Dear Zen Mother,

Could you explain Karma to me?  I hear it thrown around a lot in conversation but I’m not sure I really understand it.

Mimi from Massachusetts

Dear Mimi,

Well, according to my Eastern Religion for Dummies handbook, Karma encompasses both cause and effect by looking at all your deeds from the past, present and future, including things you have done in previous lifetimes as someone or something else. In other words, Karma is the Sanskrit word for “you’re screwed.”

Before you dismiss this notion as a whole lot of hooey, here’s a recent experience I had with a psychic, or as he prefers, perpetual life coach.

“Is there something I can help you with?” he asked.

“You tell me.  You’re the psychic,” I said, elbowing him and snorting at my own humor.

“Yeah, like I haven’t heard that before.  OK, Mrs. Z, if you want proof of my clairvoyance, here goes.  You left the house with kids in tow at 7:55 a.m. except one of your boys was still in the bathroom washing the dog with his toothbrush. Later you went grocery shopping only to realize in Checkout Lane #7 you were still in your pajamas, flannel with flying pigs – cute. You returned home to work on your next column, due yesterday, but instead turned on the TV hoping you hadn’t missed “Judge Judy.” Would you like me to go on?”

Humbled and embarrassed, I said no.  “Umm, could you tell me about my past lives instead?”

I expected him to burn sage, light a candle, and fall into a deep meditation, or deal a series of Tarot cards in front of me, but he simply stared.  His eyes became critical and his mouth revealed a disapproving sneer.  I straightened up, lifted my chin and crossed my ankles, hoping this would help release my past life as Grace Kelly or Audrey Hepburn. I waited.

“You were an avocado,” he said, finally.

“Pardon?”

“A-vo-ca-do.” The word dripped from his mouth like venom.

“What is that…a joke?  You think you’re some kind of comedian?”

“It’s not a joke, but don’t worry, you reincarnated as a flea in 504 B.C.”

“Oh, you’re a riot.  I suppose next you’ll tell me that I was once a goat.”

“Well, yes, but it took you a while to earn that life.  Some of the decisions you made as a flea were questionable.”

“What about my sister?” thinking at least I could get my money’s worth by wallowing in one of her past lowly existences.

“She was Audrey Hepburn.  That’ll be $175.  No personal checks.  I know what’s in your bank account.”

I couldn’t speak. I’d just spent $175 to be insulted and demeaned.  I rushed out of the psychic’s office and across the street, reeling from the experience. 

“Wait!” I heard him yell.  “You forgot your purse.”

He stepped out from the entranceway, tripped and stumbled into a pedestrian who pushed him to the curb where a bike messenger bounced him into the street.  The psychic then jumped to his left to avoid an oncoming Prius…only to be run over by a produce truck coming from the other direction.

Hmmm, I thought to myself, I guess there is something to this karma business after all.  I walked over to where he lay, picked up my purse and went home to watch “Judge Judy.”

I get out of the shower, put on my robe and head to the stairs to go wake my girl up this morning. There she sits at the top of them, all dressed and ready. I say “Good morning Sunshine” and she bursts into tears.

“I didn’t get any money!” she wails. Huh? Bad dream? Still sort of asleep?

Then it hits me. The tooth that had hung on forever was still sitting on her nightstand. The Tooth Fairy had forgotten it. Oh, what a horrible sinking feeling to know you’ve let your child down.

(image by Baddog_ via Creative Commons)

The leaving it on the nightstand was a new thing I was trying with this fourth tooth, and turned out to be both good and bad. Good that I now had an excuse.

“She must not have seen it there,” I could explain.

Bad because Mom had promised her there was no way it would be missed, and now the Tooth Fairy has to go back to digging around under the pillow to find it.

Tears dried eventually with reassurances that tonight we’d put it back in the traditional place and she’d find it, and we proceeded to breakfast. But, I still felt major guilt.

I tweeted, “Worst. Mom. Ever. The tooth fairy totally forgot to pick up a tooth last night. Girl crushed. Mom crushed.” And, was reassured to hear back that I was not the only one who’d had this happen. Several people presented good ideas for follow up, and I even shared one of them with her to show my girl that it wasn’t so uncommon.

