My Daughter Is Home And Praying For The Eternal Salvation of Her Mother's Soul

A not so widely known fact about me is that I was baptized as a Lutheran. I was raised by a Catholic and an atheist.

What I am is not important to this story. Because what I am is the mother of a dead child who struggles most days to understand what His purpose is with that little nugget of fantastic pain that I was dealt.

Tonight what I was though, was a haggard and tired woman in a Buddha t-shirt and scrub pants, standing in the middle of her kitchen, fighting with her toddler on whether or not she was loading dirty dishes into the dishwasher. He was mostly unloading. As he screamed "no mama!" my tween approached.

"Here mom this is for you."

"Oh, thanks Boo, this is very nice. Did you do this at church camp?" I only saw the glimpse of the cross and was mostly expecting handmade birthday wishes as doomsday is fast approaching. I looked at my daughter who just got home less than 24 hours ago from a summer with my ex-in-laws.

"Yes, mom. They told me to give it to someone who doesn't go to church."

As my youngest stood clinging to my leg and screaming bloody murder, I peered down at the religious propaganda I held in my hand. Beautifully decorated by my daughter, with the word Mom carefully written on the front, I looked back into her blue eyes.

"Oh gee, thanks kid."

And that's when she stood there and proselytized in the middle of her brother's tantrum.

"Hey babe, let me stop you right there, I don't go to church because I'm 32 years old and I don't have to anymore, okay?"

"Yeah, but do you believe?"

"Seriously, are we standing on the street corner in NYC right now? Take this dollar and go on, Boo. I get where you are coming from and would love to have a religious discussion with you, but you should know, people are not cool with random questions about their religious affiliations. You know, just between you and me."

And I could tell, she was already praying in her head.

She already believed I was burning in Hell, but the question was, could she, as the daughter of such a heathen, be saved?

My standard answer to the question of "do you believe" is "suck it, none of your business, bub." But today,I had to be more delicate.

As she walked off to her room, as my kid stood still clinging and screaming, as I realized I was still holding the primary colored religious materials, as I looked down at the Buddha on my chest, I sighed and I looked up. "You are up there, aren't you? Some kind of sense of humor you've got, huh?"

BoomTube, Episode Three, Unfortunately, We Were Not Able To Get Tony Toni Tone On The Soundtrack, But We Did Get World Famous Jason Kidd

This week's BoomTube is the "It's Our Anniversary" edition.



My husband may have made a comment about the carhop at Sonic, what he fails to tell you is that I too, would put a hurting on some roller skates.

And that's okay, we are all special snowflakes. I'm just curvier than most.

Texting With Monkey, Or There Is No Way In Hell I'm Going To Survive This Parenting A Tween Thing

Friday night Jason got home and said it was time we got new phones. He and I would upgrade and Monkey would semi-upgrade to my old phone. (Which is now covered in Pooh Bear stickers.)

(I said semi and pooh!)

With the upgrade in phones, we also added unlimited texting, which basically meant that Monkey could text now and texting was destined to become her new job, which would replace the old job of looking at me like I was dropped on my head and put on this planet to totally jack up her life.


Saturday when her dad came to pick her up, the Dude ran down the hall yelling "Sissy, your dada's home!" (How is that for blended family dynamics?) And off with her dad she went, about 2 hours later, the first text rolls in:

Hi mom. :) :P...

I responded and then she came back with:

Cool!!!!!:)...

And then:

Realy?!?!?!?!:)...

And:

Realy?? OMG!!:)

On and on this went for 3 hours until she ended with:

KINGKONG!!!!!!!!!!:) :) :) ...

Ten fucking exclamation marks. King Kong all one word, which still beats really with one L, I guess. This makes me question the school system that awarded her straight A's. Also, I'm not really sure what the hell she was talking about. I don't think she was even watching King Kong.

The good news is that this is the most we have talked in a year. You know, since "the hormones" kicked in. Well, with the exception of that day when I told her where babies came from and completely ruined her life FOREVER! Why AM I so weird and gross? The bad news? I was trying to drink in relative peace from my children and now she could reach me anywhere. Thanks 3G network! No really, freaking thank you.

In the morning I was a little hungover, eating an ice cream bar and french toast and greeted with:

God morning!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!:)...



When she got home from her dad's that afternoon I said, "Let me see your hands."

And then I broke her number 1 button pushing finger and told her she'd thank me later. Because no kid of mine was going to abuse punctuation in this manner. If she couldn't punctuate maybe she'd focus on her spelling.

I'm pretty sure this is the same program they'd use in Summer school's across the country.

The next day I caught her texting her friend:

i just got back from the grocery store

No punctuation.

"Monkey, go put that damn phone in your room!"



She had to explain to her friend later that it's not that she's NOT excited about the grocery store, who wouldn't be, it's that she is grounded from exclamation marks. And only allowed 25 texts a day.

***

PS - I totally lied about the breaking of the finger.

PPS - I just sprained it a little.

PPSS - Still lying, I kicked her in the shins...

Do I realy need to go on???!!! :) ;P :) ... OMG!!!

Is It Still Called My Happy Place If There Are Shivs and Shin Kicking Gnomes Involved?

