THE GREAT QUARANTINE OF 2020: PART 3

Okay, here's what I really want to know. Like seriously, I can't wrap my mind around this.

Way back in the beginning of the madness that is the corona-quarant-isolatio-pocalypse, it was crucial to get communication from our schools, places of employment, churches, and WalMart, letting us know that we could not visit our favorite public places as we normally would. I'm sure school-kids and overworked employees were shouting a little bit of praise at the forced time off. In the beginning, at least. A few weeks of staying home is generally kind of nice when you get through the harsh winter and ensuing cabin fever period of February and March. These types of establishments generally contacted us via email, phone-casts, and mass texts.

Those were very helpful and included important messages about how to stay safe, how to limit, or eliminate completely, our contact with other people who may have infectious germs on or inside of their person, OR by touching a surface that may have also been touched by someone who knows Pharell's sound engineer, who also happens to have worked with Ariana, who is my daughter's idol, and maybe somehow, someone could make the connections for her to meet Ariana and in turn, Ariana could introduce me to Harry Styles. Wait, no, that is something like six degrees of separation. Anyway, it's helpful to know how grocery stores, banks, schools, and churches are handling the ongoing threat of COVID-19. In short, they're all shut down, so don't go there.

But why, oh why, am I getting emails from every company that has ever had me on their email list??? Do I need to know about everyone's approach to COVID-19?

Take Capital One, for example, our credit card company. Honestly, why would I care about their approach to coronavirus? If I wanted to visit their office in person, I'd imagine it might involve an airplane or an Amtrak train, and probably a hotel stay. In other words, I do not now and have never needed to visit them in person. So basically, their message is “We hereby want to just reiterate that we have never, and we will continue to not do this: lick, spit, sneeze or cough in the general direction of your mail." Their additional offer of help, which you will see when you visit their website, is “We are here to help our customers impacted by the COVID-19 virus situation.” So, I'm not sure what this means but maybe they're going to offer more loans and credit limit increases so they can stay in business.

Basically, everyone out there wants you to know that it's “business as usual” but it really isn't, like with our credit union. “Hello folks. You can still access online banking via phone, internet, and if those don't work, you can try morse code. Our branch will still be open a few hours a day, but we obviously won't be letting people in. We'll be sitting behind our 2-inch thick bullet proof glass laughing at you as you tug on the doors but those suckers are going to stay shut tight. We're sorry if you don't have access to online banking. Why don't you grow the hell up and get with the 21st century? And how should you go about depositing cash? Haha, silly you. You DON'T! For heaven's sake, man, cash is a veritable sewage system, holding the entirety of the planet's germs in its innocent, leafy appearance. And let's be real here, since we are heading for economic destruction, why not go the old-fashioned route and stuff the goods under your mattress like Grandpa used to do? Might not be a bad idea now that we're on the cusp of another Great Depression. Oh, and feel free to click this link to find out how to sanitize your money: www.notmoneylaundering.com." (Note to the FBI: this post is strictly for entertainment purposes. This is not an active link, and I wouldn't understand how money-laundering works even if I studied it all of my life.)

When did Paypal become an expert on coronavirus?

Why is there a popup on YouTube that asks if I'd like to learn more about COVID-19? This is completely outside of the limit and scope of YouTube! People get on YouTube to enjoy mindless skits from Saturday Night Live and TV show bloopers, or to see what happens when you put a bullet into a hydraulic press or an aerosol can into the microwave. In other words, people go to YouTube to forget about the madness (of COVID-19) for while, in order to indulge in another kind of madness completely.

Domino's offers “contact-free” delivery, and they vaguely assure me that their in-store safety procedures are still as top-notch as ever. But there's no mention of face masks, gloves, or hair nets. Still, as the pizza has been fired in a 450° oven, removed with one of those long spatula thingys (which I've learned is called a “pizza peel”) that hopefully has a 6-foot handle, the pizza itself is probably reasonably safe. (But, do we know for a fact that 450° temperatures kill the novel coronavirus?)

On the contrary, Little C (another pizza company, of which I've changed the name to protect the innocent) happy to let you know that they're still open and that they will not now, and have never, used gloves, hair nets, or masks to make their fine pizza, because it is only $5 after all. What do you expect them to do, make their insanely cheap and greasy pizza in a bubble? Little C offers the friendly tip - even outside of corona-times - that you may want to call back on occasion to make sure you don't need a booster on your hepatitis vaccines as a result of frequenting their store.

