6am: Not so gently awakened by the deep voice of a 15 year old man child who is informing me that I’m stupid. Why am I stupid? Because he has no clean clothes and no dry clothes. Why? Because I’m stupid and didn’t turn the dryer on so all of his clothes are sopping wet in the said appliance.

6:07am: I stumble down the stairs to investigate the cause of my so-called “stupidity”. If I am guilty as charged, then fine.

6:08am: I am led directly to the laundry room where the lid to an appliance is open and that deep voice of the 15 year old says see…

6:08 1/2am: I turn around to leave the laundry room. As I head toward the stairs I yell out…hey stupid, check the dryer. Your clean, DRY clothes will be in there.

6:09 am: I return to my bed to stare at the ceiling for the next hour, confident in the fact that I am not stupid but worried that, perhaps, my child might be.

7:30am: Go into almost 8 year olds room to get him up for school.

7:50am: I am finally able to drag cranky child from bed to couch in order to feed him, dress him and get him to school by 8:20am. Yes, I’m in a hurry and he’s almost late.

7:53am: Walk into kitchen to find that sometime between the hour of 6:09 am and 7:53am the dogs have gotten into the garbage and decided to decorate the kitchen floor with the contents. And, the big dog has eaten the last four bagels.

7:56am-8:20am: Various decibles of screaming from various octaves of vocal ranges. But kid is finally off to school.

8:30am-3:15pm: Stuff. Work. Phone calls. Bathroom breaks. Coffee breaks. Lunch breaks. Work. Walking dog breaks. Break breaks. Consider working out for a moment. Get preoccupied and forget that I thought about working out. Realize I have probably been sitting to long and that is why I seem to have a pinched nerve in my butt that is traveling to my knee. Take motrin. Sit back down at the kitchen table to “work”.

3:30pm: All kids are home and I am told I’m stupid for a myriad of reasons. But coming from teenagers, it’s practically a compliment so I smile at them and give them the finger behind their backs. It’s how I roll.

5:30pm: Husband comes home. Crabby. Complainy. Asshole-y. I give him the finger behind his back. Then the double bird. Also, I give him the finger to his face. It’s how I roll.

5:40pm: I start thinking about cooking dinner. Realize I have nothing in the house and I call and order pizza. But that’s ok, it’s now considered a vegetable. So I make sure to order extra cheese, pepperoni and Italian sausage. So the kids get protein in there with their veggie.

9:00pm: I get the little guy into bed, read him a chapter of a book and fall asleep. Me, not him.

10:00pm: I am awakened by husband telling me to tell the kids to take the dogs out because he is sick of being the bad guy. So, every night, I’m the bad guy because he’s sick of being the bad guy?

10:30pm: Everyone is whining, crying, yelling, slamming doors and stomping feet because they don’t want to take the dogs out to poop. So, I give them the finger again and briefly consider packing my bags to run away from home. Instead, my husband and I take the dogs to poop.

11:30pm: The teenagers are still running around the house getting ready for bed. It’s as big a production for them to get to bed as it is for them to get ready to go in the morning. What gives?

11:33pm: Exhausted, I crawl into my bed with my make up still on. No worries, I moisturized and brushed my teeth. I begin to doze.

11:45pm: Husband tells me I should shower so we could…you know…

12:00am: Lock bedroom door so that you know can commence but am sure I hear breathing as children, who are still awake, are outside listening.

12:15am: Sleeping.

3:30am: Strange, vile choking noise coming from somewhere in our bedroom.

3:35am: I go to investigate said strange noise and step into a warm, slimy fur ball that was thrown up around 3:30am.

4:05am: Strong, putrid stink wafts into the bedroom. I pull the covers over my head to block it and to, hopefully, fall back to sleep.

6:00am: I am awakened by a deep voice telling me that one of the dogs had shit on the floor downstairs and I should clean it up.

6:09am: Repeats from the previous day…

Disclosure so that I’m transparent: Times, events and circumstances may change daily but it’s always a variation of the same theme.

This is a typical Q & A exchange between my 7 year old and myself.

Him: Mom, should I wear the red shirt or the blue one?

Me: The red one, it looks nice with your pants.

Him: Umm, I think I’ll wear the blue one.

