Fatty Boom-a-Latty

Well, there's nothing that says, "Time to diet, fat ass!" like your two-year old pointing to your stomach while you are in the tub and saying, "Daddy has a big one of those.  But yours is big too!"

There was a moment of confusion there at the beginning.  When she pointed and said "Daddy has a big one of those" I started freaking, thinking 'What in the hell is she looking at down in that area that looks like something her father has????'

I kinda panicked.  "What are you talking about, Al?"

She pointing again toward my lower mid-section.  "Dat!"

"My stomach?"  For once I was hoping someone was talking about my big gut.

"Yep!" she answered, as she giggled.  "Daddy's is bigger but you has a big one too!"

I realized at that moment that she was the only person in this entire world that could say this to me where I wouldn't want to haul off and beat them firmly about the cranial region with a shampoo bottle.

Instead, I was disappointed in myself.  And a bit grateful for her honesty.

Honest Allie from Toddler Tubby Time

There's something about honesty from children that is excusable.  No matter who you are, if a child says something to you that's blatantly true, you can't get angry with them.  You just kind of have to suck it up and say, "You might have something there, kid."  And chances are, their observation is right on the money.

It's when we get older that there is a problem with honesty.  Sometimes, you REALLY need to use that inner filter that you (hopefully) developed when you (hopefully) learned about social sense.  I'm always shocked by people who don't use the filter, but that is usually accompanied by zero social sense..... and the fact is that they don't have a filter.  These tend to be the same people who blame everyone else for why they don't have friends.  They just don't know any better.

Soon the teenage years will kick in, and while the filter is still under construction, Allie will say oodles of Stupid Honest stuff.  You know, the things that kids are going to learn real fast that aren't at all appropriate and may cost you an ass whoopin later if you don't figure out how to stifle it.  I'm sure a lot of it will be directed at me.  She's just warming up right now.

As I watched Allie playing in the tub with her toys, I started to think about my mom and how amazing it is that I'm still alive with some of the Stupid Honest things that I've said to her.  There was one particular moment that I may have inadvertently tested her ability to not murder a human being.

Right now, she's reading this and knowing exactly where I'm going with this and what moment I'm referring to.  

I was a teenager and she was giving me hell for something that I had done.  I probably hadn't cleaned my room despite her seven million requests to do so, hadn't done my homework again, or I had gone somewhere with someone that I was forbidden to be with.  Whatever it was, I'm sure that she was freaking out with good reason.

However, Stupid Honest kicked in and what happened next was driven entirely by a teenage hormonal inability to sense right from wrong.  I looked at her as she took a moment to catch her breath mid-freak-out, and said something to the effect of: 

"You have no idea how ridiculous you look right now."  

And, as I'm sure you've guessed, I wasn't saying this in a proactive, concerned fashion.  It was full of arrogance and obnoxiousness.

Let me pause here a moment to say that my mother is one of the most loving, sensitive, non-violent, caring people I know.  Everything good about me came from her.

She is ALSO a warrior.  She was selling a home, going through an ugly divorce, teaching fifth grade full time, going to college at night to get her Masters Degree, had a son on a ship in the Persian Gulf during a war, and had a daughter graduating high school all at the same time. SIMULTANEOUSLY, people.  No consecutive crap.  All at once.  This was not a woman to get sassy with.

I can't say exactly how things went down after that because I remember being reeeeeeeally scared because I knew I screwed up.  Inside, my synapses were firing like mad and my brain cells were yelling, "Retreat!  Retreat!"  From her words alone, the fear of God was instilled and social sense was developed so that I may never make such a horrific, verbal error again.  I was no longer Stupid Honest.

(Dear Mom, thank you for letting me live past that day.  Love you, Vic)

Right now, Allie is full of innocent honesty and I feel like I should take it to heart.  She says I have a big belly with no malicious intent.  She couldn't care less about my weight.  It's just an observation.

But I don't want to be a mother who can't keep up with her kid.  I don't want Allie to be embarassed because her mom is overweight.  I don't want to set a bad example of what is or is not acceptable health.  

