Pool Snacks

Summer is most definitely upon us; the temps are in the 90’s, kids are inside playing in the A/C and the heat is draining us of our energy.  It’s a great time to hit our neighborhood pools to cool us down, take a break from the, “Mommy, mommy!” and for me, to feed my kids.  When my kids ask to go to the pool, I know they must be hungry.  Going to the pool stimulates something in my kids to eat as if they haven’t eaten in days.  At home, they can go all day long without asking for anything and as soon as I say the word ‘pool’ they start salivating and climb into the pantry.  Sometimes just for fun I will say a word that sounds like pool just to see what happens.


When I was a child, my parents had a lot of stray pets, as they could not turn a stray away.  At one point they had about 10 dogs and maybe an equal amount of cats (please note this isn’t my usual embellishment and may even be an understatement).  These animals were conditioned to starving and fighting for a meal and if a piece of food ever dropped from your hand to the floor a frenzy broke out like nothing you have ever seen before.  It started with a tornado-like swarm, with barking and yipping and hair being torn out and at some point you couldn’t even make out if the animal was a cat or dog.  When this did happen you took a giant jump back and would reach for a broom, bat or umbrella to try to stick it into the frenzy to break it up.  THIS is quite similar to what happens to me when I hold up the last fruit roll-up from the cooler at the pool. 


There is also a phenomena called ‘What they have is better’.  It doesn’t matter who I sit next to at the pool, when that break whistle blows (think Pavlov) and they sprint to see who can get to the cooler first an immediate comparison is done to see what my neighboring mothers have in their coolers.  “Why don’t you buy good stuff like Mrs. Jones?”  Like an idiot I ask what Mrs. Jones has in her cooler and I hear the exact same things that we have, only in different flavors.  A couple of years ago a neighbor and I planned swim lessons together with our kids and we would each bring a cooler full of snacks and stuff for lunch, and every visit to the pool ended with our kids eating out of the other mom’s cooler.  I thought about switching coolers when we arrived and then seeing if the kids still complained when they were eating the “better stuff”, however they are a shit ton smarter than I am, so why put in the effort?


I don’t even try to pack anything for myself anymore, as I have learned I will be far less pissed off when I hear my six year old ask from behind me (with a full mouth), “What are you looking for?” and I turn to find out the one thing I brought for myself is being eaten by her.  She does usually offer me the rest, after her sticky wet pool hands have fondled it all up, “Ah, no thanks, it’s all yours”.  I would like to point out that when she sees this item at home she would never think of eating it, but apparently chlorinated water gives her some kind of diversified palate.


And much like home, or anywhere for that matter, I am a human trash can.   We can be standing directly next to a real trash can and my children will hand me their trash.  This occurs even when they have to take more steps to reach me than the trash can.  I have to ask myself why I continue to scream when they do this, I burn more energy (not the weight loss kind) and raise my blood pressure and I get the same results time after time.  Who’s the dumbass?  That’s right, it’s me!


So I am off to the pool once again, loaded up like a pack mule with toys, towels and food.  I am blissfully aware of my role as trash can and snack provider, which is probably still a step up from toothpaste cleaner and ass wiper.  Who’s hungry now?


This House Will Self Destruct….

Years ago, when I worked full time and the kids were in day care and we only really occupied the house during dinner and to go to bed, my house was clean.  I had a cleaning lady coming in bi-weekly and I had to keep up with dishes and wipe down the counters and clean up the occasional mess, but otherwise everything stayed neat and orderly.  That was then.  Fast forward three years to the first week of summer vacation and my house is on the brink of destruction.

It started slowly last week when the kids started bringing home everything that had occupied their desks, cubbies, hallway and whatever other space that was available in the school.  I wish the teachers would just throw all that shit away.  Why do they send it home all at once?   I don’t care that I paid for it, it’s like the food you take to a party that people try to get you to take home, whatever is left has been well fondled and left at room temperature, I am never going to eat it again – throw it away!  Teachers must know we don’t want that stuff, that our kids will beg to keep it ALL and it will cause us days worth of negotiating before we can get rid of it.

To further the accumulation of crap, my parents came down to see the girls dance recital and grandpa always has to bring all sorts of stuff for the kids.  Stuff I would prefer did not enter the house, because as soon as the kids get something from their grandparents it becomes “special” and therefore a keepsake.  I don’t care if it is a pen from the bank my dad went to; he gives it, they receive it and I am stepping on it three days later and swearing about all the shit all over the place.

