Wednesday, September 25, 2013

A little information goes a long way....

We hosted a dinner party recently and had WAY to much left over beer.  My husband and I rarely drink so when we made pizza a couple nights later and I popped open a beer (to share for goodness sake) my husband felt the need to explain to the boys what we were doing, and why, and most importantly that he NEVER does this (seriously).  If you know my husband, you know this means preaching. Can I get an Amen?!

The seven-year-old was fascinated with this beer thing that daddy preached about for 20 minutes.  What is this dangerous drink that will lead to a life of ill-repute???? I let him taste it, that's all it took. But daddy's speech was very convincing.

Later that night as I was trying to put the boy to bed in 30 minutes or less (that should be a show) I was pushing him along so that we could get a shower, teeth brushed, blah blah blah.  He was not loving this little extra push.  Ok- probably because there was nothing little about this push, the shower and pat dry took all of 5 minutes most of which I was scrubbing, scouring, brushing, and buffing.

As I was rubbing a towel over him he finally looked at me and "What is wrong with you?" Well this did not go over well late on a Sunday night with half a beer headache.  I told dad it was up to him to take over before I boiled over.

They went into his bedroom to get PJ's and I hear my seven-year-old say to my husband,
"Dad. Mom's been drinking again and when she drinks then she acts like this" to which I began to laugh hysterically in the other room.  My husband who had been upset when I chastised him for giving a 20 minute speech on the perils of drinking now calmly looked at my son and said, "Enough! it's time for bed stop stalling."

After the kids were tucked away for the night my husband came to me giggling a much needed apology for his speech.  "You were right. That kid doesn't miss a beat."   Nope - not one.

Sunday, September 8, 2013

Homeland security here he comes

My seven-year-old has come to a disturbing conclusion.  Last week he came to me and said, "Mom, the school nurse is not there to help me like you said." 

Really? I asked playing stupid cause I already know what the deal is with the school nurse.  The school nurse is like the American Embassy in a foreign country.  It's all about appearances.  Look good, look like we care, but really just keep people where they are.

"Yes", says my little counter-intelligence officer in training, "She won't even let you go home unless you are bleeding, vomiting, or have a broken bone.  So when I scraped my leg on my desk and it was bleeding - there was real blood - A LOT- do you know what she did mom? Do you? She wiped it off, stuck a Band-Aid on it, and sent me back to class."

"NO!" I wailed in mock horror.

"Mom, we have to get my desk fixed."

Thanks for sticking with the mission kid.  No if you could just get the 411 on that janitor with one eye.....

Note to Friends: If I should die, someone please erase my computer!

I was thinking tonight while writing another scathing soliloquy regarding my husbands behavior that should something happen to me, I hope no one goes traipsing through my laptop.  And I don to say that to point a finger at anyone but myself.

Nothing would be worse than my kids losing their mother only to find out that, not only can she cuss like a drunk sailor, but she really hated their father.  Or so it would seem after reading my collection of notes. 

Some of the titles might give them away like:
Mother @^%#^ Son of a #^&@ - Part One and Two
Oh no he didn't - again

The time stamp would be the other dead give away that something was amiss because nothing was penned during daylight hours.  In general all of these are between the hours of 1 a.m. and 5 a.m.  when getting back to sleep after said fight is just not going to happen.

Should I be more worried that this is not completely normal? We all do it right! Right?  Oh come on I can't be the only woman whose husband has a dumb-ass attack now and then.  (If there is another type of man out there please don't tell me.)

I guess I really should be more careful now that they can both read and that because they are more tech savvy then I am.  So that is why I implore you my friends - should something happen to me, just make sure one of you gets to the laptop first.

Wednesday, September 4, 2013

Call me Bounty....the Quicker Picker Upper

It has recently become crystal clear to me that I am more absorbent than an entire roll of Bounty.  I am the original Quicker Picker Upper.

My youngest, now seven, is having a tough transition back to school.  Every morning is a delicate dance between the two of us.  I try not to let him see that he is getting to me and that I'm thinking that letting him stay home seems way easier than getting him on the bus.  He tries with relentless persistent to convince me that he is too sick to continue.

It was after one of these mornings that I went for a walk with my therapist.  No, I do not have an extremely forward thinking psychologist, I have a wonderful friend who is always there for me.  I was still shaking when we started walking. I was saying how yucky I felt after getting the boys off to school. 

That's when it dawned on me.  Duh-Bounty! I'm the Quicker Picker Upper.  Somewhere in my crazy mixed up mommy mind I convinced myself that if I suck up all the anxiety, angst, or anger of my boys it will somehow disappear for them.  NOT. Nice try mom. But wouldn't it be nice.

Isn't that what we all want? To make our children's pain go away.  Whenever the boys ask what super power I would have if I could pick, I always say healing.  Now I am thinking the super power I really want - fearlessness.

If my son and I were the Wonder Twins now that would be really cool.... Wonder Twins power activate! Form of Fearlessness! Shape of Skittles!

I know it doesn't make sense, but neither did the Wonder Twins.