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Remember those compromising videos that you allowed people to take of you when you were younger?

Videos you would be mortified today, for your friends to watch…

You know the ones I’m talking about…

There’s a video of that nature floating around this house somewhere, that caused me to flinch in embarrassment every time I was forced to watch it.

It’s the video of my first few hours of motherhood. The cameras were rolling 24/7 the day Emilie was born. An hour or so after my firstborn was conceived, My parents couldn’t beat a path to Best Buy fast enough to purchase a large and cumbersome Panasonic Video Camera. They diligently toted this contraption around for many years documenting every moment of Emilie’s life, beginning with the day she was born. (Regrettably, these videos didn’t disappear in 10 seconds like today’s Snap Chat. Our generation had to wait years for VCRs to become obsolete and erase the evidence of our youthful folly.)

There are several unsettling things about this video, starting with the fact that I exhibit the composure and maturity of a 12 year old. The most cringe-worthy scene is when my Mom picks up one of those pacifiers that the hospital provides and coaxes it into Emilie’s tiny little rosebud mouth. The camera pans to me, as I screech and lunge off the hospital bed announcing with plucky self-import:

First-Time-Mom: “Don’t put that thing in her mouth! We certainly aren’t going to be starting anything like that!”

First-Time-Grandma: (tossing pacifier aside and dragging out her syllables) “Ooookie-Doookie!”

It’s painfully obvious that I had done my research and knew everything about the “shoulds” and the “shouldn’ts” of parenting my newborn. Apparently, I bought into some crap I’d read about “Self-Soothing.” (If self-soothing was really a thing, therapists and Ambien wouldn’t be thriving like they are today.) But, it’s good to know I had a rigid Maternal Compass that first day.

Fast-forward a few years later, and a few years after that, and a few years after that and a few years after that. Ironically, there’s no footage of me in FULL BLOOM as a mother, largely because no one cared to film it anymore. But, if there had been, it would’ve depicted me attempting in vain to coerce all 4 of my subsequent offspring to suck a pacifier. I tried every trick in the book from brushing the nipple gently around the baby’s lips to dipping the damn thing in Karo syrup, to dredging the Karo in granulated sugar (like I was rimming a martini glass, instead of a plastic nipple). All of my efforts were in vain, as not one of my belligerent and willful children ever took a pacifier despite my efforts. Karma had the last laugh. They say she is quite the Bitch.

I’m not exactly sure when I did an about-face, cashing in my high standards for peace, sanity and convenience, but it was definitely chameleon-esque. Someone managed to snap a picture of me sharing my Margarita with Baby Emilie at a Mexican Food restaurant a few months before her first birthday. (She was teething and I thought something icy and numbing on her gums would help, or possibly a little Baby-Buzz would knock the horns off?)

“Everyday is like survival”
(Boy George – 1983)

The important lesson here, of course, is that the woman who managed to raise YOU, undoubtedly knows more than anything you’ll ever read in a book. I’m glad we got this all sorted out before my kids have kids and I’m a Grandma. In fact, the more I think about it, the word “Karma” sounds remarkably a lot like the word “Grandma.”

Maybe I’ll have my grandchildren call me that….

Not to oversimplify the fine art of parenting, (which I typically prefer to over-complicate) But, you can divide all of your offspring in to two distinct developmental categories:

-children young enough to be distracted from their woes by a HAPPY MEAL

-all the rest

I told a couple of my friends at lunch today that “Having 5 kids was thoroughly optimistic!”
They thought this statement was hilarious, but I really wasn’t kidding. Why would anyone voluntarily subject their life, much less their mood swings, to that level of vulnerability? The only reasonable justification that comes to mind is that, when I got them, they were very small. They had limited exposure to the outside world, thus they experienced minimal stress and I could easily solve all of their tiny problems…

We are all familiar with that bogus saying floating around out there, “If Mama Ain’t Happy, Nobody’s Happy”. Obviously, some guy thought of it and convinced people to print it on coffee mugs and tee shirts. REAL mothers know that this is a total crock . What’s closer to the truth is that “A Mother Is Only As Happy As Her Most Unhappy Child.”

Translation: We hardly EVER get to be happy and carefree for more than 10 minutes at a stretch. And, the bigger the family, the more the odds are stacked against you. Someone is always circling the drain around here.

