Tomorrow I'll Just Serve Candy

Did you ever have one of those days where the lack of the proper amount of syrup on the waffles becomes a major tragedy? Complete with tears, snot, and protestations of "But I asked fiiiiiiiiiiiiirst!"?

Honestly those kids would argue over a piece of used chewing gum. The kind you scrape off your shoe and is now gray and has bits of hair and fuzz and grass stuck in it. Can't you just hear it now?

"Moooooooom! It's not faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaair! I wanted a wodge of dirty chewing gum tooooooooooooooooooo! You NEVER let me have what I want!" [cue hysterical sobbing, followed by stomping retreat, completed with slamming of door]

I was thisclose to taking my friend Jackie's advice and sticking three straws in the syrup bottle and telling them to have at it.

But we have averted tragedy and diabetic comas for today.

All in a day's work for SuperMom.

I want a cape. Can I get a cape? It would make the job so much cooler.

My Village Called. They Want Their Idiot Back.

My little boy is registered for Kindergarten in the Fall. *sniff*

No really, I'll be okay. I'll stock up on Kleenex though just in case.

In a previous post I explained how our school district conducts a lottery to determine which school kindergartners will attend. I was especially concerned about the school Jamie would attend due to his life-threatening nut allergy. I wanted to be sure there would be a trained nurse on site to keep his Epi-Pen and (God forbid) administer it if necessary.

When I was told, not so nicely, that this condition did not give him any special consideration, and he would not be exempted form this lottery, I got, shall we say, testy? And when I get "testy", I write letters. To the Superintendent of Schools. Who doesn't like to get letters about how his staff is being unresponsive. And let's just say it makes the staff a bit more responsive when I request they put it in writing that they have complete confidence that my child will be 100% safe should he experience (again, GOD FORBID) anaphylaxis at their school.

Responsive enough that I am now in possession of the Assistant Superintendent's personal cell phone number to discuss any and all concerns at any time of the day or night. Well, she might get a little cranky if I call her at midnight the night before the first day of school to tell her I'm feeling a bit weepy about Jamie starting Kindergarten. But you get the idea.

Tonight was the auspicious lottery. I received my letter over a week ago, on official school district stationery, telling me the Who, What, When and Where of the occasion. I immediately pretended to be the keen, organized Mom that I'm not, and noted the particulars on my official Mom's planning calendar. You know, the kind with a column for each member of the family so I can forget to keep track of all their appointments, and instead spend my life searching through my purse for tiny little handwritten appointment cards.

I dashed out of the house tonight at 5:40 p.m. to be at the local High School Auditorium by 6:00 p.m. I wasn't sure exactly where the Auditorium was, but I noticed a cluster of cars in the parking lot and figured that would be a good entrance to try. A pimply faced kid perched on a handrail trying to look cool kindly directed me to the proper entrance and I walked toward the doors.

When I walked into the auditorium and found it dark I was perplexed. I pulled out my cell phone to check the time but it was switched off. I pushed the button to turn it on. Nothing. When WAS the last time I charged that thing? I walked toward a pay phone, not even knowing how much a pay phone costs these days, dug in my purse for the fifty cents (FIFTY CENTS!!! I am officially a geezer by telling you I remember when it cost a DIME!) and came up with four nickels and three pennies.

Sigh. Walked back to my van and plugged the phone into the car charger only to find that my husband did not take the phone with him when he took the kids outside.

So I of course took the logical step of using the super secret personal cell phone number of the Assistant Superintendent. The one whom I had exchanged several polite and some slightly threatening letters with this past Spring. The one whom I wanted to realize that I was an intelligent adult that knows my stuff and won't be pushed around. The one who informed me that the lottery is being held TOMORROW at the High School Auditorium at 6:00 p.m.

Two out of three ain't bad.

They Know Me So Well

Sabrina: Jamie! Mommy just has to finish her refried bean burrito and then we can go open our Lemonade Stand.

Jamie: Oh no. That's terrible.

Sabrina: Why? She's almost done.

Jamie: Because then she'll fart and chase all our customers away.

How Was That Vacation Anyway?

Like most things in life it can be summed up as "Good, bad, and not long enough." But that doesn't make for a very good blog entry now does it?

The drive itself was not as bad as expected. That's not to say it was pleasant. It helped that Dave accepted that he was handling the bulk of the driving, and I didn't have the anxiety of worrying about possibly driving. Besides, the one time that we switched off, which I agreed to because it was two lane roads, we discovered that he stinks as a navigator and he kept missing turns.

I did not take the Xanax. I didn't get to test drive it before I left. I was far too busy packing up five people's belongings. Everyone had underwear when we got there so we'll call it a success. I did however feel a little better having the Xanax on hand as an insurance policy.

I got through the drive with a few prayers to St. Christopher (thank you Eileen for reminding me) and text messages to my own personal saint, Jeannette, who gave up most of four days to keep me occupied sending messages to and fro. We arrived in Myrtle Beach and back home again, in one piece and mostly sane thanks to my two patron saints. They couldn't really help out with the general tendency toward insanity I possessed beforehand.

The beach was, as expected, fabulous. I adore the beach, the sea, the sun, the sand, the surf, the sights, the smells, the sounds. I sat on a balcony sipping wine at night watching the waves practically beneath my feet. We were THAT CLOSE. I watched dolphins breaking the surface of the water every morning from the living room window. I took a walk every morning on the beach and allowed whim to decide if I should turn right or left that day.

On the third day there I discovered my 8 plus year old bathing suits were beginning to lose their, um, OOMPH. I dragged my eight and five year olds to the Beach Shop under the pretense of getting them body boards while I shopped for a new bathing suit. The suit in question could be paired with a skirted bottom or a regular brief bottom. When I chose the skirted bottom the saleslady agreed with my choice and commented that it looked much nicer, plus, "You've got the baby."

Baby? What baby? I left her in the condo napping. How does she know about..........?

Oh. I get it.

There goes my new found self-confidence in my recent weight loss.

I paid for my suit and skulked out of the store instead of reminding her of that classic piece of advice from comedian Sean Morey,

"I do not assume a woman is pregnant unless I see an ACTUAL LIVE BABY emerging from her vagina in front of me."

Maybe A Little Ragged Around The Edges

Eleven years, three kids, one dog, two cats, one and a half fish, two trucks, five cars, and one waaaaaaaaaay too small house later, we are still standing.


Happy Anniversary Dave!