<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6800653250153028433</id><updated>2011-11-27T15:22:04.779-08:00</updated><category term='childhood'/><category term='motherhood'/><category term='parents'/><category term='friendship'/><category term='mother-in-law'/><category term='travel'/><category term='work at home'/><category term='job loss'/><category term='elections'/><category term='camping'/><category term='marriage'/><category term='relatives'/><category term='beauty contests'/><category term='dress codes'/><title type='text'>ASK AUNT MADGE</title><subtitle type='html'>Need some advice? Well  come and ask Aunt Madge. Now she claims no expertise, 
just some good common sense. But don't sue her for anything she says.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://askauntmadge.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6800653250153028433/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://askauntmadge.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Anna Maria Junus</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14589846694967185982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_iWcE4engnxU/Rm3ichavebI/AAAAAAAAAAM/dJnNtz7QOG4/s320/RosesDaisies-256x366.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>13</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6800653250153028433.post-5004898341928091123</id><published>2011-09-02T17:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-02T17:47:10.841-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='beauty contests'/><title type='text'>Toddlers in Tiaras and Fake Boobs</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear Aunt Madge,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I don't really have a problem, I just wanted your opinion on something. My daughter-in-law is involved in this baby beauty pagent business. I don't know how much money is spent and really it's none of my business, but I don't like seeing my grandbaby looking like she hangs around street corners. I swear that five year old has more make-up on her face than that Tammy Baker person back in the 80's when her minister husband stole all that money and her mascara would just roll down her face while she cried and...where was I. Oh yes. Not only does my grandbaby have fake teeth and fake hair and more make-up than a drugstore beauty counter, but she's now got fake boobs! Yep. Can you believe it! What five year old needs fake boobs?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Now I tried talking to my son about it and he just says "they're having fun," but I don't see my grandbaby having fun when she cries at every rehearsal. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I tried talking to my daughter-in-law about it but she told me to quit meddling.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Am I wrong?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Grandma to a Barbie Doll&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Grandma,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First I want to scream. Just wait a moment while I do that. AUUGGHHH! There that's better. Hope I didn't hurt your ears.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You are not wrong. Unfortuneatly there's nothing you can do about it, at least not as far as trying to convince your family otherwise. You do not want to alienate them. Your granddaughter needs someone like you in her life to ground her because right now her mother is mesmerized by trophies and promises of fame and a self loathing because why else would she put her little girl through all that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think we should start a movement and demand an overhaul of the baby beauty business. Some of these people involved have seriously lost their marbles on the playground of false hope. First off, ever look at child models in catalogues and commercials? They look like real kids. Ever seen a tv show or a movie with kida in it? They look like kids. No one wants a little girl who looks like a porn star to sell their products. Yes, I said it. Porn star. Which is sad since we're dealing with five year olds. &amp;nbsp;And what producer, director, company is going to want to deal with the mothers of the fake barbies? I swear I saw one of these little ones singing about how people liked her booty. I almost threw up but I was sitting on my new couch and I didn't want to wreck it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since you can't get through to the people who are supposed to care the most about their kids the next step is to talk to the organizers. First get organized with as many people as you can find. Make up signs, write letters, picket these contests. When you finally get some attention show them your manifesto of rules. My suggestions:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. No fake anything unless it's an animal costume. Most children can't grow tails and whiskers so that's acceptable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Make-up if any should be kept to a bare minimum because spotllights can make your face disappear. And no makeup if it's just happening on an open stage in a small room. In fact no make-up at all and that way everyone's face will just disappear. Unless&amp;nbsp;she's wearing an animal costume.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Limits on how much is spent on outfits. No little girl needs a 2000 dollar dress unless she's a part of a singing family and they're performing on America's Got Talent in the final rounds. Let's just make it that all costumes have to come from the second hand store. You can find animal costumes there sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. No behavior or songs allowed that can't be performed in a church gymnasium. This goes for the animal skits too. This includes swishing hips back and forth and come hither looks. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Frankly I think these girls look prettier with braids, missing teeth&amp;nbsp;and scabs on their knees.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just remember beauty is in the eye of the&amp;nbsp;beauty industry&amp;nbsp;who can convince everyone else to spend a fortune on their products.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6800653250153028433-5004898341928091123?l=askauntmadge.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://askauntmadge.blogspot.com/feeds/5004898341928091123/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6800653250153028433&amp;postID=5004898341928091123&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6800653250153028433/posts/default/5004898341928091123'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6800653250153028433/posts/default/5004898341928091123'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://askauntmadge.blogspot.com/2011/09/dear-aunt-madge-i-dont-really-have.html' title='Toddlers in Tiaras and Fake Boobs'/><author><name>Anna Maria Junus</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14589846694967185982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_iWcE4engnxU/Rm3ichavebI/AAAAAAAAAAM/dJnNtz7QOG4/s320/RosesDaisies-256x366.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6800653250153028433.post-5044250707397258438</id><published>2011-06-30T21:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-30T21:19:36.691-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='motherhood'/><title type='text'>50 Ways to Leave Your Mother - Okay 7 Ways to Kick Out Your Son</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;Dear Aunt Madge,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My 30 year old son lives in our basement. I've raised four children and&amp;nbsp;three managed to move out on their own. I've always wanted to have a&amp;nbsp;sewing room&amp;nbsp; down there, but this boy won't budge. He complains about the way I do his laundry and he's very demanding about his meals being on time and not wanting to eat a lot of what I make, so I have to make special things for him. He's a slob and I'm constantly cleaning up after him. He won't even make his own bed and I have to do it for him. Now he's complaining about the house rules saying that he should be able to entertain women down there. His father likes having him around because they watch sports together and he's our baby. "Don't worry he'll grow&amp;nbsp;out of it," he always says.