Fortunately, she has two grandmothers who are naturally thin and she appears to have inherited those genes so hopefully she wont spend 25+ years of her life obsessing over her weight like I did.  Hopefully we can keep each other active and fit.  God knows she is well on her way to that, since every day she runs around our yard, all willy-nilly, yelling, "Mommy, run with me!  Chase me!"  And true to my chubbiness, I groan and go, "How about if I just watch?"

At forty I promised myself that I would no longer let the battle of the bulge rule my life.  At forty-one, I feel like I've got a good start with that as I'm not nearly as obsessed as I used to be. And, to be perfectly honest, I have no excuses because there's really no more "diet knowledge" to be found that I haven't already acquired.  So, I'm turning a new corner with a new plan.... and it may or may not work out.  

I'm not putting any specific name to it like Weight Watchers or Jenny Craig or Nutrisystem.  I'm calling it Operation Fattypants.  It starts Thursday.  No pressure.  No expectations.  Just trying to be a good example for Allie.  I want to be Queen Skinnypants, but I'll settle for Mom Who Keeps Up.

Game on, flab..... cuz I don't ever want to hear that I've got something bigger than my husband ever again unless she's talking about my boobs!

Happy 237th Birthday, America!

Happy Independence Day, everyone!  It's July 4th and everywhere I turn there are pool parties, barbecues and bevericues (parties with hosts who love to get shnockered and hate to ruin a good drunken stupor by providing food for their guests' stomachs).

I wonder if our forefathers did the same thing each year.  Did they celebrate their freedom from the laws of another country by hanging out near the closest swimming hole (did rich people have some kind of swimming structure back then?), tossing back a few mugs of moonshine and torching up a bonfire to cook some sort of burger (venison?) and corn for everyone to eat?  

That last question made me realize that I did not pay enough attention in history class because I have no clue what colonial life was like beyond covered wagons and corsets.  I know they had corn though because there was that whole thing with the Native Americans teaching them about maize and stuff before the greedier settlers stole the land and murdered some of them.

Moving on....

This marks the end of my fifth year with no holidays.  Whoo hoo!  Next month I start my sixth year of business and I think I might be a rebel and actually take some holidays off.  Holidays are business booming events for people like me, but I really do miss having Thanksgiving dinner without thinking "I should've blocked off more than three hours to driver here, celebrate, eat and get back to work out there."

Last winter I officially became disgruntled when my daughter had to wait until I got home at 11am to open her Christmas gifts.  That's when I stomped my foot (after I cried like a big baby) and said, "NO MORE!"  I'm missing events that I can never relive.... because I'm working?

I'm not looking for a pity party here, so you can put your tiny little violins back in their cases. For the previous four years I really didn't mind working on holidays at all.  But once Allie started to participate in them, I loathed going to work on those days.  Suddenly things aren't as "routine" as they used to be.  I get to see the magic in the holidays all over again.  Before Allie, the magic was a little more "rabbit in a hat" and less "saw the lady in half and see her move around while her top half was away from her bottom half."

However, this Independence Day I was a-OK with working.  

Why, you ask?  (just pretend that you asked)

Because I live in a town where they "celebrate" July 4th on the Saturday BEFORE the holiday.  My town doesn't let the rest of the United States boss it around!  It celebrates when it's convenient and it's damn well ready to get its independence on!  Back off USA.

Seriously, we have our little celebration the Saturday prior to the actual holiday. The whole week before that, the firemen have a carnival and then on that Saturday they give us a lovely fireworks display to conclude the week long celebration.

Why they don't do it the same week of the 4th, I cannot say.  These are the people who will save my family and pets while putting out a fire if it happens in my house, so they can do whatever they want on whatever day they want and I will be very compliant and cheerful about it.  

My home is a 5 minute walk from the park where they have the carnival and fireworks display, which works out quite nicely. Every year  I make Justin drag lawn chairs out on the lawn by our patio, light citronella candles, grab a drink and we plop our asses down to enjoy the show.  My parents live across the street and usually come over to watch with us, too.

