WTH just happened there?

Two nights ago I went to my son's 6th grade curriculum night.

What. The. Hell...

Waaaay back in 1989, when I was in middle school, I can remember my dad going with me to curriculm night.  We all had to go with our parents, and they walked with us class to class, and got to see what we were going to be doing.  It was fun, and gave my parents some insight into my day.  But at the end of the day it was my responsibility to get my crap done, keep my grades up, and turn my stuff in on time.

Oh my how times have changed dear readers.

I should have known that I was in trouble when on the first day of school they sent home a note about getting on the school's website on Schoology.  Schoology is kind of like facebook for school.  You have to have an account and Log in and password, but once you are on, it is kind of nice.  All of the teachers post the homework, and what they did in class that day, so when I ask the question to Your Royal Highness "What did you do today?"  and I get the requisite answer of "Nothing" from him, I can go on and see that, yes, indeed, he is learning while he is there at some point in the day.  Cool.  However the fact that they want the parents so keyed in to the goings ons in the school, should have been my foreshadowing.  Then later that day,  I started getting daily emails from the school about events that were going on.  Daily, people.  As in every day at 3pm I get a ping in my inbox from his middle school.

So I leave to go to curriculum night, no kids allowed,  15 minutes early, thinking, I better get there a little early, because I will need a parking spot.  I go, and I still end up having to walk 15 miles to the school.  I am almost excited for high school simply because there will be ample parking for parent stuff.  I go in, find the library and make my way to the back, as all of the chairs are pretty much full.  We also just moved here, so I only know like one other person, and she wasn't there yet.  So I found a mom sitting there alone and thought, "well, maybe she would like a friend.."  So I ask if that seat was taken, and she says, "No." I sit down and try to make small talk.  She is obviously good on friends and doesn't need another one, so I just look through the packet I was given at the door.  Stupid me trying to be friendly.  (Side rant:  You know, I have always been really good about making friends.  I usually make friends everywhere I go, because I don't know how to shut up for 5 seconds, so I talk to everyone.  Walking in to this school it feels like obviously everyone knows someone, and I don't know anyone, so I feel like I am in middle school all over again myself.  I just want to find the coolest mom and walk up to them and be like, "You're going down chicka" and take a swing at them so that they know I am not to be messed with.  Oh wait, that wouldn't be middle school.  That would be prison.  I have been watching way too much Orange is the new Black lately.  Sorry.  Back to original rant)

The meeting starts, and all of the teachers for our team get up there, and each goes over what they are going to be covering in their class.  I am immediately aware that I am unprepared.  I didn't bring a pen, and they are giving us a whole  lot of info that is not on the packet.  But halallujah!!  My friend, I will call her Barbra, just walked in and has her purse and whips out a pen almost before I could ask.  See, she knows me.  We are all writing furiously,  testing dates and expectations, and then they start telling us websites that we need to know.

*record scratching*

Wha-what??  Why do I need to get on the computer for more than Schoology?   What is Powerschool?  Why do I need that?  YRH should need it, I shouldn't need it, right?  Online textbooks???  What are you talking about, won't he just bring one home?  Oh, you don't have a physical textbook.  Oh I see.  We have to get online to read the textbook.  Crap.  Ok, So I write down the info to get in on that.  I hear one teacher say, "We encourage kids to bring their electronic devices to use them in class to look up information."  Now wait a minute, Huh???  I have been told for the last 5 years to leave all devices at home!  Now he is encouraged to bring them?  He has an IPOD 4, which is like older than dirt, I think they are on 7 now or something.  We can afford to get him a better one, but WHY?  That one works, and he already has a crack in it because he obviously isn't all that responsible.  Now I feel like I need to get him something better to keep up with school.  I DON"T EVEN HAVE A SMARTPHONE! Why on earth would I get my child something better than what I have?  But never the less, here we are.  We finish up and Barbra and I head over the the Cafeteria for Unified Arts info.

On the table is a bookmark shaped thing that has all of these websites that apparently we need, and none of them are the same as the ones I just copied down in the last room.  Awesome.  More
technology.  The Librarian gets up there:

"Hi there, welcome.  I am the Librarian.  You can follow me on Twitter at _____________ or on our other Twitter feed at _____________, you can also follow some of what we do on Instagram at ___________ and we post pictures.  We are also doing 10 minutes a day school wide reading session that you can read more about on our library website at ____________"  Then the Academic Lab teacher gets up there, and goes, "Here are the sites you will want for your kids through the duration of their time here.  Google drive will have all of your spreadsheets, word processing, graphs, formulas, PowerPoint.....but you can also use Haiku Deck or Prezi, whichever one you are more comfortable with......."  It is about this time that my mouth drops open, and I quit writing entirely because my brain has just gone into survival mode.  All it can think is ,'breathe in .....breathe out.....breathe in.....breathe out......'

