Tell Me Lies, Tell Me Sweet Little Lies

Happy almost Mother’s Day!

On the way to work this morning, I was listening to the radio. In anticipation of Mother’s Day, one of those moronic wacky morning shows had listeners call in and share the biggest lie their mother ever told them.  Well that’s easy. When I was around 5,  my mother lied and told me that I chose my bedroom wallpaper. The ugly wallpaper with ugly pink, ugly green, ugly yellow and ugly white hexagons all over it. (Did I mention it was ugly?) For years she told me that horrible wallpaper was my first choice even though I distinctly remembered picking out white wallpaper with little pink flowers all over it.  Twenty years later, she finally admitted that I hadn’t picked the hideously ugly wallpaper. Liar, liar, pants on fire! 

I did not call the radio show to share my tale of deception because, let’s be honest, no one really cares about the story of a little girl and her wallpaper. No one except for my therapist. Wait, that’s not true. My therapist doesn’t care either.  But the radio show did make me wonder if one day my sons will be telling stories about the lies I told them.  (Yes, sometimes I lie to my kids. A shocking revelation, I know.)

Let’s see…  

Little Lie #1:

Me:  What would you like to do today? (Please don’t say go to the children’s museum. Please don’t say go to the children’s museum.)

Son: Let’s go to the children’s museum!

Me: The children’s museum? Oh, no! The children’s museum is closed today.

Son: Closed? Why?

Me:  It’s closed so they can clean it.

Son: Why don’t they just clean it at night?

Me:  They do, but, um, a bunch of kids made such a huge mess that they needed an entire day to clean up the messy museum. 

Son: Oh, OK.

Nah, my sons won’t be telling stories about this lie later in life. Too ordinary.

Clever Lie #2:

Son: Happy Mother’s Day!

Me: Thank you. You’re  going to be good today right?

Son: Yeah. Why?

Me: Didn’t you know? Mother’s Day is the one day a year that if kids are bad, mothers can return their children to the hospital.

Son: REALLY?

Me: Yes, it’s true!

Son: I don’t want to go back to the hospital. I’ll be good!

Yes, my children are gullible. Definitely one of my better lies. 

Boldfaced Lie #3

Son:  Who discovered heaven?

Me:  Heaven?  Who discovered heaven? Well…uh…heaven…let’s see…um….PONCE DE LEON!  Ponce de Leon discovered heaven.

Son: Oh, OK.

Anyone know when kids learn about Ponce de Leon? Because it’s going to be pretty awkward if my 8-year-old declares that Ponce de Leon discovered heaven.
Oh yeah, this is the lie that my sons will be sharing with their friends. And their therapists.

Why Don’t We Get Drunk And Sue

“Mom sues preschool for not prepping 4-year-old for Ivy League”

This sounds like a headline you’d read in The Onion. But this story isn’t satire, it’s real. 

In a nutshell, a Manhattan mother is suing a preschool for jeopardizing her 4-year-old daughter’s chances of getting into an elite private elementary school and, in the future, the Ivy League. According to the lawsuit, the preschool promised to “prepare her daughter for the ERB, an exam required for admission into nearly all the elite private elementary schools.”  The mother was appalled that the preschool was teaching her 4-year-old daughter shapes and colors and allowing her to interact with younger children in “one big playroom”.  The child was pulled out of the preschool after only 3 weeks and now her mother is suing the preschool to get back her $19,000 tuition.   (You can read the full story here.)

This is one crazy story and many people have very strong opinions about it. Some people are disgusted that a mother is suing a preschool because she thinks now her daughter may not get into an Ivy League college.  But I’m not disgusted. Not at all. No, I’m giddy with excitement over all of the lawsuits I now plan to file. 

