Category Archives: Parenting

And the Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round…

It has begun…you hear it, I know you do.

You feel it, as do I.

That strange buzzing sound that dances around your ears and causes you to cock your head to the left.  Or maybe the right. (Go left. Always go left when given a directional choice.  The line will be shorter, the path will be less travelled.)  There is a noise and a sensation in your belly …perhaps akin to what the Sioux Indians felt when the tatonka crested the buttes?  You are giddy.

Something is coming. Something BIG is coming.

No. It’s not The Rapture. Not just yet.

The School Bus! Oh, can I get a hell yes?  School is about to be back in session?  I am foaming at the mouth as I look at their packed-to-the-brim backpacks.  I am reaching, I am reaching, I can almost touch it.  SCHOOL!  Order! Structure!  Nutrionionally sound lunches (and honey wheat pretzels) blessed by the federal government!

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(We started decorating for September 3 weeks ago…)

Even if you have just perused this blog, it is safe to say you have determined that my parenting is shoddy at best.  Yes, yes. I am an atrocious mother.  (P.S. I already know this, but feel free to further bring it to my attention.  I can’t wait to read my hate comments).  What kind of mother looks forward to shuffling their babies off to school?  Why am I not devastated that they will be out of my clutches for and entire 5 hours an 45 minutes each day?  Why am I not savoring the last languid days of summer?  Why am I not posting my laments of the melancholy coursing through my veins at the idea of sending my children back to the trenches on social media?

I LOVE the school year.  My children LOVE the school year.  EVERYONE behaves better when school is in session.  School calms all people in THIS house.  We are structure people, we slather ourselves in construct and activity.   We shower ourselves in task.  If we wake up with nothing on the calendar, we break out into hives. Relax is not in our DNA.

So, it will come to no surprise to you that at 8:56 am tomorrow when the bus picks my boys up for school, I will be the woman driving around my quaint-northern-predicted-to-repeat-the-frozen-tundra-winter-of-last-year-town BEEP BEEP BEEPING the horn.

Go forth, my sons, and learn!  Embrace academia and potty jokes on the playground.  I love you to pieces, to the moon and back, I’d give my life for you in a heartbeat, I love spending time with you, but …..

To all my teacher friends, you know I’d endorse tax payer funds to purchase margarita machines for the teachers lounges if  I could!  Godspeed!

 

Dear Fellow Elementary School Parents Who Attended This Evening’s “Spirit Night”,

YOU’RE WELCOME!  Yes, you have my family to thank for the unanticipated but surely welcomed closing of the “playroom” area tonight of the restaurant where our elementary school’s “Spirit Night” took place.

I should have known this was going to be a precarious evening. It had all of the trimmings of a typical day of disaster in my life.  Which occurs 5 out of the 7 days of the week.

1.  The Husband is in another state.  (Of note:  Sometimes, even if he is not with us, but the children know he is within a 5 mile radius, they will sense his chi and behave just knowing he could spontaneously show up.)

2.  I’d been running around since the 8:55 AM busstop shoo-off, my car was full of sand from the park, The Nosy Meap never took a nap, and I hadn’t eaten since 12:15 PM.  Translation: I was in a fairly pissy mood.

3.  Due to my overscheduling, The Eldest had choir practice simultaneously with The Middle’s lacrosse practice, which I happened to be “coaching” (translation:  preventing 6 year old boys from beating each other with lacrosse sticks), which pushed us way passed our bedtime and had us arriving at the “Spirit Night” restaurant at….wait for it…7:15 PM.  (This is usually when showertime occurs in our home.)

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After I spent $26.57 for fastfood (the boys have outappetized kid’s meals), and watched my children shovel bites of fried chicken parts down their gullets, before sprinting into the overflowing “playroom” to act like Tanzanian chimpanzees on a hostile takeover of a rival troupe, I decide to go chit-chat on the other side of the restaurant with my friends.  (Of note:  The Nosy Meap had no business being in the “playroom”, you know the one designed for 3 year olds, therefore, I had her in a half-nelson on my hip trying to constrain her from breaking free and joining in on the mayhem.)

During my trivial banter discussing the fact that aforementioned child continued to refuse to use the potty,which is one of my biggest parental failures of note, my ears started to twitch. I heard a low grumble, as my motherly intuition picked up the pitch a voice that shares my DNA.  And shout-down-the-lane began as The Town Crier (The Eldest) declares to the entire restaurant, “MY BROTHER JUST THREW UP ON THE PLAYGROUND”.  Thinking The Middle has projectile vomited and was withering on the crusty floor of the “playroom” in despair, I tossed my daughter to my friend, Natalie, and sprinted across the restaurant, only to find my son wrestling with a fellow wild boy friend with not a care in the world.  “Did you throw up?” asked Concerned Mother.  “Huh?  I burped and the chicken I didn’t swallow in my mouth came out”, said Middle Child as he continued to play, laugh and be crazy.  Hmph.

Yet, I hear this voice booming and echoing throughout the restaurant, “MY BROTHER THREW UP! MY BROTHER THREW UP!”  Ah, family loyalty at it’s best.  Literally, My Sweet, Sensitive Eldest Boy was telling everyone in the restaurant that his brother threw up as if it gave him instant street cred.  For real.  Children started to swarm around him as if he was Savonarola decrying Florentinian artwork.  I wanted to thwap him on the head.

