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!)

Mean Girls – same old crap with a few new wrinkles…

Why hasn’t anyone made a sequel to the movie “Mean Girls?”  To make the original and then just leave it at that, seems to imply that girl drama begins and ends with teens and pre-teens. Alas, some of the social maneuverings of our peers seem to underscore the fact that this compelling drive to establish Communal Groups (aka “cliques”) with a clearly-defined social hierarchy, may peak in middle school, but sadly, is never really outgrown. We should call our movie…

“Mean Girls: Middle-School to Middle-Aged (same old crap, with a few new wrinkles)

The first order of business is to cast the lead roles…

“The Chic-in-Charge”

This girl doesn’t require a lot of explanation. She runs the show. There is simply no other option in her world. Whether she is 6, 6th grade or 60-something, she is adept at spotting and collecting followers. She is typically charming, attractive and well-versed in the art of all things femme. She can pick a follower from a mile away and collects them like filler flowers for her bouquet; which works, as long as everyone understands that she is the Main Bloom. This lady lacks social integrity and never looks over her shoulder at her own wake of destruction. Thus, she typically chooses a mate that people refer to as, “The Nicest Guy You’ve Ever Met!”

“The Loyal Side-kick”

This gal is a bit baffling. She typically possesses all the qualities of the Chic-in-Charge. She has looks, charm, talent and intellect. She’s enigmatically the Total Package, except for the fact that she has zero desire to run the show. Who knows why? Maybe she doesn’t want the responsibility; or maybe she’s the smartest one of all; perhaps her second-in-command status has all the prestige and upside of inclusion and leadership, with none of the inherent responsibilities or social pitfalls. She is thrilled to be the less accountable (in her own estimation) counterpart to her BFF/Bestie!

“Miss Oblivious”

We all know this girl. As a child, she sat on the front row of Sunday school class; as a woman, she probably teaches it. Unlike her leaders, Chic-in-Charge and Loyal Side-kick, she actually DOES believe that the rules apply to her, which is why she goes so out of her way to be nice to everyone. She’s familiar with the concept of “turn the other cheek,” she just got confused somewhere along the way and thinks it means, “look the other direction when your friends mistreat others.”  In so doing, she exonerates herself when someone gets hurt. After all, she’s not the leader. In short, this gal really doesn’t want to be too overly-involved. She was embracing “Don’t ask/Don’t tell,” long before the United States Military.

“Miss Delighted-to-be-Invited”

You’ll find this gal a little further down the food chain. She is simply delighted to be invited to the party! She can’t whip up an appetizer fast enough to attend the event! She “goes-along to get -long” and ultimately evaluates her own self worth by the exclusivity of any group she’s blessed to be a member of. Her Social Bank Account teeters on the brink of overdrawn at all times, so she certainly can’t be expected to risk making a costly withdrawal on behalf of any cause other than her own.

That pretty much sums up the Casting Call. No offense to my gender, but, in real life, when these gals posse-up and their actions go largely unchecked, is it really any wonder that we are perpetually stuck in middle school? On a positive note, however, these transparent manifestations of Social Darwinism could supply endless material for a blockbuster sequel that would make “Lord Of The Flies” look like a civilized tea party for boys.

“Mean Girls 2”
(Auditions held daily in a life near you!)

The Followers are getting restless…

I posted my last blog entry on January 1st, the night after Matt proposed to Emilie (which was 3 days after Matt proposed to Me and Jimmy). It was a timely piece about negotiating New Year’s Resolutions with one’s spouse. A few days went by, as I busied myself assembling my “Wedding Planner’s Notebook,” flipping through Bridal Magazines and researching local vendors. Blog-wise, I was just biding my time. There was not a doubt in my mind that OUR FIRST WEDDING was going to provide post-after-endless -post of fodder for the blog. Certainly, this Ginger would be snapping left and right – then leaping into the blogosphere to rant to The Followers….

About a week later, the moment that I had been waiting for finally arrived. The family had just gotten home from church and a lovely lunch, when Jimmy said to me,

“Meet me in the office, I’ve made a few decisions about the wedding, I want to discuss with you…”

An uncomfortable silence permeated the air, as the kids made worried eye contact. They know from experience, that when Daddy says, “Lets go talk in the office,” it can’t be good…

I, however, chose to view this situation as a bad news-good news scenario. On the one hand, I definitely did not expect a positive outcome from this meeting, which I was certain was going to be an attempt on Jimmy’s part to set some budgetary constraints on OUR FIRST WEDDING. But, on a positive note – I definitely felt a blog coming on!

