Chairman Of The Board

Stress can kill you. How do you cope? You may exercise fiercely, eat nonstop or shop without reason. I feel helpless about global warming, the federal deficit and nuclear war. So I shrink my world to something I can control. I iron clothes.

The idea started when I was a teenager. The local newspaper in New Jersey offered free want ads to teenagers looking for summer work. Most of the girls picked babysitting but there were too many ads for the same job. Aiming for something different, I created the headline, “Ironing Piling Up?” My home phone responded like the gong at day’s end in the stock market. I had all the work I could handle. Often I walked to a customer’s home, ironed a few hours, then walked back home. They trusted me. Some left the front door unlocked and my cash payment on the ironing board.  I passed the time listening to hit songs on their plastic kitchen radio while I worked. Starched shirts hung like ghosts from every doorknob.

In later years ironing brought peace of mind when I was angry or depressed. It was my defusing and thinking time as the iron thumped back and forth.

“Uh, oh,” my husband would say, “What are you mad about?”

“It’s therapy,” I would reply. By the time a heap of rumpled clothes dwindled to nothing, my calmness and dignity were restored.

One morning, my mother-in-law interrupted my weekly routine with a phone call. “You’re doing what?!” she asked. “Honey, nobody irons anymore!” Well, this one does, and it borders on obsession. I love the feel of an ironed pillowcase under my face, the look of a neat crease in a shirt sleeve or khaki pants, the faint scent of dryer sheets drifting up with the steam. When someone enters our home wearing a crinkled shirt, I have to resist the urge to say, “Would you like me to press that for you?”

The only jarring element of the process is the horrendous screech emitted when the board unfolds and clicks into position.  From there the process is a rhythmic symphony in motion. A gentle swish of water from the spray bottle signals the orchestration to begin. Each garment is carefully spread open, and with long sweeping strokes of the iron every winkle and crease is smoothed. The folded finale is placed in a warm, sweet-smelling pile.

I am in control.  I have transformed chaos into order. I have made my contribution toward a smoother tomorrow. I’m ready to face the world!


Written by Ruth Varner


Save Me # 64

I got up early this morning.  Don’t give me too much credit.  I couldn’t sleep so I decided to make the most of it.  I got my chef on and made a fancy breakfast.  And by fancy I mean warm.   Cheese omelets, fresh fruit cup and bacon were on the menu.  One by one they came downstairs and devoured their plate of morning goodness.  It was a proud moment for me.  There is something very satisfying when your kids eat a good breakfast.  I sat in my chair and enjoyed my coffee and listened to their morning chatter.

Molly: ” Oh yeah baby!  Its Friday!  Woo hoo!  Thanks for breakfast mom.  This looks great!”

Me: “You’re very welcome!”

Flynn: “Yeah.  Thanks mom.  I love bacon. Can I get more?”

Me: “You’re welcome. Sure.  Eat until you are full.”

Teagan: “I’m full.”

Me: “Girlfriend, you only ate half of your omelet.”

Teagan: “I know but I’m full.”

Me: “OK.  Clear your plate.”

She brings her plate to the sink.  Flynn is helping himself to another piece of bacon and Molly is still eating her breakfast.

Flynn: “Mom?”

Me: “Yes?”

Flynn: “What’s for dinner?”

Molly: “Oh!  Can we make homemade pizza?”

Flynn: “No way.  I want mashed potatoes and gravy”

Teagan: “Pizza! Pizza! Pizza”

Maggie: “Pizza! Pizza!Pizza!”

Flynn: (trying to change Maggie’s mind) “No Maggie.  Say Mashed Po Tay Toes, Mashed Po Tay Toes”

Molly: (All smiles and standing on her chair) “Yes.  That’s right.  Everybody sing my awesome idea.  Pizza! Pizza!  Pizza!”

Me: (trying to regain control) “Hello?  You (I point to Molly) Sit down! (She sits) Children!  It’s 7:45 am.  Why are we discussing dinner?”

Molly: “So you know what to buy while we are at school.”

Flynn: “Yeah.  You always ask us for dinner ideas.”

Me: “Oh.  Sure.  I’m your personal chef.”

Molly: (a true confession) “Mom!  Sorry but we LOVE food!”

Teagan:(circles back to the chant) “Pizza! Pizza! Pizza!

Maggie: (joining in on the fun) “Pizza! Pizza! Pizza!

Me: ‘What happened to my nice breakfast?”


“What’s for dinner?” at breakfast will make any sane woman insane.

Someone save me!

