The Block Party


     This past weekend was our neighborhood’s annual block party, and my kids were so excited I honestly thought they were going to piss themselves.  From the moment they woke up on Saturday morning, they asked if it was time for the block party and proceeded to repeat that same question every five minutes for the next eight hours. When it was finally time to put up the barricades to block down the street, they couldn’t get out the door fast enough to tear up the pavement.

     To them, the absolute coolest part of the block party was the fact that they got to ride their bikes like complete maniacs all around the street without any fear whatsoever of being turned into roadkill by oncoming cars.  So, naturally, they were all about pimping out their rides with the other neighborhood kids for the big pet and bike parade. They used streamers, balloons, cards in the spokes, the whole nine yards till they had some super juiced up looking wheels to strut. And when it was time to march down the street, they happily joined the other whopping ten bikers in the procession, as well as three dogs, a hamster, and a toad.  I was seeing some major competition for the Macy’s Day Parade.  

     And it wouldn’t be a real block party if our kids didn’t gorge themselves on any and all kinds of crap they could get their dirty little hands on.  Our neighbors had rented a popcorn maker and a snow cone machine for all the kids, so, of course, my two munchers absolutely chowed down on multiple servings of each, thus killing any chance whatsoever of them eating anything substantial for dinner later on that night.  My daughter actually even had the balls to try to hide her third snow cone from me, but she clearly forgot about the eyes in the back of my head.  Lucky for her, I was just a little too go-with-the-flow (that’s code for too much Chardonnay) to get my panties all in a bunch over too much junkfood consumption.

     The festivities concluded with an outdoor movie on our front lawn.  We projected “Over the Hedge” onto a sheet hung from our front porch, while all the little shits from the hood sat littering our yard with popcorn and candy wrappings.  One of the other moms had given out glow stick bracelets, so each kid was gleaming with a combination of excitement and exhaustion by that point of the evening.  I was so glad when some other older punk from down the street announced a game of flashlight tag, which sent a good portion of our viewing audience off and running.  My kids were pooped, and so was I.  

     I thought for sure that my tired troops would take the rare opportunity to sleep in after such a long day of fun, but, of course, my kids seem to think that the early bird really does catch that jackass worm so they were up and at ’em, ready to get crackin’ on yet another day.  I have to hand it to the hubby once again for getting up with them and letting Mama get a little more shut-eye, cause I was completely worn out. When I finally did make my way downstairs, though, I happened to notice that a pink glowstick bracelet was sitting smack dab in the center of my dining room table, the table that’s completely off limits to all things kid-related.  

     When I picked up the bracelet, I was unpleasantly surprised to see that the damn thing had exploded from the inside out.  I had a big glob of pink goo staring at me from my beautiful cherry-colored wood table.  And when I tried to wipe up the goo, it decided to take that beautiful cherry color right along with it.  I literally gasped out loud with a “Oh no you didn’t” type of pronouncement when I saw that big glaring colorless streak on the otherwise shiny surface.  I wanted to wring my daughter’s neck for being so careless.  This was one of the last remaining places in the house that didn’t have a kid’s stamp of approval put on it.  I immediately declared the dining room table a no-fly zone for everyone, including my husband.  Nothing shall ever sit on that table again unless it’s a Thanksgiving turkey or a Christmas ham.

     Despite the glow stick fiasco, however, the block party was an absolute blast.  My kids are already asking when the next one is.  It’s gonna be really hard for them to get used to having to share the street with the cars again.  My son already tried to dash over to the other side on his scooter without even a second thought.  So, I guess we’re all slowly adjusting back to reality again.  For that one day, though, the kids got to rule the road, and to them, that’s a memory worth a thousand glow stick explosions and then some.


My Brain’s Vacation Day


     Yesterday was one of those days that I either wanted to rewind and start over or fast-forward and get to the end of it.  (It’s probably safe to say that I was leaning towards the fast-forward to get the freaking thing over with and behind me!)  I just couldn’t seem to get anything right.  My brain was scattered here and there and pretty much everywhere.

     It started with me realizing that I had completely confused the date for Kindergarten Field Day (where the kids play a bunch of games outside instead of doing school stuff — yes, they actually get to play! Imagine that!)  I had told my husband that it is this Friday, so he had rearranged his work schedule in order for him to be there.  Well, it turns out that it’s actually TODAY! I got an email YESTERDAY from one of the room moms detailing the activities that are to take place. (In my defense, though, I am not the only parent who had the date mixed up — many of the kindergarten events throughout the year seem to be better understood through word of mouth.  If you don’t ask questions, you will be left behind in the dust.)  Needless to say, my husband will not be going to Field Day with me today — he’s not too happy about that.

