Digging In

I have obviously come to a few conclusions.  Like writing at night isn’t working.  I should be studying right now.  When I write a post and accidentally delete it, I call it a night and start over the next day.  Of course, by the next day, I shall interject humor because that is how my family deals with life.

I stopped writing.  I stopped making phone calls.  I stopped organizing.  I barely studied.  I didn’t do any art.  I didn’t read blogs or books.  I didn’t send emails.  I retreated.  I dug in.  I found a small cave and placed a shield up and rested as my dragons roared and stomped and howled and swished their tails and flapped their wings.  I was avoiding them.

Like the largest.  An ugly, scary thing.  Mediation didn’t go well for me last time; I felt under attack.  I didn’t have the right weapons.  I worked hard, researching my numbers, doing my homework.  How can anyone argue with facts?  But my careful researched numbers were trumped by the ex’s guesses, pulled from thin air at that moment.  And the lies!  Christ!  And I playing dope-on-the-rope out of habit and being coy as not to anger the beast and just not thinking fast enough as I looked at all angles and sides before I could make a decisions.  Now I have to find new weapons.  I will not retreat.

Or that slithery one.  I worked all summer trying to get Tornado S assessed and help.  I called.  I left messages.  I would get a hold of someone helpful to be brushed off again.  And finally, after weeks of calls, I was told I needed to go through a different channel.  All my work for nothing.  But I won’t give up.  I’ve been working with Tornado S every day for 30 minutes.  I will drag him across the finish line if I have to.  Even with “he seems unhappy in first; can we move him to kindergarten?”  It’s the third day.  And unhappy isn’t a reason to hold someone back or no one would graduate from high school.  I will fight for Tornado S

Then there are all the little ones.  I’m a single parent with sole custody.  I’m the one who gets everyone ready, takes them to all their extracurriculars, takes them on errands, makes them do chores and homework, makes them dinner, holds the line, holds their hands, gets them to bed on time.  I’m the one figuring out which activities, which schools, which clothes, which supplies, which school lunches, which routines, which consequences.  I’m the one who does the yard work, the cooking, the cleaning, the scrubbing, the laundry, the shopping, the bill paying.  It’s exhausting.  These are dragons I cannot ignore.

My own three dragonlings who are testing boundaries and need to be held.  Tornado A is learning to swim, learning to use the potty, going to school for the first time.  Tornado E is rebelling against my authority, procrastinating on homework, picking on his brothers, being a smart ass.  Tornado S is trying to get out of work, messing with his brothers, adjusting to a new school.

Then there’s the dragon I wish never to see again.  As I have to hold his hand over basic parenting.  Sometimes I think he’s a glorified babysitter.  (Take that lawyer who may use this in court against me one day.)

I’ve got dragons in my past as my mom seems to get more out of balanced, as she acts like she has PMS, reminding me of horrors of my childhood and insights of my own failed marriage.  I married my mother.  I won’t do that again.  I hope.

That dragon over there.  I want to tame that one.  I have school.  Or will again soon.  Now I’m studying history for my teaching test.  I’m reading history books.  I’m studying time lines.  I’m watching lectures online.  But I’m not going fast enough.  I’m like my boys, staring into space or finding other things to do.   I’m scattered.  Googling: “Spartan women” and “how to defeat a war elephant” and “the black death” and “what do Aryans look like” and “why were their mass executions in China in 545 BC.”

And I hate that dragon.  It’s my monthly budget that never grows as everything around me gets more expensive, as the boys eat more and need more.

And so I retreated.

“Don’t forget the mediator wants you on the career track, even though you’re at school and have the kids and the house to deal with,” said my friend, viciously annoyed, after I counted off my dragons without my dragon reference.  Oh, right.  The mediator and the ex think it would be a great idea if I worked 6 or 7 hours a week.  Apparently I’m not working hard enough.

And my invisible dragons of not blogging, not reading blogs, not emailing friends, not doing art work, not writing.  Ohmygod, not writing!

And I’m tired.  I’m beaten up.  My varsity team, the people who love and support me the most, are all scattered across the country.  I miss them all so much, and I wish I could spend just even a few hours with each one.

