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PARENT: C’mon.
KID: Where are we going?
PARENT: I’ll tell you when we get there.
KID: Uh-oh – you’re taking me to the doctor, aren’t you?
PARENT: Why do you say that?
KID: Because that’s what you always say when you take me to the doctor.
PARENT: I do?
KID: Either that or the dentist.
PARENT: It’s not the dentist.
KID: I knew it! But I’m not even sick!
PARENT: I know, but it’ll be over before you know it. And then we’ll go for cupcakes.
KID: CUPCAKES!
PARENT: I thought you liked cupcakes?
KID: I do like cupcakes, but cupcakes after the doctor mean I have to get a shot.
PARENT: Not always.
KID: Yes always.
PARENT: No, sometimes we go for cupcakes even when you don’t have to get a shot.
KID: So does that mean I don’t have to get a shot?
PARENT: Unfortunately, no – it turns out the H1N1 vaccine you got last year takes two shots.
KID: Two shots!
PARENT: Two shots.
KID: That’s so unfair.
PARENT: I know. But I tell you what – after cupcakes, I’ll let you get one small toy at the toy store.
KID: NOOOOOOOOOOO!
PARENT: What’s wrong with getting a toy!?!?!?!
KID: Getting a toy after the doctor means they’re gonna use a big, huge needle. AHHHHHHHHHHH!
7:21 am.
Awakened by phone.
Son’s friend’s mother calling to ask about afternoon playdate despite being told many times before do not call before 8:30 am unless it’s an emergency, especially on a Saturday because that’s the only day I ever get to sleep in.
Tell her to call back after 8:30 am.
Irritated.
Climb back in bed.
7:37 am.
Still awake.
Reluctantly accept fact that chance to sleep-in ruined.
Even more irritated.
7:43 am.
Think of other ways to get the do not call before 8:30 am unless it’s an emergency point across because, clearly, plain English is not working.
Also think a playdate is not an emergency, and sure as Hell isn’t going to happen today.
7:46 am.
Realize this is harsh/unfairly punishes kids for mother’s behavior.
7:54 am.
Fantasize about retaliation/payback.
Wonder if I could live with myself if I called every night for a week at 12:01 to remind her do not call before 8:30 am unless it’s an emergency.
7:56 am.
Accept fact that I could not.
8:01 am.
Try to think of other alternatives.
8:02 am.
Have one idea.
8:08 am.
Post this.
8:09 am.
Go out for extra-large coffee.
Hear phone ring just as door is closing.
Know instantly who it is.
8:10 am.
Think disconnecting phone line may be only option.
KID: Are you sick?
PARENT: No.
KID: Then why do you look like you’re gonna throw-up?
PARENT: The President is talking about the economic crisis again.
KID: What’s an economic crisis?
PARENT: Well… Basically, it’s when everybody in the country suddenly realizes they’re fucked.
KID: GASP! You said a bad word.
PARENT: I’m sorry.
KID: You’re not supposed to say bad words.
PARENT: You’re right. Even with a situation as bad as this, I shouldn’t swear.
KID: Why is the situation so bad, anyway?
PARENT: The cost of living is going up. Real wages are going down. People’s houses are worth less than they owe on them. Nobody can get credit any more. We can’t seem to find a way to use less energy. And now the experts are saying the very foundation upon which our entire economy is based is cracked at best, and may actually be broken beyond repair.
KID: Wow. We are fucked.
PARENT: Now you said a bad word.
KID: Sorry. Do I have to wash my mouth out with soap now?
PARENT: No, but only because we can’t afford any.
As every parent knows, that’s actually a trick question because when it comes to being peed on, pooped on or puked on, you don’t have a choice: it’s not a question of if it will happen or even when it will happen – though probably in the middle of the night, right after you’ve put on your last clean shirt, or just as you’re rushing off to an important meeting that you’re already 20 minutes late for, etc. – but how often it will happen.
(Not to mention whether or not all three will happen at the same time, which is the parenting equivalent of hitting the “Trifecta,” even though – sadly – it isn’t nearly as rare.)
While the idea of being splattered in your own child’s pee, poop or puke makes non-parents squirm (and probably resolve to remain non-parents), most of us eventually come to accept it – even welcome it – because no matter how disgusting that is, it’s not nearly as gross as being splattered with some other kid’s pee, poop or puke – something that’s also not a question of if, or when, but how often.
From “Why Chicken Nuggets Are Better Than Prozac,” page. 83
On most days, even when I get up too early, I’m already running late. So that by the time I get showered, get dressed, get the kids ready, get in the car, get the kids to school and get to Starbucks, I have used up what little energy I began the day with and what I really want is my venti extra-shot Americano.
Now.
IIn the old days, this was easy because vain, arrogant, intimidating baristas would glare so angrily at anyone who ordered wrong – a “vanilla sugar-free grande triple latte” instead of a “triple grande sugar-free vanilla latte,” for example – the poor soul would have no choice but to take his or her drink and slink away in shame, silently vowing to avoid such humiliation tomorrow by going somewhere else and leaving Starbucks to the caffeine addicts.
Baristaphobia = shorter lines.
But now that McDonald’s has McLattes, Dunkin’ Donuts touts the dunkin’ as much as the donuts, and break rooms everywhere include at least one vending machine that can automatically make any one of a dozen coffee-drinks, Starbucks seems to have realized they have to do more than just serve coffee if they want to make money, they have to serve customers.
Who can blame them? It worked for Burger King back in the ‘70s, so why not?
(Except instead of “Hold the pickle, hold the lettuce, special orders don’t upset us,” it might be:
“Make it no foam
or sugar free
whatever you want
we’ll serve with glee
our growth has slowed
so we can’t be
snobs anymore.”)
Obviously, there’s nothing inherently wrong with being nice, but the result of this customer-friendly attitude is that all the people who used to stay away from Starbucks because they were afraid of being yelled at are now standing in line right in front of me, asking what the difference between a “misto” and a “macchiato” is or trying to decide if they’d like to try a breakfast sandwich.
Worse, the baristas are not just being polite to them, they’re being chatty, too. Which means that in addition to wanting to know exactly how they can make the customer’s drink exactly the way they’d like it made, they want to know how their day is, what kind of plans they have, how their family is, etc.
And when I finally get to the front of the line, they want to know that about me, too.
Except at 7:43 in the morning, after having been up all night with a vomiting toddler and a dog who wants me to get up every couple of hours and go to the window to look at the neighbor’s cat, I don’t want to be friendly to anyone – not my kids, not my spouse, not my neighbors and certainly not my barista.
Unfortunately, as much as I want to respond to the question “How’s your day going so far?” by saying “It would be a lot better if I didn’t have to wait in line for 25 minutes to get a cup of coffee,” I don’t.
Because whether it’s crack cocaine or caffeine, addicts like me will do anything to get their fix – even smile and pretend to be friendly.
(And while there are still any number of alternatives to Starbucks, places where the lines are short and somber, and the baristas still act like divas, they’re a few blocks out of the way, and the only thing worse than waiting a few extra minutes in line is waiting a few extra minutes in traffic.)
WIFE: Where you going?
HUSBAND: I thought I’d run out and get some Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough.
WIFE: What about our post-holiday diet?
HUSBAND: We finished it.
WIFE: Yeah — yesterday.
HUSBAND: Which means today I can finally eat what I want to.
The bad times may be over, but the good times aren’t going to return any time soon.
For many of us, that’s troubling. But it can also be inspiring – especially when it comes to finding appropriate ways to spend quality time with family.
Kick The Can(didate)
Family members divide up into two groups: Democrats and Republicans. Democrats try to prevent Republicans from kicking the can, just like in the classic childhood game, but have to put on blinders and argue among themselves, making it very easy for a lone Republican to come out of nowhere and kick the can.
Alternately, family members don’t divide up into Democrats and Republicans at all, but just play as a single group of Democrats who work against each other to both kick the can and prevent the can from being kicked, turning the whole game into an ugly, shameless, ultimately un-winnable waste of time.
Liar’s Dice, The Wall Street Edition
In the traditional game, players roll a handful of dice and then try to lie about how many 1’s, 2’s, 3’s, 4’s, 5’s and 6’s they have. If one player doesn’t believe another, he or she says “liar.” If the accused is actually lying, he or she loses a die; if the accused is telling the truth, the accuser loses a die.
The game continues until there’s only one player left.
This version is played the exact same way, except that whenever a player lies and loses a die, he or she gets to replace it with one provided by the Treasury Department for as long as the government has adequate dice reserves, or can borrow dice from China.
Tea Party
The point of this game is to pretend to spontaneously gather around an imaginary table drinking imaginary tea from imaginary cups until the media believes it’s real, and then form a grassroots special interest group to force everybody to move to the right.
Duck Duck Goose
Each player pretends to be a homeowner and sits in a circle with the other homeowners. One player – representing a soon-to-reset adjustable rate mortgage, crushing equity line, further decline in housing prices, prolonged period of unemployment or other form of bad luck – walks around and taps each of them on the head, saying “Duck… Duck… Duck…”
This goes on for an inordinately long time, with all the anxious homeowners hoping the bad luck will just go away.
It doesn’t.
When bad luck finally says “goose,” the player he or she just tapped sits there quietly in a complete state of denial, then wanders off leaving an empty spot in the circle.
This goes on for an inordinately long time, too, until even the remaining homeowners are too depressed to continue.
What’s my party line?
Throw a blanket over your TV set and then randomly tune it to Fox News, CNN or MSNBC and see if you can tell what party’s talking points the supposedly non-partisan/independent/”fair and balanced” experts are secretly touting.
I Spy
Just like regular “I Spy,” only with the more apropos subjects: “I Spy, with my little eye, something that begins with F… a foreclosed house.” Or “I Spy, with my little eye, something that begins with O… a one-term president.”
The Telephony Game
Start with any of the promises Banks made when they needed to be bailed out – to take fewer risks, not put profits first, learn from their mistakes, help homeowners modify bad loans, etc. – and play the telephone game to see if any of these phrases end up making any sense at all.
Pin The Tail (Of Blame) On The Donkey
Much like ‘08s most popular game, “Pin The Tail on The Elephant,” this one substitutes a donkey and uses a much, much bigger tail.
Don’t Be Afraid Of The Big, Bad Wolf
Players divide into three teams, and then each team builds a house.
The first uses straw, which represents a “no-doc” loan, the second uses wood, which represents a zero-down, adjustable-rate mortgage, and the third uses brick, which represents a 30-year fixed-mortgage with 20% down that will never, ever cause problems.
They then wait for the Big Bad Wolf to huff and puff and try to blow their houses down.
Obama Limbo
How low can President Obama’s approval rating go? Put on “The Limbo Song” and see.
Republican Hokey Pokey
You put your right foot in, and then instead of putting your left foot in, you put your right foot in even farther unless you want the Tea Baggers to knock you over.
Ghost in The Graveyard Shift
Similar to the classic childhood game, except when word gets out you’re playing, 10,000 people show up.
(To see family games from last year, click here.)
When characters in cartoons get angry, smoke comes out of their ears, their heads explode or they undergo instantaneous genetic mutations that turn them into aliens, gigantic, green-skinned freaks, uncontrollable ninja-war- riors, ghost-demons, magical giants, etc.
While young kids believe this kind of thing is possible in real life, older kids eventually learn it’s not.
Or is it?
As bad as it can be for a parent to have a massive, screaming, meltdown – something that happens to everyone eventually, thanks to too little sleep, too much caffeine and a child with bad timing – allowing your offspring to glimpse “the monster inside you” can ultimately be good, because if you play it right they’ll wonder if maybe, just maybe, you might turn into some kind of mutant humanoid if they really, really piss you off.
