Category Archives: Soccer Mom

You’ve Got Mail. Hate Mail, That Is.

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It’s been a while. Life has once again gotten in the way of blogging.  The great thing about that is that taking time to live gives you great blog material.  In fact, I had a great topic for tonight and was fully prepared to write a humorous, yet insightful post.

But after a quick check of recent comments, I’ve taken a complete U-turn and am going a different route.  A nerve has been touched.

Sigh.

It was bound to happen.  When we bloggers put ourselves out here as we do, we’re fair game for vicious attacks from those who hide behind their anonymity.  In particular, when you make attempts at humor, some posts are going to fall flat.  Some posts will be funny only in your own mind.  And yet other posts are going to be met by readers who thank you for giving them a good laugh.

And any of the above posts could be read by a person who not only fails to find humor in your subject matter, they find it offensive enough to blast you in your comments.  By “blast”, I mean make personal attacks by calling you a cyber-bully, a hater, one with anger issues, one who needs a life, or one who spends too much time carrying on in a blog when she should be spending quality time with her children.  Wait a minute, she forgot “mean girl”.  Is that still a hot buzzword?  Can I be one of those too?

This is me. Cold, shiny, hard plastic.

Puh-leez.

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Cougars, Jaguars, Bobcats…Oh My!

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As I tried to stay cool this past weekend, I found myself watching Magic Mike in the theater and doing anything but escaping the heat.  A theater jammed full of women watching hot shirtless guys on the big screen was the last place to go to avoid perspiring.

I went with my 18-year old daughter, who was eager to see Channing Tatum and Alex Pettyfer.  I went to see Matthew McConaughey.  I realize that rumor has it that he shuns deodorant, but that’s okay.  I can’t smell him on the screen, and I do enjoy listening to that Texas drawl, as the perpetually-shirtless man with the 6-pack abs acts.

Let me just stop you now if you landed here expecting a movie review.  You’re not going to get one from me.  Hell, I’m still not even sure what the movie was about.  I recall many strip scenes, dirty dancing, abs of steel, and ripped muscles.  If there was a plot, I missed it.  And seriously, does it even matter what that movie was about, ladies?  Plots are so over-rated.

On a side note, too bad for Steven Soderbergh that the movie critics seem to all be male.  But we ladies forgive you, Steven, because you bring us the goods with the eye candy.  Keep it up.  And wildly assuming I have your attention, may I ask when Ocean’s 14 is coming out?  I’ve been waiting a while now.

But back to my point, if there even is one.  For like Soderbergh, I know that eye candy brings traffic, so perhaps any point I might make would be moot.  You can just sit here a while and stare at the stud muffins if you like.  My apologies to those who might not appreciate the hunks in these images.  Just scroll on down.

I expected a lot of whoopin’ and hollerin’ in this audience.  The gaggles of talkative women entering the theater (late, yakking on cell phones) was a sign that I was going to get peeved watching this movie.  Yet this audience was pretty silent throughout the movie, which I found amusing.

As I looked around, I saw a variety of ages, from teenagers to grandmas, but this audience was primarily middle-aged women.  With the exception of that one poor man who came with his wife, bless his heart.  Oh, and then there was the woman who came in with an oxygen tank.  I promise that I did not make that up.

Now I only raise the age issue to make my point.

Because I found that McConaughey was not the hunky star in this movie.  Sure, he’s in awesome shape, and he’s hilarious, but his character is a little sleazy, since he’s the manager of the strip club.  Just note the workout attire below.

So I was quite surprised at myself for finding my focus on the younger studs in this flick.  And when the movie was over, I felt a little shame, sprinkled with some guilt, and a little dirtiness on the side.  Sitting next to an 18-year old (MY 18-year old) makes ME feel a little sleazier than McConaughey’s character.

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Kids’ Birthdays That Last 4 Days

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I love a good celebration and I always go overboard, especially when it comes to holidays and events geared toward the kids.

