Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Chapter 4- Throwing kids out of the car and driving away

In light of the recent story about Madlyn Primoff, the mom from Scarsdale who threw her bickering daughters out of the car 3 miles from their home, and drove away leaving her 10 year old stranded, I have decided to postpone my already written next chapter and focus on some thoughts I had.  


When it comes to raising children, there is no parenting manual.  Before we leave the hosptial, we are given a diaper bag and some formula samples.  We are not given an instruction book with rules on how to raise our children, on what to say and what not to say, and how to handle certain situations.  It is all, unfortunately, trial and error, and unlike a project that has a start, middle and end, we really don't get to see the finished project for many years after we started.  

We are not a manufacturing plant that can have its products returned if defective.  When our children are babies, all they need is food, shelter and love.  That's easy to provide.  I remember snuggling my babies and kissing kissing kissing them all the time.  I would read to them, sing to them, play "how big is Sophie" and clap hands.  I certainly wasn't going to do any damage then.   As they get older, there is plenty of room for error.   


In the case of Madlyn Primoff, I totally understand what happened.  She just couldn't take it anymore.  I can just picture the scene in her car, and hear the fighting between her 12 and 10 year old daughters.  You know what?  She snapped.  And guess what?  It happens to the best of us.  There have been many moments when I have pulled the car over, and gotten out myself to cool off.  I have stopped the car and made my kids get out until they stopped fighting.  I have walked outside my house for a mommy time-out.   I have gone in my room and cried, hoping they would stop fighting or talking back or whatever it was that they were doing that was driving me crazy. I once (or maybe twice) drove them to my mother-in-laws house and said "here you are grandma- see ya".   I have never driven away and left them.  Yes, Madlyn Primoff used very poor judgement when she drove off and left her 10 year old alone on the streets of White Plains.  (Her 12 year old ran after her and got in the car).  Although I certainly can't condone her behavior, I can understand it.  I don't think she is a bad mother.  I don't think she should go to jail.  She may need a little prozac and a xanax, but she is not a criminal.  She made a big mistake.  Sometimes we don't model the best behavior for our children, but we are only human, and we are bound to make mistakes.  The question is what are the consequences to our children because of our mistakes.  You know the worst part about the whole thing?  No matter how many wonderful things she does for her kids, no matter how loving she is to them, they will always remember the one time she had a really bad day.  Because no matter how many good things we do for our kids, their mantra ususally is "you never do anything for me."


There are plenty of things that we unintentionally do to our children that we know are going to send them to the therpists couch.  Just recently, I went into the city to see a show and reminded Hallie that she should skip extra help and come home on the bus to watch Sophie for a little while.  I have often allowed Hallie to let herself and Sophie in the house if I am going to be late because of work, so I knew they would be OK alone until Michael got home an hour later.  Well, despite my plan, Hallie forgot to get on the bus and stayed after school for extra help.  Being the diligent mom that I am, (ha ha)  I started texting Hallie at 2:55, knowing that was the time they would be home.  When I didn't receive an answer to the 4 texts that I sent, I knew in my heart that she had stayed at school and that Sophie was now home alone.  At this point, I am sitting in the theater sweating, because not only is Hallie at school without a ride home, Sophie is 7, she is alone, is unable to get in the house, and standing in the rain waiting for someone to come home.   I am praying that I am wrong, and that somehow Hallie's phone is not working, or she is not answering me because she is tied up on the computer, but I know that this is not the case and my 7 year old is alone outside my house in the rain wondering where her mother is.  Now I am nauseous.    Sophie is not as saavy as Mackauly Culkin and I know that she is probably crying, scared and very upset about being alone.  I call my neighbor Diane, who went outside, confirmed that Sophie was in fact alone, took her home and then went and picked Hallie up at school.   Thank God for great neighbors.  Honestly, this one wasn't my fault.  However, I am still the parent and responsible for the well being of my children at all times.  I felt a lot of guilt about the fact that I was at a broadway show and not home to get my kids off the bus like I'm supposed to be.  Isn't that my job?  To put my kids first and foremost, and not to be out with friends?  Or is it OK that once, I did something for myself.  Unfortunately the one time I selfishly put myself first, I may have completely messed up my 7 year old.  Fortuately for me, Sophie can be bought.  I went out and bought her a pack of matchbox cars she wanted, and all was forgiven.  Or was it?  I may never know the impact of the 20 minutes she was standing outside her house.  Did she think she was abandoned and un-loved?  I explained to her that sometimes people make mistakes and that Hallie made a mistake, and it is OK.  Hallie did apologize, but Sophie gave her some guilt about it anyway.   


