Things I’ve Learned This Week

** There are seven days in a week?  Really?

** A boomerang does NOT belong on the kitchen counter.

** Nor does it belong on the toilet.

** My neighbor’s name is Pete, not Joe.  (Maybe that’s why he’s given me weird looks all these years?)

** I should stop buying dog biscuits & just give the dog what he really wants — dryer sheets.

** Ice cream makes everything better.

** Sunscreen is EXTREMELY important.  If only I’d learned this as a teenager….

** All I need is a whip and some elephants & this house would truly be a three-ring circus.

** Fitted sheets can kiss my ass — they’re just not meant to be folded.

** My kids STILL haven’t figured out that I’m not a morning person.

** I need to wear earplugs until at least 9 a.m.

** The male version of camel toe is called moose knuckle.

** The skateboards on my front porch are apparently permanent fixtures.

** My kids have no clue how to get toothpaste on their damn toothbrushes.

** I’m allergic to housework.

** There’s a whole forest of trees in my son’s backpack from all the homework papers he’s failed to turn in.

** Sometimes there IS crying in baseball.

** Bedtime is a foreign concept to me anymore.  < yawn >

** Parenting can break your heart.

** I should avoid Checkout Lane 5 at the grocery store at all possible costs.

** I can’t remember anything anymore.

** Crap, I forgot what I was gonna say.

** If stupid is as stupid does, then I am a complete idiot.

** Shit NEVER EVER gets done around here.

** Despite what I might think, God does not give me more than I can handle.



Baseball Bummer

As a parent, there is nothing worse than seeing your child feel defeated.  And as much as you want to scoop them up and make it all better, you can’t always do that.  It’s just an unfortunate part of growing up.  My heart nearly broke into a thousand tiny pieces when I had to experience this agonizing part of parenting last night at my son’s Little League baseball game.

It was his second time at bat after being tagged out before even reaching first base in the first inning, and I was doing my motherly duty of cheering him on from the sidelines.  And after several missed swings, he finally made contact with the ball and got a decent hit.  However, the first baseman grabbed the ball a little too quickly and once again, tagged him out.  Dammit!  His little head turned in my direction, and I could instantly see the disappointment on his face.  He walked with his head down the whole way back to sit with his team and tried like hell not to cry.  I knew I shouldn’t baby him, but seeing him THAT down in the dumps was more than I could take.  So I quietly went over and whispered in his ear that I was very proud of him for trying his best.  A lump formed in my throat when I saw his little lip quivering and his eyes getting red.  Nevertheless, I forced myself to walk away, and I prayed that the next at-bat would be better for him.

Unfortunately, though, it only got worse from there.  The next time he hit the ball fairly hard, but it went right into the hands of a VERY tall short stop (seriously, I’m wondering if this kid was actually in 4th grade — he was THAT freakin’ tall!)  My heart literally sank into the pit of my stomach when the kid caught it, and I had to hold myself back from running onto the field and knocking it right out of his damn hands.  I just knew how upset my son was going to be.  And sure enough, he came back to sit on the bench with big tears welling up in his eyes.  After seeing this, even my tough-love husband couldn’t resist going over and squeezing him tight.  Sometimes, you just gotta say to hell with it and go with your gut, so we stood there in a big bear hug with our extremely bummed out little baseball player who kept saying over and over again, “I didn’t even get to first base.”  I wanted so badly to take away this feeling from him, but I couldn’t.  So, I did what any mom would do in that situation — I bought him whatever kind of ice cream he wanted after the game.

As much as it killed us to see our boy so down on himself like that, we were at least thrilled to know that he’s finally found something about which he truly cares.  Before this season of baseball, we were convinced that the only real interest he had was in video games.  So, in an effort to support his baseball fever, my husband decided to finagle an extra ticket to the Cubs game tomorrow and take him out of school to have a father/son day at Wrigley Field.  Seeing his sweet face light up at this news was the perfect ending to a really crummy night.


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?