This year we waited on the damn lawn for about a half hour until the firemen decided that there was an appropriate amount of darkness to bust out their lighters and get things going.  About 5 minutes before that, my mother looked at us and asked the question that you frequently ask and/or hear when you have a two year old.  "Did she poop?  I smell something."

How appropriate!  Perfect timing to push out a pooper!  I'll chalk it up to the excitement of anticipation.

I leaned over and took a whiff and said, "No.  I don't smell anything.  Allie, did you poop?"

"No," she answered, straight faced lying to me.  And I was feeling lazy so I believed a two year old over my mother who has the sniffer of a bloodhound.

This is a conversation I never imagined having on an every day basis before I had kids.  It just wasn't something I considered when the topic of having children popped in my head.  "I'd like to have kids someday.  I wonder how much time I'll spend discussing poop when that happens?"

The answer to that question is A FREAKIN' LOT.  Anyway....

About 2 minutes before the show began, the smell hit me like a ton of bricks.  Allie was sitting right next to me and you would've thought she was standing on the chair with her butt pushed up against my head.  Yowzers.

There was no denying that someone had pooped and that person was 3 feet tall and insisting that she had a clean diaper.   Knowing that time was limited, I jumped up and whisked her out of the seat and ran for the house, with her yelling, "Mommy where we going???  Why you running inside????"

I think I freaked her out by moving so briskly.  She thought she was in trouble and was on the verge of tears.  But I had a mission.  Shoes off.  Pants down. One diaper tape ripped off.

BOOM!!!!!

"Mommy!!!!  It started!!!"

I have never changed a diaper so fast in my life.  Even Sadie, who is terrified of fireworks and was hiding in the bathroom with her head behind the toilet, peeked out to see what the commotion was all about.  Diaper off, wipe, new diaper, fasten tape, pants on, shoes on, whip child up in my arms, run back through house, toss diaper into garbage with NBA-like precision as I pass by, out the door without smacking into the screen, thru the patio, to the lawn chairs, plop her on Mom's lap... and then I sat down, gasping and panting.  Cuz fireworks are big doin's, you know!

The festivities begin

The best part of it was that Allie spent over half of the time that the fireworks were going on telling my mother, "I almost missed fireworks cuz I pooped!  I almost missed it!"  She announced this about every ten seconds, very loudly.  Loud enough that my neighbors could hear it over and over again too...and then tell me about it the next day.  Yay.

Mom and Allie watching the fireworks.  This have been one of her announcement moments since her  mouth is open....either that or she was in awe of the show.

Justin and I spent the second half of the show cracking ourselves up with our weirdo imaginations.  People used to tell me that I "see in cartoon" and I kind of think there's some truth in that.  I take situations and imagine funny outcomes.  One of the reasons why I married Justin is that he can take those dreamed up outcomes and run like a mudder flucker with it.

This particular situation was a pause in fireworks.

Justin leans over, "What's going on?  That's not it, is it?  Cuz that's a shitty display if that's it."

Me: "No.  That's not it.  They do a finale.  We haven't had that yet."

Justin: "So, what are we waiting for."

Pause as I start seeing in cartoon and begin giggling.

Me: "What's happening is that there are two guys back there fighting over who is going to light the next one cuz they both think it's their turn."

Justin (deadpan): "I'm sure you're right."

More giggling.

Justin: "What now?"

Me: "I was just thinking that if that was you and me we'd be back there yelling at each other and blowing each other's flame out:

• "It's my turn! (blow)" 
• "No, it's not! You just did the last one! (blow)" 
• "I did not!  That was YOU!  (blow)" 
• "Oh my gawd!  What are you fucking smoking?? (blow)" 
• "YOU are the one with the shitty memory here! (blow)" 
• "If you blow out my lighter one more time I'm going to bitch slap you."
•  pause. 
• "(blow) Now what, BITCH?!"

