Tag Archives: parenting

You’re Hugging Me Too Hard

16 Dec

Sandy Hook. I have cried and cried this weekend for the children of Sandy Hook. I’ve cried for the teachers and the parents and the survivors and the community of Newtown.

It is enough to make you feel helpless.

This weekend, in between Girl Scouts and soccer games and doctoring colds I have loved my children. Yes, I always love my kids but this weekend I didn’t take any moment with my children for granted. I hugged them a little more often and a little tighter.

That is what Sandy Hook has given me; a reminder that my children are a gift.

As I hugged my five-year-old Friday afternoon, she exclaimed, “Mama! You’re hugging me too tight!” in between squeals of laughter.

No, I’m not, baby girl. No I’m not.

 

UPDATE: A commenter left the following message that I wanted to share for any who might be interested. Thanks again, http://robakers.wordpress.com for sharing this!

Thank you for your comments. My kids said the same thing…too hard daddy!

I believe that the pen is mightier than the sword. Several bloggers are encouraging others to send cards and letters to the school. Here is the address:

The school’s address is: Sandy Hook Elementary School 12 Dickenson Drive Newtown, CT   06482

God Bless.

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All I Want is an 8-piece Fried Chicken

12 Dec

Yes, I’m venting. Yes, this is imaginary . . . well the phone-call part is anyway.

Damn you, Walmart!

Damn you, Walmart!

Walmart: Thank you for calling Walmart. May I help you?

Me: Yes, I need to speak to the manager please.

W: This is the manager. May I help you?

Me.: Yes, I have an issue with your deli department.

W: Ok, what seems to be the problem.

Me: Yes, I had spoken with your deli manager and placed an order for an 8-piece fried chicken. I stopped by to pick it up today and it wasn’t ready. I was told I’d have to wait 20 minutes.

W: I’m sorry that this happened ma’am. Is there something that we could do to improve your experience here at Walmart?

Me: I’m not sure because this isn’t the first time this has happened.

W: It isn’t?

Me: No. The last four times I’ve stopped to pick up fried chicken it wasn’t ready.

W: And you had called in an order?

Me: I placed my order in person! I remember it specifically because I was ordering a cake for my kid’s birthday . . .

W: Uh-huh.

Me: And I spoke with your deli manager . . .

W: Uh-huh.

Me: And I explained to her that on days that I had too much shit to do, to please have an 8-piece fried chicken waiting for me.

W: Huh.

Me: I mean, there is NEVER any chicken at your deli counter. I see the empty spaces for it but no.fricking.chicken. So me, being a planner (cuz I’m a planner!) took it upon myself to pre-order my chicken.  Ya know, to cut out any confusion and frustration on both our parts.

W: But ma’am, you didn’t schedule a date to pick up your order.

Me: Yes I did.

W: And what day was that?

Me: On the day that I have too much shit to do.

W: Ma’am, that is not a day.

Me: It most certainly is.

Uncomfortable silence.

W: Ma’am (sigh), how is my deli manager supposed to know the exact day that you will be in to pick up a fried chicken?

Me: Because.I.told.her.the.day. The day I have too much shit to do.

Another uncomfortabe silence.

Me: Ya know, maybe we could resolve this. Maybe, just maybe you could start keeping fried chicken in your deli counter. Maybe in that section that is labeled “8-piece Fried Chicken only $6.99!”

W: Ma’am, we do but . .. .

Me: No you don’t. Everytime I go in there it is empty. EMPTY! The only thing you have left is that lemon-garlic-rotissierie crap. Do you really think a two-year-old will eat that?

W: Ma’am . . . .

Me: I mean, all I’m asking for is that you actually keep fried chicken in your deli counter. Is that to much to ask for?

W: Are you currently taking any medications?

Me: I mean, how do you expect me to work all day, go to Girl Scout meetings, soccer practices, science fairs, and still have time to cook a meal?

W: Would you mind giving me your name for the restraining order?

Me: Don’t even get me started on the laundry! It’s ridiculous.

W: Or perhaps a physical description?

Me: This whole thing reeks of false advertising. And, and, and . .  .Walmart is against families having dinner together. Yes, that’s what it is!

W: Or maybe an address I can send the authorities to?

Me: Well, Mr. Manager! You and Walmart can stay the hell away from my family! Good day, Sir!

CLICK.

The No-Cabbage Treaty of 2012

11 Dec

The Mother and the Children,cabbage

Resolved to develop friendly relations between the Mother and the Children;

Convinced of the need finally to overcome antagonism and to develop cooperation within the household;

Have agreed upon and confirmed the following articles.

Article 1:

Her Maternal Majesty acknowledges that said Children have the right to have input into their food choices, no matter how wrong their input might be.

Article 2:

The Children acknowledge that Her Maternal Majesty, their Mother, deserves the right to have privacy, especially in the bathroom.