So I avoided and dug in.

“No, not avoided.  You switched around priorities.  You can’t give the same amount of energy to every single thing all the time.  Some things have to be put on the back burner for a while,” said the same friend, as she rested her hand on my arm.

Now that I’ve written this.  I can see all the dragons better and where I need to attack.  Maybe I should get a big dry erase board and make a chart of how to attack each one.  Maybe I should print pictures of dragons, and then I’ll list each attack point.  Or maybe I’ll get a “Risk” board game.  Then I could make a battle map and move pieces around.  I’m totally turning the office into a war room.

It’s time to adjust my armor and check my weapons and go back there.  There are dragons that need to be slain.


Dieting on Facebook

I’ve already had a post on things I don’t like about Facebook.  Talking about dieting is another thing.  I have a few health fanatics among my friends.  Health fanatics is the polite term.  Obsessed with being thin is probably more accurate.  But I hate the diet memes.

If you believe this, then you haven’t lived, and you don’t know how to cook or you’ve never been to a good restaurant.  You live a sad little life.  You’re missing so much!  I can think of amazing clam chowder, brilliant sushi rolls, chocolate shakes that complete one’s soul, fried chicken that built an amusement park, ice cream that haunts dreams, steaks that melted like butter.  I’ll pass on being skinny.

I’m most concern with “blowing hours of hard work in the gym for a few minutes of pleasure in the kitchen.”  Why most it be either or?  Why can’t you have both?  Why not spend a few minutes on pleasure?  Why am I thinking this had some sort of implications about sex?

This is just sick.

Because when you’re with friends, all you care about is how you look.  You should surround yourself with fat chicks.  Then you will always feel pretty.  Or you could have real friends who support and love you, make you laugh, let you be yourself, and make you fight for the fries that moments ago you said you shouldn’t eat but hey! no one steals my fries.


Let’s get some ice cream.  I know a great place for milk shakes.

American Kids Are Spoiled. Well, some of them are.

I just finished reading “Spoiled Rotten” by Elizabeth Kolbert from The New Yorker.  Like I figured from reading a review, I was going to be pissed off by the end.  Or maybe just after the first page.  Nope, it took two paragraphs.

The article starts with a cute anecdote about a child from the Matsigenka tribe from the Peruvian Amazon.  The six-year-old asks to go leaf-gathering with another family and makes herself useful with all sorts of tasks like catching dinner than cooking it WITHOUT BEING ASKED!  A resourceful little tike, and yes, the author is right.  I would never imagine Tornado E doing that.

But here’s the problem.  I’m a disciple of Desmond Morris.  I read an article (perhaps in one of his books) where he criticized anthropologists and sociologists comparing out-of-touch, hidden-away tribes, pockets of living human archeology with that of the civilization.  When he was being kind, he said it was like comparing apples to oranges.  When he wasn’t kind, being sort of euro-centric, he said those tribes didn’t evolve and were left in the dust and therefore weren’t a good representation of humans, much less our ancestors.

So when I read about comparing a child from a tribe in South America of about 12,000 people with “average” children from Los Angeles, I get a little steamed because it’s lazy, unethical, illogical comparisons.  If the author wanted to make a real comparison of “spoiled” kids in America, then she should have gained evidence among Americans.  Because I’m sure we would find a completely different view.

Are there spoiled kids in America?  Sure, there are.  We obsess about the children of famous and rich people and what they wear and what they play with and where they go.  I grew up with spoiled, rich brats.  I know several adults that cater to their children.  But I also know a lot of unspoiled children.  I have seen a lot of unspoiled children.

I’ve never met a six-year-old who caught crustaceans, cleaned them, cooked them, served them to the adults, and then cleaned the dinner up.  But while I worked for the Girl Scouts, I met several six-year-olds who acted as translators for their parents, who didn’t speak a word of English.  These girls helped with the child raising and chores around the house.  I know a six–year-old who is surrounded with dolls and toys, and she is the sweetest, most kind kid I have ever met.  Let’s not forget that America is filled with children who live below the poverty line.  I wonder if they are spoiled?

