It's Sunday morning. About 9:06 to be exact. I've been in the basement with the kids for a good hour. Playing, wrapping gifts, etc. Toad's sawwing logs upstairs and thinking he's gonna skate out of taking Andrew to chatechism while he's soaking up a nice Catholic mass.
I'll admit the basement is a natural disaster. There's shit everywhere. Cushions are off the couch and chair because there is an alien that just landed and we think it's under the cushions. We have to take the cushions off to check and see if they are still around and when they're leaving. Katherine is walking around aimlessly and pulling crap out of its place as she strolls along. I don't care if the place looks like hell. I deal with this everyday and roll with it. There are much bigger carp to fry, people. But Toad, on the other hand, he ain't having it. He tells me when he walks into a room with toys everywhere and things in disarray he immediately gets stressed out. He feel overwhlemed. Kinda like the world is gonna end and he never stopped to pick up the 24 pack of bottled water to get him through the last few agonizing days. I have challenged him on this. In fact, Andrew has even said, "Dad, you gotta cool it, man. I think you would feel better if you drank a big glass of red wine. Connor - this kid in my class - he told me his Dad AND Mom drink red wine together and all of their problems just go away."
At any rate, Toad starts making his way down the stairs to the basement. I can hear him cause he's making this moaning sound like, "I may have gotten 12 hours of sleep, but I'm a hustler so I'm still tired. How am I gonna make it through the day?" He does this because he's hoping I will volunteer to take Andrew to church while he puts Katherine down for a nap and sacks on the couch watching ESPN. I know my man, people. I may not know much, but I KNOW MY MAN. He is as predictable as they come.
He gets to the bottom of the stairs and Andrew and I shoot eachother a look - the look that says, "We're screwed but there's nothing we can do about it now. He's gonna start in on us."
We all hang for a few minutes and then I make the announcement that Andrew has to start getting ready for Chatechism.
Andrew tries so damn hard to make a b line for the stairs. Toad stops him and says, "Before you run upstairs, Mr., you need to clean up your mess."
Awwwww sheeeeet. Here it comes. The debate of all time. Keep your head down, Janko. Keep wrapping those gifts. Don't look up.
Toad: "Andrew this basement is always a disaster. Everytime I come down here it's a mess. You have all these cool toys and you're not respecting them."
Andrew: "Well it actually all started with Matthew (chinese kid next door). See in China, you don't have to pick up your toys after you play with them because there's really no point. You're just gonna come back in a couple of hours and start playing with them again. Chinese people are REALLY smart, Dad."
Toad: "This has nothing to do with Chinese people. Clean up the toys."
Now Katherine knows shit's not right. She starts grunting and giving Toad mean looks.
Andrew: "What the hell?! I am exhausted, Dad. You and Mom always tell me what to do and boss me around and I am getting really tired from it. I mean, it's hard when you're constantly being told what to do. I need freedom. I need choices."
Toad: "You choice is clean this basement or go to your room until lunchtime."
Insert loud grunt from Katherine.
Andrew: "What needs to happen here is we need to call Matthew and have him help me with this mess cause he was the last one over here and he got all this stuff out."
Toad is now way past Mr. Reasonable. Something's gonna blow.
Toad (in a surprisingly soft tone): "Andrew, let me explain something to you. Everyday I come home and I clean this house. I wash the dishes, I do the laundry. I pick up all of Katherine's toys. I shovel the driveway. I take out the trash. These are things that I do for our family. Maybe I don't make the mess but I clean it up cause that's what you do when you're in a family. Everyone picthes and in helps eachother out."
Andrew: "Dad, I think you have it a little bit wrong. Almost all of those things you said MOM does everyday for us. Plus, she makes beds, packs my lunch and cooks dinner. And you wanna know the worst part of all her jobs - changing stinky diapers. Sometimes she changes 4 in one day! And they can be bombs, Dad. REAL bombs. And she doesn't even get an allowance. Can you imagine?"
Toad: "Yap, Mom is a hard worker. Now clean the basement and get ready for church."
Ahhh, he's a real mama's boy that Andrew. Makes me proud.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Doorbusters are Doorbombers
These "Doorbusters" are not what they seem. I know cause I got burned. Or burnt.
Headed to Kohl's on Saturday with my sister and Katherine. We didn't get there til 2so we figured the crowds wouldn't be bad. But their doorbusters ended at 3 on Black Friday so we were really in the last minute doorbuster madness. We grabbed a handful of toys since they were all 50% off. Great considering "Toys R a Rip Off Here" had the same shit for full price.
We stood in the 28 person line to pay and gave Katherine a continuous drip of Cheerios. The guy behind us in line was randomly grabbing items off the shelf and stacking them in his cart. Odd stufff like a toaster oven and cordless phone. When I asked him about the toaster oven (cause I secretly want one) he told me that he didn't know the price but it had to be good so he was getting it. Surely, some dirt in his family could use one. He also picked up some Christmas socks for himself and a navigation system which was 89% off.
We paid and took off. Walking to the car I realized a couple of the items I was overcharged on. My sis took the car and drove the weasel around in the mall parking lot so she would fall asleep while I ran back in to Customer Service.
There were 2 general managers behind the counter just walking around aimlessly. They both had pens behind their ears and wore Santa ties. When we realized that I was overcharged on EVERYTHING, the managers started making these hand signals to eachother. The kind you see in baseball games when the belly itcher pitcher and catcher are trying to determine what type of ball to throw. It was REAL annoying, Were they signaling about me? Finally, I said something. Something to the effect of being overcharged on everything. And the fact that the 16 people behind me were all in line probably doing the same thing I was. Here's the remark I got:
"Dude this happens every year on Black Friday. Somebody at Corporate hacks into the computer system and changes the end time for the door busters. They changed all the codes and there's nothin we can do about it."
Janko: "Okay, so you have a hacker on your hands. Why don't you call CORPORATE and explain what's going on?
Santa Tie Manager: "They won't answer. They're too busy to pick up the phone. They'll just let it ring and ring. We'll just deal with it. We always do. We come to expect it."
Janko: "Right, but customers walk away with a bad taste in their mouth. I mean I am frustrated. And this is a waste of your Cashier's time."
Other Santa Tie Manager: "Lady, how much did you save? $3?"
Janko: "Oh no. That's not the point! I saved $16. That's a few tanks of gas now. It's a few happy meals."
Manager: (Back to making those jacked up hand signals with one another) "Have a nice holiday, Lady. Come back tonight and the pricing will be sorted out. Most items will be off sale, but there won't be as much chaos."
Janko: "Right. Sounds like a REAL good plan."
Ran out to the parking lot with all the crap and my sister is nowhere to be found. About 10 minutes later she surfaces. She got caught in the middle of a sting at Macy's in the parking lot. A man in a fur coat was apprehended as he walked the parking lot. Apparently he stole a set of legwarmers. She got pinched and had to wait behind the Escalade Sherriff's car while the dog sniffed him and cufffed him.
Black Friday is a BUST.
Headed to Kohl's on Saturday with my sister and Katherine. We didn't get there til 2so we figured the crowds wouldn't be bad. But their doorbusters ended at 3 on Black Friday so we were really in the last minute doorbuster madness. We grabbed a handful of toys since they were all 50% off. Great considering "Toys R a Rip Off Here" had the same shit for full price.
We stood in the 28 person line to pay and gave Katherine a continuous drip of Cheerios. The guy behind us in line was randomly grabbing items off the shelf and stacking them in his cart. Odd stufff like a toaster oven and cordless phone. When I asked him about the toaster oven (cause I secretly want one) he told me that he didn't know the price but it had to be good so he was getting it. Surely, some dirt in his family could use one. He also picked up some Christmas socks for himself and a navigation system which was 89% off.
We paid and took off. Walking to the car I realized a couple of the items I was overcharged on. My sis took the car and drove the weasel around in the mall parking lot so she would fall asleep while I ran back in to Customer Service.
There were 2 general managers behind the counter just walking around aimlessly. They both had pens behind their ears and wore Santa ties. When we realized that I was overcharged on EVERYTHING, the managers started making these hand signals to eachother. The kind you see in baseball games when the belly itcher pitcher and catcher are trying to determine what type of ball to throw. It was REAL annoying, Were they signaling about me? Finally, I said something. Something to the effect of being overcharged on everything. And the fact that the 16 people behind me were all in line probably doing the same thing I was. Here's the remark I got:
"Dude this happens every year on Black Friday. Somebody at Corporate hacks into the computer system and changes the end time for the door busters. They changed all the codes and there's nothin we can do about it."
