It is Only the First Week

The kids have gone to school for a full week, now, and the drama has already begun.

Amber is now in middle school.  This brings all kinds of new and exciting adventures, one being the locker.  Oh the excitement there was at getting a locker.  Along with the school supplies there was a whole collection of things you can get to decorate your locker.  This is where I found Amber with her eyes wide open and her mouth drooling.  What would she get?  Where would she put it?  How would these items make her locker an expression of her very being?  I sighed.  Why should I spend good money on items to make her locker look better than our house?  No problem for Amber.  My idea of giving the kids an allowance to teach them about money had backfired on me, because it gave Amber power.  She had power to buy any trinkets her heart desired to make her locker the next Taj Mahal.  Good thing her power is limited to $7.  We left Target.  Me $70 lighter in my wallet from actually school supplies, you know the things needed to help her learn, and Amber with her eyes all aglow and big at the anticipation of getting her locker at Book Day.

Then the drama.  ODD got into the car, one day, and rambled on about the injustice that is being pushed on her and “how life is not fair”.  After I slowed her down to the point where I could understand every other word, I got the story.  It appears that while the kids can decorate the inside of their lockers, they were not allowed to decorate the outside, EXCEPT for the members of the dance team.  WHAT?!  How can this be?  What Elitist regime is this where the dance team get the great privilege of decorating the outside of their lockers, but no one else?   I was assured at the end of this mini in training tangent that I need not worry my little head, because a teacher has taken up the cause and some day the rest of the kids will be able to decorate the outside of their lockers and become equal with the dance team.

Just as my blood pressure had return to normal, I was hit with another “situation” that needed to be remedied right away and the only one to remedy it was ME.  It seems that one of Amber’s locker neighbors has gone full out in the renovation process.  It was a total tear down and rebuild.  There was wallpaper, shelves, chandeliers, rugs and the finest art that one can get miniaturized.  It appears that Amber had moved into the upscale neighborhood, but her house was the last small house from the ’50′s that was never torn down to make way for the next McMansion.   I was informed that I would have to spend my days with locker designers to come up with the perfect space that expressed exactly who Amber is.  I have failed as a mother, because all I got her was a shelf, which is GENIUS, and a small pink basket that was meant for her extra pens and pencils, but instead became the holder for her hairbrush and lip balm.  Will life ever go on?

Sam has brought his own drama, but nothing that exhausts me to the point of girl drama.  Matter of fact, I was proud how well Sam took being scolded by a classmate’s father after Sam had called his son a name.  I have hopes of a drama break with Sam until Evie takes up residence in girl drama land.  I hope in my old age I will gain perspective, but I think I will just lose my ability to care.

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NO PRINCESSES FOR GIRLS!!!

I am so sick of this debate, but this controversy over the new Lego line has me fuming.  You can read about it here, because I just can’t take it, anymore:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/01/15/lego-friends-girls-gender-toy-marketing_n_1206293.html

Let’s tackle the ad from the 1980′s.  Does anyone remember Legos from back in the day?  They were primary blocks that fit together to make whatever the child wanted.  It was a truly neutral toy that helped child with a multiple of developments.  Then something happened.  I am not sure, but I know I was perplexed when I first started seeing the specific sets where it seemed you could only build one thing.  I remember thinking where is the fun in that?  I didn’t make a huge fuss. I didn’t stand on the nearest train table in Toys R Us and scream, “Why are you denying girls the joy of Legos?!”  You know why? Because I had sense to know that not every child is the same and not every girl played with princesses or, hold onto your hats for this one, some girls liked playing with both princesses and cars.  Oh the horror, letting the kids choose which toys they could choose.

Somewhere along the way, Princesses became the enemy.  How dare girls pretend to be princesses, play tea party, nurture dolls or the other evil things that have been sent by the all mighty toy companies to get our girls subservient to The Man.  Then it went further. It has now become a social status for parents, mostly Moms, to shout from the rooftops that their sons play with dolls and paint their nails and their daughters are playing in dirt with cars and trucks.  All over the Internet you can find mommy blogs proclaiming how great they are, because their children have no gender.  There are parents going so far as not letting others know the exact gender of their child. What I want to know is why?  Are we so ashamed of boys that we need to turn them more feminine?  Do we hate all things girly that we just have to breed a generation of girls that are more masculine than the boys in their class?  What is the point?

The problem with this is that these parents are forgetting that kids have choices, too.  What prevents a little girl choosing an alien to build from the many that Lego offers?  I don’t remember any toy police in the Target toy section telling me my girls weren’t allowed to look at these toys, much less buy them.  I don’t remember Amber getting tackled and having the Harry Potter Lego ripped from her hands when she made the purchase a year ago.  So why the big fuss?  As far as I can tell Lego has, finally, opened it’s eyes and given girls more choices.  I will admit I was drawn to the new Lego Friends toys, myself.  I liked the colors and the cute little kitchen and spa.  Amber not so much.  She is more interested in her Liv dolls with the spa, she recently purchased on Black Friday at Target last year.

I have the perfect little Science experiment going on in my home.  I have an older daughter, who went through the princess phase, but was given the choice of what she wanted to play with.  Sure her toys were mostly pink and girly, but there were a few cars thrown in there which she chose.  Now as a 9 yr old, she is the only girl playing the trumpet in her music class in the sea of boys playing the same instrument.  She is in cheerleading.  Loves Harry Potter more than any boy I have met.  She still loves to do her hair, her dolls’ hair and have her nails done.  I don’t see her love of Princesses hurting her in the least.  As a matter of fact, a recent event showed that she has no problem speaking her mind when she told some boys from the neighborhood that she was done playing with them, because they kept cursing.  If anything the choices that were afforded her gave her the strength to continue to make her own choices whether they went with the grain or not.

