Do as I say, not as I do

“Ah ha! You don’t have your blinker on!” This accusation was hurled at me from the lips of my son. After looking both ways, I pulled my vehicle directly through the intersection without turning.

“I didn’t need a blinker seeing as how I was going forward,” I stated very matter-of-factly.

“Oh. Then I guess you weren’t being a hypocrite like I thought,” he said.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“Well, you always get onto other drivers for not using their blinkers and I thought I caught you not using yours.”

I was taken aback for two reasons. The first was because he correctly used the word “hypocrite” in a sentence when I figured his 11-year old brain was too consumed with girls and video games to care much for words longer than five letters.

The second reason was that, while I was growing up, I often thought my own parents acted hypocritically. I never actually told them this for fear of retribution, but now that I know one of my own offspring is conscious of this behavior in me, it certainly stings my pride quite a bit.

“I tell you what, any time you catch me being a hypocrite and correctly call me out on it, I’ll give you five bucks. How about that?”

I thought this was a mighty bold proposal from someone who not only just began her first week at a brand new job, but also has yet to receive her first paycheck or pass the boards that will validate this career so she can continue working.

He was more excited about this than I wanted him to be and I quickly began trying to think of all the things I complain about that I am also guilty of doing.

Probably my worst violation with him is when I lecture about homework and studying. I was a horrible student growing up and I’m not a whole lot better now. If I wanted to, I could review something at the last minute and ace a test which turned me into the worst procrastinator.

My son scored very well on the 5^th grade FCAT and received a level 5 in mathematics which is the best he could have done in that category. He revealed to me the other day that it really wasn’t too difficult; he didn’t try as hard as he should have; and he doesn’t normally put much effort into schoolwork overall.

I cringed. The child is me made over. If he starts drawing horses down the side of his classwork, I’m going to send him to military school for his own good.

Another thing I do is neglect my own health. I freely offer advice to others about getting out and walking or hitting the gym to lose some extra pounds while I’ve had a gym membership for several months and I have not even smelled the inside of the place since February.

In addition to bad exercise habits, my diet leaves a lot to be desired. This is all stuff I know in my mind, but my actions do not reflect my thinking.

These few items are merely the tip of the iceberg of my paradoxical life.

Hopefully, my son doesn’t start seriously playing the detective into my two-faced existence. I honestly don’t believe I can afford it. At least with that admission, I’m not being at all hypocritical. In fact, I think he should pay me five bucks.

Florida is more than a theme park

With my upcoming fulltime employment rapidly approaching, my husband, Chris, and I decided to take our children on a fun-filled trip to “Islands of Adventure.”

Our intention was to have a little excitement. What we received was a constant supply of complaining from the kids along with a dose of harmful ultraviolet rays from the sun before the afternoon thunderstorms unleashed bolts of lightning and torrential rain upon us.

Like most moms, I had a plan of action the night before we left: wake up at 5 in the morning and leave the house by 6 to arrive at 8 when the gates open. We would then make our way straight to “The Wizarding World of Harry Potter” and ride the “Forbidden Journey.” Our daughter was exactly tall enough to ride it.

Next, we’d split up to ride a couple of coasters and then meet at the “Butter Beer” stand to enjoy a refreshing treat before tackling the rest of the day which was less tightly managed.

Things didn’t go exactly as planned, mostly due to the fact that we did not leave until 6:30 which offset our day accordingly.

In addition to this, apparently everyone else had the exact same plan as I did which means we spent a good deal of time in line for the first ride, but it was worth it to see my daughter scared out of her mind.

I’m not sure why, as a parent, I want to see my children frightened. I remember when our son was four and we were at Universal Studios where they had the “Jaws” ride. He was oblivious about the shark element, perhaps because we misleadingly asked, “Want to go on a boat ride?”

We couldn’t stop laughing when he tried to climb out of the boat the first time “Jaws” attacked.

When we took our sweetheart on “Jurassic Park,” she was happy to see the dinosaurs. She knew they were fake, but when the ride seemed to veer off course, Chris and I acted worried and she took the bait. From that point until the T-rex made its appearance, she was completely horrified. It was priceless.

During the rain, while huddled under some shelter, I was chatting with a family from Japan who are visiting for a couple of weeks.

“Are you going to check out any beaches?” I asked.

“No,” said the mom, “Just the theme parks.”

I was a little shocked. I’ve lived most all of my life here in Florida and my parents took me to all the major theme parks. I’ve never lacked for that type of entertainment, but when I think about the trips to Siesta Key, Anna Maria Island, and Cocoa Beach, I bet I would have traded a few of those park days for beach days.

Two solid weeks at theme parks would be enough to drive anyone insane. You can only take so much of the outdated animatronics, over-the-top adventure rides, and heart-stopping thrill rides.

Even if you can’t get enough of that, the constant queue lines and whining should put an early end to any extended park stay.

The rain stopped and, though I wanted to lecture her about St. Augustine and the Everglades and the beautiful crystal clear springs, I decided to let her be.

Maybe I need to come up with a new slogan for our state. “Florida: Find Lots Of Real, Interesting, Dynamic Activities!” Well, something like that.

Improper use of a household appliance

Many parents will understand when I say that one of my only times of peace at home is when I’m in the bathroom, even if I am often disturbed while I am “incapacitated.”

