I saw a kid the other day...
He looked like my son. Around the same age, same build. If I hadn't known for sure that The Boy was nowhere near my neck of the woods, I totally would have thought it was him.
He needed help, this kid. He said that he'd been sitting in his car for a couple of hours, trying wave down some. He needed a jump. He said that some lady told him she would come back and help him when her husband came home. WHENEVER THAT WAS.
So he was still waiting.
I was just getting home from carpooling, and he was around the corner from my house. Mr. Toad, my carpool partner, didn't want to wait 5 minutes for me to give him a jump. So, I dropped her off and came right back.
(And then I called my cousin, because even though I was in MY neighborhood and I feel safe there, if it was in fact a trick and I was going to be abducted, SOMEBODY was gonna have a license plate number and a time/place of last location. Paranoia. I haz it.)
So this kid, who kinda laughed when I got on my cell phone because I'm pretty sure he knew why, had jumper cables. So did I, but he didn't give me a chance to tell him. Took less than five minutes.
I'm not one of those people who stop for other people in need. In fact, I usually, say that I wouldn't even stop if I saw a nun holding a baby. Because...ya know. Stranger Danger. (And WTF would a nun be doing with a baby?)
But.
This kid. He looked so much like my kid.
And I hope that if my kid ever needs help, and I'm not around, somebody stops and gives him a hand.
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Just a reminder...
In my mind, when I look at my daughter...I see a LOT of husband. She looks like him, they have the same eyes, nose and complexion.
She's got a lot of his tastes. Earlier this week, she sent him a text because OMG, DADDY, THE McRIB is BACK AND WHEN CAN WE GET TO McDONALDS?!
And just when I think that there isn't a shred of me lurking inside of her....
She proves me wrong.
She's got a lot of his tastes. Earlier this week, she sent him a text because OMG, DADDY, THE McRIB is BACK AND WHEN CAN WE GET TO McDONALDS?!
And just when I think that there isn't a shred of me lurking inside of her....
She proves me wrong.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
I really hope this doesn't mean I have daddy issues
My dad was pretty strict.
I have NO IDEA why he was. I say WAS because now that he's got grandkids all of a sudden he's not a shouter or a spanker or a EAT EVERYTHING OFF YOUR PLATE OR YOU'RE GOING TO BED-er. Now he's all mellow, and cool with the fact that the boy won't eat potatoes (not even french fries) and the girl won't drink milk. (WTF?)
That's not actually what this story is about though. It's about how how my dad was SUPER STRICT, and would practically time our walk home and give us the 3rd degree if we got home 4 minutes later than we usually did, and how he complained that our skirts were too short and our pants were too tight, and one time made me return a purple mini-dress because he claimed it was too little and no daughter of his was going to school with her butt hanging out, even though I promised to wear shorts under it.
I was not my Dad's biggest fan growing up. Clearly he was fashion backwards. And when he & my mom separated, I bought a bazillion minis and wore them to school every day. Unless I was wore colored skinny jeans. And rest assured, I was a skinny girl, wearing even skinnier jeans.
Let's flash forward 20-ish years shall we?
The Man? Never does one lick of shopping for the girl. EVER. I buy the shoes, the jeans, the gym clothes. I buy the colored socks, and even the inappropriate sloganed t-shirts. I come home, show him everything I bought...and all I get for my troubles is an "oh, that's nice."
Until today. Today it was 90 degrees. IN NOVEMBER. I KNOW, right? It felt like I was living on the surface of the sun. So this morning, after the warning that it was going to be a thousand degrees, The Brat tossed on a tank and a pair of shorts. It should be noted that since Mama doesn't want her baby's cooch to be showing, I make EXTRA SPECIAL CARE to make sure none of her shorts will let this happen. Also? I've seen the shorts the girls wear at her school, her shorts are long pants in comparison.
I see her before I leave for work, I say "Make sure you put on a jacket. It's cold in the mornings"
My husband sees her before he takes her to the bus stop and says "Why isn't the baby wearing any clothes? I don't want her prancing around school half naked....blah blah blah....all you girls ever want to wear are teeny tiny shorts blah blah extra tight pants blah blah....(did he just say get off my lawn?)"
I stop listening, because I was transported to my father complaining about mini-skirts....
When did The Man turn into MY DAD?
If he tries to make me clean my room, there is going to be T-R-O-U-B-L-E.
I have NO IDEA why he was. I say WAS because now that he's got grandkids all of a sudden he's not a shouter or a spanker or a EAT EVERYTHING OFF YOUR PLATE OR YOU'RE GOING TO BED-er. Now he's all mellow, and cool with the fact that the boy won't eat potatoes (not even french fries) and the girl won't drink milk. (WTF?)
That's not actually what this story is about though. It's about how how my dad was SUPER STRICT, and would practically time our walk home and give us the 3rd degree if we got home 4 minutes later than we usually did, and how he complained that our skirts were too short and our pants were too tight, and one time made me return a purple mini-dress because he claimed it was too little and no daughter of his was going to school with her butt hanging out, even though I promised to wear shorts under it.
I was not my Dad's biggest fan growing up. Clearly he was fashion backwards. And when he & my mom separated, I bought a bazillion minis and wore them to school every day. Unless I was wore colored skinny jeans. And rest assured, I was a skinny girl, wearing even skinnier jeans.
Let's flash forward 20-ish years shall we?
The Man? Never does one lick of shopping for the girl. EVER. I buy the shoes, the jeans, the gym clothes. I buy the colored socks, and even the inappropriate sloganed t-shirts. I come home, show him everything I bought...and all I get for my troubles is an "oh, that's nice."
Until today. Today it was 90 degrees. IN NOVEMBER. I KNOW, right? It felt like I was living on the surface of the sun. So this morning, after the warning that it was going to be a thousand degrees, The Brat tossed on a tank and a pair of shorts. It should be noted that since Mama doesn't want her baby's cooch to be showing, I make EXTRA SPECIAL CARE to make sure none of her shorts will let this happen. Also? I've seen the shorts the girls wear at her school, her shorts are long pants in comparison.
I see her before I leave for work, I say "Make sure you put on a jacket. It's cold in the mornings"
My husband sees her before he takes her to the bus stop and says "Why isn't the baby wearing any clothes? I don't want her prancing around school half naked....blah blah blah....all you girls ever want to wear are teeny tiny shorts blah blah extra tight pants blah blah....(did he just say get off my lawn?)"
I stop listening, because I was transported to my father complaining about mini-skirts....
When did The Man turn into MY DAD?
If he tries to make me clean my room, there is going to be T-R-O-U-B-L-E.
Friday, September 4, 2009
STILL Not Ready - The First Day of High School edition
Me: Brat, you ready?