Speaking of vaccines, what are the anti-vaxxers doing now? I'm not trying to start a fight or some philosophical discussion about vaccinations. I'm genuinely curious. As everything in the northern hemisphere, western hemisphere, and probably the southern hemisphere – hell, the entire planet – is shutting down, are they sitting around thinking, “I don't care if that vaccine ever gets made. My kids are strong and healthy.” Or are they actively protesting against a vaccine because, you know, vaccines are stupid. OR, are they actually having COVID-19 parties, a la chicken pox parties, getting their kids together so they can all get it at once and build antibodies together in a fun and productive way? Someone enlighten me.

Okay, back to other unnecessary mail:

From MSU (Al and I are alumni. We both graduated about 25 years ago. We currently have no children attending MSU):

Dear Jennifer,
As a valued member of the Spartan family, I appreciate the trust you have placed in me to ensure the health and well-being of our students, faculty, staff and the entire MSU community blah, blah may feel stress and concern about yada yada. You are important to us and whatchacallit blah blah.
I purposely cut off the rest of the message because I assumed you wouldn't read the entire thing. I didn't either because I have better things to do with my time and it affects me in no way whatsoever.


Snopes: I do appreciate the Snopes.com emails because they are good and trustworthy when it comes to debunking myths, urban legends, and plain old stupidity, such as "Coronavirus was actually a bioweapon created by Russia because they're still pissed that they didn't get to use more nukes during the Cold War."

Canva: I use this online design program for an book covers, cards, posters, and props for my ESL job. Now, just so you understand, I couldn't go to a Canva location if I wanted to because, and let me be very clear about this, it is an ONLINE company. So, why do they have to tell me about their approach to fighting COVID-19?

Budget car rental: “Just in case you're stupid – or rebellious – enough to travel right now, our cars are routinely sanitized and ready and waiting at your convenience. However, not all of our locations are in operation because we've been told we're not essential workers, and the governor of Michigan said that people shouldn't drive cars. Ever.”

Calm (an app for relaxation): “Here are some free resources to support you through this challenging time.” What challenge? We have to stay home. How stressful is that? (Okay, I get that it is truly stressful for some people, like extroverts, people who need a paycheck to survive from day to day, and serial killers, to name a few.)

Hotels.com: Honestly, I can't remember the last time I stayed in a hotel or used your site. Why do you still have my email address?! Unsubscribe me, you stalkers!

Sears: A company whose name is synonymous with bankruptcy and has closed the vast majority of their stores, still wants to sell me name brand appliances. Oh, and they also have some "valuable" information about coronavirus.

Speedy Rewards (Speedway): “We have enhanced our already comprehensive in-store cleaning and sanitization processes, and continued emphasis on proper personal hygiene, including more frequent handwashing and the proper use of hand sanitizer. (How many people have been using sanitizer incorrectly or improperly? How does that even happen? Unless you're drinking it, in which case you may have more serious problems than being at risk for the 'rona.) We have also distributed cleaning supplies which have been EPA-certified to kill the COVID-19 virus, with instructions to increase the frequency of cleaning commonly touched surfaces, including bathrooms, touchscreens, door and cooler handles, dispensers, and pin pads. Soon, Speedway will be supplying our stores with hand sanitizer stations for customer use, adding an additional level of protection.”

What a very nice email from Speedway. However, when you go to the actual gas station, don't touch your face and be absolutely sure that you WASH YOUR HANDS when you get home because coronavirus could be spread through gas pump handles. And because your hands usually stink after you pump gas and if you don't wash them after this filthy task in general, there is something wrong with you.

Representative Elissa Slotkin: Vote for me because I was the one to inform you that the tax deadline has been extended to July 15. Oh wait, you already voted for me. Never mind.

New York times: We have the official count of those affected by COVID-19.

USA Today: No, we have the official count.

NYT: No, you dumb ninny, we do.

USA Today: What makes you so special?

NYT: We're in New York, duh.

Finally, emails from my neighbors at nextdoor.com. This is a site that can be customized to the neighborhood you live in, where people can post just about anything on a community bulletin board. It's kind of nice except when I get repeated emails about Nancy's missing cat. Anyway, the recent messages have been about several home and auto break-ins.

Great, the looting has started. Grab your shotgun, lock your doors, batten down the hatches. It's gonna get rough.

Thoughts on Quarantine, PART 2

Will you keep reading if I promise there are no poop and puke stories in this post? 

