It’s not even noon and I’ve been covered in a small human’s urine twice already.
This is motherhood, people. Think on it.
I’ve got to go clean up after my cat, who has apparently decided that her litter box may only be used one time before she has to go in the floor to teach me a lesson.
If Cleanliness is next to Godliness, then I am currently living in the Devil’s asshole.
So my daughter is 4. She occasionally does stuff and I’m like, What The Fuck? Where did that come from?
Because, although you couldn’t tell it by my blog, we’re actually pretty strict parents. Anyway.
She’s started doing this thing where she wiggles her butt and sings “shake it, baby.” It’s a little disconcerting. I could not think where she might have seen this.
Then I turned on my cleaning music today, and started shaking it. Yep.
I think knowing all the words to California Love at just four years old shows great memorization and lyrical skills. Not to mention all the exercise she gets “shakin it.”
For anyone unfortunate enough to not be hip to the 90s rap, here you are, and you’re welcome.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eDZ961xhNEo
The kids went back to school today. I started freaking out about it Friday and proceeded to organize everything in my house, like it would somehow protect them from bullies, mean teachers, yucky food, and head lice. If everything was in just the right spot, what could go wrong? (I realize this is nuts. Thanks.)
I think I did pretty good at hiding my back-to-school and sending-my-baby-to-Pre-K anxiety from the children. I was all hearts and flowers and “It will be SO MUCH FUN! Aren’t you EXCITED?!” But inside I was like “Waaaaa! My babies.”
I’m not alone in this. My husband has called me three times this morning, the last time to ask if he “should just go take a peek and see how she’s doing.” No. That’s frowned upon. I know my limits, so I’m just staying away from that school. If any of the three kids even wrinkled a nose at me, I’d have ‘em packed in the car and the homeschool books ordered.
It’s not that I’m against public schools. It’s not that I think my local school is a bad school. It’s just that I love my kids the way they are. I hate how rigid the schools are and how every child is expected to be just like every other child. (My middle child is certainly well on his way to teaching them different.) I mean, c’mon, do ALL the pencils have to be plain yellow #2 pencils? If my kid, who hates school with such a passion, wants a freaking green pencil, I’m fine with that. My little one (who has been home with me since she first wiggled in my belly) was so excited to take her tiny little backpack today. No. No backpacks allowed. Because Lord knows what a 4-year-old might smuggle into school in a 6-inch My Little Pony backpack.
I see the pros of school. Interacting with peers, learning to follow rules, getting along with others, learning how to deal with assholes – these are all things children need to know. But not every kid is a yellow #2 pencil. I don’t want my purple-striped, glitter-covered, shiny-polka-dotted, maybe-chewed-a-little-bit pencils sharpened down until they match all the others.
We had family game night last night. I didn’t want to, because I had a ton of work, as I explained to my ungrateful children.
Me: Can’t. I have a ton of work and I don’t want to be up all night trying to catch up.
Thing 2: OMG ( actually saying Oh Em Gee), mom, why didn’t you get your work done this morning?
Me: Oh Em Gee! Because I was too busy twiddling my thumbs and smoking crack. I have been working ALL DAY!
Thing 1: Where are you going? It’s time to play a game. No. If you don’t have time to play a game with us, then you don’t have time for that. (Physically blocking my speedy exit, because the little shit is bigger than me. Uncool.)
Me: Alright, fine, I’ll finish my work and then we’ll play.
After much debate between my husband and two sons, they picked Cranium, which is actually pretty fun. Kind of like a Pictionary/word game/scavenger hunt/thing. With kids.
It went pretty well. My oldest and I were on a team against my husband and Thing 2. We totally stomped them. So much so that during the second game, my husband started saying “nipple” when it was our turn, to distract us. It worked. A teenager cannot focus on the task at hand (or stop laughing) when he hears the word “nipple.”
Turns out, neither can I.
We Don't Chew Glass 