Note To Self

Every once in awhile a day comes along to teach me a lesson. Frequently these days require 15 hours of self analysis, followed by 2 hours of texting with friends to reassure me that I am not, in fact, the devil, and end with copious amounts of vodka.

Yay! It’s one of those days again!! So here are some things I learned on this lovely day … notes to self, if you will. I share them, not because I think ANY of you would do such idiotic things, but because, in some way, sharing my complete lack of common sense somehow makes me feel that I am helping the world. Paying it forward, if you will. You’re welcome.

1. Do not drink 2 cups of coffee and a spoonful of sugar (fyi, it was more like a cup). It does not “help the medicine go down”. In fact, quite the opposite – it makes you NEED medicine. Now stop acting like you’re 22!

2. Do not ever, under any circumstances, attempt to pick up anything off the floor. This will merely remind you that you did not, in fact, go to the gym today and you are completely out of shape. And fat.

3. Do not allow anyone to know that, after getting your kids on the bus, you crawled back into bed only to resurface at 1pm. Yes, PM. People WILL judge you. “I’m sorry, did you say 1 PM?”

4. Do NOT look up one of your husband’s ex-girlfriends on Facebook only to find out that she is ridiculously accomplished and gorgeous, with two adorable children who look perfectly well behaved. You will not have the capacity to remember that people’s lives on Facebook are almost entirely made up.

5. Do not attempt to make a gourmet dinner that night. You will burn the chicken, set off the fire alarm, and scare the shit out of your kids. Plus, you will only give your husband one more reason why he should have married that angelic, perfect bitch – I mean, ex girlfriend.

6. Do not look in the mirror. Yeah, you heard me. Avoid that black hole like the mother freakin’ plague.

7. Do not pretend you are “that” mom by trying to play Yahtzee! with your kids. There will be screaming, crying and name calling, and possibly some irrational comments such as “I would rather DIE than finish this game!!!”. The kids, on the other hand, will be perfectly well behaved.

8. And, dear GOD, do NOT, after getting the kids to bed, decide to “confess” to your husband that you spent $257 at Target the other day on yoga pants and cute socks. Seriously?! This level of stupidity easily reaches the “bowels of hell” level. You’ve had a shitty day. Lay that baby to rest.

I hope these tips will help you were you to ever completely lose your mind and think any of these are even remotely a good idea.

Now it’s 9:03am. I’m going back to bed.

Not In My House

Let’s face it, as a mom (or a dad, I guess – she types begrudgingly) you get inundated with all these things your kids say and do.  And a lot of the time you live in fear. Ok, a lot of the time I live in fear (you need to meet my youngest to fully understand). Fear that they will say or do something stupid. Fear about whether or not they are a “good kid”. Fear about whether or not they wipe their little butts while in the bathroom at school or … dear god in heaven, wash their hands after (I’m going to pretend that my boys do even though we all know the truth). And we all know who’s job it is to make them “good kids”. And we all know who gets a big, fat F when said kid or kids screws up.

So when the opposite happens and you have these rare moments of success … well, I don’t know about you, but I cherish them like a squirrel cherishes a nut (I know, I was going for something funny there and it didn’t pan out … you can’t win ’em all).

Here is a story from many years ago that, to this day, I recall as one of my proudest moments as a mother. I mean, there are so few …

It was the dead middle of summer. You know the DEAD middle – where you’re done being happy that you don’t have to get up for the bus anymore and you’re starting to phase into “why is school not year round?? we are not a farm based society anymore!!” (you’re, also, scarily starting to say this to random strangers at the park). We began hearing reports about pools having to shut down because of “contamination” – the really gross kind (are there any other kinds?). Ya know, like, the fecal kind. Like … oh, you got it? Ok. My kids were at a pool camp that week. Naturally. Where else would they be during a pool contamination epidemic? So I waited for the diarrhea to start flowing. And flow it did from my middle child, AD.

I won’t go into the drama of obtaining that fecal sample. It’s a shame many of us have to live with and I don’t want anyone to go into full blown hysteria while reading this – kind of like I did while I was getting it. I don’t know who was screaming louder – me, AD, or the toilet, but the sound was deafening. Let me just say this, I will never be the same person again. Ever. I’m pretty sure I scrubbed off several layers of skin in the days after and I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror for a good week.

