The Seven-Year Bitch

Remember how in my last post I was on cloud nine because my kid had kicked an AR quiz’s ass?  Yeah, today wasn’t like that.  Today was a day where this whole ADHD reared its ugly head.

I know, I know.  I shouldn’t bitch.  It could be so much worse.  My daughter could have another condition – one which wouldn’t allow her to read much less ace a quiz.  I’m grateful every day for that.  But this ADHD schtick can be tough. She doesn’t look different.  There’s nothing obviously wrong with her.  And sure.  On my defiant days I’d kick your ass if you suggested ADHD = something wrong.  She’s amazing.  And she’s so fucking smart.  

Today was a Daisy Scout day.  Meetings can be challenging at times, as they are at the end of a long day and her meds are wearing off.  Especially if it’s an unusually busy agenda, you can pretty much guarantee some ass will be shown.  There will be outbursts, whining, and some level of hysteria.  Getting really honest here, I hate it.  I hate watching her become unglued.  I hate watching her act like an asshole.  And she does.  Sometimes she acts like an asshole.

The girls in our troop are used to it, I think.  It’s never been openly discussed, but I think our girls know something is different about Stella and that it’s something she can’t control and doesn’t necessarily understand.  I’ve seen them rise to the occasion at times, treating my poorly-behaving daughter with kindness.  It’s just a small part of why I love them.  Today we met with another, younger troop.  It was over double the number of girls we’re used to, and it was a busy meeting.  We were taking strips of old tshirt and making dog toys for a local shelter.  Cute, right?

Only Stella doesn’t know how to braid or even tie any formal knots.  There was a pretty typical -for her- outburst.  There were some other moms and leaders from the other troop present.  One looked at my kid and said rather snidely to her friend that “she is way too sensitive- like WAY too sensitive.” 

I was already watching this woman.  Earlier when the girls were on the playground I though I had overheard a snarky comment about Stella and “too much drama” when there was a disagreement about a popsicle.  Yeah, don’t ask.  Anyway, my bitch radar was already pinging.

Lettuce not be a bitch

Y’all, I was pissed.  I was so pissed I couldn’t feel my face for a minute.  My head swiveled around rather Exorcist-like and I said to this woman “She has ADHD.”  This woman looked at me all conspiratorially and said “Oh!”  I looked directly into her eyes and said -possibly through gritted teeth, “That’s MY kid.”

You may be thinking I’m the one being too sensitive.  Maybe I am.  But part of it was that this was a Girl Scout meeting – a Girl Scout meeting full of 5-7 year old girls.  And if you or your kid is involved in this organization?  I expect more of you.  I expect better behavior.  I expect that you will NOT act like an asshole, that you will keep your bitchy judgemental comments tucked neatly under your ponytail.

So yeah.  Today was not so good.  Today was a day when I remember why I worry about mundane things like summer camp or 2nd grade.  Today the ADHD won.  Hopefully I’ll kick its ass tomorrow.

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Brag Me With a Spoon

It was a good weekend.  Saturday we crammed in both Earth Day at the zoo as well as an employee and family only visit to our park system’s water park.  I appreciate that immensely, as normally the water park is so blasted crowded that swimming is more like marinating in human soup.  It grosses me out completely.  Earth Day was very nice.  Lots of cool demos and activities for the kids – bird feeder making, games, loads of free seeds and plantings.

Happy Earth Day!

Today was the first day everyone went back where they belonged following Easter and spring break for Stella.  She did a cool art camp last week downtown.  They took her to loads of the exhibits here downtown and she was only 2 blocks from my office.  Still, it’s always a good feeling to get back to normal.

Over spring break, Stella really developed a taste for chapter books.  I guess to a kid, it’s hard to “graduate” from picture books, with their colorful illustrations and often silly characters.  It’s hard to realize that your own brain can concoct its own rainbow and silliness without benefit of your eyes.  I started reading the Junie B. Jones chapter books with her the summer before kindergarten.  When that wasn’t encouraged, I kind of gave up.  Shame on me, that one.

