Time, that’s what happened.

Hey you guys. You guys, I have been so sick, and I still am a little bit. But I feel good enough to run my mouth today, so here we go.

The weather here has been pretty nice the last few days, just a little chilly. (Somewhere in the Midwest someone is flipping me the bird right now. ) So since it isn’t raining, I make my kids bundle up and then kick them outside until they have mild hypothermia. Parenting, ladies and gentlemen!

Anyhoo, I was watching them play and it reminded me of things I used to be able to do effortlessly. “Oh, here she goes with her lists,” I can hear you thinking. Well, it was kind of rude for you to think that, but I’m going to present my list to you anyway.

1) Running. No, not jogging or running for exercise—which I don’t do—but an all-out-full-bore-sprint for no reason other than to run. The Destroyer runs everywhere. Everywhere. Full speed. And he’s got nowhere to be; I have no idea why he’s running. But if I wanted to sprint somewhere (you guys, I just stopped and busted up laughing after typing that, tears and all) I would really have to get ready to do it. First, I’d have to put on my sports bra that’s made of titanium alloy. Then I would have to psyche myself up. Then I would have to stretch. After that, I would have to talk myself out of going back in the house to lay down. Oh, and I’d have to make sure there was no one around within a ten mile radius. Okay, and your mark, get set, go! I did it! Now, I’m just going to lay face down in this grass twenty feet from my house…

2) Jumping. Every one of my kids likes to jump down the stairs. Like five of them at a time. I guess their femurs shooting up through their kneecaps and the ensuing patella ricochet isn’t a concern for them. It is for me though, so if I ever have to jump down from somewhere, first I get my feet as close to the ground as humanly possible. Then I point my toes as hard as I can in order to get even closer to the ground. Then I use my arms to launch myself to wherever it was I was stupid enough to have to jump to get to. I try really hard to make sure that my ankles and knees are bent when I land so that I don’t collapse into a heap of two immediately broken ankles. Jumping down one stair is not for me.

3) Pull-ups. The Destroyer was doing pull-ups for fun. I haven’t done pull-ups in years. Just kidding! I’ve only ever done one pull-up in my life, and I’m pretty sure I was drunk.

4) Falling. The Destroyer was playing basketball with one of his friends in front of the house. On the street. And he dove for the ball. He fell, of course, but then popped right back up and continued dribbling. I remember doing that all the time. Just popping with a skinned knee or something and going on about my business. People, I am so for real when I say that, now, to me, falling down is devastating. It always happens in slow motion, I can never stop myself, and it seems like it’s always really loud. Like a couple of weeks ago, I fell after misjudging a stair—in my own house, a stair that I have gone down only a million times—and when I landed it sounded something like PLAP! It was horrible. I had to lay there in a pile of embarrassed Mom for a minute so I could recover. Was anything hurt? Well, my feelings. And my pride. I have no dignity left, so that wasn’t an issue.

Like this.  Except nobody cared so I just had to lay on the floor.
Like this. Except nobody cared so I just had to lay on the floor.

So, while I’m sure every last one of you is in better shape than I am, (I’m obviously a walking disaster) what are somethings you used to be able to do easily? By the way, if you say pull-ups, I’m going to call you a liar.

Why can’t I be Bruce Wayne?

Okay, so I you read my blog on a regular basis (and I know you do, because it’s just that entertaining) then you know that I love me some superheroes. Marvel, DC, Justice League, Avengers, all of it. I’ve already done a post about which super powers I would like to have.  Now I’m going to do this one about which superheroes the people in my life actually are.  I mean, if you think about it, we all have people in our lives that have traits of certain mutants or aliens.  Like, my sister Birdie and I have mutual acquaintance that would be Rogue because she sucks the life out of everyone.  Like that.

Of course, I would be Batman. Wait–The Destroyer has just informed me that I am not Batman.  He is insane.

“Of course I’m Batman.  I’m fabulous all day and then I lurk around all night fighting dirt and crime.  Mostly dirt. Also, I always wear black.” Not sure if Batman wears black because it’s slimming, but whatever.

“Yeah, but Batman carries out his threats.”

“Not the point, look, I’m trying to type here–”

“You’re actually the Punisher.  You just go around busting up everyone’s fun.”

What?  I thought I was fun, not the fun-buster.

“No, it’s just that being the fun-buster is fun for you. That’s why you smile when you do it.”  (Note:  This is not why.  I just have this weird quirk where I smile when I’m angry.  Don’t ask me why, I wish I looked fierce and scary and intimidating.)

“You shut up and let me be Batman before I punch the air out of your lungs.”

He laughed, said “Punisher” and went to eat all the food out of the refrigerator.

I have previously called the Big Man my own personal Hulk.  But now that I think about it, that’s not quite right.  He has no Bruce Banner side to him;  he always just walks around being huge and intense.  He’s the Juggernaut. Like this:

He does that several times a day.

