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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Vacation, a State of Mind?

It is summertime, so you know what that means?  The summer vacation stories are coming out of the mouths of neighbors, friends, and moms of your kids’ classmates.  There are stories of cruises, beaches and lands far, far away.  I listen with a smile on my face to hide my all encompassing envy.  This will be year number 3 of no vacation for us.  It really should be number 4, but we bit the bullet and took a vacation in 2009 for a family wedding and reunion.  I know in the grand scheme of things this is pretty low on the pity list.  And in the grand scheme of things our life this summer is not bad.

To be totally honest I don’t know if I really want a vacation.  Now, I should admit that if someone offered great childcare so that SoHubby and I could go on a fabulous no cares vacation I would be drooling and packed before they could say, “The kids are fine.”  That is a long shot.  Any vacation right now would involve cranky kids, a husband connected to electronic gadgets and one stressed out mom.  Which makes me think that we have been conditioned to WANT a vacation.  Who really wants to pack for 5 people, cram everyone into a car for hours, listen to kids fight over who didn’t touch whom and then do it in reverse with the prize being a mountain of laundry.  Sure there are good times to be had in between, but is it worth the money, time and aggravation to take this freak show on the road?  I say, NO.

My goal for summer, as the kids have gotten older. is to keep them just busy enough as to not want to kill each other.  At the point of wanting to shove the kids in their rooms for the rest of their lives, we are off to a schedule activity or the pool.  Oh the pool, it has miracle powers.  It makes children stop fighting and tired.  Some have said our schedule is crazy.  I say it is the only thing keeping us sane.  We have cabbage ball (it is larger than a softball and hirlarious to watch small children run around like crazed research monkeys who just escaped from the lab), Ta Kwon Do (where small children beat the hell out of each other), gymnastics (the de-energizer) , and library storytime (aka another adult entertains your child while you play on your smartphone).  Then there is the glorious pool.  I joined the fitness center for the pool.  You could easily kill 2/3 hours at the pool and not even blink.  The pool is the saving grace of summer.  The bonus is that if I can throw myself out of bed early enough in the morning, I can have a couple of hours of childfree time.  You would be amazed what an hour on the treadmill watching Will and Grace can do for your mood.  It is no Disney cruise, but our schedule full of activities is making summer much less torture chamber bidding time before school starts and more I can’t kill you today, because it is POOL TIME!

I don’t know how the kids feel about any of this.  I think Amber is the only one that really remembers us taking regular vacations.  Although, Amber and Sam both talk about the family reunion in Tennessee often.  Sam is heavily influenced by the commercials.  I simply pat him on the head and say maybe someday we will go to Atlantis.  Evie has no clue.  I think her first real hotel stay was our recent cheer competition in Biloxi, MS.  That sets the bar really low for her.  It does hurt some to tell the kids that we won’t be doing Disney anytime soon, but look at the stuff I have to distract them with.  The one thing I can say with certainty is that their summers are a 100 times better than any of my summers as a kid.  So we will stay home and keep with our activity heavy schedule to keep us busy during the summer.  If you pass me and wonder what is behind that smile on my face, just know that I am thinking no packing, no mountainous laundry, no long car rides with screaming kids, no cranky off routine kids and I get to sleep in my own bed at night.  It isn’t quite the same as a beach front condo on the beach of Destin, but I know for sure I won’t be eaten by a shark.

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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 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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One Day Runs Into Another

Yesterday evening, while giving a color consult, it hit me, I am failing at this 3 kid thing.  There we sat at my friend’s dining room table looking over cosmetics while Evie whined and Sam fought with his friend.  My friend and I were discussing her daughter’s Halloween costume and she mentioned that it was red day at Sam’s school.  Her daughter attends the same school, but is younger.  In my head everything stopped.  What do you mean it was RED DAY?  I thought RED DAY was last Friday?  I quickly look over at Sam’s outfit, picked out by him, for the day and realize that there was not one speck of red to be found on him.  You know that the simple act of not putting a piece of red clothing on my son told ever teacher and parent at his school  that his mom is a big fat FAILURE! *sigh*

