I have no idea why there was not a school delay this morning. Or, you know, barring that, how about sending out the random salt truck or snow plow? Nice to see my tax dollars being used for…wait? What ARE they being used for, then? I ask, as I slide through an intersection…
Why are all three of my children obsessed with putting their feet on me? I am NOT an ottoman or a footstool. It makes me INSANE. Not to mention I have cute little toe-shaped bruises all over my rib cage.
I am watching my friend’s dog for her today and both dogs are conveniently lying in front of my entryway door, effectively blocking any drafts. I wonder if I could market this idea, somehow...the dogs are much more attractive, if slightly more work, than one of those bean-filled fabric tubes...
I am currently addicted to Trader Joe’s potato latkes – they come frozen, in a pack of eight, for 2 dollars. You heat them up in the oven, and they are downright yummy. I am having some (um, make that all as I just ate the last one) for lunch, with sour cream. It didn’t occur to me until later last night (duh!) that perhaps they are seasonal...must go stock up, I suppose. Just like their Candy Cane Jo-Jos, which are like peppermint Oreos but better.
Why must I tell my children Every. Single. Morning. what they must do to get out the door? We do the same EXACT thing every morning – dress, eat breakfast, brush teeth, put lunches in backpacks, put on jackets. Do they really need me to run through this litany every single goddamn morning? Must they really be reminded to put on their shoes? Do they really need me to tell them to put on their coats, hats, and gloves, as it is currently snowing and 25 degrees outside, a fact readily observable by looking out the window? (I am talking mostly about my almost-seven and almost-five-year-olds here, not Terzo.) And this morning I reached the point where I thought, if your hands were that cold, you would remember where the hell you left your third pair of mittens THIS week, and I sent them to school with no mittens. And some minor shrieking about how I don’t want to live my life like this either, so why are they making it so difficult, and what did I do to deserve children who never listen to a (horrible, shrieking, shrewish) word I say? (Hmmm, I wonder...also, one of those must be CYS-call-worthy.)
***************
* paraphrased from "Something Good," from The Sound of Music
8 comments:
The Trader Joe's latkes are available year-round.
Even though my kids are old enough so I don't have to remind them what to wear, my 13-year-old had no coat and no sweater yesterday. Today, it's snowing; she's got her winter coat, but below her school uniform skirt, she's got bare legs, no socks, and little silver flats. At least she's fashionable
Mine are 13, 11 and 8. I still have to tell them every.bloody.morning to brush your teeth/put on your shoes/pack your bag/pick UP your bag/get in the car/get in the car/get in the car/get in the car/get in th
I don't have a Trader Joe's.
Damnit.
I've always hated that song. I like your version better.
My kids are the EXACT SAME WAY every freakin' morning. And if they forget to do something I TOLD THEM to do? They blame me. And yell at me. Do you want them? I'm ready to sell them as a pair for a case of beer, seriously.
The latkes are just as good from CostCo (24 per pack) and you're talking to a latke-expert. The candy cane oreos were exceptional - damn you! As for CYS, here is a story for you. I called CYS on a parent in my practice. Why? She sent her 11 year old son to see me for a chronic cough. A little investigation determines that he has been coughing daily until his first smoke for about a year, but now not even a few cigarettes make the cough stop, so he's worried. I say he's worried because mom's not even in the room with him, she's outside, you guessed it - smoking. This in and of itself is not enough to warrant me turning her in of course. My issue is that she is the one buying him a pack of cigarettes EACH DAY and when I ask her to stop she says "No way, then he'd take mine and I can buy him the cheap kind!" After an unkind remark from me about using the money she's saving for an iron lung for each of them, I inform her that this is child endangerment and I have to let the authorities know. She was unconcerned - and rightly so. CYS laughed at me - they have much nastier fish to fry. Feel better now?
Yes, yes you do. And here's the really funny part:
IT. NEVER. CHANGES.
Even when they're Big Boys...
My eight-year old still needs reminded. I am a crazy shrieker in the morning too.
Post a Comment