Oh, please.

Someone was tailgating me on the highway this morning.  Definitely one of my pet peeves, partly because it’s annoying and dangerous, and partly because it feels like a judgment on my driving, like I’m not going fast enough.

I know how silly that is, but I realized that for a lot of us, a pet peeve sometimes has more to do with us than they do about the person who is perpetrating said peeve.


For example, it bugs me when I’m having a conversation with someone, and they’re doing something else, like watching TV, checking something on their phone, or looking around at other people.  Because I assume that not only is this person just rude, but whatever they are being distracted by must be way more interesting than whatever is coming out of my mouth.

But then again, I get annoyed by things that have little to do with me or any insecurity I might have.  Why do some people insist on leaving on their sunglasses when they come inside?  I’ll give you a pass if you have some vision impairment that requires you to be protected from indoor light.  Or if you’re hung over.  But otherwise, please take them off.

I’m going to consider the next one a cross between a pet peeve and a fashion tip.  If you are wearing leggings, they are not pants.  Repeat, NOT pants.  Don’t get me wrong, leggings are comfy and cute.  I have some too.  But if you wear them, please wear something that covers your behind.  That’ll be all.

And here’s another one.  Anyone who has kids (including myself) knows that sometimes they get loud or misbehave.  Sometimes at the same time.  I promise I will not judge you if this happens in the supermarket.  You will, in fact, get my sympathy.  But here’s what I don’t get.  People will pull a screaming toddler out of a shopping cart (and leave behind a cart of groceries that it’s taken 40 minutes to fill while they’ve tried to entertain this toddler).  But if this happens in a restaurant, we’d all love it if you’d take this toddler somewhere else until he or she can be a little quieter.  I’m sure that shallot cream sauce on your plate is delicious, but please don’t wait until you’ve finished all of it.

And one more thing. I know what you’re sayin’.  You don’t need to ask.


How many points is that??!

I’m back on Weight Watchers for probably the fourth time in the last several years.  Please note that before I served as the personal incubator for two small human beings, and before I turned 40, I was one of those annoying size 6 people who could eat whatever I wanted.  And I did.

But alas, it finally caught up with me, and while I’m still not technically considered “overweight,” I don’t like the look of what used to be my stomach if I happen to catch myself in a mirror as I’m bending over.  Actually, this only happened once, but it was enough for me to re-up that Weight Watchers membership.  And I also figured that it was time when I casually mentioned to several people that I was thinking of going back on Weight Watchers, and not one person said to me, “But whatever for?”

I actually don’t mind doing Weight Watchers.  I’m much more conscious about what I’m eating, eat healthier foods, and often decide that something just doesn’t taste good enough to justify the amount of points I’m going to have to log for eating it.


Now, for those of you who aren’t familiar with the system, here’s how it works: every food has a points value.  You’re allotted a certain number of points per day, and you keep track of everything you eat and how many points those foods “cost.”  Mostly, you hope you don’t run out of points for the day before noon.  You also hope that the amount of fiber you’re taking in (because lower-fat, higher-fiber foods tend to have fewer points) doesn’t exceed your large intestine’s ability to process it.  I think you know where I’m going here.

I’ve discovered several new things this time around.  Frozen grapes …. delicious!  A recipe I found online for “cookies” made solely with mashed banana, peanut butter and oatmeal ….. not so much.

But if you’ll excuse me, I need to go roast some cauliflower.


Thanks, everyone.

Last night, we had Matthew’s first music teacher over for dinner.  Matthew, who is now in 7th grade, took piano lessons from “Mr. Dave” in 2nd and 3rd grade.  We’ve stayed in touch with him via social media, where he’s watched our kids grow up virtually, but it had been about 3 years since we’d seen him.

I think I’ll always have a soft spot for Dave, who patiently taught a 7-year-old Matthew to read music, play the piano, and gave him his first taste of performing in front of others at piano recitals.  And last night, I had a reminder of why – he couldn’t wait for Matthew to play the saxophone and sing for him, and he accompanied him on the piano for both.  He didn’t judge Matthew (or us) for not continuing with the instrument he’d taught him to play, but seemed genuinely happy that Matthew still has a love for music (which I will always be grateful that Dave helped nurture).


So, when I was getting a little misty last night, listening to Matthew and Dave playing music together, I was thinking about the many adults in my kids’ lives, the roles they’ve played (and continue to play) and how happy I am that our paths have crossed.

When Matthew was a baby, I remember feeling bothered that he enjoyed the company of other people who weren’t me.  I know it was my own maternal insecurity, which evaporated when a seasoned parent told me, “Kids can never have too many adults who love them.”  And I’m sure now that it’s true.

We have neighbors who have seen our boys playing outside and stopped what they’re doing to come and have a catch with them.  Friends and relatives who have come to see concerts, games and performances.  Teachers, coaches and camp counselors who have understood and appreciated their strengths and quirks, and have nurtured their love for sports, music, theater, art and more.

So, despite the fact that on occasion, I feel slightly crestfallen (I do still like to think I am my kids’ favorite grownup) when I think my kids prefer the company of some of these wonderful adults in their lives, I will always be grateful for these fantastic people in our kids’ lives who are helping shape them into the pretty awesome people we think they’re becoming.


Sick Day.

I’ve got Michael home sick with me today.  I’m certainly not happy that he isn’t feeling well, but there’s something about taking care of a sick kid that touches the deepest part of my mommy-ness, and I have to admit – I kind of like it.

I realized this about myself when Dave and I were first married.  He got a bad case of the flu.  I SO wanted to take care of him – bring him soup and tea, take his temperature, worry and fix his blankets.  But unfortunately for me, all he wanted was to be left alone to be sick and sleep.  And I didn’t know what to do with myself.

Little did I know that just a few years later, I’d have plenty of opportunities to take care of little people who really couldn’t take care of themselves.  When Matthew was a baby, he seemed to catch everything that was going around.  Before he was a year old, he’d already had about a dozen colds, a handful of ear infections, coxsackie virus, and two pneumonias that landed him in the hospital.  Back then, I could barely keep up with it.  And it stinks to take care of someone who just cries, because they can’t tell you what’s wrong with them.  Until they throw up in your lap.  Then it becomes pretty clear.


Fast forward a few years, and I’ve nursed my boys through colds, bronchitis, stomach bugs (those, frankly, I’d be happy to skip), asthma and more.  And they seem happy to have me bring them soup, take their temperature (usually with a kiss on the forehead, which I believe is nearly as accurate as a thermometer), worry, and fix their blankets.

I’m taking Michael to the doctor in about half an hour.  Right now, he’s tucked into a blanket on the couch, eating a waffle and watching TV.  He asked if when we get back from the doctor, if we can “snuggle on the couch and watch a movie.”

So, maybe THAT’S what I like about it.