Janko: "Okay, so you have a hacker on your hands. Why don't you call CORPORATE and explain what's going on?
Santa Tie Manager: "They won't answer. They're too busy to pick up the phone. They'll just let it ring and ring. We'll just deal with it. We always do. We come to expect it."
Janko: "Right, but customers walk away with a bad taste in their mouth. I mean I am frustrated. And this is a waste of your Cashier's time."
Other Santa Tie Manager: "Lady, how much did you save? $3?"
Janko: "Oh no. That's not the point! I saved $16. That's a few tanks of gas now. It's a few happy meals."
Manager: (Back to making those jacked up hand signals with one another) "Have a nice holiday, Lady. Come back tonight and the pricing will be sorted out. Most items will be off sale, but there won't be as much chaos."
Janko: "Right. Sounds like a REAL good plan."
Ran out to the parking lot with all the crap and my sister is nowhere to be found. About 10 minutes later she surfaces. She got caught in the middle of a sting at Macy's in the parking lot. A man in a fur coat was apprehended as he walked the parking lot. Apparently he stole a set of legwarmers. She got pinched and had to wait behind the Escalade Sherriff's car while the dog sniffed him and cufffed him.
Black Friday is a BUST.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Stupid Parents Exist....Hell, They're My Neighbors
"Lady, you are a complete fool."
"I told my kids not to listen to anyone and do whatever they want."
As Colin Powell said, "Discipline is not easy and not liked."
"We all need to have common sense, people. Especially with our kids."
"I never chased your kid with a hockey stick. In fact, your wife assulated me three times on my chest. I should have taken the hockey stick and chopped her head off."
These are just some of the loving, sensitive comments I heard last night at our annual subdivision meeting. I have to admit I went because I knew the shit was gonna hit the fan and considering the lack of drama I have in my life, I needed to see it unfold. Or so I thought.
This is gonna be a long one so stick with me. Pay close attention. I'll try to detail the important stuff and "set the scene."
Our president has been accused of chasing young boys in the neighborhood with a hockey stick because they continue to "disrupt the wetlands" behind his house. They have been told on several occasions not to build forts out of sticks and concrete, float through the water in the top of a car top carrier and build a bridge to get to the "island."
He claims he's been civil and asked them to stop. But he snapped and couldn't take the backtalk he kept receiving so he saw a hockey stick laying in his yard and grabbed it and strated running toward them screaming. Before this all took place the kids had time to write "F You" in 20 ft letters in the snow in his yard.
When he mentioned he grabbed a hockey stick, I gasped. Thought the gasp for air would spice up the "discussion."
The kids ran like bullets back to their house. Ran inside and locked themselves in a closet. They apparently feared for their lives. But no one bothered to clue the au pair in. When the Pres finally got to the punks house, the au pair answered the door. The President thought she was the Mama and started yelling obscenities. (Good thing the au pair speaks German and no English.) She slammed the door on his face and called the REAL mama at work.
Real Mama was REAL pissed because she had to be dragged out of a very imBORtant meeting to deal with the matter. She called the Pres and they both screamed vulgarities for a few minutes and hung up on eachother.
Now the hood is all riled up. Parents are flipping their lid and no one feels comfortable taking their dog for a walk anywhere near the wetland and/or the President's house.
But it ain't right they say. We can should be able to use the wetlands. We pay our annual dues and we have the right dammit. If my kid wants to build a fort and he's not a civil engineer, leave him be. STEP OFF.
But the attorneys in the hood tell them if a kid is deprived of oxygen for more than 3 minutes (from drowning) we will all get sued and each resident will have to be upwards of $3k to pay for the kid's injuries.
So do we buy more insurance? Hell no. Cause more insurance won't do a damn bit of good. There are always loopholes. If they hire Feiger we're all going down.
Toad and I were absolutely disgusted. All I kept thinking was, "We need to put the crib up for sale. We live by morons." But we can't. We'll lose everything. So now I have to have yet ANOTHER conversation with Andrew explaining that dumbass people are everywhere - even down the street.
We ended up walking out and mumbling under our breath, "this is so sad. so disheartening. so PATHETIC."
But perhaps the best part about the whole situation is that the car top carrier is still there. The kids just left it. And we could use one. I want to go back there and nab it but I betcha the Pres went out last night and bought a rifle.
"I told my kids not to listen to anyone and do whatever they want."
As Colin Powell said, "Discipline is not easy and not liked."
"We all need to have common sense, people. Especially with our kids."
"I never chased your kid with a hockey stick. In fact, your wife assulated me three times on my chest. I should have taken the hockey stick and chopped her head off."
These are just some of the loving, sensitive comments I heard last night at our annual subdivision meeting. I have to admit I went because I knew the shit was gonna hit the fan and considering the lack of drama I have in my life, I needed to see it unfold. Or so I thought.
This is gonna be a long one so stick with me. Pay close attention. I'll try to detail the important stuff and "set the scene."
Our president has been accused of chasing young boys in the neighborhood with a hockey stick because they continue to "disrupt the wetlands" behind his house. They have been told on several occasions not to build forts out of sticks and concrete, float through the water in the top of a car top carrier and build a bridge to get to the "island."
He claims he's been civil and asked them to stop. But he snapped and couldn't take the backtalk he kept receiving so he saw a hockey stick laying in his yard and grabbed it and strated running toward them screaming. Before this all took place the kids had time to write "F You" in 20 ft letters in the snow in his yard.
When he mentioned he grabbed a hockey stick, I gasped. Thought the gasp for air would spice up the "discussion."
The kids ran like bullets back to their house. Ran inside and locked themselves in a closet. They apparently feared for their lives. But no one bothered to clue the au pair in. When the Pres finally got to the punks house, the au pair answered the door. The President thought she was the Mama and started yelling obscenities. (Good thing the au pair speaks German and no English.) She slammed the door on his face and called the REAL mama at work.
Real Mama was REAL pissed because she had to be dragged out of a very imBORtant meeting to deal with the matter. She called the Pres and they both screamed vulgarities for a few minutes and hung up on eachother.
Now the hood is all riled up. Parents are flipping their lid and no one feels comfortable taking their dog for a walk anywhere near the wetland and/or the President's house.
But it ain't right they say. We can should be able to use the wetlands. We pay our annual dues and we have the right dammit. If my kid wants to build a fort and he's not a civil engineer, leave him be. STEP OFF.
But the attorneys in the hood tell them if a kid is deprived of oxygen for more than 3 minutes (from drowning) we will all get sued and each resident will have to be upwards of $3k to pay for the kid's injuries.
So do we buy more insurance? Hell no. Cause more insurance won't do a damn bit of good. There are always loopholes. If they hire Feiger we're all going down.
Toad and I were absolutely disgusted. All I kept thinking was, "We need to put the crib up for sale. We live by morons." But we can't. We'll lose everything. So now I have to have yet ANOTHER conversation with Andrew explaining that dumbass people are everywhere - even down the street.
We ended up walking out and mumbling under our breath, "this is so sad. so disheartening. so PATHETIC."
But perhaps the best part about the whole situation is that the car top carrier is still there. The kids just left it. And we could use one. I want to go back there and nab it but I betcha the Pres went out last night and bought a rifle.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Shoot the Duck
As a kid, there was a place in town called SkateWorld. We only went there about once a year (when our school was having some sort of fundraiser) but the two hours there was like heaven on earth. Just mapping out what to wear was an ordeal. You wanted to be stylish yet comfortable. Rollerskating to Rick Springfield and "shooting the duck" were important to consider when picking out the baddest ass outfit in your closet. I won't go into what I wore and I won't talk about how I styled my hairs. Those that know me well understand how limited I am with hairstyles.
The local skating rink in our city offers beginner rollerskating lessons. Or so it says on their website.
I called up there to ask a few questions. Here's how it went:
14 year old teenage boy completely out of breath: "The Skate Zone, what can I do for ya?"
I got the impression he was on the rink, heard the phone ring, grabbed the cordless and then continued skating.
In the backgroud I could hear LL Cool J's "I'm the type of guy...."
Janko: "Hi, how's it goin? - I pause for a response from him but all I get is deep breathing. - I am interested in signing my son up for lessons. He doesn't have any real experience other than putting on my rollerblades from college and wobbling around in the basement on the carpet in them. You see, he thinks he's good, but he struggles. Anyway, I want to make sure he gets into the right class and all."