Then I have Sam.  A boy coming 4 years after his older sister.  He came into a world of pink and Princesses.  My feeling is that most babies start out gender neutral, because they don’t really  have a voice for their opinion.  Besides, their main focus is keeping their butts clean and eating.  So most baby to toddler toys are pretty much played by both sexes.  However, once those babies hit toddlerhood they start to gravitate toward their interests.  Sam started refastening many of Amber’s toys into guns, cars and flying objects.  Sure he would pick up a baby doll and give it a hug, then a few seconds later it would be discarded for something he found more interesting.  The one thing I found fascinating about Sam was that he would sit and actually have imaginative play.  Amber wasn’t much for imaginative play.  She used the toy how it was intended and when she was bored she moved to the next toy.  Sam would involve dinosaurs and pirates into his Batman cave.  There would be elaborate stories involving the Batman Cave and the Dragon Castle.  And somehow he incorporated Amber’s Barbie dogs into all this play.  He had a slight obsession with them.   We never made a conscience effort not to buy Sam guns, but he,  eventually, gravitated toward weaponry.  Whether it was his finger or a Barbie doll he would point it at someone and say, “Bang! Bang!”  It would be much later that he would get his first space gun and drive us all crazy.  But don’t think the gender neutral debate has won just yet.  Since Sam was with me most of the time, he would often grab the shopping cart and purple purse and go shopping.  Amber and him would play shopping and he would use his debit card that was pulled from his purse.  Why?  Because it was what he saw.  Sure SoHubby was a little perturbed by this, but I let it go.  I  knew that he was fine and just playing what he saw.  No biggie.  And once Evie came along and Amber decided to dress her up as a fairy, Sam joined in the fun.  It lasted a few minutes and then he went back to what interested him.  Once again, choices.  Now, I have a little boy that wants to be a cheerleader like his big sister, loves to hug the girls and loves to play tag with the boys and all things superheroes.

Lastly, we have Evie.  At only 2.5 years old, she has gone between cars, dinosaurs, superheros to baby dolls, and her recent discovery of the Princesses.  There is a whole playroom for her to choose from.  Never once has there been a line drawn saying these are the BOY toys and these are the GIRL toys.  There has been choices.  Why can’t kids have choices?  Sure there are some people who are adamant about their boy not having anything to do with “girly” stuff, but is it really that rampant?  Then there comes a time when children naturally start pairing off with the same sex parent.  Sam has started doing this and loves to go off with his Daddy.  And why not?  That doesn’t mean the girls are left in the dust.  There are times when Amber goes off with Daddy, too.  I can’t say that I would be comfortable bringing Sam to the nail salon, only because he doesn’t like his nails cut or people putting anything on them.  I can’t say that I would be all that gung ho to have his nails painted pink,anyway, but I am not going to deny him the pleasure of a foot massage or soaking in a hot foot bath.  Why can’t he enjoy those things?  The last time I checked the nail salons weren’t turning away anyone who was willing to pay for their services.

The point is there are 2 sexes (and I know even me admitting this is controversial) in this world and they both have their purpose.  It doesn’t mean that we don’t have choices.  We are bombarded with choices everyday that are made due to our upbringing, social status, financial ability, gender, and a myriad of other reasons.  To say that Lego Friends is teaching girls that they are only pretty and only good for baking, primping and drinking coffee (which I didn’t know was a female sport) is insulting to me as a parent.  It means that I have no influence.  That I am not talking to my kids.  That I am not supervising their growth into this world.  It is saying that I am letting a lump of plastic determine the future of my children.  I hate to break it to you, but I have more influence over my kids then a $20 toy that I happen to pick up on a whim.

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C-Section: This Generation’s Dirty Medical Word

*sigh* C-sections.  It is the new barometer to gauge how good of a mother you are, before you actually starting, you know, parenting.  Oh, it isn’t that straight forward.  People, mainly on the Internet, tell you they understand, but secretly behind their computer screens they are shaking their heads in judgement.  Meh, who cares?  Well, I do and I don’t.  I care when misinformation is thrown about and used to pigeon hole everyone who has met their OB’s scalpel (yes, I know they use lasers. Work with me.) up close and personal.  Well, life and judgements are never that cut and dry.

I have had 3 c-sections.  Yes, you read that right, I had 3.  Many factors went into me going under the knife.  However, convenience and fear of pain was not on the list.  Matter of fact, I clearly remember sitting at the side of my first OB’s ( I would go on to have 3 more doctors for my births)desk wringing my hands asking him if he knew for sure if I would AVOID a c-section.  Damn doctors.  Sadly they aren’t God and he couldn’t tell me. Bastard!  You see, I had never been in a hospital, before giving birth, and I was deathly afraid….let me say it, again….DEATHLY AFRAID of having surgery.  I didn’t want it.  I took all the classes and I was prepared for a vaginal birth.  I knew I could push.  I knew I could breathe.  I knew I could do that.  What I didn’t know was what a c-section entailed.  All I knew was that they wanted to cut me open and move my insides around.  Last I checked my insides were fine where they were and there was no need to going poking around.

I researched.  I am here to tell you that there is such a thing as too much research. Another thing to pop up that would put the fear of modern medicine into me, pitocin.   From my research I learned that pitocin caused Autism.  WHA?!  Pitocin meant you were definitely, for sure going to  have a c-section. NO!  Pitocin hurt like a semi truck driving through your pelvic area.  *falls to the floor*  I prayed.  I begged. I bargained.  Please, oh please, don’t let me have pitocin or a c-section.  I guess I my message to God went to the wrong in box, because at 5 days pass my due date (which I never believe, because I never knew the last day of my period.  Who the hell keeps track of that crap?  It is here. I curse. It is gone.  The husband comes out of hiding.)  I was contracting and then I wasn’t.  Huh?  What is that you say?  That is not possible.  Oh really.  You want to have a conversation with my lazy uterus.  Go ahead, but I am hear to tell you she ain’t listening to no body.  So the pitocin drip starts, the contractions start to feel like an angry ape throwing luggage around in my uterus, but they don’t start getting any closer together.  The story of my life, I do well with one thing, but can’t pull it through to complete the transaction.  Here is where I tell you I take a nap and you go, “HUH, WHA?!”  Oh yeah, that contraction was a bitch, but once it passed I was all clear for my journey to sleepy town.  I would wake in another room with a doctor peering into my nether regions and liquid spilling all over the bed.  That is when the action started.  No, not contractions, medical staff bustling around like someone just set their collective pants on fire.  It was time for the baby to come out.  Whether she wanted to or not.  I have stubborn kids, especially when you are expecting them to do certain things, like, I don’t know, be born into the world.

