So I'm going to warn you ahead of time - I've got a lot going in swirls in my heads, but none of it will form a coherent sentence. Work with me.
In one of the "you don't see that everyday" moments of my week, I witnessed a guy drive into the pit at the oil change place. Now, it is one of my greatest panics that I miss the spaces and crash into the guy standing below my car to change the oil, but I have talked myself into thinking that it could never happen. I was wrong. It was quite a spectacle, and you have never seen 4 more perplexed mechanics standing around trying to figure out how they would get him out. (To be fair, it was only one tire of a minivan, but still. Impressive.)
I am apparently not raising model children, but instead, a theatre troupe. Within the last two days I have discovered that my daughter has become adept at faking stomach ache when pressed to clean up her room, my son can collapse into a heap of fake tears when told he cannot have yet another stuffed animal (we'd like to apologize if you were in Kohl's at that exact moment), and the other guy is apparently imitating Wile E Coyote as he slams into and subsequently peels himself off of doors, walls, and floors. Tour dates and ticket prices will be set soon, hopefully off-setting their college tuitions.
World wars are organized more quickly than my beach packing list. (Unless, of course, they aren't, which should likely be a different set of blogs.) All of the things that my husband must! have! now! for the beach are no longer available, and the current selection of hip board shorts and wimpy plastic shovels are not to his liking. I can, however, procure adorable wool flannel culottes for K, which will likely not be wearable until sometime in November. At which time bathing suits will again be displayed.
And I find myself incredibly inspired by this whole "buy nothing" movement where people stop shopping for new things and only thrift them. (Better rules can be found here) This intrigues me, if only to avoid weeping in horror at the size of the pants I am buying, but I will have to wait until the back to school rush is over. Somehow used pencils and crayons have no warm vibe for me.
And finally, in horror, I hated buying school supplies yesterday. No warm glow at perusing the notebooks, no high from the smell of new crayons. Just rack after rack of folders with tacky sayings and horrid 70s airbrushed pictures on them, none of which I want my 8 year old to carry. For a office products junkie, this is disappointing. Maybe a trip to the organizational things store will cure my ills.
My head is now emptier, and W has "new moves" for me to see. And I, apparently, have to find summer things well after the retailers' expiration date. Manly sand shovels, anyone?
Wednesday
Monday
Oh give me land, lots of land....
Some of you may have noticed that I have a subtle theme of not liking my neighbors. Or maybe even people in general, it's hard to tell. There are reasons for this. Neighbors, I have decided, are the universe's way of forcing you to learn to say nothing when saying something would be so much more satisfying.
I bring this up because my husband met our new neighbors on Saturday, and they are decidedly not our kind of people, which is a disappointment, because we were social with our last neighbors, who we liked until they left us. It's not that we don't want them to be happy, but we're ticked that they executed the "lots of land and no neighbors" strategy first, and left us with... The new people. The new people are fine, honestly, but have already peppered us with questions about drainage, carpet stains, and wall color choices... for a house I didn't live in. They are not becoming people I can happy hour with, like our last neighbors.
Suburban neighborhoods are like a dreadful repeat of high school, which I was decidedly not good at. I was the girl that no one knew how to take because I had mastered advanced nerdy sarcasm, and the rest of the class was more worried about scoring Bon Jovi tickets. Repeating high school was not on my priority list, but a la Groundhog Day, here I am. Replace the mailboxes with lockers, and I'm transported back.
I can't talk to M, because I'm friends with J, and the two of them have some feud going on because M didn't invite J to playgroup because J has a boy, and we all know that boys and girls should never socialize. D is someone I could like, but she's a bit like the nice girl that hangs out with the "bad crowd" and I can't keep telling her that no, I can't come to the neighborhood kegger, so I avoid her. A is friends with M & G, and since M is involved in the feud, I have to be careful socializing with A, because I will then have to answer back to J because M might be there.... Are you tired yet? Keeping up?
So I spend my days in my house, with my children, avoiding them, and appearing "busy". Or picking the farthest seat away from "the group" at the pool. I am beginning to think that this why the original settlers all had so much land - they didn't need to farm that much land, they just couldn't stand each other. I'm even thinking that homeschoolers have the right idea, not because I'm so at odds with the school system (which inexplicably discourages a 5 year old from using the word "damn" in appropriate context), but because then I wouldn't have to face all of those wacky suburban mothers jockeying to get their child into the right class.
