Stats, schmatz

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The Daily Beast recently featured an article called 15 Signs You'll Get Divorced. It's filled with stats on off-the-wall traits that supposedly predict the likelihood of marital demise.

Either I'm extra special or the stats are a bunch of hooey. First note that Jim and I have been married 28 years, then consider these figures from the article:

If you didn't smile for photographs early in life, your marriage is five times more likely to end in divorce than if you smiled intensely in early photographs. I didn't smile much in pictures. I was shy. I hated my teeth. Braces would have made a difference. Does that mean those who had braces as a child are more likely to have a successful marriage?

If you have two sons, you face a 36.9 percent likelihood of divorce, but if you have two daughters, the likelihood rises to 43.1 percent. Ummm, we have three daughters. What does that mean for our marital bliss ... or discord?

If you're a woman who got married before the age of eighteen, your marriage faces a 48 percent likelihood of divorce within ten years. I got married at 17. It was the week before my 18th birthday, though, so maybe being within mere days of the magical age made all the difference. But then again, maybe not: The article says those marrying at age 18 or 19 face a 40 percent likelihood of divorce within ten years.

If you're a woman who has recently been diagnosed with cancer or multiple sclerosis, your marriage is six times more likely to end in divorce than if your husband had been diagnosed with those diseases instead. "A study of 'partner abandonment' revealed that husbands are six times more likely to leave sick wives than wives are to leave sick husbands," the article explains. Well, I have multiple sclerosis ... have for 17 years ... and Jim's not abandoned me yet. Although that could be chalked up to the fact that he has a grab-bag of health issues himself, and I think I do more caretaking of him than he does of me. (He might refute that, but don't believe him. You know how men are when they're sick!)

In actuality, I'd have to say that having MS saved me from divorce, at least considering this stat: If you're a dancer or choreographer, you face a 43.05 percent likelihood of divorce.  Shew! Because of the MS, there was no way in cuss I would have ever made it as a star on any dance floor. Thank you, MS!

All in all, I have to say stats, schmatz!

Although ... one can never be too sure. So I plan to keep a close eye on Jim's testosterone levels going forward. Get a load of this: If you're a man with high basal testosterone, you're 43 percent more likely to get divorced than men with low testosterone levels.

I'm off to see if Walgreen's offers a do-it-yourself, testosterone-level-checking kit. I certainly wouldn't want Jim getting too manly on me. I'll keep ya posted!

Today's question:

What's one deal-breaker for you, one sure reason for divorce?

My answer: Being abusive to my kids. (Why wasn't there a stat for that in the article?)

The next Grilled Grandma

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I have to admit that sometimes while doing the Grilled Grandma feature I get a little jealous of the grandmas. This week's grandma, Linda, is no exception.

Why am I jealous of the Grilled Grandmas? It usually has to do with how often the featured grandma gets to see her grandkids. As a long-distance grandma, I wish I could spend more time with Bubby and do the cool things with him that some of the Grilled Grandmas get to do with their grandchildren on a fairly regular basis.

My green-eyed monster reared its head just a teensy tad at reading this comment from Linda:

I have three that come down and they stay a week with me during summer break from school. We try to plan the week out so all of my time is spent just on those three children. Like going to the library or swimming in the pool, just sitting and watching a movie together and just cuddling on my bed.

I know, I know ... Bubby's not even in school yet so lengthy stays with Grandma over summer break aren't in the cards at this point. But it's Megan's summer break from teaching, so I really think she deserves a break from parenting, too, and I know the perfect place Bubby could stay while Megan takes a little time for herself.

Sound like a good plan, Megan?

(It was worth a shot, wouldn't you guys say?)

Linda seems to be a super loving -- and super fun loving! -- grandma, so I'm sure her grandkids look forward to and cherish those summer breaks hanging out with "Maw Maw."

Read Linda's grilling HERE. Then let me know if you have a grandma you'd like to see grilled (even if that's YOU) by e-mailing me her first name and e-mail address. I'm always on the lookout for more grandmas to grill, so feel free to pass along any you can think of.

Today's question:

What's one memory you have of summertime visits to your grandma's house?

My answer: I vividly remember hanging out with groups of cousins at the lake and listening to the older kids tell stories of Indian ghosts that roamed Wisconsin.

MLB, NBA, PGA ... or MLE?

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I just gotta say, Bubby is a pretty talented kid. At two years old, he already shows an affinity for sports. He's got a bright future ahead of him, with Dad and Mom figuring the pros will soon be checking him out; recruiters covet left-handers, be it baseball, basketball, golf, and a left-hander my Bubby is.

I say forget the MLB, NBA and PGA, though, because from the looks of things, Bubby just may be in line to be a champion of the MLE. That's Major League Eating, and it's for real.

The MLE recently staged another championship event, with Sunday's Coney Island Fourth of July hot dog eating contest. (That's a link to ESPN, folks. See ... it's a real sport!) Stars of the MLE were there, as was the infamous MLE-resistant renegade: six-time hot-dog eating champ Takeru Kobayashi.

