Tag Archives: love

Why I Want to Have Jason Bateman’s Baby

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Everyone has their secret celeb crushes. On my short list — Sting, Jon Stewart, Hugh Laurie, Robert Downey Jr., Conan O’Brien, Ryan ”Hey Girl” Gosling – to name just a few. (It’s really not a short list at all, actually.)

But no one compares to my undying devotion to Jason Bateman.
Ah, yes. Jason and I go waaay back.

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—-[The following post is narrated by Ron Howard]—-

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We’re talkin’ way back to Little House on the Prairie, when Jason made his TV debut as the adorable freckle-faced young orphan boy, James Cooper– and who not much later in his career would occasionally bear more than an unsettling resemblance to his real-life sister, Justine Bateman.

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Jason’s little orphan boy on the prairie was a beacon of light on an otherwise dismal show involving buck-toothed scamp Laura Ingalls doing wholesome things such as pushing a shrieking wheel-chair bound Nellie Olsen down a mountain.

Clearly, she had it coming.

Clearly, she had it coming.

Who was this scrappy young actor? How did he manage to pull off high-waisted woolen pants and dorky suspenders with such pizazz? And what was the deal with his hair? I didn’t know his name, but at the tender age of eleven, I knew I was hopelessly in love. With his bowl cut.

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[To be clear, I, Ron Howard, am not in love with him, but Darla, the author of this post, is and she's got it real bad]

Then came this:

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And my adoration for him grew by leaps and bounds. On Silver Spoons, he played a devilish rouge, a Bad Boy out to wreak havoc upon his blonder and arguably more popular counterpart, Rick (aka The Ricker) Schroeder.

I was always rooting for Jason, to just once for the love of god rip a pole out of his foosball table and knock The Ricker senseless, letting him fall helplessly onto the tracks in his living room only to be tragically run over by his outlandish Smug Rich Boy choo-choo train.

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Jason went on to greener and less blonder pastures, starring briefly in It’s Your Move, co-starring with That Guy From Married With Children.

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Then he wisely moved on to the hit series, Valerie, which was later changed to Valerie’s Family, then The Hogan Family, which was later changed to The Hogans, then It’s Sandy Duncan’s Family, Dammit! and finally to The Sandy Duncan’s Left Eye Show.

Which was also at one point called, We Must Never Speak of Rhoda Again, Show

Which was also at one point called the We Must Never Speak of Rhoda Again Show

Soon after he went on to star in many films, like Juno…(blah blah blah, I wasn’t really paying attention…) and then finally, Arrested Development. Oh! Oh, ho ho hoooo! oooohhhh Wheeee, what a show!

I, Ron Howard, would also like to add "ooh whee, what a show." Please don't cancel us.

I, Ron Howard, would also like to add “ooh whee, what a show.” Please, let us make a movie.

He played Michael Bluth, the manager — and sometimes man behind the incompetent president, his magic-tastic brother Gob — of the Bluth Company, a manufacturer of mini-mansions. He was also the co-proprietor of Bluth’s Original Frozen Banana Stand — because “there’s always money in the banana stand” — and the proverbial glue that held his nutty family’s prefabricated spec house together. Barely.

What was it about him? His ability to play the straight man in every scene? His blatant refusal to dissolve into fits of laughter when faced with these lines and these characters?

Or is it the amazingness that is his perfectly ruffled and scruffy devil-may-care hair?

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I think it's your hair, Michael.

I think it’s your hair, Michael.

Whatever his magnetic charm, [I'm also going with the hair] he is my number one celebrity crush as we have so much in common. We’re the same age, we both have kids and are happily married. [again, this is a message from Darla, the author of this post, not me, Ron Howard] And neither of us want to ever let Arrested Development die. Holy hell, what a good show! [that last part was from me, Ron Howard]

Call me, Jason! Because I love you.

