©Lisa Barker
I haven’t had a bad hair day in a long time, but one hit me this week five minutes before I was to walk out the door for Mass.
My husband poked his head in our room. “Aren’t you going to church?”
“No! I feel like a HORSE!” Fwing! There went another skirt flying across the room.
He’s a good man. He may have doubled over laughing when I finally left the house, but until then he kept a most seriously straight face.
“How could I be sick with the flu all week and lose ten pounds and nothing fits?” (Fwing! There went a pair of pants that would not button.) “But last week they all did! Tell me that, huh? How come they fit when I’m fat but not when I lose ten pounds?”
“That’s the way it goes,” my husband tried to console me.
“Well, I am NOT going.” By then I was stalking around the room in nothing but my underwear and shoes. “I want to go. I want to be there. I just don’t want to take my body with me. I don’t even want to take my head. Look at these stupid bangs. You better get used to me not having any because I’m cutting them off!”
By then I had on a skirt that still reached the floor even with it pulled up to my bra. “Everything is either too big or too small!”
“What do you want me to say?!” My husband asked, like a panicked man before the firing squad. “If I say ‘stay home,’ you want to go. If I say ‘go,’ you....”
“I HAVE NOTHING TO WEAR!”
All my clothes were screaming: Look at me! My face is bloated, my boobs sag, I have two tummies—one on top of the other—and no matter which way I look at myself in the mirror I see no womanly curves just some kind of blobby form that looks like a scoop of mashed potatoes plopped on a dish. Splat!
Worse, now I had to wrestle with the idea that I was going to miss Mass out of sheer vanity.
I dug a black sweater out of a laundry basket and put it on. Already my mood started to soften. There’s something soothing about black. You can dress it up or down and no matter what it never screams at you. It barely whispers. But I can hear it. It says, “You look good.”
I found a skirt to match and gave my husband a kiss on the top of his head before I happily stepped out of the house.
“You look very nice,” he called after me.
“I know!”
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Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane...Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!
Friday, March 21, 2008
Saturday, March 15, 2008
I Dream Therefore I Am...An Insect
©Lisa Barker
I dreamt I was a fruit fly. A little white fruit fly flying among thousands of fruit flies. I was looking for my husband. But he had flown off because he was in the military service (of fruit flies, of course).
So I flew to Australia to see his mom because I knew she could help. She turned me into a two-inch fruit fly doll, just like the whole family. They lived in a tree house with one entire side of the house open toward the ocean. The whole family gathered and posed facing the ocean, so I turned to see why and there was a man taking our family portrait. When he put the camera down I saw it was my husband in human form. And then I woke up.
You see the problem with my dreams is that they defy standard dream dictionary definitions. I have yet to discover what it means when one dreams she is a fruit fly.
Many times I’ve dreamt I am a mermaid, symbolizing feminine traits deep in the subconscious. But what good does this do me when deep down I am a fruit fly?
My family gets a kick out of the dreams I share with them unless, of course, the dream happens to be about my husband or children doing something wrong or annoying and I wake up and blame them for something they have no idea about.
Like if I dream that my husband works all the time and never comes home. Yet I’m never home because I lost my house and can’t find it. This really aggravates me and somehow it’s his fault and I let him have it when I wake up.
Other times I dream that my kids will not listen to me and after a night of yelling in my sleep, “You better leave that dam alone!” I’m in no mood for them first thing in the morning.
“But, Momma, we didn’t do anything!”
“Oh, yes you did. Last night you kept letting the water out of the dam and how many times have I told you not to do that?” They never had a good answer.
In my most recent dream, I was my husband and he was me. “So,” he wanted to know, “when you kissed me were you kissing yourself?”
“No, I was like an omniscient first person narrator. I was inside both our heads.”
“And what did I think?”
“That you should probably get me some diamonds for Valentine’s Day.”
“Yeah, right.”
Well, they say if you can dream it, you can achieve it. Maybe I will get jewelry for Valentines Day. Or maybe I’ll just get an aging bunch of bananas, fruit fly that I am.
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Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane...Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!
I dreamt I was a fruit fly. A little white fruit fly flying among thousands of fruit flies. I was looking for my husband. But he had flown off because he was in the military service (of fruit flies, of course).
So I flew to Australia to see his mom because I knew she could help. She turned me into a two-inch fruit fly doll, just like the whole family. They lived in a tree house with one entire side of the house open toward the ocean. The whole family gathered and posed facing the ocean, so I turned to see why and there was a man taking our family portrait. When he put the camera down I saw it was my husband in human form. And then I woke up.
You see the problem with my dreams is that they defy standard dream dictionary definitions. I have yet to discover what it means when one dreams she is a fruit fly.
Many times I’ve dreamt I am a mermaid, symbolizing feminine traits deep in the subconscious. But what good does this do me when deep down I am a fruit fly?
My family gets a kick out of the dreams I share with them unless, of course, the dream happens to be about my husband or children doing something wrong or annoying and I wake up and blame them for something they have no idea about.