I made a huge mistake when my girls were younger.  In all my enthusiasm, I set the bar way too high.

What I didn’t consider at the time is that I would attempt to raise that bar just a little more each year.  I’m not sure why, other than I loved hearing them say “This was the best Christmas/birthday/Easter/4th of July/Halloween/Valentine’s Day EVER!”  It was never an option to risk seeing a disappointed face on any given holiday, whether it’s really supposed to be a kid’s holiday or not.

My youngest daughter turned 14 today.  Since we partied on Friday, had the traditional mother/daughter shopping spree on Saturday and went out to dinner that night,  it’s now officially Day 4 of her birthday extravaganza.

Already having blown out the candles and with nothing but bread crumbs left from what used to be a double chocolate cake, she’s feeling a little uncelebrated today.  Apparently, waking up to my rendition of “Happy Birthday” this morning was not sufficient.  This IS the actual birthday, you know.

Yes, she wants a slice of cake.

And not one to disappoint, we are my husband is making her another one.  And in case I forget to acknowledge that sweet gesture, let me just add…bless his little heart.

What do you do when you have a weekday birthday and need the weekend to celebrate it?   I call it the “birthday connector rule”.  This means you choose the preceding weekend to celebrate and let it run into what becomes at least a 3-day marathon celebration.  This is because you’ve guilted your parents based on the fact that nothing special is happening on your official day. It all works out to be (once again) the best birthday EVER!

So I just checked the calendar to see what day of the week MY birthday will fall on this year.  And it’s on a Friday.  I just can’t catch a break.  I doubt it matters, because I think it’s just a kid rule anyway.

But does this mean that next year has to be a 5-day celebration?

If you liked this post, you might like The Upside of Getting Older.

Eighteen Candles

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My oldest “baby” turned 18 today.  Yikes!

I’m happy for her, because I know this day comes with much anticipation. After all, she’s now old enough to move out, go to a club, vote, buy a lottery ticket, buy tobacco, order porn, buy a handgun, get a tattoo, and get pierced without my permission.

Forgive me if I’m not quite so excited. After all, she’s now old enough to move out, go to a club, vote, buy a lottery ticket, buy tobacco, order porn, buy a handgun, get a tattoo, and get pierced without my permission. On top of all that, she can now be sued, tried as an adult, and can go on the Jerry Springer show to tell the world how her childhood sucked.

All kidding aside, I’m really not that worried.  After all, she still needs me for college and preparing for dorm life that will take her about 45 minutes from home. She may be able to go clubbing, but drinking is still illegal. I’m pretty sure she has no desire for tobacco OR porn.  I don’t THINK she has a tattoo on her mind, but I’ll bet that belly button piercing I’ve been avoiding will finally get checked off the to-do list soon.  She does have plans to buy a lottery ticket though. And I hope she hits it big, remembering good ol’ sacrificing Mom and Dad when she does. I also feel sure she’ll exercise her right to vote. I know of nothing, however, that signals a potential lawsuit, and no crimes that cause me to worry about her being tried as an adult. So…

That just leaves the Jerry Springer thing.

To avoid being Springer-ized, and to get in my last hurrah in as a helicopter mother, I offer the following wisdom to my beautiful daughter as she enters adulthood:

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Yes, Generation, We Have A Gap.

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A while back, my teenage daughter and I had a disagreement that sent both of us sulking to our respective corners.  Was it about curfew?  Dating?  Grades?  Nah, we wasted a perfectly good argument on our opposing views of music.  I know, I know…you’re supposed to pick your battles, but this is one I felt passionate about.  And like her mother, so did she.

It started when I ridiculed a song she was playing and apparently was enjoying.  You may have heard it…”Don’t Stop Believing”.  Great song, right?   Absolutely.  The sound of Steve Perry, aka The Voice, bellowing this beloved classic gives me chills even today.  I can still picture him belting it out on stage as he brushed back his perfectly feathered hair that I secretly envied.