This year, despite the fact that she’s been smoking her AR (accelerated reader) goals, she’s still been languishing in picture book land.  I was starting to worry a bit.  Something happened.  I don’t know what.  She came home 2 days before spring break demanding to read Diary of a Wimpy Kid.  We did.  She loved it.

Today she went in and took an AR quiz on Diary and got a 90%.  Y’all, its rated a 5.2 level book, as in the material is typical of what a 5th grader in the second month of a school year can read.  My kid is in first grade.    I am beyond proud.  As her mom, I need stuff like this.  I still worry.  I worry about next year, when we don’t have the amazing teacher we’ve been so spoiled with this year.  I worry about summer, at how she’s going to adjust going from different camps week to week.  I still worry about her socially, seeing at how she can still flip out in ways her contemporaries do not.

She’s such a cool kid and a Brainiac to boot.  As with any parent, I can only try to stamp out my fears for her and try to nurture the amazing person I know she is, ever hopeful that her decreasing outbursts and tics won’t define her with other people.  So she’ll forge on with Girl Scouts and maybe piano or martial arts lessons.  I’ll try to set up play dates this summer with new girls.  We’ll keep reading and arting and just Stella-ing in general.  But today?  5.2 BL, y’all.  I’m taking the day off from worrying – or I’ll try to.

Rocking a tiara with her uncle on a tractor. Why not?

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Rebel Without a Pause

I’m ready.  I’m ready for the Change.  Maybe that sounds crazy.  The truth is, I feel crazy, or at least I did for about 48 hours.

Picture it: it’s Thursday and I’m home alone.  I’m cleaning the bathroom and sobbing.  Nobody likes me.  I’m a failure at work.  My house is digusting.  I’m old and fat.  I’m messing my kids up.  I’m a hot mess.  Now normally I pride myself on being pretty logical, level-headed.  I’m not a sniveling mess with snot running down my face brandishing a toilet brush.

It all made sense last night when I started – about 5 days earlier than I thought.  I had even looked at the calendar earlier that day, inwardly groaning when I realized I’d probably be on day 2 or 3 – the heaviest – while on a major inspection for work next week.  No wonder I had felt like Santa Claus, with a jelly belly.  I could feel it shake when I walked.  I’ve since peed it out.

You would think that after 30 years of dealing with a “monthly visitor” that I’d be used to it.  Nope.   It just seems to get worse.  And now that I’ve closed up the reproductive shop it seems even more aggravating and completely pointless.  I hate yelling at my kids and crying for no good reason and feeling like an insane person.

So bring on menopause.  I ain’t skeeered. 

This, however, is skeeery.

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Ball’s Fair In Love and War

In yesterday’s post, I alluded to the rubber nemesis I encountered this weekend.  As a teensy recap, Will was being peppered with work calls, necessitating him to be on the phone for sometimes a half hour at a time while hunched over the computer.  In my desperation to keep my kids and husband in neutral corners (as well as bribe my son to cut his long flowing hippie locks), I took my offspring to Target in order to look for new toys/activities we could do outside.

As we cruised the toy section, we saw the usual: water guns, water balloons, hula hoops, kites.  Stella was enamored by the idea of Wubbles, whatever the hell those things are supposed to be.  To me, they look like overinflated balloons with equally overinflated price points, certain to pop after one – maybe 2 – use(s), leaving your children’s joy scattered on the front lawn like so much pulverized rubberish material.  AND it’s As Seen on TV.  Hell to the no. Wubble is vetoed.

We  saw the Face Plant Maker next – one of those goofy toys in which you put your ankle through a loop with a ball-like object at the end.  You swing it around and around your leg while jumping over it.  I think back in my day there was a lemon at the end?  Anyway, the kids wanted it.  Sure.  Why not?  Then we saw it: the Gigaball.

To be fair, I actually had something similar on both kids’ Amazon wish lists.  It’s a huge hollow inflatable ball that kids can throw, kick, or even climb inside and roll around in.  And here it was: on the shelf of Target, on sale, and on a day when I was feeling pretty desperate for outdoor fun inspiration.  So welcome to the family, Gigaball.