Like if I dream that my husband works all the time and never comes home. Yet I’m never home because I lost my house and can’t find it. This really aggravates me and somehow it’s his fault and I let him have it when I wake up.
Other times I dream that my kids will not listen to me and after a night of yelling in my sleep, “You better leave that dam alone!” I’m in no mood for them first thing in the morning.
“But, Momma, we didn’t do anything!”
“Oh, yes you did. Last night you kept letting the water out of the dam and how many times have I told you not to do that?” They never had a good answer.
In my most recent dream, I was my husband and he was me. “So,” he wanted to know, “when you kissed me were you kissing yourself?”
“No, I was like an omniscient first person narrator. I was inside both our heads.”
“And what did I think?”
“That you should probably get me some diamonds for Valentine’s Day.”
“Yeah, right.”
Well, they say if you can dream it, you can achieve it. Maybe I will get jewelry for Valentines Day. Or maybe I’ll just get an aging bunch of bananas, fruit fly that I am.
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Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane...Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
A Cat's Work is Never Done
©Lisa Barker
If cats kept a daily log of their daytime activities it would be boring. Entry after entry would simply read “nap” with an occasional “lick” inserted here and there. Nighttime is when all the real action takes place.
8:30PM: Time to let the humans know it’s getting late. Swat the back of their heads while they watch television or sit on the TV and hang your tail down the center of the screen. Give them a foretaste of the evening you have planned by reaching high up on the drapes giving them a test swing.
9:00PM: Chase each other up and down the hall, over the sofa and across laps, under the dining room chairs, across the window sill and back across the dining room table.
10:30PM: The humans prepare for bed—at last! Turn on your night-vision and chase them down the darkened hallway. Bat their ankles and trip them one last time before they shut the bedroom door. Now, quick! Chase each other down the hall, then skid across the floor and into the plant stand at top speed. Lick yourself studiously when the humans get up to see what all of the racket is. Present your best innocent look.
11:00PM: Jump for the dining room table cloth, grab the end and swing off, satisfactorily pulling your brothers and sister off the table with you. Run and hide! The humans are coming!
11:10PM: Lick your butt on the front porch as if you intended to go outside for the night.
12:00AM: Corral three of your friends and serenade the humans outside the bedroom window. Play with the shoestrings on the boot they toss out the door.
1:30AM: Arrange dead bats and mice on the doormat to surprise the Mistress. She’ll be sure to squeal with delight when she almost steps on them in the morning. Now quickly go rummage in the ‘snack cans’ before the great big truck arrives or any other cats try to claim it as theirs.
2:30AM: Finish off territorial spat with ear piercing yowls that start neighborhood dogs barking and causes homeowners to turn on lights and shout out their support.
3:00AM: Make contribution to the gene pool and invest in the cat population of tomorrow.
4:00AM: Howl outside the human’s bedroom window to let him know the great big truck is coming to take away the ‘snack cans.’
6:30AM: Rush in the front door and claim the best spot on the sofa. Prepare to take the first of 17 naps for the day. Make mental note to eat the butter on the counter and refuse the dry kibble until the humans break out the canned stuff.
Don’t know what those humans do all day, but a cat’s work is never done.
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Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane...Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!
If cats kept a daily log of their daytime activities it would be boring. Entry after entry would simply read “nap” with an occasional “lick” inserted here and there. Nighttime is when all the real action takes place.
8:30PM: Time to let the humans know it’s getting late. Swat the back of their heads while they watch television or sit on the TV and hang your tail down the center of the screen. Give them a foretaste of the evening you have planned by reaching high up on the drapes giving them a test swing.
9:00PM: Chase each other up and down the hall, over the sofa and across laps, under the dining room chairs, across the window sill and back across the dining room table.
10:30PM: The humans prepare for bed—at last! Turn on your night-vision and chase them down the darkened hallway. Bat their ankles and trip them one last time before they shut the bedroom door. Now, quick! Chase each other down the hall, then skid across the floor and into the plant stand at top speed. Lick yourself studiously when the humans get up to see what all of the racket is. Present your best innocent look.
11:00PM: Jump for the dining room table cloth, grab the end and swing off, satisfactorily pulling your brothers and sister off the table with you. Run and hide! The humans are coming!
11:10PM: Lick your butt on the front porch as if you intended to go outside for the night.
12:00AM: Corral three of your friends and serenade the humans outside the bedroom window. Play with the shoestrings on the boot they toss out the door.
1:30AM: Arrange dead bats and mice on the doormat to surprise the Mistress. She’ll be sure to squeal with delight when she almost steps on them in the morning. Now quickly go rummage in the ‘snack cans’ before the great big truck arrives or any other cats try to claim it as theirs.
2:30AM: Finish off territorial spat with ear piercing yowls that start neighborhood dogs barking and causes homeowners to turn on lights and shout out their support.
3:00AM: Make contribution to the gene pool and invest in the cat population of tomorrow.