&amp;nbsp;Frankly, I'm tired of being his maid and I want to dance naked in my kitchen, down my hallway and in my living room. Am I a bad mother for wanting my child to leave home?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;Expired Maternal Instinct&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;P.S. He&amp;nbsp;has a job but doesn't pay expenses because he needs to save money to buy a house.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Expired,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's a good thing that I don't have my own TV show - well not good for me but good for you - because then you would have to look at my face. Right now my eyes are wide with astonishment and my mouth is hanging open and it ain't pretty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So you're complaining because you have a son who won't leave a house where he has free rent, free meals, and free maid service. Now who's fault is that? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No you're not a bad mother for wanting him to leave. You're a bad mother for making it too easy to stay. But all is not lost. There are several things you can do. Here are an assortment of suggestions. Pick what you will from them but pick something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. YOU HAVE TO DO THIS ONE! STOP! Stop doing his laundry. Stop doing his cleaning. Stop doing his cooking. Stop buying him food. Stop lending him the car. Stop doing things for him. I know, I know. He's your baby and if you stop cleaning then things will pile up and bugs will come and termites will eat your home and the government will&amp;nbsp;descend and declare your house a hazardous zone. It's not going to happen. If it gets too bad just get a shovel and put stuff in garbage bags and put it out in the trash. Lock your fridge and cabinets. Keep his mess contained to his room. If you're worried that he'll break your washer and dryer, don't let him use your washer and dryer. Hide the detergent. He can go to a laundromat and ruin their machines. If you can't keep him out of your fridge and cabinets then get rid of all your food and start eating out. If your husband complains about the expense then show him the expense of keeping your son around (note suggestion 2). Anything that he leaves lying around the house is confiscated. Keep it for yourself, give it away, sell it, or throw it out. If you have to pick it up then he doesn't get to have it. No exceptions. If this is hard for you, you could arrange deals where he has to buy back his property either through money or service. If he wants something done, he has to pay you in advance. Real money, honey. Call it your trip to Europe, build a sewing room, buy a car you always wanted fund.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Make up an expense report of all the money he&amp;nbsp;has&amp;nbsp;cost you since his high school graduation or 18th birthday. This includes the food he eats, the utilities he uses, any money he borrows, the rent he doesn't pay and any other costs that he has. Show this to your husband. When he sees this in black and white you'll more likely get him on your side. Show him what you could have done with the money your son has cost you. Like the cruise you always talked about, season tickets to his favorite team, that cabin you wanted to&amp;nbsp;buy or the big screen TV he always wanted to watch his sports.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Give him an eviction notice with a date that he has to leave by. He will most likely ignore it. But you won't. Stick to it and be gutsy even if it means that all his stuff ends up on the front lawn. Change the locks on the door. If you want to show him some kindness you can let him have a tent and a sleeping bag.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Send him and his father away for a camping weekend or something. Now gather your girlfriends and Nate Berkus. You know that sewing room you want? Time to claim it. Clean out the basement of everything you don't want down there (his stuff), and repaint, repaper, and refurnish. Make it as girly as possible. Make it you. Put a lock on the door and don't give him a key. You can use the money you saved on not buying him food and shutting off the hot water when he takes a shower (did I mention doing that?).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Take out an ad in the newspaper and announce that your 30 year old still lives at home and refuses to leave. Make sure you give his real name. You can also put a sign on your front lawn with the same information.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. When he brings women to the house, tell them all about him. And I mean every embarrassing he has ever done. Then ask him if he needs you to go to the store to get him some more adult diapers because he used the last one the previous night. Be sure and ask him if he also needs some more cream for that rash of his. I know you want him to get married and out of the house but it's not fair to inflict him on some woman until he can take care of himself. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. Do tours of his room. Show all your friends and anyone else who might be interested. You could post FREE TOURS on the sign on your front lawn. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. Hold a garage sale of all his things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Will he hate you? Probably. But if your children don't hate you sometimes then you probably haven't done your job right. One day when he's standing on his own feet and has his own place and possibly even a wife, he will thank you . Really.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just remember, a bird in the hand will poop on your lifeline.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6800653250153028433-5044250707397258438?l=askauntmadge.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://askauntmadge.blogspot.com/feeds/5044250707397258438/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6800653250153028433&amp;postID=5044250707397258438&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6800653250153028433/posts/default/5044250707397258438'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6800653250153028433/posts/default/5044250707397258438'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://askauntmadge.blogspot.com/2011/06/50-ways-to-leave-your-mother-okay-7.html' title='50 Ways to Leave Your Mother - Okay 7 Ways to Kick Out Your Son'/><author><name>Anna Maria Junus</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14589846694967185982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_iWcE4engnxU/Rm3ichavebI/AAAAAAAAAAM/dJnNtz7QOG4/s320/RosesDaisies-256x366.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6800653250153028433.post-8211628613630406554</id><published>2010-05-13T13:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-13T14:31:04.507-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriage'/><title type='text'>When Motorcycles Seduce</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear Aunt Madge,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;My husband insists on keeping his motorcycle in the dining room. Not only that, but he spends a lot of time taking care of it. I swear his motorcycle is his mistress. I've tried talking to him, but nothing gets through. How can I get rid of this thing?