So, um, I have a little problem. I don't have the kids for Thanksgiving this year, so a few months ago Otto and I talked about me heading down there to spend the holiday with him. But then we decided to be responsible adults or something, I don't know, and upon realizing that 1) plane tickets are expensive and 2) he'd be back up here a few weeks after Thanksgiving, we decided I should probably skip it. And I was okay with that. Before. But you know, I like him bunches, and as time passes I miiiiiiiiiiiss him. So I thought I'd look into getting down there. Well! Lucky for me, there are still...
So, I would've gotten here sooner, but I was sort of busy yelling very loudly. Also, rending my clothing and cursing the name of anyone I've ever known. Lucky Otto! He picked such a good time to visit! There were just a few sucktastic days in there for various reasons. Many of those reasons are only interesting to me, I'm sure, (a bleach spot on my favorite purple shirt! WHY, GOD, WHY?) but those of you who aren't busy skipping everything I've ever said about my children's health and then telling me that I am just randomly "doing things" to my children and I need to stop (why? why am I doing...
Way back when I decided to freelance, I was thinking that it would solve a host of problems for me. It would solve the money problem (the problem being, I didn't have any). It would solve the attention span problem (the problem being, I don't really have one, and Oh! Look! Something shiny over there!). It would solve the playing office problem (the problem being, I have trouble playing nicely with others day in and day out, particularly when the others are treating me poorly). What I didn't realize at the time was that I would now look around at the rest of you who work at conventional jobs...
I haven't been the mom I wanted to be this week. But, hey, that's okay, because I haven't been the PERSON I really wanted to be this week, either. This entire week got away from me, somehow, and became less about doing or even being and more about just surviving. Which is a fairly cruddy way to live, and a crappy way to parent. Fortunately, the children, they are sproingy. (Monkey picked up a Slinky at the doctor's office the other day and said to me "What does it do?" and I said, "It walks down stairs, alone or in pairs" and then the doctor and I laughed and laughed while Monkey looked at...
Tomorrow morning Monkey has an appointment to be evaluated by the sort of doctor who specializes in medicating children for things like ADD/ADHD. We don't actually KNOW if he's ADHD, at this point, you understand. We think he might be, and the sensible thing would be to have him tested for it, so naturally, we plan to do that. Of course, the doctor who does the testing can't see him until November. And really, what's the rush? It's only my son's mental health, and perhaps his first grade experience. Clearly I am one of THOSE MOTHERS for being concerned in the first place. (I find it...
My fellow Americans, you have certain inalienable rights which somebody once found to be self-evident. You have the right to bitch about gas prices while driving a Hummer (with or without a bumper sticker that reads, "Honk if you think I have a small penis!"). You have the right to complain about being fat while eating french fries. You have the right to pay inflated property taxes to live in the town with the "good" public schools and then find yourself on the phone with the bus garage trying to remain calm while you demand to know WHERE YOUR CHILDREN ARE. God bless our great country. So....
I only have to get through one more day with my darling, wonderful children. Just one. More. Day. And then school starts! Glorious, wonderful school! We love school! School is very stimulating, and varied, and much more entertaining than I am. School makes the children happy and tires them out and it is really true that absence makes the heart grow fonder. Why, when a child spends the entire day telling me that he is booooooored or that he NEEDS something RIGHT THIS SECOND or that she just FOUND those things which are NOT HERS which she is using, I am often not overflowing with the milk of...
There were all sorts of things that my childhood mind dreamed up as being the spoils of adulthood. Even as a teen, the fantasies continued. About how great it would be to be on my own, be my own boss (apparently in these imaginings, I lived in a vacuum... a vacuum full of money!), be able to wear whatever I wanted without a critical "Do you think you're leaving the house dressed like THAT?" Being a grown-up was going to be totally awesome. And even as the grey hairs started to sprout, even as my ass began its slow, inexorable slide towards the backs of my knees, even as the bills piled up, I...
I was going to send an actual check to FEMA with my letter, you know, to just be done with it all, but several people pointed out that maybe I should just send a letter asking for instructions, first. To avoid having them take my money and then later arrest me for not paying them. (You wouldn't think such a thing could happen, would you? Sounds ridiculous? Have you read this? Scary times, folks.) So I wrote my letter and sent it off and now I await my instructions. I also mailed off my vehicle excise tax, today, chuckling to myself about how it's sort of an expensive month. In the meantime,...