I’m no slouch with an air pump.  I’ve inflated pools, our Coleman loveseat, beach balls, Donuts, a huge giraffe, and a giant slice of pizza.  I can inflate shit in my sleep.  Gigaball should have been a breeze.  I loaded up our water bottles when we got home and the kids and I settled in to the front yard to commence inflation.   Two hours later I didn’t even have half the $&%*ing thing blown up. 

 A Gigaball is composed of a buttload of “cells,” which much be individually (or in pairs) inflated.  Irritating, but not in and of itself a problem.  The problem was the damn air ports.  I have pores on my nose bigger than those damn things.  I had to hold the air pump just so, causing my hand to cramp like mad. And to make it even better, the damn air ports wouldn’t stay closed properly, meaning the cell or three that you spent an hour on an hour ago was/were now only half full.   I got pissed and took a break.

After 3 hours….

I took my trusty air pump and blew up the kids’ new pool (the same one which, as you may recall from yesterday, Felix promptly deflated and dewatered).  I went on air strike for the next few hours.  Felix finally cajoled me back outside late that afternoon.  Several times I said that we ought to return the stupid thing, that if I had known it was going to take an entire day to inflate, we would never had bought it.  He pulled his little blue plastic chair next to mine and just sat with me, keeping me company.  Every once in a while he would put his hand on my arm and give me the sweetest smile. ( Yeah, I’m doomed with this one.)  At one point he told me “You can do anything, MyMom.  You can do it.  You just need practice.” Sure, Felix.  I’ll spend the next 3 days on this if you keep that up.

I ran out of daylight that day.  I actually didn’t get back to it until late Sunday, after all the Easter festivities were over.  Will kept telling me I was being stupid, that we should return it, that it was a piece of shit.  But y’all?  At that point it was personal.  I was going to make that Gigaball my bitch.

I finally finished it and the kids – mainly Stella- got to play in it for about 10 minutes until they had to come in for dinner and baths.  It is now jammed up under my carport like a big red tumor.

And yeah, it DOES look like it’s already losing air, doesn’t it?

Don’t buy a Gigaball., y’all.  That’s my public service announcement for today.

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Ax Me No Questions…

Another Easter is in the books.  As you might expect, it was a long and sometimes long 3 day weekend.  Will kept getting yanked into work, meaning it was pretty much me and the kids for the duration.  What’s worse is that since Will was “working,” noise was not tolerated in the house.  I had to get creative and find stuff to do outside.  That’s ok but gets kind of exhausting after a while.

On Friday I finally managed to convince my son to get a haircut (after telling the kids we’d go outdoor toy shopping with ice cream cones to follow in the afternoon).  He was surprisingly mellow about it.  He looks like a different dude.  We also stopped at the Magic Plant Store (a.k.a. a nursery) to get a container to make a “succuwent” garden.  We had the succuwents already (although I let them each pick out a new small one) plus a huge pile of Precious rocks and minerals (mostly pyrite) we collected during a rock and gem event at a local swamp.  Don’t ask.  We stopped at Target for outdoor toys.  I have a whole other post coming about that.  I met my rubber nemesis.

See? His hair had gotten so long I could make these epic bunny ear ponytails. Ponytails were the only way he could “see pwoperly.”

We pioneered our new giant inflatable pool  for about 10 minutes (until Felix discovered how easy it was to yank the air ports open – the damn thing deflated in about 45 seconds, sending water everywhere).  The kids discovered that it still really is too chilly to play outside in water.  Mom knows her shit sometimes, no?  At one point on Saturday, I had run to Voldemart to get milk when Will called to find out  if the kids were “too cold.”  No one had blue lips – only violent trembling.  They were already back inside when I got home.

