The Hidden Dangers of Mother Harassment

So I've noticed that some of my fellow bloggers have been sporting a badge that says I'm an L.G. Text-Ed Ambassador.  It seems  those folks at BlogHer are running a five-week program where various parents discuss teens and texting.   And, yes, they're doing a good job of alerting the public to the dangers of mobile bullying. . . sexting. . . and distracted driving.  They're also offering tips on how to set ground rules for your teen's phone use and how an unsuspecting parent can decode teen's texting lingo. . .


But what about Mother Harassment?  Does anyone else recognize the danger to a mother's mental health when her own flesh and blood lobby a grenade at their mother via a text and then run on to the nearest Frat party, tanning salon, or football game?

 And as I read through the posts on decoding texting lingo, one of the acronyms I see brought up again and again is KPC, which stands for Keep Parents Clueless.

Clueless?  I could only wish!

The following are some real-time texts I have received from my college-aged daughters over the course of the last few weeks. . .

_________________________

I need lollipops!

I need slippers!

I've lost my phone charger so you better stop trying to talk to me!

I need my rainboots!  And three pairs of Ugggs.

Buy me a coffeemaker. I'm spending waaaaaay too much $ on coffee!

I don't know how to fax things!

Did you send my stuff yet?

No problem!  (Whoops! Correction . . . THAT particular text was from my niece!!!)

I forgot to send the forms.  I'll send them now but I need them back by tomorrow!

How much money do I have in my bank account?

U r supposed to know this stuff!

You told me not to overdraw!

What's my user name and password?

I don't know how to do that!

The food here stinks!

Sleeping?  Why r u asleep already?

____________________________

I'll tell you why I'm asleep. . .  because I'm exhausted from being your mother and the only remedy I know is to hop into bed and pull the covers up over my head and pretend I no longer exist!!!

And next time, my friends, we'll move on to the Joys of Facebook Messaging. . .

Come to Think of It. . . I Still Don't Know if She Was Peeing or Not

So, I've never really told you this, but the real reason I didn't want Trigger to go away to college is that I somehow knew that one day I was destined to receive this panicked phone call, which came in at approximate 8:53 on Sunday morning. . . .

___________________

Me:  Hello?

Trigger:  Mom!  I'm in the most pain I've ever been in in my life!  Should I go to the emergency room?

Me:  What's wrong?

Trigger:  I told you yesterday!  My throat is so sore it feels like it's swollen shut. . .my glands are HUGE and my neck's all swollen. . . I can't move it, you know. . . and I can't touch it. . .  and I have the worst headache I've ever had in my life. . . and it's going down my spine now. . . and I've never been in so much pain in my entire life!  Should I go to the emergency room or not?

Me (considering. .  .) That much pain?  More than the time you broke your right foot in that Irish Dancing competition?

Trigger:  Yup!

Me:  More than the time you broke your left foot playing basketball?

Trigger:  More!

Me:  And what about the two times I brought you to the emergency room with pleurisy?  More than even those times?

Trigger:  Way more!

Me:  How about the appendicitis?  It can't hurt more than the time you had your appendix out. .  .

Trigger:  Mom!  That was Ponzi, not me!

Me:  What?

Trigger:  Mom!  I didn't ask you anything. Talk to me!

Me:  I'm trying!  But your father wants to know if you have a fever. .  .and if you were out at a frat party last night. .  . oh, and are you peeing. .  .

Trigger:  Of course I wasn't out last night, Mom!  I'm sick!  And I don't even know if I have a fever 'cause I can't find my thermometer!  And  what business is it of his if I'm peeing or not?

_____________________

And if, by chance, you can't imagine a conversation worse than that one, I'm here to tell you that once Trigger was indeed in the emergency room (and I, in church mind you. . . ) our primary means of conversation then became texting:

Trigger:  Am hooked up to an I.V. now and they're giving me lots of medicine.

Me:  did u tell them u have lupus and did u give them you rheumatologist name (I have yet to master the art of punctuation and capital letters while texting. .  .)

Trigger:  Yeah, but they said I had to get hooked up right away.

Me:  r u dehydrated u father was right i bet u werent peeing what medicine they giving

Trigger:  I don't know!

Me:  ask them then tell them that doctor milkmans number is two one two eight five three two two nine three (How does one text a number???)

Trigger:  Some antibioitics, some painkillers, antinflammoatory (spelling has never really been Trigger's strong suit. .  .) and something so I don't throw up.

Me:  i think im going to throw up send it here

Trigger:  Mom!

I could go on like this forever,
but know that if Trigger were not back
in her dorm room within two hours of these texts,
I would not be here reporting to you as an ever-faithful  . . .

The Bank of She-Who-Is-Most-Broke

So Trigger's wallet, phone, debit card, and student I.D. were found the day after she called to tell me she lost them. . .  They were at a different Frat house, Mom!  I swear! I don't know how they got there! 

