Did I Say That?

There are many phrases that instantaneously fly out of my mouth at this point in my life that I never ever thought I’d hear.  And yeah, I blame it ALL on parenting.  Cause kids?  They just constantly do weird shit.  Here are just a few of the ridiculous words that I’ve uttered over the past several years:

“Get that pea out of your nose!”

“Mommy’s boobs are not horns.”

“Don’t shoot your sister.”

“Please keep your hands out of your pants when you’re in the outfield.”

“Don’t pick your nose.”

“You won’t have any friends if you eat your boogers.”

“Do not ride the dog.”

” Shoes go on your feet, not the kitchen table.”

“Go to sleep or you’ll be short forever.”

“Plastic bags don’t go on your head.”

“Please don’t put your socks in the flower pots.”

“We do not eat bananas when we’re taking a poo.”

“Do not wear Mommy’s bra on your head.”

“No, rocks do NOT belong in the bathtub.”

“It’s not polite to spit at the neighbors.”

“Yes, you have to wear pants to the birthday party.”

“Mommy will go to jail if you don’t go to school.”

“Do not eat your toothpaste.”

“M&M’s are not a breakfast food.”

“We color on the paper, not on the wall.”

“Dead cicadas do not go in Mommy’s purse.”

“Do not suck on nickels.”



Things I’ve Learned This Week

** I need to start turning tricks on the corner to pay for all this end of the school year crap.

** If it looks like pink eye, it probably is.

** Injecting crazy amounts of shit into your lips makes you look like Curious George.

** Spongebob, Dora & Calillou run a very tight race as to who has THE most annoying voice ever.

** I should never send the dog flowers, unless it’s for a snack.

** The bathroom at the grocery store is all kinds of nasty.  (Just trust me on this one.)

** Whenever my daughter is skateboarding, I need to wear steal-toed shoes.

** Silly Bands are taking over the world, one rubber band at a time.

** Pop Tarts do NOT belong in your bra.

** If you have a penis, it works best to open the toilet seat lid before peeing.

** There’s a big pile of poo in the backyard.  (The poor babysitter learned this too late.)

** When you’re really really tired, you can fall asleep just about anywhere, including the waiting room of the pediatrician’s office.

** Wine corks only break off in the bottle when my husband’s out of town.

** Every clock in our house says a different time, so technically, I am always on time.

** The Blackhawks know how to kick some ass!

** Homemade Mother’s Day presents are still great, even if you don’t receive them until two months after the fact.

** I’ve got the zombie look down to a freakin’ T.

** I should’ve talked the kids into a pet rock instead of a damn dog.

** It’s gonna be a LONG-ass summer.

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


Crap! School’s Out

Well, it’s that time once again — time to wrap up yet another year of school.  I swear I don’t know where the hell the time has gone, but I feel like I was just bawling my eyes out at kindergarten graduation.  And now?  My babies are about to officially become big ol’ second graders.  And if I start to get too sappy about this little milestone, well then all I need to do is spend more than five minutes with the little hellions to be snapped right out of my sentimental haze.  Cause good God almighty, these kids have summer fever coming right outta their miniature a-holes.

Just what do I mean by “summer fever” you ask?  Well, say you poured ten cups of sugar into a giant bowl, topped it off with some sprinkles of crack-cocaine, fed it to two seven-year-olds, and then had them chase it with a case of Red Bull.  Yeah, that is what I’m talkin’ about!  They are literally bouncing off the walls with excitement 24/7.  Honestly, I had no idea that human beings were capable of talking this freaking much.  And would it have killed God to equip these flippin’ kids with a damn volume button?  Sheesh, a person can pop only so much Advil before it becomes treacherous to her health, ya know.

And as if the hyper activity weren’t enough in and of itself, I’m also being bombarded with every paper and notebook under the damn sun that’s being sent home each and every day.  I really wish I could talk the teachers into using my round filing cabinet system more often.  Call me a bad mom, but I don’t need to save every frickin’ handwriting paper their pencils came into contact with.  To be fair to the teachers, though, I totally get that they’re just trying to get the crap out of their classrooms so that they, too, can get the hell out of dodge for the summer.  I just wish it wouldn’t end up scattered all over the floor of my living and dining rooms.

There WAS something positive, however, about the clearing out of the desks that occurred.  My son finally came across the Mother’s Day present that he made for me in art class and apparently forgot to bring home.  Nothin’ like a little appreciation for mama, even if it IS a month AFTER the fact.  But hey, I’ve learned through experience to just take what I can get.

So when that final bell rings today, I’m left with just one question:  How in the name of my last shred of sanity am I gonna survive the next two months??!!  We’re either gonna have an amazing summer together, or they’re gonna eat me alive on a silver platter.  Regardless of what happens, though, I’m gonna be sure to wear clean underwear and stock up on wine so I’m prepared for either scenario.

Take Me Out to Wrigley

Nothing says Memorial Day weekend like a good ol’ trip down to Wrigley Field.  And freedom never seemed sweeter to a little boy who got to skip school and go cheer on the Cubbies with his papa.  Buy him some peanuts and Cracker Jacks, and he won’t care if he ever goes back to first grade:

Brain Farts

Lately, I’ve been having even more brain farts than usual. I know — that’s probably hard to believe, huh? Well, it’s actually very true. You see, I’ve recently worn my thong sideways, put the orange juice in the pantry, and searched all over for my keys that were still in the front door. I’ve been blaming it on my kids and how much they stretch my mind in so many different directions, what with their 10,000 different questions per minute and all. But sometimes, I really think I only have myself to blame for my temporary acts of stupidity. Take for example, last Friday when I completely forgot my car of all things.

