A Cranky Lady Goes on Vacation

I just returned from a lovely vacation during the Spring Break holidays.  I have come to the conclusion that my tolerance for the general public is on a rapid decline.  For some unknown reason people who stop dead in their tracks, or meander from side to side making it impossible to pass, are attracted to me. These people, hence forth known as “slow” walkers or “slokers” are always in my way.  Now I am not talking about the aged or infirm, I am talking about those physically fit people who believe the best time to check their travel documents are when they are in the midst of a large crowd of fast moving passengers.  Why there is not more serious injuries resulting from the domino effect as fellow travelers collide into these slokers is another great mystery of life. Once I broke free from their gravitational orbit, I proceeded to that cattle chute known as the TSA security check point.

Do a large majority of the population not read, or listen to the very simple instructions?  As we shuffle through we are reminded to remove our shoes, coats, hats, and place our things into a plastic tray that goes through the scanner. Additionally we are reminded to have our boarding pass and passport in hand. I cannot tell you how many folks fail to have the requested documents ready, after they have been reminded repeatedly as we wended our way through the disneyesque line. Amid loud sighs and rolled eyes (mine), they fumble through their carry-ons, when they finally reach that point in the process. The real fun starts at the walk through metal detector.  I always seem to get behind the person that “forgot” to remove their foot wear.  In my case nine out of ten times the passenger in question will be shod in a pair of boots that take a good fifteen minutes and a specially designed button hook to shed.  They proceed to prance through, only to be sent back to remove their coats, and then again to remove their hat, and finally to lose the belt that is sending the metal detector into overdrive. These same geniuses will also have a liter size water bottle, nail clippers, and various big box store sized toiletries in their duffels. Usually some lively discussion follows the confiscation of said items, and the line comes to a complete halt. Then there is the Body Scan. Bottom line, I think everyone knows by looking at me fully clothed, they will see a multitude of “muffin” tops, bottoms, and industrial size underwear on my scan screen.  I honestly don’t believe that the scanner is looking for a cheap thrill at my expense! However many of my fellow travelers think differently.  Hence more discussions, and further holdups.

Finally after overcoming the TSA hurdle, deftly moving around some more slokers, we are at the gate! Now the boarding cheaters show their faces.  If you have flown lately, you may have noticed that they board the plane from the back rows to the front rows.  This makes great sense, as it should eliminate the problem of the “Aisle Blockers” at the front of the plane. When your boarding pass is issued, it usually designates what boarding zone you are in.  In theory you will be getting on after the people sitting further back in the plane have boarded.  We were to be seated in the middle of the plane, or zone two.  Zone one, the rows to the rear of the plane, were allowed to board first, our section was second, and the passengers in the front rows should board last.  HA!  We followed the rules, and guess what?  We were one of the last passengers to board! I remarked to my sons that they should check the people’s zone number when they board, and if you are “jumping” the zone you should be sent to the back of the boarding line. They just shrugged and asked what the big deal was?  The big deal is carry-on bags.  Since airlines now charge for luggage, everyone tries to cram as much into carry-on as they can, thereby allowing their clothes to fly free. As a result overhead storage fills up fast.  So fast that at the last minute your carry-on needs to be checked at the gate.  Usually in your carry-on are all of your expensive electronics, prescriptions, jewelry, and any other valuables that you wanted to have in your possession. We were flying the day after the story broke on the sizable amount of items gone “missing” from luggage at JFK.  One guess where we were flying from! Well we could only pray our bags didn’t become the piñatas of the baggage handlers.

Okay!  We are in our seats, securely buckled, with our seats and tray tables in their upright position. Let the screaming child two rows up begin her rousing serenade! I had to hand it to her; she had stamina, and was able to maintain earsplitting screams for the duration of the flight.  As soon as we were aloft, the tiny little grandmother directly in front of me, slammed her seat back to a full recline.  Mind you she was all of five feet nothing, and her feet barely touched the ground.  Meanwhile, me measuring in at a whopping six feet plus, had the extreme pleasure of flying with my knees jammed up by my ears. Then to add insult to injury, the guy catty corner to me, polished off a heaping helping of re-fried beans, and a burrito.  Needless to say, it was rapidly metabolized and expelled, if you get my drift.  I definitely got his.  Who ever thought putting a Mexican Restaurant near the gate was a good idea? That wunderkind should be forced to fly on a plane for a few hours breathing in recycled air, after someone enjoyed an entrée from their fine establishment.

