Category Archives: small humans

We are in a state of emergency

Operation Thanksgiving was a success, thanks to my mother and my mother-in-law (the cooks), two bottles of champagne, and many pies.

There were so many pies that my subconscious has woken me up every night at midnight to eat a slice two slices. I consider this taking one for the team. The pie team. Of which I am the leader.

Now with Thanksgiving barely over, the time for Holiday Shenanigans has commenced.

I have to LEAVE MY HOUSE every day for the next four days.

Let that sink in.

Although I do want to see my daughter sing today and I wouldn’t miss Thing 1 in the play and I’m sure the band program of Thing 2’s will be phenominal…I would much rather watch these things from my couch. And let’s not even speak of the parade.

Can you even imagine the amount of bathing and getting dressed this is going to entail? More than I’ve done in the last week, I can tell you that.

Then you throw in that it is cold and rainy outside and when it is cold I don’t like to get out of my bed. I may be part bear.

bear

And I have to wonder how I will make an ass of myself at these various functions. SO many opportunities to be weird and awkward!

Being an introvert with anxiety almost guarantees that I will say or do something idiotic…in public…with no place to hide.

I’ve narrowed it down to two possibilities. The first and best-case scenario is that I won’t speak at all and will avoid eye contact with anyone I didn’t give birth to. If cornered, I will answer questions only with “yes” or “no” and will fidget and bolt at the first opportunity.

The second and least desirable and therefore most likely is that I will start nervous talking. This is the one I’d really like to avoid because once I start nervous talking, I can’t be stopped and my subject matter leaves much to be desired. For instance, I need to not talk about the zombie apocalypse and the fact that once the meds run out I will be a dead weight but I still don’t want to be eaten so I’ve been practicing with a sling shot, the only weapon I will be allowed. When people say, “How have you been?” I’m pretty sure that is not the answer they are expecting.

I also shouldn’t talk about my pets bowel habits (though they are very interesting) or say, “You are making me anxious.” and then walk away.

Basically, the next four days are a damned social minefield and I’m not fully equipped to navigate it. Or even partially equipped. I have no equipment.

Are you already sick of holiday engagements or is it just me? Is crawling under a chair a viable option in an auditorium?


School Fundraisers Suck

delightful

The beginning of the school year was filled with sales. Girl Scout sales, PTA sales, band sales; everybody was selling something and basically driving me crazy.

So. Fast forward to last week when I started getting these notes home saying that the cookie dough order would be in on Thursday and HAD to be picked up on THURSDAY between the hours of 3:30 and 6:30.

I threw every one of them away. We, I was sure, had sold no cookie dough. These increasingly threatening letters were not meant for me, and I trashed EVERY ONE OF THEM.

Fast forward again to Thursday night. Imagine my surprise when the school calls me at 6 pm to ask if I am going to pick up my cookie dough order. Or rather, to TELL me to get my ass down there and pick it up. I tried telling them that we didn’t sell cookie dough. They replied with yes, you did, you sold it to yourself and so-and-so and so-and-so. I couldn’t argue with that kind of logic.

I sent my husband to pick up the “cookie dough” explaining to him that they were calling it the wrong thing. WE had never sold cookie dough, so this must be that other stuff we sold and they were IDIOTS and were calling it cookie dough which is why I THREW AWAY ALL THE LETTERS.

So he brings home this giant box of stuff we allegedly sold and I ignore it. Because I was sure it was full of nuts and magazines and whatever else we had sold but CERTAINLY NOT COOKIE DOUGH.

This morning the box is still sitting in my chair so out of curiosity I opened it.

Guess what was in it. Guess.

FUCKING COOKIE DOUGH. We DID sell cookie dough. I even BOUGHT cookie dough. Then I argued with the school about it and left it sitting out overnight in my warm house instead of the fridge because I was SO CERTAIN that we didn’t sell cookie dough.

I have obviously lost my mind. I blame the school and their “cookie dough.”


YES, Bring Your Fucking Jacket!

Ode to that most frustrating creature, the teenager who would rather freeze his bits off than wear a goddamn coat.

wear a fucking jacket

Teenagers everywhere

Freezing off their derriers.

Wear a fucking coat

It’s wintertime you dolt.

 

They are impervious to the cold

Until they get so old

Hoodies are not jackets

I’ve tried every kind of racket.

 

They don’t even care

As long as they have good hair

They don’t give a shit

About being frost bit.

 

This mom is wearing layers

But her boys are being players

Put on a fucking coat!

You are not a fluffy mountain goat.

 

You are a boy who this mom loves

And she worries because you won’t wear gloves

So please for the love of God

Put a fucking jacket on.


Aging Ungracefully

I went to the doctor this morning and she wants to give me some injections in my neck. There was a question of whether or not I wanted to be sedated. Silly question. I ALWAYS WANT TO BE SEDATED. In any given situation, I can pretty much guarantee you that I would rather be sedated. I have two teenagers. I’d like to be sedated for the next 6 to 13 years.

My neck has been giving me problems for years but now that I’m getting older it is getting worse. I know that it’s getting worse because I can feel it and I know that I’m getting older because my kids NEVER STOP MENTIONING IT.

My birthday is this month. Most days I feel about 80, 85, but I’m actually only going to be 35.

Only.

My family and I saw an old friend of mine the other day and Thing 2 couldn’t wait to say, “I can’t believe you guys went to school with her! She looks so much younger than you!”

No, I didn’t smack him but I thought about it.

Then today we ran into another old friend and here he goes again. This time he says, “How come everyone you went to school with looks younger or older than you?” Um, because they have to be one of the two? Knowing I wasn’t going to like the answer, I asked the question anyway.

Then this happened.

This was a full cup of chocolate milk.

This was a full cup of chocolate milk.

How I managed to do that, I will probably never know, but I do know that 20 ounces of chocolate milk can cover a lot of territory in a car and it’s very, very sticky.

Since my birthday is coming up, my husband has been giving me little gifts all month long. (I KNOW, RIGHT?) This was his latest and I absolutely love it for so many reasons. It is warm and cozy. It has pockets. It has a hood. And it embarrasses the crap out of my kids who deserve it because they keep calling me old.

onesie

Is there a better gift in this world than a bright blue adult onesie WITH POCKETS? No. No, there is not.

 


Shit My Family Says To Me, Again

Well, I survived another Halloween. In protest, I attended two fall festivals sans makeup and hair styling. I thought if anyone asked I would say I was dressed as a frazzled mother with too many festivals to attend, but no one asked. I did however get mistaken for a sorority sister. That makes me think that the girls who hosted the festival must be heavy partiers and are often seen about town looking next-morning-rough.

In other news, my family has come through for you guys yet again, by way of constantly harassing me and giving me grief.


I tried to tell my son that I was funny and he didn’t believe me.

Me: I have over 2000 followers on my blog.

Thing 2: Stop it. You do not.

Me: Yes. Yes I do. Because people think I’m funny.

Thing 2: The funniest thing you ever said to me is what you just said.


My husband and I were discussing handwriting analysis.

Me: According to my handwriting, I have about five different personalities.

Him: I think at least two of them don’t like me.

Me: *chortles* I have to write that down!

Him: I like how I gave you ample time to dispute that, but you didn’t.

Me: …cause I think you’re right.


Trying to convince my oldest son that I am the coolest mom he knows.

Me: I’m awesome and you know it!

Thing 1: Yeah, if by “awesome” you mean “hard to love.”


Pedi Egg