Showing posts with label Humor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Humor. Show all posts

Friday, August 3, 2018

"Are You Still Kidding Me?" Guest Post by Stacey Gustafson

     I'm so thrilled to share one of my favorite humor writers today on the blog, along with the exciting news that she has a NEW book coming out this fall!

     I met Stacey Gustafson several years ago at the Erma Bombeck Writers Workshop in Dayton, Ohio, and we've been good friends ever since. Stacey is one of the funniest writers I know, and now she has a sequel to her best selling book Are You Kidding Me?  titled, Are You Still Kidding Me? Which is coming out on September 18. If you act quickly, you can pre-order her hilarious book for just $0.99 before it is published!

     Check out this blurb on Stacey's new book:

"Stacey Gustafson’s back at it again with Are You Still Kidding Me? In this hilarious and heartwarming sequel to her #1 Amazon bestseller Are You Kidding Me? My Life with an Extremely Loud Family, Bathroom Calamities, and Crazy Relatives. Gustafson tackles the foibles of modern family life—from toddlers and teens to empty nesters—with wry wit and plenty of humor.

Grab a cup of coffee, ease into the easy chair, and be prepared to laugh out loud along with Gustafson—she may not be your new best friend, but you’ll feel like she is by the time you’ve finished these forty-five stories of family life, written by a mother who’s seen it all."

  
Below, you will find an excerpt from her book. I can totally relate to this particular chapter, " I Netflix Cheated In My Husband," since I am a Netflix junkie.




                                          I Netflix Cheated on My Husband


I tried ways to end my deception, but nothing worked. To protect my indiscretion, I routinely deleted my Internet browser history, shredded phone bills and swore my friends to secrecy. I Netflix cheated on my husband.

How did this begin you ask? I blame it on the old-fashioned dinner-and-a-movie routine. Our choices had boiled down to The Lego Batman Movie and Fifty Shades Darker. Why were we wasting our money on this crap? So, we traded a night out for a night in.

It all started so innocently.

Cable television options are limitless. Netflix, Amazon Prime, Hulu, HBO Now, the list goes on. No need to go to the theater when you can indulge in more than fifty hours, or five seasons of thirteen episodes. Intriguing shows like Shooter, Stranger Things, Dexter, It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, and House of Cards sucked us in faster than a fur ball to a Dust Buster.

Netflix, where’ve you been my whole life?

We clicked through cable channels and realized we’d only scraped the surface of the Netflix barrel.

On Saturday night, we trolled the channels and found The Killing, a crime drama based in Seattle, featuring homicide detective Sarah Linden and her sidekick, Holder. It had more red herrings than a fish farm, and we were addicted by the first hour.

“Man, this is good,” I said, after three episodes. “One more.”

“No can do,” said my husband, shaking his head. “Got to get up early.”

“Come on,” I said, batting my eyelashes. “Please.”

“Fine, one more. But that’s it.”

Season One, Episode Four, here we come.

By Sunday evening, we squeezed in Episodes Five and Six.

“Got to call it quits now,” he said, rubbing his eyes and giving me a glassy stare. “Up for work by six.”

“Okay,” I said, fidgeting on the sofa. “I’m going stay up a little and read. Night.”

“No cheating. We agreed to watch this together.”

Think again, sucker.

The glow of the television beckoned. What would it hurt? I slammed shut The Girl on the Train and clicked on Episode Seven. I snuggled into my soft throw blanket, popped a can of Coke and let the drama begin. Heck, I’d rewatch it the next time we were together. He’d never know. But I knew I’d crossed the line.

I had become a Netflix cheater.

After he left for work the next day, I thought, “What would it hurt to take a little peek?”

Bam, hooked again, and I binged-watched five more episodes.
Around 6:00 PM, I texted him, “What time you coming home for dinner?”

“Thirty minutes.”

Oh crap, he’ll be here soon.

“Can you pick up some milk and…um…um…pimentos?”