Brat: I’m ready.
Me: ....Really?
Brat: Okay, lemme get my phone.
Me: Now?
Brat: Oh oh… mama, I need a jacket.
Me: Are you fucking kidding me? It’s one THOUSAND degrees out there
...and it’s only 6AM.
Brat: It might get cold. THE BUS gets cold.
Me: …sigh. NOW? I still have to drop you off so I can go to work, you know.
Brat: Did you sign all my school stuff?
Me: YES. Jesus, girl, are you ready now?
Brat: Yes. I’m ready.
My baby, her first day of High School
Brat: I’m ready.
Me: ....Really?
Brat: Okay, lemme get my phone.
Me: Now?
Brat: Oh oh… mama, I need a jacket.
Me: Are you fucking kidding me? It’s one THOUSAND degrees out there
...and it’s only 6AM.
Brat: It might get cold. THE BUS gets cold.
Me: …sigh. NOW? I still have to drop you off so I can go to work, you know.
Brat: Did you sign all my school stuff?
Me: YES. Jesus, girl, are you ready now?
Brat: Yes. I’m ready.
*sigh* I'm not.
Friday, August 14, 2009
F My Life
This morning I caught The Boy in bed with his half-naked girlfriend. HALF-naked because I timed *my bust in the door* perfectly. Fuck me right in the ass why don’t you, Karma? (Just because I once slept over to the THEN boyfriend's -now husband- and his Mom found me sleeping in the bed did not mean that *I* needed to have the same experience. REALLY)
My son, who has been home all of 3 months, is driving me insane. He moved up north becausehis girlfriend is going to school there he says he loved it so much that he wanted to live there and go to school even though:
1. He’d never even HEARD of it until his girlfriend took him up there to look at her school
2. He had no job
3. Or a place to stay
4. AND his parents are not rich
And since he STILL didn't have a job, and the friend with whom he'd been staying told him he needed to start paying rent, he decided to come home. Because I really did mean it when I said I’m not going to pay MY rent AND yours.
He came home, still not sure what he wants to do. Then we had a "I realize that college may not be for everyone, but if you DON'T go to school, then you sure as hell better get a job because you are not going to sit around the house playing your guitar all day and eating everything in the fridge" conversation.
I even told him that I know it’s hard to live WITH your parents once you haven’t, and so I’m not going spanking you about curfew (although, nothing is really open after 2AM in L.A. except legs, and I can’t have a boy with no job getting somebody pregnant, so do the math), and you’re too old for me to have to tell you what NOT to do. OR SO I THOUGHT.
I went to bed early because it’s my verb, but was startled awake because I hear doors opening & closing and while I’m lying there trying to decide if I should panic and wake The Man NOW or wait until some burglar bursts into our room and tries to kill me, I realize it’s The Boy trying to be all sneaky sneaky. And now that I’m awake, I have to pee. I notice that’s just a little past midnight, so I’m guessing The Boy thinks that everyone is sleeping and that his girlfriend is probably still here. So I give it a few more minutes and decide to scare them both and did I ever.
All I said was..."Really?"
If I'm going to be honest (and I am), I really wish I had a camera, because the look on that poor girl's face was HYSTERICAL and I wanted to laugh out loud, but I didn't. I'm sure she'd never been so embarrassed in her life, and that made me feel slightly better.
Then I said... "So, I'm assuming you know what to do now, right?"
Which she obviously did, because then she got dressed quick-fast and in a hurry.
But because I am totally about making sure You've Learned Your Lesson, I was waiting in the Living Room to making sure they both understood:
THE PARENTS ARE THE ONLY PEOPLE WHO GET TO FUCK UNDER THIS ROOF
That's right. In Bold. All Caps.
If you want to get laid, you get a hotel room, sneak back to HER parents house, have sex in the backseat of her car, but not here. NEVER here. And yes, I really did say that.
Why can't they just stay cute little babies forever? Gah...
My son, who has been home all of 3 months, is driving me insane. He moved up north because
1. He’d never even HEARD of it until his girlfriend took him up there to look at her school
2. He had no job
3. Or a place to stay
4. AND his parents are not rich
And since he STILL didn't have a job, and the friend with whom he'd been staying told him he needed to start paying rent, he decided to come home. Because I really did mean it when I said I’m not going to pay MY rent AND yours.
He came home, still not sure what he wants to do. Then we had a "I realize that college may not be for everyone, but if you DON'T go to school, then you sure as hell better get a job because you are not going to sit around the house playing your guitar all day and eating everything in the fridge" conversation.
I even told him that I know it’s hard to live WITH your parents once you haven’t, and so I’m not going spanking you about curfew (although, nothing is really open after 2AM in L.A. except legs, and I can’t have a boy with no job getting somebody pregnant, so do the math), and you’re too old for me to have to tell you what NOT to do. OR SO I THOUGHT.
I went to bed early because it’s my verb, but was startled awake because I hear doors opening & closing and while I’m lying there trying to decide if I should panic and wake The Man NOW or wait until some burglar bursts into our room and tries to kill me, I realize it’s The Boy trying to be all sneaky sneaky. And now that I’m awake, I have to pee. I notice that’s just a little past midnight, so I’m guessing The Boy thinks that everyone is sleeping and that his girlfriend is probably still here. So I give it a few more minutes and decide to scare them both and did I ever.
All I said was..."Really?"
If I'm going to be honest (and I am), I really wish I had a camera, because the look on that poor girl's face was HYSTERICAL and I wanted to laugh out loud, but I didn't. I'm sure she'd never been so embarrassed in her life, and that made me feel slightly better.
Then I said... "So, I'm assuming you know what to do now, right?"
Which she obviously did, because then she got dressed quick-fast and in a hurry.
But because I am totally about making sure You've Learned Your Lesson, I was waiting in the Living Room to making sure they both understood:
THE PARENTS ARE THE ONLY PEOPLE WHO GET TO FUCK UNDER THIS ROOF
That's right. In Bold. All Caps.
If you want to get laid, you get a hotel room, sneak back to HER parents house, have sex in the backseat of her car, but not here. NEVER here. And yes, I really did say that.
Why can't they just stay cute little babies forever? Gah...
Thursday, June 25, 2009
She gets it from her Mama
To what I am sure is going to be my everlasting regret, I agreed that The Brat is getting old enough to go to concerts. Or caved in from all the begging because all of her favorite bands are touring this summer and OMG - who KNOWS if Fall Out Boy will have another CD out next summer. Tom-A-to, tom-AH-to. One of her friends (and her Mom) took The Brat to see Britney Spears (don’t judge me. The Brat IS her target audience: 13 year old girl), she’s got plans to see The Jonas Brothers this summer, and I’m taking her to see No Doubt in August. And then my friend says…Hey, does The Brat want to see The Veronicas? My reaction:…? I have NO idea who The Veronicas are, so I call The Brat and ask her. SHE knows who they are… SHE would love to see them (also the tickets were dirt cheap, holy hell!)
