Ten Things I’m NOT Thankful For This Thanksgiving

As the clock strikes 12, it is now officially Thanksgiving — a day to express gratitude for all that we have. Like everyone else on social media, I, too, am grateful for my loving (albeit sometimes frustrating) family, my lifesaving (but too far away) girlfriends, my (overall good) health and all my worldly (and mostly unnecessary) possessions. But at the risk of the inevitable backlash from those who can’t read sarcasm or appreciate my sass, I’m going to take a different approach to this week’s holiday. Instead of posting a long, sappy and, frankly, generic and expected, list of the things for which I am grateful this Thanksgiving, I am going to tell you about a few things for which I am not.

  1. I am not thankful for those stubborn 5 lbs. that keep finding their way back to me every few months … but I am grateful for my strength.
  2. I am not thankful for workouts that include thrusters, power cleans or manmakers … but I am grateful for finishing them.
  3. I am not thankful for food allergies and the digestive woes that accompany my autoimmune disease … but I am grateful for my newfound love of squash and eggplant.
  4. I am not thankful for teenage (and tweenage) moodiness … but I am grateful for glowing teacher reports (I guess they save their crappy attitudes just for me).
  5. I am not thankful for my husband’s long work hours … but I am grateful for his paycheck (and his dedication).
  6. I am not thankful for my twice (sometimes trice) nightly pee breaks … but I am grateful for a bathroom en suite.
  7. I am not thankful for always feeling cold … but I am grateful for hot tea and long sleeves with thumbholes.
  8. I am not thankful for hectic schedules … but I am grateful for carpools.
  9. I am not thankful for deadlines … but I am grateful for having paid writing and editing gigs (keep ’em coming!).
  10. I am not thankful for the far distance between my family and me … but I am grateful for them driving here to spend Thanksgiving with us.

I could go on about a dozen more things for which I am not thankful … prejudice, racism, long lines at the grocery store … But for every minor annoyance, I probably have two or three things for which to be grateful. Here are two of my favorites:

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Thanksgiving, c. 2008

Happy Thanksgiving … Eat, drink and be grateful!

– LJDT

My Country ‘Tis of Thee

I had planned on not posting this week because after Tuesday night’s election results, no other topic seemed relevant and frankly, I didn’t want to talk about it.  We have a new President-elect and while some people are celebrating, others are protesting.  Nothing I can say here will be different from what you’ve probably already read in your Facebook and Twitter feeds over the past few days, so I wasn’t planning on adding to the deluge of social media commentary.

There’s an old adage that says you shouldn’t discuss religion, politics or money with company because it’s impolite, not to mention uncomfortable, emotional and personal.  I generally follow that thinking and, as such, my blog is not a platform for political or religious debate.  Whether or not the toilet paper should come over or under the roll and if November 1st is too early to start preparing for Christmas — Yes, we can argue about that (although the correct answers are over and yes, respectively).  But who should be President?  No.  SIDE NOTE: I won’t be discussing my sex life or in-laws here either for two simple reasons: (1) My parents read this and if you ask my dad, he’ll tell you that I’ve had sex exactly twice, resulting in my two sons, and (2) my husband reads this and I’d like to remain married to him.

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Weird Al speaks the truth!

So back to the discussion at hand.  If the election is the only pertinent topic this week and I said I wasn’t going to discuss it, then why am I still posting today?  Because today is Veterans Day.  A day to recognize, honor and thank the men and women who serve (or have served) in the U.S. Armed Forces to protect our rights and liberties as Americans.  I will shamefully admit that I usually take this day for granted.  Other than not getting mail delivered, it’s usually just an ordinary day for me.  But this year, after all that’s transpired this week, it feels different.  Today, Veterans Day made me stop and think: This really is the land of the free because of the brave.  The land of opportunity, of democracy and of hope.  And my hope — the one that I shared with my children — is that human decency prevails.  That we start spreading love instead of hate.  That we treat everyone fairly and with respect.  That we fight for the people who can’t fight for themselves.  That we learn and grow from our differences.  And that we truly become “… one nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”

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My little guy speaking this morning to his school about the history of Veterans Day. Based on all those wrinkles, it’s clear I exercised my right not to iron.