Before I know it, it is all over, and I look over at Barbra who has about the same look on her face.  She looks at me and says, "are you ok?"  I furrow my brow at her and say, "Yeah, what just happened there?"  She laughed (she also reads this..so why Barbra, why did you laugh?  You were in that room with me.....how did your brain not also explode?)  and she said, " I gotta go meet up with that guy, I will see you later."

I start walking back to my car, and the entire time I am walking my brain is just repeating the same mantra, "What the hell just happened?"  I arrived at my car, I don't remember how I got there, but I did.  I immediately call my sister,

"Hey T!  How are you?"
" I did 6th grade, right?  I mean, I passed?  I did 6th grade.  I got all A's and B's, I was an Honor roll student.  I did my time.  I don't do 6th grade anymore, he does 6th grade.  I don't do school, he does school.  I did school.  I am done with school.  He does school."  She laughs, (again, WHY?)  and says, "What happened?" 
"I have to get a Twitter account."
"Why?"
"So I can know what they are doing in the library."
"Why do you need to know what they are doing in the library?"
"I don't know, but it has to be important because it is on Twitter.  I also have to get Instagram."
"Why on earth do you need Instagram?"
"Because the school posts things on there."
"And you can't get this information anywhere else?"
"Apparently not.  Oh, and I apparently also need to know Google Drive to get spreadsheets and PowerPoint."
"YOU have to do PowerPoint?  Why do you have to do powerpoint?  Doesn't YRH need to do that?"
"No, they said I needed to know this stuff so apparently I need to make a powerpoint presentation for conferences.  But I can use Haiku Deck or Prezi as well, whatever I am most comfortable with."
"You don't even have a smartphone."
"Probably never will because I now have to get my son an IPad and an Iphone because his education is more important than me having a smartphone and all I will ever have in life is a flip phone.  Ever."


Dear readers, I share all of this with you to say this..... What the hell is Prezi or Haiku Deck???????  Anyone????

Too school for Cool

My dear readers, I am so sorry it has been so long since I have posted.  I have learned something about myself this summer.  I can't get anything done when Your Royal Highness is home.  Something about wanting to go do stuff since I don't have any kids to babysit other than my own.  We spent a lot of time at the pool and at the zoo, and so I was MIA for the summer.  Now I know, I own it, and we have an understanding.  I just can not be responsible enough to be required to do anything in the summer.

But I do have a wonderful little story for you that will make you feel much better about yourself.

I am officially the most embarrassing mom at Your Royal Highness's middle school.

My precious little pearl started middle school this week.  6th grade.  I am all anxious and tied up in knots for him.  I did not have the best middle school experience.  I was so awkward, and I was picked on a lot by some boys because i was kinda dorky looking, and I did not have great social graces.  I was not, shall we say, COOL by any means.  To my friends who were friends with me back then, you are amazing people.  Anyway, I did not have a fun time, and I am just a hot mess about the boy being in middle school.  I keep trying to give him cool comebacks when kids talk smack to him, (I can do that now, I am a lot funnier now), and try to teach him how to own any mistakes he makes so that he looks less awkward that I was.

Let's play Where is Waldo??  This is me in 6th grade, in the red striped shirt.  Yikes!

So the kid had orientation last week.  Parents were not allowed to be there.  So here I am dropping my big boy off with friends at the school, just praying he doesn't get swallowed alive.  The directions to us as parents, "Drop off is in the back of the building, pick up is in the front."  After dropoff, I parked the car around front to go in and pick up his school supplies that i had ordered.  I went in, and when the lady hands me the box, she says, "Now some parents pick up their child and just take the supplies right up to their locker so they don' have to carry them to school on the first day."  I said, "ok" and left.  I knew I better just do what they school directed or YRH would get confused.

I come back with my little ones 20 minutes early, so I could get a good spot right in front of the school, so he would see me.  The time arrives, kids file out, no YRH.  Parents with supplies go in, more kids file out, no YRH.  It is now 20 minutes AFTER they were to be released, No YRH.  I am right in front of the door!  I gave him 5 more minutes thinking he was having issues with his locker, or schedule, or something.  No YRH.  Finally I walk up to the door, and open it.  He is RIGHT FREAKING THERE!  Talking to a friend animatedly, and smiling.  He sees me and runs over, quickly changing his expression to one of worry, "Where were you???  I thought you forgot about me!"  I ushered him into the car, and explained that if he would have come OUTSIDE like he was SUPPOSED TO, or even just LOOKED OUT THE FRIGGIN DOOR, he would have seen me sitting there.

So we start to talk about orientation.

ME: "Did you get your schedule?"
YRH: "Yep, here." hands it to me.
ME:"Did you get your bus info?"
YRH:"No.  It says you can just call."
ME:"They didn't' have a list there?"
YRH:"Yes, but you can just call to get it."
ME: "Seriously??  You could have asked the guy!!  Now I have a chore to do!  Did you see where your classes were"
YRH: "No, They couldn't find my schedule.  They had to go print out another one."
ME: "Well did you at least go see where your locker was?"
YRH: "No, there were a lot of people down that hallway. It was crowded."
Me: (Shaking my head)  Your whole job was to find this stuff man!!  What did you do the whole time.
YRH: Nothin....