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Hogg Widow&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Hogg,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By thing, do you mean the motorbike or your husband? Let's assume you mean the bike. I don't know if you can get rid of it, it would be easier to kick a mistress to the curb,  but maybe you can create a peaceful co-existance. I've come up with several ideas for you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Decorate the bike. Go wild. Pick a theme, like Princess, or French Country. Or maybe you can decorate it seasonally. Tinsel and ornaments at Christmas, paper hearts on Valentines, stuffed bunnies in leather at Easter, you get the idea. Do not be afraid of paint, glitter and glue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Use it as a rack to dry your delicates.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Feed your husband dinner in the garage. He seems to be confused about what the different rooms in the house are for anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Take the bike out yourself and claim the room as your sewing/zen/gift-wrapping room and warn him that anything left in there that doesn't belong will get fair treatment with a sledgehammer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. Sell the bike - this one is risky, it could lead to divorce, but you can always use the money for a lawyer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. Move your husband's things into the dining room including a bed. Tell him if he likes the bike so much he can sleep with it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. Call up the local tv and radio stations and announce that you will be giving free guided tours of your home and the crazy room where the bike is. Be ready with stupid stories about your husband. You could do number 1 in combination with this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. Go on holiday to Europe without him. You won't get rid of the bike but then you won't have to look at it either. Adopt an accent, and send photos back home of you drinking wine with handsome European men.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. Everytime you see the bike point to it and cry "it's after me." Wake him up in the middle of the night and tell him you had a nightmare about the bike chasing you. Hide under a table and cry about the bike stalking you. Claim that the bike says mean things to you. Board up the dining room so the bike doesn't "get you." If this doesn't make your husband move the bike then refer to number 8 and stay there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. Serve dinner in the dining room every night and set a place for the bike. Ask the bike to pass things and cut up it's meat for it. Tell the bike that if it doesn't eat all of it's food you will banish it to the garage for a time out - and then do it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope one or some of these suggestions can help you. Just remember, honey, a man's home is his castle - and we all know a castle is cold, uninviting and filled with barbarians unless a woman claims it as her own.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6800653250153028433-8211628613630406554?l=askauntmadge.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://askauntmadge.blogspot.com/feeds/8211628613630406554/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6800653250153028433&amp;postID=8211628613630406554&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6800653250153028433/posts/default/8211628613630406554'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6800653250153028433/posts/default/8211628613630406554'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://askauntmadge.blogspot.com/2010/05/when-motorcycles-seduce.html' title='When Motorcycles Seduce'/><author><name>Anna Maria Junus</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14589846694967185982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_iWcE4engnxU/Rm3ichavebI/AAAAAAAAAAM/dJnNtz7QOG4/s320/RosesDaisies-256x366.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6800653250153028433.post-1585006034140021963</id><published>2009-01-14T11:39:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-14T11:40:57.376-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Time to Bring Out the Camera and the Locksmith Tools</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear Aunt Madge,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other day I found a bottle of cologne in my husband’s car. He rarely wears cologne around me and he’s often gone for days at a time on sales trips. I couldn’t help but wonder just who he was trying to smell good for. When I asked him about it, he got all defensive and said “what’s wrong with a guy smelling good? You’re just paranoid.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am I being paranoid? I’m starting to wonder about the bills now. He never lets me look at them insisting that he’ll handle the finances and he has an office in our house that he locks and I don’t have a key for.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And he often leaves the house late at night saying he needs some fresh air, or he goes to the movies but doesn’t invite me to come along.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is this man hiding something?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suspicious and stupid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Suspicious,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would grab a trench coat and a magnifying glass and turn into Nancy Drew if I were you. That man is hiding something. It could be anything from being a secret smoker, to having another family, or even being a world international spy, which would be kinda cool as long as he was playing for the right side and you get to drive the flying sports car. I’m sure that if you asked him he would have a simple explanation for everything and it would be a lie. So don’t ask him. Just one of those things doesn’t necessarily mean that something’s going on, but when you put all of them together then you have every right to be suspicious.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Honey, you are not stupid. Even if he is playing games behind your back, being loving and trusting is not stupid. It’s required in a good marriage. He’s the one being stupid for putting your marriage in jeopardy and not being honest with you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He’s thrown down the gauntlet. Pick it up girl and fight for yourself. Break into that office and go through the credit card bills. Put on a black outfit, smudge your face, and follow him one night when he leaves. Invite a friend along for an eye witness and a shoulder to cry on. Bring a camera and take plenty of incriminating pictures. Check his cell phone when he’s sleeping. If you call one of the numbers and a woman answers pretend that you’re from the IRS and make sure you get her personal information. You want to be sure of what’s going on before you make any drastic moves. You need to know the truth or it will drive you crazy, or worse get you some disease that you can’t get rid of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shooting and poisoning, although pleasant to think about, are not viable options. And hanging him by his toes and torturing him may be difficult to do alone. You want to do something that will have you come out ahead, like divorce him, take everything he has, and then move to Tuscany where all divorced women dream of going. Then you can become a famous writer or meet a handsome man, or both. Either way, you’re in Tuscany. Just remember, it’s better to have loved and lost, than to be stuck with a loser for the next twenty years.