Last night was the night. Me & Mo and our daughters. Once they realized that we were not going to hover, they asked if they could stand up front. Which they did. While we watched. From the bar. Because if I’m going to be listening to my daughters music, I was pretty sure I was going to need some alcohol.
First Band: Carney
Surprisingly good. I didn’t really know what to expect, since honestly, I thought the Veronicas didn’t have an opening act AND didn’t know they are far beyond any Jonas Brothers type act. Word on the street (from our teenagers) is that the Jo Bros opened for them before. They were signing merch & taking pictures in the lobby after the show so….
Last night was the night. Me & Mo and our daughters. Once they realized that we were not going to hover, they asked if they could stand up front. Which they did. While we watched. From the bar. Because if I’m going to be listening to my daughters music, I was pretty sure I was going to need some alcohol.
First Band: Carney
Surprisingly good. I didn’t really know what to expect, since honestly, I thought the Veronicas didn’t have an opening act AND didn’t know they are far beyond any Jonas Brothers type act. Word on the street (from our teenagers) is that the Jo Bros opened for them before. They were signing merch & taking pictures in the lobby after the show so….
Yeah, I know. Top: Lead Singer. Bottom: Drummer (What is it with those drummers?)
Second Band: The Pretty Reckless.
Also good. The girls REALLY liked this band. Since I had never heard of ANY of these bands, I was completely surprised that the lead singer is an actress on Gossip Girl. Also? Happily surprised that I’m raising a girl who likes ALL kinds of music and not just Jonas Brother/Hannah Montana –y type bullshit. I mean, I TRY to expand her consciousness of music beyond the Ting Tings and Fergie..but you never know if it’s gonna work.
Headliner
So let me just say…that I spent most of my time at the club hanging around the bar. I spied a few actor types and of course, some “I look like I’m in band types”. Most of the night I stood behind a guy who looked like Zach Galifianakis. Only an asshole. HE spent most of his time chatting up a couple of weirdly dressed chicks. One had on a flapper headband. The other one had on these HUGE glasses. They probably spend the whole second set talking and drinking. Blah blah blah…blah blah blah…Blah.Blah.Blah. GEEZ. Just shaddup already. I take a potty break and return just in time to the Veronicas. The weirdly dressed chicks?
Are now not so weirdly dressed and are on stage. The music? VERY GOOD. The Brat’s got pretty good taste in tunes.
We left around 11:30ish. I had a new respect for The Brat’s musical interests, found a couple of new bands that were pretty good. I guess the girls were feeling kind of smug that we ended up enjoying the concert after all because as we were telling them that we had been standing less than 2 feet from the Veronicas half the evening… “Have we taught you NOTHING?! How could you not know who they were?"
Hmm...so when did the students become the teachers?
Monday, June 8, 2009
Friday, February 13, 2009
Still. Not Ready
This is my babygirl, aka The Brat. 
Ok...Actually THAT is how I picture her. That’s not really how she is. SIGH. This is The Brat, circa 2008
Ok...Actually THAT is how I picture her. That’s not really how she is. SIGH. This is The Brat, circa 2008
(Halloween party. Yeah, she's a goth something or other...Yeah, she had to wear a shirt under that there outfit because HELLO? she's 12)
I don’t really miss the baby days. I do look back fondly of the new baby smell and the cuddles and the cute baby outfits. But I don’t really miss the changing wet diapers, OMG I don’t have a babysitter, what the hell did she just put in her mouth?! days. I miss THESE days:
5 years old (First Day of School, Boston)
7 years old (Downtown Boston, day on the town with Daddy)
8 years old (Renaissance Faire, Canton, Mass)...Wait. I don't miss this. We still do this every year, just different State.Anyways, my point is..I miss THOSE days. Those days are the I still want my mommy sometimes days. It's sort of double-edged. You can't wait for them to get older and become more independent.... until they get older and become independent.
11 years old (random event, So. California)Time is NOT on your side, ladies & gentlemen. These babies we have grow up and start kindergarten and middle school and hanging out with their friends at the mall and not needing you as much to hold their hands for the little things. And I’m NOT looking forward to holding her hands through the BIG things: 1st boyfriends, 1st dates, 1st heartbreaks, 1st TIME (*screaming on the inside* I can’t believe I just said that! But I have to keep it real. Even when I don’t want to)
What brought all this on? Why am I having a minor meltdown about The Brat/Teenager getting older?
This week, I received this
What brought all this on? Why am I having a minor meltdown about The Brat/Teenager getting older?
This week, I received this
She’s going to High School. And I’m totally NOT ready. Why can’t she just stay like this forever?
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9 years old (Knotts Berry Farm, CA)SO not fair.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
I'm not a complete failure
I am a pretty laid back parent…Could be because my dad was a complete dictator about EVERYTHING. Cleaning, eating (I am the world’s pickiest eater. The eating issues would turn into World War III), homework, clothes. Everything. You name it, he wanted to tell me how to do it, that I COULDN’T do it, or complain about the way I did it. Me? Not so much. I don’t have rules as much as I have loose guidelines. I expect to see the floor of The Brat’s room, and for her clothes to be in her hamper. I also don’t do her laundry anymore, so if she runs out of panties…her bad.
The only rules that I am completely unbending on are: No drugs. I don’t do them, and since I pay the rent, that means nobody else can either. No sex. The only person who can have sex in my house is ME and The Man (and only with each other) and Nobody in the house when I’m not there. There are very few exceptions to this rule and every one of them are related to me. I don’t care if your BFF got locked out of her house. She can sit on the porch until I get home. The only time this rule can be bent is if I have already ok’d somebody coming over before I get home to pick you up and/or hang out. And if somebody pops up unexpectedly, unless I get a phone call asking “Is it ok?” It’s not. PERIOD. EVER. Because even though I don’t believe my friends are crazed psychopaths, child molesters, killers…I don’t want to find out I was wrong the hard way (better safe than sorry, I say).
I get home yesterday and my husband’s friend, Smiley, is on my porch. He’s standing there talking on his cell. What the hell?
Me: Hey Smiley, are you lost?
Smiles: Nope, I was walking The Brat through printing up my Costco receipt from out here. I didn’t know I was going to need it, and you guys are the closest. (I live less than 5 minutes away)
Me: Uhhhh…
Smiles: Well, she peeked out the blinds and told me that she couldn’t open the door. So I called her on the phone & asked her to print it up for me. She was going to slip it through the window.