And once she had them back in her possession, she promptly proceeded to overdraw her checking account once again. . .

____________________


She-Who-Works-Hard-for-the-Wampum:  Trig!  Stop overdrawing your bank account!  I just checked it again and you were overdrawn by $1.57.


She-Who-Is-Most-Broke:  I didn't!  I took exactly the right amount of money out!  I had $26 dollars in there to start with and I withdrew $20 from the machine and I even counted in the $2 withdrawal fee that the bank charged me and then I got like a $4 latte at Starbucks.


She-Who-Works-Hard-for-the-Wampum:  But did you check your balance before you did?


She-Who-Is-Most-Broke:  What?


She-Who-Works-Hard-for-the-Wampum:  Did you check your balance. . . like at the machine. . .  before you withdrew that $20?


She-Who-Is-Most-Broke:  I guess so. . .  that's how I knew how much money I could withdraw.  Why?


She-Who-Works-Hard-for-the-Wampum:  Well, I see here that the bank also charged you a $2 balance inquiry fee at the close of the business day, which left you overdrawn by $1.57!  So that's it!  You have no money!  You are flat broke and will remain so until you come home for your Christmas break this Friday and start babysitting.

She-Who-Is-Most-Broke:  No, I'm not broke, Mom!


She-Who-Works-Hard-for-the-Wampum:  Yes you are broke, Trigger!

She-Who-Is-Most-Broke:  No I'm not!  I found out that I can sell my books back after exams. . . and then I'll have like a hundred bucks and I'll have all the money I need to buy Christmas presents!


She-Who-Works-Hard-for-the-Wampum:  Aren't they the very same books that I paid $750 for at the start of the semester?  I better get one heck of a Christmas present from you, young lady. . . .

Houston, We Have a Problem. . . of the coat kind . . .

If there's one thing I try to teach my daughters, it's how to be a good listener.

Take note of the following two problems which cropped up this past weekend and my astute attempt to zero in on what really matters.

_____________________________

Ponzi:  Mom, I think we have a bit of a problem. . .

Me:  A problem?  What is it?


Ponzi:  Well I went to that concert on Friday night. . . and I had my coat with me. . .you know. . . my black Northface. . .  and they made me check it. . .  like to prove I didn't have any booze with me or anything like that .  .and I gave Kathy my coat check ticket and she lost it. . .  just like she did last week. . .and I had to wait until the firemen said it was alright to come back in . . . you know. .  .after the fire alarm that we all thought was part of the show. . .  and they made me wait 'til everyone else claimed their coats. . .  and someone had taken my coat and it had your $30 in it and my train ticket home. . . and my school I.D. and perhaps my driver's license. . . I'm not really sure about that one. . .  but somebody else left their black Northface and I took that one instead . . . and the good news is that . . . remember how you made me buy a child's XL 'cause the ladies' "small" was like fifty bucks more???. . . well. . .  this coat is a ladies's "small". .  .so I think we made out on the deal!

Me:  Oh my God, Ponzi! You brought an unknown coat home from New York City?  You better put in in the washer right away! You never know where a coat like that has been!


Which was quickly followed by this phone conversation on Sunday afternoon. . .

Trigger:   Mom!  We have a problem!

Me:  We do???  What is it?


Trigger:   Well you see . . .  Last night I was at a Frat party. . . you know . . . and I had my coat. . . my black Northface. . . cause I told you we practically had like a blizzard. . .  well I left my coat in Kimmie's bedroom and when I went back to get it at the end of the night it wasn't there.


Me:  Tell me. . .  what size was that coat?  Was it a child's XL????


Trigger:  Mom!  Did you hear me?  Do you know what was in my coat?  My wallet!   My ATM card!! My student I.D.!!!   My PHONE!!!!

Me:  Were there any firefighters there?

Trigger:  Do you not even care?   This is serious!  Do you even know what this means?

Me:  What does this mean?

Trigger:  I don't have any money!  I can't talk to anyone!   I can't eat!  Aren't you worried that someone is using my ATM card???

Me:   What?  And withdrawing the grand total of $25 you begged me to put in your account yesterday?  I'll just transfer it back to my account.

Trigger:  But they could overdraw!

Me: Oh yes!  I vaguely remember your sister doing that just last week. . .  I tell you what. . .  go steal someone else's Northface, get yourself a new student I.D., and eat in the dining hall until you come home for Christmas break.

Me (again):  And Trig?

Trigger:  Yes?

Me:  Make sure your new coat is a ladies' "small" and don't forget to you wash it right away.  You never know where a coat like that has been. .  . but check the pockets first. . .  there may be something good in there. .  .

To Catch a Thief

One of my lovely daughters lifted $20 from my wallet on Saturday.

I'm quite certain of it.

