As gingerbread houses pop up this holiday season, I’m reminded to buy extra candy, because my boys will eat half of it while we attempt to assemble said house.
Ah- assembling! How many of us have tried to put together our wonky-made fresh cooked gingerbread walls and roofs that NEVER seem to quite fit together with icing that refuses to serve as an efficient mortar? I plan to write a complaint to the National Association of Home Builders’ gingerbread division. Continue reading
When the Man Cave first relocated to Manhattan, we lived in an apartment that had a large laundry room outside of our unit … and thus, I introduced my sons to the concept of doing their own laundry.
Armed with a laundry-payment card — to activate the washers and dryers — as well as detergent and dryer sheets, they were taught to wash their own clothes. Continue reading
I’m listening to my youngest — now a teenager — COUGH and I’m praying he won’t develop the laryngitis I suffered from recently (see “Silence in the Man Cave” part 1, part 2 and part 3). If there’s anyone who genuinely enjoys talking as much as his network-news-correspondent mom, it’s my youngest.
I remember when he was about 5 or 6, on Saturday mornings, the door to our bedroom would creak open. Only a small hand reaching up to the doorknob visible. Continue reading
I’ve now had the cold-from-heck, also known as the newsroom plague, for six days. With the bug firmly embedded in my throat, I drove to my doctor’s office.
“Do you have an appointment?” a slightly irritated receptionist says to me.
“No.“ I squeak while shaking my head and pointing at my throat.
Receptionist says, “Well, you should call first and ask when — “
Me: <shaking my head furiously now with a pretend phone in my hand> “Voice. NO. Phone TALK? Can’t!” Continue reading
I have officially reached the pity party stage since “Silence in the Man Cave, part one.”
Please understand, very little takes me down.
I once suffered shingles while on assignment in the Midwest. But after a trip to the emergency room and with antivirals in hand, I managed to get BACK on the road and was working the next day. Continue reading
I’ve been thinking a lot about the human voice as I’ve contracted a bug that’s left me — and I assure you this rarely happens — SPEECHLESS.
Actually I do have a LITTLE voice left, but I sound kind of like Yoda from inside a vacuum cleaner bag. That explains why the desk assistants at the CBS Network, where I’m employed, took a while to understand I was calling in sick: “Me … ILL … no work I can do. Voice broken, it is….”
It’s also a reminder that though I make a living talking to people, there is more than one way to convey a message or tell a story. Continue reading
So, I’m sitting in the little red Honda that I’ve owned since my boys were babies and their child safety seats were firmly strapped into the back seats, but this time my oldest son is sitting in the front seat and NOT on the passenger’s side!
Oh no.
He’s in the DRIVER’S seat. His lankly legs tucked under the steering wheel and his tall back pushed up against the back of the seat. Ready to learn how to drive!
A friend of mine has a new FitBit health tracker. I have a PantsFit monitor. Let’s compare.
The Fitbit is a device that contains a 3D motion sensor that accurately tracks your calories burned, steps taken, distance traveled and sleep quality.
I have pants.
If my pants fit, I’m doing OK. If they don’t fit, I need to lay off the potato chips and run more.
My youngest, through the genetic wheel-of-fortune, is a blonde haired green-eyed boy.
As chance would have it, his school is full of predominately dark haired, beautifully brown-eyed students.
SO. He has become the go-to example in his biology class.
He said, “Mom, anytime she (his teacher) needs to point to an example of recessive genes, it’s ME: ‘Blonde, green eyed- oh heck! Just look at William.’” Continue reading
The men of the Man Cave are actually quite different despite their obvious physical resemblance. My sons look so much like my husband, we should have just cloned him … and I could’ve skipped labor.
My youngest is chatty and cheeky. The other day he walked past me — music blaring from the cell phone in his pocket.
“Where’s that music coming from?” I asked.
“I’m just epic,” he said. “Like Darth Vader. I just walk into a room and music starts playing!”
My oldest is more serious — feet firmly planted in the world of teenager-hood. He answers most of my questions with a grunt and greets my jokes with a two syllable version of Mom. Imagine “Maahh-uum,” complete with eye roll. Continue reading
Heather Bosch's Man Cave 