So, we both found reassurance and absolution. And, tonight the tooth fairy delivered - including a little extra left to make up for the slight delay.

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I’m not writing a column today.  My head’s in a vise and someone installed wall-to-wall carpeting on my tongue.  My eyes resemble the dead fish in our aquarium.  My bones crackle when I move and my palms are sweaty.

My husband “the doctor” is not understanding at all. “Get out of the house,” he says. 

“You get out!” I say. 

“No, no, that’s not what I mean,” he explains.  “Activity is good for what ails you.  You should do something.” 

So I kill him, which is really unfortunate because someone needs to walk the dog.

I call my kids together and tell them to stay out of trouble while mommy gets some rest.  This is absolutely the wrong thing to say to children under any circumstance, but my head is filled with cotton and there is a little man with a power drill behind my left ear. My kids love it when I’m sick.  Their eyes light up and their little cupid lips curl at the corners. It’s their opportunity to do things I would never allow them to do under normal, healthy conditions.

“Mom, can I take fifty dollars out of your wallet, bike down the high speed lane of Rt. 1A with Joey the school punk and shoot paint balls at convertible BMWs?”

“OK,” I mumble from under my pillow.  “Be home in time for dinner.”

My husband, eerily resurrected says, “It’s the common cold.  You’ll live.”

“There’s nothing common about it,” I say, swallowing half a bottle of Benedryl and chasing it with some liquid Tylenol. 

“It’s just the sniffles,” he persists, so I kill him again.  But this time I wait until after he takes out the garbage.

I crawl downstairs to watch TV but run out of steam halfway there.  I curl up in a nice, dark corner of the front hall closet, my head resting on the Electrolux.

A vision of my husband opens the closet door.  “Why is it that when men are sick, you women say we are the biggest babies in the world and when you are sick it is the sickest sickness ever?” he asks.

“God, die already!  Who are you, Rasputin?”

“Why don’t you put on a coat and go for a walk,” he says.

Still crouched in the closet, I search for his black cashmere dress coat and blow my nose on its sleeve.  “Because I’m sick!” I tell him.

My husband pulls me out of the closet and tries to smooth the tangled hair in the back of my head.  “C’mon, I’ll walk with you,” he says and leads me to the front door.  His arm is steady and his chest is warm.  He smells of cinnamon and pine.  I breathe in his chivalry and embrace his kindness.  This is what I need, just a little TLC from my soul mate.  I agree to go but not before grabbing an ice pick from the bar, just in case.

So I am not writing a column today.

There is something universal about the awkwardness of family.

About a week ago, two childhood friends launched a site to document as much. The results — in the vein of LOLCats and Stuff White People Like — are hilarious:

The Choker: “This is what happens when your male role model is both a priest and a gym teacher.”

My Two Dads: “You may use your calculator for this equation.”
(Favorite comment: “I am very confused by this. Is the guy in the front right like a neighborhood computer guy who helps them out sometimes?”)

Family Tree: “Even the tree felt this one was awkward.”

Check out the full, awkward archive here. Be a word of caution: Some of these will give you nightmares. Or at least the.. uh… willies.

Cross-posted on Annarchy.

I can’t stop laughing every time I view this video (and I’ve been watching it over and over again….).

It’s funny on its own, but it’s especially funny to those of us whose kids bicker like these two. Even (like mine) occasionally! (And by “occasionally” I mean “yesterday.”) Enjoy:

Check out this fun (and funny!) promotion by MomsRising.org to celebrate someone you consider “Mother of the Year.”

The video allows you to customize with a few quick keystrokes a news report by CNNBC for the person you consider Top Mom. Type in a name and email address, and the program will do the rest. Be sure to send yours before Mothers Day this Sunday.

Included in the video clip are hysterical “man on the street” reactions to the announcement, as well as cameos by Obama as well as Octomom and Branjelina (both depicted wondering how you—or your chosen Mom—beat them out for the title).

Here is the link for the Mother of the Year Award video that you can customize and forward.

Dear Zen Mother,

I’m very concerned about cutbacks in education so I’m considering home schooling my children.  Do you think this is a good idea?