For after I returned from a fundraising breakfast for a young mother with terminal cancer, a stint at work delivering Thanksgiving baskets to the homes of the area's poor, and attending my 27-year-old cousin's profoundly sad and troubling wake. . . .well, the only thing in life I was sure of was the fact that I had a total of $80 in my wallet.

And yet, later in the evening, when I pulled out my wallet to pay the take-out-delivery guy (What?  Don't tell me you would cook after a day like that????) there were clearly only three twenties in there.

And so I proceeded to launch an investigation - starting with the most-likely culprit first:

____________________

Me:   Ponzi, did you, by chance, take a twenty dollar bill from my wallet this afternoon?

Ponzi:  No, I asked you for five dollars.   Remember?  And you told me I couldn't take it and you told me to get a job.

Me:  Exactly. . .  .


Ponzi:  But I didn't, Mom!  Wouldn't that have been stupid of my to ask for five and take twenty instead?

Me:  But I only had twenties in my wallet.   And remember how you told me you couldn't apply for a job now. . . you know. . .  cause who would hire someone with a big black eye???

Ponzi:  I didn't take it, Mom!  I swear!  It must have been Trigger!

And so the scope of my investigation widened to another bedroom.

Me:  Trigger?   Did you, by chance, take $20 from my wallet this afternoon?

Trigger:  No Mom!  Why would I do a think like that?  You know I came home from college broke with no money left in my bank account!

Me:  Exactly. . .  .

Trigger:   So if I went and bought something you would have seen it and then you would have known that I didn't have the money for it and you probably would have thought that I stole the money from you and I don't care what you think but I'm not that stupid Mom!

Me:  Not if you used it on coffee. . . or tanning. . .  or makeup. . .  how would I notice a thing like that?  You were gone an awfully long time after you dropped Ponzi off at her friend's house.   For all I know, it could still be in your wallet.


Trigger:  Oh.  My.  God!!!  You can look in my wallet if you want to.  You already know I'm broke. . .

So there you have it, my friends.  The investigation is at a stand still.  I'm thinking of running fingerprint checks on both of them  (you know. . . like I do with all the unwitting church volunteers.) And the dog.  I'm considering having her paw-printed too while I'm at it . .  .

Alright.. .  I know you all have a theory as to where that $20 went.   So you might-as-well go ahead and say it here. . .

When you live in a den with liars and thieves, you can no longer afford to be proud.

Quite literally. . .

Despite Ponzi's Best Efforts, this Little Piggy Stayed Home

Overheard in A Mom on Spin's kitchen this weekend. . .(And, by the way, don't I look a wee-bit curvaceous over there?)

____________________


Ponzi:  Mom!  I have a great idea!

Me:  No.

Ponzi:  No?  I didn't even tell you my idea yet!

Me:  I can't help it.   Every idea you've ever had involves spending my money. . .  but I suppose you can go ahead and tell me anyway. . . .

Ponzi:  I have a great idea for something we can do together!  You know. . . like mother/daughter bonding.

Me:  Oh, do you like taking naps too?

Ponzi:  Naps?  No!  I was thinking we could get pedicures.

Me:  Well  I was thinking that the day is all rainy and dreary and I'm kind of tired after that early morning meeting I needed to set up for.   And I thought I would go get a good book.  One that I can cuddle up with this afternoon and fall asleep reading.  And then I could take a good long nap before I have to go to that fundraising dinner tonight.  How about you come to Barnes and Noble with me instead?

Ponzi:  Barnes and Noble?  It takes you like a half-hour to pick out a book there  . . .

Me:  But you could pick out a book too.   And we can even sit in the Starbucks inside and get a coffee. . . . you know a mother/daughter coffee.  Perhaps we could even split it.

Ponzi:  Split a coffee?   Are you crazy?    Plus. .  . you know I hate to read!


Me:  Well you know I hate pedicures.

Ponzi:  You don't really hate pedicures.  You're just saying that!

Me:  Oh no, I'm not.   I do hate pedicures. . . it's like an invasion of my privacy or something. . . what with all the slapping and tickling. . .  . Plus. . .  it's November you know.  No one's going to even see my toes for like another six months.   I'm not paying for a pedicure - correction - Two pedicures . . . . right now!


Ponzi:  Well I'm not going with you to buy a book.


Me:  Well I suppose that settles it!  I've changed my mind.   I'm heading straight to the nap part instead!

Ponzi:  Fine! And since you won't hang out with me, I'm going tanning with Kimmy. . . .

Me:  Fine!

And there you have it folks.

Another stellar moment of motherhood by,

The Ignore Button

I've decided that the only logical way to handle motherhood is with the IGNORE button.

No. Seriously.

You don't own one?  It's like the Easy button. . . only better.  And I've found it comes in especially handy when dealing with college-aged daughters.

Listen.

____________________

Trigger:  Mom!