  • I’m going to sue my former piano teacher for failing to make me a child piano prodigy, thus, destroying my chances of getting into The Julliard School of Music and becoming a world famous pianist.
  • I’m going to sue every single politician for failing to deliver on every single one of their campaign promises.
  • I’m going to sue Nickelodeon and Spongebob Squarepants for falsely teaching my children that snails go, “meow”, thus causing my children to fail their “animal sounds” exam in preschool and jeopardizing their chances for an Ivy League education.
  • I’m going to sue the Miller Brewing Company for claiming that Miller Lite tastes great and is less filling when the truth is, it is quite filling and does not taste great.
  • I’m going to sue the Black Eyed Peas for saying tonight’s gonna be a good night. Tonight was not a good night.
  • I’m going to sue Walt Disney World, the place “where dreams come true” because when I went to Disney World, my lifelong dream of pantsing Mickey Mouse didn’t come true.  
  • I’m going to sue the nurse who gave me my MMR vaccine at age 5 because she said the shot wasn’t going to hurt. It did hurt. It hurt a lot.

Long live the litigious USA!

The Ides Of March

Today is March 15 – the Ides of March. Julius Caesar was warned to “beware the Ides of March”. Clearly Caesar didn’t heed this warning…he was killed on the Ides of March.

How do I know so much about the Ides of March? Well, I read William Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar in high school.

Hmm, I wonder if kids today still read Julius Caesar in high school. Surely today’s youth must know about Julius Caesar and the Ides of March, right?

I decided to go hang out at the local high school to find out.

Me: Excuse me? Can I talk to you?

Random high school girl (looking down at her phone): Huh? You want to Facebook me?

Me: No. I’d like to talk to you.

Random high school girl: Text me?

Me: No. Talk.

Random high school girl (looks up from her phone): Talk? I don’t understand.

Me: I want to talk to you. I’d like to have a conversation. You know, we’ll take turns speaking to each other. I’ll ask you a question and then you’ll give me an answer.

Random high school girl: Ohhhh, a conversation. Yeah, I had one of those once. OK, I’ll talk. 

Me: Good. I just wanted to tell you to beware the Ides of March.

Random high school girl: The i’s of March? There are no i’s in March. M-A-R-C-H. See, no i’s.

Me: No, not i’s of March. The Ides of March.

Random high school girl: Eyes of March?

Me: No. Ides of March. Beware the Ides of March.

Random high school girl: Beware of Thea DeMarch? Why? Is she a bully? Is she going to beat me up and steal my iPhone?

Me: No, no…

Random high school girl: I better update my Facebook status and warn my friends about her!

Me: Haven’t you heard of Julius Caesar?

Random high school girl: I’ve heard of Caesar salad.

Me: Of course you have. No, I’m talking about Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare.

Random high school girl: William Shake Spears? Is that Britney Spears cousin? OMG, you know Britney’s cousin! Can he get me Britney’s autograph?

Me: No, he can’t.

Random high school girl: Darn!

Me: Hey, remember when Whitney Houston sang, “I believe the children are our future”?

Random high school girl: No.

Me: Of course you don’t. Whitney must have been totally strung out on crack when she sang that. I weep for the future.

Random high school girl: Oh. Do you need a tissue?

Me: No. Nice talking to you.

Random high school girl: Hey, maybe this talking thing will catch on.

Me: Yeah, maybe.

Random high school girl: OK, text ya later! Don’t forget to Friend me!

 

Beware the Ides of March.

And beware of Thea DeMarch…I hear she’s coming to steal your iPhone.

Charlie Sheen Visits Dr. Lori

Physician-patient confidentiality prevents me from identifying the patients I write about. But the patient I’m writing about today is no ordinary patient. Rules don’t apply to him. He’s a bitchin’ rock star from Mars. He’s…

CHARLIE SHEEN!

Even though Charlie’s been super busy doing drugs television interviews, radio interviews and hanging out with his goddesses at his Sober Valley Lodge, he still found time to visit me at my office.

Dr. Lori (knocks, enters exam room): Good morning Charlie.

Charlie Sheen: Morning Doc!

Dr. Lori: Charlie, why are you sitting on the exam table completely naked?

