Removal of Ipod- check.
Removal of cell phone- check.
Removal of free roaming the city- check.
Removal of all-night sleepovers with buddies- check.
Removal of stupid game in which teenager is referred to as a hero after practicing guitar licks on a red plastic instrument- check.
Removal of access to one hundred thirty two channels- check.

Along with removals, you have to have some additions.

Addition of playtime with younger brother- check
Addition of usefulness around household- check
Addition of Algebra worksheets- check (ok so maybe I’m giving away a fraction of the original sin however that is only a fraction- more incidents will go unmentioned.)
Addition of strictly abided by bedtime- check.

After you add and subtract and come up with your checks and minuses your positive and your negative- you have a balance of – one relatively pleasant, engaging, productive, social, hardworking teenager.  I’m thinking this grounding might just go on until freshman year of college.  All of a sudden my teenager doesn’t mind hanging out with me- heck it’s better then Algebra problems or spot cleaning the fridge.

The caveat is this- it’s not real life.  Kids have to learn how to do all those positive things in addition to balancing the things that they want to do even if it does involve a toddler size guitar and typing at fifty miles per hour on a key pad the size of a credit card.  And to Beau’s credit he takes his grounding like a man.  There’s no whining or fussing or tantrum throwing.  Which is a good thing because they don’t call me the Drill Sergeant for nothing.

My husband came in and plopped down beside me.  After watching an eleven year old hiccup and sob for five minutes because he thought he might find his mother dead, my husband said, “This is depressing,” and got up and left the room.

A litany of excuses ran through my mind; comebacks gathered on the tip of my tongue as I ensconced myself further into the couch cushions.  But after an eleven minute head shot of said mother mumbling incoherently about anything from point A to Z to X to G as she intermittently dozed off with cigarette in hand, I thought he might have a point.  And so I did the one thing it is so hard for me to do when reality television rears its’ ugly head.  I shut it off.

I have had a long history of being addicted to bad television.  It started almost twenty years ago with MTV’s The Real World, was maintained faithfully by Survivor and The Amazing Race, was buoyed by Joe Millionaire, Nanny 911, and Wife Swap and has ended here with depressing “real-life” documentaries about the less then savory aspects of the human race.

The truth of the matter is this:  I have a bad case of schadenfreude.  “Schadenwhat?” you say.  Schadenfreude, people, schadenfreude.  It’s a word the Germans use to describe taking delight in the misfortunes of others.  Simply put I enjoy the misery I am viewing because as far as yardsticks go to measure up to- reality TV’s is pretty short.  Compared to those people, I am amazingly smart, brilliant, beautiful, ethical, and loving.  I am a patient friend, a kind spouse and a brilliant mother.

I should have recognized the schadenfreude way back when in my late teens.  I was nineteen, pregnant, living at home and taking care of my dying Dad when I became addicted to Jerry Springer.  My life wasn’t so bad, how could it be when there were four hundred pound women with one tooth willing to parade around on stage wrapped in Saran Wrap bragging about dating their cousins.  Hell, I was just pregnant, poor, young and losing my Dad.  Life looked pretty good for me.  Hopes were high.

But how do I explain it now?  I’m thirty-six, happily married, own my own home, have a job I like and two wonderful kids.  Why would I freely engage in staring at a woman whose kids are using her for spit target practice or a family who spends all their time re-enacting medieval times, speaking in Old English and eating big slabs of meat off a wooden board with their fingers?  Once again I say Schadenfreude….schadenfreude.  Life’s good but it ain’t perfect and we are always measuring our happiness against someone else’s.  The thing is I’d like my standards to be a little higher so I’m going cold turkey.  If you ask me who the Mole is…I don’t know.  If you wonder whether the Bachelorette will ever find love…who am I to say?  Is Kari ever going to be made into prom queen…no clue.  Could you believe how much the chick from Florida spent on her sweet sixteen… how much, I haven’t the faintest. 

All this talk of reality TV is giving me the jitters.  My mouth is beginning to water.  My hands are starting to shake.  Schadenfreude is serious business, people,serious business.

P.S. I’m on the second day of my self-imposed celibacy from reality television.  After perusing the channel guide for approximately fourteen minutes I am realizing that there is not much else to watch besides reality television.  This may knock out two birds with one stone as apparently I am not going to be addicted to either reality television or television at all.

#1:  Thou shalt not allow your two-foot child to push the four-foot metal cart.  This results in banged shins for both your families and strangers.  It also results in heels of shoes caught in wheels, and piles of produce dancing in the aisles.

#2: The little miniature grocery carts that someone invented for the littlest shopper are not cute they are stupid.  They multiply your trip by two hours.  Thou shalt avoid them at all costs.