Me:  What?

Trigger:  Are you really coming to visit me next week?

Me:  Yes.

Trigger:  When are you coming?

Me:  Thursday.  And leaving on Friday.

Trigger:  Great!  Just in time.  I need you to bring me a long white dress for my induction into the sorority on Saturday night.    It has to be very conservative . . . nothing strapless or see-through. . . .you know. . .  very lady like.  I don't care what else you do, you have to go to The Mall and find a dress for me and bring it with you.

Me: 

or how about this one. . . 

Trigger:  Mom!

Me:  Yes?

Trigger:  Didn't you put more flex dollars on my student card?

Me:  No.  I told you last time you asked. The money I put on your card at the beginning of the school year was IT for the semester.  If you need more flex dollars, you can transfer them from your own bank account.

Trigger:  But Mom!  You know I don't even know how to do stuff like that.   You're the one who's supposed to do it for me.   Every one else's parents do!

Me:   

Now, THAT was easy!

Wait! Who's That Tapping?

I never thought I'd do it.


Didn't think I'd fall prey.

Never, in a million years, did I dream I'd be tap-tapping in the morning.  And sometimes in the afternoon.  And again before I go out at night.   And - come to think of it - I must have been waaaaaaay more worried about turning 50 than I ever thought I was.

Listen to the conversation I had with Ponzi just about a month ago. . . a few days before my birthday. . .

___________________

Me:  You know that make-up you left in the bathroom the other day?


Ponzi:  Yeah?   Because, believe it or not, ever since Trigger's departure (yes, Trigger - remember her?) anything left on the bathroom counter is a memorable experience. . .

Me:  Well I tried it, and I actually kind of liked it.   Did that come from one of those stores in The Mall?  You know. . ."The" Mall I won't go into?

Ponzi:  Yeah Mom, it's the tap-tap make-up you always make fun of.  It's from Sephora's.

Me:  Well can you go there. . . and get some for me. . . like in disguise?

Ponzi:  Yeah, I'll get you a starter kit for your skin tone.  It'll be my birthday present to you.  Only you'll pay for it!

Me:  How much will that be?

Ponzi:  Oh, not much . . . . like $50 or $60 or something.

Me:  Well, that's quite a present to myself. . .  but a lady only turns 50 once. . .and goodness knows your sisters won't be buying me anything. . . but Ponz?

Ponzi:  Yes?

Me: Tell those make-up Nazi's in the store you're buying it for your sister.  Whatever you do, don't tell them it's for your 50-year-old mother, 'cause then they'll either laugh you out of the store, or try to talk you into buying all kinds of other stuff. . . . like . . . . for old ladies.   I don't look like an old lady, do I?

Ponzi:  No, Mom, of course you don't.

Me:  Good. . . that's why I had you. . . . now hurry up and run along to The Mall so I can tap-tap tonight before I go out. . . 

oh. . . and the starter kit came with a dvd.  What sort of numskull would give a dvd to an old lady, who - very clearly - can't operate her family's entertainment system without the help of a teenage daughter?  And, furthermore, what kind of self-respecting female needs a dvd to show them how to apply a little makeup?  WTF???

I Guess the "R" Stands for Royalty. . . .

Overheard this weekend in On Mom on Spin's kitchen. .  .

____________________

Ponzi:   I'm so mad!

Me:  Why?

Ponzi:  I can't paint the "R" on my stomach for the game today.

Me:  Why not?

Ponzi:  'Cause I'm one of the girls nominated for Homecoming Queen and that means I have to drive around in a stupid convertible instead. . .

And you all thought no good would come out of that little unofficial booster club. . . didn't ya????

And I Remember When She Used to Fingerpaint. . .

Conversation overheard just yesterday in A Mom on Spin's kitchen. . .


Me:  Ponzi!  Where are you going dressed like that?

Ponzi:  To the high school football game.  Why?

Me:  Well, my dear, that shirt is more-than-a-little-bit see through.  You better put a jacket on over it.

Ponzi:  It's not like it really matters.   I'm just going to be pulling it up anyway. . .

After all. . . she is the second "R" in Morristown, you know. . .

Misery Loves Company. . .

Phone conversation overheard earlier today between mother and daughter while groggy mother is at work . . . 

~~~~~~~~~~

Trigger:   Mom!

Trigger:  Mom!

Me:  Yes?

Trigger:  Did you get my text?  Why didn't you get back to me?

Me:  You know, Trig, I did get that text.  But I didn't really appreciate the fact that you sent it to me at 3 in the morning, so I didn't respond to it.

Trigger:  Well I didn't want to forget.

Me:  How was it that you needed to tell me to refill your prescription at that particular moment and couldn't wait until morning?  Were you in terrible pain?  Are you out of medicine?

Trigger:  No, but I only have five left.

Me:   I think it could have waited until morning. . .

Trigger:  You always tell me not to sleep with my phone. . . . why do you?

Me:   Because, my dear, I use my phone as my alarm clock.   You know I have GSD (Goldilocks Sleep Disorder) and I need a mobile alarm clock.  As it was, I happened to be in the third and final bed of the night.  And after your little text message I didn't get back to sleep until 5!

Trigger:  Well you could have texted me back.  I was awake you know.  . . .

Make-up Nazis. . .

I know you all like my conversations with my teenage daughters.

Here's one with a little twist. Like most things in my life, it's one sided. . .