Wondergirl is Captain America.  She doesn’t make the rules, but she sure will enforce them.  With violence.  Sweet, sweet, justified violence.

The Destroyer.  He’s Beast.  No, he’s not blue, and he’s not even really hairy yet.  But he does run around on all fours (not joking)  and can physically do some pretty amazing crap. He’s also pretty smart when he feels like it.

Kid Sensation.  I almost put Kid Sensation down as Iron Man, because of how good he is with technology. But Iron Man talks too much.  So I gave him Cyborg.  I would ask him what he thinks of that, but he won’t say anything, anyway–he’s on the computer trying to buy something behind my back.  Haha, Kid, there’s no money in that account.  There’s no money in any account.  Joke’s on–well, all of us, I guess.

Birdie is Storm.  She’s usually the voice of reason, until she gets mad.  Then it’s lightening bolts and tornadoes for everyone.

Yay!  Family dinner!
Yay! Family dinner!

Ah yes, Supermom.  No, she is not Superman, she is Darkseid.  I’m dead serious.

What about the folks you know?  Who are you?

Just plain weekend.

I have to admit, I sometimes feel that everyone is having a better weekend than I am.  So I documented my weekend and realized that they probably are.  But that’s okay, because mine wasn’t half bad. Here it is:

Go to the farmer’s market with your six-year-old. It is so nice to go with someone who doesn’t have any time constraints or an agenda. Kid Sensation was cool to wander with me, sample food, be the only one dancing to the live band, and tip the violinist. Although, apparently balloon animals are okay, but the prospect of getting paint on his face on purpose is terrifying and definitely not okay.

Throw the football with with your twelve year old. Ask him what him and his friends talk about at school. When you suggest boobs, he will emphatically tell you not boobs. Which probably means boobs. You will also find out that his friend, Optimus Prime is a serial dater but that The Destroyer has incredibly high standards for someone who still loses arguments to his six-year-old brother. And who smells like old hummus by the end of the day.

Go boot shopping with your ten-year-old. She will be picky. You will be impatient if you are the Big Man and feel like you should be at home watching football—but you promised. She will hug her Daddy and you will be caught smiling.

Fight with your six-year-old. He will have stayed up late to sneak-watch Frozen, so he won’t be on one, he’ll be on all of them. The final showdown will come at 1 p.m., right as you’ve arrived to your Sunday meeting, where he will melt down as you try to tuck his shirt in in an effort to avoid someone thinking you just brought some random homeless Ewok with you. (He also needs a haircut.) You decide it’s time to go nuclear and call in the Big Man. Kid Sensation is taken out for a few minutes, comes back tearstained and chastened, and instantly falls asleep.

ewok

Have cramps and be cranky and mean.

Eat chips and dip. Feel better. Have a mimosa. Feel even better.

Have your kids make dinner under your direction. Wonder if The Destroyer’s spaghetti is better than yours. No one says it isn’t. Have hurt feelings.

Watch Peyton Manning break Brett Favre’s record. Realize again how cool it is watching history being made with kids.

Pray and be thankful for everything and everyone you have.

Random Thoughts Thursday

I decided to treat ya’ll to another visit to the wonderful world inside my head.

Because you enjoyed it so much last time.  YES YOU DID.

“I guess being dead won’t work either.”  I tried not to respond to the kids pleas for some motherly attention and played possum with my eyes closed.  Kid Sensation stone-cold walks over to me, lifts up my right eyelid, and screams “MOM!” right in my face.

“Oooooh!  I have a Honeycrisp in the fridge.  Imma eat that!”  Pretty exciting, if you ask me.

“I guess it’s time to ram the doors with my truck.”  The Destroyer was fifteen minutes late coming out of football practice and the school doors were locked.  I had to figure out a way to save him (and then kill him if nothing serious had happened). Ramming things with my truck is always the solution.

“Do I separate them or let them work it out?”  Trick question–I had no intentions of doing either.  I just parked them in front of a violent cartoon so they’ll both shut up for thirty minutes.  I’m such a good mom.

Because this is EXACTLY the kind of things Wondergirl needs to see.
Because this is EXACTLY the kind of thing Wondergirl needs to see.

“You stay in that corner, spider, and I will stay in this one.  That way we’ll both lead long, happy lives.”  She didn’t listen, though, and I really didn’t want to fight her. I only talk tough.  I went into the other room–no one wants a spider in their afro.

“That was bad.”  I thought that about a lot of things today.  I think that about a lot of things a lot of the time–a solid fifty percent of which are things I have done.

“I am so trifling.”  I was playing Farm Saga instead of cleaning the kitchen.

