“Thanks for bringing me into this world, for clean laundry and for helping me through hard times.”

And then she was gone.

I peered out around the corner of the laundry room.  No one.  I checked the liquor cabinet.  No, she hadn’t gotten in there.  I hadn’t heard anything crash or break recently.  Christmas wasn’t coming and her birthday had come and gone.

So my daughter was being genuine?  Huh.  Maybe I haven’t scarred her for life after all.  I worry about that.  I mean, as a child, I made huge promises to myself that I’d never ever grow up and repeat the “mistakes” my parents made as they raised me. I was going to be the coolest yet best mom ever. Calm. Kind. Fair. Consistent. Likeable. Non-embarassing in public (unless I needed to threaten ultimate discipline). Cool. Hip. Successful.

Yet there are days I fear the most vivid memory my children will have of me will be my mouth wide open, eyes crossed and flames flying out of my ears.

I envision them lying on some therapist’s couch:  “I can still her now Doctor.  She’d fly into these hissy fits…throwing stuff away, muttering stuff about dogs and sedatives and ingrates…She had classic lines she used:  ‘Oh no, don’t bother.  Don’t anyone lift a finger to help me.  I’ll do it, I always do. God forbid anyone else put the lid on the peanut butter and put it away. Keep that up and I’ll show up at school and have lunch with you! What do I look like, your personal slave or something?’ ”

The couch, naturally, is highest-grade Italian leather.  Nicer than any piece of furniture I was ever able to give my children.  And it’ll be clean. Not coated with dog toy stuffing and dog hair. No used dental floss under the cushions or drool, barf or snot stains on them.

They’ll shell out big bucks to lay on that clean couch — money they’ll be able to earn only because I, the mother who scarred them for life, spent my own therapy budget on tuition for the best schools.  They’ll share how their over bearing mother spent countless late nights quizzing them for tests and dragging them to the 24-hour store to purchase poster board for a project due in the morning but assigned 6 weeks ago. How I dragged them out of bed at dawn on Saturday mornings, shoved #2 pencils in their hands and hauled them off to take the SAT. How I nagged them to complete their college applications on time. How I insisted on driving and flying them across the country to visit top-rated universities.

Yeah, they’ll spend a lot of time on that couch.

“Mom, I’m going to the library before work then I’ll finish my homework after dinner. I love you!”

Well, maybe not too much.

I speak of a battle I witnessed in Old Town, Alexandria, Va., a decade ago — a battle that involved a popular Irish pub, Pat Troy’s Ireland’s Own, and a condo association.

A new landlord purchased the building in which Troy’s pub had resided for 19 years. The landlord wanted to turn the pub space into office space. He asked Troy to vacate.

Troy, an Irish immigrant known for his many charitable causes, bought a building two blocks away. He planned to relocate his pub there — right next to the condo association.

That’s when all hell broke loose.

The condo people did not want an Irish pub to be near them. They launched a political assault that made the Chicago politicians look like Quakers.

First came their “NOLUV” slogan. It stood for “noise, overcrowding, litter, urinating and vomiting.”

Then came accusations about the behavior of the pub’s patrons — that they’d drink too many pints of Guinness and sing “The Unicorn Song” into the wee hours.

Next came their angry letter to city officials. It complained that “Troy’s pub isn’t just a bar, it’s an IRISH bar … and it will affect our property values …

Goodness.

My great great grandfather came to America from Ireland in the late 1800’s. He surely suffered similar indiscretions. That they’re still occurring is no surprise to me.

But the Irish can take it.

We, of Irish descent, can take the drinking jokes: Why did God invent whiskey? To keep the Irish from taking over the Earth. What’s a seven-course Irish meal? A potato and a six-pack. What’s the difference between an Irish wedding and an Irish wake? One less drunk.

We don’t mind the one about the tragedy at the Guinness factory. McAlister fell into a vat of Guinness and he drowned. Cleary, McAlister’s best friend, went to tell McAlister’s wife. When she opened her front door, Cleary was crying.

“There was a tragedy at the factory?” she said.

“Yes, missus. Your husband fell into a vat of Guinness and drowned.”

“Tell me, Cleary,” she said crying. “Did he at least die quickly?

“Not exactly, missus,” said Cleary. “He got out of the vat three times to use the bathroom.”

We don’t mind the one about the Irishman who finds a tea kettle in the woods. When he rubs it, a genie pops out and grants him three wishes. The Irishman wishes for a bottle of whiskey; it appears in his hands. When he drinks it, the bottle automatically refills. He drinks it again, and it refills.

