- Stop looking at your phone and checking your computer. Do this now.
No point in my continuing with the list, no one is reading.
No point in my continuing with the list, no one is reading.
I hate to brag, but my child is a gifted actor. I am his most loyal fan, and a season ticket holder. It’s been almost a year since I’ve seen a performance of this caliber from my son, a high school junior. I’ll call him Stan, short for Stanislavsky—the creator of method acting in the theatre.
Stan had ventured in and out of the house all weekend. Our conversations both in person and via text messages during that time frame went something like this:
Me: “Where are you?”
Stan: “I’m hanging out with Kevin.”
Me: “Curfew is in 10 minutes.”
Stan: “I know MOM.”
Me: “Whose car was that?”
Me: “What have you guys been doing?”
Stan: “Hanging out.”
Friday, Saturday and Sunday night— the same conversation, interchanged with various random names.
THE CURTAIN RISES
Sunday 8:pm. I am standing at my desk searching for a document I just had in my hand. Finding it I turn and jump back, startled… the phantom has materialized.
Me: “I didn’t hear you come in. Did you close the door?” (Why do I have to ask a 17 year old if he closed the door?)
Stan: “I’ve been here for a while.”
I mutter: “Nice try.”
With surprisingly authentic shock, Stan asks: “Are you kidding me? You don’t believe me?”
I decide to play along. “Yes, I believe you. I was joking. I didn’t know you were home.”
Stan: “I feel terrible.” Grasping his stomach he says: “My ear is killing me…it’s crackling and popping. Something is going around.”
Me: “Well go to bed. You’re not missing school. Would you like me to schedule an appointment with the doctor?”
Stan: “What time?”
Me: “They have walk up appointments at 7am.”
Stan: “No, that’s way too early.” — his bus comes at 7:10, so he never wakes up before 7:05.
Me: “Okay well you will not be missing school, so go to bed.”
This has been the set up for the real performance which takes place the following morning.
7:00 AM- SHOW TIME
Stan: “I’m sick. Call me in.”
Me: “You are not sick and I’m not calling you in.
Stan: “I threw up.”
Me: “Did you flush it, because if I don’t see it it didn’t happen.” (he has been known to stage faux puke, but only with prior warning)
Stan: “That’s disgusting, yes I flushed it. I’m calling dad- he’ll call me in. You don’t care about me.”
Me: “I care about your grades. Did you not do your homework, is that what this is about?”
Stan: “You are the worst mom, this is abuse. I’m going to school, but don’t be surprised if you get a call from the nurse. They don’t want sick kids in the building.”
Me: “I’ll keep my phone charged and close by, and I’ll make an appointment with the doctor for after school… it’s your ear, and you threw up. You need to get started on antibiotics right away—if what you have is what’s going around.”
Stan: “No, I’m not going to the doctor, forget it.”
LATER THAT DAY
Me: “How are you feeling?”
Stan: “I’m okay, why?”
“Courtship is to marriage as a very witty prologue to a very dull play.” ~ William Congreve 1670-1729
*If you are happily married— check in with me tomorrow, when I’ll be ranting about Donald Trump, take today off.
To everyone else— Don’t get married. This is the single most valuable piece of advice I offer anyone interested in the opinion of a compulsive over-thinker.
*Disclaimer— I am not a licensed therapist. These are my opinions…today.
When you get divorced, unhappily married people come out of the woodwork to tell you their tales of woe and beg advice from someone who came out on the other side.
“How did you do it?” “You’re my hero.” “I’m afraid of dying alone.” (I hear the faint sound of a tiny 🎻 violin playing in the distance.) I hate to tell you this, but we all die alone.
I know very few happily married couples. “Hey Siri, what’s the divorce rate in America is now?” Holy Hell, that statistic has gone up since I last checked… 50%. I hope my post dissolution euphoria had nothing to do with the spike in numbers.
The anniversary of my divorce just passed. Ah yes, I remember it well… the feeling I had when I walked out of the courthouse on that crisp sunny autumn day… an ethereal lightness of being, my soul ascending to another plane… (“Free Bird” playing in background)
“Why shouldn’t I get married Lydia? We’re in love and I need health insurance.” (That may be me someday- I hate Trump)
Live together. The medical insurance problem is fluid, so don’t be hasty. I have a few questions worthy of consideration for you. Why do you feel the need to involve the government in your relationship? Are you really so insecure in love that you need legal participation? Are you afraid your partner will notice that long chin hair and disappear in the night? Is the charade of your perfection too exhausting to maintain? Are you eager to let yourself go? Blenders and toasters are quite affordable these days.
