The “Shut Up About…” Blog

The first step is admitting you have a problem.

“We are Faceaholics.”

Ever since Gina and Patty were advised to use Facebook to “market” their imperfect business, they’ve been hooked. What they didn’t anticipate, however, was how it would help them better parent their children–well, one of them anyway.

“G, how’s Katie feeling?”

“Fine. Why do you ask?” Gina asked puzzled.

“Oh I just read on Facebook that she’s not feeling well.”

Fortunately for Gina, Katie is very easy-going and has no problem knowing that her mother and favorite aunt can spy on her. Patty, however, cannot penetrate her daughter’s Facebook wall. When Patty tried to “friend” her daughter Jules, she was met with a little opposition.

“Go away,” was Jules’ exact response.

In contrast, Katie acknowledges her beloved aunt.

“Hey G, Katie just sent me another virtual drink. I just love that girl. She knows just what will make me smile.”

Gina and Patty have utilized Facebook in way they never envisioned. They have used in a collaborative effort to gain insight into the minds of their children.

“Pat, I can’t go over this stuff right now. Katie came home upset from school. I need to talk to her.”

“Katie’s fine,” Patty replied.

“What? How do you know she’s fine? Did you call the Psychic Hotline again? She was crying ten minutes ago.”

“Well according to her wall, she said she’s happy again.”

Of course, there are downsides to Gina and Patty’s Facebook addiction. Since she discovered Facebook, Gina hasn’t cooked a meal or cleaned her kitchen. And for Patty, a self-confessed procrastinator, Facebook is a dream come true.

So if you want to avoid household chores and procrastinate, visit Gina and Patty on Facebook. And maybe if you’re lucky, Katie will buy you a virtual drink.

I have recently discovered a wonderful way to indulge myself that doesn’t actually include chocolate or fruit flavored martinis. My oldest child, Jules turned me onto yoga.

“Like, Mom, you gotta like try it. It’s like chillin’.”

Since I walk around my house in a coat and mittens during the winter, the thought of participating in any “chillin” activity didn’t exactly appeal to me. But since I had already taken bold steps in my life (I now wear Spandex), I decided I would give it a try.

I proudly walked into the room with my yoga mat tucked under my arm. Yes, I had purchased a yoga mat years ago and had put it to good use.

“Hey, Patty, this new bath mat is great!”

I carefully selected a spot in the back of the room where no one could see me. The instructor turned out the lights and cranked the heat. She played some relaxing music and spoke to us in very soothing tone.

“Now I want you to leave all the stresses of the day at the door and just relax as you stretch.”

“What kids?” I thought as I giggled to myself.

Then the instructor started saying things like, “Find your downward facing dog.”

“Jules didn’t tell me I was supposed to bring Rocky.” I said to myself.

I quickly glanced around and was relieved to see that none of the other people had brought dogs either. But they were contorting their bodies in such a way that I did not think was anatomically possible.

I tried copying them but I had difficulty following the instructions. All I kept thinking about was Twister, “Right hand green, left foot yellow.”

This continued for the duration of the class. Although I know I wasn’t doing most of the moves correctly, I have to say that I really enjoyed it. But the best part came at the end of the class. The last ten minutes was spent just lying flat on the floor while the instructor continued to play wonderfully soothing music. She spoke to us so softly that I could have drifted off to sleep.

When she told us we could sit up, I didn’t want to. I was so relaxed, I didn’t want to leave. Even as I started to walk to my car, I felt as though I was walking on air.

I pulled the keys out of my pocket and there was my cell phone. The little red light was flashing indicating a had a message. My fingers glided over the keyboard as I entered my password. It was my cute, little boy.

“Hi, Mom, it’s Mikey. I know you’re at the gym but can you come home now? Jenn is going crazy and she just threw the grated cheese at me and now there’s cheese all over the stairs.”

As I listened to the message, I adapted some of the techniques I had just learned and applied them to my life, “Take a deep breath, left hand on left ear, right hand on right ear.”

Last week, my family had plans to trek off for a much-needed vacation. There was only one thing standing in my way of freedom –a fourth grade timeline book report on the life of Helen Keller.

Instead of following my usual crisis strategy for dealing with last minute projects – doing all the work for my child, I decided to do the right thing and make my daughter do it herself under my careful supervision. (“Are you done yet, honey? Cuz I really want to get out of here.)”

