Drop And Give Me Twenty!

Lately, I'm beginning to feel like a Drill Sergeant with my kids. The only way I can get them to do anything is to bark orders at them.

"Do your homework!" "Brush your teeth!" "Massage my feet!" "Get in the shower!" "Get out of the shower!"

Now, don't get me wrong. I don't start off spewing obscenities raising my voice. I do begin by requesting they do these things. I use my sweet toned-voice. I say please. But after doing so FIFTY.FREAKING.TIMES, I kind of lose it.

Take today, for instance. W. came home from school and our normal routine began. I looked through his backpack while he got himself a snack. While he ate and I looked over papers, I asked him about his day. I got the usual answers to my questions. "Fine" and "Nothing".

As soon as he scarfed down his chocolate chip muffins and washed it down with some milk, he was out the back door. I let him blow off a little steam when he gets home. He's allowed to play in the yard for about 45 minutes before homework begins.

I glance at the table where he has left his paper plate, cup, and crumbs. Again. You see my kids are suppose to actually clean up after themselves before they leave the table. You know, because I'm such a slave driver and all.

I open the screen to the back door. "W. could you come in here and clean up your snack mess, please?"

No response. He doesn't even look in my direction and continues kicking the ball at to his brother.

Maybe he didn't hear me. I'm pretty sure he did, but I'll give him the benefit of the doubt.

I speak a little louder, "Excuse me, W.? You need to come in here and clean up your place at the table."

Nada. No reaction at all. He's now running around the yard screeching in that God-awful, high-pitched voice he uses just to piss off the elderly couple next door. I'm sure that's not his intention, but usually the end result, nonetheless.

AAAAAHHHHHHHH! "W.! GET YOUR BUTT IN HERE-NOW!!!" I scream, not caring at this point who the heck hears me.

"Oh my GOD, MOM!" he says, as though I just hit him in the head with a baseball bat. Not that I didn't think about it. I mean it was just lying there on the ground, all metal and gleaming, calling out to me. "Pick me up, pick me up."

"I asked you three times to come in and clean up your place!"

He whizzes past me and says, "I didn't hear you!"

I almost tripped him. "The whole freaking neighborhood heard me!"

"Well, do you have to yell?"

"Do I have to yell? If I whispered the ice cream truck is coming, do you want some? That you'd hear!"

"Um, yea...."

I'm wondering, is selective hearing an ailment? Is it a virus? I'm thinking it may be hereditary. I'm betting, that if researched, scientists would find that the gene comes from the male species.

Because in the Schmitty house, the apple don't fall far from the tree!

School Days

There are only 10 more full days and 5 more 1/2 days until W. gets out of school for summer. I am SO ready for 4th grade to be over! It has not been an easy year.

W. is a very smart boy. I am quite thankful for that, because when it comes to doing his work, well, he's not exactly enthusiastic. Actually, he's quite lazy. He needs someone to keep the fire under his butt lit, at all times.

He has always had a teacher willing to fan the flames. That is, until this year. In grades K-3 he got the "tough teacher". The one that would push the kids to try harder, the one that would expect a lot, the one that would call me if my kid wasn't working to his potential.

I loved it. It kept him in line and he did what he had to do.

This year, quite honestly, he got a bit of a slacker for a teacher. And I was warned. OH.WAS.I.WARNED! Every time I told someone who W. was having for a 4th grade teacher, I would get, "Oooohhhhh" - and then complete silence. It wasn't looking good. She has quite the reputation for not really giving two poops. I kept hearing that she did the minimum. She also let the kids watch a lot of movies in class.

What was she doing? Sleeping in the back of the room? Watching movies. Are you kidding me? And they weren't even educational!

But what could I do? The school was very strict on not honoring class changes and I couldn't really request a switch because, "I hear through the parental grapevine that this teacher sucks!"

So, I became the co-teacher this year and built a bonfire. I roasted W. like a marshmallow, to keep him on track.

About a month and a half ago, we received a letter home that stated his teacher was taking a leave of absence for the remainder of the year. She had to have surgery and there was going to be a substitute filling in. I thought, "A reprieve!!!"