I have come to the conclusion that parenting, for the most part, is 5% good parenting and 95% good luck.  Children have a funny way of turning into people, with their own thoughts, ideals and personalities.  And guess what?  They have their own minds.  And guess what else?  They think they know best.  And they don't always follow the rules you set forth for them.   And when they don't, you have to be the bad guy.  I guess Madlyn Primoff thought being the bad guy meant leaving her daughter on the street.  I assume she thought she was going to teach her a lesson, and I'm sure she did.  What kind of lesson, I'm not sure, but that 10 year old won't forget it.  The one thing I am sure of is that she will continue to fight with her sister.   In my house, we take away cell phones and computers.  They still fight with each other.  


Just a little thought for the day.  Next chapter- Entitlement 




Chapter 3

Hallie could have found Osama bin Laden.  If she thought he had money, or would drive her to the movies, or God forbid had her cell phone, she would have found him.  She would have walked the desert, searched bunkers and not only would she have found him, he would have surrendered.  Why would he give himself up?  Because no one could listen to Hallie talk and talk and talk and talk without wanting to rip their face off.  She is relentless.  Sam is no slouch either.  My girls could negotiate their way out of Houdini's Chinese Water Torture Cell.   The conversations go something like this:


Sam: "I am going over to Kelly's house for a sleepover" 

Me:    "Sam, you know I don't really like you sleeping at Kelly's house"

Sam:  "Why"

Me:    "I don't think there is a lot of supervision and I haven't heard such great things about her"


Now here is my first problem- I am engaging a 12 year old by actually giving her answers.  Why is she entitled to answers from me?  Why can't I just say No and have it mean no!   However, I have "taught" my girls that they can always get their way by wearing me down.  


Sam:  "Mom-A.  Who tells you these things?  Your friends don't know anything about her,  you don't know anything about her"

Me:    "Sam, I said no"

Sam:  "You are sooo mean-a.  Please-a- why don't you trust me"


She always goes for the jugular with the trust thing.  I start to think hmmmmmm, why don't I let her go- I trust her right?  Truth is, I shouldn't trust her.  I have learned that lesson.   But I still get a guilty feeling when she goes down that path.  She knows this, senses my weakness, and like a cat toying with a mouse, starts to smell victory, so she keeps at me:


Sam:  "So and so's mom let's her go there and you trust her, don't you."


She now tries to piggyback on someone elses's mom's failure to stick to her guns.


Most of the time these arguments take place via text.  My girls are so good at the sneak attack, that it took me a while to figure out that I was being had!  They learned quickly, that if they asked me, face to face, to go to an "allowed" friends house, that they could then text me the "unallowed" request and that most times I would just say OK.  SMART aren't they.  Michael and I say that Hallie is smart like the criminally insane.  We compare her to Hanibal Lechter.


Another one of my parenting pitfalls comes in the form of punishment, or lack thereof.  I am soooo good at threatening punishments, but rarely follow through.  This too my girls know.  They know if I threaten to take away their phones, computers, TV's, social life, or even oxygen, that I may follow through briefly, but in the end I will crumble like a deck of cards.   The other day, Samantha was mad at Hallie because Hallie was wearing her shirt.   Now, in Hallie's defense, I accidently put Samantha's shirt is Hallie's room after finally folding the laundry that sat on my dining room table for days.  However, like the criminally insane, Hallie took advantage of my error,  and knowing damn well that the shirt was Samantha's, wore it anyway, under the innocent guise of "I found it in my room, so therefore it must be mine".  This approach may very well have worked on me (because Sam and Hallie are the same size, I can never tell their clothes apart and I often put the wrong clothes in the wrong room) but don't think for a minute that Samantha did not throw a fit, complete with tears, upon realizing that Hallie was wearing her shirt!  "MOM-A!!!  HALLIE IS WEARING MY SHIRT-A!!  THAT'S MY SHIRT-A HALLIE!  GET IT OFF-A!  MOM-A  WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT THIS? HMMMMMMMMM?  Now you have to imagine that Sam is screaming this at the top of her lungs, and Hallie is taunting her by screaming back "I FOUND IT IN MY ROOM" (example of Hannibal Lechter- she knew exactly what she was in for when she put that shirt on).  Once Sam realizes that I am not going to force Hallie out of the shirt (mostly because I am trying to avoid more laundry), she starts to threaten Hallie with physical violence.  At this point you would think I would intervene.  Truth be told, I am secretly hoping Sam gets a few good punches in.  Now Sam is chasing Hallie, who is running away and screaming.  OK, I guess I need to step in and parent now.  "Sam"  I say, "Don't hit your sister or you will be in trouble."  Sam now starts mulling this over.  "What will my punishment be?"  I realize that she is weighing what ridiculous punishment I will threaten her with, and that I won't stick to, so I better come up with something good.  "You will have to stand outside in the rain for an hour."  Wouldn't you know it- she made a fist and punched Hallie right in the arm, then marched outside to stand on the front steps, in the rain for an hour.  OK- not the best parenting decision I've ever made.  


