My Letter to the Board of Ed

Hello,
I am writing about the state of our school. I don't know if you remember me, but I was the treasurer of the UES PTA for the last 2 years, and we spoke at the Urbana Fire Hall during their candidates open house.

I am very concerned about our schools in Urbana, specifically, Centerville and Urbana Elementary. Combined, there are 26 portables in those two elementary schools this year. That is enough for a school! New houses are still being built, and planned, and nothing is being done to alleviate our schools. Our population will not stop growing. We had 13 new classes of kindergartners this year between both schools. And Centerville is brand new!

Urbana, however, is not new. We just celebrated our 50th year anniversary, and not much has changed since 1960 except for the number of students. Students are crammed into open classrooms.  Classrooms are placed wherever there is room, often creating the need for students and teachers to walk through one classroom to get to another.  How does this foster an ideal learning environment.

We do not have a lot of interior walls.  In the case of a tornado (like the one that was nearby last year). Our children would be in serious danger. The only interior walls with no windows are in our one hallway, which cannot fit the 700+ students we currently cram into the school.

We have a pest problem, not to do the lack of cleanliness of the school, but simply its age. Last year, I learned the students had an informal class pet. It was a cockroach.  This is not okay with me,

We are slated for renovation in 2017. That is simply not soon enough.
We have an active PTA and awesome faculty. That is not enough. We need a building that is not harmful to our students.
I really don't think that is too much to ask.

Thanks,
Becca Clark

Proof of Heaven: Read it!

My friend, M.C. Hackett, wrote a book, and it rocks.
First, I will talk about the book.
It's called Proof Of Heaven.
You will cry.  You will smile. You will hug your kids. You will call your brother.
As a mom, and as someone who was a relatively sickly kid at points, I HATE books about sick kids.
I hate movies about sick kids. It just makes me really uneasy.
This is a book about a sick kid. But not like the others.
I enjoyed this one. I was really invested in the characters. Each one. I loved all 4 of them. They were all flawed, even little Colm, sort of, but aren't we all? That's what I liked about them. No one was perfect.

POH is about the mom, and the sweet boy, and the doctor, and the brother. It's about trust. It's about hope. And Faith. And familial love.
And sticking with people even though they screw up. Or don't think like you.
It's about getting over yourself. About forgiving yourself. About getting over your shit and moving on.
At least that's what I got from it.
It made me think about the challenges we all have as parents to get out of our own comfort zones in order to provide the best for our kids. In my case it's learning to parent a kid with sensory issues a little differently than my "normal" child. But this book helped give me perspective. It really did. We all bring our own crap into life, and that's fine. We just have to let go sometimes and believe. I think that's what this book is saying.
And I really enjoyed it.
I'm not a reviewer, so I don't have to go into the plot.
So get the damn book. It's really good.
Nuff said.

Now, about the author.
Mary is my friend.
I dare say we are better friends now than we were in college. Thank you, Facebook.
She has not always had it easy. But she is one tough, smart cookie.  She's not only a survivor, to survive is a quality, but to thrive in adversity is a virtue. Mary is a thriver. She is one Hell of a mom to two very cool kids, one who is remarkably similar to my precious Jonny. She is smart, and funny, really, really strong, and she deserves success. 
So buy the book, please.

Kindergarten Blues Part 2

Yesterday was teacher conference day.
Jonny is doing wonderfully. He is adapting. He is making friends. He is at or above grade level on all of his skills. He is not the best at holding a pencil (he doesn't like the feel) but he is going to get some help for that.  All in all this was a very good meeting. But it was all overshadowed by one thing: fucking clothes!

After all the wonderful things said, the teacher suggested that now may be the time to get Jonny out of his pajama pants.
WHAT the Hell? He doesn't wear pajama pants to school. I know, becuase I spend 2 hours every morning in a mildly regimented routine getting that boy ready for school.
I felt like I got punched in the gut.

You mean the striped organic cotton play pants that I get out of the Swedish catalog that cost $40 a pair and are his favorite things ever?
Yep, those.
Fucking perfect.