14 Year Old Male: "Right, we don't really recommend rollerskating on carpet, ma'am."
Janko: "Completely agree with you. I realize he shouldn't be skating on carpet in size 8 womens blades but my daughter's real sick and we can't go outside so we've been improvising at home with entertainment options."
14 Year old: "Have you considered taking him in your garage to skate? The cement would work well and you could even bring a little radio out there for him."
Janko: "Yeah, um our garage is really cold and pretty messy. Plus, he doesn't have skates of his own. I really don't want him wearing mine. Catch my drift?"
I cannot believe we are having this conversation. I keep thinking about the chicken I need to pull out for dinner, the beds I need to make and the heaping pile of laundry that needs to get done. I just want him to charge my friggin charge card and be done with it.
14 Year Old: "Well ma'am it's been nice talking to you. We're open til 11:30 tonight so why don't you swing in this evening and we can register your child?"
Janko: "Easier said than done. Like I said earlier, my daughter is sick and we can't really leave the house. It says on your website you can register by phone. That's what I want to do. I just need confirmation on the correct class."
14 Year Old: Does your kid know the proper way to fall down??
What the hell is this punk talking about?
Janko: "No. He knows NOTHING. In fact, does this class cost include skate rental?"
14 Year Old: "It does. I think you need to come in and experience the Skate Zone. Our lighting is the best in the state and we have a dj that spins at raves. He knows what kind of music kids are interested in. Frank the Tank, the night manager, has been messing with that website. You really can't register by phone. I am actually wheelin right now and nowhere near a credit card machine."
Janko: "Can you at least tell me if the beginner class starting on 12/6 has openings?
14 year old: "Dude. You need to just come in. I think it's about full."
Janko: "I can't make it in today. What time will you be there tomorrow?
14 year Old: We open around 2 or 4 and will stay open til 11:30. You're better off to come in late tomorrow night. That way you can talk to Frank, too. He likes to meet all of the moms."
Janko: "Sick. See you tomorrow."
The local skating rink in our city offers beginner rollerskating lessons. Or so it says on their website.
I called up there to ask a few questions. Here's how it went:
14 year old teenage boy completely out of breath: "The Skate Zone, what can I do for ya?"
I got the impression he was on the rink, heard the phone ring, grabbed the cordless and then continued skating.
In the backgroud I could hear LL Cool J's "I'm the type of guy...."
Janko: "Hi, how's it goin? - I pause for a response from him but all I get is deep breathing. - I am interested in signing my son up for lessons. He doesn't have any real experience other than putting on my rollerblades from college and wobbling around in the basement on the carpet in them. You see, he thinks he's good, but he struggles. Anyway, I want to make sure he gets into the right class and all."
14 Year Old Male: "Right, we don't really recommend rollerskating on carpet, ma'am."
Janko: "Completely agree with you. I realize he shouldn't be skating on carpet in size 8 womens blades but my daughter's real sick and we can't go outside so we've been improvising at home with entertainment options."
14 Year old: "Have you considered taking him in your garage to skate? The cement would work well and you could even bring a little radio out there for him."
Janko: "Yeah, um our garage is really cold and pretty messy. Plus, he doesn't have skates of his own. I really don't want him wearing mine. Catch my drift?"
I cannot believe we are having this conversation. I keep thinking about the chicken I need to pull out for dinner, the beds I need to make and the heaping pile of laundry that needs to get done. I just want him to charge my friggin charge card and be done with it.
14 Year Old: "Well ma'am it's been nice talking to you. We're open til 11:30 tonight so why don't you swing in this evening and we can register your child?"
Janko: "Easier said than done. Like I said earlier, my daughter is sick and we can't really leave the house. It says on your website you can register by phone. That's what I want to do. I just need confirmation on the correct class."
14 Year Old: Does your kid know the proper way to fall down??
What the hell is this punk talking about?
Janko: "No. He knows NOTHING. In fact, does this class cost include skate rental?"
14 Year Old: "It does. I think you need to come in and experience the Skate Zone. Our lighting is the best in the state and we have a dj that spins at raves. He knows what kind of music kids are interested in. Frank the Tank, the night manager, has been messing with that website. You really can't register by phone. I am actually wheelin right now and nowhere near a credit card machine."
Janko: "Can you at least tell me if the beginner class starting on 12/6 has openings?
14 year old: "Dude. You need to just come in. I think it's about full."
Janko: "I can't make it in today. What time will you be there tomorrow?
14 year Old: We open around 2 or 4 and will stay open til 11:30. You're better off to come in late tomorrow night. That way you can talk to Frank, too. He likes to meet all of the moms."
Janko: "Sick. See you tomorrow."
Monday, November 10, 2008
Suckin Gas & Haulin Ass
This weekend Andrew got a taste of the better life and spent the night at my sister and brother-in-law's in GP. It's an event that we can't talk about until about 2 ours before we leave to head down there cause he's literally beside himself with excitement. They have a dog that he LOVES to boss around. A night there is like you or more being told, "You're going to the spa at Nordstrom's. You will get every service and treatment they offer. After that you will eat the most amazing meal and not gain an ounce."
I always look forward to the drive down there. For a period of time it gets REAL colorful. In fact, I noticed a bumper sticker - "Suckin Gas and Haulin Ass."
It was on an older model Ford Conversion van. You know the kind I'm talking about. The one that has pleated shades on the windows and a full size collapseable poker table in the back. My family would have KILLED for one of these back in the day. It would have made our 22 hour trek to FL a lot more enjoyable. Instead we made the drive work in our purple Aries wagon.
Anyway, I was thinking about the sticker. Really thikning about what exactly it meant. I get the sucking gas part. But then again why would you brag about a car that gets shitty mileage?
But the hauling ass part could be interpeted a few ways.
Haulin ass: driving like a fool super fast and getting away with it.
Haluin ass: carting around some very large passengers (but again why would you brag about that?)
Hauling ass: just being a complete bad ass. Driving a tank and being so damn proud.
At any rate, once I merges onto 94 WEST to GP, I lost him. He went East probably headed to the Lakeside area where he can drive like a fool up and down M -59.
Cause we all know you take your life in your hands when you cruise down that strip. But it's the only place with more chain restaurants, so sometimes it's a necessity.
I always look forward to the drive down there. For a period of time it gets REAL colorful. In fact, I noticed a bumper sticker - "Suckin Gas and Haulin Ass."
It was on an older model Ford Conversion van. You know the kind I'm talking about. The one that has pleated shades on the windows and a full size collapseable poker table in the back. My family would have KILLED for one of these back in the day. It would have made our 22 hour trek to FL a lot more enjoyable. Instead we made the drive work in our purple Aries wagon.
Anyway, I was thinking about the sticker. Really thikning about what exactly it meant. I get the sucking gas part. But then again why would you brag about a car that gets shitty mileage?
But the hauling ass part could be interpeted a few ways.
Haulin ass: driving like a fool super fast and getting away with it.
Haluin ass: carting around some very large passengers (but again why would you brag about that?)
Hauling ass: just being a complete bad ass. Driving a tank and being so damn proud.
At any rate, once I merges onto 94 WEST to GP, I lost him. He went East probably headed to the Lakeside area where he can drive like a fool up and down M -59.
Cause we all know you take your life in your hands when you cruise down that strip. But it's the only place with more chain restaurants, so sometimes it's a necessity.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
How could I EVER think this would be beneficial?
I must have recieved 3 "friendly reminders" that there was NO SCHOOL on Nov. 4th. It's a day to exercise your right to vote, people! Get out there and complete your ballot. Oh, and when you go make sure to take your kids so they can get a nice glimpse of the democratic process.
Okay, makes sense. I'll even take it one step farther and EXPLAIN to my child what's going on. I run through the whole situation blow by blow. I have to. Cause if I don't I'll be bombarded with questions.
Andrew seems interested. Tells me he thinks I should consider running for President. Hell, he even counts off 9 people he knows would vote for me. I also explain to him that voting is a very personal and private decision. You keep it to yourself and you don't ask people who they're voting for. It's rude and it only gets you worked up when you find out they're voting for "the other guy."
I load up the weasels and strategically head to my Precinct at 11 AM. Nerdish Guy Gordon tells me to avoid lunchtime and dinner time cause all the working greggs will be busting up there then.
I pack about 6 cups of Cheerios and throw it in Drive. On the way there, I once again remind Andrew how private voting is. He seems to get it.