“I neeeeeed to be in a relationship.” These people try to hang onto the relationship that’s over until they can find the replacement part. If they somehow mistimed the exchange, and are between victims, they are desperately searching and boring everyone to death with their tales of despair. — Don’t be this person.
“But we want a long term commitment.” Buy real estate in both your names, and set up a 30 year mortgage— bam, long term binding legal commitment. You might walk away with a profit.
“I want to claim ownership.” With this statement I sense an imminent power struggle. Marriage does not guarantee monogamy. If a person is going to cheat, a piece of paper won’t prevent it. You can vow to be faithful without the help of the court system, and if you discover your lover isn’t loyal it’s easier to kick’em to the curb without the encumbrance of a marriage licence.
“The sound of my biological clock clanging gets louder every day, it’s deafening.” It is a proven scientific fact, and has been since the dawn of man, you do not need to be married to procreate. Additionally, you should not consider having a child unless you have the financial means to support one alone. Children are a lifelong responsibility. You can not count on someone else sharing the responsibility or the expense, married or not— That’s a fact Jack, and here’s another— the species will not die out without your contribution— just an observation.
50% failure rate, or is it a success rate— is that cup half empty or half full? How many of those who stay married are happy doing so?
Marriage is called an institution for a reason. It can be suffocatingly oppressive, and an unequal division of labor is impossible to avoid— which leads to resentment. With marriage you can’t just walk away without going through an (often) expensive lengthy legal process involving a third party. What is romantic about that?
So with that final happy thought in mind, I am thoroughly enjoying my solitude today…but, if you happen upon a single version of Colin Firth, who happens to have a good health insurance plan, liberal political leanings, and isn’t opposed to a vegan lifestyle, leave a comment, à tout à l’heure. 😜 (Okay, cue the circus music.)
On this day in 1997
A bundle descended from heaven
Her name was Emma
Alas a dilemma
For you, a clinical progression:
“Heaven” in real terms was my uterus
Manifested in a large protuberance
She was happy in there
Sadly going no where
Her firm grip was somewhat dubious
My obstetrician scheduled an induction
I arrived at 9 AM as per instructions
5 pm rolled around
No child to be found
I was disappointed…still no introductions
My doctor clocked out, left for the day
My (then) spouse was told “no need to stay”
“Oh no, you won’t go!”
Amniotic fluid did flow
Is there a doctor in this building? “HEY!”
A random doctor pulled in from the hall
No time for pain meds – no, nothing at all
I didn’t get them last time
A conspiratorial crime?
Nurse said “Don’t push or the baby will fall!”
Oh yes, that is what I was told
I had to fight birth, attempt a stronghold
Keep the babe inside
I tried as I cried:
New doc scrubbed in, gown on, “release hold!”
Loud screams “now you can push” and a birth
Twenty years, hilarity and mirth
Long forgotten—the pain
I’d do it again
My love Emma, my angel on earth.
With moms, there’s a way to check in
Sans text or (God forbid) speaking
Send random video’s
I believe I should know
I’m the mom- on the receiving end.
A beluga in a tank kowtowed
Music played in a field for a cow…
Behind a barbed wire fence
A captive audience
Music’s savage muse- it’s a thing now
You may keep your doctor but there’s a glitch
We exclude illness, so millions will die
But there will be more money for the rich
You pay for insurance, a monthly bill
Every claim you submit we’ll deny
It’s all pre-existing, say what you will
And your age…well I’m afraid it’s too high
Big Pharma companies somehow contrived
To charge Americans two times as much
For prescription drugs that keep them alive
Let us give Pharma a tax cut as such
The GOP with ties to Russian banks
Betsy Devos’ family— owns Spectracare
Alfa bank invested, the Russians say thanks
AND…Congress members keep Obamacare
Trump Tweets lies of a plan he has not read
Promises tax cuts to billionaire friends
Democrats can’t vote if they are all dead
That is how this healthcare illusion ends