Saying Goodbye to Sandra Dee

There were signs that I was moving in this direction, but I do believe it's now official. I have become a prude. As I reflect on this development, I can point to three things that pushed me to my "prude awakening:"

1. Young girls in short, and I mean short, skirts and dresses.
2. Laundering the skivvies of a certain young woman 
3. The musical Grease as performed at our high school.

Each of these forces combined in a relatively brief period of time so as to effectively "wig me out" and cause me to panic about my rapidly maturing tween and teen.

A couple weeks ago I addressed the dress, or lack thereof, of today's young ladies. Picture me in Downton Abbey attire with a British accent saying "Improper, unrefined, and in bad taste. Does your mother know what you're wearing?"

Regarding the undergarments of a charming and beautiful almost-18-year-old ice hockey player, well, let's just say she's not shopping at Target or through the Hanes catalog. Frankly I'm not sure why women bother wearing things that are so barely there. If I'm being honest, I'm most upset because her lingerie confirms that I have been wearing granny panties for the past 40 years. I missed my sexy lingerie stage altogether.

The reason this is affecting me to such a degree is because my own daughter is a teenager-to-be. While I sure as hell won't buy her Frederick's of Hollywood bras and panties, what's to stop her from purchasing them herself? I can see it now, I'll be doing the wash and pull out a piece of dental floss, um. I mean a thong, and I'll have a small stroke. First I'll accuse Rob of adultery and then I'll wonder if Ian's dating a hussy, and finally I'll come around to my little girl. I'm having heart palpitations just thinking about it. If Abby suddenly offers to start doing her own laundry, I'll know I'm in trouble. I'll bet she's hiding a super short skirt and midriff baring top along with the sexy undergarments.

Put your filthy paws on my silky drawers?

Now to Grease. Yep, the same one I told you all to go see in Friday's Facebook post. Well, I saw it. And the next day I texted my friends with elementary-school-aged children and warned them that it might be inappropriate for the young ones. Those under age 21 18. I'm still trying to figure out what possessed the director/producer (who happens to be a friend) to perform a brief part of the show at the local elementary schools and then give the young-uns free tickets. I'm sure the piece they performed for the kiddies did not include the smoking, drinking, dirty dancing, or making out that the complete performance put front and center, but why in the world would you encourage 6-11 year-olds to come to a show with these pervasive elements?

For some reason I expected the musical, performed by teens, would be toned down compared to the movie, not more salacious. I was wrong. While I get that those elements were part of the story, I really felt they could have been less in your face without taking away from the show. But here's the biggest problem I have with the selection of Grease as the school musical - there's absolutely no redemptive quality to the story. Most of the time when a story presents us with a badly behaving character it ends with them learning a valuable lesson. What did sweet innocent Sandy learn in Grease? To trade in the pony tail and tease her hair, pierce her ears, apply her makeup, dress like a hussy, learn to smoke, and say goodbye to Sandra Dee. Exactly the life lesson that we parents try to teach.

I guess I shouldn't complain too much, however. Word has it that the show they really wanted to perform this year was Spring Awakening. Yes, that kind of "awakening." This musical was banned for a time in Germany because of its frank portrayal of abortion, homosexuality, rape, child abuse and suicide. I can't imagine why the school administrators said no to that one. It sounds like the perfect show to invite the grandparents to.

Believe it or not, I do understand theater is art. I do understand the need to address controversial issues. I do understand allowing young adults to express themselves, but I don't think the public high school is the place to do it. I think there are some parents who may actually have a problem with their child (they are still children) performing a show with those themes. I know it would have freaked me out if Ian's character was up on stage smoking, drinking, or getting nasty on the dance floor. And no, I'm not naive enough to think it's not happening in real life for many teens, I just don't think it needs to be encouraged or celebrated.

While I'm on a roll, I'd like to throw Go-Daddy commercials and Beyonce's half-time show into this mix so that we can effectively eliminate all innocence from childhood.

Yes indeed, I have officially become a prude.

Random Thoughts from the Gym

So in case you're wondering, the new job is going really well. I haven't cried yet! The people are very nice and no one has put my age after my name on my office nameplate. Of course, I don't actually have an office, or a nameplate for that matter. But still, I don't think they'd do that.