I also take offense to the comparison of French children versus American children.  I’m horrified by any mother who decides to let her infant cry for five minutes before picking up the baby.  (Just like I’m horrified at the on-the-pedestal tribe who uses poisonous leaves to discourage laziness.)  And I would be hard pressed to believe a three-year-old was baking cupcakes by herself.  Honestly, cupcakes?  At three?  We’re suppose to believe that all French children sit perfectly still and quite through a three-course meal at a restaurant and all American children are throwing food by the time appetizers arrive.  I don’t know who those American kids are, but they are not mine.  Tornado E, as a toddler, was forced into fine dining quite often because our friends couldn’t understand why a toddler shouldn’t be in a nice restaurant, but that kid could sit there for an hour or so, playing with toys and not throwing a single piece of food.  In fact, each of my boys threw one piece of food at home and that was dealt with swiftly.

The article mentions how we are lucky to have a long childhood to prepare far the rigors of our modern world.  It mentioned how as society became more modern, evolved, complicated, childhood stretched out to allow for more learning and coping skills.  But the article never used this reasoning when comparing the South American tribe.  I totally agree that there is a need for a longer childhood, but it is the only thing that I agreed with the article.

The problem with this article is that it makes HUGE assumptions.  It assumes that all American kids are parented with permissive style parenting with helicopter parenting.  That all American kids are given whatever they want and don’t need to do chores.  While there are permissive parents and helicopter parents, not everyone parents that way.  In fact the examples illustrated in the article as American parenting were all permissive.  No authoritarian, no authoritative, no free-range, no love-and-logic.  The parents just gave into the kids demands.  Even the author mentions how she gave up making her child do chores after he botches them up one time.  Any half-decent parent knows that parenting is lots of exhausted patience as you try to teach the child how to carry groceries and take out the trash.  Often this is the time, you bring the kid out to help you so you can teach him how to do it more efficiently.  But as one reviewer of the article pointed out, parenting is time-consuming, and many people don’t have the time to teach our kids how to catch our dinners, kill them, clean them, and cook them.

As for children who get whatever they want, I want to see how many toys all those children under the poverty level have.  Or take a middle class family like mine, we have tons of toys, but we also have three children, which generates lots of hand-me-down toys as well as gifts.  For every rich kid who goes off to private college and learns nothing, there is another kid who worked (either at a job or grades or a skill) to get to college.  For every kid who refuses to help at home, there’s another kid who is minding little siblings and getting dinner ready.  For every kid who has the latest gadget, there’s another kid just thrilled to go to a used-clothing store to buy a dollar bag full of little toys.

So Ms. Elizabeth Kolbert, next time you want to compare parenting styles with people around the world, you should get a larger sample.  That’s what good investigators do.

(A side note that has no place in this article.  The review I read was “Why Parents ‘Spoil’ Their Kids” by Valerie Isakova on Shine.  I found the comments at the end of the article very amusing as it seemed everyone had to say “kids back in my day….”  Well, seeing that you all are responding to an online article, I would assume most of the commenters were Gen Y {stupidest name ever}, Gen X, or among the late baby boomer crowd.  Which means that the generations above them were complaining about how kids these days are no respectful, have no discipline, have no drive and will ruin America.  Back when milk was cheap and politicians were honest.)

Scratch That

Yesterday (or the last two weeks) I’ve been out of my mind.

Completely insane.

Because today the boys conspired to destroy my summer dreams.

It took Tornado E TWO hours to finish to workbook pages, front and back.  We have started on Tornado  S’s 5th hour.  He did one workbook page front and back and was required to write his name twice and capital A and lower case a twice.  He still has one set of A’s to go.

So.  We didn’t go to the library for story time and signing up for the summer reading program.  We didn’t go to the bread store or the bakery, which needs to be done today.  We didn’t watch a DVD.  The house isn’t picked up.  We didn’t do a craft.  I didn’t get to make the phone calls that needed to be made.  I didn’t get my nap.  I didn’t get to make my planned lunch.  Right now, we’re not going swimming.

I left them alone.  I sat with them.  I nagged them.  I withheld lunch.  I sent Tornado S to his room twice.  Tornado E has done pick up duty twice for bugging Tornado S.  I took a Mommy time out.