Test results: POSITIVE!! Because, hell!, we don’t do anything easy here!! Or half ass for that matter. Congratulations! – you’ve contracted NOROVIRUS. This fun disease will rip through your child’s intestines, leaving you with hours and hours of bleaching and rebleaching the house on top of having to lather your poor kid up with diaper rash ointment every 7 minutes.

Ahhh, the memories …

Fast forward a couple weeks. AD is on the mend and finally able to enjoy his last little tidbit of summer (poor guy). I’m milling around the house one day (I frequently “mill” – which really means lying on the couch eating Reese’s peanut butter cups and less actual grinding of grains) when the phone rings. The caller ID says it’s our state’s CDC. Um, what?? Naturally my first reaction is, “what did the youngest do now?”, but, alas, it was just a woman calling to check on AD and to find out how he had “obtained” the norovirus (spoiler alert: he swallowed some other kid’s poop at our local pool). I was probably on the phone with her for about 10 minutes when this exchange happened … the pinnacle of my motherhood career:

Her: So after AD, who then caught the virus in your household?

Me: No one.

Her: I’m sorry? Maybe you’re misunderstanding. AD was the first, but then who else caught it – you or your husband or your other children?

Me: (trying to figure out who’s the moron here – her or me) Um, the only person in this house that got it was AD.

Her: Really?

Me: Yes

Her: Wow! That’s amazing. This thing spreads like wild fire! I haven’t spoken to a person yet that hasn’t had several people in the family with it. It’s almost impossible to contain.

I’m almost embarrassed by the amount of pride I felt. Holy crap! I did something right!! I kept this house so clean that no one else caught this deadly virus (fyi, it’s not deadly). I mean, I deserve an award, right??

Meanwhile, I probably only have 6 months to live from all the bleach and toxics I inhaled while scrubbing the house clean that week. And the skin is just now starting to grow back on my hands, but HELL! I bet that lady told everyone what a great mom I am! I mean, come on!, how many of you can say you had the norovirus in your house and no one else caught it??

Oh? A bunch of you?

Ok, well … anyway.

Please admire this picture of the norovirus … whose ass I royally kicked! (taking my bow now even if no one is home or cares … except the dog … who just sniffed my crotch).

Pinterest Blog #1 … the Obnoxious Know-it-All

Ok. I can easily think of 30 different reasons why I hate Pinterest. (And I may write a blog about each and every one of them … lucky you! And by “you” I’m referring to the 6 people that read my blog) This does not, though, prevent me from looking at Pinterest EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. Why? Glutton for punishment? Secret desire to be a “Pinterest Mom”? Boredom? A way to fill the black, wrinkly, hole in my soul? Who knows … trust me, I don’t pretend to “get” my brain.

So today I am focusing on issue #1 … the “inspirational” quotes. Now, first, who the hell knows if any of these quotes are actually credited to the correct person. There was a whole article I read recently about Morgan Freeman – did you see this? Everyone was posting this supposed quote by him and he didn’t even say it. This, unfortunately, happens to me all the time when I get together with friends.

Friend to Hubby: So, we heard you were clinically diagnosed with OCD. How are you doing?

Hubby: What?! Um … what?

Me: I NEVER said that!! NEVER!!

Me (grabbing friend and throwing her into the next room): Really?! I thought we agreed that whatever stuff we said about our husbands was always a “slight exaggeration”.

What really gets me though are the demands these quotes put on us. For example:

“Think Happy. Be Happy.”

Ok, I’m trying. But sometimes my day sucks. I don’t know if I can do that for you.

“Make today ridiculously amazing.”

Um, that’s a lot of pressure. I don’t think I can do just regular amazing, let alone ridiculously.

And then there are the contradictory quotes – sometimes right next to each other.

“Never give up on anybody. Miracles happen everyday.”

“Sometimes, when you give up on someone, it’s not because you don’t care anymore, but because you realize they don’t”

Wait, I thought miracles happened everyday??? NEVER GIVE UP.  Or maybe I should give up?

“Respect yourself enough to walk away from anything that no longer serves you, grows you, or makes you happy”

“One of the WORST mistakes you will do is walking away from the person that stood there and waited for you”

Yeah, but what if they don’t make me happy anymore??

“Do more of what makes you happy.”

“Don’t give up what you want most, for what you want now.”

Well, eating cupcakes make me happy, but I also want to lose weight. Can I eat more of them or not??

And the creme de la creme – the exercise quotes. Jesus. Talk about shaming you.

“To exercise or not to exercise. What a STUPID question.”

“You can feel sore tomorrow or you can feel sorry tomorrow. YOU CHOOSE.”