While I am happy at Villanova, I am disappointed to report that they're giving me nothing to work with in terms of blog post material. Therefore, in an effort to share something/anything, I offer you:

Random Thoughts from the Gym

The class I take most often is Body Pump which is basically a weigh-lifting class that hits every muscle group in an hour. It's an awesome class with mostly terrifc instructors except for the new girl. When I take class with the new girl I can't concentrate on my form because I'm always thinking about how much I'd like to slap her for her ultra chipper, annoyingly motivational, non-stop jabber. Plus, she's wafer-thin and no one needs to look at that for an hour.

I have another Body Pump confession: I will load more weight onto my bar than I can actually handle just so I look stronger than those standing around me. It goes without saying that this can have disasterous results. I'll leave it at that.


This is how no one in my class looks. Thank God.



I've recently discovered the Red Hot Dance class. Despite my two left feet and complete lack of rhythm, I love this workout. Two reasons: 1) I'm thinner than the instructor (though she knows how to get down and boogie, or whatever the kids are calling it these days) and 2) the rest of the class is actually older than I am (though most of them can dance circles around me).

I would be so much better at Red Hot Dance if I had a few drinks first.

On that note, I would probably have a lot more to show for my working out if I didn't stop for dessert or drinks after leaving the gym.

I have two recommendations for improving self-esteem for women at the gym (don't know that it's an issue for men). 1) In the summer, when the kids are home from school/college, I recommend they establish "Adult Hours." Kinda like adult swim at the pool, except in this case, everyone under the age of 23 would have to work out at a different time than us considerably older folks. 2) 1) I think they should have two separate entrances to the locker room based on weight and age. Not only will this preserve your self-esteem, but it could also come in handy when you inevitably forget your underwear and want to borrow a pair in your size.

Speaking of the locker room, I've learned it's never appropriate to ask "Are those real?" Also where body parts are concerned, while I would find it terribly flattering, some women are not comfortable being told "I would kill for an ass like yours."

Speaking of asses, I hate the way we have to walk past the power lifters to get to our classroom. It's like a freakin' catwalk. I wouldn't mind it so much if the men didn't hold up scorecards. Or, if I scored above a 6.

Finally, based on solid scientific research, I have determined that people who pay more to work out are less likely to have intestinal issues than those who choose less expensive options. A couple years ago I took pilates classes held at our local high school. I also arranged for "Fitness & Fellowship" yoga and pilates classes at my church. These were both bargain priced and during nearly each of these classes someone had gas. Nope it wasn't me. Well, just that one time. In contrast, I have noted that never once has anyone let out a little stinky during Body Flow (pilates, yoga, and tai chi) at the Health Plex. It's a fascinating discovery that clearly requires more research.

Unfortunately, folks, that's all the time I have today. Be sure to stay tuned for our next Freakin' Angels post which will likely be on one of the following important topics:

• Parental involvement in teenage lives
• A culture of entitlement and what it means for mission work
• The mating habits of the Brown Throated Three-Toed Sloth
• The addiction known as Homeland

But then there was Elvis

After the loss of Snickers, Rob being down for the count for what felt like forever, and Ian struggling with an upper respiratory virus that caused him to miss four days from the first two weeks of school, I was sorely in need of a vacation. Or at least a mini-getaway. And Rob, knowing what a bitch bear I can be when I don't get enough me time, graciously (or perhaps eagerly) told  me to go. So on Friday evening I took off for Waretown, New Jersey, the latest hot spot for 40-something soccer moms. My goal for the next 24-hours was nothing but rest, relaxation, and a bit of boating and fishing with mom and dad.

Waretown Elvis

But then Elvis came to town.

When I called to let my parents know I'd be arriving later than anticipated, I knew I was in trouble when dad said, "We're at the Lighthouse Tavern. Elvis is here. We'll save you a seat." What? Save me a seat? It will be 10:00 p.m. That's my bedtime. This was supposed to be a quiet getaway involving a great deal of sleep. But leave it to Elvis to muck things up.

The Lighthouse Tavern in Waretown, NJ is your classic blue-collar bar with men and women of all ages, shapes, and styles. Women in acid-washed jeans and knee high suede boots show up with guys in offensive t-shirts and a great deal of ink. Pear-shaped 60-somethings hoot and holler and try to keep their hairspray soaked stylings away from open flames, and of course Norm has his own corner of the bar. A generously-sized take-out refrigerator holds six packs of Bud Light and Coors, Busch and Keystone Light. And if peach schnapps or a small bottle of whiskey is what you're looking for they have that for take out as well. The wood paneling is adorned with a generous helping of neon beer signs and NASCAR posters, and the televisions are all tuned to New York sports (despite being located closer to Philadelphia). A shuffleboard table and dart board round out the interior design. If you're looking for a great burger and a good time, the Lighthouse Tavern is the place to be.