The school is on top of things.  They send out a calendar with the month’s events, but obviously  I need a sledgehammer to the head to remember.  I had sent Sam in his brand new red school shirt LAST Friday and was focused on not forgetting his snack day on Monday.  OH. GOD. IF. I. FORGET. SNACK DAY!  I was going to do everything in my power to not scar him for life by not having a snack for him to share.  And add to that our, yes our, first snack was not going to be store bought.  THE HORROR OF IT ALL!!  Don’t start handing out the medals just yet, I am making mini muffins with the help of a “just add milk” mix and my mini muffin pan.  And to really make sure Sam is a big hit, they are chocolate chip muffins. To add to the top of this failure cake, I forgot to print out family pictures for him to bring to school for a project.  I had every intention of doing it. Well, I had every intention of making SoHubby do it, because his printer is better and he is the photo printer person in the house.  Then he went out of town for business, recently, and it was totally forgotten.  Don’t even ask about the argument that almost happened regarding this subject until something distracted us like world war III going on in the playroom.

Now with 3 kids, 2 in school, I look back to when it was just Amber.  Things were so much simpler.  I had all the time to prepare and always be ready.  I was able to be room mother and take hours to make sure everything was just right.  Although, I will say I have learned that kids are simple and the simpler the better where they are concerned. Which makes the pressure a bit better until you factor in the moms.  Oh it is a never ending competition, although I think it only occurs in my head, no matter how much smiling and niceness is involved.  Most times I don’t even notice that I am participating until I am in the baking aisle in the grocery store trying to find the healthiest, quickest, most non-store bought mix on the shelf.  Then once I have been reduced to a heap of crying mess I grab our favorite muffin mix and scream to the heavens, “I AM ONLY ONE PERSON!”  Yeah, I am a favorite at our local grocery store.

Let’s not even discuss the guilt of not helping Evie more with her therapy.  She has a Special Instructor and an Occupational Therapist every Monday.  A little of the pressure was taken off when it was revealed to me that I don’t actually have to sit with her for the whole appointment and that it might even be better if she didn’t see me.  Hallelujah!  You mean I can actually have that hour to get something done.  Thank you!  However, since it is school time, again, our time is spent mostly in the car.  There is an hour between drop offs or there is Sam’s speech therapy where there is no choice but to spend the 30 minutes waiting in the car.  Then it is a rush home where Evie usually takes a nap, eats lunch and then it is off for pick up.  So you can see there is not much time to let her roam the house, practice pulling up, crawling and getting her use to motion (the OT has determined that she has some fear with certain motions, so we are suppose to do these motions with her while she screams and we laugh, because it is fun, DAMMIT!)

Not to mention the birthday parties that have rolled in at an alarmingly rate.  I have no idea who I have RSVPed to and where we are going.  We have 3 today, but have had to turn down one, because we just can’t be in 2 places at one time.  I hear that is impossible.  It is a hard balance between having the kids involved with their friends, or in Sam and Amber’s current case make new friends, and just having down time.  October is fast approaching and the kids have demanded the Pumpkin party, again, this year.  I have been trying to push the thought out of my head, because I have all the time in the world, right?  Wrong!  Now, I have just started a whole new panic.  *sigh*

Don’t think any of this is better on SoHubby.  He is trying to balance working his businesses and spending time with the kids.  Today he is trying to make a 3 hour trip happen before he has to take Sam to his first ever class mate birthday party, because I simply can’t do it.  I am taking the girls to a party for one of Amber’s friends.  There is just not enough time.  I can only see the future getting more hectic with the younger kids getting into activities along with Amber’s current activities.  So give us parents with more than one kid a break.  We are trying.  Sorry we forgot to RSVP to your kid’s party, but the baby’s diaper explode all over the car and I forgot RED DAY!  Sorry, I didn’t get the candy grams in on time, but the older one lost her allowance money at school and is having a mini meltdown.  Sorry, I forgot the family pictures, but we are lucky we have pictures of all the kids.  I am not asking you to totally forgive all our mishaps, but to just get out of the way when our tornado comes through.  Because I am late to Sam’s speech therapy and I am on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

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Our Rainy Day Summer

Every mother has guilt.  It is one of the first things we get when we see those pink little lines.  I have done my best to push guilt aside, because it gets you no where, except maybe on a therapist couch or down at the toy store handing over your paycheck.  No where productive, anyway.  I have huge guilt hanging over me this summer.  It is hot, I am huge and the kids have much unleashed energy. 