Summer vacation also means that the kids are now eating every meal in the house and it isn’t pretty.  My kids have a habit of starting at the table and then wandering around while eating things like crackers, chips and dry cereal.  They also like to talk while they are walking and chewing and create a trail of crumbs everywhere they go, it’s like having Hansel and Gretel living with me.  What really pushed me over the edge is the glob of peanut butter I found on the hardwood floor with a shoe print in it that had hardened and has to be soaked off the floor.  I asked my kids to come take a look and tell me who did it, and of course they would never have done that.

Today as I walked from room to room, it was as if the destruction increased with each room I entered.   My 6 year old asked if I had some chores she could do to earn some money.  At this point, I am willing to pay her to clean up the mess she made as I cannot even enter their room without risking injury to myself.  Both she and her sister have spent a considerable amount of time in there today, but I have to tell you, it doesn’t look any better.  At one point my youngest came out with an empty American Girl clothing box and asked me to go get some aluminum foil so she could turn it into an oven for the dolls.  While I respect her ingenuity, I declined her request and reminded her about the house rule of keeping empty boxes, packaging materials or pieces of paper they have one word written on them.

I have looked to my friends with older children to reassure me that this is just a phase and it will pass, however, those bitches wanting to be honest have given me the news that it won’t.  It looks as if my only option is to find ways to bribe or threaten them, as enrolling them in summer camps and drinking liquor only stalls the inevitable and leaves me with a killer headache.  So don’t feel slighted that I don’t invite you over for a summer play date, at least your shoes will stay peanut butter free.

Regrettably Enjoyable

I am struggling with that whole, ‘Enjoy every second now because soon they will be grown and you will regret it’.  Now I am sure that this is true, but I am so tired of breaking up fights, reminding them to pick up their stuff and just generally requesting that they knock off whatever annoying shit they are doing, that I am missing the good moments.  And there are good moments, right?

People, mostly ones whose children are grown, are always telling me to slow down because these days when they are young and needy will go away and you will want those times back.  I have to admit that I would like to tell them to shut the hell up or to mind their own business, but I know that deep down it is true.  At the same time, there is nothing adorable about waiting until I finally sit down to tell me you want a drink with your dinner, fingerprinting up the table I just took the time to polish for our visitors (true – happened yesterday in front of my friend) or ringing the door bell while I am upstairs folding laundry to ask me if you can have a popsicle.  That last one really gets me, it happens about three times a week and they will just sit on the porch and ring that damn thing until I am so angry I come downstairs and open the door screaming.

Just this morning as I am fighting to get them out of bed and into clothes I missed the good moment.  I missed it again as I was trying to comb the knots out of my six year olds hair and with every stroke she pulls away and  yells, “YOU ARE HURTING ME!!!!”  I missed it further when at breakfast I put down two glasses of ice water and child one wanted the glass that child two had so she knocked them both over to try to switch them and then sobbed and almost choked on her waffle.

I have to tell you that I feel that I am really missing a lot of the good moments I hear about.  I watch commercials where people tuck their kids into bed with a sweet kiss and turn off the lights and close the door as they walk out and go enjoy the rest of their evening.  What effing planet is this happening on?  Where is all the, “I don’t want to go to bed”, followed by, “where is my blanket, or stuffed animal or pillow” and “I am cold, I can’t sleep this early, sissy told me there is a monster in-between my bed and the wall”?  And turning the light off and shutting the door?  I might as well lock them in a trunk.  They also forgot to show the kid slipping out of bed five minutes later to show up in mommy and daddy’s room with everything from their bed bundled up in their arms.

We have two days of school left and I am sure that summer vacation will present me with a lot of good moments; time I should be embracing and which should fill me with joy.  Maybe if I was on a triple dose of Xanax.  What I do imagine is a lot of time spent with me being frustrated and yelling, and my kids crying and reminding me how I suck at parenting.  Sure we will have some happy moments and I will cherish those as always, but for me the ratio is about 98 to 2 and I don’t think I need to clarify which is which.

