Thursday, October 29, 2009

But she had the mask off her mouth and around her chin, so I'm back to "crazy bitch".

A customer came in today wearing a surgical mask. I have to admit, my first reaction was, "Boy, she is one crazy bitch." So then I kinda beat myself up for being a judgmental asshole. "Let's give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she is sick and doesn't want to infect us." And that thought led to, "Fuck. What a selfish bitch! Why would she even come into public if beyotch is contagious?" (Yes, I swear this much, even in my own head.) And then I thought about my friend in high school whose father was battling cancer and could not go out in public without a mask for fear of the tiniest contamination from a simple cold, and people treated him like some sort of leper. And then I felt like shit again.

This is my constant internal monologue.

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

She's a fortune teller this year. Gee, thanks, magic 8-ball!

Emily had a Halloween party at school- at night, sans parents, a first. When I went in to pick her up, I walked in just ahead of a teen girl and her (I assume) boyfriend. Just as I was about to greet Emily, said teenage girl shouted, "Emily!" Instead of responding, Emily just glared at her. Obviously not giving a damn that Emily did not reply, she walked away, saying to her boyfriend, "That's the girl who always..." I didn't catch the rest. (Thank god?)

So I get Emily into the car and start quizzing her:

Me: Who was that teenager?
Emily: Brooke.
Me: And what did you always do?
Emily: Chased her.
Me: What? Why? And why didn't you say hello?
Emily: Because she's evil.

Yeah. So that ended that part of the conversation. I asked her what she did at the party. She ate and danced and did nothing. And then:

Emily: Oh, and limo.
Me, struggling to figure out what the hell that could possibly relate to- after all "Follow the Leader" is now called "Train". And no, I didn't yell at her to call it the right damn name or nothing at all. No, I didn't. You can't prove it: Limo? What is that?
Emily: Oh. Uhm, limBO.

And that ended the entire conversation because I couldn't take anymore.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

A banana was not one of the things to go into the lunchbox.

This morning, Connor was putting his lunch... bits? containers? food stuffs?... into his lunchbox. "And to think," he said, "that I only have this *indicates lunchbox* because of cheating."

I gave him a glare. "At bible camp." Yes, bible camp. I know. Long, boring story, don't ask.

"Yeah," he said, then he smirked. "I'm going to hell." And off he flounced.

I? Stood there with my mouth hanging open. There's not much of a response for that- mostly because I'm sure he got the attitude (and, yes, okay, the phrase, too) from me.

Saturday, October 17, 2009

Six Word Saturday


44 hours with no schedule! Woo!

Friday, October 16, 2009

Oh, wait. Here's my wine!

So, my kid. The oldest one. He turned twelve recently. Twelve. What the hell? I'm not sure how all that happened, but it did. My friend, Cassie, passed along birthday greetings:

Flutterby: your kid!
had a birthday
happy birthday to your kid!
me: didn't we already talk about his birthday?
Flutterby: we talked about that he was going to have one!
and then i forgot
me: oh
Flutterby: and i don't wanna lose my place as favorite online flutterby/cassie
me: happy it's-been-12-years-and-you-still-haven't-lost-the-weight to me!
Flutterby: woohoo!

It's been a very long and a very short dozen years. I was reminded of just how long the journey has been when a customer came in today, close to tears. It seems that she had just had to ditch the grocery store because her two year old terror angel had refused to sit in the cart. She was, at that moment, still in desperate need of food because the cupboards were bare- all young-mother-hubbard-esque. And also he refused to get dressed for twenty minutes this morning- what she was waiting on him for, I don't know.

Poor woman was at the end of her rope. I did not ask where the kid was, at this point, or why he couldn't be wherever the hell he was now while she ran to the grocery store. I also did not point out that the terrible-twos are far outawfuled by the terrible-threes. (No one ever mentions this to first-time parents of two year olds because we're all afraid they might decide to just cut their losses now.)

Talking the woman off the edge made me grateful to be past those early stages, but it also reminded me... oh shit, y'all, I'm about to have a teenage boy. I am so screwed- where's my wine?

Sunday, October 11, 2009

I Told You So From the Beginning

At soccer today, one of the opposing team kicked the ball right into the crowd, hitting the mother of a teammate of Connor's.
This teammate, in turn, yelled, "Hey! You nailed my mom!"
At which point my mind went in the completely wrong direction.
And this is why- soccer mom I am not.

