Saturday, October 27, 2012
Women wouldn’t have to worry about if they’ve forgotten their girlfriend’s daughter’s birthday or failed to notice right away that they got their late-in-life braces off. All they’d need to know is if the Bulldogs won and whether or not they need a new kicker.
It would really eliminate a lot of pressure.
Now, to be clear, I do not mean they should talk about their kids’ sports. While most women are supportive of one another kids, there’s still a gray area when it comes to who brought the best snacks and who has volunteered more often in the concession stand. Believe me, it exists.
Though I have to admit, I have never seen two women discussing sports. Ever.
I have noticed, however, that every reporter on the field at football games is a woman. I’m not saying they shouldn’t be there, but I wonder if it’s now a requirement to get an interview.
Friday, October 19, 2012
Apparently, one of the television channels is showing a scary movie a night. While I was out of town at a writers’ conference, he was home watching – not the movies – but the commercials.
“Who do you think is scarier, Jason or Chucky?” he asked.
After much debate, we decided that, while Chucky is certainly creepy and worth checking twice under our beds for, his small stature gave us the upper hand.
“Who do you think is the scariest out of all the horror movies,” he asked.
That was easy – Michael Myers.
And forget the movie, I remember borrowing the book, “Halloween,” from a friend and reading it on the bus.
“What’s ‘The Shining’ about?” he asked.
I could have regaled him with the details, but instead, being a mom and scared to death of that movie, I said, “Nothing you need to know about.”
To his credit, he didn’t press. Some stories are better left dead and buried.
With his help, I have compiled a list of do’s and don'ts if you happen to encounter Chucky, Jason or, gulp, Michael Myers this Halloween:
Don’t answer the door if you hear scary music. For example, the “chee, chee, chee” sound that Jason’s waiting outside with a knife.
Do carry your cell phone. Home lines will always be cut.
Do not trust anyone who smiles like Jack Nicholson.
Do expect if you buy a scary mask for Halloween, your kid will sneak up on you while you are doing laundry and not say a word.
Do rent Monsters Inc. this Halloween -- or ET, and cuddle up with your kid.
That seems to be the best defense of all.
Friday, October 12, 2012
My first 5K was two years ago. I was very proud of my time. An impossibly-thin friend I had not seen since high school saw me after the race and asked me what my time was. I proudly told her (note that I am not writing it here).
“That’s a great run for a 10K,” she said.
“Oh, that was for the 5K,” I said.
Her face said the rest.
Since that time, I’ve entered more races, and I’ve run better times. I set my PR when I was running with my best friend. She had done the couch to 5K training plan. I assumed her 5K time would be like my first 5K time. We stayed together the first two miles. By the third, she was still talking, and I knew I was in trouble.
“Are you OK?” she asked.
“Just. Can’t. Talk,” I managed to get out during breaths. “Go. Ahead. Save. Yourself.”
And off she went to the finish line. She later swears she wasn’t trying to beat me – just the guy who was speed walking ahead of us. It didn’t matter, my pride was too tired to care.
You get that there’s nothing to make you feel more alive than almost dying en route.
Friday, October 5, 2012
This summer, we took advantage of some frequent flyer miles to visit her and her family in Alaska. They picked us and our gear up at the airport in two cars, and we drove straight to the best pizza parlor in town. Excited about reuniting, we pulled into the parking lot and began chattering away like we haven’t seen each other in, well, years.
After a leisurely meal, I decided to forego a visit to the powder room because I didn’t want to make the men wait. And thank heavens I was so considerate, because as soon as we went outside, we heard the beep, beep, beep of a wrecker. My brother-in-law bolted across the parking lot just in time to see one of his two cars hitched to the back. If you have not guessed by now, we had inadvertently parked in a no-parking zone. Had I powdered my nose, we’d been minus a car and our gear.
“I sat there and watched you get out and go in the restaurant. I was going to tow you then, but I had another call. After I towed this one, I was going to come back and tow the other,” the man with the wrecker said.
My sister paid a fee that was far less than it would have been two minutes later.
“Still have Green luck,” my husband observed. “We’re in trouble with you two together.”
“I say we have ‘could-have-been-worse luck,’” I said.
My sister and I agreed that it was another case of “it-could-have-been-worse luck.” At least they didn’t tow it, we said.
For the rest of our visit, we took the Alaskan road signs very seriously. On our final night, we dined on delicious Alaskan fare and then went for a stroll around Anchorage. Having eaten all the chocolate I intended to bring back as souvenirs, I insisted on restocking at a local store. That chocolate ended up costing us $60. Yes, we were five minutes late to our two-hour parking, and we paid for.
“I’m tired of could-have-been-worse-luck,” my sister said, a bit discouraged and sad that we were leaving.
“Do you know what I think?” I said. “If you are lucky enough to spend the week with your sister and her family, then you’re lucky enough. And, if you’re lucky enough to spend a week with them in Alaska, well, then you’re aren’t lucky at all; you’re blessed.”