In which i discuss my mothering methods

I love my kids. I just want to go on record with that statement because I think since I make a lot of sarcastic posts about them, some people aren’t aware of how much I really love them. Having said that, it doesn’t mean that I don’t think that my girls aren’t bitches sometimes. They are. One of the things I miss about having a living parent is the ability to discuss my own personal history. When I think back on my childhood and especially my teenage years, I’m left with lots of unanswered questions. What was I like? How did my parents put up with me? What did they do when I was so obviously miserable and in pain? After all, watching your kid hurting is one of the most difficult things I have ever experienced. These are questions I have that I will never be able to properly answer. I can only surmise what they were thinking and therefore, try to adjust my parenting methods accordingly.




For example, when I was 19 I was miserable, angry and overweight. I had just finished my freshman year at Johns Hopkins University and had an apartment so I decided to live in Baltimore for the summer. The plan was to lifeguard with my best friend, who was also my roommate, and live in our brand new apartment. When I use the words “brand new,” I mean that it was brand new to us but it was actually one step removed from a slum. So we had planned on an amazing summer. I was really looking forward to it. Freshman year had been rough for me because I did terrible in school and my lifelong dream of being a doctor was looking bleak.



As summers went, this one was terrible. I lifeguarded at the club and the other lifeguards were okay but my manager was an incompetent asshole. I didn’t enjoy the job at all and my best friend somehow managed to work completely opposite hours than I did and we never saw each other. I was, in a word, miserable. So, I ate … and ate…and sulked…and ate some more. Of course, I gained a lot of weight and became even more miserable and eventually managed to get fired from my job for insulting the manager. (this is a common theme throughout my life but this was actually the FIRST time I got fired, but not the last). By the end of July, I was back home in North Carolina since I had no job in Baltimore anymore.



I was home for six weeks. I was horrible to be around and no doubt, terrible to my parents. In fact, my mother got such bad headaches that they did a CT Scan to see if she had a brain tumor. She didn’t. It was just the stress of having me around. I was such a pain in the ass that they thought my mom had a BRAIN TUMOR! My parents even took the entire family on a trip out West and I complained the entire way. Talk about being an ungrateful bitch! That was me.



So that’s the set up. When Keely was in first grade her teacher told me the following during a parent-teacher conference: “When kids are in school, they are on their best behavior so it’s not unusual for them to go home and act out. After all, if they can’t let their hair down there, where can they fall apart?” This statement has stuck with me for my entire life and I have found it incredibly useful as a parenting tool.



Kevin and I like to joke around about “public persona Keely.” This is the Keely MacDonald that’s the most incredible person I’ve ever met. She’s caring, funny, supportive and bright. She gives her friends pep talks. She compliments people. She is the glue that holds humanity together. We always say “do you think we’ll ever meet ‘public-persona Keely’ because she sounds delightful!” We felt, especially in her teenage years, that we got the sarcastic Keely, the stressed-out Keely, the mean and angry Keely. Kevin used to say to me, “I don’t know how you put up with her caustic remarks and mannerisms and the way she treats you.” I would respond by telling him my main parenting credo which was “IF my head isn’t killing me and I’m not going to get a CT Scan, then my girls couldn’t be as bad as I was. I gave my mom a ‘brain tumor’ so obviously, I’m better off than she was and I can put up with it”.



That’s how I always stayed calm. No matter what my kids were saying or doing. That rule has stood me in good stead. Now Keely, age 21, has worked through most of her teenage angst and while we still have our moments, she has emerged as one of the most delightful people I know. Andie reminds me of me. She can be moody, stubborn and mean but I know that she doesn’t mean it and that she both loves and needs me. After all, the flip side is that she is creative, funny, sarcastic and bright. We have some great times and Andie and I can really butt heads but I try not to take any of it personally. Having driven my own mom to a “brain tumor,” I just let their criticisms roll off my back.



Why am I writing about all this now? Since I’ve been “online” here in the blogging world I have started reading other blog posts. One such post was about an argument between two girls who were 9 and 11. The dialogue sounded so much like my girls that I was both mortified and amused. After all, my girls are 15 months apart and have such a love/hate symbiotic relationship that it’s created plenty of fireworks. At any rate, I commented to the “blogger” on Twitter that she was screwed and that those two girls were going to be major headaches and I used the hashtag on Twitter of #motheroftwobitches. This mother wasn’t pleased with the way I referred to my girls so I wanted to address that.



First of all, as someone with a bumper sticker that says “you say I’m a bitch like it’s a bad thing,” I don’t necessarily think being a “bitch” is so awful. Second of all, my girls can be both bitchy and bitches. That’s both a positive and a negative thing. Third of all, although I’ve only been on Twitter a few months, I have had a tendency to get in little Twitter wars with people. Sarcasm doesn’t come across very well in 140 characters. Sometimes, what I meant to allude to and what actually came out weren’t the same and the recipient of my Tweet has gotten offended. It’s a strange medium because there’s no place for subtlety or nuance in Twitter.



What’s my point? I think I lost it way back at the beginning of this entry. I suppose that my first point in that sometimes, you need to read between the lines to discover what a person really means. I also think that you can criticize and even make fun of your loved ones and still actually love them. There have been many times when I have “loved” my kids but not actually “liked” my kids. Fortunately, my kids have taken turns being the one I didn’t like so there was only one at a time. But back to my kids. Their hopes are my hopes. Their pain is my pain. Their successes are my successes. I suppose that my second point is that what you read on paper is only part of the story. My kids aren’t fully formed yet but I will say that honesty is the best parenting method out there. If my girls are bitches then hell yes I’m going to call them out on that. That doesn’t mean I don’t love them or even like them. I’m all for calling a spade a spade.



My kids are still works in progress and I won’t fully know for a long time, if ever, how I did as a parent. I will say that I wasn’t a perfect parent just as I’m not a perfect person. If my kids function in the world, can stand on their own and contribute to society in some small positive way, then I’ve done my job. And as to being the #motheroftwobitches, I love them and I wouldn’t have it any other way!