All you have to do – and this is probably harder than it seems – is let your rage build almost to the breaking-point but then suddenly stop, turn, and walk briskly to the kitchen, hall closet, laundry room, etc. and grab the unlabelled bottle of vodka you keep hidden in there “just in case.” Pour yourself a shot, and then just before you knock it back, check to make sure your kids are close enough to “accidentally” overhear you as you say something like “That was close. Too close. I was able to stop the transformation this time, thanks to the antidote, but if something like that happens again, who knows. When the kids are older I’ll tell them the truth, but for now, it’s got to be my secret.”
If you’re lucky, the next time they decide to have an indoor water fight or shave the dog, they’ll maybe – just maybe – think twice.
(Although probably not.)
WIFE: Never mind.
HUSBAND: What?
WIFE: Forget it. It’s not important.
HUSBAND: What’s not important?
WIFE: Nothing.
HUSBAND: Now you’re confusing me: how can I forget about the “nothing” that’s not important if I don’t know what it is?
WIFE: I don’t want to talk about it.
HUSBAND: Then why did you bring it up?
WIFE: Because right after I did I saw our entire argument play out in my head.
HUSBAND: And?
WIFE: You won.
HUSBAND: YES!
WIFE: And then you reacted the same way you’re reacting now: like you couldn’t care less what the argument was all about as long as you won.
- Rain.
- Zippers.
- Things that won’t fit in suitcases.
- Politicians
- Scotch tape.
- The person in front of you at Starbucks who can’t decide between a mocha frappuccino and a cinnamon dolce latte.
- A computer – because even though it seems like it knows when you’re having a bad day and chooses that exact moment to crash, it’s just a glorified toaster. (Why doesn’t somebody develop some kind of curse-recognition software to replace online help? – i.e. the way you say “Damn it!” determines what kind of help you get.)
- Traffic.
- Stop lights.
- Delivery vehicles that double-park.
- Tire jacks.
- Bus drivers – aside from the fact that they’re encased in a sound-proof – and seemingly sight-proof – cocoon, they don’t care.
- Maps.
- Speed bumps.
- Street signs.
- Stairs (both the invisible one at the top of the landing and the non-existent one at the bottom).
- Pants that won’t button.
- Toys that get left in the driveway.
- Rakes.
- Pets (especially hamsters, who are too stupid to understand, dogs, who get their feelings hurt and cats, who get revenge).
- TV remotes.
- Automated telephone helplines – the only thing that happens is you get stuck in a loop where you say “Screw you!” and the computer says “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Could you repeat that please?” and no matter how angry you are you can’t outlast the computer, so you’re the only one who suffers.
- God (even if you sometimes feel justified).
- People on TV.
- Coaches, refs and players on Monday Night Football.
- Little League Umpires.
- The cable guy.
- Anyone who messes up your order at the drive-thru.
- Anyone in customer service.
- Anyone with a name tag that says “Asst. Manager.”
- Tour guides.
- A fetus that won’t stop kicking in the middle of the night.
- A spouse that won’t stop kicking in the middle of the night.
- The Post Office.
- The DMV.
- Pre-schoolers – because if they don’t cry, they gasp and say “You said a bad word!” and then repeat it the next day at school.
- Teachers – imagine having to tell your kid he or she has to repeat 3rd grade because the parent-teacher conference you had last week got really, really ugly?
- The other cable guy who comes to fix the problem the first cable guy couldn’t fix
- Anything you stub your toe on.
- Congress – because unless you’re making a major campaign contribution or have a radio show that reaches 20 million people they can’t hear you.
- Your boss.
- Your spouse’s boss – because if you yell at your boss and get fired, you have only yourself to blame, but if you yell at your spouse’s boss and he or she gets fired, you not only have yourself to blame but your spouse has you to blame, too, and if you think it took a long time to be forgiven for, say, denting the car, imagine how long you’ll suffer for this!
- Your parents.
- Your irons, putter and sand wedge. (But not, oddly enough, your woods because swearing at them does actually seem to help.)
- Bills.
- Yourself.
- Fate/providence/karma.
- Life.
But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel good when you do.
It seems like there are two kinds of divorces: the ones where the split is amicable, or at least free from a restraining order, and the ones you get caught in the middle of – where the pain, hatred, contempt, frustration, mistrust and loathing go on long after the marriage ends.
Staying neutral can be a challenge for even the most savvy and diplomatic, but usually – eventually – you’re sucked in:
BITTER EX-HUSBAND: Can you believe my ex-wife! She’s such a selfish, spoiled, careless, mean, stupid, cow. Don’t you think?
YOU: Uh… I couldn’t say.
BITTER EX-HUSBAND: Trust me, she is. I’m sure you’ve seen her act that way. You can admit it, she’s a heartless, bossy, mean-spirited, nitpicking, ego-centric, man-hating shrew.
YOU: I.. uh… I guess I haven’t really seen that side of her, but.. uh… I’m sure you know here better than I do.
BITTER EX-HUSBAND: ‘course I know her: I was married to her. And trust me: she’s a first class bitc-
YOU: Hey! Will you look at the time? I really have to go.
BITTER EX-HUSBAND: What’s your problem? You’re on her side, aren’t you?
YOU: I’m not on anyone’s side.
BITTER EX-HUSBAND: My God, she’s turned you against me, too.
YOU: I barely even know her.
BITTER EX-HUSBAND: Yeah, right – you think she’s a saint and I’m an abusive, controlling, foul-mouthed jerk.
YOU: Uh…
BITTER EX-HUSBAND: That’s the exactly the same thing she’s done to our friends, that clueless therapist she dragged us to go see, her lawyer, the neighbors, even my kids. Well you know what? Screw you.
As ugly as these conversations can be, at least they don’t require you to anything more than walk away. What can be worse is when you’re pressed into service:
BITTER EX-WIFE: Say, I’ve been meaning to ask you: you see my ex-husband when he picks up the kids, right?
YOU: Yeah, at the playground after school.
BITTER EX-WIFE:: Interesting.
YOU: Uh-oh.
BITTER EX-WIFE:: I say “interesting” because I’m hearing some things that are just a little troubling.
YOU: I’m sorry to hear that.
BITTER EX-WIFE: Not troubling because I still secretly want him back, or blame him for ruining my life and am looking for ways to exact revenge, but because I’m concerned the children might be exposed to something inappropriate.
YOU: Uh…
BITTER EX-WIFE: Have you ever seen him with a girl that’s much too young for him?
YOU: I can’t say.
BITTER EX-WIFE: If you did, would you let me know?
YOU: I don’t think it would be right for me to spy on your ex-husband.
BITTER EX-WIFE: Oh, heaven’s no – I’m not asking you to spy: just keep on eye on him and his whore for me. And if you can get video or a picture, that would be even better.
Fortunately, there is one benefit to being caught in the middle of this kind of animosity: it reminds you to treat your own spouse with a little more kindness and compassion, if for no other reason the last thing you want is to put your friends, neighbors or even acquaintances in the position of being the “you” in any of the exchanges above.
ME: So… how much did I gain?
MY SCALE: You don’t want to know.
ME: C’mon, it can’t be that bad.
MY SCALE: Not if you’re sumo wrestler.
ME: What?!?!?
MY SCALE: Just think of yourself as being “fat but fit.”
ME: I think I’m gonna cry.
MY SCALE: Well… each ounce of tears weigh .0652 pounds, so that’s one way to lose weight.
ME: You make it sound like I’m obese.
MY SCALE: See that mirror?
ME: You mean the one I covered with a towel so I wouldn’t have to look at myself?
MY SCALE: If that’s not a cry for help, what is?
ME: You try losing weight at my age!
MY SCALE: Your age has nothing to do with it — besides the fact that whenever you think about it you get depressed and eat a gallon of Ben & Jerry’s.
ME: I do not.
MY SCALE: You think I’m lying?
ME: It wouldn’t be the first time.
MY SCALE: Please… Scales don’t lie.
ME: How else can you explain my weight?
MY SCALE: Uh… maybe the fact that you’ve been taking in more calories than you burn?
ME: I know for a fact that’s not true. Just look at what I eat? Fruit. Vegetables. Chicken. Fish. Whole grains.
MY SCALE: Plus ice cream and cookies when nobody is looking, half of whatever food you make for your kids but they don’t finish, a piece of cheese before bedtime, wine…
ME: Wine is good for you.
MY SCALE: A glass is good, not a bottle.
ME: Sometimes I just need something to help me relax at night.
MY SCALE: Or on weekends.
ME: That only happens every once in a while. And that doesn’t…
MY SCALE: You were gonna say “count,” weren’t you?
ME: No.
MY SCALE: I’m not judging. I get it. Sometimes you just need a double- chocolate brownie before you go to bed… Or a mocha frappuccino… Or some of that spinach dip from Whole Foods. My point is that all those calories count, even if you don’t count them.
ME: Says you.
MY SCALE: Do you really think that every time you step on the scale I’m secretly adding 20 pounds?
ME: No, not 20 pounds… more like 30 pounds.
MY SCALE: You’re hopeless.
ME: And you’re a liar. So you know what I’m going to do?
MY SCALE: Let me guess: stick me back in the closet until I learn to be more accurate.
ME: Exactly.
MY SCALE: That’s what you said last month.
ME: Right, and clearly you haven’t learned your lesson — because last month you were only off by 20 pounds.
- Don’t make yourself at home.
- If you stay longer than invited, you will not be asked to come back.
- Ever.
- There is no maid.
- Seriously — NO MAID, which means whichever host you are related to, or knew first, will end up cleaning up after you (though probably not until after a long, ugly argument).
- If you bring a pet, make sure your pet is housebroken.
- On second thought, no pets.
- When we say “if you need anything, just ask,” we don’t expect you to take us up on it.
- But if you really do need something, we’d prefer if you would let us find it for you rather than snooping looking for it in our drawers, closets, cabinets, etc. yourself.
- Pottery Barn rules apply: you break it, you buy it.
- This rule applies to kids, too.
- If you forget your toothbrush, razor, underwear or prescription anti-depressants, please don’t borrow ours.
- Just because you walk around naked at home doesn’t mean you should do that here, if for no other reason than seeing you naked will forever change our impression of you, and probably not for the better.
- Please refrain from discussing politics, religion or anything else unless you are certain your views are in line with ours, or that we like to argue.
- You know that ugly piece of art we have on the wall in the living room? We don’t think it’s ugly.
- On a related note, you know the voice you use when you don’t want anyone to hear you? We can still hear you.
- Please keep in mind that we invited you, not members of your extended family.
- Flush.
- And knock.
- If you don’t think you can abide by these rules, stay home.
- Unless you are family.
- And then only come during the holidays, when we are more likely to be forgiving.
- And which only come once a year.
- To go to the gym three days a week for two weeks, then once a week for the next three to five weeks, then three time a week for a week or two, then twice a week for one week before stopping entirely and resolving to resolve to go to the gym more next year.
- To go on a diet until something happens to necessitate a massive intake of comfort food that will lead to the slow, steady return of the bad eating habits that become entrenched in 2009.
- To talk about going on vacation someplace new and different, but then go to the same place as last year and the year before and the year before that because it’s easy and cheap and who needs the stress and uncertainty of a big trip anyway?
- To buy a lot of books about getting organized, but never have time to read them, let alone utilize any of their tips and suggestions.
- To spend more quality time with the kids, but only when its convenient and/or they’re not being needy, loud, destructive, insolent or pouty, which is probably never.
- To be greener, but only in ways that don’t involve hardship, self-sacrifice or extra work because, let’s face it, the environment is important but there’s just too much going on right now.