Turn out they LOOK like PJ's (and they do), so the kids were starting to wonder why Jonny gets to wear PJ's and they don't.
And in all this time of trying to keep Jonny comfortable, happy, motivated about school and what he wear and how it affects his day, I never thought of what other 5 year olds thought. And I don't think Jonny gives a shit either.
But I get it. I do. In my brain.
 He is doing great. He is making friends. He is adapting. We don't want what he wears to get in the way of that.

However, on an emotional level, this is my baby and it is hard enough getting the boy in clothes! Who gives a shit?

If he were a girl, we wouldn't even be having this conversation. Because she would wear a matching top, we would call them "leggings" and everyone would think she was so stylish. That is the part that pisses me off. A lot.

The other part that completely threw me off was that I really thought we were doing great. I had the boy in gym shoes for crying out loud! And underpants for God's sake! I am mom of the fucking year!

So yeah, I broke down crying, uncontrollably, in the middle of the school. I had failed Jonny as a parent. I thought we were thriving, and I was missing something. Again. A fucking gain!

Luckily, my awesome husband was there. He reminded me that we are making huge strides. Jonny is reaching all the expectations set for him, and life is good.
We just have to get the kid out of the stripey patns so kids won't think he's the jammies guy.

So we go home, I reapply my makeup, and we talk to Jonny.
He is awesome. His friends and his teacher love him.
And now is the time for bnig boy pants without stripes.

Of course, he cries. he loves stripes! He loves his soft pants!
But, I buck up. Instead of telling him what I want to tell him, that to Hell with what other people think he can wear whatever makes him happy, I go with the mom stuff.
I tell him we can go right now to Target (a magical place) with Sydney, his personal stylist.
We can pick out cool, soft pants that are good for school. We can pick out matching shirts with animals or characters. And if he is awesome, there will be a toy.
By golly, the boy can have whatever he wants.

Victory. We go to the store, and Syd and I pick out awesome pants for him. Some are even soft, comfy fleece (and that is another rant, because if they had graphics on them and no pockets they would be called jammies, but we'll go with it).  He loves them. We pick out cool shirts to complete the "big boy look". Both kids get toys. I get a chocolate bar, Damn right.

He is happy. He is adapting.  He will make it. And so will I.

We come home and have a fashion show for the granparents. We put the clothes away, and I hide the stripey cotton pants.

And I am DONE with the Swedish catalog. Bastards!

Kindergarten Blues

We have made it through the first month of school.
It was touch and go there for a while, on all fronts.

First, it is no secret that I was a nervous wreck about Jonny going to kindergarten. What if there are too many kids for him? What if he can't hold a pencil and has a breakdown? What if the transitions are too short and he flips out? What if someone he doesn't know tries to touch him? He will lose it!
And the big question? Will that boy ever get on the school bus?

Well, the first day came and went, and we survived. News to mom: get over yourself. He is a good kid. He will make it.

He has been on the school bus every damn day since the first day. Holy shit. He is growing up! He is adapting! Who the heck knew?
He did have a close talker incident in class, but his teacher saw him shutting down, and she removed him from the situtation. Holy shit! A teacher who knows and anticpates my kids' needs! See, it pays to be inthe PTA. Just saying...
And that little boy LOVES the rules of school. He loves to tell us during dinner what the different protocols are. This boy was made to be an assistant principal.
Another thing that kept me up t nigt was gym.The PE teachers wrote a note to every child about the uniform for PE, which includes gym shoes (sneakers to my eastern friends).
Holy crap. It's a miracle the boy wears underpants, now you wat him to wear SHOES! What's next? A suit of armor?
Now, I knew thiswas coming. I have been working on gym shoes. We ever signed the boy up for running club this year, so he does own gym shoes. He even wears them. Sometimes. On REALLY good days. But with consistency? Because someone else says so? Fat chance.

The day after I got the note I marched int the gym to talk to the teacher. I started to plead Jonny case. He maywer crocs. He hs sensory issues. Please let the boy play. The teacher told me no problem. His real concern was the older girls who don't like to wear appropriate footwear, not my angel. Yahoo.

I think we may actually make it.

Lunch Lady Land

Today, I was a substitute lunch lady.

Really.

My husband has been getting on my back about getting a part time job.

I have no desire to work retail, I am way too blunt for that.

I also really love my current life of leisure. I mean: my life of errands, laundry, dinner, and kids.

So in order to still be there for the kids as well as the house while at the same time making slightly above minimum wage, I decided to see what I could do for the school system.

