50-something Moms Blog

Shredding the Report Cards

Now that I've conquered my fear of tossing old photographs I'm onto another purge -- outdated files. I recycled all the instruction manuals for appliances and electronics that we no longer own. Ditto any other paperwork that was outdated or contained information that could be found on-line. I even recycled the old folders by turning them inside out and re-labeling them. I was on a de-cluttering roll...until I found my daughter's school file.

She graduated from college with honors in May and although reading through her old report cards and standardized test scores took me on a trip down memory lane I wondered if they were really worth keeping.

Why is it so hard to throw away photographs?

Lately I've been in the mood to simplify my life. We downsized about a while back. Compared to a couple of years ago my load is pretty light. I even sold my Christmas china. I've been through all the stuff my kids collected and gave away all the clothes I haven't worn in a year or two can't squeeze into. I've quit buying knick-knacks and things to fill up the corners and shelves.

Part of my efforts were prompted by having to liquidate my father's estate and sell his house but I was also inspired by reading some books on clutter-busting. What I discovered was that I'm a lightweight when it comes to saving things. I'll never land on Oprah for an intervention by my family who thinks it's time to throw away every pair of shoes I've ever had or every newspaper I've ever read. My clutter is minor compared to the people chronicled in the books.

I was feeling pretty good about my ability to shed until it came to the chapter on photographs. The author maintains that the average person has WAY too many boxes of photographs stashed away in closets. To be truly de-cluttered and liberated a person should only keep those photos that capture a special moment in time. To be free from baggage from the past a person should throw out pictures of former boyfriends.

Dear Kate: Welcome to Single Motherhood

So it's official -- Jon and Kate Plus 8 will now be Jon and Kate's 8 Divided by 2. After lawyers and paperwork and arguments and signatures Kate, mother of eight will become Kate, single mother of eight. Her life will forever change in ways she can't even imagine so based on personal experience and that of my single mom friends I thought I'd give her a heads up of what to expect...

• If you think you've cried yourself out, think again. Moments and circumstances will jump up and smack you down. Being a single parent is not for wimps. You'll feel overwhelmed. You'll feel like you're doing everything and good at nothing.
• Your ex-husband will become a party animal. Women will be all over him (still). Single dads are like puppies. Women love to take them in. He will have lots of dates. Women will date him because of the children. Men will not date you for the same reason.

A Week Long Sex Strike -- is that a Good Idea?

In an effort to end "political strife" some women's organizations in Kenya are calling on wives and girlfriends to go on week long sex strike. They've even called upon the "First Ladies" Raila Odinga, 64, and Mwai Kibaki, 78, to join the effort (To which I say -- go girls! in order to go on strike from something you have to first be participating). At that age wouldn't we all wish to have our men notice at that we aren't "Sweating to the Oldies"?

Not all women are on board with this idea however. Some fear that withholding sex will only serve to make the men grumpier instead of leading to peace. I have to say that I agree. While denying your man little somethin' somethin' can in some cases put you in a great negotiating position for all sorts of favors and treasures most men don't take lightly to being put on PR (Pussy Restriction).

I have a much better strategy for the fine ladies of Kenya...a Sex-in.

I called my doctor with an important question and he Googled it for the answer

For whatever reason -- a comedy of errors, inept employees, planetary transits or just plain bad medical karma, I've been having a hell of a time lately.

The saga started last year when I was referred to a specialist by my doctor to further investigate something that showed up during my annual check-up. After waiting a month to get an appointment I finally saw the specialist who ordered some tests and promised the results in a week.

Three weeks later I finally called them to follow up. They gave me the results of the tests they'd run except it turns out they'd ordered the wrong ones.

I went back into the office so they could re-do the test. A week later I called for the results. They ran a different but wrong test again. "Could I come back in again?" they asked, to which I responded "Could you have the doctor call me?

When the doctor didn't call me back after a week I scheduled another appointment to go back so that I could explain my frustration and concerns in person. After explaining the two prior screw-ups by her office she assured me that she would personally make sure the third re-do of the test would be overseen by her.

Imagine my disbelief and anger when I called the third time for the results...AND THEY DID IT WRONG AGAIN!

I Lost My House

We can't always hold onto the stuff that is important to us. Sometimes circumstances are beyond our control. There are some things you just can't anticipate.