A Tidal Wave of Karma – From the Nurses’ Station

I was having a great day on the labor and delivery floor.  My assignment was a young couple, Emily and Steven, and they were having their first baby.  They were adorable and easy to get along with. The OB, Dr. Wilson, was a doctor that had been in Emily’s family for years. He delivered her nephew and her cousin’s baby.  Emily was a scheduled induction and everything was going smoothly throughout the entire morning.  Like many first time moms, Emily wanted to know why the doctor was not at the bedside.  I tried to reassure her “he will be here soon” but the truth is, most OB’s let the labor nurse run the show.  There is a certain amount of trust between the labor nurse and the doctor that develops over time.  It works.  It allows the doctor to run his office more efficiently and the nurse to have autonomy.  Emily was no exception.  I started the IV Pitocin and Dr. Wilson called late morning to check-in on her.  “I’ll be by at lunchtime to break her water” he explained to me.  “Sounds good!” I responded.  I let Emily know the plan and she seemed  happy with the news.

We spent the hours before lunch getting to know each other.   As usual, I made lots of bad jokes to lighten the mood.  We laughed a lot.  Why not?  It’s one of the happiest days in a young couple’s life.  As promised, Dr. Wilson showed up at exactly noon to break Emily’s water.   He walked into the room rolling up his sleeves.   He seemed to be in a rush which upset Emily.

Emily: “Hey!  Dr. Wilson!  How are you?”

Dr. Wilson: “Hello, Emily! I’m doing well.  The real question is how are you? Any pain?”

Emily: (Who thought she was giving the right answer..smiling.) “Nope!”

Dr. Wilson: “Well, we need to change that!”

Emily: (Clearly his comment scared her to death): “Oh no..really?”

Dr. Wilson: (laughing) “Yes!  Really!” (He pushed the button on the side of the bed to lower her head) “I’m going to break your water and see if we can get this labor moving in the right direction.  If you have pain, you can have your epidural whenever you want it, OK?”

Emily: “Um.  OK.” (She turns to me and whispers) “Is this going to hurt?”

Me: “It’s going to be Ok.  You will feel some pressure.  Hold my hand.”

Dr. Wilson: (Impatient and rolling his eyes at my compassion)  “Alright.  Can we get going here?”

Clearly, he was in a mood!  Who says men don’t have PMS?  I think they are worse than women.  I walked over to the linen closet and grab a few blue pads and several towels to put underneath the patient to keep her linens dry. All the while, Dr. Wilson is huffing and puffing and carrying on like a spoiled rotten kid.  I think the whole process took me about 3 minutes but he acted like it was 20.  After I protected the linens, I helped Dr. Wilson with a sterile glove and an amnihook (used to break the water) .  My right hand was assisting the doctor and my left hand was holding Emily’s for comfort.  She was a nervous wreck!  Steven, her husband was leaning over Dr. Wilson’s shoulder annoying the shit out of him.  I tried to give Steven the eyes that said “come over here” but he wanted a front row seat.

Dr. Wilson: (Getting aggravated because he couldn’t break the water easily ) “Can you help me out here?”

Me: “Sure.” ( I lowered Emily’s head and had her scoot towards the doctor so he could reach a little easier)

Dr. Wilson: (Barking orders now and getting nasty) “I need you to relax Emily!”

Emily: “I’m trying to. It hurts!” (Now she has tears in her eyes.)

Me: (I whisper to Emily) “You are doing fine.  Take nice, slow, deep breaths.”

Then something happened.  Dr. Wilson snapped. I think it was a combination of a husband breathing down his neck, a frustrating exam and a crying patient. Things were not going as smooth as he had hoped and he took out his frustration on me.  He looked at me right in the eye and said:


I felt my blood pressure sky-rocket and all I wanted to do was punch him right in the nose.  I shot daggers at him with my eyes.  He knew he went too far and purposely avoided eye contact with anyone in the room.  I was embarrassed for him.  So unprofessional and downright rude!  The patient gasped at his comment and her husband turned his back and walked out of the room slamming the door.  I think he was afraid he was going to do something physical to Dr. Wilson.  He was confused and wasn’t sure if this was normal behavior for an OB at a delivery.  Emily always had such wonderful things to say about this guy.  Steven was confused and angry.  I didn’t blame him one bit.

Somehow I kept everything bottled up and I remained professional.  Emily was crying harder than ever now but she was trying not to make a sound.  She was trembling.  I held her hand tight and brushed her hair gently with my hand.  She leaned towards me as to say “thank you” without making a peep.  Lord knows we didn’t want to do anything to get him more upset.

Finally, he broke her water.  It was clear fluid and the mission was accomplished.  Thank God.  We all took a deep breath of relief.  Instead of trying to catch some of the fluid onto the towels I provided, Dr. Wilson let the amniotic fluid pour out all over everything.  It soaked through all the pads and towels, soaked the linens, dripped on the floor, pooled under the patient.  He took off his glove and threw it on the bed, washed his hands and stormed out of the room.

Oh hell no..he isn’t getting away with this shit.  Nobody walks all over me like that!  I gave Emily some towels and draped a blanket over her and promised I’d be back in 1 second.  I ran behind Dr Wilson, who was halfway down the hall.