My first step was to apply to be a substitute teacher. There are a lot of those though, but I am in the system. While I was waiting to be oriented, I continued to volunteer in the lunchroom.

I LOVE volunteerig in the lunchroom. The kids are themselves. It is a happy time, and you can sneak in some lessons when they're not looking. And it's a little loud, so I blend right in.

While I was volunteering, a friend of mine who was also Jonny's preschool teacher asked me if I would be willing to work in a lunch room. Turns out her friend is a site director of a cafeteria, and she has a terrrible time finding people who want to work just 4 hours a day. That's my ideal! I mean, hello? I still need to get my nap in before the little angels come off the bus.

When I told her I hadn't worked in food service since college, she told me "Well, I believe that you are highly capable."

You know what? So do I!

So I'm in. Full disclosure: I may have snickerred when I got through the food service system. When the person that hired me asked for my high school diploma and seemed confused that I had no idea how to get it, until I offered up my college transcripts and then it was her time to be confused. "Um yeah, college transcripts would work". Right.

But I loved it. I love food service. I love the bigness of it. I LOVE the industrial dishwasher. I love wearing a ball cap to work. I love the energy, how you are always moving for 4 straight hours. I love older women who call me "Honey". I love being useful.

The kids are good too. They were helpful, personable, funny. And they moved quickly. Yay!

And then it was over. Quick and dirty. Nothing to worry about or take home with you. Sign out and see you tomorrow. Fabulous.

For the first tme in 6 years I had a job and earned a check, and it was really fun.

All except for the shoes. I really hate sensisble black shoes.

I am an empire!

I am a city girl, born and raised.

We didn't have no home ec in High School.

My grandmother knew how to sew, but she never taught me.

I taught myself how to hand sew, but that was sort of a mess.

I have only ever been mildly crafty, and only when provoked.

I tried to learn to sew after I got married. Bought a machine, but couldn't thread the fucking bobbin, so I chucked it.

Now, with kids, and a busy house, I needed a hobby. For myself. Reading and writing are good, but the kids can always interrupt. Skateboarding worked well for a while, but falling down hurts a lot more than it used to, and I am too pretty for any more scars.

Plus, a sewing machine is a good obstacle between me and kids. They can't jump in my lap when I sew. Plus the thing is sort of loud, so I can't hear "mommmymommymommmymommy" all the time. And it's not completely selfish.

With Jonny and his textile issue, I can make him stuff he may actually wear without a fight. sold.

So I took a class at the fabric store and I made the most beautiful darn pillowcase you could ever imagine. And I learned how to work the machine. I could thread the bobbin! So I bought one. And I could sew! Holy shit!

First, everyone got pillowcases. Then I started getting ballsy and moved on to bags, and pants for Jonny. And he wears them! Oh my goodness I am a domestic goddess!

Then I tried to make sundresses for my daughter and her doll. it fucking worked! Who knew?

So I started to give the dresses to my daughter's friend for their birthday gifts, and they loved them! I am on a roll.

Next came the big test. I put my purses and dresses on display at a local craft fair. They are called "B - Edgy" after a friend who uses that word to describe me. They are a little weird, but they definitely don't look like any other purse out there. I actually sold several bags, and my dresses sold out, and I took 5 more orders. I am a freaking empire! I have not make a ton of cash. Maybe only enough to buy fabric. But it feel so good to be good at something, and to have people like it. Especially my bags. I use weird fabrics and patterns, but it works! And I like that when people buy my purses, they won't have one like any other. In a see of Coaches and Vera Bradleys (of which I own both, so don't get bitter) it's nice to see.

So, in a couplee of days I will displaying my work for the second time ever at a huge yard sale/ craft fair thingy. Hopefully there will be lots of teenage girls there, they tend to be my demographic.

But even if I sell nothing.

I have a hobby, for me. That I don't suck at. And it's a really nice thing to have.

Fresh Mountain Air

The other reason I wanted to run away to the Mountains of West Virginia was so I could be a parent this summer.

Every summer, where we live, the temperature gets past 100 degrees. The heat index gets upwards of 110. And the air quality index goes red. Those with respiratory problems should stay inside.

That would be me.

