I also have a cousin who studies Sanskrit, one who does the Ironman and one who lives in Vermont

Last night for dinner we baked one of the 250 pounds of cod that my cousin caught off the coast of Newfoundland this summer.  His wife is a born and bred Newfoundlander, and they spend a lot of time on the East Coast (clearly much of it fishing).

I mention this because I have a wide and varied family featuring many, many cousins (anyone remember Mr. Kotter and his endless uncles?) all of whom enrich my life in all sorts of ways.

Tonight's featured cousin keeps me informed of the travesties against humanity political scandals at her women's college.

Latest ridiculousness features an article about S-E-X published in the college paper that led to the paper losing its funding.

Sex? In college? What next - a keg party? A Pro-choice rally?

But this is no ordinary school tabloid. It's the only co-ed paper at a religious women's college.  And the article is a first person account written by a girl who allegedly went what used to be called all the way with her boyfriend before they were married.  Part of the controversy was that said boyfriend removed his yarmulke prior to the illicit encounter.  (Wondering if it would've been worse had he left the kippa on during some of the dicier moves).

Publication met with complete pandemonium.  Postings, e-mails, petitions, hell - there were whole editorials about this.  I think I saw somewhere that the paper's $500 of school funding was withdrawn.  They took the story down, which created even more internet hits, so they put the story back up.  Media coverage included the Wall Street Journal and the New York Times.

I am trying to figure out why everyone's knickers are in a twist.

Possibilities:
1.  Girls should not be having sex before they are married.
2.  If they are having sex, they should not be talking about it.
3.  If they are having sex and talking about it, they should not be writing about it.
4.  If they are having sex, talking about it and writing about it, they should not be publishing it.
5.  If they are having sex, talking about it, writing about it and publishing it, for Crissakes, they should not be reading about it.

One problem with all of the above.

This is not an article about a young woman caught in the throes of passion getting it on with the doorman in the alley behind the bodega.

This is about some college chick who thought premarital was a good idea but then realized it wasn't for her.  Don't make the same mistake I did, girlfriends. It's not what its cracked up to be.

Maybe instead of panicking, the censors should have actually read the article.

Had they bothered to take a look, they would've seen that:

1.  The couple were in a committed relationship (with each other)

2.  They were religiously aligned (aka both Orthodox Jews)

3.  They were both of consenting age

4.  They were off campus at the time

and to me, the absolute cherry on the sundae, if you will -

5.  SHE HAD SECOND THOUGHTS

Censors, you missed the boat here.  You could have had a great cautionary tale.  A "lessons learned".

Instead you ended up with an embarrassing lack of commitment to freedom of speech, blatant sexism and more internet hits than you really deserved.

And all I ended up with was a few pounds of cod.

Maybe the other families make their beds and know where their library books are

Friend M. asked me today if I ever get tired of being a wife and mother.

I don't get tired of being a wife and mother, I answered, sometimes I just get tired of being a wife and mother to this particular collection of people.  I am sure there are lovely families somewhere else in the world that would be lots of fun to wife and mother.

This is where I think polygamists are missing the point.

I have seen sister-wives interviewed on TV multiple times and I can't help but notice how alike they are.  They all wear the same clothes, talk with the same accents, probably even prepare the same Cowboy casseroles.  

Guys: if you have a license to marry a bunch of different women, maybe you should exercise a little more creativity.  Go old.  Go young.  Go foreign.  The world is your oyster.

No where in your scripture does it say Thou must marry cookie cutters.  (Actually, I have no clue what it says in their scripture. I'm totally improvising).

Sometimes you see these same husbands being interviewed. They are smirking at the camera, because they think they have scored big time.  Look at me, they are saying, I have two people to pick up my socks, and you only have one.

Guys, the joke is on you.  You are buying a magazine and coming home to discover you already own the exact same issue. The covers were similar so you got confused.  Understandable.  But next time, think past the long jean skirt.  Saris? Sombreros?  Stilts?

Complaint tie-in:

Everyone has days where we complain about our jobs, whether it be wife-ing, mother-ing or folding sweaters in a department store.  That's why if you have an opportunity to try something different - say, folding red mohair instead of navy cable knit - go for it.  You may still be folding sweaters, but it will be a lot more fun.

Four stories where the punch line is: It could be worse, it could have been a gerbil

Story 1:
T (6 year old) comes up from basement.

Where were you?

Just feeding my goldfish brunch.

Me: Your goldfish eats brunch?

Husband:  We have a goldfish?

Goldfish is one of those miracle pets that is fed sporadically, never has clean water, and has lived to the ripe old age of three and a half.  How could husband have not noticed?

Well, I guess I can forgive him for not noticing a fish. They are quiet and unobtrusive.

It could be worse, it could have been a gerbil.



Story 2:
Open our eyes.  Snow.

Kids, get your boots on.

What boots? (No one has boots.)

Look in my closet.  One orange boot.  (Even worse than two missing boots is one missing boot.)

Guess we were over-enthusiastic in our spring cleaning.

Jump in car and head for evil retailer giant which opens at 8am.

Kids put on winter coats for the first time in months.

G reaches into his pocket and pulls out a yogurt tube.  A yogurt tube that has been sitting in his pocket since last winter.

Ewww. Gross.

It could be worse, it could have been a gerbil.

Story 3:
Speaking engagement at the Rotary Club.  Seated at Head Table.  Table-mate regaling me with tales of her reign as Sales Associate at a hardware store in England.

Seems she had a rich eccentric customer who visited her quite frequently.