- To try to cope with the stress of modern life in a productive way, but eventually give up and just over-eat, drink an extra glass of wine or two each night, and take a variety of prescription medications.
- To save more and spend less, unless there’s a really great sale.
- To be anxious about the economy, health and well-being, work, family, marriage, saving for college and the future, but hopefully not all at once unless there’s a bottle of wine handy.
- To come home after a difficult day at work and yell at the kids for no apparent reason, but then feel more guilty about it than normal.
- To tell the kids again and again to “be careful” and then not be completely surprised when they aren’t and must be rushed to the emergency room for stitches and/or a cast.
- To worry less about what other people think, unless those other people are the neighbors, selected co-workers or somebody we want to impress.
- To find meaning and purpose in life, but then forget what it is thanks to chronic sleep deprivation, the never-ending demands of work and our household’s perpetual state of chaos.
- To maintain a positive mental state, even though it still looks like we’re all screwed.
Google is great for finding the answers to obscure trivia questions, getting directions, locating the only a 24-hour-a-day pet walker in your neighborhood, etc.
But it’s terrible for health symptoms.
Search: bloody nose
See 1 to 10 of about 1,234,784, 987 results for “horrible wasting diseases.”
You’d think a program that’s sophisticated enough to be able to figure out what you really want to search for even when you type in the wrong word or phrase – “Did you mean most commonly misspelled words?” – would be smart enough to filter out (or at least de-prioritize) the rare, deadly, one-in-a-million diseases that always seem to pop up when you search for something minor.
Search: headache
See 1 to 10 of about 1,831,187,321 results for “things you shouldn’t worry too much about.”
But no.
Instead, you’re faced with a page of terrifying results.
(If not 10… 20… or even 30 pages of terrifying results, but who really knows since the information on first page alone is enough to make even the most anxiety-proof person pass out from a panic attack?)
All of which would be fine – even amusing – if a visit to the doctor’s office (or emergency room, if you’re really alarmed) offered relief.
But it doesn’t because even if your M.D. has to muffle a snicker when you admit you googled your symptoms and freaked out when you read the results, the closest thing you’ll get to being told you’re 100% healthy is a vague reassurance that “it’s probably nothing.”
Why?
Because doctors use Google, too.
Search: malpractice
See 1 to 10 of about 4,876,876,987,382,876 results for “multi-million dollar settlement for not spotting rare, deadly, one in a million disease in anxious patient.”
- Door dings.
- Trash bins that are supposed to be animal-proof but aren’t.
- Dropped calls.
- FEDEX drivers who double-park.
- Stores that post the wrong hours online.
- Meter maids.
- Parents who bring their kids to daycare when they’re sick.
- Traffic.
- Drivers who make phone calls instead of turning.
- Construction delays.
- Drivers who don’t wait their turn at 4-way stops.
- Tele-marketers who claim they don’t have to heed the “Do Not Call” registry because you’re a customer of their subsidiaries’ off-shore cousin’s shell company.
- SUVs parked in compact spaces.
- Chatty baristas who don’t seem to care/realize there are now 37 people in line.
- The drive-thru (especially McDonald’s).
- Golf.
- People who don’t pick up after their pets.
- News promos that use the words “deadly,” “outbreak,” and “protect yourself” when all they’re actually talking about is the flu.
- Parents who call before 8:30 am.
- Activities that are canceled or postponed by e-mail a few hours before they’re supposed to start.
- Radio stations that have 25 minutes of commercials every hour.
- Things at the supermarket that are still on the shelves days, weeks or months after their expiration date.
- Cable-company DVRs.
- Apple Airport Extreme Wi-Fi.
- Universal remotes.
- Spellcheck.
- When your kids hide your keys.
- Saran Wrap.
If Eskimos have a thousand words for snow, shouldn’t we have a thousand words for life’s little irritations?
For most of us, a day doesn’t go by that God, the universe, fate, karma, quantum physics or all-of-the-above don’t needle our emotional well-being, usually when we’re running late, just had an argument with our spouse or suddenly realized we forgot to get a babysitter for tomorrow night so we could go to dinner and a movie and finally get a break from all this crap.
It doesn’t help that these cosmic paper cuts never seem to be isolated one- offs, either, but instead come in sets, like celebrity deaths and unsolicited parenting suggestions from opinionated strangers – it’s not just the long line at Starbucks, it’s having them mess up your order twice and then spilling your extra-hot, half-caf hazelnut mocha down the front of your shirt as you pull out of the parking lot.
The impact of these little irritations – and they are little, even if we can’t figure out how not to sweat them – increases exponentially as the day progresses, to the point where we find ourselves cursing some 82-year-old women with a walker because she’s not crossing the street fast enough, or threatening to ground our kids for the rest of their natural lives if they EVER give the dog another peanut butter and jelly sandwich again, or contemplating divorce because our spouse forgot (again) to fill up the car when it got close to empty, leaving us in the position of having to coast down the hill to the Shell.
Psychologists say the only reason any of this stuff annoys us the way it does is because it reminds us that we’re not really in control (no matter how thoroughly we’ve managed to convince ourselves otherwise) and that ultimately mastering the moment isn’t nearly as important as just being in it, regardless of whether that moment is good, bad, satisfying, awful, rewarding, stressful, happy, sad, amusing, aggravating, etc.
But as nice as that sounds (in a zen-like, higher-consciousness kind of way), who has the time to learn how to do that? Or the energy? Or the patience?
If learning to live in the moment can’t be accomplished in one 30-minute session two times a week, in the car on the drive home from work, or during one of those rare moments when every kid in the house is quietly pre-occupied, then it just becomes one more thing we don’t have time to squeeze in but try to do anyway – or would try to do if we didn’t have to wait for the knucklehead in the car ahead of us to get off the phone and go.
Note: It’s easy to complain about life’s little irritations, but it’s also important to point out that we could probably eliminate entire categories of irritation if we really, really wanted to – just moving to a remote cabin in Montana and living off the land, for example, would instantly rid us of driving-, shopping-, neighbor-, school- and work-related annoyances (though it would probably more than make up for that by adding starvation-, bear attack-, hypothermia-, and isolation-related irritations, so maybe that’s not such a good trade-off. Plus, let’s not forget that Unabomber Ted Kaczynski moved to a remote cabin in Montana so he could get away from it all and look what happened to him).
With a single Thanksgiving meal packing a full day-and-half’s worth of calories, it’s easy to see why so many of us find ourselves slumped on the sofa in front of the TV after everyone has gone home, groaning, bloated, unable to move and wondering why we feel so bad.
Fortunately, there is a simple way to prevent this kind of excess on Thanksgiving: go vegan.
While many can’t imagine Thanksgiving without turkey, gravy and sausage-based stuffing, that’s the whole point: if you fill your table with stuff you don’t like and normally wouldn’t ever eat, you can’t possibly eat too much.
True, nut roll, tempeh and all-the-vegetables-you-can-eat might not sound very appealing to some, but keep in mind that you can still booze it up.
(And while that, too, may leave you slumped on the sofa in front of the TV after everyone has gone home, you won’t be groaning, bloated, unable to move and wondering why you feel so bad, you’ll just be passed out).
Gobble. Gobble. Gobble.
Editor’s note: What if you’re already vegan? Do just the opposite: go un-vegan. Not only will the shock of all that animal flesh make you instantly sick — and therefore unable to overeat — throwing up at the table will also help your friends and family because the sight, sound and smell of your vomit will likely cause them to vomit, too, and then nobody will be able to eat, let alone overeat.
Everybody makes fun of Driver’s License photographs, but how good could anyone look after spending three hours and 19 minutes at a place like the DMV?
The walls are painted a government-approved shade of beige that seems to have been chosen for its ability to induce nausea. God only knows what kind of deadly germs and pathogens are breeding freely on the furniture (which looks like it was bought on the cheap at a Nixon Administration yard sale and then left in a basement storage room for three decades). And if you think tinnitus is irritating, it’s a lullaby compared to the hum given off by row after row of cheap fluorescent lights.
Still, that would all be tolerable if you could just take a number and wait by yourself.
But you can’t.
If you’ve ever wondered what the people on “Cops” do when they’re not getting arrested, or what somebody who considers personal hygiene to be optional looks like, all you have to do is turn to either side of you and say “hello.”
Clearly, somebody has been peeing in the gene pool.
How else can you explain the toothless, tattooed biker chick/meth addict taking the motorcycle test who doesn’t see the problem with asking the proctor if he can give her a hint? Or the old lady renewing her license who insists she doesn’t need a vision test, but then can’t even find the line she’s supposed to stand behind to take it? Or the guy at the center of a booze-cloud you can smell from 20 feet away who gets upset because they won’t let him re-take his driver’s test right now?
As bad as it is to be near people like this, however, it’s a whole lot worse when you realize you’re no different than people like this – because when you get up to the window and the clerk says you need two additional pieces of ID, not one like you thought, you protest…
And say nobody told you…
And say you’ve been waiting all morning already…
And say that they should make an exception…
And say the rules are stupid…
And say they are stupid for enforcing them…
And say just about every idiotic thing you can think of, until you finally realize you are saying every idiotic thing you can think of.
At which point you go home, get another ID, and wait in line all over again.
And then they take your picture.
Click.
- Showering.
- Getting dressed in the morning.
- Punctuality.
- Watching a TV show all the way through in one sitting.
- Airport security checkpoints.
- Walking through the house without tripping over a toy (or a toddler).
- Talking on the phone.
- Going to the toilet by yourself.
- Peace and quiet.
- Driving anywhere more than 15 minutes away.
- Scheduling.
- Maintaining order.
- Arguing with your spouse. (Especially because swear words tend to get re- peated over and over by the little ears that hear them.)
- Dinner (because they want to help make it and/or because they hate every- thing you suggest).
- Administering oral medications.
- Keeping your shoes in order on the floor of your walk-in closet.
- Logic and reason.
- Staying in bed all day when you’re sick.
- Keeping food off your clothes.
- Keeping make-up in the top drawer of the vanity.
- Vacuuming.
- Sex. (Which you’re probably too tired to want, anyway.)
- Talking to other adults like they’re adults.
- Working from home.
- Writing anything longer than a list.
1.
PARENTS: Hi, we’re X’s parents. You must be… Hey, you don’t look so good!
TEACHER: I just need to sit down.
PARENTS: Are you alright? Should we call the school nurse or something?
TEACHER: No, I just get nauseous whenever I hear your child’s name.
2.
PARENTS: Hi, we’re X’s parents.
TEACHER: Who?
PARENTS: X?!?!?!
TEACHER: Are you sure he’s in my class?
PARENTS: He sits right here, right in front of you.
TEACHER: I guess he hasn’t made much of an impression on me, but why don’t you have a seat anyway.
3.
PARENTS: Hi, we’re X’s parents.
TEACHER: Glad you could make it. Now, if you’ll just follow me, the principal wants to talk with you as well.
4.
PARENTS: Hi, we’re X’s parents.
TEACHER: Nice to meet you.
PARENTS: And this is our lawyer, Gloria Allred.
5.
PARENTS: Hi, we’re X’s parents.
TEACHER: Yes, he talks about you a lot.
PARENTS: That’s good.
TEACHER: …with the school psychologist.
PARENTS: Oh.
Our legal system guarantees the accused a fair and speedy trial, proof of guilt “beyond reasonable doubt” and punishment that isn’t “cruel or unusual.” Fortunately, these same rights don’t extend to children — something every parent who’s ever come home stressed, worried, angry or anxious about something else and just exploded at their kids can take comfort in.
(As if parenting wasn’t hard enough, just imagine what it would be like if you had to be fair and reasonable every minute of every day.)
