Why I Decided Not To Kill Laverne, Again!

Things have been pretty quiet around here lately. Shirley‘s been away on vacay somewhere.  And Laverne? Well, I thought Laverne was gone for good.

Big mistake.

Laverne, my inner dictator, always tries to be the boss of me, bless her twisted little heart. Unlike Shirley, she rules with an iron fist.  She uses words like “should” and “have to” and “supposed to.“

She’s a virtual lunatic. And she’s green.

Ugh!

What’s crazy is that I don’t even know Laverne’s there until it becomes painfully obvious.

To everyone.

But me.

I have actually tried to kill Laverne on many occasions.  And just when I think she’s gone for good…

… she keeps coming back.

Like zits on a teenager’s face.

The thing about Laverne is, she really and truly believes she’s helping me. She refuses to die, not because she likes to torment me, but because she’s afraid for me.  She believes my survival depends on her.

In a warped, mangled, creepy, green alien sort of way.

Well, that sh!t’s got to stop.

Here’s how.

First of all, I’m going to give up my murderous tactics. Hell, the girl just won’t die so I might as well throw that towel in and save myself some  brain cells.

Next – and this is going to freak her out — I’m going to invite her to come back whenever she feels like dropping by to check up on me.

Yes, Laverne, drop by and stay awhile.

In fact, I insist.

Because I understand that you’re just trying to look out for me.  That you’re doing the best you can with what you know and that some day, when you know better, you’ll do better. You’ll relax.  But guess what? I know better, and I want to prove to you that I can manage without your scare tactics and threats and limes and coconuts.

When you start with the should’s and have to’s and supposed to’s I’m not going to listen.  I’ll hear you but I won’t be listening.  There’s a big difference.

Because I want to look after me… and you.  It must be hard work worrying about me all the time, trying to get me to do the stuff you think I should do.  Even though we’re one and the same, we’re really not.

I’ve been watching you and you really do not bring out the best in me.  I know you mean well, but… um… you suck at being me!

So, I’m ready to go it alone, and I invite you to stick around and watch me. You may want to interject from time to time but I’m just going to have to shush you whenever you start acting up. But it will be a loving shush. I promise I won’t try to kill you anymore.

A simple thank you would’ve been nice.

Now, go sit in the corner, put your feet up, and stay awhile.

And shush!

I got your back.

Laverne?

Laverne!

LAVERNE!!!!!

This post was brought to you by the Save Laverne Society.

Total membership: 1

And dwindling fast.

——-

Why I oughta….

I drive a big fat car.

It’s soooooo big that it actually makes my butt look small.  In fact, it makes everything look small. 

 

Some people might even say my car is messy.  And this brings me to…

MY AFGO MOMENT OF THE MONTH…

My car isn’t just a car. I spend a good part of my day life in my car.  It’s my home away from home.  It’s my office on wheels.  It also doubles as…

… a gym (I do modified crunches at every red light);    

… a bank machine (I must have at least a million dollars in coins scattered all over the floor);   

… a spare closet (there’s a complete change of clothes, including socks, underwear, and accessories, for myself and the kids,  just in case; for example, when Thing Four called me yesterday because she forgot her gym shorts and matching earrings, no problemo);  

… a kitchen pantry with crackers, peanut butter, corn chips, salsa, broccoli, and marshmallows;

… a make-up counter (just like the one at Nordstrom’s);  

… and, you probably won’t believe this, but I even have a Crock Pot in my car. It’s the coolest thing ever. . I won’t mind if you copy me.  In the morning, when I drive the kids to school, I throw stuff into the pot, and 6 or 7 hours later, when I pick them up from school, voilà, dinner is ready! 

Am I a genius, or what?

Why then, just as I am basking in my own personal bliss, loving my big fat messy car and everything that’s in it, despite the mess, would anyone feel compelled to give me their opinion of my car?    

On a good day, I just smile. 

Sometimes with great difficulty. 

And on other days, I hate to admit, I have been known to behave rather badly.

These days, however, I am able to recognize when I have been triggered emotionally, and regard it as just ‘Another Freakin’ Growth Opportunity’… a chance for me to check in with myself to see why I’m reacting to someone whose best intention can only be to hijack my good feelings. Because she feels like …. crap.  Why else do mean-spirited people do what they do?  And besides, who am I to judge?

In other words, it’s not my shit. 

What a relief!

*AFGO = Another Freaking Growth Opportunity

Have you had yours lately?

Color Me Penguin?

I once had my colors done.