We park a good 3/4 a of a mile away and I start to unload the goods. The stroller, the Cheerios, the diaper bag, the 24 pak of gum that Andrew is obsessed about chewing. Grab my wallet, my phone, my planner, my afro pick in case I need to primp prior to voting. We get close to the doors and of course there are greggs shaking hands and trying to persuade you to vote for them. Telling you it's all a lie. He never fell asleep during a trial. he was just resting his eyes. Andrew's blown away and even asks a state rep if he is Obama.
We get in and the line's a hot mess. VERY few kids. More average citizens moaning and groaning about the economy, school system and their spouses. Andrew runs up to the front of the line and one by one starts asking people who they're voting for. If anyone says McCain he tells them, "that's a poor choice. You should probably re-think that."
It's been 7 minutes and a person leaving says she waited an hour to vote. Shit. What can I do? I have to hold out. It's now or never. If I leave, I won't be back.
Katherine starts getting squirrely so I crack open the Cheerios. She gets a hold of the bag and tosses it 5 feet ahead and cheerios are everywhere. Andrew starts rolling laughing and tells Katherin she should do it again. I'm trying to pick up about 2k Cheerios and all of the people in line and completely disgusted with my parenting skills.
Who cares, man? I see some neighbors who give me that smile that says, "Your kids are cute but you look overhwhelmed." Oh, and of course they would never try to help me or strike up a conversation with my son to keep him occupied.
Then I remember all those little pieces of paper sent home in Andrew's backpack. "Take your kids to the polls. Show them what it means to be an American."
I'm just smoking thinking about the dirt that wrote that. Probably some single woman without kids thinking she's on to something REAL big.
We finally make it up to the gym to vote and I do my thing.
We leave and I'm drving home. Andrew says, "Mom you did the right thing by voting and bringing us with you. But I understand all of this. I didn't need to come with you. I know the economy is terrible. People are losing their houses, Mom. People are losing their jobs even. Dad says bosses are getting meaner and meaner and expect too much out of people. But we're safe. You'll never lose YOUR job. We'll always need you to take care of us. I mean we need your dinners and the laundry has to get done. So don't worry, Mom. Our family will be fine."
I came home and emptied the dishwasher.
Okay, makes sense. I'll even take it one step farther and EXPLAIN to my child what's going on. I run through the whole situation blow by blow. I have to. Cause if I don't I'll be bombarded with questions.
Andrew seems interested. Tells me he thinks I should consider running for President. Hell, he even counts off 9 people he knows would vote for me. I also explain to him that voting is a very personal and private decision. You keep it to yourself and you don't ask people who they're voting for. It's rude and it only gets you worked up when you find out they're voting for "the other guy."
I load up the weasels and strategically head to my Precinct at 11 AM. Nerdish Guy Gordon tells me to avoid lunchtime and dinner time cause all the working greggs will be busting up there then.
I pack about 6 cups of Cheerios and throw it in Drive. On the way there, I once again remind Andrew how private voting is. He seems to get it.
We park a good 3/4 a of a mile away and I start to unload the goods. The stroller, the Cheerios, the diaper bag, the 24 pak of gum that Andrew is obsessed about chewing. Grab my wallet, my phone, my planner, my afro pick in case I need to primp prior to voting. We get close to the doors and of course there are greggs shaking hands and trying to persuade you to vote for them. Telling you it's all a lie. He never fell asleep during a trial. he was just resting his eyes. Andrew's blown away and even asks a state rep if he is Obama.
We get in and the line's a hot mess. VERY few kids. More average citizens moaning and groaning about the economy, school system and their spouses. Andrew runs up to the front of the line and one by one starts asking people who they're voting for. If anyone says McCain he tells them, "that's a poor choice. You should probably re-think that."
It's been 7 minutes and a person leaving says she waited an hour to vote. Shit. What can I do? I have to hold out. It's now or never. If I leave, I won't be back.
Katherine starts getting squirrely so I crack open the Cheerios. She gets a hold of the bag and tosses it 5 feet ahead and cheerios are everywhere. Andrew starts rolling laughing and tells Katherin she should do it again. I'm trying to pick up about 2k Cheerios and all of the people in line and completely disgusted with my parenting skills.
Who cares, man? I see some neighbors who give me that smile that says, "Your kids are cute but you look overhwhelmed." Oh, and of course they would never try to help me or strike up a conversation with my son to keep him occupied.
Then I remember all those little pieces of paper sent home in Andrew's backpack. "Take your kids to the polls. Show them what it means to be an American."
I'm just smoking thinking about the dirt that wrote that. Probably some single woman without kids thinking she's on to something REAL big.
We finally make it up to the gym to vote and I do my thing.
We leave and I'm drving home. Andrew says, "Mom you did the right thing by voting and bringing us with you. But I understand all of this. I didn't need to come with you. I know the economy is terrible. People are losing their houses, Mom. People are losing their jobs even. Dad says bosses are getting meaner and meaner and expect too much out of people. But we're safe. You'll never lose YOUR job. We'll always need you to take care of us. I mean we need your dinners and the laundry has to get done. So don't worry, Mom. Our family will be fine."
I came home and emptied the dishwasher.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Afternoon Dee-lite
So being a SAHM clearly has some perks. I won't go into all of them. Just one I stumbled upon this past week.
I try to stick around the homestead in the afternoon so Katherine can take her afternoon nap. Unless there's a blow-out sale somewhere, we're grounded.
Her naptime allows me to keep a real close eye on all of the happenings in the hood. I like to think of myself as the person behind those neighborhood signs that show a dude in a trenchcoat winking. You know the sign that reads, "This neighborhood patrolled by Neighborhood Watch." We all know what it should say, "Janko knows all. Think twice before you do something stoopid."
The high school kids are dismissed at 2:25. We're considered too close to the school to get a bus so most kids drive. It's a little over a mile away, how could anyone in this day and age possibly walk, right? Teenagers. Lazy asses.
I know when the kids are on their way home cause our street turns into the International Speedway. Radios blaring, cigs al lit up and burnin, tires squealing, etc.
The dude across the street is a senior. It's a REAL big year for him. Now I know why. First off, you have to understand he's a dead ringer for Jesse Metcalfe so when he had his pool party this summer there wasn't a shortage of "smokin hot high school chicks" wading in the water.
He's a hot shot football player, too, so the women flock. This is one of the "french benefits" to living on our particular lot (as Toad tells me.)
Sure enough he comes speeding home every Thursday while Ma and Pa are at work and gets the pad all ready. About 7 minutes later, shuga comes flyin in. I don't think the Wrangler's even in PARK before she jumps out and literally runs inside.
I can just imagine what Jesse has set up. Marvin Gaye's "Sexual Healing" on the turntable, candles blazing. You get the pic. Hell, maybe he even pulls out a bear skin rug.
They're inside for a cool 30 minutes then she waltzes out, jumps in her ride and sails off into the sunset.
I haven't told Toad about my findings cause he'd probably cal me a liar but then pretend he's sick on a Thursday just so he can see what goes down.
We really don't talk to the parents of Jesse much. Nice people, but not much in common.
Toad and I were outside the other day and the parents happened to be out trimming the grass so we all started talking. Toad brought up high school football and commented on what a superstar athlete Jesse is and his parents told us he's having a recurring injury and they can't figure out what's causing it. It seems that every Friday his shoulder is all screwed up. In fact a couple of times it has popped out of the socket. But he won't stop playing football cause it's his love and he can't give it up. (Man do I want to chime in and tell them what else Jesse LOVES.)
Trying to add something to the conversation, I ask if he's putting any ointment on it and he is but it's not enough. When it pops out, he pops it back in (cause he's tough) but obviously he's doing something to aggravate it. Even the coach is stumped.
BUT NOT JANKO!
Later that night Toad and I are talking and he brings up Jesse and how he feels real bad for him cause this injury could affect his chances of getting a scholarship, etc. He tries to tell me he knows exactly what Jesse is going through cause he broke his ankle in 7th grade and he's never been the same since.
I look at Todd and say, "You know Jesse does particpate in an after school activity on Thursdays that's probably causing the problem. Maybe Ma and Pa should stop home from work unannounced sometime and see for themselves."
For some sick reason, Toad got a big smile on his face and said, "OH, no wonder it keeps popping out of socket. I should give him the name of the orthopeadic surgeon I had for my old injuries. Jesse cannot afford to be out of commission."
Just yesterday Todd was running through my planner looking for the dr's name.
He tells me, "I gotta help a brotha out."
I try to stick around the homestead in the afternoon so Katherine can take her afternoon nap. Unless there's a blow-out sale somewhere, we're grounded.