“Matching socks?  Who cares about having matching socks?  Ebola is real in these streets!…is what I’ll say.”  Have I mentioned that I hate laundry?

“You lose, cat.”  I had a staring contest with the neighbor’s cat through the window.  He thinks he’s better than me.  I showed him.

“If I take two samples of the same item at Costco, is that stealing?”  Now that I think about it, probably not.  Also, I’m a fatty, and everyone expects a fatty to take two samples.  I can’t let them down.

“Those are for douchebags.”  I’m not sure what this was about.  Oh, wait.  It was one of those bikes that goes over your shoulders and you have to run.  I saw one of these in real life.  It was pretty douchetastic.

“How dare you?”  After pretty much everything that comes out of Kid Sensation’s mouth. I mean, he says stuff like “Never mind that” and “You meant to say…”  How dare he?

“Where does he think he’s going?1?”  I thought Kid Sensation was getting into someone else’s car and panicked.  Turns out it was Gustavo, his classmate.  Again, I’m pretty much Mom of the Year over here.

“I know!  A tangerine!”  Trying to think up what to have for snack.

“Buzz all you want, dryer.  Those clothes will stay in there until no one has underwear.”  Not true.  Just until I have no underwear.

“NO!  No more Gerald and Piggie!”  Seriously, no more Gerald and Piggie.

I know I’m not the only one with random thoughts–gimme some of yours.

I’m not Beyonce, but I woke up like this.

Have you ever woken up irritated? Like so irritated that you knew you were going to be an awful human being that day and no one was going to want to be within 50 feet of you and the thought of it made you GLAD? No? You think you’re better than me? Huh?

Let me backtrack. We’ve gotten through the first week of school. You know that week where you’ve already spent god knows how much money and yet the kids seem to have nothing so you have to spend more money that you don’t have? Yeah, that week.

It’s also the week that you find out exactly the toll having your spawn home all summer has taken on your house, and so everything has fallen apart at exactly the same time. So now you have to do a bootleg job of holding your furniture together with duct tape, string, and a few paperclips. And staples. I’ve gotten to where I can’t relax when I sit in our recliner because I’m waiting for it to collapse under me and I want to be able to spring off of it like cat so I don’t have a recliner-related death.

I will look exactly like this.
I will look exactly like this.

The dishwasher keeps thinking it’s cleaned dishes that it hasn’t. That blinking “clean” light is actually the dishwasher laughing at me. So I’m washing dishes by hand like I live in a third-world country.

We now have a gopher razing our yard to the ground. I don’t have Bill Murray’s number. If you do, please tell him to contact me about a rodent and some dynamite.

My kids’ stomachs are actually black holes—infinite and unfillable. Of course, the Big Man is quite confident he can give me ten bucks to feed the family for the week and is astonished when I come home with potatoes and ramen instead of steak and asparagus. I kid, I kid. We can’t afford ramen after buying shoes for the Destroyer. Or after paying for school lunch.

Kid Sensation fell into a depression because he couldn’t wear his new school jeans and sweatshirt in 90-degree heat. He told me his summer clothes looked raggedy. I told him they look a heckuva lot better than heatstroke.

Good news: Wondergirl save her first altercation for the second day of school. Baby steps.

So after all that, Friday rolls around and I woke up irritated. And I plan to be pretty terrible today. At least until wine time.

 

 

 

 

 

Maybe She Doesn’t Want to be Friends Anymore.

So my friend thinks that I am a TV snob because I don’t tend to watch a lot of the shows that other people do. It’s not that I’m a snob, it’s that all the good cartoons don’t come on anymore.

Anyhoo, she dared me to watch a reality show. Which isn’t really a big deal, some reality shows aren’t staged horrible fakery. (Well, I’m sure that they are all staged fakery. Some just aren’t horrible.) Then she threw down the gauntlet—she dared me to watch the Bachelor in Paradise.

I started breathing heavy. I got chest pains and anxiety. I didn’t think I could do this. But I wasn’t going to back down.

You guys, I wish I had backed down. Or that I was smart enough to invent time travel so I could eradicate the person who first thought of this show Terminator style. But misery loves company, so of course, I’m sharing my observations with all of you. You’re welcome.

1) Two girls named Lacy at the same place. This shows how old I am because Lacy was the name people gave their daughter when the already had kids named Candee and TerriLynn. I didn’t bother to learn anyone else’s name because learning names is for people you plan on seeing again.  I will never, ever, purposely lay eyes on any one of these people in this lifetime–maybe if I die with my eyes open while channel-surfing, but that’s it.

2.) Everyone is super-tan. I get that they are supposed to be on a desert island, but the sun doesn’t turn people this shade of orange. Not that I’m against spray-tanning, I just don’t think it should be Crayola brand spray-tan.

