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November 01, 2007

Hellooooooooo Out There!

HelloIf you're writing a blog and no one comments, does it make a sound?

Well, not a sound. But you know what I mean.  I've been writing these posts for a few weeks now, and though I get that we haven't officially launched, I'm still feeling a little bit like: is anybody listening?

I feel that way a lot.  Like when I say to my kids, "time to brush your teeth,"  walk them to the bathroom, put their toothbrushes in their hands, and come back five minutes later to find them sitting on the floor playing Monopoly, toothbrushes abandoned, breath as rancid as that container of roasted beets I excavated from the back of the fridge the other day. Or when I say, for the forty-fourth time of the week, "put your clothes in the hamper" only to watch my son walk by his pants, crumpled in a heap on the floor, on his way to grab a toy car off his shelf.  There are my constant, unheard admonitions to sit at the dinner table, hang up their coats, stop yelling, do your homework.  It's endless.  No wonder they don't hear me.  I wouldn't want to listen to that all day.

My husband doesn't hear me either.  I'll say to him, "I bumped into your friend Ted today." and he'll answer "You bumped your head on some hay?"  Or to my question "Would you like to have turkey pesto meatballs for dinner?" He'll respond "Of course the Turks in Pakistan are foreigners,"  which doesn't even make sense.

I actually set him for a hearing test.  The doctor laughed and told him  that innumerable men get sent to him by their wives. 

Of course Hubby's hearing was fine.  It's just that he's not listening.  It's like the t-shirt my sister once got for our father.  It read:  "I'm not deaf. I'm just ignoring you."  There's actually a song with that title, but nobody listens to it. (some four-letter lyrics - clicker beware)

If I ignored my kids as much as they ignore me, I'd be called in for child abuse.  Can you imagine?  "Mommy, mommy, can I please have some water?"  And I'd just walk right by the fridge on my way to the Barney's Warehouse sale. Or "Mommy, Mommy, I think I broke my leg!"  and I'd just smile vaguely on my way to the gym.  That'd show 'em.

They listen when I read to them.  I'm like the Jim Dale of Mommies - with a voice for every character.  That gets their attention.  So maybe that's it.  Maybe I should put on an Irish brogue when I tell them to clear their plate, a French accent when I want them to drink their milk, a southern twang when it's time to turn off the tv.  I'll be the Meryl Streep of nagging.  I think I'll try it.  Hey, whatever works, right?

I'll let you know how it works out.

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