Mom & Kim in black & white so you can't see Kim's beady red eyes

And tonight, Elvis was in the building. I had heard my parents talk about him for years but had never seen him myself. Regardless of my need for sleep, you just don't miss local Elvis. I put on my rally cap and my big girl panties and slid into the booth next to my mom who promptly ordered me a beer. When we weren't singing along with Elvis, my parents and I caught up on what's happening with my kids, my husband, my sister, and me. We checked out the sights and raised our eyebrows and had a few laughs at others' expense (we're mature that way). And when the regulars finally stopped hogging the shuffleboard table, I challenged dad to a game. And he commenced instructing me, correcting me, and basically kicking my ass in a 15-7 win. You'd be impressed to hear how often dad offers instruction/judgment evaluation correction/ass kicking, but that's another blog post.

"Samboogie" Nightcap

A night at the bar with mom and dad can only end one way. With a sambuca nightcap. Mom says I need to learn how to drink the stuff because I prefer to keep my distance from it. I think it's funny that my mom is encouraging me to bring new alcohol to my imbibing repertoire. But maybe next weekend I'll give it a try. Johnny Cash will be performing on Saturday night at the Lighthouse Tavern...

Music, Amusement, Church, and Beer

I learned a lot this weekend. First and foremost, I learned I must manage my schedule more effectively. For those of you who weren't blessed by my whining and complaining about the demands on my time, here's the scoop:

• Friday morning, 7:00 a.m. -- Left with 128 7th & 8th graders in the Strath Haven Middle School music department for "Music in the Parks," beginning with an adjudication at Kutztown University.
• Friday afternoon, 2:00 p.m. -- Accompanied students to Dorney Park where they frolicked with hundreds/thousands of other Music in the Park geeks kids.
• Friday early evening, 6:30 p.m. -- Made our way to the Food Fest Grove (a misnomer because they offered us no food) for the awards ceremony at which the amazing talent from SHMS was deemed "Superior" (the highest rating) in all but one category (the cantabile, a select singing group Ian did not make. A coincidence that they earned merely an  "Excellent" rating without him? I think not).
• Friday evening, 8:30 p.m. -- Returned to SHMS 

Now this is where it gets tricky. Because of my faulty scheduling and my over eager desire to help out, I had also volunteered to chaperone the 4th & 5th grade lock-in (sleepover) at our church. Beginning at 7:00 p.m. Clearly something had to give. And that something turned out to be Rob. He took the first shift of the church event which included a 2-hour long stint at a family fun center 30 minutes away. They returned around 11:30 p.m. This meant I had to stay awake a long time to start  part two of my grand adventure:

• Friday, 11:30 p.m. -- Arrived at Media Presbyterian Church to join 25 wired 4th & 5th graders. 
• Friday, 11:45 p.m. -- Snack time. Popcorn, soft pretzels, fruit punch and lemonade. We sugared them up just before we asked them to settle down.
• Saturday, 12:15 a.m. -- Two rounds of Sardines. The game. Not the fish.
• Saturday, 1:00 a.m. -- Sleeping bags set out in youth room. Settled in for Karate Kid 2.
• Saturday, 3:30 a.m. -- Movie ends. Most kids sleeping. Kim, not sleeping, but recalling why I said I'd never do this again after my last time chaperoning this adventure.
• Saturday, 7:15 a.m. -- Rise and shine. 
• Saturday, 8:00 a.m. -- Parents arrived looking annoyingly incredibly well-rested. Take kids home.
• Saturday, 8:45 a.m. -- Crawled into bed.
• Saturday, 11:30 a.m. -- Crawled out of bed.
• Saturday, 12:30 p.m -- Friends arrived to accompany us to Craft Brewfest in downtown Media.
• Saturday, 1:00 p.m. -- Joined other friends at Brewfest. Drank beer.
• Saturday, 5:00 p.m. -- Finished beer drinking.
• Saturday, 5:30 p.m. -- Walked to new Mexican restaurant. Drank margarita. Discovered that after 4 hours of beer drinking I was willing to try Mexican food. 
• Saturday, 7:00 p.m -- Returned home with friends. Played poker. 
• Saturday, 9:00 p.m. -- Came in 2nd in poker game. Won no money.
• Saturday, 9:30 p.m. -- Crawled back in bed. 
• Sunday, 10:00 a.m. -- Crawled out of bed. Showered. Headed to church.

