A friend of mine was feeling down and a bit picked on the other day, so I related the following story:
When I was a teen-ballerina, I had a friend named Molly. One day the guys in the dance studio were teasing her, teasing her . . . teasing her. Suddenly this sweet lovely girl, who could have stepped out of a Degas painting, hauled off and told them, “F*** YOU. My MOTHER LOVES ME.” I laughed so hard I about fell on the floor. Continue reading
The other day I notice a woman fighting – and losing – a battle with her Spanx (slimming underwear for the uninitiated) and it occurred to me that there are CLEAR advantages to living in a Man Cave. Among them: easy access to men-clothing.
Having grown up with two brothers, one just 16-months older than me, the other about 16-months younger, I actually got a taste of living in a Man Cave early. There wasn’t a doll I owned that didn’t take a trip on a brother-made boat out onto a pond or hitch a ride attached to the tail of a kite that inevitably ended up strangled in a tree or diving deep into an angry rose bush.
The story of my brothers blowing up my Han Solo action figure with fire crackers is legendary. They didn’t confess to the crime until 20-years later. Continue reading
I was trying to reassure a colleague of mine, who has young kids, that one day he will NOT be chronically ill. He is NOT suffering from a long-term illness. Nope. Like many parents, he is catching every cold, stomach virus, flu bug, achy-crud his little kids can generate. I swear that when my kids were young, my husband I weren’t completely well and mucus free for two years.
There’s no getting around it. You can take your vitamin C and scrub your hands germ-free… but those little bug-factories will cough right in your face. Or you’ll end up kissing their snotty-little cheeks, anyway… because they’re so darn cute even when their contagious. Just resign yourself to the fact that when one of your kids gets sick, EVERYONE in the family will catch it. Continue reading
I look at all the squabbling between left and right, religious and non-religious, political party vs. political party… and all I can think about?
I was in Newtown, Connecticut a year ago. Twenty little beds would be empty, that night. Twenty tiny caskets would follow. Six beautiful women’s families would mourn. Continue reading
My youngest sometimes sneaks into my room to nap because he says hubby and I have a bed that “Is soooo FLUFFY!!!” So now my bed smells like little boy feet and taco chips. Febreze is handy in the Man Cave. Continue reading
I want to decorate the Man Cave for the holidays, but this is proving to be tricky.
Most of our ornaments went into storage when we made the big move from Seattle to Manhattan. To be honest, though, many ended up packed away long before that, as our family evolved. Continue reading
The other day in the Man Cave I made pot roast and convinced my finicky teen to eat it by putting it between two slices of bread, “Look, a MEAT SANDWICH!” It was gobbled down. This is not the first time we’ve battled over pot roast, my friends. Continue reading
While watching Scooby-Doo (the original series) my youngest just said he liked “Scrappy-Doo.” I sent him to his room. I think that’s fair.
This has been an actual conversation in the Man Cave. What’s the Man Cave? Read this.
I had Thanksgiving “off” this year. No minor thing for this reporter-girl. For many, many years Thanksgiving week has been the trifecta of reporter assignments:*Wednesday, talk with busy travelers.
*Thursday, go to the mission where they’re serving up Thanksgiving breakfast.
*Friday, go talk with Black Friday shoppers. And don’t get run-over (they are a determined lot).
It’s exhausting, but in a good way. It’s a good reminder that I have a job. A good reminder that I had Thanksgiving dinner waiting for me at home, either courtesy a gracious relative or the deli department at the local grocery store. I hadn’t roasted a turkey since I was a mere newly-wed, standing in the kitchen asking my baby-sister if she knew which end of the bird I was SUPPOSE to stuff . . . Continue reading
Heather Bosch's Man Cave 