I love reading other mom blogs in a seemingly never ending pursuit to find inspiration amongst some of the great writers out there. So, here is what I am wondering? As I’m combing through all these posts, why not share some of the really good ones with you? Yeah, I know – why didn’t I think of that.
So here are some from today:
Harper will be six tomorrow, and I have a field trip with Meredith’s class (Chinese Buffet!). Meredith will be eight on Friday, and I have a field trip with Harper’s class (Zoo!). We have two birthday parties scheduled for Saturday and one for Sunday. Things are hectic, but it’s a Happy Hectic.
“Oh! Wait a second,” you may say, “I have noticed a glaring omission in your List o’ Hectic! Prince William! Kate Middleton! Have you no desire to put on a hat and participate in the jollification? EVEN ANDERSON COOPER WILL BE THERE!”
Oh, Internet. I will not be dragging myself out of bed to watch the royal wedding (or The Royal Wedding, depending on how much oomph you feel this event deserves). I dragged myself out of bed when I was eleven years old to watch Prince Charles marry Lady Diana, and I do remember it as being sort of perfect as I sat wrapped up in a blanket on the couch next to my mom. But listen. Times have changed. I’ll be 41 in a few weeks, and at this moment I can’t think of many things that excite me so much that I would leave my bed. I’m TIRED!
Okay. The Following Things Would Excite Me So Much That I Would Leave My Bed:
Dear Kate and Wills,
I am so sorry I am not going to be able to cross the pond to celebrate your special day. I had been shopping for the right hat and eye job, but then Mark (my commoner husband) reminded me that the movers are coming the day before, and your actual wedding day is the day the second wave of movers come with the stuff from our two storage lockers, rooms… not sure what they are called. What do you call them, Wills? Three-bedroom homes? Anyway, I have forgotten what most of my possessions look like so I thought I should greet them. Also, Rex is not up for plane travel at all and it would cost a lot in babysitting if I went without the kids. Oh, how I do run on!
Look, I think you two make a really lovely couple. Kate, you are perfect looking and will do so much for brunettes. Maybe if you had been around when I was younger I wouldn’t have been as horrified in my blonde-to-brown teen years. Though, even in my teen years I never had such a rocking little bod as you do.
Wills, you know how much I have cared for you and admire the man you have become. I know your mother is so proud of you and is looking down at you with a big smile. She would like you both to be a tad less chummy with Camilla though. Yes, sure, be polite, but give Diana a wink every now and then that lets her know you are really just humoring the home-wrecker.
I cried my eyes out when HRH Diana was taken so young. I hope you know, Wills, that we all — three billion of us — were giving a big hug to you and Harry from afar.
I do hope the day is what you want it to be.
I do hope you two have as charmed life as any attractive, healthy, rich people can have. Why not? Be happy!
I do hope your day is not marred too much by my absence.
Oh, where are you registered?
Yep, I needed some permanent record of this seeing as how I finally threw the damn thing out.
When Thing 2 was about four years old, we were headed on a two week trip to Arizona but it seemed like he might be coming down with strep. I didn’t want to travel with a sick child, so we headed to the doctor, who paused oddly during midway through examining my boy.
He had noticed a bump inside my son’s nose. Apparently the epithelial cells that line the nose tend to grow very quickly over implanted objects and the doctor had to dig out this unexpected little find.
But that’s also the good news because after taking a deep breath, the doctor told me that when he first spotted the lump in my son’s nose, he feared it was a rare type of cancer. He was worried he was going to be breaking some really bad news to me. But no, it was just a fuzzy little craft ball that my son shoved up his nose.
The thing is, even as a very young toddler my son was not the type of kid who stuck things in his nose or any other orifice for that matter. He didn’t mouth his toys and was generally pretty obedient.
He didn’t, doesn’t, have any reasonable explanation for why he shoved that thing up his nose.
I found the plastic vial containing the fuzzball when we were emptying out our house. It’s now in a landfill.
I brought home a Roomba back in February after attending Blissdom and although I swore I would never get attached to such a frivolous thing I must admit that I have become quite enamored with its ability to vacuum the floors while I tend to very important things like changing my Facebook status or making myself a snack. I’m also rather enthralled with its ability to vacuum our hardwood floors and fill its bin with dust and debris…dust and debris I apparently have never noticed since I may or may not be the best housekeeper.
The Roomba is now an integral part of our family, though. Our dog Jack barely notices Roomba when he tries to vacuum up his paws and even Barbie’s yellow lab Tanner has taken a spinon his back. Heck we may even have to throw a birthday party for Roomba next year.
Last Saturday we were heading out for the afternoon so I thought it would be the perfect time to let Roomba be unsupervised for a little while. He is, after all, now basically a toddler in Roomba years. I made sure the hallway was blocked off so he wouldn’t get lost in our bedrooms. Or at least I thought I did.
When we got home that night I noticed Roomba was gone. GONE I TELL YOU! He hadn’t parked himself in his little charger and I was quite distressed to not see his familiar cheerful green light.
Where, oh where, had Roomba gone?
I looked everywhere and finally headed to our bedroom where I found him lifeless and in the dark. He was in the corner and had apparently choked on a pair of my black cotton underwear. CHOKED!
My Roomba bad parenting skills are going to cost me freaking $39 in replacement parts AND a new pair of cotton mama drawers, seeing as my black panties were completely dusty and mamed after Roomba tried to eat them.
Maybe I need to set up a baby monitor for the Roomba just to make sure this horrible scenario doesn’t happen ever again. Or maybe I should dust off our regular vacuum and starting vacuuming again.
Growing up I rarely lied to my parents. Sure, every once in a while I would say I was going to the movies and instead I would be drinking beer at a bonfire on The Causeway and sometimes I skipped class and failed to mention it, but I usually just told them things they didn’t want to hear.
I still do.
Part of it is that I am an honest person and I try not to do things that I wouldn’t tell people about.
More of it is that I am too lazy to remember my lies and cover up is taxing.
So – if I didn’t lie to my parents why do I constantly find myself lying to my children?
I always told myself that I wouldn’t lie to my kids, and as an oversharer I have already told them how babies are made and about caesarian sections and miscarriage and suicide and all sorts of inappropriate things. I have told them why I don’t believe in creationism. I have told them about my D in pre-algebra. I told them that I got a bus referral for yelling out the window (I was totally framed). We’ve discussed exorcism and how ghosts and aliens are probably real but house elves are fictional. I told them the literal meaning of the word “shit” and why calling somebody a douchebag isn’t nice. I told them who would be taking care of them if their father and I both die. I even told them what N.W.A stood for.
I don’t mean to say that we don’t have any secrets. They don’t know my pin number or where I stash the good candy. They don’t know I used to smoke cigarettes.
But one time Claudia asked me how far a man had to put his penis in a woman’s vagina to make a baby and I answered it as honestly as I could.
(You are welcome other kids on the bus.)
So why am I repeatedly forced to lie to them and cover up about stupid shit like the Easter Bunny?
Read more of this post at Sarah and the Goon Squad