I do want to cherish all these moments and I would really prefer not to have a scowl on my face and have my voice always be at a shout to be understood.  I want to hug their small bodies to my chest and keep them there, but I also want them to be able to take a shower by themselves without asking me 10 times to come check if they have gotten out the shampoo, conditioner and body wash (can’t they feel it???).  So I am at those crossroads of wanting to keep them small and close and wanting to have my sanity return.  For now, I will just have to be happy with my 2% and look forward to preaching to young mothers when my kids are old enough to be missed.

Pubic Etiquette

We are five days into the neighborhood pools opening and I already have enough material to write about 15 separate blogs.   I am not just talking about what people wear (or don’t wear), but how their children act and what “Rights” people think they have.   We belong to a community, where we share resources and respect each other.  At least that’s what it says in the proprietary guidelines, which I think most people missed reading.


I really just wish I knew what some people were thinking before they dressed and headed out to the PUBLIC  pool.  I feel first and foremost that I need to define the word public, which is not to be confused with the word pubic; however after seeing many people at our pool, I know it has been.  The word public has been defined as, ‘open to all persons, or affecting a population of community’.  It does not mean that you can forego shaving or that you should wear anything that allows us to see those areas reserved for your gynecologist.  They get paid a lot of money to look at that, we don’t!


I admit I wear a one piece or one of those tankinis, where the top overlaps the bottom – You’re Welcome!  There are many women that can still wear a bikini and look awesome (bitches), but there are even more that shouldn’t.  There was a lady actually wearing a thong on Saturday, or maybe it was just a normal binkini that her ass sucked in.  I don’t know and don’t care, still unacceptable.  And here’s a tip for you, if you are going to shove yourself into a tiny bathing suit, enjoy a piece of fruit, don’t be the woman waving down Domino’s for your meat lover’s pizza, cheese bread and chocolate lava cake.


Now, I am all about men looking manly, but a little laser hair removal never hurt anyone.  I have some tips to make pool time better for us all.  If it looks like you brought your cat into the pool with you, it is time to shave or put on a shirt.  If your belly hangs past your balls, it is time to put a shirt on.  If you are covered with pimples that are festering, it is time to put a shirt on.  Oh, and I don’t care how good of shape you are in, Speedo bikinis are for professional swimmers, not middle aged men.


This year I have bought myself a badge and will be enforcing my own pool toy martial law.  Your kid hits me with their toy – it’s now mine and just try getting it back.  Ever had an enema with a swim noodle?  That is how you get your noodle back!  In the five days since the pool has opened, my kids and I have been hit numerous times by dads trying to show their kids how bad their aim has gotten with middle age.  Yesterday a ball hit my 6 year old in the face hard enough to bring tears to her eyes.  After checking to see if she was ok, I turned around with the ball in my hand to see where it came from and when the person held up their hands I threw it as hard as I could in the opposite direction.  I only wish I could have thrown it over the fence.  Yes, my child is fine, thanks for NOT asking asshole!


For those of you that let your toddler wander into the pool while you chat with your friends or try to read a book, you are an idiot.  It is important to know that the Lifeguards at our pool are not there to save your kid’s lives and have no vested interest in your children; sure they might feel bad for a day if something happened to your kid, but that’s about it.   Their primary focus is to tell you the pool is too full for you to enter, yell at kids for running or eating on the pool deck and get awkward sunburns that make you question their intelligence.  Watch your damn kids!


As you can see, I have plenty of things to say about our community pool and the ‘community’ that goes to the pool.   That being said, I will be a regular with my kids since our teachers are too lazy to keep them all summer and now I have find ways to entertain them daily.  Of course I will need to find ways of entertaining myself, which means I will be people watching and taking notes which will be coming to a  Facebook near you soon.


To Bleed or Not To Bleed

I feel like it is only fair to give some type of warning, THIS blog is not for the faint of heart.  It is especially not for men, whom I would strongly advise to close their browser or go surf some soft porn.  Today I am going to talk about women things and use words like vagina and uterus that make men woozy and fearful.  It is PMS week for me and that can sometimes make me a bit snarky.  You have been warned, turn back now or you will be sucked down the rabbit hole with me.

The past couple of weeks have included for me all those maintenance trips to the doctor to make sure everything is in working order, not falling apart or out, and that I can go another 12 months without having someone probe me or wrestle my breats WWE style into a machine made for flattening dough.  Here is another strange concept for men, we women go to the doctors without being sick so we can prevent getting sick.  I know, it’s crazy, but we do it.  Keep in mind this is optional, uncomfortable as hell, and we still do it.

