The Becketts’ Pandora Commercial

If you have not seen the Pandora commercial making its advertising agency proud with every Facebook share, grab a tissue and watch it here:

I admit that I felt the tear ducts activate a little while watching it. Anytime there is moving music with children and their parents (even if the ad is selling tampons) I will probably tear up a little. I also admit that the big skeptic in me wondered how many takes they had to do and did all those kids REALLY know their mom. I also admit wondering would my two boys be able to pass that test or would we be the embarrassed ones cut out of the whole sequence once they chose a total stranger instead of me.

Then I came to my senses and realized that without a doubt in the world, my blindfolded boys would know unequivocally that I was indeed their mommy dearest even if there was double the line up of (very attractive–all those moms and kids were cut from a catalog and not just any catalog but the J.Crew one) women.

First they would follow the scent of the un-showered mom. How do I celebrate Earth Day all year around? By not showering every freaking day. How’s that for water conservation? It is not just those days my hair is in a pony tail and under a hat (which ironically is today even though I DID splurge on a shower but I HAD to wear my Connor’s Blackhawks cap to celebrate their triple overtime win last night). Even if I looked ready to go out on a hot date with my husband, there is no guarantee that I cleaned myself that day.

After their noses led them reliably to me, their little hands would reach out and feel my dry, cracked hands for confirmation. They would know that no matter how much lotion I apply multiple times a day white flakes of dehydration cover my paws more elaborately than the most skilled Henna application. I try to drink cupfuls of water each day, but the dry Southwest and my daily coffee and wine intake are formidable opponents to soft, supple skin.

After my leathery limbs cued them in to linger, I would kneel down to their level. They would reach out and feel the lack of deeply set eye folds and know right away that these small openings belonged to their mom, who would then be the only Asian in that line-up. It’s ok that Pandora did not have any women of color. We don’t like charm bracelets anyways.

Lastly, the final kicker that would have them flinging off their blindfolds confident that they had landed the right lady would be the damp circles under my armpits. You guys, I have a serious problem. TMI, I know, but when have I skirted from the truth? I like to exaggerate it but never run from it. You may suggest that were I to shower regularly my problem would be solved, but alas, you would be wrong. Even on freshly showered days, it happens. Despite using the strongest deodorant I know (not Secret or Dove, but the more industrial-sounding Mitchum), it happens. Even when my body is cold so that my fingers are icicles, it happens. It is so embarrassing. I do not know what to do about it except be comforted that were my boys to be put on the spot and pressured to pick their mom from a line-up blindfolded it would lead them shamefully to the right woman with the sweaty armpits. And that right there is why they could not be blamed were they to wrongly pick a total stranger on purpose. Who wouldn’t want to pick a J.Crew model with dry armpits and soft hands?

Come to think of it, they would be confused from the get go. The required silence for the experiment would throw them. Their ears would be listening for the sweet, sweet sound of my nagging and the daily yelling I vow not to engage in but chronically fall into as I prompt them for every portion of their day: “Get up! Eat breakfast! Pack up your stuff! Don’t forget your lunch! Buckle up! Stop fighting! Be nice! Stop whining! Hurry up! Do your homework! Practice your piano! Chew with your mouth closed! Fix your attitude! Go shower (not every day, can’t be that hypocritical)! Get your PJ’s on! Read a book! Go to bed!” My boys would start this commercial just standing there savoring the silence. They would probably not move for longer than a Blackhawks’ playoff game to luxuriate in the absence of my barking.

Even with all these (maybe exaggerated) truths, my boys do love me…I think. I am their mama, unique in that God chose me for them and them for me. The best gift they can give me is not expensive jewelry but dry, never sweaty armpits. In all seriousness, they ARE my best gifts and I would not trade them for the driest armpits in the world.

Go, Blackhawks!

Go, Blackhawks!

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