(for the record, that would be me starting the fight and then finishing it by calling him a bitch)

Justin: "And then we start pushing each other, throw down the lighters, drop to the ground and start beating the crap out of each other."

Me: "MMA fighting on the lawn at the park."

Justin: "Rolling down the hill into the crowd."

Allie, from two chairs away: "I almost missed the fireworks cuz I pooped!"

We giggle.  The fireworks start up again.

Me: "I'd totally kick your ass."

Justin: "Nice.  Beat up a cripple.  Very nice."

On that happy note, I will leave you with a photo from earlier that day.  This is one of my favorites.  Allie loves her "little Sadie"stuffed animal, and when we let Sadie near it, she gently cleans it like it's her puppy.  It's adorable.

We were on the pack porch when our neighbor lit a bottle rocket. I'm surprised there wasn't a Sadie-shaped hole in the screen door right after this.  Two minutes later, however, Sadie could be found in the bathroom trying to fit behind the toilet.  She's 80 pounds.  Our toilet isn't that big.

I hope you all had a fun-filled, safe 4th of July!


(A little something for those of you who didn't know how old our country was....it's okay....THESE people were WAY OFF *click here*.  Feel better now?)

(FOR MY HUSBAND WHO IS OBSESSED WITH HOW MUCH STUFF IS MADE IN CHINA INSTEAD OF THE USA)

Selfish Selfies

'The term "selfie" is new to me because....well, I'm old.  For those of you who are not in the know, a selfie is a photo of yourself taken by yourself.

There are two kinds of selfies.  There's the Spontaneous Selfie where the person has their arm extended as far as they can, trying to look very casual, while attempting to balance their phone so they can get a clear photo.  The photo is supposed to seem as if someone else had taken it because the person looked so fabulous at that exact moment that it deserved a Wilhelmina head and/or body shot for all to gaze upon in jealousy and awe.....even if it's obvious that they took it on their own.

Then there is the Blatant Selfie where people stand in front of the mirror and you can see them holding their phone to take a photo of themselves, not even pretending that someone else took the photo.  They are coming right out there saying, "look at me".  No bullshit there.

Selfies have become so popular that everyone knows when it's a Spontaneous Selfie or if someone else actually took the photo of them.....and most people don't really care if you know or not.  

There are also two sub-levels of selfies.   (Yes, I'm still going on about this....I've been educated and want to share.)

First, we have the Solo Selfie where the individual clearly doesn't care what's in the background because the photo is all about "Look at MEEEEE.  Just me.  I'm sooooo interesting.  And (lovely/handsome/charming/trendy) too."  Their surroundings are irrelevant.  However, if you visit Happy Place dot com, you can see how things can go terribly wrong if you forget to scan your environment real quick before clickin'...... zoinks, Scooby!

We also have the Purposeful Selfie.  This is either the person doing something interesting, visiting  some place special, or being a part of a group of people who are doing.... whatever.  There is a reason why they are taking the photo and it goes beyond just their appearance. These photos say "Here I am driving" or "We all are hanging out tonight without you" or "I'm at the beach and the view is awesome".  

IMHO,  the only one that doesn't make the word "Narcissist" pop into every one's mind is the Purposeful Selfie.  That one is about bragging rights or just plain old excitement.  And it's interesting.  I give a pass to Purposeful Selfies and I actually like them.  If it's a group, you know those people had a blast taking a gazillion photos to try and get a shot where no one looks like an ass.  I've taken a few Purposeful Selfies to memorialize events, especially with family members.

A recent family selfie after a day at the zoo....all tuckered out

Another family selfie, one of my favorites.... after an awesome day at the local beach

(BTW, IMHO means In My Humble Opinion if you didn't know.  And BTW means By The Way.  And yes, I know that I have a lot of nerve claiming my opinion is humble when I write things and put them on the internet because I think someone somewhere finds it interesting.  My mommy does, as well as strangers in other countries, so therefore, I keep writing)

Wondering what my point is here?

The past few weeks I've been seeing a lot of Solo Selfies pop up and I wonder 'what did the parents of those people do right to make their kids so self confident?  What did they say to make their children feel like people want to see photos where they are the main subject?'  I want to know.