– LJDT

Back To (Middle) School, Again

At this time last week, I was slinking out of my son’s middle school, trying not to look like a bad parent. Last Wednesday was Parent Visitation Day, a day when parents are supposed to shadow their children, attending classes and getting a feel for how their days are spent. I had not planned on going because I thought my big shot eighth grader wouldn’t want me there. Okay, that’s only half-true. I hadn’t planned on going because Wednesdays are a great heavy lifting day at my gym and I didn’t want to miss it, plus I had a writing deadline and, oh yeah, I just didn’t want to go. Two years ago, when middle school was a new experience for our family, I spent the entire day trailing my son … From 7:30AM to 2:30PM … It was brutal, and yes, I blogged about it.

But to my surprise (and slight disappointment), my 13-year-old did want me there. So after a quick morning workout at home and an even quicker shower, I arrived for my first (technically second) day of eighth grade.

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That’s me at the end of eighth grade with my besties, Kerin and Carin. Yes, we are holding hands and yes, that is a big, white bow in my hair. Don’t judge!

Despite arriving a few minutes late and with my hair still damp (pulled into my trademark messy top-knot bun with headband, as usual), this time around I did it right. I wore comfy leggings with riding boots for maximum comfort to accommodate all the sitting and walking. I came prepared with a fully charged iPhone and a notebook to scribble notes for this blog post. I brought two large cups of green tea plus a big bottle of water to help me stay alert. And most importantly, I ditched school after morning classes to avoid the cafeteria disaster. Two words, people: Older (and) wiser.

Later, while I casually ate my lunch at home, I read through my notes and reread my blog post from two years ago. Not unexpectedly, my commentary was nearly the same: The school is still a depressing rat maze, it’s still easy to pick out the sixth graders from the eighth graders, the chairs are still super uncomfortable and I’m still tardy. That said, I did make a few new observations this time around. Specifically,

  • most moms dressed to impress; I was showered and out of my workout clothes, so I guess I was, too
  • geography is pretty boring (today’s lesson: cartography = snoozefest!)
  • I don’t remember much from geometry class
  • middle schoolers don’t pee (at least not before lunchtime)
  • my son is pretty popular in the middle school hallways, and so am I 🙂
  • my kid, while a pain in the ass most days at home, really is a good kid

After attending six classes in four hours, I can honestly say that I am not cut out for school anymore. I am too fidgety, uncomfortable and uninterested (except for Honors English class). Plus, I pee too often. So while I’m still bummed about missing last Wednesday’s workout and I’m certainly not looking forward to doing this again next year when my younger son hits middle school, I am glad I went because it seemed to make my son happy … And isn’t that what it’s all about?

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My eighth grader with his buddies: Too cool for school. Oh wait, that’s not what they say anymore … They’re on fleek.

What boys looked like when I was in the 8th grade.

For comparison, here’s what boys looked like when I was in the eighth grade back in the 80s.

– LJDT

My Vagina Monologue

A warning to my readers with virgin ears: Today’s post uses obscene and salacious language. Please read at your own risk.

Growing up, I had a cat named Mittens. She was gray with white paws that looked like winter mittens, thus her name. My grandmother called her Cat, Fuzzy Cot and Pussy Cat, but never Mittens. My dad, who did call her by her proper name, also frequently referred to her as a pussy cat, and as a little girl, I, too, labeled many kittens pussy cats. “Josie and the Pussy Cats” was one of my favorite Saturday morning cartoons and I even had a Pussy Cats lunchbox one year. But somewhere along the line, I became uncomfortable using that terminology because the “P” word took on a whole new meaning as I grew older and more worldly.

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My childhood bestie, my cat and me, c. 1978 — back when it was okay to say pussy cat.

“Don’t be a pussy,” was a pretty common expression used by high school boys when I was growing up (and it still is today). The less vulgar kids used the term ‘wussy’ instead when they wanted to call a guy out for being a wimp, but pussy was definitely tossed around pretty freely and without much blowback. Sure, boys may not have used the phrase in front of adults because it was akin to saying shit or some other minor curse word, but it wasn’t like dropping the “F” bomb … Until it was used to describe a vagina. Then, the word went from being mean and uncouth to lewd and pornographic.

When did pussy develop a double entendre? When did it turn dirty? And who decided anyway? It’s the same as so many other frequently heard foul words used (by men, mostly) to mean vagina. I’m talking about innocent words like beaver, clam, box and snatch — to name just a few. Seriously, WTF?! All of these words have real, chaste definitions that are completely unrelated to female genitalia. But thanks to some perverts, I can no longer perform a snatch move at the gym, dress as a beaver for Halloween or call my friend’s kitty a sweet, little pussy cat without thinking of vaginas.

