Archive for May, 2008

Today’s post brought to you by the letter ‘F’

‘F’ for Fuck it, it’s Friday.

And I’m really sorry to those of you who may be offended by me saying that, but today is one of those days that really feels like I should be given some sort of pass or something.  Today, I can curse.  Tomorrow, I will go back to using strategically placed symbols in place of certain vowels, and we’ll all pretend I didn’t just say anything offensive.  Okay?

I’m down to my last week — a week as of yesterday — of working as a nanny.  While I’m feeling sad at the prospect of not seeing these boys grow up and being a part of their lives, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to some time without them here.  I am looking forward to having some free time — free of working, free of doing anything for anybody other than my family.  And trust me, my family is plenty of work all on their own.  I’m looking forward to getting rid of all the extra things I have to do when taking care of small children.  Changing diapers, for one, will not be missed this summer.

I thought I had a couple of hot job prospects for the fall, but now that more than a week has gone by with nary a word from anyone, I’m beginning to think otherwise.  I obsessed and made myself crazy for a week, then sometime in the last couple of days I decided to say fuck it, and just leave all the worrying behind.  I am going to concentrate on getting through my last week of work and the last week of school for my kids, and then I’m going to take long walks in the morning and spend the afternoon at the pool.  And, for now at least, I’m not going to make myself crazy about jobs.

I highly recommend taking a summer off, even if money does get tight, and spending some relaxing time at home.  I wish I could just snap my fingers and get a teaching degree, because my love for all those little tykes combined with my love for long summer vacations would make it an ideal job for me.  I would also love to be paid during those long summer vacations, because money does make everything much easier.  In fact, I really do think money could buy my happiness, especially since my happiness means having bills paid with enough money left over to go out to eat with.

My husband, he gets the short end of the stick, summer-wise.  He still has to continue to work while the kids and I bask in our vacation glow.  He still has to wake up early in the morning.  He still has to drive in rush hour traffic.  He still has to… you know, bring home the paycheck.  And I’m really sorry for that, honey.  All I can say is: sucks to be you.  But there is a bright side for him, and that bright side is that he gets to eat out for lunch.  Daily trips to a Chinese buffet make a lot of things more bearable.  Also, he won’t be trapped in the house with two fighting, whining children.  So there’s a silver lining to his big, oppressive, black cloud.  Kinda.

Me, I’m looking forward to opening up the front door and telling the fighting, whining children to go outside and find something to do.  And if they’re bored, well, lookie here, there’s a workbook with your name on it.  Also, there’s the TV, now go turn into a vegetable in front of it.

Ah, yes.  Summer — when your brain rots and your ass spreads from all the sitting.  I’m looking forward to it.


I had every intention of coming back here and writing a separate post for each thing that made me angry this weekend.  And it seems like there were several things that pushed my buttons.  However, now that time has passed and the anger has dulled, I just can’t seem to bring myself to write a whole long post detailing each incident.  Instead, I’ll give it to you in a nutshell.

I took my son to get his hair cut on Saturday.  We had painstakingly grown out his hair — through the awful, ugly grow-out stage — and now it was finally lying flat against his head.  However, it was looking a little more than shaggy, and just needed to be cleaned up around the edges, and brought out of his eyes.  I thought the hairdresser understood what I wanted, but I was mistaken.  She gave him a squared off mullet with bangs only covering the top third of his forehead, if you can imagine that.  And when I gently tried to ask that she make it a little less squared off and less mullet-ish, she told me that she couldn’t do it and still keep it long.  When I told her just to go short — because there really was no saving it at that point — she argued with me.  (Let me also say, she was very pregnant, and very uncomfortable looking.  She let out big puffs of breath, and appeared to be suffering from sort sort of pregnancy related ailment — gas, or kicking baby, or even something else — and acted as if me asking her to even out the different lengths of hair on my child’s head was too much.  I wanted to just tell her to give it up, go sit down and let someone else finish his haircut.  But she was determined, I guess.)  She them proceeded to hold my child’s head much too roughly and managed to cut his ear.  Long story short, I was angry.  I left immediately and bought some clippers at Target.  I took the child home and finished his hair myself.  It is now short.  And I seethed.  Oh, how I seethed. 

(This was at Sport Clips, in case you wanted to know.)

Then the bank made me oh so angry.  You see, I have two different accounts at the bank.  Each serves it own purpose.  And when I transferred some money out of our checking account into the other account, everything was fine.  When I tried to access the money in the other account, the bank would not let me.  They told me there was a hold on that account for inactivity.  They could not take the hold off, they said, unless I was present at my home branch, meaning the branch I started my account in.  And that branch is in Tennessee.  The problem was, I no longer live in Tennessee.  Also, the little issue of inactivity really made me angry, because wasn’t depositing money into that account activity?  (And it took me a whole day’s worth of phone calls for them to even tell me why the hold was placed.)  So, to make yet another long story short, I made several phone calls, may have faked a few crying spells, but I finally got the hold removed and was allowed to access my money. 

(This was at BB&T.  I hate them, and I am not afraid to name names.  However, they seem to have a hold on me because my choices seem to be them or Bank of America, and all I can say is YIKES.)

So I had a lot of anger rolling around inside of me.  And I think it has worn me out.  I’m just trying to relax now, and not even sweat the small stuff.  It takes much too much energy to be angry, and I don’t like it.  Besides, the kids only have a little over a week left of school, and I only have a week left of work.  Soon it will be time to relax for a while, and I’m looking forward to it.