*********

Him: Mom, should I have the grilled cheese or chicken nuggets?

Me: You should have grilled cheese because you had chicken nuggets yesterday.

Him: Um…I think I’ll have the chicken nuggets.

*************

Him: Mom, should my pirates win or the knights?

Me: Who are the good guys?

Him: The knights mom, duh. Knights are always good and pirates are always bad. Who should win?

Me: The knights. The good guys should always win.

Him: Um…I think the pirates are going to win.

And on. And on.

It took me 7 years but, I’ve finally realized how to make him do what I want him to do.

REVERSE PSYCHOLOGY.

Our school districts are in shambles. Funding is being cut. Classes are over-crowded. There is low morale amongst the teachers due to pay cuts. Which trickles down into the classroom setting, rubbing off onto our students.

And then…

My daughter comes into the car today and announces to me that the school is thinking of banning skinny jeans.

They’ve banned sweats with letters on the butt, leggings, jeggings, droopy pants, tank tops, off the shoulder shirts that are all the rage because GOD FORBID these girls have shoulders showing, any shirt that shows the tiniest hint of cleavage…so no v-necks…

Now…

They want to ban skinny jeans.

I just bought my daughter a new wardrobe, stamped with approval by ME. Not one article of clothing I bought her was too tight, too revealing or too anything in anyway. In this said new wardrobe were 4 pairs of jeans of various colors, considered skinny jeans but really? Straight legged jeans. Cropped tops with Sugar Lips tank tops worn underneath. Adorable patterns adorning shirts, some a little dressy and some, casual.

Her new clothes are perfect and fit her personality.

I spent a small fortune on these clothes. Her back-to-school wardrobe bought at Nordstroms because she’s a spoiled brat and I’m pretty ok with that for certain things.

The only thing I will say is, if they ban skinny jeans and any top that isn’t, basically, a turtle neck…

The school district will be in charge of taking my daughter shopping and, despite a plummeting budget, they will have to purchase her new clothes. Not only that, a representative from the school will have to come to my house EVERY MORNING to stand with her when she gets dressed because they’ll have to listen to her bitch and moan about the ugly clothes she is being forced to wear.

My thought is, perhaps the powers that be, ie: the principal and assistant principal…they have way too much time on their hands if all they can think about is what our kids are wearing to school. Aren’t there more pressing matters?

Maybe, just maybe, instead of having power lunches in the teachers lounge, they should be discussing better ways to save money so that our children can have extra paper in math class, tissue, and other supplies that should be available in the classrooms. And maybe they should be more concerned with actual inappropriate BEHAVIOR.

I get that, on some kids, skinny jeans are vomit inducing. But, their parents paid good money for their children’s clothing and to constantly be told that every new style is banned…it’s beyond ridiculous and is wasting our hard earned money. I also understand that some of the verbage on the behinds are inappropriate and shouldn’t be worn. I hardly consider Hollister and Abercrombie written across the tushie to be inappropriate though. And I’m overprotective.

If they can’t wear yoga pants, skinny jeans, baggy pants, sweat pants, shirts with any skin showing…

WTF are they supposed to wear? A Hazmet suit?

Articles are being written about research showing that 65% of all parents prefer one child over another. So, it’s sort of proving that when one sibling cries to the other because their parents “love you the best”, it’s totally true. I guess my sister wasn’t lying to me. I AM the favorite. I mean, my parents used to tell me all the time that I was. In fact, if my memory serves me right, so did my grandparents. Wow, as I’m writing this, I am feeling sorry for my poor, unloved, unwanted sister.

Well, not in my house. I don’t have a favorite child. I love each of my children individually, their own unique qualities making them shine.

My oldest is my favorite because he is my first born. He was the first time I saw what my heart really looks like.

My daughter is my favorite because she is the little girl I always wanted. She made a dream come true and still does.

My youngest is my favorite because he is my baby I never thought I would have.

My oldest stepchild, the daughter of my heart, is my favorite because she is the one my mother cursed me with. She’s just like me.

And my stepson is my favorite because he brings the most drama to the family. Who doesn’t love a good drama?

At certain times…

I may be prouder of one child than I am of another.

I may be happier with one than I am with the others.