Arrival!  Yippee!  And we were off!  We enjoyed a lovely cruise, on the SS Slocker.   If you think meandering through the terminal is slow going, you haven’t been on a buffet line with the “I must inspect every morsel of food, before it goes on my plate” crowd. Or the let me look through the Bingo cards, and get a “feeling before I purchase one” ladies.

We ended up having a great time, relaxing and having fun, in spite of my diminishing regard for people.  Now if the world is truly fair, someone is, at this very moment writing a blog about a curmudgeonly tall woman, who sighs and rolls her eyes!  (I think it might be written by my kids!)

Hope your Holidays were happy!

LEARNING TO NAVIGATE

At the risk of sounding like an old curmudgeon, who walked five miles to school, uphill both ways, I worry about our children; specifically their ability, or lack of, to navigate their way home. I know I am not alone when I admit to chauffeuring my precious offspring every time the intended destination is more than ½ a mile away. When I do allow them to get somewhere under their own steam, you can rest assured the swat team is following close behind.

Back when I grew up, this was completely unheard of. We walked to and from school, in all kinds of weather. That is what umbrellas, gloves and goulashes were for. After school, we immediately changed out of our “school” clothes, donned our “play” clothes and headed out until dinner time. We roamed the neighborhood for hours on bikes, or super skates, till dinner time or the street lights came on. Did our parents know where we were every moment?  Highly doubtful. They knew we were probably in the vicinity, and that was good enough for them.  The only cell phones available, if indeed there were any, belonged to James Bond. Back at our house we still had the party line! Yet, we survived. We learned how to navigate around the city, find short cuts, and could get to any friend’s house with our eyes closed. As we grew older, and by older I mean sixth grade, we started to use public transportation. Everyone knew where the bus stop was. We quickly became adept at schedules, which number bus went where, and how to transfer between different routes. By high school we thought nothing about catching a train into New York City, and taking a walk around that great metropolis. Yet, we survived.

People say, “Well, it was a different time.” I say perverts and pedophiles have been roaming around since the dawn of civilization. Our parents taught us not to talk to strangers, never get into anyone’s car, and always travel with a buddy. These rules still apply. I do believe that some terrible things happened to children when I was young.  I just don’t think we heard about it. Nowadays we have instant access through the internet.  While this is a good thing, the down side is that it has scared us half to death.  We shield our children to the point of incapacity.

When my eldest was learning to drive, I was horrified to discover that he didn’t know how to get anywhere.  If he was dropped a mile or two away, he would be completely stymied as to how to make his way home. It was my fault. I guess I thought he would absorb navigation skills from all the times he was driven places.  What I have discovered is that can’t happen if your nose is buried in a game boy, and your headphones are securely fastened to your ears!

How did we ever get from point “a” to point “b”? We knew where we were, and where we were going. We used maps, another outmoded form of information! I don’t think my children could use one in real life. My kids rely on the GPS to navigate for them.

I guess the point I am trying to make, is that by being so overly protective, I have robbed my children of that feeling of independence that comes from knowing where you are, and how to get to where you want to be. I am going to try and back off, let them out of the bubble, call off the swat team, and let them learn the best way; by doing.

Facebook Official

Well, my last son just went Facebook official.  For those of you not in the know, this means he is “In a Relationship.” I have been down this road before, and was not looking forward to my last baby taking this step.  What this means to him, is that he has a girlfriend, to me it means that the question and answer period has been officially shut down.  It seems that once a teenager enters into a “relationship” all information becomes top secret.  As a mother, I do not possess the security clearance necessary to be privy to any details.

Unfortunately for all three of my boys, I was friends with the mothers of their first “girlfriends.” We would share whatever meager tidbits of information we happened upon, and hoped that no one’s heart was crushed in the first foray into romance. Not that we would ever in a million years know the details!

It seems to have happened in a heartbeat.  One day we would be told long sagas of the day’s events.  The stories would take 30 minutes to relate, while the actual event being described took 30 seconds. They included all the details; weather conditions, wardrobe, and cast of characters. They painted vivid verbal pictures of the observations made.  Now we receive a grunt, a shrug, or rolled eye, when we ask the innocuous “how was your day?”