I have high expectations after the kids are in bed, which is usually the easiest time to have high expectations.  I promise myself we will make cookies, play games, go to the park, etc.  Then morning comes, usually at 230am, and all those promises fly out the window along with any hope of getting a decent night’s sleep.  I can’t really blame Amber for getting up so early in the morning, because why not start your day of nothing as early as possible?  And it is totally lost on her that if she just let her parents sleep until 8 am that maybe we wouldn’t be so annoyed with her most of the day.  I know that is not really an excuse and we should act like adults, but do you know how hard all that is, especially with a golden head jumping bean rattling off questions and demands at you at 5am?  Pretty damn hard. 

So I try my best to, at the very least, be patient and accommodating within the confines of our home. Then I read posts like this and this and start to think that maybe I should send these bloggers a little FedEx care packages.  My kids!!  Because, obviously these people have found summer nirvana and we are stuck in some hot suck hole that produces nothing but heat and suckage.  Everytime I read these blogs, I sit in wonderment and ask where did they find these neighborhoods with their overflowing friendly adults, matching age kids and fun, fun, fun.  Truth be told, I get the sinking feeling that even if we lived in this type of hood I would probably still keep to myself out of fear of being overbearing.  I do have a boy my son’s age, but rarely call on his mother, because I don’t want her to think I am taking advantage.  I don’t need to be That Woman in the neighborhood.  I do have to wonder how will this affect my kids, only being around each other and me.  There is no one to ship them off to, like when I was young and went to my grandparents.  I find summer camps ridiculously overpriced babysitting operations.  And setting them loose in the backyard only releashes their inner door operation specialists. 

It is just unwise to leave the job of social director up to a socially inept 8 month pregnant woman.  In regular times, meaning those when I am not knocked up, I make the best effort I can.  There are swimming lessons, outings and playing in the Easy Set pool in the backyard.  This time I can hardly make the effort to make them lunch everyday.  It does help a bit that Amber seems so gung ho to make lunch for her and her brother.  Although, I think there is a FDA limit on the consumption of hotdogs by growing humans. 

I tell myself that this is just one summer and next summer we will back into the swing of things, but then I flash back to when I was pregnant with Sam and said the same thing.  Guilt is a hard mistress to get rid of.  She seems to always being lurking around the corner ready to ruin a perfectly good day.  I wonder why logic never seems to be as good a mistress as guilt.  Maybe because logic is too busy just being instead of worrying about the affects she will have on everyone around her.  I guess logic is more of a giver whereas guilt is more of a self-centered whore.

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NO Mardi Gras for You!!!

As you can see I took down the float from my header, because I felt like a fraud.  While we went to Bacchus, last year, I doubt we will make any parades this year.  I always have high hopes that I will be able to make all the kids’ wishes come true and we will see a real live Mardi Gras parade, instead of forcing them to watch them on TV on Tuesday.  But life gets in the way, like, employees don’t always stay, mom is tired from being fat and pregnant, it is a little too chilly, we have to get a lawnmower, RIGHT THIS MINUTE, and a ton of other things that get in the way of all that fun. 

I feel bad for the kids, especially whenever we pass the decorations and Sam yells, Mawdi Graw!  Mommy, or all the stories that Amber hears from the kids at school.  Of course, we have good intentions when the little crumb snatchers bring on the guilt, but again life gets in the way, like SoHubby having to keep the business up and running during the busiest time of the year.  We will probably not see him again until next Wednesday from being stuck in the non-stop parade traffic that plagues the area.   

There is still hope that one day in the near future when the kids are older, and listen when we yell at them not to run under the moving floats, to sit out all day waiting on the big and important parades, but at this moment I don’t have the strength.  I just can’t sit on a corner somewhere, fighting for my space, wiping noses, changing diapers on the street, making sure the kids don’t wander off,  bringing enough food to feed a small army so we don’t have to buy the crappy street food or lose our spot and answering the non-stop questioning of when the parade will be here just for them to fall asleep just as the parade starts.  Maybe a ride on the shiny new lawnmower, tomorrow, will be the same.  I think we can even arrange for Daddy to throw beads at them whenever he passes.

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A Dingo ate my Baby!!

 

R.I.P. Cleo
We loved you a lot and will forever miss you.

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MY Problem with Blogging

I found myself in the middle of Starbucks semi-yelling toward my husband about another contest I lost and how it must be rigged and it is no fair that she gets all these readers while I sit in oblivion.  I might as well have been my 2 year old son stomping his feet and screaming because I wasn’t getting exactly what I thought I deserved.  Seeing as I have a little more time on this earth over my son, I am scared by that statement: “Getting what I deserve”.  Do I really want what I deserve and what the hell would it be that I deserve?  Maybe it is not a million page views a month, but a deadly computer virus that jumps from my screen and eats my face.