(I think I’ve made a huge tiny mistake.)

photo credits: sitcomsonline, worldtvpc, reelmovienation, tvguide, wikipedia

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Please, feel free to share your short-list celebrity crushes in the comments below. Or your love for Jason Bateman.  Maybe it won’t make me look so stalkerish. Although, that’s doubtful.

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This Mom’s Wish

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Dear Kids,

This is all I want for Mother’s Day (and beyond):

  • That you realize half-eaten tuna sandwiches don’t belong in the far corner of your closet buried under three tons of toys.
  • You learn to fight less and love more.
  • Hands are not for hurting but for helping — also for helping Mom by picking up all your stuff off the floor. Here’s a tip: open your hand, pick something up, put it away.
  • R – E – S – P – E – C – T Find out what it means to me. And to anyone else you’ll meet for the rest of your life. I’ll give you a big hint: it’s probably the single most important thing, other than love, you can feel for another human being.  It will carry you throughout life and help you learn from others, shaping you into a positive force that can move mountains.  If you give it, others will return it to you.
  • Silence. Just ten minutes will do.
    OK, five is fine too.
    One minute?
  • A hug. A real one. Not the kind where you wiggle away in horror like I’m trying to pull the teeth out of your head.
  • That you help one another. Always.
  • If you ever see someone down, try to help them. If someone needs a hand, help them. If someone is struggling, help them.
  • Did I mention you should always help one another? Yeah, do that. Always.
  • That you realize what you put out there in the universe, positive or negative, will come back to you times ten. It’s the hardest lesson of all, but one worth remembering.
  • That you know love is all you need.
    And chocolate.
    I need some right now.
    Did you buy me any?

By the way, you both have already given me the above gifts.  All I ask is that you keep it up. I’m proud to be your mom.

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Happy Mother’s Day

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Beautiful Child

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Gasping your first breath on a cold fall day,
your hazel eyes greeted my blue.
A strand of my hair locked tight in your grasp,
I let my heart bleed into yours.

We ran together through the scarlet leaves,
our dance tinged with memories of gold.

You showed me the starry night,
the seashell warmed by the sun,
the bumpy edge of a lizard’s back.

I showed you the edge of time.

Still we giggled and breathed in the wide open sky,
as it dripped into our lungs
we drowned,
wrapped in sparkling silver threads,
laden with love’s pure promise.

I dream to be rescued
but only as a brown speck
floating in the soft moss-green of your eyes,
so I may see what I’ve always known to be,
I am you and you are me.

A beautiful child.

Go On, Open It

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When I feel the darkness closing in, it’s hard to breathe; the crushing pain and tears threatening to break me into tiny little pieces.

Yet this rawness, this fear inexplicably opens me up, exposing my heart. I start to reach out again. I grab onto the positive, the light and hold it close. With patience and tenderness, I let it grow enough to warm my thoughts and soothe my worries. I choose to yield to its power.

I choose yes.

Will it be okay?

Yes.

Will the light always be there?

Yes.

Will love heal all?

Yes.

Yesterday, amidst a torrent of tears and sorrow, of endless doubts and fears, something told me to open the small gift under my Christmas tree. It was from my older brother, Daniel. I almost heard a voice whispering in my ear.

Go on, open it.

I raced downstairs and ripped at the silver paper.

“Oh!” I gushed, clutching the gift close to my heart.

Inside was my late father’s 1956 report card from Thomas A. Edison High School in New York.  As I unfolded the yellowed paper, I giggled in spite of my tears. He had received mostly Ds and Cs. The only classes he had high marks in? Math and photography.

Of course, these grades from so long ago mean nothing now. Mere lines on a piece of paper. They don’t begin to measure how he lived his life or the things he taught me about trusting in the goodness and kindness of helping others. These marks don’t even hint at the incredible man he was or the love he brought so many people while he was alive.

And the love he brings me even today in the face of stark fear.

I traced his name on the tattered slip of paper with my finger over and over, as if I could somehow summon his presence. I needed my dad. I needed to feel safe. I needed his love and his reassurance. I needed him to show me things would be all right again.