Yea.right. I couldn't imagine a worse teacher. Now I can. Oy Vey! This one can't seem to get a grip, at all. I don't think she can keep up with the daily work and is sending home lots of it for homework. I think I should have my teaching credentials any day now. Though she sends home the work, she must not have time to go over it because the papers will sit in W.'s folder for days. I questioned him on it and he said that sometimes they don't go over it at all(this was confirmed by other moms with kids in his class). HUH?

I think the school should listen to Calvin:



I just keep counting down the days. Next year has got to be better than this, Right?! Maybe I can't predict that, but I do know two things; I know who T. and R. will not have for 4th grade and I know that I'll be saving some bucks on an end of the year teacher's gift!

Beauty Is In The Eye Of The Beholder

Mr. Schmitty and I don't fight very often. We bicker, pretty much daily, but that's because I am a hormonal bitch (I have PCOS and PMDD) wife who is convinced she also has OCD (though as Momo Fali has pointed out, should be called CDO) and he is a 10 year old trapped in a man's body husband who definitely should be on Ritalin. A combination like that? Yeah, there's going to be bickering. But really? All and all out fighting? We don't do a whole lot of that.

We have, however, had this one long running feud. It actually started before we even got married. Every so often it rears it's ugly head and we both get miffed and sulk for a while. It then gets buried until the next time it crops up out of nowhere.

It's the silliest quarrel. Our taboo subject becomes heated, basically, because we have differences in our likes and our dislikes.

You see, I've always wanted a tattoo. I've wanted to get inked since I was in my late teens. Mr. Schmitty, he's old school, he HATES tattoos, especially on women.

He thinks they are disgusting. I think they are a form of art.

Now mind you, I'm not looking to get a sleeve done, or an eagle across my back. I only want a small, delicate tat on my ankle. Something symbolic, but not the M on each cheek, as he suggested. You know so it says, "MOM" and when I stand on my head, "WOW". Bastard.

His other solution? Get temporary ones, "Then you can can change them and aren't stuck with the same one." What am I? 5 years old?

No matter what my argument, he wasn't having it. He didn't care how small it was going to be. He made me know he really, REALLY doesn't like them.

I was pissed. I normally would have run right out and gotten it anyway. But I decided I would stay away from the tattoo parlours, for him. Ahhh....love.

But you know what? It's been decades and I still want one. It's been decades and I.STILL.WANT.A.TATTOO! So, why shouldn't I get one? I told him I would never prevent him from doing something he wanted to do that badly. He seemed to understand.

I think.

I haven't completely decided that I am going through with it. Now that I am 41, do I look like a fool getting my first tattoo? Is it a mid-life crisis?

I am contemplating this design: What do you think?

It is a Celtic (I am from Irish descent) symbol. It is the Motherhood Knot. The interlocking heart itself is the mother. The dot or heart within is the child, in the arms, surrounded by the love of the mother. Each dot I have added represents each of my children's birthstones.

Now, to tell Mr. Schmitty I've got a new blog post.

.........to be continued.........

Yes? Or No?

I have a question for all of you. What do you think is an appropriate age for a child to have a cell phone?

My son has been pleading on a daily basis for his own cell phone. He'll be 10 in a few weeks. I told him he could get one when I felt there was a need for one. He doesn't even use the house phone very often, but he NEEDS a cell?

He doesn't travel far from the home without adult supervision. He usually plays with the kids who live right across the street. So why the obsession with a cell?

Most of the kids in his grade already have them. That's why. Good old, "Not fair, so and so has one and so does so and so!" Which, if they are involved in a lot of extra-curricular activities, I can see the necessity. But the thing that annoys me is that he shouldn't KNOW that so many kids have them. The school shouldn't allow them from being taken out of their backpacks. They are in school, if there is an emergency, I think the school phone would suffice.

I see kids walking around cub scouts chatting away, texting, and playing games on them. It's obnoxious and rude, in my opinion.

Don't get me wrong, I am the lover of all gadgets, but isn't this just a little too much? I see my nieces at family gatherings with their phones on the table in front of them. You can't even hold a conversation with them because they are constantly responding to text messages.

I know my son, he'll use a cell as though it were another toy. Like another Gameboy. He'll be downloading games, ringtones, and Lord knows what. I can only imagine how much that first bill would be!

I know one thing, he'll be texting, that's for sure.

We went out to dinner the other night and he was getting fidgety. And my boy can get quite fidgety. I let him use my cell to text his father across the table. I know, I know, I wasn't really helping my camp in my son's "I Want A Cell Phone" campaign.