You know, where they look at you and declare you to be one of the four seasons, based on your hair, skin tone, and bra size.

I never felt comfortable having someone fit me into a category based on how I look.

Needless to say, it was a disaster.

Years later, I reluctantly agreed to take “a real test” to find out what ‘color’ I was.

It asked me some really heavy questions like:

Are you generally outgoing and sociable? Yeah, pretty much.

Do you have a tendency to walk side to side? Uh, maybe?

Do you like to keep your kids under your wing? Hell ya!

-

Clearly I had to take matters into my own hands. So naturally, I devised my own test.  One I was sure to pass.

First, I made a color wheel, which looked more like a pie, come to think of it, because… I love pie!

Then I added the mathematical equivalent for each color.

-

Then I went shopping for a bit because my head started to hurt after all that math.

-

But once I was inside, surrounded by inventory targeted (pun intended) to shoppers whose demographics reveal them to be mostly women (80%), with a median age of 44 and a median household income of $54,000, 89% OF WHOM KNOW EXACTLY WHAT COLOR AND SEASON THEY ARE, I felt lost, and dejected.  I didn’t belong. I was a woman of no color.

-

By now you are surely wondering what colors and penguins and pies and infinity and Target and median household income and caterpillars have to do with any of this.

They have everything and nothing to do with any of it.

Everything, if that’s what I focus on (which I sometimes do, to my own detriment) and nothing, once my imaginary friend the caterpillar (who has a penchant for penguins) shows up to remind me!

Because…. no one really shives a git what color I am.

P.S.  Don’t ask me how, but I passed my ‘color pie’ test… with flying (penguin) colors!  Once again, pun intended!

A Life Coach by Any Other Name

I had such a great response from so many of you regarding my Kife Loach dilemma, I wanted to personally thank you… each and every one of you… for taking the time to put in your two cents… which added up to something like… a lot. 

The following is a list of your thoughtful suggestions as to what I could call myself instead of… dare I say it…. 

Wow, no matter how I say it, it still sounds so cheesy. 

And yet…

You can never have too much life coaching. Or cheese for that matter.

writerwoman61 suggests I try calling myself a  M.O.M. which she says stands for Maximum Output Manager.  Except I’m having trouble with the words ‘Maximum’ and ’Output’.  

Business Coach Laurie Foley doesn’t feel I should limit myself to any sort of label.  Instead she suggests I introduce myself in the following manner:  “Hi, I’m Lin. I draw and write a wildly popular blog called The Worst Mother and I help other mothers stop torturing themselves in pursuit of unattainable perfection with humor and other secret methods that are shockingly effective in a very short time.”   

Hmmmm…. I like it, Laurie.  Direct and honest while camouflaging my modesty. And I can always shorten it to:  ” Hi, I’m a LIDAWAWPBCTWMAIHOMSTTIPOUPWHAOSMTASEIAVST Coach.”   Still love that talk-texting thing I invented.  So crisp and efficient.

From Sonia I got Sexy Mind Freer.  Welllllll, gee, I suppose I am all that.  You got me there, Sonia.

Katie had a few ideas: Existence Enhancer; Happiness Improver; Path Clearer; Love Giver.  Yes. Yes! YES.  I am all of those too, in a sexy, mind-freeing sort of way.   

Linda suggested  Empathic Genius.  I like it.  After all, I do consider myself a genius. And a very empathic one at that.  Two birds + One stone = Nice Word Play.

1972roses came up with Dutch Uncle, among other things.  Huh?  Look at my hair…. Do I look like I’m from Holland?  (don’t worry, I get it–I’m just messin’ with ya’  Roses)

Julie, who actually commented twice (offering up some wonderful marketing insight), for a total of four cents of input, suggests that I first establish my niche.  Julie, see below. 

Laurie Hawley  says she is still not sure what to call herself, but until she figures it out she’s sticking with Life, Meaning and Creativity Coach.  It definitely helps that Laurie stuck three extra words in between Life and Coach. It helps to soften the cheesy blow.   Maybe I could be a Life, Lip-gloss and Chocolate Coach.   Now there’s a niche that is untapped! Julie, whaddaya think?

Jane, bless her heart, had quite a few interesting suggestions: Psychic Tree Barker; Mental Mule Skinner; Noodge for Hire (noodge?); You-Thought-Your-Mother-Was-Bad Coach; Because-Martha-Said-So Coach; and my favorite: Reiki Schmeiki – Get Your Ass in Gear Coaching Services.  I really like that last one, Jane.  Too many people have asses that are not in the proper gear. 