I have gone over a million times what I should have done during Amber’s birth.  I have read on the Internet as people, some who have never given birth, say I had choices.  Oh really?  Let’s look at the choices I could have demand in all my non-medical knowledge glory:  I could have demanded to push.  That might be a little hard without contractions.  I mean I know we are women, hear us roar, but we do need all parts doing their, well, part.  I could have demanded to wait and see what might happen.  I mean my body, as a female, is made to give birth, right?  So it would have happened eventually, right?  Who the hell knows.  In the mean time Amber could have choked on her first bowel movement.  (Yeah, I can never spell that word right, so you get my 2nd grade description of it.)  So in the end I did have choices, but no one talks about the consequences of those choices or being in a situation where it might be a tad hard to make a completely rational decision.  You can try.  Here is what you do.  Invite about 10/15 total strangers into a cold, very bright room, while you lay buck naked on a hard surface.  Have about a million beeps going on, some of the people will be having a conversation with words you have no clue what they mean while someone tries to explain the situation to you quickly and then ask you for a decision.  Let me know how you fair.  I am not denying that I could have made the no c-section decision and come out completely fine.  I can’t tell you how Amber would have come out in that scenario.

I don’t know who is spreading the word that c-sections are fun.  I am here to tell you they ain’t no walk in the park on sunny day.  You are literally cut in half while you are AWAKE!  Yeah, that last part freaked me out, too.  And I don’t care what anyone says, they don’t get easier the more you have.  Each one carries it’s own risks.  What I am here to tell you is that until you are in that situation you can’t completely say with all certainty what you would do or not do.  Not to mention you suddenly have another human being who is completely dependent on you to make the right decision.  Remember the goal is healthy, happy babies.  So if I am out of the running for mother of the year because I had 3 c-sections then so be it.  I am sure there are many other things you could have used to take me out of the running.

I don’t really need to justify my other 2 c-sections.  I could tell you about the natural disaster I found myself in while 4 months pregnant with Sam.  I could go on and on about how I didn’t like nor trusted my OB, but what choice did I have in a city that barely had hospitals up and running?  My main goal with her was for her NOT to tie my tubes no matter how much she insisted.  Without medical records and hospital staffs at an all time low there was no chance in hell I was going to get a VBAC.  I would guess New Orleans after Katrina, even 6 mos after, was as close to a 3rd world country as I ever want to get.  Do you give me points for even asking at the beginning of my pregnancy and when I finally secured a doctor after my original one had fled?  By the time I got pregnant with Evie, I was done.  I would have let them extract her through my nose if that is what they said was the best way.  I was in the hands of my fully capable OB (a new one from the one that I had with Sam)and the Perinatologist who I saw every damn month.   That was a bit much, I thought, but hey, again, if it gets me a healthy baby so be it.

Who do we blame for this?  Do we blame those nasty money hungry medical doctors?  I really don’t think ALL doctors are assholes.  And if you find yourself faced with an asshole, then, um, here is your choice: Find a new one.  I have many times and didn’t feel bad at all.  However, when I do find a new doctor I discuss my medical care and ask questions.  My first clue that you are an asshole doctor is if you get annoyed at all my questions.  I am here to tell you in any profession there will be good ones and there will be bad ones.  Your job is to find a good one and then trust them.  Do we blame health insurance?  That one I am not touching.  If you think insurance companies don’t want to pay for your regular visit to the doctor, what makes you think they are all gung ho to pay for your c-section.  My belief is that insurance companies are going to fight and go over with a fine tooth comb just about every claim put before them, because they are trying to make money.  It is a pain for us, but we have a choice, we can pay out of pocket for our medical care.  Go ahead and ask, I am sure your doctor or hospital will take cash.  I know they took mine.  We can blame lawyers, but what can’t you blame lawyers for?  Hmmm, I am not sure how to defend lawyers on this one, but I will say that I would venture a guess that someone came to them with a grievance regarding their birth and the lawyer did his job.  Maybe a little too well, but he did his job.  You can blame malpractice insurance that all doctors and hospitals must have to cover their asses.  Having a mother, who is a nurse, who got dragged into a lawsuit, because a family didn’t want to accept that their elderly mother died of natural causes, it is frightening to be on the shit end of a lawsuit, especially if you have never been involved in one before .  And I am sure doctors and hospitals would much rather put the money they spend on malpractice insurance to better use, but alas it is a necessary evil much like car insurance. There are many places to put the blame for the c-section rates.  Dare I say, yes even those mothers, who I believe are very rare, that pressure their doctors for a c-section out of convenience.  I have heard of them, but have never met one.  Does it do anyone any good?  Not really.

We live in a society where many things are available to us, medicine, medical advancement out the ying yang and the Internet that can scare you with one small Google search.  I don’t think the answer is beating mothers, who have already had their babies, over the head with the fact that YOU think they didn’t birth right.  I think the real solution is an open dialogue that dispenses with the scare tactics (I am looking at all you old school moms who just love your war stories) and share an experience that can be learned from.  I think there needs to be included in those birth classes (keep in mind my last one was 10 yrs ago. ) a real discussion about c-section, stalled labor and pitocin.  I might have heard a blip about these things in the birth class I took, but nothing substantial. What I really think is that the medical community doesn’t know everything about pregnancy and birth.  Yeah, I said it.  And they are still learning.  When my daughters are ready to give birth I am sure I will be sitting at the kitchen table with my mouth gaped open amazed at what they are telling me is going to happen.  That is what we do people, we live, learn and move on.  Each generation will learn something new about the process of being born  and will be a little better off.  And the generation behind them will sit there and wish they had that when they were about to give birth.  It is the circle of knowledge.

 

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Netflix vs the Movie Rental Store

Netflix has pissed me off for the last time.  My only regret is that I didn’t cancel them completely at the end of August.  Netflix was a great concept, then they got cocky.  Yeah, yeah, you are going to tell me that movie producers and God forced their hand to jack up prices.  Or that they are having contract troubles and that is why their streaming sucks so hard.  I call bullshit.  I think Netflix is big enough that they have some power.  However, I really don’t care.  I maybe the lowly consumer, but I have some power, too.  And that power is to cancel Netflix and go old school.

I am old enough to remember going to the movie rental store.  It was so exciting.  We got to walk up and down the aisles choosing which movie we wanted to see.  Then we would race right home and watch it.  Times were good and I was young without the responsibility of getting the movie back in time to avoid a late fee.  As I got older, life’s checklist got longer and time got shorter, which meant late fees got more expensive.

SoHubby and I decided we would just buy movies.  At some point, most movies make it to the $5 bin.  That, my friends, is a long wait.  Us, being part of this fast paced, I had to have it yesterday world, that didn’t work for us.  Then we heard about this great company, Netflix.  You mean they would deliver movies to our house?  There was no special return date?  There was only one low price?  Hot damn!  Sign us up.  And we had a good relationship for awhile.