Me: AAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…..She’s not allowed to open the door to ANYBODY when I’m not here.
Smiles: I totally get it.
I let him in and he grabs the paper that she printed out for him and goes off to Costco.
It should be noted The Man & Smiley have been friends since 1st grade. I’ve known Smiley for AT LEAST 20 years because he had been my neighbor since I was 10 years old AND THEN I dated/married his closest friend. He’s known The Brat ALL 13 YEARS OF HER LIFE. And she told him, you know I love you…but I can’t let you in.
Wow. So I guess I did something right.
*Also—they both said they were trying to call me for permission to open the door, but my phone is sometimes stupid & so I never got a call (until of course..I was home then I got 500 bajillion missed calls)
The only rules that I am completely unbending on are: No drugs. I don’t do them, and since I pay the rent, that means nobody else can either. No sex. The only person who can have sex in my house is ME and The Man (and only with each other) and Nobody in the house when I’m not there. There are very few exceptions to this rule and every one of them are related to me. I don’t care if your BFF got locked out of her house. She can sit on the porch until I get home. The only time this rule can be bent is if I have already ok’d somebody coming over before I get home to pick you up and/or hang out. And if somebody pops up unexpectedly, unless I get a phone call asking “Is it ok?” It’s not. PERIOD. EVER. Because even though I don’t believe my friends are crazed psychopaths, child molesters, killers…I don’t want to find out I was wrong the hard way (better safe than sorry, I say).
I get home yesterday and my husband’s friend, Smiley, is on my porch. He’s standing there talking on his cell. What the hell?
Me: Hey Smiley, are you lost?
Smiles: Nope, I was walking The Brat through printing up my Costco receipt from out here. I didn’t know I was going to need it, and you guys are the closest. (I live less than 5 minutes away)
Me: Uhhhh…
Smiles: Well, she peeked out the blinds and told me that she couldn’t open the door. So I called her on the phone & asked her to print it up for me. She was going to slip it through the window.
Me: AAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…..She’s not allowed to open the door to ANYBODY when I’m not here.
Smiles: I totally get it.
I let him in and he grabs the paper that she printed out for him and goes off to Costco.
It should be noted The Man & Smiley have been friends since 1st grade. I’ve known Smiley for AT LEAST 20 years because he had been my neighbor since I was 10 years old AND THEN I dated/married his closest friend. He’s known The Brat ALL 13 YEARS OF HER LIFE. And she told him, you know I love you…but I can’t let you in.
Wow. So I guess I did something right.
*Also—they both said they were trying to call me for permission to open the door, but my phone is sometimes stupid & so I never got a call (until of course..I was home then I got 500 bajillion missed calls)
Friday, January 9, 2009
A Father and his daughter
The last 2 weeks, my daughter has been home. Christmas (perdon) WINTER vacation. I have been...at work. Working at Big & Fancy hospital is good & bad. Good: I get regular paychecks, I occasionally bump into famous people I recognize. Bad: MY department never closes, so I very rarely get days off. And never GOVERNMENT holidays like President’s day.
My husband though, well…he’s military. And the last 2 weeks of the year he was getting 96’s (FOUR day weekends) like it was cool. So he spent a lot of time at home with the brat. Bonding. What do father and daughter bond over?
My husband though, well…he’s military. And the last 2 weeks of the year he was getting 96’s (FOUR day weekends) like it was cool. So he spent a lot of time at home with the brat. Bonding. What do father and daughter bond over?
Call of Duty: World at War.
They sit in my den and kill the bad guy. Gruesomely, LOUDLY killing the bad guy. When she’s not killing her some Nazi’s, she’s her Daddy’s wingman. Telling him where to shoot, pointing out the snipers, and also? she relaying information on his headset when he plays online. He’s turned his baby girl into a blood thirsty Marine (or Russian, depending on where you fight). The funny thing she’s still a Jo Bros-loving, anime watching, when-can-I-start-wearing-makeup begging, giggly little girl. And then this past Saturday, I heard her tell her uncle, “I’ve played Zombie Hordes but it’s not fun because they give you a crappy gun to start with” (WTF?!)
It’s kind of funny. She can talk him into watching shit like the Cheetah girls (‘cause Mommy said hell-to-the-naw) or saying Yes when I’ve already said No (sometimes, I have to veto…but I still give an E for effort) And in return, she helps him save the world. Or as he puts it "Me & my baby are putting bodies in the ground."
I guess. Who am I say what they enjoy doing together? I may not love blood & guts (and I really REALLY don't), but I'm pretty sure that the time they spend together means a lot to the both of them. Whatever it is they're doing. From playing hide & seek in the house on rainy days, to random trips to the Queen Mary to video games...to water balloon fights. When she grows up, she will remember those days, and remember that she was loved.
Because nothing says love like a water balloon to the face.
(And, did you know that Call of Duty was not only historically accurate, it provided actual facts from AND had real footage of World War II...it also tied in to what she was studying at school? The Diary of Anne Frank. Well, how about that? A war game as a learning tool.)
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Still not ready
So I’ve mentioned before I’ve got a teenager. I’ve actually got TWO, The Boy is 18ish now; but the girl…The Brat has graduated from a TWEEN, to a real-live, fire breathing teenager. I’m kidding about the fire-breathing, except when she’s on her period. But then so am I, and I’ve had lots more practice breathing fire during that time of the month, so I’m not so scared of that.
(I’m scared of THIS, though…She sent this to me. She is well aware her mama is freaked out by eyeball pictures. I feel like they’re staring DIRECTLY AT ME. The subject of this small time terrorism disguised as picture mail? Boo.)
But I’m slightly scared of her growing up. After all, I was quite a handful as a teenager. I would never deny it. And she…well, she gets it from her mama. LOL. The sassy mouth, smarts, she is even MY SIZE at that age – except for the hips. I never had a pair of hips until I started having babies. Good Lawd, my baby has baby makin’ hips. I worry about her starting high school NEXT YEAR (can anybody hear me screaming on the inside?)… I worry about boys, and wrong choices, and growing up too fast…
Yesterday, she says Mommy, can me & my friends go to see Twilight after school on Wednesday? Then we can go for sushi or pizza at the mall. Now, I was ALLL excited to see Twilight myself. In fact, I was actually thinking of going to a midnight showing tonight/tomorrow morning (I never can figure that out). Anyhoots, I told my sister…Nah, I won’t do that because I’ll have to take The Brat this weekend. No point in going twice, right? Well. Fooled me. Miss thing made plans WITHOUT me. No sooner than I start thinking she’s growing up, she gets into the car singing this:
Veggie Tales! We used to watch this together when she was 5 or 6 years old. She LOVED to sing silly songs with Larry. The more things change, the more they stay the same. I know that it was just a glimpse of the baby she used to be, but still. It’s comforting to know my baby is still there and she remembers spending time with her mommy.
