I have these in black. Love. My children will have to go to community college, but my feet look good in puddles.
I am going to rent a movie tonight. I know, I know. Settle down party girl. This is how I roll on a Friday night. I honestly cannot remember the last time I saw a movie in a theater. No really, I cannot remember. I do know it was back when you could board an airplane without removing your shoes and my cell phone weighed 4 pounds. Truly, something happened to my mind when I got pregnant. I could say the children got the brains, but the jury is still out on that one. My daughter ate a piece of dog food today. My middle child regularly makes decisions worse than Snooki.
Here is a perfect example. My 4-year-old was taking a bath and decided it was the perfect time to show me he wasn’t afraid to go under water. He learned to hold his breath during a swim lesson earlier that day. So, in about 12 inches of water, he counted “1,2,3” and whipped his head back with such force it hit the bottom of the tub. Thank God he came back up. Now, because I once saw a lady on Oprah telling me to praise a child even if he fails I said, “Good job honey! You went all the way under.” He wasn’t buying it. I am raising a tribe of perfectionists. Since he clearly misjudged the depth of our bathtub he needed a do-over. We counted together “1,2,3” BAM! I giggled a bit inside thinking, ‘Really? You didn’t learn your lesson the first time?’ If this continued I would either have to call David Hasselhoff (back when he wore a red bathing suit and ran in slow-motion. Not when he drove a talking car or was a drunk, drooling, hamburger-eating dad) I congratulated him again.
He was determined to get this right even if it meant suffering a concussion and forgetting the important life skill he learned at pre-school that day: gluing popsicle sticks together. Now, every good parent knows when to intervene and put an end to these kinds of stunts: before there is blood. So, I told him that game was over. Tears. This kid can turn them off and on like a soap opera star. I thought about getting him an acting coach and agent. Then, I envisioned his future. He would end up being in a movie where he plays a twin, make friends with a socialite who tells everyone the color of his pubic hair, change sexual orientations, drink excessively and pose nude. So, perhaps we will stick to college. I held my breath as he attempted a 3rd time to submerge his head without knocking himself out. He nailed it without nailing it.
“Did he pee?” “Mom, did he pee?” “He peed?” “Oh man, really? He peed again?” These are common questions nowadays in my house. Why? We have a puppy. I have days when I wish I could put on a puffer vest , hop in a DeLorean and relive the day we decided to bring this dog home. Don’t get me wrong, I love animals. I grew up with dogs and it was such a joy. Of course it was. I didn’t take care of the pets. I played and snuggled with our dogs. Our cat curled up in my bed at night until it ran away. When that cat disappeared so did the allergies and asthma attacks I had been plagued with. Turns out I was allergic to that cat. Back then, I didn’t change kitty litter, walk the dog in frigid temperatures or clean up pungent dog urine.
My oldest son loves the dog. My daughter tries to play with him, but cries whenever it playfully bites. My middle child? Well, he may be Satan. (I’m kidding. I think.) He torments this dog. Then again, I remember, as a child, my brother played football with our cat. Unfortunately for the cat it was always on the opposing team. My brother would race down the long hallway of our apartment and tackle the cat. Amazingly, the cat never got hurt and loved him anyway. I suppose I will grow to love our dog too. As soon as he learns to pee outside.
These charms aren’t cheesy. Plus, you don’t have to decide who to give the other half to. (I always got stuck with “st iends”)
Hell has frozen over. Fox News pundit, Bill O’Reilly, is defending Ellen DeGeneres. Good for him! One Million Moms is boycotting the store because it hired the talk show host as its spokesperson. First of all, I didn’t know a million people still shopped at JCPenny. (I always thought it was plural. JCPennys. Proof that deep down I am a hillbilly.) Look ladies, you can always buy your mock turtlenecks and pleated dress pants somewhere else. Kmart would probably welcome your business. Are you worried ‘the gays’ are going to stampede through the juniors section and start a rave? It ain’t Barney’s. A commercial isn’t going to convince a gay man to give up his designer skinny jeans for khakis. Million Moms wants Ellen fired because she is promoting her sexuality? Shut the front door! What’s next? Are you are going to demand restaurants fire homosexuals and lesbians? Salons? Imagine a world without a gay stylist. Mullets would be everywhere. You have the right to disagree with the lifestyle of those in the gay, lesbian and transgender community. Thump that bible as much as you want. I love me some Jesus, but I love my gays too. This is America and the J.C. above the store’s entrance doesn’t stand for Jesus Christ.
I brought doughnuts to my son’s pre-school today. Look, I know this delightful pastry doesn’t fall into one of the four food groups. (There are four right?) I also brought milk. In my opinion that cancels out the junk food. Honestly, I forgot it was my turn. I didn’t have time to get to a store.
The school assigns a child to be the “leader” each day of the month. Basically, they bribe you. ‘We will give your son a title for the day if you feed the children.’ The kids look forward to this day for weeks. It means they get to stand in the front of the line, lead the class in songs and pass out napkins during snack time. Wouldn’t it be great if that defined success in adulthood?
We arrived a little early and sat in the hallway waiting for the teacher to open the door. This lady doesn’t want to take these kids a minute early. Teachers aren’t paid as much as they should be. Pre-school teachers are paid less and given false hope that they will one day be hired in the district. It doesn’t make much sense to me. A teacher’s job is one of the most important and some garbage men make more. I digress.
Anyway, as we patiently waited for school to begin another mother noticed the box of doughnuts resting on my son’s lap. “Wow that’s quite a sweet treat for snack time,” she said in a condescending Martha Stewart like tone. “When my daughter was the leader I hallowed out apples and scooped peanut butter in each one. Then, I cut the apple pieces in slices. The kids had so much fun dipping them.” I could feel my face burning with rage. I grinned and said, “I wish I had that much time on my hands.” This lady also had time to French Braid her hair this morning. This isn’t France or 1984.