When Tinder Makes You Question Everything You've Ever Wanted

When I was 10 years old I met Benny Disco.  We had a mutual family friend and were invited to swim over at their family's pool.  It was love at first sight.  Benny was 12 (swoon).  He had rosie cheeks and a chubby body and I was smitten.  It was destiny.  That is until he and the older kids went to play basketball in the driveway and I went home with my mom because I wasn't about to be the chubbiest, shortest girl on pavement.

Years passed and Benny floated in and out of my life (I'm totally lying he had no idea who I was). Benny went to a private high school and then some college, I assume.  I drunkenly friended him on Facebook one night in college on a dare from my BFF. She did it, too, in solidarity, of course.  The funny thing about my schoolgirl crush on Benny is that I rarely remember his name (which obviously isn't actually Benny), so I always need confirmation from my friend when we potentially see him out at a bar, or someone mentions a group of his friends.  "Jane, it's Benny and it's so weird that you always say that you love him!"  Whatever.

A few months ago I was doing my classic nighttime ritual - wash face, brush teeth, put on pj's, swipe through Tinder - when the most amazing, serendipitous match flashed before my eyes. There he was, Ben, 23, first pictured walking in some tropical location. Next, holding a fish or a dog or something (I actually can't remember, but everyone on Tinder fishes or has a dog, I think).

This. Was. Fate. 

I swiped right. He swiped right. It's a match, we were meant to be! I imagined he would message me eventually. Noticing our mutual Facebook friends, connecting the dots, realizing he has always (randomly, without reason) had a schoolboy crush on me, too.  We would meet, hit our stride, and be together forever ....or for a beer..... but that was not the case.

Benny and I have been matched for 5 months now, and you know what?  I totally forgot about it until the other day when Benny did the unthinkable! He posted a Tinder moment - for those of you who don't know, a Tinder moment is a photograph that can be seen by all of your Tinder matches for 24 hours.  I, myself, have posted a moment or two (or 15... 3 of which have been liked by Super Bowl Champion, Legarrette Blount, thank you very much!), but Benny's was nothing like my basic "hotdogs or legs" photo on the beach.  Benny's photo was much, much more than that.

I sat there, in my driver's seat horrified, staring at Benny's, what I'm going to call, Little Benny ready for the Disco.... right there on TINDER for all to see with the caption "someone come help me with this?"  BENNY, ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! My cheeks flushed.  Benny was supposed to be sweet and innocent and not putting his package on the internet! My hopes, my dreams, my everything came crashing down.  How could I have been so wrong?!

And that was when I got to thinking, I'm probably wrong about a lot of things. We make these snap judgments and let our first impressions of people stick - good or bad - and then sometimes we are unwavering in our convictions and opinions.  While I'm obviously exaggerating my Benny epiphany, I am sort of serious.  I think it's healthy to reevaluate our goals, our dreams, and truly take a look at what we want and why we want it.  It's like when you see a blue dress on JCrew.com and you are so obsessed with it until you walk into the store and try it on and you look like Violet from Willy Wonka (no? just me?). We are terrible at predicting what we will want or feel in the future, so be ready to change your mind, have a change of heart, and swipe left on what you thought you couldn't live without.

To The Boy Who Asked Me To Dance: An Apology

I was just scrolling through my NewsFeed and saw that you posted a status about the snow.  You're writing a book?? Or making a joke.  I can't tell.  I never understood your sense of humor in high school.  Actually, I never really noticed you in high school, except for at our Freshman Semi-Formal.  I want to talk to you about that.

I really owe you an apology.  When I heard through the grapevine that you were thinking about asking me to the dance, I'm not sure if you know this, but I responded like a total bitch.  It's not like anyone else was asking me, but I thought I was too good for you.  I thought you were weird.  You were always wearing that polo shirt tucked into your khakis, walking around talking about books that no one had ever heard of.  You hung around with that wicked short skinny kid with the spiked messy hair.  He wore the same leather trench coat everyday and the two of you probably talked about... I have no idea what you could've been talking about, but I knew I was too cool for you. Well, I thought I was too cool for you, so back through the grapevine I sent the message that I wanted to go to the dance with my girlfriends. You know, to let you down easy before you actually asked me. 