This grandma thinks Kobayashi and all the other championship gobblers better watch their backs as Bubby's gearing up for come pretty serious action. Although Bubby certainly won't be in line to win the title of championship hot-dog eater -- it's hard to practice for that event when Mom (and Grandma!) demand the dogs be sliced and diced before ingesting to prevent choking -- there are a few categories in which Bubby's already hitting it hard.

For starters, Bubby has quite an advantage in the popsicle category, with recent hours under his belt in both the Homemade Popsicle category ...

as well as the Slow-Melt Popsicle category ...

He's becoming quite proficient in the Birthday Cake category, too, with two years of winning rounds to his name ...

Also in the Baked Goods division is the Krispy Kreme Donut category, of which Bubby had his first taste on Grandma's birthday (did you all know Krispy Kreme gives you a FREE dozen donuts on your birthday?) ...

One of Bubby's newest competitive categories is the Bacon & Eggs division. This one he practices with Grandma's version of bacon and eggs, recipe courtesy of Grilled Grandma Judy:

Speaking of sweets, the Sweets category is Bubby's favorite, with the Longest Time Spent With A Pop-Ring Sucker award easily snatched up by Bubby during his recent Splash Pad birthday party:

There's always the chance, of course, that some other food champ will out eat Bubby. But there's one category Bubby definitely dominates, one which no other MLE member can ever take away from him. That would be, without a doubt, the category of Most Adorable Eater Ever!

Today's question:

If you were to be named a Championship Eater, what food would you be the champion of?

My answer: Guacamole! I can eat it anytime, anywhere, any amount. I love guacamole!

Too pooped to pop: My mom and music

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As part of the From Left to Write book club, I'm currently reading "If You Knew Suzy: A Mother, A Daughter, A Reporter's Notebook" by Katherine Rosman. In it, Rosman, a reporter to her core, documents her "investigation" into the life of her mother in order to pay tribute to Mom upon her death.

In one chapter, Rosman describes her mother's love for dance and music. Rosman's mother danced alone, she danced at parties, she danced in dance classes. And she enjoyed a wide range of music, from Peter, Paul and Mary to disco. The chapter reminded me of my own mother and her love for dance and music. Only my mom -- as always -- was a bit less conventional in her musical tastes and performances.

Of my most vivid memories of my mom and music, none have to do with lullabies or nursery rhymes or the music most might associate with Mom. My very earliest recollection of my mom and music has to do with a record album cover -- an altered album cover.

When I was about five or six years old, I remember thumbing through the stack of records in the living room, albums that must have been purchased to set the ambiance of one of Dad and Mom's parties with friends. The cover was typical of the 60s and early 70s, with a hazy shot in muted colors. It featured a seemingly naked man and woman, face to face in an embrace. The specifics of their bodies aren't clear, literally ... because my mom had used a green color crayon to draw leaves on the semi-nude cover models. Surely thinking the photo was far too risque for public consumption, Mom artfully censored it to seem more like Adam and Eve.

I have no real idea what the record was of -- for some reason, "Hitchin' a Ride" sticks in my mind -- but it had to have been a pretty darn good one for Mom to go so far as to purchase it despite those nearly naked folks on the cover. In retrospect, those carefully colored leaves so perfectly epitomize my mom: She wanted to be hip, cool and part of the in-crowd, but her prude sensibilities prevented her from going all the way.

Another memory that stands out when I think of my mom singing and dancing is the song-and-dance routine she performed when making popcorn. It was back in the day when popcorn was made in a big pot on the stove. As she heated the oil then dropped in a test kernel, Mom would start up with the popcorn song, a song that sticks in my head to this day, a song I think of when I make popcorn. Every. Single. Time. It goes like this (and you gotta do the groovy swaying of the hips and clapping of the hands to get the full effect):

Too pooped to pop, and I ain't lying.

Too pooped to pop, just sitting here frying.

I wanna get to the top,

but I'm ... too pooped to pop!

As most popcorn nowadays is made in the microwave, that song is likely lost on the younger crowd. But even when hitting the "Popcorn" button on the microwave, "Too Pooped To Pop" pops into my head and plays until the ding declaring the popcorn done.

Most of all, though, when it comes to Mom and music, I think of Tevya. Specifically, Topol's portrayal of the poor Jewish peasant in "Fiddler on the Roof." Mom had the most magical way of absolutely and perfectly mimicking Topol's charming -- yet somehow quite sad -- exclamation of how life would be different if only he had money. I have no words to describe it, so here's a short clip of Topol's dance. Ignore the subtitles, insert a petite, red-headed Irish woman and you'll get the picture:

SORRY! THIS VIDEO DISAPPEARED IN BLOG REDESIGN!


That is what I think of most of all when I think of my mom and music. Fortunately my daughters have witnessed Grandma in full Topol mode, too. It's one of their favorite memories of Grandma. One they'll remember long after Grandma becomes too pooped to pop!

UPDATE: After reading this, Megan told me she thought "Too Pooped To Pop" was a made up song. Oh, no, no. It's for real, and here it is:


Today's question:

What do you remember about your mom and music?