Hodge Podge

   Recently, I noticed another person’s blog post that was basically a mish mosh of shorter but good pieces that the author felt were too short to be a post by themselves. It’s been really difficult to stay out of politics but I am still trying to keep myself neutral online (like Switzerland). I have also been having a great deal of trouble coming up with topics for my own blog but there is no shortage of random brain farts at my house. To that end, I humbly present the following:

  I am on an old person’s home exercise program. I go upstairs and forget why I’m up there so I go downstairs, then I remember. Why do I never forget what I’m after in the refrigerator?

  In the face of the most recent unpopular management decision (bedtime, in this case), my daughter loudly announced “I”m not happy!” I asked her which dwarf she was “Grumpy? Sleepy? Dopey?” Her response : “MMMooooooooommmm!!!”  Was there a dwarf named Bitter? I’d totally be that guy.

  “Probiotic” - because “Makes you Poop” doesn’t look good on product labels.

  The Orthodontist saw her shadow. My daughter has to wear her mouth guard for twelve more weeks.

  My nephew once asked me what kind of coffee we drink. I told him “Throw-a-shoe-at-your-head-get-up blend” or Formula number 47 Varnish. When we have overnight guests, I am not allowed to make the coffee.

  Sleep, may as well call it mommy crack. The more you get, the more you want.

   My doctor told me he believes my hair loss is due to stress. He didn’t tell me how to stop stressing out over my thinning hair.

  We will soon be going through our things to get ready for a spring yard sale. It used to be that toys would emit a distress signal and suddenly become fascinating when being eyed up for a sale. Due to a video game addiction, regular toys no longer have to disappear by stealth. I miss the good old days bigtime.

   My daughter is writing a book for a school project. Her story is better than mine and there is no writer’s block for her. She hates to write. WTF??!!

  

   Have you ever opened a closet in your house and been attacked? Our freezer is over filled and I was recently assaulted by a crapalanche of frozen vegetables when I was trying to defrost something for dinner. I didn’t even start cooking and my kitchen was dangerous.

    I’m beginning to think I should start throwing wild parties if I’m going to feel like this anyway. I will at least have had fun the night before.

  During a storm last year, we lost power briefly. The next day I remember telling my mother that the storm was scary but we came through just fine. “The television went out, but thankfully not for long. We were in danger of having to talk to each other! Whew! Dodged a bullet there.”

  Thus concludes the mish mosh. I am still scrounging for ideas. Feel free to make suggestions.

  

Drawing a blank

  I have often heard people say that a writer should be writing. They are referring to the discipline required to complete a project.  This is great, especially if you’re working on a novel or your job actually involves writing. What if you’re only writing small pieces for a blog and/or possible magazine submission? I admit that like anything else, if you want the success, you have to put the work in. The problem is my motivation, or lack of it. I am really struggling to find something to write about. 

  Too much has been going wrong at home these days. When you enjoy writing humor and not a damn thing is funny, what do you do? I’ve been looking at my screen going, “I got nothing.” This is  the reason for the lack of posts from yours truly. I live with two walking wealths of material so you’d think this wouldn’t be a problem but for some reason I seem to be stuck.

  I also run into a minor problem of finding little gold nuggets but forgetting to write them down. Slowly, I am getting better at that by using a memo feature on my phone. When I can I try to put ideas for posts there, too. 

  I’ve also been looking at other people’s posts. I admit I am jealous of how prolific they are. 

  Most of these folks aren’t writing in my genre but I wouldn’t think that would matter, a block is a block, after all. It’s a good idea to forgive myself for this, too. I’d rather not put out anything than just a placeholder.  I could just do a political rant. I have been trying to stay neutral and not put my opinions out there on that score. I’ve seen good friends fight too much over politics. I run the risk of ending up even more depressed with all the venom out there. 

  Looking around at my fellow humans should help. After all, if I spoke half of the things I thought about what I’ve observed people do I would probably have been jailed by now. It’s probably the reason people describe my husband as “patient” and “takes abuse well”. He’s always saying that ‘Barb’ is an apt nickname for me.

  If the problem is stress, maybe I can work on some short term solutions to help since a vacation doesn’t look doable in the near future. Alcohol has too many calories and picking up my daughter hung over doesn’t play well with the elementary school crowd. I’m getting my fair share of exercise so recently I’ve decided to try the opposite, meditation. Funny how it actually takes work to relax. It’s an actual effort to find five quiet minutes to do this. 