That night I got all dolled up in my White House Black Market strapless dress (my tastes haven't changed much) and bobbed my head to the beat in a circle of my friends wishing silently that the cute boy on the basketball team would ask me to dance next slow song.  He didn't, but you did.  You walked right over, wearing your suit jacket and tie (totally overdressed in the sea of DEB dresses and Old Navy slacks) and asked if I would dance with you.  Feeling awkward and reluctant, but not wanting to be rude, I said yes. 

Your hands were all clammy and so was your brow line and I felt so embarrassed not wanting anyone to see us dancing together. I remember looking around the gym, thinking everyone was staring at me - at us.  My friends stood together a few feet away, some giggling, some giving me apologetic "it's almost over" glances. You weren't watching them though, you were looking right at me. 

Thirty seconds into the song, "I... uhm.. I have to go to the bathroom." 

That was the best I could do? Seriously?  I said it and I ran to the to meet my BFF and left you there, standing near the DJ, alone. And I am truly sorry. 

Because now here I am eight years later drowning in a sea of unanswered OkCupid messages, hoping that boys men will text me first, hold the door, or buy my beer.  I, like so many women, fall for guys who don't want to commit to me, nor be seen together in public.  I fall for the sorry-my-phones-been-dead-for-three-weeks texts and the I'm-not-looking-for-a-girlfriend-but-if-I-was-it-would-be-you excuses.  I would kill for a guy to approach me now with the same confidence you did at our first high school semi-formal.... to walk right up to me and ask me to dance right there in front of everyone.  I didn't know it then, but clearly you were too cool for me.

You probably still are, as far as FaceBook can tell me.  You understand that there is more to the world than what's right under  our noses.  You raise funds for dreamers, and watch movies and football, and read books, and still wear your shirts tucked into your khakis.  I'm sure you're doing well, and I hope you are.  So, even if you don't remember this night, I wanted to tell you that I do, and I wanted to say that I'm sorry.  You deserved a better dance partner. 

There Is Nothing Cute About Raccoons

The following is a list of 10 of the most important lessons I have learned so far as a single twenty-something in the infamous proverbial "real world."  Just here to share some wisdom, take it or leave it - but seriously take it because even though I don't have my life together, some of these gems are really legit. 

1.  Beer does not put out the buffalo chicken flame.

This may sound like common sense to some of you; however, you can't imagine how many times I've been at dinner with someone who orders buffalo wings or a buffalo chicken sandwich with just a beer and no water!  They take a bite, swig the beer to null the fire and inevitably have to flag down the waitress for a glass of agua.  Do yourself and the waitstaff a favor and request a water ahead of time. 

2.  Fool me once, shame on you.

Fool me twice, still shame on you. 

If there is anything I have learned from being duped by guys, listening to my friends that have been duped by guys, and watching tons of RomComs where the girl is duped by the guy, it's this: blaming yourself is the absolute worst.  Does it totally suck that you gave someone a second chance and it doesn't work out? Yeah totally, but whatever.  If it had worked out differently you would've been psyched! So, give as many chances as you want and don't blame yourself for being optimistic, but when the hurting starts to outweigh the happiness, quit that shit cold turkey. Speaking of which...

3.  Quitters actually sometimes win. 

I quit everything that doesn't make me happy because I've come to find that quitting is not synonymous with failure.  From where I stand, everything in life falls somewhere on the spectrum between makes you unbelievably happy or makes you feel totally distressed, disheartened, and disappointed.  So, once something has crossed over the center line, tips-the-scales or whatever in the wrong direction, I'm out. I'm 22. I have a lifetime ahead of me to be happy, I don't need to spend any more time, energy, or money doing something that causes me more stress than good.  The happier, the better. 

4.  Most things in life are not permanent

(except like, tattoos and final sale items). 