In which i discuss committment

I was just finishing a Pilates class this morning when a woman I know in the class said “Lynn, I thought about you the other day.” “In what capacity?” I asked. “I was playing in a tennis match and I really, really didn’t want to be there and I thought, what would Lynn MacDonald do?” Of course, this was really funny to me so I asked, “what did you come up with?” She said, “I decided that you wouldn’t have even shown up there if you didn’t feel like playing so you wouldn’t be in the mood to quit. Is that true?”




Hmmm … I never really thought about it like that. It is true that I try to NEVER do anything that I don’t want to do, but it’s always a different situation when you have other people depending on you. I play in a weekly Mahjong game with my kind-of stepmom (long explanation required here) and her friends on Wednesday afternoons. I enjoy these women but our relationship is kind of funny. First of all they treat me like a kid (and I’m 51) because they’re all at least 70 and second of all, I’m a little impatient and make remarks like “I’m off to get an hourglass to get this thing moving along more rapidly” (that’s right, shockingly enough I’m impatient which ALWAYS leads to rudeness for me). So, occasionally I really don’t feel like playing. I do show up however, because I’ve made a commitment to them and if there’s one good thing about me (and trust me, there’s not that many good things about me) it’s that I’m loyal, I don’t lie, and I honor my commitments.



So back to the tennis game, if I bothered to show up I would finish the game out. I might not be happy about it and by the time we finished I’m sure that my brain would be imploding but I would definitely stay there. So that got me thinking about commitments.



When the kids were younger, I used to take on huge projects all the time. I think it was because chatting with pre-schoolers all day isn’t a lot of exercise on the brain but mainly, I just wanted to occasionally talk to adults about things that weren’t:



Other mom: “My kid just figured out the global health crisis today and he’s only two, how’s your kid?”



Me: “Oh, my kid just beat the shit out of somebody at pre-school today and got kicked out, thanks for asking.”



So, I began my volunteer career by being the volunteer chairperson of the pre-school. This didn’t involve much as I had a co-chair and she basically did all the work while I just cut up and misbehaved at the meetings. I really don’t understand why these people always put up with me. My glory days, however, began when I moved on to fundraisers. I loved working on fundraisers. At the beginning, I would run the entire fundraiser but I truly found my calling with the decorations. I loved doing decorations for these things. Once we did this Mardi Gras theme and I spent months building huge centerpieces in my house. I loved the process and never begrudged anything creative I had to do.



Since then, I have done the decorations for more parties than I can even imagine. I’ve even done decorations for friends’ parties and Bar Mitzvah’s. I love the creative process involved in these things. But, I’ve never gone professional because if you just take it job by job, you always have the ability to quit whenever you want. It seems to be the story of my life. Get pretty good at something and then quit. Not for nothing do I call myself an underachiever.



When my kids moved on to primary school, I was asked to work on a haunted house. Of course I had a co-chair and while she did ALL the work, I spent months - and I mean months - building a 7-foot model of the creature from “Aliens” in my garage. This thing was huge and was run by a computer so that it rose up and then crouched back down. I also made “steaming” pods using dry ice for the “fake” steam. The entire contraption was amazing. Kevin couldn’t pull into the garage for about 3 months because I built the thing in his parking space. I had a blast building it and one of my favorite things to do was to run up to Lowe’s and say to the guys there “so I’m building this Alien and I need some material that can help make it look like so and so.” Their reaction was priceless.



But I digress. The point I was making was that if I do take on a commitment, I usually follow through but I learned long ago not to take on the type of activity that I don’t enjoy. About 4 years ago, The United Way asked me to be on a huge committee for them to discuss an umbrella organization for the many groups that help underprivileged and underserved people in the Greater Greensboro Area. I served on this committee for about 3 years and it was incredibly frustrating to me. I didn’t feel like I was serving a huge purpose as I wasn’t a “professional” in any of the necessary areas. I couldn’t believe how slow the process was because of all the “fiefdoms” that the individual groups had and the vast amount of in-fighting that abounded as a result. I was incredibly bored with all the yapping. So after 3 years, I quit the committee. I feel mildly bad about it because I don’t usually quit such things but the lack of forward progress was driving me nuts. I’m not a very patient person as exhibited by how much I bitch about this blog and it’s lack of readership.



So. Commitment. When I commit, which I rarely do, I stick it out. So if you’re asking yourself, “what would Lynn MacDonald do?” Pretty much, whatever the hell she wants. Thanks for asking.

In which i discuss "Harold and the Purple Crayon"

“Harold and the Purple Crayon” was published in 1955 and still might be the best metaphor for life ever written. Have you read Harold and the Purple Crayon? Because you should, and your children should read it too. Here’s the basic premise:




Harold is a little boy and one night, he decides to go for a walk in the moonlight and he realizes that “there wasn’t any moon, and Harold needed a moon for a walk in the moonlight. And he needed something to walk on. He made a long straight path so he wouldn’t get lost. And he set off on his walk, taking his big purple crayon with him.”



Now obviously, I’m not going to tell the entire book here but suffice it to say that he went for a walk and ended up on a whale of an adventure. Every time Harold needed to “add” to his adventure, he simply used his “big purple crayon” to create whatever it was that he needed. After a long and exhausting journey Harold decides he wants to go home and eventually, figures out that home is where his bed is with a view of the moon out his window. He draws it, crawls into bed and “the purple crayon dropped on the floor. And Harold dropped off to sleep.”



Why is this so important and why do I think it’s the best metaphor ever written? I’ll tell you and feel free to disagree with me if you’d like. Harold wants to do something so he creates it. He creates his adventure. He creates his world and every time he encounters some sort of problem, he creates a solution. When he was hungry, he drew an apple tree. When he wanted a picnic, he created pies. Too much pie? A hungry moose and porcupine were available to help eat it. Harold did what we all want to do but are too afraid to try. He set off on an adventure, of his own choosing, not really thinking about what came next and where he would end up. These issues were big and small but Harold, and his trusty purple crayon, drew himself right out of them whether by “drawing” a boat, a balloon or at the end, his own bed. He wasn’t scared of what he might find along the way trusting that he could figure out some way to move on, move past the encumbrance.