Don't get me wrong- there are times that I say things and do follow through.  A few years ago Hallie was giving me a really hard time getting up in the morning, so I threatened that if she missed the bus again (this was back when I was making my kids take the bus) I was going to make her walk to school.   Of course she didn't really think I would make her walk to school, so the next day she refused to get out of bed.  And guess what- I made her walk to school!  I drove behind her, sipping my coffee listening to the radio and shooing away all my friends who stopped to offer her a ride.  This went on for three days.  By the last day, people were stopping me and giving me high fives for sticking to my guns.  It was glorious, but short lived.  I quickly resumed my bad habit of driving them to school.


I have a bad habit of saying ridiculous things when I am mad at my kids, then finding myself in the unfortunate position of having to follow through on my threat.  For example:  one tuesday afternoon, Hallie decided she did not want to go to Hebrew School.  No reason for her defiance, she just didn't want to go.  So the carpool shows up in my driveway, and I have a 10 year old who refuses to move.  Now first of all, can you even believe that this kid pulled this crap, because I know that I couldn't believe it myself.  She just refused to go and nothing short of carrying her out to the car is going to change her mind.  So what do I do?  I carry her out to the car, kicking and fighting me the whole time, and hoping that she will stop because doesn't want to embarrass herself in front of the other kids in the car.  No such luck- she could care less about what the other kids think of her.  I finally say "if you don't get in that car right now, I am going to take everything you own out of your room, and you are going to have nothing but a mattress and some pillows."  She still refused to get in the car.  Now I am talking through clenched teeth and doing the arm squeeze/nail dig.   Again, she refused to go, so I let the carpool go and head back to the house while Hallie stands in the driveway.  True to my word, I proceed to Hallie's room with 8 large black garbage bags and fill them to the top with all Hallie's beloved possessions.  I take pictures, perfume, earrings, lip gloss, TV, DVD's, DVD player, ipod, books, magazines, sheets, comforter, and anything else that wasn't furniture or permanently attached to the walls.   I draged all 8 bags of loot into my room and waited...and waited...and waited for Hallie to come upstairs.  After about an hour, she decided to grace me with her presence and headed up to her room.  I heard an audible gasp coming from down the hall.  I giggled with glee!  Then I heard nothing.  Complete and total silence.  I assumed she fainted because she was never speechless.  Eventually she came into my room, spied all her goodies shoved into black garbage bags and asked how she could earn her stuff back.  After a few days of slowly giving her back some things, I returned everything because I couldn't stand her clutter in my bedroom. 


These are the kinds of things that no one tells you about when you think about having children.  You know that you will have sleepless nights, have to deal with spit up and change poopy diapers, but never did you think that a 10 year old would just say no, dig in her heels and refuse to go somewhere.  


I guess it should be no surprise that my kids don't listen to me.  What incentive do they have to follow my rules.  Why bother picking dirty clothes off the floor if mom is going to do it.  Why bother making my bed if mom is going to do it.  And most importantly, why bother listening when mom won't follow through on her punishments.   Why is it that I pick up dirty clothes, make beds and don't enforce my punishments?  Because it is easier to give in than to argue. Unfortunately, this isn't the way to raise responsible kids.  Now I have to figure out how to undo all the damage, and start over again, this time with me in charge.  They are not going to like this.  Tough Shit!!  













