Can't Wait to Get My Personal Drone

Can’t Wait to Get My Personal Drone

Recently my youngest child started driving, (Note to self: increase meds) and sometimes I feel my teenagers don’t need me anymore.  Then I get the calls from school.

“Can you bring my cleats?”

“Can you go buy a journal for my English class and bring it to school?  I didn’t buy one this weekend because Heather and Josh broke up.  I had to help her, Mom.  It’s not my fault.”

themotherofnine9.wordpress.com

“Can you pleeeeeese bring Chick-fil-a for my advisory group in 30 minutes?”

“Can you bring my Friday Dress clothes?  It’s not my fault that I forgot!”  (umm . . . because Friday came on a different day this week?) 

And my favorite:

Teen:  “Mom, can you bring my tennis shoes because it’s raining and now practice is gonna be in the gym.”

Me:  “I told you to take your tennis shoes this morning because of the rainy forecast . . .  and you chose not to.”

Teen:  “Mom!  Oh my gosh!   I can’t control the weather!  It’s not my fault!”

Maybe my teens still need me.  But I think they just need a personal drone.  Amazon is researching using drones to transport packages.  I could’ve used one last week to deliver a soccer jersey thirty miles away when “someone” forgot it and “someone” was going bat-crazy and it “Absolutely, Positively” had to be there in fifteen minutes. 

topnews.ae

One day drones will accomplish our everyday tasks, leaving humans enormously fulfilled. (Kind of like when scientists discovered Sudoku)

I can’t wait for a “Mom Drone.”  It’ll bring me my morning coffee in bed, find cute cat videos, and praise my pizza puffs.  And of course a Social Security drone will monitor a teen's social interactions because I think we can all agree that if you believe there’s such a thing as a “trustworthy teenager,” you’re an oxymoron.  (Just kidding, kids!)

Drones will also help you live longer because they’ll undo all the kids’ behaviors that drive you to your grave.  For example, on long car trips with preschoolers, a drone will be assigned to each kid.  When a child becomes fussy, the drone will be programmed to practice soothing techniques from a Level 1—humming an up-beat tune, to a DEFCON Level 1—strapping them to the luggage rack.  (Of course, in their carseats.  What kind of reckless monster do you think I am?)

buzzfeed.com

Additionally, drones will rescue marriages by neutralizing a spouse’s annoying habits—drones will shut dresser drawers, re-adjust the thermostat, and remove clothes draped over the treadmill and hair from the freaking shower soap. 

They will also benefit spousal communication.  A husband will speak into the drone and it will translate a card-carrying Martian husband’s annoying carping about “Why the heck can’t you bring the trash cans up from the curb?” into a sweet, Venus-esque suggestion about bringing the trash cans up from the curb and how you looked especially beautiful this morning and why do you even wear makeup?”  If I heard messages like that, I’d be happier and he’d get luckier—a win-win.  

http://www.pinterest.com/sophienette/my-tv/

Imagine how the divorce rate would drop.  Lawyers would no longer be needed, except to handle Mesothelioma cases.

Since people would be less stressed, most psychiatrists would go out of business too.  I’d hate to see folks lose their jobs, but as long as I can still get my meds . . . 

dailymail.co.uk

As you can plainly see, using drones in the household will have fantastic benefits.  For one, I’ll have a lot more time for Sudoku.

How Mom Can Still Be a Hero

How Mom Can Still Be a Hero

I’m seeing “Man of Steel” this weekend.  Maybe some super powers will rub off on me.  I try to be a super mom, however my kids think I’m a pain in the rear.  

Once I donned my red cape and cleverly bribed my six-year-old with a much-desired Slip ‘n Slide so she’d attend the nursery at my Bible Study.  Don’t judge me.

http://youtu.be/i1ZSLbzeDCA?t=23s

She eagerly anticipated the ecstasy of “Plopping ‘n Sliding,” only to “Plop ‘n Stick” in our flat yard.  Thankfully, being well-trained in the Ovarian Theory of Physics, a genius idea dawned on me like the dawn, dawning.  I slathered the plastic tarp with baby oil—after trying vegetable oil and dish soap, if you must know.

