Gone is my daily thrill of being the first to reach in and preview the goods. I swear my kids pay the mail lady to arrive mere seconds before they get home from school, while I’m standing at the corner waiting for their bus. Some day I’ll be waiting for my Wine of The Month shipment to arrive and knock them down to get to the box first. Won’t they be surprised?
They get new clothes first. Those pesky children insist on growing non stop. I tried not feeding them but Social Services frowned upon that. With a limited “Entertainment” budget, under which clothes shopping for teens falls under since my husband didn’t have a Microsoft Money category named, “Just Shoot Me Now,” priority’s given to the family members whose toes are popping out of tennis shoes and pant hems are touching their calves instead of their feet.
Maybe if I dress incredibly embarrassing and show up to have lunch with my daughter at middle school, she’ll sacrifice her “Matching Socks” budget and let me go shopping for me.
My kids get first dibs on the TV too. Mostly because they’re the only ones who can read the miniscule print of the satellite TV guide and understand the new digital video recording system. I dread the day they move out of the house and I’ll actually have to read an instruction manual. Or worse, ask my husband to explain it to me.
Slouched on the comfy couch watching a Mythbusters marathon, my kids stuff themselves with all the fun food. They can still eat half a package of chocolate stuffed Oreos and fit into their favorite jeans the next morning. They can down an entire bag of sour cream and onion potato chips and not swell with five pounds of water weight.
My kids can stay up late, eat greasy, salty popcorn and watch movies — clear through to the end — and still hop out of bed and function in the morning. Popcorn hulls tend to wedge behind my crown and a week later, send me to the dentist in pain.
I haven’t seen the end of a movie — at least one I can remember — in three years. Occasionally, I’ll ask the kids to queue up the movie we watched the previous night so I can finish it. “Mom, you already finished it, remember? You said it was a rip-off ending and you can’t believe you wasted two good hours of potential sleep time on it.”
“I did? Are you sure?”
“Yes!” They roll their eyes and yell in unison.
“Well, can you put it on anyhow so I can refresh my memory?”
“Sorry, we already deleted it. Besides, the Simpsons marathon is on. Did you buy more Oreos?”
Karen Rinehart is a syndicated newspaper columnist, public speaker, and creator of The Bus Stop Mommies™. Her book, Invisible Underwear, Bus Stop Mommies and Other Things True To Life, is a popular read in book clubs, school pick up lines, and soccer fields. She enjoys hearing from readers across the States and as far away as Australia, Japan, and England. You can read more at BusStopMommies.com. Karen lives in North Carolina with her two kids, two dogs, and one husband, where they attend St. James Catholic Church. (Well, they leave the dogs at home.)