Article 3:

It is agreed that the Mother will not serve for consumption:  cabbage, cabbage-like food or anything resembling, by taste or smell, a cabbage. It is further agreed that the Mother will not try to disguise any of the aforementioned food items.

Article 4:

It is agreed that the Children will not stalk or harass the Mother while she is in the bathroom. The Children agree to acknowledge that the act of slipping notes under the bathroom door and/or wiggling hands and/or feet under the bathroom door as forms of harassment. (Mommy will give you a pass if she needs you to grab a roll of toilet tissue from the other bathroom. OK?)

Article 5:

The solemn ratifications of the present treaty shall be expedited between the contracting parties immediately.

It is my prediction that this treaty will be repealed before breakfast. The kids just can’t stay away from the bathroom door!

What the ELF?

7 Dec

Tis the season for Elf on the Shelf. He’s everywhere. And by everywhere, I mean EVERYWHERE.

I do not own an Elf on the Shelf. I refuse to conform! It’s a matter of principle!

Ok, I don’t want to spend the $29.95 . . . . . and I’m afraid I’ll forget to move the damn elf one night and disappoint my kids.

Plus, he’s creepy looking.

Just look at those eyes!

Just look at those eyes!

However, I did stumble upon the New and Improved Elf on the Shelf. I’ll admit that I’m intrigued.

The new version still sells for $29.95 but is a better bargain because he is life-sized. If you know me, you know that I love a good deal.

Don't worry. He won't be so squinty-eyed once the drugs wear off. Apparently he put up a pretty good fight while they were boxing him up.

Naughty or Nice?

He won’t be so squinty-eyed once the drugs wear off. Apparently he put up a pretty good fight while they were putting him in the box. But don’t worry . . . he won’t say a word because nobody talks about Fight Club.

How the Grinch Got Tourette’s Syndrome

6 Dec
You're a mean one, Mama Grinch.

You’re a mean one, Mama Grinch.

The weekend before Thanksgiving, the children were bugging me to put up the Christmas tree.

Kids: Pleeeeeezze, Mama?

Me: No, it’s too early.

Kids: Pleeeeeeeeeeeeezzze!

Me: No, I don’t feel like digging the tree out of the closet.

Kids: Pretty please?

Me: No, the house isn’t clean.

Kids: We’ll clean the house!

Me: snort

Kids: What was that horrible and terrifying noise? (I’m paraphrasing.)

Me: It was me.  I snorted at you in disdain and contempt.

Kids: If we clean up, can we decorate the tree?

Me: snort. Sure. Whatever.

Exactly 12 minutes later . . . .

Kids: Mama, we’re done. Now can we decorate the tree?

Oh, my! My little angels! They did clean the house! You could actually see the floors in their bedrooms, the living room, the bathrooms! I HAD FLOORS AGAIN! It was truly a Christmas miracle.

I had no alternative but to reward my darlings.

I watched the kids decorate our tree. All the ornaments were placed within an eight-inch section of the tree. The garland was mysteriously missing. Most of the ornaments were made at daycare. But that’s ok. It’s our tree. It’s representative of where our family is at this moment. The only thing that is perfect on our tree is the lights. Thank goodness for pre-lit trees!

The decorating was done, the house was clean and the kids were satisfied. I decided it was a good time to take a shower.

Exactly 12 minutes later . . . .

I emerge from my room showered and refreshed. The decorations were up and my home was cl . . . . err???  What’s this? The lights are not lit on the Christmas tree. Oh well, some kid probably turned off the light switch that controls that outlet. Ah, those curious kids!

Err???? What’s this? The light switch is already on. Hmmm . . . ah, one of my little geniuses probably just found the switch on the cord attached to the tree. Heh-heh-heh . . . those cute little trouble-makers! I’ll just check the cord leading up to the tree . . .

Err???? What the hell? What the f . . . MY TREE IS SPARKING AND SMOKING! omg! OMG! OMG!

Me: Son of a bi . . . GRRRRRR . . . mother f. . . . . GRRRRRRRR . . . .

I was SO angry and I couldn’t even cuss because my children were watching me.

Kid #1: What’s wrong with Mama? She’s talking funny.

Kid #2: I don’t know.  Maybe she’s having a stroke or something.

Me: Fricken frack. Arrrrrrgh. Hmmmmm.

I could barely control the urge to say something that I should not say in front of my children. I couldn’t trust my words, so I sent them a telepathic message.

Leave my presence, you destroyers of Christmas spirit. Leave this place at once so that I may put my fury into words instead of directing it at the guilty parties.

They stood there . . . staring . . . like idiots. What good is a mother-child bond if you can’t send a fricking telepathic message in the event of an emergency?

I did the best that I could. I’m aware that the following sentence makes no sense.

Me: Who broke my HONKING Christmas tree?

Kids: (in unison) Not me!

I got a confession one week later. The youngest two decided to see how long they could spin the tree. This led to the cord wrapping around the base of the tree, which broke the cord after about 25 spins.