Her naptime allows me to keep a real close eye on all of the happenings in the hood. I like to think of myself as the person behind those neighborhood signs that show a dude in a trenchcoat winking. You know the sign that reads, "This neighborhood patrolled by Neighborhood Watch." We all know what it should say, "Janko knows all. Think twice before you do something stoopid."
The high school kids are dismissed at 2:25. We're considered too close to the school to get a bus so most kids drive. It's a little over a mile away, how could anyone in this day and age possibly walk, right? Teenagers. Lazy asses.
I know when the kids are on their way home cause our street turns into the International Speedway. Radios blaring, cigs al lit up and burnin, tires squealing, etc.
The dude across the street is a senior. It's a REAL big year for him. Now I know why. First off, you have to understand he's a dead ringer for Jesse Metcalfe so when he had his pool party this summer there wasn't a shortage of "smokin hot high school chicks" wading in the water.
He's a hot shot football player, too, so the women flock. This is one of the "french benefits" to living on our particular lot (as Toad tells me.)
Sure enough he comes speeding home every Thursday while Ma and Pa are at work and gets the pad all ready. About 7 minutes later, shuga comes flyin in. I don't think the Wrangler's even in PARK before she jumps out and literally runs inside.
I can just imagine what Jesse has set up. Marvin Gaye's "Sexual Healing" on the turntable, candles blazing. You get the pic. Hell, maybe he even pulls out a bear skin rug.
They're inside for a cool 30 minutes then she waltzes out, jumps in her ride and sails off into the sunset.
I haven't told Toad about my findings cause he'd probably cal me a liar but then pretend he's sick on a Thursday just so he can see what goes down.
We really don't talk to the parents of Jesse much. Nice people, but not much in common.
Toad and I were outside the other day and the parents happened to be out trimming the grass so we all started talking. Toad brought up high school football and commented on what a superstar athlete Jesse is and his parents told us he's having a recurring injury and they can't figure out what's causing it. It seems that every Friday his shoulder is all screwed up. In fact a couple of times it has popped out of the socket. But he won't stop playing football cause it's his love and he can't give it up. (Man do I want to chime in and tell them what else Jesse LOVES.)
Trying to add something to the conversation, I ask if he's putting any ointment on it and he is but it's not enough. When it pops out, he pops it back in (cause he's tough) but obviously he's doing something to aggravate it. Even the coach is stumped.
BUT NOT JANKO!
Later that night Toad and I are talking and he brings up Jesse and how he feels real bad for him cause this injury could affect his chances of getting a scholarship, etc. He tries to tell me he knows exactly what Jesse is going through cause he broke his ankle in 7th grade and he's never been the same since.
I look at Todd and say, "You know Jesse does particpate in an after school activity on Thursdays that's probably causing the problem. Maybe Ma and Pa should stop home from work unannounced sometime and see for themselves."
For some sick reason, Toad got a big smile on his face and said, "OH, no wonder it keeps popping out of socket. I should give him the name of the orthopeadic surgeon I had for my old injuries. Jesse cannot afford to be out of commission."
Just yesterday Todd was running through my planner looking for the dr's name.
He tells me, "I gotta help a brotha out."
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Mom, you need to get a job
Per Andrew,
"I think you need to get a job, Mom. If you get a job, I can go to latchkey and run around like a maniac in the gym until 6 o clock everyday. Latchkey doesn't have any rules and Eric told me he would show me all of the cool crazy stuff I could do. You can even go into the storage room in the gym and get ALL of the balls and equipment and just go CRAZY playing with all of it."
"I think you need to get a job, Mom. If you get a job, I can go to latchkey and run around like a maniac in the gym until 6 o clock everyday. Latchkey doesn't have any rules and Eric told me he would show me all of the cool crazy stuff I could do. You can even go into the storage room in the gym and get ALL of the balls and equipment and just go CRAZY playing with all of it."
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Robitussin and Diet Coke Speedballs
What's happened in our house this week is nothing new. I've lived through it many times before. Even so, when it happens, I get nasty, short-tempered and super crabby.
Andrew started getting sick and then I got sick. Oh, and Katherine was burning some new chompers.
Andrew was on a Zyrtec and Cough syrup continuous drip and I was popping Sudafeds as often as I could remember I needed to take them. Sometimes it was every couple hours, others times it was every 10 hours. When I made my way to the cabinet I hit the bottle.
After 5 days of pure misery, Andrew coughing so hard he vomited (three times to be exact) and Katherine getting up every couple of hours and screaming, I did what any delerious parent would do. I called the pediatrician for an appt and planned on begging for antibiotics. I even considered placing a nice classy bottle of wine on the exam table so she could see what was in it for her if she wrote me a scrip.
I drag the weasels up to the doc. The entire car ride was a boatload of similar questions:
"Am I gonna get a shot for this? What's she gonna do to me? Will this cough kill me? When will she let me go back to school? Will she give me a shot? Am I gonna get the flu shot?"
The doc (who anyone would call a MILF) comes in, examines Andrew and tells me he looks fine. And she shoots me this look like the kid's totally healthy and I'm just up there for kicks. She tells me she is shocked by the symptoms I am describing to her.
Then she asks the million dollar question:
"So what have you all been doing to try to get better?"
Ohhhh - here it comes, honey. You better stand back and grab the door, cause Janko ain't in the mood.
Janko lights up, "Well, he's been sick for 5 days. Here's just one scenario. I ran to Target, came home and within 30 seconds of being home Andrew tells me he can't stop the coughing. And for whatever reason my husband, who is making fantasy trades on the 2002 Dell we have tells me he never heard him cough once. Within 10 seconds our entire kicthen floor is covered in vomit. Oh and it's 9:30 at night and he's crying cause he hates throwing up and I'm yelling at my husband because he's not helping cause he's still trying to piece together what the hell just happened. I have barf on my socks, my pants, my shirt and all over my chest. All the commotion wakes up the baby. Now it's 9:45 at night and everyone is either yelling or crying. Andrew tells me he needs ME to sleep with him in his twin bed all night. And he's justified this because he tells me Dad works harder and needs his rest. So I sleep with him all night and wake up with a jacked up neck. Oh, did I tell you I wake up the next morning at 5:45 cause that's when some new chompers were poking through for Katherine so I had to tend to her?
When your office opened at 8:37 (not 8:30 like it's supposed to) I explained to Diana that I need an appt asap. She got me in.
So, to answer your question about how I've been dealing with this - I have been feeding Zyrtec and Cough Syrup to my child at every meal. And me, well, I feel like shit, too. I take Sudafed sinus and cold pills which make me super loopy and tired. And we all know, it's no good if Mom is out of whack. To get me up and operating I chase it with a Diet Coke. I call them Robitussin and Diet Coke Speed Balls. I do this about 4 times a day."
She smiled and softly said, "there's no need for him to be on an antibiotic. Julie will be in shortly to give both kids their flu shots. And you. You try and get some rest. You seem a bit overwhelmed."
As we left the dr's office, Andrew says, "Mom, let's hit Wal Mart on the way home. If we spend some time in the toy aisle we'll all feel better. You know Mom, Wal Mart. Save money. Live better. We all need it."
Andrew started getting sick and then I got sick. Oh, and Katherine was burning some new chompers.
Andrew was on a Zyrtec and Cough syrup continuous drip and I was popping Sudafeds as often as I could remember I needed to take them. Sometimes it was every couple hours, others times it was every 10 hours. When I made my way to the cabinet I hit the bottle.
After 5 days of pure misery, Andrew coughing so hard he vomited (three times to be exact) and Katherine getting up every couple of hours and screaming, I did what any delerious parent would do. I called the pediatrician for an appt and planned on begging for antibiotics. I even considered placing a nice classy bottle of wine on the exam table so she could see what was in it for her if she wrote me a scrip.
I drag the weasels up to the doc. The entire car ride was a boatload of similar questions:
"Am I gonna get a shot for this? What's she gonna do to me? Will this cough kill me? When will she let me go back to school? Will she give me a shot? Am I gonna get the flu shot?"
The doc (who anyone would call a MILF) comes in, examines Andrew and tells me he looks fine. And she shoots me this look like the kid's totally healthy and I'm just up there for kicks. She tells me she is shocked by the symptoms I am describing to her.
Then she asks the million dollar question:
"So what have you all been doing to try to get better?"
Ohhhh - here it comes, honey. You better stand back and grab the door, cause Janko ain't in the mood.
