marriage « over-caffeinated|dad

BBQ Tips

Beef + flame = BBQ.
Beef + flame + lots of beer = 2nd degree burns and a clip for “America’s Funniest Home Videos.”
A grill is the second best way to cook asparagus. But a blast furnace is the best way because it completely incinerates those terrible little stalks.
Don’t wear a “Kiss the cook” apron while you BBQ unless you want a drunken friend or neighbor to try to.
If a cup of hot coffee has to carry a warning label, why doesn’t a grill? And since it doesn’t, how long before somebody files a class action lawsuit claiming they were burned because they didn’t realize grills get so hot?
Not everything can be grilled — like pasta, for example. And although this may seem obvious, to 4-year-olds and drunken neighbors it’s not.
If a dog is man’s best friend, a grill runs a close second.
There is a difference between well-done and burnt, but only to people who like their steaks well-done. To everyone else — especially lovers of blood and pink — they are both the same: a waste of a perfectly good cut of meat.
If you’re cooking with gas, it’s important to the light the grill immediately after turning on the gas instead of running inside to get another drink first.
It’s also important not to use lighter fluid.
Anyone who says “everything tastes better when it’s grilled” clearly hasn’t eaten at my neighbors.
Men like to BBQ for the same reason they like to see stuff blow up.
There should be a mathematical formula for calculating the increase in LDL given a steak’s price per pound so that anyone with high cholesterol can ignore their doctor’s advice in an informed manner.
George Stephen, creator of the Weber Grill, should be sainted.
If there is ever another Civil War, it will most likely have something to do with Texas, Alabama and Missouri claiming to have the best BBQ in the America, and all the other states either taking sides or taking offense, except for Wisconsin, which will remain neutral because they have fish boils instead of BBQ.

BLAME MOM

Now that Mother’s Day is over, it’s time to get back to blaming mom.

While this might seem harsh, research indicates it may actually be justified: according to experts, “the way mothers talk to their children at a young age influences their social skills later in childhood.”

In other words, children of mothers who explain things – specifically other people’s feelings, beliefs, wants and intentions – are better off socially than those whose mothers dismiss their budding curiosity with “Because,” “Because I said so!” or “Because if you ask me again you’re going to bed for the rest of the day!”

Not that being more socially advanced is the key to a trouble-free childhood – researchers pointed out that kids who are more comfortable and confident expressing their emotions and opinions are much more likely to actually express their emotions and opinions, usually in complex and sophisticated ways, especially when they are contrary to yours.

But while some authority figures might consider this “bad,” “inappropriate” or a reason for detention and/or counseling, researchers downplayed this implication and pointed out that, in a perverse way, these bile-filled diatribes are actually a good sign. And that when a teenager erupts in rage and frustration and screams “You disgust me!” “You’re the worst parent ever!” or “I have complete and utter contempt for everything you stand for,” it’s not proof he or she is possessed, it’s proof mom created exactly the kind of positive, loving, supportive environment her child needed to feel comfortable acting like an ungrateful little shit.

FATHER: Why are you crying?
MOTHER: Because Junior just told me he hates me.
FATHER: What!
MOTHER: No, it’s fine. I’m not crying because I’m sad, I’m crying because now I know I’ve raised him right.
FATHER: Huh?
MOTHER: According to experts, his ability to express himself with confidence and authority proves I’m a good mother.
FATHER: Was there something on Oprah I should know about?
MOTHER: Just hold me.

If mom gets the credit, however, she also gets the blame. Which means that when a child is sullen, moody and silent, it’s probably because mom messed up years or even decades ago, and can now add that to the long list of things she feels guilty about but can never make up for, no matter how hard she tries.

MOTHER: My kids are grown, so what am I supposed to do now? Go back in time and try to explain everything to them more thoroughly?
PSYCHOLOGIST: Is that something you can do?
MOTHER: What?
PSYCHOLOGIST: Go back in time?
MOTHER: Of course not.
PSYCHOLOGIST: So that’s the problem: you need to go back in time to save your children but you can’t.
MOTHER: Exactly.
PSYCHOLOGIST: And who do you need to save them from? A terminator?
MOTHER: Huh?
PSYCHOLOGIST: Or maybe aliens?
MOTHER: I can’t talk to you.
PSYCHOLOGIST: Why? Are the aliens monitoring us?

Before us Dads get all superior and start pointing fingers, we should keep in mind that researches were only able to study the relationship between mothers and their offspring because fathers and their offspring didn’t spend enough time together to make enough of an impact, leading many to conclude that if we’re going to blame anyone because Junior is socially inept, we should probably blame dad, too.

Though not until after Father’s Day.

MOTHER’S DAY

KID: Mother’s Day is coming up.
MOM: I know.
KID: Do you want us to get you anything?
MOM: Only if you want to.
KID: Or course we want to, we just don’t know what you want.
MOM: Surprise me.
KID: With what?
MOM: With something I’d like.
KID: A present?
MOM: Sure.
KID: But what kind of present?
MOM: How can you spend so much time with me and not know a single thing I like? Just think about what I do every day.
KID: Okay.
MOM: Does that give you any ideas?
KID: It does — we could get you some plastic bags.
MOM: Plastic Bags?
KID: For making our lunches.
MOM: No.
KID: Okay, what about some dish towels?
MOM: No.
KID: Pencils you could use to help us with homework?
MOM: No.
KID: A mop?
MOM: No.
KID: You already have an SUV you like to drive us around in. How about one of those cool toilet bowl cleaners I saw on TV?
MOM: No.
KID: New laundry basket?
MOM: Do you think I do all those things because I like to?
KID: Why else would you do them?
MOM: Because I’m a mom and that’s what mom’s do: stuff they don’t like doing, but needs to be done.
KID: Oh.
MOM: Yeah, “Oh.”
KID: If that’s the case, then I know exactly what you’d like for Mother’s Day.
MOM: What’s that?
KID: To be like Dad: ‘cause there’s lots of stuff he needs to do, but usually he just watches ESPN instead.

Editor’s Note: While not entirely true, there’s no doubt the sentiment expressed above often feels true.

INVITATION DECISION-MAKING TREE

Do you need to go?	→	NO	→	decline
↓
YES
↓
Do you want to go?	→	NO	→	decline
↓
YES
↓
Can you think of anything bad that will happen if you don’t go?	→	NO	→	decline
↓
YES
↓
If you lie and say you can’t go because you already have plans, will anybody find out?	→	NO	→	decline
↓
YES
↓
Will you really care if that happens?	→	NO	→	decline
↓
YES
↓
Will there be an open bar?	→	NO	→	decline
↓
YES
↓
Can you leave early if you are having a terrible time?	→	NO	→	decline
↓
YES
↓
accept

TIME MANAGEMENT TIPS? OH, PLEASE

As a parent, time is precious. So how do you make the most of it? Time management experts offer the following advice:

1. Prioritize.
2. Delegate/outsource.
3. Set time limits for tasks.
4. Establish routines and stick to them.
5. Don’t waste time waiting.

At first glance, these suggestions seem simple and straight-forward, but when you actually try to implement them you quickly realize they are better suited to some kind of parallel “self-help dimension” where the laws of time, space and sibling in-fighting don’t apply.

1. Prioritize.

In theory, yes. In practice – forget it.

Take, say, the tasks of treating an injury versus giving a toddler a bath. Typically, bleeding kids come first, unless they’re bleeding because they did the thing you told them not to do five times, in which case the toddler would get the bath. If the bleeding kid is bleeding on furniture, however, then the furniture needs immediate attention.

On the other hand, if there’s only a little bleeding and it’s not on any furniture, then that might not be as important as preventing the toddler from trying to bathe himself.

2. Delegate/outsource.

Which means what? Parents are supposed to ship their kids off to India to get help with their homework?

3. Set time limits for tasks.

Okay. But what is the appropriate time limit for a temper tantrum? And if getting everybody ready in the morning takes 15 minutes longer than whatever amount of time you set aside – whether it’s 40 minutes or two hours – how are you supposed to limit that? Or if you make reservations for that one night out a year you get a leisurely three hours to eat, what happens when the babysitter is 20 minutes late and the restaurant gives up your table?

4. Establish routines and stick to them.

Most parents already do this, but it doesn’t seem to help. For example, a typical morning routine would be telling the kids to get up, get in the shower, get dressed, get some breakfast and get in the car, then repeating this three or four times over the course of 20 minutes before threatening them with some kind of bodily harm if they don’t do all of the above RIGHT THIS MINUTE!