We don’t do that anymore. Adults don’t do that. We’re scared. We don’t take risks. Kids dream and they dream big. None of the “practicalities” of life interfere with their dreams. Harold wanted an adventure and there weren’t any limits placed upon it. Sure, things were different in 1955 from they are now. When I was a kid we took off in the morning on our bikes and showed up at sundown. We had bike trails and forts in the woods. We ran wild and free. It was a different time when the dangers of the “real” world were few and far between. Fear wasn’t a part of our basic vocabulary. Even after my brother was hit by a car and almost killed, we didn’t view the world with cynicism and dismay.



My kids didn’t grow up this way. There was “stranger danger,” traffic, and many other real issues to keep them from being far-ranging in their play. I didn’t let them touch base only once a day. But still, there’s the dream that you can go off and have your adventure. That life doesn’t have to be so regulated and restricted. That you too can find your own “purple crayon” and follow your dreams. One of the goals I have always had for my kids is to let them follow their dreams and to be what they want, go where they desire. Do I expect them to buckle down and achieve in school? Of course I do but that doesn’t negate my teaching them to take risks. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained” is one of my favorite things to say. You can play it safe and risk nothing. You don’t “lose” but you also don’t “win.”



So, let’s all take our cue from Harold, find our own purple crayons and go draw out the life we want, not just the one that’s in front of us!

In which i discuss regrets

I think I explained one of my main credos of life in a previous article entitled “I’m not even worried about it.” Today, I would like to discuss one of my other basic tenants which is “I don’t believe in regrets.” Here’s why:




I was 29 when I moved back to North Carolina, pregnant and without having that many friends after having been away for 9 years. Naturally, I looked up some people I had known in my childhood but not necessarily stayed in touch with. One was a girl that I had known through swimming so our relationship was developed over a long period of time. We were discussing growing up and she told me that she had a lot of regrets and the following conversation took place:



Her:      “I have a lot of regrets from when I was in high school and college”



Me:       “What kind of regrets?”



Her:      “I was slutty and slept around a lot”



Me:       “So? That was a long time ago.”



Her:      “I just can’t forgive myself for behaving that way”



Me:       “That’s crazy. Why does it even matter at this point?”



Her:      “I just can’t move beyond it. Don’t you feel that way?”



Me:       (I was pretty wild in my ill spent youth so this was a valid question)

            “No, I don’t believe in regrets.”



Her:      “What?”



Me:       “Really. I DON’T believe in regrets!”



Her:      “What does that mean Lynn?”



Me:       “Looking back on my life, there are a lot of situations that I shouldn’t have been in. There were a lot of comments I made to people that were awful and yes, I do feel bad about that. There were decisions that I made at the time that seemed good, and turned out to be awful, that have definitely made me think about my choices. And especially when I was drinking, things seem like a great idea and often that didn’t turn out to be the case.”



Her:      “…and…”



Me:       “But given all that, I still don’t regret anything.”



Her:      “How is that possible?”



Me:       “It’s possible because I like where I am today and the person I’ve become. I like my life. Yeah, I’ve made mistakes and done plenty of things that I’m not proud of but those incidents were the stepping stones on the path that I walked. Without them, who knows what I’d be like today. Maybe I wouldn’t be this person, with this relationship. Maybe I wouldn’t be pregnant with this child. Is it possible I’d have another great life? Sure it’s possible. I have no way of knowing. So no, I wouldn’t change a thing.”



To this day, I feel the same way. If I could go back and be nicer to people (or at least not shit on them the way I apparently did back in college), then I would. But I can’t. I’m sorry if my behaviors upset some people. I’ve tried to apologize to the people that I hurt if I still have any contact with them. I do feel bad that I, in some way, contributed to screwing up somebody else’s life. At any rate, I’ve dealt with my own possible diagnosis of MS, my brothers traumatic car wreck injuries, my parents’ deaths, my son’s autism diagnosis, my daughter’s tumor and plenty of other shit along the line. If I did not have the coping skills that come along with constantly having had to dig myself out of holes, it is possible that last year (the year of Keely’s fucking huge tumor) would have been worse for me and everyone in my family.



So no, I don’t believe in regrets. What’s the point of kicking yourself over something that happened a long time ago? If you need to apologize to somebody, apologize. If you need to rectify a situation, do so but seriously, WHY waste your time and energy over something that happened in the past and that there is absolutely no way you could change. Unless you hate who you are now, then get over it. I did. And if you do hate who you are now, you really should be looking into why you don’t like yourself NOW rather than reflecting on stuff that happened long ago that you can’t affect.



So, now you know two things about me. One: I don’t believe in worrying about things out of your control and two: I don’t believe in regrets. Stick with me in this blog and we will eventually get to number three: set the bar low. I have no lack of personal credos and I hope you get to hear them all!

in which i discuss the "seventh inning stretch"

I’m so damned sick of “God Bless America.” Not the country, the song. Today I was in spin class and “Sweet Caroline” came on. I’ve always loved this song but what I really love about it is that it’s played during the seventh inning stretch at Fenway Park, home of The Boston Red Sox. When it comes on, the entire place sings along with a rousing rendition of the song and it’s one of the most fun, embracing experiences you’ll have at a ballpark. What is the seventh inning stretch? It used to be the time between the top and the bottom of the seventh inning when fans stood up and, you guessed it, stretched. It was accompanied by a rousing sing-a-long “Take me out to the ballgame.” It’s been around forever and its part of our national pastime.




But not any more; ever since the World Trade Center fell and 9/11 happened, we get “God Bless America.” Now I love America as much as anybody else, although if you listen to Fox News they will tell me I don’t, but I’m ready to move on and I have been for some time. I saw what happened that day. I was an adult with access to a TV. Was it tragic? It was. Did it resonate on a personal level? It did. I used to live in New York City and my apartment was in SoHo and I could see the World Trade Center from my apartment. I interviewed for a job at Shearson Lehman on the 107th floor. My brother worked in the building for Dean Witter for many years. He lost a few very good friends there that day. I got engaged at “Windows on the World” at the top of the World Trade Center so believe me, I get it.