  I did read a post from someone recently that was a bit of a disjointed mish mosh. I’m thinking this was a great idea. This person had several good snippets laying around that were too short to be good posts on their own and so she put them together. So far, I’m low on snippets but it can take the proverbial heat off by feeling like I have to produce a whole cogent piece right now.

  I’m thinking this is a great idea and who knows, maybe it’ll be just the cattle prod I need to get out of this rut. I know I can’t “force inspiration”, but a little nudge would be nice. In the meantime, I will keep trying.

The Family GPS

   It appears that I am the family GPS. “Mommy, can I have my Pokemon Book, my dog pen, my slippers, my hat, my ‘you name it’ ?” I have no goddamn clue what my girl did with most of her possessions yet somehow I am expected to know where they are. My husband’s questions just begin with “Have you seen my.....?” but are otherwise the same. I don’t have the house memorized at any given time. In fact, if it weren’t for caffeine, it’s a miracle I leave the house with pants some days. 

  Through some miracle, mommy radar works remarkably well. Nine times out of ten, I find the missing item and nine times out of ten, it’s almost right in front of the searcher and doesn’t take more than two minutes of looking.  

  Like a bee trying to fly out of a closed window, I keep harassing the farm animals in my home to put their crap where it belongs. I have this insane idea that if you keep something in the same place all the time you won’t have to hunt for it. Why do that when you can just ask Mommy?

   My spouse isn’t much better, in fact, I’m convinced that’s where she gets her “handicap”. My husband is a dedicated purchasing manager and he is amazing at his job. The man not only purchases but finds things for a living. I have heard him time and time again handle things over the phone. He will give elaborate directions that Ray Charles could follow and I am certain that although I have never set foot in his warehouse, I could find whatever doohickey he’s describing. 

  The problem is he shuts down when he gets home. We’ve been in our house for about 10 years and he can’t find his ass with both hands once his car hits our driveway. I live with Captain Oblivious and his sidekick, The Messmonster. 

   I get that in any home there are some things that just sprout legs, like scissors or those “cheater” glasses. It’s the other things that “go missing” that have me scratching my head. “We have a shelf for the keys, that’s where I’d put them.” “Whaddya mean you can’t find the leftovers? Are your eyeballs open??!!” It’s also where I find the hunted for items that mystifies me. I’ve found the remote in the powder room and some items, like his name badge wander the whole house.

   My father, it turns out, had the right idea in one respect. He would say, “Don’t know, don’t want to know”. This was originally meant to apply in cases when my mother would ask him to do something. I think I need to follow that example, just to see what happens. The problem is that a part of me already knows what would happen. My husband would just go out and replace whatever the missing thing was. I find this to be an annoying waste of money, although it usually flushes out the hiding item into the open. Maybe I should hide the atm card first before I test this theory.

   There is also the option of asking annoying questions like “Where were you when you last had it?” and “Did you look where we keep them?” until the seeker decides to leave me the hell alone.

   Perhaps my biggest problem is that I seem to be the only brain in my house that thinks belongings are to be taken care of rather than strewn. It’s also a small house, people can’t be leaving their crap all over the place like a trail of breadcrumbs in case they get lost. It just feels that way. When I’ve gotten really frustrated, I’ve busted out my pointy hat and a trash bag and anything left undefended on the floor was history. I wasn’t expecting to have to do that to my spouse.

   I admit that sometimes I lose things and I am by no means organized. I just try to keep my belongings in logical places. If it takes ten seconds to put something back and that would save you a half hour of looking why not do it? I know, you can just ask mommy.

   

Small Victory

   Recently, when faced with yet another joyful episode of getting our daughter ready for school, I found a way to fix my problem. Upon approaching the body, I checked the clock. Luckily, there was enough time to execute my plan. I climbed into her bed and grabbed one of her books. As I began to read, I enlisted her help with the story. “Nellie waved to the kids from her boat.” I picked up a dead arm and waved it. “Then cousin Allistair waved back!” I picked up the arm again and this time I said, “Helloooooo!”. “Dan walked up the beach.” I horse clomped up the back of the body. It starts giggling. “The wind was blowing hard.” I grab a clump of blonde hair and wave it around. “Ok, Ok, I’m up!!” Darn, I thought, I didn’t get to the rain storm. Guess I’ll have to skip the cup of water. Score one for mommy, finally.

RRRRoooooaaaaarrrrr!!!