“What’s that?” says the Irishman.

“That’s the bottle of infinity,” says the genie. “Every time you empty it, it will be replenished. What are you last two wishes?”

“Give me two more bottles!”

No, the Irish don’t mind such jokes. The Irish learned to laugh at themselves long ago.

And when a group of boorish condo people succeeded in thwarting the move of Troy’s pub to the building he had purchased — Alexandria’s city council voted to block his move — Troy didn’t cry of unfairness or bigotry or hate speech.

He did what Americans used to do: he relocated to another building, where he is still serving many delicious pints.

In an America in which everyone is so easily offended and ready to sue, we all could have a little more Irish spirit — and certainly more Irish humor.

Which reminds me of this one: What is Irish and sits on the porch all night long?

Paddy O’Furniture.

“I just spent 45 minutes stuck in a crowded waiting room with phlegm hacking folks and a fuzzy but loud TV stuck on the Jerry Springer Show.  The best magazine was a 2008 Porsche Owner and I learned more details about some lady’s bathroom habits than I know about my own children’s. Other than that, I’m peachy.”

Even if I was at the doctor’s office for a well check, it’s not exactly my favorite way to spend my morning let alone wine funds.  The magazine selection would still stink and I’d still have to step on the very public scale in the very public hallway where the nurse will very publicly announce my weight as she writes it down.

But before that, the perky nurse would still hold open the door and quip, “How are you today?”   What am I supposed to say?

“Oh my gosh, um, (squint at name tag) Bitsy, I couldn’t be happier!   I lost sleep last night in anticipation of the fun I’d have here today.  Why, it’s not often I’m given my very own cup with my name written on it that no one else can use. I have children you know; so I have very few personalized items at home that are mine and mine alone.   Rarely does anyone residing in my house inquire as to my well being, let alone how often I go to the bathroom, get headaches or eat polyunsaturated fats.

“Plus, at home, I’m constantly doing laundry.  I mean, every hour of every day (except when I’m here with my monogrammed cup).  If only I had these nice paper gowns and blankets at home—I could throw away all those bulky linens and save so much laundry time and effort.  And this shade of blue is such a flattering color for my skintone; you always make me feel so special here.  Really, the only thing that could make this visit any more fun is if I’m due not only for my flu shot but a tetanus booster to boot!

But enough about little ol’ me, Bitsy. How are you today?”

College Boy: I hope mom doesn’t mind I invited Corine over for dinner.
The Mom: OHMYGAWD he invited that adorable girl over for dinner! That is soooo sweet! Oh crap, I gotta clean this house!

College Boy: They have new storm doors. I had to learn how to use the triple bolt locks, add a new key to my key ring and remember they’re there so I stop walking into them.
The Mom: I have to remember to give him a key to the new storm doors; plus explain how they work.

College Boy: When a phone rings, it is not necessarily for me.
The Mom: When a phone rings, it is not necessarily for me.

College Boy: I get to cook in a real kitchen and eat whatever I want, yay!
The Mom: I don’t have to cook all week because he’s home and has taken over the kitchen. Yay!  I’ll eat whatever he makes.

College Boy: Free washing machine and dryer, score!
The Mom: Ohmygawd does he EVER do laundry? What is that smell? Add detergent and bleach to the shopping list.

College Boy: A car! A car! I am so totally going to go see all of my friends.
The Mom: I will not see my car all weekend.

College Boy: Ahhhhh, nothing like being home in my own bed.
The Mom: I wonder if it’s time I ditch the teddy bear sheets and get him some plain grown-up linens?

College Boy: Cool. Green grapes!
The Mom: When did he start eating grapes? That brings him up to TWO kinds of fruit he’ll actually touch.

College Boy: I wonder if mom has any cash.
The Mom: I wonder if he’s hit up his father for any cash yet.

College Boy: She keeps looking at me. She keeps hugging me.  I should be creeped out but I’m not.
The Mom: He keeps hugging me. I figured he’d be over that by now—especially in front of his friends. I am going to work this for all it’s worth.

College Boy: I wonder if she’s going to make me go to church this weekend.
The Mom: I wonder if I should insist he come to church with us this weekend.

College Boy: When did my mother start staying up so late?
The Mom: Does that boy ever go to bed?

And before either one is prepared, the week is over.

College Boy: I wonder who’s house I can go to for the next break.
The Mom: I can’t wait until he comes home for the next break!

Every hint/directive was followed by a photo exemplifying said directive. Problem is, every photo was of a celebrity. Where’s my picture? After all, I scored as a Hot Mom on the very first directive: The chic ponytail.

