Archive for May, 2013

2 big bottles of Jergens for Christmas…

I love my kids. Most of the time. This past year has been trying. My daughter, kid #3, is hitting puberty WAY too early. I never should have allowed her unrestricted access to her massive consumptions of milk. Yesterday she asked me for a bandaid to cover a zit sprouting in the corner of her nose. She’s 9. WTF?
My 12 year old boy appears to be the most even out of the trio. Kid #2 performs well in school, generally does his homework, and wrestles. He has a great sense of humor. During his off season last year, he took Taekwondo with kid #3. When it came time to graduate from white belt to yellow belt, they both were expected to pass a test that included kicking a board in half. He was very proud. While I was upstairs putting laundry away one day shortly after, I overheard him bragging to his brother’s friend that he broke the board. The kid scoffed, “I’m a yellow belt too! It wasn’t that hard…I broke the board too”.
Kid #2’s response?
“Yeah, but did you break it with your penis?”
And then there is my 16 year old. Full fledged teenager. Full fledged hormones. The reason I hardly posted in April. The reason gray hairs pepper the husband’s goatee. The reason stress hives dot my wrists.
Kid #1 is a sophomore. He frowns upon organized sports. He bitches about cleaning his room and searches the internet for insightful essays he can post on Facebook about why cleaning your room is unimportant instead of completing his homework. Of course, I only see what he wants me to see on his Facebook page. He has not yet deleted me, but we assume a limited friendship. He thinks he can outsmart me. Back when he was young and untainted, he befriended several of my friends. He forgot to limit some of said friends. (Thanks SD!!)
One day last year, Kid #1 ‘forgot’ to turn in 7 assignments and brought home an F on a progress report. His punishment? Leave your Iphone on the table. I had an unexpected day off and began cleaning house. While I Windexed the counter, his phone vibrated and a text message popped up. I called the husband to tell him I thought kid #1 was smoking pot.
“Why do you think that?” the husband implored.
“Because he just got a text message asking if he wanted to smoke some pot after school,” I replied.
Now, the husband nor I were angels when we were in high school. Parenting 101 fails to explain the proper method of dealing with situations you once created for your own parents. Yes, paybacks are hell.
Fast forward a few months to a typical evening at the dinner table. A friend of the husband’s had temporarily moved into our basement. Kid #2 was at a friends house. My daughter, blissfully unaware, sat innocently devouring her grilled chicken. Kid #1 declares he wants a lock for his bedroom door.
I immediately tensed my shoulders, envisioning incense and hookah bowls. (I did not find either of those until a month ago).
“Why do you need a lock on your door? You don’t need a lock on your door!” I quickly countered.
“Well,” he cleared his throat, “You know how I like your lotion?”
Silence. I had repeatedly found bottles of my lotion, sometimes scented; other times fragrance-free, littering his nightstand or computer table. Did I really naively believe he was replenishing his dehydrated elbows?
The husband and his friend fell silent, too. Briefly. Then erupted into fits of laughter. I do not know what the husband found funnier; the fact that his kid just told us he likes to jack off or the fact that I was rendered speechless. A fucking first.
I finally gained my composure and waited for the boys to stop laughing.
“Why don’t I just buy you some KY?” I asked Kid #1, trying to make his comfort level match my own. No shame.
“Nah- I’m kind of a dry guy, ” he boldly replied, much to my horror.
I bought him a lock the next day.

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Linda is a stupid name for a cat

