Indiscriminate Drivel

The world needs more of me…

I told you yesterday that I can do jazz hands.  You’re probably thinking “Who cares?  What kind of stupid talent is jazz hands?  How many ads can you find on Monster.com where people are seeking to hire those who can do jazz hands?”

Probably none, I’ll give you that.

The thing is, I bring a lot of important services to the world.  In fact, just this morning, I was thinking that I wished cloning technology was further along so I could clone myself, because there are a lot of things I do that the world needs more of.

Given that we’re not quite ready with the cloning thing, I could probably come up with a Plan B.  I could probably assemble a group of people with potential and train them to be more like me, to do the important things I do for the world.  I’ve considered this, however we all know the copies are never as good as the originals.  So, anyway, I’m not sure if that’s the best thing.  Plus, who knows if they could do all I do, plus the things that require natural talent, like jazz hands.  Some stuff people just can’t be trained to do, ya know?

I’m guessing it might be better if I just let the demand build a little until the cloning technology catches up and then – BAM – I can make exact replicas of me and I don’t have to worry about them paling by comparison to the original.  I’ll corner the market.

This isn’t about jazz hands.  I don’t want you to get caught up in that.  There are lots of things I can do – things that add real value to this world, way beyond the artistic.  Practical value.  Value that saves lives.

Example – I (or one of my clones, but you’d never know if it were me the original or one of the clones) could ride in the passenger seat of your car and give you real-time coaching on how you’re doing behind the wheel.  I already give this service – for free – to my husband.  I’m pretty sure he appreciates it.  I bet I keep his insurance rates down.  I know I keep the highways safer for your children.  And it was only that one time I thought it was a kitten and it ended up being an errant tennis shoe but a near miss isn’t the same as a real accident so that really doesn’t count.  Mostly, I add safety – it’s really the exception that I scream in panic and nearly cause a wreck.

I think I would take my army of clones and maybe brand us, collectively, as Husband’s Little Helpers.  We could also let these husbands know when they are chewing too loudly, when they load the dishwasher incorrectly, and when their channel-visits-per-minute have exceeded the acceptable limit.

Really, it’s like a life-coaching service but customized just for husbands.  Hey, you have to play to your strengths, right?  I have a lot of experience bossing nagging coaching husbands.

I’m a little nervous about telling you all this, because, let’s face it – some of you are lowdown dirty dogs and you could steal my plan right out from under me.  But the thing is, I don’t know how to price out these services.  I mean, I do it for free for my husband but really, that’s just a perk he gets because he’s married to me.  There would definitely need to be a price tag if I’m going to bring this sort of product to the open market.  I guess what I’m saying is that I’d like to use you to help me resolve this one pricing issue.  I’m not expecting you guys to solve the human cloning issue; we’ll leave that to the experts.

I recommend you sign up soon, though – the wait list is likely to be long.

In the mean time, you’ll have to settle for blog drivel, and maybe occasional jazz hands.

Be patient – it will all work out in time.  Really.

Until then – slow down on the highway when it’s raining, jesus!  And place the dishes in the dishwasher rack close enough together to maximize space, however not so close that the jets of water cannot get through to get them clean.

You’re welcome.

By |April 20th, 2010|Indiscriminate Drivel, Married Life|Comments Off on The world needs more of me…

For little girls, it’s time for bed

Last night, my youngest daughter – the only one who cannot read yet, not fully – brought me her bedtime story book.  It was Dr. Seuss’s Cat in the Hat and I thought to myself about how much I hate that stupid book, how many times I’ve read it over the years to each of my five daughters.  It occurred to me that my youngest was on the verge of being able to read for herself so perhaps my time of having to read that was near its end!  Yay!

And then I realized that perhaps my time of having to read that was near its end.  And suddenly my emotions were completely juxtaposed from where they started.  That was the inspiration for the poem I wrote, which brings a little tiny tear to my eye when I read it or contemplate this reality.

As parents, we do get sick of doing this or that when we feel we have to do it so often, when it seems an imposition or a mind-numbing repetitive task.  But if we contemplate never doing it again – having the need for it behind us – it does rather put that particular thing in a new light.