He’ll be searching for hours.

I needed to buy some time to finish Season One. I couldn’t stand not knowing what was happening. Would they catch the real killer? What’s that new evidence they keep talking about?

Suddenly, I detected the slow hum of the garage door. How the hell did he find the damn pimentos that fast? With a loud bang, the door clanged shut on the concrete floor. I hit “off” on the remote.

He strolled into the room, and his green eyes scrutinized the screen.

“Were you watching The Killing?”

“No way. We promised to watch together.”

“Where did we leave off anyway?” he said, trying to trip me up with probing questions. He clicked on the three-way light on the end table next to me.

“Hey, turn that off,” I said, holding a hand to cover my eyes. “So bright.”

What is this Guantanamo?

“Well?” he asked again.

“I think it’s the one where they discover that kid in the teacher’s apartment,” I said, wiping my sweaty hands on my pants.
“Wrong.”

“Um, I’m not sure,” I said, as I leaned in and heard the distinct drip of the kitchen faucet. My armpits sweated more than a hot flash.

“Did you watch more episodes?” he said, eyebrows pinched together, as he squeezed in between the arm of the sofa and my body until our thighs touched. “You can trust me. I won’t get mad.”

“Fine,” I blurted out. “I couldn’t help it. I Netflix cheated.”

Seriously, dude, you’ve been out of town so much I had to get my fix.

“Why?”

“I’m sorry,” I said, staring down at my feet. “It’s just so good. Never planned it to go this far.”

“Promise not to watch anymore?” he said, cocking his head to one side.

I vowed to keep my promise, turned on the television and started scrolling for something else to watch. We’d considered binging on Shooter after watching the previews on Netflix, a drama series based on a former military sniper called back into action to prevent a plot to kill the President.

But when I clicked on it, I noticed that the red bar underneath, the one that indicated if it had been recently viewed, had disappeared.
What?! Holy cow, he’s Netflix cheated on me!


I lost all sense of remorse and settled in for hours of binging on Shooter. Two can play this game.


ABOUT STACEY
Stacey Gustafson is the bestselling author of Are You Kidding Me? My Life With an Extremely Loud Family, Bathroom Calamities, and Crazy Relatives, ranked #1 Amazon in Parenting & Family Humor and Motherhood. She’s also an inspirational speaker, blogger and comedian. Her short stories have appeared in Chicken Soup for the Soul, seven books in the Not Your Mother’s Book series, and other print and online publications. Her awards include Erma Bombeck Humor Writer of the Month as well as Best Comic of the Month at Tommy T’s Comedy Club. She performs stand-up throughout the East Bay. 

She lives in Pleasanton, CA with her college sweetheart, Mike, and a white furball named Stanley who loves peanut butter treats. Visit her popular blog at StaceyGustafson.com, Facebook @StaceyGustafsonWriter, and Twitter @RUKiddingStacey.


If you'd like to follow Stacey, look for her here: 
Amazon
Are You Still Kidding Me? 
Are You Kidding Me? My Life with an Extremely Loud Family, Bathroom Calamities, and Crazy Relatives
Twitter: @RUKiddingStacey
Amazon Author page: http://amzn.to/1F9PGNM


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Friday, June 2, 2017

Did You Steal My Spandex....Again?

     Do you need a little humor to boost your mood after watching all the junk on the news lately? Are you looking for a fun, poolside read? I have the perfect solution to kickstart your summer with some much needed laughter. For a limited time, you can STEAL MY SPANDEX at the low price of just .99 cents for the ebook version, which is available on Amazon and on Barnes & Noble.