I flipped the report card over and underneath nestled in the wrapping paper was a DVD. It was old movie reel footage my brother had unearthed from 45 years ago, things I had never seen before. I popped it into the player and suddenly my dad was there in my living room with me again.

Within moments the grainy and silent images flickered and filled my TV screen: my dad and mom getting married,  grinning as they playfully shared their wedding cake; my dad, a young man in his late 20s,  laughing as he twirled his own mother, my late grandmother, across the dance floor; my dad, puttering around the yard on a sunny Saturday morning, joking and playing with my older brothers.

And through it all, there was my dad’s face, his blue eyes lit from within. Shining.  I remembered his laugh.  I remembered how safe I felt around him.

As I sat there on the couch, I felt his love speaking to me.

It’s going to be all right. Do not worry. Do not fear. I am here for you. I will always be here for you.

I love you.

And that’s all that matters.

The Hardest Lesson

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I noticed the tremble in her lips, the slight crease in her brow. The way her eyes narrowed as she looked down at the ground, fear etched across her face.

Rumbling buses. Big kids. A sea of backpacks.

She walked toward the group out front, hesitated, and turned to look back at me.  Her older brother was suddenly by her side, grabbing onto her hand. He whispered something to her and they both smiled, continuing on their journey together. The tightness in my chest softened.

Breathe. Release.

Goosebumps prickled to the surface, my heart swelled. Her bravery and the sweetness of her big brother soothed my raw, exposed nerves.  Clear-eyed, I watched them vanish behind the bricks.

Not a single tear was shed.

Until the second day of school.

“Mom!” my son said through clenched teeth. “Don’t follow us!”

He slammed the car door shut and off they went, hand in hand, rushing up the sidewalk to school. Without me.

Rush. Rush. Gone.

I sat back down in the front seat. A tear rolled down and then another, a flood out of nowhere. Sharp pangs in my heart pounded, leaving me breathless, the ache only growing stronger as I watched them disappear through the front doors.

Longing–Love.

Holding–Joy.

Releasing–Pain.

Love’s lesson–a miraculous and beautiful burden for the rest of my days.

JIMMY2

Ode to My Old Man

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How do I love thee?
Let me count the ways

 I love your shaggy hair,
the gentle glimmer in your eyes

I love that your mom tried to dress you
just like Prince, only pint-size.


I love how your dimpled cheeks
frame the innocence of your smile,

I love that you once thought Boss Hogg
was actually considered in style.

I love how your sense of what’s ‘cool’ evolved,
My, look at how much you’ve grown!

I love that you went to your junior prom
thinking you were Al Capone.

 I love how you wore your jean jacket–
with the collar flipped up–so very hip

I love that you thought mere peach fuzz
could pass for a ‘stache on your upper lip.

And most of all, I love you for being you–my sweet, crazy, dorky partner for life.

♥Happy birthday!♥

PS For one full month I am still 41 and you aren’t anymore.

PPS:

The Breakthrough

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whump-whump-whump-whump

The helicopter overhead was distant–the propeller’s thumps a low murmur seeping into my mind, stirring up dread, thick and suffocating.

I stood inside my grandmother’s old house and gazed at the peeling yellowed paint on the walls and the layers upon layers of dusty photographs covering every inch. In one black and white photo, a young pig-tailed girl’s face beamed, sitting on her father’s knee, her face forever frozen in mid-laugh. In another– a girl in her teens, blowing out the candles on the cake, her father resting his hand on her shoulder.

A splintered mirror on the wall reflected an older woman. A woman now startled by the creases circling her hollowed eyes and the raw bleeding wounds dotting her scalp.  The wounds my mother gave me.

Hot red anger flashed as my fingers frantically tried to cover them with tufts of matted hair– but there were too many, they just grew and grew, and bled and bled.

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A soft breeze blew the front door open, rustling the photos about like leaves.  I shuddered as the leak of fear dripping in my mind ran cold. A rush of wind swelled and the hardwood floor beneath me groaned, each floorboard lifting one by one, rippling like waves. I turned to look out the window.