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The funny thing is, most of these words — beaver, box, etc. — don’t really offend me. I kind of just shrug them off as bawdy and go about my business. I’ve even jokingly used some of them (and others) myself in comfortable settings. I am far from a prude, but I think we’ve now gone too far. As a mother raising two boys, hearing the word pussy used by a Presidential candidate and the media is just too much for me. I do not want that word to become commonplace. I do not want that word to become acceptable. I do not want that word to come out of my sons’ mouths, so I am taking it back.

I know, I know. Sounds hypocritical coming from the mother who admits to cursing on a daily (hourly?) basis in front of her kids, but that word, when used in that way, is misogynistic and hateful. Much like the unspeakable “C” word and the forbidden “N” word, I’d rather hear my kids say f*%@. [Side note: In my opinion, a well-placed “F” bomb is descriptive, but when used as a verb, it’s just crude.]

I don’t know who befouled the word first (it was done long before Donald Trump spoke of grabbing it), but I’ve decided that whomever it was isn’t going to win. I am reclaiming pussy, as well as beaver, clam, box and snatch. From now on, they will only mean what they were originally intended to mean: a cat, a rodent, a mollusk, a container and to grab something (also an intense Olympic barbell move, for my fellow gym rats).  I can’t stop people from using these words in profane ways, but I can stop making the association in my own mind. I can also teach my sons that these are not respectful words to use when speaking about women.

So join me in bringing innocence back to the word pussy because a vagina is not a small, furry pet. It’s just not.

Oh, and guys … If you want to reclaim (D)ick, cock, pecker, balls and nuts, I’m all for it. Just don’t forget wiener so we can lose the stigma associated with singing that old Oscar Mayer wiener song … “Oh, I wish I was an Oscar Mayer Wiener …” Try getting that out of your head now!

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Thank goodness there’s no female equivalent to the wiener mobile.

– LJDT

To Sit or Squat: That Is The Question

I don’t consider myself an expert at anything.  I mean, I’m good at a bunch of things, really good at a few other things, even really, really good at one or two things, but a true expert at something?  Probably not — unless you count my extensive familiarity with public restrooms.  As the owner of a small bladder, a sufferer of an autoimmune disease, leaky gut and IBS, a cardholding member of the “childbirth-ruined-my-pelvic-floor” group and someone who drinks over a gallon and a half of water daily, I make it my business to know where the best public bathrooms are at all times.

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Public restrooms are my jam!

While incontinence is one of the joyful gifts of motherhood and aging, my small bladder issue has been around since I was a kid.  Case in point: Each summer, my sister, parents and I would pile into the car and drive from New York to Massachusetts to spend a few weeks with our cousins.  Apparently, my sister and I requested frequent pee stops along the way, resulting in a family “joke” that the Dewey girls know where all the good bathrooms are between NY and MA.  As a child and definitely during my wilder (read: intoxicated) college days, I’m sure I was less discriminating than I am today.  Thankfully, I’ve matured — even though my bladder hasn’t.

Over the summer, my Facebook feed was flooded with articles about public bathrooms:  How you can’t catch STDs by sitting on a public toilet; how toilet paper over a soiled seat isn’t helpful; even a plea from another blogger for everyone to just sit down already.  Ummm, NO.  As a frequent public urinator and opinionated blogger myself, I stand firmly in the squat camp.  Or rather, I squat firmly.  Either way, you get my point.

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This is not too far off from the truth … and yes, I also use my foot to flush the handle.

Yes, sometimes I experience a rogue stream that has a mind (and aim) of its own.  Sometimes when I’m rushing, my squat is too high and I splatter a bit.  Sometimes on leg days or double workout days, my toilet hover is shaky and so is my stream (I blame my trainers, Kim and Mike, for this).  And yes, sometimes there’s even an unfortunately timed need for a public bowel movement.  But none of this means I’ll be sitting on a public toilet seat anytime soon, despite what a fellow blogger and various columnists recommend.  The solution isn’t to sit on a dirty, public toilet (even though studies prove many other surfaces carry far more bacteria than a public toilet seat).  The solution is simple: LOOK BEFORE YOU LEAVE THE STALL.  Turn around, face the toilet and make sure you didn’t leave a mess in, on or near the bowl.  And if you did, CLEAN IT UP.  Wipe the seat.  Flush the toilet.  Pick up your tampon wrapper and toilet paper.  It really is that simple, ladies.  Basic hygiene + proper bathroom etiquette + common courtesy = PROBLEM SOLVED.

You’re welcome, America.