And I was a Hero.

http://www.austincnm.com/index.php/2012/10/the-guardians-of-time/#.UfLrkb9M7zI

What’s the fine line between spoiling your kids and just trying to make them happy?  It depends on your time, money, and the appropriate dosage of meds.

As the kids get older, I’m still confused about whether my efforts to fix their lives are excessive. 

One daughter desperately wanted to get her drivers license on her 16th birthday.  The Oakland driver station (45 minutes away) was least crowded, but it was fully booked on her birthday for the driving portion of the test.  So instead, she took it in Whiteville, about 15 minutes PAST Oakland.  

She passed the test, and Barney Fife prematurely snapped her picture as soon as her rear hit the chair.  Therefore, her expression looked as though she’d had some bad chalupas. 

http://abclocal.go.com/wabc/story?section=news/local/northern_suburbs&id=9164656

Keep in mind, a 16-year-old’s most important accessory is her newly-laminated proof of complete freedom and independence.   A picture really doesn’t matter to me.  But to her . . . well there’s not much that matters MORE.

She snatched her license from Barney with a flair, and I immediately knew something was wrong. 

She slumped to the car.  “Mom, this picture is SO embarrassing!” she wailed.  “I can’t show this to ANYBODY!!” she sobbed, wiping tears.

As we drove home, dismayed churned into unglued.

Do I try to fix this or forget it?  Would it be silly and over-indulgent to return for another picture?  Would we have to wait an hour again?  

Would she be ostracized because of her photo I.D., lose her self-confidence and good grades, get rejected by Harvard, and end up living in a trailer with a feral cat?  So much to consider.

Now we’d driven too far to return to Whiteville.  My thoughts spiraled down to the bottom line. How did I want my daughter to remember her 16th birthday?   

More importantly, when she leaves home, what will she remember about ME?  Only that I love me some “Raspberry Beret?” 

  

I knew what I had to do.  Entering Oakland, I pulled into the driver station and explained our plight to the TDOT driving gods.  A few minutes later she happily displayed a new license and picture for eight bucks.  

Was it worth it?  You bet it was. 

blog.timesunion.com

Most of the time my teens think I’m an embarrassment, a harsh judge, a police officer, a stalker, and a nagging dinosaur in mom jeans.  

Sometimes it’s really nice to still be a hero. 

12 Reasons Middle-aged Moms Should Stop Having Kids

12 Reasons Middle-Aged Moms Should Stop Having Kids

At a wedding shower recently, the bride’s twenty-year-old cousin from New Jersey asked me a question that ruined my day:

“Do you have any grandchildren?”  

http://www.worldofstock.com/stock-photos/woman-with-a-surprised-look/PAD1657

“Do you have a stronger pair of Spanx?  ‘Cuz you’re bulging out of yours,” I didn’t say because I didn’t think of it.  

“I’m definitely not old enough to have grandchildren!” I lied vehemently—just like I deny owning my David Hasselhoff “Knight Rider” Snuggie.

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“Oh yes, not old enough,” she said, thinking I was, too.

I wish I could’ve shot back with a clever remark, but I have CCM (Cerebellum Crispus Mortem), which is Latin for dead, crispy brain, in my case from overtanning with baby oil and iodine in the 70’s, I mean 80’s.

I’m plenty old enough to have grandkids right now, but my girls are only teenagers.  If they had popped out a baby already, I would’ve gone all O.J. and committed “Aggravated Decapitation of a Jerkwad Boyfriend.”  That’s a new, official category for violent crimes.  

http://vicseay.hubpages.com/hub/Redneck-101How-to-be-100-Redneck

In the South, jerkwad boyfriends taking advantage of teenage daughters is considered “just cause” for decapitation. The penalty is a few hours of community service speaking to highschoolers about how heads could roll when minors mix Miller Lite with mini skirts.

My day was salvaged when I got to hold a three-month-old baby.  I smiled and reminisced as I stared down at her—and then I realized she was blurry.  

That’s why God, in His wisdom, ordained that we women should stop procreating at middle-age.  Here are a few more of His reasons.

We’ve already burned our bridges with the elementary school principal, teachers, and the lady heading the school talent show.  Our kid would be on their hit list.  