W. then asked if he could text his classmate, S., who he had been playing with that afternoon. S. is a girl who lives around the corner from us. I said he could text one hello and that was it. She texted back a greeting as well.

Later on I was looking to make sure that was all he did and I saw a draft that he had started but hadn't sent. It said, "S., will you be my girlfriend?" He apparently doesn't want to wait until 5th grade.

I guess texting is like blogging, in a way. He never would have had the guts to ask something like that to her face. I know with blogging it's also so much easier to "put something out there".

Technology, is it helping our kids grow up too fast? I wonder.

David Cook Wins!!

Yeah Baby!

Honey, I'll See You In July!!

I Did Giggle, Just A Little

But I just couldn't help it. It's in my nature.

Did you hear...chuckle... about the Lifetouch Studios...hee hee... incident at McKinney High School in Texas? Snort. Ahem. Sorry. I feel really...giggle, sniff....badly.

Based out of Minnesota, Lifetouch, or Retouch as they should now be named, provides portraits and yearbooks for schools nationwide. Seems they've got a closet Photoshopper in their midst.

One with a sick, twisted sense of humor...guffaw...cough, cough...deep breath.

This is what went down.

McKinney High School had apparently asked for certain alterations to be made by Retouch Lifetouch before the yearbook was printed. They required the student's heads be the same size and eyes at the same level in all student photos. From what I have read, only one Retouch Lifetouch employee had "an unfortunate lapse in judgment".

Only ONE employee worked on making the heads and eyes the same for ALL of the Stepford Children students? No wonder he/she cracked!

You see the culprit switched bodies and heads and heads and bodies of about 600 students in this year's publication. There was no sense of gender, as body parts were mixed and matched. The possibly disgruntled sociopath worker also stretched the necks of some students. Was this the effect that he/she was trying to achieve?

They should have hired me. I could have done SUCH a better job, I mean c'mon, look at MY new image on the side bar. Now that's realism at it's best!

As I was saying....

Things became more gruesome when some discovered a dismembered girl within the pages. Her arm had mysteriously been erased from her photo! OH.THE.HORROR!

Thankfully the employee knew to keep things rated PG-13 and blurred the chest of the girl whose clothes seem to have disappeared. Those involved are under age, after all. Except for that one kid, you know, who's like 23. The one who sits in the back of the room and either sleeps or blows spitballs at the chalkboard. At least he's got all of those previous senior year pictures to look at.

But I digress.

So, this weekend is seriously going to suck for that yearbook staff. They have to figure out which noggin goes with which torso. They have only 48 hours to sort it all out so Retouch Lifetouch can reprint their memories for a whopping $75,000.

That employee has got to be SO fired!

(P.S. I really do feel for the students of McKinney High School. However, after reading about violence, earthquakes, and famine this just seemed, well, slightly humorous. I'm just saying.)

Things That Made Me Laugh Yesterday

What is it with men? My mother told me that my brother stopped by her house the other day with her Mother's Day gift. She had missed out on the brunch that I had thrown for her and my mother-in-law and our families because she was ill. My brother's gift was a Tiger Lily, nice right? Well it probably was before it was left in his trunk for 3 days.

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I stopped to gas up the minivan, as I was practically on *E. I rolled down the window and as I cringed at the price per gallon, I told the attendant to fill it up. The man was middle eastern and had a heavy accent. When he returned my debit card to me he said, "Thank you ma'am." By the way, I hate that I am now a ma'am, when did that happen? Anyway, R. asked, "Mommy, what did that man say?" I told her and she responded, "No, I think he said thank you muffin."

*(Update for Jen at Problem Girl: E=Empty not E=Ecstasy. I save the drugs for when I'm not driving around with the kids!)

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When W. got home from school yesterday he informed me, "Mom, I think I'm going to have to get a girlfriend next year in 5th grade." "Oh really?" I replied. "Yea, then I'll ask her if she wants to make out." Oh Mr. Schmitty, I think it's time for a sit down with oldest!

***************************************************

We went out to dinner last night. I was talking to Mr. Schmitty and as usual the kids were all trying to get my attention by yelling over one another. I kept right on talking until I heard T. say, "Mom, am I going to have to whistle to get your attention?" To which R. needed to say, to one up her brother, "Mom, am I going to have spit at you to get your attention?"