Chapter 2- back to the mall

OK- Back to the mall.  We finally leave the house, 7 girls in tow, but not before the Queen lays down the law to her sister Hallie.  “You are not allowed to hang out with my friends-A.”  This of course starts a screaming match between the girls about who didn’t let who hang out with whose friend last time they were over.  This argument continues the entire ride to the mall.  Once at the mall, the girls pile out and the Queen starts telling me where we are going.   "First we are going to Victorias Secret, then to Hot Topic then get lunch then can you take us to the movies and wait for us and when the movie is over can you take us all to Anna's house so we can sleep over and I will tell you when to come pick us up tomorrow."  This is all said in one breath.  Wait a minute, I think to myself.  I can't think that fast and I am pretty sure there are things in that sentence that I am not comfortable with her doing.  And, by the way, this is going to cost me because now I am feeding and taking 7 girls to the movies.  There are now 14 eyes upon me, waiting for me to feed them and provide entertainment.  Of course I am a pushover, and never say no, so here we are off to lunch and the movies.  All the while my 11 year old is complaining that she wants to go too, and the Queen is adamant that she not be allowed to hang out with her Friends-A.  Here comes more fighting.  Let's not forget my 7 year old, who is now crying that she wants the chipmunk webkin and why can't we go to Justice and get it?  Now I am starting to sweat and wondering if I have a xanax lying around the botton of my bag.  See, I am what my daughter calls an overprotective mom.  I am not entirely comfortable with leaving my 12 year old to wander with her posse of friends through the crime ridden mall.  Call me crazy.  I am also not so happy with leaving them in the movies in the mall, but I realize I am in a lose lose situation, so I agree to take them to the movies.  Now I am left with the whining 11 year old and the crying 7 year old.  The 11 year old tells the 7 year old to shut up.  "Don't talk to your sister that way."  "Well she cries all the time just because she wants a webkin.   Mom,,,Mom...why can't I go to the movies with Sam...Mom...Mom.."  Now I am trying to please my unhappy 7 year old who wants a Webkin and my 11 year old who wants to hang out with her older sister and her friends.  I am in a no win situation and decide we should go to lunch somewhere that they serve alcohol.  


Lunch with my 2 kids (even with the alcohol) is not a good idea.  We sit, I order my much needed middle of the day drink, and listen to my kids fight.  "Mooommmm tell her to stop looking at me, she made a face at me........"   "Moooom...... she called me a bitch (this is from the 7 year old)".  When I try to ignore this bickering, my 11 year old breaks into a repeated, extremely annoying cadence of "ma ma ma ma ma ma ma ma ma ma ma ma ma ma ma ma ma..." until I yell "WHAT".  Now I am really sweating, annoyed and pissed off, but can't order another drink because I have to drive my lovely children and their friends home.  Finally, my day at the mall has ended, I dropped the Queen and her friends off, now I am going home with my other 2 kids.  Hopefully someone will call and ask if they want to come over.  I can only pray.


When I get home, Oprah is on and is having mothers confess how they really feel about motherhood.  I watch this show, happy to see that there are so many women who feel the way I do, but realize that the difference between these women and me is that I am at a different stage in my life.  Most of the Oprah women have young children.  I remember those days as being lonely and exhausing.  Having young children was hard, but having older children is harder.  I now know the expression "little kids little problems, big kids, big problems."  I know my 12 year old is craving freedom that I am not willing to give her.  I know she is exposed to so many different things that can harm her- the internet, drugs, sex, and I am trying to maintain a balance between protecting her and giving her freedom to make her own choices.  Sometimes I don't have a lot of faith in her choices.  She on the other hand, knows everything!  It is very difficult to parent a child who knows it all.  It is also difficult to parent a child when other parents aren't working with you.  For example- if I drop my child off at your house, I expect that they will stay at your house, not walk main roads for pizza, or go to someone elses house who I don't know, or end up sneaking out of a house at 3 am and walking around town (that really happened).  Now do I blame the other parents, or do I blame my children.  Utlimately, it is my girls responsibility to make good choices, understand and follow my rules and use good judgment.  I am definetly losing this battle.  I feel like it has become my girls' job to DEFY me, to go against everything I stand for.  If I say black, they want white.  I make rules, they ignore them.   Here is a list of the simplest rules that my kids regularly ignore:

1.  Eat only in the kitchen

2.  Pick up dirty clothes and put in laundry basket

3.  Don't eat in your bedroom (see rule #1)

4.  Don't call your sister a bitch

5.  Don't say shut up

6.  Talk to your parents with respect (pretend we are your teachers when you talk to us)

7.  Don't eat in the den (see rule #1)

8.  When you eat something please clean up after yourself


As you can see, I am not asking them to power wash the house or re-pave the driveway.  I just expect basic human decency from my kids.  Did I ask too much?  I guess so, because even these simple rules cannot be followed.  Unless my girls want money or a ride somewhere, I am pretty much treated like an annoyance around the house.  HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?  If my friends treated my the way my kids do, I would spend time alone.  I would never tolerate anyone treating me so poorly.  Another question I have is why is it that my kids feel that they are my equal?  I haven't been able to say "NO" without an argument in years.  The word NO to my children is like an invitation to negotiate.  (Negotiation talk to be discussed next chapter)