  It’s time to go poke a bear with a stick, again. This always puts the extra fun in a Monday. Part of the problem is that it’s all my fault, or mostly anyway. My little girl is every inch her grandmother’s revenge and getting her ass up for school is frequently too much fun for humans. My little apple not only didn’t roll far from the tree, I’m lucky it even fell off the branch. Our morning routine could best be described as some warped rendition of beat the clock for the deaf. I am constantly repeating myself louder and louder. “It’s time to get up.” “We gotta get moving!” “Will you get up already??!!” 

   Tuesdays are still painful. Wednesdays and Thursdays are better but by Friday we’re back to ugly since it’s been four days of shoveling our butts up. I’m grateful her majesty is not fussy about what she wears although I try to give her a choice of two things. That’s at least one small advantage of her not being fully awake. I also don’t have to chase her to brush out her hair. She saves that crap for the weekends.

   In a way, I feel sorry that I can’t give my eight year old coffee. The problem is, she’s like an old fashioned plane.  Once she gets her propeller going, she’s off like a shot, it just the wind up that takes a lot of work. Caffeine would cost us dearly later, I’m sure. Mommy, on the other hand, can’t even enter the room without at least a half a cup consumed. I completely understand the hostility I get, too. I don’t expect happiness in the morning, but I’d settle for cooperation. One morning she rolled over and I’d swear she farted at me.

   I suppose it’s good that she’s not one of those happy first thing farmer kids who get up ungodly early. I don’t think I could handle that. The polar opposite, I guess, is preparing us for the teen years. I’m theorizing that this part of the morning can’t get worse. If it weren’t for the snoring I could draw a chalk outline in her bed. The alarm clock is completely ignored. We need a better clock to be sure. I haven’t looked online but if I could find something that say emitted a SWAT team yell, or a howitzer, it may help.

  When I was a kid, I watched a cartoon in which a coyote’s bed stood up and threw his ass out. In our case, it would take some hydraulics, I think, a pantload of money and maybe even a bigger room. Then there’s the matter of breakfast, or to dream the impossible dream. I have tried smoothies but got really sick of our little food critic giving me the thumbs down. In desperation, I have had to resort to powdered breakfast drinks and oatmeal cookies marketed as granola bars.

   The never ending sugar battle has forced a few concessions in order for me to hang onto my sanity and more of my hair. I read a lot of labels and use half packets of drink mix but the main objective is to get something in that tummy before school. It doesn’t matter how cute she is, tired and hungry turns her into an even bigger hemorrhoid to deal with. Her teachers don’t deserve that.

   I am baffled as to why this kid does not do bananas. She climbs like a monkey and occasionally smells like one, so why not eat like one? They are also good for you, portable, and require no cooking. God forbid we get off that easy. I can still manage peanut butter once in a while but I have to try to remind our girl to wash her hands after eating it if she’s going to school. They treat peanut butter like nuclear waste at her school but at least we’re not the ones dealing with the allergies directly. That’s a whole separate hell we are lucky to dodge.

  So, dear reader, how do you get your kids up in the morning? I’m open to suggestions aka I’ll take all the help I can get.

    

Still more lessons

    It’s been getting tougher as time goes on. Homework is the child equivalent of death and taxes. Resistance is futile, unless you’re Polish, then it’s genetic. “Why do I have to go to school at all?” “Why can’t I just stay home and play video games?” “You don’t need math for video games!” Our worldly eight year old has some how convinced herself that she has amassed a wealth of knowledge and experience far beyond her parents. I’m told this comes with the territory. 

   Every day after school, I ask our girl if she has her homework. Frequently, I check the backpack (trust but verify). Once she has had a break and a snack, the harassment campaign begins. It’s not so much the getting her majesty to sit down and actually start it. It’s the dragging out 12 math problems into the equivalent of a doctoral thesis that makes mommy want to drink herself into a stupor, sometimes by Tuesday night. My grown up brain can’t understand why just putting this crap in the rearview so we can move on just does not compute to my offspring.

   The other bonus wrinkle is the endless redirection. I’ve said many times that it feels like you’re dealing with an overcaffeinated squirrel. This kid has a talent for distracting herself with nothing. When there is nothing around her but just a table, a chair, a pencil and paper, that tablecloth had better not be fuzzy. She will have pencils battle erasers, sing songs about how homework is stupid, and suddenly she’s absolutely starving. Is duct taping someone’s ass to a chair illegal?

