I’ll never… and other motherhood crow

By Andrea Hagan

Before I became a mom, I had these grand ideas of how things would go.  My “I’ll never” statements.  Firm ideas of parenthood and how I would avoid all the pitfalls and faux pas.  I would do things differently!

Ah, the minivan.  In my childless days, I viewed the minivan as a statement, that statement being that “I’ve given up on life.” The mom mobile.  It invokes scary imagery of screaming kids launching French fries at the mom’s head with that annoying toddler sound track blasting from the speakers. He’s touching me.  She’s looking at me.

My husband and I enjoyed five years of childless marriage.  We traveled.  We hiked.  We did something or nothing whenever we wanted to.  So when we decided to have our first child, I set some ground rules.  The first being my big sticking point, that we were NOT getting a minivan.  That I was NOT a minivan kinda gal.  Deal, he said.

I should have known that trading in my car for an SUV was a slippery slope.  A gateway van, if you will.  I convinced myself that an SUV was still conducive to hiking, biking, traveling.  Things won’t change that much.

Fast forward two years later, with two kids under two years of age.  It starts out subtlety.  My husband commenting as we are packing for a trip, “We just don’t have enough trunk space.”  Weeks later, “Consumer Reports rates the Toyota Sienna van at the top.”  Yes I reply, but at the top of a bunch of depressing mini vans, so that’s not really a prize, is it?  The subtle hints keep getting dropped.  My husband is trying to wear down my defenses.  He’s apparently been reading the “Art of War” while I’ve been reading “Panda Bear, Panda Bear What do you see?”  (I see a woman in denial standing before me).

I point my husband’s attention back to the pre-children declarations, in which we both agreed that I would not get a van.  Sure, I’ve been wearing the same sweats for three days in a row.  And sure, we could use more trunk space.  And sure, we can’t fit anything or anyone other than two car seats in the back of my SUV, but I refuse to waive the white flag just yet.

My husband ups the ante, bringing home a loaner van while my SUV is getting serviced.  You know, just for me to drive around the block.  No pressure.  Just try it.  My single friend was at my house when this went down, she wrinkled her nose in disgust.  She got it!  I could already taste the crow, as I started justifying to her, “well, we do need more room…”

I’ll keep my spoon handy, as I’m sure this is just the first of many motherhood crow pies I’ll be eating.  Post comments!  I’d love to hear your crow stories!  Or better yet, were you able to stick to your guns?


Email me at andreaclarkhagan@gmail.com!

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Class Act

By Angel Kane


I know nothing about football.

My husband knows everything there is to know about football.

But we agree on one thing, and that is that Peyton Manning is a class act.

And isn’t it about time we had one.

With all the ugly talk lately from the likes of national politics to local politics, it’s so nice to see a good guy come out on top.

From what I hear, the Broncos weren’t supposed to win. Instead their worn out quarterback, Peyton Manning, was more than likely going to be playing his last game, a losing game at that.

But not only did the Broncos win, but as Peyton said his parting winning words to the camera after the game, he noted all he wanted to do was find his wife and kids and hug them tight.

And in that moment, I learned all I ever needed to know about football.

Married almost 22 years now, I’ve suffered through years of watching high school, college and professional games. They all blur together. Grown men running after a ball. Grown adults cheering or jeering, depending on a call.

My husband tells me its about strategy, competitiveness and sportsmanship.


But what I do know is that for as long as I can remember, Peyton Manning has been one of the good guys. A Tennessee player who made it big. We can all say, we knew him when.

A player who is respectful to both his teammates and opponents. A family man, who keeps his family out of the limelight. A proud American who donated quietly to the victims of the Chattanooga shootings, a mentor who sends hand written notes of encouragement to young boys and girls, a Christian whose faith is evidenced by his actions rather than his words.

Humble, proud and tireless in his devotion to the sport and his fans, it was nice to see an underdog win.

For the last several weeks, I’ve been watching the political debates. The national talk has gotten more ugly with every passing day. The economy is beginning to take a dive. Locally, it feels that we are mired in old arguments.

And then just like that, the old guy, the nice guy wins the day.

And when he did, all he wanted to do was find his family and give them a big hug.

Who knew football was so classy after all?

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