This is followed by the nagging suspicion that something that was supposed to have been done last night wasn’t, and the sudden realization that this “something” was making lunches for all the kids.

Oops.

As there is now not nearly enough time left to do everything and still get off on time, vows that “This will never happen again!” must be shouted so that all in the house can hear, spouses must be silently cursed for not helping, and God must be asked “Why me? What have I done to deserve this?”

5. Don’t waste time waiting.

Clearly this was not written by anyone living in a small house with kids. How else is a parent supposed to get into the bathroom?

From “Why Chicken Nuggets are Better Than Prozac.”

THE RETURN OF ROB AND LAURA PETRIE?

Network censors demanded separate beds for “The Dick Van Dyke Show” because they felt it was inappropriate for the married couple portrayed by Dick Van Dyke and Mary Tyler Moore to sleep together.

(Raising the question of exactly how son Richie came about, but never ad- dressing it.)

It seemed silly at the time, and even more silly when the 70s hit and the sexual revolution took hold, but now more and more couples are starting to think “Hey, maybe those network censors had it right after all!”

According to experts, the main benefit of a couple having separate bedrooms is they both get more sleep because neither gets awakened by the other’s snoring… getting up every hour to pee… tossing and turning… general inabil- ity to tip-toe… and so on.

On the negative side… well… when you’re getting more sleep, is there really anything negative?

Note: While there is concern that separate bedrooms could impact intimacy and romance, that’s only for couples without children, as couples with chil- dren almost certainly gave those up shortly after their first child was con- ceived, and now fully embrace the idea of separate bedrooms if for no other reason than when you both sleep in the same bed, both of you wind up with no room to move around when your kids file in after dark because they had a bad dream or heard something scary in the closet.

From “Why Chicken Nuggets are Better Than Prozac.”

STATISTICS SAY FATHERS BETTER THAN MOTHERS

As this week’s New York Times points out, “Working parents perpetually agonize that they don’t see enough of their children. But a surprising new study finds that mothers and fathers alike are doing a better job than they think, spending far more time with their families than did parents of earlier generations.”

Take that, grandparents.

But if “time spent with kids” is an indicator of overall parenting success, it raises the question: who does a better job? Mothers ? Or fathers?

The answer: fathers.

Because when you compare the amount of time spent with kids today to pre-1995 amounts, fathers are up an impressive 102 percent, while mothers are only up 77 percent.

Sorry moms.

(As with all statistics, there is an alternate interpretation. Click here to see how the same statistics indicate mothers are better than fathers.)

STATISTICS SAY MOTHERS BETTER THAN FATHERS

Take that, grandparents.

But if “time spent with kids” is an indicator of overall parenting success, it raises the question: who does a better job? Mothers ? Or fathers?

The answer: mothers.

Because when you compare the amount of time spent with kids today to pre-1995 amounts, mothers are up an impressive 9.2 hours per week while fathers are only up 5.1 hours.

Sorry dads.

(As with all statistics, there is an alternate interpretation. Click here to see how the same statistics indicate fathers are better than mothers.)

WHEN KIDS ASK UNCOMFORTABLE QUESTIONS

What’s sex? Did you take drugs in college? Why did you vote for George W. Bush* the second time?

Kids ask questions all the time, but there’s a difference between the ones parents can’t answer — “Does God need to shower?” — and the ones (some) parents don’t want to. The solution? Perhaps we can take a cue from politicians, their press secretaries and the so-called “bipartisan” pundits we see on TV and use the same simple strategies for answering without answering.

1. Give a detailed, thoughtful response, just not to the question they ask.

Campaigning politicians are particularly good at this, and the trick is to remember that your answer can be anything, just as long as you can loosely relate it to the original question.

For example, if asked about drugs, begin by saying “I’m glad you asked me about smoking pot in college…,” which makes it sound like you’re going to admit that for most of your sophomore year your best friend was your bong, but then say “…because I think it’s important that we be open and honest with each other, especially now that you’re older and starting to ask hard questions. It seems like only yesterday when the most important thing on your mind was which Power Ranger you wanted to dress up as, or if a certain Pokemon could beat a certain other kind of Pokemon. I have to admit that watching you grow up has been one of the most satisfying experiences of my life, and I look forward to helping you continue on that journey towards adult- hood by providing you with the information and insight I myself have gained over the years…”

If you haven’t lost them by then, just keep talking.

2. Focus on “the larger issue.”

Which can be pretty much anything you want it to be.

3. Ask your kids what they think the answer is.

Also known as the therapist approach.

This works well for things you don’t really know how to explain, but not-so- well for things you’re just not comfortable talking about.

4. Lie.

Time was that people who didn’t tell the truth were called liars and they were looked down upon, but thanks to all the CEO’s, athletes, politicians and ce- lebrities who’ve been caught with their pants down (or off, or filled with drugs, etc.) those days seem to be over.

The best thing about this approach is that if your lie is later exposed, you can claim you just “misspoke.” As in “Yes, I can see how my response to the ques- tion ‘Did I vote for George W. Bush?’ might have been confusing, because when I said ‘No,’ I actually misspoke. In point of fact – and because it’s im- portant to me that the record accurately reflect my views – I didn’t mean ‘No’ in the traditional sense of the word, and I can see now how my incorrect use of that word might have been somewhat misleading, because what I, in fact, meant was that I felt that in light of the specific challenges facing the Presi- dent at that time, it was important for me – and really, all of us as a nation – to remain united and strong, and because of that, I did my duty as an American by going to the polls and casting a ballot so my voice could be heard, and even though that ballot was nominally in the affirmative, it was really more a show of support for the country as a whole than a specific endorsement of any one candidate. I voted because it’s the duty of every citizen to vote, and for that I will never apologize.”

5. Use a spokesperson.

Either a hired professional or your spouse, if he or she has the BS skills required.

This has the added benefit of distancing you from your answer, whatever that might be.

Plus, if you are later confronted about the answer your spokesperson gave on your behalf, you can say you didn’t actually mean whatever it was they said and that you must have been “quoted out of context.”

*Or, increasingly for many, Barack Obama the first time.

WHEN YOU'RE EXHAUSTED

…the answer is “NO!,” regardless of whether the question was “Are you up- set?” or “Can I go to the potty?”

…you call your kids by the wrong names. Or worse – by the dog’s.

…simple things become infinitely complicated, to the point where microwaving chicken nuggets takes an hour.

…you can’t remember if it’s your day to do the pick-up, and if you think it is, it isn’t, and if you think it isn’t, it is.

…you try to play hide ‘n’ seek but fall asleep in the upstairs hall closet.

…your spouse is “in the mood” and doesn’t understand why you’re not.

…somebody throws up, bleeds on something, or has “an accident.”

…non-parents suggest you just put the kids to bed early and get some sleep, but you’re too tired to tell them what a massively stupid and unrealistic idea that is.

…telemarketers call every few minutes asking you to donate.

…helping your kids with their homework proves so stressful and challenging, it makes you cry, even though it’s just addition.

…you don’t realize you’re yelling at your kids until everybody else in the supermarket aisle starts to stare.

…you push on, because you’re a parent and that’s what parents do.

COFFEE SCRIBBLES

SCENES FROM MARRIAGE, NO. 8

WIFE: What’s wrong?
HUSBAND: Nothing.
WIFE: You sure?
HUSBAND: Positive. Why do you keep asking me?
WIFE: You look like you’re angry.
HUSBAND: I don’t feel angry.
WIFE: But you look angry.
HUSBAND: But I’m not angry.
WIFE: If you say so.
HUSBAND: Good.
WIFE: So there’s nothing you’re upset about?
HUSBAND: No.
WIFE: Nothing you’re not telling me?
HUSBAND: No.
WIFE: Nothing you’re gonna stew about for the next few days and then finally admit to me this weekend has been bothering you all week?
HUSBAND: No. Do you want me to be mad?
WIFE: No.
HUSBAND: I think you do.
WIFE: I do not.
HUSBAND: Don’t get so defensive.
WIFE: Stop attacking me.
HUSBAND: You’re the one who’s attacking me.
WIFE: Only because you lied.
HUSBAND: About what?
WIFE: About being angry!
HUSBAND: I’m only angry because you made me angry.
WIFE: So you do admit you’re angry?
HUSBAND: Yes.
WIFE: I knew it.

