Confessions of a Professional Mom

Confessions of a Professional Mom

Professional mom seeking clarity, balance and a well deserved glass of wine.

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I Give Up—The Whisper Filter is Broken

August 13, 2013 , , , , , , , , ,

Whisper Filter is BrokenEver sit next to someone during a church service or a funeral and have them “whisper” in your ear, only to realize THEY CANNOT WHISPER. They’re loud. You tell them, “Turn down the volume. Shhhh! People can hear you.” To no avail. That person is my husband. I realized this when we were dating. I thought, “Bless his heart (yes I did), he can’t whisper.” How cute! (blinded by love)

Fast forward twenty-five years later and guess what? This little trait transcends DNA.

It has become apparent that my children have the same broken filter. They do not possess the ability to whisper. I don’t even think my youngest can TALK quietly. You know, the moment when you’re checking out at TJ Maxx and the cashier has gnarly teeth. Yeah, my little one WHISPERS, “Mommy, look at her teeth. Those are scary!” Mortified, I smile and make some excuse, like, “Sorry, she’s hasn’t been quite right since we dropped her on her head when she was a baby.”

Or, the time when you’re using the bathroom in Macy’s and after two minutes, instead of whispering, your kid asks (volume at 100), “Momma, are you POOPING? YOU STINK!” You know…after the first couple of times I was completely embarrassed, now I just say OUT LOUD, “Yep, it’s gonna be a minute, so hold your nose!” (insert bathroom crowd chuckling loudly here) And, just so you know, yes, I have a problem while shopping and am seeking help to find a cure.

And, God forbid, you try and have a day off and sleep in at our house. 7am…poke, poke, (in her loudest WHISPER voice) “Mom, can I get some cereal?”…half hour later…(loud WHISPER voice) “Mom, when are you getting up?”….half hour later…WHISPER fighting ensues in the family room, TV volume also has no whisper filter, might as well get up. Peaceful morning slumber – enjoyed in a previous life!

Now, come to think of it, I suppose my husband can’t bear all the blame. I do recall a time when I was about 12 and I was sitting at the kitchen table at Grandma’s house with her and my mother. Just back from church camp, I proceeded to tell the tale of a boy who got in trouble for “beating off” in the back of the church bus on the way up to camp. My grandmother had no idea what I was talking about, so I proceed to demonstrate “beating off.” My mother kicked me under the table so hard I think I still have the bruise. Instead of whispering, “Ouch, sorry!” I blurt out, “OUCH! Hey why’d you kick me?” My mother (we’ll call her Doris Day) would have crawled under the table if she could have. MORTIFIED! Hmmmm, broken whisper filter strikes again. circa 1978

I guess I just have to laugh and roll with the non-whisper punches. I’ve long since given up on being embarrassed by anything. My life is an open book. Just stand within two feet of my and my family and you’ll be alerted at the first sign of weird teeth, body odor, farting, pooping, bad breath, transvestites, anyone who is too short, too tall, too skinny or too fat and/or who has a funt, kankles or wild ear hair.

I give up—the whisper filter is just broken.

Stay sane, my friends.



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