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The House of Disappointment and Broken Promises

June 16, 2013 11 comments

This is the house in which my children live.  I’m thinking of getting a sign made for the yard.

The ways in which I’ve wronged them:

  • I took my daughter to the eye doctor.  I bought her the designer frames.  I agreed that glasses take about a week and a half to produce and I left the office WITHOUT HER NEW GLASSES.  Clearly, I do not want this child to be able to see.  A good mother would demand that the glasses be made on the spot, never mind that the office does not have the capability to perform such a task.  God forbid this child ever learns about LensCrafters.
  • The internet went out.  I spent an hour and a half on the phone with our provider, troubleshooting.  We determined that the problem was coming from inside the house!  (Y’all remember that movie, right?)  In a shocking display of maternal carelessness, I agreed that we would have to wait until after the weekend for a repairman and announced that we’d have an internet-free weekend.
  • I am completely incapable of scheduling appointments of any kind for these children on a Sunday.  This is obviously due to my incompetence.
  • Despite past purchases of damnneareverygamesystemeverinvented, my son is bored and I am unable to entertain him.
  • I require them to pick up after themselves and bathe on a regular basis.  This particular piece of parental torture is designed to ensure that they one day find spouses and produce offspring that will be just like them.
  • I keep “forgetting” to buy my daughter headbands.  This is actually a true slight and I do it because the lack of headbands forces her to wear her Great Wolf Lodge wolf ear headband around the house.  That entertains me and reminds me of the little girl on Bob’s Burgers.  Also, this child was inside Target with me yesterday and if she can’t remember them, I don’t see why I should worry about it.
via fanpop.com

via fanpop.com

  • I have a complete and utter disregard for what other kids’ parents allow them to do.
  • I do not allow the opinions of middle schoolers to affect me in any way.
  • I will not drop everything I’m doing to log into my laptop to browse the latest and greatest on GameFly, just because someone is too impatient to wait his turn on the other computer.  Most particularly if what I’m doing is preparing food for the starving masses that live in this house.

Because of these, and many other disgraceful deficiencies in my maternal duties, my eldest has dubbed our home, The House of Disappointment and Broken Promises.  I’m going with it.  After all, every great estate must have a name, right?  Kind of makes me feel like I’m living in a castle.  A scary, dark, drippy castle with gargoyles.

Welcome to our home. via zazzle.com

Welcome to our home.
via zazzle.com

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Categories: Uncategorized Tags: , ,

Father’s Day Gifts

June 16, 2013 6 comments

I feel that I should explain myself and my absence.  My work schedule has changed again and since I crave routine more than newborn babies, it’s an adjustment.  I’ve been a bit scattered.  I spend my newfound Saturdays doing ridiculous things like grocery shopping and house cleaning instead of important tasks like blogging.  I need to get my priorities straight, I know.

But anyhow, here we are at Father’s Day and with it comes the anguish of shopping for a Father’s Day gift.  My dad is notoriously hard to buy for.  I don’t mean he’s picky, because he’s not.  He’s just one of those guys who goes out and buys something if he wants it, or if he doesn’t, it’s something so complicated and foreign to his daughters that we have to hire an engineer and fire up the  GPS just to find it in the hardware store.  And while my father would be completely content with a card and a heartfelt “Happy Father’s Day,” we all know that isn’t going to cut it for a devoted kid such as myself.  I’m reminded of the many times in my youth when he would tell me, “just write me a poem.”  (I did such things before the world broke my spirit and wearied my soul.)  That sounded like total nonsense at the time, of course, but now I find myself telling my daughter to draw me a picture for Mother’s Day.  The circle of life, you know.

So, I was finally able to find a satisfactory gift, but even the finest gift still doesn’t cut it.  On this Father’s Day, I think of all the gifts that my dad has given me over the years and there is nothing that I can give him that properly says “Thank You.”  .  So, since I don’t have the capacity to write a decent poem at my bitter and advanced age, here’s a blog for you, Daddy.

Thank you for the many things you gave me….

(did you just sing that in your head?  If not, go read it again.  Sing it this time.  Thank you.)