Chapter 1

I am having a mid life crisis. I am sitting here, in my bed, with the TV tuned to a marathon of “Keeping up with the Kardashians” and I am re-reading Twilight for the third time. As I read, with the TV volume low enough as not to interrupt my thoughts, I fantasize that I am a 17 year old girl who is madly in love with a vampire. The minute I get lost in my thoughts, however, I am jolted back to reality when I hear my 10 year old shriek “MOOOOOOMMMM we have no food in this house!!!” Unfortunately for me, she is right. There is no food in this house. Although I am a stay-at-home mom, I am in no way your traditional June Cleaver. I do not make meals for my kids. I rarely do the dishes. The beds remain unmade most of the time. The laundry sits in piles all over the house, in various stages of need- clean, folded, not folded, needs to be put away, etc. I would much rather lay in my bed, watching re-runs of sitcoms or old movies than do housework, or God forbid, spend time with my kids. Don’t get me wrong, I love my girls. I just don’t like my girls, especially my two older ones. My 12 and 10 year olds are rude, disrespectful, demanding and entitled, all traits that I have created in them, and now don’t know how to handle. So I just hide out in my room, with my DVR’d shows, watching TV, reading books or hanging out on Facebook. My new motto is “have MacBook will hide in bedroom.” 


My husband sits quitetly alone on the couch, in the dark, watching the Giants, and occasionally screaming profanities. He is in the dark because, as he often states, turning on the lights is a waste of money. Sometimes when he isn’t home, I turn on all the lights in the house in an act of defiance. It is my way of being somewhat in control of my life. 2 out of 3 of my kids are at playdates, and I know that they have to come home at some point, a thought which makes me want to dive under the covers and hide until they have all left for college. When all three of my girls are home together, my house sounds like a horror movie- screaming, fighting, stabbing, gunshots, running and crying. And that just comes from me and my husband. The girls behavior is so much worse. My 7 year old can shoot you a dirty look and call you a beyotch with the best of them. 


OK- enough about the girls- lets get back to my mid life crisis. I am 41 years old and have been married for 15 years to a wonderful man (kind of cliche huh). I have a wonderful life (another cliche). I live in a beautiful home, in an upscale upper-middle class neighborhood. I drive a nice car, have designer clothes, shoes and bags, and vacation a few times a year. We have friends, Saturday night plans, parties and plenty of social outings. I am fucking bored to death. 


When I was growing up, I had dreams of getting married, having children and being a stay at home mom. I would have a nice house with a white picket fence, a pool, a swingset, three great kids and a doting, adoring husband who would love and worship me as if the sun rose and set in my honor. In reality, however, I only got the swingset. 


Women of my generation were told we could have it all- lucrative professional high power careers and then, once we were established in our careers, we could add husband and children to the mix. Even after embarking on a career, we knew that there would be time for children at some point, and that when we were ready, it would be a beautiful thing to leave work and stay at home with our babies. This was exactly my vision and my path. After graduating top of my class from law school, I started work at a prestigious law firm as an associate. At the time I was 24 years old and making more money than I could imagine. After a few years as an associate, I had my first daughter, Samantha. I then went back to work “part time” as an associate, only to give birth to my second daughter, Hallie, 18 months later. The entire time I was a working mom, I yearned to be a stay at home mom. I eventually quit my job, and was able to fulfill my dreams of playgroups, gymboree and pushing my babies in a double stroller around the lake while talking with my new mommy friends. 


When I first made the decision to stay home full time, I jumped into the stereotypical suburban mom role with both feet. I made friends, had lunch, dropped my kids at pre-school and chatted in the parking lot with all the other moms. We would use our 2 free precious hours to have coffee, and after picking the kids up from pre-school, we would go to the park or the playground and let the kids run around. At the time, I felt a lot of pressure to conform to the way these women were raising their kids. I remember feeling that my kids needed to have certain toys, attend specific music classes, go to gymnastics and sports classes, have playdates and friends so they could “socialize”. There was nothing more stressful than having a playdate with 3 or 4 two year olds, who, by the very nature of their age were not ready to socialize and it would ususally be my kid who would inevitably bite or hit another kid. No, my kids were not good sharers, and yes, they were bossy and demanding and often mean to the other kids. But I have learned that this in no way was a permanent sentence for them, and I am proud to say that they no longer bite or hit, and they are pretty good sharers. The other mothers were so judgmental about the behavior of two year olds, and I went right along with the pack.