Currently, all questions need to be presented to their advance team, than we will be informed what topics are off limits. The only thing I can count on anymore is “how about this weather?” They forget that I have always asked questions about what was going on in their lives. Why now, is it viewed as such an unwanted intrusion?  It makes me wonder, what do they think I will do with this information?  Will I contact their girlfriend, and pass along sensitive Intel? I am your mother, and in case you haven’t noticed, I care more for you than everyone in the world. I always have, and always will have your best interest at heart.  I want to be able to guide you through this stage, as I guided you through walking and riding a bike. 

My boys are somehow under the mistaken impression, that I was hatched fully formed as their mother. They can’t fathom the idea, that I was once a young girl.  I know how girls think!  I have had 50+ years experience as a female, and my memory is long. I am sitting on a wealth of information, and eager to share.  I am not, as I think you believe, trying to run/destroy/live your life.

As much as things change, they remain the same.  There will be girlfriends, there will be breakups, there will be broken hearts, and there will be brand new relationships.  I guess I have to learn from my sons, that this is the stage in my life, where I learn to zip my lip, and just trust that the lessons I tried to impart, have taken root. I’m trying, but it’s not easy. Then again what new stage is ever easy?

We're Going to the Super Bowl!!!!!!!

Many, many moons ago when I first met my husband I quickly discovered he was a fanatical Giants football fan. At the risk of revealing how long in the tooth I really am, I will divulge that Phil Simms was the quarterback. Our Sundays were spent in front of the TV as the season unfurled.  In the beginning of our relationship, when our true colors were still under wraps, my husband sat on the couch, and made polite comments, like nice play, or good pass.  That was in year one.  By the time the second season started his true fanaticism was starting to bleed through.  Instead of sitting calmly on the couch, he would pace to and fro, picking up tempo as the score got closer. When season 3 finally rolled around, all pretense of civil behavior went out the window and he turned rabid. Many a Sunday afternoon I witnessed him charging the TV, screaming at the top of his lungs “Phil Simms, You s*ck! Luckily nothing was ever broken, except for a remote which flew out of his hand during a particularly exciting play, and occasionally his heart.

Through it all he remained “TRUE BLUE.” About 5 or 6 years ago, a friend offered to sell him 2 season tickets.  This buddy had four tickets, one each for himself, wife and two children. His wife was not, in his opinion showing the proper enthusiasm expected, when given the opportunity to sit in the frigid cold, and watch grown men toss a ball around, while simultaneously knocking each other to the ground. His children were still on the young side, and their favorite refrain at the games to date had been “Is this almost over?””When can we leave?” and “Dad, its’ too cold here!” My husband leaped on the opportunity. Oh he loved it!  From the tailgating in the parking lot with hundreds of close friends (because if you are a Giant fan, you are a friend of mine), to the hooting and hollering up in the stands with like (or right) minded individuals. On days his beloved “Gints” played away, he could be found pacing in front of our home TV, yelling instructions to the quarterback.  (I know, I told him they can’t hear him, but all I got for imparting this piece of timely information was a dirty look.)

As you all probably know, the new stadium went up in 2010.  Finally a chance to have his own season tickets, a lifelong dream comes true. He purchased three tickets.  We have three sons, but one is away at college, and the other two will (hopefully, God willing) be away at school when the eldest returns. Now that he is plugged into the Giants network, in a pinch, he can always rustle up an extra ticket.  Usually he knows of some poor buddy that is being forced to attend a wedding or christening on game day. (Not that he understands this.)

Yes the licensing fees were steep, but if you consider, as I was, that this represented every Christmas/Birthday/Anniversary present he would ever receive, not to mention a season ticket inheritance for each son, when Dad departs for the big goalpost in the sky, it could be justified. I cannot tell you the joy he derives from his Sunday afternoons at the games. Decked out in his Giant regalia, he makes the trek up to the Meadowlands faithfully.  He has also been successful in his quest to indoctrinate our offspring to the ‘Giant” way. They too can now intelligently spout plays, yards, bad calls, and all other football trivia with the best of them.  They have made their father proud.

His beloved Giants are going to the Super Bowl this year, and so is he! I was made aware of his plans at the last televised playoff game, when he and a few friends were jumping up and down screaming “We’re going to Indianapolis.” I mistakenly thought he was using the Royal ‘We” as in our Giants are going to the super bowl. I was wrong.