     Just so you know that you're spending that .99 cent wisely (instead of hitting up the Dollar Store for a seashell soap dish), I'm sharing one of my favorite chapters from the book as a sneak preview to help convince you that your money will be well spent on a few hours of humor:


 
                         SLEEPUS INTERRUPTUS




I love my quiet weekends. They give me license to indulge in one of my favorite pastimes—napping. When the lunch dishes are cleared and my schedule is free, I retire to my private little paradise under a stack of blankets and pillows. Once I close my bedroom door, the family KNOWS not to disturb me. They understand all too well that if my beauty rest is interrupted, they'll be dealing with a haggard ogre, and the consequences for waking me will be swift and painful.
Most weekends I can steal a little shut-eye by midafternoon. I'm a firm believer in a three-hour siesta. But lately, uncontrollable outside forces have been messing with the sweet slumber I so desperately crave. No, I’m not referring to young children screeching or running through the house. What I’m referring to are things like the obnoxious neighborhood ice cream truck that takes sadistic pleasure in blaring “Pop Goes the Weasel” from massive speakers as it drives repeatedly past my home. The driver’s timing is always precise—just as I am in the throes of a deliciously sexy dream, about to lock lips with George Clooney: POP GOES THE WEASEL!
At times like this, I grit my teeth against the sudden urge for an orange Creamsicle, burrow deeper under the covers, and wait for the offending truck to pass. Just when I start to slip back into the land of Nod, the doorbell rings and the dogs go insane. Over their incessant barking, a salesman tries to convince me that I need to switch cable companies and add an additional 500 channels to the existing 700 I already have. Hey, I never get the chance to sleep, so why not have even more opportunities to live vicariously through the people testing out Tempur-Pedic mattresses on late-night infomercials? 
The salesman leaves, and I finally get the chance to drift back into the slumber I have been looking forward to all week. I never know how much time passes—it could be two hours or two minutes—but inevitably, the next-door neighbor who won last year's Curb Appeal Award will decide to do a little creative landscaping. As he trims the base of his perfectly squared hedge with a weed-whacker, small stones ricochet loudly off my bedroom window. It sounds like a woodpecker on steroids. I'd rather sleep in a room filled with chocolate-wasted toddlers than listen to the torturous cacophony of flying debris from my neighbor's new lawn toy.
I decide to give napping one more shot when suddenly I find myself baking in a four hundred and seventy-five degree oven. Who invited the freaking sun into my bedroom? Within seconds, I'm bathed in a puddle of sweat and riding out the aftershocks of a merciless hot flash.
Giving up on the fantasy of a three-hour nap, I stagger into the kitchen for a jolt of caffeine to push me through the rest of the day. Peering around the corner, I see my husband sleeping peacefully on the couch, his lips puffing out with each whistling exhale. I hear the TV in the background—a testosterone-infused program on cage fighting—and marvel at his ability to sleep through doorbells, barking dogs, and men locked in combat. Actually, I'm a wee bit jealous. Okay, a LOT jealous. 
Deciding that it really wouldn't be fair for my well-rested husband to be stuck with a wife who resembles a troll, I wake him from sleep. He opens one eye, peers up at me, and smiles. I hand him a cup of coffee and flop down beside him on the couch. He channel surfs like a kid with severe ADD before settling on the Discovery Channel. Grinning, he wraps his arms around me, and I snuggle against his warmth. Within minutes, I drift into blessed slumber.
I can't think of a better way to spend a Sunday afternoon than nodding off during a television documentary about the sleeping habits of wombats, while curled in the arms of the man I love.
Don't you feel better now after laughing? I thought so. What are you waiting for? Buy the book while it's still on sale. THANK YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT! **Sale ends June 8, 2017**



BUY IT HERE:
AMAZON
BARNES & NOBLE


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Friday, November 18, 2016

Fly On The Wall In Pictures

     Welcome to another addition of Fly On The Wall group postings, hosted by Karen of Baking In A Tornado. Today eight brave bloggers are inviting you into their homes for a glimpse at what goes on behind closed doors (are you sure you wanna know??).

     They say a picture is worth a thousand words. So rather than tell you what was said and done around the Doyle abode this past month, I'm sharing some incriminating photos instead.....