***************************************************

And lastly, I saw this at Kelley's blog and just had to steal it. It completely cracked me up!

My Little Lady Killer

T. is, if I do say so myself, a very handsome fella. He has one of those faces you just want to grab and kiss all over. And he's got the most kissable little lips, ones that are going to make the girls swoon some day. Though shy, he seems to draw in those around him. He does so without saying a word and with almost no effort. He smiles and the room brightens. He's got this amazing aura.

On Saturday, Mr. Schmitty took the boys for haircuts. W. has finally given up the latest trend and cut his long, shaggy locks. He is currently sporting a not-too-short crew with the front spiked up. Very adorable and very easy for him. That's all he cares about at the moment. Ease.

I was cleaning when they came home and had my iPod blaring some P!nk. I jumped a mile high when I turned around and they were standing there staring at me. Once I recovered from my mini-stroke and their ears recovered from my scream, I took a better look at my newly cleaned up boys. I had to do a double take when I saw T. He had the identical cut his brother did. He looked absolutely precious!

And he down right knew it. He grinned ear to ear anytime anyone noticed. He was beside himself. W. told him that the girls would all be chasing him on the playground come Monday. He blushed 4 shades of red. But in his eyes, you could see that he couldn't wait for the weekend to come to a close.

Sunday morning he made sure that I put some "Crew" wax or gel or whatever that gunk is, in his hair. He then jumped up on the vanity and combed his hair up, making sure it looked perfect.

Later on that day, I was talking to my brother in our living room. T. walked in, stopped, and whipped out his sister's compact mirror in one hand and his comb in the other. He fixed his flip and pocketed the mirror and comb. He then continued on his way without missing a beat.

We rolled on the floor laughing.

Monday, after school, I overheard him telling his brother that Zyasia, Emma, Elizabeth, and Sarah all noticed his haircut. I had to duck into my own room to avoid getting caught giggling.

Today when he was getting ready for school, I again helped him with his hair. When I was done, I said, "There you go, does it look okay?" He smiled, then looked deep in thought, he finally said, "I wonder if Miss Meagan will be there today."

Miss Meagan is the teacher's assistant. A pretty little blonde, about 22 years old, that T. has a MAJOR crush on. I told him to stick to girls his own age.

What a little Casanova!

Attention: Complaints Department

Dear Manager of Idiots Petco,

I was in your store last week with my 4 year old daughter, R. You see, she has taken a liking to the baby fish that are in my son's Pre-K classroom. She likes to visit them on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, just to say hi. I decided that maybe I should buy her some fishes of her own so she could see them everyday. I also thought it a good idea to get some for her brothers because you can't buy for one and not the others.

After she said goodbye to the baby fishes as we dropped her brother off at school, we headed off to see what you had to offer. And let me say now, it wasn't much.

I did find the mini aquariums that I wanted. And there were 3 of the 1.5 gallon tanks. Perfect. We grabbed some gravel; blue and green, rainbow, and hot pink. Check. We picked up a few other little accessories. 3 of each, to be completely fair.

Now, to pick out some fish. I must say I wasn't thrilled with the selection, but this was going to be for young kids. They didn't care what kind of fish, they just wanted their own pets to love.

I let my daughter choose the ones she liked. She pointed at a tank filled with rainbow colored guppies. Great....now to find someone to help me.

Seems that's a big problem in your store. As I searched around for an employee, it came to me. Even though I had been in the fish department quite a while, not one person asked if I needed help. Did anyone work there? I know you didn't have many customers, but there had to be more than just the dead animal on his head wearing toupee wearing gentleman working at the checkout.

I looked around some corners. Ahhh Haaa! I found the guy. "Excuse me, could you help me get some fish?" I asked.

"Hold on, I'll be right back," he responded. I nodded, maybe he was helping someone else. A few minutes later he did, indeed, walk by with two bags of fish. Then he disappeared.

R. and I continued to look at the fish. She was beginning to get antsy to leave. So was I. 10 minutes later, still no sign of the guy. Now, had I been alone, I would have abandoned my full cart and left the store. But R. would have freaked. She was too excited.

I looked around for the guy, as I grew increasingly annoyed. I saw three men standing, huddled, near an office door. Suddenly one turned towards me, a large neanderthal man headed my way. I thought to myself, "Finally!"