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6800653250153028433-1585006034140021963?l=askauntmadge.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://askauntmadge.blogspot.com/feeds/1585006034140021963/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6800653250153028433&amp;postID=1585006034140021963&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6800653250153028433/posts/default/1585006034140021963'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6800653250153028433/posts/default/1585006034140021963'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://askauntmadge.blogspot.com/2009/01/dear-aunt-madge-other-day-i-found.html' title='Time to Bring Out the Camera and the Locksmith Tools'/><author><name>Anna Maria Junus</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14589846694967185982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_iWcE4engnxU/Rm3ichavebI/AAAAAAAAAAM/dJnNtz7QOG4/s320/RosesDaisies-256x366.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6800653250153028433.post-3656541524502808812</id><published>2008-08-12T22:51:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-12T22:51:39.623-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='work at home'/><title type='text'>Anna Gets Involved</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear Aunt Madge,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am an at home mom.  It is not at all feasible to work outside the home.  I have gone that route and ended up spending more money in daycare than what I was making.  I have checked all the at home jobs and they are all nothing but scams and you have to put out money.  I have also tried the home demonstration route and, again, not worth it. Is there anything out there today that allows me to work at home with a legitimate company and make a decent salary without digging into my own pocket?!  Please help!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Looking for work in NJ&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Looking,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know just what you’re talking about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Me too.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Anna, go away. She’s asking me. Go write next week’s column.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“But I want to know what you’re going to tell her.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“You can read it in the newspaper like everyone else. Now go.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Fine. But I’m not helping.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“You can’t help anyway. You don’t have the magic answer.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good. She’s gone. Now where were we? Oh yes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Honey, there’s isn’t anything that I know of. You could try starting your own business, not those scam businesses that are on the internet, but something using your own ideas with your own talents. Mrs. Fields made cookies in her kitchen. Martha Stewart stole other people’s ideas and clients working right at her dining table.  There’s some lady who came up with the idea of blue nail polish which if you ask me looks stupid but everyone went out and bought some and made her rich.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I’ve looked into some “work at home” businesses. There was one that wanted me to make crafts but I had to first pay them to make the crafts. There’s the home party businesses which isn’t really working at home since you have to go to people’s houses to do demonstrations and then you end up chasing all your friends away because they see you coming and know you’re going to ask them to host a party so they start making up excuses about how they have to wash the dog and take the kids to baton twirling class. And don’t get me started on those MLM’s.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“No don’t get her started on those.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Are you back? Go away.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Just helping.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“No, you’re not. You’re hindering. Go clean out your fridge, there’s mold growing in there.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By the way, if someone approaches you with a business idea where the point of the business is to get other people to join the business, then run. Run like the wind. Run fast and run far.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Run Forrest, run!”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then there are the ones that come into your email box saying how you can make a million on the internet, but first you have to buy their book. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Hey, maybe that will work. Have a book made up about how to make money. Charge people $49.95 plus shipping and tax and then when they open it, all they see are the words ‘that’s all folks.’”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now Honey, I don’t know of any business that actually hires people to work at home. That doesn’t mean there isn’t any. I just don’t know of one. If I did, then I would be doing it, and so would Anna who is reading over my shoulder right now and won’t go away no matter how much I elbow her in the ribs. Not that I can find her ribs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Hey!”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It’s sad really. You would think that as a society we could find ways to help mother’s stay home with their children and still help out the family financially. But society doesn’t recognize the value of mother’s staying home with their children. People are only as valuable as the money that they can bring home. Why I’ve even heard of the government being willing to pay day care so that a mother can go flip burgers while someone else takes care of her children, rather than have the mother take care of her own children. It’s a travesty, I tell you! It’s wrong! It’s…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Aunt Madge…”&lt;br /&gt;“What, Anna, can’t you see I’m busy here!”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Yeah, but, you’re starting to foam at the mouth.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“This whole thing makes me perspeckled.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“You were perspeckled before you started answering this question.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“I’m ignoring you.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, lets get back to the question. The answer is, I don’t know. If you find something, let me know. In the meantime, just remember, that if there’s fuzz on the pickle, it’s time to throw away the jar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“What is that supposed to mean?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; “I thought I told you to clean out the fridge.”&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6800653250153028433-3656541524502808812?l=askauntmadge.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://askauntmadge.blogspot.com/feeds/3656541524502808812/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6800653250153028433&amp;postID=3656541524502808812&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6800653250153028433/posts/default/3656541524502808812'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6800653250153028433/posts/default/3656541524502808812'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://askauntmadge.blogspot.com/2008/08/anna-gets-involved.html' title='Anna Gets Involved'/><author><name>Anna Maria Junus</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14589846694967185982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_iWcE4engnxU/Rm3ichavebI/AAAAAAAAAAM/dJnNtz7QOG4/s320/RosesDaisies-256x366.