In light of that, a short, incomplete list of crimes, punishments and the real reason behind them:
Crime: Cheetos
Punishment: brown rice, tofu and vegetables for dinner every night for the rest of the month
Real reason: mom started a new diet, has somehow gained 3.5 pounds
Crime: putting hotels on Boardwalk and Park Place just before dad lands on it
Punishment: game over, everybody sent to bed
Real reason: one of dad’s fraternity brothers just made the Forbes 400
Crime: putting hotels on Boardwalk and Park Place just before dad lands on it
Punishment: game over, everybody sent to bed, dad sits in living room drink- ing whiskey
Real reason: one of dad’s brothers just made the Forbes 400
Crime: acting like a 4-year-old
Punishment: no more Chuck E. Cheese’s, ever
Real reason: as if an hour at Chuck E. Cheese’s wasn’t bad enough, you’ve now been there for three
Crime: one sibling violates another’s personal space by “not touching”
Punishment: turn car around, go home
Real reason: dad just got the taxes back from the accountant, who said “child care” wasn’t deductible
Crime: answering the phone
Punishment: fined $50
Real reason: it’s fundraising season and charities are exempt from the “Do Not Call” registry
Crime: leaving a single cookie crumb on the kitchen counter
Punishment: helping clean the entire house from top to bottom, including the back yard
Real reason: mother-in-law coming, will mentally perform “white glove test” the second she arrives
Crime: getting out dad’s “Stripes” DVD
Punishment: no TV for the rest of the week
Real reason: it’s not really a “Stripes” DVD (wink, wink, nudge, nudge)
Crime: missing the toilet
Punishment: a good talking-to
Real reason: mom and dad spent the day cleaning up somebody else’s mess at work, just can’t handle doing it at home right now
Crime: not finishing food
Punishment: 20-minute lecture on how food costs a lot of money that we can’t afford to be wasting right now
Real reason: employment figures released, stocks plunged, housing market dropped even lower, etc.
- Even if you are the first person in line, first thing in the morning, you will end up waiting an hour and a half.
- Anything that can be screwed up will be screwed up.
- Just because you are half-blind, senile, psychotic or drunk doesn’t mean you can’t renew your license — though if you’re half-blind you’ll have to take the vision test.
- The fact that you’re supposed to take a number when you walk in only confuses the people in front of you who never learned to count.
- Instructions are in Albanian, Arabic, Bosnian, Cambodian, Chinese, English, Farsi, French, German, Greek, Hebrew, Italian, Korean, Lithuanian, Polish, Portuguese, Russian, Somalian, Spanish, Turkish, Thai and Vietnamese, but stupidity seems to be the same in any language.
- If your car gets stolen, it is likely the person who stole it is waiting in line in front of you.
- Saying you “work at the DMV” is kind of misleading – a more accurate description would be to say you “do as little work as you possibly can so you don’t get fired from the DMV.”
- No matter how fat you are, there will be a woman ahead of you who weighs at least 100 pounds more than you do. (This may be the one positive thing about the DMV.)
- One couple waiting in line will get into a huge, screaming argument.
- One couple waiting in line will dry hump each other until a DMV employee asks them to stop.
- Somebody will video this couple and post it on Youtube.
- If you think a set of instructions are so simple even a moron could follow them, the moron in line in front of you will prove you wrong, and require up to 25 minutes of redundant, repetitive picture-based explanation before he or she realizes you can’t just take the driver’s test and get a license, you must actually pass it first.
- If you accidentally marked “A” even though you know the answer is “None of the above,” you still have to re-take the test.
- If the fee is $25 and you only have $23, you are $2 short no matter how many times you say “Please” or “Couldn’t you just cut me a little slack?”
- Even if there are 50 open seats, somebody will sit down right next to you.
- The person who sits down next to you will make you consider leaving and coming back tomorrow, even if you have already waited two hours and are next in line.
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- What do you do if you just don’t get it?
- Does that mean you’re hopelessly out of touch?
- Or that you have better things to do?
- If you do sign up now, doesn’t that mean the whole thing is that much closer to being uncool? And that everybody under 25 is already moving on to something else?
- What if you sign up and nobody wants to be your friend?
- What if you sign up and nobody wants to be your friend except people you don’t want to be friends with?
- If somebody invites you to be their friend but you have no idea who they are, should you still accept?
- And if you don’t accept, should you explain why?
- Will they hate you?
- If somebody doesn’t accept your friend request, should you take it personally?
- If you do take it personally even though you haven’t talked to the person in 10 or 15 years, is that strange?
- What if your boss wants to be your friend?
- Or your creepy neighbor?
- Or the person who got drunk at the last neighborhood block party and tried to hit on you?
- If you sign your parents up because you think they will get a kick out of it but then they start posting updates you find embarrassing, stupid or just a huge waste of time, will they cut you out of their will if you unfriend them?
- If you run into somebody you’ve unfriended at the supermarket, do you have to ignore them?
- Will they ignore you?
- When you create your profile, should you make it public or private?
- If it’s public, how much personal information should you share?
- If it’s private, how much personal information is too much personal information?
- Can you exaggerate?
- Is everybody else exaggerating?
- If you look at the photos of your friends from high school to see if they are fatter than you are before including your own photo, does that make you a shallow person?
- If you look at the photos of your friends from high school to see if they are fatter than you are before photoshopping your own photo, does that make you a bad person?
- If you don’t post very often, will your friends think you’re just too boring?
- If you post all the time, will your friends think you’re just too bored?
- What if your updates are stupid?
- What if your updates are pointless?
- What if your updates are way too long and personal?
- What if nobody ever responds to your posts? Ever? Does that mean you’re a loser?
- Or just offline?
- What if you just don’t want to tell everyone what you’re doing?
- If you are pissed off about something and/or drunk and you respond to a friend’s post with an update that’s mean-spirited or cruel, can you just send them an e-mail to say you’re sorry?
- Or do you have to make the apology public, too?
- Where does it all end?
- If you reluctantly sign up for Facebook, how long before you then have to sign up for Twitter?
- And if have no time for Facebook updates, how are you going to find time to tweet?
- What is a tweet, anyway?
- At what point does all this social networking become too much for anyone to keep up with?
- Have we reached that point already?
- And if we have, could somebody please go to Facebook or Twitter and say so?
Everybody draws a blank sometimes, especially tired, distracted, frustrated parents. So what do you do when you need a threat but just can’t think of one? Click the box below to randomly generate a generic threat that should work for just about any occasion.
| Threat: |
If you don't stop right now I’ll unplug the TiVo. | |
To generate other responses, just click the bold text in the box above.
HUSBAND: What are you doing?
WIFE: Watching TV.
HUSBAND: I can see that, but why aren’t you watching in HD?
WIFE: Do we get this channel in HD?
HUSBAND: Of course! Don’t you remember the expanded super-premium top tier all-access HD cable package I told you about?
WIFE: No.
HUSBAND: Let me show you: this is what you were watching… and this is the same channel in HD.
WIFE: What’s the difference?
HUSBAND: What’s the difference?!?!?!?
WIFE: Besides the extra $1000 you spent on the really, really big screen, instead of putting it into the college fund.
HUSBAND: It’s not just the size. Can’t you see how much better the resolution is? This is a 720p HD signal on a 1080p monitor, not that up-converted 480i crap you were watching.
WIFE: I don’t even know what you’re saying. Can’t I just want to watch the show?
HUSBAND: I don’t know why I even bother trying to explain this stuff.
WIFE: I don’t know why you even think I’d care. But while you’re standing there, go into the closet and grab my gray cashmere sweater, will you?
HUSBAND: Fine. Here.
WIFE: I said “gray cashmere.”
HUSBAND: That’s what this is.
WIFE: It’s not gray, it’s charcoal.
HUSBAND: Huh?
WIFE: And it’s not cashmere, it’s wool.
HUSBAND: What’s the difference?
- More people are worried about H1N1 than will ever contract H1N1.
- No matter how often you wash your hands, avoid public places and keep six feet from anyone who looks sick, somebody you know won’t, and that’s who you’ll catch it from.
- The same health experts who remind us that H1N1 isn’t really that much worse than the regular seasonal flu remind us that the regular seasonal flu kills 36,000 every year, so we should still get vaccinated.
- None of which matters since there’s no vaccine right now anyway.
- That said, if you’re one of those people who won’t get the vaccine when it’s available because you think it will give you the flu, you won’t get the shot and you won’t get the flu.
- If you’re one of those people who thinks that people who won’t get the shot because they think it will give them the flu are stupid, you’ll get the shot and you’ll get the flu, confirming their suspicions. (Though you won’t have contracted H1N1 from the vaccine, you’ll have gotten it from the person in front of you at the flu shot line.)
- This is an actual recommendation for preventing the spread of H1N1: “If you do have swine flu, do your best to stay out of the emergency room, doctor’s office or urgent-care center.” So where are sick people supposed to go? (Besides — depending on their politics — their Congressperson’s office or the lobby of their health insurance provider.)
- There is one benefit to H1N1: employers are actually encouraging employees to stay home if they’re not feeling well, which is particularly good to know given the fact that the symptoms of H1N1 are exactly the same as a bad hangover, and the holidays are coming up.
- Given how freaked out people are about H1N1, you’d think you could get infected just by reading about it.
- On the other hand, nobody has said you can’t.
The end.
KID: What’s Daylight Savings?
PARENT: It’s when we set our clocks back an hour.
KID: What does that mean?
PARENT: It means what used to be 10:00 is now 9:00, so there’s actually an extra hour in the day.
KID: Which day?
PARENT: Today.
KID: That’s a relief – I was afraid it was gonna be when I was in school.
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PARENT: Did you decide what you want to be yet?
KID: A vampire.
PARENT: I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.
KID: Why?
PARENT: You’re not supposed to be anything anyone might find inappropriate.
KID: Seriously?
PARENT: That’s what it said in the paper.
KID: I guess I could be G.I.JOE.
PARENT: No, you can’t do that because your school has a zero-tolerance policy on weapons.
KID: What if I leave the plastic gun at home?
PARENT: You’d still get expelled for wearing a holster.
KID: How about I go as a hobo?
PARENT: That’s culturally insensitive.
KID: You were an Indian when you were a kid, what about that?
PARENT: That’s racially insensitive.
KID: A wrinkly old man?
PARENT: That’s ageist.
KID: The Devil?
PARENT: Too many people think Halloween glorifies Satanism, so that’s not a good idea either.
KID: How about I just throw a sheet over my head and go as a ghost?
PARENT: No.
KID: Why?
PARENT: Covering your face like that would be a safety issue.
KID: Then what should I be?
PARENT: How about a clown?
KID: No way – clowns are too scary.
Halloween is supposed to be the one night of the year you can let your kids eat too much candy without feeling guilty about it, which makes an in-depth article like this one on CNN.com not only depressing, but irresponsible, mean-spirited and wholly inappropriate.
Boo-hiss, CNN.
Next time have the courtesy to run this after Halloween is over.
CUSTOMER: Hi, I have a complaint.
CUSTOMER SERVICE DEPARTMENT: I’m sorry to hear that.
CUSTOMER: Really?
CUSTOMER SERVICE DEPARTMENT: No, we’re just trained to say that. Our real goal is to do the very least we can, in the least amount of time, and make sure you don’t throw a fit.
CUSTOMER: But aren’t I a valued customer?
CUSTOMER SERVICE DEPARTMENT: “Yes” in the sense that without our customers we’d go out of business, but “No” in the sense that we don’t care about you personally.
CUSTOMER: But I spend over a thousand dollars a month here!
CUSTOMER SERVICE DEPARTMENT: That might sound like a lot, but our margins are so tight, the profit on that thousand dollars probably won’t even cover what the company has to pay me to talk to you right now.