“If you aren’t working towards it, then maybe you don’t DESERVE it.”

“Don’t talk about getting things done, just get them DONE!”

Jeez Louise. I picture some hardcore fitness trainer like Jillian Michaels screaming these little tidbits of inspiration at my guilt ridden face. And she always ends it with, “YOU BITCH!”. And I always end it by crying.

I will say this though – every once in awhile I stumble across a quote that really resonates. That is just exactly me – what I’m thinking or feeling or doing or whatever.  And then I make up with Pinterest … for a little while anyway.  Here’s my latest:

Damn right!!!

There’s Dried Peanut Butter on My Laptop

My husband’s a computer guy. The cute kind. We’ve only recently purchased some decent computers though. (He’s also “the cheap kind”) Christmas two years ago was our first step. He wrapped up an actual apple for me – a Pink Lady, I believe – and had a laugh while I looked on in confusion (and, truth be told, disgust – you don’t leave a piece of fruit under the Christmas tree for me. You just don’t). He then pulled out the MacBook Pro from behind him. Viola! It was really sweet. Both the apple and the laptop.

Naturally, the kids were all over it.

I stood my ground for awhile. I told them it was MY laptop for my OWN personal use and that there was absolutely NO need for them to be on it.

NO NEED!

*sigh*

Yep. They are now on it more than I am. I really am so spineless. And I wish I could tell you that they are on it for school purposes, but we all know that’s a lie. They play Minecraft on it. But in their defense, my laptop is the fastest computer in the house. Ok, that sounded bad even to me.

I can’t go anywhere near this discussion with the Hubs. He just gives me a look. You know the look – “I told you to hold your ground. HOLD YOUR GROUND!” … cue the Braveheart soundtrack and Mel Gibson screaming “HOOOOLLLLLLLLDDDDDDDD”.

And I know I need to say no. I need to set up these boundaries! I need to reclaim what’s mine!! But let’s face it, sometimes it’s easier to cave.

Oh, I know, I know!! You’re alllllllll out there saying how the WORST thing you can do is cave. That it’s basically the equivalent to saying it’s ok to be a serial killer. But, seriously, you really NEVER cave? Ever?! Come on. We all know you cave.

How do I not beat myself up about this?

Oh? You wanted an answer to that? Um … the answer is I don’t. I mean, I try – with copious amounts of chocolate and wine, but that just equates to more extensive beating up … and then therapeutic texting with my friends, who have had to talk me off the ledge so many times that I’m not sure why they’re still friends with me.

I try to remind myself I’m good about other things. Those things, of course, are elusive to me at the moment, but I’m sure there are some. Probably.

So anyway, there’s dried peanut butter on my laptop and the screen is smeared with boogies and there are crumbs in ALL of the keys and I am reminded that I should really say no today.

But we all know what’s gonna happen.

Healthy is a Four Letter Word

“MOM!! Soda is sooo bad for you! You really shouldn’t be drinking that!”

Listen, kid, this is the tip of the iceberg as far as “bad habits” go in relation to me. Now shut up and go get me the rum for my Diet Coke.

Seriously, though. All my bad habits are getting scrutinized by my oldest. They’re teaching “healthy eating” in middle school now. WTF?! Um, I don’t need that kind of pressure!

I’m supposed to make sure they eat healthy (childhood obesity!), make sure they get enough sleep (behavior problems!), make sure they brush their teeth (cavities!), make sure I dress them according to the weather (every mom out there has had at least one cranky judgmental senior citizen tell them their child should be wearing a hat … fuck you, old lady, he’s gonna rip it off in 2 seconds! Mind your own bees!!! Is what I’d like to say instead of “I’m sorry” while I shamefully hang my head), make sure their hair is brushed (lice!), make sure they’ve been bathed in the last month (germs! which everyone knows means death!), make sure their finger and toe nails are clipped (this is usually discovered via blood – when one of them slices the other with their talons), make sure their homework is done (college!), make sure I’m reading to them every night (intelligence!), make sure I have one on one time with them (do they feel loved?!), make sure we have family time together (team work!), make sure they don’t get kidnapped (I’m not going there), make sure they wear sunscreen (cancer!), make sure …

This doesn’t count all the other stuff I’m supposed to do. Like “take time for yourself” (lest you become a crazy lunatic mom (um, too late)), “spend quality time with your husband”, and (my favorite) “exercise”.