It was coming.

Lazers of red light pierced through the tiny holes and cracks in the floor, casting blood-orange spots around the room; the thundering pulse of the propeller almost on top of me now.

I opened my mouth to scream, but only a raspy gasp escaped my lips.  The photographs began to flutter and fall to the floor, forming tiny swirling tornados that danced and circled around the room; the blackened edges of each photo curling unto itself until each one disintegrated into a thin gray dust.  Vibrations rippled through me, my body nothing more than an empty shell as the helicopter’s relentless chant filled my ears.

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Bracing for impact, I shut my eyes and turned away, the taste of choking dust filling my mouth. It was outside the window now–a spinning black steel spider hanging from an unseen web growing bigger and bigger until it was inches from breaking through the glass.

Suddenly, it stopped to hover, frozen in mid-flight; as if the web’s sinewy thread was pulled taut. I felt a hand on my shoulder. My breath stopped.

It was my father.

Dad. Dad!

Dad?

I searched his face, unbelieving. He was young again; his face smooth, his smile warm and knowing. A sparkling white light radiated from his eyes.

Don’t be afraid, he said without moving his lips.

I will help you.

Watch me. I’ll show you.

Churning back to life, the helicopter continued its path toward the window. I closed my eyes, imagining it tearing through the house, shards of exploding glass, wood and metal showering down, consuming me in flames.

Look, my dad said. Here, look.

I opened my eyes.

He stepped in front of me and raised one arm, his hand shielding me from the spider. In response, it reversed, the broken shards of wood and glass flying backwards with it.  The thundering pulse of the propeller a soft murmur again as the helicopter vanished into a small black dot swallowed whole by bright blue sky.

I sucked in the air and a sweet coolness spread across my face, into my lungs and down my spine.

Silence.

I was standing on the precipice of the tallest mountain. Below me, an endless sea of jewels, sparkling blue and green.  I drank in the beauty as it flowed through my veins.

I floated. I was free.

My dad grabbed my hand and smiled. We were back in my grandmother’s house again.

Do you see?

I looked down, wisps of my hair were swirling to the floor like feathers. I tenderly touched my head. My wounds were gone, replaced with pink skin–warm, soft and new.

I do, Dad.  I see.

Thank you.

I looked out the window and into the bright light.

Don’t Eat the Dandelions

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This is what greeted me last weekend.

My kids picked me some flowers, and both of them made me the sweetest homemade cards.  They told me they were too excited to wait. And who am I to complain? I’ve always thought Mother’s Day should be more of a week-long event. Besides, every mom out there knows nothing beats a crayon drawing and fresh-picked dandelions for a gift.

“Smell them!” my daughter insisted.  “They’re just like honey!  Yummy, yellow honey! Mmm…mmm!” she said, rubbing her stomach and licking her lips.

“You didn’t try to eat any of them did you?” I asked and her brother shot me a worried look. I gave my kids a quick hug and off they ran, leaving huge clumps of wet grass all over the house.  I spent the next half hour googling poisonous weeds, popped another Benedryl and got out the vacuum. Nothing says ‘motherhood’ more than obsessively worrying about your child’s health or cleaning.

This was my son’s card. I especially loved the “sign here” and “thanks” part. Also, it’s good to know I’m their greatest mom ever and they included my name–like maybe they have someone else to compare me to. Although I appreciated the excessive use of exclamations points, I wondered if he was laying it on a bit too thick. I’ll have to see how many exclamation points they come up with for the Father’s Day card to figure out if he’s really sincere that I’m the greatest.

In honor of Mother’s Day, (and because I’m feeling incredibly lazy) I am linking a past post of mine, Mom for Hire, for all you moms out there: stay-at-home, work-at-home, work-out-of-home, work-while-staying-at-home, never-stay-at-home-because-you’re-constantly-driving-them-around…you get the idea.

We all are amazing and we all work incredibly hard. We should give ourselves kudos for being there for our kids when it counts, no matter the stupid label society tries to categorize us with.  You love your kids and they love you and that’s pretty much all that matters.

