This Letter Stopped Me in My Tracks

Photo by Jordan Whitt
School started a few weeks ago, and we're still trying to get back into the swing of things. I don't know about you, but it's been tough. Are you back in the routine yet?

Our morning routine is pretty standard. The Hubs wakes up early to get the kids ready for the day. At 7:30 am, he starts out by yelling -- I mean, gently wakes up the kids. Every morning I hear "Adolpha, get down here and get dressed" and Gomer "Get dressed and brush your teeth." Some days there is more yelling than others.

This morning was one of those mornings. Both kids woke up grumpy and sluggish and there was more than the normal drama to deal with. Gomer had lost a shoe and Adolpha was refusing to brush her teeth. I had had it. I was trying to make lunches when I found Adolpha's take home folder on the counter, buried under some junk mail. It was stuffed with papers that she had not shown me. I was so irritated. She doesn't have many jobs, but she is supposed to empty her folder each night and show me what's been sent home so I don't miss anything important. I flung open the folder and started slamming papers on the counter, saying, "Adolpha, you know you're supposed to empty your folder! Why can't you do what you are supposed to?"

Open Letter to Sadist Teachers


Pick your poison.  I've got all sizes covered this year.

Guess what this week is? BACK TO SCHOOL!!

I'm not excited at all. Can you tell? We've had a great summer. I took my kids to New York City, Washington, D.C., and McPherson, KS - all vacation hot spots. What more could a kid ask for? We've got a couple more days to get ready for the Big Day. I plan to have the kids thoroughly clean out their closets and then get drunk on television, because once school starts they'll have to earn that privilege. (The TV thing, not the closets. They can clean closets whenever they'd like.) Wednesday will be meet the teacher and drop off all your school supplies and I can tell you right now, I still don't know the difference between a "plastic" pocket folder and a "poly" pocket folder. I guessed. I don't know what they're made of, but they're not paper and they do have pockets. I DO know my colors, so I bought green, red, yellow, purple, and blue ones as I was instructed. I was able to cross that part off my list with confidence! I also could not find the particular brand of pencils that was asked for. We got the "skippies" of the pencil world: whatever brand Wal Mart had on sale.

Just Because Kids Are Physically Ready, It Doesn't Always Mean They're Ready


This week I dropped off Gomer for his first day of high school.

I think he was in kindergarten when I started this blog, so I can't even right now. This raising teen stuff is hard. I'll take potty-training any day of the week, please.

A lot has changed over the years. He's now taller than me (which isn't that hard), hairier than me (which is harder than you'd think), and quieter than me (no one in this family is louder than me, although Adolpha's trying to take that spot).

Anyone Else Falling Apart Or Is It Just Me?


So I'm pretty sure I'm going through a midlife crisis. I feel like I'm falling apart. I feel like the more I try to keep from falling apart, the faster I fall apart. I feel like I'm drowning and I can't breathe. And, on top of all that, I also feel numb. I'm not positive that's a midlife crisis, because when I Google midlife crisis or signs of a midlife crisis, so much of the information points to how men feel or how men can cope. There's not a lot of information out there for women.

I thought, Maybe it doesn't happen to us? No, I think it's more like we don't talk about this stuff. 

I was reminded of a story about my overwhelmed great-grandmother asking her doctor for some help and he told her, "Nice women don't discuss such things."

Nice women don't discuss such things.

I guess it's a good thing I'm not a nice woman? Because I'm ready to discuss this uncomfortable topic.

I'm miserable. I've been feeling this way for about a year now and I was afraid to say anything even to my closest friends and family. It's a really shitty thing to say out loud, because I know it hurts the people close to me, plus it just sounds like typical suburban angst. If I was a refugee somewhere, I wouldn't get the luxury to say, "I'm just not happy." I'm not running for my life, I'm not watching people around me get murdered, I don't have any real strife in my life, so what the fuck? Buck up! Right?  

I don't know, though. Don't I deserve to be happy? Don't I owe it to myself? Isn't that what I'm always preaching? Or am I supposed to keep this all to myself and just muddle through and not make waves?

Parents Who Let Their Children Dress Sexy

By now you've figured out that I don't like weak parents.  I don't like parents who let the kids call all the shots.  I don't like parents who want to be their children's friend.  I don't like parents who sigh heavily and say, "Well, what can I do?  Jax refuses to wear a coat when it's snowing out."

Be a fricking adult and tell your kid:  "Jax, you will wear your coat today because it is cold out.  When the temperature is warmer than 70 degrees, you will no longer have to wear a coat.  Today is 30 degrees, so it is a coat day.  Please put on your coat so we can go to school."  If that doesn't work you take Jax's Legos away every day he fights you on the coat.  We all know, Jax is very bright (so you keep telling us) so he'll catch on after the first day I'm sure.


People Who Work With Children, But Don't Like Them


What is the deal with people who work in professions designed to cater to children and then they can't stand children and/or they have no patience with children?!

We take our kids to a pediatric dentist.  He costs us far more than a "normal" dentist because he is a specialist, but I wanted to take my kids to a dentist who supposedly wouldn't scare the shit out of them and who I assume is trained to work with the under 12 crowd.

This guy has an office that looks like a carnival.  He has kids movies on the big screen, aquariums full of beautiful, bright fish, video games, stuffed animals, goody bags, balloons and, of course, ice cream (he's gotta make sure we still keep getting cavities - he knows where his bread is buttered).  His staff dresses in matching outfits that are different colors every day and they all have perky, glow in the dark smiles.  That's where the fun ends.

Douchey Dads

I was attending an auction at a chic country club and  I arrived early to help the organizers set up and I was surprised to find the bar full of young, well dressed (if you can call expensive plaid shorts well dressed), golf playing, thousands of dollars a year for dues paying men sitting around drinking and yukking it up.  I wanted to say, "Hey...where do you guys work that you can spend half of a Tuesday golfing at this expensive club?"  (I also wanted to hand all of them my real estate business card, because these guys look like the type who might need a good divorce attorney and Realtor in their Rolodex's at all times.)


I started setting up tables, but I just couldn't control my irritation at these guys.  Everything about them rubbed me the wrong way.  Their stupid plaid shorts, their expensive drinks and the yukking. God, the yukking.  I've never heard laughter that was so phony and so forced.  It sounded like a combination of sea lions and parrots barking at each other.

This Letter Stopped Me in My Tracks

Photo by Jordan Whitt School started a few weeks ago, and we're still trying to get back into the swing of things. I don't kno...