So, every summer, i am sidelined by summer. I can't go out, play with the kids, go to the pool NOTHING. I cannot frickin BREATHE. So, I take my meds, go to urgent care, and get really fucking angry. All the while I spend a small fortune for my kids to go to camps because I can't do anything with them, or even watch them because I am too busy struggling for breath.

Well, enough of that madness.

I took that small fortune and reserved a house for a month in West Virginia. High summer temp: 85. And when I asked about air quality warnings, the real estate agent had no idea what I was talking about. Yay. Book it.

So here we are. Playing tennis. Going on walks. Exploring. I have even ridden a horse a couple of times for crying out loud. Yes, I still take my allergy drugs. I have COPD, not brain damage.

The kids are happy. I am breathing, and the only thing wrong is I miss my husband, who has to stay home and work so we can pay for this little experiment.

But I think it worked. I have not used my nebulizer in over a month. And I've done more in one summer than I have since I left Chicago.

And my kids got to hang out with me, not some useless, texting teenager who is supposed to entertain them but really just being a camp counselor to meet chicks and get a paycheck. The kids just told me this was the best summer ever so far. And I agree.

Summer Slow Down

There are a lot of reasons why I chose to take the kids, and nonnie, and go off to the Mountains of West Virginia for a month in the dead of summer. One of which was that my precious little angels were on the cusp of being spoiled rotten.

Last summer, Sydney lamented that we were going to too many pools. She just wanted to sit at home. At first, I thought it was cute. Then I learned she wanted to sit home and be entertained. New toys. Play dates. Video games. Stuff. Enough!

The first thing I told them was "I'm sorry about your life". Nothing like a little sarcasm for the preschool set.

I wanted to take them back in time, to see how I spent summers. Part of it was great, part not so great. But honestly, I have no desire to relive that crap either. Seriously, getting sprayed from a hydrant is not as fun as it looks.

So, on to plan two. We are going to slow the fuck down.

Now, honestly, we can't do it on our own turf. Too much. Camps. Friends. Stuff.

I booked a house in the mountains of West Virginia for a month. It is not a shack. We have a hot tub. There is a swimming pond, and a tennis court. Lots of stuff to do nearby. The intent is not to make the children, or me, suffer. The intent is for them to actually get a break. And me too. We are all in this madness together. And frankly, at 8, the mean girls are already coming. I just needed a month off from all the drama! Plus, what better than a bucolic setting for Jonny to work on his confidence and strength?

One of the first days we got here I declared we would not be using the car for a whole day? I thought the kids were going to implode. They didn't get it. We went swimming. went on a walk. Cooked. Holy shit! We didn't have to go anywhere or do anything! I still have no idea if they were excited, or scared shitless.

Since then though, they have grown immensely and learned a lot. They have actually completed a number of jigsaw puzzles, rather than quitting and moving on to something with more bells and whistles. We have gone on hikes, and ridden more horses than I would like to admit. Jonny has ridden too,for an hour at a time, which is a HUGE improvement.

They play together, they have had to. They make up games. They play in the yard. They sit and read books together. for fun. They go for walks, by themselves (little ones, I am still neurotic).

We haven't turned on the TV for 2 weeks.

Tonight, after a game of badminton where Jonny was the MC, I realized, it's working!

This is what a summer vacation should be. It's the perfect time. And I am damn glad I did it.

Yes, they are still kids and they still want everything, but it has subsided a lot. We get an ice cream cone when we go to town. A couple awesome spending sprees at the dollar store. But even when the opportunity presents itself, they are making better choices.

Today, rather than go to the nearby resort to do whatever crazy activities they offer tourists, they chose to stay home and play Candyland with Nonnie. Jonny asked me to buy a new version of the game (the one here at the house has seen better days) so we can take it home. So I did.

see? spoiled rotten.

We did it!

