Meet the Mask Enforcers – Advanced Middle-Aged Moms

There’s a lot that has surprised me about people’s understanding and reaction to the coronavirus. Before COVID-19 I thought we were a fairly intelligent country.

More than 90 percent of Americans over the age of 25 have graduated from high school and almost 33 percent of Americans over the age of 25 have a college degree. In the history of our country we’re the most educated we have ever been.

Yet, in the midst of a pandemic we’re stupid, really stupid.

You need to look no further than the mask debate to realize that common sense and the most basic understanding of science has vanished from sea to shining sea.

Lord help us all when people think they can’t breathe with a mask on because of the carbon dioxide build up and yet in the same non masked breath say that masks are futile at stopping the coronavirus because the virus can permeate the mask.

Pick a lane. If a mask can trap carbon dioxide (which the mask you would wear to the grocery store cannot) then it can trap the COVID-19 virus which is 500 times the size of an oxygen molecule.

Also, for the love of basic brain function, ask yourself if all of the medical professionals that wear face coverings daily are perishing from a mask induced carbon dioxide toxicity? The answer to that is a solid no.

Honestly, I’m most disappointed in my demographic – the advanced middle-aged mom. Let’s get real here, we should be the smartest person in every room. We set the example for everyone else to follow.

We have years of wisdom. We’re savvy, resourceful, have survived parenting teenagers and have shepherded at least one child through the college admissions process and dorm move in day which means we’re resilient and battle tested.

But in person and on social media all I see are mothers fighting the mask mandates. I’m seriously perplexed. Women are the guardians of the safety and survival of humanity. Our “go to” is to be in a constant state of worry about e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g.

In a pandemic you would think this demographic – the demographic that has their entire family geotagged via their phones for 24/7 tracking purposes (including heart and pulse rate) would be not just team mask, but team mask with a vengeance.

The AMAM’s (Advanced Middle-Aged Moms) should be all over wearing masks especially since we have a superpower – guilt which can be used for maximum mask enforcement. There is nothing quite as potent as mom guilt. It lingers and gets lodged in our children’s brains. It affixes itself to their very soul. They can’t escape it no matter how hard they try.  It’s like an omnipresent festering forcefield.

Joining guilt in our AMAM arsenal is shaming, cajoling, and throwing down the maternal gauntlet of assorted escalating threats. In the hierarchy of telling people what to do moms are the supreme ruler.

It doesn’t matter if your kids are technically adults, especially since the odds are at least one of them is still on your cell phone plan and/or you’re paying their car insurance, the advanced middle-aged mom has the authority to make their progeny mask up.

Sure, masks aren’t fun but you know what else wasn’t fun? Making our children use a car seat and then ride in a booster seat well into the fifth grade. But we enforced that rule and we put the classic mom spin on it  – “I’m making you do it because I love you so very much.”

We need to take that love and bring it! Advanced Middle-Aged Moms heed the call. This is our time. Our skill set has never been required more. It’s up to us to embrace science, to use that mom common sense that runs boldly through our veins and has kept our families safe. We are the stalwart leaders of Team Mask.

America we are coming to save you – one guilt trip at a time.

*I got my Snarky in the Suburbs mask at www.anniesbarn.com. The very creative owner is a friend of mine and she has a lot of unique masks and a bunch of other super fun stuff. Even if you’re not shopping for masks check out her website. It’s a snarky hoot!

Dear Snarky – I’m Being Harassed By My Hair Stylist

Dear Snarky,

 My hair stylist has taken to social media to try to ruin me. I have been going to this woman for a very long time and we’re friends on Facebook. Once the lock down was lifted she started posting a lot, and I mean A LOT, of pictures of her out and about doing what I would describe as risky behaviors during a pandemic.

 She’s been to tons of bars, a huge Branson pool party where no one was wearing masks and on and on. Based on this I told her privately that I was cancelling my hair appointment because I didn’t want to take the risk of spending three hours with her to have my hair highlighted and cut since she has been around so many people without a mask or any social distancing.

This woman went off on me like you wouldn’t believe. She accused me of trying to tell her how to live her life and that I have no right to comment on anything she does. After that phone conversation I thought the issue was over with forever.

 But a couple of hours later she’s on social media dragging my name through the mud and just making up shit about me. I don’t know what to do. I talked to my boss for advice (Zoom) and to give her heads up on what was happening and she said I should just ignore it and wait it out.

 What do you think?

