There are no calories:
- In foods you are only tasting
- In snacks toddlers leave behind
- In anything containing fruit
If men had men-o-pause:
- They would celebrate with a ticker tape parade
- There would be a pill for it (like Viagara)
- Billions of tax dollars would be set aside to research fighting discomfort
Age really is a state of mind:
- Don’t worry about how many good years you have left… Live in the present
- Treat each new decade as a beginning not an end
- Just because you may not ‘look great for your age’ doesn’t mean you can’t ‘feel great’
Wrinkles actually mean:
- A life well lived
- A life full of laughter and joy
- A life lived without caring what others think
Sunday morning I decided to take the train into NYC to visit my boys. What a mistake. Not the visit but the method of transportation at that particular day and time. I didn’t realize it was a Yankees-home-game and that suburban families from upstate NY would be making the long journey with me. And I didn’t even bring headphones…
Toddlers cried incessantly and crawled all over the seats until their indulgent parents gave them their very expensive phones to play with… Men, way too old to still be wearing the names of other grown men on their Yankees jerseys and t-shirts, strutted around the aisles ‘replaying’ past Yankees highlights.
Look, I have nothing against America’s favorite pastime. I think it’s an overpriced day out but to each their own (the train ticket price alone was staggering for these families and I can only assume the stadium ticket price was well beyond my monthly car payment).
But where was the ‘old time’ fun? I remember going to games with my parents and older brother. It didn’t bankrupt us and we needn’t bring our own food from home because it was mostly affordable. And actually keeping score was a skill we perfected after repeated attendance and something that made us feel like a part of the entire ballgame experience.
Somewhere along the lines the rules changed. Prices skyrocketed and manners plummeted. I wouldn’t bring a young child to a game today – they’d hear foul (pun intended) language; reek of warm, spilled beer and be exposed to a world of entitlement, rudeness and bad sportsmanship.
But, hey, how else will they learn how to act on their own school turf?!
Last night I was having a conversation with my Mom at the dining table. I happened to sit down on ‘Dad’s’ chair because it was the closest one (and unoccupied at that particular moment). I had barely begun speaking when my Dad approached and asked me why I was sitting in ‘his’ chair.
“Because,” was my very grown-up answer. An answer, mind you, that my kids had given me countless times when they were younger. A perfectly ‘non-answer’… An answer telling me exactly nothing… Not even close to an answer and certainly not a complete sentence or even a complete thought.
But I digress.
My point, and I do have one, is that I wouldn’t purposely take his chair. Nor would I be particularly upset about getting up out of his chair… Except for the fact that, no sooner had I gotten myself up and moved to another chair, he didn’t even sit down. Not in his chair, not in my chair, not a green chair, not a blue chair (sorry, couldn’t help myself).
Well, he did sit down but not in the aforementioned chair. He took the chair on the other side of the table and turned it sideways so he could see and hear the tv from less than a foot away. So why exactly did I need to get up?
I guess it’s something we never really outgrow – that need to call things our own. We don’t like to share our toys with other kids when we’re toddlers or what we did at school that day with our parents when we’re teens. We hate sharing our feelings with our significant others when we’re dating/married and definitely won’t share our self-assigned dining chair with anyone, at anytime or for any reason. Just… because!
When our kids were toddlers we heard, “it wasn’t me,” when crayon drawings suddenly appeared on the wall. “It wasn’t me” rang throughout the house after each broken glass vase or spilled milk puddle was discovered.
As our kids got older, “it wasn’t me” referred to anything from a sibling screaming bloody murder (from being hit or taunted or… just to get their older sibling in trouble) to the refrigerator door being kept open in the hot summer months to food-stained dishes remaining unwashed for extended periods of time.
In our transitioning years (sometimes called the sandwich generation), we might be the ones shouting that all too familiar refrain, “it wasn’t me,” when the last postage stamp is used or the TP goes un-replaced. Or it might be our “my bad” when the keys are locked inside the car or (worse) inside the house.
Or maybe it’s time to man up and take responsibility for our actions – a lesson we can learn from our canine friends who, after calmly farting and stinking up a room, will just lie down and act as if nothing at all had happened!