HOW DO YOU EXPLAIN ST. PATRICK'S DAY TO A KID?

KID: Why’s Dad throwing up in the bathroom?
MOM: Um… he’s not feeling well.
KID: Is it because of St. Patrick’s Day?
MOM: What do you mean?
KID: Well, when I walked into the kitchen last night, I saw him putting green food coloring in his beer and when I asked him what he was doing he said he was celebrating St. Patrick’s Day.
MOM: Um… uh… that’s right – sometimes adults drink green beer to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day.
KID: And wear green clothes.
MOM: Yes, and they wear green clothes. When I was a little girl, we used to drink green milk, too.
KID: Yuck. You’re kidding right?
MOM: No. Why?
KID: Duh – because obviously green food coloring makes you sick. Why else would Dad be throwing up?

WHAT DOES DAYLIGHT SAVING TIME ACTUALLY SAVE?

GET UP! GET UP! WE OVERSLEPT!

For most families, Daylight Saving Time turns what’s typically a frantic, time-crunched mess of morning activity into a domestic version of roller derby, with everyone throwing elbows and accusations as they scramble to get dressed and get out the door:

RESPONSIBLE SPOUSE: You said you were gonna change the clock.
IDIOT: I did.
RESPONSIBLE SPOUSE: Then why does it still say 7:40 when it’s really 8:40?
IDIOT: I guess I forgot.
RESPONSIBLE SPOUSE: Right — you forgot, so I’m late.
IDIOT: You could have changed it, too.
RESPONSIBLE SPOUSE: I changed all the other clocks!
IDIOT: That’s my point: why didn’t you remind me to change this one while you were changing all the others?
RESPONSIBLE SPOUSE: I did!
IDIOT: Well… I guess I didn’t hear you.

According to wikipedia, Daylight Saving Time, which was standardized across most of the United States in 1967, was primarily intended to reduce energy consumption — the “extra” hour of daylight in the afternoon was supposed to mean fewer lights would have to be on at offices, retailers, restaurants etc.

But when you consider how most people react when the Daylight Saving Time-bomb goes off, it’s more likely that any energy savings will be more than off-set by the increased consumption caused by all the stupid things people do when their sleeping patterns get disrupted.

What’s the net-effect of having to make two extra trips to the grocery store — the first because you accidentally left your list at home, and the second because you accidentally left your kid there?

Or what about having to replace a freezer full of food because just after you opened the door to sneak some ice cream for breakfast, you realized the soccer game you thought was next weekend, wasn’t, but that if you left RIGHT NOW! you might still make it?

Or what about having to run an electric air pump off and on all night because otherwise the slightly-leaky inflatable mattress in the den you’ve been banished to because you said one-too-many mean things to your spouse will deflate?

IDIOT: If you reminded me to change the clock, then why didn’t I change it?
RESPONSIBLE SPOUSE: Because you’re an idiot!
IDIOT: Me? If anyone’s an idiot, you are — and not just because of the clock.
RESPONSIBLE SPOUSE: Oh, really?
IDIOT: Yes, really. Do you have any idea how many stupid things you do around here on a daily basis?
RESPONSIBLE SPOUSE: No, but why don’t you tell me.

Net energy savings: probably zero

And what happens when you factor in the cost of dealing with all that stress, ill-will and negativity? Therapists — whether for marriage or anger-management — don’t make house calls (and if they do, they don’t make them on bikes).

There are bars for sulking/hiding/venting, of course, but they generally don’t have windows, meaning light (but not illumination) comes only from energy-sucking neon signs.

The gym? Maybe in the old days when free weights and stationary bikes were the norm, but now it seems like every piece of exercise equipment has to be plugged in or it won’t work.

Net energy savings: definitely zero

All of which raises the question: if Daylight Saving Time doesn’t actually save anything, what’s the point?

Perhaps the one good thing about Daylight Saving Time is that between all the extra caffeine it takes to get through the day and the fact that no matter how late the clock says it is, it’s impossible to sleep, everyone affected by it can spend half the night staring at the ceiling trying to figure that out.

FAT CHANCE

WIFE: Where you going?
HUSBAND: I thought I’d run out and get some Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough.
WIFE: What about our post-holiday diet?
HUSBAND: We finished it.
WIFE: Yeah — yesterday.
HUSBAND: Which means today I can finally eat what I want to.

SCENES FROM MARRIAGE, NO. 7

WIFE: Never mind.
HUSBAND: What?
WIFE: Forget it. It’s not important.
HUSBAND: What’s not important?
WIFE: Nothing.
HUSBAND: Now you’re confusing me: how can I forget about the “nothing” that’s not important if I don’t know what it is?
WIFE: I don’t want to talk about it.
HUSBAND: Then why did you bring it up?
WIFE: Because right after I did I saw our entire argument play out in my head.
HUSBAND: And?
WIFE: You won.
HUSBAND: YES!
WIFE: And then you reacted the same way you’re reacting now: like you couldn’t care less what the argument was all about as long as you won.

THINGS NOT WORTH SWEARING AT

Rain.
Zippers.
Things that won’t fit in suitcases.
Politicians
Scotch tape.
The person in front of you at Starbucks who can’t decide between a mocha frappuccino and a cinnamon dolce latte.
A computer – because even though it seems like it knows when you’re having a bad day and chooses that exact moment to crash, it’s just a glorified toaster. (Why doesn’t somebody develop some kind of curse-recognition software to replace online help? – i.e. the way you say “Damn it!” determines what kind of help you get.)
Traffic.
Stop lights.
Delivery vehicles that double-park.
Tire jacks.
Bus drivers – aside from the fact that they’re encased in a sound-proof – and seemingly sight-proof – cocoon, they don’t care.
Maps.
Speed bumps.
Street signs.
Stairs (both the invisible one at the top of the landing and the non-existent one at the bottom).
Pants that won’t button.
Toys that get left in the driveway.
Rakes.
Pets (especially hamsters, who are too stupid to understand, dogs, who get their feelings hurt and cats, who get revenge).
TV remotes.
Automated telephone helplines – the only thing that happens is you get stuck in a loop where you say “Screw you!” and the computer says “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Could you repeat that please?” and no matter how angry you are you can’t outlast the computer, so you’re the only one who suffers.
God (even if you sometimes feel justified).
People on TV.
Coaches, refs and players on Monday Night Football.
Little League Umpires.
The cable guy.
Anyone who messes up your order at the drive-thru.
Anyone in customer service.
Anyone with a name tag that says “Asst. Manager.”
Tour guides.
A fetus that won’t stop kicking in the middle of the night.
A spouse that won’t stop kicking in the middle of the night.
The Post Office.
The DMV.
Pre-schoolers – because if they don’t cry, they gasp and say “You said a bad word!” and then repeat it the next day at school.
Teachers – imagine having to tell your kid he or she has to repeat 3rd grade because the parent-teacher conference you had last week got really, really ugly?
The other cable guy who comes to fix the problem the first cable guy couldn’t fix
Anything you stub your toe on.
Congress – because unless you’re making a major campaign contribution or have a radio show that reaches 20 million people they can’t hear you.
Your boss.
Your spouse’s boss – because if you yell at your boss and get fired, you have only yourself to blame, but if you yell at your spouse’s boss and he or she gets fired, you not only have yourself to blame but your spouse has you to blame, too, and if you think it took a long time to be forgiven for, say, denting the car, imagine how long you’ll suffer for this!
Your parents.
Your irons, putter and sand wedge. (But not, oddly enough, your woods because swearing at them does actually seem to help.)
Bills.
Yourself.
Fate/providence/karma.
Life.

But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel good when you do.

LIVER VS. BRUSSELS SPROUTS

Why do we make kids eat stuff they don’t like?

On some level, it’s got to be an unconscious continuation of the cycle of abuse our own parents inflicted on us with their liver and onions, their Spam® meatloaf, their homemade creamed turnips – all the horrible foods we tried to shove in our pockets or slip under the table to the dog.

And yet knowing this doesn’t help — if you’re like me, you’ve actually uttered the phrase “If I had to finish my plate when I was a kid, so do you!” to your own kids without even realizing you were saying it.

But what if forced feeding isn’t really a bad thing?