But am I going to stop living? Aren’t we supposed to move on from tragedy? Are we supposed to let it define us forever? I know people lost loved ones that day and yet, they don’t have a monopoly on pain. It was a wasteful, tragic way to die. So is war. So are car wrecks. So are suicide and drug overdoses. They’re all tragic. But what’s even more tragic is living in it, wallowing in it, and letting it be “what you are.” I understand that in 2001 when this happened, that especially in New York when they sang the song it was amazing and honestly, I got chill bumps hearing them sing God Bless America at the seventh inning stretch.



It’s been 9 years. Baseball is the American Pasttime. The seventh inning stretch is part of baseball. When are we going to get our Pasttime back? When are we going to move on? One of the most important lessons I’ve ever taught my kids is that life moves on. I haven’t talked about it yet but the day my mom died was one of the “funniest” days of my life. I decided to teach my kids a lesson that life moves on and it was an unmitigated disaster, but that’s ok, because nobody ever said moving on was supposed to be easy…or painless.



So what say ye? Aren’t you tired of dwelling on sadness? Aren’t you ready to move on? Let’s take baseball back and sing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” or if you’re really lucky and you’re part of Red Sox Nation, “Sweet Caroline.” I mean, who’s really winning when you give up? Not us. The terrorists who caused this situation win. They’ve taken us out of our game. I realize that this might not be a popular opinion and it is certainly not politically correct, but I’m not really a popular person and sometimes you have to say what you mean and get ready for the backlash. So “Buy me some peanuts and cracker jack, I don't care if I never get back, Let me root, root, root for the home team, If they don't win it's a shame. For it's one, two, three strikes, you're out, At the old ball game."

In which i discuss personal strength

How did you get to be so strong? How did you get so capable? I get asked these types of questions all the time and I rarely think about them. But today I did. My son was bugging me about pancakes, or the lack thereof, in the house for breakfast and it made me think of how my mom would have reacted to this whining. It wouldn’t have been pretty, I can tell you that. My parents’ methods of child-rearing were completely different than my own, for better or worse. They were all about being independent, self-sufficient and handling your own shit. At any rate, roaming down the random thoughts highway I remembered this question and today, I’m going to give an answer.



About 14 years ago, my mother inconveniently died. I say inconvenient, because it wasn’t actually my idea and I had plenty of questions that I had neglected to have her answer so I’m stuck wondering what my mom thought of everything related to her kids and their lives while growing up. Actually, she was an English teacher and just the previous run-on sentence was probably enough to kill her. At any rate, she died. And within two years my dad died too. Just to add to the greater joy in my life, in the midst of those two deaths, my son was kicked out of pre-school and then diagnosed with Asperger’s syndrome, a mild form of autism.



I was floored - shocked actually – that all the idiosyncrasies that were my child weren’t “normal”. I wanted to cry on my mom’s shoulder and rail against the world but she wasn’t around. My dad wasn’t either so that only left Kevin, my husband, but when I turned to him he was crying too. So what do you do? When everything around you is falling apart and there’s nobody left to lean on, what do you do? YOU BECOME THE STRONG ONE. There’s no choice. You’re there, with three kids, a husband and a pretty difficult situation. Someone has to be Atlas and in this situation, that someone was me. So you pick up your burdens and you CARRY ON. It’s not that my husband wasn’t on board the situation, he was, but he already had a job to do and that job didn’t allow a lot of extra time for treatments, research and intervention ideas.



It’s always amazed me that people view that as incredible. I mean, what other options did I have? Things needed to be done. Life needed to go on. Methodologies needed to be researched. We had a MAJOR problem to deal with and someone (that someone being me) was going to have to step up to the plate. I’ve always been amazed that people ever think there’s a choice. There’s not. You just do what you have to do.



Over time, the more often you step up to the plate, the less scary the plate becomes. It’s that mentality that has enabled me to deal with my many family crises, as well as many situations that my friends have found themselves in. Calmness in the face of the storm is a trait that is very beneficial to have. And that trait can be honed, sometimes not by choice, but by necessity.



When I was growing up my older brother was hit by a car. It was a terrible accident, and while I won’t go into details, he ended up blind in one eye with a surgically reconstructed nose and years upon years of craniofacial surgery. He was 10 and I was 7 when it happened. It was a traumatic even that shaped my childhood and the ripple effects have never ended. I once asked my mom how she dealt with such a situation as well as two other small children at home. Her reply was “you deal with the situation you’ve been given. You can’t just drop everything for the one child who needs you because then you create situations for the other two children who are left behind. You need to find balance and it’s not easy. You just do what you have to do.”



So the next time you find yourself in a difficult situation, don’t think of it as a burden. Think of it as a way to spread your wings, show yourself that you too can be a pillar of strength. Believe me, it will change your outlook on the world.

In which i discuss gym etiquette

I would like to talk a little bit today about gym etiquette. I’m not usually one to worry about “the rules” but there are some rules that even I obey. I belong to two different gyms and a pilates studio. Lest you think I’m a workout nut, that’s not the case. I belong to a smaller gym called “Purenergy” where I do the bulk of my work out. I take spin classes there and most of my “gym pals” can be found at this location. Because they had some intro Pilates classes, I started taking them as well at a small studio called “Core Integrity Pilates.” These two places reside next to each other so I spend most of my working out life at that locale.



Kevin and I also have a joint membership at “The Club” (formally known as Sportime). We joined in 1989 when we moved here and I used to play racquetball and swim. We’re still members and Kevin works out there. When I’m not taking a class and I’m simply working out on my own (usually just on weekends), I go to Sportime as their equipment is newer and better, not to mention the one million high-def TV’s they have all over the place.