Setting all thoughts of the blog temporarily aside , I steeled myself for the “Talk.”  As I have mentioned in previous posts, I am a seasoned wife and no stranger to the various battlefields of a bliss-filled marriage. Strategy is essential. I immediately realized I was at a huge disadvantage having this conversation in the office. This is a “right-brain” room, filled with computers, Christmas bills awaiting payment, tax files and other detritus of “reasonable and responsible living.” Advantage Jim.

Personally, if given the option, I would’ve selected a different VENUE (check out my new wedding vocabulary) for us to have a talk concerning the wedding budget. The office, surrounded by somber reminders of reckless Christmas living (excessive celebration) and the looming April 15th tax deadline, is not going to cast Yours Truly/The Wedding Planner in the most favorable light. Surely, there are other rooms in the house where I could gain more leverage. Disadvantage Leslie.

Reluctantly, I walked into the office. He was seated, so I decided to stand, having once read that you can overpower someone psychologically if they’re seated and you loom over them. I attempted to loom. That’s when I was I was completely blindsided by a man I’ve been married to for 30 years and actually thought I knew….

These are the words Jimmy spoke:

“Emilie is such a wonderful girl. She’s done everything we’ve ever asked her to do. I’m proud of her. I want you to make this wedding nice. Let’s give her a beautiful wedding! Whatever y’all want!”

Now- people have been warning me for years that blasting rock music from my Ipod directly into my eardrums was going to seriously impair my hearing abilities one day, but What the Hell is this man saying? I eyed him suspiciously waiting for the rest….I could not have been more ill-prepared for what he said next….

Jimmy -“You can’t take it with you!”

Me- “You can’t take it with you????”

Jimmy – “yeah, you know…you can’t take it with you!”

Me- “What does that even mean? Who even are you?”

I CAN’T WORK IN THESE CONDITIONS!

To make matters even worse, I’ve been semi-abandoned by my very own Mother,  Grandma of The Bride…
When I discuss wedding plans with her, she pauses, tones down her opinions, carefully measures her words, and says weird, unacceptable things like,

Doris -“You have exquisite taste, dear, I’m sure that will be lovely”

Me – “Mom?”

No warnings about obvious pitfalls? No lectures on etiquette? She’s just going to sit there in Dallas, letting me barrel forward unchecked, wantonly selecting color palettes on my own, doing God-only-knows-what kind of irreparable damage to her granddaughter’s wedding, without her guidance?

If all that wasn’t bad enough, I have to deal with MY BRIDE…
When I email THE BRIDE pictures of dress designs and floral inspirations, she emails me right back, “Yes to the dress and Okay to the bouquet!”

I SIMPLY CAN NOT WRITE UNDER THESE CONDITIONS!!

Where’s my Brideszilla? Been hearing about those brides forever. Where’s my tightwad husband – The Businessman? Been dealing with him my whole life. For crying out loud, where the Hell is The Real Doris?

I was counting on them to frustrate this process, rain on my parade daily and give me mountains of 2015 writing material. I can’t plan a wedding and write a blog without some help from my nearest and dearest….

In the words of Miss Bonnie Raitt, “Lets give ’em something to talk about!”
(And Leslie something to blog about)

Preparing myself for “the talk”.  Inhale – exhale….

Jimmy and I built our entire relationship on the concept of “Marital Oneness,” largely because I crammed it down his throat in the early years. I probably read it on a poster somewhere along the way, but I really pushed the concept “Together We Are Stronger!” However, it occurred to me this morning, that perhaps Jimmy was a little Over-indoctrinated, when he said, all too enthusiastically,

“We need to sit down and go over OUR New Year’s Resolutions!”

I know that I’ve changed my tune a bit through the years, but I really don’t view this is as a “Couple-Thing.” There are a lot of things we are required  to do together, such as paying taxes – “Married and Filing Jointly”. But, it’s not as if we have to check a box -“Married and Resolving Jointly”…

I see this for the clever marital ploy that it is. There are obviously a few things HE wants to tweak, and feels like he needs to involve me, to ensure his own success.