This week has found me saying "a-hole" more than the average amount. Whether it was in the rain-soaked traffic or muttering it under my breath, just out of ear shot of my almost two-year old as he threw his 800th fit of the day. Yes, I called my adorable son an asshole. Because he was. Being an asshole that is.

What I'm saying is I've had it with all you assholes out there. And, I don't know if that means you, but if you think that it might then just stop being an asshole and we'll all be okay.

Monday started the week in fine form with layoffs in my office. We all sat around waiting to see if we could kiss our asses good-bye, so by the time they got around to telling you what percentage your pay was going to be cut, you were dancing for fucking joy that you still had a paycheck. It was only later that you stopped and thought about it and went, "Hey! I just got screwed!"

After wading through the mounds of COBRA paperwork and making sure I was all up on the new COBRA stuff (which would be more fun if I could be all hip hop and singing, "I'm all up in your cobra stuff"), I sat around with shaking hands for the rest of the day to drive home to Young Wheezy and his full-on fuck you attitude.

And then? The rest of the week went like this:

* The kid stayed sick and wheezy and grumpy and just schmucky and junior douchey in general. This morning he laid on the floor, face down and screamed for an undetermined amount of time.

Undetermined because by that point, I ceased to care about whatever it was that he completely invented on the spot to get pissy about.

* Jason went into Monk's room with a box of trash bags and went to town. Now our garage is filled with bags and bags of all things pink, glittery, fluffy and girly until she goes through it all and decides what it is that she can't possibly even think about going on living without. And, because "the puberty" is imminent she's been a joy to be around.

* Proofreading multiple replacement window brochures, multiple times. Who knew you could write 20 pages on windows? Well I know, I also know that degrees MUST be spelled out and for the love of all things zombie, why the fuck can you not stop hyphenating that fucking word? I circled it over 100 times already.

* Ants, fucking ants. Why? Because the people in my office drop things like pecans on the floor and then just leave them there. Simply so they can come up to my desk and whine about all the fucking ants in the kitchen.

* And apparently eating all those fucking pecans makes them stop up the toilets which then again, becomes my problem because evidently no one can wield a plunger except for me.

* Speaking of toilets, it's common courtesy to put the toilet seat down in shared bathrooms. I mean unless you're a hobo. And if you're a hobo then go piss in the alley where all the hobos take our trash out of the dumpsters and just leave it there so we can hand pick it all up. I don't want to touch the toilet seat every time I take a whiz. Seriously, it's just a little like touching every ass in this office and I'm not down. Especially because it seems you are hobos, dirty, hobos. Besides, there is trash in the alley I have to go pick up now. Scooping up old spaghetti and used tissues is just my idea of a righteous time.

If all of that wasn't enough, then my red, swelling, itchy eye and my also swelling fat ass should be. Because as it turns out, I also eat when I'm stressed out. Which meant that, yet again, this morning as I went to put on my jeans all they did was groan and say "fuck you, lard-o". Being curvy isn't always grand. Actually, it's mostly not grand. Also? I didn't know that denim could actually groan and creak, but look at that, it just did.

I am now sitting here, fashioning plunger handles and pecans into shivs. Pointy-ass shivs. I've gone on to create a hobo assembly line, with all those dirty, drunken hobos just a whittling away. Because if you're going to do it, you do that shit right.

Is There Such A Thing As Zombie Slop, You Know, Like PIg Food?

Mr. Booms and I have always been "anti-gun" when it comes to keeping one in the house. I have many reasons including a kid accidentally killing himself when I was in school with his father's gun, and my brother finding my dad's and shooting a hole in their box springs.

Jason and I have been on the same page until yesterday:

Jason: I'm thinking maybe we should a gun for the house and keep it someplace like the attic.

Me: What? No, absolutely not.

Jason: What if we need to protect ourselves?

Me: We can get one after the kids have moved out.

Jason: Pssshaw. Why get one then? The only person left to protect would be you.

Me: True, I see your loving point. You know, now that I think about it, we should have one in case of zombie infiltration.

Jason: A handgun is going to nothing in case of zombies, honey.

Me: So not true. You aim for the head. Always aim for the head.

Jason: Yeah right, totally not going to work.

Me: Seriously? You're going to tell me how to kill zombies? I think I'm just a little more educated in this area.

Jason: Whatever.

Me: That's it, when they come you are toast. Zombie toast. I'm tossing you in while I aim for their heads.

Chances are I probably won't, but let's not tell him that just yet.

Also? I had a conversation with my 9 year old who asked me questions regarding "the period" and "the puberty".

Sigh.

My Neighbor Kid Is An Asshole

And, just wasting my energy on this little tweentard mental ninja of Jedi, fuck with my daughter's mind tricks is pissing me off.

Here's the thing. The kid made my kid cry and now she's going to pay.

She's run a steady show of bitchiness that we have tolerated up to this point. My soft spoken, kindhearted daughter typically shrugs it off and goes on her way. But, she's fucked with her brother and now Monkey is not happy.

Monkey takes very good care of her brother, because as she said, "He's the only one I have now and I want to protect him." So when the neighbor kid got pissed at Monkey for paying attention to her brother and not to her she blurted out, "He's only your HALF brother anyway." She just tossed that in her non-stop stream of snotty, bitch face comments.

I just realized I'm too mad to even do this right now.

My kid sat, curled up against my side, sobbing last night.