But yesterday was sort’ve looking up for me.
-a couple of my blogs were syndicated just in time for my birthday
– my tennis balls were bouncing mostly in the court
-the laundry was caught up
– the sun was shining
– bluebirds were singing on my shoulder
Okay, maybe not the bluebirds, but it was going to be hard to bring me down. I even decided to drive the convertible with the top down to my birthday lunch; let the wind blow my 50-something birthday hair around.

Ironically, I was rocking down the interstate to Tom Petty, “Here Comes My Girl,” when here came one of my girls. The radio was so loud I missed her call. The call was quickly followed by this text-

Which was promptly followed by this text-

If you’ve ever tried to provide counseling services to a young adult while zipping down the highway in a convertible, with your radio blaring, I know you’re feelin’ my pain right about now….
Distraught Kid – “Hello!”

Happy Mom- “Hey Honey!”

Distraught Kid- “You’ll never believe what happened!”

Formerly Happy Mom- “Uh-oh, What happened?”

She proceeded to tell me about a Big Girl Situation that was unraveling on her. I pulled over at the next exit and put the top up, so I could hear her better. Please appreciate the symbolism, here, as a little metaphorical cloud of darkness crept over me, shadowing my birthday joy.

To be completely fair though, I must laud the fact that my children are aware and appear to respect the fact that they suck the very life out of me. The other day Emilie asked by text if I was “free to talk.” I texted back “yes,” checked to see that my ringer was on and went about my morning, listening out for her call. When I answered, the first thing she said was, “Thank You for taking my call!” It sounded like what the desperate callers say to Dr. Laura when they call in to her radio show… I responded, “Happy to take your call – What’s on your mind?”
As I listened, advised and supported her in equal measure, I found myself longing for the days when my children’s problems were correlative to their size and age. When the kids were little and got upset or worked-up over something, all I had to do was hug them, dry their tears, distract them with an ice cream cone or a push on the swing…it was sufficient to solve their pint-sized sorrows.

I know the Seasoned Mamas are forever preaching to the younger Mamas, but here goes:

Cherish the days when a “Happy Meal” actually equals “Happy.” The older they get, the harder it is to even temporarily buy their happiness…

…Which, by the time you’re 50 and they are 20, is all you’ll really want – for the peace that could be had in it.

= happy for a brief period of time!

Me And Hazel – staying together for the sake of the kids…

When you are raising children in their late teens and mid-20s, you spend quite a bit of time discussing the finer points of MATE SELECTION. It might arguably be the biggest decision a person ever makes in life and, as such, it warrants thorough examination and discourse. In fact, the topic is on the table so frequently at my house that I decided to simplify it for them: Choosing a mate is just like choosing a dog breed…

Think about what an enormous personal decision it is to choose a dog and what all factors into the decision.  There’s so much to contemplate. Big? Small? Hairy or Hairless? Friendly or Anti-Social?

Picking a spouse is EXACTLY the same. You have to consider which qualities resonate with you today and determine which of those qualities will matter to you later on down the road. What can you live with and tolerate for an ENTIRE LIFETIME???

I have had several friends through the years that have complained about a particular character trait their mate possesses and I’m always quick to remind them that most positive qualities generally have a correlative negative quality and vice versa.  If you married a Pit Bull, who goes out in the world “Kicking Ass and Taking Names,” you must understand that he probably can’t turn that side of himself off when he is at home (he may snap at you on occasion).

Conversely, if you married a Lap Dog, don’t be surprised if he is a little too “easy-going” at times. And, if you picked your Collie because you were attracted to his genial personality, don’t complain when he licks ABSOLUTELY EVERYONE he comes into contact with up one side and down the other! Dogs, like people, rarely stray too far from their inner nature.

As I was pontificating on this topic with one of my daughters recently, it occurred to me that it’s actually easier to get a “Do-Over” if you pick the wrong spouse, than if you pick the wrong dog. In the court of public opinion, there is simply no such thing as a “No-Fault Doggie-Divorce,” much less “Conscious Un-coupling!”

If You’re not convinced, take this little test:
-Pick 10 friends randomly
-Picture their reaction to you telling them you dumped your spouse
-Now, picture their reaction to you telling them “it just didn’t work out” between you and your dog.