I saw on your name tag that you were the manager, though I missed your name because you proceeded to walk right past me.

"Um, excuse me?" I asked. "Can someone help me with the fish?"

In a very nasty tone you replied, "He's coming. He didn't forget about you. He cut his finger." You kept walking.

He cut his finger? On what? A dorsal fin?

And what about you? Are you unable to catch fish? Is it some sort of disability? Or just not in your job description?

The guy finally fixed his boo-boo and came over. I told him that I needed 15 fish and 3 snails. He went to work on catching the guppies with his trusty net. He kind of reminded me of Patrick Star from Spongebob.

OH.MY.GOD! I don't know if it was the guy's first day and he wasn't quite experienced with the ways of the net or it was his coke-bottle glasses that were throwing off his depth perception. I thought I would die of old age in that store! And then the moron guy dropped one of the poor creatures on the floor. He pinched at it numerous times, probably gouging it's sides with his fingernails, before he was able to pick it up.

And do you know what he did? He put that one in the bunch for me to buy! OH.YES.HE.DID! I told him to get rid of it.

When my torture was over, I paid and left. I went home and my daughter and I set up the tanks. The time to place the fish in their new homes arrived and I opened the bag that the guy had given me.

4 were swimming on their backs. Are you kidding me? I divided the remainder of the fish between the tanks and the kids began naming their new charges.

Minutes ticked by. I kept checking the tanks, as I was quite uneasy with how some of the fish looked. One by one my son T.'s fish started to go belly up. I can't even begin to describe to you the tears that flowed. Just know you should be ashamed of yourself.

By the next morning we had 2 fish left. I began to think I did something wrong, that I was to blame.

My husband and I packed up our kids and went to your competition. Yes, that's right, we went to PetSmart. I should have gone there in the first place. I usually do, I just happened to be in your neck of the woods the day before and I wanted to save gas in my van. My mistake.

We purchased 15 new fish. It is now a week later and they are thriving, buddy! THRIVING! I even think one or two are pregnant, so my daughter will be getting her babies after all. No thanks to you!

In case you haven't gotten the gist of this letter, I want a refund. Just so you know, I will be including a copy of my receipt. I would be including the dead fish too, whose death toll has risen to 15, but my children felt the need to give them a burial at sea. I couldn't deny them that. And honestly, I don't think the post office would deliver something that smelly.


Mrs. Schmitty

P.S. And a refund means cash, no store credit please, as I won't be stepping foot in your store again.

Happy Mommy's Day!

I received this poem in an email and thought I would share it with all of my mommy friends. Have a wonderful day!

When I'm an old lady, I'll live with each kid,

And bring so much happiness..just as they did.

I want to pay back all the joy they've provided.

Returning each deed! Oh, they'll be so excited!

(When I'm an old lady and live with my kids)

I'll write on the wall with reds, whites and blues,

And I'll bounce on the furniture..wearing my shoes.

I'll drink from the carton and then leave it out.

I'll stuff all the toilets and oh, how they'll shout!

(When I'm and old lady and live with my kids)

When they're on the phone and just out of reach,

I'll get into things like sugar and bleach.

Oh, they'll snap their fingers and then shake their head,

and when that is done, I'll hide under the bed!

(When I'm an old lady and live with my kids)

When they cook dinner and call me to eat,

I'll not eat my green beans or salad or meat,

I'll gag on my okra, spill milk on the table,

And when they get angry..I'll run..if I'm able!

(When I'm an old lady and live with my kids)

I'll sit close to the TV, through the channels I'll click,

I'll cross both eyes just to see if they stick.

I'll take off my socks and throw one away,

And play in the mud 'til the end of the day!

And later in bed, I'll lay back and sigh,

I'll thank God in prayer and then close my eyes.

My kids will look down with a smile slowly creeping,

And say with a groan, "She's so sweet when she's sleeping!"

Lock Me Up And Throw Away The Key

Mr. Schmitty has been working the later shift all week. This leaves me alone to run the joint. The kids have been fairly cooperative, which is lucky for them.

For those of you who don't know, I have been diagnosed with PMDD (Premenstrual dysphoric disorder). PMDD is a severe form of PMS which affects about 5% of menstruating women. Not every month is as bad as others, but some months are REALLY bad.

That would be this month.