~~~~~~~~~~

Me: Hello?

Me: Trigger! Speak slowly! What's the problem?

Me: Well did you clean it up?

Me: What do you mean, "What difference does that make?" You're sharing a bathroom with four other girls now, you can't continue to be the slob you were at home.

Me: Well, I don't really see why it's such an emergency.

Me: What? Me?

Me: Trigger, you know I only go to The Mall at Christmas. . . (and heavily medicated at that. . .)

Me: No.

Me: No!

Me: I'm not even wearing black today. I absolutely cannot step foot in that mall unless I'm wearing black. It's my only hope of looking sophisticated. But we haven't had a funeral at work in five weeks . . .

Me: I know you don't care about people dying! Just like I don't really care about your make-up drama!

Me: But how will I know what to get? Those snotty little make-up Nazi-sale-clerks will take one look at me and throw me out of the store! They have a way of knowing, you know . . .

Me: Knowing what? They can tell that I wear drug-store make-up. . . and that I shop at Target. . . and color my own hair. . . I see it in their eyes. . .

Me: A profile? They have a profile on you? I told you they're Nazis! "No make-up for you!"

Me: No, you wouldn't get it. It was an old Seinfeld episode, you see there was this soup Nazi. . .

Me: Seinfeld. His name was Seinfeld. He was a comedian. There was this show. It was funny.

Me: I know you don't care about Seinfeld either. . . It's all about the make-up. . . the tragedy of the bronzer break. . .

Me: Shattered. Yeah, I know. It shattered. You're shattered. I'm shattered for you. . .

Me: Well don't they have drugstores in Virginia? Can't you just go to CVS and buy some bronzer? Nobody says you can't just pretend and tap-tap it like the other stuff. . .

Me: No?

Me: Never?

Me: Never ever????

Me: Never ever EVER?????

Me: Well let me hear you say it, then. . .

Me: Now! Say it now! What are you? A love Nazi? Repeat after me. . . "My mom's the best mom in the world and I love her to death..."

Me: Say it!

Me: Say it, or there's no makeup. . .

Me: Thanks Trigger. . . I love you too!

How to Blame Your Mother for Everything

I'm convinced my daughters took a How to Blame Your Mother for Everything class while in utero.

For how else could it come so naturally?

I received the following voicemail from Ponzi yesterday . . . (now keep in mind that Ponzi has only been out of my sight since Wednesday evening, with a phone call home to report her safe arrival and a text yesterday to ask the question What's that disease where you remain small forever??? )

Ponzi: Hello there Mother! Just wanted to let you know that your daughter's alive. . . and since you never return my phone calls . . . I won't expect a call back from you . . .

And, with my sanity temporarily placed in the unknown zone on the heels of that lovely voicemail . . . I thought, Hey, maybe Trigger's secretly waiting for me to call her. . . and so - buoyed by a Friday evening glass of wine - I decided to throw caution to the wind and placed a call to her. (Remember, Trigger has been away at college since Tuesday, with no real communication between us except her quick responses to my text messages to let me know that she's, Great! . . . and a 30-second call to ascertain that I had put money on her student card.)