Whenever you make a decision, no matter how big or small, you gotta remind yourself that it is not set in stone.  I mean obviously if you make the decision to quit your job and call your boss an "effin' bitch" or something, that's probably permanent, but most things that you do are not.  If you move to a new city and it doesn't work out, you're not stuck there.  If you go out with a guy and meet his family too soon, you don't need to marry him.  You, my single 20-something sista, are beholden to you right now, make decisions accordingly. 

5.  Fergie was onto something when she was up in the gym
working on her fitness with a witness. 

I know I just told you that you're beholden to yourself, but from what I've found it helps to have someone else keeping tabs.  If you set a goal, like fitness or finding a job or not wearing sweats every day of the weekend (some of my own goals obviously) then it's good to share that goal with someone else.  Not so that person can shame you when you're not doing it, but so that there's someone else who knows what you're working on and can support you or tell you to get your ass in gear.  I'd pick a friend that shares the same goal, that can be honest with you without being insulting. 

6.  No one can see the size on your tag. 

Please read that carefully again.  NO ONE CAN SEE THE SIZE ON YOUR TAG! There are only two times you really wonder what size someones clothes are.  1.) when it's your friend and she looks bangin' and you find yourself reenacting that creepy "lemme borrow that top" YouTube video; or 2.) whatever that girl is wearing looks way too big or way too small.  The second instance is what you want to avoid.  Here's the thing, you look better when your clothes fit. People can't see for sure that you're wearing an XS, but they can see what you look like in that size. Be confident in yourself, wear the clothes that fit your body, and forget about the stupid XS-XL labels tacked to the back of your neck, it's on the inside of your shirt, not plastered on your forehead. 

7.  The only investment you can make with certainty is in

a timeless wardrobe. 

With every investment - time, money, emotion - you run the risk of the unexpected.  Someone falls out of love, something falls from the sky, somewhere falls on hard times; you cannot predict what will happen in the future.  You can (and should) make a plan, set a goal, work toward something, but don't beat yourself up if there's an unexpected trauma, tragedy, or change of heart.  I've learned the best investments are made in your passions at that moment and in the little black dress, nude heels, and wool socks. 

8. There is nothing cute about raccoons.

Women should be able to bronze without restraint or fear of judgement.  There is no worse make up fopaux than the rancid act of raccooning yourself.  There is noting cute about raccoons, dark eye make up, white everything else.  Bronze like nobody is watching, because honestly, no one is watching.  When you stumble into the bathroom after 4 vodka crans you don't want to find yourself looking like a trashed woodland creature.  Bronze, baby, bronze! Just find the shade that's right for your skin. Orange raccoons aren't majestic, they're creepy. (Recommendations include BareMinerals Warmth, Clinique True Bronzed Pressed Powder, Urban Decay Naked Flushed, etc). 

9. Online dating is hilarious, awkward, and a two-way street. 

I've referenced my online dating excursions enough for you guys to know that I'm obviously taking it sort of seriously.  In the time that I've been on OkCupid, Tinder, and POF (the former lasting about 5 hours), I've learned that it is what you make it.  I live in a small suburban town where I can't throw a dead cat 10 feet without hitting someone I knew in high school (that's like a wicked gross thing to say, but I heard that phrase once and have never used it before in context).  My point is that I don't live in some cool downtown apartment surrounded by yo-pros ready to sweep me off into the sunset and studies have shown that you're just as likely to meet your spouse at bar as you are to meet them online. So, even if I'm not doing myself any good, there's no harm in trying.  Plus, some of the post-date stories are party pleasers.  Shout out to the 6'8" leprechaun whose "guilty pleasure" was going to Miley Cyrus concerts, I hope you find what you're looking for. 

