Allowed for Now

My kids are using two of the blankets from my bed to slip and slide across the living room floor. It's a problem because:

1. I don't really want my blankets to get dirty.
2. This seems a little dangerous.
3. There is a decent chance that something of mine will get broken.
4. They are loud.

But I'm allowing it because we're having a Halloween party tomorrow and I have stuff to do. Two blankets seems like a minimal amount of mess (unless something breaks, but life is about taking chances) and they are entertaining each other. This is one of little kid's least dangerous ideas, so I'm going to let them slide.

(I'm only on the internet to get a recipe real quick. I swear. I'm not also checking Facebook, my email, my blog and a few of my favorite websites. At all.)

Desperation

One of my major problems this week is severe back pain.

It's like one of my hips (or maybe my whole pelvis? I don't know anatomy, something is fucked up--that's as technical as I can get about it) is crooked or out of place and I'm in terrible pain. When I cough or sneeze, I have to brace myself and I feel like I'm going to pass out because it hurts so bad. It hurts to sit, it hurts to stand, it hurts to lie down, it hurts to walk. It hurts all of the time.

When I have to drive, I stand and stare at my SUV with trepidation, knowing that getting up into it is going to make me want to throw up. Last night as I was lying in bed, it was so impossible to find a comfortable position that I wanted to cry.

I was looking for an affordable solution online last night and encountered the web page of a fat, gray, 70-some year old man with a handlebar mustache who gives free nude massages on his back porch. He likes to be nude when he does the massages. And my first thought was, "Looks legit. I wonder if he could help my back."

Seriously. I would do anything for it to stop hurting.

Including allowing a creepy, nude senior citizen to rub my naked body.

For real. It's bad.

New Disorder

Being little kid's mother is like having a small, destructive shadow that sings Happy Birthday all day long, argues about everything and is constantly trying to touch your face.

It's a lot like mental illness.

Maybe Motherhood should be listed as a disorder in the DSM-IV.

Parenting PSA

I have shared a lot of good parenting tips with you throughout the years. Mostly about what not to do, but still, that counts as valuable information.

So as your honest friend and trusted adviser, I feel obliged to share my latest and most important discovery with you:

VOLUNTEERING IS FOR SUCKERS. 

Now wait for it--hear all of those people disagreeing? Those people tsk tsking and saying that's not true and that volunteering is rewarding and fun and totally worth it?

LET THEM DO IT. 

Reading books is rewarding, fun and totally worth it. Going to the beach is rewarding, fun and totally worth it. Getting a pedicure is rewarding, fun and totally worth it. Shopping without kids around is rewarding, fun and totally worth it. Hanging out with your own kids is rewarding, fun and totally worth it.

Dealing with other people's kids for free? Not so much.

Yeah, you have to do something if you want to be a good mom. So show up for the class parties, donate some paper plates (if you bring Zoo Pals you'll be an instant celebrity) and call it a day.

You'll be the tannest, smartest mom there.

And I know--a lot of you will have to learn the hard way regardless of this Public Service Announcement because that's how you roll but eventually you will think back to this post, know that I was completely right and go to great lengths to keep your phone number away from the PTA directory in the future.

SURPRISE

You know how I was promising and promising you all last week that I was really super, duper happy and my depressing temporary blog layout change didn't reflect my personality at all?

Well, once again, God must read my blog because He went ahead and put a quick end to the happiness. The grand culmination of Hell Week being that my laptop is now one giant, virus-infected paperweight--and that's the least of my problems.

(Even though I feel like I'm missing a limb without it and that is a pretty big problem.)

I have floors to mop for my nerd herd meeting this afternoon and no laptop to sit around on all day, so I can't even tell you that Big Kid is worried about his cholesterol or that little kid's snail collection is loose in the house.

You better miss me terribly.

Yesterday's Trip to the Grocery Store

"Mom, I keep thinking of something really disgusting and it makes my stomach hurt," Big Kid said.

Sigh. "That broken egg over in the refrigerated section? I'll tell them it's there and a store employee will deal with it. We didn't do it, it's not hurting anyone, think of something else."

"No. Something in school that happened."

"What happened in school? Maybe if you say it out loud, your brain can stop thinking about it."

"Okay," taking a deep breath. "In music class, our teacher is making us," another deep breath, furtive glances around to see if anyone is listening. My heart starts racing, "sing this song...it goes Skinnamarink a dink a dink, skinnamarink a doo, I looooove you." I joined in and sang the rest of it because I know this one. He looked surprised.

"Okay, and?" I asked. "What was disgusting?"

He looked at me in disbelief. "It's not even February!"

"So??"

"Singin' a song about lovin' people in October?! Come on, mom. You know that's weird!"

"You're weird. I love you in October. I don't see the problem with this."

"Have you heard the song, mom? How it's all, like, in little kids' voices? You don't know what you're talking about. It's disgusting! I don't feel right singin' it and you said I didn't ever have to do anything I felt uncomfortable with or thought was inappropriate, so I just pretend to sing. But I wish my music teacher could just sing somethin' else!"

"This is one of your weirdest things ever, Big Kid. I don't really care if you sing it or not but there is nothing inappropriate or uncomfortable about this, really."

little kid, upon realizing that our attention had been diverted from him for more than 60 seconds, began to make smooching sounds at Big Kid.

"Mom, he's making gross sounds at me because he knows I don't like that song! Make him stop!"

"little kid, please stop."

SMOOCH SMOOCH SMOOCH

"Aaaaah! He's trying to kiss me now. Mom, mom, he's not listening to how you told him to stop. little kid--this is not appropriate! You will get a time out for this! Mom, mom, tell him he'll get a time out."

"Seriously you two, stop it. Act like gentlemen in this grocery store or else. I am not kidding, don't test me today."

SMOOCH SMOOCH SMOOCH

"LITTLE KID!" said Big Kid and I.

SMOOCH

"little kid, get off of me! Stop kissing me!" Big Kid shrieked.

"That's it, I'm taking your men away when we get home."

"NOOOOOO! Mama, no! I promise I stoppin' now. No more kissin' my bubby. NOOOOO!"

"No, you got several warnings. If you want them back, you'll be good."

"Mom, the smooching wasn't that big of a deal. I don't think you should take his men."

"No, he needs to learn to listen. Please don't get involved."

"NOOOOOOO! MUMUM, NOT MY MEN!! NOOOOOOOOOOO. WAAAAAAH. NOOOOO!"

Big Kid gave me a dirty look. "little kid, you can have Zumby." (His favorite, most beloved toy.)

"Big Kid, he's in trouble for harassing you! You shouldn't reward him."

"I don't think you should take his men away though."

"You are not the parent! This conversation is over, you two are out of control."

"Bubby...Zumby isn't enough toys for me," said a sniffly-nosed little kid. "I needs lots of toys."

"I know, little kid. I'm so sorry. You can have all of my toys."

"WAAAAAH! What if mama takes those away? I want my men!"

"I have $75 saved up and I will buy you all new toys, little kid! Don't worry, we're brothers and I'll help you."

Despite wanting to beat both of them right there in the middle of the grocery store, it was pretty sweet to see that Big Kid can even love his little brother in October.

(See why I hate grocery shopping?)