Super Nanny Eat Your Heart Out

(written about four or more years ago)
SUPERNANNY EAT YOUR HEART OUT
I used to wonder about peoples' fascination with shows like Super nanny, and then I realized that watching other people's pitiful parenting and screaming brats served to make me feel better about my own life. As I have a history of smugly judging others in an attempt to bolster my own dwindling self-esteem, this was right up my alley. However, in recent months I feel as if I should have a Super nanny film crew with me at all times just in case they get some really good footage. Once I decided that I really needed to go to Staples after two other stores at 6:30 p.m. with five or six kids, none of whom had recently napped or eaten. As I was fumbling at the entrance of the store trying to get a shopping cart in which to contain my wild toddler, he ran screaming into the store ahead of me. The other kids, in a valiant attempt to be helpful, tackled him on the rug just inside the store. There was a huge pile of kids on the rug, and I heard a primal scream from my son that was louder than any I' Ive heard from those “other kids” in the supermarket. I was mortified beyond belief. As I shuffled over to the copier with my rumpled stack of papers, I noticed a woman giving me the most horrible look as if I were the WORST mother in the world. I kept mumbling about kids being hungry and missing their naps mixed in with nervous laughter, but her facial expression remained etched in stone. I am not proud to say that that this type of scene has replayed itself more than I would like to admit.

SPEAKING OF SUPERNANNY...
As I mentioned before, Super Nanny is my “show”. Apart from the fact that I have to fight off of PTSD flashbacks of my own British Nana every time I hear Jo Jo talk about the naughty chair, (I only WISH she had limited her discipline to a naughty chair) I love to tune in. However, Jo Jo lost almost all credibility with me on her last episode. She suggested placing finger puppets on little fingers after cutting their nails, to make it more “fun”. She clearly lives on a planet devoid of children. First, when I eventually realize that I haven't clipped a nail in weeks or months, I'm certainly not going to look for ten finger puppets. I'm lucky if I can find the child, his nails and the clipper all in the same house at the same time. Never mind the puppets.

Another beef I have with Supernanny is all the cleavage. My goodness, some of the women on that show have had seven kids and their boobs are as perky as ever, not to mention huge, and their stomachs are as flat as pancakes. One woman looked so top-heavy I can imagine it taking all her energy to keep from falling on her face. No wonder she's too tired to discipline her kids. Besides, maybe if she ate a meal once in a while she'd have a little more pep. And all the families seem to be filthy rich. I know I sound judgmental, but some of the dads look pretty young and not all that educated, yet they have these enormous houses and very well maintained stay at home wives. Everyone seems to be rolling in money. Their furniture looks brand new and their floors are sparkling. Granted if Supernanny and all of America were coming to my house I'm sure I would clean up a bit, but it looks like these people have just been left by Trading Spaces. Perhaps if the overwhelmed moms spent less time and money on their hair and more on their kids... now I'm sounding really judgmental.

I'd like to see Jo Jo drive her car up a dirt road during mud season to visit a family of fourteen living in a broken down trailer with three generations and one breadwinner. As her high heels sink in the mud while she's trying to wrestle her briefcase from rotweiler, she can smell the wood smoke mingling with cigarettes as it all wafts toward her out of the stack of sap buckets that serves as a chimney. I wonder if she would give a little shiver and surreptitiously pull her suit coat closer around her breasts before knocking at the door. If she needs help with directions, I can show her where to find a few of these places. The low-paid Super nannies who work for my former mental health agency could also throw in a few referrals. This paragraph is not meant to be judgemental in the least, only realistic. I've sat comfortably in hundreds of such homes, often nestled on a peanut-butter-and-jellied-chair, breathing second hand smoke and thinking maybe I shouldn't have quit, and felt quite at home.* Much more so than I would in any of Supernanny's mansions. *(I'll make one exception for the one where the starving pigs from the neighboring abandoned farm surrounded the house, thus imprisoning us with the murderous husband. Oh, and the one where the stoned teenagers said their mom would be right back and we saw in the paper the next day that at that very moment she was out shooting someone.

I wonder if the producers would give me a makeover and a boob job if I applied for Super Nanny. I'd take a tummy tuck in a minute, however at this stage in the game the only change I would want to make to my boobs would be to lighten my load. Gravity is the enemy when you're when you're over 40.