>The idea of being a sports widow sounds funny but for some women this can be a serious issue. They not only lose their husbands/partners to sports on major holidays but almost all year round through each and every sports season.
It’s not only the loss of time spent together but it can also be the source of some unbalanced distribution of chores and family time.
When you read the article below, see if you can decide which kind of sports widow you are. The compromising sports widow may be where it’s at for you but remember to plan ahead with your partner for division of tasks for preparation, visiting with family, cleanup, “me” time, “we” time, and family time . If everyone’s needs are met chances are there will be less resentment, more cooperation, and better respect of one another’s interests and time.
Wishing you a Happy Thanksgiving!
by Nan Hall
Got game? Nearly 400 years after the first Thanksgiving occurred at Plymouth, this is still the question. But you know I’m not talking about the Wampanoags bagging turkeys for the first harvest potluck. My reference is to the endless football and basketball games that compete for our sports fans’ attentions during the four-day holiday marathon. Put that together with intense cleaning/cooking/entertaining, round-the-clock childcare and frequently dysfunctional family reunions and what’s a Sports Widow to do?
I’m not so worried about the Avenging, Sabotaging and Enabling Sports Widows. Their strategies are pretty straightforward. They go something like this:
It’s unlikely that any sports fans will be joining The Avenging Sports Widow this Thanksgiving. They’ve either fled and entered a Fan Protection Program or they’re fertilizing her garden. She’ll probably have a peaceful gathering with non-sports-loving friends, her cats, AMC, and Dr. Phil.
After The Sabotaging Sports Widow has finished cooking the meal, she’ll engineer a mystifying power outage that debilitates the televisions in the house or she’ll deploy her secret weapon — a TV-B-Gone remote — which she deftly conceals in her apron pocket . . .