So his bags are packed, and he is ready to go!  He is driving in my minivan (the seats recline, so you can catch a nap he explained) with three other diehard fans.  He has packed a cooler with drinks, yodels, Hostess fruit pies, and a couple of packs of red twizzlers.(Provisions for the twelve hour jaunt) Tickets, check….hotel reservations, check….Giant jerseys, check….Giant hat, check……enthusiasm, check, check and triple check!

Meanwhile back at home base, I will be attending a Super Bowl party.  I will spend my time checking out the latest in delicious “Game Day” appetizers, and dips.  I will also watch with much interest the commercials and half time show. But most importantly I will be hoping his team wins, so he will have a weekend to remember forever!

GO BIG BLUE!!!!

UNIVERSAL TRUTHS

We have all heard of Murphy’s Law, when anything that can go wrong will.  I believe it is common knowledge that when we drop a slice of bread it will always fall butter side down, but there are many other universal truths.

One of the constants in my life is picking the wrong line for checkout.  There is the lady with a month’s worth of groceries, and one person with two items in the express lane. Who will be checked out first? Why the person I choose NOT to get behind. The shopper in express will invariably have picked the item that will not scan.  “Price check.” This entails finding an employee who is free, and sending them to find the item located in an undisclosed spot in the store.  It usually plays out like “Where is Waldo.” A glance over at the checkout line not chosen, reveals that half of the purchases from the huge order have been rung up. Once the price has been located, a lively discussion about how that item is on sale, and the price is ringing up incorrectly will ensue. After intense discussions with the manager, who has been called off his coffee break, the situation is remedied. By the way, the shopper in lane two is packed, paid, and heading toward the exit. The express shopper is now experiencing problems with their credit card, does not have check cashing privileges, and has left their wallet in the car. After the wallet has been retrieved, the express shopper will count out the amount due in pennies and nickels. The non-express shopper is already home, and has her purchases unpacked and stowed.

You may think lucky non-express shopper! However another universal truth is about to kick in.  The house she left an hour earlier had three teenagers and one husband in residence. When she arrives home with bags easily weighing half a ton, there will be no one home to help bring in the groceries.  The missing residents will only reappear after the purchases are put away, and then pillaging will commence.

Another odd occurrence is the phantom tooth ache.  This is when your jaw has been aching with a pounding toothache for days.  You’ve been consuming Advil like M&Ms, but there is no relief.  You finally break down and make an appointment to see your dentist.  The instant your front car wheels hit the parking lot at his office, the pain miraculously disappears. Furthermore you can’t even tell him with any certainty, which tooth was giving you trouble. You get a lecture on the importance of flossing, and are sent on your way.

The same thing occurs with haircuts. You have been sporting a hair-do that is really a hair-don’t. Small children flee in terror, and you’ve even frightened yourself in the mirror a time or two. You book an appointment at your hairdresser’s earliest opportunity.  That is always at least a week away.  In the meantime you lay low and remain in the house, as a public service.  The morning of your appointment, you will be greeted in your mirror by a woman sporting the best hair-do you have ever seen. People will toss compliments in your direction about your crowning glory.  Jennifer Anniston’s publicist calls to find out where you got that rockin’ style. Just another universal truth.

In this same vein, while sporting your hair-don’t, clothes spotted with splashed coffee, a bumper crop of facial hair, and not a stitch of make-up, you will run into an old beau.  He was your first love, and you haven’t seen him in about twenty years. You make small talk, all the while wondering if he is thinking, “thank God I dodged that bullet!” You are tempted to tell him you are involved in a study about basing judgments on appearance, and you are “made up” to look unattractive all for the sake of science.

Some other universal truths are related to clothes.  I don’t know why, but stockings will break out in runs and snags proportional to the importance of an event.  For instance, if you are going on an interview for the job you have coveted for years, your stockings will spontaneously burst into runs and holes as soon as you reach your appointment.  Ditto for weddings, gala events, and any other important occasions. If you try and purchase a quick replacement pair, the store will only carry size zero, which in my humble opinion is even too small for newborns. On the flip side, you could dig ditches with nary a snag if you will not be running into another soul.  There is also another clothing oddity known to most women.  If you break down and purchase a pair of beautiful silk under drawers, costing at least thirty dollars, you will get your period on their maiden voyage.

