Pests

When I was a young girl I didn't like bugs. I wasn't afraid of them. Apparently, I just didn't LIKE them.

We had a screened-in porch at the front of our house. My mother used to lock imprison (I kid mom, I kid!) put my sister and I out there to play on summer days. One day she heard me yelling. As she moved through the house to see what I was up to, she could hear me shouting, "DIE! DIE!"

As she approached, I wonder if she thought I had my sister in a death grip. Maybe she imagined that I was beating her over the head with my Crissy doll. There was no one else with us, so what else could she be thinking? It had to have freaked her out some, I'm sure.

Anyway, she stepped out onto the cement floor and there I was; stomping on a pile of little black ants. I must have dropped some sort of sugary goodness on the ground and they were all over it. I had my fists clenched and was pounding them with my feet, still yelling at them to die.

And I wonder where my daughter gets her temperament. snort.

A few years later, I recall placing a large black ant in a small glass jar; one the size of a film canister. I then found an Earwig, or pincher bug, as I called it, and dropped it into the jar with the ant. Clearly, I was a sadistic child because I watched that pincher bug chase that ant for hours. I sat patiently waiting to see if he'd catch him in his forcep-like clutches.

I think my parents worried I might grow up to be a serial killer. Or an exterminator.

So, let's jump to the present, shall we?

I've got news for you. Those damn ants, they don't forget. I'm telling you, they have tracked me down and are now paying me back. Tenfold. Last week, I found an army of tiny black ants, running amok on my kitchen floor.

I started stomping on them. I then put down bait traps. And what did they do? They laughed at me, that's what. And the next day, they brought friends. Lots and lots of friends.

We called our bug guy. He came, he sprayed, they dropped like flies. Heh.

Two days later, I opened the cabinet to take out the peanut butter. Four of those suckers were running around INSIDE the cabinet. THEY WERE NEAR THE FOOD! They saw me and ran. I swear one flipped me the bird.

"OH FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! Don't you have a picnic to ruin?! Fine, you wanna play?!" I half asked, half yelled at them. Thankfully, I was alone in my moment of madness.

We called the bug guy again and told him to bring the heavy ammo. I was done fooling around. This would strictly be a kick ass, take names, kind of war.

I cleaned out the cabinet. I pulled out the contact paper. I smashed the hell out of the stragglers that weren't fast enough to get away. I wiped the shelves down.

I waited for my guy and thought of my childhood and my wicked, wicked ways. I shook my head. "NO! I was only a child! I didn't know any better. I did not deserve this now!!!"

There was a knock at the door. My savior was here. He filled the bait traps with a yellow, oozing type of stuff. He told me that THIS would definitely do them in. I didn't ask what was in it. I didn't care, at this point, if the concoction was mixed with plutonium. I just wanted those pesky vermin out of my home.

So, it's been about four days now. There has been no sign of ants in my kitchen. I did, however, have a nightmare last night that involved a giant, glowing ant.

Moral of this story: Do not allow your children to harm insects; it will come back to haunt them!

A Terrible Loss

Today is a sad, sad day. This evening I will be attending the wake of a childhood friend.

He and his family lived around the corner from me. His sister was one of the first and one of the best friends I have ever had. He and my brother were just as close. Their large family was one that I longed to be a part of. I ran, almost daily, sprinting through the park, from my own life and placed myself in theirs.

Our neighborhood, back then, was a very close-knit one. We played and grew together. We laughed. We fought. We caused trouble. We stuck up for one another.

I have wonderful memories of baseball games, the park, rollerskating, lemonade stands, our neighbor's in-ground pool, Halloween, shooting pool, haunted mansions in the basement, manhunt, dressing the boys up as KISS, camping out in the backyard, and big wheel races.

Those were some of the greatest times of my life. I will always remember them.

As we grew, many of us went our separate ways. I still exchange Christmas cards with my friend and I marvel at how her children are growing. I smile and remember us at that age. Periodically, my brother or I will cross paths with a family member, always stopping to say hello.

Billy Joe, I did not know the you of today. I do not know of your torment or sorrows. What I do know is that you always had a good heart. Something like that does not change. I believe that your mind was troubled in your final moments. I do not believe that you purposely wished this pain, that is so great, on your loved ones.

I discovered this poem and in my heart of hearts, I have faith that he would never bring such sadness to his wife, family, and friends consciously.

