Sharon Short - Sanity Check: The Dog Ate My Lipstick and My Houseplants Have Fleas

Sanity Check (A Collectionof Columns):

The Dog Ate My Lipstick andMy Houseplants Have Fleas

Sharon Short

SmashwordsEdition

Copyright 2012 SharonShort

Smashwords Edition, LicenseNotes

This ebook is licensed for yourpersonal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or givenaway to other people. If you would like to share this book withanother person, please purchase an additional copy for eachrecipient. If youre reading this book and did not purchase it, orit was not purchased for your use only, then please return to yourfavorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you forrespecting the hard work of this author.

To David, Katherine,Gwen, Dad, Janice, myriad friends, Cosmo, Cookie, Candy, Snickers,and all other creatures (human and otherwise) who graciouslyaccepted playing a role in Sanity Check. I love youall.

In 1999,I began writing, in addition to fiction, short essays that wouldlead to Sanity Check , my humorous lifestyle column that ran weekly from thebeginning of 2002 through the middle of 2012 in the Dayton Daily News.

I sent those essaysto Writers' Block, an occasional column in the Dayton Daily News open tosubmissions from local writers. Several were published (and someare included here). At the end of 2001, Life section editor RonRollins called me and asked if I'd like to write a weekly columnfor the newspaper. We are, he said, looking for a regular humorousfemale voice for our Life section, and we think that's you. Then headded: your column would run on Mondays.

I'm sure Ron thought I'dhung up, because I was, for once in my life, speechless. I thought,is this a joke? Writers don't get phone calls like that.Eventually, I found my literal voice (not to be confused with myliterary voice as referenced above), and asked out loud, is this ajoke? (I could be this blunt not just because I was truly stunned,but because Ron is also a friend. We met at the Antioch Writers'Workshop in 1990.) Ron assured me he wasn't kidding, and that,actually, my Writers' Block submissions (which I had done for funand without any aspirations for my essays turning into a regulargig) had paved the way.

And so it was thatin February 2002, Sanity Check debuted in the DaytonDaily News, appearing every Monday untilJune 4, 2012. (Well, I did take one Monday off in 2011 while Irecovered from major surgery.)

While puttingtogether this collection, I realized that over ten-plus years, I'vepublished about 560 Sanity Check columns (counting the forerunners in Writers'Block). At an average of 580 words a column, that's 324,800words... or about four novels-worth

I am forevermoregrateful to Ron, now Associate Editor of the Dayton Daily News, for giving methis opportunity. And I am thankful for all the Dayton Daily News editors who had ahand in editing my column over the years, each a joy to work with:Jana Collier, Connie Post, Alexis Larson, Michelle Fong, and BobUnderwood.

Thank you to all my familymembers and friends who graciously accepted appearing in mycolumn.

A special thank you toKatherine (a.k.a., the older/brown-eyed daughter) and Gwen (a.k.a.,the younger/blue-eyed daughter) for being good sports aboutappearing in your mom's column for most of your childhood, youradolescence, and on into your young adult years. And an extra thankyou to Gwen for organizing the piles of copies and print outs ofall of my columns. This collection would not have been possiblewithout your help.

And finally, thank you tomy readers. I've enjoyed your feedback, in emails, letters, and inperson. It's always a joy when I find out that by sharing a bit ofmyself through my writing, I've touched someone else'slife.

I hope you enjoythis collection of 100 of my and my readers' favorite Sanity Check columns.

Sharon Short www.sharonshort.com June 4,2012

Trophy Wigs

Flush withconversation

There are mothers outthere who complain that they can't get their kids to talk withthem, but I don't understand that.

Frankly, I find it acinch. All I have to do is go into the bathroom.

Picture yourself sittingin there with the door shut, looking for a little privacyafterall, your mother didn't raise you in a barn. Yet, a few ratherpersonal moments later, the door swings open and there's your6-year-old daughter, the one who at breakfast stared at the cerealbox and hummed while you tried to talk with her about her friends,her shoes, her catanything.

Now she's staring at you,wide-eyed, but not because she's stumbled into the bathroom at arather indelicate maternal moment. No, she's wide-eyed because shewants advice about how to extricate her little neighbor friend'sparakeet from another little friend's dog's mouth. Unfortunately,she's brought the problem with herdog, parakeet, both friends. Allof whom are staring, too, wide- eyed (except the parakeet.) As youshove the door shut, you realize that the parakeet is just astuffed toyyet you're sure anyway that you can hear it moaning ina combination of terror and humiliation. You know just how theparakeet feels, too.

For some reason, this kindof thing doesn't seem to happen much to dads.

But the real problem formoms is not that these kind of things happen to us, but that wefail to see them as an opportunity. Yes, an opportunity!

Try this. Go into yourbathroom. Lock the door. Run some tap water, hum a little. (Thiswon't work if your kids think you're faking.) Before you know it,your children will have flocked outside the bathroom door, thelittle click of the lock being a Siren song to them. They will behollering to you things such as, "Moira's got new pink sneakers.Can I get some too?" Or, "At lunch today, I traded that healthytofu-on-rye sandwich you packed for me for a fried bologna burrito.Is that OK?"

Voila! Your kids aretalking to you. Wasn't that easy?

The downside, of course,is that you'll find yourself limiting visits to the bathroom foractual reasons of nature to, say, when your kids are at school.During these times, the little dears' ears will perk up, but theywill restrain themselves from running out of the building andcoming back home. Or at least their teachers will restrain them.Most days. (I admit that summers, spring breaks and sick days areproblematic with my method.)

However, there are otherways aside from the Bathroom Method. The Traffic Method, forinstance.

I like to save mychildren's art projectsthe ones they stuff to the bottom of theirbackpacks along with apple cores and rocks and damp socks. If Ipull out the projects and coo over them at dinner and beg, "Please,oh, please tell me all about this," my kids just shrug and staredumbly.

So, I've developed a newapproach. Once I've collected several weeks' worth of drawings andclay pots and pipe-cleaner figurines, I load them and my kids intothe back seat of my car. Then I take us for a drive, making surethat we get enmeshed into some really gnarly traffic.

Sure enough, soon mylittle dears are saying, "Mom, Mom, Mom! Turn around and look!" Atthat point, they'll carefully point out and discuss the variousparts of the art project, in the order they made it.

My kids still believe I dohave eyes in the back of my head, so they think I'm really seeingall they're showing me. I'm having teeny-tiny video cams mounted inthe back of my car next week, so I can watch later what they've soearnestly demonstrated. This isn't because driving and twisting tolook in the back seat is a dangerous combination. This is becauseif I did turn around to look, they'd suddenly drop the stuff andstare out the windows.

You see, the trick togetting your kids to talk with you is to make them think you aren'treally listening. And if you get in enough practice now, thesediversionary tactics will continue to work for a lifetime. Ienvision myself, about 12 years from now, going into the bathroomwith my portable phone receiver and locking the door. Turning onthe tap water. Humming. Sure enough, the phone will ring. I'llanswer, dewy-eyed with the knowledge that my kids aren't so busywith college or work or whatever that they can't spare a fewprecious moments to chat with dear old mom.