My first trip was to my gynecologist, not only for my annual check but for a recheck of the “elective” surgery I had back in December.  Keep in mind that this time “elective” meant to remove a mass from my uterus and have ablasion done.  This was a procedure that I contemplated quite a bit before doing, as there is always risk with surgery and the results were not guaranteed.  In hindsight, the $2K out of pocket was well worth the fact that I now have periods for 2.5 days and no embarrassing incidents.

My doctor starts out with all the usual questions that make me feel awkward and old, and for some reason after everything she asks, I wonder if I got it right.  The only time I get upset is when she asks if I have had any unexplained weight loss, because that just seems cruel.  I just weighed in, you got the results right in front of you compared to last year, why the need to ask?  Also, I would prefer not to be asked about how many drinks I consume a week.  Last I checked there was a picture of a uterus on the front door, so in case I missed Betty Ford somewhere in the waiting room let’s get back to my vagina!  I like my doctor, as she is direct and tells you she knows it sucks to be a woman, right before she smiles and hands me my mammogram orders (bitch).

I am thankful that the mammogram techs are women, as I think they really do understand that it is an unpleasant experience.  You can definitely tell the people that have been doing it a while as they will start asking about the weather or your summer vacation plans while grabbing your breast and shoving you into the machine without missing a beat.  The newer techs start out by explaining the process and then turning their head while you pull your boob out.  Why?  In five seconds you’re going to be grabbing it like it’s a ham sandwich and you haven’t eaten in 48 hours, don’t get shy now.  I do want to tell anyone performing this job that they really don’t need to tell me, “This is going to be tight and may pinch or hurt.”  Really, cuz I thought it might be comforting or sensual.

Every year when I go through this I always wonder if these exams and tests would be so invasive and painful if a man had to go through them.  I think the first man to have a penisgram would become a full-time lobbyist and have enough funds available so that it would feel and seem like a hot 21 year old was holding his junk, instead of being compressed between metal and plastic.  Also, there would be no children if the only way to have them was through live birth.

Alright, my PMS has passed and with it my thoughts of how much mankind sucks and how being a woman should truly come with combat pay.  I also no longer wish that people I dislike were required to give birth to 16 pound kids without drugs, naturally.  I am returning to myself and engaging my inner bliss, well at least for the next 28 days.

Happiest Place in the World

We just returned from the happiest place on Earth, no we didn’t time travel back to the 60’s we went to Disney World.  It really is its own little world where you never really remember what day it is or know the time, it is like so many of the trips I took to my own Disney – Las Vegas.  This trip was as educational for me as it was exhausting and I feel like I should share some of my new wisdom with you all.

Did you know that the average person doesn’t know how to pack or apply sunscreen?  I have never seen so many bad sunburns in my life, I felt like I was walking around a trailer park in Jacksonville instead of a place where people spend thousands of dollars to walk miles a day and pay $5 for a Coke.  The adults that were dumb enough to get these severe sunburns are one thing, but I get pissed off about the kids.  At one point this little girls cheeks were so sunburned that the non-English speaking life guard said to the dad, “You need sunscreen her face”.  His response was that he thought the mother did.  With what olive oil?  Get off your lazy ass and get something on that kid’s face before you wind up in the ER.  This, of course, coming from the person that used SPF 100 every day and came back as white as I left.

Did you know that adults think that those characters are real?  I can’t tell you the number of times I waited in line with my kids to get a picture taken with some character and watched all these adults get multiple pictures taken of themselves with the characters.  At one point some lady in front of me was in a wheel chair waiting and her significant other left her (probably cuz he thought she was a dumb ass).  So when it’s her turn I grab her wheel chair and push her up the incline and get her settled and then she jumps out and starts dancing around the character and posed for no less than 10 shots.  I have to admit, I did consider throwing her wheel chair into Lake Epcot at that point, but didn’t do it as I was trying to set a good example for my kids.