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6800653250153028433.post-8909906644347840585</id><published>2008-08-06T00:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-06T00:20:57.199-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='motherhood'/><title type='text'>Recipe For Insanity</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear Aunt Madge, &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My kids are driving me crazy! My son dumped out all the sugar today, all over his head and, consequently, all over the floor. When I saw him I wanted to cry. Sugar is a little sticky when it gets wet, too. Mopping wasn't such a brilliant idea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My daughter took the scissors and cut her hair. Not her bangs, she cut her hair that hadn't been cut ever. She cut it clear up to her head! I wanted to cry again. No, I wanted to scream! &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;Do you know how long it takes to grow hair? This type of thing happens all the time. I need a break! What can I do?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Crazy Mom headed for the Insane Asylum&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Crazy Mom,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Honey, you’re already in an insane asylum. Going to another one isn’t going to make it any better. You’ll just meet grown ups who do the same thing, you’ll have to wear paper slippers, and you’ll have to try and cut your meat with a plastic spoon. And you most definitely do not want to take a bath there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, it’s no use crying over spilt sugar. Why I once remember my daughter taking cooking oil and putting it all over the kitchen. Honey, sugar is nothing compared to oil. I learned how to skate in that kitchen. And then I got the brilliant idea to use flour to soak it up. Here’s a tip, don’t do that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No one is going to look at your daughter and think you gave her that haircut. In fact people will come up to you and tell you stories about when their kids cut their own hair. At least she hasn’t died her hair purple and put it in a spiked Mohawk—yet .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, you do need a break. Tell that husband of yours to take care of the kids and then run away for the weekend. Go to a friend’s house (one without kids) a hotel, or a B&amp;amp;B. You can go alone or with girlfriends, whichever you prefer. Eat chocolate and pasta, watch TV, read, shop, get massages and your hair done, write in a journal, giggle, do whatever it is that will help you feel better and as Sister Oprah says, “renew your spirit.” Because right now, you’re spirit is old and tired and sagging and doesn’t take pretty pictures.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really believe that mothers need to run away every now and then. It helps prevent her from running away forever. After all, taking care of children is a 24 hour job. Now if you had a job outside of your home that took that much time and effort you would have been in a loony bin long ago. That’s why they send you home at the end of the day and they give you two weeks vacation every year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And maybe your family could use a break from you, especially if you’ve reached the point where you’re a hysterical maniac.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now if you don’t have a husband or a mother who can help, then send your kids out to friends for a sleepover and take at least the evening off. No washing dishes or cleaning house. You’re on vacation for an evening. If you’re a single mom, you need a vacation more than most.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just remember baby, it’s always darkest when you don’t pay the electricity bill.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6800653250153028433-8909906644347840585?l=askauntmadge.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://askauntmadge.blogspot.com/feeds/8909906644347840585/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6800653250153028433&amp;postID=8909906644347840585&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6800653250153028433/posts/default/8909906644347840585'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6800653250153028433/posts/default/8909906644347840585'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://askauntmadge.blogspot.com/2008/08/recipe-for-insanity.html' title='Recipe For Insanity'/><author><name>Anna Maria Junus</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14589846694967185982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_iWcE4engnxU/Rm3ichavebI/AAAAAAAAAAM/dJnNtz7QOG4/s320/RosesDaisies-256x366.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6800653250153028433.post-8436182864808968371</id><published>2008-07-29T17:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-29T17:40:22.504-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='camping'/><title type='text'>Roughin' It</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear Aunt Madge,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a friend who wants me to go camping in the wilderness with a tent and a fishing rod to find food.  My idea of camping is at the Ritz.   What can I do?&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Signed,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Ritz Baby&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Ritz Baby,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pack up your tent, your sleeping bag and your fishing rod and go to the Ritz. There are lots of camping type of experiences you can have there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can go fishing for cabana boys in the swimming pool and reel them in. Make sure you accidentally twist your ankle so that a cabana boy can give carry you to your suite, then faint so that he can give you mouth to mouth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can hunt down snipes on the beach.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stick some twigs and small bushes on the balcony and have your friend sleep out in the fresh air while you enjoy crisp cotton sheets in a comfy bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Play woodsy sounds at night, like birds chirping and waterfalls.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For a campfire, use the fireplace, or if there isn’t one, a garbage can will do quite nicely. You can roast marshmallows over it and make smores. Just be aware of where the fire alarms are because you don’t want to cause any rain storms in your suite. Being rained out on a camping trip is not fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If your friend complains that it isn’t rugged enough for her, you can put poison ivy in her bed and give her a pot to pee in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Most of all have good time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just remember, nature is best enjoyed from a balcony after a Jacuzzi bath.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6800653250153028433-8436182864808968371?l=askauntmadge.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://askauntmadge.blogspot.com/feeds/8436182864808968371/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6800653250153028433&amp;postID=8436182864808968371&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6800653250153028433/posts/default/8436182864808968371'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6800653250153028433/posts/default/8436182864808968371'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://askauntmadge.blogspot.com/2008/07/roughin-it.html' title='Roughin&apos; It'/><author><name>Anna Maria Junus</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14589846694967185982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_iWcE4engnxU/Rm3ichavebI/AAAAAAAAAAM/dJnNtz7QOG4/s320/RosesDaisies-256x366.