I rest my case.

People are far less judgemental when marriages unravel. We can be pretty understanding when our friends tell us:

“We just grew apart”
“We weren’t right for each other!”
Or my personal favorite, “I thought I could change him…(sigh)”

Unfortunately for me, when it comes to one’s dog, there’s no such thing as “Conscious Uncoupling!” So, I’m stuck with my evil chihuahua.

No matter – Whatever relationship you’re committing to these days, just make sure you’ve shopped around!

There was an article I read not long ago, that referred to the Baby Boomers as, “The Sandwich Generation”. I optimistically inferred this to mean that we would be so busy traveling, waterskiing and playing tennis, that we would only have time to throw together a quick sandwich for dinner.

I was mistaken.

They meant we would be wedged in between caring for our children and our aging parents with barely time to even eat a sandwich.

Like much of the research I’ve ignored throughout my life, they were spot on! I didn’t make it down to Baton Rouge for Spring Break with Jimmy and the boys last week, as I ended up staying in Dallas to take care of my mom, who broke her shoulder.

I couldn’t help but notice in the few days I was there, acting as Primary Caregiver, that there are some startling similarities between caring for our aging Mothers and raising our children.

They don’t obey:

I could not have been more clear when I admonished my Mom, during a recent ice storm, “Do Not, under any circumstances, go outside – not even to get your paper – you can’t risk a fall!” We were later informed how LUCKY we were that she broke her “Non-Dominant Side” by a doctor who clearly doesn’t know Doris. If he knew her in the least, he would know she doesn’t have a non-dominant side!!

I admit I was a little miffed that she did what I SPECIFICALLY told her not to do. The last time I was responsible for bathing and feeding another person – cleaning up after them and laundering their tiny outfits, they were required, per the arrangement, to mind me. I prefer it that way.

It’s Necessary to Strictly Monitor their Social Media:

While I was pre-occupied in Dallas, Jimmy had his hands full with a slightly different concern in Baton Rouge… It seems that Mimi is on a dating website.

I got an alarmed and panicked phone call from Jimmy mid-week whispering, “I think my Mom is on a website called My Time or Our Time or Someone’s Time.  And she’s not even trying to hide it from me and the boys. She’s acting like a school girl – What should I do?” (Wouldn’t you think that, after raising 3 daughters, Jimmy would be an expert at mastering The Common School Girl?)

He went on to complain that she picks up her iPad first thing in the morning when she drinks her coffee, last thing at night and several times throughout the day to count her “flirts”! It appears that the iPad we all chipped in and bought her for Christmas had become Pandora’s Tablet.

After the first few of days of immediate success, (as determined by the hourly Flirt-Tally) she asked Jimmy to take a Profile Picture of her and post it on the site. Shortly after the picture posted, her number of “flirts” skyrocketed to 67!!

She is now threatening to meet one of her newfound beaux next week for coffee and beignets. One of the grandchildren suggested that it might be time for the “Stranger Danger” conversation…Fortunately, our brother-in-law has local law enforcement connections and is going to run a preliminary background check on this dude.

Mimi – with the only men that truly matter…

They’re turning into Benjamin Button:

-Every time I fixed my mom a plate, she said, “Don’t overwhelm me with food!” Seriously? Who over the age of 6 gets overwhelmed by food?

-Strapping her in and out of her sling and her seat belt was reminiscent of my car seat days. You had to add an extra 30 minutes to both sides of every errand. If Graco would invent an Old Lady Carrier, I would register for it and let y’all throw me a Shower.

-And the Sass Mouth at the doctor’s office!  I looked over and caught the doctor’s eye, shrugging, as if to say, “What are you gonna do?” I don’t think he was amused. I put her butt straight into Time-Out when we got home, but she didn’t notice because she fell asleep. I guess it was nap-time.

All smiles after I did her hair.

We are blissfully back in Oklahoma, leaving our Mothers in the capable hands of our siblings. Jimmy and I both agreed, if he wasn’t swiftly approaching manopause, we would be tempted to have another baby , just to get us out of all this…

Hangin’ tough on the Trail
(Just days before I delivered James)

I’m not sure exactly how, when or why Jimmy developed his own unique and personal system for evaluating women, but I’m pretty sure it started shortly after we were married, with some compelling need to appraise me and my efforts. I recall once, in the early years, after we had endured a few minor setbacks and hardships, he looked at me, somewhat surprised, and proclaimed, “You’re the kind of girl who would make it a long way on The Oregon Trail!” Back then, he wasn’t easily impressed, nor generously ladling out the praise, so I accepted that as the next best thing to an actual compliment.

