PARTY -- At Your Own Risk!

Work and technological difficulties have kept me from blogging, but you can't keep a good woman down! I'm back to amuse you all! I'm sure this last week wasn't the same without my musings, huh? (DON'T ANSWER THAT!!). 

Recently, each of my kids was invited to birthday parties that came with a LIABILITY WAIVER attached to the invitation. WHAT? Now, when I was a kid, you partied at your own risk. No one cared if you came out with the same amount of fingers or toes as when you went in. And what's more dangerous than a pinata? It doesn't get much more chaotic than a bunch of blindfolded 8-year-olds  swinging bats and broomsticks in a roomful of kids (if you've seen Funniest Home Videos pinata accidents are a regular segment!). 

My son's invitation was for a paintball party, and my daughter's was for a gymnastics party. On my own, I wouldn't have thought much about dangers related to either party. I know the parents. If the parents feel it is safe enough for their kid, it's safe enough for mine. But when I saw the waiver I thought WHOA... WAIT A MINUTE!!!!!! And as I started reading the waiver, I started GETTING worries I never had to begin with! One line says I will not sue them for "negligent rescue operations." Seriously? So if my daughter falls off the balance beam and breaks her leg, it's OK for the party hostess to keep her feet propped up on her desk, munching Cheetos while watching reruns of "Dog, the Bounty Hunter" and not call 911? Ugh!!

I know, I know.... we live in a litigious society, and these things are a facility's attempt to CYA. I get it. It's just another stark reminder of how different things are from back in my day (you know, like how we all chewed happily on lead toys and car seats were a luxury?). 

I'll sign the waivers... after all, I don't want to be THAT mom (and I know you know what I mean!)....

Enjoy the day!

Cindy

Baby Boy's 17th BIrthday

Hard as it is for me to believe, my "baby boy" is 17 today -- and a Golden Birthday at that! I'm not sure what is the most amazing thing about it, but I think it's the simple fact that I managed to feed and water him enough so that he didn't shrivel up and croak like most of my houseplants. Then again, while he has turned into a fantastic kid, it would have been hard to ignore him those first half-dozen years... he was a HANDFUL (have you seen the movie Problem Child? It was loosely based on my son). 

I saw it coming the night he was born. A week late already, he came into the world on President's Day, 1992 (also Michael Jordan's birthday.... big shoes to fill... LITERALLY!). As is my luck with many things in life (now remember this was long before the popularity of swanky birthing suites), they were doing construction on my side of the maternity floor so I had no access to the bathroom in my room. I had to haul my (VERY SORE) butt down the hall and around the corner to use another patient's bathroom (seriously, I swear). Here I am, stumbling down the hall back to my room, arms full of "necessities," when I glance into the hospital nursery. I swear there must've been a thousand babies in there, and the place was lit up like Polish Cathedral (I have never seen a Polish Cathedral, but it's a big saying around these parts so I'll just safely assume it's darn bright). I look at the babies, all snug and sleeping peacefully. Then I see one, a parent's nightmare.... arms flailing, blanket all askew... screaming its head off... ONE BABY out of the whole bunch. I remember actually saying out loud to myself, "I feel sorry for that poor mother." Then it hit me... I pressed my nose against the glass to get a closer look at the name tag on the bassinet.... and, naturally, I saw my own last name staring back at me. Oh, crap..... I am that poor mother. I shuffled back to my room and cried for a good half hour. 

Things got better from there, slowly..... VERY slowly. If I had the pay the price early, so be it if it means "easy" teen years. But don't blame me in 10 years if your rotten toddler turns into a rotten teenager.... I make no guarantees! And it ain't over yet for me, either, but may the gods of the teenage years keep smiling on me!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RYNE!!!

She Bangs

It might not be in the category of world peace or fixing an ailing economy, but it is "Decision No. 1" on top of my list -- should I get bangs or not??????? Ugh! I really don't know, but I swear I wake up at night in a cold sweat over it and keep obsessing over it... looking at women around me who have them, dying to ask them if they like them, but it's a weird question from a total stranger... "Hi there. Isn't it cold outside today, and do you like your bangs?" 