Then it was Sunday – Bunny Day.  Recognizing that Sir Bunny had been way too extravagant these past – ohhhh, I don’t know – 6 Easters, we asked that he scale back.  Each kid got a fun “container”, a main “toy,” and candy.  Stella got a new lunch box for school/camp and a skateboard.  She’s been begging for one since her brother got one for his birthday.  Felix got a toolbox and a Swiss Army Ax.  No, it’s not made by the actual Swiss Army company.  But it’s a small ax with a hammer on the other side, with all sorts of folding tools in the handle, and by tools I mean mostly tools for the purpose of murder/mayhem.  There are TWO serrated saws, a knife, a “scraper,” plus your run of the mill screwdrivers.

The unveiling of the ax.

Understand, Will saw this when we were out at one of those random places that sells shit way cheap to liquidate it.  You can find Ralph Lauren bedding next to a Sharper Images back scratcher.  That kind of place.  Well, Will saw the ax and thought Felix would LOVE it.  Now, normally I’m the shopper of the family.  I see things that I think people would like and I squirrel them away.  I’ve very rarely seen Will do this sort of thing.  So against my better judgement, I encouraged him to buy it for his son for Easter.  In my defense, I didn’t look closely at all the little dewhickeys stuck in the handle.  I saw ax.  Will said it had a rubber guard on it, and he could file it down if need be.  We bought the ax.

And see once upon a time? I’d think “A lizard! How cute!” Now? I secretly wonder where he put his ax.

Both kids were elated with their “baskets.”  Stella was sweet and cute and acted like a non-spoiled brat (as opposed to her performance at Xmas).  Felix was beaming.  He had AN AX.   “I GOT AN AX, MYMOM!!”  Yes, son.  You did.  You got a fucking ax.

See? Not an ingrate. Score!

I must be crazy.  We gave our son an ax for Easter.  Even with the sharp blades, it’s still an emergency room visit waiting to happen.  And we gave Stella a skateboard??  My only solace there is that she’s currently too freaked out by lovebugs to want to be outside much, and maybe by the time art camp/spring break is over she will have forgotten about it?  Maybe?  But Felix?  No chance.  The ax is Precious.  I had to threaten him with immediate ax removal if he tried to sleep with it.

He threatened to cut down every tree he came across.

While admiring how it glints in the sun…..

No not to cut this short (har har),but back to my Monday.  Hang in there, y’all.  Monday will be over with before you know it.


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From Sea to Shining She

My son is a trip.  I know, I know.  We all think our kids are the most unique, intelligent, creative, talented, humorous, and/or gifted children that have ever traveled the earth.  I think as they get older, we can relax a bit and realize that they can’t all be the best at everything.  For instance, Stella is a brainiac.  She really is.  She just smoked an accelerated reader test on a 4.7-level book.  She’s in first grade, dammit, and she only read the thing one time.  And her memory?  It’s terrifying.  But you know what?  She’s the most literal creature I’ve ever met.  If you say something along the lines of “I’m just pulling my leg” she will look at you and inform you that you’re nowhere near her leg.  And she’s not the wittiest kid in the world.  Sure, she loves to laugh, but humor will not be her forté.  I’m intrigued to see how she progresses.  She loves doing Girl Scouts, and I’m thinking of trying maybe piano lessons or some type of martial art.  She wants nothing to do with sports.  I don’t think she’s going to be a team kind of girl.  Hell, she gets that honestly.

Felix is his own creature.  His memory is also pretty robust, but being rather free-spirited he only shares it when it’s something he chooses to discuss.  I think his spatial and engineering skills are probably off the chart.  His teacher at the playschool he attends often says they wish they had a fenced playground all for himself to just see what he would build without the interference of other kids.  His playschool is great, providing lots of “raw materials” such as lengths of bamboo, blocks of wood, bricks, and the like for kids to play with or build with how they choose.  Felix comes up with some pretty impressive contraptions.


Speaking of, he’s got 2 near my front door now that neither me or his father can bear to tear down: the original Daddy Twap and one that I believe is meant for the mailman.  His dad even went so far as to move the mailman twap carefully while cutting the grass before replacing it exactly where it had been.