THE ELUSIVE CANDY CORN VAMPIRE



WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE RUM IS ALL GONE??



WHO ARE THESE STRANGE WOMEN AND HOW DID I GET HERE?



I'M A BLUE FROSTING-TONGUED MONSTER! RAWR!!



THESE TWO FEMALES ARE ANNOYING THE HELL OUT OF ME



YOU CAN NEVER HAVE TOO MANY PUGS....



YEAH, WE BE HAWT IN THESE HATS



WE'RE GOING TO DISNEY WORLD?!?



IS IT THANKSGIVING YET?



NUTHIN' BETTER THAN FAMILY LOVE



Click on these links for a peek into some of the homes of the other bloggers participating in today's Fly On The Wall group posting:

Baking In A Tornado                   http://www. bakinginatornado.com/
Menopausal Mother                    http://www.menopausalmom.com/     
Go Mama O                                 http://www.gomamao.com                                                 
Spatulas on Parade                     http://spatulasonparade. blogspot.com/                        
Searching for Sanity                    http://singlemumplusone. blogspot.com                         
Never Ever Give Up Hope             http://batteredhope.blogspot. com                         
Dinosaur Superhero Mommy         http://dinoheromommy.com/                      
Southern Belle Charm                   http://www. southernbellecharm.com 
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Friday, February 5, 2016

The 10 Commandments of Middle Age


      There are certain do's and don'ts to aging, but some people are clueless when it comes to acting appropriately for their age. I'm not suggesting that you should throw in the towel after fifty and let yourself age like a hag. I'm just giving you some pointers on what you can and cannot get away with once you're considered over the hill. If you want to dye your hair chartreuse and tattoo your cat's name on your shoulder, that's up to you. Otherwise, here's some simple advice to follow whenever you forget that your name is already on the AARP mailing list.


1.)  Thou shalt wear clothing styles that flatter thy age. This means you should steer clear of the clothing you wore when you were twenty-something and thirty pounds lighter. Ladies, just because you rocked that mini skirt back in 1970 doesn't mean you have the legs to pull it off at age fifty. If the backs of your thighs look like the surface of a golf ball, ditch the short skirt and find a sexy one that sits just above the knees. Men, hopefully you're not trying to squeeze into the red speedos your wore at the beach during spring break forty years ago. You are not competing on the Olympic swim team and no one wants to see your shrunken roly poly trapped in wet nylon.

 2.) Thou shalt carry dental floss with thee at all times.  As you get older, your gums recede and leave perfect little pockets around the teeth for food storage. Unless you plan on eating those trapped  morsels later in the day, or if you enjoy digging spinach out of your teeth in a restaurant, keep a roll of floss handy for food trap emergencies. Your mouth should not be a storage bin for leftovers.

3.) Thou shalt not drink more than one libation a day. Your memory cells are already down to single digits from aging. Why kill off the precious few you have left with shots of tequila?

4.) Thou shalt moisturize thy skin on a regular basis.  Things begin happening to the collagen in your skin as you age. Bad things. Unless you want your face to droop like the man in Edvard Munch's painting "The Scream", start applying creams as heavy as wall spackle to your skin to avoid a massive collagen meltdown.

5.) Thou shalt eat an entire bag of carrots a day. By the time you hit your fifties, your eye site will be no better than a mole's. Carrots have vitamin A in them, which is good for your eyes. Seriously, have you ever seen a rabbit wearing glasses?

6.) Thou shalt not pass gas in public places.  Old people and farts are synonymous. Don't be like old people. Practice your sphincter Kegels daily to avoid mishaps on a crowded elevator or in the line at the grocery store when there's a sale on Metamucil.

7.) Thou shalt take no less than 20 supplements a day to stay healthy.  By the time your youngest child is in college, you should own a large pill box with compartments that are clearly marked with the days of the week. You should also be on a first name basis with your pharmacist.