Janko lights up, "Well, he's been sick for 5 days. Here's just one scenario. I ran to Target, came home and within 30 seconds of being home Andrew tells me he can't stop the coughing. And for whatever reason my husband, who is making fantasy trades on the 2002 Dell we have tells me he never heard him cough once. Within 10 seconds our entire kicthen floor is covered in vomit. Oh and it's 9:30 at night and he's crying cause he hates throwing up and I'm yelling at my husband because he's not helping cause he's still trying to piece together what the hell just happened. I have barf on my socks, my pants, my shirt and all over my chest. All the commotion wakes up the baby. Now it's 9:45 at night and everyone is either yelling or crying. Andrew tells me he needs ME to sleep with him in his twin bed all night. And he's justified this because he tells me Dad works harder and needs his rest. So I sleep with him all night and wake up with a jacked up neck. Oh, did I tell you I wake up the next morning at 5:45 cause that's when some new chompers were poking through for Katherine so I had to tend to her?
When your office opened at 8:37 (not 8:30 like it's supposed to) I explained to Diana that I need an appt asap. She got me in.
So, to answer your question about how I've been dealing with this - I have been feeding Zyrtec and Cough Syrup to my child at every meal. And me, well, I feel like shit, too. I take Sudafed sinus and cold pills which make me super loopy and tired. And we all know, it's no good if Mom is out of whack. To get me up and operating I chase it with a Diet Coke. I call them Robitussin and Diet Coke Speed Balls. I do this about 4 times a day."
She smiled and softly said, "there's no need for him to be on an antibiotic. Julie will be in shortly to give both kids their flu shots. And you. You try and get some rest. You seem a bit overwhelmed."
As we left the dr's office, Andrew says, "Mom, let's hit Wal Mart on the way home. If we spend some time in the toy aisle we'll all feel better. You know Mom, Wal Mart. Save money. Live better. We all need it."
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Glad I can make SOMEONE'S day
I really enjoy reading your comments. They keep me going. Cheap inspiration.
Posting to this blog is inexpensive therapy for me. When I write about my jacked up experiences it actually makes me laugh too which is good, cause when I'm in the thick of it, I usually want to cry.
Sometimes I get so caught up in the loop or picking out which sweatsuit I'm gonna wear for the day, I lose sight of what's important.
And what's important is different for each member of our family.
For Todd, it's important that people drink wine. Hell, it matters to me, too, since it's what allows me to splurge at Target. It's also important that all of the kids toys are picked up and put away everyday. It helps him relax much more when he's watching SportsCenter, when all that crap isn't laying around.
Andrew's top priority is being the first one at the bus stop. There are only 6 kids at the stop and 4 of em could give a rat's ass what order they're in in the line. But to Andrew, it means everything. The bus arrives at 8:33 and he starts talking about his order in the line by 7:45 EVERY morning.
For Katherine, she wants someone to make goofy faces at her, act like they're overwhelmed and at their wit's end. That's where I come in. She finds great humor in my facial expressions.
For me, it's important to keep the crew happy and rolling along like an 18 wheeler 6 hours ahead of schedule.
I know. I'm a hell of a woman.
Posting to this blog is inexpensive therapy for me. When I write about my jacked up experiences it actually makes me laugh too which is good, cause when I'm in the thick of it, I usually want to cry.
Sometimes I get so caught up in the loop or picking out which sweatsuit I'm gonna wear for the day, I lose sight of what's important.
And what's important is different for each member of our family.
For Todd, it's important that people drink wine. Hell, it matters to me, too, since it's what allows me to splurge at Target. It's also important that all of the kids toys are picked up and put away everyday. It helps him relax much more when he's watching SportsCenter, when all that crap isn't laying around.
Andrew's top priority is being the first one at the bus stop. There are only 6 kids at the stop and 4 of em could give a rat's ass what order they're in in the line. But to Andrew, it means everything. The bus arrives at 8:33 and he starts talking about his order in the line by 7:45 EVERY morning.
For Katherine, she wants someone to make goofy faces at her, act like they're overwhelmed and at their wit's end. That's where I come in. She finds great humor in my facial expressions.
For me, it's important to keep the crew happy and rolling along like an 18 wheeler 6 hours ahead of schedule.
I know. I'm a hell of a woman.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Three people told me. It must be true.
Kids are now taking the ACT starting in 8th grade. They are actually getting DM pieces encouraging them to do this. The parents also get DM pieces about these classes your kid can take to blow it outta the water on the ACT.
Just think: if you take the test beginning at 8th grade and everytime it is offered, you should be able to pull a 32 by the time you're a junior. How awesome is that! You get to go to a university full of brainiacs but you're probably not one of them.
Your parents just popped for the $40 test-taking fee a dozen times and now you're smokin the test.
This really changes EVERYTHING.
But shouldn't 8th graders be doing other things that are more age appropriate? What happened to boys and girls parties with an old fashioned game of spin the bottle? At 13, I was roaming the mall, looking through all the racks at RAVE.
I didn't know Toad back then but I can assure you he wasn't taking a college entrance exam. In fact, he told me he was going to after school dances and then walking 2 miles to McDonald's after to cool off wth a hot fudge sundae (with nuts).
Next time someone brings up this ACT bit, I'm gonna tell them I already created 2,000flash cards and we go over them with Andrew every night at dinner.
Just think: if you take the test beginning at 8th grade and everytime it is offered, you should be able to pull a 32 by the time you're a junior. How awesome is that! You get to go to a university full of brainiacs but you're probably not one of them.
Your parents just popped for the $40 test-taking fee a dozen times and now you're smokin the test.
This really changes EVERYTHING.
But shouldn't 8th graders be doing other things that are more age appropriate? What happened to boys and girls parties with an old fashioned game of spin the bottle? At 13, I was roaming the mall, looking through all the racks at RAVE.
I didn't know Toad back then but I can assure you he wasn't taking a college entrance exam. In fact, he told me he was going to after school dances and then walking 2 miles to McDonald's after to cool off wth a hot fudge sundae (with nuts).
Next time someone brings up this ACT bit, I'm gonna tell them I already created 2,000flash cards and we go over them with Andrew every night at dinner.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Don't screw up the loop
We were running late. Kids actually slept in so we couldn't make it to the bus stop on time.
Driving the weasel to school buys us an extra 15 minutes. To me, this is forever. 15 minutes can change your whole day. You can waste 15 minutes in a fast food drive thru line in Southfield or you could get in and out of Target with three new outfits a pack of diapers, oj and batteries.
I load up the the crew (I know it's just two kids, but sometimes it feels like a million little rugrats running around in circles.)
We're on our way to school. Pulling out of the sub I see the long line of vans, just itching to get into the loop.
I've never done this before - driven Andrew to school. Of course there has to be a method or rotuine to this loop but hell if I know what it is. I always hear the PTA talking it up and explaining how critical it is that everyone follow the rules. But to be honest, if I screw up once surely they'll cut me some slack.
As we pull in, Andrew is looking out the window in the waaaay back and commenting on every kid he recognizes:
"Mom, that's Janie. She's not coming to the Halloween Party you're throwing in my classroom cause her mom has issues with germs. And parties have lots of germs. So don't count on her. Just mail her her goodie bag. She lives on Falcon."
"Oh, there's John. His mom and dad can't speak any English. So he has to tell them what he did everyday at school in another language. I wouldn't have the patience for that."
"Look. There's Maureen. She eats the same thing everyday for snack. Goldfish and white milk. She doesn't get a lot of attention at home cause she's got two sisters. And one of 'em cries all the time."
I have to stop the madness so I slam on the brakes.
"Andrew, I cannot listen to your blow by blow of every kid in your class. I need to figure out how to drop you off. Please keep your comments to yourself and tell me tonight at dinner."
I'm in the loop now. The thick of it. Some moms are so good at this, they're actually smiling and waving to other moms.
I see a handful of kids holding picket signs walking in front of the school. Sign says, "It's Bagel Friday. Did you remember your dollar?" Shit. Forgot the buck. Oh and I also forgot to put my shoes on.
As we get closer Andrew yells, "Mom, don't go any farther. The valet will get me out of the car now. Don't move. Just STAY WHERE YOU ARE."
Valet? VALET!? What kind of program is this? Why is everything so complicated? Why can't I just roll up and he jumps out?
The minute I stop, some bad ass looking 5th grader starts knocking on the window. "Mam, open the door. Please! Open the DOOR! Pop the hatch. POP THE HATCH!"
Why do I need to pop my hatch? Is he trying to steal shit from me? Just step away from my car, punk. I don't need you rummaging through my trunk. STEP OFF.
