For those of you who don't know, I went under the knife last week. No, I did not get lipo, a tummy tuck, or a nose job (but really, I wish the surgeon had a better sense of humor when I asked him for complimentary Botox as a reward for surviving the surgery). This means that I was told to rest for an entire week.
Considering that I have wanted to Rest ever since the stick turned pink, this news was as exciting as finding an exact replica of Samoa girl-scout cookies at my local grocery store (shout-out to those genius little Keebler elves!). Because as we all know, the only way we Cool Moms can catch a break is if we are sick. (And really? Even then, the juice still needs poured, dinner needs made, and butts need wiped.)
Not too long ago, I found myself thinking, I'd rather shoot myself in the foot than watch one more episode of Spongebob. Hmmm... a shot to the foot... not fatal, yet enough to land me in the hospital. And then I could lay in bed and watch chick-flicks and eat ice cream and...
Then I realized I was fantasizing about BEING SHOT IN THE FOOT.
Yes, this is a bizzare-o, disturbing thing to dream about. I also entertain the idea that my son will wake up and have somehow learned to tie his shoes, take his own shower, and make breakfast. (Maybe I can cut a deal with the Tooth Fairy. She can keep the money in exchange for teaching my child a life skill.)
And while we're on the subject of a chick who wears a tutu and carries a magic wand... here's another confession: I have a dream that one day I will be like one of those Real Housewives, and wear a hot dress, heels, and full makeup to the grocery store. (Okay, so those women probably don't do their own grocery shopping. But you know what I mean.) Or the mall. Heck, even to my own mailbox. I mean, when I was shopping the other day, I picked up a shirt and actually thought to myself what a perfect MOM shirt for running errands. (Of course, I immediately marched to Wet Seal to buy a bustier, but that didn't erase the horror of that Mommy Moment at JCPenney.)
My biggest Mom Fantasy involves my son buying me a house in the Hollywood Hills to retire in-- after he makes a zillion dollars inventing the next social networking site. (Like Mark Zuckerburg, minus the lawsuits. And the attitude. I mean, yes, I love Facebook and yes, my staring at it results in at least one weekly parenting failure. But I swore off it for a whole 24 hours after seeing The Social Network.)
So when my child says, "Ya think you could drop me in the mailbox and send me to a place where I'm allowed to play videogames every hour of the day?" Well, I like to think he's focusing on his future.