Who is coming up with these rules?? A sadist??? I picture some prick writing all this shit down and laughing maniacally saying “there’s no way in HELL anyone could do all this!!!” … and yet we try. Sadly, we try.

And I didn’t even get to the stuff we’re NOT supposed to do.  Or Gwyneth Paltrow, for that matter.

I had a friend text me the other day to ask if it was ok that she was giving her kids mac and cheese for dinner.  Did that make her a bad mom?  MAC AND CHEESE???  I lived on that crap as a kid.  That and McDonalds.  I told her as long as she wasn’t feeding her kids dog poop with nails sprinkled on top, she was good.

Holy crap.  We need to settle down.

That being said, I fully admit that when I give my kids chicken nuggets, I feel a certain panic in the pit of my stomach that I have probably taken several years off of their lives.  And then, in a rash of regret, force them to eat a banana – which everyone knows counterbalances deep fried foods.

And what does “healthy” even mean … I feel like it changes every 15 seconds.  “Eat this!!  Now!!” … “Shit, wait!!  Don’t eat that – it’ll kill you.  Eat this instead!”  “Hold the phone, DO NOT eat that.  We jumped the gun on that.  Turns out that will give you diarrhea … and maybe cancer.  And probably destroy the earth.” “Eat this magic food!!  It will do wonders for your body.  Until tomorrow, when we tell you that there’s some other magic food that’s even better!” “Oh, and remember when we told you to eat that one thing?  Well, that was before this study came out that indicated you may or may not develop a 6th toe if you consume too much of it. Proceed with caution.”

Cut this out, cut that out, cut all this stuff out!!  (oh, by the way, that “stuff” is in every fucking thing at the grocery store … so good luck!!  Plan on spending 12 hours there reading every label.  And p.s. you’re a bad mom if you don’t.)  I’ve now become completely paranoid about what to feed the kids.  I’m either in a state of sheer panic or all encompassing self hatred for not doing everything I should to make them the healthiest human beings that have ever existed on this planet.

So, I really hate to admit this, but this will just have to be one more way that I suck, apparently, because getting a “healthy” meal on the table every night is next to impossible … for me anyway.  Kudos to those moms out there who can do it!  I do plan on writing a lengthy apology letter to my kids when they are older telling them I “did the best I could” … yeah, I don’t think they’re gonna fall for it either.

Hey! I’m really good at folding socks!

Poker

The kids left this on my nightstand this morning.  These are the days I’m glad no one ever visits us.

Bizarre Texts

I LOVE to text. It’s probably one of my most favorite things to do.

Like, totally!  (god I miss when we talked like that)

But really, I enjoy connecting with people on a quick, quirky level. I also like to stay in bed all day, watch Bradley Cooper interviews and eat hot dog buns slathered in butter and brown sugar sprinkled with orange Starbursts (Yes … only orange.  Don’t mess with me when I’m on one of these binges!) … wait, I’m sorry, what was I talking about?

Oh, yeah … texting.

I love the people who judge us “texters”. I heard this recently, “I don’t understand why people can’t just pick up the phone and call!!! – it is SO much easier and clearly more personal!!!” (Please say that with a disgusted exasperated voice in your head, preferably with a southern accent (or, what the hell, say it out loud! It’s Friday!!)) Ok. I get your point. And if I have something truly lengthy to share with you, I WILL call (spoiler alert: I’ll probably send you an email), but otherwise, you’re just gonna have to deal with my “impersonal” way of doing things!

I’m sorry, what’s your name again?

Anyway, more than just basic texts, I love to send bizarro ones. I do this sometimes with my friends (the ones who “get” me … so basically 2 people), but I try to keep my crazy contained to just the Hubby. That poor guy gets the brunt of my insanity. Here are a few examples from just the last few days:

“What if I stay lazy for the rest of my life?”

“I am so wound up it’s ridiculous. I probably have bi-polar disorder.”

“Sorry I suck”

“The ridiculousness in this house is ridiculous”

“You may not want to come home”

“Jesus Christ, someone shoot me”

“I’m sleepy with a side of headache :/”

“I just bought a Barry Manilou song. Sorry.”

“My contacts are glued to my eyeballs”

“Did you get the stool sample yet?” (yep)

“I think we should plan on dipping the house in bleach soon” (see previous text)

and the most frequently used text (less bizarre and more panicky):

“When will you be home?”

That last one usually gets ignored. And I guess if I were him, I’d ignore it too. It really just means I’m going crazy. I mean, the guy comes home the exact same time every night. I probably should just start texting “SAVE ME!!” as an alternative – it’s more accurate.