I think it would be much better if we just quietly consider a few personal behaviors on our own, (as the flawed, imperfect individuals that we are) and commit to improve. Surely, NO GOOD can come from one’s spouse helping one identify ways to reform oneself.

So…I shot him my most Petulant, Put-Out, Go-To-Hell look, but he was not deterred…
Here are a few suggestions he has for 2015:

JIMMY – “WE NEED TO START EATING RIGHT”

I bet this is the #1 most popular, over-resolved resolution in the entire history of resolution-making. I bet when people started actually getting to choose what to eat, (beyond what they slaughtered or grew on their farm) they made bad food choices. Personally, I think making bad food choices is one of the only good things about being an adult. Obviously, when I was a kid, I had to eat whatever Doris put in front of us or let us have. She rarely let us have candy, but she did manage to look the other way when Dad bought it on road trips. He’d disappear inside the Filling Station and then come back out to the car and start throwing Snickers and Butterfingers into the back of the Station Wagon like he was on a Mardi Gras float. To this day, I equate sugar with fun and adventure!!

LESLIE- “Just talking about this is making me crave brownies… What else you got?”

JIMMY – “WE SHOULD CLEAN UP THE LANGUAGE AROUND HERE”

When the girls were younger, we were very careful about “choosing our words” – as the girls were “little ladies” and the boys were toddlers. (Sexist – I know) I had a list of acceptable substitute words we used in place of the Big Naughties. These were kinder, gentler words that one could slip in seamlessly to substitute for the verboten 4-letter words. Now that the girls are grown up and out of the house and the boys are teenagers, we’ve let our conduct standards slip a bit. Okay, a lot. In my defense, I’ve come to the conclusion that there are certain words that just punch up the point I’m trying to make.

LESLIE – “I’m feeling verbally and creatively stifled…let me think about that one too…what else you got?”

JIMMY – “WE NEED TO MAKE A BUDGET AND STICK TO IT”

Jimmy maintains that its not enough that I make out a budget every year, I should actually plan to adhere to it. It’s pretty lame that he is trying to insert this as a New Year’s Resolution for “US“… Jimmy literally spent $12 in 2014. Admittedly, this was up significantly from the $7 he spent in 2013, but still…I can tell he is patronizing me with this “WE” Shit…

LESLIE – “Fun fact: We lived on a budget in the 80s. Totally hated it!”

So there it is- Jimmy’s Trifecta of New Year’s Resolution Options. Clearly, HIS resolution was to ruin 2015. I’m typically pretty docile and agreeable by nature, but I’m going to have to dig my heels in here. I’m simply not committed enough to the first 2 and a little “been there-done that” on number 3. I love us just the way we are…

PS- I was so completely distracted and annoyed while writing this, that I burnt the F******* brownies!!

“You Can’t Always Get What You Want, You Get What You Need” – (A Stocking Stuffer Strategy By Mom and Mick Jagger).

The stockings were filled by the chimney with care, in hopes that my phone charger still would be there!

Sounds like the majority of the Moms I’ve talked to have completed their Christmas shopping, for the most part.

“I just have to pick up some stocking stuffers and I’m all done!” boasted one of my friends.

Not to be the voice of negativity, but that’s a more daunting chore than it sounds like… I’m pretty sure the tradition of stuffing stockings originated years ago, back in the Mother Country, when the only thing children received from Father Christmas, was a small (human-sized) sock filled with a few walnuts, an orange, a corn husk doll and a schilling or two. Nowadays, our kids get so darn much for Christmas, I’m actually bitter about stuffing their stockings. Not to mention, I can ill-afford this task, as the stocking stuffers usually cost more than the Christmas gifts…

So this year, I’m thinking that, since I probably can’t shirk my parental obligation to fill these obnoxious, oversized socks, (fit for a Clydesdale) the least I can do is make MY life a little easier with a strategic selection of fillers. This year, I’m going with the following theme for my stocking stuffers:

“CRAP Y’ALL BORROW OR STEAL FROM ME AND DAD THROUGHOUT THE YEAR”

PHONE CHARGERS: I know in advance, that I’m going to crawl exhausted into bed many a night in 2015, reach behind my nightstand for the end of the cord to my phone charger and find nothing. I’ll follow this trail of nothingness all the way to the wall socket, where I will be rewarded by more of Nothing. I know you will all deny having seen it and look at me dumbfounded and bewildered when I suggest that you may possess any knowledge of my charger’s whereabouts.