At one point, he offered her a lift home.  She gets into his Rolls Royce Silver Cloud and there are ten newly hatched chicks running around the car.  It seems his wife wanted the chicks for an easter party.

It could have been worse, it could have been a gerbil gerbils.

Story 4:
Friend of a friend of a friend has a neighbor who was in a play group with a kid who has a cousin who lives across the street from a little girl who accidentally hugged her hamster too tight.  Hamster died.

Mother brought home another hamster.  Kid enthusiastically hugged hamster #2.

Hamster died.

Mother said, third time's a charm and brought home a third hamster.  Kid loved hamster #3 so much, she hugged it until it, too, greeted St. Peter at the pearly gates.

It could be worse, it could have been a - wait, never mind.

Mom, Are You Growing a Mustache for Movember?

(and other things my kids said today before 9am):

Watch - I can play the recorder through my nose!
MOM - Follow me on Twitter.
Clementine oranges? Oh great! Do we have any salsa?
Why does my brother always get to hog all the purple hair elastics?
It wasn't me - Dad was watching that show.

and my personal favorite:

I would read your blog Mom, but I really don't have time.

I'm not mentioning names (US Air)

Endless plane delays and re-scheduling of flights.

Finally board.

Sitting on tarmac.

Flight attendant: "We are waiting for another crew.  They are the ones who originally bid on this flight.  But then they were late.  So they called us in.  We all had to show up, and get the plane ready.  Now the other crew is here.  They have the right to this flight if they want it.  Unfortunately, they want it. So we all are stuck here waiting till they get on the plane, at which point we'll have to leave.  They will come on, and be your crew today."

Too much information.

Your union problems are none of my business.

I want to board your plane, have a diet coke, fall asleep, wipe the drool from my chin, and get jostled by IT consultants as they whiz past me.

I don't care who bid on what flight and who has what right to which hours.  Just tell me there has been a delay of twelve minutes and after that we will be scheduled for take-off.

Let us now fast forward to the return flight.  Same airline.

Flight cancelled.

Re-booked onto connecting flight through Washington, D.C.

Get off plane and eat airport Chinese food.

Go back to gate to board plane for Montreal.

One problem.  Plane is headed for Philadelphia.

Gate agent says: Oh, didn't anyone tell you?  This plane will stop in Philadelphia, you will have to de-plane for an hour, and then re-board for Montreal.

That is relevant information that I would have liked to know prior to taking off.  I like to know what city I am in, where plane will be stopping, and what time we will be arriving at our final destination.

I am grateful that ultimately the plane brought us where we needed to go - safely.

I am also compelled to point out the opportunities for improvement in airline-passenger communication.

We don't care about your digestive problems, your mother-in-law, or your union issues.

We care deeply about the plane we are on and where it is headed.

Please keep the relevant information flowing.

I also got a Missoni sweater

I'm at a conference and there was a break.

Colleagues raced downtown for a splash of local color.  Suckers.

Target obviously a way better choice.

When I got in the cab (called a sedan here), I immediately noticed that the driver had the same ceramic dutch shoes dangling from his rear view mirror as I did dangling from my not at all nerdy conference tote bag.

Since you asked, I got my ceramic clogs from a delegate from the Netherlands who said they were each given three keychains to give to people who were exceptionally inspirational during their trip to the US. I was exceptionally inspirational during my speech, and proudly attached the key chain to my tote bag (hell, might as well jump in with both feet at this point).

I assumed that cab driver must have given exceptional customer service to the same group.

(cue ominous music)

Being that we are staying in the middle of nowhere, the Target is just east of the middle of nowhere.

And apparently, in this particular middle of nowhere, ya can't just jump out and hail a cab.

So the sedan dispatcher told me the best thing would be to get the cab driver's business card and call him, and he would pick me up.  He may even just wait for you, the dispatcher said.  And, in fact, as we were pulling away from the curb another hotel guest knocked on the sedan window and asked for the driver's business card, giving me the illusion that this practice is standard operating procedure here, in the middle of nowhere.

Colorless suburban strip mall. Thrilled.

Call me, driver says, handing me his card and I'll come back and get you.

Checkout line. Pull out Canadian cell phone, and roaming charges be damned, call the cab driver to pick me up.

Yeah, right.

Didn't even occur to me.

I have no plan B.

I pay for my three pairs of Converse very important and essential items and go to Guest Services for help.  Some woman overhears the conversation and says "I'm from Canada too.  Brockville."

She asks me if I've ever heard of it.  Of course, I say. You're a train station between Montreal and Toronto.

Wish I could take you to your hotel, she said, but I have this thing, with this person, and also someone else visiting, and I couldn't possibly.

In hindsight, maybe I should have been more excited about Brockville. Isn't it one of the thousand islands?

Guest services hauls out an actual yellow pages.  Calls a cab from her landline.  By the time we got out of the time machine and said goodbye to Bill and Ted, the taxi was there.

Things I find hilarious about this story:

1. That it didn't even cross my mind that the cab driver wouldn't come back
2. That I trusted him based on a matching keychain of dutch shoes that the Netherland delegation probably picked up at the Dollar Tree in the 6 for 1$ bin
3.  That the woman from Brockville tried to appear nice and Canadian but ultimately didn't give me a lift
4. That people still have and use actual yellow pages

And the complaint tie-in:

If the cab driver got a better fare, why wouldn't he just answer the phone and tell me? Or send someone else from his cab company?

Next time I'm in a colorful new city and my co-workers are exploring downtown there's NO WAY I would waste my time taking a cab to Target.

I'm definitely renting my own car.