Jason and I tagged team the kid at the bus stop this morning. First, he pulled up next to her and said, "Before you come over and play again, I'm having a talk with your mother." Without knowing this, I pulled up next to her:

Me: You know, you really hurt Monk's feelings last night?

It: How?

Me: By telling her that her brother was only her half brother...

It: I didn't mean...

Me: I don't care what you meant. Are you aware that her brother died?

It: Yes I am.

Me: Well then have a little consideration for her feelings about her brother. He is the only one she has and she loves him. You need be a little bit nicer to my daughter, young lady.


Yeah, I busted out a young lady.

Whatever.

This is stupid.

That kid sucks.

Wolf Man's Got Nuggets!

This is being written from the comfort of my living room couch on a Monday morning. Monkey is sick today. She's simultaneously warm and clammy after having tossed her cookies. Or I guess she tossed her wolf nuggets.

Delicious and nutritious, wolf nuggets.

Last night as Jason was making dinner, I decided to learn my kids the Gospel that is Teen Wolf.

I know, I should have my parental rights stripped for the delay in that major milestone. But better late than never, right?

So, Jason is in the kitchen being my personal chef and the kids and I are watching Scott Howard's coming of age story when Monkey eeks out the most loaded question you can ask in our house.

"What's for dinner?" she almost absent mindedly muttered?

"Wolf nuggets.", I said.


Monkey: What? Wolf nuggets?

Me: Yeah, wolf nuggets, what of it?

Monkey: Nuh uh.

Jason: Yeah huh - wolf nuggets. But you know they are illegal, so don't tell anyone.

Monkey just looks sickened.

Me: Yeah, totally. Jason had to go to a special market to get them. He had to know a password and everything. What was the name of that market, Jason?

Jason: The black market.

Me. Right, the black market. So, it's delicious and nutritious wolf nuggets for us.

Monkey: Sick!

Jason: AAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOHHHH!

Crazyman: AAAAAOOOOOOOOOHHHH!

Monkey: Gah.

We settle down for a bit. Crazyman sees Jason is prepping dinner so he goes and climbs into his booster to demand that dinner cooks faster.

Me: Mmmmm, I can't wait for some wolf nuggets.

Crazyman: AAAAAAOOOOOOOHHHHH

Monkey: Ugh. (Her shoulders start to hunch, beginning the process of her folding in on herself.)

Me: (To the tune of Hot Blooded by Foreigner):

I got Wolf Nuggets
Check it and see
If I've got one then I've got three

Come on baby, give my nuggets a chance.

I've got wolf nuggets, wolf nuggets!

Crazyman: AAAAAAOOOOOOOOHHHHH

Monkey is totally screwed up at this point. Sucking lemons doesn't come close to her expression.

Me: Go ask Jason to see the nuggets.

Heading into the kitchen, she sees Jason holding up the chicken fried steak he's making and Monkey promptly looks like she's going to puke.

Crazyman, still in his booster, banging his fork: AAAAAAOOOOOOHHHHHHH

Me: Never say die, Monkey, never say die.

Jason: Dinner's ready!

Monkey sits at the table and her shoulders hunch further in, completing the "my parents are such turds" folding herself in half, tween maneuver.

She eyes the food on her plate, willing the vomit to come and get her out of the whole scene.

Jason: It's chicken fried steak, Monk! Give me a break!

Me: giggling

Crazyman: AAAAAAAOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHH

The One I Almost Forgot To Title

Here is a shot of my kid when he opened his pony on Christmas:



And here? Is a close-up of his face:



And it's because of that very face right there that when he wakes up in the morning I practically maul him with kisses all over it and squeeze him until he pees just a little bit more. And it's because of that face that I don't even care that all I can smell is warm pee wafting from his pj's as I squeeze or that I'm kissing a mouth that smells just like salty snot pretzels.

Because I've probably grossed you out with that I'll go ahead and continue on with the fact that as I was going to bathroom this morning I was reminded of the time I walked out of the bedroom and found my daughter unwrapping my tampons one at a time and then gleefully tossing them across the living room.

When I asked her what she was doing she yelled, "Parachutes" with a giggle. And it was ironic that I thought of that parachute moment right then because I was also contemplating jumping off the toilet and plummeting to my death but I figured the drop wasn't long enough and I'd probably just end up with a sore neck or a sprained wrist.

When I was getting ready for work my husband said to me, "Am I going to have to hear this every day this week?" And it was then that I realized that I was vocalizing the fact that going to work today made me want to take a header off the toilet.

So I sucked it up, kissed the crap out of salty snot pretzel boy and carried on.

After all, there are more things to be bought, like ponies so that I can see that face again and not the one I see when I'm squeezing his peebody. Which by the way, he smells like pee when he wakes up so often that today his blanket which he calls "BEE" was given the name "Pee Pee" and when I told him to go "rub his pee pee on his sister" I realized just how wrong my life had really turned out but not before my husband gave me a weird look and totally told me I really shouldn't tell him to do that.

Whatever.

The End Is Here

My 12 glorious days of vacation are now officially coming to an end. Monkey is back home after visiting her dad's family for a week and my son has slept in until 9:00 the last two days. Every other day? He was up at 6:30.

Thank you kid. Way to get the hang of it just in time to send me back to work.