I don’t think you’re supposed to take prozac while you’re breastfeeding.

When we squat down with our toddlers to feed the ducks at the lake, the kid gets trampled by crazed mallards because our knees lock up, responding that they have better things to do.  

When we wave goodbye to our son at pre-school, our bat-wings scare his friends. 

In another fourteen years, when our teenage son says, “I’m gonna ‘hang out’ with Katie,” we’ll be too oblivious of current teen-speak to know it means “spend the weekend in Destin” with Katie.

We’re so exhausted we’d threaten our kids, “Go to sleep or you’re gonna wake up that monster under your bed.”

http://www.visualphotos.com/image/2x2022761/monster_under_my_bed

Strollers don’t come self-propelled.

Impatient with a kid’s tantrum, we’d toss him a sippy cup of Benadryl.

They don’t make arthritic diaper tabs.

When kids hit puberty, we won’t remember anything about the birds and the bees.

Kids might mistake the Viagra pills for blue M&M’s.

We won’t remember our Lamaze breathing techniques in the fitting room while our teenage daughters are trying on tiny bikinis.

I can’t wait to see the twenty-year-old at the Memphis wedding soon.  She needs to remember a few things—we’re in the South, I’ve got “just cause” for about everything, and I will jack her up, at least if my knees decide they don’t have anything better to do.  

Wife Swap and a Passionate Encounter With Doritos

Wife Swap and a Passionate Encounter With Doritos

I love reality shows, and one of my favorites is Wife Swap.

Every episode two polar opposite families agree to swap wives for two weeks. 

http://www.campaignbrief.com/2011/12/post-119.html

The first week the new mom has to adhere to her new family’s lifestyle.  The second week, they must abide by her rules.  In conclusion, everyone gathers for a “come to Jesus meeting” and a) agree they can learn something from one another or b) violently accuse the other family of being the spawn of Satan, which is lots funner.

I can imagine living with the flip side of my family.  

The dad would wear a t-shirt emblazoned with, “Is that true or did you hear it on FOX News?”  And every morning the kids would say thank you when I toss them PopTarts as they’re walking out the door.   

http://www.youtube.com/all_comments?v=PzYKsLch4GM

At night, I’d retire to my bedroom to have a passionate encounter with a bag of Ranch Doritos, which are always gone at my house.  And I’d go to the bathroom ALONE.

I’d finally read the other mom’s instruction manual, similar to the one I’d left for her at my house.  Actually, not similar at all.

With my luck, I’d get a real nut job family whose manual reads:

“We do not take our clothes to the cleaners because of the harmful plastic they put over the clothes.”  Oh, yay!  I suppose I get to eat vegan all week. 

“We do not eat processed foods.”  As long as you have margarita ingredients.

“We do not yell.”  Note to self:  Get Xanax refilled.

I’d encourage ultra-competitiveness with my laid-back, polar opposite family who’d have a daughter who only cheers at school for FUN. (No cheer championships??  What a freak.) 

I’d play Monopoly with them, and when I win, I’d strut around jeering, “Awwwww, does Daddy need a bailout?  How ‘bout I redistribute my Monopoly money?  NOT!”  And that would turn ugly when little Willow and Phoenix run to their rooms crying.  (J.K. I’m really SO politically correct)

omnimedcenter.com

I’m sure there’d be advantages to living with my bizarro family—like they’d probably have sports bottles that actually have lids.  

But the experience would probably make me long for my panic-inducing, dysfunctional “reality show” at home.  After one week, I’d miss my angst-riddled teenagers who usually declare, “Mooooom, I can take care of myself!” and at other times whisper, “But I’m not so sure.”

Just like I still miss helping my two-year-old tiptoe along the balance beam at Little Gym and afterward, mothering her on my shoulder, her exhaustion exhaling softness on my neck.

http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/images/Family_g212-Baby_In_His_Mothers_Shoulder_p57423.html
By David Castillo Dominici

And when they’re at college soon, I’ll miss soccer games and proms and catching the bouquet of their hair when I kiss them asleep every night.