Did you know that rules do not apply to people that aren’t from the United States?  Here we go from cutting in line to allowing the kids to punch the characters because they think it is funny.  I watched one family allow their kids to climb to the top of the fence, clearly marked, “DO NOT CLIMB”, and then wander over to the lake and wade around in it.  The whole time they are there they are speaking in English, but as soon as they are approached by someone telling them to stop they start speaking in their own language.  Honestly, well played, and if I know more than 4 or 5 words in any language I might have tried it myself.  My own kid looked at me and said, “Mom, is this one of those donde esta moments?”  She is of course referring to my recent trip to Target where some lady’s kids are running around bumping into me and my cart while she yells from three aisles away, “Donde esta?” continuously, but never does anything beyond that.  Once again, well played and I need to take a page out of that book.

Did you know no matter how much money you save to pay for Disney it will never be enough?  Since we were driving, I packed a case of water, bread and peanut butter, and mini boxes of cereal along with all sorts of snacks.  Doesn’t matter you are still good for $100+ bucks a day in food.  I considered throwing out a hat and having my kids mime or dance for money, but if I was approached by the staff the only things I could say in another language are, “donde esta”, “aloha”, “gracias” and “sake”.  Sigh…

Did you know no matter how much you do or buy it will never be enough for the kids?  At the end of each day as we limped back to our rooms, the kids would easily tick off all the things they didn’t get to do that day.  Really you want to bitch about not going to the crappy hotel arcade after we park hopped to two different parks and made time for swimming?

It was a wonderful vacation, and even if it wasn’t I would say it was just to make myself feel better about all the money we spent.  Disney is a magical place, where magical things happen, for a price.  For now I have to get back on my hamster wheel so I can magically greet my credit card statement when it arrives in two weeks.

Book UnFair

There is nothing I look more forward to than hearing how unfair something is according to my children.  It never gets old, EVER!  This is right up there with being corrected by them after every single sentence I speak and having them ask why my belly isn’t flat and why I have to breath SO hard when I exercise.  Love it, keep it coming, at least I know I am alive.


Our most recent “unfair affair” was the local school book fair.  We have more books than we have places to put them, the kids get books for every holiday and even grandma sends books she finds interesting to them.  They also have this place called a ‘Library’ where they can check out books for free and when they return them successfully they can get more books.  I know it is a crazy concept but it has been working for years.


Even knowing we have books in our house that covers have not even been cracked, and the whole library thing, I gave them each $20 and told them to pick out two (TWO) books and bring me the change.  The dissertation on what is fair started, and at that point and I should have just taken my $40 back and called it quits.  However, I must love drama and squabbling so I let the madness go on.  “What if sissy picks out two books that cost $7.99 and $9.99 and I pick out two books that cost $5.99 and $6.99, will you add up the difference and pay me?”  Absolutely not!!!  How does this even enter into their heads?  I have made a conscious effort since birth to make it clear that nothing is fair, so why does it continue to come up?


After answering some more questions that made me question my reasons for choosing family over peace and freedom, I sent them off to school with their $20 reminding them to make good choices.  On this day I was also subbing at their school and part way through the day I run into my third grader who sheepishly hands me her money envelope and skips off with her friends.  I open it and there is literally change in it, no dollars, just change.  The envelope does have the receipt for the two books, pencil, book mark and large finger pointer she elected to buy.  At this point, I almost have to concede, as she has clearly out witted me.  Not only did she buy TWO books and junk, but she handed the change to me at school where I was working and could not stop to scream at her.


My youngest child caught me in the office in front of all my peers at the end of the day where she produced her pointer and just laughed.  That’s right, fuel mommy’s fire.  I asked her the same question and she actually handed me back $3 and reminded me about my two book limit which clearly meant if there was money left she should buy something else.  At this point she asks for $5 more so she can go buy the poster with two puppies for her bedroom wall.  My response to this leads to more unfair and bad mommy protests.


When we get home I tell them that I am disappointed about their choices, and I might as well have been talking to the coffee pot.  I then decide that I need a small break.  I work two part-time jobs, which is really the equivalent of a full-time job that flexes around the kid’s schedules.  In my spare time I clean house, grocery shop, run kids to their many commitments and do any of the other 500 things moms have to do.  I sit down in a room by myself and open up my Kindle for a bit of me time.  I hear a click and the lights go out, as I turn I see my 6 year old with her fancy new finger pointer by the light switch.  Click, lights are back on and then click they go back off.  I can’t tell you how many times this went on within 30 seconds, but I can tell you as I rose to grab it she ran like she was trying out for the Olympics.