8.) Thou shalt not gain 10 pounds a year after the age of 50.  Hide the butter, hide the cream. Eat too much, you'll bust a seam.

9.)  Thou shalt maintain a healthy, intimate relationship with thy partner.  Keep in mind that you're not a frisky twenty-one year old any more. If you think being adventurous in the bedroom means trying out the Kama Sutra "Splitting Bamboo" position, think again. You just might pull a hamstring and end up in a leg brace.

10.) Thou shalt maintain thy sense of humor.  That old saying that "laughter is the best medicine" is true. Everyone needs to find their happy place in order to smile. If that means finding it in the bottom of a jar of Nutella or watching your spouse wrangle out of a chair that the grandkids have duct taped him to while babysitting, then so be it.

      See? Getting older isn't so bad. You can get away with things like forgetting to shave your legs or eating dessert before dinner. And if you're really lucky, no one will notice that glob of spinach between your teeth.



****EXCITING NEWS FLASH**** Meno Mama was just accepted this week into the Washington Post Talent Work for writers!!! Stay tuned for my first article......whoo-hoo!!
***WANT MORE MENO MAMA? This week I am up on Humor Outcasts with my post, "Eight Types Of People Who Annoy Me." You can read it here: http://humoroutcasts.com/2016/eight-types-of-people-who-annoy-me/
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Friday, December 11, 2015

Fun Friday Guest Post By Vikki Claflin

     I'm sure that by now you recognize the name of the guest blogger on the site today. I've featured Vikki Claflin several times on Meno Mama because she's one of my favorite writers. Not only does she write an entertaining midlife blog called  Laugh Lines, she's also the author of not one, but TWO humor books! I loved her first book, "Shake, Rattle and Roll With It", and was beyond thrilled to learn that her NEW book, "Who Left The Cork Out Of My Lunch?" will be released February 14th 2016, and what a perfect Valentine's gift this book will make!

      I'm sharing one of the many hilarious chapters from her book, and this one happens to be one of my favorites since it deals with aging. Vikki's book will be available for pre-order on Jan. 12 2016 (Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iTunes) in case you'd like to reserve your copy early of this funny lady's book (c'mon, you know you want to!). Enjoy!