Reflection
Another day for you to wonder, another day for you to mourn
It wasn't my intention to go before the coming dawn
My pain was deep within my heart and troubled head
It wasn't my intention to go without words said.

My frame of mind seemed normal, or so I heard them say
It wasn't my intention not to see another day
I did not mean to make you suffer or cause you so much pain
It wasn't my intention to never see you again.

Despair and confusion left my aching mind unsure
It wasn’t my intention to suddenly close life's door
If only I could give you reasons and brush the tears away
It wasn’t my intention to leave and not stay.

I did not mean for you to grieve, now left alone to cry
It wasn't my intention to leave you, forever asking why
As the burdens of life's worries slowly ebb from my heart
It wasn't my intention to tear your soul apart.
-Y. Docherty

Rest in peace Billy Joe, you will never be forgotten.

My Sister's Got Cooties!

T. loves to give me kisses. And I, of course, LOVE to get them. He's got the most adorable lips, ones that are going to make some girl very happy some day.

Well, as long as I approve of her first, that is. heh.

I can get kisses from T. whenever I want. He's only six and not embarrassed by kissing his mom - YET. But, other than myself, he is very particular as to whom he shares kisses with. If he's not in a giving mood, he really needs to be coaxed. He's even snubbed his Grandmothers a time or two.

And if you are a female sibling of his; you might as well mooooove on.

I have a policy at home. After my children have had an argument, I like to see them hug one another and apologize. I try to emphasize that everyone has disagreements, but we are family and we still love and respect each other.

One such altercation took place not too long ago. After sending both fighters to their opposite corners for a time-out, I asked T. and R. to make peace. R. ran to her brother and threw her arms around him. T. gave her a quick pat on the back and looked completely repulsed.

Suddenly, R. jumped up on her tippy toes and tried to plant one on him. I thought, "OH NO! He's gonna freak!"

Without missing a beat, he turned his cheek, slipped past her and said, "Nope not happening!" He faced his sister, looked at her pointedly, and exclaimed, "Not in this lifetime, kid!"

A Spirited Child and The Doctor's Office

My son, W., is what you might call a "Spirited Child". I actually read a book a few years ago entitled, "Raising Your Spirited Child". It was as though the book had been specifically written about him.

Spirited children seem to be more intense in almost every area of their being. More energetic. More sensitive. More insightful. Just plain MORE.

I always say that W., will make a wonderful adult some day. But dealing with him as a child, well, it's not always easy. Actually, many times it's downright exhausting; mentally, physically, and emotionally.

Which brings us to yesterday's installment.

I decided to celebrate the kid's first half day schedule, before school lets out on Tuesday, with a trip to the Pediatrician's office. Because I'm a thoughtful, generous mom, I had made an appointment for their well-checks, as well as R.'s mandatory Kindergarten exam.

I'm so awesome.

The physicals went great, except that W. was already in panic mode about whether or not he would be receiving any shots. He asked the nurse, who had come in to take vitals, over and over again. The minute the doctor came in, he began asking. Each time he was told that the doctor needed to look over their records first.

Right before Dr. M. left the room, he informed me that all three children would be receiving vaccines.

Wonderful.

He left the room and I broke the news to W. He immediately headed for the door. As most parents of spirited children will tell you; it's important to know your child and be at least one step ahead of them. I reached the door first, knowing that before I even spoke, he'd try to make a break for it.

He flew himself into a corner and crouched down.

"I'm NOT getting shots!!!" He yelled at me.

I decided to stroke his ego. I needed him to calm down so he didn't affect T. and R., who were already showing signs of getting upset.

I told him that he had been through SO much worse as a baby. He survived an open heart surgery! A shot was nothing; a piece of cake!

It seemed to be doing the trick. He agreed to go first to get it over with.

The nurse came in and he sat on the table, all ready to go. He asked how many shots he and his siblings were going to get.

"Well, T. needs one. R., honey, you need three. And W., you will also need three."

That's when W. freaked the frack out.

He began screaming at the top of his lungs, "NO!!!!" and he bolted for the door. I tried to get him to sit and he clawed at me and told me to get away.

He completely lost his shit.

T. and R. bravely offered to get their shots done first. They wanted to show their big brother that it was okay. Bless their little hearts. They sat like brave mini-soldiers. W. watched from the safety of the floor, between the examination table and a chair.