Me: (yelling down the hall) “Dr. Wilson! (louder now) “Dr. Wilson!”

Dr. Wilson: (He turns to me and says with a huge chip on his shoulder) “What?”

Me: “I need to have a word with you…NOW!” (I was fuming!  I wanted to hurt this man.  I never get mad.  This was so out of character for me but I was raging.)

Steven was waiting in the hallway so I opened the door to Emily’s room for him.

Me: “I’ll be there in just a second, OK?”

He nodded and walked into the room shutting the door behind him.  It was only a matter of seconds and Dr. Wilson was standing in front of me with his hands on his hips.  He was a tall guy. 6’2″ or so.  I looked up at him and put my finger in his face and with a stern, nasty, some might argue bitchy tone I told him what I thought.

Me: “Don’t you EVER!  EVER! EVER freaking tell me to SHUT UP in front of a patient again!  I was trying to help her and keep her relaxed so you could break her water!  You have some nerve talking to me like that!”

Dr. Wilson: (Eyes wide.  He relaxed his arms by his side now and then he said something that shocked me) “I’m sorry.  You are right.  I am sorry.”

Me: “OK” (I noticed a crowd of nurses watching from the nurse’s station and other ones popping their heads out of labor rooms to see what the heck was going on in the hallway. I felt like this was my moment to really give him a piece of my mind but Dr. Wilson was experienced with pissed off women.  He diffused my anger with a sincere apology.)

He walked away and some of my nurse friends gave me a thumbs up. I felt better.  An apology was what I wanted.  I didn’t think it would come so easily though.  He must have seen the crazy in my eyes.  Instantly, I thought I was going to get fired.  I don’t know why I thought that.  I guess it was because I have never yelled at anyone at work.  I couldn’t help it, he pissed me off.  There comes a point and time when you have to put somebody back in their place ya know? I took a deep breath and calmed down and then opened the door to the patient’s room.  Steven had a huge grin on his face and gave me a high-five.

Emily: “Oh my goodness, Ronda!  Love it!  He soooo deserved that!”

Me: “Uh oh? You heard that?” (Oops.  I guess I was loud.)

Emily: “Every word!  Awesome!  You are the best nurse ever!  He sucks.  I’m glad he won’t come in my room again until delivery.”

For some odd reason I defended him.  I guess I wanted Emily to have peace of mind that we wouldn’t have a Jerry Springer scene at the delivery.

Me:“Aw!  He is a good guy, he was probably stressed about something else.  We are fine now. Are you OK?  Let’s get all this wet stuff out from under you and get you comfortable.”

The rest of the day went smoothly.  We continued with the induction process and she eventually got her epidural. The epidural must have relaxed her body because she progressed nicely.  It was only an hour or so when she started to feel the urge to push.  Emily’s moment had arrived.  In the next few hours she would become a new mom.  I instructed her on how to push and we practiced.  Shockingly, she moved the baby way down in her pelvis with one push!  Usually, first time moms push for several hours so this was very exciting for a labor nurse. We did a few more pushes together and before I knew it the baby’s head was crowning. I called Dr. Wilson and prepared Emily for delivery.

Me: “Ok, Emily.  When Dr. Wilson arrives, I do not want you to be nervous.  All I want you to do is to push hard.  Exactly like you were just doing.  You are going to do fantastic.”

Emily: “OK. I can handle that.”

Me: “I have no doubt!”

A few minutes passed and a transformed Dr. Wilson entered the room in a good mood.

Dr. Wilson: “Alright, Emily!  I hear you are a great pusher.”

Emily: “I hope so.” (She didn’t want to disappoint this guy again, that’s for sure)

Dr. Wilson: (He put on his gloves) “Let me see you do the next push and then I’ll gown up for delivery, OK?”

Me: “She is very strong, Dr. Wilson.  You can go ahead and gown up!” (I tried to warn him)

Dr. Wilson: (He smiles a condescending smile and decides not to put on a gown and mask). “OK, Emily.  Give me your best push!”

And then…at that very moment.  All the planets aligned and everything seemed right in the world.  Emily gave a huge push and her beautiful baby girl came flying into Dr. Wilson’s arms. As if this didn’t shock Dr. Wilson enough…he also got completely soaked with a  huge pocket of amniotic fluid hiding behind the baby.  It was like a tidal wave of karma.  He had amniotic fluid dripping off of his nose, his mouth, his eyes.  It was awesome!  He gasped for a breath the way kids do when they stay under water too long.  

Dr. Wilson: “Ronda?”  He called for me in a panic with his eyes closed.  I answered promptly.

Me: “Yes doctor.  Do you need my assistance?”  I was laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe.