I never expected to lose the house. It and the number that made the rotary-dial wall phone ring were the only constants in my life for forty years. The old neighborhood had, over the decades, changed from a hip subdivision of little ranch houses inhabited by young Ford Motor Company Mustang-designing engineers and their Baby Boomer families to a community where women wearing Jibabs and Abayas pushed their baby strollers around the cul-du-sacs. Still, despite the passing years and changing demographics, the houses looked the same as they did when we rode our decorated bikes in the annual Fourth of July parade or ice skated on the frozen fish pond -- like a subdivision of little Monopoly houses.

My brother and I both left Dearborn Michigan years ago and had no desire to ever move back so when it came time to settle my father's estate we (after I talked my HGTV-watching brother out of sinking a lot of cash into major updates and renovations) covered the school bus yellow exterior paint that was my dad's signature color with a nice neutral taupe and put the house up for sale.

Little did we know that by the time the tulips my mother lovingly planted years ago poked through the spring snow our house would be gone.

Gone. Bulldozed. Razed. And in its place: a McMansion

The Day I got Violet

There are very few times in my life that I've been violent. The one that sticks out in mind is a Saturday afternoon when my daughter was 13. After a long week of being a single   full-time working mom I asked for her help with some light house cleaning (no nanny for me!). Her response was something like "I'll do some cleaning but what are you going to do to help around here?"

Anyway, you can picture my response but this post isn't about getting violent, it's about getting violet.

Merry Christmas! Here's Some Money

Christmas is going to be different this year. We have three kids in college and for the first time since 2006 we're all going to be together. The girls will graduate in May (fingers crossed) and are busy plotting the next exciting chapters in their lives. My stepson just finished his first semester. He had a great time spent every bit of his graduation money (over $1200) on Starbucks, pizza, movies, concerts, football games and shopping and will arrive here with empty pockets.

Next year their visits won't be dictated by school schedules. The girls will have jobs (fingers crossed again) and therefore little vacation time. At some point we won't be the destination of choice for spring breaks. There will surely be other distractions and additions like boyfriends/husbands, girlfriends/wives who will become part of our celebrations.

Yes, this may be the last Christmas where the five of us are together as a family for a long time. 

Dinner and Dignity for Dad

My father was stubborn. He lived in the same house in suburban Detroit for nearly 40 years. My brother and I tried to convince him to move into a senior citizen apartment or closer to either one of us and relocate to California or Georgia. I pitched him numerous times on one of those planned communities in Florida, citing his love of golf and the fact that all of us would most certainly visit him more often if he didn't live in Detroit. He wouldn't have it. Every time we visited and had the conversation he would end up yelling. One time he locked my brother out of the house for suggesting a site visit to a local senior center. Heck he wouldn't even go for one of the "I've fallen and I can't get up!" monitors or a cell phone he could wear on his belt in case he couldn't get to the phone.

He wanted to live in his own house until it was time for, as he used to say, "take a dirt nap." I guess I couldn't blame him. Plus, as an adult child there's not much you can do to make your elderly parents do something like move unless you have power of attorney and can prove that they are a threat to themselves or others or are incapable of make their own decisions. That meant we didn't get a vote. The best thing we could do was to offer creative solutions one of those remote controlled chairs that raises launches you out.

I worried that he couldn't get to the grocery or stand long enough to prepare a meal. The fact that he was living on cold cereal and Manhattans wasn't helping his health so I did what any concerned long distance daughter would have done: I made a quick call to Meals on Wheels.

It's Time to Sell the Christmas China

Thankfully despite the stock market roller coaster ride we aren't selling off our worldly goods to support the three kids we have in college. It's time to sell the Spode Christmas china for a better reason: I'm over it.

That darn china was really important to me for almost twenty years. I thought it was the ultimate splurge to have designated dishes. I registered for them when I got married and racked up several place settings. When we got divorced it was one of three things he sued me for (besides alimony); the others being a picture frame and a missing part from the Salad Shooter.

I gave him the frame. I threw the missing part away thereby rendering him unable to shoot his salads with anything except the AK-47 he kept under the bed. (My inspirations were the nuns in The Sound of Music when they took the Nazis' car parts) As for the Christmas china, that's where I drew the line.