And because the snot gods like to grace me with all their preciousness, his nose in incredibly snotty. By incredibly, I mean it's unstoppable. It's like the snot dams and levies gave way and now snot must runneth over. All over. I swear, if I have to call into work tomorrow, my first day back, I'll cry. Or celebrate...

Heavily. Whatever.

Just so you know, you should be recognizing that today is going to soon be declared a national holiday. Because today is "Rip Someone Else's Face Off Day" in my house. First Crazyman tried to simultaneously rip Monkey's nose, ear and half her head of hair off in one fell swoop. Then while he was trying to hug and kiss our 5 pound Yorkiepoo, she suddenly evoked the spirit of an ill-bred pit bull and tried to eat his bottom lip clean off his face. Which is why I'm sporting a baby blue argyle and blood sweater.

Also? At one point today my daughter declared that "he sat on my teeth!" While I realize that Crazyman likes to straddle her head while she lays on the floor, it's his favorite TV watching position, I'm really thinking that if he indeed did sit on her teeth, he really got the raw end of that deal, she just got the ass end.

Jason has spent the last day and a half tiling our hall bathroom. I don't know how any room that is like 6 inches by 8 inches big could take that much time and effort but what I do know that it looks gorgeous. My faceless children will truly love their new bathroom floor which was a necessity because I don't know about you, but to me, the idea of potty training a boy in a bathroom with carpet seems soggy at best.

With that I'm off. My hair ripping, face sitting, bottom lip-less kid just woke from his nap. Which means I have snot to mop.

The Christmas Spirit

As Jason was loading the kids in to the car to leave Crazy Grandma Betsey's house, Monkey looked at Jason and said, "Well that worked out well."

Jason: What worked out well.

Monkey: The presents!

Jason: What do you mean the presents?

Monkey: I got good stuff.

So glad I'm obviously raising my children the right way.

My dear readers, please let that warm your hearts as you head into your holiday.

Why Being Home With My Kids Rocks - Day 1

It's not even 11:00 am yet today and already Crazyman has had breakfast, a bath, a make-shift lunch, a handful of crackers, a cup of milk, a cup of water, half my Diet Coke (well, actually, his t-shirt got that, all over the front of it), a bite of sugar cookie and has ripped the rubber end off the door stopper 12 different times. Only to bring it to me each time and declare that it must be put back on NOW! He didn't use so many words but his body language was very clear. I didn't know that at 19-months his manual dexterity and middle finger could be so developed.

His sister has said "no, stop it" no less than 357 times. I told her if I heard the word 'no' again, then I would be saying it to Santa Claus myself as in "No toys for my kids!"

She then pouted and displayed her incredibly poor sitting posture on the couch. To which I reminded her that the song clearly says, "no pouting" I also added that I think it originally said, "No slouching" as well but was edited out later in the remix. She then edited me out by shutting down and glazing over in true tweentard fashion.

While putting away laundry this morning I very clearly heard this come out of the living room, "No buddy, we don't stick crayons up our nose." Quickly, I took the crayon out of my nose and started stomping and then threw myself on the ground and screamed. I was just about to declare that, "Nobody understands me!" and "You're all assholes!" when I suddenly realized she was talking to her brother.

It's amazing how quickly you give into the locals ways, isn't it?

Anyway, I've had one whole Diet Coke and 1/4 of a flat, shaken up and dumped out Diet Coke. I have one more in the fridge and I'm eyeing it but I'm also eyeing the bottle of vodka too, so that's not saying much.

With one kid down for a nap and the other wrapping up her presents for the family, I await my husband's arrival home from work.

He really should be sharing in all this Holiday Joy with me.

Don't you think?

You Can Thank Me Later For My Awesomeness And Kind Greetings

Let me tell you about some things that suck a nut sack today (and yes, I kiss my mother with this mouth). First of all, my child decided to haunt my bed last night starting at 12:30. Randomly throughout the night he would just squawk and squeal and I'd have to remind him that I could easily put him back into his on bed and suddenly, like a Christmas miracle he was oh so quiet. Well, until he threw a giant baby fit and fell out of the bed. It was that point that I realized that I should have felt badly for him but I only managed to feel badly for myself. I'm just that fantastic. Okay, I did feel bad for him too. He's really cute.

After sleeping for 30 minute increments throughout the night I finally fell into a deep sleep, and I'm guessing here, at about 4:45 - 5:00 this morning. At 5:30 the phone rang (and rang and rang) until I hopped out of bed to get it. When I got to the kitchen and put my hand on the receiver, guess what? That's right, the bitch stopped ringing. So I grabbed my cell phone and went back to bed. I fell back asleep. 10 minutes later the house phone rang again. Mother bitch! So I flew out of bed and grabbed the phone, saying, "WHAT?!" It was Monkey's school, nicely letting us know that school was not in service today. And that, my honey children, is when I looked outside to see the snow falling.

Snow that was supposed to be a dusting this afternoon falling in mass at 5:30 in the morning. This is where I stopped and pondered how big of a shit I actually gave. Do I dutifully get going now or do I go back to bed and roll out later at a more human time?

And then that is when I realized it. Evidently, I just don't give a shit.

An hour and a half later when it took me 20 minutes to go 1.5 miles, I gave a big shit then. Two hours later when I got to work only to be told to book some flights for Las Vegas for OTHER people, told that one of our tenants had no heat, told that the front door keeps blowing open every 1.5 seconds, I was back to not giving a shit.