CAR CHARGERS: I can already picture the hectic day when my phone loses juice on my way to a basketball or football game in Bugtussle, Oklahoma, completely at the mercy of my GPS, fumbling through the console for my phone charger. Who am i kidding? It won’t be there.

EAR BUDS: Some days I never even make it to the gym to work out, because I burn the requisite number of calories, not to mention all my allotted time, taking the house apart and searching all the cars for just one pair of ear buds.

BATHROOM ESSENTIALS: These items disappear from my bathroom at an alarming rate. Are you taking hairbrushes and combs to your friends’ houses and leaving them there? If that’s the case, why am I not finding your friends’ hairbrushes and combs lying around here that they left? Due to the genetically ambiguous nature of my hair, I actually only need my comb/brush once a week or so, but there’s never one in my bathroom when I do. Ditto razors, soap and shampoo. Do y’all seriously wait until we fall asleep at night and creep into our bathroom to kidnap our toiletries? Any excuse not to shave my legs is great, but Dad really needs to shave, so….

COFFEE PODS: One of the best things Daddy and I ever did for ourselves was switch to the woefully expensive Keurig system of coffee brewing. One cup at a time! Fast and Fresh! I’m not exaggerating when I say that it’s literally changed our lives for the better… Except for the mornings when we stumble bleary-eyed into the kitchen to discover that you and your friends burned through $20 worth of coffee pods, the previous night, during an all night study session. It’s rather pathetic that I have to hide Back-Up Emergency Pods in various places around the house to ensure that we can always get a cup of coffee to start our busy day of servicing your needs.   And, I probably shouldn’t say this, but it’d probably be cheaper if we had a “pot habit”, instead of a “pod habit”….

FOOD AND GAS GIFT CARDS: It’ll cost me a ton, but I’ll probably throw in a few gas cards and fast food gift cards. I reckon it’s “pay me now or pay me later”. I understand that it’s ridiculous for me to expect you to eat dinner at home or, God-forbid, on the costly meal plan the university requires us to pay for. I am resigned to the fact that your generation socializes at Panera, Whataburger and Starbucks. So, I guess the exciting challenge will be for me to predict which dining establishments will find favor in 2015 with “Generation I’m-not-eating-that”.

I’m super motivated to head over to Target now. I really like my plan and think this is Pro-active Parenting at it’s very finest! I just have this nagging suspicion that even after Santa Claus gives you a $30 Starbucks card, it’ll barely be February before I’m fishing around in the hole I slit in the bottom of my mattress trying to find a coffee pod for Daddy, so he can go to work to try to earn enough money for your sock to runneth over next year…

As an Army Brat, who grew up all over the world, it was nearly impossible to have set traditions, in my childhood. As such, it’s possible that I might have been a wee bit over-zealous establishing traditions when I had my own family..singing all the same carols, baking the same scones, making the same fudge and watching the same Christmas movie year after year….AND, of course….writing the Blanchard Family Christmas Letter.

So, I guess I have only myself to blame for the reaction I got, when I hinted that I was considering not writing THE LETTER this year. I’ve been writing a blog, which I pointed out, renders the Christmas Letter somewhat redundant. Right then and there, all the Whos down in Whoville dropped their hands, stopped their Who-singing and looked at me in astonished bewilderment, it was as though my heart had shrunk 3 sizes that day!

It became abundantly clear that, the Sacred Christmas Letter, is guaranteed protection under the Freedom of Information Act. Due to its status as a “Family Tradition,” it Must be written! Blog be damned!

MERRY CHRISTMAS FAMILY AND FRIENDS,

Emilie, 28, has had a great year! So good, in fact, that she has scarcely been mentioned in my blog, as the thrust of my writing focuses on embarrassing mishaps. There’s simply not an abundance of blog-fodder surrounding the life of an overworked and overwhelmed fledgling Attorney. No matter! Emilie is not particularly enamored of the blog, anyway. Shortly after I started writing it, and was fishing for “feedback,” (translation: accolades) she informed me, “Mom, I’m sure all your friends, who didn’t grow up hearing your shtick day-in, day-out, think your blog is funny!!” Shortly after making this comment, she was walking through a downtown parking garage, reading the blog on her phone and was almost run over by a car! Thank goodness, I was in Edmond that day and have a solid alibi.

