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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Rules for an Enjoyable Summer.

I considered the title of Summer Rules, but then you would think I have lost my damn mind.  No, these are rules for my children so that they can have an enjoyable summer and I can make it through summer without my eye twitching uncontrollably.

1. SHUT THE DAMN DOOR!  Look, I went through this with my parents and, now, it is your turn.  Just for the sake of all our sanity shut the freaking door.  It isn’t really that hard and you will save the screaming…at the lizards and frogs that seem to think an opened door is an invitation to come on in and make themselves at home. If I have to come eye to eye with a lizard when I sit down on the sofa to relax, I am going to go homicidal.  On the lizard, of course.

2. Clean up after yourselves.  It is not that hard.  No one cleaned up after you at school and no one will do it at home for you.  What am I? Your mother?  Oh wait!…Scratch that.  I am not your maid, so if you keep missing your mouth while eating or drinking then clean it up.  Summer will be much better without me having a coronary everytime you spill something.

3. Just know that since I gave birth to you and you are at an age where you are capable of doing certain things that means you are my slave.  I know, I know, the Constitution outlawed slavery, but what the government doesn’t know won’t hurt me.  And let’s be honest here, I am doing the bulk of the workload, anyway.  I don’t need to add an hour long discussion on the merits of you taking out the trash to my workload.  Take it out and then you can plant your butt back on the sofa and watch your show while I  continue EVERYTHING ELSE THAT NEEDS TO BE DONE!

4. When I say enough with the My Little Pony show or any other show.  I mean ENOUGH!  There are only a handful of shows that make me want to go sit on the nearest cliff during the windy season and MLP is one of them.  I have enough screeching, whiny little creatures in real life, I don’t need to watch them on TV, too.  And Pinkie Pie needs to go away.  I don’t care where she goes, but either she can go away or get punched in the throat.

5. When I say NO, it is not a signal for you to keep asking me until my head splits in 2 and scream, ” I SAID NO!”.  No means no, even when it is said to child from parent.

6. If I tell you that we can’t go swimming this week, just leave it at that unless you want a lesson in the workings of the female body.  And walking away saying, “OH mom must be on her period” due to the fact that I just yelled at you, “NO MEANS NO!”, doesn’t help the situation.  Just know that soon you will be dealing with the same thing and I have a blog where I can enact my revenge.

7. No cracking out the kids!  This one is for SoHubby.  It is NOT 1978, which means there are other alternatives to Kool Aid to give our children.  I know you think it is funny to get them all jumpy on sugar and leave for work, but just know I have my own form of torture that I can dole out.  See number 6.

8.  If you would like to get home quick from grocery shopping, then don’t whine, complain and fart around while we are grocery shopping.  Making me remind you a million times not to stand directly behind or in front of the shopping cart, to stay with me, or to hurry up picking a toy that you just have to spend your money on takes up precious time that could have been spent racing around throwing random items into the basket so we can go home.

9. Don’t say you are bored, if you don’t want me to make you unbored.  I guarantee that whatever task I give you will be much more painful, in your mind, than the current boredom you are experiencing.  Look, there are baseboards to be cleaned, cabinets to be wiped down, extra school work that can be done, etc that will make that boredom seem like paradise.

10. There will be down days and super busy days.  The less complaining from you ensures we all have a fun summer.  I know all your friends are going on luxury vacations and having the time of your lives while you are stuck here with your parents and siblings, but it is the hand that you have been dealt so just deal with it.  You can always dream of the day when you move out of our house and do all those fun things we never let you do.  Oh and when you are daydreaming about how great your life will be once you are on your own, don’t forget to daydream that great fun job you got without any hard work where you make a ton of money.

Love,

Mom

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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 Pool

We joined a country club this year.  Um, yeah, it is not exactly what I think about when I think country club.  It is a bit on the outdated side with a bunch of seniors running around most of the day.  There are big plans afoot to make it more updated and more entertaining for the kids.  Well, the pool, anyway.  There is talk of a slide.  WooHoo!  And SoHubby doesn’t golf.  Anyway, we joined it, because YEAH! pool.

We haven’t been on a vacation for a few years, now, which was our time to soak up poolness.  Besides, we need something to look forward to and break up the day.  So I threw caution to the wind, which I am sure SoHubby would like me to do more often, and signed up.  I figured the pool would be fun and wear the hell out of these kids.  Apparently,  they get bored running errands and watching MY TV all day.  Huh, sounds like fun to me.  And I don’t think they burn much energy trying to kill each other every 5 minutes.