CS: I’m ready for my hernia exam.  

Dr. Lori: Ah yes, the hernia heard around the world. But Charlie, you have a hiatal hernia

CS: Yes, I know. What’s the problem?

Dr. Lori: Your balls are the problem. PUT YOUR PANTS ON!  

CS: (puts his pants on): Whatever you say, Doc.

Dr. Lori: So, how are you doing Charlie?

CS: Slap my ass and call me Tony the Tiger because I’m GRRRRREAT! I have tiger’s blood and I’m not talking about Tiger Woods. I am tiger, hear me roar! RRROOOAAARRR!!

Dr. Lori: Would you like me to refer you to a veterinarian?

CS: No, no. I’m an F-18. A G6. A 34DD. A B1, I18, N32, G54, O75. B-I-N-G-O. And Bingo was his name- O!

Dr. Lori: What the hell was that? Be honest with me, what drugs are you on right now?

CS: I’m on a drug. It’s called Charlie Sheen. 

Dr. Lori: Sorry Charlie, that drug has been recalled by the FDA because it leads to projectile vomiting and anal leakage.

CS: Huh. So that explains the anal leakage.

Dr. Lori: Hey, what happened to the bottle of Purell I had on my desk? (sniffs Charlie’s breath) Good lord, did you drink the Purell?

CS: Well, duh! Who wouldn’t drink the stuff? It says it cures 99.99% of germs.

Dr. Lori: Soooo, it had absolutely nothing to do with the 62% alcohol content?

CS: Alcohol and drugs are no longer a problem. I have cured myself of my addictions. I cured myself with my mind.

Dr. Lori: Your mind? No AA. No rehab. You cured yourself with your mind. That’s hard to believe.

CS: Yes, an unevolved mind cannot process it. I can cure addictions, illness and injuries with my mind. But we must keep it a secret from the government. If they find out, they’ll capture me and run all kinds of scientific studies on me. Like they did to E.T.

Dr. Lori: OK. My lips are sealed.

CS: You see, if I had a hammer, I could use it to repeatedly smash my hand and then I would cure the broken flesh and bones with my mind.  (gets up and starts dancing) If I had a hammer, I’d hammer in the morning. I’d hammer in the evening. All over this land…

Dr. Lori: I have a hammer. I can’t wait to see this. (hands hammer to Charlie)

CS:  (takes hammer) Je vous remercie. Je suis une douche bag géant. Holy crap, I can speak French! Who knew? OK, 1-2-3 (smashes hand with hammer) YEOWWWW!!!! PAIN! PAIN! MOTHERFUCKING PAIN!

Dr. Lori: Pain? Can’t you cure the pain with your mind?

CS: Sometimes, ow, it takes, ow, a little longer, ow, for my mind, ow, to completely, ow, cure, ow, the, ow, pain, ow.

Dr. Lori: Shall I send you to x-ray now?

CS: No, no. I’ll be fine because I’m special and I will never be like one of you. I’m tired of pretending I’m not special. I’m special. Barney told me so.

Dr. Lori: Barney?

CS: Yeah, Barney the big purple dinosaur. That dino is deep, man.  Hey, maybe I could get Barney to come live with me and the goddesses at Sober Valley Lodge. That would be bitchin’ awesome!

Dr. Lori: Charlie, I’m going give you a prescription for a life-preserver.

CS: Why do I need a life-preserver?

Dr. Lori: BECAUSE YOU’VE GONE OFF THE DEEP END! You’ve lost it. You’re loco. Cuckoo. Whackadoodle.

CS: I’m not whackadoodle.  I’m WHACKADOODLE-DANDY!

Dr. Lori: Seriously Charlie, you need help. You have some serious psychiatric and addiction issues. You may be bipolar.

CS: I’m not bipolar. I’m bi-winning!

Dr. Lori: That makes absolutely no sense. You need help. I’m going to refer you to addiction specialist, Dr. Drew Pinsky.