Emilie and Matt (the best thing that happened to her this year!)

Mollie, 25, is studying Law at Fordham University in Manhatten. We miss her terribly and her absence has left a void in our blog – I mean, our lives. Now, there is a girl that could be depended upon to provide consistent creative writing material!! Whatever adorable little mishaps she is involved in on a daily basis up there, are being kept from us, with the exception of the 911 phone call we got from her beleaguered boyfriend, Jace, when she was LOST IN NEW YORK CITY!!! The fact that I posted a blog about that the next day, isn’t helping to keep me “in the loop” on the goings-on in the Big Apple…They’re both busy this week with their Law School Exams and then, flying home for Christmas!!

Lost and found

Gracie, 19, left for The University of Arkansas in August. All Summer long, as we battled over custody of jewelry, make-up and clothes, it was clear, we were just masking our pain; both of us dreading the day she would leave…On the morning she departed, one of her BFFs came over to help us pack up her car; then they stood in the driveway and hugged and cried for quite some time. Finally, Gracie, looked at us the two of us, and said, in her bravest singsong voice, “Well – I guess this is IT!!” As I closed in for the emotionally dramatic Mother/Daughter Goodbye Scene, she pressed her phone in my hand, wrapped her arms around her girlfriend, and said, “Can you snap one last picture of me and Jensen before I go?” That kind of sums up motherhood for me…anticlimactic.

Cheering on the football field and missing her Mama!

James, 17, had shoulder surgery the day before Thanksgiving. It was an extremely difficult decision whether or not to have him undergo this procedure. Upon consulting with 3 different surgeons, we finally agreed to go through with it. A few hours after the operation, we were filled with second thoughts and renewed angst, as we saw our typically healthy, happy-go-lucky son debilitated by pain and discomfort. We anxiously drove him home from the hospital, each silently wondering if we had made the right decision or if we had possibly just ruined our young boy forever.

Suddenly, we heard him mumble something from the backseat…

Jimmy- “What’s he saying back there?”

Leslie- “It sounds like he’s saying ‘What-a-burger'”

And, then he said ANOTHER word…and his thumbs began to twitch…

Leslie- “He just said, ‘phone’! He wants his phone! He wants to text!”

And, we smiled at each other in relief, because we knew…Our Boy was going to be okay.

That was a couple of weeks ago and we are delighted to report that, while we don’t know if he will recover enough to play football his Senior year, he is back to texting at his pre-surgery capacity and seemingly has a bright future ahead.

James and his date Annie on their way to Winter Formal. Wish I could see him dancing to “Staying Alive!”

At 14, Tommy is still surprisingly loving, considerate and respectful. As cynical battle-scarred veterans of 4 previous teenagers, we remain on threat level “high-alert status,” ever-vigilant as we watch for the inevitable warning signs of a changing temperament. He has been extremely helpful these last few weeks, picking up James’ slack. We did notice, after a couple of days, that James’ incapacitation didn’t actually add too much to Tom’s workload…underscoring the fact that he has been correct all along in his assertions that, “James doesn’t do anything around here!” Nonetheless, by Day 3 of our Post-Surgical Thanksgiving “Hunker-Down”, Tommy said, “I don’t care WHAT I do today, or WHO I do it with, I’m putting on some real pants with a zipper and leaving this house!”

The dogs know who feeds them!

Speaking of hunkering down, Jimmy and I will celebrate 30 years of marriage if he hangs in through next week! He continues to remind me that “all he does” is work, fix the things we break, and finance/indulge my writing and tennis obsessions….

There’s really not much I can say to dispute that, except sing:
“If I bake scones and blog all night long…It’s a Family Tradition!”