CUSTOMER: So the company is losing money on this conversation?
CUSTOMER SERVICE DEPARTMENT: Yes.
CUSTOMER: Good.
CUSTOMER SERVICE DEPARTMENT: Not really, because we then have to make cuts in other departments to make up for it.
CUSTOMER: Are you suggesting that the more I complain, the more other departments suffer, which means the more likely there are to be things to complain about?
CUSTOMER SERVICE DEPARTMENT: Yes. I’m saying this is actually all your fault.
CUSTOMER: My fault?!?!?!
CUSTOMER SERVICE DEPARTMENT: Truth hurts, don’t it?
CUSTOMER: But all I did was buy a chicken from you – a chicken that was rotten.
CUSTOMER SERVICE DEPARTMENT: That’s right, you bought it. And now you’re complaining about it. Which means instead of having somebody in the poultry department making sure the chickens aren’t green and spoiled, we have to have somebody standing here belittling your complaints.
CUSTOMER: But that doesn’t make any sense.
CUSTOMER SERVICE DEPARTMENT: We’re the Customer Service Department, we don’t have to make sense.
- The first thing you do when you wake up in the morning is look for somebody to blame.
- No matter what anyone says, you completely disagree.
- There are no accidents or innocent mistakes: everything everybody does to you is “on purpose.”
- You yell at your spouse for breathing too loudly.
- You yell at the dog for laying around the house all day doing nothing.
- You yell at your kids for almost anything, and then you feel so bad about you break down and cry.
- Even though you’re not hungry, you stand at the fridge eating (usually whatever you can reach, instead of something you might enjoy).
- You stop going to Starbucks because you can’t take the pressure.
- Everything you say ends with a threat.
- You find yourself staring at a stranger whose face is locked in a permanent scowl for two or three minutes before you realize you’re standing in front of a mirror.
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WIFE: Do these pants make me look fat?
HUSBAND: A little.
WIFE: What?!?!?
HUSBAND: I mean… No.
WIFE: Then why did you say “Yes?”
HUSBAND: I didn’t say “yes,” I said “a little.”
WIFE: No, you said “Oh my God! You look like a cow. Your butt is bigger than your aunt’s.”
HUSBAND: I did not.
WIFE: But that’s what you meant.
HUSBAND: I think I know what I meant and it wasn’t anything like that.
WIFE: Then what did you mean?
HUSBAND: Uh…
WIFE: You’re trying to think of a way out of this, aren’t you?
HUSBAND: No.
WIFE: I can see it in your eyes.
HUSBAND: I am not trying to… THE CUT!
WIFE: What?
HUSBAND: It’s not your butt, it’s the cut. The cut of those pants is… is… is… unflattering.
WIFE: Really?
HUSBAND: I swear.
WIFE: See… that’s what I thought, too. And then the sales associate started hovering and she said they looked great, so I felt pressured and I got them but I never wear them because I think they make me look fat.
HUSBAND: Because the cut is so bad.
WIFE: It really is, isn’t it?
HUSBAND: I bet that sales associate just wanted her commission.
WIFE: No kidding. That’s why I like to shop online – I can try everything on and then just return what doesn’t fit.
HUSBAND: Makes perfect sense to me.
WIFE: Let me change into something else and then we’ll go.
HUSBAND: SIGH.
WIFE: What?
HUSBAND: I didn’t say anything.
WIFE: You sighed.
HUSBAND: I don’t think so.
WIFE: You let out a big, huge sigh.
HUSBAND: No.
WIFE: Like you dodged a bullet or something.
HUSBAND: No.
WIFE: You’re not lying about the pants, are you?
HUSBAND: No.
WIFE: Then why did you sigh?
HUSBAND: Oh that! That was just a burp. I think I have a little indigestion.
WIFE: You should probably take some Prilosec.
HUSBAND: Why don’t I do that while you change into something more flattering.
WIFE: Just give me 10 minutes.
Most school districts have guidelines for homework, which are generally 10 minutes per night per grade. This information is usually included in the “Back to School” handout, or available on a web site.
What they don’t tell you is that they don’t mean students are expected to spend 10 minutes per night per grade doing homework, they mean parents are expected to spend 10 minutes per night per grade — usually just to get your kids to sit down and get started, too.
Add to that the time it takes to make them double-check their work, re-read the directions so they do it right this time, call a classmate when the finally admit they can’t re-read the directions because they “forgot” them at school, re-do everything one more time… and then suddenly it’s 10:30 and you’re wondering where your evening went.
And that’s on a good night.
On a bad night, you have to factor in the additional time it takes to wipe away the tears your grade school kid sheds because they’re afraid that when you scream you’re going to throw all the video games and game players in the house in the trash if they don’t focus “RIGHT NOW!” you actually mean it, or the time it takes to think up the increasingly harsh forms of punishment you threaten your jr. high or high school kid with to get them to quite screwing around and get their assignment done — note to Dick Cheney: getting a terrorist to write a detailed confession isn’t all that different than getting a kid to write a history paper, so imagine all the controversy you could have avoided if you’d just asked the nation’s parents to tell you what really works?
There’s also the time it takes you to work through the shame and embarrassment you feel when you realize you’ve forgotten so much Math, Science, History and Social Studies that even when you finally snap and scream “Here, just let me do it!” you can’t actually do it.
Cosine? Pi? The atomic number of ruthenium? The capital of Botswana? Uh…
There was a time when students got homework and if they didn’t do it they’d get yelled at the next day by their teacher, paddled, given detention, or forced to stay after class while everybody else went outside to play so they could write “I promise I will not forget to do my homework again” 100 times on the blackboard.
Now parents are responsible.
Which means when there’s a note that gets sent home because there’s a problem, it blames you, asking what the Hell kind of uninvolved, uninterested, unfit parent you are for failing on such a regular basis to get your kid to sit down every night to complete such a simple thing as each day’s assignment.
Or worse, all of the above plus the reminder that there’s a 25 page Social Studies report due on Friday:
YOU: I just got a note from your teacher.
YOUR KID: I know. I brought it home.
YOU: It says you have a paper due on Friday.
YOUR KID: Yeah, for Social Studies.
YOU: Have you started it yet?
YOUR KID: No.
YOU: Why not?
YOUR KID: ‘cause it’s only Wednesday. Duh.
What’s a parent to do?
If you’re like many, you’ll eventually turn to your own parents for help, asking them how they endured homework’s Long March.
But the only thing they’ll do is laugh and say there’s nothing you can do, and that as awful as your kids seem, they’re not any worse than you were when you were their age:
YOU: Wow.
YOUR PARENTS: Yeah, sometimes helping you with homework got so bad we had to stop and walk around the block.
YOU: I’m sorry I put you through all that.
YOUR PARENTS: We forgive you.
YOU: Thanks.
YOUR PARENTS: And when your kids call you in 20 or 30 years to say the exact same thing, you’ll forgive them, too.
YOU: I guess.
YOUR PARENTS: Besides, every minute of stress and frustration they cause you now, they’ll suffer when they get older and have to help their kids.
YOU: That’s supposed to make me feel better?
YOUR PARENTS: No, but it finally makes us feel better.
Ouch.
(On the other hand, whether it’s Math, Science or Social Studies when you’re a kid, or Parenting, Perspective and Anger Management when you’re an adult, it’s nice to know that you can still turn to your parents for help you with your homework.)
Now that the cold and (swine) flu season is upon us, it’s important to take a few moments to review the rules for when a child will be sent home:
- If your child is running a fever, your child will be sent home.
- If your child is vomiting, your child will be sent home.
- If your child is sneezing anything yellow or green, your child will be sent home.
- If your child “isn’t acting like himself,” your child will be sent home.
- If your child “looks like” he’s getting sick, your child will be sent home (even if he’s not sneezing, coughing or vomiting).
- If your child is just kind of being a pain in the ass and the teacher can’t really deal with it anymore and there have been confirmed cases of H1N1 at the school, your child will be sent home.
- If another child is sick but that child’s parents can’t be reached, your child will be sent home.
- If your child is fine but three or more other children in the same class who sit near your child are sent home, your child will be sent home.
- If another child coughs and sneezes on your child, your child will be sent home. (Though the sneezing child will be allowed to stay because his/her parents can’t be reached.)
- If you have a meeting or appointment you absolutely can’t miss, your child will be sent home.
- If your child is tired and cranky, your child will be sent home.
- If the teacher is tired and cranky, your child will be sent home.
- If you didn’t conceal your dislike for your child’s teacher at the last parent-teacher conference, your child will be sent home.
- If you usually rely on your parents to watch your child when your child is sick and they go out of town, have errands to run, or just can’t do it today, your child will be sent home.
- If you came promptly to pick up your child the last time your child was sent home, your child will be sent home.
- If you are sick, your child will be sent home.
And once your child has been sent home, your child must stay home for a minimum of either 48 hours from the onset of the first symptom, or 24 hours after the last symptom subsides, whichever is more inconvenient.
God bless Oprah and all the good she does in the world, but sometimes she – or, perhaps more accurately, her editors – get it wrong.
Case in point: the 10-point family guide to getting more sleep, which starts out sensibly enough, but quickly takes an impractical turn:
1. Make sleep a family priority.
2. Recognize sleep problems in your children.
For most parents, the problem isn’t recognizing the problem – it’s pretty obvious that kids don’t like going to sleep, ever, no matter how late it is or how tired they are – it’s figuring out what to do about it, other than turning to Benadryl.
3. Parents need to work together.
But we don’t.
It’s not “divide and conquer” so much as it is “You deal with it while I relax for a while and watch TV ‘cause I’ve had a rough day.”
4. Be consistent.
Ha.
5. Set a regular bedtime and wake time.
Parents already do this all the time, we’re just not very good at it. Because while most of us realize that bedtime should be 15 to 30 minutes before we finally reach the breaking point, and wake time should be whenever we finally get enough sleep to feel rested and alert – say 8:09 pm and 7:51 am – the reality is that bedtime is usually 15 minutes after the breaking point, and wake time is whatever time you absolutely, positively have to leave the house in the morning so you’re not late minus half the time you need to make breakfast, make lunches, make coffee, take a shower, get everyone dressed, settle whatever random fight breaks out that morning and kiss your spouse. (Unless you’re still fighting because you didn’t work together.)
6. Routine. Routine. Routine.
In your dreams. In your dreams. In your dreams – unless a “routine” can consist of a carefully planned series of random, unpredictable events to which no timeframe can ever logically be applied.
7. Dress and room temperature – not too hot, not too cold.
Oh, please – if one kid is too hot, the other is too cold, and if they’re fine, you’re uncomfortable. The only one who ever got anything “just right” was Goldilocks and she was make-believe.
8. Transitional object to ease separation – doll, stuffed animal, blanket.
Okay, but what do you do when the “transitional object” is Mom?
(While that might seem good for Dad, it’s bad for Mom, which means that ultimately it’s bad for Dad, too.)
9. Don’t share your room or your bed with your child.
Anyone with parents who weren’t hippies has heard this, but let’s examine the way it works in real life:
CHILD: Can I sleep with you?
PARENT: No.
CHILD: But I’m scared.
PARENT: No.
CHILD: And I don’t like being by myself.
PARENT: No.
CHILD: Why not?
PARENT: Because Oprah says you can’t.
CHILD: I hate Oprah. Oprah is mean. I’m never going to watch Oprah on TV again. (Unless she gives me a car*.)
Worse, the next night when your kid comes in it won’t be because there’s a monster under the bed, it’ll be because Oprah is there, too.