So at this point I forged ahead in “mom to three little kids land”, feeling all the while that the other mothers knew better. In the beginning, when we were either pregnant or had newborns and toddlers, everything was fun, new and exciting. By the time I had my third baby, I didn’t even bring the camera to the hospital. After about 5 years of stay at home motherhood, I was bored and lonely. I soon discovered that the women who I considered my “friends” were merely there to satisfy a need. They were not necessarily people who I would choose to be friends with, but rather people I needed to be friends with because we had children the same age. Once my girls got older and went off to elementary school, I started to lose contact with these “friends”. I had made new friends by that time, women who I chose as friends, and who I have a lot in common with. These women are still my closest and probably only true friends. I have made a lot of acquaintences along the way, but I was quick to learn that many of these women have an agenda, and I am not interested in being a part of it.


So, for now, I am living in what many women would give up lipo for: I get to stay home and raise my family. Whoopeee! I want to take all the young, single women who are now looking for a husband to share their dreams with, shake them and tell them to run for their birth control pills, and take 2 at a time. I’m not saying that women shouldn’t have children or that I regret having mine. I just want everyone to know the truth; the dirty little secret that you don’t hear on The Martha Stewart Show, or even on Oprah. Staying home, raising children, taking care of a house and dealing with a husband day in and day out absolutely sucks. There is no other way to put it.


My days are all the same. They begin at the crack of dawn, when I wake from an ambien induced sleep, painfully roll out of bed, stiff from my workout the day before, and in pain from my 2 hernitated discs. I climb down the stairs and hear the hungry sqweek from my guinea pig. Yet another living creature who expects to be fed in this house. After throwing a carrot in the cage, I turn on the coffee machine and wait...and wait...and wait until the ready light comes on. As the coffee flows into my cup, I feed the 5 goldfish, which were acquired throughout the years from various carnivals. Most of the time goldfish live about 24 hours until I find them floating at the top of the tank. Unfortunately for me, these fish have been around for the past 2 years and seem pretty sturdy. I note that the water is cloudy and in desperate need of changing, but decide I really don’t give a shit about the color of the fish tank water. By this time my coffee is ready. I add some soy milk and take my first sip. I don’t really like the taste of soy milk, but I feel somewhat pressured by all this organic, healthy living crap, so I attempted to make changes in my eating, so I figure soy milk is a good start and won’t take too much effort. AHHHHH. My day can almost begin. 


As I walk past the sink, I notice that last nights dished are still there. UGH. In order to finish up the dishes, I first have to empty the dishwasher. Dont have energy for that right now (or the deisre). I grab 2 brown lunch bags and throw whatever I can dig out of the pantry into each, hoping that the teachers won’t notice that my kids will be eating cheese doodles and diet coke for snack at 9:30 in the morning. OK- I have procrastinated long enough and now it is time to rouse the sleeping lions. This is without a doubt one of the most stressful time of the day. You see, I am not a morning person, and neither are my kids. I usually start out with the 7 year old, Sophie, who by the way, sleeps in my bed. On most mornings, I find my husband sleeping in Sophie’s white eyelet canpoy bed with Pottery Barn floral quilt and an oversized Kooky Pen pillow. Poor guy. So I bring Sophie a clean outfit from off the floor of her bedroom, which is where I left the pile of clean folded laundry 5 days ago. It was my intention to put the clothes in the drawers and closet, but I blew that off because I found better things to do. As I rouse Sophie from a drooling finger sucking sleep, she starts to scream that she doesn’t want to go to school. She complains of a headache, stomachache, assache, any thing that she can think of to stay home from school. She starts to kick me. It is at this point that I get angry and start screaming. It is only 6:55 am. I manage to get her dressed, while she is still laying in bed, brush her hair and teeth (on occasion) get her shoes and coat on and get her out the door to the bus by 7:20. Breakfast? No. Maybe if she’s lucky I will throw a Pop-Tart at her, but on most mornings she is off to school with a few sips of water and a kiss on top of her head. Fortunately her elementary school has a breakfast program, so as long as there is money in her account, she has learned how to order herself breakfast. And fortuntaley again, her account is on automatic payment attached to my credit card. She also buys hot lunch everyday. 


One down, two to go. Now comes the really hard part. My 10 year old Hallie is a vampire. Since she was 2 years old, she has been a terrible sleeper. When she was 3 we put a TV in her room so that she could stay up and watch TV and we could get some sleep. Dr. Ferber would have committed suicide if Hallie was his patient. Now that she is older, she still watches TV late into the night. On weekends, she can sleep until 1:00 in the afternoon. I know you are thinking why the hell don’t you just take the TV out of her room and make her go to sleep at a reasonable hour? (Like we didn’t think of that). Well, there are a few reasons. First, she doesn’t sleep, no matter how tired we may think she is. She just doesn’t sleep. Second, we have tried that in the past, and instead of crying herself out and eventually falling asleep, she ripped wallpaper off the walls, make holes in the sheetrock and kept the entire house up until 5 am. Putting her in the garage didn’t work either- we tried that. So, in an attempt to keep some sanity at night, we let her have her TV as long as she stays in her room all night, which she does. 