Suddenly, Netflix started to see it’s stock rise (literally and figuratively) and in my opinion got too big for their britches.  However, my love affair with Netflix started to wane when we went down to the 1 movie and streaming offer.  SoHubby would go on the website and clog up our queue with crap movies.  Movies that at that moment he would have watched, but would forget about by the time they made it to our house.  Here is the journey of a Netflix delivered to the Southern household: Movie arrives in the mail.  Movie is either retrieved from mailbox that night or the next morning.  Movie would then end up in my mail pile. I would get around to my mail pile sometime that day or the next day.  I open movie, say a little curse over it, because it would most likely be a dumb shoot ‘em up movie that SoHubby ordered and place it ontop of the TV or mantel.  Days would go by.  Days turned into weeks.  Weeks turned into a month.  When all of a sudden I spied with my little eye that little red envelope.  Then another curse as I held it up for all to see asking, “How the hell long has this been sitting here.  When are you going to watch this crap, so we can send it back and get a real movie?”  So as you can see folks, Netflix is genius.  They have developed a company where  men and women pay to fight via movie queue and have a little red envelope sits ontop of the TV for a month or longer  Don’t get me started on that crap they call streaming.  Half the time the movie wouldn’t play all the way through without several stops and starts.  Oh but that is our fault, why don’t you upgrade your WiFi.  Yeah, why don’t you bite my….be nice, now.  Then there was no rhyme or reason to the streaming.  One day a top movie would be on there, the next day some D flick you would have to pay me to watch would have taken it’s place.

After the whole rate hike, I was miffed.  I was calmed down with reasons like they had to do it, poor, poor Netflix.  Okay, we can understand the plight of the business when faced with things out of their control.  The dumb move came in when they decided to divide up the streaming side and the DVD side.  Um…exsqueeze me?  Dildo say what?  You expect me to bookmark an entirely different website to put DVDs in my queue?  Oh hell, NO!  I was done, but what could I do.  I wasn’t going to do that Redbox thing.  You want me to do what with my credit card and then you will do what?  Sorry, maybe it is my age, but I am getting the feeling that technology needs to calm down for a bit.  I thought I could just go down to my local Blockbuster.  Oh, but wait!  All the Blockbusters were run out of town by the evil, yet genius Netflix.  Then a light shone over me and the angels sing.

You see I live in a village, next to a couple of small towns.  And one thing that I am constantly told about these small towns and villages is that we are a bunch of hicks that don’t move with the times.  So guess what?  There is a Blockbuster right down a very long highway, but it is there just waiting for us to choose when to get a movie and forces us to watch that damn movie that night to avoid late fees.  The best part is it seems busy, very busy, which means maybe it will stay long enough to build up it’s force, again.   Who is having the last laugh, now?  Well, not the clerk at my local Blockbuster when I told her all this.  Maybe she didn’t appreciate my fine storytelling skills.  Maybe she wasn’t interested?  Nah, that couldn’t be it.  Or maybe she just wanted to get on with her life and didn’t care why the hell I found myself at the Blockbuster with my over energized spawns.  But I felt good.  I finally got to see The Black Swan and go WTF along with everyone else.  I even promised the kids that we could go back on Friday to rent movies and maybe some Wii games.  Then they ran around like I told them Santa Clause was coming to live with us and set up shop in the backyard.  And now my life has come full circle.  We will be release from our prison of the little red envelope back to the freedom of the movie rental store and wait for our implantation of our movie chips.

 

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The Passage of Time

In just under a month I will be turning the big 3 9.

Birthdays were never a huge deal at our house.  You got a cake and a present.  Then if you were special enough to have a younger brother born on YOUR birthday then you got the same cake just divided down the middle. We never had parties with friends, tons of presents and stressed out parents. No that is for the kids of today.  So birthdays would come and go without much notice from me.  However, my upcoming birthday is causing me concern.  Why?  Because I am one year away from 40!

I can’t be 40!  I have young kids.  Only 40! year olds have kids going off to college while they are looking toward their resting years.  I wear shorts, polos and tennis shoes everyday.  40! year olds wear proper clothes that include well coordinated outfits and never shorts.  Dear GOD! not shorts.  I listen to pop music, laugh at fart jokes and giggle when I see trucks that say “Coastal Erection”.  40! year olds are proper and serious and never laugh at bodily functions.  Who knows maybe in a year I will be all those things, but I don’t want to be those things.  Then again, I don’t want to be that sad 40! that is clinging desperately to their youth either.  Oh the dilemma!

Another problem is that my mirrors must not be working, because I don’t see a 40! year old looking back at me, but it seems everyone else does.  I got a pedicure this weekend where I enjoyed reading my book without tiny people and one grown adult wondering where I was, what I was doing, why I wasn’t with them and when I was going to make some food for them.  I had to put the book down after just one chapter, because the words were blurry. (I would just like to clarify that I believe it is because my book is paperback.  If I had a hardcover book with larger print…Yeah not really helping my case.)  My pedicurist asked me if my book was good and I explained why I had to put it down for a minute.  The first thing out of this girl’s mouth, “Are you in your 40′s?”. Not are you almost 40!. Or better yet, just not say anything.  I sat there stunned and thinking, “Is this girl hoping for a tip? Because that ain’t the way to get one.”  The only thing that saved the moment is that I know that one day she, too, will get to be 40! and have some young girl bust her bubble.  Of course, I will probably be dead by the time that happens.

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The Day I Lost it at the Office Max (or Teachers Really Do Hate Parents)

I have heard of these fictitious people who love to shop for school supplies.  All I see are moms with one eye on the supply list another on the kids, who are running around like mad people, and, yet, another scouring the shelf for the must have school supply.  She won’t find it, even though she has exhausted every store in the city.  She will come to you on the first day of school, wringing her hands and a small tear in her eye, and tell you that she did everything she could to find this item.  You will tell her that it is no big deal.  You can either substitute with this easy to find at any store item or you can go to this store that is only opened from 8am-9am on the third Monday of the 4th month of the 5th odd year during a lunar eclipse.    Today, against my gut feeling, I decided to become THAT mom.