This school year was a hard and wonderful one for my youngest son. We had the great pajama battle of late 2010, followed by the victory of Underpants in Spring of 2011. We had meltdowns and tantrums, many by me.
We have had parenting videos, an awesome parenting coach, PT's, OT's, and a whole lot of Zoloft. That's right, I said it. This momma takes a bit of the Zoloft. Don't judge.
Anyway, I have seen my sweet boy struggle and lose confidence and cry and say things like "I am not smart" and "I can't do it", when I know deep in my soul that he is smart and he can do it.
We have worked like maniacs to find a method of parenting and treatment for Jonny that works for us a whole family.
It's been tough.
But by golly, I think we are on to something.
At the end of the school year, on a play date with a friend, a bully cornered Jonny's friend in the play area and apparently was saying very nasty things.
Jonny saw this, darted right over to his friend, stared down the bully, and took his friend's hand and led her away. I was so proud of Jonny's problem solving and confidence I almost broke down right there in the Chik Fil A. Just to see him silently stand up to a bully without a fuss, and silently lead his friend; it was awesome.
Then the report came. And all of his skills-those stupid "kindergarten readiness" skills that were keeping me up at night- they were all checked off as independently completed! I almost wept! I was in the school later that week and checked with the teacher. I think she was more impressed than me (of course). She said he has improved so much, and whatever we are doing is working!
Damn right!
Next up, kindergarten.

Underpants!

I am the best mom in the world today! After 2 years of struggle, Jonny wore underwear to school. Holy shit. He did it! I did it. Ever since Jonny was potty trained, the boy refused to wear drawers. Refused. No way in Hell, refused. Awesome. He says they are "too skinny". Yes, I tried boxers, boxer briefs, knit boxers, briefs, whatever they made in a size 4, we tried em. No dice. And no, i really couldn't blame him. I know grown men who go commando, so I see where his logic is. The boy just likes to be free. Now, I am usually not one to stifle one's artistic integrity, but I am pretty sure the boy needs to wear underpants at some point in his life. Might as well, start now. But it just wasn't going to happen. As you know, Jonny has some textile issues. The boy HATES scratchy clothes. Will not wear anything that is not super super soft. Hence, Jonny wore jammies to preschool until about January. That was my first victory. Now the eyes are on the drawers. Oh yes, I will get him to wear underpants. So, with the patience of a saint and all the tools taught to me by my parent guru, I began the slow onslaught a couple weeks ago. I always gave him a choice of underpants. He said no. I let him go commando. No fights. I just bought a bunch of stuff from a company that makes very comfy kids clothes from organic cotton. Jonny loves them, and we have to be one of their best costumers. And this stuff is not cheap. But if my children will wear appropriate clothes to school without a fuss, worth every penny. So I ordered the fancy underpants on a whim. $16 for a 3 pack. of boys briefs. Ouch. They came in Saturday. I let Jonny touch them. I showed him the tag that is the same tag on all his favorite comfy clothes. I washed those darn drawers 3 times to make sure they were soft. Then I went in for the kill. I picked out a shirt and pants outfit that matches the stripes pattern of the underwear. Jonny is a sucker for color coordination. I asked him to see if they were soft. He agreed. I asked him to try them on. He agreed! And they stayed on!!!!! I am a miracle worker! Waking up 2 hours before we have to leave for school, combined with the soft sell of underpants actually fricking worked!!!!!!!!!! I am a GENIUS! MOTHER OF THE YEAR! YAY UNDERPANTS! Oh, I also had to bribe my daughter not to make a big deal about it, since she was psyched too. Again, worth every penny.

The Holy Spirit Kicked My Ass. In a Good Way.

I know it's a bit of a shock, but I'm in a Bible Study. Go ahead, snicker. I was called a Cathoholic in High School, and Baby, I still am, mostly. Anyway, this week was about the Holy Spirit. And dude, I am IN IT! We all have gifts of the HS, and mine happens to be courage. I like to call it lack of shame, but others can call it courage or fortitude. Basically, I don't give a shit what most of you think about me. It's part of my charm, I like to think. So as a mom, this has been extremely trying this week/month. My sweet baby boy has some sensory issues. They have always been there but they are manifesting in away thatis a little more than quirks. His tactile sensitivity is starting to impede his day as well as his motor skills. So, it is time for me to scream for help. No problem. Like I said, I don't care what you think. Well, I got stuck. For the past 6 months or longer, it was all in my head. That's what "they" said. I was not being strict enough. I was not letting him be a boy. I was hovering. And I listened to "them"! Where the HECK was my courage?!!! Finally, the Holy Spirit kicked my ass into gear. A friend at church told me her daughter got a diagnosis I might want to know about. I learned a little about Sensory Processing Issues and Sensory Integration Issues. And I learned I was right. No shit. Jonny is going to be fine, he just needs a little extra help in order to do "normal" stuff. And it is my JOB to get him the help he needs. And get over myself. No one is judging us. Or him. Or me. And if they are, who needs em? I finally started asking questions. And I am getting answers. Funny how that works. And people are coming out of the wood work and telling me how I can help Jonny. So much so that I needed to do a little sifting. But it's all good. I know we are on the right track. Jonny is getting PT to work on some of the basics of sensory integration and his motor issues, and we will move on to OT if it's necessary. Baby steps. All it took was a little Courage. Thank God I finally listened.