I had bangs most of my life, but I got sick of them and let them grow out so they are now very long, easily tucked behind my ears. I am afraid if I become a "banger" again, I will hate it and then have to spend two years trying to grow them out again. My problem (no, not my only one... I WISH!) is that I have a high forehead.... I could rent billboard space up there! I think I need something to take the edge off of that acre of skin lying just north of my eyebrows. 

Another worry I have with it is that bangs=maintenance. I am one to get a haircut every 3 months. If I get bangs, I will need more regular trims... again, the price we pay for beauty. Do I want to dip my foot in the "high maintenance" end of the pool? I think not, but since I couldn't cut a straight line if my life depended on it (I DID try to cut my bangs ONCE... BIG MISTAKE), I will have to leave it to the professionals. 

We'll see, but this could be the week, and if it is, I'll post a picture. See, I have to keep you all coming back for more... keep you interested.... keep you guessing.... WILL SHE DO IT? WILL SHE TAKE THE PLUNGE? Oooohhhh.... can't stand the suspense, can you?

OK... time to surf the Net for pictures of bangs (better be careful how I phrase that, huh????).... 

Cindy

Superstitions

Seeing that it's Friday the 13th (you knew that, right?), I started thinking about superstitions. I like to think that I am NOT a superstitious person, but the truth is, I am! I don't mean those internet e-mails that promise certain death and dismemberment if you don't send them along to 10 people. I am talking about the REAL ones.... walking under a ladder, having your path crossed by a black cat, breaking a mirror, etc. I have broken enough mirrors to earn me a lifetime of bad luck, and if the bad luck can carry over into any future lifetimes (of which I am SURELY to either be a princess, of course), I have enough for that one, too. But have you ever heard some of the bizarre superstitions that are out there? Let's see:

1.) "Spit on a new baseball bat to make it lucky" -- Lucky? Maybe just wet and disgusting (or maybe a way to ensure that no one else uses your bat!)

2.) "A loaf of bread should never be turned upside down after a slice has been cut from it" -- Uh, who does that? I think it makes you more crazy than unlucky.

3.) "If you say goodbye to a friend on a bridge, you will never see that friend again" -- yeah, especially if it's a drawbridge and it's open (this one makes sense to me!)

4.) "Three butterflies together mean good luck" -- not for the butterflies if there's a kid behind them with a net!

5.) "If your cheeks suddenly feel on fire, someone is talking about you" -- but check first... you could actually BE on fire.... that would be bad... don't take chances if you ever feel body parts "on fire."

6.) "For good luck all year, wear new clothes on Easter" -- we live in rough economic times.. I am changing this to "clean clothes" on Easter... or maybe even "recently Febreezed clothes"

7.) "It's bad luck to say 'pig' while fishing at sea" -- Right. But I would like to hear the conversation that involves the word pig while fishing at sea... could be interesting

8.) "A white moth inside the house or trying to enter the house means death" -- Yes, death for the moth. Those things are nasty and are never on my guest list.

9.) "A red ribbon should be put on a child who is sick to keep the illness from returning" -- Hmm, that's one idea. I, personally, believe in doctors and medication.

10.) "Rosemary planted by the door will keep witches away" -- Rosemary who? She must be something if she is keeping the witches away!   

There you have it... I could go on and on, but I'm sure that's enough to digest. Fun, stuff, huh? Gotta go... I need to find a four-leaf clover!