Running errands with 3 kids is never fun.  It appears that if we are home for the day the kids complain.  If we leave to get some things done, the kids complain.  If their super cool and loving mom takes them to the coolest waterpark that New Orleans has ever seen they will complain.  Apparently, my kids are spoiled brats.  Well, after today they will learn what it is like to live in the olden days when parents didn’t care about their kids’ feelings.  Also known as the 80′s.  Momma is going to have a full week of watching whatever she wants,  cleaning without having to maneuver around small people, and eating when she wants.  And yes, that is a little bit of chocolate cupcake on the corner of her mouth. And no, you can’t have any!  How can I do this you ask?  The kids are punished.  Don’t worry, they will get an hour in the yard and their food will be slide through their doors at the appropriate times of day.

First let’s tackle these school supply lists.  I have had my share of tough school supplies in my day.  You can read about my first one here. Add the 3 kids and I want to stick hot pokers with the E.Coli virus on them in my eyes.  I understand that teachers have an important job, teaching our children, but does it really take 5 boxes of crayons and WASHABLE markers, 6 jumbo glue sticks, a box that measures 8 5/8 x 5 3/4 x 2 1/3 and a wire basket that measures 16 x 12 x 5 to teach the kids?  I hear in some countries it only takes a $1 a day to school a child.  Where can I get on that plan? Or are these things put on the list payback for putting up with our little demon spawns for the school year?  Teachers, be honest with me.  Just tell me that you put this weird crap on there so you can secretly watch us lose our shit in the middle of Office Max as our kids tear down the fire hoses.

Don’t think I forgot about the manufacturers of school supplies and the stores that sell them.  The teacher asks for 20 sharpened pencils, but the manufacturers make only 18 or 24 pencils.  Of course, they don’t make them all sharpened and you pay a premium for that little point on the end.  Also, can you explain to me why my 5 year old needs 60 pencils in Kindergarten?  Are you planning for them to reenact a fight scene from Game of Thrones using the pencils as small swords?  If so, I may not mind buying all the pencils, because that would be cool.  Otherwise, I am sure I will be handed 2.5 packs of pencils at the end of the school year.  Don’t scoff it has happened.  Or what about these oh so special colored notebooks that you demand request.  When I read that Amber needed a red single subject notebook and a blue 3 subject notebook I thought, “That ain’t no big deal. At least she didn’t ask for fuchsia.”  Guess what I found?  Freaking fuchsia!!  There was fuchsia everywhere, but I had to dig through a mound of notebooks to find the only red single notebook that Office Max had and even then I had to beat another mother off with my diaper bag to get it.  And the blue 3 subject notebook?  Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the baby is now working at the Office Max.  I hope to see her once she is promoted out of the stock room.  Last, but not least, please explain to me why Office Max has every fancy composition book under the sun, but no black marble composition book in all the land?  Who doesn’t have a friggin BLACK MARBLE COMPOSITION BOOK?  And why does my son need 2 of them?  He can barely write his name, I hope you are not expecting him to journal about his day.  If you are here is a sample, “Dear Diary, I am hungry.  The End.”  That is as good as it will get.

So excuse me if I lost it a bit while trying to talk to the manager about their weird sale on Crayola products when it was clearly marked on the shelves “Washable Markers” and my children decided to see if the baby can survive an attack from the exit door.  Again, I am sorry, I was DONE!  I had been to 3 stores (none of which are near each other), endured the constant stream of “I’m hungry. I have to pee.”, and the questionable lunch from Wendy’s only to discover that I still  have some shopping to do.  If I have an extra big smile on my face for the first day of school, know that I know that you think you got me, but the laugh is on you.  You will be spending 8 hours a day with my demon spawn.  Good luck with that.

 

 

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Cloth Diaper Burnout

I have a terrible confession to make.  I don’t even know how to say it.  Okay, here it goes….I AM TIRED OF WASHING DIAPERS!  Do I feel better?  Not particularly, because I know there are people out there doing their little smug “I told you so” dances.

Evie has been in cloth diapers since she was 3 months old.  I pushed through the blow outs with the prefolds until I got it right.  I pushed through the leaking of the one size pocket diapers until I got it right.  I had my washing routine down.  Then a few things started happening that put a damper on cloth diapers for me.  The first, and major, problem was the washing machine.  It is leaking and no one knows why.  SoHubby looked at it, although all that included was him lifting it up to discover there was nothing to see.  We called, and paid, a service guy to come out.  All he could tell me was that maybe I was putting too many items in the washer at once.  To which I reply, “Why the hell did I get a washer with an extra large option if it doesn’t hold extra large loads?”  Both men, SoHubby and repair man, blinked and stared at me until I threw up my hands and walked out.  To the great delight of the repair man, who doesn’t know why the washer is leaking or where the water is coming from, the guts of the washer still look good.  So when he called to ask if his brilliant advice of smaller loads (which puts a real cramp into my laundry routine) worked, I simply said, “I am going to wear this MUTHA out until it breaks completely.”  Or something to that effect.  In the mean time every time I do a load of laundry I get the equivalent of a small Mississippi River in my laundry room.  Since I don’t have something called a French drain (I assuming this is a drain that smokes cigarettes and doesn’t understand my silly American ways) I have been laying beach towels in the leaking spots and letting the river flow.  Not something I suggest to our civil engineers currently working on the rising Mississippi River problem.

Next I have been feeling overwhelmed lately.  I can’t pinpoint one thing exactly just a rush of little to major things going on that have been occupying my time to the point that if I have to dunk a poopy diaper in the toilet and run the washer 4 times at night then the dryer twice I might just go insane.  Another problem plaguing me is that my diapers are showing wear.  I guess if I was placed on a spewing butt daily for almost 2 years I would show some wear, too.  Heed my warning dear ladies, who are looking into cloth diapers, get the snaps.  Velcro is good until it is bad.  Also, they are stained.  Not that they are stained on the outside that you would see Evie and say, “GOOD GOD! What did that child sit in.”, but more on the inside where you wonder are these clean or not.  It isn’t for a lack of trying to get my diapers sparkling white, again, just Evie has had some toxic sludge doing in that region, lately.  Note: No raisins for her.  The aftermath is not pretty.

I have done the most heinous thing since I signed the cloth diaper contract, I have used disposable diapers from time to time.  This last time for 4 weeks.  It has been our little secret, but as what happens with all secrets, we were found out.  It was okay to use the disposable diapers when Evie had some rash that only Boudreaux’s  could handle.  That hippy dippy stuff made especially for cloth diapers was burning her butt, so I decided to go with the tried and true original butt paste.  Then there was the yeast that had taken up residence in the diapers that I practically needed an exorcism to remove.  After all that we were on our way until I found Target disposable diapers plus $1 off coupons.  It was a struggle, but I kept up with the cloth diapers, because that $14 could get me a few gallons of gas, right?  Then one day as I found a dirty diaper stuffed in the back almost behind the washer that I snapped and bought the devil of all crunchy mamas, disposable diapers.

