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Posts Tagged ‘Olympics’

How in the world do mothers of Olympians do it?  Standing on the sidelines, hearts in their throats, watching their precious children chase dreams, wanting more than anything (anything at all) for them to succeed and, if they fail, wanting even more desperately to take their disappointment and sadness away.  And, if they do succeed.  My goodness.  The tears.  The joy.  The pride.

In a little 8-child weekly Rock Climbing class at the YMCA today.  The fourth week of class.  The fourth of week of “do you really think I can do it, Mommy?  Really?”  The fourth week of “Yes.  You can.  I know you can.”

Well, today.  He did.  Big Brother rang the bell.

And, I was a hooting, hollering lunatic behind the rock wall chains.  I didn’t even realize I was doing it until it was over and suddenly the area around me was, well, not filled with the sound of me yelling anymore.  If he was any older he would have been so completely mortified by my behavior.

Instead, he’s just so proud of himself he could burst.    And he can’t wait for Dad to come home so he can bask in sharing his big news.

Way to go, sweetie.  The first of many big things.

Here’s hoping your ole Mom’s heart can take it.

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Dear So and So...
Dear Market Basket Store Manager,
I want to keep coming back, really I do.  Your prices are far better than my local stores and even somewhat better than your chain competitors.  It’s worth it financially for me.  But, man oh man.  It’s a rough trip.  And, I’m all for exposing my children to the filth diversity of your plentiful clientele, but not willing to expose them to scurvy.   Where are the Handi-Wipes?  And the mouth masks?   It frightens me.  Really.
In Cleanliness,
Swooper
_____
Dear Dog,
You know we love you, right?  Hate your hair.  Hate it.  Hate it on my wood floors, hate it on my black clothes, really hate it on my bed.  I know we let you sleep there for six years but it was a lot cuter when you were 10 lbs than it is now that you’re 80 lbs and shedding.  Get off.  You have your own bed.  Use it.   There’s a pound around the corner and, I promise you, their cold, dank floors are not as comfy as your Orvis bed.
Sincerely,
The One Who Feeds You
_____
Dear Husbands,
Big, heavy bags left at the bottom of staircases mean “pick me up and deliver me to where I belong.”
Sincerely,
The One Who Feeds The Dog Who Is Quickly Running Out of His Kibbles & Bits
_____
Dear DJ Lance Rock,
Your show is weird.  Just plain weird.  You’re the Telletubbies of my kids generation.  I don’t get it.  Kids love you.  Grown-ups?  Not so much.  And, don’t let the Brad Pitt thing go to your head.  He dresses like a homeless person most of the time so your orange jumpsuit was an upgrade.   As soon as I can get my hands on the DVR remote, your days are numbered.
“Yooooooo!  It’s Almost Time To Go!”,
Swooper
_____
Dear Libido,
OK.  Kids sleeping through the night.  Lost some weight.  Settled into my new home.  Come on back, old friend.  Welcome.
I’ll Leave the Door Unlocked,
Swooper
_____
Dear Oil of Olay,
I’ve been using you every day since I was 14.  So, if you’re not helping me look younger too and I’m a wrinkled old raisin at 60, I’m coming after you.   And, $4.59 once every two months for 46 years ain’t gonna be cheap.   Just sayin’.
With the Better Business Bureau On My Speed Dial,
Swooper

_____

Dear Evan Lysacek,
Saw an interview with you yesterday in which you explained how you aren’t like all the other male skaters.  That you are, in fact, quite masculine (gasp).   Here’s a tidbit from your interview:


“I think I’m bringing an element of style and showing that this is my idea of what a modern man should dress like and look like,” Lysacek explains. “It can still be stylish, but [also] be masculine at the same time.”


Here’s what you wore last night for the Short Program.

Are those curly q’s on your shoulder blades?  Feathers on your fists?


Uh huh.

Thanks for the laugh,
Swooper

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