Now if I can just block out her singing along to Soulja boy .
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
I would like to have your baby
No seriously. I would.
Now that my kids are older: The Boy is trying to become A MAN, so he's moved out into the cold, cruel world...not really, he just moved up north. He is definitely proving to be my child. He moved far enough so that we can't just drop in, but close enough for us to visit. The Brat...well, she's going to be a real-live, fire breathing TEENAGER this year. And although she still wants to hang out with me sometimes, more and more she & her friends are making plans for sushi and a movie. (Oh, to be in L.A.)
It seems like half the people I know are having babies. Sweet smelling, smiling, chubby cheeked BABIES. And every time I see one, my uterus contracts. And I think, I am still young(ish)! I could totally do that again.
And then I think of the PREGNANCY, the projectile vomiting, the ridiculous mood swings and the hips as big as Texas. But then, that's a small price to pay, right? After all the payoff is a living breathing version of you/your husband (my kids DON'T look like me. AT ALL), that you canwarp teach, and love. But then...you've got the 2AM feedings, the poopie diapers, the crying...
Umm...yeah. I want to have YOUR baby. Give 'em here. I'll play with them, babysit them, kiss their chubby little cheeks. Hell, I'll even change their diapers. Then I'll fill them full of junk food and send 'em home.
Just call me Aunt Lynnie.
Now that my kids are older: The Boy is trying to become A MAN, so he's moved out into the cold, cruel world...not really, he just moved up north. He is definitely proving to be my child. He moved far enough so that we can't just drop in, but close enough for us to visit. The Brat...well, she's going to be a real-live, fire breathing TEENAGER this year. And although she still wants to hang out with me sometimes, more and more she & her friends are making plans for sushi and a movie. (Oh, to be in L.A.)
It seems like half the people I know are having babies. Sweet smelling, smiling, chubby cheeked BABIES. And every time I see one, my uterus contracts. And I think, I am still young(ish)! I could totally do that again.
And then I think of the PREGNANCY, the projectile vomiting, the ridiculous mood swings and the hips as big as Texas. But then, that's a small price to pay, right? After all the payoff is a living breathing version of you/your husband (my kids DON'T look like me. AT ALL), that you can
Umm...yeah. I want to have YOUR baby. Give 'em here. I'll play with them, babysit them, kiss their chubby little cheeks. Hell, I'll even change their diapers. Then I'll fill them full of junk food and send 'em home.
Just call me Aunt Lynnie.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Add this to your grocery list
Here in Southern California, there are a few radio stations you can listen to:
Radio Disney (we’re all ears!) – The kiddie station
KIIS – The pre-teen/ I’m not sure what kind of music I like yet, station
KPWR – The hip hop station
KJLH – The R & B station
KROQ – All rock, all the time.
Usually in the morning, I have to listen to KIIS, because the Brat is 12, and she’s too old for radio Disney (mostly), and too young for everything else. And even though I hate Ryan Seacrest, I will occasionally listen to placate the young Miss Thing.
Well today was NOT one of those days. I got up in a foul mood (stupid period), after over-sleeping, and I forgot my lunch. So, I figured we could listen to KROQ. I was in the mood for some funny, and their morning show is pretty hilarious.
USUALLY, before they have something completely inappropriate (read: sexually explicit) they will give some kind of warnings. Today, they were talking about things that you forgot you packed before going to the airport. Started off normal, this lady called and said she & her mom were put in a holding tank for 20 hours in Germany because the authorities thought her grandmother’s remains were for a bomb…this guy calls and says his mom smuggled illegal fireworks from Mexico, by accident, he says. And then. (Isn’t there always an “and then”?) Then this guy calls and says his wife had packed edible underwear for their honeymoon, and they had gotten randomly picked to open the bag.
Why me? Why is it that I always have to explain random things to the Brat just when I not expecting it.
Brat: *making a face* Do they really have such a thing as edible underwear?
Me: Yeah ::sigh:: they do.
Brat: Do you get them at the grocery store?
My inside thought:
Me: No, you buy them at places you are not old enough to go.
Maybe my sister was right. She told me to say, Yes, you CAN get them in the grocery store. Right next to the fruit roll ups.
The next trip to the commissary would be a doozy.
Radio Disney (we’re all ears!) – The kiddie station
KIIS – The pre-teen/ I’m not sure what kind of music I like yet, station
KPWR – The hip hop station
KJLH – The R & B station
KROQ – All rock, all the time.
Usually in the morning, I have to listen to KIIS, because the Brat is 12, and she’s too old for radio Disney (mostly), and too young for everything else. And even though I hate Ryan Seacrest, I will occasionally listen to placate the young Miss Thing.
Well today was NOT one of those days. I got up in a foul mood (stupid period), after over-sleeping, and I forgot my lunch. So, I figured we could listen to KROQ. I was in the mood for some funny, and their morning show is pretty hilarious.
USUALLY, before they have something completely inappropriate (read: sexually explicit) they will give some kind of warnings. Today, they were talking about things that you forgot you packed before going to the airport. Started off normal, this lady called and said she & her mom were put in a holding tank for 20 hours in Germany because the authorities thought her grandmother’s remains were for a bomb…this guy calls and says his mom smuggled illegal fireworks from Mexico, by accident, he says. And then. (Isn’t there always an “and then”?) Then this guy calls and says his wife had packed edible underwear for their honeymoon, and they had gotten randomly picked to open the bag.
Why me? Why is it that I always have to explain random things to the Brat just when I not expecting it.
Brat: *making a face* Do they really have such a thing as edible underwear?
Me: Yeah ::sigh:: they do.
Brat: Do you get them at the grocery store?
My inside thought:
Me: No, you buy them at places you are not old enough to go.
Maybe my sister was right. She told me to say, Yes, you CAN get them in the grocery store. Right next to the fruit roll ups.
The next trip to the commissary would be a doozy.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
I am NOT ready
I took the brat to register for school the other day. I was inappropriately excited, and a little sad. My baby girl is growing up. She will be graduating this year from the 8th grade. And I have to admit that the thought of her going to high school makes me wicked nervous (I most certainly DO remember my high school days and to say I was a handful would be the understatement of the em-effing CENTURY).
Anyways, I remember when she was in Kindergarten, and she was broken hearted when she found out that when she graduated to 1st grade, her teacher wasn't going to be there with her. She had a strange affinity for dresses (which she most certainly DID NOT get from me), to the point that when she was 3, she didn't even OWN pants of any kind because she would not wear them. At all. My baby. Weird even then.