Cindy                  

Just a Number

It's funny how when you go to different places, the age cutoff for certain "benefits" so widely varies. To be considered for a kids' meal, you can be 12 and under, 11 and under or 10 and under, etc. To be considered a "senior" it can be 70, 68, 65, 62, 60, 55, or even 50. Why is this all over the board? The kids meals are usually a sweet deal (PUN INTENDED) because often they will include some sort of dessert. So while you are sitting there resisting dessert, your kid is sitting there with a cupcake or ice cream (that's the point when I usually send her off to the bathroom and take a couple bites out of the ice cream and then reform the scoop into a nice round lump... she does check.... I'm pretty sure she's on to me!). What I was wondering... do they ever CARD kids? I know some kid have passports or State ID's, but it's not like you carry them around with you to grab a burger. I always picture an 11-year-old ordering the "circus burger" (example that likely does exist somewhere) off the kids' menu where you must be no older than 10, and the server carefully assessing the child, daring to ask, "Let's see some ID." What would happen then? And most parents have actually gone so far as to INSTRUCT their child (yes, yes.... shockingly enough I have!) to tell the person asking that they are in fact an age younger than what they are. To be honest, that always makes me feel kinda dirty. How is that for an overactive conscience? Here in my house, we file that under the "white lie" category (and we all know those don't count) and get on with our lives. 

Maybe if Congress finds some extra time on its hands, it could regulate senior and kid status so we all know where we stand. If I ever run for office that will be my platform — I'll leave foreign affairs and economic crises to someone else. I might even add a new category ... "Midlife Crisis." That's where I fall, and if you are in that boat, too, you know a little financial discount, just to be recognized, isn't a bad thing. 

Enjoy your day....

Cindy

Laundry: The Real Mystery

There are many mysteries in life, one of which is laundry. Of all the laundry-related issues I could blog about (and oh boy, aren't you excited at that prospect!), the most amazing to me is the multiplying powers of dirty clothes. The hamper starts the day empty, ah, what a sight! An hour or two later, there are a few socks, a pair of underwear and then a t-shirt. Somehow, magically and mysteriously, these few manageable items tell two friends and they tell two friends and they tell two friends (you get the picture) and VOILA.... we've got a full load. But seriously, how does that happen? During the day, for the most part, it is me, the dog, parakeet and hamster. And even if you have never owned one of those pets, you can probably guess that they don't exactly spend a lot of time picking out their clothes. So what is it? 

I was thinking of putting a video camera on the hamper for a day.... maybe uncovering the evil spirits that haunt my hamper... maybe I'd catch a glimpse of the culprit. Then I realize that it's NOT a great idea to put a video camera in the bathroom (people are weird about that sort of thing). So, other than camping out on the toilet (come on, lid down, not actually GOING..... you didn't really think I'd do THAT, did you?) and keeping my eyes peeled, I am not coming up with much. And as interesting as the idea is to spend an entire day in the bathroom staring at the hamper, I think I'll pass and resolve myself to a life of laundry residing permanently on the daily to-do list. 

Don't even get me STARTED on the mystery of the disappearing socks. My hunches tell me it's the same force in action. But will I EVER truly know? Maybe, maybe not.... won't stop me from remaining hopeful.....

Gotta get back to the dryer.... we have a standing date after dinner.... oh, rapture!

Cindy

Busy, busy, busy

When you are a freelance writer/editor like I am, the work comes in bunches.... or it doesn't come at all. Doesn't seem like there are many in-betweens. Right now, I am living smack dab in the middle of the fast lane (and getting run over by traffic!). Can't complain, especially in this economy (but the work is seriously cutting into my afternoon nap time, and without an afternoon nap I am CUH-RAB-BEE!!). 

The worst side effect of the busy-ness is that it totally squashes my sense of humor! Can you believe that? My funny bone feels like it is in a sling, hanging on by a thread to the transplant waiting list (you live in the same world I do, so surely you've noticed funny bones are in short supply). Sometimes I start feeling a little giddy, but I think that is just the delirium talking. I will try to pick myself up by the bootstraps (what are bootstraps? I've had quite a few pair of boots through the years, but I don't really recall the straps) and jump start that small part of my brain where my sense of humor resides (amidst the cobwebs and useless memories like my poor clothing choices in grade school.... blue argyle socks do not go with red plaid skirts... note to self). 

This, too, shall pass. Then again, maybe I don't want it to.... me likey money!

Have a great "rest of the week" ...

Cindy