And to those dear readers without kids, (warning: sap alert) I want to thank your mom, for bringing you into this world and brightening up my bloggy days just by being your amazing, sweet self (you know who you are!) Now stop cringing, it isn’t polite.  And for heaven’s sake! sit up straight!  Wipe that ketchup off your face, go wash your hands and mind your manners! And would it kill you to call me sometime?

Hey, you know what? Screw it. Call up Papa John’s pizza. And bring me a beer while you’re at it. Mama’s Day Off has officially begun!

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The phrase “working mother” is redundant. -Jane Sellman

Do you know what you call those who use towels and never wash them, eat meals and never do the dishes, sit in rooms they never clean, and are entertained till they drop? If you have just answered, “A house guest,” you’re wrong because I have just described my kids. -Erma Bombeck.

A suburban mother’s role is to deliver children obstretrically once, and by car forever after. -Peter De Vries

Insanity is hereditary; you get if from your children. -Sam Levenson

I’d like to be the ideal mother, but I’m too busy raising my kids.-Anon

Mother Nature, in her infinite wisdom, has instilled within each of us a powerful biological instinct to reproduce: this is her way of assuring that the human race, come what may, will never have any disposable income. -Dave Barry

Humans are the only animals that have children on purpose with the exception of guppies, who like to eat theirs. -P.J. O’Rourke

My mother’s menu consisted of two choices: Take it or leave it. -Buddy Hackett

I want my children to have all the things I couldn’t afford. Then I want to move in with them. -Phyllis Diller

When my kids become wild and unruly, I use a nice, safe playpen. When they’re finished, I climb out. -Erma Bombeck

If you kids are giving you a headache, follow the directions on the aspirin bottle, especially the part that says ‘keep away from children’.-Susan Savannah

I love to play hide and seek with my kid, but some days my goal is to find a hiding place where he can’t find me until after high school. -Anon

I love my kids and they love me and I know that this will forever be. -She’s a Maineiac

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY

Now make sure you enjoy this weekend. Maybe go sit down and rest for a few minutes, kick back with a good book and a glass of wine. You deserve it!

What a Woman Really Wants

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Strange Love (True Blood)

Image via Wikipedia

The snowflakes drifted down in slow spirals, landing on my cheeks like bits of delicate lace. Through the frosty glass panes in the front door, I saw him standing inside the foyer, waiting for me. I drew in a sharp breath. A bolt of searing hot electricity flashed down my spine, sending tingles to the darkened corners of my heart that had long been neglected. Despite the cold, the heat emanating between us was radiant; a blistering flame threatening to engulf us both with its power, leaving nothing but dying embers in its wake.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” he had whispered to me on the phone earlier that day.

“Oh, really?” I had purred and bit my lower lip as I twirled my hair in my fingers.

“You’re gonna love it,” he had promised in that silky voice that drove me mad. “I can’t wait for you to get home.”

And now, after eight agonizing hours at work, I was home.

He threw open the front door with such force, a gasp escaped my lips. I ran to him. The space between us electric; filled with the pounding pulse of aching desire and raw lust. His strong hands slid hungrily underneath my heavy down jacket, squeezing my yearning body ever so close to his, enveloping me in a passionate embrace that was almost suffocating. His breath heavy and hot in my ear, he teased, “This is your night, my love. Yours.”

I stood trembling, unable to speak and frozen in place as he kneeled before me, gently sliding the snow-caked boots off my legs; my breath quickening with every tantalizing touch.

“I think you need some warming up,” his said, his voice as slick as a snake slithering toward its prey. He wrapped his arms tight around my quivering legs.

I nodded slowly, still in a trance, willing to relinquish my very soul to this man. “Yes!” I begged. “Please, do it now.” He caressed my feet, slowly placing them into my soft brown slippers. An instant rush of release; the dam finally bursting and giving way to a thunderous flood. “Oh, yeah,” I murmured, my voice barely a whisper. I wiggled my toes and sighed.  “Ooh….that feels so good.” I shut my eyes, surrending to the pleasure. My arms limp and powerless at my sides.