I will miss reading stories to my children once this last one becomes a full-fledged reader.  So for now, until that day comes, I will embrace reading even the most annoying of stories to my little girl.

For little girls, it’s time for bed
But first a story to be read
Come on, Rae, pick out a book
It’s getting late now go and look

Your sister’s reading Little House
Perhaps you should choose City Mouse?
Oh, Funnybunnys? One more time?
You love the ones all full of rhyme

Anything by Dr. Seuss
My budding little Daughter Goose
Tonight we’ll read Cat in the Hat
There’s nothing more inane than that

I’ve read this book for years and years
To many little daughters’ ears
You are the last to bring a book
And climb up on my lap to look

At all the pictures while I read
“Just one more time” you always plead
Sometimes I’m stern and I say NO
I point upstairs and say “Now go!”

Tonight I’m feeling less of that
Tonight I like that tall-hat cat
I’ll read to you when it’s bedtime
I’ll read you books that always rhyme

I’ll read them twice if you just ask
I’ll smile big and do this task
And that’s because I know, my dear,
Before too long you won’t be here

Up on my lap with smiling face
With sticky hands and warm embrace
Soon you’ll be reading by yourself
Old books will draw dust on the shelf

And I will come to miss that cat
That stupid cat who wears that hat
So come here, Rae, and sit with me
While you still fit upon my knee

While you still need your stories read
And on my shoulder, rest your head
And I will read when it’s bedtime
I’ll read you books that always rhyme

I’ll read them twice because you smiled
My youngest and my last dear child
‘Cause time will fly until you’re grown
And reading to one of your own 

reading in the park

By |April 17th, 2010|Indiscriminate Drivel, Mother Goose on the Loose, The Parent Hood|Comments Off on For little girls, it’s time for bed

How To Embarrass Your Teen in 1 Easy Step

pink treeIt’s a parent’s responsibility to embarrass his or her teenager.  Right?

I’m right, aren’t I? I’m almost sure I’m right.

This morning, all 5 of us pile into the car at 6:45AM to head off for our day. Three kids get dropped off at three different places, and then Bill and I go on to work.

The first drop-off is the teen, which is a good thing because she’s surly and I’m not sure I can take much more of her in the morning.

Especially this morning.

The other two are well rested, exuberant, and ready to play. There isn’t much to play in a Toyota Camry stuffed with five people, but we manage to start a game of Pink Tree Purple Tree.

Don’t worry that you don’t know this game – it’s an original, made up by a four-year-old mind. It’s loosely based on the game Yellow Car. Surely you know the game Yellow Car.  No? Well, that’s why Google was invented. Go look it up, I’ll wait.

So there we are playing Pink Tree Purple Tree when Bill (who is too competitive for his own good, I think) tries to call Purple Tree but clearly he’s fudging the game rules. The tree wasn’t purple at all. It was actually closer to burgundy.

Suffice it to say we get into a little tiff about the rules of Pink Tree Purple Tree and whether an almost-burgundy tree can possibly be counted as a point. (It can’t. I’m quite sure he’ll come around to seeing that my way at about 10PM tonight. Don’t ask me how I know this.)

By this time, we are approaching Sarah’s bus stop. She’s surly and doesn’t fully appreciate the game Pink Tree Purple Tree, or her exuberant little sisters, or her parents who are willing to debate just about anything. Poor girl.

We pull to a stop to let her out, so she can stand among her surly friends and wait for the bus with more surly teens in it. As she exits the car, she gets in a parting shot. “You two are WEIRD.” she says while rolling her surly eyes.

Bill looks at me and I nod. He rolls down the window and screams out (loudly enough for the surly friends to hear), “Don’t lick any cats today, OK, Honey?”  Then we drove off.

That, my friends, is MY definition of how to start your day off right.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is actually a piece I wrote elsewhere last spring.  This morning, I was admiring the trees all blooming and blossoming, and instead of reflecting on the beauty of them, I reflected on the morning last year when we told our kid not to lick any cats right there in front of her friends.

And I smiled.