My son has long meaningful discussions with plants, particularly his spider plant, Beethoven.  He got really pissed at me last night because I had left Beethoven outside too long after watering and some bugs ate some holes in his foliage.  I’ve since been charged with finding special Beethoven bug spray.

Felix and Beethoven

His hair has become a “thing.”  For whatever reason, he has decided he is not getting it cut.  It’s so long now that it definitely is getting in his eyes.  Most of the time I’ll just put the front/top part up in 2-3 “ponytails.”  If you give him any grief about his hair, he will look at you calmly and say that with the ponytails he can see “pwoperly.”  Whatever, but people are starting to refer him as “she” or “her.”  What surprises me is how much that pisses me off.  To me he’s all boy.

His ponytails are slumping a bit in the heat.

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The Stars and Wipes Forever

Being a mom is often gross.  Childbirth – regardless of method- is full of blood and guts and fluids and other stuff.  And what’s next?  Diapers.  For years.

It doesn’t get much better after that. There’s snot, booger-eating, puking, that-time-that-Stella-ate-cat-puke, pooping in the tub, and things I cannot even remember or haven’t seen (yet).  And little kids have zero shame, although to be fair, why should they?  They’re cute and nothing is more precious in their parents’ eyes.  We think the world of our kids, sincerely believing -at least for a while- that no kid is as beautiful/handsome (although my kids are pretty darn pretty), smart (although my kids do seem astonishingly brilliant), athletic (well, other kids have to have an edge somewhere), or funny (one word- Felix).

You gradually get used to the gross stuff, especially once the kids learn to work the system by drawing you cute pictures of yourself often encased in crooked hearts or by telling you you’re the nicest, most beautiful mommy in the world.  Why yes, Magic Mirror.  C’est vrai!

But every once in a while, something -some event- happens  which shakes your mom-battled self to the core and shit gets real – real gross, that is.  This stomach virus has been such an event for me.  Eight and a half days later, I’m a mom hollering “uncle.”  To be fair, I think we’re almost done. But over the past 2.5 days I’ve probably spent 4 solid hours perched on the edge of the tub while liquid poured from my son’s butt.  Why did I sit, you ask?  Because if I didn’t, the second he finished (for the 73rd time) he would leap to his feet, run to the door, holler “MyMom wipe my buuuuuuutttt,” dribbling butt soup all over the floor.  I hit the wall last night.  I could almost cry.  I was tired, my back hurt, my hands were (are) a wreck from so much washing/sanitizing, and there was only enough wine for 1.5 glasses.  And as cute as my son was sitting on the commode chattering about showing the cat some science, I was sick of it.  I was tired of gross smells and liquids and germs.

I am immensely proud that Felix used the down time to work on “the eyebrow.”

It hits us all sometimes.

So guys/husbands/friends out there?  Even if your girlfriend/wife/bestie seems to be super-f’ing-woman, sometimes she needs something pretty or sweet or sweet-smelling.  It doesn’t have to be much – a single sunflower, a small container of hand cream, a nice piece of chocolate.  And don’t forget the Lysol wipes.

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Girls Just Wanna Have Runs

Flashback: one week ago.  Crispi has appeared for her final visit before she and my stepdad drive their magical rolling house away.  The kids are excited.  The next day – Friday- Stella and I were set to join the first grade class of her school for an epic field trip to New Orleans to see both the aquarium AND the children’s museum.  Ambitious, no?  Late that Thursday night, Stella puked.  

Y’all, I didn’t think anything was wrong.  This has happened before. Because of her medication, Stella often doesn’t eat a thing for lunch. By dinner time she’s starving.  She can eat an amazing amount of food. Once or twice she’s overdone it.   That particular night, she had eaten almost an entire packet of quinoa and brown rice – a packet designed to serve 4 people. Oh, and there were salmon and green beans, too.  I would have likely puked as well.

The next morning, she seemed great. She was excited and energetic. We set off for her school.   She spit (maybe threw up a little?) in the grassy area next to my car. I thought it was strange and asked her how she felt. She said she was fine and practically yanked me into the school.  I took her at her word.