Dr. Wilson: “Yes? Towel please!”   He opened one eye and fumbled for a bulb syringe to clear out the baby’s airway.  He caught a glimpse of me laughing and he had to laugh too. “Oh, I see.  you think this is funny.” I wiped off his face for him.

Me:  I think this is hysterical.  Hey? I warned you to gown up.”

Dr. Wilson: “Yes..yes, I guess you did!”

Me: “What can I say, Dr. Wilson.  When I talk, I have very important things to say.”  (I love a good dig)

Dr. Wilson: (Laughing) “You are a good nurse Ronda and you are a good pusher Emily!”(He smiled at the newborn)” I’m telling you. This little girl got me good! I am soaked!”

I wrapped the newborn in a warm blanket so Emily could snuggle with her beautiful baby girl.  Who says a newborn can’t teach us some of life’s most important lessons?  Emily deserved this perfect newborn and I think most would agree that Dr. Wilson deserved a little splash in the face.

winking baby

“Don’t worry.  I got your back nurse Ronda!”


Thank you

I wanted to quickly thank everyone who voted for me in the Circle of Mom’s contest!  I finished in 9th place (woo hoo!) and I am currently working on my material that will be featured  in their spotlight email blast in the next few weeks.  This is a great way for me to reach a new audience and promote my book and blog.

If you are a subscriber to my blog, you probably received 3 emails containing old posts at 1 am in the morning. [Yes..I said 1am, that is when I have a few moments peace to write!]  Anyway, I apologize for the redundancy.  Ignore them or reread them..the choice is yours!

Stay tuned.  There will be a new and exciting post coming at the end of the week!  Again, thanks so much for your support during this contest!  You sure know how to make a girl feel loved!


Mrs. D


It’s Pasta Night

Does anyone else feel like they want to hurl after they pay bills, because I do? *Mrs. Doherty momentarily leaves the computer and fetches herself a Guinness to soothe the pain*   I try my best to save money anywhere I can and lord knows my hubby busts his ass at work but it’s never good enough. No matter how high your salary goes, it’s never enough.

I SAID……IT”S NEVER ENOUGH….EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Look,  I don’t want to be rich.  Ok, that’s a lie.  But it IS true that I don’t need money to make me happy.  I’m broke as a mofo but I smile everyday.  True statement.  Annoying to the miserable pessimists in my life, but true.  No matter which way you slice it, a  family of 6 is expensive!  It’s always something! (Now I sound like my parents).  Expenses ooze through my life at the most unexpected, pain in the ass, times.  You never know when you may lose money on real estate, have a sick child, need to replace the furnace, lose your job, discover that your home was attacked by termites or have an accident.  You get the point. These are not planned events.  They just happen.  I’m sure some of you are totally prepared for these stupid surprises that piss the rest of us off.  Good for you.  I’ll tell you what?  You buy the next round at the bar, okay?  As for the rest of you, listen up. I have listed below  3 reasons to smile, when your bank account frowns.

 #1 Celebrate Your Honesty and Generosity

I know everyone has their own financial story.  I get it.  But I don’t get how it always has to be a secret.  Nobody is honest about their income…..NOBODY!   I wish all people would stop being fake.  The rich act like they are poor and the poor act like they are rich.   And the people who really don’t want to talk about their money(credit card warriors) call themselves “the middle class”. What does that mean anyway?  Middle class?  Middle of what?  To me, middle-class means that sometimes you’re up and sometimes you’re down.  Kinda like Vegas?

Careful now…in an hour you may be at the free buffet wondering where all those chips went

Doesn’t it always seem that the cheapest bastards have the biggest bank accounts and the most generous people are poor.  Since most of my friends are extremely generous, I can assume that they too are broke.  Broke and poor yet, they still find the kindness to give to others. Cheers to THAT people!   Honesty and generosity.  By the way, please don’t tell that nasty mean lady I saw on Oprah about me.  What’s her name? Suzie the downer?  Have you ever seen her in action? She can depress a room full of normal people in less than 5 minutes.  Geez…Suz!  We are in a recession, ya know?  Maybe some of us have simply had a bad case of shitty ass Irish luck.

She is ready to pounce! Look at her!  Get em Suzie!

She would never, ever let me order another coffee from Dunkin Donuts.  I would have to kiss cable goodbye.  She would probably have my hubby giving me haircuts…..

That didn’t save me anything!  I want a divorce.

I can imagine the wrath now. I have completely made up the following conversation in my head.  I am confident that I would be like a raw piece of meat in her cage.  “These are luxuries Mrs. Doherty!”  “I know Suzie but I NEED them.  (awkward pause) “Ummm?…my kids are happier people when I have coffee?”  (pointing in my face, breathing like a bull through her nostrils) “Your kids won’t have food on the table if you keep ordering coffee”  “How bout alcohol?  Am I allowed to have alcohol?  Please?  I’ll be in therapy without it. Therapy sounds way more expensive than a beer?” Yeah?  Please…keep her away from me.  Now where was I?