I am coming to the end of the last box of disposable diapers and I am at a crossroads.  Do I buy another box, do I just hunker down and continue with the cloth diapers or should I take my own advice and just do both.  If you were a normal human being then you would just do what fits you at this moment in time and not worry about the rest, but I am me and I must torture myself until I am rocking in a corner mutter “cloth diapers” over and over to myself.  And don’t think potty training my 22 month old hasn’t crossed my mind, but if her siblings are any indication she is not ready.  Never mind the size issue.  Evie would have to wear a life preserver just to attempt to sit on the toilet at this point.  And remember the old saying, “don’t do anything that you don’t want to explain to the paramedics.”  So I think I will bite the bullet and take the heat and go through the stash of diapers, throw out the really worn ones and buy a DAMN! box of disposable diapers for when we are out and about.  Hey, I can always say, the summer is coming up and we will be home a majority of the time.  That would work, right?  Oh. Whatever! Go ahead.  Do your stupid “I told you so” dance!

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Don’t Mess with Me, Granny!

Carpool is a scary place, especially for the new mom.  I remember sitting in the theater at Amber’s old school receiving the directions for carpool.  It was like listening to the flight attendant give detail directions on how to save your life when the plane goes down because you knew the fly was going down.  I couldn’t follow what they were saying.  I was sweating.  What are they talking about?  I am going to go in where, park over where and pick up who at what time?  It was confusing and my head hurt.  Then the first day of school arrived and I fell in line like everyone else.  This was easy.  Or so I thought.  There is way more to carpooling that can’t be taught, but learned on the job.

The first few days of carpool were easy, because everyone was on their best behavior.  No one rushed.  We all made sure to take our time and watch out for our precious little snowflakes as they made their way into the building.  After about a month, it got really hairy.  As we all fell into our routine, some of us thought that we didn’t need to rush so we might have hit the snooze button one too many times.  This resulted in a few kids learning what quick reflexes meant and a few parents saying a few unsavory words.  Sorry, but when you almost hit my kid in the school parking lot, because you are late for work, you deserve to hear a few unsavory words and maybe a hand gesture or two.  This is tricky, though.  Today’s ignorant asshole in the carpool line is tomorrow’s homeroom mom.  That is an encounter you don’t want to have.  You don’t want to be stuck on a treasure hunt that leads you deep into the swamp for that one special item that the homeroom mom just has to have for the class party.  All because you cursed her out during carpool, because she clipped your precious on their way into school.   Trust me on that one.  I have learned to keep myself in check and  keep the road rage to a minimum, when in the carpool line.  Keep in mind that I am not perfect.

Then Amber started at a Catholic school.  A Catholic school that uses a public residential street for their carpool routine. We received reminders on carpool procedures, but there was a little something extra this time around.  We were reminded to not engage in Unchristian like behaviors.  Ooooooookay.  We were to remember that we had to respect those that lived around the school.  Let me stop here and explain the neighborhood around Amber’s school.  It is upper scale area and there are some elderly living in the area, who mostly go to the school church.  Also, the school has to be careful, because neighbors don’t take kindly when schools want to expand, which ours did with the new church.  Although, I don’t think you can really pin that onto the school, but the neighbors don’t see it that way.

I had done well, until today.  No big issues.  Everyone was always very cordial when allowing 2 lanes of cars to merge into the one lane of carpool.  Of course, there are a few parents that feel they have to get their kids as fast as humanly possible so they may not let you merge.  That is okay, because I am usually not in a hurry  and let’s face it, God will get them for their Unchristian like behavior.  I have always remembered to go the speed limit and watch for the walkers while driving through the hood.  I never parked on anyone’s grass (Heaven forbid) and if someone couldn’t pass (we have very small streets with very large vehicles) I was more than happy to give up my spot and go around the block.  Another point that is an obstacle is there is always some construction or landscaping going on which means more large vehicles taking up more space on small streets.

Today was the day I could have easily thrown down my Christian behavior and got very Unchrisitan in the carpool line.  It was early dismissal, which I am sure messes with the plans of the residents.  On top of that a side street was closed due to some construction/parish work going on.  We were all waiting in the carpool line and it was at a complete stop.   Not that unusual.  It takes some time for the kids to get down from class.  I take this time to catch up with Twitter.  Here is where I can hear SoHubby telling me how I need to pay attention, blah, blah, blah.  Then there is a rap on my window.  This rap belonged to a very pissed off old lady.  She is telling me to move up and straighten out.  Huh?  Wha?  There was hardly any room between me and the car in front of me, besides the line of cars behind me.  I pull up as far as I can, which seemed to piss her off more.  She is shouting at me to straighten out and what is wrong with me.  Now, I am pissed, because where the hell am I suppose to go.  Last time I checked my SUV didn’t have wings.  Here is where I say a few Unchristian things…in my car…with the window rolled up.  Why?  Because 1. I am still scared of Catholic school officials.  There may not be any nuns, anymore, but the Fear of God is still there.  2. As mean as dirt as this woman was, she was old, so not really a fair fight. and 3. I don’t need anything else to make me known as “That Mom!”.  I can do that by just being myself.

I pulled up to the curb and watch the chaos unfold in my rearview mirror.  Old lady had another old lady with her, with whom she was bitching with…at…who knows.  Old lady was then caught by surprised when she saw that the street leading her out of this hell of school children and their parents was blocked.  Oh yeah, I had a little chuckle and a take that….to myself.  This woman had no where to go, but in line with the rest of us carpoolers.  That alone gave me some satisfaction.  I will be honest, though, I had had a long day, not too happy with leaving a group of moms to pick up my child early (early dismissal seems to always land on my MOPs days) and I just wanted to lay into this woman.  Why did she pick me?  There was a long line of cars that she could have set her sights on.  Where the hell was she going in such a hurry?  I figure by the time I am that age, I really don’t care when I get somewhere and other people can wait for me.  The biggest question was what did she say when she got in the car and realized that she was still stuck like Chuck in the DAMN CARPOOL LINE?  HA!  HA!  Maybe it is okay if your Unchristian like behavior remains in your head for your own enjoyment.