 Signed, Freaked Out

Dear Freaked Out,

 I’m leaning towards the advice your boss gave you. Under no circumstances should you comment on any post or take to your social media to give your side of the story. It would just be adding rocket fuel to the fire.

 The fact that you talked to your hairstylist privately about your decision to cancel the appointment and didn’t go on social media for a public shaming was the right way to go.

 Now, would I have been so candid about the reason for the cancellation? Probably not, because I wouldn’t want to do that big of a deep dive on it. (#ConfrontationAvoidanceStrategy) But, I can’t really blame you for being honest and thinking that perhaps your friend and hair stylist of many years would want to know how her posts were being received by clients and might, if not alter her behavior, not share it on social media.

 As for this woman having a meltdown, well,  just from a business perspective she’s an idiot.  She’s demeaning a customer and some of her other customers might think, “Whoa, what if she does this to me down the road.” She’s also making herself sound unhinged and no one wants a mentally unstable person near them with extremely sharp scissors.

If she is truly defaming you on social media you or an attorney can send her a cease and desist notice requesting that the defamatory statement be removed, retracted, and an apology made. 

 I would stay strong, stay off social media for the foreseeable future and find a new hair stylist. Oh, and when you do get a new stylist maybe you shouldn’t become social media besties.

 

 

A Sprinkling of Silver Linings

I think we can all agree that so far 2020 has been annus horribilis. (Shout out to my high school Latin that I haven’t used in 40 years.)

If you’re one of those people that can find a silver lining in a pandemic then I salute you because I can’t. Sure, if pressed, I guess, I can come up with some positives.

I did learn things like my Internet has a lot in common with a teenager who wants to sleep all day and when forced to do some hardcore chores has a breakdown. This also educated me that while paying for high speed internet I’m getting more of a “high speed occasional, when I, sort of, feel like it which isn’t very often,” experience.

Yes, before you ask I aggressively reached out to my internet provider and I would rather get 100 nasal coronavirus swabs than have to live through that again. I finally had to go to the nuclear option which was to get my son to hard wire my home office.

This called for him to brandish a drill and lasso 40 feet of computer cable through our upstairs hallway which now resembles a mad scientist’s lair.

Maybe another silver lining is that I did have some self-discovery moments. About two months into the lock down I had an epiphany that I hate cooking dinner. In fact, I think I’ve always loathed cooking but tried to tell myself I didn’t by using excuses like, “I enjoy cooking and just hate cleaning the kitchen.”

But no, I would rather clean the kitchen than have to cook dinner. My least favorite three-word sentence now is, “What’s for dinner?”

What I do like is baking. Baking enriches the soul. Cooking dinner not so much. It’s a thankless, repetitive task.

Sisyphus instead of being forced to eternally push a boulder up a hill only to watch it roll back down should have been given the task of cooking dinner every single night during a pandemic. There’s a real Greek God worthy punishment.

I guess it’s also silver lining-ish that I now know what my husband and I will fight about in  retirement. Having both of us home almost 24/7 has resulted in some extremely terse exchanges.

There’s been the melt down over someone (not me) putting condiments in the designated (by me) beverage section of the refrigerator. I can’t be wrong about this because who wants pickle relish and stone ground mustard mixed in with beverages? It’s just not done.

Then there was the sprinkler war. My husband (insert eye roll) doesn’t approve of how I water our yard. (Just to clarify for anyone that is confused right now. We do not have an in-ground irrigation system. This means every summer we’re the fools yanking hoses and sprinklers all over our yard.)

I prefer the sprinklers of my childhood. The ones that sway gently back and forth. My husband likes the lawn spike sprinkler. It’s the kind that shoots out across the yard making a rat-a-tat-tat sound.

There’s also the issue of sprinkler placement. Apparently, I’m lacking in “geographical sprinkler management skills.” This led me to tell my spouse just where he could put his rat-a-tat-tat sprinkler.

We also have fought over fabric softener usage (#TeamFabricSoftener)and utensil placement in the dishwasher. For the love of god, wooden spoons and spatulas go in the top compartment. Why is that so hard to understand?

Wooden spoon drama aside, I’m a little bit impressed with myself that I could find that many silver linings or maybe they’re more like Teflon linings. Good thoughts that won’t stick.

Dear Snarky – A “Karen” Wants a Name Change

Dear Snarky,

 My mother is being ridiculous and I need some words of wisdom to share so she quits making a fool of herself.