10. Secure your own oxygen mask before assisting others.

Ya know when you're on an airplane and the flight attendant tells you that in the case of an emergency an oxygen mask will fall from the ceiling in front of you (and not fully inflate, which gives me such anxiety)? Anyway, you're supposed to put it on yourself first before helping kids or old people or people who just cant figure out how the elastic pulley things on the sides work. The airline isn't telling you this because they're assholes, they're actually teaching a super important lesson about self-preservation.  You are no use to anyone if you're not breathing.  It's natural in your 20's to want to have it all together and be there for the people you care about (at least it seems natural to me) because inevitably your friend will fall flat on her face (literally if her heels are too tall, figuratively if she is also a typical twenty-something), and you're going to want to help her get back up, which will be IMPOSSIBLE if you are not breathing.  Take time for yourself.  Make sure you're shit is in order before taking on someone else's shit.  Secure your mask or whatever.  It doesn't mean you don't love the others around you, it means you want to be ready for when they need you most. 

PSA: Trouble in Shondaland

I have been a huge fan of Shonda Rhimes and ABC's Thursday nights for as long as I can remember.  I watched and fell in love with Derek Shepherd when he chose to spend his life with Meredith Grey.  I cried when Denny, George, McSteamy, and Lexie died.  I gasped when Olivia Pope's mother turned against her country, her marriage, and her daughter and smiled when Olivia and Jake stood in the sun. Most importantly I praised the ABC network for the strong convictions and political statements they made in Shondaland.  I was impressed in 2006 when they dismissed Isaiah Washington from the Grey's Anatomy cast for making homophobic comments.  I find the strong black female lead, Olivia Pope, truly breathtaking.  I have loved that ABC does not try to hide race, sexuality, nor mental health issues, but rather the network celebrated characters' differences, their struggles, and their identities.  All that, however, has changed.

The new commercials airing on the ABC network promoting the return of Shondaland shows are incredibly distasteful, to say the least.  For those of you who have not seen them, the new #TGIT commercials depict characters from Scandal, Grey's Anatomy, and How To Get Away With Murder  in a satirical public service announcements, describing symptoms and ways to cope with the fictitious disorder, TGIT Withdrawal Disorder.  The commercials are clearly a play on ads for prescription medications for those suffering from actual mental health disorders.  In one commercial, How To Get Away With Murder actor, Jack Falahee, makes the statement, "Having TGIT off the air hurts you, me, everyone" echoing the format of a commercial for the antidepressant, Cymbalta.


For a network that has put a positive spin on controversial political issues for so many years to turn around and paint mental health in a humorous light is appalling and, honestly, disheartening.  Main characters in Grey's Anatomy and Scandal have suffered variying levels of mental illness throughout the Shondaland legacy - characters like Meredith, Christina, and Owen have sought out aid from mental health professionals to overcome depression and PTSD; Bailey lived with obsessive compulsive disorder and anxiety; the Chief struggles with an alcohol addiction; Mellie lived with depression after the loss of her son - all of which made the characters even more accessible, even more believable, and even more inspirational when they eventually overcame and coped with their obstacle. What they hell is ABC doing endorsing commercials that make fun of those that actually suffer?

Mental illnesses are invisible disabilities that cannot be seen and are rarely heard.  Those that suffer do so in silence because of the stigma surrounding mental health disorders, the most common being that those suffering from depression are "being dramatic."  These #TGIT Withdrawal Disorder commercials are only reinforcing this unfair stigma by satirizing actual disorders, making them seem as trivial as longing for a television show.  The suggestion to "dance it out," as a way to cope with their superficial sadness is even more infuriating when you consider how many people cope with depression by engaging in dance, exercise, and listening to music.

This is not to condemn ABC and Shonda Rhimes as deliberate haters of mental health and those that live with mental illness; I am sure the commercials were not made with malicious intentions.  The fact of the matter is that they are perpetuating the negative stigma surrounding mental illness and the commercials should be stopped.  I am disappointed in the network's severe oversight that the #TGIT PSA's could be seen as making light of and poking fun at the severity of mental health disorders, and I hope that they take caution moving forward.