Okay, let's move on to the second installment of our 3-part series on the Great Quarantine of 2020.

THINGS TO DO DURING YOUR FORCED CONFINEMENT EXTRA FREE TIME. 

(Subtitle: Things I tried to do, at which I failed miserably )

1. Spring Cleaning

It is spring.

Spring is traditionally the time for spring cleaning, hence the name spring cleaning.

And hey, we're stuck at home, so it's a great time to get some things done!

You probably know where I'm going with this. I have a house full of able-bodied kids who are not going out to work or school, and generally not sneaking out to see their boyfriends or to get a whiff of fresh air, generally found outside at parks and such, but occasionally also found at Meijer (especially when the air outside is tainted with snow. In April!)

What a great time to do some spring cleaning. My thinking, long before Easter, which is my usual deadline for spring cleaning - was "Let's get this house cleaned and decluttered and let's purge everything we don't need!"

There were several flaws with this plan.

The first problem I encountered was that that teenagers and young adults like to sleep. A lot. At unpredictable times of day. Especially when they have nothing else to do. And also when they have school work to do. I mean, they get their school work done, too, but their waking schedule is from like 1 PM to 3 AM. So we don't touch base as often as I'd like. And of course, when I announce that there are chores to be done, there is a lot of pretending to be sleeping going on.

Another problem I faced was that, even if everyone in my house was ready, willing and able to clean (which, in and of itself would probably signal some very significant change in the laws of the universe or maybe the impending apocalypse), we didn't have the proper tools at our disposal because there is no Lysol anywhere, in a liquid, solid or gaseous state. No bleach, No Clorox wipes. No rubbing alcohol. No hydrogen peroxide.

Not even on Amazon! I don't know about you, but when Amazon starts running out of things, that's when I start to panic. If Amazon runs out of it's Amazonian stash of Instant Pots, the softest sheets in the world, Poo-pourri bathroom spray, or every book known to man, the world will stop turning. Yes, I know that it used to function just fine without Amazon, but now that Amazon is here, it has become a permanent and very-much needed fixture in our lives, especially because I have free Prime shipping!  

Let me clarify that, although there hasn't been rubbing alcohol on the shelves in several weeks, there's been plenty of other kinds of alcohol, and no matter how much you try to convince me that vodka can kill novel coronavirus (it can't!), I wouldn't waste such a necessity at a time like this. And I don't really want our house smelling like a distillery. Besides, our drink of choice in this house is a well-crafted gin and tonic.

Here are a few other obstacles I ran into, while attempting to simply clean my house: You know all that garbage you tend to find when you're deep cleaning? It feels so good to just toss out bag after bag of junk that you can't repair, don't want to repair, or never wanted in the first place. Well, our garbage company told us to limit our trash to what can fit in the dumpster. Can you imagine? How rude! I guess they don't want their employees handling our possibly infected trash. I mean, before they were just fine handling trash with poopy diapers, rotten food, and many other things that surely contained dangerous levels of e.coli, salmonella, botulinum toxin and who knows what else? But add coronavirus to the mix and now they're all "we ain't touchin' that $hit". Okay, so we have to throw away the stinky, smelly garbage like normal and keep it to one dumpster full, and stuff all the rest of the paper trash, broken radios, toys from pre-Y2K, and keep them in a nice dry spot in the basement until we can safely dispose of them.

Oh, and all those returnable pop bottles that we bring to the store once every three to six months, which earns us enough money to buy a few rounds of pizza? We absolutely cannot return those right now. (Note: Michigan is one of those states where you pay a 10¢ deposit on each pop and beer can or bottle and you get the money back when you return them. It makes you feel like you're getting free money, but you're not.) We're talking infection central when you think about how many mouths have touched those things, so I get it. But it really sucks because we can't even flatten the bottles and cans in order to save space while we save them for later because then the automatic code readers can't read them. So, we have several bags of rinsed, ready, and clanging returnables nesting right along with the other trash in our basement.

And what about all that stuff that we want to purge so you we get out our spring and summer clothes? No can do. Ain't no way they're taking our "corona-shoes" or "virus-socks" until probably around the year 2025. 

What will it be next? Don’t open your windows because other people don’t want your contagious air. Don't close your windows because you don't want to trap the virus inside. Don’t dust because you’ll be inhaling the dead skin cells of your family members past and present. (This is always true, I just thought I'd point out how gross it is.)