 My mom’s name is Karen. She’s not one of those Karen’s. She’s very kind and always wants the best for everyone. But since the name Karen has become a symbol for a woman being a jerk she’s decided to change her name.

 She’s not legally changing it but she’s requested that family and friends now call Lizzie. Her middle name is Elizabeth so she’s shortened that to Lizzie. She’s still answering to the name Karen but every time someone calls her that she corrects them and says, “It’s Lizzie.”

 Also, she’s told us that we have a two-week grace period to get her name right and after that she won’t be responding to Karen.

 How can we get her to stop this? She’s 61 years old. Who changes their name at 61? I think she’s making too big a deal out of this “Karen” thing.

 Signed,  Desperate Daughter

Dear Desperate,

 Back off and leave your mother alone. What’s the harm in your mom doing a little friends and family name change? To be honest she’s an inspiration to me.

 My name is Sherry. It’s never suited me. I’ve always wanted a dramatic name like Valka or Maximillian. Anyone named Sherry is, at best, advanced middle aged. It’s like I don’t even need to tell people how old I am. My name does that for me. So, maybe I’ll take a cue from your mom and start having people call me Valka.

 Okay, yeah, that’s not going to happen but there is no real harm in what your mom is doing. She’s not legally changing it. In fact, I think she’s having some fun and a lot of that fun is coming from messing with your mind.

 Just go with it. I like the name Lizzie. It sounds fun and friendly. Also, you call her “mom” so why do you care what everyone else calls her? And not to split hairs but she’s using a nickname for Elizabeth which is her middle name so technically that’s still a part of her name.

 Relax Desperate Daughter and quit trying to control your mother. 

If you have a question for Dear Snarky – advice with an attitude – email me at snarkyinthesuburbs@gmail.com. 😉

I Hope Your Origin Story is Better Than Perry Mason’s

I’m over origin stories. Specifically, I’m over the use of origin stories as a way to create television and movie content. I say this because “Perry Mason,” one of my most beloved TV shows, was just given an origin story series on HBO.

After watching the first episode I was bewildered because the origin story that was concocted bares zero resemblance to the 86 Erle Stanley Gardner books or the television series. The HBO Perry Mason, a mammoth sad sack, isn’t even an attorney and his wardrobe consists primarily of the same filthy undershirt.

I get it. It’s artsy and very film noir but it’s also irritating. I mean why even call it Perry Mason? It feels like an audience bait and switch. I’m pondering that maybe the powers to be at HBO thought that no one who watched the original series that debuted back in 1957 would care. But they were wrong. Perry Mason groupies are still going strong.

I started watching the legal drama when it was in syndication back in the 80s. In college I even took Perry Mason study breaks. #SuperFan.

This is why I was thrilled when my husband told me that HBO was doing a Perry Mason series. That feeling lasted all of five minutes when I began watching the show and saw my beloved Perry in a gross undershirt (Yes, I know I seem to have an obsession with this rag of an undershirt as a costume choice but it was just so wrong, so not Perry Mason, Esquire.)

As we watched it my husband kept on reminding me it was an origin story so perhaps I need to calm down a little bit. But, I couldn’t. When does doing an origin story mean disrespecting a book series and a TV show?

It also led to me thinking about origin stories in general. It seems like most superheroes all have them to explain their powers. But what if we, mere mortals, could concoct our own origin stories. Especially, since after doing some research on origin stories I discovered that they don’t have to make a lick of sense (thus explaining the HBO Perry Mason).

I, for one, would love it because my real-life origin story is pretty pedestrian. Suburban girl grows up to be a suburban woman. Thrilling, right? But if I could take creative liberties my origin story would factor in at least one superpower and a couple of mysterious adventures.

Just riffing here but I’m thinking about portraying my childhood as very Nancy Drew-esque. I’m imagining a young me as a serious mystery solver, with the gift of invisibility that disappeared on my 15th birthday (which can be an enigma I’m still trying to decipher).

Wow, I just thought up all of this and I already like myself better. Who knew that having a stimulating origin story would be quite the self-esteem boost? Hmm, could I even be looking thinner?

Maybe this origin story thing is the way to go. Just imagine how much more fascinating life would be if we all could create epic backstories. Yes, I know they would be falsehoods, but just think about what these stories would quickly reveal about a person. It would be like an immediate Rorschach test.

From my simple disclosure that I would give myself the gift of invisibility one could surmise that I like to keenly observe people. So much information in so little time. It’s like speed dating someone’s psyche.