CS: Dr. Drew? DR. DREW? I like to call him, Dr. Poo. It’s funny because Drew and poo rhyme.

Dr. Lori: I’m sorry, my normal brain can’t process that. If you refuse to see Dr. Drew, you leave me no choice. (picks up phone) Nurse, please send him in.

(Door opens. Tom Cruise walks in)

CS: Tom Cruise? What are you doing here?

Tom Cruise: Hi Charlie. I’m here to help you. Several years ago, people thought I was crazy. But I’m not gay

CS: You mean, you’re not crazy.

TC:  That’s what I said. I’m not crazy. And definitely not gay. It was Scientology that helped me through those troubled times and it can help you too. I’d like to sing you a song I wrote just for you:

(to the tune of Row, Row, Row Your Boat)

I’m drunk. I’m addicted to drugs. I’m nuts. 

I’ve lost it. Please help me.  

Don’t take medications (they’re bad).

Try Scientology!

CS: No thanks, Tom. Scientology isn’t for me. You see, I’m special.

TC: Yes Charlie, you are special. I’m special. You’re special. All Scientologists are special. (puts arm around Charlie and leads him out of the exam room). Come with me and join our cult…I mean church.

CS: NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!! I’ll go to rehab, a inpatient psych unit…anything! NOT SCIENTOLOGY!!!!

TC: Stop resisting Charlie. You are one of us now.

CS: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!

Dr. Lori: Good luck Charlie!

I’d Like To Thank The Academy…

I’m a very unlucky person.

Raffles, contests, awards, the lottery, the Publishers Clearing House sweepstakes, the Nobel Peace Prize, Skee-ball at Chuck E. Cheese…I never win anything. My luck is terrible.

But Lori, you’re probably saying, you’re lucky to have your family, your health and your job.

Yes, that’s true. So I guess I’m a winner at life.

And I’m a winner at the game of Life…but mostly because I cheat.

I’m also a winner of this fine prize:

Yes, I won a Peter Potty flushable toddler urinal (but that's a story for another day)

So, like I was saying, I never win anything anything good.  I was starting to feel as unlucky as the Chicago Cubs. But suddenly, my luck turned around. Imagine my surprise when I received this:    .

My friend Julie was given this Stylish Blogger Award and she was kind enough to pass it on to me. Julie is definitely a stylish blogger. Me? Stylish? Blogger? Uh, no. I suspect that when Julie gave me this award, her judgement was impaired from all the paint and glue fumes she’d been inhaling. You see, Julie is a crafting nut. Seriously, she’s a nut. Nut was her description, not mine. I never call my friends nuts. Well, that may not be true. As Justin Bieber says, never say never. (GOOD LORD, I’M QUOTING JUSTIN BIEBER!  HELP ME!) Julie’s also “an Oprah-Martha Stewart-Peter Walsh-Food Network-TLC-entertaining-organizing-lifestyle book reading-junkie”. If you gave Julie a glue gun, fabric, glitter and googly eyes and put her in a room with Martha Stewart, Julie would totally kick Martha’s crafty ass. I don’t know who Peter Walsh is, but I’m sure Julie could kick his ass too.  Julie’s blog is a showcase for her creativity and you should check it out. 

Thanks to Julie for my Stylish Blogger Award. I can’t believe I actually received a blogger award. I keep expecting  Kanye West to pop in, take my award and say, “Imma gonna let you finish writing your post, but Beyonce is the most stylish blogger of all time.”  That would be weird. I didn’t even know Beyonce was a blogger. But since that hasn’t happened yet, I’ll hang on to my award and put it in my sidebar, where Kanye West can’t get his grubby hands on it.

Yes, I think my luck is changing. 

That Distinguished Alumni Award from my high school will be mine in no time!

Blizzards Should Be Made Of Ice Cream, Not Snow

Got snow?

I do.

