An actual artist “Fixing” my work

A friend of mine threw herself a milestone birthday party at one of those paint-a-picture places recently.

My initial reaction which lasted about 5 seconds was – ohhhh not interested in that…

But I do adore this particular friend. Wild horses couldn’t keep me from celebrating with her; And I would dig ditches on the side of the road with this entire group of  ladies, so I was going.

We kicked off the party with a popular new cocktail, The St. Germaine’s Martini. I was the bartender, as usual.

I don’t mind. ( Life Tip: I try to contract my abs when I shake a martini and am pretty sure it works to flatten the tummy.)

After the martinis got us all limber and loosened up, our instructors introduced themselves and got the ball rolling. One of the instructors looked at me and said,

“Hi! Don’t I know you?”

“Hi! I don’t think so,” I responded.

“Haven’t you been here before?” 

“Nooooo…I’ve never been here before!  I’ve always wanted to, but never have!” I added, practically cooing.  The last part was a complete falsehood.  I’ve never had a desire to go there, but couldn’t resist an opportunity at Teacher’s Pet.  
About that time, one of my friends chimed in with, “Leslie has probably been coming here every afternoon since she found out about this party, taking private lessons, so she could “win” the night!”
Another friend asked,  “Uh-Oh, is this a contest?”
“If Leslie’s involved, then it’s a contest!” another added.

A rumor is loosely circulating that I’m Uber-Competitive because, when our tennis team caravanned to St.Louis in August, for Sectionals, I took a wrong turn that took the group in my car off-course for about an hour.

These girls are still bitter because I wouldn’t stop to let anyone eat or pee until we caught-up with, passed and beat the other vehicles to our hotel. In my defense, it was the perfect kick-off for an extremely competitive weekend. It got our competitive juices flowing.

Besides….we won.

Nonetheless, they just know me too well. It could well be time to consult my wait list. (Another life tip: Keep a wait list of prospective friends. I find that life is too short and time too limited to be friends with all the fabulous people one meets, so keeping a wait-list of prospects lined up is a quick way to replace friends one may alienate along the way…)

We started our project by putting on an apron. I am naturally wary about anything that begins by tying on an apron, but I cooperated. The extremely patient instructor walked us step-by-step on how to paint the peacock that our hostess selected .

We painted for what seemed like several weeks.

It was fun to watch everyone so intent on their painting. I was more intent on watching everyone else’s intentness, to listen to the instructions. In this way, not much has changed since my high school days. I had to keep asking the others, “which brush?” and “which color?”

I feel everyone should try to express themselves in this world. We should all make an effort to find our “medium.” After an hour or so of painting, the instructor walked over to mine and said, “Here, let me fix yours…go visit with your friends!”

So I guess painting isn’t my MEDIUM.  But, in all fairness, I’ve known this since the first grade.

Obviously, this man was concerned I would tell people I painted it at his studio and they might lose business.

After everyone finished painting, we posed for a group picture.   I continued to add paint to canvas after the instructor “fixed” mine, so mine was definitely the worst in our group and possibly the worst ever done by a grown adult in the history of this particular business model.

After the picture, I hugged everyone goodbye, tucked my martini shaker and painting under my arm and headed home. When I arrived home, I promptly hung my painting on the wall for Jimmy to admire.

And then I sent everyone a text proclaiming my victory.  I was the first one to get mine on the wall.  Of course it was a contest…

Oh, and Jimmy’s response to my evening’s effort?  “Woman, it’s a damn good thing you excel at other things, because you sure as hell can’t paint!” 

There’s been some predictable backlash from the blog. Honestly, I’m surprised I didn’t see this coming. Apparently, my kids tolerated the speeding ticket blog, a “tell-all” about my skirmishes with local law enforcement, but they simply can not tolerate, and will not abide, what will henceforth always be referred to as, the “hickey” post. Just a few hours after I tapped on the “publish” button, the frantic reactions started pouring in.

“Delete immediately”.