     Then, I completely had a brain fart about my son’s soccer game last night. His team was supposed to have a make-up game for one that was rained out a few weeks ago. I was rushing everyone around, trying to get them dinner, dressed, and packed up for a 6:00 game.  It dawned on me at about 5:20 that I should probably double-check my email to make sure I knew what time he needed to be there to warm up.  Turns out it was a 5:00 game!  I wanted to just punch myself in the face.  I felt so bad telling my son that once again, Mama had goofed.  Luckily, he didn’t seem to be too heart-broken about it, especially when I told him that we’d go out for ice cream with sprinkles.  I guess when you’re six, sprinkles make everything better.

     At the end of the day, I was so glad to finally crawl into bed. I had to take Benadryl for yet another allergy attack, so I slept like a baby. The day is still young, but I’m hoping my brain is back from vacation today.  

     What kind of spacey mama moments have you experienced?  How did you CYA and recover from your blunders?

Smack Talk


     One of the big topics of conversation in our house this weekend was about good sportsmanship.  I never thought I would be discussing this with my kids about KINDERGARTEN soccer, but I guess I was sadly mistaken. Just when you think you really know your kids, they go and do a 180 on you….

     Apparently, my daughter was smack talking on the field with some of her teammates at her soccer game on Saturday morning.  They were giving their goalie a really hard time for not blocking a goal. Luckily, their coach overheard them and completely busted them. She gave a big talk at half-time about supporting each other and being a team player.  I was listening on the sidelines, trying to figure out what mean little brats she was referring to.  I asked my daughter if she was one of the smack talkers, and she looked me right in the eye and told me no.  Of course, I believed her because I never could’ve dreamed that my sweet little baby girl would purposely hurt someone else’s feelings.  I mean, we’ve talked many many times about how it doesn’t matter if they win or lose — I’ve got her trained like a seal to say that what matters most is having fun, or at least I thought I did.

     When we got home from the game, I was telling her how proud I was of her for trying her best (she did actually score the WINNING goal!) and how disappointing it was for her teammates to be such bad sports to their goalie. For some reason, I started to have a weird suspicion that she was somehow involved in the trash talking.  I asked her about her involvement again and instantly knew she had lied to me when her eyes became fixated on the ground.  She finally admitted it — the little stinker was most certainly right there in the middle of the meanness.  I could not believe it! All those times she’s robotically told me that it’s ok if her team didn’t win — but, apparently, it’s definitely not ok with her!

     We had a long talk about how much it would hurt her feelings if her teammates were giving her a hard time about making an honest mistake, and that team work is about cheering each other on at all times.  She seemed to be listening (although with six year olds, you never really know). I really hope she understands this very important lesson.  I’m definitely not trying to raise some little punk.  We shall see — their next game isn’t until next Saturday, and I pray that I don’t have a little Tonya Harding on my hands…..

The Friday Smackdown


     Every Friday afternoon, my kids take a little science class at our park district.  And every Friday afternoon, it has somehow become a tradition to chase and tackle their friends in the hallway after class. They call it “tag”, but it seriously looks like WWF with six year olds, only they’re laughing and smiling throughout the whole ordeal.

     When it first started, I used to try to play peacemaker and restore order between the rebels.  However, I soon learned that my voice was not even slightly detected amongst the madness before me.   I was simply background mumbo jumbo, and therefore, nonexistent.

     Now when the smackdown begins, the other nannies, moms, and I just sit back and monitor from afar.  We interject a word of caution here and there, but we basically just wait in anticipation for the inevitable moment when someone comes crying to us.  We follow this up with an “I TOLD YOU SO!” response, which again falls on deaf ears, for they quickly shake it off and get right back in the game.

     I’m hoping that all this aggressive behavior will wear off a bit when the temperature FINALLY becomes more consistently warmer.  They are like caged animals ready to pounce because they don’t know what to do with all this built-up physical energy.  I’m trying to be patient, but if I can’t set these children free soon, we’re gonna be banned from the park district, too.  Just tack it onto our rap sheet…KINDERGARTEN’S MOST WANTED:  The Nucking Futs Twins….

Enough Already!



And so begins the season of craziness for Spring sports.  I must’ve been delusional when I signed up my son for both soccer AND t-ball when my daughter is also playing soccer, as well.  That means three practices and three games every single week for the next couple of months.  What the hell was I thinking?  I fully realize that this is just a glimpse into the future with kids and all their activities, but I am not one of those moms who purposely signs up her kids for fifty thousand things just to keep up with the Jones’. Call me selfish, but let’s be honest — it’s a pain in the ass to get five year olds in and out of the car constantly.  They do not understand the concept of being in a hurry for ANYTHING.  And throw in the fact that we also have to remember cleats, shin guards, water bottles, mitts, balls, and a snack. I’m ready for a nap just thinking about it.  Between school, games and practices, I’m wondering if they’re gonna be able to pencil in any time to play at all.  They are way too little to be telling playtime to take a raincheck. I am desperately trying to talk my son into dropping one of the sports to make everyone’s life easier.  So far, he seems intent on both. I can be pretty persuasive, though, so I need to try a different tactic, or else I’m gonna be even crankier come Friday than I already am.