I may be more excited for one than the others.

There are times, however, that I hate one more than the other. Yeah, true story.

There are times when I want to smack one child more than the other. What?

There are moments when I want to shake a child more than the others. Sure, why not.

There are times when I want to help one child pack so that they can carry out their threat of running away. Huh?

There are even times when I consider putting an ad on Craigslist stating “Obnoxious child. Free to good home.” Is there something wrong with that?

And, there are times when I want to take one child to an unfamiliar place and leave him/her there. I’m serious.

Yes, I’m here telling you that I love all my children equally. I really do. BUT SOMETIMES, I hate one, at a particular moment, far more than any other.

I did. I used the word hate. I can even say despise.

It’s usually for a fleeting moment, those negative emotions. They do happen though.

But I can honestly say, I don’t love one child more than any other.
I love, with every single fiber of my being, each of my children with none of them being my favorite.

Bragging rights in my house belongs belongs to my Silky Terrier, Oscar.

He’s actually my favorite. I mean, look how cute and well behaved he is. Do you blame me?

School is in full swing.

Much like childbirth, during the long summer months of rest, relaxation and hoarse throat from yelling at the kids to leave you alone for 5 minutes, you forget about all the pains of the trials and tribulations…and DRAMA…of the school year.

But, I remember now. I’m reminded on a daily basis.

The whining because they don’t like the lunches I pack and they are “soooooooo hungry” when they get home because they threw said lunch out.

The constant barrage of texts throughout the day. This one is unhappy with that teacher. That one is pissed off at a friend.

Mid-morning phone calls, because now they are allowed to use their phones during school (seriously, WTF is that about?) telling me there is no money in the lunch account and they didn’t bring a lunch.

Dear children, there is no money in the lunch account because we spent thousands of dollars last year for you to eat school cafeteria food at $8 a day per kid. I don’t even spend $8 a day on food when I go out for lunch with my friends. Well, not every day. And even if I did, I’m allowed to because I’m drinking wine with lunch so that I can deal with your whining when you get home. And we aren’t putting money into your lunch account because we, the united parental front, decided that you were going to pack lunches. YOU. YOURSELVES. Because, that way, when you get home from school, you can yell at yourself for packing crappy lunches which cause you to sit through the rest of the day embarrassed by stomach rumbles. Besides, dear children, you are old enough to be responsible enough to pack your own lunches. And, if you don’t like what I buy, even though it was requested by you, then you are S.O.L. I love you SO much.
Love, Mommy

Oh, the school year. I long for you all summer long. I look forward to a few hours a day of peace and solitude, one where I can pee without having to carry on a conversation with children who are sitting and waiting for me outside the door.

I complain of bored and whiny kids who expect to be constantly entertained. I complain of having to prepare three meals a day, one of which usually is made with a phone call to the pizza delivery joint.

And now, with the school year FINALLY here, the time I get to myself is still trampled on by a herd of children with cell phones. My concentration is broken by “Hi Mom, wuts up?” or “Hey mom i’m bored lol”.

Back in the good old days, pre-cellphone aged kids, the school year was a real vacation. Mostly uninterrupted days with exception of the school offices calling to inform me of a sick kid or someone who got in trouble. But that was OK, it was easily handled by two adults having a conversation.

Now, with the kids having cell phones in their sweaty little hands, emergencies pop up all day long. Even non-emergencies.

So, from here on in, between the hours of 7:30 am – 3pm, I will not be accepting any phone calls from certain programmed numbers. Unless it’s a true emergency like a broken head or a high grade fever accompanied by vomiting and diarrhea. I’ll accept one text a day per child because I love my kids and don’t mind hearing from them…ONCE A DAY.

BUT…

Dear children, Yes, I realize a new rule has been mandated in your school. Something about using cell phones during class as long as it doesn’t interrupt the teacher…(Seriously, WTF?). But, here in our house, the rule is…during school hours, you are only allowed to use your phone during lunch or in case of a REAL emergency. Otherwise, be prepared to cross my palm with your phone upon arrival home. I love you SO much. Love, Mommy.

Ah yes, the school year. Only a week in and I already could use a vacation.

And I don’t mean Winter Break either.