That's Right, I have Professional Help, Now Back Off

I love everybody.
I know we are a village, and I am actually pretty receptive to constructive criticism.
No, really.
Especially when it's about parenting.
I don't have all the answers. I never have. Doubt I ever will.
I want to raise strong, confident, smart, respectful, well (ish) behaved kids who are not overly spoiled, who know they are loved and valued and respected. And I'm willing to work to get them .

SB is an awesome kid, and I get her.
She is very similar in temperament (and attitude and drama and ego) to my younger sister, and since I raised my sister, I can raise SB. With a little tweaking.

Jonny is a different kid.
I HATE it when you have two different kids with two different personalities and you actually have to treat them differently!
What are they, individuals?

He is all boy. He is powerful. He is very attached to his momma.
And he has me wrapped around his finger. And I am totally aware.
He has little currency. You can sticker chart him or give him time outs until the cows come home. Nada.

So with my first real hurdle, getting the boy to go to school without World War Three, I took the school advice and watched the parenting videos.
Hurt my ego a little, but helped in the short run.
And like I said, I am over myself when it comes to being a mom.
So over myself.

It worked, but I didn't want to train my kids like I train a dog. I want them to do good stuff because it's the right thing to do. I want them to be confident and powerful. And I want them to use those attributes for good and not evil.

So, I got professional help. I have a friend who is a parenting coach, so I jumped at her offer to help.
Meghan is the shit.
I have no other way to adequately sum up how awesome she has been for my family and my self esteem.
She helped me figure out why Jonny does this crazy stuff, and what he's looking for from me.
When I water a plant. It grows.
When I pay attention to his good behavior, it grows.
Fricking Genius.

I also learned what's important and what is optional.
Going to school: Important
Making Jonny wear clothes instead of Jammies: optional.

SO, I get Jonny to school one day and he has a meltdown.
I talk him through it, and try to wait it out.
All the while I can feel the eyes on me.
The judging eyes.

I get him to school, after 20 minutes of crazy in the parking lot, and here comes the unsolicited advice.
"Do you use sticker charts?"
"Do you need more books or videos?"
"Do you try time outs?"
"Just drag him in and run"
"Put your foot down"
Finally, I just announced to the preschool staff at the front door, "I have a parenting coach. We are doing great."

Holy shit. I am REALLY trying here.
So I call Meghan from the car, dangerously close to a tantrum of my own.
She's like my sponsor and my hot line all in one.
She reminded me that I am a great parent, and that everyone has bad days.
Especially 5 year olds.

She also helped me realize that all that advice really was meant with the best intentions, not part of a conspiracy to make me feel like shit.
And that everyone else doesn't see the work we put into our awesome relationship, and how great we really are doing as a family.

SO I got this.
I really do.
And don't judge if the boy shows up for pre-school in his PJ's again.
Now, if we still have this issue in 3rd grade, feel free to judge.

Hot Pink Vomit

By the way, when a five year old who love berries eats 8 oz of blueberries in a sitting and later throws up at 2am, everything turns magenta.
Awesome.

Clearly the elementary school my children go to is part of some secret biological research facility that I am not aware of.
Why else are my kids getting so sick so often this winter.
I hate winter.
Syd get sick. we disinfect.
Jonny gets sick. we disinfect.
Wait a week. repeat.

And every time I report to school what the kids have and why we won't be in, I get the standard response.
"Oh, it's going around."
What the fuck!?
STOP this bad boy from going around again!
We get flu shots. We take our Flintstones.
I have nothing other to blame than a conspiracy by THE MAN.

I want a bubble, where the kids get hosed down with Purel before and after leaving school.
I think PTA funds can cover that, don't you?