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6800653250153028433.post-8725652858846567415</id><published>2008-07-22T22:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-22T22:46:48.561-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='elections'/><title type='text'>Cancelling Each Other's Votes? Here's Some Tips</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear Aunt Madge,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;With the elections coming up, I have become very suspicious of my husband's leanings. It seems clear that if we both vote, we vote for opposing party members. Will this, as some people say, 'cancel out' our votes? Should I distract him that day? What could possibly keep him distracted that long? Then how would I get away to vote?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Signed, Petite but Desperate&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Petite,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First off, I envy you for being petite. At least you don’t have to deal with elephant jokes. Well, unless that’s your party.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, to answer your question about whether your votes cancel each other, my answer is yes. They do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I’m not sure whether I should help you or not. I don’t know what side you’re voting for. I may want to help him more. You didn’t give me that information.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Come to think of it, it’s an American election. What do I care?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, here are some ideas for keeping him distracted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Put a football game on TV. Put several of them on TV. You might have to subscribe to a sports network. Men watching sports lose brain cells and are incapable of thinking about politics or even remembering what they had for breakfast. Yet for some odd reason they’ll remember who scored the winning touchdown/run/goal in 1946 and the player’s statistics and they’ll remember this while one child is bleeding in front of them, another is running with scissors, and a third is doing a science experiment that involves fire. Keep him focused on the sports. He won’t care who wins the election then just as long as there’s no additional tax put on his beer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. You could handcuff him to a chair. I won’t tell you how to do this because this is a family newspaper, but I’m sure you can come up with something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Pull some wires from the car. I don’t know which ones. I know this worked in the “Sound of Music.” Remember the nuns pulling stuff out of a car? If it was okay for nuns to do it, why not you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Schedule laser eye surgery. He will be completely helpless. When you go to the polls you can guide his hand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. Try hypnotism. Tell him it’s to cure some other problem he has like smoking or overeating, and then put in the suggestion of who to vote for. While you’re at it suggest some nice pieces of jewelry or that Jacuzzi bath tub he was going to install one day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whatever you do, don’t let him catch you doing it. And while you’re at it, watch out for suspicious donuts. You don’t know what he might be spiking your food with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just remember, no matter how the cookie crumbles, someone will have to clean it up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6800653250153028433-8725652858846567415?l=askauntmadge.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://askauntmadge.blogspot.com/feeds/8725652858846567415/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6800653250153028433&amp;postID=8725652858846567415&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6800653250153028433/posts/default/8725652858846567415'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6800653250153028433/posts/default/8725652858846567415'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://askauntmadge.blogspot.com/2008/07/cancelling-each-others-votes-heres-some.html' title='Cancelling Each Other&apos;s Votes? Here&apos;s Some Tips'/><author><name>Anna Maria Junus</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14589846694967185982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_iWcE4engnxU/Rm3ichavebI/AAAAAAAAAAM/dJnNtz7QOG4/s320/RosesDaisies-256x366.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6800653250153028433.post-628017091163312997</id><published>2008-06-09T12:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-09T12:37:54.310-07:00</updated><title type='text'>a=c2 x I Don't Get It!</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear Aunt Madge,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been home schooling my children for seven years now and I am really struggling with grade 7 math. I graduated from grade 12, twenty years ago. Why can’t I remember algebra? What can I do to get my children to do their math? Why do we have to do math?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Numerically Challanged&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Numerically Challenged,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Algebra was created to weed out the science nerds from the artsy fartsies. Those who can’t do math are immediately sent to the bottom of the university lists so the science people who create bombs and nuclear reactors and cloned sheep can get the first stab at going to school. No one in real life actually uses algebra. When was the last time you were handed an equation filled with numbers and letters and asked to find the cosign of the hippopotamus? No, you’re trying to figure out why you end up paying 500,000 dollars for your 150,000 dollar house and how come delivering a baby of 8 pounds only results in a 5 pound weight loss and how come Martha Stewart who is a convict gets 2 TV shows while you are feeding your kids mac and cheese.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;None of it ever works out. That’s why math is useless. It’s not real life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Honey, get someone else to teach them and take an oatmeal bath. Remember when the going gets tough, it’s best to spit it out and cook something else.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6800653250153028433-628017091163312997?l=askauntmadge.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://askauntmadge.blogspot.com/feeds/628017091163312997/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6800653250153028433&amp;postID=628017091163312997&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6800653250153028433/posts/default/628017091163312997'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6800653250153028433/posts/default/628017091163312997'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://askauntmadge.blogspot.com/2008/06/c2-x-i-dont-get-it.html' title='a=c2 x I Don&apos;t Get It!'/><author><name>Anna Maria Junus</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14589846694967185982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_iWcE4engnxU/Rm3ichavebI/AAAAAAAAAAM/dJnNtz7QOG4/s320/RosesDaisies-256x366.