Looked at from a historical perspective, isn’t it really just a way of paying homage to our family traditions and the ancestors who worked so hard to establish them? What better way to say “I remember my roots” than by, for example, making everyone at the table choke down a bowl of viscous, foul-smelling oyster stew every now and then?

Or by whipping out a few dollops of artery-clogging Crisco and turning the toughest cut of beef you can find into “great-grandma’s” chicken-fried steak?

There’s a practical reason for subjecting kids to food they don’t like, too, and that’s because it gives them first-hand experience with the human race’s most important survival skill, the one that enabled us to make it through the earliest days of our evolution: the ability to eat anything, no matter how unappetizing.

HUNTER-GATHERER #1: I’m hungry.
HUNTER-GATHERER #2: Me, too.
HUNTER-GATHERER #1: Maybe we should eat that gloopy, foul-smelling thing over there?
HUNTER-GATHERER #2: That?!?!?! We don’t even know what that is.
HUNTER-GATHERER #1: Yeah, but I’m hungry.
HUNTER-GATHERER #2: Me, too.
HUNTER-GATHERER #1: So what do we do?
HUNTER-GATHERER #2: I know, let’s get Hunter-gatherer Mikey to try it — Hey Mikey!

Besides when you compare what we give our kids to what our parents gave us, boy, are they getting off easy. “Tuna Surprise” anyone? At least the stuff we make our kids choke down is healthy, organic, minimally processed and preservative-free.

You know, good.

On the other hand, maybe our parents felt the same way about the stuff they served us? Maybe they were thrilled to be able to provide us with tin-canned vegetables, shelf-stable cheese and frozen TV dinners instead of what they had to force down when they were kids?

All of which means one thing: the cycle will surely continue, virtually guaranteeing that when our kids have kids who complain about what they’re being forced to eat, our kids will tell their kids they’re lucky because as bad as whatever it is mid-21st Century parents will serve, it’s nothing compared to tasteless, organic, whole-kernel flax waffles, tofu and vegetable stir fry, free-range, hormone-nitrate-antibiotic-free uncured turkey bacon* and everything else Grandma and Grandpa made them eat.

Besides, they’ll say, “If I had to finish my plate when I was a kid, so do you!”

*Which will probably have been proven to be terrible by then.

FAMILY DINNER: THEN VS. NOW

Dinner was at the same time every night.
Nobody called (or texted).
If you were late, Mom would just stand on the back porch and call out your name.
If you were really, really late, Dad would stand on the back porch and call out your name, and then you were really in trouble.
Mom cooked.
And if she got home late from the the beauty parlor, post office or grocery store, she could always make a 20-minute casserole out of rice, leftover chicken and whatever can of Campbell’s Soup happened to be in the cupboard.
A well-equiped kitchen had a sink, an oven, a fridge, a KitchenAid mixer and sometimes a croc pot, but no dishwasher, pot-filler, microwave, Cuisinart, automatic espresso maker, bread maker, bagel toaster, juicer, George Foreman Grill, rice cooker, TV, second fridge, second dishwasher or computer.
The kitchen was only for cooking, too, not entertaining (unless you were a grandmother, second cousin, aunt or female relative helping cook a holiday meal).
The Four Food Groups were an important government-sponsored guide that encouraged people to eat meat & poultry, grains, fruits & vegetables and dairy products not because they were healthy or nutritious but because they were important American (or American-controlled) businesses.
If you said grace, it was something short, that rhymed, and even though you said it fast you had to be careful not to say it too fast because then your parents would say it “didn’t count” and make you do it over.
Kids drank milk then for the same reasons adults drink it now: it’s good for bones.
Margarine was superior to butter because margarine had less fat (as opposed to today where butter is superior to margarine because it has less trans-fat).
Kids had to eat everything on their plate before they could be done, even if that meant they had to sit at the table until their vegetables got cold and their fried chicken turned soggy.
It didn’t matter if kids weren’t hungry.
It didn’t matter if kids didn’t like something, either, especially liver and onions.
Tang, Minute-Rice and Cheez Whiz were preferable to orange juice, “old-fashioned” rice and real cheese because they were fast, easy and they never, ever spoiled.
Take-out pizza was a treat.
Organic food wasn’t “organic,” it was just “fresh.”
Nobody cared about BPA, which meant plastic cups were better than glass cups because they didn’t shatter when somebody knocked them on the ground.
Kids had to ask to be excused from the table.
Parents sometimes said “No.”

STAYING NEUTRAL

It seems like there are two kinds of divorces: the ones where the split is amicable, or at least free from a restraining order, and the ones you get caught in the middle of – where the pain, hatred, contempt, frustration, mistrust and loathing go on long after the marriage ends.

Staying neutral can be a challenge for even the most savvy and diplomatic, but usually – eventually – you’re sucked in:

BITTER EX-HUSBAND: Can you believe my ex-wife! She’s such a selfish, spoiled, careless, mean, stupid, cow. Don’t you think?
YOU: Uh… I couldn’t say.
BITTER EX-HUSBAND: Trust me, she is. I’m sure you’ve seen her act that way. You can admit it, she’s a heartless, bossy, mean-spirited, nitpicking, ego-centric, man-hating shrew.
YOU: I.. uh… I guess I haven’t really seen that side of her, but.. uh… I’m sure you know here better than I do.
BITTER EX-HUSBAND: ‘course I know her: I was married to her. And trust me: she’s a first class bitc-
YOU: Hey! Will you look at the time? I really have to go.
BITTER EX-HUSBAND: What’s your problem? You’re on her side, aren’t you?
YOU: I’m not on anyone’s side.
BITTER EX-HUSBAND: My God, she’s turned you against me, too.
YOU: I barely even know her.
BITTER EX-HUSBAND: Yeah, right – you think she’s a saint and I’m an abusive, controlling, foul-mouthed jerk.
YOU: Uh…
BITTER EX-HUSBAND: That’s the exactly the same thing she’s done to our friends, that clueless therapist she dragged us to go see, her lawyer, the neighbors, even my kids. Well you know what? Screw you.

As ugly as these conversations can be, at least they don’t require you to anything more than walk away. What can be worse is when you’re pressed into service:

BITTER EX-WIFE: Say, I’ve been meaning to ask you: you see my ex-husband when he picks up the kids, right?
YOU: Yeah, at the playground after school.
BITTER EX-WIFE:: Interesting.
YOU: Uh-oh.
BITTER EX-WIFE:: I say “interesting” because I’m hearing some things that are just a little troubling.
YOU: I’m sorry to hear that.
BITTER EX-WIFE: Not troubling because I still secretly want him back, or blame him for ruining my life and am looking for ways to exact revenge, but because I’m concerned the children might be exposed to something inappropriate.
YOU: Uh…
BITTER EX-WIFE: Have you ever seen him with a girl that’s much too young for him?
YOU: I can’t say.
BITTER EX-WIFE: If you did, would you let me know?
YOU: I don’t think it would be right for me to spy on your ex-husband.
BITTER EX-WIFE: Oh, heaven’s no – I’m not asking you to spy: just keep on eye on him and his whore for me. And if you can get video or a picture, that would be even better.

Fortunately, there is one benefit to being caught in the middle of this kind of animosity: it reminds you to treat your own spouse with a little more kindness and compassion, if for no other reason the last thing you want is to put your friends, neighbors or even acquaintances in the position of being the “you” in any of the exchanges above.