And although the Grinch didn’t exactly have Tourette’s syndrome, she came as close as she wanted to come.

I blame myself.  I took a 12-minute shower. What was I thinking?

Real Men Don’t Need Exterminators

5 Dec
This is EXACTLY how our mouse looked.

This is EXACTLY how our mouse looked.

My yard  is lined with ten pecan trees. Apparently, mice love pecans. My home is also surrounded on three sides by soybean fields, which mice also love.

What happened to mice eating cheese? Were all those episodes of Tom and Jerry based on LIES? What else were you lying about, Jerry????

As I stood on my deck admiring a herd of mice galloping through the soybean field, I noticed one of the mice pointing at me like he was calling me out. I knew it was only a matter of time before something like this happened. Hell, my kids leave mouse-appropriate snacks everywhere . . . word was bound to get out.

That night I informed The Dad that the angry mob of mice outside had been heckling me. Since it was obviously only a matter of time before we were overrun by an irate horde of rodents, I did the only sensible thing . . . . I called the exterminator and notified the authorities.

The Dad grunted at me while simultaneously rolling his eyes.

The Dad grunts at me constantly and not in a come-hither way. Grunts are just his natural mode of communication. But the grunt-eye-roll combo translates into, “Real men don’t need exterminators.”

His solution? Glue traps. I detest glue traps. IF, I say IF you actually catch a mouse in one of these contraptions . . . . what the hell are you going to do with a LIVE mouse that is GLUED to a PIECE OF PLASTIC?

The Dad ignored my perfectly logical reasoning and strategically placed glue traps throughout our home.

The next morning as I’m slaving away to cook a breakfast that my children totally take for granted, I hear my two youngest calling for their mother. I rush towards their room only to see my three-year-old son with both feet and one hand stuck to a glue trap. His two-year-old sister, Madeline, also has one hand stuck in the trap and is trying to drag her brother towards me.

Me: Samuel? What are you doing?

Samuel: I stuck.

Madeline: And I save him, Mama.

About that time, a mouse ran by, shot me the bird and told me this was his turf now. That may not have been his exact words but you get the picture.

Alliance, Unite!

4 Dec

spy kidIt’s 3:00 a.m. and the four children are gathered around a small table in their play area. They always meet in the dead of night to keep their alliance secret. Do not let their innocent demeanor fool you for that is what they hope for. They are always conniving . . . always scheming . . . . to thwart the evil ways of their mother.

Melissa: Let’s get started. Lauren says she has obtained important information regarding the Evil One’s plan to convert Daddy over to her side.

Lauren: Yesterday, at approximately 16:00 hours, I emerged from the school bus at Blue Bird’s house.

Samuel: Blue Bird? Who is Blue Bird?

Melissa: That’s Grandma’s code name, stupid.

Samuel: Oh, yea. Blue Bird. Sorry, I forgot.

Lauren: Anyway, Blue Bird informed me that we would be staying at her house Friday night so that the Evil One could apprehend Daddy and go on a date night.

Samuel: What’s so bad about that?

Melissa: You fool?  Don’t you see? We will be imprisoined in Blue Bird’s lair, forced to watch re-runs of The Young and the Restless.  Poor Daddy won’t have us to run interference. There’s no telling what she might do to him. Lauren, did you try any preemptive tactics?

Lauren: Of course I did, but Blue Bird is just as sly as the Evil One. I suggested that we accompany the Evil One on this so-called “date night” so that we might protect our father. Blue Bird informed me they were going to a restaurant that did not allow children.

All Children: Gasp!

Samuel: What kind of sick place doesn’t allow children?

Melissa: Poor Daddy.  The Evil One more than likely plans to make him eat all sorts of vegetables. This sick woman already controls our lives, our candy . . . . and now she wants to control our father. All may be lost.

Madeline: Fear not, brother and sisters.

All look towards the dark corner where the two-year-old was sitting. She drains her sippy cup in one quick gulp and slams the cup on the table.

Madeline: You have all forgotten our basic strategy. Drain her energy! Drain her resources! Do not give her time for basic hygiene! Do these things and she.will.fall. Stick with the plan and I promise you not only will we have control of the candy, but control of the TV as well! Now, I’m pretty sure I can hustle up a suspicious looking rash on my bottom. That’s a start but it won’t be enough. What do the rest of you have?

Lauren: Tomorrow morning I’ll spill something on my clothes just as the school bus arrives. I’ll make sure to hide all my other clean clothes under my bed first. She hates it when I do that.

Samuel: A kid at daycare owes me a favor. He’s got a pretty nice runny nose . . . . I’ll just ask him to spread the joy, if ya know what I mean. My new found runny nose along with Melissa’s ability to turn any cold into bronchitis should be enough to foil the Evil One’s plans.

Melissa: Ok, guys. That sounds good.  I don’t hear the Evil One’s snores anymore so now might be a good time to adjourn. We’ll meet back here tomorrow at 03:00 to assess the situation.  Good night and good luck.