Never underestimate routine days as a mom.  Around every corner there is something waiting to shake up your day.  Just make sure you don’t end up in the parish jail, because you needed to teach an old lady a lesson.  And of course, you need to always maintain your mom reputation.  You don’t ever want to be the subject of THAT conversation where you are THAT mom.  You will, however, want to be invited into that conversation so you can learn all about THAT mom and how to stay out of her way.

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The Revolt

I wish this was about all the chaos going on around the world, but nope.  It is just about the machines around me and their desire to drive me freaking insane.  I have gone on and on about how crazy it makes me that things only have a life span of less than 10 years these days.  Yeah, that’s me and I fully accept that I  sound like an old man.

Our washing machine has been leaking water from underneath.  I could handle if it was spraying me everytime I turned it on, but nope it is on sneak attack.  It doesn’t leak all the time and you only discover the leak when you walk in to move laundry to the dryer and you get a sock full of wet.  I hate wet socks!  So I did the logical thing.  I gathered a forum of mothers and discussed it.  They had the answers, except SoHubby didn’t cooperate.  He did lift up the washer machine,  matter of fact he had it up on blocks only not in the front yard, and found nothing.  Did you know that there is nothing to see under your washer?  I didn’t.  Now, I do.   So the next logical step was to call a repair man.  He arrived and found nothing wrong.  Did you get that?  FOUND. NOTHING. WRONG!  Unless you count his observation that I had too many clothes in the washer.  Damn thing still leaks, just not as much.  Yeah, that was $87 well spent.

{Let’s stop for a moment.  I have a washer with a small, medium, large, extra large and super setting for the water levels.  And you guessed it, I packed that bitch like there was no tomorrow.  Do you know how much laundry 5 people make?  Correction. Do you know how much laundry the 3 little people make?  Amber is auditioning to be the next Cher, because she goes through multiple costume changes for the day.  I try to make laundry go as fast and efficient as possible.  Well, the repair man said that this is what was causing the leak.  I relented and started doing the half loads, which makes me shake my head, because what the hell are the last 2 water level settings for it I can’t stuff that bitch?  I would, also, like to point out this would be the time SoHubby decided to call me lazy in front of the repairman. The laugh was on him, because the repairman was impress that I was a wife that cooked.  I stopped the conversation there, because I don’t need anyone else’s drama.  We are all full up here. }

Next to go down was my laptop.  I still blame SoHubby for this one.  If he wouldn’t have touched it, it would still be alive today.  I sent it over to Geek Squad and they gave me the call.  Miss, your laptop is fried and we can fix it for about the same amount as buying a new one.  I would have been more upset about this if 1.I haven’t wanted a new computer for a long time. and 2. I didn’t save all the pictures on an external hard drive.  See there is some movement upstairs.  Still sucks having to learn new things and recreate the few Word docs that run my life, because, again, I am an old man and hate change.  I will scratch my butt and grumble about it for days just to prove it.

A few of the other things that decided to say screw this working nonsense and go on early retirement: the mighty Suburban blew it’s water pump. It has served us well, but choosing the time I am dropping Amber off at school was not the time to let me know it needed a little attention.  I think I blogged about the MayTag refrigerator .  If not, it is because  I have blocked that whole situation out.  Ice chests maybe okay for vacation or a hurricane, but not on a daily basis during regular times.  Smoke still comes out of my ears when I think of it.  Freakin computer blows.  In a freakin refrigerator.  You know the thing that keeps food cold.  Why the hell does my refrigerator need a computer.  Maybe if it was so smart with it’s computer and all it could make a dinner that my kids would actually eat.  It took everything I had not to beat the repairman when he suggested a surge protector for the FREAKIN REFRIGERATOR.  The oven which decided to stop, you know, heating.  Like the only reason you have an oven.

I just can’t take anymore revolts.  I mean if you have grievances, come to me, let me know what you need for us to work in harmony and I will take it under consideration before I laugh in your face.  You bitches work for me and I don’t like when things don’t work.  My kids learn new words when things don’t work.  Okay, they may learn new words other times, too, but that is not the point!  Machines were put here to serve and serve they shall.  Or maybe I will just cry in a corner and pray that the next thing to go doesn’t actually blow the house up.

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Lemme Tell You About My Day

Today had potential to be a good day.  We got to sleep in an extra hour and 45 minutes and there was a chance of  sneaking in a little shopping for myself since I was going to be out all day, anyway.  Little did I know.

I wake up refreshed from sleeping in an extra hour and 45 minutes (just had to said it again, because it was so glorious and rare), ready for the day.  I was going to face any challenges that may come my way and beat them with a smile.  Within a mere 15 minutes I am running late.  No big deal, I would just have to skip some routine grooming.  No eyebrows or fashion for me today.  Not a big deal. On the bright side, I had gotten all the clean laundry put away and wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore.  Well…until the mountain of laundry that would be waiting for me when I got home in the evening. No matter, the day was bright and had potential, right?

Even though I had skipped some regular grooming, we still had to hustle.  I ran downstairs shooing kids into the car while throwing breakfast (for me) and snacks (for Evie) in the diaper bag.  There was some hairy moments when Sam played his little cry-whine-I-want-a-hug-from-Daddy-and-if-I-don’t-get-it-I-will-just-DIE! game.  After a happy, yet, slightly annoyed COME ON! from me we were on our way.  Thankfully the bridge was not packed with traffic and I didn’t have to threaten to throw myself off of it to just get to the bottom of it.  Once we hit the bottom, I texted Sam’s speech therapist to assure her that we were on our way, we would just be a few minutes late.  Success!  We made it to Speech only a minute late.  My punishment for this crime?  No parking.  No big deal.  I would just squeezed into the end of the row only hanging slightly into the street. No one was killed, so the day still had potential, right?