The nurse proceeded to vaccinate the younger children. Neither of them so much as uttered, "Ouch".

Unfortunately, W. was too far gone. He had completely psyched himself out. And no matter what, this was NOT going to be easy for anyone.

So, mommy had to spring into action. I needed to sit in a chair, hold both of his arms, and wrap my legs around his. Thankfully, I have the weight factor. I was never so glad to be overweight. But holding onto an eleven year old boy, that is entirely overwrought, is no easy task.

He kicked. He flailed. He got a leg free and pushed the poor nurse out of the way by her butt. Two nurses stuck their heads in to offer their help. Obviously the entire office had heard the commotion. I got my leg around his again and shook my head.

Poor T. was on the examination table with his hands over his ears. R. was walking toward me saying, "Mommy, mommy, mommy." She looked so scared.

I felt like the world's worst mother in the world. I buried my face in the back of his neck and the nurse quickly administered the vaccinations. I released my grip.

I then lost MY shit.

I began to cry while I hugged my daughter and rubbed my middle child's back. W. had fled from my lap and was huddled in the corner. I got up to check on him and he was practically hyperventilating.

Like his brother and sister, he hadn't even said, "Ouch."

He had worked himself up into a tizzy for nothing.

Part of me was pissed. Part of me was sad that he can be so challenging. Part of me felt so badly for him. And part of me was feeling that dreaded mommy guilt, a thousand times over.

All of me, as you would expect, was grateful that it was OVER.

Anatomy 101 Taught By A 5 Year Old

"Mommy, did you know that you have paper in your arm?" R. asked me the other day.

"Huh?" I responded.

"You have paper in your arm!" She repeated.

"Um, honey, I don't think so," I answered as delicately as I could, as R. can be quite stubborn bullheaded adamant about things.

"UH-HUH! Miss L. said so!" She countered. If she says Miss L., her Pre-K teacher, told her, then there was NO WAY I was going to convince her otherwise. But as she gets her tenacious traits from yours truly, I certainly couldn't let her think that there was actually paper inside a human's arm. Now could I?

Am because I'm so smart and knowledgeable, I needed to prove a five year old wrong. 'Cause I'm mature like that.

"I think maybe you misunderstood Miss L. because we do not have paper in our bodies. We--" R. cut me off in mid-sentence.

"No I didn't and YES WE DO!"

"We have bones and muscles in our arms," I continued.

"Oh, wait," she giggled, "Not paper, I meant tissue!"

Hello, My name is Mrs. Schmitty...

....and I am an addict.

This is my first time saying that out loud for all to hear. I.AM.AN.ADDICT.

Wow. Powerful words.

I never thought I had an addictive personality. But then again, I guess if I thought I did, I wouldn't have been in denial for so long, huh?

It all started innocently enough. It was fun, you know? But slowly, I began to get hooked. There were stages involved. Good. Excellent. Amazing. I was under it's mesmerizing spell. And the higher I got, the more I wanted. Again and again.

It began keeping me from my work. I didn't shower or get dressed. It kept me from doing the other things, I so much loved to do. It sparkled like a diamond that was just out of reach. It was always taunting me, always daring me to fail.

Suddenly, I no longer lived in the moment, I was always looking for the next thrill. And there were others there. Watching. Waiting to see what I would do.

I can't let them tear me down. I won't.

Aw, shit, never mind. I'm going back on Facebook to play Bejeweled Blitz again.

Not Always What It's Cracked Up To Be

I'm probably going to catch a lot of flack for this post. I'm thinking I might hit a nerve with some of the moms that just, "luuuuuurve being a mom alllllll the time".

To them I say, "Bullshit".

This gig ain't always sunshine and smiles. Actually, a lot of the time, it can be quite the opposite. It's a fucking, hard-ass job; the hardest job I've ever had, that's for sure. And this job never even came with any instruction manuals. The "What To Expect..." series, my ever-loving ass. Write a book and title it, "You Have No Idea What The Hell You Are In For". For God's Sake, even when I was a lowly bank teller I got two weeks training. And the pay? Well, that sucks too.

I love my children with all of my being. I'd die for them, without hesitation. But sometimes? I do not like them, Sam I am.

Sometimes, when I've had a truly horrible day, much like today, I think, "How would life be right now for Mr. Schmitty and I if we hadn't been able to have children?"