When I pressed that button at the top of the Blogger page, I thought a blog would be a nice place to write some of my thoughts.  As I pointed out in one of my first posts, my usual place on the Net wasn’t cutting it.  Beside, I could control this little part of the Interweb.  Oh, how wrong and naive I was/am.  I can control what I write, but not what others do.  And after that realization, maybe I am more happy with being in my little corner going unnoticed.  I have come to the conclusion that I am neither a Blogger nor a writer.  I am a woman with kids who knows how to type words and get it onto the Internet.  Let’s face there are 5 yr olds doing it and probably better.

Sure it is hard to feel all great about being invisible when you read all the great posts about BlogHer.  I mean there were parties, shopping, nude bathing, and merriment overfilling the streets of San Francisco.   Then the reality kicks in and I know exactly what I would have been doing at the conference: becoming majorly lost, not speaking for fear a bone would fly out and knock out one of the GOOD bloggers, I would never nude bathe with anyone, and I would generally be in bed by 8pm, because I don’t drink and I get really tired in my old age.  But again, it didn’t squelch those feelings of missing out on something big.  I do have tentative plans to make it to the whatever it is BlogHer is bringing to New Orleans, but I make no promises.  And I  don’t know if I will be wearing my daring SoBloU shirts.  I think maybe it would be nice to meet some bloggers that actually live within swinging a dead cat distance.  (So please, pretty please with a cherry on top, if you live in this area and blog consider going.  If only to point and laugh at the girl chasing a wayward toddler wearing a totally inappropriate shirt.  I can’t guarantee that I will talk to you, but I will be wishing I was you.)

I stumbled upon some, hmmmmm…how should I put it, anti blogs.  That makes me feel all warm and gushy inside.  The thought is brought up time and time, again, and not just on these blogs, that those that get money from their blogs, and are mommybloggers, are exploiting their children.  I don’t know how much I agree with that, but it does cause me to pause.  I write about my kids, I show pictures of them and I think I might have shown them in a couple of embarrassing moments,.  However, I don’t make any money off of them, so what does that make me?  A stupid woman?  A whore without a purpose? Or a really sad shell of a human being?  Let’s think on that.  I do wish I would have given this blogging thing more thought, and maybe found more of a purpose other than my kids.  I can’t even lie and say this is a blog to keep in touch with far away family, because seriously, do you think I would ever talk like this toward my family?  The only reason they know about this blog is because my husband, apparently, doesn’t know what, KEEP THIS TO YOURSELF means.

I have my kids on here, because I am surround by them all day and they give me a run for my money, literally and figuratively, EVERY. FREAKIN. DAY.  I have realized that this parenting thing maybe one of the cruelest things that Mother Nature could have ever thought up.  First we go through MAJOR changes to bring this little bundle of noise joy into our lives, then we are suppose to train them to not need us as soon as possible and guess what if we do our jobs right, they don’t need us and live happily ever after.  This process seems to take time, but, as many have told me, not as much time as one would believe.  We teach them to walk and talk and it is all downhill from there.  They are telling us NO!! a million times a day, they are constantly walking away from us, and they definitely don’t need us as much as they use.  Then there are the conversations that we get into that as a grown adult I have to wonder what the hell is going on here.  I went to college and I am debating about Hannah Montana or SpongeBob.  We do have political talks every now and then, but it is usually Amber asking how many days until election day and spotting an Obama t-shirt at Wal-Mart.  I understand that this, too, will change and I have never done well with change.  Just ask my husband who has had to talk me off that ledge many a time before.  However, after all this, I don’t think I am a mommyblogger, because if I am not a blogger then how could I be a mommyblogger?

I just get the feeling that maybe this little selfish part I have for myself is too much of a sacrifice for my kids.  Then again, can’t I just delete it and move on with my life.  I mean my family is not getting supported from this, HA!!.  Sorry had to laugh, because if that was the case we would be homeless stealing Internet connections.  I hope to move on to more lofty ambitions when all my kids are in school.  And I don’t need money to know I contribute to my family and my husband understands this as well.  I do think I need a little pat on the back on occasion.  It is just hard to have someone roll their eyes at the mention of your blog and then start her own, only do to it bigger and better.  It makes me stop to pick the bugs out of my teeth while I eat her dust. 