What I eventually came to refer to as, “The Oregon Trail Scale,” is basically a metaphorical litmus test that gauges a woman’s intestinal fortitude and overall “heartiness,” as she encounters the various trials along the trail…

As time went by, I grew accustomed to the Trail Scale and even learned the accompanying lingo:

“You would be dead on the trail before we got to Nebraska…”
(Translation: Put on your Big Girl Bloomers)

JOB TRANSFER: When you really think about it, The Oregon Trail really was just a super-stressful cross-country job transfer! These Men heard there were that better economic opportunities via Westward Expansion, and their wives were brave enough to pull up stakes, abandon the support of extended family, say good-bye to familiarity and forge into the vast unknown. While today’s supportive spouse-on-the-move, doesn’t have to contend with tribes of hostile Indians, rattlesnakes and dysentery, there are certainly a myriad of modern day challenges that could rock one’s world (such as the toddlers that simultaneously came down with the chicken pox while you were in temporary housing, or the house that sat on the market for a year.)

“She would’ve made it all the way!”
(Translation: This girl’s so tough, she might actually be a dude)

PREGNANCY/CHILDBIRTH: It’s admittedly a lot less risky to produce children these days, than it used to be. Many women died giving birth, especially on those arduous journeys west. But, we all know there’s not a man out there who could halt the wagon train, bellow some orders to “boil water” and “fetch some sheets,” bite down on a bullet, belt a shot of whiskey, produce another human being, and have everyone back on the trail before sunset.

“She would get ambushed or eaten by wolves on the first day!”
(Translation: Your friend is a Diva)

CHILD REARING: You can watch your trail rating plummet, if you manage to be whinier than your children. We went to a local theme park once with a friend of mine and her family. My friend complained about the heat, the facilities, the lines and her own offspring. I could tell before Jimmy ever said a word, that he was Trail-Appraising her. (I continually strive to plan family outings with women like this, as they make me look more strapping than I actually am, thereby boosting my own trail rating)

In spite of the blatant sexism, I must obviously think this method of assessment is amusing, as I shared it with a large group of friends at a work-function recently. This prompted one of Jimmy’s colleagues to request an assessment from him of her Trail-Worthiness.  Less formal than an official performance appraisal, but judging from her response, just as meaningful…

(Happy Trials To You…)

Emilie’s impending nuptials to a wonderful guy, has spurred a lot of conversation around here lately about the entire process of “mate selection.” After 30 years of field research, I fancy myself an expert on the topic, and spend a lot of time advising my younger kids, (ages 14-25) about the qualities they should seek in the person they plan to spend the rest of their lives with. This past weekend has prompted me to amend and simplify the list of requirements; I’ve condensed the entire task down to just one imperative:

MAKE SURE YOU MARRY A PERSON YOU CAN BE SNOWED-IN WITH!

When I looked outside on Friday and saw the snow falling in earnest, I suspected we might be in for a long weekend.

I immediately implemented The Blanchards’ 4-Step Emergency Survival Plan:

Step 1- Get pizzas at Little Caesers
Step 2- Get ice cream and milk at Braums
Step 3- Get movies at Red Box
Step 4- Stop by the liquor store

*If I had a prescription for Valium, I would’ve swung by Walgreens, but I don’t, so I didn’t.

The first thing you have to acknowledge if you’re going to be on lock-down with your mate is the old adage that “opposites attract.” Remind yourself repeatedly that most days, you are happy that you married a real “Go-Getter!” A fidgety, anal-retentive, high energy mate that runs full speed ahead on the Hamster-Wheel-of-Life, benefits you about 361 days a year. But, when they are bored and restless you’ll need to muster up some self-restraint not to wind up on a special episode of “Dateline -Spouseacide.”

(Day 1)
Friday evening went by without a hitch. We were excited at the prospect of undiluted togetherness. Except for the fact that Tommy invited 9 14-year-old boys to spend the night, the evening was downright peaceful.