I sit at my kitchen table. In front of me is my laptop and my cup of coffee which is slowly growing cold. I’m just staring, thinking, listening to cats meow and the washing machine gently whirring.

Today is one of those days. The kind that is bittersweet yet shouldn’t be.

I dropped my nervous son off at school, leaving him in the hands of a new teacher who looks like she should still be in second grade herself.

When I was certain he would be OK, I kissed him and left. Not before volunteering to be head room mother…yet again. To my son it’s important that I’m involved in his school. To me, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I walked back to my car, shivering against the cool fall air that is making itself known as it nudges the summer away, leaving in its wake memories of the scent of chlorine and the sound of carefree laughter.

I sit in my car for a second and take a deep breath. I’ve been waiting for a few weeks to have my own routine back. And finally, it’s arrived. But almost too quickly.

My heart skips a beat. I feel like I’m forgetting something. Something important. Something that I always do after I drop my son off at school.

Instinctually, I reach for my phone.

Then my heart sinks and tears well up.

This time, every single day, after I have dropped my son off…

I call my mom. To see how she is. To discuss the difficulties and wonders of my children. To just hear her voice and reassure myself that she is OK.

But she isn’t here anymore.

The reality is startling. It takes me a minute to catch my breath and regroup.

School breaks, for some reason, were always a time when I didn’t talk to or see my mom as much as I did during the school year. So, even though she died in August and my life changed dramatically…it was OK because I was surrounded by my children and my husband. The kept my physically and emotionally busy, leaving me to only think about my mom during lulls in the day.

But now? The void is unmistakeable. It is tremendous and gaping.

I ache for my mom.

I keep thinking that she’ll be back, this is only a vacation. Because she can’t really be gone. Not forever. Not permanently.

She is though. All those millions of phone calls during the day, all the visits to her house…

No longer.

Which leaves me with empty moments, dark holes in my day that were once lovingly filled.

So here I sit. Alone at last. A quiet house. My computer. My coffee. My laundry.

And I’m a lost little girl, alone and scared, at least for the next few hours.

I know, I’ll get used to it. But I’ll never REALLY get used to it.

My “me” time used to include my mom in so many different ways.

Now, my “me” time is just…not the same.

But life continues moving rapidly forward, leaving just memories of what used to be and promises of what’s to come.

I guess I have to shake myself off and move forward with the rest of life.

It’s just so damn hard right now.

Twas the night before school starts, when all through the house
All the children were whining, including the spouse.
The clothes were laid out, disheveled at best,
The mommy ecstatic to empty her nest.

The children were tossing around in their beds
While nightmares of homework haunted their heads.
With momma on her laptop and dad in a mood,
She smiled widely while he darkly stewed.

When in the kids rooms there arose such a clatter,
Mommy sprang from her work to see what was the matter.
It was just one of the children piteously crying
Mommy just shrugged because no one was dying.

The moon it shone brightly, the stars were a’winking
And Mommy couldn’t help but sigh as she was thinking.
The kids would be gone now for most of the day,
And now it was her time, she’d get to play.

Now homework! Now schedules! But late in the day
So many free hours she’d spend her own way.
To drop the kids off! To send them to school!
Her hubby at work! The mom was no fool!

She was excited and happy as she went to bed
She set her alarm clock that was next to her head.
Closing her eyes she falls into deep slumber,
6:15 is the magical number.

The alarm awakens her with a start
Her husband stirs and then loudly farts.
She rises from bed to wake up the brood
Ignoring the fact they’re in a foul mood.

She kissed them goodbye and hurried them out
She watched for a moment, they stomp and they pout.
In the kitchen her husband slams down his joe
She kisses him and tells him it’s time that he go.

With everyone gone, she’s alone, it’s her break!
She whoops and she dances, and coffee she makes.
She exclaimed to no one, because no one’s in sight,
Finally in her world, all is quite right!

Ahhh, this t-shirt by JC Penneys. Causing another round of Momma Drama in the blogosphere. And by golly, us bloggers seem to love this type of thing because there are posts popping up EVERYWHERE about that t-shirt.

I was going to remain silent but, you know me. I can’t. It’s in my nature to open my mouth when it comes to stuff like this.

