My Apology to the Maternity Ward

After posting Kindergarten Moments, I couldn’t help but think about the day I gave birth to each of my four children…and how blessed I am.

I also thought about my labor with each of them, and what I said, and what I did. And I wondered why I never sent letters of apology to the maternity staff. It’s never too late to say I’m sorry.

Here goes…


To the nurse who held my hands together, and told me to calm down when I was screaming in pain. I’m sorry I called you Nurse Ratched for the rest of the night.

To the hospital administrators who wondered why my mattress was so deformed when I left. I’m sorry I kept pulling the corners of the mattress over my head every time I had a contraction. It won’t happen again.

To the doctor who simply asked “How do you feel?” after I pushed for 2 hours giving birth to my son. I shouldn’t have had a tone. I shouldn’t have said “How do I F-E-E-E-L? You want to know how I F-E-E-E-L? Well…. I’ll tell ya! I FEEL like someone just took an APPLE, and shoved it up my ASS…that’s how I feel!!!” I even heard the staff talking about it the next day. I’m sorry. I was wrong.  

To the doctor who caught me getting ready to leave the hospital, only three hours before my son was born, because I wanted a turkey sandwich. I shouldn’t have insisted it was a false labor. I should’ve checked with you first.

And to the nurse, who kindly said “I can’t give you an epidural now. The window of opportunity has closed.” I’m sorry that I said you COULD give me the epidural and that you just liked to hide behind the door and laugh at me while I screamed. I know better now.  But in my defense, the same thing happened to my friend, Mary, and she said it was a conspiracy. So….

And finally, to the doctor who wanted to know how the hell I got all the way from the jet tub at the other end of the hall, to my room, without a wheelchair. I apologize. If I had known the baby’s head was crowning I wouldn’t have walked that far, or at all. But my husband went to find a doctor and I got tired of waiting. I’ve learned my lesson.

Again, I’m sorry for all of these things. But more importantly I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart. I couldn’t have brought home four beautiful, perfectly healthy, babies without you!


That Awkward Moment When….

  • you’re brushing your teeth at a friend’s house and look down to see YOUR toothbrush still on the counter.
  • you return clothes to a store and they announce “You can’t return these. You didn’t buy them here.”
  • you change out of your clothes and realize you sat in chocolate.
  • you’re at work and notice that you’re wearing two different shoes.
  • you get your kids on the bus then find yourself locked out of the house in your bathrobe.
  • you forget where you are for a split second and burp out loud at work.
  • you sing your heart out on the way to work, then see that you never hung up your cell phone when leaving a message on the school’s answering machine.

I’m Sally O’Malley and I’m 50!

So… 2015 is a big year for my friends and I. We all turn 50. And we can ki-i-i-i-i-ck and
stre-e-e-e-e-tch, just like SNL’s Sally O’Malley. If you don’t believe me, I’ll prove it
(somebody must have footage from Friday night).

What happened Friday night? Well… it all started when our friend, Cindy, invited the girls
(a group of us who have been friends since the 7th grade) to attend her art show. Since all of us could make it, we decided to kidnap Cindy afterwards for a night on the town to celebrate her 50th. That’s her in the middle with the cool black and white dress. 

After we visited her exhibit, Cindy’s husband suggested we tour the museum. We just stood there, staring at him. It was time to get Cindy out of there and buy her a cocktail with a sparkler. But then again, here we were looking all fancy, so we decided to go ahead and meander through the museum like a bunch of art connoisseurs.

It didn’t take long for our real personalities to kick in. The big spider on the wall was calling us. “Let’s make it look like it came to life and attacked us!” We have the best ideas. If we only knew the spider was a Louise Bourgeois valued at 1.7 million dollars we may have kept our distance, and stayed near the refreshment table where the chicken fingers were a-plentiful.

11075251_1616478518582747_3501892658830034963_o (1)_copyAfter they kicked us out (joking), it was time to go to the casino and check into our room. Cindy showed us her AARP card. We assured her… “Don’t be sad, you get free donuts now.” 

Soon we headed to dinner, and bumped into a group of girls that were “us” from 25 years ago. They were texting…we were texting. I told them “We are you from the future, and in 25 years you’ll still be texting.” I wish I had used my robot voice.

After dinner, my friend Michele and I passed Elvis in the hall. He was sitting all by himself on a bench. Simultaneously we turned around, walked back and sat down next to him — no words spoken (by now we communicate telepathically).  In our minds . . . ELVIS . . . PHOTO OP . . . GO BACK.

We ended  the night dancing to an 80’s band. It was fun, but a little weird going into a club at our age. I saw two men walk into the Ladies Room and decided to stay outside the restroom door and wait. When they came running out I said “Wrong restroom, boys?” In their defense they responded “We were trying to meet girls.”  Touche’.