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6800653250153028433.post-2039439003618219419</id><published>2008-05-29T21:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-29T21:19:19.429-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mother-in-law'/><title type='text'>Duking it Out With Mother-In-Law</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear Aunt Madge,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love my mother-in-law. I adore her in her own territory, and when she comes to visit me she’s very well behaved – for about three days. Then she can’t stand it and has to start taking over. She’s a professional over-rider and it’s quite taxing. How can I suggest that she cut her visits down to about three days so we don’t start duking it out on the fourth?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Polly Peacekeeper&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Polly,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Honey, what a sweetie you are. Obviously you love your mother-in-law and understand her and don’t want to hurt her feelings. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The way I see it you have two options. First option – tell her the house is hers for awhile and then get in the car and run away for several days. I highly recommend a vacation away from everyone. You know the family is in good hands and you’ll get some much needed rest and she can boss everyone around to her hearts content while you get massages and pedicures and go antique shopping. Be aware when you come back though, that your furniture may have changed and your dishes may be in different cupboards and there may be a for sale sign on your house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or, if you can’t go away on vacation you could try scaring her away. Tell her that you’re thinking of hosting a debate between PETA and fur trappers. Or a tractor pull with a tea to follow. Or a child’s birthday party with everyone from the local school followed by an ice cream sundae fight. This one is risky because she might actually want to help and you’ll be forced to follow through.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or you could try the direct route. “Mom, I love you dearly, but if you stay more than three days I will be forced to use my machete on you. It’s not that I want to do it, but it will either be my head or yours and seeing that I have a strong survival instinct, that leaves you.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope whatever you try works and doesn’t cause bad feelings between you. Always remember, “she who keeps her mouth shut never gets to taste chocolate.”&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6800653250153028433-2039439003618219419?l=askauntmadge.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://askauntmadge.blogspot.com/feeds/2039439003618219419/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6800653250153028433&amp;postID=2039439003618219419&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6800653250153028433/posts/default/2039439003618219419'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6800653250153028433/posts/default/2039439003618219419'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://askauntmadge.blogspot.com/2008/05/duking-it-out-with-mother-in-law.html' title='Duking it Out With Mother-In-Law'/><author><name>Anna Maria Junus</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14589846694967185982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_iWcE4engnxU/Rm3ichavebI/AAAAAAAAAAM/dJnNtz7QOG4/s320/RosesDaisies-256x366.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6800653250153028433.post-3716277256786410688</id><published>2007-09-08T14:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-08T16:38:31.859-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='childhood'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parents'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relatives'/><title type='text'>Grown Men Who Revert to Childhood, Or Why They Never Left</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear Aunt Madge,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How can I get my husband to act like an adult whenever we visit his parent's? He always seems to forget that he's an adult now and is allowed to make his own decisions whenever we stay there for a few days. What's up?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Confused in Utah&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;Dear Confused&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You mean you ended up with a husband who’s an adult most of the time? Count yourself lucky and stick stars on your forehead!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now honey, I hate to tell you this, but he is making his own decision about how he behaves at his parent’s house. He probably likes being a little kid for awhile. Aren’t there days when you would like to just play all day and have someone else cook dinner and pick up after you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So resign yourself to the fact that his Mommy will cut up his food and do his laundry while you’re visiting. In fact, call it a vacation and get your nails done. Who knows, maybe you can get in good with Mom and make suggestions about getting him to do stuff, like cleaning out the car and buying you some jewelry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And just because everyone in the family decides to do something, it doesn’t mean you have to do it too. When they say “let’s go down and shoot rats at the junkyard” you can say “go ahead, I have a headache,” and then when they’re gone, you can go to a movie or take a bath or draw pictures on the walls and then sign his name to them. Of course if you do the latter you will get in trouble and you can blame it on him and he’ll say “I did not!” and then you can say “you believe him just because he’s your kid” and then cry like you’ve just had a fork stuck in your neck, and maybe you’ll never be invited back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let me know how that works for you. In the meantime, remember who’s really the boss. Hint: take a look in the mirror. But don’t tell him that. If you told him, you might as well beat egg whites with a greasy spoon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6800653250153028433-3716277256786410688?l=askauntmadge.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://askauntmadge.blogspot.com/feeds/3716277256786410688/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6800653250153028433&amp;postID=3716277256786410688&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6800653250153028433/posts/default/3716277256786410688'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6800653250153028433/posts/default/3716277256786410688'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://askauntmadge.blogspot.com/2007/09/grown-men-who-revert-to-childhood-or.html' title='Grown Men Who Revert to Childhood, Or Why They Never Left'/><author><name>Anna Maria Junus</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14589846694967185982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_iWcE4engnxU/Rm3ichavebI/AAAAAAAAAAM/dJnNtz7QOG4/s320/RosesDaisies-256x366.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6800653250153028433.post-5962536522354541556</id><published>2007-08-23T01:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-23T01:57:26.765-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dress codes'/><title type='text'>Are You Pretty Enough for the School Bus?</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear Aunt Madge,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dress to go to work and stand with my child at the bus stop in heels, hose and a suit. There's this one woman who comes in a bathrobe and bunny slippers. Shouldn't there be a bus stop dress code for parents?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed&lt;br /&gt;Practically Perfect in Every Way&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S. Oh, and she comes with a pot of coffee and an ugly old coffee cup.