2. Creating new habits. Okay, most kinds of cleaning are off the table, except the occasional spritz of Lysol spray, which is being carefully rationed. How about cleaning out my pantry and deciding that this is it: This is when I will finally get rid of the junk food and pack the fridge and cupboards with good, clean, healthy foods, only to arrive at the grocery store to find out that the pickings are slim: Hawaiian pizza, Hot Tamales flavor Peeps, vegan cheese (and TBH, every other vegan food ever invented because most people won't eat that crap, even with their dying breath), Kraft cauliflower pasta (what were they smoking when they invented that?), and a single 1.75 quart container of Scooperman ice cream.

Okay, so I'll have to wait on the total revamp of our fridge, pantry, eating habits, and health in general.

Great.

3. Catching up on tasks I've been meaning to do. I figured I could sit down and write thank you notes, a job that usually piles up for 11 months until I finally tackle it and send cards to people who forgot what they did for me and why. Anyway, I started this task, but then I realized that some people are wary of the mail right now. So I felt compelled to leave a small note on each envelope assuring people that yes, I did wash my hands before writing this and not I did not breathe directly on the cards, even though I have absolutely no symptoms of COVID-19. You just can never be too careful. And I most certainly did not lick the envelope to close it; well, not after I remembered anyway.

4. Yard work. Forget yard work because the Christmas decorations are still up and they look rather lovely with the thick blanket of snow that Mother Nature forgot to dump in January.

5. Learn a new hobby. Right. If you're an overachiever who decides to learn Swahili during this forced vacation from reality, freaking whoop-de-doo for you! I doubt you'll ever use it. Or if you decide to get your yoga instructor's license online, I'm happy for you and your delusional waste of money. Just don't post about it because your overachieving, self-righteous, smug little toned butt is making everyone else feel like crap about merely surviving.

Some of us are happy to just subsist on whatever food we can find, practicing the occasional necessary hygiene, and keeping a fresh gin and tonic in our hands.

Thoughts on Quarantine, PART 1

Why am I writing this post? I mean, you're probably sick to death hearing "quarantine this" and "social distancing that" along with the occasional political argument about whether or not COVID-19 is a government conspiracy, an exotic meal gone wrong, or just a heaping plate of leftovers dished out from the plagues of Biblical times.

What else could Jen Yarrington possibly have to say about all of this that hasn't already been said?

Honestly, I don't really know. I'm just writing because I need something to do while being stuck at home.

Ah, quarantine. This actually reminds me of the good old days. When our kids were small, we would quarantine them for a week or so before we went on a trip to Grandma's house or on some other significant excursion during which we absolutely couldn't have children coughing up interesting colors of phlegm, spiking fevers or otherwise projecting bodily fluids in the general direction of whatever fun we were having.

However, it wasn't always a foolproof method. It may have happened (read: it most definitely did happen) that our children got sick at Grandma's house over the holidays. One managed to do the civilized thing and throw up in the house on some easily cleanable surface and that was it. However, her younger sister managed to wait until just the right time, which was when were traveling on a long and lonesome stretch of Highway US 2 somewhere in the Upper Peninsula. If you've never traveled this stretch of highway, you may not realize how few and far between the gas stations or other public establishments are. Meaning, as soon as you leave Manistique, it's just you and God's green earth (well, it was white at the time because, you know, winter) for the next 85 miles. Wait, is that right?  When I looked up this distance on Google maps, it said 85 miles. I can't believe someone got it so wrong. That expanse of deserted highway has to be at least 492 miles.

So we were moving along, slightly above the "recommended" speed limit of 55 mph and I handed out the sippy cups and a few snacks. It wasn't long before the previously unaffected child began to fuss. I looked back and she had just chugged a sippy cup full of yummy, red, juice in .00278 seconds flat. First came the whine, then the whimper, then the unmistakable look on her face that makes all parents panic, causing them to grab their kid in a football hold and sprint towards the nearest bathroom, knowing that vomit is imminent. And this vomit was. Imminent, I mean. Not to mention very red. And projectile. It's a wonder Al didn't get it in his hair (that's right folks, Al used to have hair) since the barfing child was situated directly behind him.