And now, me and my potty mouth are sitting here, half frozen, having forgotten to take my meds, telling you all of this. So you've been schooled on just what it is that sucks a nutsack today.

You're welcome.

So tell me? Anything suck for you today? Let it out!

Being Mexicos

This has been one of those just truly awesome weeks so far. And by awesome I mean I would rather eat a bowl full of the weird, jelly granules that exploded out of my son's diaper this morning than relive Monday - Wednesday thus far.

It just better be a small bowl because that stuff is nas-tay.

Last night left me examining my kitchen appliance priorities. What I mean by that is that if I got a new refrigerator I'd be all, "in your face bitches, check out my ice box!" or if I got a new stove/oven then it would be, "I'm baking up some crazy shit in this, yo!" with some pictures. A new mixer or blender? Yeah, that would be the cat's pajamas, even.

Okay, I probably wouldn't use 'bitches' or 'yo' but you get my drift. Okay, okay, I'd totally use bitches, shut up. I'd totally say 'holla' too.

So my point here is that last night we freaking got a new garbage disposal, yo. Yeah, that yo thing is still uncomfortable for me. Jason went and picked up a shiny, new garbage disposal. And yeah, who cares right? It grinds up old food.

See? Kitchen appliance priorities. They're screwed.

One time, Monkeygirl exclaimed with excitement that, "You can fix anything, Jason!" So he beamed from ear to ear when he, yet again, came to our collective rescue and replaced the disposal. Seriously, the man has never failed us yet.

However, I totally rained on his parade when I asked, "But does it still count on your 'fix anything record' if you didn't actually fix the broken disposal, you just replaced it with a new one?"

In the flash of an eye, he whipped around and looked at me and said, "it didn't work when I got home and it works now! I fixed it." And while the vocal inflection he put on the word 'fixed' let me know I better not say another word about it, I wouldn't have anyway. He totally fixed it and we totally could grind up the last of those Thanksgiving leftovers because indeed, Jason can fix anything! Thank God for that.

After Jason did that and made our fridge a place we could hang around again, I settled onto the couch with Crazyman for some book reading. As I cracked the first book, one about animals with pull tabs (the book had pull tabs, not the animals, never mind), Monkey looked at me and said, "Hey Mom, at recess, me and McKenna pretend like we're Mexicos."

This is the point in the evening where typically I nod my weary head and say "Oh that sounds like fun!" or "Hmmm, that's interesting." But I have to say, she stumped me with that one. Mexicos? How do you pretend like you're Mexicos. Suddenly I started to work up the speech I was going to have to deliver about how we have to be careful about pretending to be Mexican when some of her classmates are Mexican, but I thought better.

This was a situation where I better put the "that's a nice picture, why don't you tell me about it" game into play instead of guessing it was a tree when it was the Empire State Building. And really? I knew how to be Switzerland but I couldn't fathom how to be Mexicos. Plural, even.

Me: Mexicos? You pretend to be Mexicos?

Monkey: Yeah.

Me (growing more confused): Like the entire country of Mexico, you pretend to be the country?

Monkey: Yeah, or no! I mean no!

Me: No?

Monkey: No, I meant we pretend like we're IN Mexico.

Me: That makes more sense. But how do you pretend you're in Mexico?

And with that she held up her arms to cradle an imaginary guitar that she strummed wildly and sang "oooooooh, oooooh, we're in Mexico!"

Looking proud of herself she then informed me that, "and then we go over to the grass and we're in Russia."

I didn't even ask for fear she'd start doing imaginary shots of Vodka behind a clear Iron Curtain.

I'm Working For The Man...

And that man is Santa.

Let me take you on a little trip where innocence is lost and regained. Where I have to be absolutely brilliant or I've failed as a mother.

Entirely.

Friday night Monkeygirl found out that there is no Santa Claus. The "how" is not important. And not because I may or may not have been the one who ruined her life and ripped innocence out of her clutching little hands. No, not because of that but because the story here is that I? bailed us out and single-handedly saved Christmas.

Expect the book out soon.

So let's go ahead and enter this scene after the big reveal and as she's grasping at the fragments of her childhood. Reality has just swirled in and jumbled her mind. She's like Neo after taking the pill and finding out the Matrix is... well... the Matrix.

Monkeygirl: The Toothfairy? The Easter Bunny? They're all not real.

Me: Oh God, um, well kiddo... I'm afraid it's all true.

Jason is looking on from the other room.

MG (tears welling up): But what about the hoof prints in the yard? And the cookies and milk? What about the sparkles?

Me: Oh, oh, Jason??? She's not ready! She's NOT ready!!!

I sat there and watched helplessly as her brain went dark and the world got ugly and all the sudden she wasn't a little girl. She was becoming jaded before my very eyes.

In a flurry she ran down the hall to her room. I looked at Jason who I thought might shed tears he seemed so upset. If you had asked we would have thought she had a clue, but no, clearly she did not.

I made my way down the hall and tiptoed into her room. "Monkey? Are you okay?" Shiny, wet, blue-green eyes revealed themselves from the depths of her princess pillow case. "Ah honey, I'm so sorry", I said.