After speech I rush Sam into the car, race him to his school and then off to the eye doctor for Amber.  This is the reason we got to sleep in this morning.  Amber had an eye appointment after her Spanish teacher recommended she get some glasses.  It seems that Amber has been complaining that she can’t see the board.  However, she complains to the teachers and not really to us, her parents.  The reason for that?  Well, it doesn’t look so good for me.  Knowing that my daughter is a bit of a drama queen, I asked her if she REALLY had trouble seeing or was she looking for some attention.  You see Amber doesn’t miss any day of school.  She is rarely sick and I do my best to make all appointments during non-school hours.  Well, this is not cool to a 3rd grader, especially when she sees her friends getting pulled out of school on a regular basis.  So, basically in her 8.5 yr old mind she is missing out on something when in reality she is not missing out on anything.  However, in a very blank mom moment, I made her appointment in the morning.  It doesn’t help that on our way out the door, this morning, her father reminded her that she would be in trouble if this was all a ploy to be more like Harry Potter.  You guessed it, folks, my daughter is near sighted.  She can’t see the board from her seat in the second row and I am the biggest ass in the world, today.  No big deal, right?  There is always tomorrow where someone else has a turn to be the biggest ass.  Still things are not so bad.  The appointment is moving smoothly, except for the rotten smell coming from Evie’s butt and the fact that I had just changed her diaper a mere 5 minutes ago. Amber was going to get to school with some decent learning time left.  We were on track.  Then the first brick hit me in the face, $250 for glasses.  For a child. Little glasses.  That will probably be broken, lost, scratched, etc. within the first day of receiving them.  There is a reason I keep Amber’s possessions under a certain dollar amount, the girl would lose her head and not notice for a good couple of hours. I am not putting her down; just telling the truth.  I have seen the girl walk into walls, because she was too busy looking at something shiny.  And no that is not a joke or exaggeration.  So I get the warranty and we go on our way, just a little lighter in the wallet area.  That seals it, I better find another way to kill some time before picking up Sam instead of shopping.  Oh well, I knew that this child rearing was dirty business, although I never truly grasped how expensive children could be,  before.  OUCH!! I guess in my state of sticker shock, I forgot my phone.  It always happens.  You get everyone buckled into their respective carseats and BAM!!  you notice you forgot something.  Luckily, the people who work in the doctor’s office are saints and one of them brought me my phone (my life line to sanity).

We race through a drive through, since Amber had missed lunch, and get her to school before noon.  Doctor’s note explaining why she was wearing great grandmother’s Blublockers handed and filed in the office which meant Evie and I had 2 hours to kill before the afternoon race began.  We grabbed a little lunch at the SAHMs favorite hangout, Chick-fil-A and then ran a few little errands.

Everything was running smoothly in the afternoon race until we stopped at our normal gas station (minus Transsexuals today) for a snack.  Evie only had one shoe.  She had 2 when I last put her in her carseat.  She had 2 tucked under each arm the last time I turned around and checked on her, but alas there was only one shoe when I went to get her out.  The kids and I torn apart the back 2 rows and couldn’t find the other shoe.  Then it hits me.  Evie loves to take her shoes off whether it be 20 below or 120. The socks and shoes come off as soon as she gets in her seat.  No big deal the other kids did the same thing, except Evie loves to fling her shoes and socks around the car.  I figured that she had thrown her shoe between the door and the seat and when Amber opened the door to get in during carpool the shoe fell out onto the street.  After getting a snack, I race back to Amber’s school only to NOT find the shoe.  The anger bubbling up inside of me, I tell Amber to check lost and found when she goes to school, tomorrow, and I give Evie the stink eye, again, for good measure.  Earlier I had told her that we don’t throw our shoes outside of the car to which she pushed her bottom lip out and gave me puppy eyes.  Didn’t work this time, because this time I would be judge for taking my beginning walker out of the house without shoes.  What kind of mother does that?  I mean what kind of mother dare have her kid walk around on dirty floors with only her socks on?  Well, a mom who has a child that is trying out to be the next pitcher of the Zephrs. We make it to gymnastics where there is not one parking space to be found and large SUVs double parked everywhere.  I kick let Amber out and drive down the road a bit to calm down.  I, finally, make it back to the gymnastics parking lot to illegally park in a spot reserved for another business and sit.  Sam had fallen asleep, so Evie and I sit and relax for 45 minutes.  The day was not shaping up and I was losing my patience.

Sam wakes up whining, which just sets me off.  WHAT?! He has to go to the bathroom.  GREAT! It is pouring down rain and freezing.  I have to assess the situation, do I want to clean a pee filled booster seat or do I want to get a little wet?  Okay, everyone out and get under the umbrella.  Of course, Sam walks everywhere but under the umbrella and complains he is wet and cold.  I am trying to hold onto Evie, the diaper bag and umbrella.  We make it into the building where I close my umbrella and leave it in the foyer where the other wet umbrellas laid.  We all go do our business while Amber sits up front.  Ready to go home and have this day end, I walk to the foyer only to find not one umbrella left.  WAIT!  What the hell just happened?  Isn’t it etiquette that when you leave your wet umbrella at the front of a place no one takes it?  Did I miss a memo?  Amber then informs me that a woman had asked a girl at the desk if she could take an umbrella to go to her car to get her umbrella.  The girl said, “sure”.  Of course, she said sure, IT WASN’T HER DAMN UMBRELLA!  Here I am with 3 kids looking out the window for this woman who took my umbrella.  I see no one.  A man, sensing my aggravation, almost offers me his umbrella, but I stop him.  I want MY UMBRELLA!  Look I know umbrellas are a some what disposable item.  I have lost many over the years.  However, I found one that is the right size and opens with one button.  There is a reason that it remains in my car at all times.  Finally, I see a woman get out of a van with MY UMBRELLA!  She is walking up the stairs with MY UMBRELLA where I meet her with my GO AHEAD MESS WITH ME STARE.  She timidly ask, “Is this your umbrella” and asks, “do you need it?”  Here is where my day just crumbles into a big heap unto itself.  It takes every fiber of my being to just answer, “YES!”, instead of “HELL YEAH, BITCH!”.  I am still Southern, afterall.  So she runs back to get her umbrella from the car, because you doesn’t want to get wet.  Imagine that. At this point, I give up.  The day has beaten me and I was ready to just go home and crumble.  We pile into the car, Amber and Sam wet because they can’t, for the life of them, walk with me under the umbrella, Evie with her one shoe and me totally defeated.  Almost immediately the fighting in the third seat begins and it continues until I decide to blow the air horn (Oh, yes, I bought an air horn.  I saw them at the Dollar Store and decided this would be the perfect thing to break up the constant fights in the car. It works…for a minute and then it is business as usual.) The rest of the night is filled with alternating between doing laundry, making dinner, getting kids baths, reading books, taking care of bloody noses, answering a million questions about Harry Potter and glasses (sometimes related, sometimes not), doing dishes and not completely falling apart.  Tomorrow better be a hell of a lot better or I am going to junk punch someone.

 

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