#2 Take a bow when you make an effort

Let’s face it, we could all live a more simple life and spend less money if we really made an effort. You gotta at least try, right?  I recently made a huge effort.  I have watched where every dime goes and I swear to you, I am having trouble figuring out where to cut spending. I’m not a brand snob.  I buy clothing at Target and I plan my dinner around the sale items at the grocery store.  Where do I cut?  I downloaded a handy dandy iphone app called  It’s an app that links up with your bank account and helps form a budget and trend spending habits.  I liked this app at first because I felt proud that I was progressing in the right direction.  But now….now I hate it.  I yell at that stupid app everyday.  It sends me alerts when I overspend?  I don’t know about you but I think that’s a little ballsy of Mr. Mint, right?  Yeah?  I know what I spent!  I don’t need 50 reminders.  I’m not living in the lap of luxury here.  Please don’t alert me when I pay the oil bill.  LARGE BILL HAS BEEN PAID!  I can’t control the price of oil. c’mon? Anyway, these alerts are incredibly annoying.   Last month I got a slap on the wrist for going out to eat too much, so I cut back.  I really cut back.  I went nowhere.  I stayed at home.  I resisted temptation and  I planned meals and I cooked.

The kids begged me to stop but I kept driving

I cooked through babies crying, kids arguing and toddlers begging to “help”. I couldn’t wait to make a change.  I wanted to see my dining out expenses drop.  Guess what?  My dining out expenses dropped a LOT but was not happy with my effort.  In fact, I can safely say that they were actually disappointed???  This time they bombarded me with alerts telling me I have overspent on groceries.  Listen Ass-HOLE!  We have to eat?  Anybody who cooks will tell you that it’s expensive to eat healthy.  Welcome to America!  There are no coupons for broccoli and carrots? I don’t know what to say except, I tried.  I made an effort.

#3: Embrace the Humbling Moments with A Pasta Dinner

To make a long story short.  Last night I paid the bills.   I did not dine out and I did not grocery shop.  I found things in the pantry to eat.  Ha ha! Take THAT!   It’s pasta night.  Pasta (89 cents) and marinara ($2.79). You can’t see me right now but I am doing the “running-man”.  It’s a dance that I do when I feel like I have conquered the world.  I look hot, don’t be jealous!  I’m doing the running-man for pasta night, baby!   Pasta is good!  Pasta means the bills are paid!  Let’s celebrate and embrace the pasta people!

Filet mignon on a budget


“Chew slowly children.  There will be no seconds tonight.”  Cheers to and the humbling moments she puts before us!  I think everyone has a pasta night.  Maybe not?  Whatever.

You know you are on vacation when…

This week is family vacation week for Mrs. D.   What does that mean?  It means the kids are running wild and having a blast.  All things “normal” are thrown out the window.  It’s that special time each year that the kids will remember forever.  They have no schedule and eat way too much sugar.  They all get to sleep in the same room and stay up late giggling.  It’s the stuff that makes having siblings fun.  Inevitably, they will be forced to adjust to circumstances that are beyond anyones control when you travel.  There is usually an abundance of whining and I think I have asked them to “be flexible” at least a million times.   Aaaaaa….yes.  It is no secret that a vacation for the kids means that the black circles under my eyes are worse than ever.  I have listed the top 10 things that I found myself saying this week that assure me that “yes…we are indeed on vacation!”

10.  It’s ok sweetie.  Just sit in the water and pee.  It’s like a big toilet that gets “flushed” by the waves.

9.  At least they are getting a vegetable.  Ketchup is a tomato, right?

8.  Here.  Take this Benadryl.  It’s excellent for those bug bites.  (wink wink)

7.  Don’t feed the mother effin seagulls!

6. Who wants a donut? Hot dog? Pop Tart?

5.  Oh my….when was the last time you brushed those teeth?

4. If you can’t carry can’t bring it!

3. Yes dear.  I know.  We are at the beach.  You are gonna get sandy.

2.  What do you mean you are hungry?  We just ate.

1.  Hug and act like you love each other.

Let’s face it.  Going on vacation is like giving birth.  I’m exhausted but I want another.  What the hell is wrong with me?





I have spent many hours mourning the loss of Norm this week. In between the random and uncontrolled bursts of tears, I found myself day dreaming about all the various dogs that have touched my life.  Norm still ranks number one on my list but I thought this story about Sport, the first yellow lab I ever met, was fitting for my weekly post.

The year was 1990 and my high school friend Shannon was turning 15.  We did what we always did back then when there was a birthday.  About 5 or 6 of us would get together and have a slumber party.  We would order pizza and stay up late talking and giggling about boys.  During this particular party we met Shannon’s family dog, Sport.  Sport was a handsome dog.  A yellow lab with a golden color.   He was solid, weighing around 100 lbs.  I honestly have no idea how old he was at the time but if I had to guess, I would say maybe 3 or 4 years old.  He had puppy-like energy.  He greeted every car as it pulled into the driveway and frolicked in the woods until it was time to have pizza.