Until this point Shonda Rhimes and ABC have done a truly wonderful job breaking the stigma surrounding mental illness; they showed us that depression could truly hurt everyone and everywhere, that self-medicating with alcohol and other drugs was not an option, and that suffering in silence only leads to more suffering.  Most importantly Shonda Rhimes showed us that those who suffer can also stand in the sun.  She inspired us when Izzie got up off the bathroom floor, when Smelly Mellie put on her red dress, when Christina got out of the bathtub, and when Bailey stepped into the operating room again.  Shonda Rhimes and ABC have made strong political statements throughout their time that have helped break so many unfair stigmas across countless social constructs; these commercials, however, are a serious misstep made by a terrible lack of judgement on behalf of the network, Rhimes, and the millions of fans that are praising the humor and creativity of these commercials. 

When The (Fire) Ball Drops

2014 was the longest, shortest, craziest, loudest, quietest, loneliest, bitchiest, sleepiest, most excitingly disastrous year of my life.  I have felt proud, capable, and motivated. I have felt lost, alone, and useless. I have made friends, lost friends, kissed friends and gone to the ends of the Earth for friends.  I have eaten out, slept in, jogged, skipped, crawled and lived.  2014 is almost over - and I could not be more thrilled.

Ringing in the New Year in 2014, I had this mantra: New Year, Same Me.  In light of the end of my relationship and the start of the new year, I was standing by the affirmation that I had not been the problemn- that we didn't break up because of anything I did.  It's not that I wasn't good enough for him, it's that we weren't good for each other.  Honestly, I stand by some of those thoughts today; however, the New Year, Same Me motto took an unexpected turn because I was totally, completely and ultimately wrong about myself.  I was not the Same Me in 2014.  In fact, I could not be more different.  I was wearing tighter clothes, drinking harder liquor, stomping around in higher heels, and singing at the top of my lungs.  My hair was blonder and longer and I was rough around the edges.  Guys were no longer approaching me at the bar because I seemed like the sweet girl-next-door, I was approaching them with a chip on my shoulder and a glass of whiskey in hand.

In the past year, I've also developed an incredible cool fear of commitment, closeness, and comfort.  I've been on dates with some of the nicest guys (like President Fitzgerald Grant, whom I have recently dumped, sorry again!) and some of the douchiest guys (shout out to the 6'9" ginger who asked me what my 'guilty pleasure' was before the waitress took our drink order).  No matter the guy, no matter the number of dates, I knew I was calling it off, and almost every time, I've been right.  I've kept a distance, pretending I just wanted to keep things casual.  No one meets my family - about that I was a stickler.  Any mention of "exclusive," "dating," or commitments made more than one week in advance were out of the question... which is interesting, because the Me of 2013 played those words on loop incessantly, consistently, over and over again, like a bad Colbie Caillat song. 

So, thank God 2014 is over and I cannot wait to meet the actual New Me when the ball drops.  Instead of the kerchief open-back cheetah print top and black coated jeans I tried to sport last year (thanks to my mom for not letting my ass out of the house), I will be wearing some variation of a generic black cocktail dress...not form-fitting. .  I will sip a beer, but not too many.  I will dance in a circle with my girlfriends, instead of dancing up on a guy I don't know.  And I will NOT be ordering any shots of Fireball. 

In 2015 I will only be happy and healthy.  I will only be kind to myself and others.  I will only be a person that I admire - a person that I am proud to be.  I honestly can't wait until the ball drops.  I have a feeling it's truly going to be a happy new year. 

Crock-Pots and Christmas Elves

In lieu of exchanging gifts, my mother, three sisters, two brothers, additional in-laws, friends, boyfriends, and significant others over the age of 18 have a Yankee Swap on Christmas Eve.  The exact number of participants varies each year due to marriages, divorces, estrangements, break-ups, new homes (shout out to my BFF's family for moving an hour away), etc.  Regardless, every adult brings one gift to enter into the swap and leaves with a different one... Unless you, like myself, buy something special with yourself in mind, such as the 30 rack of Bud Light and rolls of paper towels I put in last year... It's funny, too, sometimes you end up with something you never expected. Like the year I received this Neckline Slimmer... or my mother ended up with this lingerie... 