Andrew is now officially worked up. Even more than me.
He tells me: "Gosh, Mom. You screwed it up. Already. I knew this was gonna happen."
I turn around and give him a REAL pissed off look. The kind that says, "Don't jack with me right now. I am doing my GD best and you're really getting under my skin."
Finally, Andrew gets out on his own. The 5th grader completely gave up on us. He moved on to the Escalade behind me. Oh, and I noticed that Mom was all dressed and made up for the day already.
Before he takes off for the school, I tell him, "Andrew I love you. Have a great day!"
Here's what he says, "You know how you always tell me that you and Dad are the boss and you guys tell me what to do? Well, you clearly didn't know what you were doing today and if you're gonna be the boss you need to pull it together. But Mom, I still love you cause I can tell you were trying your hardest. It just wasn't good enough this time. See ya!"
Driving the weasel to school buys us an extra 15 minutes. To me, this is forever. 15 minutes can change your whole day. You can waste 15 minutes in a fast food drive thru line in Southfield or you could get in and out of Target with three new outfits a pack of diapers, oj and batteries.
I load up the the crew (I know it's just two kids, but sometimes it feels like a million little rugrats running around in circles.)
We're on our way to school. Pulling out of the sub I see the long line of vans, just itching to get into the loop.
I've never done this before - driven Andrew to school. Of course there has to be a method or rotuine to this loop but hell if I know what it is. I always hear the PTA talking it up and explaining how critical it is that everyone follow the rules. But to be honest, if I screw up once surely they'll cut me some slack.
As we pull in, Andrew is looking out the window in the waaaay back and commenting on every kid he recognizes:
"Mom, that's Janie. She's not coming to the Halloween Party you're throwing in my classroom cause her mom has issues with germs. And parties have lots of germs. So don't count on her. Just mail her her goodie bag. She lives on Falcon."
"Oh, there's John. His mom and dad can't speak any English. So he has to tell them what he did everyday at school in another language. I wouldn't have the patience for that."
"Look. There's Maureen. She eats the same thing everyday for snack. Goldfish and white milk. She doesn't get a lot of attention at home cause she's got two sisters. And one of 'em cries all the time."
I have to stop the madness so I slam on the brakes.
"Andrew, I cannot listen to your blow by blow of every kid in your class. I need to figure out how to drop you off. Please keep your comments to yourself and tell me tonight at dinner."
I'm in the loop now. The thick of it. Some moms are so good at this, they're actually smiling and waving to other moms.
I see a handful of kids holding picket signs walking in front of the school. Sign says, "It's Bagel Friday. Did you remember your dollar?" Shit. Forgot the buck. Oh and I also forgot to put my shoes on.
As we get closer Andrew yells, "Mom, don't go any farther. The valet will get me out of the car now. Don't move. Just STAY WHERE YOU ARE."
Valet? VALET!? What kind of program is this? Why is everything so complicated? Why can't I just roll up and he jumps out?
The minute I stop, some bad ass looking 5th grader starts knocking on the window. "Mam, open the door. Please! Open the DOOR! Pop the hatch. POP THE HATCH!"
Why do I need to pop my hatch? Is he trying to steal shit from me? Just step away from my car, punk. I don't need you rummaging through my trunk. STEP OFF.
Andrew is now officially worked up. Even more than me.
He tells me: "Gosh, Mom. You screwed it up. Already. I knew this was gonna happen."
I turn around and give him a REAL pissed off look. The kind that says, "Don't jack with me right now. I am doing my GD best and you're really getting under my skin."
Finally, Andrew gets out on his own. The 5th grader completely gave up on us. He moved on to the Escalade behind me. Oh, and I noticed that Mom was all dressed and made up for the day already.
Before he takes off for the school, I tell him, "Andrew I love you. Have a great day!"
Here's what he says, "You know how you always tell me that you and Dad are the boss and you guys tell me what to do? Well, you clearly didn't know what you were doing today and if you're gonna be the boss you need to pull it together. But Mom, I still love you cause I can tell you were trying your hardest. It just wasn't good enough this time. See ya!"
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
I love Zee, but sheeesh!
I've got this great friend named Zvonek. He's been known to where his pants unzipped at work all day so I shouldn't be surprised when he asks what a hanging basket is, right?
Come on, Zee. Tell me you throw up a couple at your high-falutin place in Columbus. How could you not know what a hanging basket is?
Do you really think it's something someone hand-made? Are you thinking about those tacky macrame ones? Our pal, Dav, had one hanging in his bathroom, but we all know he's a good 10 years behind the times.
Even Winerd (the one who hand laid 15 yards of mulch with a skimpy pitchfork) could tell you what a hanging basket is. And for bejesus' sake, Stan wears friggen Dragon shirts.
We need to all donate a buck. I'll buy a Lowe's gift card and he can buy his own hanging basket.
BTW, the hanging basket is sitting at the curb for garbage pick up tomorrow.
Crazier than the fact that the piece of crap basket was tossed on my porch, is the fact that some guy in a White Escalade just yanked it from the curb and chucked it in his car.
Come on, Zee. Tell me you throw up a couple at your high-falutin place in Columbus. How could you not know what a hanging basket is?
Do you really think it's something someone hand-made? Are you thinking about those tacky macrame ones? Our pal, Dav, had one hanging in his bathroom, but we all know he's a good 10 years behind the times.
Even Winerd (the one who hand laid 15 yards of mulch with a skimpy pitchfork) could tell you what a hanging basket is. And for bejesus' sake, Stan wears friggen Dragon shirts.
We need to all donate a buck. I'll buy a Lowe's gift card and he can buy his own hanging basket.
BTW, the hanging basket is sitting at the curb for garbage pick up tomorrow.
Crazier than the fact that the piece of crap basket was tossed on my porch, is the fact that some guy in a White Escalade just yanked it from the curb and chucked it in his car.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Crazy Ass Neighbors
I'm tired. I'm pissed. I'm in a foul mood. Cause I'm whipped. That wedding last night really did a number on me. So I don't need neighbors playing stoopid jokes on me and my family.
I was putting Katherine to bed tonight (she was screaming something fierce) and getting Andrew in his pjs. Oh, and I was also cleaning the bathroom and putting away the kids clean clothes. (I know. I do it ALL. And I do it well).
The doorbell rang. Since it was pitch black outside and a Sunday I figured it couldn't be a window salesman, or an "I'm trying to get to Cancun and get laid this Spring Break could you buy some magazines from me so I can get a free trip?" salesperson.
Now any Mom will tell you that anyone who interrupts her routine is begging for a beat down. I mean a real flat line.
I dropped everything, ran downstairs, flicked on the porch light and there's nobody there. Instead, there's a deader than dead hanging basket sitting in the middle of the porch. It has to be at least 6 months old. It's all wilted and rotted out.
Whatever. Whoever did it and thought it was funny, well it wasn't. You're annoying. You need friends. Better yet, you need a couple of kids to keep you busy in the evening so you have no time to yourself like the rest of us.
I will find this dirt and lay into him. I say 'him' cause I know a female wouldn't do this crap.
I was putting Katherine to bed tonight (she was screaming something fierce) and getting Andrew in his pjs. Oh, and I was also cleaning the bathroom and putting away the kids clean clothes. (I know. I do it ALL. And I do it well).
The doorbell rang. Since it was pitch black outside and a Sunday I figured it couldn't be a window salesman, or an "I'm trying to get to Cancun and get laid this Spring Break could you buy some magazines from me so I can get a free trip?" salesperson.
Now any Mom will tell you that anyone who interrupts her routine is begging for a beat down. I mean a real flat line.
I dropped everything, ran downstairs, flicked on the porch light and there's nobody there. Instead, there's a deader than dead hanging basket sitting in the middle of the porch. It has to be at least 6 months old. It's all wilted and rotted out.
Whatever. Whoever did it and thought it was funny, well it wasn't. You're annoying. You need friends. Better yet, you need a couple of kids to keep you busy in the evening so you have no time to yourself like the rest of us.
I will find this dirt and lay into him. I say 'him' cause I know a female wouldn't do this crap.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Weddings are a BIG DEAL
And the people that are in them are an even bigger deal.
Tomorrow my youngest sister gets hitched. For months she's been hooked and booked. Now she's getting cooked.
The church says no drinkin beforehand. "If you cannot consciously particpate in the ceremony you will be ushered out to your car."