“You have crossed the line”

Perhaps we should’ve sat the children (ages 28, 25, 19, 16 and 14) down a few weeks ago and conducted a family meeting. It could have gone something like this:

“Kids, sometimes in the Grown Up World, a Mommy wants something more. As much as she loves running things up to the school that you forgot, ramming pads into your football pants, matching up lonely socks and all the other wonderfully fulfilling things she gets to do… She wants more out of life….More than running to the store for dog food and running an iron over your khakis. Mommy wants to be creative! After all, she really hasn’t created anything in 14 years, since she created the last one of you. She begins to remember a time (yes – a time before you) when she used to write about things. She begins to want a Voice in the world. There comes a day, when the sound of her own voice droning over and over to you about personal hygiene, manners and character, isn’t enough; she begins to want a louder Voice, maybe even a funny voice, a voice she can share with the world – YOUR WORLD, actually…

(They exchange wary looks of disbelief and bewilderment with one another. Sure, they’ve heard of things like this happening in other families, to other kids’ moms…. They think they understand what you are saying…but what does this really mean? More specifically, how will this affect us?)

“Kids, – you may start to hear things about Mommy. Things from your friends, their parents or Facebook. And there might be some uncomfortable things about Daddy too. Things that will make you queasy. Things that may even be true. There may be some things about Grandma… Possibly, even mean things will be said about our dogs. Mommy is writing a blog now!!!.”

“This doesn’t mean we don’t still love you all and that you aren’t still the most important things in our lives. That’s never, ever going to change. It just means that YOUR WORLD , as you have always known it, is going to change a little bit. You may not feel as safe in your home anymore. You may find the need to hide your phones and delete your texts…Things will feel shaky and different. You might even, God forbid, clam up a bit, saying less, thinking before you speak, in an attempt to draw less attention to yourself. You may experience moments of self-censorship, born out of distrust; distrust for the very foundation upon which you’ve place your entire existence – YOUR VERY MOM.”

“But, we’ve done a lot of soul-searching about this and we think it’s the right thing for Us. We want you kids to hold your heads high through this. We believe that we will emerge a better, stronger family. If we support each other and believe in each other, we can persevere!!! And if, for some reason we can’t….well, you will surely be able to read all about it in your Mom’s blog.”

Editor’s Note: Re-posting in honor of a friend of a friend who returned to work this morning from the July 4th holiday with a hickey on her neck.  God Bless America!

When people say, “You’ll laugh at this one day!” they’re usually right…

There are many things I viewed as utter tragedies at the time of occurrence, that I eventually came to find  humorous down the road.

Way down the road.

But, it’s hard to laugh when you are still cringing.  Last Sunday morning, while my husband and I were sipping our coffee, he looked at me quizzically –

“What’s that on your neck?”

“What?”  I replied, mildly concerned.

 “Turn your head to the side”

 “What??”  (growing increasingly concerned.)

“Whoa…My bad”

“What???”  (now full-on frantic.)

I got up, looked in the mirror, tilted my head to the right and there sat a mark on my neck, front and center, roughly the size and shape of Wisconsin.

I began to freak out, in exactly the way that ALL 52 YEAR OLD WOMEN DO WHEN THEY FIND A SATURDAY-NIGHT HICKEY ON THEIR SUNDAY-MORNING NECK.

“Oh my GOD!!’ I screamed.
“I can’t go to church or anywhere else today!!

OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GGGGODDDD”

Now, over the course of this 34+ year relationship, suffice it to say this isn’t the first crisis my Hunk-of-Burning-Love and I have faced together. (In fact, we started dating at 18, so it’s actually not even the first hickey we’ve faced-down together) Through the years, this man has come to pride himself on always knowing just what to say to calm me down in any given situation:

“Relax,” quips The Wife-Whisperer, “At your age, no one will know its a hickey, they’ll just think it’s a liver spot!!”

Frightened by my reaction to that remark, he tried a different tack… “You need to get up and start your day.  Moving around will get the blood flowing and it’ll fade.”