THE SCALE DOESN’T LIE, BUT IT SHOULD DO A BETTER JOB EXPLAINING ITSELF

ME: So… how much did I gain?
MY SCALE: You don’t want to know.
ME: C’mon, it can’t be that bad.
MY SCALE: Not if you’re sumo wrestler.
ME: What?!?!?
MY SCALE: Just think of yourself as being “fat but fit.”
ME: I think I’m gonna cry.
MY SCALE: Well… each ounce of tears weigh .0652 pounds, so that’s one way to lose weight.
ME: You make it sound like I’m obese.
MY SCALE: See that mirror?
ME: You mean the one I covered with a towel so I wouldn’t have to look at myself?
MY SCALE: If that’s not a cry for help, what is?
ME: You try losing weight at my age!
MY SCALE: Your age has nothing to do with it — besides the fact that whenever you think about it you get depressed and eat a gallon of Ben & Jerry’s.
ME: I do not.
MY SCALE: You think I’m lying?
ME: It wouldn’t be the first time.
MY SCALE: Please… Scales don’t lie.
ME: How else can you explain my weight?
MY SCALE: Uh… maybe the fact that you’ve been taking in more calories than you burn?
ME: I know for a fact that’s not true. Just look at what I eat? Fruit. Vegetables. Chicken. Fish. Whole grains.
MY SCALE: Plus ice cream and cookies when nobody is looking, half of whatever food you make for your kids but they don’t finish, a piece of cheese before bedtime, wine…
ME: Wine is good for you.
MY SCALE: A glass is good, not a bottle.
ME: Sometimes I just need something to help me relax at night.
MY SCALE: Or on weekends.
ME: That only happens every once in a while. And that doesn’t…
MY SCALE: You were gonna say “count,” weren’t you?
ME: No.
MY SCALE: I’m not judging. I get it. Sometimes you just need a double- chocolate brownie before you go to bed… Or a mocha frappuccino… Or some of that spinach dip from Whole Foods. My point is that all those calories count, even if you don’t count them.
ME: Says you.
MY SCALE: Do you really think that every time you step on the scale I’m secretly adding 20 pounds?
ME: No, not 20 pounds… more like 30 pounds.
MY SCALE: You’re hopeless.
ME: And you’re a liar. So you know what I’m going to do?
MY SCALE: Let me guess: stick me back in the closet until I learn to be more accurate.
ME: Exactly.
MY SCALE: That’s what you said last month.
ME: Right, and clearly you haven’t learned your lesson — because last month you were only off by 20 pounds.

RULES FOR FUTURE HOUSEGUESTS

Don’t make yourself at home.
If you stay longer than invited, you will not be asked to come back.
Ever.
There is no maid.
Seriously — NO MAID, which means whichever host you are related to, or knew first, will end up cleaning up after you (though probably not until after a long, ugly argument).
If you bring a pet, make sure your pet is housebroken.
On second thought, no pets.
When we say “if you need anything, just ask,” we don’t expect you to take us up on it.
But if you really do need something, we’d prefer if you would let us find it for you rather than snooping looking for it in our drawers, closets, cabinets, etc. yourself.
Pottery Barn rules apply: you break it, you buy it.
This rule applies to kids, too.
If you forget your toothbrush, razor, underwear or prescription anti-depressants, please don’t borrow ours.
Just because you walk around naked at home doesn’t mean you should do that here, if for no other reason than seeing you naked will forever change our impression of you, and probably not for the better.
Please refrain from discussing politics, religion or anything else unless you are certain your views are in line with ours, or that we like to argue.
You know that ugly piece of art we have on the wall in the living room? We don’t think it’s ugly.
On a related note, you know the voice you use when you don’t want anyone to hear you? We can still hear you.
Please keep in mind that we invited you, not members of your extended family.
Flush.
And knock.
If you don’t think you can abide by these rules, stay home.
Unless you are family.
And then only come during the holidays, when we are more likely to be forgiving.
And which only come once a year.

REALISTIC NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTIONS

To go to the gym three days a week for two weeks, then once a week for the next three to five weeks, then three time a week for a week or two, then twice a week for one week before stopping entirely and resolving to resolve to go to the gym more next year.
To go on a diet until something happens to necessitate a massive intake of comfort food that will lead to the slow, steady return of the bad eating habits that become entrenched in 2009.
To talk about going on vacation someplace new and different, but then go to the same place as last year and the year before and the year before that because it’s easy and cheap and who needs the stress and uncertainty of a big trip anyway?
To buy a lot of books about getting organized, but never have time to read them, let alone utilize any of their tips and suggestions.
To spend more quality time with the kids, but only when its convenient and/or they’re not being needy, loud, destructive, insolent or pouty, which is probably never.
To be greener, but only in ways that don’t involve hardship, self-sacrifice or extra work because, let’s face it, the environment is important but there’s just too much going on right now.
To try to cope with the stress of modern life in a productive way, but eventually give up and just over-eat, drink an extra glass of wine or two each night, and take a variety of prescription medications.
To save more and spend less, unless there’s a really great sale.
To be anxious about the economy, health and well-being, work, family, marriage, saving for college and the future, but hopefully not all at once unless there’s a bottle of wine handy.
To come home after a difficult day at work and yell at the kids for no apparent reason, but then feel more guilty about it than normal.
To tell the kids again and again to “be careful” and then not be completely surprised when they aren’t and must be rushed to the emergency room for stitches and/or a cast.
To worry less about what other people think, unless those other people are the neighbors, selected co-workers or somebody we want to impress.
To find meaning and purpose in life, but then forget what it is thanks to chronic sleep deprivation, the never-ending demands of work and our household’s perpetual state of chaos.
To maintain a positive mental state, even though it still looks like we’re all screwed.

THE OTHER 12 DAYS OF CHRISTMAS

On the first day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
The worst cold I ever did have.

On the second day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
Two hours of sleep
And the worst cold I ever did have.

On the third day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
Three last-minute invites
Two hours of sleep
And the worst cold I ever did have.

On the fourth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
Four wound-up kids
Three last-minute invites
Two hours of sleep
And the worst cold I ever did have.

On the fifth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
Five no-show sitters
Four wound-up kids
Three last-minute invites
Two hours of sleep
And the worst cold I ever did have.

On the sixth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
Six pleas to grandma
Five no-show sitters
Four wound-up kids
Three last-minute invites
Two hours of sleep
And the worst cold I ever did have.

On the seventh day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
Seven cups of egg nog
Six pleas to grandma
Five no-show sitters
Four wound-up kids
Three last-minute invites
Two hours of sleep
And the worst cold I ever did have.

On the eighth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
Eight off-color comments
Seven cups of egg nog
Six pleas to grandma
Five no-show sitters
Four wound-up kids
Three last-minute invites
Two hours of sleep
And the worst cold I ever did have.

On the ninth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
Nine disagreements
Eight off-color comments
Seven cups of egg nog
Six pleas to grandma
Five no-show sitters
Four wound-up kids
Three last-minute invites
Two hours of sleep
And the worst cold I ever did have.

On the tenth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
Ten accusations
Nine disagreements
Eight off-color comments
Seven cups of egg nog
Six pleas to grandma
Five no-show sitters
Four wound-up kids
Three last-minute invites
Two hours of sleep
And the worst cold I ever did have.

On the eleventh day of Christmas
My true love gave to me Eleven silent curses
Ten accusations
Nine disagreements
Eight off-color comments
Seven cups of egg nog
Six pleas to grandma
Five no-show sitters
Four wound-up kids
Three last-minute invites
Two hours of sleep And the worst cold I ever did have.

On the twelfth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
Twelve nasty looks
Eleven silent curses
Ten accusations
Nine disagreements
Eight off-color comments
Seven cups of egg nog
Six pleas to grandma
Five no-show sitters
Four wound-up kids
Three last-minute invites
Two hours of sleep
And the worst cold I ever did have.

(Which is probably why we’re not talking to each other right now.)

LITTLE IRRITATIONS: THE PAPER CUTS OF EVERYDAY LIFE

Door dings.
Trash bins that are supposed to be animal-proof but aren’t.
Dropped calls.
FEDEX drivers who double-park.
Stores that post the wrong hours online.
Meter maids.
Parents who bring their kids to daycare when they’re sick.
Traffic.
Drivers who make phone calls instead of turning.
Construction delays.
Drivers who don’t wait their turn at 4-way stops.
Tele-marketers who claim they don’t have to heed the “Do Not Call” registry because you’re a customer of their subsidiaries’ off-shore cousin’s shell company.
SUVs parked in compact spaces.
Chatty baristas who don’t seem to care/realize there are now 37 people in line.
The drive-thru (especially McDonald’s).
Golf.
People who don’t pick up after their pets.
News promos that use the words “deadly,” “outbreak,” and “protect yourself” when all they’re actually talking about is the flu.
Parents who call before 8:30 am.
Activities that are canceled or postponed by e-mail a few hours before they’re supposed to start.
Radio stations that have 25 minutes of commercials every hour.
Things at the supermarket that are still on the shelves days, weeks or months after their expiration date.
Cable-company DVRs.
Apple Airport Extreme Wi-Fi.
Universal remotes.
Spellcheck.
When your kids hide your keys.
Saran Wrap.