3.) I understand that not everyone knows the difference between stalactites and stalagmites. There is no such thing as a stalaglite, though. How did this come up? They sent two of these people into a cave—presumably after making them sign waivers that absolve the network from responsibility for any and all deaths and injuries resulting from stupidity. I would have loved to see that waiver—I bet it read like Hop on Pop.

4.) There were bats. Dumb girl who went into cave with Dumb Guy shrieked about her dislike of bats, which are animals that live in caves much like the one you agreed to go in, Girl-who-wasn’t-named-Lacy. Or maybe she was named Lacy.

5.) Dumb Guy wants to get freaky in bat cave. Yuck. But then, he was kinda Yuck just by standing there and breathing.

6.) They have cocktails in the batcave. What kind of cave is this?

7.) Everyone is in love or has a crush on everyone else. So I guess all it takes is proximity for love to be in the air.

8.) I haven’t heard the word crush used so much since 8th grade. And that was only because I was still in the same school as sixth graders.

9.) Someone said “I’m not a person who openly shares–“. Stop right there, sister. You’re on a reality show about swapping partners with everybody else there to find the right partner for you. All. You. Do. Is. Share.

10.) Everyone keeps talking about being “real”. You know, while having cosmos in a cave.

11.) The Destroyer pointed out that they say “like” every other word. He is twelve.

12.) These men are wearing tank tops so tight I can see their heartbeat. One of them is wearing one with a pocket. It’s pretty hilarious.

13.) Kissing in the ocean=relationship. Who knew?

14.) Another girl who is not Lacy is perpetually confused. How do I know? Because she keeps going around saying so. “I’m just so confused,” “I’m confused right now” and so on. I think she may have the word “confused” mixed up with the words “dumb as a bag of hammers”.

Image courtesy of Rose Cooper.
Apparently the fly was agoraphobic.

15.) This sentence: “Lamb makes me nervous.”

Anyway, I failed the dare. (And really, do friends make friends watch stuff like this?  I have obviously done something to upset her and she felt the need for revenge.) I made it to the halfway point of the show and then went to the kitchen to start comfort-eating to cope with the trauma. You guys, I have to come up with an idiotic reality show idea so I can make millions off of some dumb suckers who think they belong on TV. Help me out here.

Idle threats.

So I admit, I believe in spanking. It happens very seldom, though, reserved for things like running in the parking lot or telling me I’m fat. I do love an idle threat, though. I am forever threatening my kids with the beating of their lives that they know will never happen. They laugh at me. Hysterically. Well, all except Kid Sensation; he ignores me 75% of the time. I have actually gotten pretty creative with my threats.

Some of my greatest hits (ßsee what I did there? I’m funny) include:

“Do it again and I’ll slap your hair straight!”

“You’re going to make me feel like messing you up!”

“Hey, you, let’s fight. Them’s fightin’ words.” (Courtesy of the Simpsons.)

“If I have to get up from here, everyone’s gonna get it!”

“Do you want it from my slappin’ hand or my other slappin’ hand?”

“You must want to wear handprints.”

“Oh, since you said that, I take it you’re ready to rumble.”

“If I wasn’t over here, I’d ruin you.”

“Come over here so I can ruin you.”

“Say it again so I can slap the words out of your mouth.”

“Oh, yeah, come over here and say that while I step on your foot.” (This one sent Wondergirl into a fit of the giggles. My feelings were slightly hurt.)

“Mom SMASH!”

“It’s clobberin’ time!” (Then I had to explain to them what it meant to clobber someone and it took all the fun out of it.)

Like this, except with an amazing afro.
Like this, except with an amazing afro.

“What time is it? Time to kick some 12-year-old-butt, that’s what time it is!”

“You talkin’ to me? Boy, I’ll Jackie Chan you!” (Interchangeable with Chuck Norris and JCVD.)

“You wanna talk crazy to the Mom? Well, the Mom says this….” (This actually scared them a little, as they weren’t familiar with the Rock’s lingo and I was speaking of myself in the third person.)

“Don’t make me….” (This sentence ends in a variety of ways.)

“I’ll slap you over to Grandma’s house.” (She’d just make me come pick them up, and everyone knows I don’t feel like doing that.)

“You like CDs? Well see these fists!” (Actually, that one didn’t work because they don’t like CDs, only mp3’s and “mp3 these fists” makes no sense.)

They know it’s all in good fun, my actual punishments are quite sadistic. Like the time I made The Destroyer and Wondergirl clean each other’s room for fighting. For a week. Or when The Destroyer had to be Wondergirl’s servant for three hours after he said something mean to her—she absolutely relished it and contrived some of the most menial tasks possible, like fanning her nails dry. It was awesome, and it worked.

But they still enjoy my threats of bodily harm. They might be as off as their mother.

Do you randomly threaten? Or are you a good parent? (If you are, you can’t sit with us.)