I had volunteered to help in my son’s classroom in the afternoon, and since I was naturally running late (remember, I will be late for my own death), I opted to drive over to school. I parked just down the street and rushed inside to help the kids with a little gardening project. By the time we’d wrapped up the project and the dismissal bell had rung, I could think of nothing else but locating my two kids and the friends they’d invited over for a playdate after school. Since I was the person responsible for collecting and depositing these four short people safely to my house, my brain was fixated on this and this alone. (Car? What car?)

We took our sweet old time enjoying the leisurely walk home in the gorgeous afternoon weather while the kids picked weeds and chased each other and I chatted with other moms along the way. I smiled to myself at just how under control I had things. Piece o’ cake.

When we got to our front porch and I glanced into the street, I noticed that my car wasn’t there. WTF?! For a split second, I actually allowed my stupid self to wonder if the friggin’ thing had been stolen. And then my brain ripped a big old fart in a moment of clarity. Oh shit! I’d left the damn thing all the way back at school! To say I felt like a moron would have been a bit of an understatement. No, what I felt like was Chrissy Snow, minus the ginormous flopping bra-less boobs.

I talked a neighborhood girl into coming over to stay with the kids while I ran back over to school and drove my dumb ass back home. I tried to rationalize it by telling myself that I’d just gotten over a horrendous cold and had just eased back into the land of the living. Still, though, how do you forget your flipping CAR?! That’s just pathetic. I need to start stocking up on blueberries or some other kind of brain food cause my family’s gonna ship me off to the old folks’ home soon if I don’t shape up.

** So tell me about one of your brain farts!  Don’t let me feel all alone in my senior moment here please…. **

Sick Days, My Ass

Sick days? Yeah, unfortunately, those don’t really exist in my line of work. So, when I go down for the count like I have the past couple of days, it’s just not pretty. Not pretty at all. Nope, I still had to pick my snot-nosed self up and motor on with the program whether I liked it or not. And even though my husband tried his very best to help out in getting the kids off to school yesterday and today, I still found myself having to perform my motherly duties even as I lay at death’s door.

My very nice, loving, thoughtful, considerate, helpful (do you get that I’m sucking up here?) husband insisted that he’d handle the morning routine so I could stay in bed and rest. Very sweet, right? However, Papa Nucking Futs has his own idea of how the AM schedule should go, and it’s not at all like mine. One crucial difference? I allow for one t.v. show while they eat, while he decided that the boob tube should remain off during breakfast. That’s like taking a freaking cigarette out of a chain smoker’s hands. As you can imagine, this did NOT bring about happy results. There was screaming, there was crying, and there was lots of counting to 3 going on below me as I “rested” in bed. I cringed as I listened to him laying down the law with threats of Wii priveleges being revoked and playdates being cancelled. I finally dragged myself out of bed to explain the whole “picking your battles” part of parenting to him. Nevertheless, the t.v. still remained off.

I then heard the sounds of fumbling around in the pantry and realized that my husband wouldn’t have a clue what to pack for snacks or what to put in my son’s lunch (since the kid refuses to EVER eat the school’s food). So I once again slithered out of bed to tell him what to pack and where to find it. (And apparently, I forgot to mention that my son needs something to drink, so the poor kid went thirsty at lunch.) My husband fussed at me to get back in bed and rest, since he had everything “under control. ” (Ha!)

When I climbed back into bed, I breathed a very nasally sigh of relief to FINALLY hear everyone packing up to leave. But then the front door slammed shut at least two hundred times as they all ran in and out of the house, the dog went crazy barking at all the madness, and the kids screamed as loud as their lungs would allow to their friends walking down the sidewalk.  It was seriously like a damn circus had rolled into town.

Thank goodness I could “rest” in bed though.  I reminded myself over and over and over again that it was the thought that counts, right?  Even still, though, one point was abundantly clear — a mom’s work is never ever finished.

What’s Your Name Again?

I’ve decided that my life would be a hell of a lot easier if everyone just wore name tags. It’s sad but very true that I can’t seem to remember anybody’s damn name anymore for anything in this world. It absolutely blows my mind to think that I used to be a teacher and responsible for knowing a whole classroom full of kids’ names. I couldn’t do that now if my life depended on it! Somewhere in the process of pushing out two screaming children from my body, I apparently also pushed out my memory.

Any time I meet someone new and they tell me their name, I try very hard to absorb this information for later use. However, the next time I come in contact with the person, I inevitably draw a complete blank when it comes to saying hello. The wheels are spinning wildly in my head, but all that seems to come out is a, “Hey there……YOU!” It’s extremly embarrassing, and I used to play it off like it was nothing. Now I just openly admit that I suck with names and blame it on motherhood stripping away my brain cells.

The worst is when I can’t remember people’s names who’ve told me over and over again what their names are. I’ve done this with several moms from school who clearly know my name, but my memory bank is completely empty when it comes to knowing theirs. And it’s gone beyond the comfortable period of time in which I could still ask for a reminder. Can you imagine how awkward it’d be to ask Mrs. X. what her name is after I’ve had a gazillion freaking conversations with her at pickup time?

I also tend to get stuck on completely wrong names for people too. Once I get a name in my head, it’s like I can’t stop calling the person that, even if it couldn’t be farther from the correct one. I’ve called my neighbor Patty for years and just recently found out that her name is “PAULA“. She must think I’m the biggest jackass on the block. And when my son had a playdate over here yesterday, I must’ve called that kid every little boy’s name under the moon EXCEPT for his actual name.  Poor kid probably went home and told his mom that he never wants to play with the weird lady’s son ever again.

But you see, if everyone was required to wear nametags, there wouldn’t be any more of those tense moments where you’re racking your brain to come up with a frickin’ name.  It’d be right there in plain sight.  No more awkwardness!  No more feeling like a complete dumb ass!  Come on…who’s with me?!
HELLO my name is:  Nucking Futs Mama!!!