Because otherwise you will feel ill. And possibly have an aversion to pasta, sausage, tomatoes and broccoli for the rest of your life. And that would be very, very sad.
Or at the very least they will send you accessories to match your orange jumpsuit.
Me: My kids are driving my nuts today! Her: Join the club.
Me: Was there some sort of edict that went out that us parents were not aware of that said, today is act like a little asshole day?
Her: Yes that must be it.
Me: You would not believe what my 7 yr old is doing… I swear he is begging me to strangle him.
Her: I hear him. I will testify in court on your behalf.
Me: You are such a great friend.
Her: I’ll tell the judge. He was begging for it.
Me: I love you.
*************
Her (friend without a blog, yes they do exist. Like unicorns): So we were driving home from vacation and my son was throwing up the whole way.
Me: Oh yuck, we had that happen recently too. It was so horrible.
Her: We kept having to pull over. Except at one point on the highway there was no shoulder and we had to give him a McDonald’s bag.
Me: Ewwwwwwww. We luckily had beach buckets in the van.
Her: It smelled so bad. And it was leaking. And the other kids were all complaining. So we threw it out the window.
Me: I’m not laughing at you. I swear.
Her: All the cars behind us were honking at us. Then they drove up and gave us the finger.
Me: You polluter! Ruining our environment with your breeding and littering!
Her: I like to think Mother Earth would forgive me. Being a Mother and all.
******
Update: Geez people, you have weak stomachs. It’s not like a photographed the meal INSIDE a McDonald’s bag. That would be gross. Funny, but gross.
But I get the hint, I have removed the photo and link. I’ll put them back up in a different post. Away from the vomit story.
My husband and I have been having a knock down, drag out fight, heated debate discussion about allowing kids to go to a playground or park unsupervised to play.
I am not going to tell you what side of I am on, until after the poll. But I want to clarify:
We are talking about your average suburbs. Not going to meet friends for a scheduled activity. We are talking solely getting on a bike and riding over to a local park or playground to play with no adult accountable.
So after asking everyone I know personally, people who agree my husband is crazy, I am throwing it out to all of you.
This isn’t a great photo, I know that. It is blurry. It is was late at night so the photo is too dark. And yet I love it. Sometimes the technical aspects of a photo come second.
This photo sums up this kid. After over two hours of practice, non-stop running, having his “brains squashed” in his helmet (his words), and now running sprints, he is still smiling. If I could bottle his terminal happiness I would be able to put all the anti-depressant manufacturers out of business and make millions.
Over the past week I have noticed many of the boys on my younger son’s football team coming to practice with their hair shaved off. One day they have long hair, the next they have none.
I have never really understood the whole notion that short hair is cooler than long hair, maybe because I have never really had short hair,save the unfortunate “pixie” cut that my mother gave me when I was four years old. Not sure I havefully recovered from that trauma. As a matter of fact, I have had the identical hair cut for 38 years.
Friday there were two long haired boys left.
My 9 yr old was one of them. He has been growing his hair for awhile. I have occassionally asked him what the look is that he is going for and he had no real answer. Other than he will know when he gets there. Fair enough. I am not a huge fan of long hair on little boys, but it isn’t my hair. I prefer to pick my battles and hair is not one of them. And his hair is pretty. Thick and the color of spun gold.
I did think that his hair was a rather annoying length. It was constantly in his eyes. There is no way to tie it back. Correction, no way to tie it back that doesn’t make him look like a girl with a really bad hair day. He hated brushing it. And given that he IS a normal 9 yr old boy, his hair washing technique left a lot to be desired.
So when on Saturday morning after trying his football helmet on again, and trying to get his hair out of his eyes again, he said, “I think I want to have all my hair cut off.” Well, I wasted no time hustling him to the car and into the hair salon. I think my exact words were, ” Grab your shoes!”
It is pretty hair.
I see scalp!
“Look mom, I can spike it now!”
Oddly, the short hair makes him look so much younger.
It really is a good thing that my children are almost never sick. The whining. Oh dear god I can not stand the whining.
My seven year old is whining on the couch near me. “But I can’t even smell! It’s like my nose is broken!”
I find it very mentally challenging to try and paitiently coo reassuring and loving words. “Oh, sweetie, I know you don’t feel well. But I promise you no one has ever died from a stuffy nose.” All the while thinking, but someone may have murdered the person because they couldn’t deal with the incessant whining about it.
This is what they don’t tell you in those childbirth classes. The lamaze breathing really has nothing to do with childbirth. No, those deep breathing exercises are for later on in your child’s life and are to prevent your head from exploding when you see your child wipe their nose on your silk covered throw pillows.
Pant:: one, two, three. One , two, three.
Or when one of them, who is old enough to KNOW BETTER, clogs the bathroom toilet becuase he tried to flush paper towels down it. Seriously, son?
Deep cleansing breathe.
I got up early this morning to work. And it is as if the children know I am awake and can not bear the thought that the world is continuing to turn while they sleep. I might be downstairs eating candy and coloring on the walls with markers. Because they all got up earlier than normal, well except for the oldest two who are the most likely not to be pains in the ass and get their own breakfast.
Miles is feeling better. We went outside and picked the first blueberries off of our bushes yesterday. He picked every berry he saw, whether it was blue or not. Luckily he has the attention span of a gnat and didn’t actually pick that many.
As I type this he is sitting next to me on the couch enthusiastically cheering for himself. “Let’s go, Miles. Let’s go! Let’s go, Miles! Let’s go!” Over and over again. He is so happy about it.
I think I may start chanting for myself. Just because.