So today I was a “The Club,” and was on the recumbent bike doing a one-hour pedaling workout. I don’t kill myself working out; I don’t really believe in working too, too hard, but I do pedal as long as I can keep myself distracted. I’m old enough to realize that the more calories I burn during exercise, the more chocolate I can eat during the day. Since I got an iPad for my birthday (this past June), my workout times have increased tremendously. My iPad has email, YouTube, the internet, Twitter, AIM and many other applications to keep me busy for long periods of time so I’m actually in better shape than usual as I’m working out longer. I normally get my water, sit down, put on my headphones and turn on iTunes and I’m good to go. I mostly ignore the people around me and hope that their eyes aren’t good enough to read my screen as I can’t promise that what I’m reading and looking at is PG (yeah, I enjoy my smut. So what?) At any rate, I’m pretty self-absorbed (as compared to the rest of my life where I’m completely self-absorbed).



Today, I was about 50 minutes through my workout when the guy next to me taps me on the shoulder. I have headphones on and if that’s not a clear indicator of “stay the fuck away from me,” then I don’t know what is. So I remove the headphones from my ears and put them around my neck:



Me:                           “Can I help you?”



Random guy:             “How do you like your iPad?”



(OK, this happens a lot. People always ask about the iPad and I try to be nice about it. They usually just want to know if they’re worth buying. Since I’m hopelessly addicted to mine, I always answer yes)



Me:                             “I love it.” (short, simple, hopefully end of discussion)



Random guy:               “I have one too.”



Me:                             (Thinking Big Fucking Deal but I’m still trying…) “That’s excellent, I’m so happy for you.”



Random guy:               “I got charged for an application I never bought.”



Me:                             (Thinking I don’t give a shit) “Um…I’m sorry to hear that?”



Random guy:               “Yeah, I went and checked and it cost 4.99 and I usually just buy apps that cost 2.99.”



Me:                             (Is this guy fucking kidding me? Do I care? Could I be less interested? NO. But do I say that? NO I don’t) “Oh, I actually never check my account now that I think about it so I doubt I would notice if I got overcharged. Did it show up on your screen as an app?”



Random guy:                “Yes, I don’t have many apps so I noticed it right away.”



Me:                              “… and did you call Apple and report it?”



Random guy:                “No.”



Me:                             (Thinking okay, and, “you’re telling me this, WHY?” So I grab my headphones and start putting them back on)



Random guy:               “Did you know that you can download movies from YouTube?”



Me:                             (I’m sorry. Do I look like a complete moron to you?) “Yes, I’m aware of it. I actually have some TV shows but no movies on my iTunes”

                                   (I start putting the headphones on again)



Random guy:               “Did you know that you can get all classic books for free?”



Me:                             (I’m seriously thinking of putting a bullet in my brain and I’m starting to get stressed which is NEVER the point of working out) “No, I didn’t know that.”



Random guy:               “It’s true. You can get some of the reading apps and you get all the classics for free.”



Me:                             (UNBELIEVABLE!!! This guy is sitting here drinking coffee and he comes to the gym without a distraction plan and he expects ME to entertain him. I mean, WTF?) “That’s great. I mostly just surf the internet though. I gotta finish my workout now, so excuse me.” (and I put my headphones on and try to breathe)



I’m suicidal now and I only have about five more minutes in my workout and I’m in a panic that he’s going to come back for seconds and start talking to me. I’m so tense that I really want to kill somebody, and then possibly eat a pound of M&M’s. But, instead I finish the workout and sure enough, he starts talking again. He wants to discuss my iPad, books, I mean really? Do I look like I’m friendly? I’ve already described how I have a bumper sticker that says “you say I’m a bitch like it’s a bad thing”. I almost replaced that a few years ago with a bumper sticker that said “Do I look like a people person to you?” Seriously, the only reason I didn’t change it is because I’m pretty well known for the one I have so I didn’t want to shake the earth off its axis. I have no desire to talk to random people unless I initiate the conversation and clearly, that wasn’t the case here. I have never cleaned my bike so fast and I tore out of there like a bat out of hell.



So, back to gym etiquette and the point I was attempting to make: IF SOMEONE IS WORKING OUT AT THE GYM WITH THEIR HEADPHONES ON, UNLESS THEY ARE A GOOD FRIEND OF YOURS LEAVE THEM THE HELL ALONE!!



I mean, I’m just sayin’ ...

In which i discuss paperwork

As I sit here at my desk, I can see a huge pile of paperwork to my left just waiting to be addressed. I hate paperwork and I usually need to feel in a certain “mood” to attack it. I do the paperwork because after all, Kevin does work about 10 hours a day to provide for the family so I suppose it’s the least I can do. It’s also not on my “to do list” so I feel I should get bonus points for doing it. My rule of thumb has always been to let it pile up until it’s about two inches high. At that time, I feel like it’s probably time to do something about it so I sit down and attack it with a vengeance.



That strategy has always worked until the advent of Autopay. Now don’t get me wrong, I love, love, love Autopay and if everything in my life was like that, I would have no problems, but that’s not the case. Since about half my bills are Autopay, I have been receiving less mail. Ordinarily, I would tell you that’s a good thing but it seems like it’s taking longer and longer to reach the requisite two inches. As a result, bills are beginning to pile up. Normally, I wouldn’t worry about such a small thing as an “overdue” bill but the gas company apparently does. I didn’t realize they would actually turn off the gas until I went to take a shower and there was no hot water. I was all like WTF? Until I did a little research and it seemed a lack of payment was the issue. Can you believe they quibble about that crap? I had to show up IN PERSON at the gas company and clear that little mess up - and fast - before Kevin got home.



I would like to tell you that this is an isolated incident, but it’s not. The water has been cut off, the gas (as I said), and yesterday I got a “final notice of insurance termination” from my insurance company about our car insurance. It seems companies are less than thrilled with my bill paying methodology. I have since had to accommodate this issue by lowering the two inch rule to about an inch. However, as I glance left I see about three inches there so I suppose we could be in trouble.



