I see, said the blind mom
All (long) weekend long, I listened to folks on Twitter and Facebook bemoaning the school vacation and lack of structure and general driving-batshit-ness of having the kids home for this break. And lo, I creased my brow with wonder and consternation, because I was quite ENJOYING having my offspring home and not having to drag anyone out of bed and getting to work quietly in the mornings without packing lunches or breaking up squabbles.
Plus, I was kind of enjoying my children. I know, it’s crazy, right? They’re older now and not quite so needy and OH HA HA HA, THOSE OF YOU WHO GET SICK OF YOUR KIDS! NOT ME!
Hubris: It’s what’s for dinner on the last day of vacation.
We had a nice break. We really did. Right up until yesterday, when everyone lost their damn mind and started acting like rabid wolverines. I don’t know what it was, but yesterday I would’ve cheerfully sold you both children in exchange for a pocketful of the rotten tomatoes we found Licorice eating in the yard. read more…
Black Friday at Casa Mir
Today’s the day that I get up early and spend my entire day as a slave to Want Not, and the children are informed ahead of time that I will be essentially unavailable for the day and they should fend for themselves.
So I’ve been working for the last, oh, seven and a half hours already (ZOMG), and the kids are giving me pretty wide berth, but they just swarmed the kitchen—which is right off of my office—to forage for leftovers for lunch.
And that’s why one of the first things I said that didn’t involve shopping, bargains, or Amazon today was, “PLEASE DO NOT RUB LEFTOVER ROLLS ON YOUR FACE.”
True story.
WWF Thanksgiving ruuuuuumble!
I just told Otto I feel like I landed in the middle of some sort of bizarro WWF match for Thanksgiving, today. I woke up with one—just one!—swollen knuckle on my right hand, like maybe I’d smashed someone with a right hook in my sleep and landed it wrong, and as it’s my middle finger, my dexterity is extremely compromised. Then while getting the stuffing ready I stupidly dropped a mess of onions into my butter-filled skillet and promptly burned my left wrist in three places where the butter leapt out to protest.
A minute ago I tried to swirl my hot-water-and-yeast mixture that will be rolls later, and managed to get it all over the counter and myself. That one didn’t hurt, at least, so all I could do was utter a couple of choice words about it.
Otto’s in charge of the turkey, thank goodness, because I can promise you I’d end up dropping it on the dog or something.
Nevertheless, we’re listening to “Alice’s Restaurant” on repeat, Chickadee is begging us to turn it off, Monkey is bouncing around calling out “Kill! Killlll! KIIIILLLL!” and I’m feeling thankful, war wounds and all. I hope you are with people you love, today. I sure am.
I’m grateful for…
… the never-stops-being-funny routine of us asking the turkey in the fridge if he enjoyed a nice, pampered, fulfilling organic life before his head was chopped off.
… gluten-free cookies which can be turned into gluten-free pie crust, and the way Otto’s face looks when he gets that first whiff of his beloved pumpkin pie in the oven.
… being pounced on with muddy paws, even at inopportune moments, and rewarding that bad behavior with scraps of food.
… both children helping with the rallying cry of “ANOTHER STICK OF BUTTER!” ala Paula Deen (Chickadee’s devotion to artery-clogging mashed potatoes and Monkey’s earnest fake southern accent are both particularly hilarious).
… Thanksgiving reminders that perfection is overrated, and not necessary for gratitude, now or ever. (But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to hear about your memorable holiday disasters, so I hope you’ll come share.)
The person I’ve become, with them
It’s true that there’s a fine tradition of endless taunting that happens in our family, and I consider it something of a character-building exercise, sure, and my children endure it with a mixture of rolled eyes and exasperation, yes, but the truth is that I am ribbing myself as much as I’m ribbing them. There are times I feel like I’ve stepped into a music video because I’m not entirely sure how I ended up here.
And it’s mostly due to the kids. Not entirely, of course, but yeah, mostly. They change things. If I find myself uttering the phrase “I never thought I’d…” chances are, it’s going to be followed by something having to do with a person who once made my belly button pop out like a turkey timer.
This week feels especially rife with that sort of thing, for some reason. I’m not entirely sure why. I just know that it keeps happening. read more…
My heart disappeared
Yesterday was the last day of Hippie School for an entire WEEK, because it turns out that hippies take their vacation breaks pretty seriously. The kids had already had a wild field trip day on Thursday, so yesterday was more of a “regular” day. As I puttered around my office yesterday afternoon, I thought that I might finally grant one of Monkey’s most fervent wishes.
