My Pharmacist

           Is it so wrong to wish that I had married a pharmacist? I have been doing some research and now believe it could be very beneficial to be married to a pharmacist. Don’t start looking up rehab phone numbers for me. I do not have any sort of dependency. I simply want an anti-psychotic.

            Don’t get all freaked out. I have traveled the World Wide Web and I have self-diagnosed my psychosis. I should clarify that my doctor (I called him) doesn’t recommend random internet searches, but he doesn’t know what I am dealing with here.

            According to the dictionary, the definition of psychosis is a loss of contact with reality, a psychiatric disorder such as schizophrenia or mania that is marked by delusions, hallucinations, incoherence, and distorted perceptions of reality. I have that!!!! I really think I do.

             I am delusional! I actually think when I wake up in the morning that my children are going to mind me. I wake up every day, hopefully optimistic that they are going to follow the rules and not do the things they know they aren’t suppose to do, like: cut the dogs hair, paint their toenails without grown up assistance, or color on my cream colored leather couch.

            I have hallucinations! I thought I saw my child using a pillow case to hang upside from the railing of his bunk bed. I will admit that I shut the door and screamed that no one had better be hanging upside down when I open the door, which may have sounded a little incoherent. When I opened the door, no one was there. I am serious. Now, I kinda think I heard giggling from beneath the bed, but I can’t be sure. I sometimes have hallucinations.

            I talk to people who aren’t there! I was digging in the flower bed apologizing to my beloved, but deceased, Grandmother. I kept apologizing to her because I found her treasured silver spoons buried beneath the flowers. I don’t know how they got there. Am I starting to concern you now? Can you see how I came to this self-diagnosis?

            I know I have a distorted perception of reality! I keep thinking that somehow these crazy little people are going to grow up and return the love and affection I have showered on them  since they were babies.  I think my teenager just informed me that he hates me, again.

            Do you think I may be crazy? If so, do you know a pharmacist?

And the Oscar goes to...

After last night, I know I am in no way eligible for the Mother of the Year Award. 

I bet you’re thinking, “How can that be? You wrote the book!” 

Well, it’s a good thing I am a truthful kinda girl, otherwise I wouldn’t be sharing this story with you. But alas, I must confess and beg you to throw away your judgment and your rose-colored glasses. This parenting gig is hard and we are simple, imperfect people, who sometimes seriously screw up...    

My youngest bundle of joy brought me this gorgeous beaded bracelet. It was intricate and very well made with bright colors and a beaded pattern. He happily proclaimed to me that he found it in our couch. 

“Hmmm,” I smiled at him, “our couch, huh?”

“Yup,” He smiled back. 

“I find that very interesting because our lack of company in general, would indicate that it is highly unlikely that someone lost it in our couch. And to compound my confusion, this is a very nice bracelet. If someone had lost this treasure during a visit to our home, why haven’t we heard from them?” I ask him, no longer smiling. 

“I’m not lying!” He wails, “I found it in the couch!”

“Well then, it would seem we have a magic couch.” I then proceed to kneel before our sofa and start to chant, “Oh magic couch, I am just a poor soul in need of diamonds, emeralds, and pearls. Please take back the beads, although beautiful, and give me my heart’s desires.”

At this point my, husband intervenes, “Son, why don’t you head up stairs so Mommy and I can chat using words like: overreaction.”

“Seriously,” I argue, “You can’t honestly ( I know...slightly ironic ) believe he ‘found’ the bracelet in our couch.” 

At that precise moment, the older teenage girl who I am the co-parent of, enters the room. “Oh, great, you found my bracelet” she said, much to my dismay. She then explained that her friend brought it back for her as a souvenir from Mexico.

Okay, so maybe I won’t win Mother of the Year, but I may win the the Oscar for the Most Heartfelt Apology award.

How to Raise Sugar Babies

Thank Goddess (that’s not a misprint, I have solid arguments that if there is a God, she’s female), my daughter, at sixteen, is past those preteen years where the idiocy of Skechers’ new Daddy’$ Money Shoes would entice her heart’s desire. 

The shoe, which is being marketed to preteen girls, with the tag line, “get spoiled with daddy’s money, ultra cool shoes that will put you in the spotlight...” is creating quite the controversy for the shoe empire. The commercial begins with a dolled up girl holding her index finger over her smiling lips like she is about to tell a secret. Following that disturbing image, we get to view another teenage girl fanning herself with money.  The lyrics repeat verses of “Get, get, get,... daddy’s money. I’m a daddy’s girl” throughout the commercial. The shoes come with equally offensives names: Gimme After Party (pink/purple), Gimmie Kisses (lip print), Gimme Star Studded (star print), Gimme Moolah (dollar signs), and Gimme Wicked (leopard print). 