Judi with an ‘i‘ says she likes the sound of Existence Guru.  Wow! I agree. That definitely has a lot more zing than Knife Poach. 

Max Daniels, also a Kife Loach, is in the same boat as I.  Poor Max.  Same with Sandra, a Virtual Assistant. Who invented that name, she asks? Perhaps Sandra should consider Psychic Tree Barker.

For the record, John, this blog’s token (and cherished) male reader (every blog needs one), doesn’t think I need a title. He thinks it’s enough that I simply call myself The Worst Mother. 

Did someone just complete me? 

Or…

Is it getting warm in here?

And finally, several of you dear readers thought I should just tell it like it is.  Mynakedbokkie and Deb Droz (a wonderful Life Coach) and Naomi Estment (an amazing photographer) all thought that I should just go ahead and call myself a, you know, a thingamabob, whatchamacallit…

 Which brings me to my next point…

Because so many of you have asked for it (okay, I admit that this is a slight exaggeration, but one day soon it will not be!) I have opened a new school where I can showcase my superb life coaching abilities (I refer you back to what Laurie Foley said, above. Listen to Laurie–she knows EVERYTHING!) 

I promise; You will love this. You will never be the same. Friends and relatives will ask you “What happened, you seem soooo (insert a word from the list that follows). 

self-assured     content     grounded      confident       energized      serene   

Click here for more info on the school that will change your life and make all your dreams come true.

This is not hyperbole (well, maybe just a little… I’m still camouflaging my modesty in order to make a point–that you CAN change your life in a pretty big way if you get a Life Coach…like me! (or any of the women I mentioned above who are Life Coaches… they are all terrific).  

And please leave a comment, especially if you know of a good lip-gloss to go with every shade of green. 

You gotta know by now how much I LOVE COMMENTS… and lip-gloss!  

(Now…. go sign up here or I will have to kill you because you know too much!)

 

I Need Help

Okay my people, I need some help.

Please understand, those words do not come easily from my mouth. I’m used to being the helper, not the helpee.  But, I have been wrestling with this problem for a long while now and something, or someone‘s gotta give.

And I think it ought to be you!  Because, clearly, I cannot do this alone.

Let me back up a little.

As you may know by now, I am a wifemotherlawyerwriterdog-walker, among other things.  One of those other things has two words, but I don’t like the name of it so I never say it. It’s cheesy and corny and lacks semantic clout.  At the same time, it’s my highest calling, my most favorite thing in the world to ‘be’.  I just need to come up with another name for it, and so far, I got nothin’. Zip. Nada. Niente.

This is where you come in.

I need you to tell me what else I might call it.

Please do not make me beg.  But if I have to, I will.

Since I can’t say ‘it’, I’ll tell you this much: it rhymes with Kife Loach.

(Hint: if you switch some of the letters around, then change the k to a c, do the hoki poki and turn yourself around, you’ll get it).

Take your time.

Waiting…

Waiting…

Time’s up.

I’ll say it.

But I’m not gonna like it.

-

See what I mean? Did you not just squirm a little? Even a teeny tiny bit?

Don’t worry. You’re not the only one.  Even Dr. Martha Beck, my mentor and teacher, and the world’s premier Kife Loach (she won’t mind if we call her that), thinks it sounds cheesy.  And she is the best on the planet! Martha will also be the first to tell you (me) it’s not what you call it, it’s what you do with it.  While I’ve figured out the latter, it’s the former I’m still working on.

Which is why I have come to you.

On my knees.

Here are some of the things that have actually made their way into the neural pathways of my brain, disguised as brilliant ideas–tell me what you think.

a)  Life Management Consultant (yikes!)

b)  Life Cheerleader  (ugh)

c)  Life Superintendent (hahahahahahahahahahahaha to infinity)

d)  Zife Poach (hmmm…)

DISCLAIMER

• the author of this post does not intend, in any way, to hurt the feelings or otherwise make other Kife Loaches feel disparaged or put down in this process. After all, she herself is a Kife Loach and she never says hurtful things to her own self. Usually. Mostly. Ever.
• the author of this post acknowledges that even though the name Kife Loach, or more specifically, that which rhymes with it,  sounds cheesy, the actual practise is life altering, mind freeing and actually kinda sexy.
• to the best of the author’s knowledge, at no time have any Kife Loaches been physically harmed or mentally tortured in the course of researching and writing this post.
• the author shall not be held responsible for the things she says and does in her sleep.

Go to Part Two here