We all gathered in the kitchen and ate our dinner.  “Pizza! Pizza!  Pizza!” we all chanted.  As a teenager, there was nothing better in life than eating pizza on a friday night.  Sport did what all labs seem to do…he waited patiently under our feet for any scraps that we would like to donate in his honor.  One by one, as the girls finished eating their pizza they would throw their crust to Sport and then gather outside in the front yard.  The last 2 at the dinner table were myself and my very best friend, Molly.  We were friends since the age of 6 and we did everything together.  Molly was a peanut.  Don’t quote me on this but I am going to guess that she weighed somewhere in the neighborhood of 90 lbs and was less than 5 feet tall (although she will insist on 5-1…liar!).  She had light brown hair, blue eyes and lots of freckles.  Her freckles were her trademark.  She was always happy and had a contagious laugh.   I patiently waited for her to finish eating so we could walk outside together.  Everything seemed to be going fine until Sport stared at Molly the way a dirty old man stares at a teenager wearing a bikini at a car wash.  I nudged Molly and pointed at Sport. “You better give him that last bit of pizza.  I think he wants it.”  Molly looked at Sport and got a little nervous.  “Oh my god.  He is frothing at the mouth.  Where is Shannon?  Tell her to call Sport.”  “She is outside.  He wants the pizza.  Just give him the pizza.” Molly didn’t think twice about it and quickly threw it in his direction. He caught it mid-air but continued to stare at Molly. “I don’t have any more buddy.  It’s all gone.” she informed him.  We closed the empty pizza box and headed outside to join the rest of the party.  Sport followed close behind.[insert my evil laugh here]

We broke up into small groups the way teenagers do and I sat on the front stoop with Molly.  We shared notes that we wrote during class and giggled but it wasn’t long before the sun began to set.  We basically all decided simultaneously to bring the party inside before the bugs ate us alive.   Just then an idea came to Molly, “Wait!  We need music.  Should I get my CD book out of my car before it gets too dark?”  “Definitely.” we answered. Music was a huge part of our lives and how could we have a slumber party without it?

She trotted towards her car to grab her music and around the same time we heard a rustling in the woods.  Branches were snapping.  “What the heck is that?”  I asked Shannon.  It was almost pitch black outside and we couldn’t see a thing.  The woods were very dark.  Then out of nowhere….without any warning at all….a big yellow blur came bolting out of the woods like super dog.  “Spoooort!”  We all chanted.  We were just happy it was a familiar face making all that racket in the woods.  He did some laps around our group as if he was excited and encouraging us to play and then he zeroed in on Molly. Again, he gave her “the look.”   She was minding her own business, gathering her CD’s that were laying on her floorboard and had no clue that a 100lb dog was charging towards her at full speed.  Shannon cupped her hands over her mouth and tried to slow him down  “Sport! Come here boy!”  he didn’t even glance her way.  He was focused on the prize.  I yelled to give Molly some warning, “Molly!!!!   Watch out!”  Molly was busy organizing her CD book when she caught a glimpse of Sport over her left shoulder.  I will never forget the look in her eyes.  Sheer terror.   She squealed and then put her hands up to encourage him to stop or at least slow down so he wouldn’t completely knock her over.  We weren’t sure what he wanted.  Did he think she had food?  Was he going to jump on her? He didn’t seem like he would bite… but we weren’t positive? The only thing we knew for sure is that he was on a mission. Within a few seconds, he was an inch away from Molly.  She turned her back towards him so he wouldn’t knock her over.

This is when Sport slammed on brakes and did the unthinkable!!!!!!!!!!  He climbed up on her back , wrapped his front paws around her waist and rode her like a rodeo queen.  “Oh my god!   Shannon?  He is humping her.” I said in disbelief.  Dumbfounded… we all just stared at first.  Was this really happening?  Molly tried to get his paws off of her but he was hanging on tight and he literally was bigger than she was.  Then Tabitha pointed out the obvious,  “Oh my gosh!!!!!  His pink lipstick is out…ewww!  We have to help her!”  and as much as we all tried to help poor Molly, we couldn’t get Sport off of her.  I know it was wrong but we all laughed uncontrollably!  Molly was horrified but somehow she managed to laugh with us.  Shannon pulled his collar and jerked him off of Molly “No Sport!  Bad Dog!” [giggles] but he remounted with more authority.  I tried to step in between them but he dodged around me.  Two of the girls finally grabbed his front paws while Shannon held his collar and Molly was able to escape under his body. She turned around to see Sport being held down by almost all of us as he desperately tried to escape.  “Oh my god!!!”  screamed Molly in between a half laugh/ half cry.  “Run!!!!”  We all yelled, as he was slipping out of our control.  She ran for her life. She opened the front door to the house and disappeared.