We made it to the aquarium just fine, and for the first hour or so she had a ball. She paired up with a little friend, and the two girls charged around the place like little hummingbirds.  They were everywhere all at once. Then you could see it. It was like a veil came down over Stella’s eyes.  She felt sick. I yanked her into one of the restrooms, but it was one of the ones that has the autoflush commodes.  Try being a six-year-old, not feeling well, with some lingering sensory issues, trying to puke in a commode with auto flush. It was fucking awful.  We spent the rest of the aquarium trip on a bench. She did concede that buying her a toy in the gift shop might make her feel better, and a very nice lady help me score the last dose of Pepto-Bismol for sale in the joint.  Stella chewed the pink tablets and then threw them up about 15 minutes later.  The children’s museum was no better. We found a corner which served as a reading nook, and she curled up on the floor pillows. That’s where we stayed until it was time to leave.

For what it was worth, we weren’t the only ones. About four other kids became ill as well. It was definitely a virus.  Bad news.  Stella spent the whole weekend as well as Monday and Tuesday down for the count.  It sucked as there were tons of festivals and such we could have done with Crispi.  Instead, the couch was the main event.  Hopes were dashed further on Monday morning when the Dude started to throw up.  Fortunately – I guess – Will had taken Monday and Tuesday off because we were due to go to New Orleans to see Radiohead. Rather than enjoying a couple of days of relaxation or utilizing the time for home-improvement projects, he got to take care of two sick kids.  It was just his turn.

Ah, Radiohead.  Seeing them in concert has been on my bucket list forever. I’ve always wanted to see them. Honestly, I haven’t been to a single concert since I saw The Cure in 1998.  I used to live at concerts. This one was a very different experience. Not only was I was somewhat wracked with guilt for abandoning my sick kids with my mother-in-law, I guess I’m just also that much older.   I had no patience for the opening act or the four kids in front of us sneaking a joint. I forgot how bad that shit stinks.  I also found myself sitting with my purse clasped on my lap. I felt like Sophia from the Golden Girls.  But despite all of that, as well as our nosebleed seats, I am so grateful I got the chance to go and finally see them live. They were absolutely amazing.  If they ever come anywhere close to me again, I will definitely go back. And I’ll make sure I get seats that don’t require a Sherpa to find.

The rest of this week has been a blur of work and sick kids.  Hell, I even missed a Daisy Scout meeting.  I never miss those.  And just like last week, the timing couldn’t be worse. This weekend we have a birthday party on the docket as well as several other Easter activities. Honestly, I don’t know how many -if any – we will make.  I wouldn’t wish this virus on my worst enemy.

 Stella seems completely back to normal, I guess. Her attitude and sass are coming back, if not her appetite. That was one thing that was more startling than anything else: how quiet my house was when my children weren’t feeling well.  There was none of this nonsense going on:

Y’all stay healthy.

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Chair of the Dog

The weekend was busy.  After the dust settled from Camp Saturday (Will ended up being at work all day long), I was ready to chew my arm off and get out of the house with the kids.  It’s funny.  I get burnt out being around the kids, but it’s so much worse when you’re trapped at home together.  I think it traps all the damn sound.  By Sunday morning, I was done.  I desperately needed to get myself and the children out of the damn house.  Will was on-call, and received some kind of notification that one of his sites may have been burglarized. 3 damn hours – and at least3 shouting episodes from me – later, we finally left to go to the zoo.  I didn’t care where we went.  As long as it was out.  Can you feel my frustration?

My creativity in coming up with activities for my children was limited to puddles.

I had promised the kids that we would get the inflatable pool out Sunday, as it was finally warm enough to pull it off.  I had said that Stella’s BFF could come over as well.  We lost so much damn time dicking around in the morning that I ended up practically shoving my family through the zoo so we could get home in time to swim.  That was pretty dumb and yet another instance of my trying to bite off a wee bit more than I can chew.    Felix didn’t care.  He somehow found a big chunk of bamboo and convinced his father and me to let him bring it home.  He wanted to swim with it, which was vetoed; we were afraid he’d pop the pool.  Didn’t even matter.  The pool has a leak somewhere, as evidenced by the sagging walls after about 45 minutes.  Dammit.  Need a new pool.  He wanted to take Bamboo to bed last night.  Of course.  Good thing I vetoed that.  At 3:30 AM he was joining me in bed.  I can handle my dude.  I have no use for a giant bamboo stick.