 Gimme, Gimme, Gimme... well gimme something strong because I have a headache. Seriously. It doesn’t matter if you read into this a sexual, sugar daddy, undertone; or if you just find it offensive that we would begin to indoctrinate, at the impressionable preteen ages, that our girls can just manipulate what they want from the men in their lives. It is a huge disservice to our most valuable treasures: Our daughters. 

Instead of buying these.... shoes,  I think we need to spend some time with our girls showing them the amazing women who shaped our freedoms and choices. Women who accomplished their goals and dreams without relying on anyone else. We need to begin and maintain a dialog with our girls about self-worth. We need to fortify their self-esteem and help them see that they can achieve anything if they are willing to work for it. Hopefully, because we didn’t encourage the attitudes Skechers is exploiting here, we will strengthen their ability to respect themselves by not allowing material gains and laziness to dictate how they behave and who they spend their time with. 

In defense of the advertising for the product Skechers offered, “The Daddy’s Money name and collection’s advertising are designed to be fun and lighthearted, and we regret that some people have been offended by the name.” 

Really? Then please change the name to Mommy’s Shoes, and the tag line to, "When I grow up I will get, get, get.... an education and a job so I can buy whatever shoes I want!”

Hello and Happy Monday

           I usually try to have a funny and entertaining story for you because my goal with this blog is to amuse you and bring some humor to the sometimes frenetic, sometimes mundane job of parenting. However, this week myself and my amazing team of cohorts have been busy finalizing details for the book and getting our website ready to launch. If all goes as planned, you should be able to go to Amazon to purchase the book and www.itsnotrocketsciencepeople.com to view the website within 24 hours of this post!

          In foregoing the entertaining tidbits of my crazy life, I thought that you might be interested in how this literary adventure came to fruition. It began at a dinner party. It was one of those events us mommies usually appreciate because we have been trapped in the universe of little people so long that the idea of conversation, cocktails, and the company of other women/mommies makes us drool with anticipation. The all girl event had my fellow moms and I giddy with feelings of camaraderie, freedom, and honesty as we swapped stories of wifery and motherhood.

          After the dinner had been served and the dessert had been devoured, a lovely, well-seasoned, Mormon mother who had ten children came over to introduce herself. As she shook my hand, she declared that she thought that I should write a book. She explained that although she knew that I was trying to be humorous, she actually thought my ideas about parenting were clever. She  said that I helped her realize that many of the things she thought about parenting, or felt guilty for were actually normal. Parenting is enormously rewarding but it is also exceedingly more difficult than we could have imagined. Thus, because of a dinner party and a compliment, a book was born.

          Now, a little background information for you; I have never thought of myself as a writer. Lacking interest in literary pursuits, I didn’t pay real close attention to the rules of grammar and have thanked the computer gods regularly for developing spell check. This writing thing is not as easy as one might think. The book took me approximately two years to write, rewrite, and write again. Finally, when I felt it was as good as I could possible get it, I hired a friend of a family member to edit it. She probably is a very nice person. I wouldn’t really know because after ten pages she politely quit. Once I relocated my self-esteem, I decided that maybe I should interview and hire a professional to edit my masterpiece. 

          Our first choice for editorial guru was J.K. Kelley, and it was possibly the first right turn we made on the literary highway. We chose him because he didn’t try to placate me with misplaced compliments about my writing abilities. He was always very honest and forthright about his opinions and explanations as to where I had veered off the written path. I am positive that dragging my dirty literary butt out of the metaphoric laundry mat was challenging. I am deeply grateful for his assiduousness (thank you thesaurus) because the final product is something we are immensely proud of.

           Following his tutorial advice, we learned that the next step was to hire a proofreader, other than himself, to catch any further errors or omissions in grammatical technicalities. We contacted our second editorial genius, Jackie Getz, and begged her to revisit our literary endeavor with a critical eye. This was our second right decision. Where J.K. Kelley is the lemony vodka in the lemondrop cocktail, Jackie Getz is the sugar. I chose J.K. originally because I am an impatient kinda girl who wants to cut out the bullshit and get to the point. I tend to be a bit pragmatic in my approach. During the original interview, Jackie said exactly the same things J.K. said, she just said them softer. In fact, she has graciously agreed to edit all the blogs you read here and all the content on the website as well.

           Now we are ready to publish. It has been quite a journey filled with frustration and excitement. I hope that you find the book informative, clever, and funny. I hope it creates a dialog for you with your partner, your friends, or even yourself about how you parent. The title is It’s Not Rocket Science, It’s Parenthood!

          Warm regards and happy reading.