But instead, I'll live in my white bread neighborhood with my tract house and quietly try and move through unnoticed by my neighbors. I learned to disappear in high school; maybe it will work twice. Got any blue eyeshadow?
I bring this up because my husband met our new neighbors on Saturday, and they are decidedly not our kind of people, which is a disappointment, because we were social with our last neighbors, who we liked until they left us. It's not that we don't want them to be happy, but we're ticked that they executed the "lots of land and no neighbors" strategy first, and left us with... The new people. The new people are fine, honestly, but have already peppered us with questions about drainage, carpet stains, and wall color choices... for a house I didn't live in. They are not becoming people I can happy hour with, like our last neighbors.
Suburban neighborhoods are like a dreadful repeat of high school, which I was decidedly not good at. I was the girl that no one knew how to take because I had mastered advanced nerdy sarcasm, and the rest of the class was more worried about scoring Bon Jovi tickets. Repeating high school was not on my priority list, but a la Groundhog Day, here I am. Replace the mailboxes with lockers, and I'm transported back.
I can't talk to M, because I'm friends with J, and the two of them have some feud going on because M didn't invite J to playgroup because J has a boy, and we all know that boys and girls should never socialize. D is someone I could like, but she's a bit like the nice girl that hangs out with the "bad crowd" and I can't keep telling her that no, I can't come to the neighborhood kegger, so I avoid her. A is friends with M & G, and since M is involved in the feud, I have to be careful socializing with A, because I will then have to answer back to J because M might be there.... Are you tired yet? Keeping up?
So I spend my days in my house, with my children, avoiding them, and appearing "busy". Or picking the farthest seat away from "the group" at the pool. I am beginning to think that this why the original settlers all had so much land - they didn't need to farm that much land, they just couldn't stand each other. I'm even thinking that homeschoolers have the right idea, not because I'm so at odds with the school system (which inexplicably discourages a 5 year old from using the word "damn" in appropriate context), but because then I wouldn't have to face all of those wacky suburban mothers jockeying to get their child into the right class.
But instead, I'll live in my white bread neighborhood with my tract house and quietly try and move through unnoticed by my neighbors. I learned to disappear in high school; maybe it will work twice. Got any blue eyeshadow?
Tuesday
Hot enough for ya?
Dear Party Hostess,
I would like to clarify something for you, because apparently Miss Manners is falling down on the job.
1. When you address your pumpkin's party invitations to a family with more than one child, it is customary to address the invitation to the child(ren) invited. For example, if you address it only to K, then only K will be attending. Do not act all surprised and partially offended that I then must leave to go and retrieve the other invited children if you address the invitation poorly. ("The M family" would have sufficed. Seriously.)
2. If you are expecting me to know something particular about a party, say that bathing suits are proper attire, it is also helpful for you to a)note it on the freaking invitation, or b) call me and mention it. Kreskin the Magnificent does not live here.
3. If it is indeed 100 degrees in the shade, it is (perhaps) a good idea to move your party indoors, or expect parents of the invitees to want copious amounts of fluid. One water bottle does not get the job done. Especially when one bottle is meant for a family of 5. Tap water and cups would have been sufficient, I swear. Especially since you also provided one shade umbrella. For yourselves.
With warm regards,
Carpool Mom
I would like to clarify something for you, because apparently Miss Manners is falling down on the job.
1. When you address your pumpkin's party invitations to a family with more than one child, it is customary to address the invitation to the child(ren) invited. For example, if you address it only to K, then only K will be attending. Do not act all surprised and partially offended that I then must leave to go and retrieve the other invited children if you address the invitation poorly. ("The M family" would have sufficed. Seriously.)
2. If you are expecting me to know something particular about a party, say that bathing suits are proper attire, it is also helpful for you to a)note it on the freaking invitation, or b) call me and mention it. Kreskin the Magnificent does not live here.
3. If it is indeed 100 degrees in the shade, it is (perhaps) a good idea to move your party indoors, or expect parents of the invitees to want copious amounts of fluid. One water bottle does not get the job done. Especially when one bottle is meant for a family of 5. Tap water and cups would have been sufficient, I swear. Especially since you also provided one shade umbrella. For yourselves.