“Some mornings the last thing you want to do is your hair. The chic ponytail – pulled back and either worn high or low – will transform you from disheveled to pulled-together in a matter of minutes.” And here I thought I was just being lazy and over due for a haircut with my 7 day a week ponytail.  Turns out I’m not only chic, but Hot!

“The right pair of sunglasses can turn you from a soccer mom to a Hot Mom in a matter of seconds. Look for those that flatter your face shape and style. The oversized shades or aviator shades are two hip looks sure to transform you.” Oooh! I have oversized shades! Mostly because I don’t want my husband to see me rolling my eyes when he says something irritating. Like, “Do we really need an entire case of wine?”

“A push up or padded bra can help you fill out your clothes and give you (and your hubby) that extra spring in your step.” I don’t think it’s my feet that’ll be springing, but I’ll take some Hot credit for at least owning a push up.

“Hot moms know one key to looking good is knowing how to accessorize. For instance, adding a long, knotted scarf to a simple white tee can instantly make your outfit go from blah and boring to fun and fabulous.” Naturally the long-scarf- wearing-hot-mom-actress in the photo did not have her child with her. Otherwise we’d see the child tugging on and choking Hot Mom with said scarf.  Note Hot Mom and child were not shown at McDonalds where the scarf would dip into the ketchup and toilet.

“Adding a few rock star tees will instantly up your cool factor. They’re colorful and look great paired with your favorite jeans. A fringed purse adds to your rockin’ look.”  To which my teenage fashionista daughter would say, “Um…NO! And the ’70’s called; they want their purse back.”

“It’s amazing the difference undereye concealer, bronzer, mascara and lip gloss can make to a overworked mom’s appearance.”  Well, I own more makeup than I’ll ever use, but I can’t live a day without my concealer.

Is that Hot enough?

Now? Now it’s the clowns. Yes ladies and gentleman, the recession has forced clowns to clean their own kitchen sinks! Well, I’m making that up, but clowns are suffering too.  Why? Is it because we don’t need them more than ever to make us laugh during these trying and often dark, hopeless economic times? Has the price of greasepaint and animal balloons skyrocketed?

Alas, it appears kiddie birthday parties just aren’t what they used to be. So that woman who’s now cleaning her own sink and cooking dinner for her family? She’s not hiring Blimpy, Bozo or Oopsy for Junior’s birthday party. But don’t take it from me, trust a clown: “I have a lot of people telling me they’re having a party, they are just not having entertainment and catering,” stated Oopsy the clown.

Catering? For a child’s birthday party? Why yes! And event planners too, like David Tutera, of New York, who said his clients still want to have parties, but just not quite as lavish. “I think they’re not getting the $5000 birthday cake for their 5-year old. They’re still going to have the fun theme party…it’s not going to be so opulent.”

$5000 birthday cake? For a 5 year old? Did he get a Ferrari too? What are the party favors, Wii games?

But enough about them, let’s get back to the clowns.  The Associated Press caught up with Oopsy, who recently added a complimentary bubble machine to her package in order to entice customers. Like the parents of the one year old who hired Oopsy (and her bubble machine) for their kid’s Monkey-themed 1^st birthday party.

A clown for a one year old’s party? I’m in my forties and still afraid of clowns. You think a bunch of one year olds are gonna drop their sippy cups to hug a clown? There’s a well-known phenomena among children: They who worship a large entertainment character from afar are deathly terrified of same character up close and personal.

Think Mickey Mouse: My son squealed, wiggled and giggled when he spotted Mickey across the pavement at Disney World. When Mickey walked up to our dinner table, my same son screamed, started crying, literally leapt out of his daddy’s arms, jumped across the table and buried his face in my lap.

Think Barney: My daughter slept with no fewer than 3, (that’s three) stuffed Barney dolls. She fixated on every horrid sketch, song and dance glowing in her face from the shiny TV screen. When Barney was the guest at a festival and approached her, my same daughter screamed, started sobbing, put the death grip on my neck and buried her (still screaming) face in my ear.

Good luck Oopsy.

Purcell: PETA says that groundhogs are constantly alert when out of their burrows — that yanking you out of a stump before bright lights and a large crowd is tantamount to animal cruelty. They want you to be replaced with an animatronic groundhog. What say you?

Phil: Man, those cats have to lighten up. Do I dig the big crowds and bright lights? No, but let’s put things in perspective. I only work one day a year. Show me a groundhog who wouldn’t want a gig like that.

Purcell: PETA argues that your natural cycle has been disrupted. You should be hibernating this time of the year.