Jesus Mary and Joseph.
I don't think I can take much more of this.

You Had Me at Nerf

Sometimes, being a stay at home mom rocks.
You spend all this quality time with your precious kids.
You get to focus on being a mom.
You get to wear sweats and jeans whenever the hell you want.
Blah Blah,
Yes, I live a charmed life.
I know it.
I love it.
My family kicks ass.

However, there are times when it's just plain hard to be a stay at home mom.
And lonely.
The only people you come across all day long who aren't waist high are other parents.
And just because they have kids your age, doesn't mean you will be friends with them.
Or that you should.

And with me, maybe I am too much a "breath of fresh air" for some people.
Yes, I have been called that more than once.
And "edgy", which I like a little more, but I still don't know if it's a compliment.

I think it's a nice way to tell me I don't fit the mold.
My lack of bullshit or filter can leave me often on the outside of the circle of Coach purses and identical haircuts and home parties.
Not that I would want in, or that I would know what to do if I ever found myself in that circle (probably develop Tourrettes and just start swearing profusely), but it does sometimes get lonely.

Which is why, a couple of years ago, I was so happy to find a COUPLE,
who had kids the exact same age of ours, that not only got along with me, but with my husband as well.
Both dads collect fish and play copious amounts of video games. Score!
Both moms are sarcastic, and not afraid to beat their children in a Wii game!
All the kids get along!
We hit the fucking social lottery!

We all went to their house in the mountains for New Years.
It is also very nice to make friends with more than one house, just sayin.
Oh, and on another aside, I think you just get dirty when you enter the State of West Virginia.
I just watched everyone and everything get dirtier over the weekend. The kids, the cars.
My beautiful winter whites.
But I digress.

And wouldn't you know it? Each family brought a Nerf Arsenal to ring in the new year!
I am talking hand guns of Nerf as well as fully automatic weapons of mass Nerf destruction.

GAME ON!

Needless to say, it was the best weekend in a long time for all, ages to 35.
The parents shot the crap out of each other and their children with Nerf.
I personally made a barricade behind a coffee cable, while my partner mom hunkered down behind the rocker.
The darn kids get changing sides, but I guess that was to be expected.
And the dads got to play.
And my husband smiled.
awesome.

The kids kept talking about the "galactic battle" with joy. Hooray.
speaking of battles, there was also an 8 person snowball fight in the woods too.
Not that we're violent people, it was just PERFECT. And I do love to lob a snowball at my husband.
All right, I started it.

So much fun.
I am so glad we made friends who are as "unique" as us.
And I sure hope they stick around.
Like dirt on my winter whites.

Merry Christmas, Pass the Bucket

A week before Christmas, when I took my son to the doctor and found out he had an ear infection, I jumped for joy and did a little fist pump.
Obviously, Dr Blue Eyes thought I was nuts.
I then had to explain to him that EVERY year, someone runs a fever on Christmas, usually with puking. We may have actually dodged the bullet this time.
What the hell was I thinking?

Sure enough, on Dec 24th at about midnight, right on the fucking dot, princess starts projectile vomiting.
And of course, it was as she was up complaining of a tummy aches and said she felt like she would throw up. I told her that she had the flu mist, so even though she felt icky, she might not throw up.
I swear to God as I finished that sentence she vomited in my lap just to remind me what an idiot I was.
Crap. No. chicken. And tomatoes.
I ran and got the old Easter Buckets, then took a dam shower.
1am. Awesome.
Princess spent the rest of Christmas Eve day and evening puking into a green bucket with pink flowers, and I was in and out of coma/worry/complete meltdown.
4th year in a row. Happy Friggin Christmas.

However, there are a couple really good things about Christmas at our house.

• I order Christmas Eve dinner from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. We have pasties, which is a hand held pot pie of sorts with meat and potatoes and rutabaga. So dinner was already taken care of.
• A Clark Christmas is pretty low key, if you don't count the obscene amount of gifts. So lying on the couch in your jammies clutching a towel and bucket is no big deal.
• Nonnie is here with cookies and cuddles. I swear that woman is a walking Valium. She herself prefers Scotch, God bless her.
  

So there you have it.
I am an idiot.
We will always have someone puking over Christmas.
And it'll still be great.
God Bless Us, everyone.