Turns out, he was in the wrong room for orientation, and that is why they didn't have the right information for him.  HE WAS IN THE WRONG ROOM.

Let me then fast forward to yesterday.

First day of school.  I had nightmares all night about waking up late, and losing his schedule, missing the bus, all sorts of bad things.  I was tired when I woke up.  We get him ready and send him off in all of the first day of school pomp and circumstance (picture on the front step, big breakfast, ect.).

His bus for the morning was one number.  His bus for the afternoon to come home is a whole other number.  I remind him of this as he leaves.  He bus is due home at 3:01pm.

2:55, I am changing the diaper of one of the kids I babysit for, when I see a bus drive by.  I did not

see the number because I was turned away from it, but I figure, "Oh, well, must be a little early today."  I wait, No YRH.  I look out the door, no YRH.  Oh crap.

 "He missed the bus."

I hurry and call the bus garage, "My son did not get off of his bus."  I gave her all of the important details, name, class, school, bus he was supposed to be on.  She puts me on hold for what feels like FOREVER, and finally comes back, "Your son is on the bus.  That was the high school bus that you just saw."  "Oh, ok.  Sorry about that."

My son storms in the door 15 minutes later (and about 10 minutes later than what  the schedule says)  "Mom, did you call the bus garage??"  I stared at him innocently.  "Yes, I thought you missed the bus.  Why?"  "Well, we were late getting home because they had to radio EVERY SINGLE BUS to see "is YOUR ROYAL HIGHNESS on this bus? His mom is worried he was on the wrong bus."  I gulped. "Every bus?  can you hear what they say on the radio?  Is it loud?"  "Yeah it is loud! I was in the back and heard it!"

Nothing like starting my boy out in middle school on the right foot.  I am sure he is so cool now!

My rules for keeping it civilized at the public pool

We are currently members of our subdivision's country club.  I am not saying this to be snobbish in any way, in fact the only reason we became members at all was because it was only $100 more for the whole membership than it was to just belong to the pool, which was what we really wanted.  The pool.  We just really wanted the pool.

You see, in our old house we had the city pool right down the road, and it was always crazy busy and the toddler pool was not enclosed at all.  With three toddlers, they tend to not stay together all that well. There is no such thing as the buddy system with preshoolers.  So someone was always trying to drown themselves in the big pool with the big kids.  I also didn't like the dynamic of our old city pool.  It always felt like a giant free for all with the kids, and a beauty pageant swim suit event with the moms.  There was a big green space with chairs that always felt to me like it was too far away to actually watch the kids, so in order to watch you child, you had to actually get in the pool.  Now I like swimming and all, but when I take my kids to the pool, I am in effect playing lifeguard, so I am not there to float.  I am there to watch, with hawkeyes, that none of my precious ones drown.  So we never got a membership to the city pool, because really, it scared the crap out of me.  That, and the fact that there were not a whole lot of plus size mommas in our old neighborhood, and I felt a little awkward in my athletic shorts and t shirt, while they all stood around looking pretty,  chatting to each other. (Probably about how beautiful and thin they were.)

Now here at the country club, it seems like there is a bigger mix of body types, and parenting styles.

The pool was never safer...

There is no giant green space, so there are chairs lining the rim of the entire pool.  And the best part, the toddler pool, is completely enclosed with a latching gate, so I can sit on the edge, while my kids splash around with their pool toys, and subsequently keep an eye on your royal highness in the big pool as he jumps off of the diving board.  No kids will drown with me on duty! And the best part is, I have YET to see a bikini that is not on a teenage girl!  There is an equal mix of moms who swim and do not swim, and most of these moms are actually watching their children, so it doesn't have that "buffy and muffy" feel to it.  These are real people, and most of them so far have been extremely nice. 

That being said, there are a few things that do annoy the heck out of me, despite us being at the city pool or country club, or even the beach or campground (ha, like I ever go to a campground!).  No matter where you go, there is a universal douchey-ness that tends to follow you anywhere.  Here is my list of what you should avoid if you want to be a civilized-thinking-of-others-non-douchey person:

1) Please apply spray sunscreen at home, in the parking lot, or other non populated area.  This is doubly true on a windy type day.  Look, I know they are super convienent.  Lord knows I use the stuff all the time on my little ones, because it is that much quicker and my hands are that much less greasy afterward.  But for God's sake, we do not want to inhale your sunscreen.  I like the taste of my yummy margarita that I bought (one wonderful perk to the country club vs the city pool....booze), I do not like the taste of it mixed with sunscreen you sprayed directly into my face. 