Just when I decided to a) start screaming, b) start guilting, or c) become snide and sarcastic, I decided I had enough, stormed upstairs and took a shower.  I was “this” close to becoming my mother.  God, help me.  Now that I’m refreshed with pain meds for the headache, I’m writing this post with the door shut and locked with Tornado E and Tornado A doing God knows what and Tornado S should still be glued to his seat at the table.  This right here is why I don’t home school.

My children and I are stubborn.  Pig-headed, really.  They have issues with authority that they are passive-aggressive with.  I only see one solution and damnit it’ll work.  I think I have a problem here.


Back to the drawing board.  Because today isn’t over, and tomorrow is a new day.


I still don’t feel hopeful, but at least I’ve rejected screaming, sarcasm, guilting, and beatings as solutions.

A Stupid Bill in AZ

My state cannot keep itself out of controversy.  And now it’s debating a bill so damn stupid that I’ve been seeing red since last night.  I read about AZ House Bill 2625.  You can read it here or watch it here or have the joy of reading the bill itself here, and if you want to be really pissed off, you can read this editorial here.

Basically if this bill becomes law, it allows any and all employers to deny an employee’s birth control coverage if the employer has a religious or moral objection.  If the employee wants birth control for something other than to stop conception, she would need to bring a note from the doctor to state the medical reason for the birth control.  I’m so angry right now that I don’t know where to begin to argue against this bill.  So instead of writing an incoherent letter to the editor, I figured I’d start here.

First off, employers do NOT pay for birth control.  They may pay for part of the health insurance.  The employee pays for the health insurance.  The employee pays for the birth control.  While the Obama administration is trying to make birth control pills covered by insurance companies, most employees still have to pay for that insurance.  So, I fail to see why the employer has a say on insurance coverage, if the employee has to pay for it.

Second, Debbie Lesko, State House of Representative, introduced the bill, saying,  “We live in America. We don’t live in the Soviet Union.  The government shouldn’t be telling mom-and- pop employers and religious organizations to do something that’s against the moral or religious beliefs. It’s just not right.”  No, Rep Lesko, what you’re proposing is a theocracy that puts a person’s religious beliefs above another’s civil liberties.  Here in the US, we were founded and believe in a separation of church and state, which means, not only are we protected to practice as we see fit, but we are protected from other people’s beliefs.  State Senator Linda Lopez said it better with this, “If it were truly about religious freedom, we would allow Christian scientists and Jehovah Witnesses to refuse to pay for coverage of life-saving blood transfusions for employers.  Religious freedom means I get to choose whether or not to be religious and if so, how.”

Third, it is no one’s business as to why a woman takes birth control pills.  Not her family’s, not her friend’s, not the government’s, and absolutely not her employer’s.  The right is worried about “a nanny state” and then proposes this kind of legislation.  If women have to “prove” why they are taking birth control, then what’s to stop other people needing to prove their illnesses.  Are we heading to a world where people will need a doctor’s note for every sick day?  Are we going to demand proof for other medications that treat allergies, depression, diabetes?  ALL people have a right to their own private personal lives and medical histories.

Fourth, what constitutes a religious or moral belief?  What keeps employers from abusing this law and opting for cheaper insurance coverages that have no birth control?  Shouldn’t the employer prove how religious he or she is?  I want to know their religion, if they tithe correctly, if they follow all the rules of the religion.  Failing these things, they shouldn’t be able to impose their beliefs on other people.  Oh, that’s right.  They shouldn’t impose their religious beliefs on any one.  I also propose that businesses have to disclose to all potential employees that they will not be offering birth control coverage, so that potential employees can withdraw their applications.  (Not that will happen with jobs as scarce as they are today.)

Fifth, why are we arguing about this?  (I can’t find the article that I read last night about this.  I don’t have the time to retrace my steps.  I’m, as Jon Stewart calls it, part of the busy majority. I’ll look for it.)  Back in 2002, Arizona passed a bill stating that all employers were required to offer birth control coverage as part of their health insurance coverages.  Not that they had to pay for it, just that it had to be part of the benefits.  In the last ten years, there has not been ONE SINGLE COMPLAINT.  That’s right.  Not one complaint.  No one has said this law infringed on his/her religious views.  No one has cried at the outrage of it all.  Not one person has written, called, email, gone to the press, got a lawyer to say that this law destroyed his/her religious freedom.  I don’t even understand why any one would write a bill for no one.