Later on, some punk bumped into the birthday girl and scumdidn’t even apologize. Our friend Sandy, who’s never mean, said “What a SCUMBAG!” Well… she was right. Check this out!

11036703_904693446241106_3182916722949028977_n (1)At the end of the night, we were quite proud of ourselves and our old bodies…we closed the bar! And as we walked to our room there was just one regret. Michele (who used to be a gymnast) turned to Cindy and said “I never got to do my one talent.” …to which Cindy replied “You are so talented; you can do a cart-wheel without spilling your beer.” Michele laughed, “That IS my one talent!” I guess we’ll have to save it for the next one. 🙂

A Traffic Ticket? Oh, no thank you, I’m good.


I would pride myself on the fact that in the first 45 years of life I never heard the words “license and registration, please.” And now I realize I shouldn’t have bragged about it, because Karma has a way of biting you in the ass.

In 2011, my kids and I were spending a week with my parents in Florida. I decided to head to Boca for a day to visit a friend and left at the break of dawn. Just when I passed through an early morning fog I saw signs that I was entering a school zone and immediately slowed down. But it was too late. My first offense and I was only going 35 miles an hour.

A police officer, I will call “Chip” because he clearly used to be a Chippendale’s dancer, pulled me over. Instead of being nervous, I was more consumed with what he looked like with no shirt and a bow tie. After looking at my license he said “Oh, you’re from Upstate New York? So am I. And I have a cousin that lives in the same town as you.” So, of course I said “Reeeeeeeeally?” batting my eyelashes seductively. I didn’t know his cousin, but as we talked about our future together… I mean, as we talked, it turns out he grew up in the same town where I went to college. And in the end, his last words were “I’m not going to give you a ticket. Just promise me you’ll drive safe and have fun visiting your friend.”

Later that year, I was cutting through a neighborhood side street and stopped at a stop sign, then continued on. Well, I guess I didn’t come to a complete stop. And there sits a cop. I distinctly remember looking right at the officer and mouthing the words “OH SHIT!” I had to think fast. I once heard a story of a police officer who pulled over his former English teacher for the same offense; he said to him “…back there at that stop sign, well that was a comma, not a period.” I thought that was a funny line, so I used it – admitting my guilt. He laughed. Apparently officers like comedy. I then told him that if he needed to give me a ticket to please hurry. I had to pick up my daughter from softball practice or she’d be at the school all alone. Which was the truth. He said “How about this? I’ll just give you a warning. Does that sound fair?”  What? He was asking me? “WELL, HELL YEAH THAT SOUNDS FAIR!!!” And I was on my way.

My third offense happened the following year on my way back from Florida. I was pulled over for speeding. I had gotten off the highway and was traveling a country road that turned from 65 mph to 55 mph and I didn’t see the sign. The officer came to the window, and when I reached into my glove compartment I noticed a second officer had his face pressed up against the passenger side window. He scared the living breathing SHIT out of me…and my kids. I literally started to shake. I said to the “nice” officer, “I’m sorry. I’m nervous.” He said “Oh, please, no need to be nervous. I just wanted to give you a warning, Ok? I won’t give you a ticket.”

Three for three.

Then it happened. It finally happened. I was pulled over by a woman. The dreaded female cop. I was traveling in the middle lane of the highway, just following traffic, and she nabbed me.  I didn’t even realize I was speeding. And of course I’m thinking… “Hey, they were all speeding too!” I was the scapegoat and I wasn’t sure what to do.  Plus, she was a meanie. So, I took what was coming to me, and at the ripe age of 48, I got my first ticket.

Those suckers are expensive! I do try my best to follow the rules of the road. And I pray I can go another 48 years before the next one.

Meet Forrest

Who’s Forrest? Well, he’s a dog…and the newest addition to our family. He’s only 9 months old and he’ll be the subject of many blogs, so I thought it only right to introduce him.

Koda and Cosmo Welcome Forrest!

I still can’t believe we adopted him. You see, we already have two Golden Retrievers, Koda and Cosmo, brothers who just turned eleven a couple of weeks ago. So when my daughter asked if she could adopt this puppy from the local pet shelter, my answer was emphatically “NO!” After I said “no” about 193 times we adopted Forrest. And yes, he’s named after Forrest Gump.