Although Sophie and Hallie go to the same school and should get on the bus together, I have discovered that it makes my life easier to get Sophie on the school bus, then drag Hallie out of bed and drive her to school. This is no easy task. 


I have lost my coffee. I’m sure it is one of the many rooms that I have already been in and out of in a frenzied effort to get my kids to school on time. The hell with the coffee- I will just pop open a can of diet coke. The sound of the can opening and the fizz of the carbon dioxide escaping is music to my ears. My first sip of my diet coke is second only to the first sip of coffee. I slug down a prozac with my soda, and now I’m really ready to get Hallie. “Hallie” I say sweetly. “It is time to get up”. No response. “Hals”. No response. “HALLIE GET UP”. Now I am shaking her, softly and first, then with more fervor. Still no response. I walk out of the room. I walk back in, now angry that once again my day is going to start with a fight. “If you don’t get out of bed now, there will be no playdate later”. I know this is an empty threat. Who the hell wants her home all afternoon, up my ass begging me to buy her songs on itunes. On my way back in her room, I step in a dirty bowl full of cereal and milk. In yet another act of defiance Hallie has taken food into her room, again. It is unbelievable to me that my children cannot understand the words “All food is to be eaten in the kitchen only”. I have even tried to break down the sentence for them, making sure that they understand the meaning of each individual word. I often question their intelligence, but then come to realize that they just don’t give a shit about my rules.


I finally get her out the door and to school. I go home and sit myself down on the couch to catch up on the Today show. Ijust love Matt Lauer and Meredith Viera. I have to admit that I miss Katie Couric, but Meredith will do.


I procrastinate on the couch, drinking my now cold coffee- i found it on the coffee table in the den- and remember that my oldest is still upstairs sleeping. “The Queen” as I call her doesn’t like to take the bus. This means that I drive her to school every morning. Why do I do this to myself? I don’t know. OH!  And the queen expects to be taken to Starbucks every morning for a grand mocha frappucino. I throw on workout clothes (my uniform), and walk into the Queens room. In the bed, where once a cute, chubby cheeked sweet little girl used to sleep, has been replaced with a snarling, nasty, green smoke coming out of her mouth pre-teen. ,As soon as she says she's ready, I start nagging her about brushing her teeth. Why a 12 year old girl forgets to brush her teeth is beyond me. Doesn’t she care about morning breath? Of course, she lies to me and tells me she did it. She even turns on the water in her bathroom, so she can “trick me” into thinking that she brushed her teeth. My thinking is, if you are going to go through all the trouble of turning on the water, why not go the extra mile and put the toothbrush to your teeth? Call me crazy! When her teeth fall out of her head, it will be her consequence. Hopefully it will be her husband’s problem and his expense.


I sit on the couch again, waiting for the Queen to emerge from flat ironing her hair, trying to decide what it is I want to do with my day. First, the gym and some attempt to keep my aging body from looking and feeling like a woman who should wear a polyester pant suit. One of the things that stay at home moms do really well is diet and work out. I shouldn’t say really well, I should say that it one of the obsessions we have. It is almost expected that we should be up on all the latest diet fads, and we have tried them all. If someone suggested that weight loss were as simple as standing on your head for 30 minutes a day, then believe me, we would all be on our heads. Instead we turn to weight ins and meetings, disgusting prepackaged meals, even voo doo medicine men, all in the hopes of finding the next greatest weight loss breakthrough. On the top of this list would be the bead doctor. The bead doctor was an unattractive, overweight guy in his early 60s, who had lost most of his teeth. He would bring about 8 to 10 of his "patients" into his consulting room and give them a speech about his briliant weight loss plan, which consisted of strategically taping beads behind your ears, asking you to rub these beads for 15 minutes each hour.  Oh and by the way, your diet consists of the following: you could only eat  between the hours of 12 noon to 5 pm.  After 5 it was only water.  M-W-F you could only drink milk. Tu-Th you could only have fruits and vegetables.  People paid good money to go on this diet, and the "doctor" laughed all the way to the bank.  My other favorite diet fad is the "blow diet".  No, this does not involve your husband.  Rather, some random man flew in from California, asking for $200 cash from each women (in denominations of $100 bills only), told you "no more packaged cookies" and literally blew on you.  I personally did not participate in this one, but I do know that this "man" flew back to California with a pocket full of $100 bills.  Unbelievable right?  Let's not forget Atkins, South Beach, Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, Nutrisystem, and the 9 day cleanse.  I digress.  Back to my day.