I would like my daughter to grow up and feel like she's interesting and beautiful.   It's one thing to be told that, it's another to believe it.  I had a mother who did nothing but tell me how wonderful I was (in HER humble opinion) and yet, I didn't feel like I was.  I was only able to see the parts of me that needed improvement, despite the fact that she never once ever mentioned them or criticized me.  

So, what was the little secret that parents (especially those of the Millennium Generation) knew that made their children secure and self-assured?  You never see those shy kids from high school post selfies.  They are living outside of their own little worlds and post photos of their kids/pets (if they have them) or family vacations or amazing landscapes.  Sometimes I get annoyed and think, 'What the hell....it would be nice to see YOU for a change!'

Maybe that's their deal.  The ole supply and demand theory.  Hmmmmm......verrrrry impressive, shy peeps.

Anyway, I have plenty of years before Allie figures out how to use a camera to take photos of herself.  She got a kids camera for Christmas from her aunt and uncle, and we have a lot of amazing shots of the carpet, furniture corners, and the dog's ass.  Selfies do not appear to be in her near future.

I have time to work on this self-esteem/confidence/assurance thing with her.  I hope Allie thinks she's photo worthy at every moment.  If she takes a million selfies and posts them on whatever Instagram or Facebook become then, I will keep my fat trap shut and instead tell her  how awesome she looks.  

Unless she does that popular "duck lips" thing.  That's just stupid.  Who told kids that duck lips equal sexy face?  

Head-butting By Cows Begets Enlightenment

Take a moment, sit back and think where you were eight years ago.  The summer of 2005.  Where did you live?  Who did you live with?  Did you work?  What car were you driving?  

George Dubya Bush was still president, Hurricane Katrina devastated New Orleans, Pope John Paul II died, gas was $3.07 a gallon, London was bombed by terrorists, Michael Jackson was found not guilty on fourteen charges of various child abuses, and I was head butted by a cow.

A bull, to be specific.

On Father's Day weekend, I revisited the scene of the crime.  The Bergen County Zoo in Van Saun Park.  What a liberating day that was.  I confronted my fear of bulls and left a new woman.

Eight years ago I was dating someone else and we had been on a zoo kick of sorts.  I had a season pass to The New York City Zoos, but we had a soccer game that afternoon so we decided to hit a local zoo.  The Bergen County Zoo is no Bronx Zoo, but it's pretty, clean and has some nice animals on display that you might not find in your back yard.

Within five minutes of entering, we approached the farm animal display.  There was a bull hanging out by the fence and he was, like, right there.  I grew up in a town with cow farms, so a bull was more familiar than it was riveting.  But I had never really touched a bull.  We drive by our cows.  Rarely do you think to pull over and pet one.

By the way, if you pass a cow pasture, chances are that if you pull over and walk up to the fence the cows will mosey on over and say moo.  Cows are really friendly that way, and you see steak in a whole other way after chillin' with the bovines up close.

Back to the zoo.  That day I had on a Tiffany bracelet.  You know, the silver chain-link ones that have a heart charm attached.  I walked over to the bull and reached out and put my hand on his back.  The bugger didn't move!  To me this was an invitation to pet him.  And so I did.

What I did not do was to factor in that my bracelet charm was going to be lightly grazing the bull's back.  I was so excited that this bull was leaning against the fence so I could pet him that my accessory situation wasn't even a thought.

BAM!

Mr. Bull thought my charm was a fly and when he swung his head around to shoo it away, one of his big fat horns whacked me right in the forehead.

The things I remember about that moment were being shocked and unsure of what happened, feeling like my brain had slammed against my cranium, dizziness that wouldn't stop, followed by hugantically gianormous pain on my forehead.  I stumbled around a little like a drunk person trying to right myself.  Through blurry eyes I was looking for the person I was with.  I felt like someone had spun me around 20 times and then set me free so it took a few moments to locate him.