(Day 2)
Saturday morning dawned with several more inches of snow and the cancellation of all previously planned activities. We were hunkering down!

Fortunately, I had an excellent book downloaded on my iPad and was content to sit in front of the fire, snacking and reading my way through the day. Not so, my spouse. After a mere 16 hours with nothing to do, he was antsy and definitely “at loose ends.” This could’ve been a marriage-stressor, were it not for the fact that I had a plan in place…

…I set him to work at being a Stay-at-Home Dad! Tommy needed to make a diorama for his book report. This required a shoebox, some paint, Legos, and a lot of time. I’ve assisted in 162 of these projects over the past 28 years, so I felt minimal guilt at having Jimmy head this one up. (Well, maybe a tiny bit, when they had to negotiate the roads to Walmart for supplies, but it dissipated quickly, offset by the notion of 4-wheel drive and an hour alone.)

The two of them worked for most of the day on the diorama, interspersed with sporadic breaks to watch movies and annoy me…

“Do or Diorama”

(Day 3)
On Sunday, Jimmy asked me to sit with him and watch an episode of “House Hunters,” where a middle-aged couple shops for and purchases a home in Belize. I complied. The show featured beautiful scenery of this Central American paradise, along with information about the ease with which Ex-Pats gain citizenship in foreign countries, the leniency of this country’s tax code and the remarkable value of US currency in this part of the world. Jimmy became convinced that it was fate (as opposed to utter boredom) that prompted us to watch this show and we needed to start looking at property in Belize, post haste. He tried in vain to minimize the 9 hour, $1500 flight and seemed to forget that we are inextricably linked to a few lives here in the United States. He hasn’t mentioned Belize in 24 hours, so I’m guessing I may have effectively quashed and quelled that dream.

A few hours later, I rested my iPad on my lap and shut my eyes for a brief nap. Jimmy immediately recognized this as the perfect opportunity to plop down beside me and start drumming out a beat on our couch cushions like he was Ricky Ricardo on the bongos. I attempted my best to ignore him, thinking he might give up this transparent plea for attention and lose interest. This worked years ago on my toddlers, but apparently 51 year old men can stay focused longer. Eventually, I surrendered and glared at him crossly…

“What?” he asked innocently.

(Day 4)
We made it to Monday!

I woke up this morning with renewed strength, purpose and resolve. I lovingly insisted that everyone that could possibly make it down our driveway, was leaving for the entire day.
What would Jimmy Buffet say? “And Darlin’ I love you so, that’s the reason I just let you go…”

Gracie (in upgraded wardrobe, holding upgraded phone) gets paid to go back to Fayetteville

A storm blew into Oklahoma this weekend. I’m not talking about the one that brought sub-zero temperatures and freezing rain. I’m talking about the one that brought my 19 year old College Freshman home.

To be fair, it’s not like we were caught totally off-guard. Gracie let us know Tuesday or Wednesday that she planned to arrive home early Friday evening. We were delighted to clear our calendars, as we hadn’t seen her in 2 whole weeks! (They change so fast at this age; you hardly want to turn your back on them for a minute, lest you miss a major milestone…) To be completely honest, she did actually change her major a few days earlier, so we had, in fact, missed a “Major” milestone. We had some catching up to do.

I guess our first mistake was not realizing the visit was AGENDA-cized. It was a Rookie mistake. I know what y’all are thinking: “They’re not ‘Rookies’ – Gracie is their 3rd child!” True enough, we HAVE already raised 2 fabulous daughters, but this is the first time we’ve raised “Up-Grade Me Grace.”

