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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
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.)
- 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.
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.
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).
Gathering around the table. √
Spending some quality time together. √
Taking a break from DVDs, movies, video games and other passive forms of entertainment. √
Reliving fond memories of playing Monopoly as a kid. √
Trying to figure out which version of Monopoly to play. √
Watching the kids fight over who gets to be the racecar. √
Watching the kids fight over who gets to roll first. √
Watching the kids fight over who who the bowl of popcorn gets to be set down in front of. √
Threatening to send everyone to bed if they don’t behave. √
Enjoying five minutes of stress-free game play. √
Trying to explain to a younger sibling why they have to give their older sibling money just because they landed on Marvin Gardens. √
Wiping away the younger sibling’s tears. √
Using the parent voice to tell the older sibling not to be a sore winner. √
Getting competitive. √
Mentally adding up the cost of therapy if you decide to just completely bankrupt your kids. √
Reminding yourself the point is to have fun. √
Letting your kids win. √
Hoping Family Game Night will be better next week. √
Fearing that it won’t. √
Wondering if Family Movie Night would be a better idea instead. √
KID: Look at me. I have a beard!
PARENT: Wow. You do have a beard. You look like Grizzly Adams.
KID: I made it myself.
PARENT: I can see that. It looks like… Hold on… Come closer so I can get a better look.
KID: I did a good job, didn’t I?
PARENT: You didn’t use the permanent markers from my drawer, did you?
KID: I did — but it’s okay because when I was done I didn’t leave them out, I put them right back where I found them.
If it’s the cleaning lady’s job to clean the house, why do we always pick up before she comes?
(Usually just before she comes, too, with one of the kids stalling her in the foyer as we scramble to de-clutter the upstairs.)
It would be one thing if we were motivated by conscience, believing it unfair to have her clean everything, but this doesn’t seem to be the case. Are we worried she’ll realize we’re really just a family of slobs?
She can probably tell that already, thanks to dishes that occasionally end up under the bed and the collection of crumbs, coins and God-knows-what-it-is she regularly unearths from beneath the sofa cushions.
Do we think she’ll tell the H.O.A. how much more disgusting our house is than, say, the neighbor’s down the street?
(It is, but only because they have no kids.)
Or do we just not want anyone — even the cleaning lady — to find out how much of our lifestyle is an illusion, and that the only parts we have the energy to maintain week in, week out, are the ones that other people see?
(And if this is the case, is it a valid reason to switch to a cleaning service that relies on a small, anonymous army that moves too quickly for any one that’s a part of it to form any kind of impression of what a stye the house usually is?)
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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: |
Do that again and I'll steam broccoli for the rest of the day. | |
To generate other responses, just click the bold text in the box above.
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.
According to The New York Times, shouting is the new spanking.
But what ever happened to the old spanking? And how could anything be as effective as a cold, hard slap across the butt?
Still… if psychologists are to be believed, the problem with spanking is that it teaches kids that hitting is an acceptable way to solve a problem.
(Among other things.)
On the other hand, at least it teaches ‘em something – ‘cause as any non-spanking parent knows, you can only yell so much before your kids just tune you out. And then what? Waterboarding?
Poll:
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Lots of couples spend hundreds, even thousands of dollars on counseling when what they really need to do to improve their marriage is argue.
Not in person, but by text.
Arguing by text has a number of benefits. For example, in face-to-face arguments, tensions usually escalate because each person reacts (and over-reacts) to what the other is saying. But since SMS shorthand is so obscure and confusing — URAPITA? UG2BK? SHID? — how can you be outraged by something you can’t understand?
The 140-character limit helps, too, because it means you have to reduce your anger/frustration to its root cause before you can text it. Since most arguments end when the roots are exposed, however, starting this way means there isn’t really anywhere for the argument to go — You say you’re upset because you don’t feel like you’re in control of the relationship. Your spouse agrees you’re not. End of story.
As for those argument that proceed anyway, it’s important to remember that at some point, “principle,” ” being “right” and even just the need “to be shown a little respect” can’t overcome tired thumbs.
Which isn’t to say texting is flawless.
But keep in mind that if you scream something cruel and inappropriate at your spouse in the heat of the moment, you can’t ever take it back. But if you text it, you can say it was just a typo:
HUSBAND: No, I wouldn’t ever call you that. What I meant was you’re being a stitch, because I thought your whole argument was a joke.
WIFE: Oh yeah? Well then I guess I meant you’re a sucker.
TAFN.
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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.
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.
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.
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