I am the most irritable, moody bitch right now. I don't want to be a mom, I don't want to be a wife, hell, I don't even want to be in the same room with myself. I just want everyone to leave me alone. Don't touch me, don't talk to me, and seriously, don't piss me off.

And pissing me off is easily done at the moment. Like, don't breathe, k?

I've been channeling Linda Blair all week. My head's all spinning and I keep spewing out curse words in foreign languages.

This I do, of course, in my own head because, well, I don't want to lose the kids to foster care. On the outside I'm all, "Sure, honey" "Of course, sweetie". On the inside, I'm ready to run screaming from the house.

I have to keep my cool. The kids aren't the problem, the dog isn't the problem, hell, Mr. Schmitty isn't even the problem! Well, at least this time he isn't.

I have absolutely no one to pawn the blame off on. I have to take full credit for my foul attitude. It's me and my screwed up hormonal system.

It sucks to be a girl.

2008 Blogger's Choice Awards

Okay, so I'm getting a very, VERY late start on this year's awards. I'm looking to get votes in 4 categories.

Do you like me? Do you, huh, huh?

If you wouldn't mind given me some lovin', I would be so appreciative. I would be your BFF for life if you'd vote for me.

I'm loving the Hottest Mommy Blogger category the most. I had some fun playing around with my art program tonight. Check out the "New Me" on my sidebar. What do you think?

Don't I look smokin'? Or as W. and his friends would say, "I'm Sexy Hot!"

Don't forget to click on a Blogger's Choice Awards button and vote for me.

Pretty Please with Sugar on top and a Cherry?!

Random Conversations

Saturday night the Schmitty clan was all sitting around the dining room table coloring. The kids were all clamoring, "Do you like my picture?" "Mommy, how does mine look?" "No look here, how about my coloring?"

"Good!" "Great!" "Fantastic!"

Suddenly, Crack! W. broke a crayon.

"Oooops!"

I reply, "OOOOHHHHHH, 50 lashes for you!"

"That's good!" he says.

Puzzled, I asked, "Why is that good?"

"25 for one eye and 25 for the other!"

Ugh, he's doomed to be his father.

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R. is meticulously coloring her picture. She looks up at me and says, "Mommy, do you like how I'm coloring the bunny's bush?"

Mr. Schmitty glances at me and I burst out laughing. I know, I know, sick, perverted minds think alike.

T. asked, "What's so funny about the bunny's bush?"

"Yea, why are you laughing about the bunny's bush?" W. chimes in.

I just roared until I couldn't breathe.

Bear With Me

I usually try to keep most of my posts on this blog light and humorous. I do sometimes have issues, as we all do, that I like to vent about. I have, however, never really talked much about my life as a child. I've never pulled any of my skeletons out of my closet and thrown them at you.

I'm finding the need to today. I must warn you, this may be a long post. I tend to ramble when my mind is filled with past memories. Forgive me.

I had a dream last night. It was about my father. In my dream, he died. I walked in to his wake and at the front of the room was his casket. It was open. Next to the casket were his three sisters, my aunts. They were nodding at well-wishers as they tried to speak through their tears.

I took a deep breathe and walked forward. I knelt down at the casket and made the sign of the cross. I stood up and moved toward my aunts. They all burst out crying and told me how sorry they were.

I looked at them with absolutely no emotion and said, "Thank you." I turned toward the door.

Walking out I heard gasps and whispering, "That's it?" "She's leaving?" "She didn't even shed a tear."

My Aunt B. chased me outside where she proceeded to give me a piece of her mind. "How can you be so cold!" "He's your father!"

Blah, Blah, Blah.

I just walked away and smiled at the sense of relief that washed over me.

I then woke up.

Did you ever have a dream so vivid it stays with you all day? Well, that was one of those dreams. It was so realistic. And the thing that is bothering me so much, is that I'm afraid that is exactly how I will one day react to the passing of my father.

My father and I are pretty much estranged. He calls maybe twice a year. Usually it's when he's had a few too many and must be feeling either lonely or guilt-ridden. The conversations usually revolve around him and last approximately 5 minutes.

Then I spend the next 2 days reeling from it. I resort back to the little girl I was when he was in total control. The girl he demeaned and abused. I long for the father I should have had.

It's easier keeping our distance.

I've kept him away from my children. Yes, he's met them. He has seen my oldest a few times in the past 10 years. Most times it has been at a funeral. He has seen my youngest child once, the day after she was born, where he also saw the middle child for the second time. The first time for him was also the day after he was born.