2) Please look at the age limit on the toddler pool.  It is so completely uncool that as soon as that whistle blows for break time,  to allow your child (or children, or children and friends) to jump out of the water, and immediately haul tail over to the wading pool and jump in, and splash and make big waves that knock over my kids who have until this point been playing very nicely with the other babies in the pool that you have now knocked over.  How about make them take a bathroom break so they don't add to the pee that is already in the water.  And not only are they here, but you are no where to be seen, so they are completely unsupervised.  Which leads me to ...

3) Please do not allow your child to snatch toys from my kids hands.  I bring bags and bags of toys to the pool.  Barbies, cups, bowls, plastic fish, boats, you name it.  And I am completely fine with your child playing with any of the things that my kids are not using at the time.  But if my son is playing with two bowls, a cup and a fish, please do not allow you child (most often the one that you allowed to come in here during break time to play and who then will leave again as soon as that whistle blows, the one you are not watching and are not even in eye-site of, the one who is most likely 8 or 9 years old in a toddler pool) to take one of those things, causing me to have to be the one to reprimand them.  I am there to watch my kids, not yours.  I watch enough kids during the school year, I am off in the summers.  Unless you want to pay me, and then my hourly rate is $10 an hour per kid.

4) Please please please don't let your kid splash me (or laugh when they do it).  As I stated before, I do not come to the pool to swim.  I am there to prevent my kids from drowning.  Now I go with the knowledge that splashing happens and I will get sprinkled.  But if you do not stop your kid from shooting me with that water squirt-er right in the butt, so help me God, I am going to tell him there is no Santa right then and there. Then you are going to have some explaining to do....

5) If you are a teenager, please be aware that there are smallish children around you, and quit

making out with your boyfriend/girlfriend/whatever right there in front of them.  I do not want to have to explain the finer points of procreation to them at the pool, at the age of 3 and 4.  This is a family place.  So save it for the privacy of the backseat of  a car off the side of the road somewhere, as respectable kids like myself did back in the day.   Because honestly if you don't stop making out by my family, I am going to go put on my bathing suit, and I promise you, after having 4 kids, that is going to be like throwing a cup of cold water on the mood you were in right there. 

So there you have it.  My list to help us all get along at the pool. If you stick to this, we should all make it through this summer, and still like each other by the end of it.

Eat it, becasue it is green and I said so!

Why do foods that are so good for you, have to be completely disgusting? 

This morning I was giving my toddlers their morning snack, they were having raisins, applesauce and a cereal bar, and I looked for something healthy for me to get me through to lunch.  I found some fruit pouches that I had bought for the kids.  They advertised, "With Chia Seeds!  More amino acids, more antioxidents! Sustained energy! Only 60 calories!" I thought, "Sweet!  That will work."  I twisted off the cap and sucked up some fruit puree with chia seeds......

Ick.....just ick.  It tasted like I was eating blackberry seeds covered in slime.  Like I just took a cupful of tadpole eggs and sucked them up a straw!  I mean the fruit flavor was there, but the texture was too much like snot with crunchy bits in it.  I gagged and threw it away.  Which led me to think, why oh why do all of the things that are good for us, that our bodies need to function, taste like crap?

Take Kale.  I know it is good for you.  It is a superfood.  It is green, and has all those awesome nutrients and vitamins, but it just tastes like I picked a bunch of random woody green leaves and put them in a bowl.  I have tried to love kale.  I baked it and seasoned it because, "It tastes a lot like potato chips."  Uuummm, what kind of chips are you eating???  I have never in my life tasted a chip like that.  I have also tried adding it to soup because "It holds up better than other leafy greens like spinach."  Umm, nope, still slimey.  And I even tried baby kale in salad.  Even an entire bottle of ranch dressing could not cover up the bitterness.  Blech. 

Now how about Sweet potatoes?  Sweet potatoes are a superfood, right?  Too bad they are only really good with loads of butter, cinnamon, and brown sugar so that essentally you are eating pie as a side dish.  mmm, pie....

Whole wheat pasta.  Now granted, I can't even eat regular pasta with all of it's gluten anymore, but when I did, I was given the advice to switch to whole wheat, because "no one will notice the difference and it will add proitein and fiber to my family's diet".  This person needs their taste buds checked, because there is a HUGE difference in the taste.  It is heavy and dense and harder to chew.  Like trying to eat a forkful of garden hoses.  Even sauce can't hide the grittier texture to it.  Now all I can eat is corn pasta, and honestly, even IT tastes more like regular pasta than whole wheat does.

Tofu.  Please don't tell me that I am just not making it right, because it takes on whatever flavor you

cook it in.  That may very well be, but just because I marinate tofu in steak sauce, does not make this nastiness a steak. And you are not fooling me with tofurkey, or tofu crumbles, or tofu sausage or hot dogs either.  I know when I am eating a hot dog and when I am eating a tofu dog. One is yummy and an American tradition, the other is a meat free abomination.

