunately, I suddenly choked on a W (must have gone down the wrong way) and the kids came running.
“You OK?”
“Hey, what’s that?”
The Little One eyed me suspiciously and closed the drapes. 
The Big One put her knee on me. 
The Middle One...turned…
and locked the door.

Why Some Animals Eat Their Young

I am not particularly hungry this morning but I could eat one or two of my offspring.
Imagine the change in behavior if my children knew that I could eat them.
There they would be just sassing me like there is no tomorrow and then one of them pauses to take a break from their improvisational performance.  But I am no longer standing in front of them.  I have receded to the shadows behind the couch.
"Uh oh... is that Mom?"
"What?  Oh crap."
They peer behind the couch.  I am sitting perfectly still.   My pupils have completely dilated and my gaze is fixed on the biggest one. 
 I lick my lips and rub my hands together.
"Mom?  Hey mom?  Mom?  Mom?  Mother?  Mama? Mommy? Ma?  Beautiful mom? Mom!!!!"
My thigh muscle twitches.
The little one yells, "You better run!!!"
Before the big one can roll her eyes again (which would make it the fifth time this morning) I have pounced.  I devour her in one bite.  I look at the little one and let out a small burp.
"bruuuuppp."
The little one and I make eye contact.
She picks her jumper up from the floor and finishes getting ready for school without one more word.

What Parents Really Think in School Meetings

I recently attended a meeting at my child's school.
I really really wanted to pay attention.  I really did. I promise.   But as soon as I sat down on the hard faux-wood benches in the auditorium or Cafetorium or Gymnatorium or Foodfootfocusroom or whatever it was called I was suddenly overcome with sleepiness.
My head grew 15 pounds heavier and my eyes watered as they struggled to focus.  I looked frantically around the room.  No beverages.  No snacks.  Nothing.  Oh no.
I looked at the speaker.  He could see me.  In fact, he looked directly at me.
Oh no.  Please do not let my eyes cross.
I had to do something.  I looked at the guy in front of me.  Hmm... thick callouses on the bottom of his feet.  I looked at mine.  Not as bad.  Still a little rough.  I looked around at other parents.
What does that guy do?
Where did she get that hair? That's a cool t-shirt.
I wonder if she knows her underwear is showing.  Should I say anything?
Now the speaker was talking about the method of math that my daughter would be learning.  Singapore math.  Mmmm... Singapore noodles...  that sounds good.  yum.  I wished they had some here.
Oh wait, now they are showing math problems.  What?  oh man, the speaker is looking directly at me.  I gave a slight head tilt, almost imperceptible eyebrow lift, interested expression.
Whew.  It worked.  Why are there so many math problems?  Don't they know I don't care?  Oh, Jeez I am a bad parent.
Now time for questions?  I hope no one has any.  What?!  That is like, ten hands up.  Come on, people. What?  Seriously?  Is this stuff that complicated?
I wondered what would happen if I raised my hand and my left eyebrow at the same time and said:
"As a nuclear physicist, I think your approach is top notch.  Thank you so much."
or
"In my work as a neurosurgeon at one of the top hospitals in the country I must say that we use this method quite often.  Bravo! Now let's adjourn."
After what seemed like an eternity of the same question being rephrased by twenty different people we were finally free.
I looked at the student projects in the hallway on the way out.
"Nice job, Uranus.  Glad to see you are still a planet."
It never gets old.

Synchronized Swimming

I went to my first synchronized swimming event this evening.
I know nothing about the sport except that it requires holding your breath a long time.
What I noticed right away was that the pool was deep.
Deep.
Deep deep.
Over thirteen feet deep.
It didn't look too deep until I looked in.  The surface of the water was glassy and the dark blue color seemed endless.  I swear the mast from a sunken ship became visible but the lady next to me said it was just a reflection.  (I still think it was a ship).
Anyway the water was super deep and the swimmers jumped in like it was nothing.
I kept counting heads to make sure they all came up each time.  One time a large gnarled tentacle reached up but the girl was able to wrestle it off to the theme song from "Rocky"
I was forced to entirely make up the rules for synchronized swimming in my head.
"hmmm... that was a nice one.  Little too much flair from red toenail girl, though.  That'll cost her a point."
"oh, nice double shopping cart push with a half smile."
"That's called a flipper roll.  Classic.  Sometimes the basics are the best."
"You see here where she initiated the sushi roll but ended with a vodka splash.  Surprise ending.  This is what it is all about, people."
"Outstanding double handshake. ooooh.  that triple nose gurgle is going to hurt, though."
At the end of the event, the entire team jumped in the pool for the grand finale.  They formed themselves into a giant submarine and took one of the spectators for a ride.
When they resurfaced he was missing.  (If you see him, he is wearing an orange t-shirt and green shorts with palm trees on them.)
They say they'll find him one day.... but I wouldn't hold my breath.