  • The art of bullshit.  I possess no life skill greater than this one.  It has served me in my personal life, as a mother and, most often, in my professional life.  If you can’t wow them with knowledge, dazzle them with bullshit.
  • Never say “I don’t know.”  If you don’t know, then go learn it.  And act like you knew it all along.
  • Teaching me how to drive a manual transmission.  Although my mom cars of the past decade have all been automatic, one day these children of mine will go away and I can get a sweet little sports car and I will know how to drive it.  I would also thank you for teaching me all the mechanics of how an engine operates, but I think we both know that I wasn’t really paying attention to that part, so just know that I appreciate the effort.
  • Being old-fashioned enough to teach me that men are supposed to put air in the tires.  We may not always agree on all gender roles, but I’ve always been with you on this.  That speech that you gave me approximately 21 years ago about the dangers of overinflating a tire has never left me, and to this day I have never once put air in a tire.  I have you, a husband, and a son, so the way I figure it, I can live my whole life without doing this.
  • We got jokes.  No matter how serious things get, there’s always something to laugh at.  I can’t even imagine the state of my blood pressure if I had not learned this at a young age.
  • All boys need to be beaten with a stick.  Okay, maybe not all boys, but certainly any of the ones my sister or I ever dated.  You taught us early on to take no shit from a boy.  That’s a pretty big deal for a young girl.  Sometimes, though, our husbands might wonder if you taught this lesson a little too well…
  • Always be on high alert.  Someone might jump around a corner at you.  Someone might grab your hand in a dark room.  Growing up like that was kind of like living in a Halloween haunted house, but it’s given me a great foundation for scaring the crap out of my own children.
  • Being Papa.  There’s no greater gift that you and mom could give me than being there for my children.  It’s a wonderful gift for them to have you guys around so much.  And if you spoil them a bit too much sometimes, well, that’s your job.  I’m just saying, I don’t remember getting paid when I mowed your grass back in the day.  Just…saying…

There’s more, of course there’s more.  But since I made rash and foolish promises about baking Father’s Day cookies for Hubs, so I just simply don’t have that kind of time, so I’ll sum up.

Happy Father’s Day, Daddy.  We love you and we are thankful to have you.

family

 

Categories: Uncategorized Tags: , ,

School’s Out ForEVAHHHHHH

June 2, 2013 4 comments

Okay, not really forever.  School is out for summer break, though.  Technically Friday was the last day of school, but since I stopped caring about anything school related on the day the last test was taken, I didn’t make them go on the last day.  I figure, if the teachers tell them not to come, they who am I to be concerned about attendance.

Our day-to-day routine during summer break is not really that different from the school year, though.  Since I did not have the foresight to get a job that provides a summer break of any kind, I still get up every morning and go to work.  Since I believe in sharing the beauty of the pre-dawn start of a new day, I continue to wake my children at the same time as a school day.  Cruel, I know.  (I’m not snickering about this at all, I assure you.)  I go to work, they go spend the day somewhere, I pick them up after work, then we do it all again the next day.  Pretty standard stuff.

via memecrunch.com (kittens are cute)

via memecrunch.com (kittens are cute)

However, I would be lying if I didn’t say that summer break does provide some relief.  For the kids, sure, but I’m talking about me, here.  Here are some of the dreadful and terrible things that I will not have to do for three glorious months.

  • Homework.  Don’t act like I don’t have to do homework.  I have to help with homework, I have to check homework, I have to sign homework and everysingledamnday I have to remind the children to do their homework.  So.  No homework.  That’s a big load off, since I had long believed that I was done with homework, you know, when I stopped going to school.
  • Remember things.  Look, I have enough on my mind without having to remember who needs a poster board, when the science project is due and when I’m supposed to send money for a field trip.  Since my children barely remember to put on shoes each morning, they rely on me far too much to remember these things.  And while I realize that forgetting to pay for the field trip would spare me a morning of getting up at 4am to take a kid on a field trip, I’m not quite that far gone yet.  Give me a couple more years.
  • Hear the latest school horror stories.  The stuff my kids tell me about school terrify me.  The things middle schoolers are getting up to during school hours far surpasses anything I ever did, let alone before I hit my teens.  I don’t want to know about eighth grade mothers, I don’t want to hear about drinking at school, I don’t want to hear about fights where shoes get thrown… okay, I do want to hear that last one, because it is a pretty entertaining story.  The other stuff, though, nah.  It’s enough that I have to know that it happens, it’s too much for my brain to process to hear my own baby telling me about it.
  • Worry about my reputation.  Okay, this is not something that I ever do too terribly much, especially since I seem to specialize in making enemies at the schools.  However, I do need to worry about the things I say being repeated.  I have the dangerous combination of a lack of brain-to-mouth filter and a child with no discretion whatsoever.  Things get repeated.  Often.  And they are nearly always the things I should never have said out loud in the first place.
  • Buy mechanical pencils.  I’m going to tell you, I am so damn sick and tired of mechanical pencils that I could cry.  Literally.  My son apparently not ever realized that these are not one-time-use disposable instruments and field strips the little suckers as soon as they run out of lead.  Therefore, I buy mechanical pencils like it’s my job.  I don’t buy them while I’m at the store, though, oh no.  I buy them at 9:30 on a Wednesday night when someone realizes that we have NOT ONE PENCIL IN THE HOUSE.  I once sent my kid to school with a stubby pencil that I found in my car left over from mini-golf.  Don’t judge.

So, we may still get up early and go places and do nothing terribly special in our daily routine, I still breathe a massive sigh of relief when I lay my hands on those final report cards.  And I swear, next year, we will do better.  We will stockpile pencils and supplies.  We will have mandatory homework time in a designated homework place.  I will have thought-provoking conversations about the troubles of today’s youth.  I will not swear when I talk about school policies.  I will have a family calendar noting all important dates.

I won’t do any of those things, though.  And I just have three short months to try to stockpile enough sanity to get me through another school year.  I don’t like my odds.