If Eskimos have a thousand words for snow, shouldn’t we have a thousand words for life’s little irritations?

For most of us, a day doesn’t go by that God, the universe, fate, karma, quantum physics or all-of-the-above don’t needle our emotional well-being, usually when we’re running late, just had an argument with our spouse or suddenly realized we forgot to get a babysitter for tomorrow night so we could go to dinner and a movie and finally get a break from all this crap.

It doesn’t help that these cosmic paper cuts never seem to be isolated one- offs, either, but instead come in sets, like celebrity deaths and unsolicited parenting suggestions from opinionated strangers – it’s not just the long line at Starbucks, it’s having them mess up your order twice and then spilling your extra-hot, half-caf hazelnut mocha down the front of your shirt as you pull out of the parking lot.

The impact of these little irritations – and they are little, even if we can’t figure out how not to sweat them – increases exponentially as the day progresses, to the point where we find ourselves cursing some 82-year-old women with a walker because she’s not crossing the street fast enough, or threatening to ground our kids for the rest of their natural lives if they EVER give the dog another peanut butter and jelly sandwich again, or contemplating divorce because our spouse forgot (again) to fill up the car when it got close to empty, leaving us in the position of having to coast down the hill to the Shell.

Psychologists say the only reason any of this stuff annoys us the way it does is because it reminds us that we’re not really in control (no matter how thoroughly we’ve managed to convince ourselves otherwise) and that ultimately mastering the moment isn’t nearly as important as just being in it, regardless of whether that moment is good, bad, satisfying, awful, rewarding, stressful, happy, sad, amusing, aggravating, etc.

But as nice as that sounds (in a zen-like, higher-consciousness kind of way), who has the time to learn how to do that? Or the energy? Or the patience?

If learning to live in the moment can’t be accomplished in one 30-minute session two times a week, in the car on the drive home from work, or during one of those rare moments when every kid in the house is quietly pre-occupied, then it just becomes one more thing we don’t have time to squeeze in but try to do anyway – or would try to do if we didn’t have to wait for the knucklehead in the car ahead of us to get off the phone and go.

Note: It’s easy to complain about life’s little irritations, but it’s also important to point out that we could probably eliminate entire categories of irritation if we really, really wanted to – just moving to a remote cabin in Montana and living off the land, for example, would instantly rid us of driving-, shopping-, neighbor-, school- and work-related annoyances (though it would probably more than make up for that by adding starvation-, bear attack-, hypothermia-, and isolation-related irritations, so maybe that’s not such a good trade-off. Plus, let’s not forget that Unabomber Ted Kaczynski moved to a remote cabin in Montana so he could get away from it all and look what happened to him).

SCENES FROM MARRIAGE, NO. 6

WIFE: How was your day?
HUSBAND: What’s that supposed to mean?
WIFE: Yikes. Must’ve been bad. Sorry.
HUSBAND: Sorry? Why would you say that?
WIFE: Because you had a bad day.
HUSBAND: No I didn’t. My day wasn’t bad. It was good… or at least fine.
WIFE: Oh, okay. Then I’m glad.
HUSBAND: You don’t look like you’re glad.
WIFE: You don’t look like you had a good day.
HUSBAND: Are you calling me a liar?
WIFE: With the way you’re acting, I’m not calling you anything.
HUSBAND: Oh, so now I’m “acting?”
WIFE: Is there anything I can say that you won’t take the wrong way?
HUSBAND: I’m not taking things the wrong way, you are.
WIFE: I just asked you how your day was.
HUSBAND: And I told you.
WIFE: Right, you said it was good.
HUSBAND: No I didn’t.
WIFE: Uh… I said “Sorry you had a bad day,” then you said, “I didn’t have a bad day, I had a good day.”
HUSBAND: I think I know what I said better than you.
WIFE: Then tell me: how was your day?
HUSBAND: What does it matter? You’ll just hear what you want to hear anyway.

PERSPECTIVE

Things we want but don’t need:

More choices
The complete season of anything
Bigger HDTVs
New neighbors (they don’t say “The devil you know…” for nothing)
Sleep (though it might not feel that way today, the fact that our eyes are still open proves it)

Things we need but don’t have:

Time
Enough space in the hall closet
Healthy, all-natural, organic snacks that don’t taste like crap
Somebody to validate our decisions
Perspective (which, like car keys and DVD cases, is easy to misplace and doesn’t usually turn up until we stop looking for it)

Things we have but don’t use:

Offers from childless friends to baby-sit
Half of whatever we got at our school’s last silent auction
A fondue set
Kid coupons for “15 minutes of quiet,” “a free back rub,” “breakfast in bed,” etc.
Control over what we do with our life (even though it doesn’t always — or ever? — feel that way)

HAPPY THANKSGIVING

No matter what the year is like, there’s always something to be thankful for:

Click on the image and then use the “Send to a friend” button at the bottom of the post to send via SHARETHIS.COM Or click here for the complete ecard gallery.

SCENES FROM MARRIAGE, NO. 5

HUSBAND: Hey.
WIFE: Back already?
HUSBAND: Yeah, traffic wasn’t too bad.
WIFE: Did you get eggs?
HUSBAND: Yup.
WIFE: Toilet paper?
HUSBAND: I knew there was something I forgot.
WIFE: That’s okay, I’ll just get it when I take the kids to piano.
HUSBAND: Or I can get it when I take ‘em to karate?
WIFE: Or I can… er… uh… I was gonna say I can get it when I take ‘em to swimming, but I have to stop at the drug store.
HUSBAND: If you do, will you pick me up some shaving cream?
WIFE: Sure, but I thought you used an electric… Hey! When did you grow a beard?
HUSBAND: June.
WIFE: Really?
HUSBAND: Yeah, when we were finally getting around to making our New Year’s Resolutions. You said “I’m gonna change my hair color to red!”
WIFE: I did.
HUSBAND: And I said “I’m gonna grow a beard.” Wait. You did?
WIFE: Like it?
HUSBAND: How could I have missed something like that?
BOTH: We’ve got to make time for each other.
WIFE: Let’s check our schedules. December is bad. How’s January look for you?
HUSBAND: Crazy. February?
WIFE: No, we’ll be getting ready for Spring Break. April?
HUSBAND: How about Thursday the 8th?
WIFE: Monday the 12th would be better.
HUSBAND: How about 7:00 to 8:15?
WIFE: AM or PM?

DIRTY SECRETS

If it’s the cleaning lady’s job to clean the house, why do we always pick up before she comes?

(Usually just before she comes, too, with one of the kids stalling her in the foyer as we scramble to de-clutter the upstairs.)

It would be one thing if we were motivated by conscience, believing it unfair to have her clean everything, but this doesn’t seem to be the case. Are we worried she’ll realize we’re really just a family of slobs?

She can probably tell that already, thanks to dishes that occasionally end up under the bed and the collection of crumbs, coins and God-knows-what-it-is she regularly unearths from beneath the sofa cushions.

Do we think she’ll tell the H.O.A. how much more disgusting our house is than, say, the neighbor’s down the street?

(It is, but only because they have no kids.)

Or do we just not want anyone — even the cleaning lady — to find out how much of our lifestyle is an illusion, and that the only parts we have the energy to maintain week in, week out, are the ones that other people see?

(And if this is the case, is it a valid reason to switch to a cleaning service that relies on a small, anonymous army that moves too quickly for any one that’s a part of it to form any kind of impression of what a stye the house usually is?)

SCENES FROM MARRIAGE NO. 4

HUSBAND: What are you doing?
WIFE: Watching TV.
HUSBAND: I can see that, but why aren’t you watching in HD?
WIFE: Do we get this channel in HD?
HUSBAND: Of course! Don’t you remember the expanded super-premium top tier all-access HD cable package I told you about?
WIFE: No.
HUSBAND: Let me show you: this is what you were watching… and this is the same channel in HD.
WIFE: What’s the difference?
HUSBAND: What’s the difference?!?!?!?
WIFE: Besides the extra $1000 you spent on the really, really big screen, instead of putting it into the college fund.
HUSBAND: It’s not just the size. Can’t you see how much better the resolution is? This is a 720p HD signal on a 1080p monitor, not that up-converted 480i crap you were watching.
WIFE: I don’t even know what you’re saying. Can’t I just want to watch the show?
HUSBAND: I don’t know why I even bother trying to explain this stuff.
WIFE: I don’t know why you even think I’d care. But while you’re standing there, go into the closet and grab my gray cashmere sweater, will you?
HUSBAND: Fine. Here.
WIFE: I said “gray cashmere.”
HUSBAND: That’s what this is.
WIFE: It’s not gray, it’s charcoal.
HUSBAND: Huh?
WIFE: And it’s not cashmere, it’s wool.
HUSBAND: What’s the difference?