(You’ve got to hand it to the guy, he’s quick on his feet.  He obviously made that up on the spot, because it’s absolutely not true…)

“I’m soooo embarrassed,” I wailed, totally tapping into my inner Drama Queen

“Why are you making such a big deal ? Anyone who notices it will just know we are still in love…” said The-Man-Whose-Love-Life-Is-On-The-Line.

“You literally suck!” I replied

Aware that, in addition to being what my mother would refer to as a “Hussy,” I had also taken the Lord’s name in vain 4 times and it wasn’t even 8 am.

Thus, I resigned myself to the fact that church attendance was now even more mandatory to my unlikely salvation situation. When it was time to get ready, I swept all of my hair into a massively thick curly/frizzy side-ponytail that more or less obscured the mark.

“Hey- I love your hair that way!” exclaimed Lover Boy, quite a bit overzealously.

We arrived for church late and left early, which didn’t help my salvation cause, but spared me a little humiliation “fellowshipping” with the non-hickey crowd.

Afterwards, before we headed home, we decided to run a couple of errands. We were walking into the grocery store, when, predictably, we ran into one of my close friends. We hugged one another in greeting and, as she hugged me, she whispered discreetly in my ear,

“I don’t know if you know this or not, but you have a huge hickey on your neck”.

“I am more than aware,” I assure her.

Its been 4 days now, and I’ve spent a ton of time and money caking pounds of makeup on my neck, in a desperate and futile effort to preserve my tarnished reputation – which is rather pointless, because what’s left of my reputation, will be ruined the minute I publish this post.

My rap sheet

I’m reading a really good book right now by an author who was formerly a drug addict, an alcoholic and had an extensive rap sheet. I’m realizing how beneficial a life of crime and dependency could be to spicing up one’s writing.

Alas, this realization isn’t going to benefit me much. I’m pretty sure I could never be an alcoholic, because, to really drink efficiently and problematically, one has to stop speaking and imbibe the alcohol; I’ve always been far more interested in what I’m talking about than in what I’m drinking! I never took drugs because I was afraid of my father, an Army Officer, and after he passed away, I was 38 with 5 kids; much too late for recreational drug use (although I’m not opposed to the occasional Ambien, every now and then.) Unfortunately, I’ve also never been arrested, but, I have had several stimulating brushes with the law that I can certainly write about…

I recently had “contact” with the Edmond Police Department. Or rather they had “contact” with me. What the police department is now referring to as a “contact report” is what the rest of us refer to as a “warning”. That’s the second time in the past month I’ve skated away with a warning. Just last week, when I was driving Tommy to basketball practice, I saw those familiar flashing lights in my rear view mirror.

I always get super rattled when I get pulled over. You would certainly think, with all the speeding tickets I’ve gotten, that I would’ve worked through this by now, but apparently not. I never know quite where they expect you to pull over. If they teach this at driving school, I wasn’t paying attention. (I’m paranoid because I was once chewed out by a cop who didn’t like where I pulled over.) It would be more efficient if they would get your attention and then pull in front of you, and pick the spot where they’d prefer to conduct their business. This time, I chose an Arby’s parking lot. I was thinking Arby’s. I start fishing around for my driver’s license and proof of insurance, as the Officer struts up to the car. The main thing I am thinking is, I wasn’t even REALLY speeding. But I know it’s his word/technology against mine. (I remember last year, when I got a ticket for running a red light and decided to contest the ticket. This was based on years of hearing people say, “90% of the time the officer doesn’t show up in court and you get out of the ticket!” Not in my case. I walked into the courtroom and there was my 10%er, Officer Friendly. When my “case” came up on the “docket” he proceeds to display a dashboard-camera video on a large screen, of me, bigger than Dixie, in my bright red suburban, undeniably rocketing through a red light!! It was indisputable, even for me; I pled no contest and paid the fine.)