Then there’s all the medical shit which is in a separate pile. I feel that the entire goal of the medical insurance industry is to make people feel like morons. You have your co-pay and that’s all good. But sometimes, there is no co-pay and you have to submit your bills directly to the company. At this point, they ask for documentation and try to intimidate you into forgetting about the whole damn thing. But if you decide to soldier on, then they try to screw with your head by confusing you about where you are in the reimbursement process.



This is bad enough with the normal wear and tear of life but Keely had a major medical problem last year so I’m completely covered with medical paperwork (it has its’ own two inch stack). So I pay the bill I’m sent from Duke Hospital, and then I get a check back from them saying I’ve overpaid. So I cash the check and guess what, I get another goddamn bill. Then I got another reimbursement and another bill. I’m so baffled at this point that I don’t even know where we are with the medical stuff so I’ve just moved the pile to the right and decided to only look left. It seems like a great plan to me although last night Kevin told me “the office is a mess.” A mess? Let him quit his “day job” and try to deal with this shit.



So that’s my views on paperwork. Well, I suppose I’ve put off the inevitable long enough. I’m going to get some coffee, fuel up and dig into the paperwork. If you don’t hear from me in about five minutes, just wait longer…

In which i discuss lists

Today I’d like to discuss lists. I’m married to a list maker. Every week I start out with a handwritten list of “Things for Lynn to Do This Week.” Every thing Kevin does is well thought out and methodical and his lists are no exception. It’s all written in his Franklin Planner and if it’s not on there, it’s simply not going to happen. He likes to get things done. I once joked to him when we just started dating, “does it say on there, make plans to get laid today?”



I thought I’d share my new list with you today. Kevin says this is just the “short” list, by the way.



1.      Get the body shop and insurance information for Daniels wreck (yup, he wrecked his car).


2.      Call the carpenter to look at the rotten wood on the house trim (didn’t I do something similar to this last year? I mean really, again?)


3.      Find someone to work on our gutters and downspouts (Why me?)


4.      Talk to the pool guys about fixing the pool lights (Okay. I actually did this one because I have a party coming up and I want the lights on)


5.     Get the bushes that are up against the house trimmed (this is related to item number 2 as obviously the bushes are rotting the wood.


6.     Aeration/seeding. Get it done. (Isn’t it enough that I mow the lawn? Must I do everything?)


7.      Mail my nephew his stuff from this summer. (It’s been two months. He’s lived this long without it so does he really, really need it?)


8.     Find out how much the insurance is per car so we can compare quotes (is he serious? That’s going to require me to dig into the filing cabinet.)



That’s my current list. It doesn’t include all the mundane matters like paperwork including medical reimbursement bullshit and bills. But here’s my point. I hate doing stuff. I understand why Kevin gives me this list because he works - a lot. But should I be punished because I don’t work by having to do all these tedious little tasks. Shouldn’t we both do what we’re good at? For Kevin, that’s running a business and noticing all the little details in life. For me, it’s doing nothing. Why should I have to change what I’m good at? If I’m good at doing nothing, should I have to interrupt that by actually doing something? That makes no sense to me.



The other day we were discussing lists because I have so very many of them laying around my desk, mostly incomplete. I asked him why, oh why, does he keep making me more lists when I never do most of the ones I already have? He replied that he figures I do about 20% of each list so if he adds more items, then more stuff is likely to be done. Not a bad strategy in my opinion. At any rate, I cull through the many line items and cherrypick the ones that don’t look too, too boring to do. I do those items, as well as any that seem to be either important to me or at the very least, dire.



It’s my opinion that the house is standing, it’s not condemned. The neighborhood association hasn’t complained about the lawn, the kids seem to be fed and clothed so seriously, WHAT DO PEOPLE WANT FROM ME? If you have anything to add, feel free to submit it to me – in list form. Okay

In which i discuss catalogues

Today I would like to discuss the problem of catalogues. Does Pottery Barn really think that by sending me three catalogues a week I will order more? This week alone I received their regular Pottery Barn Catalogue, Pottery Barn Teen, Pottery Barn Baby & Child, and Pottery Barn Bed and Bath. I get that they want me to buy some Pottery Barn stuff but seriously, are four separate catalogues from one source really necessary? I’m actually a huge Pottery Barn fan who orders plenty from there, most of it online but only after perusing their catalog. In fact, I have an entire guest bedroom that was decorated with Pottery Barn furniture. Ordering from Pottery Barn is a sport around here. They could save money on advertising and just take pictures of my house but still, even I don’t need four catalogs in one week!



At any rate, I have to wonder at the sheer volume of the mail order industry in general. Obviously, we’ve already discussed how much my husband loves mail order. I mean, looking through the J. Crew and Territory Ahead catalogues are his biggest stress reliever, but today alone, I received a Pottery Barn, The Company Store and a Ballard Designs catalog in the mail. And that’s just today!



The sheer number of trees killed for this industry are incredible. My household alone receives about three different Restoration Hardware catalogs, a number of different Frontgate catalogs, Hanes, Title IX, Free People, Delia’s, Oriental Trading, Williams Sonoma, L.L. Bean, Patagonia and don’t even get me started on Victoria’s Secret. They are in a category all their own. They must know that I need some sort of serious frontal support because they send me a catalog about four times a week. I GET THE HINT!! Speaking of Victoria’s secret, obviously if I looked like those models I would have no problem wearing those sexy items, but that would be like trying to shove a hot dog into a straw: it’s just not happening. It’s like some sort of water torture having these beautiful women constantly showing up in my mailbox saying “You will never, ever look like this!” And they do show up. Almost every fucking day!



I spend more time bundling these catalogs up and shoving them in my recycling bin than I do on running my household, not that that’s much to compare to, but you get the point. Well, I feel better now sharing my dismay about the welfare of trees in the world due to the overabundance of catalogues.



I mean, I’m just saying ...