It's the way it needs to be. I will protect my children from all the harm he is capable of. No matter what it takes.

He was a horrible father. He destroyed my self-esteem and my self-worth. He left bruises; physically, mentally, and emotionally. He was abusive to my mother, which made me become her protector. It's a trait I wear to this day, it's one she should have possessed, to protect me and my siblings.

I hope every day that I have taken that hurt and turned it into strength. I do see some of my father in myself. I try to correct that.

I tell my children I love them instead of calling them names. I try nurturing them instead of tearing them down. I hug them instead of hit them. I respect them instead of use them.

And when I fail to do the right thing, I own up to it and make it right.

So, I am wondering. What is this dream? Is it a message? Am I to take something from it? Why is my subconscious showing me this?

My smile, it seemed so wrong in my dream. But then again, it is quite fitting.

Girls Are As Good As Boys!

While driving to pick up T. from preschool on Friday, W. starts up a conversation from the back of the van.

"Hey mom, guess how much extra time we got at recess today."

I ask, "I don't know, how many more minutes?"

"Ten. We normally get 40 minutes but today we got 50."

"Wow, that's great. Why? Good behavior?" I say, thinking that was probably a long shot.

"Nope, because of the foul odor."

"Foul odor? What foul odor?"

"The one that filled up the whole 4th grade hall. The one that came from the bathroom!"

"Ewwww. So, one of the guys stopped up the boy's room toilet, huh?"

"NO! It was the girl's room. One of them took a big dump, I didn't know girls could do that!"

"Do what? Stop up the toilet?"

"No, take a big dump!"

It's not just a boy's sport anymore!

Good Thing Ladybugs Can't Drive

I decided to start a project with the kids. I wanted something we could do together. I threw in some education as well, not that they realized it was edumacational! Score one for mom. Hee Hee.

I ordered live bugs! Yup, that's right, live buggies. I went online and placed my order for one Praying Mantis egg, 5 Painted Lady Caterpillars, and about 15 Ladybugs.

The UPS man came with our delivery about a week later. When I opened the package, I took inventory. Praying Mantis egg, check. Caterpillars, yup, check. But I couldn't find the Ladybugs. I searched the box for the cute polka dotted critters. All I had was a tube with some kind of bugs that looked like termites. TERMITES! ARE.THEY.FREAKING.NUTS?!

I quickly looked for the informational booklets. WHEW! The bugs were not termites, THANK GOODNESS, but were indeed Ladybugs. Did you know that they like a Caterpillar, also go into a cocoon type of state and change? I.had.no.idea. Pretty cool.

So we set up our little domes and meshed housing for our new "pets". Now we just needed to be patient and wait and watch.

Every morning the kids would come down and the first thing they would do is check the bugs.

Day by day the Ladybugs and Caterpillars grew and grew. They doubled in size. The Ladybugs started climbing the side of their dome and before you knew it they were in their cocoons. The Caterpillars began to hang from the top of the container in their chrysalises.

I actually happened upon one of the Caterpillars one night beginning that change. I watched for 45 minutes as it became encased. It was a pretty amazing sight. The best way I can describe it is it looked like a size 16 woman trying to squeeze into a size 6 tube dress.

The Butterflies emerged and Mr. Schmitty and I took them outside so the kids could release them. The boys freaked when I tried to place one on each of their hands. Wussies. My afraid of nothing girl, R. loved it. Her butterfly stayed on her hand forever. It was the sweetest thing.

When the Ladybugs hatched I read in the instructions that you should take a raisin and soak it in water for them to eat. I didn't have any raisins so I took a grape and placed it in the dome. A grape is a fresh raisin, right? Three Ladybugs began to feed right away.

Suddenly the three of them fell over on their backs. Their legs went wild.

"Oh crap, Mr. Schmitty, I think I killed them!!" I yelled.

Mr. Schmitty ran over, a smirk on his face, "What did you do?" he tried not laughing.

"Maybe it was a fermented grape...maybe they are drunk?!" I replied. "Quick, let's release the rest of them before they are all caput and before the kids notice I'm an idiot!"

So much for improvising.

Now to wait for the Mantis egg to hatch. I'm sure that will be a story....75 to 100 are suppose to be born. Wanna help name them?