It works

what you may ask works? rice, that's all. I's been the kind of week that tries the heart and mind of a mother of a teenager. It doesn't really help that the literature says that their brains aren't fully formed until they reach 20 plus years of age. I don't care because I can't beleive that I'll live that long.

the conversations always start like this: What should I wear to go to this person's house for the weekend and go to Church. Your bloack skirt with a nice top. Oh, I can't find my black skirt? guess you can't wear it then. Is it cold out? What should I wear? My jean jacket? Hmm, Incan't find my jean jacket. Guess you can't wear that either. What emergency $20? Well I guess there isn't another one in your future. My phone doesn't work. Ok lets send it back and get a replacement. the new phone that just came? It doesn't work. why is that? Well, it was in my coat pocket when somebody put it in the washing machine.

So we dumped the phone in a bowl of rice and waited. and waited. and waited. And eccole: the damn phone works. Of course I beleive that the rice is terminally poisoned and toxic so that went in the garbage. But this morning Kate lost her allowance for the week because she hadn't charged her phone.

There are tulips and dozens of different kinds of daffodils blooming in Central Park. There is a spring Virginia.


I'm really a nice person most of the time. But maybe it's time to stop being Mrs. Nice Mom and morph into the dominatrix that I should be.