I am not a picky eater by any means.  There are very few things that I will not eat.  Besides the items aforementioned, the only other thing I do not eat are oysters and mussles.  I am sorry, but Jim Gaffigan said it best:
 "Some guy found the first oyster and said, 'I found a rock that has a snot in it.'
 'Well what are you going to do with it?'
 'I'm gonna eat it.'
 'How's it taste?'
 'Like Pneumonia.'" 

I just cannot get past that texture.  People have said, "Oh just cover it with cheese and hot sauce, shoot it down the back of your throat and chase it with a shot of vodka."  I like cheese, I like hot sauce, and Lord knows I like vodka, but why can't I just have all of those things separately and skiip the gag reflex? 

And conversely, why do all of the things that taste so good, that our brains are drawn to wanting more of, are so very very bad for you?  I don't even have enough time to make a list of the food that will kill us.  But come on, Bacon?  Buffalo Wings?  Cheese?  Sausage?  Cheesecake?  Chocolate?  Why do these things have to be so bad for you?  It seems like something happened to our brains, some kind of weird wiring happened and all of a sudden the things we are supposed to eat and that are supposed to be good for us, became bad tasting, and the things that are bad for us and are supposed to be avoided, taste like heaven. 

They are called comfort foods for a reason.  They are not called, "get into those skinny jeans" foods.  They are comforting for when you are in pain, because you are sad because you are fat because you ate too many of those yummy foods, the same foods that you are shoving in your face to comfort yourself about.  There has to be a reason our brains like it so much. 

But I will say, if you can make kale, or chia seeds taste like bacon or chocolate, I will jump on board.  Until then, I will have to keep taking my vitamins.  They are gummy bears by the way.  See, SOMEONE got the memo that you can make bad tasting things taste like candy!

This one time....at an elementary band concert.....

Monday my son, Your royal highness, had his 5th grade band concert.

And let me just say before I get into this, I have a very very strong appreciation for band.  I played in

band from the time I was in 5th grade, all the way through college.  I met my husband at high school band camp, and almost all of my friends can be traced back to meeting at band, or some other sort of musical or theatrical endeavor that I was a part of at some time in my life.  Band is in my DNA.  Band is a part of me. This one time at band camp?  YES, I  have those stories (probably not as exciting as some of the racier stories in American Pie, but stories none the less).  So just know, I LOVE the arts, I LOVE band, and the fact that my son wanted to play in it in any capacity made me squeal like a little school girl, and weep tears of pride.

Also.  If you were to ask me who the best trumpet player in the entire world was, at this moment in time, I would proudly hold up a framed photo of my son playing his trumpet and say, "This redhead right here thank you very much."  So please no letters or posts in the comment section about what a terrible mother I am to post such a ranty blog about elementary school music concerts, and do I have a heart at all.  Yes I do, I love my child, he is wonderful and amazing, and all of that mom junk.  Back off.

To start this, I had to go to this concert, on my birthday.  My BIRTHDAY.  So there was no birthday dinner out.  There was barely time for cake after the dinner that I had to make  myself on my birthday, because people in this school district are complete freaks about showing up early to get a good seat, and apparently there is also a shortage of chairs at our elementary school. The concert started at 6:30, so we figured we would be wise to get there at 6, so we could sit up front and see our beloved.  We walked in, and I knew in an instant we did not arrive early enough.  The gym was packed!  What time did these freaks get there?  Did they just pack a picnic dinner and camp out right after the bell rang?  We were half an hour early, and we were in the back row!  What the heck??  Then to make matters worse, they didn't use ANY RISERS.  So we would be able to hear YRH play, but we were not going to be able to see diddly squat, because of all of the heads of the over acheivers that gathered here at 6 in the morning like it was opening night for a Star Wars movie.

I looked at the program, and not only was this for the band, but it was for the 4th grade orchestra, the 5th grade orchestra, the 5th grade band, the 3rd grade choir, the 4th grade choir, AND THE 5th GRADE CHOIR!!!  And everyone had like 5 songs!!

Now anyone who is even remotely familiar with kid performances always looks at the program and
does that kid performance math,"Okay, so 5 songs per group, times 3 or 4 minutes per song, equals.....holy hell!!  We are going to be here forever!!!"  And this is not like a high school performance where it might be even remotely well executed.  These kids are still really really early in the learning process of their instruments.  There are so many squeaks and squonks and screeches in just the band, let alone listening to the never ending flats and sharps of the violins that make you fluctuate from feeling depressed when they are flat, to wanting to break their violin when they are sharp, to the point that you are questioning your own knowledge of pitch by the end of the performance ("The whole thing couldn't have been that awful, could it?  Is there something wrong with my ears?  Am I tone deaf?  Or am I just entirely deaf after that?")

Meanwhile, as I am doing kid performance math in my head,  people keep filing in, and there is no where else to sit, so all of these moms and dads and realtives (grandmas and grandpas and extended family) are all standing in this elementarty lunchroom/gym and the body heat level is just rising.  It was gettng pretty hot and humid pretty fast.  The walls were sweating.