And - knowing that sometimes I ask a few too many questions for her liking - I purposely took to the phone lines with a happy and upbeat tone. . .

~~~~~~~~~~

Me: Hi Trig!

Trigger: Hi Mom. . .

Me: How are things?

Trigger: Great!

Me: When do classes start?

Trigger: Monday. . . and, Mom?

Me: Yes?

Trigger: How do you expect me to get my books?

Me: (Oh no. . . I think I know where she's going with this. . . ) Well Trig, you go to the bookstore . . . and pay for your books with the astronomical amount of flex dollars that I put on your student card.

Trigger: No, you were supposed to pre-order them before you got here!

Me: Well, did you do that?

Trigger: No! I just said. . . You were supposed to do that!


Me: (don't you take that bait! . . . move on. . . just move on. . . ) So, how's the food? Have you been eating?

Trigger: Why wouldn't I have been eating, Mom! Do you really think I haven't been eating?

Me: (Oh . . . and your eating habits were so predictable at home. . . ) Well, you didn't really eat breakfast and lunch much when you were here. . . just wondering if you're eating it now. . .

Trigger: That's a lot different than having a schedule, Mom! Now I need to eat with my roommates! Of course I'm eating!

Me: And the food is good?

Trigger: Yes! Of course the food is good! Do you think it wouldn't be good?

Me: (Silly me! I forgot that every college freshman raves about the food at school. . . let's move on. . . let's try to establish a better form of communication. . . something to get me out of this one. . . ) So has your Skype been working?

Trigger: How would I know??? You're never on!

Me: ("On?" What the hell is she talking about?) I didn't know you were trying to reach us. . . but what about your sisters and your friends? Have you video-chatted with anyone else on your Macbook?

Trigger: Everyone else iChats, Mom! But, didn't Dad tell you? My iChat doesn't work here!

Me: It still doesn't?

Trigger: Do you think I would be lying to you about that, Mom? Why would I lie????

Me: (Oh, sweet Jesus, shoot me now. . . anything to end this agony!!!! ) Oh no, Trigger. . . I would never accuse you of lying. . .well . . . okay, then. . . I can tell this isn't the best time for you to be talking. . .

Trigger: Yeah. . . I'm walking to the Pep Rally with my friends . . .

Me: Great! Have a good time. . . and why don't you call me back when you've got a free moment over the weekend . . . you know. . .like when it's good for you. . . I'll wait for you to call me. . .

Trigger: Sure!

Me: Okay, bye now . . . Love you, Trigger!

Me: Trigger?

Me: Trigger????

Me: ???


Trigger: Love you too. . .

And I thought I cried when she left. . .

If Baby Bear Only Knew . . .

It doesn't happen often, but every once in a great while I get to beat Ponzi in her own game. And I have to confess that I love it!

Without boring you to death, I need to provide a brief background for today's reenactment of last night's conversation. If you read my blog faithfully, you will know that Ponzi and her friends were in the process of moving Ponzi into Veggie's room. Well, part of said process was to empty Veggie's walk-in closet of the three hundred Prom dresses, two hundred stuffed animals, and one hundred pairs of shoes (that's 200 shoes for those of you who are counting. . .) which Veggie so thoughtfully left behind. And so the movers decided that the most expedient thing to do would be to deposit all of the above in Ponzi's old (and tiny) room (you know. . .the room that has now been designated as my study) and so they quickly became transfer agents - moving all of Veggie's discarded items down to Ponzi's old room and bringing only Ponzi's best and treasured items up to her new room. The result? Ponzi's old room (a.k.a. my study) is now filled to the brim with Veggie and Ponzi's discarded shoes and clothing.

Part Two of the details which I don't want to bore you with has to do with My Sleep Disorder . . . whereby I - like Goldilocks - often go searching at 3:00 a.m. for a fresh bed to cure my insomnia . . . hence, the reason for having a relief bed in my new study. The only problem was (and with me there always has to be one, right????) this bed was stacked high with prom dresses and the like. . . and so - despite my repeated pleas for Ponzi to clean out that room - my Goldilock's butt had landed squarely on the family room couch at 3:00 a.m. the proceding night and - let me tell you - that's just Not right! in my book.

All of this to explain why I made a preemptive strike and went to bed at 9:00 p.m. in Ponzi's new room. . . calling her before I did to give her fair warning. . .

~~~~~~~~~~

Ponzi: You're what? You can't sleep in there!

Me: Oh, I can too! I can - and will - sleep there every night until you get my new room cleaned out.

Ponzi: Fine! Then I'm just gonna jump into bed with you.

Me: Well that's fine with me!

Ponzi: I will, you know. . . I'll do it!

Me: Oh, I don't doubt it. . . but it won't bother me in the least!

Ponzi: It won't bother me either!

Me: Fine?!?!
 
Ponzi: Fine!

Me: But I need to warn you that I snore all night. That's why your father doesn't like to sleep with me, you know. . .

Ponzi (continuing the brave front): Well that won't bother me either! I'll sleep right through it!

Me: Well, obviously, if I'm the one doing the snoring, I'll sleep through it too! So that will make two of us!

Ponzi: Yeah. . . two of us. . .

Me: Two of us. . .sleeping. . . together. . .

Ponzi: That's right!

Me: Fine!

Ponzi: Fine!

~~~~~~~~~~

Needless to say. . . Ponzi climbed into bed with Trigger, while I slept like . . . like. . . well, like everything was Just right!

. . . Hey! Anybody want to be my roommate at BlogHer next summer????

Me (just for fun. . . or added insurance. . . or perhaps, both. . . ): And I have bad breath, you know. . . and I get hot flashes. . . like in the middle of the night . . . and I have to throw my nightgown off at the oddest times to combat them . . and your father also tells me that I fart all night too, but I don't believe him!!! I think it's he who's doing the farting all along and just blaming it on me. . .

The Reason Veggie Has a Sore Butt

I almost titled this post. . . And to think I used to worry when she stayed out past midnight!
or perhaps. . . And to think I never thought I'd get that child potty trained!
or even. . . Why I'm glad I learned to let go. . .
What the hell. . . I'm sure you don't care to know what I almost named this post. . . but I need to tell you right now that her butt is not sore because never got potty trained. . . you have to read to post to understand exactly why Veggie's butt is sore. . . I know. . . if I don't shut up. . . you'll never get a chance to read the post. . .