I know this, I will never be famous in any shape of form.  I will leave that up to my husband.  I will never have the most hits in the blogosphere, because, to put it bluntly, I don’t have that much energy.  The sad fact is I wish it would have fallen in my lap, but what I am discovering is that I would only like the good stuff, please, and none of the bad.  Maybe I will be happy with my little corner and keep entering these freakin contest, hoping to win or give up altogether and just buy the damn prizes, already.  DOH!!  I guess they have won, anyway.

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Summer Update 7: I Survived

Amber hates our dates night.  So much so, that you would think that when we leave we will never come back and she will have to live the rest of her life with MawMaw.  I haven’t told her, but I think if she just took a minute to thinkabout it, it wouldn’t be such a bad setup.  MawMaw tires easily and is quick to give in.  This pass week, with our visitor, I had decided that it would be better to take her along with us.  This led Amber to more hysterics, because why does Teen get to go and not her.  Well, because I am a horrible mother hell bent on destroying my daughter’s life.  That’s why.  Of course, Daddy rushes in and becomes Amber’s knight in shining armor.  And they say those only appear in fairy tales.  He promised her that they would have a date day, to which Amber excitedly replied, “Wewillgettogotoamovieanddinnerjustlikeyouandmommy!!”  Yes, all in one breath.  It would later evolve into date day with Sam, as well,  where he would be dragged on the big day of fun with Daddy leaving the evil mother (that would be me, if you have lost track) home all by her lonesome.  YIPPEE!!!

Saturday night, after a long day of dropping off Teen and cramming other errands in, I felt a little sickness afoot.  Sunday, I awoke feeling like the living dead, except that wasn’t enough and someone decided to kick my ass, too.  I think I have traced it back to the half eaten brownie that my daughter had gnawed on before rejecting.  It was the last of the brownies and I just had to have it.  Well, I think my little carrier monkey gave me the crud.  Like always, the crud for kids is pretty much nothing, but for adults it leaves you immobile and very cranky.  Oh lucky day, I get to stay home all day feeling like death warmed over while the kids and Dad get to have buckets of fun.

The agenda:
Church
Brunch with friends
Movie
Dinner at Shogun, which has become Amber’s favorite restaurant because all the Asian ladies called her, Princess on her and Daddy’s last date night.  It helped that she had on her very puffy dress and every piece of toy jewelry she could find.
Home

Somehow, George managed to work in some leftover work he needed to get done and a trip down to Da Parish.  Needless to say, I was not happy about it, but decided not to give him too much grief.  I recieved various status reports and while the children were well behaved, George claimed to be tired.  Oh, poor baby is tired.  Welcome to my world, muthasucka!

Me?  I laid around wishing for death and watching a few movies that are inappropriate for wee ones.  On the showing list:
Old School:  You my BOY, Blue!!  And Will Ferrell, you are the master. 
Love Actually:  The best love story that was ever made.  Those British are funny, with all their weird accents and insulting everyone left and right.  Maybe the Revolutionary War was just a misunderstanding of words between us colonists and those squirrelly Brits.  Nah!
My Cousin Vinny:  More funny speaking humans.  Marisa Tomei really deserved that Oscar for that movie.  Favorite line:  It’s called disclosure, DICKHEAD!!  Well, you know it is better if she said it.

The day would conclude with me greeting the kids home with hugs and kisses, because I missed them, then quickly realizing why I needed a day off.  Only next time, God, when you answer one of my prayers make sure I am as not sick as a lab monkey.  Thanks.

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Today, I woke up worse than yesterday.  I had hoped and prayed that it was a 24 hour thing, but sadly God doesn’t answer prayers of those who don’t go to church come hell, high water and massive mucus build up.  Oddly I did have the energy and will power to clean house.  Needless to say, we missed swim class, because hey who wants to be in cold water in the hot humid summer while your head is as filled as a zit ready to pop.  Then there is the fact that no one wants to be near you, your dripping nose and swim in your snot.  I think I made the right decision.  However, I knew that I needed to get out of the house at some point.