Phil: Hibernating is for chumps. Only a fool would want to be in a comatose state in a dirt hole, when he could live a life of luxury indoors.

Purcell: But the organizers of the event, the Inner Circle, are exploiting you for human entertainment and profit.

Phil: That profit has afforded me all the luxuries a groundhog could want. I get free health care from my personal veterinarian. I eat as much lettuce, carrots, apples and grains as I want. I have a fine bachelor burrow that includes a running brook. And the Inner Circle fellows supply me with three female companions — the finest-looking ground dwellers this side of the Mississippi.

Purcell: The Inner Circle is trafficking in woodchucks of the night! Sir, PETA believes you’d be happier in your natural habitat.

Phil: My natural habitat involves becoming the dinner of several larger creatures. Look, man, the cats at PETA need to lighten up. America needs to lighten up. You Americans need to get your priorities in order.

Purcell: Our priorities?

Phil: Look, there is animal cruelty out there. PETA does some good things fighting against it. But complaining about me is ridiculous. There are real problems in the world — poverty, pain, suffering. Even America is struggling.

Purcell: What is your point?

Phil: My point is that many of you cats are spoiled. You’ve misused your wealth — taken it for granted. Many of you no longer know where wealth comes from or how it is maintained. You elect politicians who do bone-headed things to squash it — they destroyed California and are trying to do likewise to the whole country.

Purcell: You follow our politics?

Phil: I read the papers every day — before I do my business on them. Look, your “educated” people lack common sense. They are easily misled by silver-tongued politicians. Many went broke investing in real estate schemes because they assumed prices would never go down.

Purcell: You’re losing me, groundhog.

Phil: As your people attained material wealth, you let yourselves become spiritually and emotionally poor. So desperate are you for meaning, you latch on to any nutty “cause.” One involves meddling with the well-being of a groundhog in Punxsutawney, who is fully aware of his blessings.

Purcell: You’ve been brainwashed, Phil. We need to break you out of here.

Phil: If you or anyone disrupts my groundhog heaven, you’ll experience a burrow where the sun don’t shine.

And there’s a reason why the Soap Opera Updates are printed in the paper under, "Entertainment".

This past week on All My Dysfunctional, Illegitimate Children: “Zach told Julia he would help her after learning she ran out on the Witness Protection Program.”

Boy, Zach better know a good plastic surgeon, attorney and be stinking rich.

Meanwhile, As My Stomach Turned, “Paul learned from Nurse Bentley that Jennifer’s baby and Gwen’s baby were born at the same time and that the attending nurse left town after receiving a lot of money (from Craig). Paul didn’t tell Jennifer he suspects Craig switched the babies (he did) because he thinks she is better off without Craig in her life. When Jennifer heard the baby cry, she believed the baby was hers (it is).”

First of all, who makes up these character names? I mean really, “Nurse Bentley”? Are Nurse Mercedes and Doctor Dodge hiding in the linen closet? And what about those sophisticated electronic bracelets for new mommies and babies? Where do you think that head nurse ran off to and if it’s someplace warm and tropical, can I join her? And does Craig have any money for me?

Somewhere in the town that houses a Hospital named “General” (As opposed to "Specific"?), “Jason was locked in a wine cellar.” And Jason was unhappy about this? Silly Jason.

The Bold Ridge "refused to break bread with his Beautiful Brooke’s "sisters in his own home". After years of marriage, he finally got tired of his wife giggling when her sisters mocked his stupid name.

It was a dizzying Day in Our Lives when “Phillip failed to make Mimi see Belle didn’t cause Mimi to loose Phillip, who had heard Belle talking about Mimi.”

Obviously without the help of their Guiding Light, “Someone attacked Mallet as he and Harley were about to open the crypt (supposedly) containing Phillip’s body.” Okay, were they supposedly about to open the crypt or did the crypt supposedly contain Phillip’s body? I’m so confused! And again—“Mallet” and “Harley”?? Hammers and motorcycles?

The Young got extra Restless when "Victor returned and announced he was taking back control of Newman Enterprises AND the ranch! Neil broke the news to the Abbotts that Tucker McCall Unlimited was now controlling Chancellor Industries and Jabot." What’s the big deal? Sounds like another typical day in D.C. This is supposed to be a soap opera, not reality TV, right?

Stay tuned….

We’re now in the run of awards shows — Golden Globes, Sags, Emmys and Oscars — where ordinary folks like you and me (but happen to have the title of “celebrity”), who have a job (but happen to earn 4 gazillion more dollars per week than we earn in a decade), get free stuff handed to them. And not the sausage on a toothpick at Sam’s Club type of free stuff – expensive stuff like fur-lined slippers, jewelry, video games and a leather jacket you and I’d have to sell our car to afford.