People saw this.  I know because they were still gaping at me when I finally collected myself and got my synapses firing again.  And the person I was with stared at me, stunned.  And I think he was wayyyyy embarrassed, but I'm sure he would never admit it.  How do you mock someone when  a tennis ball appears to be burrowing out of their brain through their forehead?  I had a serious lump.

What I also had was a kick ass story to tell for the rest of my life.  How many people can say they were head-butted by a 2500lb animal?  That's over a ton of breathing beef, people.  

Back to 2013.  Justin has heard the Vicki vs. The Bull story a few times so I think he was interested in seeing the scene of the crime.  Imagine my excitement when I found the following sign on the bull display:

I didn't see the bull at first.  I thought may be he was dead by now.  But then I located him and CLEARLY he had spotted me first because check out the distance he kept:

I have provided an arrow pointing to said bull just in case you feel he actually achieved the "blending into the background" feat, as he was attempting to do.  That fella in the far left is the one that assaulted me as I was issuing him some kind attention 8 years ago.

And I see that they now have multiple warning signs near the cows.  Apparently, I'm not the only idiot out there who didn't consider the double fencing enough of a warning to step back.

After taking the silly photos, I took a moment to stop and look around.  Being there in that exact spot  got me thinking about how different my life is compared to 8 years ago.

I lived alone in a studio apartment in New Jersey, slaved for corporate America five days a week, dated someone with four kids, and was very unsure about my future.  Now I live in New York, running my own little business, married with one child of my own, and I'm only a little bit unsure about  my future now.

It was surreal to go back with my little girl to show her the animals.  I never would've thought I would be doing this in 2013.  I was in a totally different world  for me back then.

This visit really put a spotlight on exactly how my life has changed.  The most poignant difference was that now I had a daughter.  Children change your life in every way, from what you do to how you perceive it.   Something you've done twenty times alone is a whole new experience when your child becomes involved.  The zoo was suddenly brand new to me.

I know love on an entirely differently level than I could have imagined in 2005.  Now I see things through her eyes.  She has taught me that all of the things that I took for granted years ago are now bright, shiny and exciting again. Even going to the zoo, which I always loved doing, is full of amazements because of her. I am very pleased with how it all turned out.

The highlight of the experience with Allie and the cows was when she looked at me and declared, "Mommy, I want to pet the cow!"  It was as if everything came full circle.  Hopefully, the circle stops here and she wont be back years from now to go head to head with the cows.

And for the record.... no, we did not let her pet the cow.

Therapy and MANterpretation

It is here that I shall introduce my therapist to provide you with an amusing anecdote in reference to the previous topic (identifying with men).  My therapist, Dr. Steve / Steve, is amazing.  He is the best EVER.

No, no.  I cannot give you his contact information.  He's way too busy helping me keep my shit in check to take on additional clients.  Plus he's super fabulous,  and everyone knows that when you have something good that the public has access to, you should hoard it and make sure you don't lose easy access.

I started going to him years ago and I currently have him under contract to get me through menopause before he can officially retire.  (This contract is really me just threatening to behave like Bill Murray in What About Bob.  I'll stalk his ass if he tries to escape). One of my main purposes for seeing him is that I frequently need a male interpreter.

Yes, you read that right.  A male interpreter.  And who better to interpret men but another one of 'em!

Clearly, Justin speaks English (and only American English), but what men say is not always to be taken literally.  Actually, this goes for women too, but I'm okay understanding and deciphering what my fellow beyotches are saying.  Men, not so much.

At least one time per session, I throw my hands up, totally exasperated, and go, "Oh my gawd, Steve.  What the fuck does THAT mean?  I need the manterpretation!"  It's usually after I tell a story about something that is going on with me and Justin that I'm not sure what to do with.  I've got a ton of stories, but I'll share the most recent one with you.

Before I divulge this VERY valuable information, I need to clarify that I use this source of man knowledge for good, not evil.  I want to understand what Justin is telling me.  Sometimes his actions speak volumes and I can't get past the first line cuz I'm a girl.  I'm not looking to find out what he's all about and then use it against him.  This isn't a map for war.  It's like our own little marital NATO.