Shannon’s dad came outside to see what all the commotion was about and he grabbed Sport and put him in the garage.  We watched him gain control of Sport.   He made it seem effortless.  I mean.. this dog was very strong and that wasn’t your average leg humping.  We all looked at ourselves.  We were exhausted and sweating.  “Phew!”  We went inside to check on Molly.  She was inside on the kitchen counter.  Yes…that’s right.  She was standing on top of the kitchen island prepared to defend her body against any canine that wanted it.  Still physically shaken and now her skin was splotching from all the stress.    Shannon was laughing as she apologized and helped Molly off the counter. “Wow.  You are on the counter. [more laughing] I’m so, so  sorry.  He is in the garage.  He has never done that before.  Don’t worry.  You are safe now.” 

We all calmed down and went into Shannon’s bedroom.  We tried to put the “Sport humping” behind us but every now and then we would visualize the scene in our heads and burst out into laughter.  Molly, still humiliated, tried to help us understand.  “That was not cool.  He is huge!  So freaking embarrassing.”  Of course we felt bad for her but it was still so damn funny.  There is no doubt about it…this dog humping incident will make the story about the seagull who shit on me at the beach that summer seem like yesterdays news.  We watched some movies and hung out for the remainder of the night.   It was getting close to bedtime when we heard Shannon’s brother open the garage door.  Uh oh!  Immediately, we heard the thunder of Sport’s feet running full speed up the stairs.

Molly’s eyes got as big as saucers and she grabbed my hand.  “Don’t leave me…..he is coming.”  I have to heart was racing too but I couldn’t stop laughing.  Molly was like cat nip for Sport.  He must have been planning his attack while he was trapped in the garage all those hours.  Shannon and her sister had a Jack and Jill bathroom in between their bedrooms.  With no time to spare we both hid in the bathtub and pulled the shower curtain.  Sport would never find us there [wink, wink].  We were very, very still.   I covered my mouth with my hand to remind myself not to giggle.  Any sound would tip Sport off on where we were hiding.  Molly put her finger over her mouth as to say “shhhhhh!”. This must be exactly how Anne Frank felt when the Germans were after her.  It wasn’t long before he was in the bathroom searching for his woman.  We could hear him panting and his nails tip toeing on the ceramic tile.  All of a sudden…like in a scene from the movie Psycho…Sport hurled his 100 lb body  into the shower with us and immediately mounted Molly from behind.  We screamed a high-pitched  teenager bloody murder scream and ran away in an absolute panic.  First Molly jumped out of the shower, then me, then Sport. We ran down the hall and back into Shannon’s room, on her bed, off her bed, through the bathroom again, through her sister’s room, on her bed, off her bed and we did this obstacle course several times until we got tired and locked ourselves into a walk in closet in Shannon’s room.  Breathing heavy from the chase but finally in a safe place…we caught our breaths.  “Holy crap!  That dog totally wants you!”  We laughed hysterically.  Why did he have it so bad for poor Molly?  We never knew for sure but there was no doubt that somehow she won his heart.  We camped out in the walk-in closet for the rest of the slumber party until the sun came up.  We fell asleep to Sport sniffing underneath the door desperate to get his paws on my best friend.

Sport is a reminder that all labs have quirks.  He just happened to be one horny bastard.  I am real sorry that Sport chose my best friend to be “his bitch” back in 1990 but look at it this way….it has makes me laugh so hard that I cry every time I have told that story for over 20 years.  Oh Molly.  Thank you for letting me post your most embarrassing story ever!  Only a real friend would allow such a thing.  You have helped make me smile during a week when all I have done is cry.  We will all have many dogs that touch our lives over the span of a lifetime.  Each one leaves us with their own special memories and quirks and sometimes a really good belly laugh!

Mother’s Day 101-(Worth Reposting)

This post is for all the men who bottom feed on my blog.  I am taking 1 day to write a post to all you boys out there who have sent me top-secret emails and texts to tell me that “shhhhh…I read your blog”.  Don’t worry I will not make you forfeit your man card.  I will not blow your cover.   Today I am here to help.  This is my Mother’s day 101, a tutorial for all men.  A day when wives all over America are reminded of how selfless and attractive their husbands can be when they actually try.  If you are “that guy” who does Mother’s day the right and every other woman married to a “ming” secretly hate you.  The rest of you Neanderthals should keep reading.