Another bothersome truth is the inability to sleep late when you can. All week long that alarm clock rings, and you wish you could just roll back over and snatch another hour or two. Come the weekend with nothing on the agenda, and your eyes fly open, and you couldn’t get back to sleep if your life depended on it.  This may in some way be related to that other sleep related occurrence, the smoke detector.  For some reason the batteries only run out at four A.M. You will be roused from a deep sleep to the sounds of chirping.  Step one is to find out which detector is the culprit. This involves one scurrying from room to room ears cocked to the elusive chirp.  Its’ a lot liking playing Marco Polo, only not as much fun. Usually after a number of false starts the bad battery is found, a step stool retrieved and the battery pried out with a butter knife.  This wouldn’t be a universal truth, unless you than realize you are out of 9 volt square batteries.  You cannibalize one of the kid’s toys, and all is quiet on the bedroom front.  It is now 5:30 A.M., and you can’t fall back to sleep until 5 minutes before you need to get up and start your day.

The Holidays bring their own special universal truths.  Let’s start out with the annual Christmas card picture. If you have one child, it’s a piece of fruitcake.  You take a few shots, and you will find one that is pleasing to all.  Two kids and the job gets tougher.  After numerous takes, a passable photo can usually be squeezed out.  Anymore than that and all bets are off.  One or more children will be immortalized that year with a closed eye or a scrunched up face. Another common occurrence this time of year is the Christmas list revision. This will take place at approximately 7P.M. Christmas Eve. You will be informed that the original list submitted earlier in the season is null and void. A new updated list, containing only gifts impossible to find will be replacing the aforementioned document. Tis’ also the season for rampant re-gifting. You try your best not to return to your cousin the candle/potpourri/ coffee mug that she thoughtfully gave you last year.  Unfortunately she will remark that the candle/potpourri/mug looks just like the one she gave your sister two years ago. You can only reply “imagine that, more egg-nog?” 

With all this being said, I’m off to finish up my holiday preparations.  I also know that I will run out of scotch tape when I go to wrap the last present, and be out of eggs when the cookie baking begins. Such is life!  Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

Updated Posthumous Letter, or I Remembered More Stuff

Apparently my husband and children are under the mistaken impression that I have a need to always be right. I really don’t need to be right 100% of the time; it just works out that way.  Remember that old Catherine Deneueve commercial for hair product? The catch phrase was “don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.”  Well in my case it’s “don’t hate me because I am right.” I like being right, and freely admit I derive joy from the “I told you so” song and dance. 

The other day I was daydreaming about the day when my current teenage sons grow up, wed and have babies. When out of the blue it hit me!  I will probably not be around when my future grandchildren become teenagers, or at least will not be of sound mind. I am going to miss the biggest “I told you so!” moments known to mothers the world over. I was looking forward to seeing that old cliché, “you’ll thank me someday,” come true.

 This is just not acceptable.  In response to this problem, I have decided to attach letters to my will, to be handed to my children on the day their eldest child turns 15. I am still working on the verbiage, but this is what I’ve got so far…..

My Dear Child,

You are now the proud parent of a fully fledged teenager how’s that workin’ out for you?  Have you become “friends” with your child, as you always told me you would do, or are you thigh high in “How to Raise your Teenager, Without  Mayhem” books?  I need to know if you have been the happy recipient of the heavy sigh, and rolled eye-ball?  You know this is genetic; you passed this talent to him/her, and I must add you were a master. Have you become a source of un-ending embarrassment due to your wardrobe, hair style, and general cluelessness? By the way, feel free to toss out the Dictionary, Atlas, and any other reference tomes cluttering up your home.  You don’t need them anymore; your teenager has the answer to everything.

Are you letting your “babies” live without curfews, study when they feel like it, and eat junk food 24/7? I recall you explaining to me, that these tenets were going to be incorporated into your “parenting teenagers the right way” plan. Do they have a flat screen TV, computer, video games, and mini fridge in their bedroom? I remember you wanting these things for your room; in fact what you really wanted was a private rent free studio apartment for yourself, within our home. Does this young person leave a trail of empty water bottles, snack wrappers, and wet towels in his/her wake? I wonder if you’re “onboard” with that, and joyfully pick up after them without complaint.  “How’s that workin’ out for you?” 

 Are you enjoying their taste in music and clothes as much as your father and I enjoyed yours? Do you recall your choice of baggy jeans slung so low we could see your boxers?  I know I do, some images can never be unseen.  Have you been banned from singing along to music on YOUR radio, in YOUR car, while transporting your darling and a few friends to the mall/movies/sporting event/or an un-chaperoned party?  By the way, you told us back in the day, that you couldn’t understand why we would not allow you to go to un-chaperoned parties, so am I correct in assuming you still maintain that position?