“Please, don’t make me wait any longer–you must come with me now,” he demanded.

“But–what about the kids?” I asked, snapping out of my reverie and nervously glancing around the quiet room.

“No worries. They are gone for the night,” he whispered. His feather-soft lips brushed against my cheek while his hand trailed slowly down my back. I shivered. “We are all alone,” he breathed into my ear.

He held me even closer, tracing the outline of my trembling chin with his finger.   “Come, darling, please…” he pleaded. He took my hand and led me down the darkened hallway.

One glance to the left and I squealed with delight; the clothes in the laundry room sat stacked in several tidy piles.   “Oh, you didn’t!” I yelled with disbelief and squeezed his hand. On the right, the bathroom sparkled in the moonlight, smelling of fresh lemons; the toilet seat and lid, down.  I felt my heart stop. I suddenly couldn’t breathe. My eyes watered as my hand flew up to cover my mouth.

“Oh! Honey!” I cried.   “You cleaned!”

“Wait, there’s more,” he said as he led me toward the living room. Flames from a dozen candles danced with the shadows on the walls. In the center of the coffee table, a silver bowl filled with Godiva chocolates. A bottle of red wine gleamed in the candle’s glow.

“Oh, sweetie!” I gushed. “It’s all so beautiful!”

“Shhh…” he soothed and pushed me down onto the couch.  He leaned my body back onto the cushions and stroked my hair. Our eyes locked, the flames of desire licking at our souls in a near explosion of searing heat as we edged ever closer to becoming one.

“For you,” he said and ceremoniously placed the remote into my trembling hands.

“Oh, no, honey…I…I couldn’t…” I protested. My heart skipped a thousand beats. I gazed down in wonder at the buttons, all shiny and begging to be touched.

“There is an entire season of True Blood on the DVR, please…watch all of it.”

“But I–”

He placed his finger on my lips.  “Shhh….it’s okay. Please. Do it. The dishes are done, the house is clean and I’m going to put the last of the laundry away. There is nothing more for you to do now but watch your show…” He handed me a glass of wine and a hunk of silky dark chocolate. “And we can do it….all….night…long.”

“All night?” I asked, blinking.

“Unless you want to talk about your day at work?” he asked, leaning back, his eyebrows raised in genuine interest. He started to rub my feet in mesmerizing circular motions. The day’s strain melted away from my body with the gentle touch of his hands.

“What was it you told me yesterday?” he continued.   “That Debra told Lisa about Sue and she didn’t even care that Sue wasn’t speaking to Lisa anymore because of the time she caught her rolling her eyes at what she said about Wendy?”

“Yeah! I mean–huh? You really want to talk about that now?” I sputtered inbetween bites of chocolate. Swigging back a gulp of wine, I sighed, “And it wasn’t even what she said it was–”

“How she said it,” he said, smirking.

We laughed.  We watched True Blood for 10 hours straight.  Exhausted and spent, the first pale rays of morning light spilled onto our entwined bodies, still curled together as one on the couch, basking in the afterglow of a perfect night.

“Honey?” I asked with a slur, still drunk on wine and chocolate.

“Yeah?” He reached over, absent-mindedly twirling my hair with his fingers.

“Do we have any Excedrin Migraine left?”

“Yes, I’ll go get you some.”

“I love you,” I whispered.

“I know.”

“It’s just…what with the red wine…and all that chocolate…it’s a migraine just waiting to happen and I–”

“Shhh…it’s okay. It’s okay. I know,” he said, tenderly rubbing my temples. I began to shiver again. As he drew my hot pink Forever Lazy Snuggie tighter around me, his arms created a safe haven of pure bliss I never wanted to escape.

“Oh, and honey?” I asked, grabbing his hand.

“Yes, my love?”