In which i discuss my "fixer-upper" theory

I have a good friend from college who never got married. In fact, I have more than one who didn’t marry, but I’m just discussing this case. My friend and I were both swimmers in college and we were used to seeing mostly naked guys all the time. And not just any “mostly naked guys,” these guys were swimmers. I know you guys have seen the Olympics so you know that swimmers bodies are awesome and after many, many years this becomes the standard that you are used to and you can become jaded.



So, back to my friend. She was very cute and had guys asking her out all the time. But after college, the lack of “awesome bodies” became a problem and she wouldn’t date certain guys because they didn’t look good enough. I tried - and failed - to explain my “fixer-upper” theory to her but she just didn’t listen.



Now that I have two girls, I have drilled my theory into their heads since they were old enough to think (actually, revise that, I’m still waiting for them to think). So now I will explain my theory to you, dear readers.



I began my career of “fixing up” people when I was in college and my brother, Bruce, was getting ready to attend The University of Virginia. He had all the necessary components to be a stud, he just couldn’t seem to put them together. He was a swimmer, therefore he already had the whole “six-pack” abs thing going on and he was a really cute guy. He just couldn’t dress. Swimmers do tend to grow up wearing shorts and t-shirts all the time as every different swim meet you go to sells them. It was my mode of dress for years.



So Bruce and I went and did a little pre-college shopping and bought the requisite khakis, polos, button downs, you get the picture. By the time he got to UVA: Helloooo Cutie! So you see, the theory of fixing up people is actually a very useful concept. I don’t understand why he’s not thanking me EVERY. DAMN. DAY.



The basics of the theory are: you can’t change a guy’s personality but you can absolutely, positively change the way he looks. It’s like a house. If it has good “bones” or “features,” all you need to do is have an extreme makeover. You obviously can’t put in a yard if there’s no space but if there is, all you need is landscaping. You see the analogy?



My husband Kevin, for example, was cute as hell, incredibly nice but he couldn’t dress himself to save his life. Where did he get those shirts and jeans from? I have no idea. The first time I met Kevin, through a haze of alcohol, he looked adorable and extremely acceptable. On our first date, he was still hanging in there although to be honest, I was pretty wasted that night as well. It was around our second or third date that I realized that something needed to be done with this poor guy’s attire. After about a month, I began my campaign to “fix him up” in earnest. It became apparent when he showed up in WHITE JEANS with a blue blazer to meet my parents for the first time when they came up to visit that he needed some extreme fashion advice, and fast. I mean seriously, white jeans? Who wears that shit? After my mother declared him a keeper, I realized that we were now at the hard work stage of turning him into a man among men!



Since he played basketball a few times a week, working out wasn’t an issue, but as any single guy in their 20’s will tell you, healthy eating was not a priority. If I was going to spend any time down at his place, changes would have to be made. We began with a few small adjustments to his eating habits. Gone were the numerous Coca-Colas a day. Unsweetened tea with Sweet & Low became the norm because, after all, I am a southerner and WE DRINK TEA. Out went 4% milk and in came 1% milk. Blue Cheese dressing smothering his veggies? I don’t think so. Hello Italian. At any rate, you get the picture. Well, before you know it, he had lost 20 pounds and was looking pretty god damned good. As a matter of fact, I totally resented this because there is no way in hell that a few changes in habit made any difference to my more-than-a-little-plump body. But I digress …



We were now ready for part two of our diabolical plan. (I felt a little like Pinky and the Brain writing that). Total clothing overhaul. White jeans? No. Tight jeans (yup, he had that problem too)? Out into the trash. New clothing was purchased and voila! Cute, yummy boyfriend!! I was still living in the city at the time and now we could walk around like the true metropolitan couple we were. Or we could have if I hadn’t been part of the couple. At any rate, I fixed him up so well that I decided that he MUST marry me!



By the way, Kevin HATES, HATES, HATES my fixer upper theory. I guess he just doesn’t like the idea that I’m responsible for raising his cute factor and won’t admit that he was, indeed, desperately in need of “fixing up.”



So that’s it folks, my fixer upper theory. I tell my girls, find a nice guy with some potential. If he treats you like you’re the shit, he’s a keeper. Trust me, we can fix up the rest. After all, look at your dad!

In which i discuss my trouble with travels

I have travel issues. It’s not that I don’t enjoy travelling, it’s the planning aspect that gets constantly fucked up. If it just happened once it would be a fluke but after at least four times, it seems that we have seen the enemy and it is us. The first time this type of problem reared its ugly head was for my 20th reunion for Johns Hopkins University. It was in April of 2001. I had paid the money, made the reservations and was preparing to drive up to Baltimore with my husband Kevin to attend. Just to touch base with my friend Monika, I called her up on the Thursday before to confirm our plans.



She answered the phone and said, “Lynn, where the hell were you?” “What”, I replied, “I’m on my way up there tomorrow.” That was when I was informed that I was a jerk; the reunion had been the previous weekend. “Are you serious?” I asked. SHE WAS. She said people kept asking where I was and there were nametags ready and everything. She kept assuring everyone that I would be there. I completely missed my 20th reunion! Boy was I pissed … although not as pissed as Kevin was. You see he had taken off work to drive up for the weekend and you get the picture. The amazing thing was that I was invited to a big wedding out of town one weekend and my reunion the next and since I couldn’t leave the kids two weekends in a row, I chose the reunion. The end result was that I missed both. Ha fucking ha.



Well, since I already had a sitter for the kids, Kevin and I went down to the beach for the weekend but I was still bummed.



I wish I could say that was the only time this thing happened but I digress…



Andie and I were headed to Florida for the Disney Field Hockey Tournament. I get on the computer the night before to print out our boarding passes and lo and behold, I can’t find them. I’m frantically searching all over the place and it turns out I made airline reservations for March when in fact, we were leaving the next day in FEBRUARY to go to the tournament. We were playing with a team from Ohio so it was pretty important we be there on the correct month. Talk about an “OH SHIT” moment. Well, they don’t sell full-price tickets for no reason, do they? I’m freaking and telling Andie, do not tell your father about this. We made the flight, and of course he found out because my kids love ratting me out to my husband.



