We’re recruiting them for the band
The first day of school was—if not a success—acceptable. Our school has what is supposed to be an orderly procedure for distributing children at the end of the day; there’s a web of driveway and parking lot areas that IN THEORY make for an optimal traffic pattern. The buses go in HERE and the people who are parking (why are you parking, people??) go in HERE and if you’re picking up, you pull in over THERE and someone comes to ask you which child you’d like to kidnap and eat for dinner and then they radio back to the holding pen and someone brings your victim out. It’s a great system.
Or, it WOULD be, if anyone bothered to follow the rules. You know, I came over a thousand miles to this school, and I still managed to put on my big girl pants and ASK SOMEONE where I should go and what the procedure was for the end of the day. And yet I was able to sit there in my car (and sit there I did, for about 45 minutes) while people who’ve attended this school for years went IN the OUT drive, parked on the LAWN, and cut in front of other people. I wanted to put every one of those people into time-out. read more…
The sound of one mom hoping
For the first time in about seven weeks, I am sitting at my desk in broad daylight with nothing but the droning of the fan behind me as background noise. I have a million things to do, of course, but I have a solid six hours before I have to talk to anyone else, get anyone something to eat, settle a squabble, or decide whether or not we can go swimming now.
First day of school, baby. How do I love the public school system? Let me count the ways. No; scratch that. That would take up precious minutes that I could spend eating cookies because there’s no one here to see me.
Make no mistake—I’m thrilled they’re back (as early as it is) and my expectation is that this will be a great year, but I worry for them, too. I worry for both of them in different ways and for different reasons, but they’re my babies and that’s my job. read more…
I said it wouldn’t be every month
(Which is why this is okay, because I skipped last month.)
Dear Otto,
Happy three months of being hitched! That’s a full quarter of a year, and we still like each other. I think by this point in my last marriage we already had our doubts, so WAY TO GO, US!
This month has been the first time we’ve lived together the entire time, WITH the kids here, and everyone is still alive and minimally scarred. That’s not to say that I am not going to shove all three of you out the door on Monday morning when school starts (hooray), but even at the end of a trying day seeing your face does not make me snap “What are YOU looking at??” so I think we’re doing great. read more…
Hello, my name is Big Fat Agist
Today we went to Open House at the school where Chickadee and Monkey will be resuming their education next week. This is the school I fought tooth and nail to get them into, so believe me, I am THRILLED they’re going there.
We met Monkey’s teacher first. She’s a sweet, calm woman who is in her 40th year of teaching. She told me she’s seen it all and can take whatever the kids dish out. I believed her. I sort of wanted to be in her class, myself.
We met Chickadee’s teacher next. I don’t think she’s 30 yet. She’s young and pretty and nothing she did or said was a problem and yet I found myself wishing Chickadee had gotten one of the more seasoned teachers.
Does this make me age-discriminatory or am I just being honest about my daughter’s propensity to chew up and spit out the young and unsuspecting?
Grifters in the making
Good news! Today was not nearly so hot as yesterday. I mean, yes, OKAY, it was 101 today just like yesterday, and the heat index was around 108, but it was PARTLY CLOUDY. So. Ever so much better.
Today would’ve been a good day to stay inside and do work, and I managed to do that, for most of the morning, but eventually I had to give in to my children’s demands that we goooooo swiiiiiimiiiiiiing.
And because I can only spend so long in the pool with them before I start wondering important things like “would it be child abuse to pick up this dead cricket and place it atop my child’s head?” or “how many more times must I watch THIS VERY IMPORTANT JUMP which—amazingly!—looks just like every other jump this child has taken off the diving board so far?” I thought it prudent to call in reinforcements. So I begged Tammy to come over, since she’s a work-at-home slacker like me. read more…
Late, steamy nights
(It’s not what you think.)
After four and a half years of living on my own, I have been completely undone by one month of sharing a house with another adult. That Otto is such a JERK, getting me all used to having him around.
That insensitive jerk lulled me into a false sense of security and then just as the temperature spiked, he went and left me. He left me here with the over-100-degrees temps and a couple of cranky kids and suddenly I was all, “I have to take the garbage out!” and “I have to pay attention to my children!” and “Damn there are a lot of dead bugs in this pool!” read more…
Turns out not to be an exaggeration
Hey, do you know how people warned me that it is, you know, HOT down here in Georgia? Do y’all (see how native I am, now?) remember how when I said I was moving here, all of my southern readers rushed to regale me with tales of summer?
And do you know how I’ve been all, “Hey, this is really not too bad at all, and also I am loving our POOL” for the month we’ve been down here?
August arrived, and right on cue, Georgia turned into the surface of the sun. And even then, I kept saying, “You know, it really isn’t as humid as I thought it would be! This is okay!” I was TRYING. But now there is no escaping it: It is REALLY FREAKING HOT. read more…
Know what would be good on this?
The hotly anticipated bacon salt has arrived. It is everything we could’ve hoped for, and more. And by “and more” I of course mean that our growing dependence on delicious smoky pork-fat-flavored salt is a little frightening. We’ve tried it on a variety of things, and when we’re not actually eating it (and murmuring—Homer Simpson-style—“Mmmmm… bacony…”) we’re trying to top one another in disgustingness by suggesting we put it on absolutely everything.
It’s more than a seasoning, it’s also a fun pastime! Sort of a brain twister, you know! And something of an obsession! Hey, I was (mostly) kidding when I suggested it would’ve been good on that funnel cake. read more…
It ended with me screaming
After a solid month of family togetherness, just superwonderful, 24/7 all being together what felt like every minute of every day, it was with great sadness that I packed the kids off to spend a weekend with their dad, today. They were VERY excited to see him and he was VERY excited to see them and it was a beautiful reunion that greatly assuaged my urge to shove them all out the door for at least five minutes. I don’t know how I will survive until Sunday night without the children, but I will try to soldier on.
“Hey!” I told Otto after they walked out the door, “we can sleep naked all weekend! Hell, we can just BE naked all weekend!” read more…
I just ate half a bag of marshmallows
If there is such a thing as post-traumatic camping disorder, I am suffering from it today. It is three parts sleep deprivation, one part laundry, and two parts I DO EVERYTHING FOR YOU AND DO YOU APPRECIATE IT? NO! YOU DON’T! I’M JUST YOUR MOTHER, SO OF COURSE YOU DON’T!
Yes. It’s like that.
I totally NEEDED those marshmallows, man. Also this glass of wine that Otto so kindly placed on the corner of my desk before retreating to the safety of his own desk. In addition to my PTCD, I am also somewhat gripped with a screaming disorder today. Every other sentence out of my mouth is turned to maximum volume on the nagging fishwife channel and I am horrified to hear myself but powerless to stop it, because I am too tired to get a grip.
And the very saddest part is that it was an incredible day and SO MUCH FUN, right up until the end. read more…