If you listen to Mrs. Doherty she will help you get laid.  Trust me!  I am your Yoda.  “get you sex I will”.  I am going to let all you men in on a little secret on what every mom in America wants for Mother’s day.  Don’t take this the wrong way.  I’m just being honest.  She doesn’t want to go to a crowded brunch or look at a bouquet of flowers. She wants to get the hell away from you and all of her children without feeling guilty about it.  I know.  Shocking.  I mean it’s Mother’s day and shouldn’t we want to spend it with those that call us “mom”?  Well…the world has brainwashed our kids to think so and our husbands use this to their advantage.  “Mom? What should we all do on Sunday?” “Mom?  Did you call for a brunch reservation?” “Mom?  What should we wear to brunch?”  “Mom, can you cut little Johnny’s waffle?”  You get the idea.  It’s just not relaxing.  364 days a year we do everything for everyone except ourselves. Mother’s day should be our one true day off.  All we need from our husbands is to pick up the slack so we can be free.  Think of it as a day away from the office and returning with no piles of work to catch up on.  Wouldn’t that be nice?

This will be a special day from the very beginning because her first gift is one that will set the tone for the entire day.  Sleep.  Set your alarm because you must actually listen, hear and acknowledge when the baby cries at 6:30am.  I know you usually sleep through it but remember…today is special.  In fact…just sleep in the guest room so she doesn’t have to hear the alarm or your horrendous snoring.   As the other children wake up..feed them and keep them away from your wife.   This will require you to be aware of where the children are at all times. [Warning: they will be confused and repeatedly attempt to wake her up.]  Be strong and remember the best offense is a good defense. 

You may find that you are annoyed tip toeing around the house and repeatedly asking the children to use their inside voices. (let’s face it..if anyone understands..we do) Take advantage of the down time to sneak in a few household chores. For example, you could empty the clean dishes out of the dishwasher…. not just the ones you needed for breakfast.  You wouldn’t want the sink to pile up with dirty dishes on your wife’s special day now would you?  HELLO? If the house gets trashed on Mother’s Day it’s not really a day off for her.  She will spend all day Monday cleaning up your mess…AGAIN..and swearing at you under her breath .

When your wife wakes up you can greet her with breakfast and a handful of cards . Homemade cards will melt her heart  and one from her husband will show that you thought of her in advance.  How sweet!  [tip: make sure you write something don’t just underline what Hallmark said]. Then…just as she finishes her delicious breakfast you can give her the second gift…TIME.  Gather all of the children, get them dressed and take them away.  I would suggest going out for some lunch and taking the car to get washed [reference past blog “What happened?”].   Kids love to do that and I bet it needs it.  Let her have a shower without children beating on the door and get dressed at her own pace.  If you are gone long enough she may even catch up on her DVR’d shows.(a girl can dream)

When you get home..give her the car keys and let her enjoy her third gift PAMPERING.  Perhaps she would enjoy taking her hair out of a pony tail and having a salon trim the split ends or maybe she needs someone to rub some lotion on her cracked hands and paint her nails [reference past blog “Pedicure”] .  I think she might need to buy herself a new outfit.  Ya know…one that doesn’t have spit up on the left shoulder and kids hand prints on the pants. Whatever her story is…send her out of the home to do something for herself.  Repeat…for herself.

When she returns home to her clean house, do not question her on how many bags she is holding or how much she spent. that would be bad…very, very bad!  And who cares?  She is worth it.  Besides..remember how many times you went golfing last summer?  She probably spent less money and less time shopping.   What’s the matter?  Are the kids driving you crazy?  Are they destroying every room you clean as soon as you think you’ve finished?  The baby wouldn’t nap?  Can’t seem to find a minute to yourself?  Hang in there…your day is almost over.  This is the hour of the day when mom’s all over the world are counting down the minutes until bed time.  And because she lives this moment every single day, I know she will completely appreciate that you thought of a dinner idea and prepared it…all by yourself!   If you need a little break, this is a moment when she might enjoy reading to the kids while you clean up the dishes.   I know you will want to collapse at this point, but think about the big smile she will give you when you open a fine bottle of wine for her to enjoy in peace while you bathe the children and tuck them in [reference past blog: “Sunday Night Lobster Boil”].

As she drinks her fourth gift wine… she will think about her day and convince herself that she is indeed the luckiest woman in the world.  It’s a slam dunk boys!  She may even take the time to update her FB status and brag about you.  After you tuck the kids in…join your wife for a nice glass of wine together.  I know you will be tired but suck it up.  This is how she feels every single day.  Pretend you’re not tired.  Trust me….women have the “Honey, I’m never too tired for you” down to a science.  Enjoy this moment fellas….it’s time to relax…your day of giving will finally pay off.  You will be her Christian Grey.  It’s the one day a year that your wife will feel like she is 25 again.  She will not have black circles under her eyes, she will be showered, her hair and nails will be perfect and she will be dreaming about her new clothes .  With each glass of wine she will find you more and more attractive.   Mother’s day should not be a day you boys dread.  Afterall, it’s a win-win for the whole family.  Start preparing now.