We pulled over on a deserted stretch of US 2 (have I mentioned how there's nothing on this stretch of highway?) with one kid puking, Al and me gagging, and the other kid looking an interesting shade of greenish-white. I threw the van doors open to get some of the smell out and let the frosty cold winter air in, and I began to dig through out luggage, but alas, there was not a single set of clean clothing to be found. So I resorted to digging through the dirty clothes bag and I found a warm and cozy sleeper that happened to smell like dirty socks, among other things, but it was far better than the pervasive stench of upchuck currently wafting through our vehicle. I managed to clean the kid up and wipe away residual puke from her car seat and other things as much as possible. Somehow we made it home with just the hint of "essence de chunder" for the next five hours.

Anyhoo, back to the word quarantine. It has been used in different ways over the years. We used to use it as a way to let the kids know that once we were within a week of any fun and/or family-centered event, they would forego their young social lives which consisted of play dates, preschool, and the occasional birthday party, all for the sake of having a puke-free vacation.

Was that whole anecdote necessary and relevant to what we're facing here in 2020? Not at all. I just really wanted to tell you the puke story. If you're ever interested, I have some other pretty good puke stories. And a few poop stories, too. Oh, and one time, one of our kids had the most disgusting rash on... well, never mind. (Send me a private message and I'll tell you.)

So during this current state of quarantine and/or isolation that is being “strongly suggested”, “mandated”, or potentially enforced by say, martial law, I'm completely at home in my element. I'm an introvert to the worst degree. It's so bad that when I am wanting to tuck in and stay at home, I instinctively want my kids to stay home, too. Why? Because going out stresses me out. Must be PTSD from the diaper days when I had 4 children, ages 5 and under, and going anywhere meant, wrangling children into a particularly small, enclosed area of the house, making sure each had gone to the bathroom, brushed their teeth and hair, and that they were wearing at least some kind of footwear. Oh, yes, it happened on occasion that my kids arrived at various public locations without shoes on because I assumed, wrongly, that footwear was an obvious choice for all living, breathing human beings who were leaving the house. And then there was the car toy check and the snack check and the diaper and wipes check, and depending on the age of the current baby, the spare outfit check. And honestly, that was just to go to Meijer.

Well, and don't forget the aforementioned puke and poop that occasionally happened while on an outing and the whole thing gives me flashbacks to battle scenes, mortars exploding around me, rockets whizzing by overhead, etc.

And I also remember the occasional, "well-meaning" (i.e. "nosy") individual who would make some snide remark upon seeing my teeming brood of children. One time I had one of those wonderful extended carts at Meijer - the ones that have a full seat behind the actual cart and handled like  semi truck - and I had a preschooler and a kindergartner on the bench, a toddler in the backpack, and a baby in the car seat in the cart. Now I was feeling rather proud of myself for accomplishing a shopping trip like this. But as I wandered down an aisle, minding my own business, a woman leaned into my field of vision and very authoritatively told me, "You need to stop!" I'm pretty sure she meant I had to stop having children, but I was so shocked at her audacity that I didn't come up with a really good comeback until much later, like when the baby started Kindergarten.

I have many thoughts on quarantine, some are insightful, some educational, and some, well, let's just say they may be the product of madness. Stay tuned for Part 2.

CCMRS, A Deadly Disease

Three of my four children were born with a rare disease. It's heartbreaking, and it's often terrifying for the parents of afflicted children. I have never told anyone before, because this disorder is little known and not very well understood. Most professionals who hear of it for the first time refuse to believe that it's a real sickness. I assure you that it is. I'm finally gathering my courage to talk about this openly because I know that there are other families out there who suffer with this illness. It's time for us to stand together as parents and know that we are not alone in this fight.

Aside from the chronic symptoms that plague the children, mothers are often drastically affected by their children's disease. Most are the ones who usually live with the effects of this disorder every moment of every day. Most fathers are affected to some extent, but they're often in denial about this phenomenon.

What is this horrific sickness? Believe it or not, it doesn't even have a name yet, but I call it CCMRS. I will list the common symptoms of this little-known, yet incredibly widespread syndrome.

The most common symptom, present in over 90% of the kids who suffer from the disease, is the complete inability to clean their rooms. They are often blind to the fact that there is a thick layer of dust coating their dressers, desks, and bedposts. These children seem to deny the existence of their closets and dressers and opt, instead, to heap their clothing, dirty or clean, into a gigantic pile in their room. On rare occasions, when parents have taken it upon themselves to help their suffering children, they often find that a gaping, smoldering hole has been burned into the carpet by the toxic contents of the pile. Another common indicator is that there is usually some kind of food, dirty dish or utensil lying in some hidden spot. It's not uncommon to find a fossilized hot dog under the child's bed. Dirty underwear is scattered about, and trash of unknown origins is usually strewn over every square inch of the carpet. Only a handful of the people who have attempted to research this phenomenon will agree that the kids who suffer from CCMRS have a form of blindness that makes these elements in their rooms completely invisible to their eyes.