Happy Mother’s Day!! I usually love Mother’s Day. I make the husband take the kids to his mom’s house and I attempt to get some sun and drink some Bass in peace and quiet. Not this year. The high today was 54 degrees. What the fuck? All of the men I know do not care about browning their skin. Yet fathers get their day in the sun in June. So unfair. The husband kept asking what I wanted for Mother’s Day this year. I said, “Nothing! I just want the kids to clean their rooms!”
I should have been careful what I wished for. One out of two isn’t bad, right? I got nothing and the kids didn’t clean their rooms. Kid #1 texted me an r-rated e-card. Does that count?
I did, however, inherit a dog last week. A Pomeranian. Kid #1 kept texting me pictures of a kitten he wanted to bring home. He promised he would take care of it. I hate cats. And litter boxes. And cat piss. And blatant lies. No child of mine would clean a litter box on a schedule that would coordinate with my fervent dislike for cat smell. I told him no and happily ignored his ensuing and multiple pleas for me to reconsider.
My daughter wanted a cat once several years ago. So I begrudgingly relented. A friend of a friend knew someone who wanted to get rid of their cat. That should have been my first clue. The reason I was given? Said cat did not get along with the owner’s other cat. So I surprised my daughter one day and came home with a black and white, part Siamese cat.
“I want to name her Linda,” she said, trying to cuddle the petrified cat.
“Do you mean Glenda,like the good witch?” I tried to clarify.
“No. Linda!”
Ummm… okay. Linda let my daughter pet her 3 times before she darted to our basement. Where she stayed for the next 6 months. Every once in a while, one of the kids would attempt to retrieve Linda from the basement. Linda liked the comfort and solitude of the basement; which she made apparent by pissing on the daughter’s bed. And in her closet. And under her bed. She happily retreated to her basement after thoroughly pissing me off.
After about a year with this fucking basement cat, I had had enough. I knew the cat had lived inside and outside at her old owner’s house so I figured she could use some fresh air. I had the day off work, so after the kids left for school I released Linda. I bid her farewell and went about my day.
A few days later, I was in the kitchen making dinner. The husband came in to sample and squinted out the back door. He pulled the sliding doors opened and yelled at kid #1 to get off of the fence he was hanging over.
“I think I see Linda, Dad!” he yelled back.
“Linda’s in the basement…” his voice trailed off as he saw the look on my face.
“You didn’t,” he turned to me. It was not a question.
“But it’s been 3 days! No one even noticed!” I tried to defend myself.
So in came Linda. Again.
I permitted this nonsense for a few more weeks before I started calling shelters. Apparently I am not the only person who fucking hates cats. All the shelters were full. I had zero takers on Craigslist.
I called my dad to bitch about the futile situation. I’m so glad I did. He came up with a fantastic idea. The woman that lives in the house behind him has cats. Lots of them. And a “Humane Society” sticker on her front door to boot.
“You can walk over to her house and say you found Linda in my yard and ask if it belongs to her,” he suggested.
Game on! I loaded the cat in my car. She was part Siamese so she meowed quite loudly. Kid #3 ran to the open upstairs window.
“What are you doing with Linda?” she cried down to me, sobbing.
I rolled my eyes.
“You guys don’t even like the cat!”
I started the car and made it around the block before that piece of shit broke down. The husband had to come rescue me. Kid #3 was only 4 years old at the time so of course she came with him. And of course she was still crying.
I finally made it to my dad’s house and proceeded with our plan. I knocked on the neighbor’s door and she fell in love with the ‘homeless’ cat and immediately welcomed her with open arms.
Needless to say, we do not harbor what I would call a cat-friendly home. So after all the trouble kid #1 went through sending me pictures and videos of the kitten he HAD to have, he comes home an hour later with a Pomeranian. The same friend of his whose cat had kittens also owned a dog that did not get enough attention. Probably because of all the fucking cats.
His friend’s mom idled in her car waiting to talk to me as all 3 kids AND the husband stuck out their lower lips as they fondled the admittedly super cute Pomeranian. For a second, I actually felt authoritative. But then again, everyone knew the responsibility of the dog’s grooming, access to food, and veterinarian visits would solely depend upon me.
So again, my first logical question for his friend’s mom was, “Why are you trying to get rid of him?”
The mom said the dog did not get enough attention in her house and that Pomeranians are needy little fuckers. Or something like that. I sighed. The dog is 4 years old, potty trained, and named ‘Buckeye’.
I am a huge Ohio State fan. But Buckeye is a stupid dog name. He looks more like a Chewbacca.
photo

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But I guess it’s better than Linda.

And I just can’t seem to quit smoking….