By far the most memorable experience I ever had, with local law enforcement, was my “CHRISTMAS SPECIAL RUN-IN WITH THE LAW”, when I was returning home from Midnight Mass and I was literally pulled over by a CONVOY of cop cars. For reasons known to all large families, we had split up into two cars for Mass, so this particular evening, it was just me and the two small boys. Jimmy was in a separate car with the girls. Both of the police cars had their sirens on and lights flashing. They were quickly joined by a third police vehicle, with his siren blaring and lights flashing. (They must’ve wisely radioed for back-up when they saw it was a mother and two small boys in a red Suburban.) 5 of the officers started to walk around my car with flashlights scrutinizing every inch, while the lead officer approached us shouting, “Do not under any circumstances attempt to exit your vehicle!!!” It was all very SWAT-style. I like to tell people he had his gun drawn but the boys say that isn’t true, that’s just how I remember it. The officer asks me where we have been over the past hour. When I tell him we have been at Christmas Eve Mass, I actually feel like I’m lying or covering up a crime and I’m not exactly sure why. At that point, 10 year old James, exclaims joyously from the back seat, “Here is the song sheet!!” He proudly produces the sheet of Christmas Carols that our church specifically requested we leave in the pews, after the service, for other worshipers. After a quick review of the evidence, the officers seem appeased and inform me that my vehicle matched the description of a recent hit-and-run. Without even so much as an apology or a stinkin’ “Seasons Greetings,” they release us. James later tells me that he thought they pulled us over because he stole the song sheet. It wasn’t long after, that Jimmy and I decided perhaps the big red burb was too ostentatious and it might be best if I raced around town in a smaller, more discreet, vehicle.

Back to last week: As I produce the required documentation, the cop dispassionately informs me, “you were going 52 in a 40 Mam”. I immediately apply what I refer to as my “Speeder’s Math”. (I always allow myself 9 miles over the posted speed limit, as conventional wisdom has it, that they usually don’t bother ticketing violators at less than 10 over.) So, I calculate that I was going roughly 3 mph too fast. I’m thinking it’s silly that he chooses to waste his time and mine for just 3 miles over. Then he asks me, “any reason you’re speeding tonight mam?” Again, silly… I don’t know why they ask this. Isn’t everyone’s answer the same? I’m in a hurry!!!! ( I don’t say that though.) Then he starts the writing process, which takes him longer than it took me to write this blog post. Not to be snippy, but I am running late here.

After what seems like an eternity, he produces a small yellow piece
of paper and tells me that I am receiving a “contact report” in lieu of a ticket!! Yay!! As I pull away, I tell Tommy that I am “the Luckiest Woman alive!”. Tommy disagrees; He informs me that he is now 4 minutes late for practice. “Where is the luck in that?” he asks. I don’t bother explaining to the boy how much hot water I would be in if I got another ticket. (Jimmy informed me, after my last ticket, that I needn’t worry about our insurance dropping me, I needed to worry about HIM dropping me!! ) This is more information than a 14 year old should have about his Mother…

…but, the truth of it is, until I sign a lucrative book deal, I’m going to have to strike a complicated and delicate balance between living the kind of exciting life that produces exhilarating writing material and getting DROPPED by my CARRIERS!!

Me and traci
Keep in’ it real

Hosted a “Sip and See” yesterday, for my dear friend, Traci, who moved away and came back for a visit. There was no newborn baby involved in this celebration, as in the traditional “Sip and See” gatherings. This was just adult women, SIPPING on wine and SEEING our cherished friend; a delightful afternoon-turned-evening of cocktails, conversation and general female merriment. Before I write another word, I must insert, this is a group of beautiful women of every size, shape, color and age. Well, we didn’t ACTUALLY have any women of color present, but a few of us are Really tan from too much time on the tennis court. My point is that we are fairly diverse…

As the beverages and conversation flowed, I found myself floundering socially, so to speak. Or, in this case, not to speak. Generally, I can enter into any conversation on just about any topic, as I’ve had 1/2 a lifetime of experiences. (optimistically defining “lifetime” as 100 years) Additionally, It’s always been my policy to “splice-in” what I don’t know, with information and opinions I make up right there on the spot.