A particularly chilling sign of this disorder is a wet, mildewed towel at the bottom of the laundry hamper, with the damp, black crud seeping into the nearby clothing.

Another very common symptom is the inability to pick up towels off the floor after they've been used, inability to pick up trash that has missed the garbage can on the first try, and absolute muscle failure when they try to hang up their coats and put away their shoes.

Short term memory loss is another common indicator, such as when children are asked, “Who made this mess?” Children with CCMRS will be completely dumbfounded. Most sufferers regularly lose their memories of where the dishwasher, dish soap and sponges are located, causing them to leave dirty, sticky dishes in stacks in the sink, around the sink, on the stove, and sometimes, even on the floor where the dog licks the plates. In CCMRS families with pets, the animals often suffer an unpleasant side effect of the disease when they excrete the nastiest stuff you've ever smelled, from both ends, as a result of noshing on leftovers strewn around the house.

The most frustrating part of CCMRS is that parents will repeatedly try to teach their children to hang up their clothes, put food back into the refrigerator and cupboards, clean up the globs of peanut butter that are frequently left on the kitchen counter, and for heaven's sake, take a shower once in a while!

This leads to our next symptom. Boys, in particular, seem to have a variant of the illness that causes them to have complete and utter disregard for their hygiene. Boys with this condition seem to have absolutely no knowledge of their own body funk, and subsequently, they do nothing to get rid of it. In fact, it's so severe in some cases that, even if the boy is followed around by a hoard of flies and has a distinct fog emanating from his armpits, he will still deny – violently, on occasion – that he needs a bath or a shower. Look inside this young boy's mouth (although experts highly recommend you wear a surgical mask, possibly even a gas mask before attempting this), and you will find remnants of last Friday's pizza and various levels of tooth decay, gingivitis, and yellowing of the teeth. He can't seem to comprehend the fact that his mouth smells like formaldehyde and no one wants to be within a ten-foot radius of him at any given time. The sad truth is that, for as many dental visits he's had, as well as parental nagging, he simply does not possess the ability to brush his own teeth. Often, he lacks the muscular ability to raise a stick of deodorant to his armpits, his fingernails and toenails are reminiscent of the tragic Edward Scissorhands. And frequently, there is a small family of rodents nesting somewhere in his tangled mop of hair. This symptom has also been observed in girls, although it's less common in the female gender.

The most alarming trend, though, is the fact that parents will frequently develop symptoms of the disease after they have been around their infected children for long periods of time. A higher number of children in a family seems to increase the appearance of symptoms in parents.

It's time for us, as mothers, to take some action. CCMRS, or Can't Clean My Room Syndrome, is recognized by parents across the globe, yet the medical community refuses to acknowledge it and consequently, there is little or no funding available to allow research to find a cure. It has been estimated that at least 95% of all children suffer with some degree of this disease. Call your local politicians and tell them that you want to start a task force to research this horrible, debilitating illness. Have courage and take any kind of action you can to alert the medical community of this ravaging disease.

I'm thinking of organizing a telethon.

An Open Letter to Harry Styles

Dear Harry,

I just want you to know that it's over between us. It's been a wonderful few years, darling, but our relationship can no longer continue. I can't deny the chemistry between us, but our relationship just isn't moving forward as I hoped it would.

First of all, you hardly know I exist. I mean, come on, honey. Couples are supposed to make time for each other. But as of yet, you haven't spent any time with me.

Second, you made so many promises that you haven't kept.

The first time I ever heard your voice, you told me that I was so beautiful that everyone else in the room could see it.

You told me I stole your heart and that every time we touched, you got this kinda rush.

You told me I was your kryptonite, your weakness.

You said you wanted me to be your last first kiss.

And you promised that you would always come back for me. You told me over and over again that we could make it if we tried.

But I think communication has been the biggest problem for us. I haven't gotten any of your phone calls or texts or emails or tweets. I never received the plane tickets you were going to send for our vacation in Spain or the ones for our rendezvous in Rio.

Do you know how much I've done for you? I've followed your career since the very beginning. I've watched every news clip and video about you, I've listened to every single song at least a hundred times, I've sent you countless Tweets reminding you that I was thinking of you.