The convenient thing about being one of the younger children in a large family, is that you have been afforded the opportunity to observe and take note of what Jimmy and I refer to as your “BASE PACKAGE.” Your parents have been “broken in” and the “trails have been blazed,” so to speak, by your older siblings, the PIONEERS. From this vantage point, you have a pretty clear idea of what the folks are willing and/or able to do for their children. (For example – our younger children know, that as long as they meet minimal expectation requirements, we will pony up for a cell phone, 4 years at a State university, and finance one semester of study abroad.) As the 3rd child, Gracie has managed to devote the majority of her life (and all of the past weekend) to pursuing any and all possible upgrades to her standard base package…

“UPGRADE MY PHONE”

We did not know this, but were quickly informed this weekend that the reason Gracie never answers our phone calls is because her phone is broken and doesn’t accept incoming calls. It does, however, function for Facebook, Instagram, texting and tells one Hell of a “Snap Chat Story.” When Jimmy suggested that her phone could be repaired and that she didn’t really NEED a new phone she pointed out to him that, “in the grand scheme of things,” he might only have 25 or so good years left, so” there was no point in hanging on to all those available AT&T upgrades…”

“UPGRADE MY WARDROBE”

As she was packing up to leave Sunday morning, she walked into my closet and said,
“If you had to choose between your black studded J. Crew tee shirt or the grey studded one, which would you keep?”

As I began to ponder which color tee I preferred over the other, Jimmy caught wind of the conversation and inserted,

“The great thing is that Mom doesn’t have to choose – she can actually keep BOTH of her J. Crew tops!”

“Moooommm! Which one do you pick?”

As I visibly struggled with this decision, he observed, “This is like ‘Sophie’s Choice,’ the fashion edition”

She liberated the grey one…

“UPGRADE MY COUNTRY, POR FAVOR”

It seems Gracie would prefer to study-abroad in Barcelona, Spain, rather than South America or Mexico, per her sisters’ options. In an effort to be uber-persuasive, she emphasized what a “glorious time” the 3 of us could have taking the train to Paris for the weekend when we come to visit her in Europe!! She appeared rather stunned and hurt when Jimmy informed her that his ideal weekend in Paris doesn’t include her.
(Ooh-lala!)

Sunday morning brought a flurry of activity. When she woke up and saw there was inclement weather coming in, she spearheaded an impressive family effort to hasten her departure. In a frenzy, she started packing up everything that was hers, and several things that weren’t. She woke up all of her siblings and let them know we would be attending an earlier Mass than usual, as she needed to “get on the road” sooner than expected.

Looking out the window, she briskly explained, “There’s NO WAY I’m going to risk getting snowed-in here!!”

Smart girl! There was no point in hanging around, she knew she was already on “thin ice” in Oklahoma and had definitely exhausted every possible upgrade.

During a brief lull in their plans last weekend, one of my friends’ high school daughters suggested that they go see “50 Shades of Grey.” My friend was naturally aghast and said, “You’re not going to see that FILTH and we’re certainly not going to go see it together!”

She later confessed to me that she really wanted to see it herself, but wouldn’t dream of going alone. So deeply troubled was I by the obvious decline in her morality, that I offered to go with her.

Fortunately, I was able to persuade a few more friends to sacrifice an afternoon in this selfless endeavor to research and provide commentary on such a sophomoric and debased sample of American culture. We reasoned that we couldn’t really criticize a movie we haven’t seen; besides, it would be good for the blog to provide the occasional movie review….

My singular request was that we attend INCOGNITO, as I was scandalized by the sheer thought of a Catholic Christian Mother-of 5 being seen in public at this movie, even if it was in the name of R&D.

We met on a weekday while the kids were in school. Per my usual timetable, I was the last to arrive.

The theatre was dark and my friends were barely recognizable in their clever disguises, still I was somewhat perturbed when they spotted me first and yelled out in unison, “Leslie Blanchard! We are sitting up here!”

(No matter, according to Gracie, who later commented, “Really Mom? you were ‘concealing your identity’ in a grey leopard blazer, hat and the sunglasses and gold hoops you wear every day? YOU screamed “Leslie Blanchard!” louder than they did….”)

Leslie disguised as Leslie in shades and grey

For those of you unfamiliar with the story line, here is the premise: A beautiful young girl is dispatched to interview a wealthy young billionaire for her college newspaper. Her character is developed as an “innocent” in every way imaginable.

Through a series of poorly written and unlikely encounters, they both manage to fall for each other.

This is where it gets weird… In addition to being a Billionaire, who owns a corporation, a jet, a fleet of flashy cars and a penthouse in downtown Seattle, it is quickly revealed during their first date, that he has “some rather unconventional fringe tastes about how love can and should be expressed.”

I’m not talking about “Love Hurts” in the emotional sense like the beloved Nazareth ballad; I’m talking about some very serious physical ouches!