I crouched down and looked her in the eye. Patting her on the back, I fumbled through an explanation about how mom's and dad's love their children so much that we work extra hard to make magic happen for them. And now that she knows it's her job as the big sister to help make magic happen for her little brother.

"But what about the oats in the yard?"

The look in her eyes said that she was betrayed by our ugly, dirty secret. It wasn't the same and she'd NEVER be the same and why, oh why does her stupid brother get to still have magic when she doesn't and it's ALL SO UNFAIR! She didn't say a word of that though. Tearily, she nodded and then followed me back to the living room where she curled up next to my side for the rest of the evening.

I sat with my heart in my throat as I stroked her hair. She went to bed with a distinct droop to her shoulders and I went to bed with a droop in my heart. Fitfully, I slept that night. Restless, tossing and turning. At 4:00 in the morning I woke. I laid there, my heart aching. I thought of when I found out and how I hated my mother at that moment for taking it from me. I wanted to run to the next room and put her not-so -little body in bed with me and cuddle the hurt away. Instead, genius struck and I knew what I must do.

I crept into her room and sat on her bed. I touched her arm and said, "Monkey, are you awake?" "Kinda", she replied. "I have something to tell you, but it's a secret, between you and me. A secret no one else can ever know." She half sat up, looking curious. "Monkey, you know how we said that Santa, the toothfairy and easter bunny aren't real?" She nodded and I continued, "well that's not true. Not at all, they are real!" Her eyes grew wide, "Really?!" "Shhhhh, really, kiddo. There are so many kids in the world and they can't get everywhere, so they pick mom's, really special mom's to help them with all their work. I can't tell Jason, so he doesn't know. He doesn't know they're real so we have to keep it a secret, okay?"

And with that? I saved her childhood, I saved Christmas and I saved my title of Mother of the Universe.

The next morning she got up and didn't let on for a moment that anything was different. As we headed out the door to go meet her dad for the weekly kid exchange she waited until we were a block away and totally out of Jason's possibility of hearing, "so let me get this straight", she started.

I laughed. She had questions, I answered them, all of them and she bought it.

Maybe I shouldn't have gone back and changed what she found out. Maybe I shouldn't have started any of it to begin with when she was little. All I know is that I would rather innocence hang around my daughter as long as possible before the big, bad, ugly world takes it's place.

Sunday evening as we were decorating for the holidays Jason winks at me and says "Hey hon, who were you talking to on the phone this morning with Monkey's wish list in your hand?"

Me: No one Jason, you're mistaken.

Jason: No, I'm pretty sure I heard you on the phone and you had her list.

I glance at Monkey, who has her hand over her mouth and her eyes are wide again.

Me: Oh hon, you must have been dreaming. That didn't happen.

And as Jason walked out of the room she looked at me and whispered, "whew, that was a close one, Mom!"

And indeed it was.

Finding My Niche

Last night when I got home I walked into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of wine. I then started plugging balls of cookie dough onto a cookie sheet.

As I was sipping my wine and scooping cookies out, my husband sat at the kitchen table, cook book in front of him, making out a list of meals and groceries needed for the next two weeks.

"Did you read my blog today?", I asked him.

Without looking up he replied, "No, sorry babe, I didn't."

"Oh, well, I guess you didn't see that someone wrote me about using the word retard."

And then my husband did something I've never seen him do. He put down his pen and looked at me with concern. I had his attention. I felt his eyes search my face as he said, "Oh, really?"
And next to him at the table sat my 9-year old daughter. I had her full attention too. Which is good, I needed her full attention.

"Yeah", I said with a sigh. At that moment, I knew that tray of cookies didn't stand a chance. I was eating the whole thing.

And I did.

I explained to him what I wrote and my daughter listened. He nodded and then winced when I told him that I had mentioned Jadon's issues in it. Sometimes we do forget what our lives would look like today if he was still with us.

I told him about how I wrote about how they thought Monkeygirl might have Down's Syndrome when I was pregnant with her. I watched her face carefully. It didn't change. I breathed a sigh of relief. I'm not even sure why.

As my son tugged on my pant leg and the wine went down easily, I looked at my daughter and told her how that word is not to be used to describe anyone. And while she can use any word she wants to describe herself that isn't one I would use for her or anyone else. She nodded her head. That's what she always does. She's so sensitive, I think a quick nod is all she can muster because she's always so overwrought with feelings.

Later in the night she came in the room, with a pout on her face. I asked her what was wrong. She wouldn't say. I asked her again, bracing myself for whatever she might reveal.

Turns out, she was upset because I told her she couldn't wear sleeveless shirts anymore because the weather has turned cold.

And that told me what I needed to know. My words don't have an impact on this world. And that is a relief in some weird way.

I spent the rest of the night analyzing something. And if you haven't seen the movie Clerks 2, I apologize. Well no, I don't because there is a donkey show scene that you really can exist without ever seeing and be absolutely, perfectly fine, but...

They have an entire conversation about the term 'porch monkey'. In the scene he uses the term and the other character's eyes bulge out of his head and he then explains that you can't just go around saying porch monkey. He says it innocently because his grandmother called him a porch monkey because he played on the porch as a kid. Anyway, he gets indignant and declares that he's taking Porch Monkey back! They can't do that to his term. They can't make it dark and hurtful.