Now, she's all jeans, all the time. She gets her period (lucky, LUCKY me). She goes to the movies & the mall with her friends (and a chaperone...she's 12, not 15), and she's got boobs!
But she's somewhere in the middle. Some little girl left, with just enough teenager thrown in to make me want to punch her in the eye sometimes. These last few days, her cousins have been here at the house because, well...because they can be and I'm not back at work yet. I've been listening to them giggle and discuss the Jonas brothers, the twilight movie, and blah blah blah.
This morning, she woke up EXTRA early...and since everyone else was still sleeping, she got in the bed with me and we watched cartoons until we fell back asleep.
This AFTERNOON, she was reading Rolling Stone (The Jo Bros were on the cover) and she says to me:
Brat: Mommy, have you ever played beer pong?
Me: No, I don't like beer THAT much. I don't even know how it's played.
Brat: It's like ping pong, except you put cups on the sides of the ping pong table and you try to get the ball in the cups, and if you do, that person has to drink the beer.
Me (on the inside): WTF?!
Me (on the outside): Well, what the hell?! How do you know that? Aren't you a little YOUNG for drinking games?
Brat: Mommy, I know I'm not old enough to drink. They have a picture of it in the magazine. (Points it out to me)
Me: I have to ask. I don't have time to be taking to you AA meetings. It will interfere with your soccer practice.
I am SO unprepared for this.
Anyways, I remember when she was in Kindergarten, and she was broken hearted when she found out that when she graduated to 1st grade, her teacher wasn't going to be there with her. She had a strange affinity for dresses (which she most certainly DID NOT get from me), to the point that when she was 3, she didn't even OWN pants of any kind because she would not wear them. At all. My baby. Weird even then.
Now, she's all jeans, all the time. She gets her period (lucky, LUCKY me). She goes to the movies & the mall with her friends (and a chaperone...she's 12, not 15), and she's got boobs!
But she's somewhere in the middle. Some little girl left, with just enough teenager thrown in to make me want to punch her in the eye sometimes. These last few days, her cousins have been here at the house because, well...because they can be and I'm not back at work yet. I've been listening to them giggle and discuss the Jonas brothers, the twilight movie, and blah blah blah.
This morning, she woke up EXTRA early...and since everyone else was still sleeping, she got in the bed with me and we watched cartoons until we fell back asleep.
This AFTERNOON, she was reading Rolling Stone (The Jo Bros were on the cover) and she says to me:
Brat: Mommy, have you ever played beer pong?
Me: No, I don't like beer THAT much. I don't even know how it's played.
Brat: It's like ping pong, except you put cups on the sides of the ping pong table and you try to get the ball in the cups, and if you do, that person has to drink the beer.
Me (on the inside): WTF?!
Me (on the outside): Well, what the hell?! How do you know that? Aren't you a little YOUNG for drinking games?
Brat: Mommy, I know I'm not old enough to drink. They have a picture of it in the magazine. (Points it out to me)
Me: I have to ask. I don't have time to be taking to you AA meetings. It will interfere with your soccer practice.
I am SO unprepared for this.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Proof!
The Boy, my oldest, looks nothing like me. He is an exact replica of The Man. So much so, that I have put baby pictures of The Man and the boy side by side and my own mother couldn't tell them apart.
But he does act like me. He's quirky and weird and says completely inappropriate things:
We were in the Base Exchange (PX):
The Boy: Hey Mom, our bagger is left handed like me.
Me(grabbing our bags and heading to the door): How could you possibly know that?
The Boy: Because she's missing her right hand.
At which point, I look back, and sure enough... She's only got one arm. And then I sit on the bench outside and start laughing uncontrollably. Because I find the most inappropriate shit freakin' hilarious. I mean, laughing so hard that I'm crying. The Man walks away from both of us, because I'm sure he is disgusted that his wife & child would laugh at something so ridiculous.
So there you have it. He may not look like me at all, but he IS like me. See? We've got the same completely atrocious sense of humor.
But he does act like me. He's quirky and weird and says completely inappropriate things:
We were in the Base Exchange (PX):
The Boy: Hey Mom, our bagger is left handed like me.
Me(grabbing our bags and heading to the door): How could you possibly know that?
The Boy: Because she's missing her right hand.
At which point, I look back, and sure enough... She's only got one arm. And then I sit on the bench outside and start laughing uncontrollably. Because I find the most inappropriate shit freakin' hilarious. I mean, laughing so hard that I'm crying. The Man walks away from both of us, because I'm sure he is disgusted that his wife & child would laugh at something so ridiculous.
So there you have it. He may not look like me at all, but he IS like me. See? We've got the same completely atrocious sense of humor.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Thank you Little Miss Obvious
4 year old niece: What happened to your foot auntie?
Me: I twisted it when I stepped in a hole.
4 year old: Did it hurt?
Me: yes, a LOT.
4 year old GENIUS: You shouldn't have stepped in the hole, auntie.
Me: Well, honey if I had SEEN the hole I probably wouldn't have hurt my foot.
4 year old SMARTY PANTS: Next time, just jump over the hole like this (hops on one foot). That's what I do when I see a hole. That way you won't hurt your foot.
Me: Thank you. I will remember that the next time I don't see a hole.
4 year old: (nods head, because I'm guessing to her that response made perfect sense) Okay. Can I touch your leg?
Thursday, June 26, 2008
I guess it's an educational crapshoot
So today, I got THE call. The call that said the girl got into the school that I had been trying to get her into since she started middle school. I had been trying to get the brat into a magnet program since we moved back to California. She tested gifted, but, in the way of all schools in my district, they didn't have space for her.
So I did what most parents whose local schools are little more than daycares with books, mixed with gang violence do: I used a friend's address to get into a better school district. The brat's school is more than I could have hoped for: It's a California distinguished school, it's got an excellent curriculum, a music program, a theatre program, sports and other completely RANDOM extra-curricular activities. But (and it's a big BUT...even bigger than mine) it's FAR. FAR far away. AND she loves it there.
And because she does, I drive 25 miles AWAY from the direction that I go to work to take her to school, and then drive ANOTHER 20 miles to my place of employment. It's a long and boring trip, even if it IS along the beach. She takes the local bus home and I worry every single day until she calls me to let me know that she's made it. I've gotten off early, so that I could be there for plays, concerts and softball games. I've begged family members to pick her up early when she's gotten sick. I was so excited when school ended this year, I took the day off, just to remind myself what it was like not to have to drive her anywhere at the crack of dawn and then have to rush off to work.