I’m angry enough that I emailed all 30 state senators last night as well as the governor.  The plan was to call all of them today, but I have kids, so I’ll have to do it in batches.  I plan to keep emailing and calling these senators.  I don’t understand why there is this backlash against women.  That’s what it feels like.  A war on women.  No one is talking about taking away men’s birth control.  Everyone is talking about taking away women’s.  They’re talking about mandatory waiting periods for abortions as though women haven’t agonized for hours, days, weeks before coming to a conclusion they didn’t want.  They’re making laws to force women to do intravaginal ultrasounds before abortions.  I have had the “pleasant” experience of one of these.  They’re not fun to say the least, and I dealt with the pain because I was scared over the failure to find a heartbeat.  They’re talking about defunding Planned Parenthood, which is where millions of women get their healthcare because it’s affordable.  My state wants to make it legal for doctors to withhold information about embryos and fetuses if the doctor feels the woman would abort if there was something wrong with the embryo or fetus.  I heard a rumor that my own state is debating a bill to have schools teach abortion is bad.  (Duh.)  If schools are going to start teaching morality, let’s start with the basics of lying, cheating, stealing, and hurting people. 

I understand the fight to end abortions.  No one wants more abortions or any that are not medically necessary.  But this is all the wrong way to go about it.  If people want to end abortions, then there needs to be easy access to free birth control.  Adoption needs to be made simpler.  Women’s Centers shouldn’t be shaming and guilting women into keeping babies; they should be helping these women with healthcare needs, employment needs, personal needs, baby needs.  People, who want to lie and shame women into keeping babies, should put their money where their mouths are.  Those people better be ready with resources to help those women, those families, such as babysitters, therapists, affordable daycare and whatever else is needed to help these families strive.  States should have six months maternity leave.  These are the things that will make abortion numbers drop like a rock.

I know I was all over the place with this post.  I usually don’t get on a soapbox.  I try not to judge.  I like to believe that people are making the right decisions for themselves.  I want politics to be used for making the world a better place for everyone.  Tune in tomorrow when I’ll be back to my usual self.  Hopefully I’ll be funny too.

Just a little road rage

I have road rage.  I picked it up in California.  Tiny Tempo, driving alongside jerks, it was bound to happen.  I have worked hard to curb it and the side effective of cussing.  Tornado S only says “Oh my God” and “What the-?”  He could be saying a lot worse.  But there are still three things that set me off.

1. Any driver that does anything that puts my children in harm’s way.  I picked this one up when Tornado E was a baby; it was the reason I stopped driving the Tempo and went on to the large Ram truck.  (She and I hated each other, but that is a different post.)  Like I mentioned, California has a lot of jerks driving, and I don’t care what anyone says, every group has a bad driver in it.  Unfortunately, this is the one that I cuss the worst.  Back in the Tempo days, I just speed up, bite my thumb, and move on.  With kids, I have to let it go and fantasize about karma taking hold.

2. Failure to use turn signals.  I f%$king hate this.  Always have.  I can’t make a safe, well-informed driving decision if people don’t use their damn signals.  I get that there are real jerks out there that think that a turn signal means they have to cut that person off (I’m talking to the woman two days ago who had tried to cut me off to keep me from getting in front of her and then had the nerve to honk at me when I went over any ways; listen, chick, I have an SUV; I will WIN.).  (Um, as for that last line, I never needed a big vehicle to cut in.)  Don’t let the jerks win; use turn signals.  Not that hard, not that complicated, not that time-consuming.

3. Bad parking.  I’m not talking about on the line parking as annoying as it is.  We all do that at one point, and the best of us feel guilty about it.  I’m talking about parked the wrong way or taking up more than one spot or parking so that one or more cars can’t leave or park next to you.  I’m talking about I’m-so-important-that-I-don’t-care-about-everyone-else-because-I-have-to-be-here-now parking.  It burns me.  And unfortunately, almost every mom in the two four-year-old classes does it at Tornado S’s school.