I am Titanium

Sometimes I forget how music can heal my soul. Ok, maybe that was a little dramatic. More like, cure all the world’s problems? Um … just prevent me from staying the whole day in bed? Yeah, that’s more accurate. And sometimes to get through these crazy mom days, I need Super Woman inspiration.

So, lately, in the mornings, I’ve been putting on the song “Titanium”.

Even when I feel like total crap, this song can get me up and moving. I find myself doing the Tom Cruise slide in Risky Business (with my mom uniform on – the standard dish cloth over the left shoulder) screaming, “I am Titaaaaaaaaaaniuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuum!!” Like “this stay at home mom can rule the world!!!” … until, of course I hit a well placed toy car and fall on my ass. And then it turns into a little whimper from the ground, “I am titanium?”

Throw me a kid with diarrhea, I got it!! You need to bring juice in for 23 kids today, no problem!! You just spilled syrup all over your shirt, I’m on it!! You need your report card signed, PLEASE – I will sign that bitch like nobody’s business!!

“Shoot me down, but I won’t fall!”

Then there is the song that makes me feel like my family is the epitome of coolness and “having it together”ness – an illusion I must live with in order to keep this cool mom charade thing going. It’s mildly embarrassing.  But seriously, when has that ever stopped me?  It’s the theme song to the show The Incredible Crew.

(awkward pause)

Yeah, you read that right! Don’t judge. If you haven’t seen the show yet, then you must – and you clearly can’t judge … yet. Even if you just youtube “Running Errands with My Mom” or “Science Fair” … but then again, I have a 13 year old boy’s sense of humor (and the zits to prove it).  I make no promises.

Anyway, the intro song is 21 seconds of PERFECTION. The beginning of the show introduces you to each cast member, one at a time, with some kind of batman explosion-like symbol behind them. I picture my family like that in the morning. Pow! … me with a mug of coffee and a “don’t mess with this bitch” look! … Pow! … the hubby riding his bike in the living room (that’s a post for another day)! … Pow! Munch with her book bag on, giving us the thumbs us (no tween sulkiness in sight)! … Pow! AD giving only a cursory glance at the screen as he is wildly focused on his iPod! … Pow! Guy (last but not least) jumping into a ninja like position with a growl on his face.

My crew, my crew, my crew, my crew, my crew, my crew, my crew is incredible!!

That’s us!! BAM! Suck it world! We ROCK!!

(pause) (shifty eyes)

Soooooooooooo …

… onto scrubbing toilets.

Theme song: “Toxic”

Separated at Birth?

Marie Osmond

Does anyone remember when Marie Osmond ran away? Sometimes, I swear, I’m the only one that ever read that story. She was so overwhelmed, she walked out the door without her kids, got in her car and off she went. She drove for hours and hours and finally ended up at some hotel. Crazy, right?

Um, yeah.

I mean, I have never locked myself in a bathroom with a good book or waited in my car in the driveway with the babysitter inside for an extra 5 minutes of peace (who am I kidding, we all know it was more like 30 minutes) before entering the war zone or wandered around Target for hours without kids, aimlessly throwing stuff in my cart as a way to close the hole in my soul (I am not the least bit dramatic) or went to a bar and drank all day … wait, I’m not sure that last one happened. More a thought … a dream perhaps … and less reality.

I’ve never hid in the house from my kids or walked out the door and sat on the curb in front of my house with my head in my hands or drove my kids to the Hubby’s office and pronounced “I’M DONE!”.

I most DEFINITELY have not asked the kids to make dinner because I “wasn’t in the mood” or laid on the couch all day and stared at the wall or let a baby cry a little too long in the crib because I couldn’t face one more shitty diaper.

Even with the kids getting older and dealing less with baby and toddler issues, I still find myself telling people that I may or may not pull a “Marie Osmond” that day.

The Hubby and I use the phrase “there’s always one” quite often. Because, frankly, there is ALWAYS one. One melting down. One having an issue. One sick. One angry. One sad. One stuck upside down on a swing. Whatever. But the days I want to “Marie Osmond” it, well, those are the days it’s all three. I seriously go into survival mode. It’s like fight or flight here. And I’m ashamed to admit it, but I usually flee.

So maybe I should get one of Marie Osmond’s creepy QVC dolls and place it prominently in my house as a reminder that, worse case, I can go check into a hotel.