Captain Me Planet

My dreams were whacked out last night.

I think it may have started with what is now my new favorite show, Shalom in the Home, and is hosted by my new favorite person, The Rabbi Shmuley. Love him.

For instance.

Parents today are guilty of believing that they can have healthy children without having a healthy family environment.

There are no bad children. Only bad parents. When our kids act up, it’s time to look in the mirror.

Have you really been successful if the people who mean the most to you, think the least of you? (or don’t think of you at all?, my addition)

These, I’ve just learned, are called Shmuleyisms. Wow. He has his own isms.

So, last night’s show. Girl gone so wild. Bad, bad behavior. Only 9 years old. A little demon. She literally growled. But then, her parents were beasts. Well, one beast and a beat up, defeated, TV addicted Mom.

This kid is 9. She hits her parents. Yells at them. Talks back like I’ve never heard. And I thought I was a rebellious teen. Whew. She makes my angst ridden youth look like Gidget. And her Mom just sits there like a punching bag. And the Dad says something brilliant like do something. Anyway, you get the picture.

Just let it be know that The Rabbi Wonderful had their number, and got right to business. Love him.

So, my dream? My gentle, bright, albeit hard-headed 10 year old was out of control. Sneering at me. Grabbed my wrist with one hand and hit me with the other. Defiant beyond imagination. And. I. was. furious. (that’s probably what got me about last night’s show…they didn’t seem to give a rip their child was on route to total head spinning and yarfing pea soup)

And then I was sad. Devastated. But before I could exact discipline, some sort of party suddenly happened at our neighbor’s (that partially morphed into an attempted “intervention” by our old church people that we divorced) and I had to send the defiant Private home. To wait. While I told those church people what they could do with their intervention. And then when I got there, I realized he was having a party of his own. With like, 15 other kids off all ages, I’ve never even seen before. And when I asked him where his siblings were, he just shrugged. Oooooh, I was mad.

Now, in the real world, he would not be home alone, especially in charge of his siblings. Nor would he ever have a friend over without my being home.

So all the kids were like, Mo-o-o-m, chill, let the guy live a little (did I say he’s 10?), and I’m all like, chill? Did you say chill to me? I’ll chill you, you jerk, or some equally dumb sounding comeback. Yeah, I was scary.

But then, the really interesting part. To me, at least. And it’s my blog. Everything morphed, and I had a gravely ill infant in NICU, while wearing evening wear befitting Dynasty.

Is that Heather Locklear?

And I arrive back home bearing concerning news, but there are people I vaguely know. Acquaintances lounging all over our home, the gardens, the fountains and pool. While my cook serves them drink after drink (we’re living some sort of Danielle Steele scene). And my husband, who looks like my husband, but is not my husband, is cavorting around his home office desk with a very young and perky (read boobs) assistant.

I am so devastated. Again. As I try to tell him we need to talk about John (the child’s name), his assistant fake plants a kiss on him, and leers at me (was some sort of weed in my burger last night?). I just walk out, with my husband trailing after me, offering weak it was nothings.

I retreat to my dressing room. It is larger than the first floor of our current home. Filled to the rafters with designer clothing. Multi-hundred dollar shoes. Furs (I don’t even care for furs). Dressing gowns of silk. Diamonds.

And I start to rip it all apart in a fit of rage. But hear some women chattering. So I hide behind the Chinese imported armoir, and wait. They’ve come in to try my things on! They don’t think I’m home! And here I am, grieving my ill infant son (have I seen too many soaps?)! They’re getting silk robes and ascots out for their husbands! The indignity!!!

I wait for them to leave, and think. I know. I’m stopping this outrage right now (apparently, we just live some sort of lifestyle, like in that 80s movie about the weekend at Bernie’s, where people just mooch off us all the time, whether or not we’re actually hosting anything). So. it. has. to. stop.

I charge into the main house, and begin ranting everybody out! Out, out, out! You too! And put down that vase (although, I said v-a-a-z).
And some prissy guy was passed out in a green cashmere dressing robe of my husband’s, so I just jerked off of his body, and pushed him out the glass doors, naked. Yeah, that’ll show’im.

At this point, I realize I have some repugnant teenage children, like a boy and a girl, who have their friends over, and have become stricken by my looney behavior. Tough shit, I scream to them. It’s time to pull a little weight around here (I don’t really scream those sorts of words to my real children, of course, desperate times call for desperate measures).

I only allow my mother to stay. Although for the life of me, I can’t figure out why she’d ever allow such a thing to be going on. This dream mom must not represent my mom, cause she’d be putting a smack down on that silliness, and jerking a knot in my husband’s something.

And then I start deliriously laughing and stating that I feel soooo much better. It was time to clean house. Get rid of those moochers. At this point, my husband murmurs something about institutiolizing me, but I remind him that all this is my name, and he can’t get to it, for some reason or another, if I’m put away, so he shuts up. And I get to picking up the mess, and formulating how to start over.

Then, I remember our infant son, John, and begin to cry beautifully, and tell my husband what may be wrong. This brings us together, and he abandons his ridiculous behavior with that bimbo, we fire her, and reclaim our life together.

I really did dream all of this.

Man, I’ve got to stop watching Lifetime. Or, start trying to get this stuff published, and produced for Lifetime. Maybe starring Judith Light, or Meredith Baxter Birney.

Posted this. And I will copy it here. Because I’m like that. A big ol’ copy cat. On things I really like.

Here is a sample, there is more:

How does a homeschooler change a lightbulb?

First, Mom checks three books on electricity out of the library, then the kids make models of light bulbs, read a biography of Thomas Edison, and do a skit based on his life.

Next, everyone studies the history of lighting methods, wrapping up with dipping their own candles.

Next, everyone takes a trip to the store where they compare types of lightbulbs, as well as prices, and figure out how much change they’ll get if they buy two bulbs for $1.99 and pay with a five-dollar bill.

On the way home, a discussion develops over the history of money and also Abraham Lincoln, as his picture is on the five-dollar bill.

Finally, after building a homemade ladder out of branches dragged from the woods, the lightbulb is installed.

And there is light…which begins a Bible study on the days of Creation.

You Know You’re A Homeschool Mom When…

When a child busts a lip, and after seeing she’s okay, you round up some Scotch tape to capture some blood and look at it under the microscope.

You find dead animals and actually consider saving them to dissect later…

Your husband can walk in at the end of a long day and tell how the science experiment went just by looking at the house…

The only debate about the school lunch program is whose turn it is to cook…

Your formal dining room now has a computer, copy machine, and many book shelves and there are educational posters and maps all over the walls…

You have meal worms growing in a container….on purpose…

You take off for a teacher in-service day because the principal needs clean underwear…

Your honor student can actually read the bumper sticker that you put on your car…

You live in a one-house schoolroom.