Have you become one of the “cool” parents?  The ones you used to tell us about.  I believe their names where Mr. and Mrs. Everyone else’s Mom and Dad. You must remember them; they dispensed money at the drop of a hat, provided their kids with the latest in electronics, always on the day of release, never nagged their children about grades, and didn’t believe that kids should have chores. At Christmas do my grandchildren find that b.b. gun, new sports car, charge card, and Jet Ski under the tree? Do you still agree that a hand written thank you card is totally unnecessary if you already said “Thank you” upon receipt of the gift?

Do you believe every word that falls from the lips of your new teenager is the whole truth and nothing but the truth, or do you occasionally wonder if you might be missing some of the facts? Are you convinced that your offspring always makes good choices with friends and activities, and rely on the “don’t ask don’t tell” strategy you wanted Dad and me to employ? Again at the risk of sounding like a broken record, I must ask “how’s that workin’ out for you?”

Did your heart break a little when you were informed that all public displays of affection must cease and desist immediately?

Most importantly, do you still love him/her intensely with every fiber of your being? If you are reading this, I must assume that you have had a child, and have raised him/her to age 15. Rest assured things are going along as they should.  This is just a phase; your sweet baby will return to you after a little maturity kicks in. Stay the course, stick to your guns, and one day feel free to send this letter to my grandchild!

In the meantime, know that through this letter I have posthumously gotten in my last “I told you so” lick, and by the way, you’re welcome!

Love you forever and always,

Mom

A Posthumous Letter

Apparently my husband and children are under the mistaken impression that I have a need to always be right. I really don’t need to be right 100% of the time; it just works out that way.  Remember that old Catherine Deneueve commercial for hair product? The catch phrase was “don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.”  Well in my case it’s “don’t hate me because I am right.” I like being right, and admit I derive joy from the “I told you so” song and dance. 

The other day I was daydreaming about when my current teenage sons grow up, wed and have babies. When out of the blue it hit me!  I will probably not be around when my future grandchildren become teenagers, or at least will not be of sound mind. I am going to miss the biggest “I told you so!” moments known to mothers the world over. This is just not acceptable.  In response to this problem, I have decided to attach letters to my will, to be handed to my children the day their eldest child turns 15. I am still working on the verbiage, but this is what I’ve got so far…..

My Dear Child,

You are now the proud parent of a fully fledged teenager how’s that workin’ out for you?  Have you become “friends” with your child, as you always told me you would do, or are you thigh high in “How to Raise your Teenager, Without  Mayhem” books?  I need to know if you have been the happy recipient of the heavy sigh, and rolled eye-ball?  You know this is genetic; you passed this talent to them, and if I may add you were a master!

Are you letting your “babies” live without curfews, study when they feel like it, and eat junk food 24/7? I recall you explaining to me, how these tenets were going to be incorporated in your “parenting teenagers” plan. So I must add “how’s that workin out for you?” 

 Are you enjoying their taste in music and clothes as much as your father and I enjoyed yours? Do you recall your choice of baggy jeans slung so low we could see your boxers?  I know I do, some images can never be unseen.  Have you been banned from singing along to music on YOUR radio, in YOUR car, while transporting your darling and a few friends to the mall/movies/sporting event/or an un-chaperoned party?  By the way, you told us back in the day, that you couldn’t understand why we would not allow you to go to un-chaperoned parties, so am I correct in assuming you still maintain that position?

Have you become one of the “cool” parents?  The ones you used to tell us about.  I believe their names where Mr. and Mrs. Everyone else’s Mom and Dad. You must remember them; they dispensed money at the drop of a hat, provided their kids with the latest in electronics, always on the day of release, never nagged their children about grades, and didn’t believe that children should have chores. At Christmas do my grandchildren find that b.b. gun, new car, charge card, and Jet Ski under the tree? Again at the risk of sounding like a broken record, I must ask “how’s that workin’ out for you?”

Most importantly, do you still love him/her intensely with every fiber of your being? If you are reading this, I must assume that you have had a child, and have raised him/her to age 15. Rest assured things are going along as they should.  This is just a phase, your sweet babies will return to you after a little maturity kicks in. Stay the course, stick to your guns, and one day feel free to send this letter to my grandchild!

In the meantime, know that through this letter I have posthumously gotten in my last “I told you so” lick.

Love you forever and always,

Mom