Wishing you and yours the merriest Christmas and a blessed 2015!
Jimmy, Leslie, Emilie, Mollie, Gracie, James and Tommy

One of the things I’ve always hated about my vocation, is that EVERYBODY has an opinion on how you should do your job. People don’t go around telling Engineers how to build bridges, or Surgeons how to perform surgery; people tend to defer to the expertise, education and training of other professionals in their respective fields. But, if motherhood is your career of choice, one must always be prepared for an onslaught of unsolicited input on how to do this particular job. The problem as I see it, lies in the fact that this profession is woefully overexposed – EVERYONE, either IS a Mother, is close friends with a Mother, knows a Mother or, God forbid, actually had a Mother themselves…

Generally, I usually find other people’s opinions well-meaning and useless; I believe we really do know, instinctively, what’s best for our own kids… I don’t mean to imply that I’m Never open to outside suggestions.  In fact, I have managed through the years, to stumble inadvertently across several nuggets of wisdom from some rather unconventional sources:

The Federal Aviation Administrartion
(Lesson: Take care of your Kid’s Mom – No one Else Wants to Take Over In The Event Of Your Untimely Demise)

Before I had children, when I would take the occasional flight, I was always surprised that the airline warned you, that, “in the event of an actual emergency,” always put your own oxygen mask on first. I really felt like this flew in the face (pun intended) of the very essence of parenting, as I understood it, (which I clearly did not).
I was always taken aback at this instruction and “judgy”, in the way that, only people who haven’t had kids yet, can be. It wasn’t until many years, and several kids later, on a flight out of Orlando, while 2 year old James repeatedly threw his small plastic horses, with remarkable accuracy, at the heads of the passengers seated around us, that I came to understand the metaphorical imperative. It suddenly dawned on me that,  if I should pass out due to a sudden drop in cabin pressure, no one, in their right mind, would be as motivated as I would be, to rescue my little Horse Whisperer.

The Local Fire Department
(Lesson: Motherhood is not as effortless as some of us make it look)

I explain it to Jimmy like this, “You look over at those Firemen when you’re sitting at a red light, in front of the Fire Station, and you mutter to yourself, “They’ve got the life! What do those guys do all day anyway? Play checkers and wash the fire truck?”

And that’s what it sure seems like, right up until there’s a blazing fire to be put out; then, they’re the first ones to run into the flames!  It’s comforting and reassuring to know they’re “on call” and ready to go.

That’s exactly how it is with Moms. You might resent whatever it is you think we really do all day, right up until the proverbial crap hits the fan!!! And then you can’t hand the emergency over to Mama fast enough. We may look like carefree slackers, but we’re your family “First Responders.”  So, if you see us out and about laughing gaily, seemingly without a care in the world- remember we will be the first ones to run right into the flames of a family emergency, while everyone else practices their stop, drop and roll.

Just had a long relaxing bath and lunch out with friends….reporting for duty!!

A Restaurant In Texas
(Lesson: You Can’t Fight DNA)

There is a restaurant in Houston, called “A Taste Of Texas,” that Jimmy and I dined at a few times when we were younger. While I can’t remember what their menu was or if I even liked the food, my future parenting endeavors were profoundly affected by a sign they had posted right by the Hostess Stand. The sign said, “The Management requests that children not Alter the Atmosphere of this Dining Establishment”. What’s relevant here, is that it indelibly planted a seed in my mind, that it was actually possible to raise children who did not alter the atmosphere of their surroundings, and I do so love a challenge! Unsurprisingly, all 5 of my kids turned out to be “Atmosphere Alterers,” in spite of my best efforts. It was written on their DNA – (on their Dad’s side)

Nature or nurture?

A Wise, Crabby Old Asian Woman
(Lesson: Live With It, There are No “do-overs”)

There was a smaller, less poshy, Chinese restaurant in Houston, that Jimmy and I dined at ONLY ONCE. We ordered two entrees, a tea and a Diet Coke. When I took a sip of my tea, I noticed it had a funny taste, kind of stale. So I motioned for my server and asked for a Coke instead. When the bill was presented, she had charged us for all 3 beverages. I was unconcerned, as I was certain, we would sort it out when we got to the cashier. When I explained the situation to the elderly Cashier/Owner, she got a very disgusted look on her face and literally screeched, “You Order Tea, You Pay Tea!!”

We forked over the additional 85 cents, which was a small price to pay, considering, that we have told this story at least 300 times. (It kills at cocktail parties!) What a valuable life lesson… Many was the night, when the kids were little, and, I was at the end of my rope, Jimmy would just smile at me and say, “You Order Baby, You Pay Baby!!”

Raising great kids takes patience and time; it’s a long and arduous process.
My best unsolicited advice: Trust the Mom in the Mirror… Everyone else can just hold their horses!

“You order kids, you pay kids”