But there is something that you can expect every year: the sister that I am babysitting for this week will inevitably bring a Crock-Pot.  I'm not kidding.  Every year, for as long as I can remember, someone has unwrapped a Crock-Pot.  Some years our mom takes pity and keeps it... again.  Some years my sister takes it back home, but no doubt, this year, I'm taking it.  After this week, I get why she brings the Crock-Pot to the swap: it works Christmas miracles! 

Being a parent is literally a full-time job. Kudos to all of those working parents out there, you're crushing it! Days are jam-packed with washing laundry, and doing homework, and grocery shopping, and basketball practice. The list is clearly never-ending.  Then, when you're trying to get stuff done and your kids are watching TV, they watch these shows where the moms have all day to prepare dinner and they wonder why you keep feeding them cereal for two meals of the day.  BUT low and behold, some genius out there invented a Crock-Pot, slow cooking tacos and meatballs galore! Isn't it nice to think that someone is out there looking out for us moms? (I'm including myself in that category until tomorrow morning). Which is a good thing, too, because there are some assholes out there just trying to make our lives harder! Like the jerk who created Elf on a Shelf. 

Meet Oodle - my sister's kids' Elf on a Shelf.

 

Oodle is like the anti-CrockPot.

He makes no one's life easier and brings anxiety to the Christmas season.  Out of the 5 days I have been a mom, twice I have forgotten to move Oodle before climbing into bed, and have had to get up in the middle of the night to find a new location for this bitch! I'll tell you, it is adorable watching my two nephews who still believe in Santa wake up and run around the downstairs looking for Oodle, but c'mon! Santa already sees you when you're sleeping! He knows when you're awake! And when you're not awake, Mom or Dad has to go find a new place for Oodle!  To make it worse, I've noticed that some parents aren't helping each other out.  Pinterest and Facebook are flooded with Elf on a Shelf ideas! Elves ice skating around the kitchen table. Elves writing notes to their families.  Elves building a freaking igloo out of marshmallows! RELAX, just move your Elf at night like everyone else and stop making it harder for others to keep up!

I get it.  Crafty moms and dads exist. Culinary moms and dads exist. Busy moms and dads exist.  Parents, just like kids, come in all shapes and sizes (if your size it too big, hit me up, I'll let you borrow my Neckline Slimmer), but my point is this: I've realized this week that parenting is a day-by-day vocation, and it's freaking hard! In my experience as a spoiled-rotten daughter, your kids have NO IDEA how much work you do so they probably don't thank you for 85% of what you spend your life doing to make theirs easier.... but that's okay.  Because someday, they will have kids of their own, or their sister will ask them to babysit for a week, and they won't remember that one time in 2013 when Oodle stayed in the same place for 6 days in a row... and they'll have no idea that the meatballs you heated in the Crock-Pot were actually frozen from Costco.  They'll be thankful that you tried, that you were invested, and that you were there.  Hang your hat on that this holiday season.  If you're a parent, you're a Rock Star!

Do Moms Take Naps? ...asking for a friend.

For about a week every year my brother-in-law is invited on a business trip to the Dominican Republic.  Spouses are invited, but kids are not.  Since my sister and brother-in-law have four boys, ages ranging from 7 to 17, a babysitter is undoubtedly required.  Generally, their trip to the Dominican falls during my college's finals week and the boys spend the week with their grandmother.  Three years ago, while they were on the trip, my nephew needed new black pants for his jazz band concert.  I was elected, at the ripe age of 19, to take him shopping for the pants.  Unfortunately, after trips to T.J.Maxx, Old Navy, and WalMart, I had come up with nothing, and he wore his too-short-Steve-Urkle slacks to the show.  Unsurprisingly, the shopping excursion ended with this tweet - a heartwarming and ultimately true affirmation from my (at the time) 12 year-old nephew: 

Now I'm 22.  Seasoned, mature, responsible.  I have graduated Magna Cum Laude with a Bachelor's degree in psychology with a double minor in sociology and writing.  I have taken courses in child development, human development, and childhood learning.  I understand token economies as the best way of forming and reinforcing good behavior, I know at what age the brain is fully developed, and I am currently reading Masterminds and Wingmen: Helping Our Boys Cope with Schoolyard Power, Locker-Room Tests, Girlfriends, and the New Rules of Boy World by Roselind Wiseman for pleasure.  