As much hope as I had for the pool to bring joy to the kids and give them something to look forward to this summer, I didn’t expect to basically move what goes on at the house to a giant pool of  water.  We spent 3 hours at the pool, today.  YEAH, mom! While there  I had to tell Sam to please stop whining and complaining about every DAMN little thing.  His first complaint was when I told him not to jump in the water next to an older boy.  He came up to me, and in a really loud voice, explained that he did that because that boy, you know the one right in ear shot, was being mean to those little girls over there.  It was his job to make sure this boy knew that Sam was not going to tolerate him being mean to those girls.  The problem?  I didn’t see this boy anywhere near the girls.  Commence the argument about who actually knew what the boy did or did not do.  The boy left.  *sigh* Next on Sam’s checklist: stopping flirting with the lifeguards.  Seriously kid!  You are 5. Not 25 yrs old at the club.  Or a sad 55 yrs old at the club.  Please  stop flirting with all the girls.  It is cute now, but later there will be stalker charges.  Then there was the constant request for food.  I am just going to tie food bag to that kid, at least, I won’t hear him ask for food.  And, of course, the million times I have to tell him to stop fighting with his sister.

Things were no different with Amber.  I had to tell her a million times to leave Evie alone.  Sure Evie is cute, but leave the poor child alone so she can live her life.  Eventually, she is going to grow up and she needs to know how to, I don’t know, walk, talk for herself, sit in a chair, eat her food, and every other everyday thing we have to know, in order, to live a life.  Then there was the ever so lovely conversation of what should she do.  Um, I don’t know.  Let’s see.  We are in a large pool of water.  Maybe…I don’t know…I am just spitballing here…you could…again, call me crazy…I don’t know…SWIM!  And, of course, stop fighting with your brother.

Both of them had to be told to leave the other people in the pool alone.  Besides, the poor tween boy that was falsely accused of harassing toddlers, get out of other people’s business.  I use to think my kids were social.  Now, I think they are obnoxious.  Sam was right in this poor woman’s face while she is trying to play with her baby.  Not sure what he had hope to get out of it.  The woman was too polite to say anything to him, but I am not…GET THE HELL OUT OF THAT WOMAN’S FACE!  Or if this is your child, I would have said, “I think your mom is calling you. Way over there.”

Some of my expectations did occur.  The day has moved a bit faster since we filled it with something to do.  There was fun to be had swimming in the pool.  We were cool as long as we stayed in the pool.  And it did tire out the kids…well…Evie.  She is sleeping on the sofa while the other 2 are running around mad arguing, asking for food, getting all up in my bizness and asking me a billion questions.  *sigh*  Yeah, summer.

 

 

 

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My Hell (or what you all might call grocery shopping)

I am sure every mother of small children has a similar story, but here goes mine.

The kids are out of school for Spring Break and Friday is my regular grocery shopping day.  You might say that if I knew the kids will be off of school on Friday I would wait and go a day earlier or wait until SoHubby can watch the kids.  And I would pat your wittle head and tell you how naive you are.  I could give you all the reasons why I can’t change my shopping day, but I will cut it short and say, IT WON’T WORK and PEOPLE WOULD STARVE! Another tidbit to add to this is that I have been watching Extreme Couponing.  Combine that with $3.69 a gallon gas and I have lost my DAMN mind.  The short of that is I have been trying to save money.  Long gone are the days of putting anything in the cart and just paying whatever the cashier says at the end.  Now are the days of adding as we go, watching carefully what goes into the cart, telling the kids NO about a million times, and saving as much as humanly possible without warranting a TV crew to follow me around.

Today was the big day, the kids have been saving their allowance and they decide they were going to spend it.  Maybe Amber decided when I told her that I saw a Lemonade Mouth CD at Target and maybe Sam decided just because whatever Amber does he has to do.  Oh, the life of a younger sibling. Can’t wait for when there are 2 of them.  Amber was pretty easy, except for her constant interference with my parenting.  She seems to think her name is Mommy, Jr, instead of older sister.  Sam, on the other hand, had a major case of indecision.  Something that just might run in SoHubby’s family.  We walk down the toy aisle and Sam makes a decision on some spider thing.  Whew, that was quick and painless.  Moving onto the last little bit of shopping I need to get done and we are out of here.  While making sure I had the right size diapers, Sam gets a look on his face and says, “I don’t want this.”  There it is.  The indecision begins and there goes my sanity.  So we go back to the toy aisle.  Sam puts the other toy back and I ask him what does he want.  His big problem is that he wants everything, but only has $13.  He can’t decide.  SHOCKER!!  I get fed up and go to find Evie some shoes.  His whimpering wears me down and I decide that the third time he will certainly be able to make a decision.  Oh how people never learn, no matter how many times they get burn. It will end with Sam crying in the middle of the toy aisle and me saying that he can wait until his Daddy can bring him.  Why should I suffer alone?