There were some scenes in that movie that were as hard to watch as some of the scenes we watched recently in “12 Years A Slave.” WORSE actually, as it implied that any sane “everyday-nice-girl” would ever willingly agree to be physically tortured in the name of love, without some other very compelling enticements.

This sparked quite a bit of controversial discussion among my women friends about this entire concept. Several ladies theorized that this girl acquiesced because the man was such a “hottie.”

I thoroughly disagree.

He was so much more than a hottie, he was a billionaire. Bear in mind, the first week they were dating, he flew her from place to place in his private helicopter and gifted her with a brand “spanking” new BMW.

To illustrate my point, I propose an alternate movie scenario: Let’s say the male lead was a driver for UPS. We’ve all seen those guys… They are almost always great looking. When I see UPS drivers, I find myself wondering if that company has a handsomeness scale they use when they hire drivers.

So follow me here…

The exact same actress meets the exact same actor, only in this version, he is wearing brown Bermuda shorts and is delivering a package to her. As she signs his clipboard, they strike up a conversation, are instantly attracted to one another and go on a date.

He picks her up later that evening in his Honda Civic (that he drives himself – strike the limo, strike the uniformed chauffeur). In the course of their first date, he too reveals that he has “some rather unconventional fringe tastes regarding how love can and should be expressed.”

This isn’t where the movie gets weird, this is where the movie gets over… as in the female lead runs-not-walks right out of the picture. You know good and darn well that every woman in the audience of my hypothetical movie is now screaming, “Get out of there immediately! This dude is a freak!”

All I’m suggesting, is that when you replace the Jaguar with a Honda and subtract out the penthouse, the plot line gets considerably less intriguing.

There’s no need to thank me for providing this community service for my blog following. I’m glad I could save you all the price of a ticket and the calories in the Milk Duds…

And the next time you pull up at a red light beside a UPS truck and ask yourself “What can Brown do for you?” Just motor on your way, Sister Christian!

(more…)

Amateur blogtography by:
Leslie Blanchard

Happy Mardi Gras! Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent, commencing 40 days of rigorous Spiritual Discipline. Tomorrow Catholics and Christians all over the world will Fast, repent from sin and prepare to enter a period of self-denial.

But – today, we indulge!  (Which is why I’m including my new favorite martini recipe…)

Many people like my husband, will attempt to bypass the  TRUE MEANING OF LENT altogether, preferring to opportunistically view it as a “Do-Over,” as it’s been 48 days since we made our New Year’s resolutions and 47 days since we broke them!

Jimmy this morning: “Lets give up martinis for Lent!”

Me: “We’ve got all day to mull that over…”

Just like New Year’s Day, when he tried to make me “resolve jointly,” he now wants to yoke us spiritually by suggesting we give up the exact same thing together for Lent. It’s as though he thinks we will meet St. Peter at the Pearly Gates on the same day and be judged as a couple!

(Unfortunately for me, martinis are what we will probably have to give up, if we decide on something mutual, as it’s really the only vice we have in common – anything else would be disingenuous on one of our parts…)

Today after tennis, however, a group of “the tennis gals” discussed what we might potentially give up. This is a more realistic group of people for me to have this conversation with, since, as middle-aged women, we are more likely to struggle with similar temptations. Some ideas were bandied about. Interestingly, not one lady one mentioned giving up tennis. (USTA season is about to start and everyone needs to practice!) Someone suggested we give up cussing after poorly executed shots. Someone else suggested doing something positive for the community. Another gal mentioned giving up alcoholic beverages, which totally side-tracked us, as it reminded me to tell everyone about this dear little martini Jimmy has been making me lately.
We spent the next hour texting Martini recipes to each other and we never did make a decision about what to give up.

St. Germaine’s Martini:

1 oz vodka
2 ozs St. Germaine’s Liqueur
Splash of grapefruit juice

Combine all ingredients in a martini shaker filled with ice and shake, shake, shake, shake, shake!

(Helpful hint: I always hold my abs in when I shake a martini. I am convinced this helps tone the mid-section – try it!)

Make this Martini tonight – tomorrow it’s off limits. (EVEN IF IT IS NAMED AFTER A SAINT!)