But, this conversation last night kept turning to Cosmetic Procedures and all the things my friends were doing to stay young and gorgeous. On this particular topic, even my BS abilities failed me. The conversation bounced from discussions about injecting, sucking, tucking and lifting, to the merits of waxing, abrading, sugaring, threading and augmenting. As the ups and downs and pros and cons of each procedure were examined, I found myself less and less “in-the-know”….One of my very cutest friends has even gotten permanent false eyelashes! I realized I was woefully behind, as I didn’t even know there WAS such a thing. They were really lush, but she admitted she couldn’t afford to cry, lest she ruin them. So, that procedure is definitely off the table for me, as I like to have a good cry every day or two…

And, while I was in the minority, I wasn’t actually the ONLY ONE left behind. There were a couple of ladies, like me, that havent yet “enhanced” themselves beyond Clinique, Miss Clairol and some daily cardio. As such, there was a range of reactions among us. The majority were enthusiastic, comparing clinics and documenting results, but one of my friends, hollered out in disbelief, “Hey- that’s cheatin!” Then there was MY reaction, which was, “I’ve spent all of my kid’s college tuition savings on tennis lessons, frantically trying to keep up with y’all on the court – I don’t have any money left to keep up with y’all cosmetically!”
And that’s the God’s Honest…

So, here we are…the generation stuck in between our mothers’, who, except for the occasional bra-stuffing and girdle wearing, were natural and “native” and our daughters’ generation, who will color, wax, tattoo, and inflate anything on their bodies.

What we are wrapping our minds around now, is that nothing is taboo anymore-We really do have choices!! But for now, for me, at least until my serve improves and I get more topspin, I’m probably gonna be Keepin’ it Real!! And, as an added bonus, when things don’t go my way, I can still get my cry on!

I’ve been a blogger since Monday and and its already Thursday!! I’m super impressed with my stick-to-it-tiveness. I’m really hanging in there! There’s only 3 other things I’ve been this completely committed to for this length of time. Marriage, Motherhood and Tennis…

The first two I’ve been sorely tempted to quit, but it’s awkward and embarrassing to fail and difficult to retire. The third, tennis, I could walk away from anytime I choose. The truth – it might be easier to quit a marriage than hardcore tennis culture.

People have told me I should write a book. It’s possible that I do have a book in me, but, I’d never finish it. I’m not that focused.  Just ask my mother.

When I was a little girl, I was an enthusiastic Project Starter. I’d get an inspired idea about something I wanted to make and go straight to my mom for funding.  Mom would give me the money and off I’d go on my bike to TG&Y to procure supplies.

About 9 years later, when I moved out of my parents’ home and they were redecorating my bedroom, my mom called to tell me how many unfinished projects fell on them when they opened my closet. Bags after bags of unfinished afghans I was going to crochet, halter tops I intended to sew, lanyard key chains I forgot to macramé etc. etc.

And that’s just the tangibles- I once started a rock band that I never got off the ground properly and many other ideas, too numerous to mention, that never came to fruition.

But blogging?  Maybe this I can do. Seems low pressure. It’s my kind of endeavor- Be your own boss and work from your own home in your robe!!

I just went to a website, entered my email address, chose a password, downloaded a picture and presto a ho was born. That’s not a typo. Blogging is turning me into a little ho.

When those “likes” and texts from friends started coming in, I saw my OCD kick in like never before! I started acting like a junkie. I asked my own mother 5 times to read my blog. She kept saying she had been “busy.”  Not to be ageist, but at 75, a “busy day” is a quick trip to Costco. I finally swallowed my pride and told her she was featured in it. That reeled her in…. She promptly texted back,

“I read your piece Sissy, that was just real darn cute!”

It was only Tuesday and I was already up to 4 FOLLOWERS!

After I made an adoring fan out of my very own mother, I started aggressively asking all my friends to read my blog.  I even got motivated to learn how to “share a link” and then started pestering my socially reclusive friends who, “aren’t on Social Media,”  (and might not otherwise have the opportunity to read my prose.)

It’s shameless. I’m like those multi-level marketing people who prey on their friends for business. I’ve started badgering my “contacts” like I’m selling Mary Kay and they have the only face in town.