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Make Bathrooms Clean Again!

– LJDT

My Tuesday Truth

Sometimes, the universe is trying to tell you something.  Sometimes, you have to listen very closely to hear it. Sometimes, it smacks you in the face.

This morning, as I got the boys off to school and prepared for my day, I had the TV on.  I never have the TV on.  Really — Never.  It was tuned to Good Morning America and, while I was mostly ignoring it, my attention was grabbed when I heard Michael Strahan introduce a mommy blogger.  Intrigued — and frankly, a bit envious. How can I get on GMA as a mommy blogger? — I stopped to watch.  Ilana Wiles was talking about her new book and how she is embracing being just an average mom with an average life.  No labels, no judgement, no Pintrest-worthy family photos, crafts or meals.  Mediocrity at its best and not feeling bad about it.  Her trick is to maintain a selective memory, i.e., choosing to remember the positive and letting all the other crap fade away.  I feel ‘ya, sister!  I say it all the time to my girlfriends and I write about it in this blog, but I don’t always live it.  I compare, I judge, I complain, I bitch.  All too often, I focus on the negative instead of the positive.

Later in the day, I had a scheduled phone consultation with a holistic health and wellness coach.  She asked about my concerns, my goals and what’s holding me back … Um, where do I start?  We only have an hour, right?  So we talked about my autoimmune condition and my related food needs, my workout routines and writing schedule, my daily challenges and current coping mechanisms.  I told her how I start my day with a few yoga stretches and mindful meditation, but that zen feeling is gone as soon as the kids are up — Then it just snowballs from there.  When I confessed that I often feel burdened and overwhelmed, I was forced to face a few self-truths that I’m not especially proud of.  Like my unusually high standards for both myself and my family.  Add in the guilt I have for feeling unsatisfied, resentful or ungrateful at times, and it’s not a pretty picture.  Her advice was to release the guilt by changing my language and cutting myself some slack.  I need to practice using kinder, more positive words to frame my world so that I can begin to change my mindset.  Once I do that, I’ll feel the shift.

Wow!  It sounds corny, but when I hung up the phone, I felt lighter.  More at peace.  It was as if I was finally given permission to be nicer to myself.

The universe was sending me a message today and I heard it, loud and clear.  Hopefully, I remember to listen tomorrow.

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– LJDT

The Circle Of Life: When A Beginning and Ending Collide

Yesterday was the first day of school for my boys. Eighth grade and fifth grade, respectively — Their last year in middle school and elementary school, also respectively. And from what I hear, it started the same way that last year ended … With each of them chasing down the school bus before it left our neighborhood. Sigh! At least they’re consistent.

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First day of 8th grade — Yes, he ran after the bus with his shoelaces untied (photo courtesy of my husband).

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Pre-bus chase smiles on the first day of 5th grade (photo courtesy of my husband).

I, too, am consistent. Last year, I cheaper out went green and sent the boys to school with the previous year’s backpacks, lunch boxes, clothes and unused school supplies. I did buy them new underwear and get them fresh haircuts as part of a family tradition, but this year, I didn’t even do that. I know, I’m a horrible mother. I did replace their moldy, torn lunch boxes, but other than that, the start of the 2016-17 school year looked a lot like the end of the 2015-16 school year. At least that’s what my husband tells me. I don’t really know for sure because I wasn’t there. I was in Boston.

As my boys were saying hello to their new teachers, I was saying goodbye to one of mine. Virginia Delaney was truly a remarkable woman who taught me, through her life example, that it’s not your situation or circumstances that define you, but your attitude. She lived life to the fullest every day, laughing, joking and making the people around her feel loved. From the outside looking in, she lived a storybook life: Married for over 60 years with 5 children, 13 grandchildren and 4 great-grandchildren, all of whom loved her dearly. A world-class traveler, veteran theatre-goer and the consummate hostess, my Aunt Virginia was simultaneously sophisticated and casual. She was a true beautiful soul. But beneath all the joy was a fair amount of darkness. From caring for a husband with Parkinson’s Disease to six separate battles with cancer and a few other challenges along the way, my Aunt Virginia never let on when she was sad, angry, hurt or grieving. Her approach was to always remain positive while fighting like hell. She was as tough as nails and as sweet as they come until the very end.

We all have our burdens to bear in life and Virginia Delaney had her fair share. But she handled every one of them with grace, dignity, class and strength. My father, her youngest brother, is the same way. I only hope that it’s hereditary because this is a life lesson I want to master and pass on to my kids. You may not be able to change your situation, but you can always alter your attitude about it.