But I shouldn’t worry about having an empty nest because I’m still having mondo fun cleaning jelly off the sofa and embarrassing them by singing "She's a very freaky girrrrrrllll, the kind you don't take home to muthaaa......" a la Rick James, when their friends are in the car.

http://spreemancommunications.com/2011/07/24/gangsta-and-other-words-im-not-allowed-to-say/

Besides, I have a lot to look forward to—like having the Doritos all to myself.

27 Ways Cats Are Like Teenagers . . .Part 1

27 Ways Cats are Like Teenagers: Part 1

"How can I impress upon you how much I REALLY don’t care?"

neogaf.com

Squirting them in the face with water to reverse a bad habit rarely works.

"LMMTC (Let me make this clear):  I am better/smarter/cooler than you."

http://iwastesomuchtime.com/on/?i=68397

Often hiss when you touch them. 


"Sometimes I just go bat-crazy.  Mostly because everything bores me.  And because of  your incessant need to be up in my bizness."

http://bonuscats.com/funny-cats/409-crazy-cats-211.html

Like for you to leave food out for them all the time.

“It doesn’t constitute an emergency unless it pertains to me.”

http://www.sodahead.com/united-states/who-is-libertarian-candidate-gary-johnson-and-what-isnt-the-msm-telling-us-now/question-2766965/?page=9&link=ibaf&q=cats+don't+care

Could sleep 20 hours a day.

Like to sit on the kitchen counters and hoods of cars.

“I’ve got an idea. How ‘bout I act like I don’t know you?”

lolabode.com

Are unemployed.

“You do NOT own me.”

"You can touch me WHEN I want, WHERE I want, and to what DEGREE I want.  When I’m done, I will let you know."

http://imgfave.com/view/2450458

Never know where they are.

Rarely communicate.

When they do, they barely open their mouths.

https://www.facebook.com/FOCcats

Live for revenge.

When you return from a trip, they think/say, “Oh . . . you were you gone?”

Denial is their favorite pastime.

https://www.facebook.com/FOCcats

After breaking stuff, act like nothing is unusual when human slaves get home.

Do not like bringing in groceries. 

Wish they had thumbs/more thumbs.

http://www.totalmania.net/cat-plays-xbox

"I am not sorry for what I (allegedly) did, and I have no regrets."

https://www.facebook.com/ihasashame?ref=stream&hc_location=stream

Cone of shame doesn't work.

sodahead.com

"If something unusual happens while you are gone, it is not my fault.  And I plan to do it again tomorrow."

https://www.facebook.com/catshaminguk?filter=2

Have incredible skills at things that won't make any money.

Will often pin you down and fart on your head.

https://www.facebook.com/FOCcats

Screenagers and the Money Tree

Screenagers and the Money Tree

Teens are growing up with a “give me what I want when I want it” mentality.  It’s the Google age.  Any time they want, they can find “How do I make a bomb?” or “Did Botox give my mom Adult ADHD?” automagically with their cell phone supercomputers.

“Screenagers” are also addicted to instant communication.  They jealously clutch their phones even while asleep because they may miss a 2 a.m. text or their parents might steal it and check their tweets.  

One night I tried to shimmy it out of my daughter’s hand and she morphed into an angry mutation, much like a hissing Gollum on Lord of the Rings, clutching his magic gold band, or like Charlie Sheen.  After consulting RookieParentingMistakes.com, I now swipe her phone during the night while she is sufficiently Benadrylled.  “Winniiiing!”  

Suspicious of my sudden use of “teen speak” gleaned from her texts, my daughter turned to TAMPER.COM, the website dedicated to Teens Against Moms Pilfering Everything in my Room.  Consequently, she asked me for money to buy a “parental sensor” for her phone.

“Sweetheart, I'm so sorry, but this time you need to use your own money!” I declared.  I mean, I try to teach my kids the value of a dollar.

putdowntheurinalcake.com

Financial matters are foreign to my teens.  They don’t have time to do chores to earn money during the school year, and I’d have to be on crack to pay them an allowance when their rooms look like the apocalypse.  So the money they earn in the summer, receive for birthdays and Christmas, and regularly steal from their brother usually lasts until about, say. . . right now.  

macotar.blogspot.com

Then they experience heinous withdrawal symptoms from not eating at McAlister’s, and their brains get a little spazzo.

