I was told this morning that I looked “tiny.” I am 5’7 1/2 and the only tiny thing on my body is my pinky toe. Even it is larger than average and bends slightly inward. I have been working out, but don’t feel thinner. I definitely feel older, having to ice my achy body after every cardio routine. I am not trying to be a size 2. I run, lift, lunge, etc. to maintain my sanity. Now that I am home more with the kids I need all the natural endorphins I can get. The next person who says “It must be nice that you don’t have to work” is going to get punched in the face. Bitches, Dolly Parton had it easy. I would kill to clock in at nine and out at five.
I try to set aside at least 45 minutes several times a week to exercise. If my kids interrupt I give the hand signal. Unless they are bleeding or about to bleed it can wait. Your sister took your spot on the couch? Talk to the hand You want a snack even though we finished dinner five minutes ago? Talk to the hand He is copying you? Talk to the hand My daughter is the only one who doesn’t quite understand. So, on occasion, I cave and read Cinderella books while running on the treadmill.
Another Mom at my son’s school inquired about my workout routine.
Before I could open my mouth to answer he blurted out, “Yeah she sweats a lot. I mean, A LOT! It’s disgusting.” Phew! I almost had a little confidence before that comment. We wouldn’t want that would we? Then again, maybe having too much confidence is a bad thing. Take for example, the teenage girl at my son’s tennis match tonight. She was so proud of her body she was letting it all hang out. I will give her the benefit of the doubt that she misunderstood her Mom’s instructions. Perhaps she thought she was going to the OBGYN instead of playing tennis again. This cartoon summarizes how I feel about her summer attire:
I remember making empty threats when I was a kid. “I am going to runaway and you will never see me again!” I was just mad because I didn’t get my way. Perhaps my Mom wouldn’t buy me the neon orange jelly shoes I wanted. Maybe she told me to turn down my cassette player because I was blasting Janet Jackson’s “Control.” Regardless, I had no intention of living under a bridge. Where would I store my scrunchies and Aqua Net?
My 3-year-old daughter is already a feisty one. She recently informed me she was looking for a new Mom. I asked her if she was using Craig’s List or placing an ad in the newspaper. She was upset because I wouldn’t allow her eat Starbursts for dinner. No, you will eat those damn French fries and like it!
My 6-year-old came up with an unique way to punish me. He was angry tonight because it was time for bed. I know it can be pretty shocking when you have the same routine 365 days a year. He stormed into the bathroom faster than Jaime Lee Curtis. I assumed he was going to brush his teeth until my oldest came into my bedroom giggling. “Um, he is threatening to put his foot in the toilet if you make him go to sleep.” My kindergartener was standing with his size two foot dangling over the loo. My husband and I looked at one another in disbelief. Who would have to give the We don’t put our feet in toilets speech? Before we could play rock, paper, scissors our 6-year-old appeared. His sock was dry. Apparently, he realized dipping his toes in urine and s*** would hurt anybody, but himself. He cracked a smile and we all laughed. Then, we closed the bathroom door and went to bed.
Children are bi-polar. That was the same kid who painted this beautiful picture for me :
I almost made the news this morning and that’s not a good thing. When I dropped my son off to school I noticed three boys were teasing other students. They would follow each kid who walked by their group. I don’t know what they were saying, but it wasn’t “Good morning.” One boy tried to lose them by turning around, but the bullies were relentless. They were not only mocking kids, but intimidating them. Little bastards! I reached for the door handle and then froze. I had an outfit on that would make Rachel Zoe vomit more than her breakfast, lunch am dinner. I was wearing gym shorts, a tank top and a puffy winter coat. I looked like a homeless woman on the upper west side. If I got out of the car my 13-year-old would be humiliated. Yeah, that was my braless Mom chasing 8th graders.
I know there are people who make light of bullying. “Sticks and stones will break my bones, but names will never hurt me…..” is a bunch of bullshit. It does hurt. I still despise the girl who bullied me in high school. I don’t know that you ever forget. She made my life a living hell with name calling and threats. I was afraid to go to sporting events or parties for fear she would torment me. I went anyway and pretended not to be bothered. This is her now:
I didn’t get out of my car this morning. I flagged down the crossing guard who promised to tell the assistant principal. Yes, this is the same crossing guard I battled last month. We bonded today over our hatred of mean kids.
I teach my kids to treat their peers with respect…and talk about them behind their back. It’s the right thing to do. Seriously, I don’t tolerate bullying. My kids would be in hot water if I ever found out they behaved like those three boys outside the school. They are tough guys now, but revisit them in twenty years. I always tell my son that the “cool” bullies will be bald, fat and working at the Sunglasses Hut. You don’t want to be them.
I don’t think I have been on time for an appointment in 13 years. That is why I take my children to a chain hair salon. Well, that and I am cheap. You have to be careful though. These joints hire the girl who burned the hairs off the mannequin in cosmetology school. My kids get their hair did about every three and a half weeks. Basically, when they start to look like Justin Beiber (back when he owned a belt) it’s time for a cut. The chain salon I frequent won’t take appointments. However, you can call ahead and put your name on a list. It’s basically like getting a Fast Pass at Walt Disney World. You get to budge ahead of the people who showed up unannounced like cousin Eddie Johnson. I called at 11:30 and said I would be there around noon. When you have three children “around noon” is anywhere between noon and 3 p.m. Our arrival depends on whether or not a child has a temper tantrum. Then, they have to focus long enough to put on shoes. Plus, my children always need something the minute we have walk out the door. They may need a drink, a toy or to use the bathroom for the second time.
I have been going to this particular salon for over a year. Even though we called ahead we still have to wait our turn. So, I didn’t think it would be a problem when we were 15 minutes late. After all, it’s not an appointment. I was wrong. When we got there our stylist was M.I.A. Apparently, when we didn’t show up at noon sharp the manager sent her on a break. Are you kidding me? I have to sit with three kids, on a bench built to fit a smurf for nearly a half an hour? I would rather be water boarded while White Snake played on loop. For the next 25 minutes I listened to constant whining, “It’s taking too long.” “Where is she?” “When are we leaving.” “I’m hungry.” If I were alone I would have stormed out of there. It’s impossible to be a dramatic diva with three kids in tow. So, I bitched to myself while we waited. Then, I got to see this guy at the counter and it was all worth it.
When your kids are young their faces light up the moment you enter a room. Inevitably, when they become teenagers, that smile disappears and is replaced with an eye roll.
My 5-year-old still adores me. (Most of the time) He was thrilled when I visited the school today for an Easter party. (It may have been because I was carrying boxes of donuts, but I will pretend he was cheering was for me.) I don’t want politically correct lunatics to get their panties in a bunch. The kids didn’t complete dot to dot Jesus worksheets during the classroom Easter party. They played games, enjoyed a snack and went on an egg hunt.
Their teacher (who is awesome) also dyed eggs with each student. I am so grateful my son got to do this project at school. Now, I don’t have to deal with the mess at home. (HASHTAG TRUE STORY)Overall, it was a good time. I could have done without having his classmate wipe his nose before grabbing my sleeve, but I wouldn’t miss it. I cherish these moments with my kids.
You have got to be kidding me? I will never get my boys out of the bathroom if this becomes a trend. A minor league baseball team in Pennsylvania is going to offer urine-controlled video games. No, I am not making this up. The system is designed by a British company called Captive Media. The custom urinals feature a “pee controlled” video screen. (R Kelly must be so happy!) SMH! (I just learned what SMH means. I had to google it after I received a text message.)
For example, in a snowboarding game, to turn left you urinate to the left, to turn right you pee right. My children have a hard enough time with their aim and don’t need anymore distractions. “Mom, I missed,” has been said many times in my house. I guess these stalls are popular in Europe. Can you even imagine the germs? I don’t think we need to give men a reason to spend more time in the bathroom. Do your business and get the hell out.
A teenager accused in the shooting death of an innocent baby in Georgia was in court today. Nancy Grace is wetting her pants over this story. She is going to pull her hair back with a bedazzled bobby pin and analyze the entire case. By now you’ve probably heard what happened. A woman, pushing a stroller, was allegedly approached by two teenagers demanding money. When she refused they shot her and threatened to kill her baby. She didn’t have anything to give them. So, she says, one of the boys shot the 13-month-old in the face. If I were still a TV news reporter I would just give you the facts. However, after a decade, I retired from the business last year. So, I can tell you I think if these boys are guilty they deserve to rot in hell. They didn’t steal a candy bar from the corner store. They robbed this woman of a lifetime of memories. My heart breaks for this woman.
The mother of one of the suspects said, “My son didn’t do anything wrong. He was just a witness.” Really? I want to slap her. Your son, ma’am, was an accessory to a crime. He didn’t know they were going to rob that woman? He didn’t know his buddy had a gun? He pulled the trigger even if his finger wasn’t on the gun.
The problem with society is that, far too often, parents don’t hold their children accountable for their actions. I hate to get all Bill O’Reilly on you, but it’s true. I have interviewed hundreds of mothers and fathers after their children were sent to prison. It is rare that they apologize for the horrendous crime his or her child committed. I know you want to believe your child wouldn’t be capable of breaking the law. “He was a good boy.” Okay, maybe he was a good boy in kindergarten. Perhaps, he shared his red crayon when a friend couldn’t find one. Now, your kid is a thug. I am not saying it is always a parent’s fault. Sometimes you can think you are doing everything right and your child grows up to be Dylan Klebold.
I like to think I am a good mother. Sure, I may lie to my kids from time to time to avoid a tantrum. We eat at fat food restaurants weekly. However, my children know the difference between right and wrong. They know there will be consequences if they break the rules. It doesn’t mean they are perfect. Several years ago my oldest joined in when a few kids broke school rules on a bus. (Can someone please tell me what the hell that smell is on school buses? Ever heard of Febreeze?) Anyway, the boys took turns writing curse words on a notebook. Perhaps, they were working on a new series for HBO? My son, who was knocked out of the spelling bee in the first round, spelled every word correctly which made it even more humiliating. I remember thinking, after the principal called, I am going to beat his ass. I didn’t lay a hand on him, but he started crying the minute we walked into the office. He was ashamed. He also knew he was in deep shit. He has been a model student ever since. I never blamed another kid. We took responsibility and apologized. I think it is the least the relatives in Georgia can do for that grieving mother.
Grab your puke bucket, (if you’re not a parent you may not have one. In that case, get to the nearest bathroom) Gwyneth Paltrow has a new blog post. Now, I like her as an actress. However, she is kind of out of touch with the average Joe. She released her list of “Spring Essentials.” Funny thing is the 3 pack of cotton Hanes Hipster panties are not on the list. Look, I am over the whole look at my sexy, uncomfortable underwear. At my age, I am anti-wedgie.
I thought I was high-maintenance for requiring extra dressing when I order a salad. (Yeah, I splurge and pay the extra 50 cents.) Gwyneth takes it to the next level. Her “Spring Essentials” will only cost you $458,003. It includes a $5,495 Valentino Rockstud python trapeze bag. (Perfect for spilling juice from sippy cups) For $1,615 you can get a Temperley London skirt. Gwynnie says, “For a night in with guests, a long skirt manages to look dressed up wile still conveying a relaxed feel.” Hahahahahahahahaha. I had guests over Friday night. We wore blue jeans and ate pizza. I changed into Yoga pants to make more room for the chicken wings.
I figured I would make a more realistic list of “Spring Essentials.” My grand total: $57.16
I love adding a splash of color to my outfits. And by outfits I mean t-shirts and cardigans. Adding a piece of bright jewelry gives the illusion you dressed up.
Sure, I would love to own a pair of shoes with red soles. It may never happen. However, I can throw on a cute pair of red flats. Sure, for $12.87 the shoes may not last forever. What shoes do when you are wearing them to playgrounds?
I have been wearing this perfume for years. I love it. Granted, Brad Pitt won’t whisper about it. Britney Spears won’t design the bedazzled bottle, but it smells great. It drives the fellas wild when I hop out of the minivan.
Do you know what’s more annoying than Caillou? Watching Caillou in a language you do not understand. Well, Cynical Mother, you say, why would you do that? It’s not by choice. I think my daughter takes pleasure in torturing me. She somehow found the Spanish translation of Caillou on YouTube. She asked me to type “Star Whores” in the search engine. I am not sure if that is a Dirk Diggler film, but she meant wars. A few clicks and swipes later she is watching Caillou in Spanish. It doesn’t phase her in the least that she has no damn idea what they are saying. Then again, whining is a universal language. The show is even moreunbearable at 11 p.m. when you want to go to sleep. (Honey, my party days are over. That is late for me.) Allowing her to take a late nap yesterday seemed like a good idea at the time. It was so peaceful in my house. Well, payback is a bitch! (And so is Caillou in Espanol)