April consistently proves to be a busy month in my household. Easter, birthdays, and spring break usually equal an eventful few weeks. This year was not an exception.
Easter fell early this year. I volunteered to host dinner because I ALWAYS volunteer to host dinner because then I can drink beer.
#1. I am a responsible parent and do not drink and drive. With the kids, anyway. Ever.
#2. No other family members usually offer beer at family functions. And if they do, it usually does not meet my standards. (Bass; or any other dark beer).
I should mention a few points here. Both of our families enjoy coming to our house for family functions because deep down they really want to drink too. (Don’t family gatherings naturally equal a deep desire to imbibe?) And even if they do not drink, the atmosphere is always more relaxed.
I remember attending a birthday party for one of my nephews before my sister graciously moved to Florida. My husband did not attend because I do not make him attend anything my sister and her douchebag husband host. I shall explain that dysfunctional relationship in a future post. My dad also attended said birthday party. About halfway through, he asked if my daughter could stay the night with him after the party. I said, “Sure!” and went to hunt down the douchebag to get a beer.
He studied the fridge much too intently before handing me the only beer the refrigerator contained. Bud Light. I shook my head, disgusted.
“No, thanks!” I futilely tried to feign politeness.
“Are you kidding me? You’re an alcoholic!” was his stupid response.
Instead of warning him, “Yeah, you grow up with my sister and see how much you drink!” since his marriage will certainly be affected sooner or later, I simply looked at my watch. Time to go.
I guarantee the douchebag has never drank a Bud light at my house. He beelines for the stocked garage refrigerator at my house every time he visits. It does not contain cheap beer.
Easter dinner just consists of the husband’s family. For obvious reasons. My Jewish family does not celebrate the resurrection of Christ. And yes, I just asked the husband while I was typing whether Easter was the resurrection or the birth of Christ.
The good Friday before Easter also marked the first day of the kids spring break. Years prior, we have gone on vacation. This year, their very short spring break started the Friday before Easter until the Wednesday after. The husband was scheduled to go back to work (YIPEE) on the 10th of April, so he and I decided to go away just the two of us for a few days.
The husband had surgery on his elbow and convalesced at home for 3 months. More accurately, he built himself a motorcycle. I think he agreed to go on a quickie vacation with me so I would like him again.
We decided on a few days in Chicago. We decided the night before we left. On Easter. My mother-in-law took the kids home with her after Easter dinner, and the husband and I left for Chicago Monday morning.
Chicago is such a fun city! The 6 hour drive was not too bad; mostly flat and not very scenic except for the hundreds of wind turbines through Indiana. And the freeway signs once we entered Chicago.
Fist of all, I made the husband Google how many drunk driving arrests were issued in Chicago per year. How the fuck do you drive drunk in Chicago?? It’s hard enough sober! Secondly, the freeway alerts blared the number of traffic deaths so far this year in the city. When we arrived on Monday, the first day of April, the sign proclaimed 222 deaths. The husband and I meandered around the city for almost 2 days. Every time (fucking often!) we heard sirens, I would say, “224!”
I know, I know…that’s morbid. Bu when we left, the sign read 226 traffic deaths so far this year. Essentially a day and a half later!
We ate well, we drank well, and we did other things well!
We came home and immediately celebrated my father-in-law’s birthday, kid #3’s birthday, and the husband’s birthday. (All within 6 days!) The real reason to celebrate?? The husband went back to work!
While we were in Chicago, he found several things he liked at the local Eddie Bauer store. “We” agreed everything he bought should be considered his birthday present.
I still felt obliged to get him something on his birthday. But what the fuck do you buy someone who buys himself whatever he wants?
I decided to blow up a picture I had taken of his motorcycle. It is, no matter how bitter I am, beautiful. The only pictures I had taken were on my phone, though, and were not good enough quality to enlarge to a poster size.
A great Father’s Day idea! But I still had no idea what to get him for his birthday.
So it is Wednesday morning. The day of his birthday. His first day back to work. I have dicked around on the computer trying to enlarge the un-enlargeable photo to the point where I am going to be even later to work than usual. The doorbell rings. Aaaaahh… the UPS guy!!
I grabbed the two packages off the front porch. I knew their contents contained parts for the husband’s motorcycle. Boxes had arrived daily for the past 3 months. I inspected the perfect-sized cardboard and knew they were the solution to my dilemma!
Yes. I sure as shit gift wrapped both boxes and left them on my kitchen table!
Watching him open his gifts later? Priceless!
He opened the first box and pulled out a chrome kickstand. His first reaction?
“How did you know?”
And then he started laughing. And remembered he married a Jew.


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