The following story, which for my daughter’s sake may be fictitious, illustrates:

My daughter texted me from school in Def Con 1 mode on the day school closed at 11:30 a.m. due to impending weather.   

Teen: I want to go to lunch with friends.  I don’t have money can you             bring me some???

Me:  No.  You don’t have to go out to lunch every time school closes early.  We’re gonna start handling the money situation differently around here.

Teen: So I can’t go to lunch???

Me:        You can go, but I’m not giving you money.

Teen: Mom why???

Me:  Oh, I forgot!  You have $60 Grandma gave you for 

Christmas!  I didn’t give it to you yet.  Ok, you can go.  Keep the receipt!

She and her friends went to lunch, and I picked them up at the restaurant.  I paid for her $16 meal, knowing she had money to pay me back.  When we got home, I subtracted $16 from Grandma’s $60 and handed her $44.  She stared at it for a few seconds.

“That’s depressing,” she moaned. It’s only $44.”

“That’s the $60 minus $16 for lunch,” I said.

“If I knew I was going to have to pay for lunch with my own money, I wouldn’t have gone.”

wealthforteens.com

I’ve tried my best to be a good parent through the years.  But maybe I DID give her too much Benadryl.

My Virtual Conversations With Bradley Cooper

My Virtual Conversations With Bradley Cooper

My birthday was this week, and things are sagging—my body AND brain.

You’d think our brains would improve since they get fuller with time.  Not so.  Time has sabotaged my ability to clearly communicate without fumbling for the names of my children and/or everyday objects. 

“Bren... Chri....MICHAEL!!  Pick up that (pointing) uh... um... AARGH... soccer ball or I will steal your uh... (pointing) your... phone and tweet, “Just finished Say Yes to the Dress. #RandyROCKS.”  

I’ve developed a boat-load of stupid this year.  Maybe it’s my addiction to romantic comedies.

I watched one on my laptop last week, snuggled in my La-z-boy and wearing my earphones.  I used earphones because I didn’t want my kids to bother me as I engaged in flirty internal dialogue with Bradley Cooper.

ryanseacrest.com

I was blissfully engrossed in his facial stubble when my daughter interrupted me.

In my best serial-killer voice I seethed, “Can you not give me one minute to myself to watch Murder She Wrote?  I don’t have to live like this!”  Actually I was just thinking that last part.  

Normal people understand that someone wearing earphones desires privacy.  Not only was I peeved that my family wasn’t normal, but also that the movie wasn’t as loud as it typically was, and turning up the volume barely helped.  I thought maybe the margarita I spilled on it may have frazzled some of my Mac’s motherfunction capabilities on its motherboard ram-cache.  I learned that in my COBALT programming class in college.

dreamstime.com

My daughter and her Friends That Won’t Leave entered the room.  

“Mom, I can hear it.”

“Hear what?” I said.  Oh, no, I must’ve mumbled out loud the virtual conversation I was having with Bradley.

“I can hear your computer!”  

I fumbled with the earphone cord, noting that it was indeed plugged into the computer.

“OMG, I can’t believe I’m from this gene pool,” she muttered, trudging over to stick the connector all the way in.  

richmondmom.com

  Wow, that helped.  The Twitterati walked away, typing something.  

I’m actually pretty good at growing technology, especially feeding the animals in Farmville and navigating iPhones.  

Once I was on the phone with my husband.  Hubs was on a roll and pontificating. 

I tried to interject, “Hon, do you know.....” 

He wouldn’t stop to listen to me.  He was actually talking over me.

“But hon, how are they.....” I said.

He continued to rant as though I weren’t even there.  Covering the mouthpiece, I laughed and mouthed to my daughter and her FTWL, “He won’t let me get a word in edge-wise!”

Confused, she stared at me like that time I had APD (Acute Prozac Deficiency).  It took a while for me to realize I wasn’t on a call.  I had dialed voice mail and I was listening TO. A. MESSAGE.

Mumbling ensued about the gene pool thing again.

The good news is that my therapist, Kendall Jackson, says that my brain brown-outs are due to my bi-polarness, not my age.  Maybe.  Or maybe too many margaritas have just short-circuited my motherfunctioning capabilities.