Emily was fascinated by Helen’s story, and being the compassionate young girl that she is, was rather upset to learn of Helen’s death, which she appropriately depicted with a gravestone, the last item on the timeline.

I was quite pleased with the results and the knowledge Emily had accumulated on Helen’s remarkable life. That is, until we were driving home from the airport after our vacation.

“Emily, see that school up there? That’s the Perkins School for the Blind where Helen Keller studied,” I excitedly pointed out.

“Wow! Really Mommy? Can we stop there and have lunch with her?”

Whether it be falling bathtubs from the shelves at Home Depot or heated car seats burning your tush, my mother has a warning for every situation. Today was no exception.

I was on my way to my sister’s house when I made the mistake of calling my mother.

“Are you already at your sister’s or are you in your car?” she asked.

I knew exactly where she was going with this line of questioning.

“I’m in my car listening to God tunes,” I said hoping that this would score me some points.

“Are you on your cell phone while driving?” she asked.

“Yes, Mother, I am but I have a hands-free phone,” I said.

While this seemed to pacify her, it was only a matter of minutes before she started with a new lecture.

“Are you taking Max back with you?” she asked.

Max, is my sister’s bichon friese and I was going to take him back home with me to care for him while my sister was away.

“Yes, Mother, I am taking Max with me.”

“How is he travelling in the car?”

“Well, sometimes we fight when we can’t agree on a radio station but for the most part, he’s pretty well behaved.”

“Well, you had better be careful because I read about this man who was riding with his dog. The dog jumped up on the dashboard and caused the driver to lose control of the car. He ended up driving over a cliff.”

Considering the stressful weekend I had, I was thinking that driving over a cliff didn’t sound so bad.

“Max will be fine, Mom,” I said. “I gotta go, Mom. I need to get off the phone.”

“Oh and don’t turn on those heated seats.” she said.

As my eldest child prepares for college, I never envisioned how overwhelmed I would be. Some might think it’s because she’s my first to leave the nest. Others may think it’s because we share a close bond. The truth is I am overwhelmed because of the financial aid forms I’ve had to complete. Anyone that knows me knows that when it comes to finances, I’m clueless.

“Patty, did you balance the checkbook? And no, on your head doesn’t count,” barks my husband.

I just don’t have what it takes to manage finances so I felt myself drowning when it came time to complete those annoying financial aid forms. “If only someone could save me.” I thought to myself. Ironically that savior came from a very unlikely source.

As I sat at my computer pouring over the online forms, my phone rang. I quickly glanced at Caller ID which said, “US Government”.

“Wow!” I thought. “They really do have excellent customer service. But how did they know I’m struggling with these forms?”

As it turned out it wasn’t a customer service rep to assist me with the forms. Instead it was an army recruiter.

“Is there a Jules Konjoian there, Mam?” he asked in a serious tone.

“Are you calling because you want her for the army?” I asked amusingly.

“Yes, Mam.” he said.

“Oh trust me; you don’t want Jules for the army. She’s still sleeping.” (It was 11:30).

He chuckled and then asked when might be a good time to contact her.

“I’m sure you don’t want her.” I continued. “She doesn’t make her bed and she’s such a slob. She’s practically a vegetarian but I will say she would enjoy dining in a place called the ‘Mess Hall’. “Oh and I think she would look cute in fatigues.”

“Well, that’s okay, Mam. If she’s interested she can call me.”

“She probably isn’t but I might be in the market for something new. You know, be all I can be and all that.”

“That’s okay but thank you anyway, Mam.”

Raising a child with a disability can sometimes make you feel like you live worlds apart from your friends. The other day my husband and I realized this harsh reality when we looked in our family checkbook.

“Patty, have you seen this?” he asked accusingly. “The last seven entries in this checkbook are for therapists!”

“Oh well, it may be costing us financially but it’s all those people who aren’t in therapy that have the real problem.” I rationalized.

As I walked away for a brief moment I fantasized about all those co-pays and what we could have done with the money instead. I could have paid off the mortgage or better yet taken a trip around the world or maybe even bought us that waterfront beach property I’ve always wanted. Ahh, yes, it would have been nice.

But then again I look at the remarkable progress my daughter Jennifer has made. I haven’t had to read fly fishing magazines while waiting for hours in the ER. I no longer shudder every time school’s number appears on Caller ID. And perhaps the greatest benefit is that I get to sit on comfortable couches every week.

Yes, I may not have been able to take that trip around the world, but it has been money well spent.