I just hope the origin story you make up is a lot better than Perry Mason’s and includes a clean undershirt.

Dear Snarky – My Cousin Borrowed My Clothes and Then Sold Them Online

Dear Snarky,

 My cousin and I have been best friends since we were little. We were born three days apart and a lot of people think we’re twins. Now we’re both 25 and still close.

The  problem is that my cousin borrows my clothes all the time. I usually don’t mind as long as I get them back. Lately, she hasn’t been returning them even when I ask her over and over again. I even went to her house to get my clothes back. Her mom (my aunt) helped me look for 30 minutes and we couldn’t find them.

 A couple of days later I’m on a *popular internet resale clothing site and see what I’m sure are my clothes being sold! They’re all name brands that people want like Lululemon and the name the seller was using is my cousin’s nickname so that’s all the proof I needed.

 I want to confront my cousin and I want the money she made from selling my clothes. What is the best way to do this? My mom thinks I need to do it in front of family so I have witnesses.

 Signed,

 Ripped Off

(*Snarky note: I have removed the name of the resale clothing site from the letter and replaced it with “popular internet clothing site.”)

Dear Ripped, Off,

 Whoa, that’s a brazen move by your cousin. Did she think you were just going to forget about the clothes she borrowed?

 The big issue you’re going to have in a confrontation is that your cousin is going to deny that she’s selling your clothes online and she’s going to ask you to prove it. That’s not going to be easy.

 Problem: 1 – The sites don’t list the sellers real name.

 Problem 2 – Even if you were to buy let’s say a pair of your Lululemon leggings back from what you think is your cousin’s listings it would be very difficult to prove that they were yours.

 This means I would stay totally away from going down the rocky path of accusing your cousin of selling your clothes on the Internet. It’s just going to detour into a shit show where your cousin will play the victim card and you’ll end up being the bad guy for accusing her of stealing. If your goal is to get your clothes back I suggest another route.

 Taking your mom’s advice, I would, with some witnesses present, very politely give your cousin a list of clothing she has borrowed and request (or demand based on how the list goes over) all the items back in 48 hours.

 I would also tell her that if you don’t have all your clothing back in that time frame she will need to reimburse you and you have included the price of each article of clothing she has borrowed from you.

 Are you going to get all your clothes back? Probably not. Hopefully, you will get some of the clothes returned and maybe a little bit of money.

 Sadly, what you’re not going to get back is your relationship with your cousin. It’s going to take a long time to recover from a family member blatantly stealing from you. Going forward I would continue to be very wary of this cousin.

 .

 

 

 

 

Cheez-It Parenting in an Extreme Parenting World

Help, I’ve fallen down a rabbit hole and I can’t get out. Worse, I don’t even know if I want to get out which is quite frankly embarrassing because I feel like I’m in the  ”Real Housewives” of rabbit holes. By that I mean I’m staying in it because on some level it makes me feel a smidge superior.

You know just like when you watch an episode of the “Real Housewives of New York” and you think to yourself, “Well, here I am sitting on my sofa stuffing my face with handfuls of Toasty Cheez-Its while trying not to get orange Cheez-It residue on the seven loads of laundry I’m folding and also hoping that I can soon garner the strength to investigate an iffy smell in my  basement. But hey, at least I’ve never done something as vulgar as throw a drink in someone’s face while riding in a limo.”

Drawing me in deeper is that this rabbit hole has some stellar parental humble bragging. Go ahead and judge but I love to witness a good humble brag in all its audacity, shamelessness, and over the top glory.

The rabbit hole also features another one of my favorite things – the know it all parent. This fusion of pomposity teamed with humble bragging is like a value size box of Toasty Cheez-It – I can’t not partake.

Please note this hole I find myself unable/unwilling to extricate myself from I didn’t even seek out. A friend, without my permission mind you, added me to a Facebook group and down, down I went. I’m currently daily gobsmacked by the postings on the “Unofficial University Parent Collective” for my daughter’s college.

To confuse you further I’m a late bloomer to this group. My daughter will be a junior in college and I’ve just been introduced to this gem. I don’t know whether to be sad or glad about that. A part of me is a bit bereft that I spent the last two years without being able to wallow in the wonder of this forum.

The current hot topic is parents asking other parents about what classes and professors their kids should take. The parents in the know are responding with in-depth missives combined with assorted humble brags on their child’s genius by stating that the information that is being offered is based on their kid’s “need for exceptional academic rigor.”