I also think I sound a little evangelical about this blog, texting people “FOLLOW ME!”

So I’m going to calm down a bit. If you like the blog post, then follow me. If you don’t follow me, its possible that you’ll go straight to Hell.

But here’s the really good news: if you throw me a party at your house and 10 of your friends decide to follow me, I’ll give you 20% of my profits. And then if each one of your friends gets their friends to follow me…

…you get the picture.

Not long after Gracie left for college and my grief was still quite palpable,

I happened to be playing tennis at one of my friends’ neighborhood courts, when a child’s birthday party started taking shape at the community pool next to us.

Out came the balloons, the piñata, the cake etc.. Then the squeals of tiny party-goers, as they arrived, joyfully anticipating the festivities.

So intensely focused on my tennis game (aka the tennis coma) I didn’t realize until I drove home that this birthday fete had traumatized me.

By the time I got home I had worked myself into an emotional tizzy, weeping and sniffling. My Jimmy was instantly concerned and wanted to know if something ACTUALLY bad had ACTUALLY happened- like a wrecked car or a speeding ticket….

When I told him about the party and how it made me feel (like I should still be stabbing Capri suns open with that sharp little straw or blowing up a pair of floaties) he was visibly relieved and suggested we, “go make some margaritas and sit by our pool, where there are no screaming children.

And then he actually said these words by way of comforting me, “We can talk about how life has passed us by!”

Not cheered in the least by his response, I decided to call my friend Kathleen…. We have been friends for about 11 years, so, admittedly, she didn’t know me “back in the day” when I was at the top of my game, raising and hosting lavish birthday parties for my first batch of kids.

Our friendship was fomented by the friendship of our youngest children – Which explains how she reacted when I told her how seeing this dear little party made me melancholy, longing for the days when my Tommy and her Michael were little boys….

“I don’t know about that,”  she said, “The last birthday party you and I threw jointly was at my neighborhood pool and, after you plopped 10 Little Caesers pizzas down on the picnic table, you plopped yourself down, got on your cell phone and didn’t surface til the party was over!! We had kids drowning, fighting and trying to kill each other and you were pretty damn oblivious!!”

Man, harsh… So maybe I’m romanticizing it all now that its over, but there was a time when I was Queen of Children’s Birthday Parties – making the invitations by hand (store-bought? Not for my princess!) and painstakingly copying cakes I saw in magazines (inspiration before Pinterest)

So, I worked the math and realized that I’ve thrown over 100 birthday celebrations for 5 kids in 28 years.

Alas, those days are gone, and apparently have been gone for longer than I realized.

Somewhere along the way I went from “all over it” to just “over it” and never even noticed. But in my defense, kathleen had that party under control, as evidenced by the fact that not one single guest drowned, and those pizzas were so easy and affordable!!

Me and emilie celebrating her very first birthday party! You better pace yourself young mother-of-one-with-so-many-more-to-come!!

I was sitting with some friends on another friend’s patio one beautiful Oklahoma evening, enjoying a nice glass of cabernet and watching our hostess’s dog run around the backyard, relentlessly retrieving a ball every single time it was thrown. I’m pretty sure I was pondering how foolish this animal must be to continue to go after the ball each time we threw it, instead of flipping us off (which admittedly , would be hard to do with a paw – which is why I’m glad I have fingers)
Right about that point, my dear friend said, ” I’m glad I had her rest this afternoon…”

Here are the questions that immediately formed in my head: She had her rest earlier that day? How does one make their dog rest? Why would anyone make their dog rest? And lastly, when my dogs aren’t busy chewing up my patio cushions and pooping in my closet, they appear to rest without encouragement from me…

As a battle-scarred mother of 5, I’m no stranger to making those under my care rest. And it often wasn’t easy. Different tactics helped – such as bribery, reading a story and even pinning them down -outweighing them by 100 lbs or so.

With this many under my belt, you’ll forgive me if I am not overly- invested in whether or not my dogs nap.

With that said, however, this shift toward Americans treating their dogs as though they were their human toddlers, warrants a small amount of contemplation, or as They would say on SNL, “what up with that?”

