My thanks to Erma Bombeck, Queen of Chick Lit

 

When I married Prince Charming, I didn’t expect to marry other people, too. That’s another dirty secret nobody tells little girls who dream of Ever After. For instance, I inherited a brother who talks all of the time and his wife who hates me. The first Christmas of my marriage union was such a delight. I had 3 new brothers who had 3 new wives, all jealous of one another, watching each other open gifts and comparing who got more of what. Fun times. To top it off, my mother-in-law (as if I needed another mother) gave me the strangest of gifts. A set of Erma Bombeck novels with a personalized note: “This is how I survived my first few years of marriage. Enjoy!” How insulting! She didn’t know me at all. I was in Newlywed Heaven, and I didn’t need to survive anything (except my time with her). To show that lady just how evil she was, I put those books in a box and forgot about them until last week.

 

From At Wit’s End:

It’s those rotten kids. It’s their fault wake up every morning feeling so depressed.

“I think she hears us. Her eyelids fluttered.”

“Wait till she turns over, then everybody cough.”

“Why don’t we just punch her and ask her what we want to know…”

I don’t know how long it will be before one of them discovers that by taking my pulse they will be able to figure out by its rapid beat if I am faking it or not, but it will come.

 

***

Of course, none of these things would bother me if I had an understanding husband. Mother was right. I should have married that little literature major who broke out in a rash every time he read Thoreau. But no, I had to pick the nut standing out in the driveway yelling at the top of his voice, “I am thirty-nine years old… I will not carry a Donald Duck thermos to the office!” Boy, he wouldn’t yell at me if my upper arms weren’t flabby. He never used to yell at me like that. He should worry. He doesn’t have to throw himself across the washer during “spin” to keep it from walking out of the utility room. He doesn’t have to flirt with a hernia making bunk beds.

 

 

What was I thinking?! Erma Bombeck is to Chick Lit what George Washington is to America. How did I not know about her? (OK. I placed her books in a box for years. Sue me.)  How was I supposed to know that those books revealed the unspoken secrets of marriage and children? (OK. My other mother tried to warn me.)

 

I spent years thinking my husband’s mother was the source of my misery, only to discover that she’s actually a smarter, more helpful, slightly-less-cynical version of me.

 

Hmmmm.

When your child’s probation officer calls your child a nut case, that’s not a good thing.

Why do some parents ignore warning signs that scream out to everyone else? It blows my mind how much a parent is willing to ignore-gloss.over-tolerate-pretend.doesn’t.happen! I just listened to an someone tell me about her child’s arrest for possession of an illegal substance. Never mind that the substance was illegal. I’m a rule follower, so the law is enough to deter me. Apparently, not all people follow this simple philosophy. The child is a minor (but not by much), and she “knows [the child] uses it occaisionally” and that she is “okay with that.” She went on and on about how the police officer didn’t have probable cause to search  her child and that she’ll fight it.

IS SHE NUTS??!!!

This is the same kid who threw a chair at an adult in his/her high school last year. This is the same kid who was handcuffed by a law-enforcement-relative for out-of-control behavior. This is the same kid who knew his/her severely ill mother was having a critical medical situation and did nothing to help her. More than once.

Does she think that by some miracle this child will change? Wake up responsible at 18? Actually move out?

When your child’s probation officer calls your child a nut case, that’s not a good thing.

It’s a miracle!

Okay, miracle is a slight exaggeration. But only slight.

With a heavy heart, I passed the skeleton that was once my neighborhood Starbucks. Already work crews were there, converting the space into something else. My eyes were hooded, hesitant to look, but I managed a glance, ever-so-slowly, and Eureka! A large white sign displayed, “Remodeling under way. Starbucks will re-open in 8 days.”

Wa-hoo!