So it's New Year's Eve-eve, and the kids have been home and underfoot for going on two weeks. And while the rational part of your brain knows that you are in the home stretch, there are distinct moments where Winter Break feels like a "Permanent Vacation" that. May. Never. END.
You have tried to keep the small fry busy and out of trouble. You thought that “Walkin’ the Dog” was a good safe activity, but, minutes later, you hear shouts of, “She’s on Fire.” Later the same day, the family cat almost bought "The Farm" after being taken for a ride in the clothes dryer. Poor thing was flopping around like a "Rag Doll" - thump, thump, THUMP.
Good thing that kitties have "Nine Lives."
A change of scenery seemed to be in order, so off to the mall you went, where your "Last Child" loudly announced in the food court line that that "Dude (Looks Like a Lady").
"No More No More," you scream. "Here's Where I 'Draw the Line.'" You threaten to put all of their “Toys in the Attic,” but those savvy kids are on to you and your empty threats:
"Yeah, yeah, 'Same Old Song and Dance,' Mom."
You fight the urge to respond, "My Fist Your Face." Or bluff, "Janie's Got a Gun." Hey - Child Protective Services workers go to the mall, too. You could be overheard.
So you drive the brood back to the house. You wait until you are safely locked behind the bathroom door before you indulge yourself in some "Cryin'." And then you tell your tear-stained reflection, "'Get a Grip.' This is 'Crazy.' It's just not healthy to be 'Livin' on the Edge' from moment to moment. And this house won't run itself if 'Girl Keeps Coming Apart.'"
You square your shoulders and resolve to do 'What it Takes.'" Back into the car everyone goes, for a drive across town to your brother-in-law's house. Your husband helped him move last month; he owes you a favor. You assure "Uncle Salty" that you will be back to pick up the kids by dinner. Then you drive back home, kick off your shoes, and cruise by the fridge. You pour yourself a glass of wine, cut yourself a ridiculously huge slice of "Cheese Cake," and turn on a chick flick - a little mindless "Sweet Emotion" to improve your bad mood.
You weigh the odds that your bro-in-law will agree to keep the kids overnight - AND the odds that he will actually remember to feed them, put them in the shower and get them to bed at a remotely decent hour.
Yeah, "Dream On."
As you relax, your mind begins to wander, and you find yourself thinking about those perfect mommies in the carpool line, the ones whose children always seem to mind them. The ones with nary a hair out of place, a bead of sweat on their brow or a pulsating vein in their temple. You wonder how they do it.
You decide that it must be "Done With Mirrors." And you cut yourself another slice of cake.
(Editor's note: I have Aerosmith on the brain - "Santa" brought Mommy Aerosmith Guitar Hero for Wii.)
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