Hey YOU over there, I heard you gasp. Knock it off, you aren't going to tell me that the thought hasn't crossed your mind a time or two dozen.

I imagine that I would probably still have that great, toned body. I wouldn't be so stressed and tired all of the time. I'd have a whole lot more money. I could travel with my husband. I'd be driving a sports car.

I.WOULDN'T.BE.DRIVING.A.MINIVAN!!

I wouldn't be putting up with demands, whining, or tantrums. I wouldn't be wiping butts, cleaning up boogers on the walls, or washing loads of vomited on sheets at 2 am. I wouldn't be baking cupcakes, buying poster board, or helping to cram for a test, late into the night, because I was just told it was due tomorrow.

Yes, these are all things I've thought about. And for a brief moment, it does sound like paradise. It also sounds like a lonely existence because I'd be missing out on cuddles, smooches, and "Mommy, I Love Yous". I wouldn't hear belly laughs or squeals of delight. I wouldn't see looks of wonderment, awe, and curiosity.

I wouldn't have my babies.

So, yeah, I do take my mental vacations on occasion. And if they don't work...well, there's always wine.

Google Certainly Is A Playground For Some

I check my traffic stats every morning on StatCounter. I like to see how many visitors I've had to my blog. I also peruse the keywords that brought them here.

I'm kind of wishing I hadn't this morning.

Let me tell you, there are definitely some freaks surfing the Internet, my friends. FREAKS, I tell you.

Now, I'm not one to care what you do in the privacy of your own home. That's your business. But don't bring it to my attention by coming here. So young man from the UK? I don't want to know what you do with your finger, k?

This next one I needed to do some research on. I Googled the name that was used and apparently she's a porn star. Great. But I am a bit confused about the rest of the search words. What is a "big drick disorder" and how to you "treat" it? BWAHHHHAAAAA!

On page two of my stats, I was shocked and disgusted to find a search involving a canine, a woman, and a hard ride. C'mon people! Seriously?!

I just puked in my mouth a little.

But I must take some responsibility for this one landing here. The first two searches were totally taken out of context. The words used to search could have directed you anywhere. But the last? Well, I kind of asked for that one.

You see the post that was highlighted was this one. See? Completely my fault.

But the problem I have? If you type in the statement, in question, I am in the number one spot on Google Ireland.

Yay Me.

That's Right Baby, Never Get Outnumbered

Mr. Schmitty took R. for a bicycle ride tonight. My munchkin, though 5 1/2 years old, can still fit into the child seat on the back of his mountain bike.

As they rode through the neighborhood on this gorgeous evening, R. conversed with her daddy. Actually, she flapped her gums the entire time. I truly do not know how that girl breathes, as there are hardly seconds that she is quiet.

"Daddy, when I grow up and have kids, I will give them the same names as the kids in our family." She informed him. "I will name them W. and T."

"Don't you want any girls?" He asked.

"Nope, just two boys."

"Only two kids?" He questioned, "Don't you want three like our family?"

"Nah, three kids is too much work."

Man, did she ever hit that one on the head!

Make Me The Dark Horse

It's A Schmitty Life is one of the nominees for a BlogLuxe Award at the Socialluxelounge. Can you believe it? (I can, considering I nominated myself. Heh.)

I am listed in the Funniest Blog category. Can you believe THAT? (Once again, I can.)

But nominating myself isn't enough. I can only VOTE for myself once a day. Me thinks that won't be enough votes to get me to win. I've already fallen behind such dream crushers greats as; Cake Wrecks, Attack of the Redneck Mommy, and the almighty Bloggess, Amalah, and Dooce.

Wouldn't it be killer to beat Dooce? Right now at 19 votes, I'm only 13 votes from pummeling clobbering whomping overtaking her. What a rush THAT would be!

Now, I am a realist, I think it's fair to say I won't win. Barefoot Foodie is already at about a 1,000,001 229 votes. I don't even have that many readers. Not by a long shot. But I would like to feel like a contender. Stroke my ego and let this realist live in a fantasy world for a few weeks.

So, help a girl out. You can vote daily by clicking on the nominee button. It's A Schmitty Life is listed in The Funniest Blog category.

FYI: The more votes I get, the higher up on the list I will go, it would make it so much EASIER for you to find me that way. Just saying.