With warm regards,
Carpool Mom
Pop Quiz
You would think, as someone who spent a crazy amount of time in school, that I would be pretty comfortable with grades and report cards. Essay tests, even. But alas, I have test anxiety. Huge, martini inducing test anxiety. For it is review time at work, and I am terrified that they will finally figure out that I am a slack remote employee, and although I do finish things in a timely fashion, I am doing laundry at the same time. Or crafting. Or something else to procrastinate making out that project schedule.
In an effort to stave off my anxiety, and inspired by a motherhood questions posted by a girlfriend, I've made a list, instead, of all of the things I didn't know I'd need to know about being a mother.
1. If you are not a morning person, all of your children will be. And they will drag you, kicking and screaming, into your day by requesting pancakes before the sun is up. And their first read words will be "Diet Coke."
2. In order to procure the "best" school placements, brownie troops, and other assignments for your child, you will become a volunteer crack whore. Got 524 envelopes to stuff? Will it get my child into the best 4th grade class? Bring it on, paper cuts be damned.
3. You will not know who has the number 1 hit song, but you will know every single lyric to Laurie Berkner, long after your children do. (And you will forget you have no children in the car, and be singing it. Hopefully alone.)
4. You will be able to scientifically prove that laundry multiplies on its own, yet the socks disappear. You will also learn that purple and yellow plaid does indeed match orange and brown stripes. Particularly if it gets you to school on time.
5. Teddy Grahams are indeed a suitable breakfast food, particularly if it buys you 5 minutes of sleep. M&Ms will buy you 15 minutes, but you will pay later in sugar high.
6. You will learn 462 ways to prepare crow in order to make up for the pre-children "I'll never" statements you've made. Examples will likely include "I'll never allow my children to throw a public tantrum" and "I'll never send my child to day care with a fever."
7. You will learn to play day care or babysitter roulette, and know precise combinations of Motrin and drop-off times to get through a certain meeting or dinner date before they call you to come get the sick child.
8. You will learn that your children will cause spontaneous weeping as they tell you they love you, that you're the best mom (or the worst, depending on the day), that they are glad you know how sew/throw a curve ball/kiss the hurt away.
9. You will learn that the parts you thought would be hard (infancy, terrible twos) were easier than you thought, and that you are more afraid of the older child who can talk back. (And does.)
10. You will learn that you know nothing about anything, but have become a pretty good guesser.
After all of the panic over my work review, I sat through a love festival, once again (somehow) wowing my employer with what I felt were mediocre accomplishments. I can only hope that my life review is going as well.
In an effort to stave off my anxiety, and inspired by a motherhood questions posted by a girlfriend, I've made a list, instead, of all of the things I didn't know I'd need to know about being a mother.
1. If you are not a morning person, all of your children will be. And they will drag you, kicking and screaming, into your day by requesting pancakes before the sun is up. And their first read words will be "Diet Coke."
2. In order to procure the "best" school placements, brownie troops, and other assignments for your child, you will become a volunteer crack whore. Got 524 envelopes to stuff? Will it get my child into the best 4th grade class? Bring it on, paper cuts be damned.
3. You will not know who has the number 1 hit song, but you will know every single lyric to Laurie Berkner, long after your children do. (And you will forget you have no children in the car, and be singing it. Hopefully alone.)
4. You will be able to scientifically prove that laundry multiplies on its own, yet the socks disappear. You will also learn that purple and yellow plaid does indeed match orange and brown stripes. Particularly if it gets you to school on time.
5. Teddy Grahams are indeed a suitable breakfast food, particularly if it buys you 5 minutes of sleep. M&Ms will buy you 15 minutes, but you will pay later in sugar high.
6. You will learn 462 ways to prepare crow in order to make up for the pre-children "I'll never" statements you've made. Examples will likely include "I'll never allow my children to throw a public tantrum" and "I'll never send my child to day care with a fever."
7. You will learn to play day care or babysitter roulette, and know precise combinations of Motrin and drop-off times to get through a certain meeting or dinner date before they call you to come get the sick child.
8. You will learn that your children will cause spontaneous weeping as they tell you they love you, that you're the best mom (or the worst, depending on the day), that they are glad you know how sew/throw a curve ball/kiss the hurt away.
9. You will learn that the parts you thought would be hard (infancy, terrible twos) were easier than you thought, and that you are more afraid of the older child who can talk back. (And does.)
10. You will learn that you know nothing about anything, but have become a pretty good guesser.
After all of the panic over my work review, I sat through a love festival, once again (somehow) wowing my employer with what I felt were mediocre accomplishments. I can only hope that my life review is going as well.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