Menopause Killed my Inner MILF

Google “Benefits of Menopause,” and you’ll get 8,570,000 possible links. Over 8 1/2 million articles written on how menopause makes us stronger, sexier, more confident, and more at peace with our bodies and our sexuality. Not to mention the exhilarating freedom from periods, bloating, cramping, PMS, and the constant worry about pregnancy, however slim the chance.
What they don’t tell you in those same posts is that all that zen is achieved after menopause is over. It’s the prize at the end of a rather bumpy ride, during which you’ll start questioning whether you’ll ever be sexy again. Or if you’ll ever care.
Like most women, I like feeling attractive, sexy, desirable. I’ve spent more money than I probably should’ve towards that goal over the years, and although yoga pants and no makeup are my norm, I do clean up fairly well (which admittedly takes longer with each passing year). I have a tiny, but persistent, inner hot chick that still likes stilettos, little black dresses, and the appreciative looks from Hubs at my efforts. Menopause crashed my hotness with a thud heard in three states.
Suddenly I was more “Ma’am” than MILF. Men stopped whistling at me from the street and started helping me through the crosswalk. People no longer commented “You look so much like your mother” and started assuming we were sisters. One unfortunate store owner in town asked me if I was my son’s grandmother. (As soon as I figure out how to hide the body, he’s going to die.)
In retrospect, I’m amazed that Hubs made it through my menopausal years. He married a reasonably confident, arguably normal woman, and woke up one day to an overheated, moody, questionably sane female sobbing uncontrollably over the sudden appearance of cankles. My MILF was gone. How menopause killed it:
1. Hot flashes. We were out at our favorite romantic restaurant, and instead of the coy flirting of our early years (“Gee, Big Guy, is it hot in here or is it just you?”), it became “Is it hot in here or what? I’m hot. Is anybody else hot??” Repeated requests to the uncooperative waiter to turn the thermostat down finally ended with a screeching “Can’t you turn the freaking heat down?!? It’s TOO FRIGGIN’ HOT IN HERE.” Hubs dragged my sweaty body out of the restaurant, and we haven’t been back since.
2. Metabolism changes. Actually, mine didn’t change. It stopped. Weight maintenance was now limited to one Fruit Loop and a Diet Coke per day. Weight loss required colonic cleansing and fasting. And if you like wine, no carbs for you. Ever. Carbs plus wine make you blow up like a puffer fish, so you have to choose. I haven’t had a carb since 2009.
3. Fatigue. I was tired all the time. Bedtime went from 10:30 p.m. to 8:30 p.m., effectively eliminating boogie nights on the dance floor, since it’s virtually impossible to find a band that starts at 5:30.
4. Night sweats. Yeah, nothing turns a man on more than being whacked on the arm at 2 a.m., to “Get up” because we have to change the cold, wet sheets. Again. After the first six months, we both got used to just tossing beach towels over the sheets and crawling back into bed. Take that, sex life.
5. Day sweats. I quit going to the gym after realizing my clothes would be soaked, with visible sweat pouring down between my boobs and my butt crack, and I’d only been on the treadmill for 3 minutes. It took me longer to wipe down the machine than it did to work out.
6. Incontinence. I’d laugh. A little squirt. I’d sneeze. Another little squirt. The actual need to pee? Now I’d be clenching my Kegals while I waddle-ran to the nearest bathroom, praying there wasn’t a line and fully prepared to bust into the men’s room if necessary. By the end of the evening, I smelled like Eau de Pee, sitting in wet undies, and wondering what the hell had happened to my life. Hubs, not surprisingly, was still not turned on.
7. Mood swings. Some days, Hubs would come home to find me sobbing over yet-another Hallmark commercial about the son returning home at Christmas to his adoring little sister and happy, teary-eyed parents. Other days, any and all comments directed at me, from anyone in the room, on any subject, were met with “What the hell is wrong with you??” accompanied, when the stupidity-level warranted it, by a smack up ‘long side the head. Hubs claimed later that every day was a crap shoot.
8. Physical changes. Under-arm twaddle, boobs headed towards my knees, and hips widening, irrevocably eliminated anything sleeveless or low-cut from my closet and would forevermore require military-grade underwear. Menopause underwear is designed to git ‘er done, by pushing, lifting, and shoving defiant and migrating body parts back into their original shape and place. We no longer care about lace edging or cute bows. We need Kevlar underwire and the Spanx company on speed-dial.
9. Body heat. More consistent than hot flashes, I was basically just hot all. the. time. We had the front door open year-round, and unless it was raining, I had the top down on my car. In December. I turned the house heat completely off every night and opened all the windows. Hubs repeatedly complained that he couldn’t perform in a meat locker. I reminded him once that it’s a bad chef who blames his utensils, but apparently he didn’t get my humor. Nobody got any that night.
10. Hunger. Suffice it to say that I was always hungry. And somehow, I have no recollection of craving carrots. I do remember threatening to bludgeon Hubs to death one night for eating the last of my Milk Duds. To this day, he’s never eaten another Dud.
11. Evening conversations tended more towards chronic menopausal-induced IBS than our mutual plans for our next vacation through the wine country. Hubs, who’s never seen me pee (not once in 15 years) because I want to maintain a modicum of mystery in our marriage, looked a bit stunned one night when I bent over and hiked up the back of my dress, asking “When I bend over like this, can you see cellulite on the backs of my legs?” He laughed so hard, he fell off his chair, but was smart enough to leave that question untouched.
Now, at the end of the tunnel, I’m approaching inner peace. But it was a humbling and often mortifying ride. And occasionally, when I’m doing my morning prayers and meditation, my thoughts will free-fall back to those years and I’ll ask God, “Really??REALLY??”
I’m still waiting for a response.