I shop for clothes for my kids all the time. They are always “needing” something.

I frequent many stores, Kohls, Old Navy and various mall shops when shopping for my kids. Like the rest of you.

Every single store I go into, there are rows of t-shirts with stupid sayings on them. Most of them are about boys and their ridiculous video games with various excuses as to why they didn’t get their homework done. Anything from martians or dogs to they were too busy playing their damn games.

No one says a word about that on the internet.

Our boys are being depicted as zombified, video game playing losers on their t-shirts.

But, all of a sudden, there is a t-shirt with ridiculous wording on it for a girl and there is outrage. People are crying anti-feminism and various other anti-female woes that they feel this t-shirt represents.

I have to laugh. I do. I am laughing.

To me, it’s very simple.

Don’t buy it.

Don’t dress your girls or your boys in t-shirts that have moronic wordings on it stating why our children haven’t done their homework.

The boys t-shirts are just as horrible as that stupid excuse of a t-shirt by JC Penney.

Don’t buy them.

If we stop buying these t-shirts, the manufacturers might get the message and stop making them.

Seems perfectly logical to me.

My kids friends come over my house. I’ve seen more of the t-shirts than I care to admit. I make fun of all of them. They are all dumb shirts, every last one of them.

I buy my kids plain shirts, no writing on them. No excuses worn on the front of their bodies explaining to their teachers why their homework isn’t done. If they don’t do their homework or if they have their siblings do their homework for them, it’s all on them, not on the front of their clothing.

So there, I had my little bit of say. Yes, the t-shirt is ugly and dumb. All those shirts are.

Don’t buy them.

Our kids are too pretty and too smart for us to put them in those shirts.

End of story.

p.s…i find it more offensive when our daughters go out in skin tight t-shirts and shorts with their vaginas hanging out of them.

I think I’m supposed to be sad as the Summer months draw to a close. I mean, that’s what I’ve been reading in the blogosphere. Not because we are kissing goodbye the sun and warmth because yeah, I’m SO sad about that. I mean, why wouldn’t I be excited about the upcoming icy, gray, gloomy, cloudy, snowy mess that we are surely facing? Bah. Humbug. To winter and all its bitterness. I’m not a snow and cold chick. At all.

We mommies are supposed to be sad that our house will become like a still life painting. No noise. No commotion. NO fighting. NO mess. It’s an unwritten rule in the unwritten book of excellent mommyhoodedness. We mommies must be sad every single time a school break ends and the kids go back to school. So we can earn our mommy angel wings and go into mommy heaven.

Yeah, sure. I’m devastated.

I’m not sad, at all, that my children are going back to school. I’m not sad that my husband will be going back to work.

In fact, I’m…what’s the opposite of sad? Oh yeah…SO FUCKING EXCITED.

Goodbye Mopey. Goodbye Tantrumy. Goodbye Sleepy. Goodbye Lazy. Goodbye Spoiledy. Goodbye Douche-Canoey. Hi ho, hi ho it’s off my couch and off to school you go. Ho, ho, ho. Don’t forget to pack your lunches and brush your teeth. And shhh…don’t wake mommy, she’s still sleeping but she’ll see you when you get home.

I can’t wait to reclaim my life. I can’t wait to be reunited with quiet. Oh, and peace. I can’t wait to have a neat house…for part of the day. I can’t wait to not have to schlep this one here and that one there. I can’t wait to have my friends all back from a life of home imprisonment.

Hello sushi lunches with friends. Hiya to you, morning walks with gossipy girls. Well, how ya doin’ to my kitchen table with no eyes prying over my shoulder.

No, I’m not sad summer vacation is ending.

Not in the least bit.

In fact, I think it goes on for far too long. I believe Summer VACATION should last a month or so, then off to school with ya so that the mommies can enjoy SUMMER. So we can float in quiet contentment in our pools, uninterrupted, lost in our daydreams of sexual encounters with rock stars. What? Is that just me?

Bittersweet? No. Not really. The only thing bittersweet about it is the fact that the season is in its dog days.

Hopefully, once the kids are locked in their classrooms forced to learn stuff that they forget the minute they get home…there will be some sort of Indian Summer.