Saturday, October 10, 2009

Six Word Saturday


Icky day. We'll go ice skating!

Wednesday, October 7, 2009


This post is dedicated to The Bloggess- who is insane, but only in a way that makes me worry for her, not for me or my children. If you've never read her stuff, you must, if for no other reason than that this post will make no sense to you. She makes up words, fights with her husband, and very occasionally offends a major religion in her blog, and I swear I am talking about someone other than me.

Anyway, her bit that actually applies to this post is here, and it's from a while ago, but, damn y'all, I can't plan life. It just happens this way.

My kick-ass niece Bailey, who just turned 12- happy birthday, Bailey!- inherited from her mother the ability to rock a crane machine. I think she's kinda addicted to them (she got a mini one for her birthday, and that's the one thing she shared with me when I called her), but that's okay- we're talking quarters here, not dime bags of illicit drugs.

When we were last visiting her house, she told us how she had scored a Wolverine toy (boys hate it when you call their play-things "dolls", even if it is a friggin' doll), but not just one Wolverine. Girl had managed to get three of those suckers all at once! I told you, she can rock a crane machine. This is how Ethan ended up with two of his very own- those and a Batman. Kick-ass and generous, she is.

So we're cruising the parking lot of the soccer fields (yes, I'm there all the effing time- I am aware of this, shut up) and the kids are playing/bickering in the backseat and repeatedly I hear references to "wolverines" (Ethan's choice for entertainment during Connor's game that night) and The Bloggess just suddenly pops into my head and I let out a cry of "Wolverines!!" and all three of my kids, with no pause, simultaneously respond "Wolverines!!" and that is why I not only have a kick-ass niece, but three kick-ass kids, as well.

Worth His Weight in Gold Salt

Last night I made a shepherd's pie / chicken pot pie... thingy. It was a shepherd's pie except made with chicken. It was chicken pot pie except with mash instead of a crust. Whatever, it turned out pretty okay. It got no complaints- which count for nothing anyway, but it's still nice not to have to listen to whineys.

Sam got home while we were at soccer, but had eaten by the time we got home. When I asked him what he thought of it, he said, "Once I had added enough salt, it was pretty good!" Now, this is kinda a big deal for me because, while I'm a pretty decent cook- I can follow a recipe or wing it, I'm not afraid of experimenting- casseroles are not my strong suit. I generally don't like them very much- it's the abundance of sauce/gravy, which is generally over-flavored, over-slimyed, and over-salted. Did I mention over-slimyed? That texture is just wrong. So when he complimented it, I was pretty damn excited.

Me: Really?
He: Yeah, once I added enough salt. I also added more pepper.
Ignoring the repeated salt comment, Me: I had some trouble with the pepper grinder, I figured I probably needed to add more. And I didn't want to go overboard with the spices since it was my first try. I did saute shallots and garlic in it, though.
He: Oh, I couldn't really taste them. But once I added enough salt, it was fine.
Me: Well, you know, I figured you can always add salt, but you can't take it away, and I wasn't sure how it would be once it came out of the oven. I can add more stuff next time I try it, maybe some herbs, and I can do more garlic. I did add cheese on top, did you notice?
He: Yeah, it needed more cheese, but I think everything needs more cheese. Eh, once I added enough salt, it was really good!
Me: Maybe you can't taste anything else because you always use too much salt, asshole!

And this is where I show how mature I am because that last line I only said in my head. I am so proud of me. Except now he's going to read this and know, but that's alright. I kept it to myself this long.

Monday, October 5, 2009

Scared and Pissed at the Same Time: A Normal Set of Emotions for a Mother

Connor beats me home on school days. Usually. With no warning, however, he did not today.

Me: Hi, my son Connor is in seventh grade there. He didn't come home and I'm just wondering if there's an after-school activity he might be attending?
School Secretary: Connor... hmm, actually, yeah. Dark hair, it's longish kinda...
Me: Shaggy, yes, that's him.
SS: Yeah, I was up there earlier, and I think he's staying after school for the book group.
Me: Ah, okay. Thanks so much, I'll beat him when he gets home.
SS: Alrighty, have a good day.