You looked great when I saw you in Detroit last weekend, babe. I mean, I had hoped you would have invited me to your hotel or out to dinner. You could have at least waved to me in the crowd or dedicated a song to me. But you didn't even look my way.

I know I'm a bit older than you and I know I'm not as pretty and fit as some of the girls at your concerts, but I thought we had something special.

I guess I was wrong.

It's over, Harry. Don't try to convince me otherwise. Don't tell me anything you've told me before because I will no longer believe you when you say that I make you strong.

Remember when you told me that you were half a heart without me, half a man, half a blue sky? I believed you, Harry. I believed it when you said you were in L-O-V-E. And I might still believe you if you say I'm still the one.

I have to end this letter. It's killing me because I really want to say that it's over, but I'll give you one more chance, Harry. One more chance to get addicted to me. One more chance to make it right.

Is it too much to ask for something great?

Love,
Jen

Confessions of a Middle-Aged One Direction Groupie

Attention: People of the male persuasion may find the descriptions in this post disturbing.

It wasn't long ago that I was an old fuddy duddy, grudgingly watching Cody Simpson performing at the Capitol building in Lansing during Silvers Bells in the City. He was a punk who looked like he just turned 12 and he wore these ridiculous purple pants that sagged down to his thighs. The young girls in the audience were yelling, “I want to marry you, Cody!” I was yelling, “Pull your pants up, kid!”

I'm not sure what has transpired in the few short years since then. Maybe it was my girls' evolution into teenagers that fueled my passion for the “younger” music scene, but somewhere along the way, I fell in love. Not with Cody Simpson, you pervs. I fell in love with a much older, sophisticated group of boys: One Direction.

Oh, my heavens, I have 1D fever so bad, it hurts.

My girls introduced me to 1D that same year. I heard my daughter talking about the boys in 1D and, attempting to get in on the conversation, I asked, “Oh, which classroom is that?”

My daughter's eyes rolled so far back in her head that I'm sure she caught glimpses of her pubescent brain. “They don't go to our school, Mom! It's One Direction!” Soon I became acquainted with their first hit, “What Makes You Beautiful” and I. Was. Hooked.

Extremely catchy song, adorable boys from England and Ireland.

No going back.

It was over.

Stick a fork in me, I was done!

Since then I've been following them right along with my girls, fueled by an insatiable appetite for their music, their latest videos, their newest albums, and their adorable accents. Maybe this has something to do with the fact that I married into a British family, I don't know.

 

My girls tentatively accepted me as a “Directioner,” and they still think I get a little carried away sometimes, but since I'm willing to take them on road trips to see 1D in concert, they have little room to complain. Except when, during the concerts, I shriek, “Will you marry me, Harry?”

However, I am getting “older.” My constitution isn't what it once was. I'm not in great shape, not used to screaming at the top of my lungs, and my middle has expanded to make me look a bit like the Stay-Puft marshmallow man. These little quirks proved to be a hassle during our recent One Direction escapade.

 

For 1D's most recent concert in Detroit, the girls and I chose to stay overnight so that we wouldn't have to drive out of a grid-locked downtown Detroit after a late-night concert. I got a pretty good deal at the Renaissance Center Marriott, so we booked a room.

 

Here's one thing I learned: do NOT stay at the Renaissance Center unless you have trained for a triathlon and have a degree in physics. I'm sure the place is an engineering marvel, but I would personally like to strangle the architect with a pair of control-top, reinforced pantyhose. I'm pretty certain that we parked somewhere in Canada and dragged our luggage through all four towers until we finally found the elevators to our oddly-shaped room in the middle tower.

 

From now on, I think I'll opt to stay at a nice, rectangular-shaped building that has all its doors facing the parking lot, preferably one-story place; two stories, max. When you get to be my age, taking a swift-moving elevator to the 35^th floor tends to throw off your equilibrium. I staggered to our room, certainly turning a lovely shade of chartreuse, and immediately took some motion sickness medicine, hoping it would kick in before I had to take the elevator back down to go to the concert.

 

The girls and I got ready for the concert – they looked adorable in their 1D gear. However, in my skirt and 1D t-shirt, I looked a bit more like a black, white and red bowl of jello with a smattering of 1D insignia here and there, especially over the parts of me that tend to jiggle the most. However I did get a very nice compliment from a middle-aged, gold-toothed gentleman as we walked past him on the way to the concert: “Cute Mama.” Um, at that moment, I was extremely thankful that there were literally thousands of people walking to Ford Field along with us.