As you can imagine, this evening continued into its spiraling plunge.  The Middle’s extraordinarily curious Kindergarten friends started to hear that he threw up and next thing  you know, Management has shut down the playground and children are seeking him out to confirm such a …newsworthy event.  I am accosted by kids, parents, Management!  Translation: time to go, little family. Time.To.Go.

Therefore, I think it’s time to thank me that you had to endure just an abbreviated evening of headaches.  Most of you looked excited when the “Playroom Closed For Cleaning” sign popped up. You had your excuse to flee and be  in the comfort of your own homes…

Love ‘N Stuff,

The Concerned Mother Enjoying an Tasty Glass of Van Duzzer

 

The Open Letter Forum

The time has come.  I feel an Open Letter Forum is upon us.  It is said, therefore it is written, hence, we commence a series of Open Letters.

A few samples on the platter include the following:

An Open Letter …

*  … to My Offspring, Apologies That I Pillaged Your Easter Baskets (again),

*  … to the CEO of UBER,

* … to the (alledged) Swingers (gasp!) of My Small Town,

* … Tiger Parents,

* … My Fellow Just Average Brethren,

* … Any Future Potential Employers,

* … The Hot Dads,

* … God, G-d, The Gods, Buddha, The Prophet, Etc., *

* …. My Future Daughters-In-Law,

* … Facebook Posters in Need of an Etiquette Class,

* … Drivers of Large Expensive Vehicles with Stick People, Organizational Activities, and Orthodontist Magnets Attached,

* … People Who Give Me Dirty Looks at the Grocery Store,

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Many of these letters have been inspired by recent text messages, GNO discussions, FB private messages, frantic and frequent phone calls and clandestine conversations in the preschool parking lot.  If you have an idea for an Open Letter, please message me.  You will remain anonymous, if you so choose.

*  This letter will have a sub-series of letters

Leprechaun Love

Typically, I’d ask all of us SlackerMom’s to join hands once again, unite and refuse to participate in the Leprechaun shenanigans surely our fellow PinterestMom’s will show us up with tomorrow morning.  But, ladies, I feel like we have a much bigger movement on our hands that would involve Tooth Faeries, Elves on the Shelves, and the like being neutralized.  We must take this one creature of the imagination that has epically been blown out of proportioned and marketed by Target at a time.

Take a deep ujjayi breathe.  Never fear, I am here to help you.

If you are a BoyMom like I am (yes, I know, the last kid technically has girl parts) , here’s a quick and dirty guide to have your kids thinking they have rockstar leprechauns and you feeling like you’ve actually got it together…for this holiday at least.  The mess is minimal and can be done in the common bathroom, or wherever your lil’ nuggets go for their morning constitutional.

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Let me break it down…

1.  Green food dye- Dump a few drops into the toilet seat, swish around with a plastic disposable spoon, and voila!  The leprechauns peed in the toilet!  Leave a few dribbles on the seat for that added extra detail.

2.  Wintermint/Spearmint or Lime Tic Tacs (depending on what level of green concentration you prefer)-   This idea I have to credit to my neighbor.  She used to tell her daughters’ that the Tic Tac’s were liliputian leprechaun poops.  Brilliant!  (Disclaimer:  Your kids will eat the Tic Tac’s and inevitably, a conversation will ensue on the morality of eating leprechaun poop.  Is it ok because it has fermented into candy sold in the check out lane at the grocery store?)

4.  Green Sparkly Decorating Gel- Smear all over the toilet, the bowl of the sink and the mirror.  The leprechauns have “snotted” all over the place! Ewww!  (This is most believable if you have children in your home that have actually snotted on the mirrors before, AS IF ….!!!)

SlackerMom’s, go forth with your gross leprechaun rascality.  Erin go bragh!

Spicy Noodles & Hot Weenies

Normally, I wouldn’t self flagellate myself in public forum this harshly, as I do believe I risk losing a few friends and fans (not sure I have any, friends OR fans, I felt I should mention just in case) on this one.  But I must find the silver lining in my regressive mothering (working on that post as well).  Perhaps this cathartic excercise will hold me to task and I will once again….cook for my family.

Some Mothers don’t cook, it’s not their expertise, which I can understand, because I don’t clean or do laundry, AS LAUNDRY, WASHING AND CLEANING ARE NOT MY FORTE.  But, I have been told, I can actually create a few tasty dishes. I am not saying I could participate in a rigatoni showdown with Giada, but being a good little Italian girl and spending my childhood watching my Mom roll “homeades” (noodles, that is, to the layperson) I can at least promise you “wicked good” meatballs and creamy chicken proscuitto lasagna if you dine at my table.

I am not sure what happened, perchance it was when I had a 3rd kid or when kid #1 and kid#2 decided they wanted to participate in every activity known to man and we became a “titch” overscheduled, but my days of frying up seasoned panko encrusted chicken cutlets and making sausage tortellini soup have dwindled.

After dining on cheese pizza and greek salad two nights this week, and Chik-Fil-A the other, I put my fist down!  I decided that tonight my children were going to have an ACTUAL MEAL created, cooked and served by ME.

DRUMROLL….I now lovingly present dinner…

Spicy Noodles, yes, it’s true, that’s what we refer to Ramen chicken flavored noodles as in this house and Hot Weenies, which are of course, hot dogs.  (Credit for “Hot Weenies” goes to The Middle and his equally “spirited” friend, who shall remain nameless.)

And so it is written…

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Please note:  Our Hot Weenie and Spicy Noodles did not look like the Pinterest Mommy’s octopus in a seaweed garden as shown above.  But, I have to say, after finding this on the internets…I know what Monday’s dinner will be!

 


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