***For more midlife laughter, check out Laugh Lines @ laugh-lines.net!



BIO:


Vikki Claflin is an author and inspirational public speaker. She lives in Hood River, Oregon, where she writes the award-winning humor blog Laugh Lines. Vikki has been featured on the Michael J. Fox Foundation website, Erma Bombeck’s Writer’s Workshop, The Huffington Post, Scary Mommy, Midlife Boulevard, Better After 50, and Funny Times Magazine. She also received a BlogHer14 “Voices of the Year” Humor award. Vikki’s first book Shake, Rattle & Roll With It: Living & Laughing with Parkinson’s was listed as one of Amazon Editor's Favorite Books of 2014. You can connect with Vikki and read more of her hilarious writing at laugh-lines.net.





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Friday, August 28, 2015

Super Summer Guest Post: Beth Blacker of Call Me Crazy

     I am very pleased to introduce to you today my last summer guest blogger, Beth Blacker….Call Me Crazy (gotta love the name of her site!!). I "met" Beth through Facebook when she messaged me about post that I wrote. We have been talking ever since, and I was delighted to learn that she lives in Florida! Being mid-lifers, we share very similar experiences in growing up, marriage and raising kids. When I checked out her blog, I found it to be funny and totally relatable. Which means you'll like her as much as I do! In today's post about raising teens,  young adults and questioning our parenting skills, I found myself nodding in agreement over the three points if activities that a mom usually finds herself doing…..see if you agree!

     Please welcome Beth to Meno Mama's site today with lots of comment love. Thanks!




WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH KIDS TODAY?