Every morning, I turn the corner into the parking lot to find that nearly the whole lot is parked in the wrong direction.  It’s diagonal parking.  It’s not complicated.  But instead of going down the row and pulling in, parents (mainly moms) pull through the parking lot and park the wrong way.  Are you kidding me?  Of course, there are a few, such as myself, who park the correct way, and then we nearly have car accidents as people try to leave.

And it gets better because there is always some jerk who parks so blatantly wrong that I want to write a note on the window with permanent marker, which is a step down from wanting to throw a rock through said window.  (Look, people, I’m trying to be mature and set a good example.  Throwing rocks isn’t either.  No matter how tempting.)  Last week, a mom actually parked in the middle of the row, not even bothering to pull all the way into the spot.  She was in the middle of the road.  Her WHOLE truck.  Or today, a mom took up two parking spots because she had to park straight in a diagonal parking lot.  Then there was the giant SUV last week that parked diagonally the wrong way so she took up six spots.  Then there is always my favorite, the mom who has to park along the curb right in front of the gate, in the road way, blocking the entrance for the rest of us.  This happens every day.

Every morning, my good mood disappears for like fifteen minutes as I fume over the disrespect and selfishness that runs so rampant at Tornado S’s school.  I have to learn to let it go.  It keeps me from being friendly to the other moms because I know they were the ones who parked that way.  It makes my goodbyes and hellos to Tornado S tense and forced.  I really don’t want to always be consumed with annoyance and rage.

Maybe I need to practice breathing.  Maybe I should get there early enough to miss most of the issue and then do some yoga.  Maybe I should tattle-tale.  I’m counting the weeks to summer, when I won’t have to deal with this again.  Well, except for every once in a while in a public parking lot, and then I won’t feel so bad banging the car door into the other car as hard as I can.

Hell has frozen over

This weather/the universe rant is knocking off one of two posts about some disciplinary problems that will be hilarious one day if I attain my second of my two parenting goals, keeping the boys out of juvy.  (Because it is important to manage life by setting high but achievable goals.)

When I’m already “grumpy” because someone decided 5am would be a great time to wake up and roll, it is not in the best interest of anyone to freeze the water in already wrapped pipes.  My showers are like coffee.  With few exceptions (which usually involve a vacation away from schedules and chores), I NEED my showers to function and not bite off heads. 

If I lived anywhere but the desert, there would be snow.  Since I did move to the desert, I expected certain things.  Like the fact I’ve already lived through the hottest day on record here, 119°, I think.  Maybe 118° or 120°.  Once you are able to cook food on the hood of your car, numbers really don’t matter, and digital thermometers should just start blinking “HELL.”  I’ve accepted the fact that it is clearly stupid to live in the desert if you are of Northern European descent.  No one looks good with lobster red skin, and no one feels super to have portions of skin cut out by a doctor.  Bless the person who invented sunscreen.  Needless to say I also expected not to be frozen when I’m outside.

Every time I psyched myself up, I felt a new low.  Like: Ok, the pipes are frozen; it’s going to be freezing.  Then I walk outside, and it’s worse than I fear.  Much worse.  I psyched myself up as I buckled everyone in and turned on the car to hear the dj say that it was 19°  with the wind chill of 0°.  Zero, people!  What part of desert does this weather system not understand?  But I rationalized the numbers away.  Then I got out of the car and remembered that the houses are so packed in my neighborhood that they act as a partial wind-break.  I shut the door and strung enough cuss words to make my older cousins proud of the day they taught them to me.  Holy crap, it was cold!

Yes, I did confirm it.  I have now lived in the coldest day in Tucson history.  F- me.  I’m immigrating.

Recap 12/31

1. Never assume any game that someone says “Pee Potion” is just all imagination.

2. My first thought when water didn’t come out of the pipes this morning was “Did I forget to pay the bill?”  Which followed with “no” and “they wouldn’t shut it off without notice and before 7am.”

