Tagged with Wally …
I’m thinking about writing a parenting book because there simply aren’t enough of them and everyone would benefit from my wizened experience and success at raising two young men. I should probably write a book about successful heterosexual marriage, too. I did such a great job with that. Such a great job I did it twice. Here’s the top five titles I’m considering:
Mommy’s Busy Having a Nervous Breakdown
Because I Said So
Hold My Cigarette While I Spank Your Brother
I’m Mean Because You Ruined My Body
You Can’t Watch Barney Because Elmo Killed Him
I’ll be anxious to hear what y’all think. Make sure you type your comments in all caps and use a lot of abbreviations if you have failed to grasp the satire of this post.
This sounds like it’s gonna be one of those “uh oh June’s been reading the news again” posts where I talk about human rights and the degridation of women and children by their families in certain third world–cough cough I’m looking at you Cambodia–countries. But it’s not. You need that shit, read Huffington Post. No, I’m referring to the white slavery in my suburban ‘hood after I recieved fabulous news this week.
F-A-B-U-L-O-U-S with a side order of amazing, a dollop of GET OUT! and a smidge of w00t! There is a big writing conference taking place an hour from Chez Cleaver and I’m going!
I told Wally about it: “…and I’m going no matter how much it costs, even if I have to sell you and Beav into white slavery.”
Wally pulled his most thought face, mulling over the implications of being sold into white slavery, he might have to finish his own laundry and make his own food, this cuold be bad, he needed a way out “You can only sell Beav into slavery mom, he’s the minor.”
Gah! I hate it when my kid is right.
It seems like I have an easier time having faith things will get better/turn out/turn around when shit has hit the fan and all Hell is breaking loose in my heart, life, or soul. But give me an easy ride, an extended period of mild hiccups but mostly smooth sailing? Damned if I don’t start to fret about the other shoe dropping when what I should be doing is sitting back and saying: “Thank you!”
What an eye-opening lesson this is to learn and I’m glad it took an incredibly easy period with my family to realize how pensive I am about how relatively easy things are.
I need to learn how to have faith that things are going to remain good now that I have the whole “faith that life is going to get better”.
When I realized this the other day, I could just see God standing next to me, hands on her hips, clucking her tongue as she shook her head slowly,trying to quell her exasperation with me: “You really don’t get this whole omnipotence, larger than everything do you? If I’m helpful when things are going to Hell in a handbasket; why wouldn’t I be the one helping maintain the good stuff?” And then she says “sheesh” between clinched teeth and asks for that gin sitting in the cat dish because sometimes being my deity is hard and frustrating work.
A few years ago, I noticed I have a terrible relationship with food, I was hiding it so there would be more crappy junk food for me. Unfortunately, my relationship with food continues to deteriorate and if Food were an actual person we would be on Doctor Phil sorting out our feelings and when he asked me: “How’s that working for you?” I would probably belch and ask for another bag of fritos. Here’s one of the aspects of this broken relationship.
I realized yesterday I might have an eating disorder when I found myself in the basement huddled over a bag of potato chips I had uncovered from its hiding place. When I’m feeling snackish it is necessary for me to sneak downstairs and nosh in secret being mindful of loud crunchy noises and keeping an eye out on the door for interlopers. I will even lie to the offspring if they ask me: “Do we have anymore chips and salsa? “ I bat my eyelashes and look at them dead in the eye shaking my head as I’m picturing the bag of chips and cans of salsa. My hiding places depend upon my sons’ inherited Male Pattern Blindness and so I put ice cream and sorbet behind the frozen vegetables and snack food behind boring things like large boxes of healthy cereal. But I must confess this sneaking around makes me feel weird like I’m some sort of food obsessed woman who isn’t “allowed” to eat snacks because I’ll throw them up after eating two bags of chips and two boxes of cookies in one sitting; or my BMI is 50% and I was told to lose weight or die. Luckily the idea of barfing makes me a little urpy and I‘m keeping my BMI well below 50%. Over eating and bulimia aren‘t the disorders I suffer. My eating disorders are Wally and Beav and if I didn’t hide the chips, cookies and ice cream I would never have the luxury of even getting to make unhealthy food choices.
Hmmm…maybe I should liberate the chips and sorbet from captivity to help nudge off my spare ten pounds. I bet my snacks would be gone within two hours after I left them out in the open. The only thing left would be the empty packages, a few crumbs on the floor and dirty spoons in the sink. The poor dears have those gross and fine motor skill deficits that cause a person to have an inability to throw empty packages away or put dirty dishes in the dishwasher. I probably should have them seen by a physical therapist for this, huh. Oh well their disability will just make them stronger.
Is there SSI for this sort of thing?