We all pile into the Suburban to discover that we had spent 2 hours in Target.  Not usually a bad thing.  I compose myself and press on with the grocery shopping.  Next stop Winn Dixie.  They have tons of buy 1 get 1 free sales plus savings on gas.  Not my favorite grocery store, but a girl has to make sacrifices in tough times.  The trip doesn’t start off that great, because I had to wake up 2 sleeping kids.  Never fun, but doesn’t last long.  Although, I carefully look over the weekly ad online the night before and write down in detail the things I want, I still have to pay close attention, because things change.  Have you ever tried to focus with 3 kids buzzing around?  You might as well try solving the national debt problem.  So far things are normal.  I have told the kids that if they just behave we can be in and out.  And they didn’t hear a word I said.  I stop a few times to nicely remind them yell at them about the rules and getting home faster to do fun stuff, like eat lunch and maybe a nap.  The real fun begins at the check out when we are in full meltdown mode and Evie won’t give up the 2 packages of mini donuts.  I get everything onto the belt when Evie stands up in the cart.  Amber tries to get her to sit down, I reach over to try to get her to sit down and just when I think I have gotten her to sit down she falls over the cart seat into the back of the cart.  No worries, her brother broke her fall.  There was much crying and steam coming out of my ears.  I inform the children that their lives are over and they will spend the rest of their existence in their rooms.  And that is exactly what happened.  I might have taken my sweet time putting away groceries while eating chocolate donuts (BWAHAHAHAHA!) and cleaning the house before letting them out of their rooms.  That’ll show them.  I never remember acting like these kids  when I was younger, but I do remember many spankings.  I will tell you when I figure this out.

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We are Living Sanford and Son.

Why yes, I do reference old sitcoms from my childhood to make a point.  The kids have no idea what I am talking about, but it makes me laugh.  And to get through life with kids, you need to laugh sometimes.  Or most of the time.

When we first realized that Amber wasn’t so much into the cleanliness side of life I compared her to Oscar Madison.  We moved along constantly yelling reminding Amber to pick up her clothes, food, plates, cups, toys, papers, writing utensils and the other various stuff that falls from her while she is just walking around. Now, we have learned how much Amber truly loves all her junk.  Hence the nickname Sanford and Son.

Amber loves her trash.  It sleeps with her a night in the version of dirty tissues surrounding her.  Maybe being surround by her own mucus is comforting, I don’t know.  It rides with her in the car.  She is constantly surrounded by plastic soda cup tops that she just couldn’t help but tear into tiny little pieces.  Or the paper that just cried out to be torn up into even smaller tiny little pieces.  Then there are the crumbs, that I can only think she keeps around to remind her of the lovely, yummy snacks I bring her, because she is just STARVING after school.  Or maybe she is still trying for that pet rat that I keep saying no to, but she just has to have because Ron Weasley has one.  Let’s not forget the leaking water bottle that left a nice size pond in the cubby spot next to her seat.

Nothing I do stops Amber from leaving her trail of trash everywhere we go. The ironic thing, though, is that she will freak whenever she sees trash on the ground, OUTSIDE.  Trash on the ground in the car, in our house, in her bed, on the table, etc doesn’t phase her.  Heaven forbid if there is the smallest piece of trash that has been stomped on by a million shoe bottoms, who have been God knows where, has been spit on, had bug feces on it, bug guts, etc then Amber will clutch her chest scream “I’m coming, Elizabeth!” and fall to the ground.  Okay, maybe not, but she does freak and has almost run into oncoming traffic to pick up the offending trash.  So maybe I have clutched my heart and screamed that “I am coming, Elizabeth!” and fell to the ground.

All this confuses me, because like I said in my last post I thought girls were sweet, nice and everything nice.  Well, except for their backstabbing ways.  I was prepared for Sam to be the dirty one with his snakes, bugs, slimy critters and rocks everywhere.  If he is interested in any of those things they are neatly organized, categorized and cleaned to be kept for all time.  You think I jest?  The boy found some shells by the lake and when we got home he washed them.  I would have preferred he used the sink instead of his drinking water, but still he washed them.  So as a parent to my 3 lovely children I am in a constant state of confusion.  I have no idea what to think about Evie, except I am bracing myself.  What the hell can the third one throw at me?  She hasn’t complained about the mess, so far, and Amber and her share a room.  Maybe she will, finally, be my go with the flow child.  Although, she is fighting when I ask her to clean up.  I am doomed.  I will live in the constant battle of clean vs dirty and it appears that dirty has more on it’s side than clean.  All I ask is when it gets too bad to please follow the whimpers, because I would like my children to dig me out of the trash pile.