This leaves me with so many questions. Topping the list is are these parents going to class with their adult children because how else could they know so much about the inner workings of a certain professor’s teaching style, homework, grading scale and exam schedule?

To be honest I didn’t know that much about my children’s middle school classes. At some point you have to let the micromanaging go. But the bigger head scratcher is what kid at 18 plus years old would allow his parents that much access into the inner workings of his or her college existence?

Should I be jealous, impressed or mystified? I’m choosing to be mystified because I don’t think I want to live in a world where I know my 20 year old’s homework schedule.

Scenarios like this are what’s keeping me firmly entrenched in the Facebook group. I can’t stop reading the posts. It’s a journey to a land of extreme uber parenting. Meanwhile, I’m the Cheez-It parent just along for the spectacle of it all.

I know I need to stop but someone just posted asking what professors are open to communicating directly with parents and sorry but I’m going back in. I have a feeling some epic humble brag bombs about to be dropped.

Dear Snarky – Pool Protocol, the Office Ass & the Family Slacker

I’ve received a couple of Dear Snarky letters that deserve an answer – a short answer. So, I’ve decided to do one of my favorite things – “Snarky in Seconds.” This means I’ll be answering a couple of letters but forgoing my usual in-depth analysis.

READY, SET, SNARKY!

Dear Snarky,

My neighbors are trying to take advantage of our pool. Since a lot of the local pools are closed this summer because of the coronavirus I’ve had people I barely know hinting for an invitation to come over and swim.

I find this very rude and I don’t like being putting on the spot. Also, if the public pools are closed why would I want my pool full of people?

Signed, My Pool is for Family Only

Dear My Pool,

 Wait, did my neighbor write this about me? Because I want to come over and swim. You know when I first read this I thought lighten up and invite one to two people over for a social distance splish splash. But it’s your pool and you can do exactly what you want. I also understand your fear of having two people come for a swim and then it morphs to 10.

I will caution you though to be ready for some splash back from your friends and neighbors. Your reluctance to issue a swim invite may come back and bite you. In other words don’t need a favor from any of these peeps in the near future.

 Dear Snarky,

Our office has opened up for employees to come back to work but one woman in the office has decided to extend working from home due to some “chronic health concerns.” Well, based on her Instagram she’s not doing much work. I’m thinking of showing her posts to our boss because why should I be back in the office while she’s in her backyard gardening.

Signed, Not Fair

Dear Not Fair,

Unless you have been appointed supreme guardian of the workforce mind your own business. Maybe this woman got up at 4 in the morning and started her work day or maybe the social media posts are from the weekend. Whatever is going on stay out of it. Being the office busy body is not a good look.

Dear Snarky,

How do I tell my sister to stop bragging about all she got done during the quarantine? She’s seriously turned it into a competition. Good for her that she retiled her bathroom and painted half her house. I even told that but she’s now acting like I’m lazy because I “got nothing done.”

Signed,Not a Slacker

Dear Not a Slacker,

 Your sister sounds a tad annoying. Just because you didn’t go all home makeover during the lock down doesn’t mean you weren’t doing stuff. Tell her while she was grouting tile you were focusing on more intellectual pursuits and working to improve your mind.

Needless to say, she doesn’t need to know that perhaps those pursuits were watching Netflix. But hopefully she’ll get the message to get over herself.

Also, it’s your sister so can’t you just tell her to shut up? I know I would.

If you have a question for Dear Snarky – advice with an attitude – email me at snarkyinthesuburbs@gmail.com. 😉

 

 

 

Hands Down on this Display of Affection

I’m going to straight up admit I’m a stalker. But, I’d like to think I’m a stalker with a certain level of panache. This means I don’t stalk my children because in a word – boring. It’s so expected that it has no appeal for me. I prefer to stalk strangers.

Yes, I know this sounds super creepy, perhaps even a “Dateline” episode in the making, so let me explain.

I consider myself a keen observer of human behavior so when I see something that makes me go, “hmm.” I feel it is my duty to investigate. Not investigate by getting all up in people’s business but to observe and think deeply as is befitting a scholar on social interaction.

For example, earlier this month when it was almost 100 degrees with a humidity level so out of control that I felt as if my entire body was being brined in liquid Pepto-Bismol I observed a couple that seemed to be middle age-ish holding hands while power walking in my neighborhood.