 

Speaking of walking, it was only eight blocks from our hotel to Ford Field, but again, being of slightly more portly stature than most 1D concert-goers, I found that by the time I reached the concert, I had a terrible rash on my thighs. About half-way through the concert, I felt my slip...slipping, so I ran to the bathroom where I discovered that it had indeed lost all of its elastic. What were my choices? I certainly didn't want to wad the thing up and stuff it into my purse. It was useless anyway and I didn't want to be seen carrying a piece of lingerie to the trash can, so I neatly deposited it into the other receptacle conveniently located in all women's bathrooms.

 

The concert itself was fabulous, despite the fact that an Amazon-sized woman deposited herself in front of me, and that buying water and pizza required a small business loan, and that every time I put my hands up in the air, I hit the girl next to me in the butt, and that at the end of the concert, I had such severe chatter in my ears that I sincerely thought I had gone partially deaf.

 

After the concert, we were all herded out like cattle, along with the Tigers fans who had “conveniently” exited Comerica Park at exactly the same time. When we finally reached our room at the luxurious Ren Center, we discovered that we had gotten neither the rollaway bed we had requested nor the refrigerator. The yogurt we had brought for breakfast spoiled, and my two teenage girls and I shared the king-sized bed, hoping for a peaceful night's sleep in preparation for the next day's activities.

 

What were the next day's activities? You may ask. Why, nothing but stalking staking out the hotels where the band might be staying. Our first tip was that they might be at the MGM Grand. We took the People Mover, a fun yet terrifying little contraption, which dropped us near the MGM Grand. We joined a small group of girls who had parked themselves on a small triangle of land facing the back side of the hotel where there were five or six tour buses parked. And we just sat. And watched. And nothing happened, except that my girls caught sight of Drake, who was also staying at the MGM and performing in Detroit, along with Lil Wayne. I have no idea who those people are; my heart belongs fully to 1D and partially to 5 Seconds of Summer, the opening band for 1D for the second year in a row.

So we spent the better part of the afternoon on a wild goose chase, following their scent, pursuing each Twitter clue, tracking each tip and chasing every group of screeching girls when they suddenly dropped everything and sped to a new location.

We finally ended at the Westin Book Cadillac, dehydrated and high on diesel exhaust fumes. We discovered that some of the One Direction crew was actually staying there and we all got our panties in a bundle when we saw them come out with their 1D backpacks and start loading up the tour buses. But sadly, we never saw Niall, Harry, Louis, Liam or Zayn. The hotel manager eventually came out and told us, in no uncertain terms, the stars were not staying at that hotel. We ultimately gave up, as it was late in the day and the boys were likely already over at the arena, preparing for the evening's concert, and I had to pick up my other kids from their weekend locations and make the hour and a half drive back to Lansing.

When we picked up my 2^nd daughter who stayed with a friend in Ypsilanti, she got into the van and told me, “Mom, you have lipstick on your teeth.”

My oldest daughter, who had been chasing and fangirling and shrieking and running with me all weekend, spoke up. “Oh, yeah Mom, that's been there all day.”

I'm so glad we didn't meet One Direction.

However, let me leave you with these photos. If there was no other reason for me to be a One Direction fan, these pics would still convince me:

 

Where Have I Been???

So, it seems I've all but abandoned this blog, but have no fear! I do intend to come back and continue writing about my foibles and failures as a domestic diva.

But here's what I've been up to. I travelled down a different road for a while and wrote THIS BOOK:

Strong

In a whirlwind romance, Kate falls in love with Chase, who has been partial paraplegic since a horrific car accident at age 17. Kate and Chase quickly make plans to spend their lives together. But when Chase decides to pursue a risky, yet promising, procedure that could potentially heal his paralysis, Kate has to wrestle with her faith in a God that she holds at arm's length, and confront her fear to find out where her strength ultimately lies. Set in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.

Most of you know that my husband was disabled over three years ago by a stroke. I've dabbled a little bit in fiction writing, but I feel like this story was inspired. I have another book already in progress, and I have plans for writing more about people with disabilities.

It would mean so much to me if you could check out my book on Amazon, and if you're interested, please purchase a copy, although I know it may not suit everyone's interests, so there's no pressure. It's only available for Amazon Kindle for now, but if you don't own a Kindle, you can download the free Kindle app for your computer, tablet or phone.

Thanks so much for checking it out!