It all started when my son and his fiancé were adopting a dog from the shelter and it broke their heart to leave his brother behind. They spoke to my daughter and suggested we adopt him. (Oh, that reminds me, I never thanked them for that.) I did not want a third dog. My reasons? …we 10888686_858162140894237_4367685434504998127_ndon’t have the room …I didn’t want the extra work … and I didn’t want the extra expense. Then I made that dreaded mistake — I went to the shelter and met him. After I held him, then hugged him, then told him that I would be his forever grandma, I had to bring him home.

eyes closedIronically, just like Forrest Gump, he’s taken many pictures with his eyes closed. And can he “Run, Forrest, Run?” Well, yes. He can also jump onto a table with no assistance from a chair, clear the fence in a single bound, and takes pleasure in diving through the spindles of our back deck…instead of using the stairs. Although he’s a mix, the vet said he has the markings and characteristics of a Whippet, a type of English Greyhound (they say the fastest domesticated animal of his weight). Hmmm.

dggie door
Sorry Forrest, the last owners had a Chihuahua.

He’s a handful — more than I bargained for — and his energy is clearly fueled by the protein that he finds in eating our shoes. But, I just love that dog so much! Right now, my main goal is to protect him. Even if that means chasing him around my neighbor’s lawn in my pajamas, with my boots on, and my Phyllis Diller morning hair while they tap on their window pointing and laughing at me. It’s all good. After all, I am his grandmother.

I can’t help but think of him as human. Every morning when I blow dry my hair he waits patiently for me to “pretend dry” his hair too. He loves to wrestle with Cosmo, but leaves Koda alone…almost as if he knows he’s arthritic. When I get out my camera he immediately poses; Class of 2015he’ll even cross his paws as if in a senior photo shoot. He helps me clean by getting the broom out of the closet every day. I guess he doesn’t like to bother me, that must be why he taught himself how to open the back door and let himself out. When he jumps the fence to visit the neighbors, he won’t go more than one lot Forrest w teddyaway…probably because he knows it’s not safe, and he’ll possibly be grounded. And even though he loves to chew up everything in his path, even the sweetest stuffed animal, he has a heart of gold. And when he’s in trouble he stares you right in the eyes, with a very serious look, until you laugh.

Forrest’s reaction when I told him I was writing a story about him.

He’s crazy…but he’s ours. And we can’t imagine life without him.

Why I Hate Spill Check

Spell Check may be great at catching typos, but if you’re like me you forego typos altogether and just spell a different word.  A perfectly accurate, totally acceptable, can easily be found in Webster’s Dictionary, “other” word.  A word that makes no sense in the context of your article, and will never be flagged by Spell Check.

I do it a lot — I just can’t type. I blame my Vienna Sausage fingers. And I found out the importance of proofreading my work…the hard way.

I work in in the marketing department of a large health care facility.  Years ago, our department was responsible for launching the daily lunch menu on the monitors within the building. I’d run spell check and “assume” everything was fine. But do you know what you do, when you ASSUME? Just watch that court room episode of the Odd Couple. Felix Unger will tell you.

With over 500 employees in the building it was unfortunate (to say the least), to find errors after they had been broadcast in the lobbies and the food court of the facility. And, for the life of me, I don’t know why we had so many problems with the lunch entry “Hot Dog on a Bun.” One time it was Hot DON on a Bun, then HOG Dog on a Bun, but the worst ever was Hot Dog on a NUN! When I saw that, I ran back to the marketing department to fix it. And trust me, running and laughing at the same time is no easy task.

My co-worker, Mary Jane, always has me in stitches…same age as my mother, but I think of her as one of my best friends from high school. When I told her what happened she said, “Be careful! You‘re laughing so hard you’re gonna pee your pants,” then added “…of course that’s not unusual for ME! I do it every day.” …which practically had me on the floor.

After that, we were very careful and had a good run for a while. Until the dreaded day when they served Roast Beef. As I stood in the lunch line, I glanced up at the monitor. Apparently we were waiting for a helping of ROAD Beef.

The lunch menu is no longer broadcast on the internal monitors. 🙂

Life is funny. So laugh.

When I was a kid I was terribly shy. Hard to believe coming from a girl who thrives on talking to strangers and posts her most bizarre daily events on Facebook, but it’s true.

Once, while attending a birthday party at the age of five, I was asked if I’d like a piece of cake and responded with “No thank you Mrs. Campbell, I’ll just go home.” I even peed my chair during a spelling test in elementary school because I was terrified to raise my hand.
But, somewhere along the way, I grew out of that (thank goodness, right?)…and here I am starting a blog.

What’s my blog about? To quote Seinfeld, “nothing.” Well…not nothing, but kind of.

My poor parents had to look at this when I woke up from a nap.

For some reason I come in contact with weird people, or do stupid things on a daily basis. It’s almost like God puts it right in front of me so I’ll have material. And if it makes people laugh, cool. We all have too many stresses today; we need to take time to laugh.

So, stay tuned. And remember… life is funny, so laugh.