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Yesterday was both a beginning and end for my family and me, filled with both great excitement and even greater sorrow. But if I know my aunt, she would want me to focus on the joy instead of the sadness, so that is what I’m trying to do.

Rest in peace, Aunt Virginia.

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– LJDT

I Used To Be Fun

I recently read an article in the New York Post (so take it with a grain of salt) about how parents (at least those from Manhattan and Long Island) are letting loose while their kids are away at sleep away camp.  And by loose, I mean wild.  As in no-clothes-allowed rules at home, sex in the kids’ bedrooms and drug-fueled threesomes, wife swaps and orgies … You know, the usual.  Wait, what?!  Are people my age really doing this?  According to those interviewed, yes.  They see it as their second chance to do all the things they didn’t get to do before they had kids.  Um, okay.  My boys have been away for two weeks (big ups to Mom and Dad, Denise and Peter — thank you, thank you, thank you!) and the wildest things I’ve done are triple workouts, an afternoon massage and dinner out with friends.

I used to be fun.  Not coke-and-Molly-laced-sex-party fun, but stay-out-all-night, dance on bars, ride mechanical bulls fun.  You know, normal fun.  But that was B.K. — before kids.  I think when I gave birth, my fun genes came out with the placenta.

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That’s me, riding a mechanical bull in Texas back in the day … See, I really was fun.

If you ask my kids, I am not the “fun mom.”  I’m a “rules mom.”  My sister’s a fun mom.  My friends Paula, Mary Liz and Kathy are fun moms.  But I am not a fun mom.  I’m too serious, too scheduled and too strict.  In a (hyphenated) word, I’m high-strung.  Every now and then, I let my freak flag fly and the boys, after the initial shock wears off, love it.  Embarrassing dance moves in the kitchen, randomly thrown flying rubber pigs in the family room, spontaneous trips to the creamery — that’s about as crazy as it gets for me.

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Fun these days means old-school roller skating under the Ben Franklin bridge in Philly with my kids.

Truth is, I don’t want to be the fun mom.  It’s not who I am and I’m okay with that.  At 44, I’m not trying to impress anyone or be someone I’m not.  I’m just trying to be the best version of myself, one day at a time.  Some days I succeed and some days I fail, but I’m always trying to be the best mother, wife, friend, sister, daughter and woman I can be.

I hope my boys know that I’m trying.  Even on those days when my yelling sucks all the fun out of the room, I really am trying.

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– LJDT

Why I’m Not Proud of My Two Champions

It’s been more than a month since my last post and I am shamelessly blaming my kids for my cyber absence.  They’re always around now!  School’s out, our schedules have changed and we’re still not really in a good rhythm because each week is different.  Except for travel lacrosse.  The three travel lacrosse team schedules we juggle have been pretty consistent since late May and after two months of practices, six tournaments, three states and three Championship titles, I am happy to say that we just wrapped up the summer season.  It’s a little bitter-sweet, but I am ready to move on and enjoy some pool/beach time.

It’s been a successful run.  Despite losing this past weekend in the Championship game, my boys collected three “Champion” t-shirts between them.  Apparently, winners’ t-shirts are the new thing.  No more medals that are thrown in a dresser drawer, never to be seen again.  No more trophies that get placed on an already crowded shelf, only to collect dust.  Just simple, cotton t-shirts emblazoned with the tournament logo and the word “Champion,” received gleefully and worn immediately upon receipt.  I don’t know who decided to move away from the useless hardware and hand out clothing instead, but he/she is a genius!

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Tournament win #1 , NXT Meltdown (2024)

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Tournament win #2, Philly Showdown (2024)

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Tournament win #3, National 175 Best of the Best (2021)

Case in point:  During the winter, my younger son’s rec league basketball team won their division.  Each member of the winning team was given a yellow “U” hoodie.  The coveted “U” hoodie, to be precise, because everyone in the district knows that only champions can have those sweatshirts.  My then-9-year-old wore his for 12 straight days before I was finally able to peel it off his body to wash it.  Again, genius!

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The coveted “U” Championship hoodie, 03/2016.