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Mom for Hire

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OBJECTIVE            To prove that when you notice the huge 10 year gap on my résumé, snicker and ask, “What were you doing all that time?!” I wasn’t merely sitting around twiddling my thumbs and eating bon bons.  (Although some days I did take a few breaks and did just that.)

WORK EXPERIENCE          

2000-2002              Fertility Specialist

  • Managed  and supervised an in-depth  and labor-intensive fertility project overseeing one disgruntled employee.
  • Daily progress was tracked with temperature readings, charts, graphs and my husband whining, “Do we have to do this AGAIN?!”
  • Goal was achieved after attending several meetings with various nurses, OB-GYNs and finally one prayer-filled seminar with The Big Guy in the Sky.
  • Assisted in creating an entire human being using only my body.
  •  Increased members of family by one healthy baby boy, increased household grocery consumption by 50%, decreased maternal brain cells by 30%.

2002-2003                Newborn Coordinator

  • Directed various sleep studies involving the length of time it takes for a subject to start hallucinating giant gummy bears dancing in the kitchen related to the few minutes of choppy haze-induced slumber one actually has per night.
  • Involved in product evaluations and determined diaper wipe warmers are about as useful as a hole in the head.  Also, breast pumps are not more effective if you crank the setting up to maximum and grit your teeth to get through the searing pain.
  • Managed one colicky baby every night for three months and implemented several tactics such as, walking baby around in circles while shushing, driving baby around neighborhood at 2 am and sobbing hysterically along with baby.

2003-2006                   Developmental Therapist/Lead Teacher

  • Lead instructor for a toddler child with sensory issues and more energy than an Energizer Bunny on speed in the middle of a hurricane fighting with the Tazmanian Devil.
  • Taught child how to count, how to recite the alphabet. Instructed child on proper hygiene, sleep habits, eating habits, social decorum. Lessons included: Hot Wheels are not for the toilet. Crayons are not edible. The cat is not a giant fuzzy doll that hisses. Addressed behavioral issues, such as, how to not hit, bite, kick another human being.
  • Subjects included: Respect, Kindness, Love, Curiosity, Imagination
  • Daily therapy provided:  giggling hysterically, dancing like everyone was watching, and running around the outdoors with wild abandon. Seeing the simple beauty, magic and joy in everyday things.
  • Goals achieved: 1) Raised one loving, caring, sweet, happy boy  2) Increased heart capacity by 1000%.

2006 to present             Mom Extraordinaire

  • Aided and assisted in creating and maintaining another human being using only my body.
  •  Supervised two active, clever, bordering on maniacal children on a daily basis.
  • Provided safe, loving, nurturing home.
  • Taught subjects such as: sharing, caring, taking turns, being respectful of others, loving oneself
  • Goals Achieved: 1) Raised one sweet, loving, caring, happy girl. 2) Increased heart capacity by infinity.
  • Other Duties as Assigned: Chef, referee, maid, chauffeur, coach, dish washer, singer, dancer, party planner, counselor, public relations, nurse, doctor, teacher, professional hugger, boo-boo kisser, hand-holder, tear-wiper, confidence-builder and self-esteem engineer

SKILLS AND QUALIFICATIONS

    • Time Management  Able to flip pancakes, clean ketchup off ceiling, figure out an algebraic equation, unclog toilet filled with Polly Pockets, do 10 loads of laundry, drive kids to various practices, classes and play dates all at the same time
    • Debating  Successfully presented and defended stance that Halloween candy consumed in large quantities for breakfast is a bad idea; flinging a Barbie at your brother’s head is a bad idea; jumping off the roof of the house into a snowbank wearing only underwear is a bad idea.
    • Patience  Able to withstand endless hours of ‘Why?’ questions, followed by listening to relentless whining, Spongebob episodes and sibling games of ‘But I’m Not Really Touching You!’  and ‘Stinky Feet’.
    • Love  Provided endless quantities on an as-needed basis. Sometimes until my heart hurt.

References Available Upon Maturity of Children.
Ask them how I did in 15 years. My guess is not too shabby.