Now....NOW they want to tell me that she's been accepted. Now that she's in her GRADUATING year, and she's got friends that she loves, a rhythm for school work and homework and she's EXCITED about the upcoming year....you tell me "Congratulations, even though you've been begging to get her in here for 2 years now, and she was smart enough the whole flippin' time, and now that she's comfortable where she is, we'd like to rip her from her school and friends to graduate with a bunch of strangers."
I wanted her to go to this school. I did. It's a good school, they've got a good program. But (there's that but again), what kind of heartless mom would I be to put her in this school to graduate? She's got her BFF, her plan to learn french, and her senior trip to look forward to. It would suck big fat ones to have to make new friends (the magnet school does NOT offer french and there would be no trip). To be honest, the only REAL difference is that the magnet school comes with a school bus. It's not even a BETTER school than the school she attends, in fact, her CURRENT school is better - they've got school books. Books for home, books for school, books! Books so that she doesn't have to drag home her body weight in a backpack. No photocopied pages because LA Unified is too cheap to buy more books. Which is probably not the case in the Magnet Program, but you get the picture.
Anyways, as much as I'd like to say eff it and let her be bussed to school, I just can't do it. I really just applied this last time because of habit. I would much rather her start a new school when she's got to start a new school (*gulp* HIGH SCHOOL) and not just at some random moment. She deserves to finish where she started..she's done 6th and 7th..she may as well get all the fanfare that goes along with graduating there. So I called the magnet school and said (not without some disgust), "Thank you, but no thank you."
Welllll....I can try again next year once she hits high school. Maybe THIS TIME, instead of blowing me off, she will get accepted right away and I can stop paying a 100 million dollars in gas carting her around and sleep an extra hour in the morning...and also maybe I will wake up having lost 30 lbs miraculously, have the cure for cancer, win the Nobel Peace Prize AND the Mega Millions.
It's probably got the same odds.
So I did what most parents whose local schools are little more than daycares with books, mixed with gang violence do: I used a friend's address to get into a better school district. The brat's school is more than I could have hoped for: It's a California distinguished school, it's got an excellent curriculum, a music program, a theatre program, sports and other completely RANDOM extra-curricular activities. But (and it's a big BUT...even bigger than mine) it's FAR. FAR far away. AND she loves it there.
And because she does, I drive 25 miles AWAY from the direction that I go to work to take her to school, and then drive ANOTHER 20 miles to my place of employment. It's a long and boring trip, even if it IS along the beach. She takes the local bus home and I worry every single day until she calls me to let me know that she's made it. I've gotten off early, so that I could be there for plays, concerts and softball games. I've begged family members to pick her up early when she's gotten sick. I was so excited when school ended this year, I took the day off, just to remind myself what it was like not to have to drive her anywhere at the crack of dawn and then have to rush off to work.
Now....NOW they want to tell me that she's been accepted. Now that she's in her GRADUATING year, and she's got friends that she loves, a rhythm for school work and homework and she's EXCITED about the upcoming year....you tell me "Congratulations, even though you've been begging to get her in here for 2 years now, and she was smart enough the whole flippin' time, and now that she's comfortable where she is, we'd like to rip her from her school and friends to graduate with a bunch of strangers."
I wanted her to go to this school. I did. It's a good school, they've got a good program. But (there's that but again), what kind of heartless mom would I be to put her in this school to graduate? She's got her BFF, her plan to learn french, and her senior trip to look forward to. It would suck big fat ones to have to make new friends (the magnet school does NOT offer french and there would be no trip). To be honest, the only REAL difference is that the magnet school comes with a school bus. It's not even a BETTER school than the school she attends, in fact, her CURRENT school is better - they've got school books. Books for home, books for school, books! Books so that she doesn't have to drag home her body weight in a backpack. No photocopied pages because LA Unified is too cheap to buy more books. Which is probably not the case in the Magnet Program, but you get the picture.
Anyways, as much as I'd like to say eff it and let her be bussed to school, I just can't do it. I really just applied this last time because of habit. I would much rather her start a new school when she's got to start a new school (*gulp* HIGH SCHOOL) and not just at some random moment. She deserves to finish where she started..she's done 6th and 7th..she may as well get all the fanfare that goes along with graduating there. So I called the magnet school and said (not without some disgust), "Thank you, but no thank you."
Welllll....I can try again next year once she hits high school. Maybe THIS TIME, instead of blowing me off, she will get accepted right away and I can stop paying a 100 million dollars in gas carting her around and sleep an extra hour in the morning...and also maybe I will wake up having lost 30 lbs miraculously, have the cure for cancer, win the Nobel Peace Prize AND the Mega Millions.
It's probably got the same odds.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Hard to believe I'm somebody's mother
People are always surprised to hear that I have kids. Sometimes, I guess it's because (so they say) that I look so young, but mostly I think it's because they think I am too childish myself to have children. I personally don't think so, I just like to embrace the things that I am still young enough to do/enjoy. But either way, it's not like I have to pass some kind of Maturity Test before you can start having brats. If you don't believe me, just ask Jamie Lynn Spears (ooooh, hello pot! I'm kettle)
But I digress. Even though my brats were happy accidents/surprises, I really REALLY enjoy them. The Boy is mostly grown, so my work is mostly done. Now all I can do is pray that all the things I've said/done haven't damaged him too much. Hardy har. The brat is old enough that I can do more with her and take her more places. I will even cop to enjoying watching Teletubbies with her, but I don't miss it now that she's moved on..some of these tween shows are freakin hysterical. And I do try to keep a firm lid on watching TV that is age appropriate (so no Sex & the City, or Real World for that one).
It's also a strange experience for me too. I had my kids so young, that I've done a lot of my growing up with them in the background. My college years also included some wild parties, and heavy drinking...but also diaper duty, and parties that I couldn't go to because I didn't have a babysitter. And even back then, some days I was calling out of work because the boy was sick and I - 19 year old me - had to take him to the pediatrician. It was weird having all that responsibility so young, but still fun. Mostly. It's NOT fun when you want to do something that all of your friends are doing, but YOU can't...or even knowing that before you would just quit a job because you wanted to, but now you know you need that job 'cause baby need a new pair a shoes (and I'm not talking about the crap table in Vegas). But it IS fun to watch your baby grow, even though you are still kind of a baby yourself...and it's fun to be young enough to want to get out there and play just as hard as your kiddo..and you've kind of got yourself a built in playmate, at least for a while.