Hot days. Cool evenings. Far into the fall. Please Mommy Nature, hear me begging. I’ll gladly sacrifice one of those damn moles that keeps finding its way into my pool filter in exchange for a warm, leaf-on-trees Fall.

OK, I sound like a miserable, unloving wretch. I assure you, I love my children with every fiber of my being. I really do. And I love my husband as much. Truly.

But whoa. Way, way, way too much togetherness during the Summer. And every long school break.

It’s ok though, don’t fret, I love them all so much. Even when they aren’t here to bother me. It’s a perfect relationship.

So, in case I didn’t make it clear enough, I’m not one of those moms who are sad this glorious summer full of family love and togetherness is drawing to a close.

In fact, I’m…what’s the opposite of that?

Oh yeah, one of those moms who are so freaking excited that the kids and hubby will be gone all day that she is even willing to embrace the 6:15 a.m alarm clock with its multiple snooze hits because she can take a nap during the day.

Yeah, that’s me. Happy the summer is almost over. Because if it lasts any longer, I’m going to go insane.

p.s: this is written sort of tongue in cheek but that doesn’t mean I’m not so glad summer break is almost over.

I know what I said, that I was going on sabbatical until after BlogHer. But people, sometimes things happen that must be blogged about. Despite whomever it may embarrass, there are times when a story must be told.

This…is one of those very times.

Once upon a time. Um, ok, last night if you want specifics. Approximately 11 pm. I’m not going to go into too much detail per my husband. But, we were, you know, about to ahemn (I promised not to get too graphic. That will be saved for the other site!)

Yes. Ahem. We wanted to AHEM.

So, I went to go check on all the brats. Just to make sure that we would be undisturbed during the aheming.

One was snoring soundly with his cat resting peacefully on his head.

Check.

One was asleep with his eyes open. He asked me to turn off his lights, which I did. And he started snoring. Well fine, not snoring snoring. I meant figuratively.

Check.

The last one.

Because there were only three home last night.

The curly haired she-devil that some lovingly call Curly-Sue. I call her the Princess Bitch, said with love and motherly devotion, of course.

I stuck my head into her room to find that SHE was wide awake and on her computer. Her phone. Skyping, iChatting, Facebooking and manuvering whatever other electronic device she has hidden in her room.

Go to bed, I scream

I’m not tired, she smiles.

I don’t care, I announce.

I’m not going to bed, she smirks.

I turn out her light and shut her door. Just to prove a point. To a 13 year old. Yeah, right.

She opens her door and turns back on her light, promising me she’d go to bed in 15 minutes.

So, I say. 15 minutes? You promise?

Yeah, she says.

So, I slink back into my room and let my husband know that aheming can commence in T minus 15 minutes or however that stuff is t minused.

We flip through the channels, watching TV like the A.D.D folks we are. A few minutes here, a few seconds there.

We gaze at the clock.

We flip more channels.

I go on my iPad to see what’s up on Twitter.

We give the 15 minutes an extra 5 or so.

It seems quiet, I say.

He nods.

I wink.

We turn the lights out.

I ask my husband if, perhaps he thinks we should shut the door.

No, he tells me. They are all sleeping. Besides, you’re busy.

A few minutes later, clothes off and butt in air…

Grab the blanket, quick, my husband whispers loudly into my ear.

I wrap the blanket around us. Why, I ask.

Mom…

OMFG!!

Get. Out. NOW!!! I say, rather loudly.

Is Luna in here? She asks about our dog.

I DON’T GIVE A RAT’S TUCHAS. GET. OUT. NOW!! I say, a little louder. OK, I’m yelling at her.

Mom, gawd, you don’t have to get all pissy, she says. I just wanted to pet the dog.

She leaves and bounces off back to her bedroom. Probably to go onto all the various chat places to tell her friends she saw her parents aheming.

Well, I say to my husband.

Well, he says to me. Carry on.

So I do. But…

From now on, for aheming to commence, doors are OBVIOUSLY going to have to be locked because it’s bad enough the dogs and a couple of cats like to sit around and watch, I don’t need my child doing the same.

The funny thing is, this morning…she didn’t say a word. Although, I’m pretty sure her entire following on Facebook knows what went down last night.

Ahem.

Ugh.