I am more than qualified to take care of my four nephews, so this week, I am playing mom for five whole days. 

You might be sitting there thinking, "five days is nothing!" and if you're thinking that, I am only on day two and I'm ready to assure you that you're totally and completely wrong... and clearly not a mother.  Holy. Shit.

The following are three of the lessons I've learned so far from my temporary stay in the land of parenting:

Motherhood Lesson 1: Seven (a.m.) is the new eleven.

Let us begin with a note about the sleeping differential between adults and children.  Adults, can generally stay up pretty late and would (if you ask me) prefer to sleep-in late.  My 7 year-old godson? Totally not into that arrangement.  Yesterday morning, I awoke to two little feet, with ten little cold toes climbing into my bunk (he requested that I sleep in his brother's bottom bunk instead of on the couch or in my sister's king size bed).  He squirmed his little piggies underneath the covers and under my leg to warm 'em up as I struggled to separate my top eyelids from the bottom ones.  This was at 7:30 a.m.  A time I haven't seen on a Saturday since my youth basketball days.  Which makes sense because that's where we were headed; recreational youth basketball.

Motherhood Lesson 2: Your kid is not looking at you until he's looking for you. 

Once we got to the gym, I realized I apparently missed the memo about all caretakers bringing their own fold up chair, so I stood for the hour.  Which I actually preferred because then I could follow my nephew's team around from station to station to watch him dribble, shoot, pass, etc.  Unfortunately, 7 year-olds, as I came to find, are not totally tuned into what their parents are doing while they're shooting hoops.  My nephew only noticed me during one station... where he assumed I sat the entire time. I, like I said, was actually moving to watch every one of his stations.  At the end of practice, when all six teams of second graders fled to the middle of the court, cheered together, and dispersed to find their rides home, I assumed he'd come meet me at the last station, having at least noticed that I was moving around the gym with his team. Boy was I wrong.  My nephew ran to where he had noticed me last: the opposite side of the gym.  The anxiety on his face was heartbreaking, as he stared at the spot I had stood during layups at Station Three... 35 minutes prior.  I made my way over to him, he was fine, and I decided that if my kid ever plays youth basketball, I'm going to be the coach. You can't lose the coach. 

Motherhood Lesson 3: Showers are a gift from God. 

My morning routine, outside of this weeklong experience, takes about 45 minutes. Wake up. Brush teeth. Make coffee. Shower. Blow dry. Make up. Clothes.  That would be an option this week if I started my day 45 minutes before the kids woke up! Except, who knows really what time that will be? Last night I found time to shower between 10:00 p.m. when the four youngins were finally sound asleep (two of my other sister's children slept over last night too: SLUMBIE!), my 15 year-old nephew was playing a video game, and my 17 year-old nephew was not yet home for his 11 p.m. curfew.  The shower was unbelievable, but blowdrying my hair seemed out of the question, I didn't want to wake anyone up with be blowdryer. Bedtime finally came at 11:30, when everyone was accounted for, in their rooms, asleep.  That meant 7 hours of sleep until my sister came to pick up two of the kids for hockey in the morning, but I didn't fall asleep right away.  I laid awake in bed for a few minutes running through the schedule for tomorrow, wondering when I would shower next...

Don't get me wrong, I am having a blast! The six person monkey-in-the-middle game yesterday was the most fun I've had in a long time!  My nieces and nephews are all great kids, but I can't say this enough: I am undeniably impressed with how hard my sisters and my own mom work.  I'm sure I will learn about 15 million more lessons before this week is up, so I'll keep you guys posted.  Also, I just have one really quick question: do moms take naps? ... asking for a friend. 

Link to Rosalind Wiseman's website: Masterminds and Wingmen has a sister-book, Queen Bees and Wannabes, as well as a book for parents about parents, Queen Bee Moms and King Pin Dads:

http://rosalindwiseman.com/publications/