#3:  Same goes for the semis with the cars attached to metal carts that children can “drive” while you shop.  Children never stay in the car; they more often end up on top.  This breaks highway safety rules and shall also be avoided at all costs.  Besides that look inside- they are filthy and never get to the car wash. 

#4:  Thou shalt not open food and let your child eat in the grocery store.  If you have ever seen a checker trying to scan a half-opened bag of Oreos with the bar code on the bottom you will understand this.

#5:  Thou shalt not talk on the cell phone while examining thirty different kinds of pasta while you dig for coupons while your two year old climbs to the top of the cereal aisle.  Shopping requires focus not a chat with your best friend about what your best friend’s ex did with his current girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend.

#6:  Thou shalt not send your five year old on a scavenger hunt to find the snack of his choice.  Unattended children in the grocery store make everyone nervous.

#7:  If your child has a meltdown drag out tantrum though shalt keep your cool as Mommies and Daddies smacking children across the back of their heads and shouting “Shut up” in guttural tones makes for a non pleasant shopping experience and forces us to put our finger on speed dial to child welfare services.

#8:  Thou shalt keep your children in the cart or if they can, let them walk closely nearby the cart.  Other shoppers should not have to dodge small children as they navigate from frozen foods to dairy.

#9:  Thou shalt know when the shopping trip needs to be cut short.  If all havoc is breaking loose as it sometimes does with small children- know when to throw in the towel.

#10:  Thou shalt not stand in the middle of the aisle discussing the nutritional value or lack of it of a box of Lucky Charms with your four year old.  You’ve got the ATM card and you should know how to use it.  Until he starts buying the goods he doesn’t get a say

#11:  Thou shalt hold onto your children in the parking lot.  Sure we are only going fifteen miles an hour but those little whipper snappers are fast.

And finally here’s one for all you non-parents:  If you see a woman with a small crying infant, thou shalt let her cut in line.  To the new mother the cry sounds like a jet engine breaking the sound barrier.  Let her go people let her go.

To Greg M., who never missed a field trip and always made them a little more fun and a lot more unpredictable.

To Dave R., who has logged more volunteer hours then I have spent at my part time job.

To Don T., who always has a kitchen full of kids including my own and doesn’t seem the slightest bit miffed about it.

To Joe B., who coached a decade worth of boy’s soccer teams, some to championships and is more then happy to brag about his boys.

To Bill S., who appears every year in the cousin’s Star Wars video and plays the part of the Syth or Darth Vader without a wink of shame.

To Tom S., who will gladly take a rowdy group of pre-teens to lazer tag, mini golf, or the bowling alley and give them a run for their money every time.

To David T., who tag teams with his wife every Saturday soccer game so they each get to watch a half.

To Bill M., who one Halloween took seven rowdy boys out for a late night game of flashlight tag.

To my father George S., who is not here to share in my boys with me but would have beaten them to the net every time on the basketball court.

And finally to my husband Mike who has an amazing work ethic and has managed to make himself a career as a fireman
here in the city of Richmond but still finds time to play basketball with a soccer ball on a three foot hoop every Sunday
and is not ashamed to spend a Saturday afternoon at the pool being called “Big Daddy Fishy”.

To all these men I say thanks and I also say twenty-one minutes- PSHAW

The problem is; life gets in the way of living.  You are moving along at breakneck speed, doing the right thing, crossing things off your to do list, making sure to get from point A to point B when you realize that’s all you are doing….moving.  To truly be happy we all need different things and what I need is to exercise my mind (writing) my body (running) and my heart (staying close and present with family and friends).  Otherwise I end up feeling like one of those crazy hamsters spinning and spinning on the giant metal wheel of life.  Sure it’s impressive, sure it’s fast but you ain’t getting anywhere lady.

Last night in the great debate with myself as I drifted off to sleep I turned off my alarm.  I would start getting myself together LATER.  I was too tired to get up and write.  I had too many things to do.  Someone had other plans and apparently it was my subconscious telling me it knew better because I sat bolt upright at 6:45 a.m.  Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t coax myself back to sleep and I’m glad because I feel better already just sitting here tapping at these keys. 

As the infamous irritating ridiculous commercial says, “Life comes at you fast.” The trick is not to try to run faster.

Some mothers will openly admit to hating summer because their kids are home and quite frankly though I am all for honesty that’s not really something you should vocalize moms. It sounds REALLY bad. For the most part I love summer with my kids but I am also lucky enough to have a pool membership, a loving extended family who usually pays for all or part of my yearly vacation, and two children that are giddy all summer so happy are they to be school free.

Yes, summer can be trying when the kids are all of the sudden thrust upon you twenty-four seven but keep positive.