I’m not sure what the children expect me to be able to do or what level of intervention they imagine I can perform while I am locked in our facilities. Before I go, I even make an announcement to the entire household that I will be engaged in this activity so that I might not be bothered for a while.

The other morning was no different. My son was still asleep, but my daughter was awake and engaged in watching "Strawberry Shortcake." I told her where I was going and she asked if she could have the bacon on the counter. I said that was fine.

I assumed our business was done and I could begin my own. I was wrong.

While I was relishing the quite time and reading my book, I suddenly caught an incredibly strong bacon odor as if the house had been dipped into some strange, new porcine cologne.

Knowing something was very wrong, I rushed into the living room to find my angel innocently sitting in the living room.

“What’s that smell?” I asked. “Nothing,” she said as if there wasn’t a smoky cloud of rancid bacon between us.

I ran into the kitchen and saw the microwave with a cook time of 1 minute 39 seconds remaining. I opened the door to find it empty, but the odor of overcooked bacon almost knocked me to the floor.

“Where is the bacon?” I shouted, knowing that whatever came out of this microwave was on fire. “I don’t know,” she responded meekly.

“Listen, you need to tell Mommy what you did with it, honey. I need to know, okay?”

I grabbed the lid off the garbage and saw the evidence. The blob of burnt pork product had melted a hole through the plastic of the garbage bag and was still smoldering. Of course she threw it in the garbage. What else was she going to do with it?

After an education session on what little girls are not supposed to do in the kitchen without help and thanking God that she wasn’t hurt, I aired out the kitchen and checked out the poor microwave.

This compact unit has seen its fair share of overdone food. We’ve had it about 10 years and, the funny thing is, it’s on loan from my husband’s Aunt Ann Marie. I wonder if she’ll ever want it back.

Before this one, we had an Amana Radarange that was given to us by my mother. That sucker was huge! It must have weighed about 50 pounds and, for a while, we believed it had a brick inside of it.

Come to think of it, we’ve spent most of our adult lives living on the microwave generosity of others.

When I told my mom about the bacon burning, she reminded me about the time I tried to microwave food in a metal pan and the “fireworks” that incident caused, but I was a teenager, not six years old!

I told her that my sister and I exploded a palmetto bug in that same microwave. That was a stink I’ll never forget.

In all fairness, I really do have some bad microwave karma coming to me. I guess I should consider myself to have been quite fortunate so far.

Nothing better to talk about

I’m currently living in limbo between my recent completion of school, upcoming testing for my license, and beginning my first day on a hospital floor as a real, live emergency room nurse. I can barely contain my excitement, but in the meantime, I’m filling the days with questionable pastimes.

I was fortunate enough to spend a couple of days playing Florida tourist with my best friend, Cozette, our husbands, and another couple. We ran around Islands of Adventure like a bunch of excited kids riding the coasters and sipping on both types of Butter Beer in the Wizarding World of Harry Potter.

We also dipped in the ocean at Cocoa Beach. My husband intentionally did an impression of a beached whale for Cozette which made her laugh so hard she almost wet her bikini from the inside.

Other than those few days and the July 4^th fireworks, I’ve been stuck at home with the kids cramming for this big exam and watching Home and Garden Television. My favorite shows are “House Hunters,” “Property Brothers,” “Design Star,” and “Holmes on Homes.” I’m such a sucker for big reveals.

This is why Big Hollywood news mostly escapes my notice, but I would have to be hiding under a rock to have not heard about Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes. Apparently their life is not completely perfect and divorce looms on the horizon.

First of all, I really don’t care about Tom and Katie nor did I care about Tom and Nicole, but it never ceases to amaze me how much focus we put on the lives of the rich and famous. It’s like we anxiously sit on the sidelines waiting for the day the super-successful humiliate themselves in a public arena for our enjoyment.

In a way, part of the blame goes to Tom. He jumped all over Oprah Winfrey’s couch proclaiming his love for the fair Katie like it was some new, rare element that no one else could possibly understand.

Then there’s the Scientology thing. That’s all I’ll say about that.

I went on “Google” to search for the most trusted celebrities, just out of sheer curiosity. Here is Forbes top ten: Denzel Washington, Bill Cosby, Will Smith, Ron Howard, Sally Field, Morgan Freeman, Mike Rowe, Michael J. Fox, Tom Hanks, and James Earl Jones.

What that list tells me is that Forbes doesn’t trust women very much and prefers men who have deep voices.

Another list that was compiled by a Reuters poll places Betty White at the top and also includes Sandra Bullock, Clint Eastwood, Harrison Ford, and Johnny Depp in addition to a few already mentioned in the Forbes list.

All of these “trustworthy” people tend to either conduct their public lives in respectable manners or hideout on remote islands to avoid nosy photographers.

The not-so-trusted individuals include Paris Hilton and Charlie Sheen, both of whom love the spotlight whether or not it is a good idea for them to seek it.

I don’t think I’d make an ideal famous person. I have a questionable past that may be sufficient for a normal background check, but wouldn’t stand up to the scrutiny of a starving journalist. I have too many bad angles when it comes to photographs and I feel the need to fully answer when someone asks me a probing question.

As for trust, my family and God complete it for me. Celebrities are just pretty faces in the crowd, nothing more. Thank goodness for that.