You may have heard about the little blizzard that struck the Midwest last week. How could you not hear about it? Meteorologists couldn’t stop talking about it. They used their fancy schmancy weather maps and radar images to tell us that a blizzard was headed our way. But not just any blizzard. Oh no, we were in store for Snowpocalypse, Snowmageddon, SnOMG, Snowtorious B.I.G. Weather reporters had turned into Chicken Little: The sky is falling! The sky is falling! 

Meteorologists in Chicago had predicted snowstorms in the past and had been completely wrong with their predictions. So, I wasn’t convinced that we were actually going to get  20 inches of snow. Especially when the schools declared a snow day before the first few inches of snow even hit the ground. I figured that was a sure sign that the blizzard forecast would be way off.

Before the blizzard

 

After the blizzard

 

Huh. The meteorologists were right this time. The sky was falling. Well, the snow was falling. And it kept falling and falling and falling.

Snow as high as the backyard fence

 

What do you do on a snow day? Build a 5 ft rocket!

Blizzard 2011 in a nutshell:

20 inches of snow
50+ mph wind gusts
2 snow days
And no Dairy Queen blizzards because Dairy Queen was closed due to the blizzard

When Tiger Mom Met Helicopter Mom

So far, 2011 has been the year of the Tiger Mom. If you don’t know what a Tiger Mom is, you should read Amy Chua’s Wall Street Journal article, “Why Chinese Mothers Are Superior” .  Amy Chua created quite a stir with this article and with her book “Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother”. While some praised her strict parenting style, many criticized her harsh methods. The debate continued with TIME magazine’s cover story, “The Truth About Tiger Moms”

Tiger Moms are strict and push their children to succeed no matter what. This is in direct contrast to the parenting style of the Helicopter Mom.  These mothers are called Helicopter Moms because they are overprotective and hover over their children. Helicopter Moms jump in to fix their child’s problems and go to great lengths to keep their child away from dangerous situations.

Tiger Mom and Helicopter Mom – the ultimate odd couple. It’s a reality show just waiting to happen. Picture this: Tiger Mom Amy Chua and her daughter Lulu are forced to live with iCarly‘s Helicopter Mom Mrs. Benson and her son Freddie. (Yes, I know they’re fictional, but I can’t out any real Helicopter Moms. Just go with it.)

This is the story of what happens when two mothers are forced to live in a house and stop being polite…and start getting real. The Real World: Tiger Mom & Helicopter Mom

[Freddie and Lulu arrive home from school]

Freddie: Hi Mom. We’re home from school.

Mrs. Benson: Oh Freddie, I’m so glad you’re home. I missed you. [gives Freddie a giant bear hug]

Freddie: I missed you too, Mom.

Mrs. Benson: I love you.

Freddie: I love you too, Mom.

Lulu: Hi Mom.

Amy Chua: Don’t “hi” me. Let’s get down to business. You had a math test today. What was your grade?

Freddie: She got an A.

Mrs. Benson: Lulu, that’s great! An A!

Amy Chua: A? A, schmay. What percentage was your A?

Lulu: 92% [hands her mother the test]

Amy Chua: [shakes test violently] 92? This is not an A. This is an A minus. This is test is garbage and you are a worthless garbage collector! I might as well use this 92% test to wipe my butt after I take a crap!

Mrs Benson: Oh no, that piece of paper is much too harsh to wipe your butt with. You should use Charmin. My Freddie has a very sensitive tushy, so I always buy Charmin for him.

Freddie: MOM!

Amy Chua: [mutters] Stupid American mother! [raises her voice] Lulu, I’m very disappointed in you. You have brought great shame to our family. I want you to spend an extra 2 hours studying math tonight. But that’s after you spend 2 hours practicing your violin.

Mrs. Benson: Freddie, how did you do on your math test?

Freddie: I got a B.

Mrs. Benson: Oh, that’s wonderful! You did a super duper job! [gives Freddie another giant bear hug]  I’m so proud of you! I’m sure the only reason you didn’t get an A is because that teacher is unfair! I think I’ll call her up and tell her to stop putting such hard math problems on your test.