Positive point number one: No more snooze button; over and over and over like a bad rendition of that movie Groundhogs Day I hear alarm pause alarm pause alarm pause coming from my teenager’s room.

Positive point number two: No more scrounging together change for lunches or searching for that old fruit roll-up that’s so smashed in the back of the drawer it’s sort of a fruit rolled-up into a ball now.

Positive point number three: No more after school classes unless you were stupid enough to sign your five year old up for swim team and all of the sudden I’m struggling to get to four practices a week although he does some pretty mean strokes in the bathtub and I’m thinking of asking the coach if that counts for at least one of the practices.

Positive point number four:
Vacation. Yes, vacation can be hellish and more often then not parents on the beach look harried, hot, sunburned and grimy as they shell out fifty bucks for a hot dog and chips lunch for the fam but at least they got it all on film right?

Positive point number five: Though it is NOT proper etiquette to say you are not looking forward to summer at the beginning of your summer holidays it IS proper etiquette to look forward to the first day of school which due to changing school schedules comes approximately eighty four days after the last day of school in June……… but who’s counting.

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The thing is as you were looking at your calendar the night before you thought you could not fit another thing into your day.  You thought if you moved quickly and efficiently you might actually “catch up”.  Perhaps one day we humans will realize that there is no actual catching up.  Like a rat running on it’s steel circle the list of things to do just goes on and on until you die and then of course there’s the funeral to plan.

You thought that your plans were immutable; unchangeable no way you could fit another thing in or afford a glitch.  Wrong.  Sick day is big time glitch.  Your plans all the sudden ARE changeable and you find yourself calling employers, schools, doctors, rushing off to get crackers, prescriptions, books to read, ginger ale to sip.  All things not on your to do list.  And this I say to you: Surrender to sick day. Tuck your to-do list under a pillow, cook a nourishing meal, get out the checkbook, and lounge in bed reading to your baby.  If they are older then probably go ahead and skip the lounging and reading to them but at least don’t blame them for the one o’clock doctors appointment right smack in the middle of the day.  They will appreciate your kindness and hey I even got thanks when I brought home a seven-dollar smoothie to ease his sore throat.  The smoothie cost seven bucks and I thought I might whip out my insurance card and make a crack about my co-pay but then….finally…. I had the thought I should have had when I saw him lying miserably in bed this morning.  I thought, anything for my child even if it means tossing aside my to do list and breaking the bank all in one feel swoop.  See, I usually do the right thing….eventually.

Today at work I served lunch to ten wonderful women, all of who were more then twice my age.  They were at the point when for women the number no longer becomes an item of shame and instead becomes a proudly worn badge.  “I’m ninety-three and counting,” one women crowed and called for another cup of coffee.  “No decaf for me.”

They talked about a show they longed to see at one of the museums and said it was about the really interesting stuff. Not art but moonshine and said they should bring a jug.  They loved the coffee, the soup, the tea, the hall, the bread, the salad, they loved getting out, and they loved looking at art, they loved the gift shop and my jewelry.  They asked me how I got to be so cute and didn’t I just adore my family.  I said I did but their sheer and utter joy at just being alive made me wonder why we wait until we are almost dead to really start living.

At home, the grass was green, the hammock was in fine form and my family and I stayed up past bedtime just to enjoy each other’s company.  As I said, it’s spring and the weather’s fine.  I’m wearing thirty-six like a badge and trying to enjoy every minute of it.

Let’s just say that the first thing I encountered on my frenzied run down the aisles was Paul Newman salad dressing and Paul Newman salad dressing hit the floor till I was running like Road Runner in a slick of oil moving no where.  Knowing I was wasting valuable seconds I decided skating was my next best option.  Not as efficient as running and definitely not as pretty for a tomboy like me but better then pulling a Road Runner at my sweep.

From the salad dressing I went onto peanut butter, coffee, tuna, in that order.  For the coup de grace it was a forty-dollar canister of the finest virgin olive oil available.  With twenty seconds left I was just frantically grasping at items, far from an effective method considering that no family with young children really wants four boxes of Fruit Loop Cereal Straws.  Fruit Loop Cereal Straws being sugar straws used to slurp up the pink and purple after effects of tie-dyed cereal on milk.

I couldn’t stop smiling as I bellied up to the conveyor belt with my overflowing basket.  I was in their words, the all-time winner with almost four hundred dollars worth of free food.  Six months down the road, we are still eating two packets of Albacore tuna every Sunday night; proof that there is meat housed in other regions then the meat aisle and proof that I did indeed do my research before said spree as any good shopper and thrifty mom would. All in a days work.  All in a days work.