My mind starts to flurry with the myriad of mindless errands I have to run. Target for birthday presents, get my nails done, supermarket, meet a friend for lunch, buy tuna, get bagels, guinea pig food, pick up dry cleaning, have dress altered, take the car in for inspection, blah blah blah. I know that you would think that getting my nails done and having lunch with friends doesn’t sound so painful. It is.  We are the first generation of women who went to college, obtained professional degrees, had "careers", some of them "high power" careers, and then chose to abandon all that we worked so hard to achieve to stay at home and raise our children.  After all, isn't child rearing the most important job we have?  Isn't it our goal to raise self-sufficient, confident, independent, happy and successful children that can go out in the world?  Why is it then, that we have given up so much, out of choice, but so many of us are feeling so lost.  I recently watched Chris Rock's comedy special on HBO and he was talking about Desperate Housewives, and how the women on this show didn't work, had nice houses, everything they could ever want, including sex with the young hot gardener, but they were still complaining all the time.  He said the show should be called "Ungrateful Bitches."  Although I laughed out loud at that, I realized he was right.  Was I an ungrateful bitch?  Perhaps.  I try to remind myself that I am really fortunate.  But everything is relative right?  On a day to day, moment to moment basis, it is hard to keep in mind how lucky I am.  My reality is fighting kids, a house that needs to be cleaned again, laundry that needs to be folded and put away again, and a sink full of dishes...Again.


As parents, we are all guilty of over-indulging our kids.  We over-indulge with "things" and we also over-indulge with time.  What I mean by that is our kids believe they are the center of the universe, and our time is no where near as important as their time.  Let me explain.  Saturday morning.  My eyes aren't even open yet, and my blackberry is buzzing that I have a new text message.  It's from the Queen, who is by the way, in her bedroom down the hall.   It reads "can u take me to the mall".   Taking her to the mall is not the problem.  The problem arises because next thing I know, I am taking her, 5 of her friends, Hallie and Sophie to the mall.  OK, so I guess its my turn to take the Queen's "posse" to the mall.  Getting ready is a huge ordeal.  Not for me- jeans and a ponytail.  But the Queen and her friends all congregate at my house, straighten their hair for about an hour, put on their best skinny jeans and black eyeliner, all the while texting EACH OTHER and other kids about this trip to the mall.   I don't understand why a group of tween/teens will text the person sitting next to them or across the room.  Have they lost the art of conversing??  


Back to the mall.  Apparently, they are planning to see a movie.  Now here's the part that pisses me off.  The Queen never asks me if she can do something, she TELLS me what she is going to do.  "We are going to the movies, then to Anna's house, then to town for pizza, then to Jamie's house and then I am sleeping over at Alex's house."   OK- first of all, how are you getting from place to place?  "Can you take us" asks the Queen?  Like I have nothing else to do all day then to drive you and your friends around town.   And by the way, do you have any money?  The Queen replies "Uh, no could you give me some money?"  What am I, The Bank of Mom???   Now here comes the "world revolves around me" moment.  "By the way" I said to the Queen, "Daddy and I are going out tonight so you have to babysit your sisters."  I brace myself for the reaction that I know is coming.   "MOM-A"  she yells.  The Queen has her own language.  For some obnoxious reason, she adds an A at the end of her sentences.  One of her favorites is "OH MY GOD-A."  Another classic around our house is "WHY AM I BEING PUNISHED...I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING-A."   So here comes the Queen’s babysitting wrath- “Why can’t you hire a sitter-A”, “Why can’t Hallie babysit-A”, “I have plans-A.”  She even actually says “Why do you get to go out and I don’t-A.”  For a girl, my daughter has a huge set of balls.  She truly believes that we should stay home because she has plans.  You see, she is entitled to her plans.  We are just the schmucks who should drive her to and from her plans, and of course. pay for them.  


OK- Back to the mall.  We finally leave the house, 7 girls in tow, but not before the Queen lays down the law to her sister Hallie.  “You are not allowed to hang out with my friends-A.”  This of course starts a screaming match between the girls about who didn’t let who hang out with whose friend last time they were over.  This argument continues the entire ride to the mall.  Once at the mall, the girls pile out and the Queen starts telling me where we are going.