The Perfect Family Vacation

            “When are we taking our yearly vacation?” my littlest ball of sunshine asks. Yearly vacation????? I think to myself. We don’t vacation.

            I can’t take my darlings to the local grocery store without them fighting, and they want to take a vacation? Not on your life, I think. If I go on a vacation it is going to be a fight free, complaint free, kid free adventure. I am not trapping myself in a car, or on a plane, or in a boat, or on a train with my argumentative little monsters. On my imaginary retreat I will not hear:   “He’s touching me,” “She’s staring at me,” “I don’t want to do that,” “I don’t want to go there,” “Make him stop copying me,” “Make him stop copying me,” “I have to pee again,” or “Are we there yet?”

            My idea of the perfect family vacation comes a lot closer to fruity summer drinks, a cabana, a massage, and a pool boy (ok, he’s negotiable). Ha, you're there already. Well, wait for me. I have to get my bikini. Hey, it’s my fantasy vacation, so I get to be a size two.

            “So,” my littlest bundle of positive energy sucks me out of my perfect fantasy escape, “when are we taking our yearly vacation?”

            Not wanting to disillusion my youngest bundle of love because he is the only one who still thinks I am fabulous, I say, “Remind me honey, where did we go last year?”

            “The same place we go every year,” he explains to me in the same voice he uses when we go visit his ninety-eight year old papa, “Seattle.”

             “You're right,” I lie, “now, I remember. We had so much fun, didn’t we?”

            I know, I know, it was wrong, but who am I to strip him of his treasured childhood memories. Even if they aren’t real, they are good ones. And believe me, he’s gonna need those fake ones. The reality around here isn’t so pretty.

            And we actually did go on a vacation to Seattle a few years back.  So, it isn’t like a complete lie. Well, the yearly part is certainly a fabrication. That one and only family vacation inspired me to develop the perfect family vacation criteria.  

            But I can’t break his sweet little heart with these sad truths, so I sadly explain, “we probably won’t make it this year, sweetheart. Oh, and before I forget, we lost the pictures of your first birthday party.  But, in case you can’t remember, We had a clown.“

Being A Parent Is A Tough Job

            My beloved teenage girl had one of those boring events that we feel obligated to attend because of our parental duties. Somehow, during the hours prior to this event, I must have annoyed that lovely girl of mine because during dinner that evening she politely asked her Dad to attend with her. 

            “I thought that you wanted me to go,” I calmly stated.

            “Nope,” she (just as calmly) stated in return. “I’d rather go with Dad.” 

            “Okay,” I responded, “Have a good time.” 

            “What was that all about?” my partner in this parenthood gig gently asked me. 

            “I guess she’s miffed at me,” I explained, “So she wants you to take her.”

            “Are you alright with that?” he asks, concern etching his face.

            “Absolutely sweetheart,” I laughed, “I didn’t really want to go. It is exhausting trying to pretend you’re not bored out of your mind and even harder to feign interest in the other parents-of-teenagers held hostage by these mind-numbing events. I just feel bad that I upset her today.”

            “Well that’s not really fair,” my husband declared sullenly, “you upset her and now I’m the one being punished…”

            Like I said, being a parent is a tough job. Sometimes being the favored parent is even tougher.

Has Anyone Seen My Ear Plugs?

           Please don’t judge me, it was a complete accident. I swear. I actually stumbled across it and once it happened. I just couldn’t seem to stop doing it. I already want to do it tomorrow. Stop it; you're making me feel guilty. Alright, I will start at the beginning…

            My husband snores. Oh, I don’t mean that cute little sound your husband might make as he’s dreaming his nighty-night dreams. It’s more of a catastrophic sound that makes you want to smother him with a pillow and try for an insanity defense. It is the kind of racket that shakes the walls. Even the dogs two houses over have been known to howl. I am not exaggerating when I say that previous neighbors have complained to landlords. I don’t blame them, if I didn’t love him I would move.

            So out of desperation I bought ear plugs and they were amazing. I bought nice soft ones in pretty colors and I think they may have saved my marriage. They certainly saved my husband’s life. I haven’t whacked him in the ribs since I started wearing my new bedtime accessory. I haven’t lodged myself against the wall and heaved with my feet until his coma-like body falls completely off the bed. I haven’t had to drag my pillow and blankie to the lumpy couch and suffer lower lumbar pain as well as sleep deprivation. I haven’t slugged my husband upon his bright-eyed wakefulness and left him wondering if I am on my period, yet again. 

            OK, OK. I’ll tell you what I did; I might-have-sorta-kinda left them in all day yesterday because as an added bonus, it might-have-sorta-kinda muted the kids too. Yes, I kinda feel bad. Hey, I already begged you to not judge me.