Crazy Middle-Class Caucasians

According to a footnote in the laws of life, brought to my attention by my twelve-year old daughter, I am not allowed to grow old.  It doesn’t matter that I was forty when I had her, I am obligated to look as young as the thirty-something mothers of her friends.  This means coloring my gray hair is strictly enforced, as is not showing up at school looking like I’ve spent the day painting, because thirty-something moms would never do that, even if they had spent the day painting. Duh!

As it turns out, my children are experts on the laws of life, particularly any provisos, footnotes, and addendums that have to do with their mother.  Here is just a sampling:

1. Due to an unhealthy fixation which led to me once being mistaken for a gondolier, I am no longer allowed to wear striped shirts. The staff at Marshall’s has been notified and are on high alert.

2. Regardless of the number of trips I make to Costco, Sam’s Club, Publix, Winn Dixie, Food Guy, Snack Guru, and Freakin’ Donut, I can never be told that there’s food in the kitchen.  The refrain from all McKendrick children must be, There’s nothing to eat! including on, but not limited to, major holidays.

3. Because of having shown a tendency to take as long to explain a book as it might take for someone to read it, I am not allowed to tell my daughter, Victoria, about the works of J.R.R. Tolkien.  This obscure footnote was discovered by Victoria after she fled a slowly moving vehicle while I digressed from an explanation of the political landscape of Middle Earth to mention the importance of birthdays to  Hobbits.

4. While I have earned a reluctant chuckle from my oldest son from time to time, it doesn’t change the fact that there is a law against me telling jokes, particularly to his peers.  Witty repartee is tolerated, as are insightful one-liners, but anything that begins something like, Two priests and a rabbi walked in to bar, anything with a big set up, that is verboten.  This was first brought to my attention when while telling a joke to my son’s friends, he gave me a dry look and slid a finger across his neck.  Subtle, and yet it got the point across.

5.  I am not allowed sole ownership of a pack of gum.

6.  I am to be roundly mocked for not wanting my children to get sunburned, even though getting a severe burn before the age of 15, increases your chances of getting a melanoma by five times the normal rate.

7. I am not to be left in charge of turtles or hermit crabs. The backyard is littered with graves because of my negligence.

8. In accordance with the rules set forth at an international summit on aggravation, I am to anticipate that I will, on the average, need to ask a child five times to do something before they get around to doing it.

9. According to Samuel, my oldest, there is a rule that I am to occasionally thank my children profusely (tears, kisses, the whole nine yards), and consider it an accomplishment equal to winning the Nobel prize, that they have never needed to do a stint in rehab.

10. And last, even if I’m addressing the UN, I need to pick up the phone when they call, because despite my many shortcomings, my kid needs to talk to their mother when they feel like it.  That's the law!