I laughed so hard when I watched this scene. Mostly because I have some poor sense of humor issues, but really, because it hit home with me and I agreed with it.

And then I thought, well why would I think that taking porch monkey back was okay but I would never say the "N-word" in any way other than I did the other day when I wrote about the Obama sign that had been defaced.

Why? Because the words porch and monkey are innocent. The word retard is innocent. They weren't created to be derogatory, they were misused and turned that way.

I know people who can turn a phrase better than I can. And I know people that use their words for powerful and wonderful things.

But to my credit? I can take a word and turn it back to what it should be.

Just a word.

And That Was My Best Material, Folks

Every day when I get home, dinner is waiting for me. Sometimes it's just getting to the eating point and other times it's already sitting at the table, tapping its little food foot at me with its even smaller food hand on its odd little edible hip.

I don't know. Just bear with me here.

Surrounding my dinner is my family. My husband, usually a little haggard after prepping the meal with two kids in tow. Crazyman, looking wild-eyed and fitting of his name and Monkeygirl, with her general look of confusion and bewilderment that she wears at all times.

Every day I think how freaking lucky I am and I dig my fork into my impending feast with a zest for life. And then it happens. All hell breaks loose. Crazyman doesn't want to eat, doesn't want to sit in his seat, doesn't want to get down, but doesn't want to be up either.

Monkeygirl, sits, still quiet and bewildered and the Man? He yells. Still in his work clothes, he looks frazzled and I can tell an epic battle just ensued moments before I walked in the door. I know he's come in the door and it's like a magical little stop-watch clicked with a weirder, magical voice yelling 'Go!' and his daily marathon of having to answer Monkeygirl's questions, unload the dishwasher with Crazyman's super-not-helpful help, averting Crazyman's attempts at helping himself to a Crazyman snack all while prepping a nutritious dinner for our eating pleasure begins.

I glance down at the dog, willing her to give me the solution that will allow all of us to enjoy a calm and peaceful meal. As I stare into her watery, brown, doggy eyes I can sense that I better place my plate on the floor and back away slowly for her chowing pleasure or my head will explode and she'll take it from me in a vicious coup.

Last night, I got home early. As I dodged the football that came flying down the stairs I saw that dinner wasn't ready. Finally, here was my chance at greatness and understanding. I thought I could be helpful and distract the kids who were simultaneously playing a raucous game of football, measuring out 3 cups of noodles, watching Yo Gabba Gabba and declaring that monkeys say 'mama'. So I randomly went back and forth between the kitchen and the living room, saying silly things and making Crazyman dance. I was charming and funny. I was awesome and the 'mama' that the monkey was talking about. I was displaying my best, kid-distracting, husband-amusing material.

As it turns out? I'm apparently retarded, not at all helpful and the bane of my husband's existence.

And just for the record, it's carried over into today with a discussion of non-disposable training pants and a new winter coat. Let the record show that I'm into day two of being retarded and the bane of my husband's existence.

I presume that the record should show that I've held this title for several years, but I can't think about that now. It's all news to me.

I'll do my best to uphold my title and not disgrace it in any way. Heavy is the retarded head that wears the crown.

Betsey Booms Goes Shopping, Chaos Ensues

There seems to be something very strange going on in my horoscope lately. I almost wrote horrorscope, which really? Seems to be right on.

This finally occurred to me this morning when I was flipped off by an old lady. And she didn't just flip me off, she made a show of it. The woman stopped dead on some railroad tracks, which made me stop short behind her. As I'm wondering what the haps is with the chick in the Dodge Neon with mud flaps, I see her angry, prune face pop up in the review mirror. And then I saw IT. The Finger! And it popped up in the mirror, in front of her angry, scrunched up face and then it was like she realized the finger wasn't enough and then she gave it a great big whirl. She whirled that finger around and shook it in the mirror and Lord did I know, that lady meant "fuck you".

For what? I couldn't imagine. As all things have gone lately, I then have to follow behind Senora Sagass Mudflaps for the next mile until it became two lanes. At that point, the biddy pulls into the next lane, stops, glares and gives me the finger again.

This? Made me laugh uncontrollably. I rolled down my window, smiled my brightest smile and gave her a big thumbs up as I rolled by.

I'm pretty sure she needed to look at her fiber intake a little more closely. She was all bound up.

But this is just the cherry on the top of the shit sundae that I lived through on Friday. I had to take the day off because our childcare provider took the day off. I love forced days off.

Several days before I had started plotting my day off. Mostly, it just consisted of me hitting a few thrift stores because I hadn't done that in like 10 years and I thought I might be able to find a few things for costumes.

What I found instead was Hell.

My day started at Monkeygirl's school for 'Muffins with Mom'. Chaos on Crack would have been more apt.

As I took off for the day, it started to rain. Because you know, wrangling kids in the rain is always a great time. It really started as I pulled up to the first store. I wrestled the stroller out of the car, piled in the diaper bag and the suitcase that is my purse and finally strapped Crazyman in.

Into the store I tromp, 2 minutes later, hilarity ensues. And by hilarity, I mean fucked up stuff. Crazyman would not sit still for all the hugs, kisses and cookie briberies I could come up with. He wanted OUT!!! Usually, if I unleash the beast he'll walk calmly by my side and ooh and ah at things. But on this day, I had no idea that the Gods had spoken and declared me to be hamburger meat.

