Saturday, September 5, 2009
My new job is contingent on me passing a drug test. A drug test! Me? A 39-year-old stay at home mom? What do they think? That I am meeting the other moms behind the jungle gym and smoking me some reefer? Drug test? Seriously? Yes seriously. I am handed paper work and given directions to the clinic. I drive to the clinic in a shady part of Massachusetts....called Rhode Island (Hey all you RI reader I am just kidding. No I am not). I go in to the clinic and get called into a room. A nice nurse checks my ID and explains the procedure. She takes my pocketbook and pats me down. To make sure that I am not concealing any container filled with pee. We are still potty training at home, I have way too much of that particular substance all over my house. I am not going to carry the stuff around with me.
Then she led me into a little bathroom. Where she dropped a blue fizzy pellet into the toilet to dye the water blue and handed me a cup. She told me that I had to fill the cup and that I couldn't flush. I asked why but the nurse wasn't allowed to tell me. For some reason I found her reluctance kind of exciting. As I started to fill the cup I wondered did the nurse think that I might be a criminal on parole? Or just a dangerous woman living on the edge? A woman with a questionable past? Maybe when people see me they see more then just a boring middle aged mom? Hey, once I was cool. I did naughty gritty things. I was tough. I was cool. Oh crap I am peeing on my hand!
I opened the door and put the cup in her gloved hands. She thanked me and asked what company I was testing for. How did she know? I saddly I told her the store was Target. She then labeled the samples and told me that I should be all set. Then she told me why they dye the water blue. She knew that I was a goody-two-shoes suburban mom. I was so disappointed. I bet I could walk through airport customs holding a bong and no one would even look at me twice. Hey I should try it. Too bad that I don't know anyone who still has a bong...
Friday, September 4, 2009
Today my kids and I are at the Silver Lake park. This park is a new favorite of my kids because of the tall two story play structure with four slides that Dylan named the Eiffel Tower. I am standing under the Eiffel Tower chit-chatting with my friend when I feel a bug land on my head. I scream and shake my head as my hands frantically flap at my head. Then I feel another thud on my hair, my shoulder and then on my back. I look on the ground and see little orange goldfish crackers falling out of my hair on to the ground. Then I looked up and see more little fish raining down from the the sky. Then I hear giggling.
"DYLAN!" I scream. "Come down here!" Dylan slides down the big slide holding a bag of Goldfish crackers and laughing.
"Dylan! Give me that bag..." I say grabbing the bag from his hands.
"Mom what the heck."
"No more fish for you."
"Mom. I am hungry."
"You were dropping them on my head!"
"I know." He says and starts laughing.
"You can not drop things on people's heads. Especially mine! No more fish for you."
"You never told me that...what the heck...I didn't know that I wasn't allowed to do it."
"You didn't know that you are not supposed to drop food on people's heads?"
I was partly amused and partly horrified. He didn't get more fish. However I now have a lot of work to do tonight making a list of things that my son can not do. Here are a few examples.
- Flooding the bathrooms and making the house into and indoor water park.
- Putting his sister in the dryer.
- Using my laptop as a base for backyard baseball.
- Putting peanut butter on the dog.
- Bitch slap his teacher.
- Using my bra as a bowling ball slingshot.
If you can think of any other things that my son isn't allowed to do please let me know.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Alice and I went to meet friends at the park after we dropped Dylan off at school. My friends had both read the blog and were horrified about my surrender. They refused to let me and Alice off easy. They got me so motivated that I took off Alice's diaper right there at the play ground.
Fast forward to 3:30pm. Dave is taking the kids to the YMCA while I he works out and while I run errands. We all plan to meet up on the YMCA field for Alice's back to school BBQ at 5:00pm. I am a potty pessimist so I pack two changes of clothing, one for each hour. Considering the fact that she did her business from both ends before she left I was feeling great.
I finish my errands early and get to the YMCA at 4:45. Alice has been there for a little over an hour and I find Dave on the verge of tears. Alice has peed through one outfit and soiled the other one beyond description. Dave looks like he has been bikini waxing. I sent him back to finish his work out by the time I went back to sign out the kids from child care....Alice had a curious large wet spot on her behind. Seriously?
I look at my darling girl. "Honey? What happened?"
"On Momma, I wet."
"You know that we have no more clothes? Now you have to go to the BBQ wet. Okay?"
I brace for the screaming..."Okay Momma" She says with a huge smile.
The kids and I go out back to the BBQ. Alice's doesn't seem to mind that she has a huge pond on the back of her skirt. I am a little nervous that her teachers will tell me that she is not welcome at school. Or that other mothers might give me those looks. The worse is when they come over and tell you that your daughter has wet herself...How do you respond? My gosh! When did she do that. Alice! Come here? Bad girl!
No one said anything about the pond and eventually the back dried in the sun. We stayed at the BBQ for about an hour. You guessed it. Just as we were about to leave and even larger pond appears on the front of her skirt. How big can this kids bladder be? How much wetness can a little body produce. Did her dad stop and buy her a gallon of water?
This time she did care and she tried many times to remove the wet garment. When I didn't let her she came up with her own solution. She poured my water down the front of her shirt making it match the spot on the skirt.
I am asking you my loyal audience. Should I put this kid back in diapers or stay strong? Am I wasting my time? Will I have to buy her enough clothing for 19 changes a day? Help me!
Monday, August 31, 2009
Now here I am the night before the first day of school and I have not just lost one little box of Crayola 24 crayons, but I have misplaced thirty boxes. Thirty! Who does that? Before I explain how much I have torn my house apart looking for these colorful wax devil's tools. Let me explain why I bought thirty boxes of crayons in the first place.
Every year Walmart and Target sell crayons for .25 cents. I buy between twenty and thirty boxes to give away at the kid's birthday parties in November. Last year I felt so smart as I handed out the kids $1.25 birthday favors, a coloring book for a dollar and .25 box of crayons and not Rose art crap ones, but quality Crayola. I am a genius! Or so I thought.
This year I bought a record thirty boxes and as I put them i the cart Dylan yelled out. "Yes! New crayons!" I reminded him that one of these boxes was being saved for school and the rest were being saved for Alice and his birthdays. Then the boy mocked me. He said. "Yeah until I find them. I always know where you hide them."
Oh no he didn't? My sweet golden haired boy? I decided right then and there that I would hide these crayons so well that he would never find them. How dare he think that he is smarter than me! I made him for goodness sakes. He was just and egg until I grew him! I am the leader of this dog pack!
When we got home from Walmart I waited until Dylan was watching TV then I packed the crayons in a bag and ran them down stairs into the basement. I hid them so well that he will never ever find them and never ever doubt the power of mommy!
Fast forward three weeks and a trashed basement later and I can not find the damn crayons! I am running the risk of sending my first grader to school with out crayons. This has never happened before in the history of the first grade. What makes this crisis worse is that the boy keeps asking me where his crayons are. Now the boy is in bed dreaming of his first day and I am living in a night mare covered in dust on the verge of tears because I can not find them! How can I have lost them? I live in a very small house and this is a big bag! I need ice-cream! I need cool whip! Where is the cool whip? Where are the crayons? Help! I am crying and hyperventilating!
15 minutes later...
What? Oh....Dave found the crayons...I hid them in his office in the basement way up on the top of his book shelf. They were hidden behind my balanced calm and appropriate 39-year-old personality. I have been looking for that too. Okay I guess I am all set for tomorrow.