Businesses and designers compete and pay big bucks for the right to provide party favors for attendees, including all those non-winners, in hopes stars will be seen in public wearing their brand’s $500 hat or $300 wireless headsets.

One year, the Oscar’s Loser Bag contained $7000 worth of gifts, including a pair of Vera Wang sunglasses ($250), a digital pen that remembers and organizes everything you write ($200), a gift certificate for Lasik surgery ($4000) and mink lined slippers.

Since so many celebrities are anti-fur, I, a Loser, could go home with a few extra pairs for my family and friends.  “Hey Susan, you’re not really gong to wear those slippers after last month’s protest rally are you? Can I have ‘em?”

Oh, and the gift “bag” is not the kind I buy at the Dollar Tree. It’s a $1000 piece of Burberry luggage.

I’d love to be a loser at the Grammys too. Past participants received gifts worth $21,000.    Besides the traditional “gift basket”, celebrities “shopped” in the “Gift Lounge” — a room stocked with free goodies provided by vendors. That’s right — they just walked around the room and took whatever they wanted.

I wish I could’ve been a fly on the wall to see who took what.  Did Faith grab a few LIV Fashion dolls and bottle of Mariah’s new perfume for her daughters?  Which smoothie drinking stars went for the $150 Sunbeam blender?  Celebrities could time the length of acceptance speeches with $525 watches and take photos with $400 digital cameras.  Would they lower themselves to carry around a designer purse that retails for only $800?  Perhaps the Nanny’s birthday was coming up.

But what I really want to know is who, among that group of capped and bonded smiles still needed the $600 gift certificate from BriteSmile.  And do they want to trade it for a pair of mink lined slippers?

Relax, the government is here to help. We’ve been disbursing funds from the $787 billion stimulus bill for nearly a year now. We’ve created or saved almost 2 million jobs.

But isn’t unemployment stalled at 10 percent? Didn’t the president say his stimulus bill would keep it from going above 8 percent?

It’s not our fault we inherited such a mess. Why, things were so bad, we had to spend months overhauling the health care system.

But won’t your health plan raise health insurance premiums, health care costs and income taxes? Won’t that hurt the economy and make it even harder for me to get a job?

Look, we have smart people running the country now — many from our leading universities. They’re making difficult decisions to do what is best for you.

Best for me? How will capping greenhouse gases help me find a job when such a move will drive up costs on everything and further hurt the economy?

You have to understand we’re investing billions in government programs and grants that will ultimately stimulate the economy.

But our deficit is terrifyingly high. Our debt is growing by leaps and bounds. Everyone knows if we keep spending like madmen that will hurt the economy more and make it harder to get work.

I’d be as concerned as you, were I not learned in the science of economics. The first $168 billion stimulus under President Bush was so effective, President Obama gave us a second for $787 billion. Now there’s talk about a third!

Look, all I want is a job, but many companies say there is too much uncertainty for them to hire. Their taxes are surely going to go up. They don’t know what government mandates they’ll be forced to fund.

Thanks to government spending there are lots of new opportunities. You can see them at recovery.gov — and through news reports. You just need the right skills.

The right skills?

Have you ever done research involving the study of sexual arousal in anesthetized female rats?

No, but –

Well, what do you know about video games for senior citizens? We gave out a $427,824 research grant to study Grandpa’s game-play needs.

But my grandpa can’t even work an ATM.

How are you with machine-generated humor? We gave a $712,883 research grant to Northwestern University to design artificially intelligent “comedic performance agents.” This will support the “enjoyment and illumination of everyday citizens.”

I know how to use a computer, but –

How about Census work? We set aside an additional $1 billion for the 2010 Census, which already has a projected cost overrun of $3 billion.

I’d be happy to take any work, but could use a little more pay than what Census workers –

How are your upholstery skills? We set aside $248 million for furniture at the new Homeland Security headquarters in Washington, D.C.

Well, that sounds like a possibility, but –

But what? For an unemployed fellow you’re awful picky. How about this then: We provided a $389,537 grant for an academic study that compares the “outcomes of the concurrent and separate use of malt liquor and marijuana.”

You really think spending almost $400,000 to fund a study in which participants get bombed and high will somehow stimulate the economy and produce jobs?

Absolutely, though in this case I’m not sure if participants will be paid.

Sign me up. At this point, I’ll be happy to do that one free.