The Blonde Monster

in Giggles on November 25, 2014

Beverly Goldberg, aka, The Blonde Monster. The Goldbergs on ABC Beverly Goldberg, aka, The Blonde Monster. The Goldbergs on ABC

 

The original title of my blog was supposed to be The Happy Housewife Diaries.  Did you know that?  No.  Probably not.  I thought it was funny and quirky, and gave the illusion that I was somehow Donna Reed and June Cleaver all rolled into one.  But, sadly between two different publicists and my husband–that idea hit the cutting room floor, and voila! DallasLouis.com was born.  Now, I told you that, to tell you this: I have children.  Had I been allowed to keep my original title of this blog…you would already know that.  Two years ago, I went back to school to finish the undergrad degree that I started 15 years ago.  You see, once you have children, time virtually stops in your own life–yet magically spins uncontrollably fast in the lives of your children.  As my children grew bigger and slightly more self-sufficient, I wagered that I would/could make excellent use of the eight hours a day that they were in school, and I myself, could do the same.  It has been two years, 77 college hours clocked, 2 MacBooks, 1 iPad, and enough hours sleep forfeited to qualify for a war crime, and I am now looking at the finish line.  I am bruised, exhausted, and battle-scarred.  I have two papers and finals left in this semester.  Then. . . drum roll, please, 2015 begins my last semester and it will all be over.

When I began this little expedition back into University life, I assumed (honestly) that the rest of my life would remain relatively untouched.  I was wrong.  I forgot a couple of key elements: One, my children are not yet grown (10, 11, & 12, does not constitute grown).  While they do spend eight hours a day at school, they cannot drive themselves to the school nor take themselves home.  And, once they get home, there’s homework times three and a tedious daily occurrence called DINNER.  My kids feel the need to eat dinner every night!  My second fail-to-recognize was my own tendency to strive for perfection. . .to the detriment of all else.  Once I am in the zone—I am in the zone.  End of story.  I write papers like a woman possessed.  I get to school early.  I wake up at 4:00 in the morning. . .sometimes earlier if I have more than one thing due.  All of these things puts a cramp in family life.  The stress of all of this has taken me, a highly strung and lovingly emotional person on a good day. . .and mutated me into The Blonde Monster (thank you to the Goldbergs–on ABC–for the reference).

Around the house we manage just fine.  The kids have learned new tricks.  The dishwasher, for example, is not a magic box.  The dishes do not, of their own accord JUMP into it, and sit ready and waiting to scrubbed and rinsed clean.  Someone (ahem, usually Mom) has to put them in there, turn it on, and then…wait for it. . .take them out and put them away.  If I’m going for complete honesty, we did also have to get some outside help–after all, my kids don’t drive.  Without her, the house would have fallen apart a year and a half ago.  Most days, I keep the Monster in check.  She stays put, content to feed on the frustrations of my own irritations directed at University projects; however, every once in a while she gets loose.  When she does, Mothers pick up their babies and run screaming away from her.  Grown men tremble before her.  Paint peels.  What could possibly elicit this radical behavior?  Simple: The mere thought of one of her children being mistreated.

Have you ever been in a position where you knew before you spoke, your best possible option was to remain quite?  And yet, somehow, your ability to do so failed?  Yeah.  That’s where I have found myself in the past two weeks.  Nobody tells you things like this are going to happen when you first get pregnant.  No one sits you down and explains to you that within the time span of a decade, all forms of rational thought will completely leave your body.  You will be left with guttural groans and primal grunts instead of words and solutions.  When one of your babies is threatened, and that threat can either be real or perceived, the Mama Bear instinct comes out–and all bets are off!  I am an intelligent person.  This is a fact.  But, according to my behavior, you would never know it.  I made a teacher cry.  My child was horrified.  Even I have to admit, that was not my best side.  The Blonde Monster.  So, why am I airing all of this?  Two reasons.  One, be careful, there’s a Monster hiding in all of us–especially when one of our precious Angel-Babies is threatened.  Two, this one is for all of the teachers and administrators out there–I totally and completely understand the need for teaching our kids responsibility for homework, classwork, make-up work for sick days, yada-yada-yada.  I get it.  But, many of you are parents yourselves, with incredibly busy lives, just like the rest of us.  Is it really too much to ask, that you stop and think for just a minute to consider, what this particular child is going through at home?  Is everything alright at home?  Are Mom and Dad both at home at night for homework?  Does Dad work in town or out of town, so that Mom is a single-parent M-F?  Is the child from a single-parent home all the time?  Does the child come from a home with a terminally ill sibling?  Has the child been really sick?

If none of these questions have even crossed through the outer realms of your mind as a teacher or administrator, perhaps before you belittle, degrade, or just simply crush a child’s spirit–think about some of these.  Then, you will be less likely to have a run-in with The Blonde Monster.

 

Here’s hoping your day is Monster free!

Dallas

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