But this was not your Mama’s version of the song.  It was the “Glee” remake, sung as a duet by a young couple, who as far I’m concerned, ripped the song to shreds.   What?  A Journey song without Steve Perry?  Or the guy who replaced him?  Or the guy who replaced HIM?  Such a travesty!  “You can’t remake a Journey classic!” I blurted.

A big Glee fan, she kind of took offense to that.

We went back and forth as I explained that I have nothing against Glee, but there are certain classics you just don’t remake.  As Simon Cowell repeated every week to American Idol hopefuls who mangled Stevie Nicks, Whitney Houston, and even Kelly Clarkson music, I agree that a song should not be remade unless you can top the original or bring something different to the table.  Each song title I rattled off as untouchable, however, was met with “they did that one too”.   I’m talking “Bohemian Rhapsody” by Queen, “Shout It Out” by Kiss, you name it…it’s been tampered with.  Untouchables, as far as I’m concerned.

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A New Set Of Rules – Soccer Parents 101

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Soccer season is “kicking” in, which explains the length of time since my last post.  With two daughters who have been playing for years now at various levels, my free time has come to a screeching halt.  What does this mean to you?  Not much maybe, but the start of a new season and a couple of scrimmages has made me think a lot about sideline etiquette.  And it has inspired me to improve on the current soccer parent rules distributed at that first parent meeting…those rules we know by heart, whether we abide by them or not.

See, we sports parents don’t really like being told what to do (we know it all already, right?) and we really resent having to sign our names to these rules, committing ourselves to good behavior for an entire season. We know we need to bring water so our child is properly hydrated at every game.  We know they need appropriate nutrition and a good night’s sleep.  We know to keep our cheers positive, with statements such as “Good job”, “Nice try”, and “Way to go”.  We know not to coach on the sidelines (okay, that may be going a little far).  But aren’t these basically common-sense parenting rules?

Well, the answer may be yes, but these rules are outdated, they’re over-rehearsed, they’re politically correct.  And they’re just not specific enough. Continue reading →

The Upside of Getting Older

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It’s birthday week for me.  Don’t ask how old I am.  I say this not to avoid revealing my age, but because I don’t feel up to doing the math.  I decided long ago that I would not dwell on the number, and I seriously have to back up to my year of birth to figure it out.  But no one questions the age any more.  That’s just one of the benefits I see to getting older.

That avoidance of the age issue also means I no longer get those “humorous” birthday cards about memory loss, gray hair, sagging boobs, or birthday cakes on fire.  And if I do, it’s most likely to come from someone who’s older, and that’s okay.

I am quite aware that gravity has taken its toll in the form of crow’s-feet, a permanently furrowed brow (thanks, kids), and saggy jowls.  But the cool thing about that is that nature has provided me with my own little permanent soft-focus filter in the form of declining eyesight.  Everyone else may see me in HD, but that’s not my problem. 

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My Verizon Bill Is Approaching My Monthly Mortgage

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I wrote it here first.  My new cell phone was life-changing.  A month later, the inevitable happened…my 17-year old daughter couldn’t stand that I had the better phone. 

So we upgraded her.  We’re talking $200 phones at the Verizon contract rate and another $30/month for unlimited data. 

A month later, we just upgraded my 13-year old daughter.  Call me crazy, but she’s the only one I know her age that didn’t have a data phone.  Another $200…another monthly rate.

Tomorrow is Father’s Day and my hubby needs a new phone…we tried to just go ahead and upgrade him too, but he would have none of that.  See, to him, it’s just a phone and he finally started texting, and that’s all he cares about.   He doesn’t get the rest of us and our constant phone-mongering.

But here’s the thing…I’ve succombed to the fact that to communicate effectively with two teenage daughters, you should just give up on the face-to-face thing.  Unless they want it, of course…that’s always the ideal.  Call them and they won’t answer.  Talk to them and they won’t look at you.  But text them, and you’ll get an immediate response. 

Go figure.

This post was originally posted June 18, 2011 and was transferred from a prior blog.