So, the last time I went to see Dr. Steve I had a more lighthearted issue to present before I left.

"I understand that Justin spends all day with a two year old and he really doesn't have a lot going on because of his injury, but when something happens I have to get the exxxxxxxtra lonnnnnnnng drawwwwwwwn ouuuuuut version."

"What do you mean?"  I think he knew where I was going with this but needed to be sure.

"If something happens during the day, and he needs to tell me about it, I get the dragged out version.  I can't get the quickie version.  Noooooo.  I get this version: 

....and then I told her exactly what was wrong with the phone and she said that I needed technical support so she put me on hold.  She left me on hold for a really long time and I was about to hang up but then she picked up again and told me she was going to transfer me to tech support.  Of course she disconnected me, so I had to call back and now I'm like really pissed.  So, I have to go thru the whole rigmarole again and they go to put me on hold and I told them that if they disconnect me that I'm going to cancel my contract so I want someone to wait on the line with me.  But does she do that?  No.  She puts me on hold and sends me to technical support and then THEY put me on hold and I'm waiting so long that I was able to make Allie peanut butter and jelly on TOAST.  That's how long I was waiting.  The next person picks up and do you think they told him why they were transferring me to him?  No.  So, I had to explain it all again....."

OH MY GOD, STEVE!  I want to lose my mind!  It's reached the point where I have to interrupt him and ask him to give me the abridged version before any more of my brain cells die of boredom.  How in the hell do I deal with this without hurting his feelings?"

He stared at me in awe and said, "I think that in all of my years of doing this I have never had a woman come to me with this problem."

Now, most women might be offended by that, but let's be honest here.  Women, as a group, are notorious for rambling on about things that men have absolutely no interest in.  I admit that I have been guilty of this crime.  And usually I get offended when told to get to the point.

If I'm feeling bitchy enough, I might even say, "Forget it.  I wouldn't want to bore you!"  We all know that statement is used in hopes that the other person will realize the error of their ways and beg us to tell them the rest of the story that they just complained about having to hear.  It's a form of Female Retaliation, and I'm not proud to say it, but I have used this weapon....a lot.

Dr. Steve put his mug of tea down, resituated himself in his chair and prepared to do something that most men might not care enough about marital success to risk sharing.  "You can't make him feel bad about telling you about his day.  You need to find a way to get through it."

The last thing that I needed to do to a man who was desperate for some kind of excitement was to belittle whatever little excitement he came across.  And I needed to keep him focused on problem solving and normal life events.  For awhile he was desperately seeking excitement and drove around with dead people that he found in a dumpster for about a week until he found a respectful way to dispose of them.

(Yes, I said dead people.  They were in boxes.  Cremated.   And he found them tossed in a dumpster at his storage facility.  The story is so priceless that I need to reserve it for another time.  Remind me and I'll get to it.  He has a penchant for silliness when it comes to traveling with the deceased.)

It was at this point that Steve shared something with me that I will be sure to share with Allie when she gets much older, because it's a precious glimpse into man thinking.  "You need to listen and if you start feeling anxious because the story is getting a bit too long, you need to drift.  But don't make it obvious that you're drifting.  Start thinking about other things, like what you need to do later, and every once in awhile, come back and repeat what you just heard.  It's called mirroring. 'So, they put you on hold and disconnected you?  You must've been pissed!"  If you need to, just drift again for a little bit and come back."

Ingenious!!!  And, as Steve explained to me, it's far kinder than making Justin feel like the most important part of his day is something that I find to be incredibly mundane.  It's an option to offending him.

This is also something that men have been doing to women for eons and it's now been confirmed by one of them.  Not only confirmed, but also detailed.  Part of me felt like I had been given a glimpse into one of the Cave Churches of Manliness.  But the other part of me feels like I deserve it.  I'm playing in a small part of their playground (reserved for women, of course), so I should be able to at least see their toys right?  Right??!!