The teacher for orchestra gets up, and honestly, I think she must be cloistered in her rehearsal room by herself too much, because this woman LOVED the sound of her own voice.  She talked and talked, and talked about what the 4th graders have learned and how far they have come.  And then when they began to play, my only thought was, "Oh my god, if they are this bad NOW, what did they sound like BEFORE???"  The final song was not on the program, so she said, "Let's see if you can guess what this next song is."  I have to be honest.  They were playing the song "Dynamite", and I had NO idea what it was they were playing.  At all. It just sounded like a car riding extremely squeaky breaks in a rolling stop at a stop sign.

The 5th grade orchestra gets up there.  At one point the teacher, in a very long winded explanation, calls up her 3 soloists to do "Music from Harry Potter".  It was supposed to be the opening music from the movie. Three cats having a fight in an alley.  They groaned their way through it, as did I, and finaly it was time for my baby.

5th grade band!  I was so far back I couldn't see a thing, so I held up my sister's camera on her phone and zoomed in and could just make out the carrot top between two stands.  And just when they were counting off, the band director shifts over two paces and is RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY SHOT!!  Dang it!!  So I did not SEE my baby perform, but I knew from listening that he was amazing and was perfect and wonderful, and better than all of the rest of the kids.

By this time my toddlers were at maximum capacity for staying even remotely close to our seats.  They were trying to lay down, they were climbing all over the chair, sliding in and out of the hole in the back of the chair, hopping from one lap to another.  After my baby boy was done performing, I looked at the clock.  It was 7:30.  We had already been there for an hour and a half, and they were only half way done with this concert!!  Oh. My. Gosh.

The admiral looked at me, and without saying it, we knew that this might end up turning into the boat ride from vacation all over again if we didn't do something about it.  He gets up, and says tersely, "I am going to take them in the hall way to run around.  Stay here and get YRH after the concert is over."

Now the choir portion was a bit more entertaining than the orchestra, because most of these kids had been using their voices all of their lives and so had, in fact, perfected the use of it, so the pitch was a little more on target, making me not want to swing alternating moods of suicide, then aggravated assault.  So it passed a little more quickly.  But the only parts that didn't were the directors.  I am not sure, but I seriously think that it must be in the job description that if you are a director, teacher, or group leader for children in some area, when it comes time to give an opening statement, you are officially crowned Johnny Public Speaker, and are commissioned to just drone on and on about everything you did all year.  Look honey, we get it.  You had to listen to this all year, and now want to make us as miserable as you were by showing us what it felt like to be inescapably trapped like you were.  But darlin, we came to see our kids play, not hear you talk.  We had to hear them rehearse at home all year, we KNOW how far they have come.  You did great.  I will get you a gift card to BW3's for a drink after the concert if you will just get off the mic and start waving your arms.  It is hot in here and Gramma Fanny behind me has been standing since 6:20, and her poor varicose veins are about to implode.  Let's speed up this rodeo shall we?

The show ended at 8:10, almost 2 hours after it began.  I collect the boy, and go out and find my husband and toddlers are in the van watching a movie.  They WERE in the hallway running up and down, but apparently they started rolling around on the floor, and were rolling through what the Admiral deemed as blood, and he got grossed out and decided containment was key to survival at that point.  (Though I will say, it could have been blood, but chances are it was probably paint or marker, or jelly or some other kid goo.  Admiral does has a little bit of a germ thing, so in his eyes, it was foreign, so it had to be blood or some other life threatening pathogen, and the children must be saved.)

So for my birthday this year, this was my celebration.  And yes it was long, and hot, and loud, and awful, but for my kid, I would do it again in a heartbeat.  I do want to make a recommendation to the school for the future.

1) SEPARATE the grades PLEASE!  Have a performance for just the 3rd grade, and then just the 4th grade and then a special one for the graduating 5th grade.  They are going off to middle school, to never be a little child again, so a little bit of exclusiveness in this area is really not going to hurt any one, and it would seriously cut down on time. There also just might be a chair available for Gramma Fanny to sit down on too.

2) TIME LIMITS on teacher's talking.  Let's treat it like the Oscars, and after 30 seconds, have the band play them off with some music.

You implement these practices, and I can guarantee happy parents and happy kids, and then maybe just maybe I will have time to go out and eat a dinner on my birthday that I did NOT have to cook myself, and also not have to inhale my cake. (of which I also made myself. Businesses, there are gluten intolerant people that need to celebrate birthdays too, it would be nice to have bakery cakes that are gluten free!!  But that is a post for another time.....)

Objects in the mirror may be closer than you think...

It has come to that time in a young woman's life again.  Time to get some new clothes.

As a mom, and woman in her late 30's, I have come to notice a few things about myself and the way I veiw my body.....

I DON'T want to view my body.

