Dumber than Dumb

One of the most incredulous things I have seen in a long time happened yesterday at a pit stop on the New Jersey Turnpike. I was amused and befuddled by a 30-something woman on crutches, wearing 4 inch stiletto heels (on both feet). It seemed rather silly to me, and I tried to place myself in her shoes (painfully) to figure out if there were any way on this earth that I would (or could) do that. I’d appreciate some help here. If you can come up with a logical explanation, please share. I must be missing something. Stilettos are ancient history to me, and I’d much prefer the stigma of a walker to killing myself on crutches. Trying to do both at the same time would be something of a circus act for most women.

Happy Birthday Baby

Two years ago, Jordan (Heir Jordan) came into this world a product of a miserable 9 month, worrisome pregnancy complicated by hyperemesis gravidarum. (I know they all are worrisome, but believe me when I tell you, this was not something you just put up with.) Our son and daughter-in-law waited 6 years to make the difficult decision to have another child, hoping it would not be a repeat performance. I called my daughter-in-law one morning 2 years, 8 1/2 months ago to say “hello.” When she answered the phone, I knew from her voice that something was not right. Fearful that someone was seriously ill, or had died, I asked “What’s wrong?” “Oh, Mom,” she groaned, “I’m pregnant!” I wasn’t sure if I should laugh or cry. It was obvious that from the time the seed was planted that it was happening again. The poor girl spent 8 months and 1 week in agony – vomiting constantly, taking drugs that would kill an elephant, and lying in a dark room (when she wasn’t rushing to the ER) while the world went on around her, and spitting in a red plastic cup. As of this day, the sight of a red plastic cup makes her gag. We do not keep them in the house, EVER! As scary as a premature birth can be, we were so relieved that the baby came 3 weeks early and prayed that he would be a healthy little guy.
Now, as they say, “to the rest of the story:” The hour after Jordan was born, his momma was asking for trays of food. The dietician commented after looking at her menu and seeing everything checked off: “She’s a hungry one, isn’t she?” Well, if you hadn’t had anything to eat in 9 months, you’d be hungry too. Amazingly, things returned to normal as soon as that child was born.
He is a beautiful combination of Jamaican and Polish, German, Irish (and god knows what else). His eyes are bluer than blue. His hair is curly. He doesn’t say much yet, but can read all his letters, numbers, and knows his body parts and his shapes. We thank God every day that he watched over this baby and his family. He is our 9th grandchild, probably our last grandchild, and we are blessed.

Ah – Time for the Stupid Bowl (Duh, Super Bowl)

I have never been a football fan – really loved to go shopping at the empty mall instead, and let the guys have their fun. Somehow the sounds of bodies smashing, necks twisting and knees crunching do not appeal to my ideas of relaxation. I can’t imagine actually doing that for a living, or having a husband or son out on the field getting pummeled. Besides, how much fun is it to be chastised for walking in front of the TV during a crucial play, or for asking a stupid question (Is is almost over? What time should I plan dinner?) ? Also, I’ve never quite figured out (or tried figure out) what a “down” is. I know what a touchdown is, but always wondered if there are extra points for the best dancing over the goal line. My only attraction to Super Bowl is the great commercials, and I was actually assigned the task of counting them at one game to keep me busy and out of trouble (120). I have found the half-time shows to be a big bore – lots of hype and not much good entertainment. Give me a Northwestern University Marching Band half-time and I’ll cheer til I’m hoarse. Years ago, broadcasters actually showed the college marching bands on television at half-time and my other half would call me in to watch. Incidentally, these kids train just as many hours and just as hard as the athletes. They now pan away from the bands to rehash the game instead, (just in case you left for a few seconds to use the bathroom). I don’t even watch half-time any more. They could save a lot of money on commentators’ salaries if they just showed the bands. The guys at home are all out in kitchen filling up their salsa and chip bowls, but I digress.
Now that I’m retired, I think Super Bowl could be a really nice family day. Have the kids and the grandkids over, put out some junk food, play some board games with the kids and let the guys pig out in front of the game. Is this going to happen? NO. Why? Because the powers that be (the bottom line guys, I’m sure) decided years ago to play the game at 6 p.m. on a SUNDAY night. Nearly everyone I’ve spoken with feels that this is a ridiculous time to have a Super Bowl. Guys need to get up early on Monday to go to work, kids need to go do homework and get ready for school, etc., etc. Isn’t it possible to start the brouhaha earlier in the day, or heaven forbid – play on Saturday? If they started at 3 a.m. they may be able to get in all the pre-game stuff and 300 commercials. By the time the actual game begins, everyone is ready to pack it in for the day. I just don’t get it. Guess that’s why I’m not a football fan. However, this year I will sit and watch the game with my husband. Why? Because if I don’t, no one else can – for all the reasons listed above. No one should have to watch the big game by themselves. I’ll make the sacrifice this year. They say it’s going to be a great game.

The Family Plot

No, it’s not at the cemetery. It’s an actual undercover plot I’ve stumbled upon that has been coordinated and planned by my four children. For our upcoming special anniversary, our children planned a get-together for the entire family (4 children, 3 spouses and 9 grandchildren) at the shore, sharing two lovely homes next-door to each other. They presented the idea to us at Christmastime. Now, I’ve discovered what the real plan is. One of the grandchildren ‘slipped’ and mentioned that in order for us to go on this wonderful trip that we would still need to be married to each other. (We were kind of hassling each other at the time, as married people are capable of doing.) So, the plot is that the kids don’t really want us to be there. Here’s the plan: My granddaughters have an internet business called pre-wrap.com. Things have been pretty busy for their Mom and Dad who also each have their own businesses. They asked us to pick up some of the shipping and packing chores part time. Therein lies the sinister plot! They all know pretty well what happens when Grandma and Grandpa work together at the computer and when doing projects. They figure that between now and June, we won’t be married to each other any more, and we won’t be able to go with them to the shore! Aha! We’ll show them that we can do it!! Any couple that can hang wallpaper together and not kill each other stands a pretty good chance of making it.