Felix and Bamboo.

This week promises to be just as hectic.  Work – gah.  I’m taking off Friday to ride on a bus with Stella’s class to New Orleans for a field trip.  My mom and stepdad are coming through for their final visit before disappearing again, so will be around through Sunday.  Next weekend is a girl scout leader meeting the first half of Saturday, plus some big festival here in town, and Kite Fest across the river.  Monday I have a ginormous executive-level meeting which I will sprint from in order to grab my kids, dump them home, and head back to New Orleans for Radiohead.

Will grilled out a whole mess of chicken Sunday night, because obviously we didn’t have enough going on. There was a little mishap.

When I was pregnant with Stella, I developed pretty gnarly back pain.  The government-issue chairs in our offices were pretty damn tortuous. I ended up buying some high-backed pleather thing from Office Depot for about $90.  For several years, my chair was pretty damn luxurious, particularly once my work husband bought me an ottoman for my birthday one year so I could put my feet up.  Fast forward 7 years – and 2 pregnancies later – and this chair sucks.  The pleather finish has flaked/is flaking off, leaving black bits of pleathery flakes everywhere.  The arms have the fabric showing through.  I can’t get the seat to raise anymore.  The back is shot, such that even with 4 throw pillows I can’t get comfortable.  Will had promised me a chair for my birthday last year.  We looked a few times, but it seemed like all my favorites were $175 or more and I’m too damn cheap to spend that on a damn desk chair.  I finally broke down and ordered one from Amazon.  It can’t be worse  than this.  Right?  I’m going to need something restful after all of this.

The word of the day appears to be “damn” or any derivative thereof.  Enjoy your damn Monday.


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Trapper’s Delight

“I’m going to build a Daddy twap because you put me in time out!”  This is my son snarling to Will.  To be fair, Will had only threatened time out.  I had just put his little butt in the chair (for kicking his sister karate-style in the ass – direct hit).  Will asked why he wasn’t building a Mommy twap.  “Because she takes care of me.”  Indeed.  Check mate, Daddy.

It has been a day.  I spent the first few hours obsessively chewing my nails and watching the computer; summer camp registration opened at 9:00, and despite the fact that Will works for the organization behind it, we get no special perks.   Hell, since we’re doing “specialty camps” this year, we don’t even get a teensy discount.  Bitches.  And since much of this occurs online and Will works in IT, he was working.  Have you ever tried to do anything incredibly time-sensitive and convoluted with 2 kids hollering underfoot?  My BP was probably 300/150.  I needed a camp so I could register for camp.  $1200 later, Stella has a home for the summer.  Dear glob.  What the hell am I going to do next year when I’m sorting out two children? (🍷).  I need a damn village.  To be fair, I tried to drum one up, but when every mom you know is stressed/spread thin/ depressed, it’s small wonder volunteers are sparse.  

And we got to have dinner with friends Thursday night.  I say this sadly because I feel sadly about it.  You know how hard it is to make friends as an adult, as a couple, as a family.  Usually there’s at least one party that doesn’t like so-and-so, or is uncomfortable with such-and-such.  It never felt that way with them.  Then they up and moved to Savannah.  Dammit.  Dinner just made me miss them more, and highlight the fact that we don’t have many contenders to replace them. 

Stella grew up with this sweet boy. We used to dream about them going to prom together.

When did anxiously awaiting concert tickets to Social Distortion/Pearl Jam/The Cure/Depeche Mode become waiting to see if your kid gets a week at zoo/swamp/art camp?? When did your close friends drift off into their own lives and families?  Dammit, no one told me how lonely this shit would be.

Posted in life, Parenting | Tagged , , | 5 Comments