And on we go …



I’m in Maine on the way back with the kids after a lovely week of lounging around with my relatives. We drive the hour and a half to the airport only to find out the flight didn’t leave at 12:00 as I had thought, but at 11:00. Since it was 10:45, we weren’t allowed to board the plane. We spent six hours in the Portland International Jetport. No flights. Nothing. As a matter of fact, that airport sucks so badly that Andie wrote a 5 page diatribe on Why the Portland International Airport Should Not Exist. So of course we have to fly standby. Finally they had three standby seats on one plane and one on the next flight. So what could I do? I had to send my three kids, age 12, 11 and 8 on to Philadelphia alone while I waited in Portland for the next flight. We finally got home to Greensboro but what a clusterfuck. I’d like to blame the airlines but really, it’s all me.



Yet another time…



How about the time Andie and I were flying to California for yet another field hockey tournament and we show at the airport and apparently I had received an email about a flight change. Yeah, that’s right, the flight left in 10 minutes. As we sprinted through the airport down to our gate all I could think of is, “Fucking spinning! I work out every damn day and I’m dying here sprinting tto the gate!” Once again, we made it by the skin of our teeth.



Shall I go on? Because I could for days…



We’re leaving on spring break heading down to the Bahamas. It’s early in the morning and we’re heading for Starbucks for a cup of java on the way to the airport. Kevin says, “Lynn, are you sure about the flight times?” I say, “of course, have I ever been wrong?” That caused a huge moment of silence in the car and then I heard, “Check the damn tickets, right now”. Well, of course I was wrong. You get the picture: we turn the car around, drive about 100 miles per hour to get to the airport and barely make the flight.



So there you have it. This is but a small sampling of my trouble with travels. This morning when I was discussing this chapter with Kevin, he said “I love how you make it sound like the traveling is the problem”.



What the hell does that mean? Why does my family entrust this responsibility to me? It’s not part of my job description. Actually, anything that requires attention to detail is supposed to be kept far, far away from me. They should know this by now, so really, it’s their fault.

I mean, I'm just saying ...

In which I post My Best Friend Application

Lynn MacDonald’s
Best Friend Application


1. What is your name?
2. What is your quest?
3. What is the capital of Assyria?
4. Did you know those are all from Monty Python and the Holy Grail?
5. Who is the funniest person you know?
6. Who is the funniest person ever in the history of the world even though you haven’t met some people?
7. What does the earth revolve around? (hint: the correct answer is not “the sun”)
8. Who makes the best cookies?
9. How old are you?
10. If you’re under 18, do you have permission from your mom to even be talking to me?
11. Will you cater to my every whim and need?
12. What would a good nickname for me be?
13. What 50 words best describe Lynn MacDonald?
14. If you think I’m a bitch, is it necessarily a bad thing?
15. Do you like this font? If not then why not? My favorite person Keely decided she liked it… Answer the question.
16. One time at band camp… (please finish the sentence in the funniest way possible. You will be graded. This question is worth five points of your final grade! If your answer cannot be read to class, then you should have written a better one – one you are proud enough of to read to me and my entire family.)
17. What is the average velocity of an unladen swallow?
18. What type of music do you listen to?
19. Who would you rather spend a half an hour with: Lynn MacDonald or Michael Jordan or George W. Bush?
20. Why on all these tens numbers does it keep indenting?
21. And now it’s back to normal. What’s the deal with that?
22. Okay, wait. Now it’s doing it on this one. Is it because it’s the first number on the page? What is your philosophy?
23. Are you aware that hundreds of people have been fired from my best friend position?
24. Can you handle the pressure?
25. Are you easily intimidated by Lynn MacDonald’s superior intellect, sense of humor, and incredible looks?
26. Do you think I’m full of myself?
27. I’m not. Get over it. This isn’t a question.
28. Have you ever won a wet t-shirt contest? If so, how much money did you win?
29. Can you BUST A MOVE?
30. What are your favorite movies? Choose wisely…
31. If you’re a boy, are you willing to date my amazing daughters, Keely and Andie?
32. You would realize that you wouldn’t date them both at the same time, right?
33. Would you rather read:
a. Star (aka “smut”)
b. Sports Illustrated
c. The Wall Street Journal
34. If C was your preferred choice, do not go any further. If A was your choice, give me the scuttlebutt. If you chose B… then you aren’t very special, are you?
35. Are you a Yankees fan?
36. If so, can you be converted to a rabid red sox fan?
37. Or maybe just a regular red sox fan?
38. Rabid is preferred. Foaming at the mouth is good…
39. Are you answering these questions honestly or just sucking up?
40. What do you think of a martyr starter kit?
41. Have you ever seen such a kit?
42. Would you willing to market it for Lynn MacDonald

43. EXTRA CREDIT: Are you willing to call on a daily basis?
44. What do you think of the word “strategery?”
45. Do you think I’m getting off-topic?
46. If so, explain why. If not, then how come?
47. Show me the money… SHOW ME THE MONEY!!!!...?
48. What movie is that from?
49. I knew that. Why did you tell me?
50. Do you like it when I repeat my hilarious stories?
51. A lot of times?
52. A whoooooooooole lot of times?
53. Are you sure?
54. Okay fine. I believe you. Should I believe you?
55. What kind of stories can I tell you:
a. G rated
b. PG-13
c. R
d. X and above
56. I have a lot of X and above. Be prepared.
57. Are you easily shocked?
58. Are you lacking a sense of humor? If so, why are you even bothering to fill this out?
Essays (Worth a lot of your grade. Suck up to the people who grade them – Andie and Keely and myself, the amazing Lynn MacDonald – make sure you do well on it! You may use additional paper if needed.)
1. In a mere 500 words, tell me why you currently have no best friend. What makes you think you’re best friend material?
2. In a well thought-out ENGLILSH paper, tell me what a good question about myself would be. Give supporting details and make sure you use metaphors and similes for good imagery. Extra points given for cool nickname.