I believe this social phenomenon has its roots in the shrinking of family size over the past 50 years or so. With the advent of birth control options, we can control how many offspring we spring off…. and, with less kids in the nest, we have a lot of love left to give our dogs…

Now, lest you hear judgement in my voice, please understand- I’m not criticizing anyone else’s choices. Just attempting to alleviate my own guilt…because there’s a huge possibility that I won’t put the dogs down for a nap this afternoon. In fact, if I ever mention that I “put them down this afternoon,” think the worst…

I know that I’m entirely responsible for my current problem. Well…maybe not entirely responsible….anyone with a mother knows, one is  never  entirely responsible for a problem of one’s own making. Our mother must be somewhat to blame – in fact, I believe the very title of MOTHER, loosely translated, means, “one who must be blamed.”  Anyway, I digress, as I attempt to deflect…

This is the text I received today from the University of Arkansas. (Not from the university per se, but from one of their students)

I admit that me and my daughters (and my mother, as well as her mother and her grandmother before her) are what we refer to down South as a “clothes horse” or I guess “clothes horses” in the plural form…we adore the purchasing and the wearing of the latest styles and fashions. Case in point- my mom is 75 and just sent me a “selfie” of the outfit she wore to dinner last night.

This family tradition has never been a huge problem. We’ve married indulgent men.  Sure, there’s been the occasional marital squabble and the minor fibs (“What? This old thing?  I’ve had this for awhile now”…etc etc). It’s never been anything we couldn’t finesse.

In fact, I’ve always found it somewhat amusing. Once, I met a friend’s little neighbor child who had just gone to her first day of kindergarten. I interrupted her prattling on about her teacher and her new classmates by saying, “more importantly- what did you wear?” I found out later from my friend that the child’s mother didn’t find this as amusing as I did…

That mother would probably be happy to know that I am reaping what I’ve sown…

The challenge for Today’s Thrifty Mom On A Budget is social media. Back in the good old days, (before Facebook, Instagram and Snapchat)  a Savvy Girl could rotate her wardrobe. For instance, an outfit she wore around “school friends” became an entirely new ensemble when worn around “church friends.”  Well, those days are gone apparently. The clothes I purchased in the spring for Gracie to wear to her Oklahoma High School graduation festivities, and naively assumed she could wear in Arkansas for freshman social events, are “over exposed.” Because they have been seen by thousands frolicking all over Facebook and Instagram, they can’t be repurposed in Arkansas.

Too bad I never saw this coming. There seems to be only two solutions:

-take your Mother’s clothes (they’re “like new,” as no one in the Social Media Set looks at anyone’s mom.)

-buy all new clothes – so you have something new every day

This post is a warning to younger moms with daughters: what is adorable at 3 and tolerable at 12, is quite expensive at 19.  Laugh now – pay later!!

I told Jimmy yesterday, “We have to watch the Arkansas game today at 3!”

To which he replied, “why? It’s going to be a total blow out!  They’re going to obliterate the other team!”

To which I responded, “to see Gracie on TV!”

Suppressing amusement, he went on to explain how ridiculous I  sounded, adding “they don’t show the Pom girls on TV- only the football players.  That’s why it’s called a football game!”

Now… I’ve been married to this man for 30 years and he is rarely wrong.  But  I’ve also been required to sit through (read “suffer through”) 30 years of college football and I would swear on my life that those cameras cut over to the  cheerleaders and Pom girls occasionally when there is a lull in the on-field excitement.

As such, I insisted and prevailed.  We watched the game and the cameras cut to our daughter for a nano-second twice in 3 hours. Once, it was just her little freshman head peeking out from behind a senior…But wow, was it ever exciting in a living-vicariously-through-your-kids kind of way!

I guess in the end, we were both happy – I was  happy to realize after all these years watching college football with the camera cutting over to those beautiful girls- he never even noticed!! (Eyes only for me??!!)

And he was happy to have one of his children in uniform on a College football field – even if its his daughter!!!