FORGET COUPLES THERAPY: JUST TEXT INSTEAD

Lots of couples spend hundreds, even thousands of dollars on counseling when what they really need to do to improve their marriage is argue.

Not in person, but by text.

Arguing by text has a number of benefits. For example, in face-to-face arguments, tensions usually escalate because each person reacts (and over-reacts) to what the other is saying. But since SMS shorthand is so obscure and confusing — URAPITA? UG2BK? SHID? — how can you be outraged by something you can’t understand?

The 140-character limit helps, too, because it means you have to reduce your anger/frustration to its root cause before you can text it. Since most arguments end when the roots are exposed, however, starting this way means there isn’t really anywhere for the argument to go — You say you’re upset because you don’t feel like you’re in control of the relationship. Your spouse agrees you’re not. End of story.

As for those argument that proceed anyway, it’s important to remember that at some point, “principle,” ” being “right” and even just the need “to be shown a little respect” can’t overcome tired thumbs.

Which isn’t to say texting is flawless.

But keep in mind that if you scream something cruel and inappropriate at your spouse in the heat of the moment, you can’t ever take it back. But if you text it, you can say it was just a typo:

HUSBAND: No, I wouldn’t ever call you that. What I meant was you’re being a stitch, because I thought your whole argument was a joke.
WIFE: Oh yeah? Well then I guess I meant you’re a sucker.

TAFN.

10 SIGNS YOU'RE STRESSED-OUT

The first thing you do when you wake up in the morning is look for somebody to blame.
No matter what anyone says, you completely disagree.
There are no accidents or innocent mistakes: everything everybody does to you is “on purpose.”
You yell at your spouse for breathing too loudly.
You yell at the dog for laying around the house all day doing nothing.
You yell at your kids for almost anything, and then you feel so bad about you break down and cry.
Even though you’re not hungry, you stand at the fridge eating (usually whatever you can reach, instead of something you might enjoy).
You stop going to Starbucks because you can’t take the pressure.
Everything you say ends with a threat.
You find yourself staring at a stranger whose face is locked in a permanent scowl for two or three minutes before you realize you’re standing in front of a mirror.

SCENES FROM MARRIAGE, NO. 3

WIFE: Do these pants make me look fat?
HUSBAND: A little.
WIFE: What?!?!?
HUSBAND: I mean… No.
WIFE: Then why did you say “Yes?”
HUSBAND: I didn’t say “yes,” I said “a little.”
WIFE: No, you said “Oh my God! You look like a cow. Your butt is bigger than your aunt’s.”
HUSBAND: I did not.
WIFE: But that’s what you meant.
HUSBAND: I think I know what I meant and it wasn’t anything like that.
WIFE: Then what did you mean?
HUSBAND: Uh…
WIFE: You’re trying to think of a way out of this, aren’t you?
HUSBAND: No.
WIFE: I can see it in your eyes.
HUSBAND: I am not trying to… THE CUT!
WIFE: What?
HUSBAND: It’s not your butt, it’s the cut. The cut of those pants is… is… is… unflattering.
WIFE: Really?
HUSBAND: I swear.
WIFE: See… that’s what I thought, too. And then the sales associate started hovering and she said they looked great, so I felt pressured and I got them but I never wear them because I think they make me look fat.
HUSBAND: Because the cut is so bad.
WIFE: It really is, isn’t it?
HUSBAND: I bet that sales associate just wanted her commission.
WIFE: No kidding. That’s why I like to shop online – I can try everything on and then just return what doesn’t fit.
HUSBAND: Makes perfect sense to me.
WIFE: Let me change into something else and then we’ll go.
HUSBAND: SIGH.
WIFE: What?
HUSBAND: I didn’t say anything.
WIFE: You sighed.
HUSBAND: I don’t think so.
WIFE: You let out a big, huge sigh.
HUSBAND: No.
WIFE: Like you dodged a bullet or something.
HUSBAND: No.
WIFE: You’re not lying about the pants, are you?
HUSBAND: No.
WIFE: Then why did you sigh?
HUSBAND: Oh that! That was just a burp. I think I have a little indigestion.
WIFE: You should probably take some Prilosec.
HUSBAND: Why don’t I do that while you change into something more flattering.
WIFE: Just give me 10 minutes.

HALF-HEARTED APOLOGIES

Mess up? Say something you shouldn’t have? Pick the wrong time to make the right point?

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SCENES FROM MARRIAGE, NO. 2

Husband: “Ready?”
Wife: “I was waiting for you.”
Husband: “Oh… I was waiting for you.”
Wife: “Well… I’m ready.”
Husband: Great. Shall we go?”
Wife: Sure – just give me five minutes.”

Editor’s note: when husbands were asked if they thought this joke was mildly-to-moderately amusing, 84% said “yes;” when wives were asked the same question, 91% said “What joke? You think it’s easy getting ready? We can’t just hop in the shower and be done. We have to do our hair, put on our make-up, and then clean up the bathroom before we leave because our husbands NEVER do. Seriously, do they want the babysitter to think we’re slobs? And how hard is it to hang up a towel and wipe down the sink, anyway? If you want to talk about getting ready to go out, men are the real joke, and we don’t think it’s funny.”

SCENES FROM MARRIAGE, NO. 1

WIFE: My mom says she’ll watch the kids.
HUSBAND: When?
WIFE: Tonight if we want.
HUSBAND: You wanna try and go out?
WIFE: Sure. Any movies playing?
HUSBAND: There’s that new action blockbuster.
WIFE: Ha. Ha. Ha. And nothing subtitled, either. I’m too tired to read.
HUSBAND: What about dinner?
WIFE: I’m still doing that cleanse diet. We could get a drink?
HUSBAND: If I get a drink I’ll fall asleep.
WIFE: Me too.
HUSBAND: Coffee?
WIFE: Then I won’t sleep when we get home.
HUSBAND: I gotta get up early and take the kids to baseball, anyway. You wanna just skip it?
WIFE: It’s up to you.
HUSBAND: I’m okay with staying in if you are.
WIFE: That’s fine.
HUSBAND: But let’s definitely try to go out next weekend.
WIFE: Definitely. I’ll just call my mom and tell her “Thanks but no thanks.”
HUSBAND: I’ll check to see if there’s anything on pay-per-view.
WIFE: If I fall asleep on the couch, make sure you wake me up before you go to bed.

And still we complain we never get the chance to go out.

SUMMER

Summer is no time to diet.
Sometimes you do have to turn the car around and go home.
Which sucks.
You should be allowed to speed when one of your kids just can’t hold it anymore and it’s 21 miles to the next rest stop.
Either that or kids should be able to pee by the side of the road without anyone giving their parents a nasty look.
The stuff you like doesn’t last; the stuff you hate lasts forever.
Even people who like heat don’t like 100 degree heat.
For most people, the idea of sleeping out under the stars is much more peaceful and relaxing than the reality sleeping out under the stars, especially when you drink too much and have to pee every hour and a half.
Sometimes you have to let your kids head off in the woods and get stung by a bee.
Even bad experiences have redeeming qualities, except for 15-hour car trips, which totally suck.
There’s a fine line between “burnt” and “well-done.”
(For most people, anyway.)
Even families who vowed not to watch TV all summer watched ABC’s “Wipeout.”
Steak + grill + friends & family = the perfect summer party.
Steak + grill + friends & family + lots of alcohol = 2nd degree burns, a video clip for Youtube, and a lot of things you can’t explain to your kids until they’re much, much older.
A beach is better than a video game, but only for a few days. After that, kids get bored and want to play Wii Resort.
A staycation is not the same as a vacation no matter what anybody says. (On the other hand, at least with a staycation you get to sleep in your own bed at night instead of some soiled, bedbug ridden mattress.)
Almost anything can be grilled, except spaghetti. And while this might seem obvious, to 4-year-olds it’s not.
It’s funny when kids ask “Are we there yet?”, but only the first half-dozen times. After that, it’s frustrating as Hell.
Time outs seem much crueler when the sun is shining and everybody is outside playing.
On the other hand, they are much more effective.
Fishing is over-rated.
If you’re taking a road trip and you want to know how often you’ll have to make a pit stop, add the ages of everyone in the car together, divide this by the total number of passengers, then multiply by 2.
Some camps are good. Some camps bad. But you won’t know which is which until after the point at which you can still get a refund.
Nothing tests a friendship like two families taking a vacation together.
And splitting expenses.
Sometimes it’s hard to believe that your parents and your kids’ grandparents are the same people.
A good way to tell if kids have too much free time is by how often they fight.
Another good way to tell if kids have too much free time is when they start looking forward to going back to school.
It’s sad when summer ends.
But given the way rules and routines get pushed aside when the sun shines late into the evening, there would be complete chaos if it didn’t.