10. There’s always one last thing with kids, so anticipate.
Anticipate? One last thing? How about 10 last things? Or 20? Any parent who can do that is clearly psychic and should just hit the Atlantic City casinos and hire an army of nannies with the winnings.
For most parents, the most practical suggestion for getting more family sleep is to just be patient for 18 years or so, at which time the kids will finally be old enough to move on and sleep by themselves.
*Or recommends her audience checks out www.overcaffeinateddad.com.
>When did the Civil War start?
>What’s a dangling participle?
>How do you find the radius of a circle?
Homework may be be good for kids, but it’s bad for parents — what else could make an educated person feel like such an idiot?
KID: Is this answer right?
PARENT: What are you supposed to do?
KID: Find the slope of the line.
PARENT: Um… geometry wasn’t my best subject.
KID: This is algebra.
It’s one thing to forget something you only learned once, a long time ago, like what year World War II started, but it’s another to blank out completely on an entire subject.
(No wonder that nightmare where you find yourself back in school taking a test is so scary — you know for a fact you can’t pass.)
There was a time when parents could conceal their ignorance by telling their kids “Don’t forget to finish your homework!” before disappearing into the other room to watch TV for the rest of the night. But today’s schools send home so many hints and reminders it’s pretty clear they expect parents to not only actively check their kids’ homework, but participate in the doing of it, too.
PARENT: Any homework tonight?
KID: I have to measure the effects of pressure on memory by having you recite as many capitols as you can in under 60 seconds. Ready?
PARENT: I don’t need 60 seconds: Olympia, Washington; Sacramento, California; and I forget the other 48.
KID: Seriously?
PARENT: Geography wasn’t my best subject, either.
It’s not like you can defend yourself by admitting the real reason you’re not smarter than a 5th grader is because you don’t have to be, and that outside a limited number of professions, nobody really needs to know Π, the central theme of Dante’s Inferno, or how to say “Good Morning” in German.
(In Chinese, maybe, with the way the world is going, but definitely not in German.)
That’s worse than telling to a pre-schooler there’s no reason to be good because there’s no Santa Claus.
Leaving two ways to handle the homework knowledge gap: shrug it off and remind yourself that your kids are being graded, not you,* and that part of learning is learning how to do assignments on your own with no help from your parents.
Or hire a tutor.
For yourself.
*Parent-teacher conferences aside.
TO: PARENTS
FROM: YOUR SCHOOL DISTRICT
RE: 2009/2010
Greetings.
As we kick off the new school year, we thought it necessary to take a few moments to discuss some of the challenges we’re facing this year. As many of you know, the economy is still struggling and we have been hit particularly hard by state budget cuts.
Again — wasn’t Obama supposed to have fixed everything by now?
As a result, we have undertaken a series of steps to deal with this unfortunate situation, and ask for your understanding in this difficult time.
The first and most obvious change is a slight reduction in the total number of days school will be in session this year. In addition to usual holidays, we will also be observing Halloween, All Saints’ Day (in a non-denominational way), Dia De Los Muertos, Guy Fawkes Day, the Winter Solstice, The Great American Smoke Out, Pearl Harbor Day, World Religion Day (again, in a non-denominational way), The Day The Music Died Day, Groundhog Day, Valentine’s Day, Good Samaritan Day, The Ides of March, St. Patrick’s Day, April Fools’ and Arbor Day.
We had planned to observe Cinco De Mayo as well, but since the last day of class will now be April 15th, school will already be closed.
Our vacation schedule is undergoing some adjustments as well: Thanksgiving Break will now go through the end of the November, Winter Break will last until the day after Martin Luther Kind Day, and Spring Break will be March.
We will also be closing the school February 16-20 to give all parents a chance to take part in — depending on your situation — either a “Take Your Child to Work Week” or a series of field trips to The Unemployment Office, Health & Human Services, and various shelters and soup-kitchens.
We apologize for any inconvenience this might cause, but would like to point out that because these additional closure days will be unpaid, all teachers and administrators will be available for babysitting at the standard rate of $9/hr if your child is well-behaved, $25/hr. if he or she is not.
(If you’re not sure which category your kid falls into, ask the principal or one of the teachers to check the secret “trouble-maker” list in the office, or ask your child directly — though if talking to your child is not something you normally do, just go ahead and assume you’ll be paying the higher rate.)
In addition to schedule changes, we have also been forced to make adjustments to what we call “non-core classes,” or what most students refer to as “fun.”
Where we used to offer music class and after-school guitar, violin, flute and coronet lessons, we will now just have an iPod filled with classical music in the library that students can check out.
Art class will continue, thanks to the generous corporate support of Exxon, but will consist solely of students painting pictures of happy animals frolicking among oil derricks and pipelines in a global-warming-free world. And not with pastels or water-colors, either, but only oils.
The biggest change will be to shop class, which will be mandatory for all students, and will focus exclusively on offering them practical, hands-on experience, beginning with re-tarring the gymnasium roof, which was supposed to be paid for with federal stimulus funds, except the governor rejected them.
In light of all this, we are also revising our official “Back to School” supplies list to include the following:
- Work gloves
- Hard hat
- Safety goggles
- Notarized liability waiver
We have also changed the required quantities of the selected items.
Instead of:
Students will now be required to bring:
- 10 rolls of tape so the old torn-up text books that were pulled from the incinerator just before they were scheduled to be burned can be taped up and used for one more year
Instead of:
Students will now be required to bring:
- 120 oz. bottle of Whiteout to correct any outdated information in the above-mentioned text books such as references to the 48 states, the U.S.S.R., American economic dominance or The Great Depression — not because this type of information is incorrect, but because we don’t want students reading about it and freaking out that it still might happen again
Given increasing concern about Swine Flu, we also recommend each student bring:
- Medical-grade hand sanitizer
- Rubber gloves
- A hospital mask or filtered respirator
And where in past years we have discouraged students from brining an apple for their teacher out of food-safety concerns, we now not only encourage it, but suggest canned goods, cereal, grains and shelf-stable dairy products as well, as their pay has recently been involuntarily de-raised by 20%.
We appreciate your understanding and ask that any parents who are able should join us next Tuesday for a bake sale, where we’ll be offering a wide variety of donated cookies, cakes and pies all starting at $172.50 each.
Signed,
Your School District
P.S. We are also looking for unpaid volunteers, specifically five parents who just happen to have teaching certificates and can commit to spending five days a week from 9:00 am to 3:15 pm with between 20 and 30 students for the rest of the year.
No age group is immune to meltdowns, with even teenagers releasing their inner Linda Blair every now and then.
If you’re lucky, these unprovoked, uncontrollable eruptions occur in the privacy of your own home at the exact moment a parade of siren-wailing fire trucks, ambulances and police cars passes by, so there’s absolutely no chance the neighbors can hear anything and report you to the Department of Child and Family Services.
(And if you’re really lucky, you’re the parent of the one out of 1,000,000,000 kids who just don’t melt down. Ever. And not because they’re medicated all the time, either.)
Still, some places are worse for meltdowns than others:
Church
God won’t care, thankfully, but some of the parishioners sure will. And even though you are in a place of compassion and forgiveness, always remember that none of it will be directed at you if you can’t keep your kid quiet during the sermon.
Chuck E. Cheese
It’s only bad if your kid is the one who sets off the chain reaction of temper tantrums. And if that happens, get out of there fast.
At home, the minute before the new babysitter arrives
Because even if you manage to calm your kid down, you’ll clutch your cell phone the entire time you’re out, waiting for the babysitter’s exasperated call, making it all but impossible to enjoy the play, movie,
dinner, etc. (And if you don’t calm your kid down, you’re not going anywhere. Ever. Because now you’ve scared off the last babysitter in your neighborhood.)
Upscale, urban supermarkets
None of those people looking at you with disgust have kids, so none of them realize you’re about as responsible for a meltdown as you are for an earthquake.
School
If you can’t get your child out before things get really ugly, count on the fact that from now on, any time your child has trouble paying attention, or doesn’t understand an assignment, or gets in even the slightest amount of trouble, the teacher will assume it’s because you’re a crappy parent.
Around old people
Not because there’s anything wrong with old people in general – most are understanding, even indulgent when it comes to kids – but there are two sub-groups you can’t always avoid: those who never had kids and hate the fact that part of their taxes go to educate “your” dirty, greasy, uncontrollable monsters, and the “spare the rod and spoil the child” types who look at you like you’re weak for not just hauling off and smacking your kid across the face when he or she gets out of line. Sadly, both groups seem to go out of their way to let you know how they feel.
Somebody else’s birthday party
This is especially bad if the meltdown coincides with the opening of presents and all the other parents can hear your kid wailing about the fact that the birthday boy or girl is getting lots of cool stuff and your kid isn’t.
As awful as it is when your kid has a meltdown, another kid’s meltdown can be among the more satisfying of parental experiences.
All you have to do to feel really good about yourself is throw meltee’s mom or dad an empathetic look that says “Hang in there, compadre, and don’t focus on the fact that everybody in the entire food court is staring at you like you’re the worst parent in the history of parenting. Focus instead on the terrific way my kid is behaving and let his or her pleasant and well-behaved exceptionalness remind you that your kid will soon return to his or her normal behavioral state, and within a few weeks even the most shocked and horrified of the bystanders will have forgotten what you look like, at which point it will be safe to return to the mall, where – if you’re lucky – you will find yourself standing where I am now, offering a look of encouragement and compassion to somebody who most definitely needs it.”
Don’t let the credit crisis, the housing slump, gas prices, global warming, the cost of groceries, layoffs or the generally sad state of world affairs stop you from enjoying quality time with your kids.
Instead, let these troubles inspire you with the following games:
Mortgage, Mortgage, Who’s Got The Mortgage?
Kids sit in a circle with their fists closed, pretending to hold a button, which in this case represents a mortgage. As you go around the circle, everybody says “Mortgage, mortgage, who’s got the mortgage?” and then whoever’s turn it is says “Billy has the mortgage.” Billy must then open his fist to show everybody if he has the button/mortgage or not. The joke, of course, is that he doesn’t. In fact, nobody does, because credit is still so tight nobody can get one.
Stock Market Limbo
How low can it go? There’s one way to find out: put on “The Limbo Song” and see if you can make it under without collapsing.
Time Travelers
Take an imaginary trip to the future without leaving home. Just unplug the air conditioner, shut off the water main, and set the thermostat as high as it will go. The first person to pass out from heat stroke loses, the last one standing gets a half-glass of dirty water and a chance to play “An Inconvenient Truth: The Home Edition.”
The Crumbling Infrastructure Game
Just like “London Bridge is Falling Down,” only substitute something local.
U.N. Election Monitor
Help ensure the spread of democracy with this variation on “Kick The Can.” Select one U.N. Election Monitor, then divide everyone else up into two groups: voters and henchmen. While you turn your back and pretend every- thing is going really, really well, “voters” try to run up and kick the can before “henchmen” stop them.
Magic 81/4 – Ball
Buy? Sell? Forget your broker’s “opinion” and just ask the Magic 81/4 – Ball. It couldn’t be any worse.
Filibusted
Pretend you’re Congress and you’re trying to do something to re-ignite the economy, only you get so bogged down in partisanship you just stand around calling each other names.
The Coupon Game
What kid doesn’t like to cut things out? Here, you put yours to work helping you find enough coupons to make up the difference between what you make and what you spend. (While technically not a game, it would probably be helpful. Plus, you can give your kids bonus points if they find any coupons that are good for discounted liquor or anti-depressants.)
Chinese Toy Russian Roulette
Toxic? Non-toxic? Line up the toys and use a home lead-test to find out.
NEIGHBOR: Did you get my invitation?
NEIGHBOR’S TEENAGE SON: To what?
NEIGHBOR: To be my friend.