You know what I think is unfair?  The fact that Scholastic advertises a book fair in a school environment and then has all sorts of toys and junk when they clearly know that most parents send their kids to school to make purchases without adult supervision.  You know what else I think is unfair?  That they don’t give us the addresses to these people’s homes so we can throw rotten eggs at their siding or let our dogs crap in their yards.  But all is unfair in kids and life, so we go on the best we know how.


My Link Turns 50

Many of us are fortunate to have one person in their life that makes them a better person.  We have them and we call them best friends, besties, BFF, soulmates or lifers.  I have found that one person in my life plays such an important role that calling her something like a best friend just isn’t enough; as it doesn’t clearly indicate what she means to me.  The person that I am describing is that final link that connects a chain that makes me the person I am.  Today that person hits a tremendous milestone and turns 50, which means she has graced this world for half a century.


Our friendship began in a cloud of Bud Light which led to what we dubbed “front yard parties” and the occasional all-nighter.  These are some of my best memories, as we never had to stagger more than a few feet from where we had originally plopped to get to our front door, and hopefully our beds.   I clearly remember when our friendship had matured when I asked my husband to stop giving her a hard time and be nicer to her.  After a week of that she pulled me aside and said, “I don’t like him being nice, it’s creepy, I want him to go back to treating me like shit, it’s better for our friendship!”  Nuf said, he has been terrible to her ever since, but it is done with great affection.


This friend I speak of is full of light and love.  She makes everyone she speaks with feel special and is one of the few people in this world that people flock to.  She lights up a room when she enters, and because she is usually the last to leave, the light leaves with her.  She has a laugh that reaches into you, and when she isn’t saying something funny she may do something like mispronounce a simple word like tree as “T-ree” or eat some crumbs leftover from lunch out of her cowl neck sweater.


So I dedicate today’s blog, to some of my real “Bliss” – Sue.  You have made such a tremendous difference being in my life and I can’t imagine how I would have turned out without you.  While I am not with you today, I will be drinking many toasts to you and I will spill some red wine down the front of me in your honor.  Happy birthday to my very special link, I love you with all my heart, but in a totally non-lesbian way.
















Feeling Green

My oldest child is on one of those, Save the Earth, kicks and quite frankly it is beginning to piss me off.  This is a time when I wish the schools would spend more time on books and less time on Earth Day and that shit.  Don’t get me wrong, I love the Earth and I want my kids and their kids and their grandkids to have a clean place to live, as long as I don’t have to get a lecture for every move I make.


My daughter has gone to leaving notes all over the damn house with little sayings or warnings about wasting water, recycling and cutting down on waste.  I have a hint of my own for her, stop writing notes on paper and leaving them all over and maybe a tree will live.  How is it that my soaking dishes or leaving the water run while I brush my teeth is a serious offense, but her making 500 notes that say S’up, Yo and Dude to no-one in particular is ok? 


I have been finding these surprise notes everywhere.  The other day I open up my Kindle cover and there is a note in there stating, “Don’t Kill Trees!!!!”  How does that even make sense?  I may be using electricity to charge the thing, but there is no paper used.  This, is one more reason that I question what is being taught to our kids.  If she can’t identify the fact that my Kindle is an electronic device, why am I forcing her to do all this homework and studying?  Honestly, I am the one that suffers during that nightly ritual.


I would also like to point out the amount of laundry I have to do when either kid tries on an outfit, decides that it’s not what they wanted to wear and then dumps it in the dirty clothes hamper.  And how about the number of times I turn off a light in a room they walked in to grab one thing and then walked back out without flicking the switch?  Seems these things don’t get counted, and since ‘no-one’ did it, why should it?  I will watch my kid enter a room, flick on the light switch, grab something and walk out and when I say, “Can you turn that light back off, please?” I get an immediate response about someone else leaving it on.


So while it is cute that our children develop an awareness of what is going on around them, I would like for them to understand the whole picture.  The TV runs off electricity and when you leave one turned on in each room that you have entered and exited, that’s a lot of wasted power.  When you stand in front of the fridge with the door open for 10 minutes thinking about what flavor yogurt you REALLY want, it takes twice as long for it to re-cool itself.  Leaving the front door open and blaming your sister or the dog we don’t have is another example.  So I am all about being green, if it means all of us working together, but until that point in time I am plugging my ears while simultaneously yelling, ‘La, La, La’ to the next person under 10 that attempts to educate me.