Now, I'm sort of in between. The brat is older, we do more stuff...but she also does more stuff without Mommy now. That leaves me with more free time to be ME again, and not just mommy. I know what do with SOME of that time (when the man is home and the brat is at a sleepover), but the rest is sort of....odd. The man and I have starting dating again, a little bit. We've been MomandDad for so long, it's kind of nice to hang out as Me and Him again. I've picked up doing some of the things that I liked to do...hanging out with my girlfriends more, going to the movies. And some of things that I never got the chance to do when I was younger for various reasons, like going to concerts...and I have to say, this one I didn't know I would love so much. I have been to 6 concerts THIS year and I can't wait to see ColdPlay in July!
I think I may have a handle on keeping it balanced. This weekend, the brat had a soccer tournament all weekend. It was great! They played hard - they lost, but they played better than I've ever seen them play in this whole year of soccer. It was in another part of the city, and the weather was beautiful, so after the game we went to the beach and had a picnic.
And then after that, I went to EroticaLA (still in my beachwear), and bought an assload of toys & accessories & porn, oh my!
This Thursday, is the brat's last day of school. Her friend is having a sleepover Friday because it's her birthday.
Hehehe...Yeah, I think this being Me thing again is going to work out.
But I digress. Even though my brats were happy accidents/surprises, I really REALLY enjoy them. The Boy is mostly grown, so my work is mostly done. Now all I can do is pray that all the things I've said/done haven't damaged him too much. Hardy har. The brat is old enough that I can do more with her and take her more places. I will even cop to enjoying watching Teletubbies with her, but I don't miss it now that she's moved on..some of these tween shows are freakin hysterical. And I do try to keep a firm lid on watching TV that is age appropriate (so no Sex & the City, or Real World for that one).
It's also a strange experience for me too. I had my kids so young, that I've done a lot of my growing up with them in the background. My college years also included some wild parties, and heavy drinking...but also diaper duty, and parties that I couldn't go to because I didn't have a babysitter. And even back then, some days I was calling out of work because the boy was sick and I - 19 year old me - had to take him to the pediatrician. It was weird having all that responsibility so young, but still fun. Mostly. It's NOT fun when you want to do something that all of your friends are doing, but YOU can't...or even knowing that before you would just quit a job because you wanted to, but now you know you need that job 'cause baby need a new pair a shoes (and I'm not talking about the crap table in Vegas). But it IS fun to watch your baby grow, even though you are still kind of a baby yourself...and it's fun to be young enough to want to get out there and play just as hard as your kiddo..and you've kind of got yourself a built in playmate, at least for a while.
Now, I'm sort of in between. The brat is older, we do more stuff...but she also does more stuff without Mommy now. That leaves me with more free time to be ME again, and not just mommy. I know what do with SOME of that time (when the man is home and the brat is at a sleepover), but the rest is sort of....odd. The man and I have starting dating again, a little bit. We've been MomandDad for so long, it's kind of nice to hang out as Me and Him again. I've picked up doing some of the things that I liked to do...hanging out with my girlfriends more, going to the movies. And some of things that I never got the chance to do when I was younger for various reasons, like going to concerts...and I have to say, this one I didn't know I would love so much. I have been to 6 concerts THIS year and I can't wait to see ColdPlay in July!
I think I may have a handle on keeping it balanced. This weekend, the brat had a soccer tournament all weekend. It was great! They played hard - they lost, but they played better than I've ever seen them play in this whole year of soccer. It was in another part of the city, and the weather was beautiful, so after the game we went to the beach and had a picnic.
And then after that, I went to EroticaLA (still in my beachwear), and bought an assload of toys & accessories & porn, oh my!
This Thursday, is the brat's last day of school. Her friend is having a sleepover Friday because it's her birthday.
Hehehe...Yeah, I think this being Me thing again is going to work out.
Friday, May 23, 2008
And this is why I love her
A while back, I borrowed a book on CD from my Sis-In-Law. She goes to the library and rents an ass-load of CD Books for her & her girls to listen to in the car. When she last came over, I took one and told her I'd let her know how it was.
My brat who is 12, would listen with me on my way to drop her off at school. Her ride to school is not such a long one, except it is 20 miles in the OPPOSITE direction of where I'm going for work. But whatever. You want them to get a good FREE education? There is no such animal. It's going to cost you, one way or another.
But I digress. It was a Dean Koontz book...and they always have some creep factor. This particular story, I'm not sure if it was a SERIES or just random book, is about a guy who sees ghosts. To make a long story (and it was long..8 or so hours long) short, this guy, Odd Thomas, has a friend who gets kidnapped by someone who is trying to lure him into showing HER (yeah, the bad guy is a HER) ghosts. She's into some weird occult type shit and says some of the weirds non-sensical things that make not-one-lick of sense to you, the listener, or Odd Thomas aka Mr. Good guy. One of those things is: "Whenever someone hangs a black snake it a tree, it rains."
Mr. Good guy has some internal comment like this lady is truly TRULY batshit, and both the brat & I have to agree..although, the brat knows better than to say batshit.
Flash forward: Even though all of last week it was so hot it was like living on the surface of the sun, a couple of days ago, clouds started rolling in and it's been sort of overcast all week.
The brat who had gotten chewed out JUST that morning because even though she KNOWS we need to leave at the crack of dawn, insists on trying to oversleep every damn day, send me a text message: Mommy, I think somebody has just hung a dead black snake in a tree.
I'm laughing hysterically at work and thinking. I really DO love her. That's my baby.
My brat who is 12, would listen with me on my way to drop her off at school. Her ride to school is not such a long one, except it is 20 miles in the OPPOSITE direction of where I'm going for work. But whatever. You want them to get a good FREE education? There is no such animal. It's going to cost you, one way or another.
But I digress. It was a Dean Koontz book...and they always have some creep factor. This particular story, I'm not sure if it was a SERIES or just random book, is about a guy who sees ghosts. To make a long story (and it was long..8 or so hours long) short, this guy, Odd Thomas, has a friend who gets kidnapped by someone who is trying to lure him into showing HER (yeah, the bad guy is a HER) ghosts. She's into some weird occult type shit and says some of the weirds non-sensical things that make not-one-lick of sense to you, the listener, or Odd Thomas aka Mr. Good guy. One of those things is: "Whenever someone hangs a black snake it a tree, it rains."
Mr. Good guy has some internal comment like this lady is truly TRULY batshit, and both the brat & I have to agree..although, the brat knows better than to say batshit.
Flash forward: Even though all of last week it was so hot it was like living on the surface of the sun, a couple of days ago, clouds started rolling in and it's been sort of overcast all week.
The brat who had gotten chewed out JUST that morning because even though she KNOWS we need to leave at the crack of dawn, insists on trying to oversleep every damn day, send me a text message: Mommy, I think somebody has just hung a dead black snake in a tree.
I'm laughing hysterically at work and thinking. I really DO love her. That's my baby.
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