Thank you, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!!!!

I'll Send In The Popcorn

Today is W.'s eleventh birthday. As he gets older, I seem to spend less and less time with him. He's been given a bit more freedom to come and go and he takes those liberties as often as possible. He is always on the go; riding bikes with this friend or playing basketball with that friend.

He is seldom home during the day, as the umbilical cord is slooooowly being stretched.

I miss hanging out with him. I sometimes feel like I'm losing my baby. So, I got an idea. When he got off the bus the other day, I asked him if he'd like for me to pick him up early from school on his birthday. His eyes lit up.

"REALLY?!" He asked excitedly.

"We could go to lunch and maybe get some ice cream to celebrate your birthday. Just you and me. I'll pick you up after I drop off the little ones to school. How does that sound?" I asked him.

"Greeeaa....wait a second. What time are you picking me up?"

"Around 1 o'clock, why? You only have gym and health."

"We can't mom. I can't miss health. We are going to see a movie."

Ahhhhh. I thought. "THE" MOVIE.

It was finally time. There had been much talk amongst the neighborhood moms. We've all been awaiting the day.

But did it have to fall on his birthday? Am I seriously being snubbed because of an overhyped sex education movie? All I wanted was a little one on one time with my oldest son on his birthday. The son that caused me to grow a few gray hairs over a decade ago; was now denying me this?

{stomps feet}

sigh.

Well, I suppose nothing brings a mother more joy than seeing their child happy, especially on their birthday. So, if he'd rather see "THE" MOVIE, so be it.

But if it's anything like "THE" MOVIE I saw in middle school, he's going to be HIGHLY disappointed.

Aloha, Mr. Hand....um...Mr. David

At 12:30 pm every weekday, I bring T. and R. to school. First I drop off T. in the lobby, where he lines up with his Kindergarten classmates. Then I exit the school and walk down the sidewalk to another entrance. R. and her Pre-K class line up there.

Yesterday was gorgeous and the children were running around, taking full advantage of the summer like day. The parents stood by and chatted. We each waited patiently for Miss L., the teacher, to relieve us of our parental duties for two and a half hours. Two and a half precious, PEACEFUL hours.

There was a young man standing next to the grandma of one of the students. I had never seen him before, but assumed he was with her. Then I heard her say, "She lines them up here." Then she asked me, "Do you know who the line leader is this week?"

I mouthed the words, "Is HE a substitute?" She smiled and rolled her eyes and then nodded. I think my eyes bugged out a bit.

Now, I have total faith in our school. I know they wouldn't hire a teacher that wasn't qualified. He just didn't LOOK like a teacher. His Chinos were wrinkled, his white dress shirt with the blue pin strips, that was untucked, was worse. I wondered if he had pulled them out of a heap on the floor, smelled them for cleanliness, and decided, "Good enough!"

He stood, a bit hunched over. I wanted to get him a chair because I thought he might fall asleep at any moment. Was he out with his buddies last night? Or did he get up at the crack of dawn to go surfing......Duuuuuuuuude?

Yes, that's what he reminded me of, a surfer. Blonde, messy hair; a blank look on his face. He held a black motorcycle helmet in his hand. Someone asked him if he had a motorcycle, not that the helmet was any clue. He seemed to perk up for a second and answered, "Yea! A Harley!"

Duuuuuuuude!

The grandma and some of the parents turned to me. I am the veteran of this group, as I've been through the school with W. already. My eyes grew big as if to say, "OH BOY!"

I thought. R. is NOT going to like this. She is always less than thrilled when there is a substitute. A MAN substitute was going to be that much harder for her to deal with. I said to her, "R. this is Mr. David, he is going to be here for Miss L. today."

blink blink

She looked like she might throw up or run for the hills. I couldn't blame her, as I was not sure Spicoli could handle the job either.

I walked over to her and placed my arms around her. Hoping she wouldn't hear the apprehension in my voice, I whispered, "Don't worry Miss C. will still be here today." Miss C. is the assistant who R. adores.

The kids lined up. The parents all moved closer to their kids, as though they might grab them and flee. Miss C. came off the school bus with the last of the kids from the class. She must have smelled the fear in the air.

She whispered to me, "Don't worry, I won't leave them." She glanced at Mr. David and then looked me in the eye, "Not for a second!"

Ahhhh.....Thank GAWD for Miss C.