MOTHER’S DAY

Editor’s Note: While not entirely true, there’s no doubt the sentiment expressed above often feels true.

THE ABC'S OF UNEMPLOYMENT

A is for “anxious,”
or why you’re awake.
‘cause B is for “boss”
with a decision to make.

C is for “cut-backs.”
Oh, when will they end?
Is D for “Depression,”
where no one can spend?

E is “economy,”
ours seems to be toast.
F is “You’re fired!”
the phrase you fear most.

G is for “Google,”
where you search for a job.
Joining H as in “horde,”
the great job-seeking mob.

I is not you,
but the “infinite” masses,
who flood all the “J-O-B” boards,
’til they’re slow like molasses.

401K was your net,
but it’s taken a hit,
meaning L is for “loss,”
— why you don’t have shit.

M is for “Me!?!?!?!
I’m supposed to be blessed!”
But N is for “No!”
You’re as screwed as the rest.

O is for “out of,”
what your luck seems to be.
And P? That’s “percent”
unemployed: 9.3.

Q is the “question:”
“What do we do now?”
“How do we “Recover”
from a financial KA-POW!

S is the “stimulus,”
which didn’t do squat,
T is the “Treasury,”
and the Main Street they forgot.

U is the “upside.”
But what could it be?
Making friends at unemployment?
Watching too much “TV?”

W‘s for the “worry”
that’s become all-consuming.
And X is “Rx’s”
The anti-depressant biz? Booming.

In the end there’s just Y,
your unspoken plea,
repeated each night,
in the absense of “Zzzz“

PEANUT! PEANUT! WHO’S GOT THE PEANUT?

Husband: What’s with all the trash bags?
Wife: We need to throw out everything in the cabinets that has peanuts in it.
Husband: First contaminated Chinese imports, now this – aren’t these signs of the apocalypse?
Wife: Just reach up there and grab that box of pancake mix from the top shelf, will ya?
Husband: Pancake mix?!?!?
Wife: And those potato chips, too.
Husband: Uh… last time I checked neither had peanuts in it.
Wife: Check again.
Husband: Wow – “Allergen warning: may contain peanuts.” Are there peanuts in everything?
Wife: That’s why people are so freaked out.
Husband: I better grab these two 96 oz. jars of Skippy we got at Costco while I’m up here, too.
Wife: No, they’re fine: peanut butter isn’t part of the recall.
Husband: What?
Wife: Doesn’t make sense, does it?
Husband: How can “peanut butter” not be part of a peanut recall?
Wife: Beats me.
Husband: You know what’s gonna happen, don’t you? In a few months the government’s gonna say they were wrong and that peanuts are okay and that the media just over-reacted.
Wife: Maybe.
Husband: So I say we forget this nonsense.
Wife: You want us to ignore the warning and go have a couple Snickers and a bag of Poppycock?
Husband: No – we’re still on our post-Christmas diet. But I don’t think we really need to throw anything out.
Wife: And you’re sure about that?
Husband: Sure enough.
Wife: Fine, but if anybody throws up in their bed… on the carpet in the living room… in the back seat of your car… you get to clean it up.
Husband: Me?
Wife: Yes.
Husband: All of it?
Wife: Yes.
Husband: On second thought, why take chances!

STRESS

KID: Can I ask you something?
MOM: Sure.
DAD: What is it?
KID: Promise you won’t get mad?
MOM: What makes you think we’d get mad?
KID: Just promise.
DAD: Fine.
MOM: What’s your question?
KID: What’s “stress?”
MOM: Stress?
DAD: It’s a prolonged state of mental and emotional strain.
MOM: It’s like you’re being pulled in two different directions.
DAD: At the exact same time.
MOM: You’re stuck.
DAD: But you can’t get unstuck.
MOM: Until you feel totally and completely overwhelmed.
DAD: And irritable.
MOM: And short-tempered.
DAD: And impatient.
MOM: And you can’t sleep.
DAD: Or focus.
KID: But it’s not contagious, is it?
PARENT: No.
KID: Good — ’cause obviously the only thing you can do about it is drink, and I’m not old enough.

TAKE-OUT

KID: Are we having take-out again tonight?
MOM: No.
KID: Why not?
MOM: Because I’m making dinner.
KID: But you made dinner last night and we got take-out?
MOM: That was different.
KID: How?
MOM: Last night I accidentally burned dinner.
KID: What about the night before that?
MOM: Um… er… uh… I guess I accidentally burned dinner that night, too.
KID: And the night before that… And the night before that… And the night before that…
MOM: Stop exaggerating.
KID: I’m not.
MOM: I don’t burn dinner every night!
KID: Only ’cause Dad usually cooks.
MOM: Well… even if I do burn dinner, it’s not really my fault.
KID: Because you’re a bad cook?
MOM: No — because I’m a parent.
KID: How does being a parent mean you’re a bad cook?
MOM: Being a parent doesn’t mean you’re a bad cook, being a parent means you’re distracted — so distracted you sometimes start cooking dinner and then forget all about it because you get caught up in something else.
KID: Like a conversation?
MOM: Yes.
KID: Like right now?
MOM: Yes, like… NOT AGAIN! — While I take the roast out to the trash, will you get out the take-out menus?
KID: Already did.

YOU KNOW YOU’RE SCREWED WHEN YOU SAY…

“Can’t you hold it until we get home?”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to put a bucket by your bed, just in case?”

“Don’t answer it. DON’T ANSWER IT!”

“The kids will love it.”

“I thought you were picking them up?”

“Okay, but only if you promise not to do it in the house.”

“Okay, but only if you promise to be careful.”

“Make sure you put that on the counter before the dog gets it.”

“Did you bring the tickets?”

“Relax, the kids have been asleep for hours.”

MEDIUM-BODIED WITH NOTES OF BLACKBERRY AND BULLSHIT

Is there really a difference between a Romanée-Conti and a bottle of Manischewitz?

Probably, but according to research by Stanford and The California Institute of Technology, just raising the price of Manischewitz a thousand dollars would make it taste better.

A group of scientists – who clearly have way, way too much time on their hands – mapped the brains of people while they tasted wines to see how much their pleasure centers would light up. It turns out that even when two wines were identical, the one people were told was more expensive produced considerably more brain activity, meaning they liked it better.

While this is somewhat surprising, it also makes sense in an Emperor’s New Clothes kind of way, and can probably be generalized to all experiences.

Meaning that if you’re planning, for example, on getting your wife a diamond ring for her birthday, forget it and just order a cubic zirconia from the Shop-At-Home Network and stick it in a Tiffany’s box:

WIFE: Is this what I think it is?
HUSBAND: It’s just my way of saying “Happy Birthday.”
WIFE: Wow. It must’ve cost a fortune.
HUSBAND: It doesn’t matter what it cost. What’s important is the look on your face right now — that’s priceless.

Or if your husband’s snobby wine friends are coming to dinner, just decant a bottle of Two Buck Chuck and tell them it’s a rare first-growth Bordeaux. They’ll marvel at the complexity and say they can really taste the “terroir,” at which point you can say “Terroir is bullshit! — at least that’s what Malcom Gluck says.”

Not only will you have dropped the name of a wine expert wine snobs love to hate, you’ll be 100% correct.

And then you can push things even farther and bring out that can of Spam® they brought as a gag gift last time they came over and tell them it’s imported patè.

Best of all, while this kind of sneaky, deceitful behavior might have made you feel guilty in the past, you can now feel good about yourself because you’re actually giving everyone a better experience.

And what could be wrong with that?

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