Tonight I shall be known as the shatter-er of all dreams, the killer of childhood. 

Or, you know, MOM.

It all started with a frustration level heretofore unknown by my children.  This frustration level is reached by yelling, whining, and fighting — all things my children are mighty good at.  And tonight, with B out of town and me suffering from some sort of cold/allergy hybrid, my children reached that level and caused me to declare, “There will be no story tonight!  No reading from Indiana Jones!”

And, lo, that declaration shattered their dreams and killed their childhoods. 

Until, that is, I took pity on their poor pitiful selves and read to them anyway.

But I only read two pages. 

Take that, pitiful children!  Now you know the wrath of MOM.

The regaling will follow.

First of all, thank you all for the birthday wishes.  I had a great birthday, replete with cards, cake, flowers, gifts and a wonderful meal.  The only thing that would have made it better was if my house spontaneously cleaned itself and all children came equipped with a mute button.  Otherwise, a good day all around.

I do want to tell you about the pregnant hairdresser (if you could call her that) that I almost came to blows with over my son’s hair, the bank that will let you deposit money, but then will not let you have any access to it, and… I don’t know, maybe a couple of other things.  Unfortunately, I have other things to keep me busy right now.  I’ll have to find the time to sit down and write later.

So, later.


Today is my birthday.  33 … I think.  Let’s see… 1975… 2005 is 30…. it’s 2008 now… yup, I’m 33. 

I remember asking my dad how old he was when I was younger, and him telling me he was 31.  And at the time, I thought that sounded like he’d been around for a very long time.  Now I’m older than he was at that time, and it sounds like a drop in the bucket, age-wise.  It’s not quite old enough to be taken seriously.  And 33 is a weird age — there are people my age who have just gotten married and are still living carefree lives, people who have just had children and are mired in the early years of parenthood, people, like me, whose kids are finally in school and are now able to breathe without having their kids underfoot, and people who have kids that are nearing their teenage years and are turning prematurely gray.  Maybe instead of saying it seems too young an age to be taken seriously, I should say that I still feel too young to be taken seriously.  I think that mostly has to do with me still trying to find my way.  I think — and my thinking may be erroneous, so take it with a grain of salt — that age will give me more of a stable feel to my life.  I know that it has certainly mellowed me out.  And that is very good.

May 23rd is also World Turtle Day.  So there’s another reason to celebrate.  Definitely grounds for an extra piece of cake, wouldn’t you say?

Little of this…

Here’s a thing you may not know about me — unless you’re my husband or my dad, and whoo-boy, do they know this — I fall apart when I’m under stress.  I don’t just mean I feel a little under the weather, I mean I fall apart.  I pull muscles, I get migraines, I throw up.  This time around, I have developed a painful sty on my left eye, and my back aches like I’ve been participating in manual labor (which I have so not been doing.)  Also, I have a cold that won’t go away. 

I am stressed.


This morning, while driving the kids to school, a plethora of inappropriate songs came on the radio.  First, it was Prodigy with Smack my Bitch Up.  Then came Beastie Boys with No Sleep To Brooklyn.  (Admittedly, this is a song the kids have heard several times before.  I just hope they’ve never caught on to the lines, “Our manager’s crazy, he always smokes dust,” and, “MCAs in the back ’cause he’s skeezin’ with a whore.”)  And then the song Detachable Penis by King Missile rounded out the trio.  Luckily, the kids were talking and I had turned the radio down to almost inaudible volume.  I don’t think they even heard a word. 

Satellite radio: the king of inappropriate school drop-off songs. 

(And today I’m going to get some weird hits now that I’ve just typed all those words up there.)


Last night my son, in the throes of video game induced excitement, tried to say the word enemies.  He declared, “We have to get the emenies; the eminemenies,” before he finally blurted out, “The bad guys!  We have to get the bad guys!”  By the time he said it, it was too late.  The bad guys had gotten them first.

My son, enemies is his enemy.

This is why I don’t like the phone.

There was a message on my answering machine this afternoon from the lady I was supposed to interview with at the Autism Society tomorrow afternoon.  She said she’d like to reschedule the meeting for Thursday or Friday afternoon.  The only problem is, I cannot DO Thursday or Friday afternoon.  In fact, in order for me to do the interview tomorrow afternoon, I had to get B to reschedule some appointments, the people I babysit for had to reschedule their afternoon, and I was even going to pick my kids up from school early.  It takes an awful lot for me to get an afternoon off, is what I’m saying.

So I called her back and got her voicemail.  I proceeded to leave the most awkward voicemail ever.  I rambled about not being able to do the interview on either Thursday or Friday, and also how it took a lot of rescheduling to get Wednesday off, but I could reschedule for another time, and then I continued to stutter about nothing really for a minute before practically shouting my phone number into the phone and hanging up because I JUST NEEDED MY MOUTH TO STOP TALKING.  (I’m sure she’ll listen to her voicemail and see me as perfectly calm and stable.)

Now I am absolutely horrified that I even called and left a message at all.  Also, I now have NO IDEA whether or not I’ll be doing my interview tomorrow.  I mean, was her calling to, and I quote, “…see if we can reschedule” just her way of seeing if there would be a better time because she’d prefer another, or was it her way of saying she absolutely cannot do the interview tomorrow?  And when will I find out?  Because it’s now 5:34 PM, and I have not heard from her again.  The control freak in me is, well, FREAKING OUT.  

Not good.  NOT good.