While these lyrics were written over 55 years ago, there's no arguing they still hold true today...well, except us parents thinking we were really all that perfect. But still, there's no denying, the problems seem to be exponentially greater than previous generations.
Can I hear a hell ya?????
Don't leave me hanging people.
Anyway, a recent conversation with my daughter went something like this:
Daughter: Hey, I just thought I'd let you know that my wallet was stolen and the AMEX card I have that is connected to your account was in it.
Me: Did you call AMEX and report it as stolen?
Daughter: No, that's why I'm calling you.
Me: I gave you the card because I consider you responsible enough to manage all aspects of it and that does include calling to report it stolen.
Daughter: I'm really busy.
Me: And so am I. Make the call.
Daughter: I've never called AMEX before.
Me: There's a first time for everything. By the way, when was it stolen?
Daughter: Yesterday.
Me: Seriously? Why didn't you call yesterday?
Daughter: I told you I'm really busy.
Me: You do understand that in the past 24 hours the person that stole it may have charged a bazillion things?
Daughter: What do people like in omelets?
Me: What?
Daughter: I'm in charge of craft services this week, I'm at the grocery store and need to get stuff to make omelets.
Me: I think we're done...love you, bye bye
A few days later my son finally sat down to write his thank you cards for the graduation gifts he received and this conversation took place...
Son: How do you address an envelope?
Me: You're kidding right?
Son: No, can't you just tell me without making a big deal about it.
Me: You're kidding right? 
Son: Mom!
Me: Son! 
Son: Mom stop!
Me: No you stop!
Son: Oh my G-d you're ridiculous
Me: No you're ridiculous
Yep, call me crazy but...I could have continued that forever.
However, at some point I did actually stop and started to feel like I have totally failed as a parent. I mean if my 21 year old daughter doesn't know how to call a credit card company and my 18 year old son doesn't know how to address an envelope I need to seriously re-evaluate what exactly it was that I was doing with them all of these years.
I know they are both really smart and I'm not sharing these stories to embarrass them, but attention to the common sense details of life just seem to be escaping their entire generation. I suppose one could argue that there will come a point in time when their smart phones will be so smart that they won't have to worry about such mundane tasks and everything will magically happen for them thanks to some app created, no doubt, by a 16 year old. For now, though, what's a mother to do?
Well, this mom usually ends up...
#1 - Counting to 10 or practicing some serious yoga breathing whenever one of my kids asks me to help them with something I think they are more than capable of handling but clearly are looking for me to just deal with it. This usually leads to...
#2 - Inserting humor...well, more like sarcasm...into the situation. In my mind, most of these moments call for laughter. My kids, however, tend not to appreciate my sense of humor/sarcasm which means they press on and I'm left with...
#3  - Looking at the clock to determine if it is too early for alcohol.  That doesn't really help them much but at that point, I'm good.
Look, I was raised to be a very independent, stand on my own two feet kind of gal. My parents were relatively hands off until it was really obvious I had run out of options for how to maneuver my way through a particular situation. It has, I believe, served me very well in life. I tried to more or less raise my kids the same way.
Society, though, has messed with that plan big time.
The sense of entitlement surrounding my children's generation is astounding and the overwhelming number of distractions that take them away from dealing with a task at hand is absurd to say the least. I'm not sure any amount of deep breathing, witty comebacks or it's 5 o'clock somewhere behavior will solve the problem. Unfortunately, I don't have the answers and feel like I am left with just crossing my fingers so tightly I am cutting off my circulation.
A week before the conversation with my daughter, I witnessed the filming of her senior thesis. I've mentioned before in a previous blog that she is a student at Florida State's Film School, a very intense and highly competitive program. I have listened to countless conversations about the grueling schedule and demands, seen the end result in her sophomore and junior year projects, but being on set with her for 3 days watching her take control of a crew of about 30 other film students, actors and volunteers? I was blown away!
And yet the conversation about her wallet still happened a week later.
I had dinner with a friend the other night and as I shared my feelings with her about these types of situations, here's the conversation that pursued...
Friend:  How many times have you found yourself without any toilet paper after you've already gone to the bathroom and how does it make you feel?
Me:  Ummm...where's this going?
Friend:  Think about it...no amount of shaking, jiggling, whatever is going to make you feel good about the situation you are in. 
Me:  Uh huh
Friend:  So what do you do? 
Me:  Yell to my husband to bring me another roll.
Friend:  But what if he's not around?
Me:  Swear at myself for not looking before I sat down.
Friend:  Exactly but hopefully not make the same mistake repeatedly right?
Me: One would hope.
Friend:  Bottom line, most young adults aren't going to realize just how important it is to take care of the little things until they really are left to their own devices. If your daughter's wallet ever gets lost or stolen again, she'll probably call you again until everything in her wallet is hers and hers alone. Your son, on the other hand, will no doubt remember now how to address an envelope.
Me:  Again, one would hope.
Until then, I have alcohol ;)
That's it for now...#BlackerOut!





BIO:
Beth Blacker is the Director of Strategic Relationships and Community Outreach for OJ Mortgage in Clearwater, FL. She also considers herself a networking "maven" and strives to help every business person she connects with grow and succeed. A native Michigander (Go Blue!), she has lived in NYC where she pursued a career in food service, Louisville where she pursued a Southern accent and now currently lives in Tampa where she just wants to snuggle with her rescue Beagle, Gavin, and have a glass of wine at the end of the day. Oh and she has two kids who are both in college (Go Empty Nesters!) plus her man child husband who really keeps her on her toes. Her blog, Beth Blacker...Call Me Crazy, is her way to keep everything in her life a little more real one day at a time. Follow her on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest,Instagram and LinkedIn. And you can also find her on Google+ but not that often even though she has been told repeatedly how much it will help with SEO. 
***WANT MORE MENO MAMA?? This week you can catch my featured posts on Mock Mom: http://mockmom.com/mom-discovers-how-to-annoy-tweens-in-10-easy-steps/   and Better After 50: http://betterafter50.com/2015/08/a-mothers-advice-to-her-son-on-the-eve-of-his-departure-for-college/





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