 

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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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Dear People Without Children Who Stand in Judgement of Parents,

I know you are just horrified.  I mean how could I grab that sweet little boy’s arm and demand that he straighten up and take a damn picture in front of the giant Santa Claus, already.  Surely if the poor abused child doesn’t want to take a picture he shouldn’t be made to, right?  WRONG!!  You insensitive ignorant asshole.

Oh I see your looks as I pass you with my brood in the grocery store, Target, and at the restaurant.  Hell, you have even asked to be moved to another table when you saw us sit at the table next to you.  Really that is fine.  I would rather not look at your pinched grumpy ass while I enjoy my meal, either.  And I guess you are free to have your judgment, but you may be sorry for any remark regarding my parenting  I may hear in passing,  because you may just find yourself riding home with a small ornery boy next to you.  You think I am kidding just test me on the wrong day and see what happens.

Let me explain to you the events leading up to the Santa Claus picture meltdown.  First there was the requirement that he eat one chicken tender.  A chicken tender which he asked for and has eaten a million times before.  Oh wait, before that there was the major angst of where was Daddy going to sit and why was he sitting on the left side and not the right, but when it was suggested that Daddy could sit on the right side instead of the left a meltdown ensued.  After the chicken tender negotiation of 2010, there was the ice cream treaty of 2010.  The terms were that one chicken tender be eaten, in order, to receive the ice cream that would bring peace to the table.  Sadly, even though the treaty was passed and all terms agreed upon, one party didn’t follow through with their end of the deal while the other party had already handed over the rewards.  Hey, if the American federal government never learns how can war weary parents be expected to?

While in the car there was much thrashing and whining, because when asked if this was the place with the snow we had to sheepishly say no.  There was the nasty business of business to be taken care of, you know so there would be a roof over our heads and food for our bellies.  Finally, we made it to the location that has had the children all excited since I made the announcement the minute before we left.  Hey, I have learned and retained some things along the way.   Another meltdown would occur because we, parents, dared to ask the children to please remove themselves from the middle of the street so they wouldn’t DIE!!!

Once we reached Fulton street I started with the picture taking.  I mean the torture I put my children through.  Then the grabbing of private areas quickly happened and bathrooms needed to be found or else pay the price of crying children in wet britches.  After the longest trip to the bathroom in history, because of the lack of a changing tabl,e the girls and I come out to find that the soap snow started to blow.  There was the ceremony of chasing small children to capture these lovely memories, DAMMIT! (This whole memory business is a catch 22.  The kids don’t want their picture taken.  Well, Sam doesn’t.  The girls are pretty cooperative. Yet when they are order and there is only 3 photos of said kid off to therapy to talk and pay thousands of dollars to learn that mom just didn’t care enough to capture said memories.) Then there was the common sense suggestion that maybe the children shouldn’t eat items that they don’t exactly know what they are.  Next would be keeping an eye on children going this way and that.  My eyes simply don’t move in those directions.   As we decided it was time to go,  we knew that we needed just one picture with the giant Santa.  Here is where I must get between my husband and my son.  I lovely say pick your battles, dear and lovely suggest that maybe Sam doesn’t want a picture of Santa giving birth to him.   Massive, explosive meltdown from both parties and where you (people who just know that you would be much better parents than us and would NEVER in your life push your special snowflake to do anything they don’t want to do.  YOUR children would be able to make all their own decisions.  Yeah, let me know how that works out for ya.) enter to pass judgment as I pull my son by his arm and firmly talk in his ear that maybe he better adjust his attitude before mom goes off the deep end.

As we are all passing judgment here and pretending to know everything I have a bit of advice for you all-knowing-better-than-any-living-parent-but-have-never-raised-a-kid person.  I suggest you stand back and let us, parents, do our job, because  what seems to be our harsh puinshment today is your avoided home invasion/vandalism/nasty teenager encounter (okay, I will admit we can’t exactly eradicate all of these.) later.  Instead quietly thank us with a small smile and go about your business, because while I restrain myself with my children YOU won’t be so lucky.

P.S. To the mother behind me in the N.O. Hamburgers line who told the cashier that I have 3 kids and can handle carrying all the cups myself, I say shut your trap.  1. I was going to carry all the cups myself. 2. I go out to eat so someone else can wait on me for a change and 3. While I know you were joking, I WAS. NOT. IN. THE. MOOD!

Sincerely,

One very tired can’t wait for school to start SoutherMom of 3

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