My first reaction was yuck. The sheer act of holding hands would be a squishy, high moisture endeavor. It would also take some effort.

The weather wasn’t conducive to any form of lackadaisical hand holding. Thanks to humidity being our new overlord holding hands in this swamp fire would require some serious gripping.

I decided the only course of action I had was to follow, stalk, shadow (go ahead and pick your favorite verb) this couple. My curiosity as to why anyone would willingly hold hands was overriding my extreme discomfort of extending my time out in the heat.

So, off I went, keeping a discreet distance behind them while being amazed that they never let go of each other’s hands. Meanwhile, my hands were busy constantly using my T-shirt to wipe sweat off my face.

I was perspiring so much I didn’t even care that the act of using the bottom of my shirt to soak up my face sweat was exposing my flab rolls which haven’t seen sun in probably three decades.

Because I’m no amateur stalker I was also timing this outing and at 15 minutes in this couple had yet to release their hands. It could have been heat exhaustion causing some sort of delirium, because this is about the time I started singing, “I Want to Know What Love Is” by Foreigner.

I was full on belting out, “I want to know what love is, I want you to show me!”

The reason for this solo musical performance is because I was imagining that this couple must have some great love story. What other reason could there be for the obsessive hand holding?

Then I started feeling sorry for myself – again probably sun stroke related – that I couldn’t imagine a love so great where I would want to hold anyone’s hand while walking in this festering combo platter of 98 degrees with a side of soggy.

At 20 minutes into my stalking caper I had to give up. The couple were still hand in hand and yet I was fully saturated in sweat and crying from the sunscreen that was waving the white flag of surrender and now melting into my eyes.

When I finally got back to my house red faced and near collapse resembling someone who had clawed their way out of a bog I immediately asked my husband if he wanted to go outside and hold hands. He looked at me and said, “That’s a solid no.”

This made me happy because my stalking had taught me that there is perhaps no greater love than someone who shares your feelings about humidity infused hand holding.

When Road Construction Gives You Home Improvement Flashbacks

Every time I drive down a street near my home that has been eviscerated by road construction I visibly shudder. It’s been a construction hot mess for more than a year. For me it’s the equivalent of a kitchen remodel that took a tragic turn.

I’ve survived my share of home renovations projects and there’s nothing like a “little kitchen update” to threaten your mental health, your marriage and your finances. Looking back, it all started out so innocently. I was so full of hope, so focused on the future, so excited about being the master of my domain in a gleaming, updated kitchen.

But then the kitchen “refresh” that started off so promising quickly detoured into the land of panic and angst when possible mold issues were discovered, and we were told our house was apparently being held up by toothpicks and one wrong move or clap of thunder could bring it tumbling down.

This was my one and only kitchen remodel and it was so long ago “classy” laminate countertops were still a thing. But, after surviving that fiasco (Where the contractor was the husband of my son’s elementary school principal. So, yeah brilliant move on my part. ) I vowed never again.

Because never again do I want to be afraid to answer my phone or walk through my front door and hear, “Mrs. Kuehl, we have a problem we didn’t anticipate.”

“Didn’t anticipate” means one thing and one thing only – that you’re going to be washing dishes in your bathtub for another two months while fearing financial ruin.

Memories like this is why I get a case of the heebie jeebies while dodging cones on the entrance to my neighborhood. I imagine that back in April of last year the city public works department was fearless and optimistic about this renovation. But like my kitchen gut job from long ago things didn’t go as planned.

To be sure it’s a big project. Storm sewers are being replaced which in kitchen reno parlance means a gut job. Then you have to put in new curbs, asphalt, sidewalks etc. Now, more than 13 months later it looks better but again in kitchen speak it appears that they’re waiting on the cabinets to be installed and I have a feeling those might be on back order.

This means drivers are still participating in the fun filled games of “construction cone connect a dot” and “What way can we drive on the road today? Northbound, southbound or not at all?”

That said, I have nothing but respect for all the people that have worked on this project. They have been busting it for months. In fact, I’ve driven by them so often I feel like we’ve established a personal connection.

I also want to give the public works department a social distancing hug. Why? Because I remember how I felt during my kitchen remodel (chest pains coupled with a nervous breakdown) and I imagine overseeing a construction task like this has to be a million times worse.

Here’s hoping that when the project is finally done there’s some kind of celebration. At the very least we should have a car parade. All of us joyously honking our horns as we drive down the street exuberantly and, at long last , using all the lanes.