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Practically Perfect,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You didn’t get the note? Honey, you’re the one breaking the dress code. Now, I understand that you need to dress for work. But how do you know that she isn’t dressed for work too? She could be an actress who does mattress commercials or a student doing a research project on human behavior. You just don’t know. Not everyone requires a suit and heels for work. Why my friend Anna frequently works in a ratty old bathrobe and bunny slippers which have lost their ears. So the next time you go to the bus stop, put on your bathrobe over your suit, exchange those heels for some cartoon animal slippers (personally I like Yogi Bear, but Sponge Bob is very popular and the kids will think they’re cool) and bring your coffee cup. No, not the Old English Roses china, but the ugly one your kid bought you at the dollar store that says “World’s Greatest Dust Collector”.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just remember, she who looks down on people will scrape her nose on the sidewalk.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6800653250153028433-5962536522354541556?l=askauntmadge.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://askauntmadge.blogspot.com/feeds/5962536522354541556/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6800653250153028433&amp;postID=5962536522354541556&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6800653250153028433/posts/default/5962536522354541556'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6800653250153028433/posts/default/5962536522354541556'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://askauntmadge.blogspot.com/2007/08/are-you-pretty-enough-for-school-bus.html' title='Are You Pretty Enough for the School Bus?'/><author><name>Anna Maria Junus</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14589846694967185982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_iWcE4engnxU/Rm3ichavebI/AAAAAAAAAAM/dJnNtz7QOG4/s320/RosesDaisies-256x366.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6800653250153028433.post-644919139953704761</id><published>2007-06-19T23:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-20T12:41:20.832-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='travel'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friendship'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='job loss'/><title type='text'>Getting the Boot? Go to Italy</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Aunt Madge,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My husband was offered early retirement from his company and after looking into all the pros and cons he decided to take it. I also decided to quit my job and we were going to take two years and do some traveling while we both still had our health.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was employed at my job for 16 years. With just two girls in the office, Cindy and myself, we became good friends. One year after I started, Cindy and the boss married. We did a lot of things together as couples, trips, dinners out so on and so forth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I gave my notice I gave 8 weeks as they always wanted time to advertise, interview and train. I was told that I would not have to worry about being let go early. Two weeks later, I was given 2 days notice that I was gone. I was in shock. I cried all the next day. I felt betrayed. Even though I was leaving in 2 months, I felt as if I was fired. He didn't even say thanks for the time I had given him or anything. Cindy &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;doesn&lt;/span&gt;’t even call or email me anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My husband says he made a business decision, but it sure &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;doesn&lt;/span&gt;’t feel like it. Am I being over sensitive about this?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hurt in PA&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Hurt,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let me understand this; they ask that you give plenty of notice if you’re leaving your work, in this case 8 weeks so that they can find and train a replacement, and then they fire you after 2. That’s some smart business decision making sure they hold all the cards. Honey, you need to call your local labour board and find out if this was legal cause this smells like bad fish to me. If it &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;ain&lt;/span&gt;’t legal then you can sue them and if it is you could stand outside their establishment with a sign that says “unfair labour practices”. Of course your sign could say something nastier but this is a family blog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now as far as the friendship thing is, I don’t think you’re being oversensitive. If indeed you were all friends, then they’&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;ve&lt;/span&gt; frozen you out into Siberia. You have several options here. You could make little dolls and stick pins in them, throw darts at their pictures, or spend your hours dreaming up diabolical plans to get even. Of course that may take away time from your husband and your travel plans and you’ll eventually get a crazed look in your eyes and ratty hair and eventually have to wear a diaper like that astronaut woman and you won’t never have fun again but at least you’ll have…well, nothing. Not even the satisfaction of revenge because you see, they won’t care or know that you’re upset. Unless of course you stand outside their workplace with that nasty sign.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or you could approach them, perhaps with your husband and find out what is going on. They may have a completely different perception of your friendship. It sounds as if they do. Perhaps for them it was all business and since you are no longer in the business then the friendship is terminated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or you could forget about them and go travel around the world having a wonderful time with your husband and making friends with people who don’t care what you do for a living.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Look at it this way, while you’re enjoying the Tuscan sun, laying on the beaches in Greece, walking the wall of China, eating French pastry under the shadow of the Eiffel Tower, and going on Safari to track down the elusive albino tiger, they will be stuck in an office turning into &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;smeagles&lt;/span&gt; from lack of sunlight and developing hunchbacks from bending over desks.&lt;br /&gt;Just remember, it hurts to lose friends, but just like a bout of stomach flu, you will get over it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6800653250153028433-644919139953704761?l=askauntmadge.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://askauntmadge.blogspot.com/feeds/644919139953704761/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6800653250153028433&amp;postID=644919139953704761&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6800653250153028433/posts/default/644919139953704761'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6800653250153028433/posts/default/644919139953704761'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://askauntmadge.blogspot.com/2007/06/getting-boot-go-to-italy.html' title='Getting the Boot? Go to Italy'/><author><name>Anna Maria Junus</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14589846694967185982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_iWcE4engnxU/Rm3ichavebI/AAAAAAAAAAM/dJnNtz7QOG4/s320/RosesDaisies-256x366.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