   I have about a fifty fifty shot at being able to do something else like make dinner or doing dishes but as often as not, I’m the homework gestapo. 

  My husband is blissfully unaware of this. On the rare occasions when he is forced to feel mommy’s pain, it’s almost a drama contest. There’s a monumental effort on both sides. For a person with a college degree, we sometimes have to explain what our third grader’s homework requires. What’s almost funny is that he will tell me about how difficult the whole process is as if I was not in the next room and had never been through this??!!   

   ‘My God, she’s a huge pain in the ass!’ ‘Welcome to my world, Sherlock!’ (Not that I’m bitter or anything.)

   It would be really helpful if we could somehow collaborate on the problem since the homework is only going to get uglier from here. We haven’t even scratched the surface of studying, research papers, presentations or other herculean feats. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’m guessing the best way to handle things without too much alcohol is to eat our elephant one bite at a time.

  This is going to be as much fun as forks in the eyes but unless we hit the lottery, my options are pretty limited. This kid is going to have to grow up to support herself, which for now, at least, means a decent education. I have also learned the hard way not to ignore study guides. The first time one was sent home, I figured we had enough to contend with and that anything that even smelled like extra homework was too much hassle.

   I’ve often said, my daughter is in school but I’m the one getting educated. We ignored her first math study guide. Fortunately it took only one epic bomb of a math test to end that practice. I have to sneak that stuff in small doses on days when there’s not a lot of homework or before bed on the weekends. I’m about to find out if this tactic will work, another test is coming soon. 

  If I could only figure out how to get pokemon into her homework maybe she would stop complaining although I’d settle for cooperation. 

   

The Good Old Days?

  I recently attended my husband's high school class reunion. My spouse remembers a lot about his high school years. I can't say I have a lot of fond memories of those years. In fact, you couldn't pay me to be 16 again. The 80s hair alone could give me nightmares if my recall was good but thank God it's not. College was marginally better but mostly I remember working my ass off, not having much money and occasionally drinking. The only person I knew there was my spouse so it was my turn to take one for the team.

  I've also heard of grammar school reunions. If there was ever any group of people I was happy to put in my rear view it was those brats, except for one person I stayed in touch with and two people I didn't. These were not nice people. I was bullied but I don't think they called it that back then. Nowadays it's a huge deal in schools. We are lucky to live in an amazing school district where we couldn't ask for better teachers for our daughter.

  There are all sorts of meetings, programs, books and public service announcements about preventing bullying. What I'm wondering is why can't we just teach our kids to leave each other the hell alone? To quote the philosopher (or maybe it was Will Smith?) 'Don't start nothin', won't be nothin'.' We can't expect the schools to raise our kids for us. 

  I know there are plenty of people out there who say that bullying is always going to be a thing and kids need to stop being 'wussies'. That may be true but only up to a point. First, bullying should not always be a thing.  I firmly believe that the problem starts at home. Whether it's lack of parenting or poor behavior being modeled at home, I firmly believe we are products of our environment. I also believe that kids will do whatever they feel they can get away with. I live with cute but evil.

  It would be great if we were all born with a thick skin. Unfortunately, much to my dismay, I discovered recently that I can hold a grudge like a nun. An old friend let me know she reconnected with an old bully on Facebook. She let me know the woman has a disabled daughter. I don't know if I said it out loud but my first thought was 'It serves her right', not exactly magnanimous! 

  If we're supposed to enjoy karma, why do I feel like such a rat bastard for even thinking such a thing? While I admit the problem is mostly mine, it's a lot like the old therapist joke, 'If it's not one thing, it's your mother.'. I most likely went to school with a bunch of people who were not taught how to behave. Some wounds fester and it appears that I was swimming in a fish bowl that was never cleaned. It's now up to me to clean up. Beware, lest your offspring become the victim of someone else's bad parenting!

  Don't get me wrong. I do plan on teaching our girl how to defend herself (preferably verbally first) and eventually how to agree to disagree. First, since she is still young, I want her to understand how to be a good friend. Fortunately, the rule is simple, treat others how you want to be treated. The execution part can be complicated. She hasn't asked me yet 'But mom, what if the other guy is an asshole?', for example. I'm still working on my response to that one. There's a fine line between nice and doormat but that can be hard to explain to someone who is 8.

  I do plan to make sure she understands that greeting someone with a punch in the face is not acceptable behavior ( especially at a reunion).