Last week, while vacationing in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico, Jimmy got inconveniently ill. (That’s actually the only kind of “ill” Jimmy gets…) As a battle-hardened wife and mother, I have a long-standing Defense Mechanism that kicks in automatically the very minute my spouse or kids start complaining that they, “might becoming down with something.” I call it the “97% Rule.”  Simply stated, this rule postulates that 97% of the time, when a person related-to or married-to me complains of illness, they are just fine. So, I ignore them. This has saved me from needlessly canceling my own plans, endless nights of sleepless worry, and God forbid, foolishly checking kids out of school.

Additionally, everyone’s familiar with the story of, “The Little Tequila-Shooter Who Cried Wolf”, so it should come as no surprise, that between that time-honored tale and the 97% Rule, I was effectively able to deny Jimmy’s ailment for almost 24 hours, continuing to enjoy my trip. Unfortunately, when he spiked a high temperature, accompanied by body aches and chills, I was forced to confront the probability that he was legit-sick. And even then, I wasn’t terribly alarmed until others on the trip started to drop. Unfortunately, his illness (A Wicked Mexican Parasite) put a damper on our vacation, but, on the bright side, it also inspired me and Jimmy to invent a new Board Game we’re going to call “Insurance-apoly.”

The object of this game is to attempt to navigate through the perils of Life, while not getting bitch-slapped by your Insurance Company. Players move their little pieces around the board and the person who gets screwed the least, wins the game!
The only real catch to this game is that, similar to the casinos in Vegas, “The House” can win…

The game pieces:

Instead of little pewter irons, thimbles, shoes or wheelbarrows, in Insurance-apoly, the game pieces will be little pewter pregnant women, scalpels, wheelchairs, and kids with casts.

The Spaces:

This board will be made up almost entirely of spaces you REALLY DON’T want to land on…

For example:

– You got sick while vacationing in another country. Instead of making a costly emergency room visit, you prudently schedule an office visit with a local doctor…
Oops! Your medical insurance only covers “Emergencies” during International travel.   So, in this case, rather than reimbursing you $100 for your office visit and $60 for your antibiotic, your insurance company would’ve preferred you spend 6 times that amount with a costly, yet fully reimbursable, Hospital Emergency Room visit…

Eat the $160 and back up your miniature wheel chair 2 spaces!

-During a routine office visit, your Dermatologist notices a benign skin cancer and removes it from your back…
Darn! Your batch of “referrals” from your Primary Care Physician expired, unbeknownst to you. Even though you are all paid-up on your premiums and your Carrier knows your PCP would obviously refer you to a Derm, you’re on your own with this one…

Doesn’t that just cut both ways? Pay $1200 and move your tiny scalpel back 4 spaces!

-You’re writhing in pain in Labor and Delivery. When you start hurling profane epithets at your Spouse, they “check you” and you’re at 5 centimeters. They call in the Anesthesiologist. Like an Angel of Mercy, he gives you an epidural, and you are now able to enjoy one of Life’s Most Blessed Moments…

You discover a few weeks later, when the EOB arrives, that although you did “due diligence” in selecting an “In Network” Obstetrician and “In Network” Hospital, the Anesthesiologist on call that night, was inexplicably “Out Of Network”!!!  Apparently, instead of assuming that a facility in your network would actually be staffed with physicians in  your network, and before you allowed this Medical Professional to alleviate your pain and suffering, you should have asked a few pertinent questions…Ironically, if “asking pertinent questions” was your strong suit, you probably wouldn’t be in Labor and Delivery (nevermind, that’s another blog…)

That’s going to cost you  $3700 and Fat Mama moves back 6 spaces!!

Just to keep things sporting, there will be a few spaces you might land on that say:
“Claim Paid!,” “Deductible Met,” and “You’re Covered!” But, they will be few and far between. Good luck trying to land on them…

As an added feature, in lieu of a “Get Out Of Jail Free Card,” and a “Treasure Chest,” Insurance-opoly will have 2 “Government Gets Involved” corners where players can draw either the “Medicaid” or the “Medicare” Card. If any player should happen to draw either one of these two cards, every other player in the game is adversely affected as their “fees” skyrocket to cover industry write-offs…

Every player pays out the booty and goes back 10 spaces!

Big Brother Steps In

(Hint: surely by this point you’ve figured out, The House always wins!)