“Why don’t you ever bring Licorice when you pick me up??” he always demands, as if I am specifically leaving the dog at home to agitate him. The truth is that due to our carpool arrangements, I only do pickup a couple of times a week, and as there is 1) already a dog at Hippie School (because OF COURSE THERE IS) and 2) pick-up time is complete mayhem and 3) Licorice is already kind of neurotic, it has just never seemed like a good idea.
But yesterday was the last day before vacation, so I figured: What the heck! I finished what I was doing, then grabbed the leash and went out on the porch to call the dog. read more…
5-inch-stiletto-in-mouth syndrome
Last night was an extremely auspicious occasion. For the first time EVER, Otto and I went out for the evening and left the kids to make their own dinner, finish their homework, and put themselves to bed. ON A SCHOOL NIGHT. (Not that we’ve ever done it on a weekend, either, come to think of it. But doing this on a school night seemed particularly weird, somehow.) The fact of the matter is that they’re plenty old enough, I am just overprotective and also once Chickadee almost burned the house down with a lamp (reading after hours! my little nerdling!) (the house wasn’t really almost burned down, but she did burn a circle on her headboard), so leaving them alone with the oven on felt like a leap of faith. (Chickadee: “Don’t worry! I’m sure the pizza only needs three hours or so! KIDDING!”)
Anyway, it was time for another Fancy Shindig because my husband’s employer likes to have these things. So we gussied up and headed out, making the children promise to call 911 if anything caught on fire while we were gone.
I wore my new(ish) platform stilettos, which caused Monkey to say, “Whoa. You are REALLY tall now!” I had to promise it was temporary before we left. read more…
Winging it
There’s so much more I want to say about yesterday’s post, about this situation in specific and our society’s willingness to explain away predatory and aggressive behavior as something else, surely, he didn’t MEAN it that way and he would NEVER and by the way, what exactly was she wearing, hmmmm? But that will become a rant that never ends, in general; and in specific, I have pledged to sit on my hands until a satisfactory resolution is reached.
[I shared some of your comments here and from over on Off Our Chests with Chickie, by the way, and she was really surprised, I think, by the outpouring of support. (Which is a whole ‘nother level of sad to this whole thing, but…) Thank you so much.]
I may have had a hubris-filled moment, in the last few days, when I said to Otto SHE IS SUPPOSED TO BE THE EASY ONE. He may still be laughing at me.
And I probably deserve it. read more…
Mama Bear ANGRY
Yesterday I was crazed, swamped with work I’d put off all weekend, trying to carve out a spot in the afternoon to write here. Because although I write for a living, writing HERE is what keeps me sane and grounded (despite periodic exclamation-point-riddled evidence to the contrary).
But then my work day got cut short, because Chickadee—who has been doing her very best recently to make me reconsider selling her to the circus—texted me from school. During school. Which was weird. And it got weirder. And my baby wasn’t okay, and despite weeks of clashing wills and shrill shrieking about how I am the worst mother ever, when all was said and done last night, my nearly-as-tall-as-I-am teenager curled up in my lap and hugged me hard and whispered, “Thank you,” because when push came to shove, she knew that Mama had her back. Because I do, always.
Now I’m left waiting to see what happens next, and fairly vibrating with rage in the meantime. Until we reach a conclusion here, all I feel comfortable saying is that some situations call for a righteous anger, and I will do my damndest to teach my daughter that if someone tries to shame her for someone else’s actions, she has the right to get good and pissed.
(I shared this over at Off Our Chests because I wanted to make sure other teenagers see it. But this is one I hope you’ll click through to read, especially if you have kids.)
Party at my place! Except not!
I thought today was a very boring day—I never even got dressed, to tell you the honest truth—but it all just got a lot more exciting ’round here.
Apparently I’m throwing a HUGE party. I’m sorry I forgot to invite you, but I didn’t even know myself until a few minutes ago. I guess I could invite you NOW, but I fear the party’s been canceled. I’m a party pooper!
Okay; let me back up. After watching about a billion hours of Pitbulls and Parolees with Chickadee this afternoon (spoiler: pitbulls are nice! as are some parolees!), Monkey said he was hungry and I told him to go ask Otto what he wanted for dinner. After a brief discussion, Otto offered to go out and pick up pizza and wings, which was fortuitous as 1) there was nothing good to eat in the house and 2) the rest of the family was still in pajamas.
Food was fetched, and we were all sitting here eating happily when the phone rang. read more…