Freddie: Don’t do that mom.

Mrs. Benson: But I have to tell her to stop being mean to my baby boy. And luckily I have her phone number on speed dial!

Lulu: Great job on your math test Freddie! Your math grades are really improving.

Freddie: Thanks Lulu.

Amy Chua: LULU! Don’t talk to that stupid American boy. Stay away from him! He may poison your superior Chinese brain.

Mrs. Benson: Don’t talk that way about my little Freddie! I would argue with you, but I can’t because right now I’m on hold with Freddie’s teacher.

Freddie: I’m going to have a snack.

Mrs. Benson: Freddie, I made you some cookies and hot cocoa. But be careful drinking the cocoa. It’s very hot and I don’t want you to spill it on your lap and burn your testicles.

Freddie: MOM!

Mrs. Benson: I’ll just blow on your cocoa so it’s not too hot for you. And I better break your cookies into little bite size pieces so you won’t choke.

Amy Chua: [mutters] Stupid inferior American mother!

Lulu: Mom, can I have a snack?

Amy Chua: No, no snack for you! It’s time for you to practice your violin. You know the rules, if your violin concerto is perfect, then you can eat. Now, go practice!

[Lulu begins practicing her violin in another room]

Freddie: I’m going to go do my homework.

Mrs. Benson: OK. Here’s a pencil for you. Oh wait, this pencil tip is too sharp. [breaks pencil tip] That sharp pencil was an accident waiting to happen.

Freddie: I don’t need a pencil, Mom. All I need is my laptop.

Mrs. Benson: Oh! Well, don’t put the laptop on your lap. I don’t want you to burn your testicles.

Freddie: MOM!

[Freddie goes upstairs to do his homework]

[Lulu is still practicing her violin]

Amy Chua: NO, NO, NO! The tempo is all wrong! Lulu, your mistakes are unacceptable. You are a disgrace to this family. You are going to stay here and practice that song until it’s PERFECT! That means no food, no water and no bathroom privileges. Now, pick up that violin bow and get back to work!

Lulu: Yeah, I’ll pick up this violin bow…then I’d like to shove it up your rectum, ascending colon and transverse colon!

Amy Chua: LULU! I’m shocked…shocked at your appalling knowledge of colon anatomy! It’s rectum, DESCENDING COLON and transverse colon! Once again, you have brought shame to our family and the whole Chinese race. After you practice violin for 3 hours and practice math for 3 hours, I want you to spend 2 hours studying anatomy.

Lulu: Fine, but I’m going to practice violin in my room.

Any Chua: Fine. Now go!

[Lulu goes upstairs and practices her violin]

Mrs. Benson: You were kind of rough on Lulu, don’t you think?

Amy Chua: Not at all. I will not tolerate anything less than perfection from my children. No mistakes. I demand perfection and I will push until I receive it. My children will achieve great things in life, unlike your pussy son.  

Mrs. Benson: Oh yes, Freddie’s a little pussy cat, isn’t he?  

Amy Chua: [mutters] Stupid inferior American mother!

Mrs. Benson: I don’t hear any noise coming from upstairs. Oh no! What if Freddie fell, hit his head and is lying unconscious in his room?

Amy Chua: I don’t hear Lulu’s violin. She still has 3 hours of practice left!

[Amy Chua and Mrs. Benson run upstairs]

Amy Chua: Lulu is not in her room.

[Amy Chua and Mrs. Benson open Freddie’s bedroom door and find Lulu and Freddie half-naked in Freddie’s bed]

Amy Chua: AHHHHHH! [clutches heart and passes out]

Mrs. Benson: AHHHHHH! [clutches heart and passes out]

Freddie: Are they dead? Do you know CPR?

Lulu: Well, yesterday my mom told me to study CPR for 2 hours, but I didn’t. They’re not dead. But they’re going to die when we tell them I’m pregnant! [dials 911]

Freddie: Wanna fool around some more until the paramedics arrive?

Lulu: Oh yeah!