These Olympians are nuts. Where are their mothers?

Following is an excerpt from this week’s column on The link at the bottom takes you to the full column.

The older I get, the harder it is to watch the Olympics. And I absolutely love the Olympics. The athletes’ feel-good stories give us hope for a humanity that the internet has totally ruined for us. I mean, wasn’t life better before we knew there are people who eat Tide pods or put bottle rockets between their butt cheeks and light them?

But the reason I have trouble watching the Olympics is three-fold: 1. I have a more highly developed Mom-sense as I age, 2. the athletes have lost their minds and 3. watching them makes my brain sweat.

What are they thinking, flying around four stories above ice-covered concrete? Or throwing one another in the air without a helmet or net, or sledding 85 mph down an ice-covered death chute? Stop that right now. Where are your mothers?

As someone who’s been known to fall on a flat surface, I know bad things can happen at any moment, no matter how talented you may be. (Although I admit the amazing athletic feats I’ve been watching have the upside of the guilt trip – whenever I watch, my mind’s like, “Fine. I’ll walk two laps around the block today.”)

After seeing the crash in the men’s snowboarding halfpipe, my stomach tightened. I checked the internet all that night and the next morning until I found out the kid, whom I could have birthed, was OK. Now I’m too nervous to look. I wait for Sweetums to tell me everyone survived, with all their extremities intact, then go back and watch the replay.

I’m pretty much left watching curling, which appears to be a fairly injury-free sport, unless someone gets a foot, or something worse, caught between two colliding rocks. That would sting. Click here to read the full column on

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