I Dream of Jeannie!


My mom should have never let me watch “Mary Poppins” or “I Dream of Jeannie” or “Bewitched” or “Sabrina, the Teenaged Witch” or that one laundry soap commercial where the clothes flew magically from all over the house and put themselves through the washer and the dryer just to smell so nice and fresh and then they even folded themselves without ever an ounce of human intervention. She should have known that she was setting me up for failure! She should have predicted that for the rest of my years I would spend countless hours dreaming of the ability to wriggle my nose and see my house magically transform into a page from Better Homes and Gardens Magazine.

I used to think it would be cool to be like Jeannie and be able to sleep in a lovely little bottle. I have actually planned exactly what to wish for if that little bottle ever manages to wash up in my path. I have crafted such complex sentences that as long as Jeannie doesn’t catch on to my little trick, I will really get 9 or 10 wishes out of the deal. For example, I want an enchanted wallet that always has $2,500 in it, and every time I take out the cash, more just magically takes its place. I bet I wouldn’t leave that wallet unattended long enough to be nabbed by thieves. Better yet, I’d want to be like Samantha on Bewitched, living an ordinary life with the extraordinary ability to fix it with just a little wriggle when the laundry piles up or the dishwasher takes an early retirement.

Sure, it can be fun to spell Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, but other than that, what did I learn from Mary Poppins? A spoonful of sugar may help the medicine go down, but it will also hang around on your hips for 13 years. And trust me on this one, jumping off the roof with your Strawberry Shortcake umbrella will not help you fly, in fact, you might just find yourself with a broken arm if you try it. So why in the world am I so in love with magic?

Maybe its because I’m dying to become the classic over achiever of my dreams with the perfectly ironed wardrobe and the polished baseboards and the children with no ice cream stains on their shirts, and at the very same time, I don’t want to feel the amount of stress that inevitably comes from such perfection. I have been that girl who has a meltdown over a dust-bunny. I don’t wanna freak out when I catch the kids eating mud pies. I wanna dance around in the rain, let the kids make tents out of blankets all over the house, smile as they bang on drum sets for 9,482 hours until a beat finally comes together. These two sides of me cannot coexist peacefully. One cannot become a Type A Free Spirit. It’s an oxymoron. It’s forever a war, and the only way out is to somehow find a way to harness my hidden magical abilities.

So, I think its time I head off to Hogwarts. I know I’m a little older than Harry Potter and his gang, but I’m not looking to make-out behind Gryffindor or make a new best friend, I just want to further my education- surely it’s not too late to learn a few magic spells. Or maybe the Wizards of Waverly Place would take me in. All I need to know is how to magically clean the house. I want the laundry done, the dishes washed, the floors mopped, the dust-bunnies outside, and all the baseboards nice and white. Meanwhile, I’d like to be busy doing crafts like the Pirate Dictionary I just finished for the boys or gluing glitter to construction paper for the girls and baking cookies, and not just any old cookies, cookies that have sprinkles. Is that too much to ask?

I hope Hogwarts takes financial aid, not sure I have any money left for my magical tuition after I finish buying school supplies. Here again my Type A personality is fighting my Free Spirit. Type A took all seven lists and typed them excel. (My mother must have given me that Type A side, because she took my list, consolidated and re-sorted it and sent it back to me.) I printed it out for an organized shopping extravaganza and my Free Spirit, well she’s putting off going to the store until the week school starts. See, if I were Mary Poppins I could just open my bag and pull out all the glue sticks one could imagine. I need that bag! Somebody find me that bag…

Until then, I guess I’ll live by the words my husband’s granny sent to me when we had our first baby:

They may not be babies anymore, but I think the years of blanket forts are quickly passing me by, so the baseboards will have to wait for now!

Unless of course any of you know the spell for an immaculate house! If you’ve got it, do share!!

Now do me a little favor and click the banner to vote. You don’t have fill out anything… just one little click will register a vote, and since they somehow lost a bunch of my votes, I’ve been pouting all day! So please help me rack them back up!! 🙂

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11 responses »

  1. I remember all those shows and wished that I had a magic nose wiggle or nod, too. But I found out through living that the things of which I’m most proud all came to me because I worked hard for them.

    I think that’s why people who are born with privilege are often so fundamentally unhappy–they have everything given to them and don’t know the self-satisfaction of wanting and finally achieving something on their own. Take that, Samantha Stevens and Jeannie! 😉

    And remember that their magic always got them in hot water? 😉

  2. Pingback: If the dog won’t eat it… « Life With Blondie

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