If this happens, can someone rustle Toad before the reception starts? I'd hate for him to miss his shining moment on the dance floor. He's moves like no other to the Mexican Hustle.
Keep Janko in your thoughts tomorrow. If you don't see another posting in a while, know I'm working on it. I expect this wedding will give me plenty to blog about.
Tomorrow my youngest sister gets hitched. For months she's been hooked and booked. Now she's getting cooked.
The church says no drinkin beforehand. "If you cannot consciously particpate in the ceremony you will be ushered out to your car."
If this happens, can someone rustle Toad before the reception starts? I'd hate for him to miss his shining moment on the dance floor. He's moves like no other to the Mexican Hustle.
Keep Janko in your thoughts tomorrow. If you don't see another posting in a while, know I'm working on it. I expect this wedding will give me plenty to blog about.
Secret Followers
I have been made aware of certain dirts who are reading my blog (in fact consistently waiting on pins and needles for the my next postings) but don't have the cajones to actually become a follower.
WHY?
-->Is it too much work for you to register?
-->Are you too cool for school?
If you like what you've read, be a follower already.
SECRET Followers are cowards.
WHY?
-->Is it too much work for you to register?
-->Are you too cool for school?
If you like what you've read, be a follower already.
SECRET Followers are cowards.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Do these banks collapsing scare you?
If so, I think you may be the only one.
I was running errands today and nobody looked real worried to me.
At Meijer's I put the chocolate milk back. We can make it ourselves at home.
I stopped at Costco and filled up. Saving 3 cents a gallon made me feel like I really have one over on Bushey.
I did notice one guy in a royal blue mustang timed all of the traffic lights just right. If you drive about 73 mph, you'll never hit a red light. You may occassionally run into a yellow, but hell, just pick up the pace and blow through it. That's what he did. Studies do show keeping a consistent fast speed allows for better mileage.
And I bet he got to the library a lot faster than I did. In fact, he's probably the jackarse that rented the last copy of Mario 5 on Wii. Try explaining that one to your 5 year old. "Andrew, that man got the Wii game you wanted because he drove wrecklessly to get better gas mileage. Mom obeys the laws, and we all suffer for it."
I was running errands today and nobody looked real worried to me.
At Meijer's I put the chocolate milk back. We can make it ourselves at home.
I stopped at Costco and filled up. Saving 3 cents a gallon made me feel like I really have one over on Bushey.
I did notice one guy in a royal blue mustang timed all of the traffic lights just right. If you drive about 73 mph, you'll never hit a red light. You may occassionally run into a yellow, but hell, just pick up the pace and blow through it. That's what he did. Studies do show keeping a consistent fast speed allows for better mileage.
And I bet he got to the library a lot faster than I did. In fact, he's probably the jackarse that rented the last copy of Mario 5 on Wii. Try explaining that one to your 5 year old. "Andrew, that man got the Wii game you wanted because he drove wrecklessly to get better gas mileage. Mom obeys the laws, and we all suffer for it."
Shiznit in the Dojo
Here we are. Week #2 of Karate. It's gonna be better this week. The kids will pay better attention. My son will not ask absurd questions. Maybe that's an unrealistic statement. I'm just hoping he doesn't ask more than two. Just keep it at a max of two, Andrew.
I decided to "do the right thing" and ask our next door neighbor to join. They just had a baby 3 days ago and lawrd knows it's probably a hot mess over there. New babies really disrupt the household. With a 6 year old in the home practicing karate, everyone should be safer and better off, right?
I told our neighbors I'd drive their son both ways for every session. Just say it, I know what you're all thinking. "That Janko, she's something else. ALWAYS thinking about others before herself. I wish I lived next door to her."
The session was going pretty well, until someone (you can imagine who it was) asked the Sensay a question, the first one of the evening: "Have you ever been in a situation where you were nearly killed? What kind of kicks and strikes did you do to bury your enemy?"
That question opened up the floodgates. Then every kid's hand shot up and the absurdity began:
1.) What did you do to get all of those patches on your robe? Did you kill people and that's how you earned them?
2.) I want to get a robe and pants like you have. But I want a different color belt. Do they make pink ones?
3.) I know you said we need to practice but no one will let me practice with them. My Mom is always too tired for karate and my dad's usually outside cutting the grass."
You have to understand the Sensay. He has a professional job by day. He's just a Sensay on the side. In fact, I think he's an attorney because whenever the kids want to make a comment he always says, "I will listen to your side and then you will adhere to my point of view because I run this dojo."
Driving home, I asked our neighbor if he is glad he joined. Here's Andrew reply:
"Of course he is, Mom. Punching and kicking at Karate Class is a lot better than being at home with your family. You get to be violent."
I decided to "do the right thing" and ask our next door neighbor to join. They just had a baby 3 days ago and lawrd knows it's probably a hot mess over there. New babies really disrupt the household. With a 6 year old in the home practicing karate, everyone should be safer and better off, right?
I told our neighbors I'd drive their son both ways for every session. Just say it, I know what you're all thinking. "That Janko, she's something else. ALWAYS thinking about others before herself. I wish I lived next door to her."
The session was going pretty well, until someone (you can imagine who it was) asked the Sensay a question, the first one of the evening: "Have you ever been in a situation where you were nearly killed? What kind of kicks and strikes did you do to bury your enemy?"
That question opened up the floodgates. Then every kid's hand shot up and the absurdity began:
1.) What did you do to get all of those patches on your robe? Did you kill people and that's how you earned them?
2.) I want to get a robe and pants like you have. But I want a different color belt. Do they make pink ones?
3.) I know you said we need to practice but no one will let me practice with them. My Mom is always too tired for karate and my dad's usually outside cutting the grass."
You have to understand the Sensay. He has a professional job by day. He's just a Sensay on the side. In fact, I think he's an attorney because whenever the kids want to make a comment he always says, "I will listen to your side and then you will adhere to my point of view because I run this dojo."
Driving home, I asked our neighbor if he is glad he joined. Here's Andrew reply:
"Of course he is, Mom. Punching and kicking at Karate Class is a lot better than being at home with your family. You get to be violent."
Saturday, September 27, 2008
I might have clout now
I just rec'd my official PTA card, but I don't know what to do with it.
Should I flash it at the maitre dee (sp?) at Ocean Grille for a prime seat?
Maybe I should laminate it.
Could it get me into exclusive places? Places I never knew existed. I've dreamt of a private shopping room at Target for just "certain" people.
I feel like I need to make a back-up copy.
Also, make my insurance agent aware in case it gets ripped off, etc.
Should I flash it at the maitre dee (sp?) at Ocean Grille for a prime seat?
Maybe I should laminate it.
Could it get me into exclusive places? Places I never knew existed. I've dreamt of a private shopping room at Target for just "certain" people.
I feel like I need to make a back-up copy.
Also, make my insurance agent aware in case it gets ripped off, etc.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Advertising Friends Are Like No Others
They really are. I worked in Advertisng for a spell and I met the greatest dirts. They're the best for one simple reason:
They never let you lose touch. Even if you wanted to ditch 'em after a while, they resurface, bring up a memory, and before you know it, you remember exactly why you worked 14 hour days, averaging $6/hour. The work is tedious, irritating and many times ridiculous (in fact I was told that a monkey could do my job).
And people jump ship constantly. They hear the agency down the street just got a new pool table or installed an "all you can drink" soda fountain and the resumes are sailing out the window.
So the band breaks up, dirts load up on caffeine and others become real good pool sharks.
Some dirts have the confidence to get outta dodge and work in the big time ad lands like NYC and LA, but they still manage to keep in touch.
The ones that go client side are never quite the same again but we hang onto them for laughs.
So, as I embark on this blogging biotch, thanks to all my ad friends who know the true meaning of "keeping it real and sharing the shiznit."
They never let you lose touch. Even if you wanted to ditch 'em after a while, they resurface, bring up a memory, and before you know it, you remember exactly why you worked 14 hour days, averaging $6/hour. The work is tedious, irritating and many times ridiculous (in fact I was told that a monkey could do my job).
And people jump ship constantly. They hear the agency down the street just got a new pool table or installed an "all you can drink" soda fountain and the resumes are sailing out the window.
So the band breaks up, dirts load up on caffeine and others become real good pool sharks.
Some dirts have the confidence to get outta dodge and work in the big time ad lands like NYC and LA, but they still manage to keep in touch.
The ones that go client side are never quite the same again but we hang onto them for laughs.
So, as I embark on this blogging biotch, thanks to all my ad friends who know the true meaning of "keeping it real and sharing the shiznit."
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