I have been doing the Weight Watchers for quite a while now, and it has come to the point where my clothes are starting to get a little ridiculous looking.  They are too big, they are hanging off of me, and I keep having to hitch up my pants.  In fact, a while back whilst walking in the Target, my pants actually fell down.  Thank God I was not in an aisle with anyone else, because that would have just been humiliating. For that person.   

I am still hanging on to my old clothes because, well, they are just super comfortable now.  They

were always super tight before, and now they are so roomy!  I like that my yoga pants are so loose that they get all twisted up on me when I am sleeping at night.  I like that my shirt is loose enough that I can pull my knees up under it when I am cold and make a little heat tent for myself.  I love that my jeans actually feel like pajama jeans now even though they are not.

But yesterday the admiral was looking at me, with what I thought was a 'hey baby' look, and just as I went walk over to him to wrap my arms around his neck, he says, "You think it may be time to go buy some new clothes?  What is going on with that shirt?  And your jeans are super baggy in the butt."  Mood sufficiently killed.

Had I not been with this man since we were 15 years old, I would have been all offended probably, but at this point in our lives, there are bigger fish to fry in the offensive pool, than just a comment about clothes.

I went over to the mirror and took a look, and for the first time I realized how bad it was. 

I looked homeless. 

This is what my husband, kids, and people I babysit for have been looking at for a long time now.
Time to go shopping.

But this is the thing.  I haaaaaaaaaate shopping for myself. I do.  I turn into Ebeneezer Scrooge, and my purse clenches tighter than Gollum guarding his 'precious'. 

This is how it will inevitably go down:

I will get all of the kids to bed, because I refuse to shop for clothes with any kind of baggage over my head, including texts from the admiral of "where is?", "How do I?", and "What do they?" .  I do not want to be interrupted from my well deserved personal hell to answer questions about the little people who are the cause of the havoc wreaked on my body.  I do not need the reminder that I am a mother of four, and have the abs to prove it.

I will then head out to my favorite place to feel depressed about clothes, Old Navy.  I shop there, because honestly, they sometimes carry the size I need, and most of the time, they have bright colors, and I look much better in bright colors.  Bright fat is much prettier to look at than black, grey, or beige fat.  And the commercials are pretty awesome, right?  All of these cute model type people looking all perfect and amazing in it.  Having fun family time on vacation, or having a picnic or swimming together.  "Come shop here, and we will give you the life you always wanted!"  I fall for it every time. 

I will spend the first 15 minutes I am there trying to convince myself that it is ok to look at the regular rack, instead of heading right to clearance.  I love the clearance rack, but the problem is I need summery type clothes, and right now, clearance is all winter stuff.  I don't need that.  But when I get there, I am compelled to shop it, and end up coming home with 5 long sleeve shirts to wear in the 90 degree humid weather we have here in Ohio.  No good.

I finally talk myself out of clearance, and head over to look at shorts.

I look all over for just the right pair of shorts, in my size, in a color I like, that are not too short, and not to long, (being short with Corgi legs, this is a feat in and of itself), and shorts that 'speak' to me.  "Come buy me!  We will do things together!  We will be fun, and play games, and go to the beach together!  It will be a summer to remember if you spend it with me!"  

I find that unicorn, that pair of shorts that are all of these things.  Adorable pattern, perfect length, possibly my size, and shouting "We will make beautiful memories together this summer!"  I head to the back, to try them on.

Side note here, what is UP with those little kiosk looking changing rooms with the curtain in the middle of the shopping area?  Any crazy person can walk buy and just open that thing!  This is a terrible idea, and when I have kids with me, I will never ever ever set foot in one of those things.  That is just asking for a YouTube video of my naked butt!

I get back there and take off my shoes,
take off my pants,
and pull on the shorts.

The first thing I notice is, my hairy white-as-snow legs with all of the awesome blue veins just screaming out for some kind of sun.  It is like my legs are gasping at the light, "NOO!!!  It stings!  Put the jeans back on!"  I then fasten the shorts, (most of the time you can insert the word 'try' here as well.) which are probably too tight, and look at my muffin top.  I sigh, because in my head when I picked these out I could envision myself wearing these.  Now as I look at myself busting out of them like a can of biscuits, I am unhappy because I am:  a) not as far along as I thought I was in the weight loss, and b)bummed because there are no bigger sizes available. However,  Kiki the clerk says there will be more in later in the month. 

Now I am standing here bummed because I look like this in these shorts, bummed because I have to go back out there and look again, bummed because Kiki is a size 2, 22 years old, and doesn't know anything about having kids, and is looking at me with pity on her face, to which I know in her head she is thinking 'poor old lady', and I don't want to even be shopping for clothes in the first place!

