No Sicky, No Stoppy. No Streppy, No Poppy!

Some of you may view what comes next as cruel and unusual treatment of a teenage daughter.

Perhaps it is.

But if you had been witness to even a fraction of the cruel and unusual treatment that has been exhibited toward the mother of this teenage daughter, you would understand the extenuating circumstances that have led me to act this way.

And, before you judge me without a trial of my peers, let me say the following in my own defense:

Just last week, foreseeing a long and demand-filled summer, I laid down the law to my daughters about things they were not allowed to call me at work to ask. And along with the most offensive item - cash (or in the absence thereof - my highly-prized Debit card) came a request from me that my offspring refrain from calling me everyday at work to give me a list of items I absolutely need to stop and pick up on my way home. I reminded them that each of them had a driver's license and the God-given talent to navigate through various stores alone. I also reminded them that - on many occasions - I am utterly exhausted at the end of the day, and unless the requested item is a bottle of Pinot Grigio which I will imbibe without their help, I'm thinking that tasting the new and improved flavor of some coconut custard yogurt can probably wait until the next time I've been to the market. . .


This point being understood and universally accepted, you are now allowed to read the rest of this post - which - once again features a conversation with my dear daughter Ponzi . . . who happens to be, without question, the worst of the work-call-request offenders. . .

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Call received on my cell at 3:30 p.m.

Me: Hello?

Ponzi: Mom! On your way home you need to stop and pick up some ice pops for my sore throat.

I now interrupt this blog post to bring you the following information, which I should have supplied earlier. . .

Ponzi has been complaining of a sore throat for a number of days, but refuses to let it keep her from all of the social engagements and attempted sleepovers that seem to come along with the last few days of school - today having been the absolute last day of her junior year.

We now return to the story. . .

Me: You know, Ponz, I'm particularly tired today and I don't have any other reason to go to the store on my way home, so I'm not going to get those ice pops.

Ponzi: But I need them! My throat is sore and I can barely talk!!!

Me: What I am willing to do for you, Ponzi, is to take you to the doctor to get a strep test. Perhaps you need an antibiotic.

Ponzi: No! I don't have strep throat! I just need ice pops!

Me: Alright! If I leave work and stop to get you ice pops, will you promise me you won't ask to go out tonight? You're sick.

Ponzi: I'm not sick! I'm going out with Timmy tonight, but I need the ice pops first!

Me: If you're not sick, I'm not stopping. It's as simple as that.

Ponzi: But I need them! I can hardly swallow!

Me: If I stop, you don't go out. . .

Ponzi: Mom! You're not making any sense at all!

Me: You want sense? I'll give you "sense". . . "Since" when did you think it's acceptable to call me at work and harass me about a stupid thing like ice pops?????

I'm so grown up sometimes - aren't I????

And- by the way - I'm quite sure that a jury of my peers would never convict me. . .