My father, who had a million sayings, used to say, "If you want to go out with the boys, you've got to get up with the men."
He'd say that even if I hadn't been out on the town - I've just always hated getting up in the morning.
But to my father your word is your bond and it didn't matter if it was school, work or a date with the dentist - if you had an obligation you kept it - and you were on time.
I think of my dad on those mornings when my alarm goes off and I just want to ignore it.
There are some days, many of which fall on Mondays, when I just want to stay in bed listening to - depending on the weather - the birds sing, the wind blow or the rain pound on the roof.
I try and convince myself that "if I stayed home I'd clean out my closet, organize those kitchen junk drawers, put my 'pre-digital age' photos in albums, cook a meal instead of just heating something up, wash my windows or take my vacuum-cleaner attachment and remove the dust, dirt and debris jammed into the baseboards throughout the house."
But who am I kidding? If I know me - and unfortunately I do - I would lay in bed for way too long, then flip on the computer to check e-mails, shop on Craigslist and play solitaire until I win a game.
Then the dogs and I would wander out to the living room couch where we'd snack on kettle corn and Beggin' Strips and watch "I Love Lucy" reruns and maybe a few judge shows. When dinnertime rolled around I'd riffle around in the freezer for another home-cooked - or rather home microwave-able - meal, heated (except for the middle part that always seems to stay cold) and ready to eat as soon as my husband Dan Franck Muller Replica Watches stepped through the door.
Tempting as that sounds, I never do it. My dad's words ring in my ear - clear as my alarm - and instead of pulling the covers up and over my head, I shut off that annoying buzzer - OK, after I snooze it at least once.
Besides the guilt instilled by my family I also feel guilty complaining - even to myself - about going to work when there are so many people unemployed.
I mean I'm lucky to even have a job - not to mention a job that I love, and that's never something to be taken for granted.
On the flip side, there's my youngest son, Scott. He's what you'd call a starving artist - at least that's what I call him to my friends when they ask, "So what's Scott up to these days?"
For years he's tried to make it as a writer/performer in the music business - him and about a billion other people. Scott, however, has it a little harder than most, because not everyone - including several members in his family - consider hip-hop music.
He would subsidize his music career with temporary jobs and private investors - guess who?
Last year he supplemented his wannabe superstar status by being on-call labor with a residential moving company.
Recently Scott had an epiphany and announced that he's ready for a real job - regular hours, a boss, taxes taken out, holiday pay and a steady income.
"It's time for me to man-up," is what he says, but I'm pretty sure he needs the money to support his latest endeavor - Fake Chanel Watches a girlfriend.
Scott, possibly for the first time, has fallen in love and this is one affliction that might be more addicting to young men than com
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