3. It was 25°F when my dad, my hero, came over at a 7:45 to unfreeze my pipes.  Yes, the desert gets that cold.

4. Stupid winter.

5. I’m now more surprised Tornado A hasn’t crawled, since he’s been rev-ing up on all fours for a couple of weeks.  Though he gets around well with rolling, squirming, and army crawling.

6. I am so ready for school to begin.  My sanity and my children’s well-being depend on it.

7. Want to know why I gave up wearing nail polish on my finger nails?  The f-ing chipping.  Like I have time to redo my nails every other day.

8. Let’s add Tornado S now having accidents every day and Tornado E coming and sleeping with me every night in the middle of the night to things that show my kids are totally stressed out over the separation.

9. Pirate Radio is F-ing hilarious.  Or maybe it was the company of my baby brother, who has kept his natural, free laugh.  Or both.

9 1/2. What the hell is this pop up that’s being blocked as I’m trying to type this post?  Jerk.

10. As for yesterday’s post, that probably sounded pretty hard on myself, I have a plan!  Sometimes God/Fate/The Universe slips something into your hands when you need it.

A few requests

Mom with the kid throwing the tantrum- He was throwing it before you even pulled open the door.  I was outside with my own tantrum thrower.  Not only are you late.  Not only are you going in during the story.  You are bringing in a screaming, kicking, punching toddler.  Thanks.  So next time, why don’t you wait until your son is chill or just turn around and go home?

Mom with the kid running around- I’m sure I’ve been through this before.  Maybe you weren’t there the day I glared at the other mom who let her kid run around.  Your kid makes our kids want to run around.  It makes our jobs a billion times harder.  So why don’t you call the person back you’re talking to and actually parent?  Thanks.

To the moms talking- Would you like to explain what example you’re trying to set for your kids?  Like the rude person who doesn’t give a shit about the performer that said person came to see?  There are times and places to talk to fellow mommy-friends.  Like the park, McDonald’s, or even the parking lot.  So why don’t you stop talking so I can hear the thrilling conclusion of this riveting picture book read by a gentleman who talks down to us all?  Or just whisper, softly and quietly?


The mom who’s so busy talking to her friend that she’s failing to notice the bully of a son hitting other children- Especially my child!  Especially since your son pushed my son to the ground and climbed on top of him and wouldn’t get off.  Luckily my son has an older brother and took it in stride, even if I wished my son would clobber yours.  Then once your little brat was on my radar I watched him try to take my son’s bean bag after he pummelled another child with his own bean bag.  So you can thank me for grabbing your kid off mine.  You can thank me for scolding your son for stealing bean bags and using them for weapons.  But now that I know who you are, next time I see your brat being a bully to my kid I’m going to march him straight up to you and explain, polite but firm, that your son’s behavior is out of line.  And yes, I took great glee in watching him run and stick to your side for the last five minutes of storytime.

Things I learned this week 5/21

1. Tornado S sounds adorable with a stopped-up nose.  A. Dorable.

2. I willingly throw all environmental sensibilities out when it comes to weeds and Tornado S’s allergies.

3.  I miss typing with two hands.

4. Tornado E inherited the Friendly Giant’s (aka Uncle M) gag reflex; a pathetic gag reflex brought on by other people’s vomit or poop-smell.

5. I’m not sure if people are flattering me or if it’s the standard phrase, but it’s weird how many people keep telling me how thin I looked.  Honestly I’m still eating chocolate as much as possible.  Or maybe I was incredibly fat when pregnant.

6. I’m starting to really despise children’s television programming.

7.  I’m starting to really hate children’s illnesses.

8. Health insurance companies are EvIl!

9. With as much CSI and Law and Order I’m watching, I’m starting to think I missed my calling.   Of course, no police agency can enhance a cell phone video to find a perfect picture of the murderer in the mirror ten feet behind and two feet to the right of the victim.

10.  I’m going to say it.  My kids are damn cute.  There.  It’s out there.  I said it.  I’ll stick by it.

My Mother’s Day gift from The Husband and the boys.  Granted, chocolate would have been nice too.

A special thank you to Jane from They Call Me Jane for taking the time to email me how to post video months ago when I complained that I didn’t know how.