It's Here!!

Sometimes you just get Huck Finned into doing something.  And in this case, I'm glad I did.  Because really, who gets to laugh for two solid months at their job?

Huck, I mean my boss and General Manager of the Bozeman Daily Chronicle, Nick Ehli, asked if I was interested in working on a project compiling police reports for a book along with reporter Jodi Hausen.  "It'll be fun," he assured me.  

And you know what? It was.

My job was to read 24 years worth of police reports - on microfilm.  That translates to 288 months or about 16,540 days worth of police reports. At about 10 - 15 entries on the police blotter each day, that works out to. . . well, a whole lot of reading.  Even though I got one new contact prescription and one strange, camel-looking back hump and ate 12 pounds of malted milk balls along the way, I'm still glad I did it.  

I owe the fantastic folks at the Montana State University Library a huge thank you.  I'd especially like to thank David, who patiently showed me how to run the microfilm machines and kept me from a panic attack the day my favorite was permanently moved to storage. I'd also like to thank him for not getting peeved when I would break into laughter.  He never shushed me once, even though he probably should have.  David, you rock.  

We Don't Make This Stuff Up - The Very Best of the Bozeman Daily Chronicle Police Reports is proof positive that the truth is stranger than fiction.  And that some people are really as dumb as you think.

It's available at The Bozeman Daily Chronicle, Country Bookshelf and Murdoch's.  It's also available online.

A New Name

Entering a new decade next week calls for big changes. So I'll start with my poor, ignored blog.  Mom, Interrupted is now A Real Mother.  

I know I'm A Real Mother.  I suspect there are a lot more out there.

Now maybe for a new look? 

Mid-Life Crisis in Progress

A friend gently reminded me the other day, "What happened to your blog?" 

I'm asking myself the same question.  And it seems like a seriously lame answer but I think I'm having a mid-life crisis.  But it's true. 

Apparently it's rendered me non-communicative. 

Actually it's put me in that "Oh Shit" frame of mind that turning 50 next week means it is seriously time to do something new with my life.

What that might be - I have no idea. Stay tuned.

Sock It To Me

With the kids finally back to school, the pressing question during the morning rush is "Mom, where are my socks?" 

One of my house rules is - if you don't put it in the laundry basket, it doesn't get washed. I wash your dirty clothes, I'm not going to look for them too.  I bought plenty of socks before school started.  So I have to admit, I got a little puzzled over the mysterious disappearance of socks on a regular basis.  At first I blamed the washer for eating them.  But upon closer inspection, I have discovered where the blame truly lies.

In support of my theory, I present Mom's Exhibit A - a sockumentary, if you will. 

 no great surprise here

I suppose it's thoughtful, really. I don't have to bend over to pick them up.

 I have to admit, I'm curious.

And then, I hit the motherlode:

Younger Boy, you are TOTALLY busted.

It's Golden, Baby

Still smiling, 50 years later 

The big day in 1960

Some events are so big, so noteworthy that they deserve not only a blog post but a column to commemorate the occasion.  I am speaking, of course, of the major milestone reached by my parents this month - 50 years of marriage.

So here's the column I wrote in honor of their Golden Anniversary:

It’s June and that means brides everywhere are recovering from herniated discs from schlepping around bridal magazines that have the same gross weight as a Ford Fusion.  They offer advice on every facet of your special day, even if it requires selling a kidney or two and channeling your inner-bridezilla to get it.  While they do guide you through every detail to design the perfect setting for exchanging your I Dos, these publications noticeably lack information on that Happily Ever After part, which is infinitely more challenging than deciding between Amazon Roses or Calla Lilies.

I’m curious about what it takes to make it to that Till Death Do Us Part finish line.  After marking twenty-two years of wedded bliss this month, I can offer this pearl of matrimonial wisdom: moving up the death part is not a good option even though some nights at 3 a.m. I’ve entertained the thought.  While it’s true that 99.9% of the time, The Husband is an all-round great guy and my true soulmate. But when he snores, I want to kill him. 

So for guidance I looked to my very own parents who will reach a major milestone this week – 50 years of marriage.  But since less than 5% of couples will reach this landmark, I thought my folks might be the best source of information on the subject. 

I decided to take this on as a little research project, to observe just what it takes to be able to spend a half-century together.  Would the answer be eHarmony-like personality traits, shared interests or a sense of humor? Would it boil down to never forgetting a birthday or anniversary?  Was it the liberal use of those two little words, “I’m sorry,” that are often so very hard to say?

On their most recent visit; I observed my parents with the objective detachment of a laboratory scientist.  I watched how they interacted.  I listened to their conversations.  In one week of surreptitious surveillance, I determined the key to their lifetime together could indeed be boiled down to two words: hearing loss.

My dad’s been partially deaf since his Army days. Although he’s always had hearing aids, he found them annoying and turned them off most of the time.  And now, as the parent of a teenager, I completely understand why Dad abandoned them altogether when I entered adolescence.  So in fifty years, he’s been blissfully unaware of most of what Mom has ever said.

But now that Mom is a little hard of hearing too, their exchanges have gone to a bizarre new level.  And it’s pretty clear to even the most casual observer that the conversations they think they are having are substantially more interesting than the ones that are taking place in reality. 

They discussed food and sports: Mom: Can you believe that call by those referees?  Dad: Yes, I’d love some cheese.  They spoke of movies and the drive home.  Dad: What did you think of that documentary on the Alamo?  Mom: You’re right, that traffic was really stop-and-go.  And then I heard the conversation that really put everything into perspective for me:  Dad (laughing): What would you think if I got a tattoo?  Mom (getting up to give him a peck on the cheek): Oh honey, I love you too. 

Which, of course, really says it all.

Mom and Dad have helped me understand their secret to marital longevity.  And thanks to them, I think I’ve discovered the two words that will help me make it to the fifty year mark with The Husband:  ear plugs. 

*On my recent visit home, Mom shared yet another one of their bizarre conversations with me.  My dad said, "I can't believe Denise will be 50 this year."  Mom apparently yelled, arguably so he could hear her, "It wasn't a shotgun wedding, Ronnie!" (and I didn't observe any firearms - or baby bump for that matter - in the wedding pictures).  And Mom is correct, I'll be 49.