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Last week I hosted Thanksgiving for 20 people.  Not potluck this time.  I did the whole nine yards—and it was great—fun, even…!  I like cooking.  I like entertaining.  I can honestly say that I really didn’t feel a ton of “stress” during the whole deal.  It’s my favorite holiday—other than massive gluttony, it’s pretty sin-free.

So yesterday, I was having lunch with a dear friend of mine.  Monday is my “day off” because I work Tuesday through Friday and we all know moms don’t really get weekends off.  Usually, on Mondays I do all the housework, laundry, marketing etc. and then give myself a little extra time than usual for exercise and coffee drinking and by then it’s time to pick up the kids.  Well, yesterday, I jammed all the above into the first 4 hours of the day so I could relax over lunch.  (added to the above chore list was...

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If, in fact, I ever had “the talk” with my parents, I have no memory of it whatsoever.  I have a very vague memory of my friend, Jane, telling me about “periods” in the 3rd grade at recess.  I didn’t believe a word of it.  Then in 4th grade, a new girl came to school and for some reason, she had all the dish, and she seemed so worldy and fabulous—she had an awesome Dorothy Hamill haircut—that the rest of us took every word as gospel.  So then the rest of the details, I sort of learned via osmosis from books, I guess, and friends. Thank God for Judy Blume.  What would we have done without Are You There God It’s Me, Margaret and Forever

One of my BFF’s got her period in the 5th grade, and we all piled in the bathroom with her to talk her through it.  No one wanted bras then, even though our uniforms required us to wear clingy white...

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Sometimes I am really jealous of Ellen and Portia.  They have love.  They have laughs.  They probably hang their towels up or at least have someone that hangs them up.  And probably, when either of them gets the sniffles, the world as they know it doesn’t end.  Maybe Ellen will stop at the CVS and pick up some Sudafed for Portia, but if she doesn’t I’m sure Portia still acts normal and sweet when Ellen gets back from the studio or wherever.

 

Honest to God, what is it about men and illness?  And I know this is so trite and so cliché, but again—only because it’s soooo true!  (That’s how cliché’s become cliché’s—the first guy that compared someone’s eyes to limpid pools or sapphires was a genius, but any guy who tries that line now?  Forget about it.) Anyway, I’m sure there are exceptions to this phenomenon, but it seems to me that...

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