I take the shorts off, and I watch myself in front of the largest mirror in the history of mirrors.  I see every ripple, roll, and stretch mark, every lump of cellulite,  as I wiggle out of these shorts that once were so cute to me, and now I view these shorts as a betrayal.  I think to myself, "Look at you, shorts, you looked so cute and adorable on the shelf.  You lured me in, shorts. I fell for it.  I did.  You told me I would be prettier with you on.  You and I were going to do things together this summer.  You and me shorts, against the world.  But it was all just a ploy to get me naked in a room full of mirrors.  You are the worst kind of evil, shorts.  I abhor you. I refuse to let you do this to any other woman!"  as I hang them as crookedly as possible back on the hanger, letting the true size and shape of them show, no tucking of the waistband into itself to make it look smaller on the rack.  It will be seen for its true nature!

I will go through this about 80 more times. I will maybe find a pair or two of shorts that are ok, but not awesome, and a couple of shirts that aren't terrible, but mostly I end up leaving the store poorer, and pretty depressed. 

I do, however,  feel like Old Navy knows what they are doing, though. They know that most of the women leaving their store are going to walk out feeling pretty awful about themselves.  How do I know this? Because right outside of the parking lot, there is a McDonalds with their giant sign for a "McCafe!!" and a Krispie Kreme with their "Hot Donut" sign blazing bright red. 

Bastards. 

How did this happen??

So, I know how other people go around thinking that all of the people around them are morons, or saying things like "I am surrounded by idiots" and the like.  Well, I am here to say, I am sorry.

I am the moron. 

I don't know when this happened.  I don't know how this came to be.  I used to be a smart person.  I was.  I had my schmidt together.  I was in the flow.  I knew stuff.  But now, all of a sudden, I seem to be doing a lot of apologizing lately, and for good reason!  I am to blame! 

I am not telling you all of this to get sympathy.  So please do not feel the need to shower me with compliments.  If anything, this is a blanket apology to everyone, and the only response sought out is, "It's ok.  We forgive you." 

Here are some scenarios:

*You are in line at the drive through, and it is completely filled up.  The line is out to the street.  You think there is room for you to get into the parking lot from the street without blocking traffic, because  everyone is moving up one place quickly, and in another second, you are in.  So you pull up, but all of a sudden the movement stops, and now you ARE blocking traffic.  You look, and there is one car that did not move up, and there is a space there, where if they did move up, you would be out of the way.  But she is looking behind her at the back seat so she doesn't see it, so now your butt is hanging out into oncoming traffic. 

That lady up there is me.  And I am yelling at my kids to quit kicking each other. Sorry about that.

*Ok, now you are in line at the grocery.  You have only 5 things.  You get in line, and ahead of you is a lady who has the entire belt full, and more in the cart.  But it is going quickly so you decide to wait.  She gets to the end, and when it comes time to pay, they ask her for her customer loyalty number, and password.  It takes her 4 tries because she forgot that she put the number under he cell phone number instead of her home phone number, and it keeps getting rejected. 

Again.  That lady is me.  I apologize.

*You are at a stop light.  The red light is taking a really really long time.  All of a sudden it turns green!  Finally!  But you aren't moving yet.  What is the hold up?  The light quickly turns yellow and then red again!!

Um, it is me, and I was daydreaming because this is the first moment I have been alone away from noise in three weeks, and I forgot where I was for a moment. I am sorry, please don't hate me.


*You are in Target.  It is a busy Saturday morning.  There are lots of shoppers in here, and as you head up the main walkway headed toward the back, you are stopped by a mom and her children who have made a human barrier across the aisle, holding hands, as they walk at the snails pace her toddler's have set.  To add insult to injury the littlest one keeps stopping to jump over each and every colored line that he finds.  There is no way around, and you need to get back there.  So you continue to follow, cursing the lady under your breath.

Umm, again me.  Sorry.  Some other moron with only one child took the last cart that had enough  the seats for all of my kids to fit in, so because the girls are walking, little man wants to walk.  Trust me if he didn't get to walk too, there would be much wailing and gnashing of teeth.  This is our best option, but I am sorry.

And finally
*You are at a party for March madness at a friend's house.  All of a sudden the doorbell rings.  Your friend (the host)  disappears for a moment outside, then returns and is headed toward you.  "Hey man, the lady outside apparently was backing out of her driveway and accidentally ran into your car that was parked across the street from her.  She wants you to come out and see it so she can exchange information with you. 

sigh......yes.  Me again.  I don't know what to say.  The Admiral was going to stay home with the littles so I could go visit my family that was in town, and I had made cupcakes.  As Your royal highness and I were leaving, I guess I completely ignored my BACK UP CAMERA, because I was concerned my cupcakes were going to fall.  As I looked at YRH to tell him to hold them so they didn't fall, I hear the sickening crunch.  There are no words for this amount of sorry.

So there you have it.  That person out there you are furious at in the store, or in traffic, it is me.  I am sorry.  Please just understand, I don't get out in public much, and when I do, I guess I just don't know how to act anymore.  Plus most of the time I am on limited sleep, or I have a bunch of IHP's with me (for you rookies, that is Indoor homeless people) so I am distracted.  If you could grant me some grace instead of yelling at me, or breathing your breathy sighs in my direction, you would make my day.  Thanks!