I don't even watch Dr. Phil but the universe must have decided that I need to "get real". One Sunday night in November, I received an email from a woman who identified herself as a "producer from a daytime television program." Five seconds later my best friend, Google, told me she worked for the Dr. Phil show.
Apparently, she had come across one of my posts on
concerning my goal to stop yelling at my kids. This isn't exactly a huge issue for me (denial). It was mixed in among other goals like: visit the 7 wonders of the world, run the Boston marathon, drink more water and have better posture. Unfortunately, Dr. Phil showed no interest in helping me visit the 7 Wonders of the World--he just wanted to save my children from their verbally abusive mother.
The producer assured me that this would be a "light and fun" show consisting of many parents, a panel, and an audience full of mothers and mothers-to-be. My sister assured me that "no one comes off of shows like that looking good" and "they already know you have a temper, they just need to make you blow-up, which shouldn't be difficult."
I must be easily persuaded because just after Lori convinced me of the utter folly of doing the show, Gyllian convinced me that it would be fun and "no big deal." I failed in my attempt to get a clothing allowance out of her.
Brad was already planning to be out of town for the week so I exhausted every resource I could think of to find babysitters.
(Don't you love all my cheesy graphics? It's boring without pictures.)
This all happened between Sunday night and Tuesday afternoon. Tuesday afternoon, late as usual, I was rushing to the airport trying to remember everything and completely second guessing my decision to go at all, when I arrived at Diamond Parking.
I saw the sign for valet parking, but I couldn't see the valet. I pulled into the nearest parking spot, undid my seatbelt and turned my head. Across the lot I saw an employee and decided to just reverse and go ask him. That was when I reversed into a pole.