~~~~~~~~~~


Before leaving for her job in England (notice I didn't say. . . moving to England. . . cause I'm in denial. . . . ) Veggie and her friend planned a road trip to say goodbye to their good friend in Colorado. I thought you might like a little review of her whirlwind trip. . .

Sunday

Veggie: Okay, I'm leaving for Maryland now to start my big road trip. I'll call you each night from the road.

Monday

Veggie: I made it to Chicago. We even stopped in South Bend to see Brad.

Tuesday

Veggie: But I didn't need to call you tonight. I told you before we left. . . we're spending two nights in Chicago.

Wednesday

Veggie: Omaha. . . Of course that's the one Nebraska. . .

Thursday

Voicemail: Hi Mom and Dad, it's Veggie. We broke down in Nebraska and we're spending the night at a Holiday Inn. The car will be fixed first thing in the morning. . . .



Friday

Veggie: We finally made it! We're in Colorado! We had to drop Steve off in Wyoming first. . . .

Saturday

Voicemail: We're on the way to Susie's grandparents' house in Kansas. We think we'll probably be there around midnight. . .



Sunday

Text Message: University of Kentucky! We'll be back in Maryland tomorrow!

Monday

Veggie: I picked up my car at Susie's, but I'm not going to come home right away. . . . Amy doesn't know it yet, but I'm going to Annapolis to say goodbye to her.

Tuesday

Veggie: I'm driving to D.C. to see Matt. . . I'll be home tomorrow!

Wednesday
Ponzi: Oh, I forgot to tell you. . Veggie was home for about an hour and then Jenny called her and she needed to go pick her up in Connecticut. . . but then she called and said they're taking the train into the city. . . she'll be home tomorrow. . . she promises. . .

Thursday

Veggie: Yes, I'm home. . . . Dinner? Well, I may not actually be home for dinner. . . .

The Pizza Place Chick

Pizza Place Chick (Hereafter known simply as PPChick) Hello. . . Your Local Pizza Place. Can I help you?

Me: Yes, I'd like to place an order.

PPChick: Will that be for pick-up or delivery?

Me: I'll pick it up, but will you stand outside and throw it in my car so I don't have to park?

PPChick: Okay, sure. What do you want?

Me: I want a large order of your macaroni and cheese. I've seen it on your menu but I've always been ashamed to order it. . . but you see . . . the rest of the family won't be home tonight. . . and I always save my macaroni and cheese pig-outs for when I'm all alone and no one can judge me . . . you know what I mean?

PPChick: Yeah, I know. . .

Me: And - truth be told - I've had a really bad day . . . and I need that comfort food now!

PPChick: What was so bad about it?

Me: Well the first thing my eyes were drawn to when I went downstairs this morning was a parking ticket magnetized to the refrigerator . . . compliments of Ponzi, I'm sure. . . and then I purposely arrived at work a half-hour early but the people I was meeting showed up forty-five minutes late. . . throwing off my funeral timing completely . . . and I mean . . . completely. . . . it was the last of five funerals. . . knock wood. . . and then the office worker who I thought was coming never exactly showed up. . . and then there was a lot of turf warfare going on. . . very un-church-like if you ask me. . . and then when I got back home there were dishes in the sink. . . I ask you. . . is there no one in the family who can put a dish in the dishwasher?. . . not one?. . . well . . . anyway. . . then the pizza-resistance (pardon my pun) came when I went to the mailbox and received yet another rejection letter from a literary agent in the mail . . . I don't know why the hell those people have no taste. . . I could make millions for them. . . but I guess you don't want to hear all of this from me now. . . do you?

PPC: So. . . about the macaroni and cheese. . . when do you want to pick it up?

Me: Well, when will it be ready?

PPC: I don't know! We haven't made it yet! I've been on the phone with you the whole time!

Me: Will you just call me when it's ready?

PPC: Yeah!

Me: Do you need my number?

PPC: No. . . we have caller I.D.

Me: Okay. . . You'll call me. . . right? You won't forget? Promise me you won't forget???? 'Cause I'm not giving you a tip if you forget. . .

PPC: No, I won't forget!!!

Me: So how much will that be?

PPC: Let's see. . . with the family discount, it comes to exactly three dollars.

Me: That's it?

PPC: Yeah, Mom! That's it! Can we get off the phone so I can place your order now?

Me: Okay. . . Bye honey. . .