NEIGHBOR’S TEENAGE SON: I don’t understand.
NEIGHBOR: On Facebook.
NEIGHBOR’S TEENAGE SON: You have a Facebook page?
NEIGHBOR: Sure. It’s becoming so popular, I thought it was time.
NEIGHBOR’S TEENAGE SON: Seriously?
NEIGHBOR: You might not realize this, but I’m pretty hip when it comes to technology – I had one of the first Atari game consoles… I got a PC before there was even Windows… and my first cell phone was the size of a… Hey! Where are you going?
NEIGHBOR’S TEENAGE SON: To my room.
NEIGHBOR: Why?
NEIGHBOR’S TEENAGE SON: To cancel my Facebook account.
NEIGHBOR: But if you cancel your Facebook account, who’s gonna be my friend?
NEIGHBOR’S TEENAGE SON: Try mom.
They say: We don’t eat anything that’s not organic.
They mean: …except McDonald’s, KFC, Taco Bell or anyone else who gives a toy with a meal.
They say: I never spank my kids.
They mean: …unless they talk back, won’t listen, embarrass me in public or just piss me off.
They say: I only let my kids watch educational programming.
They mean: Cinemax is educational, right?
They say: My kids brush and floss their teeth every night without being told.
They mean: I think my kids brush and floss their teeth every night without being told, but I’m not really sure because I fall asleep on the sofa at 7:30.
They say: I never lie to my kids.
They mean: …unless I have to.
They say: My kids are really good eaters.
They mean: …as long as they get food they like, otherwise, just forget it.
They say: My kids are responsible.
They mean: …for leading all the other kids in the neighborhood astray.
NOTE: WE NOW HAVE ECARDS BASED ON SOME OF THESE SAYINS HERE
“No.”
“Never.”
“Probably not.”
“Maybe.”
“I’m not really listening.”
“Ask your mother.”
“You forgot to say please.”
“Huh?”
“No, unless you keep asking me over and over again and then yes.”
“I don’t understand the question.”
“I’m too tired.”
“Okay, but you can’t tell anyone I said yes.”
It’s easy to get mad at bad drivers, but sometimes there’s a simple explanation for why somebody stops at a green light, or makes a left hand turn from the far right lane, or just blatantly cuts you off.
(Besides being too tired to see straight because they have kids who still won’t sleep through the night.)
Where the ’70s had custom paint jobs, the ’90s had vanity plates. And even though they’ve become something of a cliche, they’re still an accurate way of understanding what a driver is thinking.
Why is the guy in the vintage car you’re stuck behind going 20 mph under the speed limit? Because he’s “N2PL8Z” not “N2 DRVNG.”
Why did that teenager just sideswiped your neighbor’s mailbox? “I♥TXTNG.”
And why is the Nascar wannabe in the 2007 Dodge Challenger next to you at the stop light revving his engine? Because he’s “2FAST4U” (though, unfortunately for him, not 2FAST4 the highway patrol car waiting behind the overpass up ahead.)
But as good as vanity plates are, they’re not nearly as insightful as bumper stickers.
If it’s “EARTH FIRST!” that means it’s good driving second, which easily explains why that bio-diesel conversion that smells like a giant french fry is driving the wrong way down a one way street.
Not to be too political, but if you’ve ever been driven off the road by a convoy of protesters racing to their next rally, you know that just because somebody’s “PRO LIFE” or “PRO CHOICE” doesn’t mean they’re pro-stop sign, pro-”Do Not Pass” or pro-speed limit.”
And while “MEAT IS MURDER,” running somebody over is just vehicular manslaughter, which is why that emaciated 20-something in the vintage Volvo seems more concerned with finding the only Vegan restaurant in town than looking out for pedestrians.
Not that anyone is perfect, of course, but why call attention to yourself?
It’s great to “PRACTICE RANDOM ACTS OF KINDNESS,” but not for every single driver who wants to cut in.
“WHAT WOULD SCOOBY DO?” He’d let Fred drive because he’s too stoned.
And if we’re supposed to “CALL 1 800 EAT-SHIT” to lodge a complaint, how can we do it from the car if we’re not allowed to use cellphones anymore?
Still, as irritating as other drivers can be, it’s not like we can just walk away.
First peanuts, now pistachios.
It seems like salmonella is everywhere these days, making a lot of people equate eating a handful of nuts with playing a game of Russian roulette. But if you look at statistics, you realize you have just as much to fear from a cold winter’s day:
|
U.S. Deaths Per Year
Salmonella
|
|
600 |
|
Which means all those nut products you emptied out of the cabinets “just to be safe” are just as dangerous as walking out to the trash in bare feet and a t-shirt to throw them away.
It’s clear that worry served us well in our hunter-gatherer days when that rustle in the bushes really might have been something deadly, but what we seem to have now is the reaction without the rustle — we worry there might be a rustle and if there is, it might be something that could hurt us.
The problem is that “what it might be” is usually wrong — as anyone who’s ever googled a health symptom and then rushed into the emergency room knows:
YOU: So… how long do I have?
DOCTOR: To live?
YOU: Yes.
DOCTOR: I have no idea.
YOU: But I just read this particular flesh-eating virus is usually fatal within 72 hours!
DOCTOR: It is.
YOU: And?
DOCTOR: You have poison oak.
YOU: Oh.
Somewhere along the line we seem to have lost our perspective on worry. Which probably explains why more people are afraid of being attacked by sharks — which kill an average of 2 people per year in the U.S. — than they are of equally strange, but much more likely causes of death like elevators and escalators, lightening, bees, dogs and even Bambi:
|
U.S. Deaths Per Year
Elevators and escalators
|
|
30 |
|
|
Bee, wasp and hornet stings
|
|
82 |
|
In our defense, part of the problem is that we’re constantly reminded of the many things we have to worry about, with dozens of freaky possibilities brought to our attention every day by a 24/7 news cycle that loves to spotlight the odd and the unusual (without mentioning it’s also “the highly unlikely”).
Leaving us in a position of rushing off to the ER in a panic because we’re worried we might be one of the few hundred people killed each decade by the deadly whatever the Evening News just warned us about, when what we should be worried about is being one of the few hundred people killed each day by medical errors.
- Appliance breaks.
- Appliance store where appliance was purchased less than six months ago says you have to call the manufacturer.
- Manufacturer’s 1-800 operator says “I’ve never heard of that happening before,” transfers call to the service department.
- Service department says they can fix appliance, but not until next Tuesday.
- Husband starts yelling at service department.
- Wife takes over.
- Wife calmly listens as service department says they’ll call Monday night to confirm that the serviceman is scheduled for Tuesday.
- Service department calls on Monday and says the serviceman will arrive on Tuesday sometime between 8 am and 5 pm.
- Wife starts yelling at service department.
- Husband eggs her on.
- Service department offers to reschedule but husband and wife realize this will only make things worse.
- Serviceman arrives Tuesday at 4:43, stays for 20 minutes and says he needs to order a part from the parts department.
- Parts department says the part can’t ship until next week.
- Sensing tension in the room, serviceman says husband and wife don’t need to make another appointment and that they can install the part themselves.
- Husband shakes his head in disbelief.
- Wife says “fine.”
- Serviceman heads for the door and then, at the last minute, turns and says “Of course, one of you will need to be here to sign for the part.”
- Husband goes for his throat.
- Wife grabs her 8-iron and beats him until he’s unconscious.
- Both string the serviceman’s body from a telephone pole outside the house as a warning to service departments, cable companies and deliverymen everywhere never to give an 8-hour window and then show up during the last 15 minutes without being able to fix the problem.
If Nintendo can make ping pong, paper airplanes and bass fishing addictive, why can’t they do all the parents who pay for those games a favor and come out with Wii Homework?
Every subject could be covered — Wii Lab for physics, biology and chemistry (where if kids blew anything up, they wouldn’t get detention and you wouldn’t get a bill for repairs); any number of Sim City knock-offs for Social Studies and History (e.g. Sim City: Jamestown, in which kids would have to decide between starving to death and turning cannibal); and some kind of battledome for math, where famous mathematicians from history fight each other to the death using the powers of Euclidean Geometry, Algebra, Calculus, etc.
Even grammar could be a game where, say, kids rescue dangling participles, or help a peace-loving race of “nouns” defend themselves against the evil pronoun horde that’s trying to assimilate them, or even assume the role of an ancient wizard who teaches adjectives to stand up to verbs by uttering the magical incantation “l-y.”
Levels would be the same as they are now, K -12, only instead of “graduating” kids would “level up.”
Parents would have to pay a little more attention to what they’re saying, too, as some of those unconscious responses would lead to confusion:
KID: Can I play Wii?
PARENT: Not until you finish your homework.
KID: But… Wii is my homework.
The main problem with Wii Homework would be that as with all Wii games, kids would eventually fight over it. And while this would be satisfying on an ironic level, it would also mean parents would end up taking the Wii away for a week as punishment, leading to an awkward situation where the teacher would ask “How come you didn’t finish your homework like you were supposed to?” and instead of saying “The dog ate it” or “I forgot,” your kid would say “Because my parents wouldn’t let me.”
Game over.
A is for “anxious,”
or why you’re awake.
‘cause B is for “boss”
with a decision to make.
C is for “cut-backs.”
Oh, when will they end?
Is D for “Depression,”
where no one can spend?
E is “economy,”
ours seems to be toast.
F is “You’re fired!”
the phrase you fear most.
G is for “Google,”
where you search for a job.
Joining H as in “horde,”
the great job-seeking mob.
I is not you,
but the “infinite” masses,
who flood all the “J-O-B” boards,
’til they’re slow like molasses.
401K was your net,
but it’s taken a hit,
meaning L is for “loss,”
— why you don’t have shit.
M is for “Me!?!?!?!
I’m supposed to be blessed!”
But N is for “No!”
You’re as screwed as the rest.
O is for “out of,”
what your luck seems to be.
And P? That’s “percent”
unemployed: 9.3.
Q is the “question:”
“What do we do now?”
“How do we “Recover”
from a financial KA-POW!
S is the “stimulus,”
which didn’t do squat,
T is the “Treasury,”
and the Main Street they forgot.
U is the “upside.”
But what could it be?
Making friends at unemployment?
Watching too much “TV?”
W’s for the “worry”
that’s become all-consuming.
And X is “Rx’s”
The anti-depressant biz? Booming.
In the end there’s just Y,
your unspoken plea,
repeated each night,
in the absense of “Zzzz“
KID: How can you lose a house?
PARENT: What?
KID: How can you lose something as big as a house?
PARENT: No, you can’t really lose a house. When people say that they don’t mean “lose” like when you lose your shoes or a DVD case, they mean they’re going to have to give the house back to the bank.
KID: Why does the bank get it?
PARENT: Well… when people buy a house, they go to a bank and borrow the money they need to pay for it.
KID: Oh.
PARENT: So even though they live in the house, it’s technically “owned” by the bank until they pay the money back.
KID: Did we borrow money to pay for our house?
PARENT: Yes.
KID: So then it’s technically “owned” by the bank, too, until we pay them back?
PARENT: It is.
KID: Awesome. Do we have any orange paint?
PARENT: Why?
KID: ‘cause even though Mom won’t let me paint my room orange, I bet the bank would since that’s one of their colors.
Husband: What’s with all the trash bags?
Wife: We need to throw out everything in the cabinets that has peanuts in it.
Husband: First contaminated Chinese imports, now this – aren’t these signs of the apocalypse?
Wife: Just reach up there and grab that box of pancake mix from the top shelf, will ya?
Husband: Pancake mix?!?!?
Wife: And those potato chips, too.
Husband: Uh… last time I checked neither had peanuts in it.
