Longevity is powered by Vocal creators. You support Banji Ganchrow by reading, sharing and tipping stories... more

Longevity is powered by Vocal.
Vocal is a platform that provides storytelling tools and engaged communities for writers, musicians, filmmakers, podcasters, and other creators to get discovered and fund their creativity.

How does Vocal work?
Creators share their stories on Vocal’s communities. In return, creators earn money when they are tipped and when their stories are read.

How do I join Vocal?
Vocal welcomes creators of all shapes and sizes. Join for free and start creating.

To learn more about Vocal, visit our resources.

Show less

Holy Crap I'm 40: Baseball Edition

The things we do for our boys. Beer, anyone?

Turning 40 involves incorporating new mantras in order to survive the day. "Don't sweat the small stuff." That is a really good one and it probably applies to all ages. "Don't cry over spilled milk," turns into, "Don't cry over spilled vodka," so it's easier just not to sweat any of the small stuff. Before I even turned 40, my family of boys and I, and their father, would hop in the car for a few days every summer, and drive to Major League Baseball stadiums. Imagine family bonding on steroids, and we didn't get the steroids from any of the baseball players. As my family would scout out for players autographs, I would scout out the stadiums for cocktails and free swag. To each their own. 

Allow me to share one of our baseball adventure with you. When you only have boys, another mantra you need is, "If you can't beat em, join em." And join them I did. After all, if I didn't come on these trips, they would be found wandering aimlessly with no clothes on, because boys don't know how to pack. 

Take Me Out to the Ball Game 

The year is 2011 and thanks to modern technology, I am writing to you live from Rogers Stadium in Toronto, Canada. The Blue Jays are beating the Tampa Bay Rays 5-2 and we are heading into the fifth inning. Exciting, right?  The whole family wanted knishes from the food stand so, of course, they ran out, and now I am sitting next to a group of hungry and cranky progeny (myself included, but I am hungry and cranky all of the time.)  Oh wait, Johnny Damon, formerly of the New York Yankees, just hit his second home run, so now it's 5-3. As I see the score change, I just keep thinking,
"Please don't be a tie game, please, please don't be a tie game. Please don't go into extra innings. Gods of baseball, I beg of you–no extra innings because my family, who I really love more than anything in the whole world, will make me stay until the end of the game." This 40 year old cannot sit in this uncomfortable seat one more minute longer than necessary. The knees, the hips, the back... sitting for long periods of time not good for the old lady and there are only so many times I can walk around the stadium without security getting suspicious.

Please Stop Fighting #CanIScreamInPublic?

So here we are, at a baseball game. A game that my beautiful boys wanted to go to. I would have rather been home, at a movie, walking around the park, getting a root canal, but here I was, at a baseball game in my fashionable mom jeans. And yet, for some reason, my kids seem to be on the same bickering schedule as they were when they nursed-every 15-45 minutes...did I do that to them? (Side point-maybe don't tell your boys you nursed them, that conversation doesn't end the way you think it will). If I had stretched out their feeding schedules would they fight less now? Would they be able to exercise more self control? 

How come the parenting magazines don't have any articles about that? When they get along, my heart swells with joy, and when they bicker... well let's just say I pretend I don't know them.

The couple that was sitting in front of us had been making out for the first few innings. But since my kids have been sitting behind them and fighting like nobody's business, I actually think that the guy left for a few minutes to get a vasectomy. No judgement. Well, they are probably judging me. The fat mom who keeps trying to throw snacks at the problem. And then it becomes quiet and look over to see my now well-behaved children... oh wait... those aren't my kids. Don't sweat the small stuff.

Now Reading
Holy Crap I'm 40: Baseball Edition
Read Next
The Healthiest Crockpot Soups to Stave Off Winter's Chill