Speaking of champions, the Tarr boys were on a bit of a streak this year. In addition to the aforementioned winning basketball season and two of the three summer lacrosse titles, my 4th grader’s CYO flag football team was undefeated, he advanced to the semi-finals of the Philadelphia Archdiocese CYO meet in the 800m and he ran the lead leg in the 4x100m at the historic Penn Relays.  As for my 7th grader, no coveted hoodie this year, but his middle school football and lacrosse teams were undefeated, his middle school basketball team finished with a winning 9-3 record while his rec league team lost in the semi-finals and his CYO team won their division.  And to cap it off, before his 13th birthday, he placed 4th in the shot put at the Philadelphia Archdiocese Championship meet.  Thankfully, there were a couple of losing teams mixed in to keep their egos in check, but overall, it was a good sports year for the Tarr boys.

Here’s the thing, though … You won’t read about their wins on my Facebook feed or Twitter account.  Why not?  I have three simple reasons:

  1. I don’t like redundancy. Before we’ve even walked off the field or out of the gym, someone else has already posted a team photo and congratulatory message on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter, so there’s no need for me to do it, too.
  2. My boys are not winners alone.  It takes a team to win championships, not one individual (with the exception of their track and field accomplishments).
  3. I’m happy for them when they win, but I’m not actually proud of them for winning.  I think there’s a subtle difference.

It may be harsh, but my kids really aren’t that special.  They are 10 and 13.  Occasionally they do something great, but most of the time they’re just normal kids.   Yes, they are athletic, but I won’t praise their natural talents.  I prefer to focus on their effort and attitude … Did you practice and prepare?  Did you try your hardest?  Did you play fair?  Were you a good sport/polite/well-behaved (the latter two applying to school, not sports!)?   Did you have fun?  These questions apply on the field and in the classroom — and in life, in general.  Being good at something and having natural talent is wonderful, but it only gives you a head start.  Dedication, drive and passion are what set champions apart.

In addition to handwork, a true champions always displays good sportsmanship.  This year, I watched my older son somberly embrace his goalie after a tough loss, my younger son gleefully chest-bump a teammate after his first basket (which came during the final game of the season) and both my boys routinely shake hands with and thank the referees after their respective games.  Those are the moments that made me the most proud of my boys.  Yes, there were plenty of brag-worthy highlights for each of them that made me happy, but it was their honest displays of unity that warmed my heart.

Every game offers life lessons.  I hope my boys are learning to be compassionate, caring, hardworking leaders.

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Proud mama with one of my champion good sports.

– LJDT

A Plea to Empty Nesters (and Those Soon To Be)

It’s graduation season and my Facebook feed is filled with congratulatory posts and sentimental memories from friends and acquaintances with older children (read: kids graduating from high school or college).  Each one of these posts is eloquent and heart-felt, filled with emotional remembrances and remarks of children growing up in the blink of an eye.  It’s touching and beautiful, but I can’t fully relate because I’m not there yet.  My boys are still in grade school and middle school, respectively, so right now I’m still in the weeds.  With two kids under the legal driving age, my life is mostly dictated by their schedules, needs and desires.  At this point in time, life with kids can still be time-consuming and exhausting, mundane and thankless, even infuriating much of the time.

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Truth!

I love my boys and I love doing for them, but I’m also not afraid to admit aloud that having young children sucks sometimes.  Granted, it’s easier than having babies (I do not long for those days, as I attested to last year around this time — read about it here), but it can still be onerous.  So to all you soon-to-be empty nesters, please stop telling me to “enjoy this time” and “cherish the moments” because “they grow up so fast” because — and let’s be honest here — when you were in the thick of it, you didn’t want to hear that either.

Think back … You remember the drudgery and monotony, the sheer exhaustion and the utter frustration of life before your children were grown, don’t you?  All those nights fighting about homework?  All those hours driving to and from practice?  All those weekends sitting for hours at a ball field somewhere, secretly wishing for a rain-out or tournament elimination every now and then just to get a break?  I’m sure when your kids were young, you just wanted to live through another day, another phase, another sports season, another school year, just like me.  But now as your offspring are getting ready to fly the coop, you’ve romanticized those early memories, remembering only the triumphs and successes, the honors and awards, the sweet snuggles and adorable little faces.  I don’t blame you.  As a matter of fact, I envy your ability to focus only on the positive recollections and blur out those less-than-stellar times.  Someday, I’ll be able to do that, too … But not today.

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I couldn’t have said it better myself — although, I would’ve used proper punctuation.

In a few short years, when I join your empty nesters club, I’m sure I’ll be just as sappy and nostalgic as the next mom.  But right now, I’m just trying to survive puberty and travel lacrosse season, hoping it goes by quickly and painlessly.  Wish me luck!

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– LJDT