PPC: Bye Mom . . .

Me: And Trigger?

PPC: What?

Me: Are you always this fresh to your customers on the phone??? No wonder no one's been putting any money in that tip jar!!!

No Sicky, No Stoppy. No Streppy, No Poppy!

Some of you may view what comes next as cruel and unusual treatment of a teenage daughter.

Perhaps it is.

But if you had been witness to even a fraction of the cruel and unusual treatment that has been exhibited toward the mother of this teenage daughter, you would understand the extenuating circumstances that have led me to act this way.

And, before you judge me without a trial of my peers, let me say the following in my own defense:

Just last week, foreseeing a long and demand-filled summer, I laid down the law to my daughters about things they were not allowed to call me at work to ask. And along with the most offensive item - cash (or in the absence thereof - my highly-prized Debit card) came a request from me that my offspring refrain from calling me everyday at work to give me a list of items I absolutely need to stop and pick up on my way home. I reminded them that each of them had a driver's license and the God-given talent to navigate through various stores alone. I also reminded them that - on many occasions - I am utterly exhausted at the end of the day, and unless the requested item is a bottle of Pinot Grigio which I will imbibe without their help, I'm thinking that tasting the new and improved flavor of some coconut custard yogurt can probably wait until the next time I've been to the market. . .


This point being understood and universally accepted, you are now allowed to read the rest of this post - which - once again features a conversation with my dear daughter Ponzi . . . who happens to be, without question, the worst of the work-call-request offenders. . .

~~~~~~~~~~

Call received on my cell at 3:30 p.m.

Me: Hello?

Ponzi: Mom! On your way home you need to stop and pick up some ice pops for my sore throat.

I now interrupt this blog post to bring you the following information, which I should have supplied earlier. . .

Ponzi has been complaining of a sore throat for a number of days, but refuses to let it keep her from all of the social engagements and attempted sleepovers that seem to come along with the last few days of school - today having been the absolute last day of her junior year.

We now return to the story. . .

Me: You know, Ponz, I'm particularly tired today and I don't have any other reason to go to the store on my way home, so I'm not going to get those ice pops.

Ponzi: But I need them! My throat is sore and I can barely talk!!!

Me: What I am willing to do for you, Ponzi, is to take you to the doctor to get a strep test. Perhaps you need an antibiotic.

Ponzi: No! I don't have strep throat! I just need ice pops!

Me: Alright! If I leave work and stop to get you ice pops, will you promise me you won't ask to go out tonight? You're sick.

Ponzi: I'm not sick! I'm going out with Timmy tonight, but I need the ice pops first!

Me: If you're not sick, I'm not stopping. It's as simple as that.

Ponzi: But I need them! I can hardly swallow!

Me: If I stop, you don't go out. . .

Ponzi: Mom! You're not making any sense at all!

Me: You want sense? I'll give you "sense". . . "Since" when did you think it's acceptable to call me at work and harass me about a stupid thing like ice pops?????

I'm so grown up sometimes - aren't I????

And- by the way - I'm quite sure that a jury of my peers would never convict me. . .

To Catch a Daughter

So many of my readers write to me and ask: Oh Mom on Spin, how will will I ever be able to handle my child's teenage years? Will I know when they are drinking. . . or smoking. . . or lying to me about where they are going???

The answers to first two will have to be the subject of future blog posts. . . but as to catching a teenager in a lie? My advice, dear readers, is sometimes just as simple as to . . .LISTEN CAREFULLY . . . for in their rush to get to the party, your darling daughter - or her friends - might very well trip themselves up, and their lies will suddenly become as apparent as the nose on Pinocchio's face.

Take - for instance - my recent conversation with Ponzi. . .

~~~~~~~~~~

Ponzi: Is it okay if I sleep at Suzie's house tonight? I'll be back first thing in the morning for Father's Day breakfast.

Me: Suzie's house? Are you really sleeping at Suzie's house? You wouldn't be sleeping at Timmy's or Tommy's house. . . would you?

Ponzi: Mom! Why don't you trust me?
Me Think: (Because I'm your mother, that's why!!!)

But I really answered: Trust? You want me to trust you this time?
Ponzi: Yes Mom. I want you to trust me.

Me: Okay. Suzie's house. You can sleep at Suzie's.

Ponzi: I swear. . . that's where I'll be!

And all was right with the world. . . that was, until Ponzi and Suzie left for their night out. . .

Me: Now, don't forget. . . you have to be home for our Father's Day Breakfast in the morning.

Suzie: Don't worry, Mrs. Mom on Spin. . . . I'll make sure she's home on time. I have to be back home first thing in the morning too . . .

And if this method doesn't work for you, you can always employ another of my tried and true truth-revealing strategies - feign disbelief at one of her sister's stories and all the lies she has told you will come streaming out of her sister's mouth in self defense. . .

Works every time.