Over this 48+ hour period I made an number of observations. I'll try to keep them brief because I realize this is getting lengthy and you may actually having something important to do today. Here are the top 10 things I learned this past weekend:

1. Big talent can come out of small people.
2. If you want to mortify your 13-year-old son, wipe the dust and dirt off his pants while he's hanging with his friends. The dust and dirt on his tush. Follow-up with big hug.
3. 12 to 14-year-old boys yawn a lot while singing. 
4. If my teenage child comes home with a "Got Beer?" hat from an amusement park, I'm going to beat have a serious discussion with them. 
5. I am too old for roller coasters.
6. Skinny 9 to 11 year-old girls have an amazing ability to sound like elephants when they walk. In and out of the room. At 2:30 a.m. When I'm dying trying to sleep.
7. Metal doors that slam loudly have no place in a room where I'm trying to sleep. At 3:30 a.m.
8. Even 9 to 11 year-old girls can leave a room smelling funky after a sleepover. Or wake-over. Or maybe that was me.
9. Pretzel necklaces are a must at a brewfest. Next year we must double or triple the number of pretzels on our necklaces. 
10. When stopped by a cop while driving home from a brewfest, it's best to not be wearing your "Does this Shirt Make Me Look Drunk?" tee. (No, that didn't happen. But I'm, pretty sure it would be bad.)

 

 

Well I'm exhausted just having recapped the weekend. Going to take a nap now. How was your weekend?

The Day I Decided to Take Up Drinking

Rather than using this post to fully develop one particular idea, I think I 'm just going to use it to sound off on a variety of thoughts I'm having right now. Bear with me or feel free to check back in a few days when I've focused in on something you might find more enjoyable.


Random Musings

1. Based on his recent 11-year-old behavior/mood/personality, I'm not sure Ian is going to actually live to see the teen years. What has gotten into my heretofore golden boy? Someone get him a Midol stat. 
2. My weekend in Harvey Cedars was terrific. As it always is. Except for all the babies that I drove to tears. 
3. The Freakin' Angels finally got a most-of-the-group picture. Kim G. wants it noted that she is not in her FA shirt because her husband lost it after I gave it to him to give to her. That's okay, Kim, we still know you're an angel.
4. I have some thoughts about sea shells that I think are rather poignant, so you have that to look forward to in a later post...when I'm in the mood to talk about sea shells. Which I'm not right now.
5. My cat has twice missed the mark when trying to jump up to the table or counter and my dog has an eye infection. 
6. A "Luxury pet resort" is only luxury when you upgrade from the standard suite. Total BS if you ask me.
7. I have decided to give up Tang Soo Do and take up drinking instead. Ah, you knew it was coming, didn't you? You knew there was an issue I was just itching to address. Yep. It's that damn black belt test on Saturday. E Dan. 2nd degree.What the heck was I thinking when I agreed to this? It's actually costing me money in addition to my sanity, self-esteem, and entire sense of well-being. 

See here's the thing. I'm not being modest when I say I 'm not very good at the martial arts. I'm really not. I've got a great round house and ax kick, but that's about it. I really don't feel deserving of a second degree black belt. I've had this battle discussion with my instructor and he insists I wouldn't be testing if he didn't believe I was deserving and qualified, but our ideas of deserving and qualified are very different. I think there's a right and wrong. A correct and incorrect. You're one or the other. He takes a much more subjective approach that works in my favor, but doesn't work for my confidence. He notes that I'm the best 40 year-old woman student in our school. I happen to know that I'm the ONLY 40-year-old woman in our school. Needless to say, that's not exactly motivational. What happens when I encounter another 40-year-old in the streets and she kicks my ass?


I'm throwing the Tang Soo Do "indomitable spirit" tenet out the window and I'm going to focus my energies instead on "wine and spirits." I think if train real hard I can be the best drinker in my neighborhood by the time I'm 45. Now that's an accomplishment to include in the Christmas letters!