Wife: Check again.
Husband: Wow – “Allergen warning: may contain peanuts.” Are there peanuts in everything?
Wife: That’s why people are so freaked out.
Husband: I better grab these two 96 oz. jars of Skippy we got at Costco while I’m up here, too.
Wife: No, they’re fine: peanut butter isn’t part of the recall.
Husband: What?
Wife: Doesn’t make sense, does it?
Husband: How can “peanut butter” not be part of a peanut recall?
Wife: Beats me.
Husband: You know what’s gonna happen, don’t you? In a few months the government’s gonna say they were wrong and that peanuts are okay and that the media just over-reacted.
Wife: Maybe.
Husband: So I say we forget this nonsense.
Wife: You want us to ignore the warning and go have a couple Snickers and a bag of Poppycock?
Husband: No – we’re still on our post-Christmas diet. But I don’t think we really need to throw anything out.
Wife: And you’re sure about that?
Husband: Sure enough.
Wife: Fine, but if anybody throws up in their bed… on the carpet in the living room… in the back seat of your car… you get to clean it up.
Husband: Me?
Wife: Yes.
Husband: All of it?
Wife: Yes.
Husband: On second thought, why take chances!
For all of us who have become suspicious of anything imported from China and (perhaps) even went as far as to question how inferior, out-dated and inadequate their standards could be to have allowed consumers to be exposed to so many dangers comes the news that our very own peanut butter industry is no better.
On the other hand, at least if we’re eating crow we probably won’t get salmonella.
- No gloating.
- If you must ridicule your neighbors for being stupid enough to get an adjustable rate mortgage, do so in private.
- And before you do ridicule your neighbors in private for being stupid enough to get an adjustable rate mortgage, check your own mortgage to make sure you didn’t do the exact same thing.
- Keep in mind that while neighbors should try to help each other out in times of trouble, this does not mean you should offer to buy their almost-new home theater set-up for 10 cents on the dollar. (Unless they are moving out of the area, in which case, go for it.)
- To get back any tools, toys or lawn furniture you’ve loaned them, take the indirect approach. Start by saying, “Oh, say, did we ever return that lawn aerator we borrowed? We should both probably check our garages, just to make sure nothing gets left behind.”
- Don’t drop off a tuna casserole. They are not infirmed.
- Do bring liquor.
- If you’re so inclined, pray (for them, not that the same thing won’t happen to you).
- If your kids ask you why the neighbors are losing their house, just say “They’re not losing their house – it’s right there where it’s always been.” And then tell them to get ready for bed before they ask a lot of questions that even the world’s foremost economists couldn’t fully explain.
- If anyone from outside the neighborhood asks what happened, lie and tell them the neighbors are trading up, relocating for business, downsizing and moving to a small town in Ohio, getting divorced, etc. – anything but the fact they’re being foreclosed on, as that information could have a negative effect on property values.
- Always remember that it could just as easily have been you.
- And still might be.
KID: Can I ask you something?
MOM: Sure.
DAD: What is it?
KID: Promise you won’t get mad?
MOM: What makes you think we’d get mad?
KID: Just promise.
DAD: Fine.
MOM: What’s your question?
KID: What’s “stress?”
MOM: Stress?
DAD: It’s a prolonged state of mental and emotional strain.
MOM: It’s like you’re being pulled in two different directions.
DAD: At the exact same time.
MOM: You’re stuck.
DAD: But you can’t get unstuck.
MOM: Until you feel totally and completely overwhelmed.
DAD: And irritable.
MOM: And short-tempered.
DAD: And impatient.
MOM: And you can’t sleep.
DAD: Or focus.
KID: But it’s not contagious, is it?
PARENT: No.
KID: Good — ’cause obviously the only thing you can do about it is drink, and I’m not old enough.
As a parent, you know what’s best. That’s why you’re raising your kids to be God-fearing conservatives or free-thinking liberals, just like you.
Or so you thought until you came home one night to find an Obamarama going on in your living room, or caught one of your kids watching Fox News wearing a Glenn Beck Fan Club t-shirt.
Fortunately, there are ways to deal with this unsettling situation:
- Ground them until after the 2012 election.
- Force them to live their politics. This means that if your Little Limbaugh objects to your anything-goes liberal ideology, remind him that conservatives are against welfare of any kind (except corporate), so he needs to either pay his own way or go live in a homeless shelter with all the other free-loaders. Or, if your Lil’ Nancy Pelosi condemns your unwavering support for God, guns and unborn babies, remind her that come Judgment Day, she’ll be the one burning in Hell.
- Move somewhere so far to the Left or to the Right that your kids won’t have anyone to join them when they pass out fliers condemning Barack Obama or stage a sit-in against the evil influence of Big Oil. For liberals, this means moving to Berkeley; for conservatives, try Oklahoma City, OK or Cincinnati, OH (or if you’re a Mormon, try Provo, Utah, which is regularly ranked the most conservative city in America).
- Have them deprogrammed by either sending them to an Evangelical Christian Boot Camp or making them watch Oprah all day, every day until they come around.
- If you’re a conservative, blame Bill Clinton.
- If you’re a liberal, blame Ronald Reagan.
- If you’re either, blame George W. Bush (as the least-liked president in modern history, he’s become the official scapegoat for everything).
- If all else fails, break out the big guns of parenting – guilt and shame – and let your kids have it until their fragile egos are so crushed and broken the Stockholm Syndrome kicks in and they begin to love and embrace you and your ways once again.
- All schools have a very specific procedure for dropping off kids in the morning.
- Some parents don’t realize this.
- Some parents realize this, but don’t actually know what the official procedure is.
- Some parents realize this, but don’t care.
- The more complicated the procedure, the more likely it is to change.
- The more complicated the procedure, the more likely it is to be written down, but since it will have been written by the same people who write those bizarre standardized testing story-problems, it won’t make any sense.
- The more time you spend trying to understand the procedure, the less time some other parent at the school will spend trying to understand the problem, thus maintaining equilibrium and ensuring that the drop-off will never, ever go smoothly.
- Parents who don’t follow the drop-off procedure always think they have a good excuse, but they don’t:
- “I’m running late” isn’t a good excuse
- “I drive a Mini so I’m not reallly getting in anyone’s way” isn’t a good excuse
- “I haven’t had my coffee yet” isn’t a good excuse
- “It’s just this one time” isn’t a good excuse
- “I forgot” isn’t a good excuse
- “I’ve read the procedure a hundred times but I just don’t undersand it” isn’t a good excuse
- “My wife usually drops the kids off” isn’t a good excuse
- “The person in front of me did the same thing” isn’t a good excuse (though certainly understandable, given our sheep-like tendencies)
- Saying “sorry” doesn’t help, but it’s better than giving somebody the finger.
- Before 9 am, nobody is polite.
- If you leave early, something will happen that will make you late – an accident,
road construction, freak snow storm, broken water main, etc.
- If you leave really, really early because you expect something will happen to make you late, it won’t. But then you will be so early, you’ll have to wait anyway because the crossing guards, door openers, teachers monitoring the playground and/or sidewalks will be late.
- The minute after you start screaming and yelling at your kids (for no reason other than you’re tired), you will realize the driver in the next car over who’s looking at you like you’re the worst parent in the world is the principal.
- You can always tell the parents who got a good night’s sleep from the ones who were up all night, unless you were one of the parents who was up all night, in which case you can’t really tell anything.
- Some parents take their time in the morning and you hate them for it.
- Some parents take their time in the morning and you are inspired by them, even if you have no idea how you could ever be patient and relaxed at this hour.
- When your kid says “I have to go to the bathroom” two blocks from school and you say “just hold it ‘til we get there,” half the time they won’t be able to and the other half the time they won’t be able to because going those last two block will take 25 minutes thanks to sewer maintenance.
- If there is a convenient, quick, easy place to stop and get coffee on the way to the drop-off, it will close just when you come to depend on it.
- Even if you stop in the drop-off lane because your child has just thrown up all over the backseat, the car behind you will honk and/or flip you off.
- The only thing worse than being late is being late on a day when the principal
is standing on the sidewalk opening doors.
- If four parents come to an intersection at the exact same time, the one with the most kids will go first.
- When you see a parent juggling a dog, a double-stroller, a cell phone and a coffee cup, watch out, because they aren’t.
- When you see a parent juggling a dog, a double-stroller, a cell phone, a coffee
cup and a 5-year-old, get your Handicam out because you’re about to witness an “America’s Funniest Home Video.”
- For some kids, being a crossing guard is their first taste of power, so don’t give them an excuse to flaunt it.
- For some kids, being a crossing guard is their last taste of power, which explains why so many will need therapy later.
- Your SUV may look like a school bus, handle like a school bus, and be as big as a school bus, but it’s not a school bus. Which means that empty stretch of curb conveniently located directly in front of the school’s main doors is off limits until the big, bright, yellow sign that reads “School Buses Only 7 am to 10 am” gets removed (during the day, by workers from the Department of Transportation, not at night by a couple of dads with a hack saw and a crow bar).
According to a recent research study, one in five adults who responded to a survey admitted to using Ritalin or Adderall to boost their brain power.
When asked where they got the drugs, most just mumbled and said “I can’t remember,” but speculation is they simply raided their kids’ medicine cabinet. And while this clearly breaches the bonds of trust between parent and child, when you consider how often kids raid their parents’ liquor cabinet, it seems only fair.
You’d think leaking pee would get soaked up by pants or tights, or if it did manage to seep down a leg, shoes and socks would easily keep it from spreading. (Isn’t that why kids wear socks in the first place, to soak up pee? God knows it’s not because they want to).
But no.
Pee goes where it wants to go, defying the laws of gravity and fluid mechanics, and targeting the things parents care about most like silk shirts, expensive upholstery, a favorite suit, new carpet, mesh car seats or anything else you’ve ever tried to keep from being ruined.
Pee is like a smart bomb, or a liquid Terminator, a soulless killing machine that can’t be reasoned with, can’t be bargained with, and can’t be stopped until it’s too late.
(Let’s hope it doesn’t form an unholy alliance with poop and vomit, as that would surely doom us all.)
- Are you a boy or a girl?
- How much does your house cost?
- Are you really as stupid as my dad says you are?
- Why do you smell so bad?
- Did you just fart?
- Is there a baby inside your tummy?
- Shouldn’t you be on a diet?
- Why are you so mean?
- Why are you so ugly?
- Why are you so short?
- If you’re already married, why do you have a boy/girlfriend?
You’d think dropping your kid off at school in the morning would be easy, but it’s not. There is a specific procedure that you and everyone else is expected to follow, regardless of how illogical (or illegal) it seems, because when you do, there is (in theory) less chaos.
The problem is that some parents don’t. Ever. Which is why these insurgents should be fined and/or punished:
- Parents who let their kids off at the corner instead of at the designated “drop-off zone” should be fined $100.
- Parents who linger in the drop-off lane after dropping their kids off to talk to parents walking their kids to school should be fined $150.
- Parents who linger in the drop-off lane to talk to other parents lingering in the drop-off lane should also be fined $150, but they should be forced to come early the next day to personally apologize to every single other driver, too, and the other drivers should be able to throw food at them.
- Parents who pull out, stop, and then back up because “my son forgot his lunch” should be forced to display a bumper sticker that reads “My child goes to Ronald Reagan Elementary, but not for long if I keep driving like an idiot.”
- Parents who park in the drop-off lane and run inside the school for any reason should have their cars impounded for 30 days.
- Parents who enter the drop-off lane from the wrong direction should have their cars impounded for 30 days and then sold at public auction, with the proceeds going to buy new library books.
- Parents who screw anything else up should be sent to the principal’s office.
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