In the flash of an eye, he tore off underneath the clothing racks, never to be seen again. Because when you are frantically looking for your kid, half a minute feels like forever. Searchingly, I called his name and crawled around looking for him. Tears welled up in my eyes. Under old sweaters, around musty stuffed animals and over dirty holiday items I climbed.

How would I ever tell his father that I lost him among old crap and out of style clothes? And then I heard his little feet come pounding up behind me and the giggle that said he was having all sorts of good times. Quickly, I snatched him up, brushed myself off, grabbed the stroller and bolted for the door.

And that's when it happened. As I was backing my ass into the door to open it and get the stroller outside SHE came over. She hauled ass from behind the counter and started eyeballing me.

I stopped, mid Half-Nelson, and looked at her, "what?" She looked at me and then again at my stroller. And it dawned on me. She thought I was shop lifting their used goods.

I sighed, hiked my screaming kid back up on my hip and said, "Are you fucking kidding me?" She looked me up and down again and said, "Next time, leave the stroller outside." Words left me at that point.

I just got accused of shop lifting at a THRIFT STORE.

I stopped long enough to take stock of what I must look like. But I was wearing a designer sweater from Macy's and my 16-month old was wearing a $20 t-shirt. Which if that wasn't enough or even mattered, really, stealing while my kid was doing nothing but calling attention to himself is just brilliant and for that matter, if I'm going to steal the shit they got for free, I'm guessing I probably need it.

And for the record, because I'm a glutton for punishment, I ventured on to another store, where he threw another fit and some lady in a t-shirt replete with holes and stains told me I needed to get him out of there.

I told her she needed to take a bath and mind her own business.

I was entirely not surprised when it was all explained two hours later and he woke up from his nap with a fever.

So with that, I think I'll take my finger and wave it around in the mirror at myself. The universe has spoken and I deserve it.

Haaaay, Pumpkins

Remember that one time when I told you I was from Missouri and Kansas? Yeah, I'm about to prove it right now.

This weekend we took the kids to a cider mill with a pumpkin patch so that we can be folksy just like Sarah Palin. It worked out splendidly.

We were folksy while we picked pumpkins and went on hay rides and then we went on to boost the economy and small business by purchasing our body weight in bags of spices and super fragrant, hand poured candles in jars with scents like cinnamon and fall harvest, which in my mind should have smelled like moldy leaves and rotten apples but it didn't.

So here you go. See? I do have a mid-west motherly bone in my body... somewhere:

Look, my kids like hay


And pumpkins, they like pumpkins too


And, farm animals


And sticking their faces in pictures of pumpkins




And climbing hay


And we did the maze, which was more nightmare than not

and then he climbed hay too


And I was a farm girl


Trying to ignore the farm smell. Gag.

I Couldn't Make This Up

Yesterday afternoon I was sitting on my back deck with my mom while Monkeygirl played in the yard with the neighbor kids, Sam and Seth.

Mom noted that Seth reminded her of the 'Deliverance' kids. Shortly after her observation the following conversation took place:

Seth: Hey Betsey, you know what?

Me: What?

S: I went to a Vegetable (festival) yesterday and got my face painted and it was a dinosaur, it was cool.

Me: That is cool. (turn to my mother, spit out half a sentence)

S: Hey Betsey, you know what?

Me: What, Seth?

S: I was at your house last night watching movies and Jason teased me a lot. He does that all the time and I play along with him.

Me: That's true, he does.

S: Yeah. Hey Betsey, you know what?

Me: What?

S: I got a black shirt with a silver soccer ball on it and some other stuff, it's really cool.

Me: That is cool. (Look at my mother who is laughing, I start to speak)

S: Hey Betsey, you know what?

Me: What, Seth?

S: My dog is almost two, but still acts like a pup. Yup, she sure does have a lot of pup in her, but you know what?

Me: What?

S: We used to have another dog but she got sick and died. It was really sad... And she was bleeding and everything. You wanna know where she was bleeding at?

Me: (to my mom, Oh God) To Seth: Um, sure buddy, where was she bleeding?

S: In her cracker and you know what? It was even spurting too. All over the place.

My mother is laughing and snorting uncontrollably...

Me: Um Seth, we're going to go inside now.

S: Okay, bye Betsey.

Me: Bye Seth.

What's Up At Casa De Booms?

Yesterday, I was greeted as I walked in the door by the smell of pork chops and by the site of a lavender envelope sitting on my dining room table next to those pork chops. Jason said, "you got a card in the mail."

Anxiously, I tore it open and inside was a card that reflected my love of beer and had a very sweet message inside from my friend J. I've been told to expect something else too. Turning 31 might not be so bad when you have friends like this.

Last night, as I laid in bed holding my belly because constipation is my friend (TMI, I know, but seriously) Marley sweetly came in and asked if I would drive her to school for her first day. Never being opposed to going into work an hour late and feeling the pull of my motherly duties, I said sure. Or maybe I said something about talking about it in the morning. Whatever the case, that is what happened. Although what should have been a relaxing morning of having extra time, was more like a trial of my already thin patience. I had a blonde monkey hanging on my leg the entire time as I styled the girl monkey's hair.

Somehow this makes it all worth it though:



And I only wish I could pull off being this darn cute: