Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" You've found the awesome web site that asks you to pick a god, any god - hide it in the deck - shuffle thoroughly - is this your god? Great choice!
Check the date and time of this blog. I'll help you. It's about 8:15, Eastern Daylight Time on a Friday night. On this day and hour thoughts turn to Bacchus, god of distilled spirits.
In short, pass the twist. Shake, don't stir. Here's mud in your eye. It's Happy Hour!
But wait! I'm the Mother of My Children! The precious tykes, Heir and Spare, might need some home-schooling or a Bible verse or two. Ah, hmmm. My, this is a nice martini. So very dry....
Time to call for a good nanny? Yeah, right. I've been married almost 21 years. I'm not idiot enough to let some babe come in here and coo over my teenagers. Look at Jude Law, for crying out loud.
Do you ever find yourself in this quandary? Well, here's a great solution to all your parenting problems.
It's called a television.
Right now, my offspring, the Heir and the Spare, are curled up together (as opposed to their usual predilection to maim one another), watching a brand new episode of some show called "Degrassi."
What is "Degrassi" about? I don't have a clue. They won't let me in the room while it's running. I therefore assume it's not Billy Graham or "Hour of Power."
But hey. The frost is beading on the martini pitcher, and I'm not some mother 100 years ago, doling out opium (technically, Mrs. Winslow's Soothing Syrup).
So, with all due apologies to Dr. Laura and that junior (league) senator from Pennsylvania, I offer the following sensible parenting advice:
You gave them life, let them run with it.
Another martini? Yes, thank you very much.
(AUDIBLE GASPS FROM THE FOCUS ON THE FAMILY CROWD)
Aw, you bunch of over-zealous lion tamers, stuff it! Don't come to me and say kids grow up warped if they don't have effective parenting. I know what I'm talking about. My mom had bipolar disorder before there was any medicine for it. She was nuttier than a Sunday danish, worse than an ineffective parent because she was a menace to family and society.
And just look at me. I'm gainfully employed (most of the time), no arrest record, long-lasting marriage (see above), and my children have beaten the Medieval curve for longevity.
If I survived Psycho Mom, I think my kids have half a chance of surviving "Degrassi" and attending public school while I work.
All hail Lord Bacchus, pass another round. Personally I'd rather have a spliff, but they're illegal. And I'm bullish on my clean arrest record, it's a matter of personal pride. Aren't many rednecks of my age don't even have one little DUI.
A TOAST ... to Eddie.
No, I mean, a toast to Dr. Laura and Senator Rick. A toast to salacious television. A toast to a bright future of home-schooled Christians running everything!
Ummmm. Is there any more gin in that bottle?
DOING A BETTER JOB THAN HER MOM
(BUT THEN SO WOULD A CHIMP)