4:00AM: Howl outside the human’s bedroom window to let him know the great big truck is coming to take away the ‘snack cans.’
6:30AM: Rush in the front door and claim the best spot on the sofa. Prepare to take the first of 17 naps for the day. Make mental note to eat the butter on the counter and refuse the dry kibble until the humans break out the canned stuff.
Don’t know what those humans do all day, but a cat’s work is never done.
---------------------------------------------------
Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane...Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Stay-at-home Guilt
©Lisa Barker
Stay-at-home moms are under a lot of pressure these days. Being at home is slotted as such a no-brainer that many women are committing themselves to home-schooling, sewing their own clothes and feeding the homeless to make their time at home valuable...which makes the rest of us seem even more lazy.
So stop it!
Have you seen the commercial with the mother whose preschooler can already read at the second grade level? Talk about a guilt trip, especially if you are a stay-at-home mom. Like, what am I doing all day if my kid can’t write a thesis paper before he enters kindergarten?
And what about the commercial where the mom and her kid (age four) are playing a hand held game side by side on the sofa? She’s speaking in a normal tone. He’s listening. They’re having fun and, worst of all, they’re BONDING.
If it were me on the sofa with my son at that age there would be screaming and wailing and gnashing of teeth. “No, you can't play!! I'm going to WIN!!! I'M winning!!!” he would scream.
Of course, since I am a stay-at-home mom that doesn’t participate in playgroups, doesn’t home-school and doesn’t send her children to pre-school, the reason my child doesn’t behave like the one in the commercial is because he isn’t ‘socialized.’
When did behaving like a normal toddler become a sign of a lack of socialization?
Commercials on television with mom singing how she loves to play with her kid and have a wonderful day really make me doubt my competence as a mother. How many times have I wanted to do something fun with my kids only to end up being the parent because of the way they behave?
You get them loaded up in the car, drive three blocks and you’ve already warned two of them five times to stop the bickering, whining, teasing and shouting. By block six you slam on the brakes, flip a u-turn and drive back home, plans cancelled. I’d love to be their friend, but they need a parent.
Have you seen the babies-only station on satellite television? Talk about pressure! My babies are straight-A students now, but back then they would have been labeled total idiots for just lying there and drooling.
How on earth would I have worked ‘educational-interactive-baby-television-time’ into their busy schedule of spitting up, pooping their pants, crying, sleeping, spitting up and pooping their pants?
When my kids got a mom-at-home they didn’t get a nanny/tutor/personal trainer, they got a mom-at-home—somebody they can count on to be there even now when they get home from high school. And that was the whole point in the first place.
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Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker and syndicated through Parent To Parent™ and is available for newspapers, websites, e-zines and newsletters. Here's all the info you need to publish Jelly Mom™.
Stay-at-home moms are under a lot of pressure these days. Being at home is slotted as such a no-brainer that many women are committing themselves to home-schooling, sewing their own clothes and feeding the homeless to make their time at home valuable...which makes the rest of us seem even more lazy.
So stop it!
Have you seen the commercial with the mother whose preschooler can already read at the second grade level? Talk about a guilt trip, especially if you are a stay-at-home mom. Like, what am I doing all day if my kid can’t write a thesis paper before he enters kindergarten?
And what about the commercial where the mom and her kid (age four) are playing a hand held game side by side on the sofa? She’s speaking in a normal tone. He’s listening. They’re having fun and, worst of all, they’re BONDING.
If it were me on the sofa with my son at that age there would be screaming and wailing and gnashing of teeth. “No, you can't play!! I'm going to WIN!!! I'M winning!!!” he would scream.
Of course, since I am a stay-at-home mom that doesn’t participate in playgroups, doesn’t home-school and doesn’t send her children to pre-school, the reason my child doesn’t behave like the one in the commercial is because he isn’t ‘socialized.’
When did behaving like a normal toddler become a sign of a lack of socialization?
Commercials on television with mom singing how she loves to play with her kid and have a wonderful day really make me doubt my competence as a mother. How many times have I wanted to do something fun with my kids only to end up being the parent because of the way they behave?
You get them loaded up in the car, drive three blocks and you’ve already warned two of them five times to stop the bickering, whining, teasing and shouting. By block six you slam on the brakes, flip a u-turn and drive back home, plans cancelled. I’d love to be their friend, but they need a parent.
Have you seen the babies-only station on satellite television? Talk about pressure! My babies are straight-A students now, but back then they would have been labeled total idiots for just lying there and drooling.
How on earth would I have worked ‘educational-interactive-baby-television-time’ into their busy schedule of spitting up, pooping their pants, crying, sleeping, spitting up and pooping their pants?
When my kids got a mom-at-home they didn’t get a nanny/tutor/personal trainer, they got a mom-at-home—somebody they can count on to be there even now when they get home from high school. And that was the whole point in the first place.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker and syndicated through Parent To Parent™ and is available for newspapers, websites, e-zines and newsletters. Here's all the info you need to publish Jelly Mom™.
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