I had a hankering for fish.  Not just any fish, but Zea’s Trout Lafitte.  Oh, the creamy sauce with huge lightly fried shrimp swimming over a perfectly grilled fillet of trout.  One thing I didn’t realize was that it was “Be a Huge Asshole Day” at Target.  First, no parking spot to be found.  No big deal, I am willing to walk, even if I am half-dead and craving fish flesh.  A new kind of zombie.  I do not like finding a parking spot in the vicinity of Timbuktu only to have to push 2 carts out of the way and then to the cart corral.  Oh yeah, I am nice like that.  Of course, you know I cursed the sonabitch that left them there.  I thought of just leaving them in the middle of the parking lot, but then I got a glimpse of Karma having someone hitting said carts right smack into my car. So, I walked my sick ass pushing 2 carts and guiding 2 wayward children away from certain death by car.  Our journey wasn’t quite over as we stood at the edge of the parking lot waiting to cross to get to the restaurant.  Not one rude ass muthafucker stopped to let us pass.  There were old men barely able to see driving at top speed, there was the stupid bitch oblivious to the world around her on the phone and just random assholes not willing to stop for a mere 20 seconds so we could cross.  So, if the kids and I wanted to eat we had to make a run for it.  I held onto Sam’s hand tight and instructed Amber to RUN FOR HER LIFE!  I am proud to announce that we made it safely to the restaurant and enjoyed our meal.

While at Target, I got a neti pot .  (Oh wait, how did I just make it to Target?  Well, the restaurant is in a mall that has a Target, duh.  Keep up will ya.)  I get these sinus problems often and my friend has told me many times to get this little marvel of the times gone by and all will be better.  I think I need more practice.  First, I had to ask the Pharmacist for one, which made me wonder if I really wanted this device.  You know anything behind the Pharmacist counter should be handle with care and by a professional.  I am capable of neither. 

Then, I use it.  Holy mother of God.  One must remember to leave one’s mouth open.   I forgot and paid dearly.  This leads to much choking and disorientation.  I didn’t see any mucus removal, but there was much tearing and tasting of salt water.  The kids, of course, gathered around to watch the spectacle that is their mother.  I mean how many times do you see your mother make a little pot of salt water tea and then proceed to shove it up her nose to only watch it drain out the other side.  If this was back in the olden days, I would be proclaimed a witch and burned at the stakes.  Anything for some relief.  Afterwards, I did feel a little bit better, but suddenly I could hear the ocean in my ears. 

Another helpful reliever of my sinus problems is the Coke Icee.  And you don’t need a prescription, just a freakin place that doesn’t have their machine on defrost.  I stopped at 2 Burger Kings, my regular dealer supplierplace to get an Icee.  What the hell is going over there?  At 2pm in the afternoon, both places were packed.  Did someone get the munchies all at the same time?  Oh, but I remembered, hey, I could use some gas and they sell Icees at my local gas station. What I found when I entered was not Icee, but something called Snoee.  What the fuck?  Well, I was desperate and much like the drug addict who will smoke oregano when faced with no hope, I went straight for it.  Wasn’t bad.

Our gas station has recently be taken over by a large group called, Brothers.  They are forgein.  Don’t ask me where they are from, because I don’t care as long as they have some form of my drug beverage of choice.  I asked the guy at the counter if they were still going to sell Shell gas.  He said, “Chicken?”  ”No,” I say “Shell gas.  Are you still going to sell Shell gas?”  Unintelliable, “we will have a kitchen over there,” he replied  I give him the money and wonder if I have gone deaf, like someone else, or if I am just crazy from the sickness.  I chosen  to believe he doesn’t speak the English too well and go about my business. 

Next stop to drop off my directionally challenged daughter at gymnastic class.  I don’t normally just drop Amber off, but I was way past due on my oil change and thought my hour sitting trying to see her class alllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll the way in the back would be better spent getting said oil change.  I told Amber to take off her dress, get out of the car and go into the building.  The first thing my lovely daughter does is go the wrong way.  The gym is in an industrial area and there are many large trucks barreling through the parking lot.  I promptly yelled, as she had already made it about 2 offices down, for her to get her lily white heiney back here .  Then I noticed that her leotard is on backwards.  Good Lord!!  Help this girl make it through her elementary years.

I hopped out of the car giving Amber an earful as I stripped her down in the back of the Sub to right her leotard and get her going in the right direction.  Ah, unseemly, maybe, but sometimes you got to do what’s you got’s to do.  I informed her that she was headed in the wrong direction and maybe she would have more fun, if, you know, she didn’t go into the office furniture store but into the gym.  My completely blonde little girl, without a clue, shrugged her shoulders and, finally, made it to the correct door.

It was a long mucus filled day with many adventures.  One I am happy is over.  Now, onto the next day where I hope we will find ourselves at swim class or have us swimming far into the winter months.  *sigh*  My life, can someone stop it so I can get off?

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