Fashion Sense

I have developed a new fashion sense that is caught somewhere between practical and lazy.  I don’t know how this happened; I used to be cool and concerned with how I looked at all hours of the day, and now I am just more concerned with getting through the day.  I do buy cute clothes; mostly from Costco & Target with the occasional sprinkling in of Macys or Kohls, but I have come to realize that it has less to do with the clothes I buy and more to do with the effort needed to pull myself together that gets in my way. 


I am forever running from one place to the next, and it is never for me.  My children, at 6 and 8, have the life that I would love to have; but instead I have assumed the role of chauffer, chaperone and pimp (responsible financially).  As a result I am often in the middle of some task when I am interrupted by the shout of a child reminding me of a dance class, birthday party or play date that I am somehow contractually obligated by my uterus to fulfill.  As a result I am usually jumping in the car with whatever I have on and racing off without a clue of how I look.


My most recent purchase of $150 ugly-ass walking shoes is testament to what I have become.  I really wanted those sporty looking Coach flats to wear with my jeans, but let me get all righteous and tell you about their lack of support and how they just scream, “Give me bunions!”  My feet have taken that beating they get from wearing way too many cheap heels early in life and they have taken a hellacious revenge in the form of unbearable pain when I attempt to wear anything less than an orthopedic slipper.  In trying to convince myself they aren’t so bad, I pointed out that there is so much support in them they are similar to wearing heels (very ugly heels).


The other day I was rushing from home to school to the grocery store to God knows where after and at some point I looked down at myself and did a full body shudder.  I was wearing lime green yoga pants (fancy word for sweats), a shirt that had every color under the sun in it (except for the lime green in my pants) teal and purple striped socks WITH grayish Keens and did I mention no bra?  Good Lord, I was like the poster child for abstinence or birth control.  The sad thing is that once I realized what I looked like I was like, ‘What the hell do I care, I am way too busy to be troubled with how I look!’  This, by the way, is the attitude I assume most people adopt right before they stop combing their hair before going out in public and wearing clothes that grossly misfit them because ‘they were on sale’.


To make matters worse, yesterday I ran all over town doing things for my family and got home with what I assumed was enough time to color my hair (which was badly needed) before heading off to the school to get my kids.  I started the process and then somehow realized that my brain must have done some kind of reverse calculation or ‘forgot to carry the one’, because I suddenly realize that I have cherry red hair dye that needs to stay on another 10 minutes and it is time to go get the kids.  I berate myself and then pull my hair back into a pony tail with the thought that it just looks wet.  I race up to the school and as I pull forward for the car line I realize that it is backed up to the intersection which means I am going to have to park and run up to get the kids.  S-H-I-T!!!!!!  I jump out and run toward the school, thinking that moving at a faster pace will not allow people to see my hair clumped with hair dye or maybe they will just think I am sweaty from exercise or had some kind of bloody head injury and commend me for not forgetting to pick up my kids.  However after the first 60 seconds it became apparent that when you sprint across the school yard people take more notice of you and they know exactly what you are trying to hide.  By the time I picked up the kids and headed back to the car I had several colorful comments and had been victim of a couple of camera phone pics that I am sure would end up on Facebook by end of day.


I have to admit, these thoughts would rarely come to me if it wasn’t for my nemesis, ‘June’.  She is always on time, she always looks good and she never has a hair out of place or mascara smeared to the top of her eyelids halfway through the day.   June’s kids aren’t trying to braid her hair or use the top of her head as a steadying post while attempting to get their shoes on.  June doesn’t have a syrup stain in the middle of her shirt from rushing through breakfast after asking the kids to finish getting dressed 8 times before screaming it and then realizing there is only 90 seconds before they need to be in the car and June most definitely would not be wearing pajamas to drop her kids off (and maybe even at pick up on a rough day).


But I am what I am, and there is the occasion that with enough effort I can still look good.  We’re not talking MILF material but I bet I could get a couple of 50 years old men to check me out at the Orthopedic’s office or waiting in line at the bank, even if it is just to take notice that we are wearing the same support shoes.