July 7, 2004

Who Moved My Prozac?

Well, my deep thought of the day is, “Why did God put parents on this earth if their kids don’t listen to them?”  And why are we parents if the only kids who might—just possibly listen to ONE thing we have to say—are someone else’s kids?!  Should we all just trade kids in hopes that the three things we’ve been trying to teach them for the last 6 months might sink in? 

Just think, if my kids listened to someone else—I wouldn’t have to yell, get angry or give that disappointed look in hopes that the mom guilt would sink in.  You know the guilt we all swore we wouldn’t give our kids?  Only it took me less than five years to put it into full use, in hopes of getting results from my cantankerous preschooler.  I could be that normal person  again that I was before I had kids –who went out too much and had three jobs so I wouldn’t get bored  (Hmmm, I was a freak!).  And I wouldn’t have to wonder which part of my DNA was ruined during which drinking binge—which is, of course, why my kid sits on his brother .002 seconds after I walk out of the room.  Oh wait, or is it because I sat on him yesterday.  Who can be sure??? 

 No, I am not drunk, and I clearly am not on Prozac—maybe I need to rethink that.  And who would I steal it from, because who has time to run to the doctor’s office with two little boys who will undoubtedly find a way to hang from the chandeliers.  See, it’s been awhile.  I’m guessing doctor’s offices don’t actually have chandeliers, right?  And let’s not kid ourselves.  They would probably just commit me after seeing me in a doctor’s office for an hour with my two kids.  And who would that help—certainly not the local orphanage. 

Deep breath…  there’s my prozac.