My son comes to me extremely upset and crying. "Mama, they won't let me on the trampoline." He is referring to his younger sister, and the much-too-old-to-be-playing-with-preschoolers neighbor.
"Mama, don't you give them any money either. They won't let me play."
"I'm not. Honey, why would I give them money?," because I was puzzled and couldn't help myself.
"They said they were going to make a lot of money dancing so they could buy whatever they want. They said I couldn't play with their stuff. Please don't give them any money for dancing!"
"Oh, really!" I said. Then I turned to the trampoline...
"GEEEEE! Get your butt over here! Play nice with your brother, or I'll send Nessie home. And DO NOT tell people that you will make money dancing. If you want to make some money, clean your room or feed the dog like every other kids does."
I think I may have finally figured out exactly what the woman next door does for a living...
That is how many hours of uninterrupted sleep I need to feel good and refreshed. Eight to ten. Not three here, then another five here. Eight to ten without interruption!
Why am I telling you this, you ask? Because apparently no one seems to know. At least, no one in my damn house does. If they did, then I wouldn't be in such a crappy freakin' mood. Dammit!
My daughter has been sick with the croup. Poor baby. It does suck for her. But it sucks even more for ME!
Hold your jaw and your effn' judgment. She's young, for crying out loud. She's like the little freakin' Energizer bunny. She's been up since 7:30 singing to Katy Perry and explaining to her doll, Blueberry, why she can't have treasure box.
Mama just doesn't roll like that. I'll be 45 damn years old in April. Maintaining my health is important. After all, who's going to take care of that precious little croupy heifer if I die from sleep deprivation and incontinence??? Oh, wait a minute. TMI, sorry.
I know, I know. She's only five. It wasn't that long ago that she was up every 3-4 hours for feedings and diaper changes. Even then, though, I hated it. Lucky for my children, sleep is not nearly as important to Mr. OCD.
I am roughly 99.8% certain that he changed more diapers than me during those early years. I am also fairly sure that he got up for feedings at the very least 50% of the time. Even when I was home with the kids, and he had to work. He has his faults, but he's a damn good Daddy.
Crap, now I feel guilty for not putting out last night.
I'm sure this post makes me sound like a whiny, self-centered bitch. But right now, I AM a whiny, self-centered bitch! Because I'm sleep deprived!!!! Evidence that all things in life will come full circle.
Or something like that. Don't expect me to be philosophical and enlightened. I'm freakin' tired. Dammit to hell, sumsabitches!
As most of you know, I teach high school. Every day, I deal with 9th, 10th, 11th, and 12th graders. Every. Day.
And nearly every day, I come home from work feeling stressed. There's just so many of 'em and so few of us! I know little kids are needy, but teenagers??? Phew... They put I-need-your-attention-PRONTO in the word "needy." Some teenagers have so much drama and, for whatever reason, they are compelled to share with me. It's an honor and a curse. I'm honored that they feel comfortable enough to talk to me. I'm cursed in that there are just some things I DO NOT need to know! TMI to the 14th power!
Like I said, they are exhausting and can suck the life out of you if you aren't careful. Sometimes, though, just sometimes, they do not suck. Sometimes, they BLOW.
Te-he, he, he... Not really. That was just too good to pass up. Sorry; I digress...
Anystayfocused, sometimes teens are so giving. So much so that it makes me want to cry. Really. Yes. I cry, dammit.
This past week was Winterfest 2011 at Podunk High School. Winterfest is similar to Homecoming only it's for basketball. Consequently, the students nominate and elect a Winterfest court. From that court, the class accumulates points through various activities, charities, and fundraisers. From the class with the most points, the students with the most votes receive the honor of Winterfest King and Queen.
This year's King and Queen were from the Sophomore class -- an unprecedented phenomena. Typically, the Senior class takes the honor. This year, though, they gladly and honorably bowed to the Sophomores. All classes stood and cheered when the King and Queen were announced. A standing ovation ensued. I nearly cried.
The Winterfest King for 2011 is a severely disabled student. King J.J.'s disability affects his speech and restricts his movements. It does not affect his attitude, however. He comes through the doors of our building every, single morning with a smile the size of Texas. He laughs and waves, and all seems right with the world.
On Friday, I was reminded of just how awesome my job really is. I was so proud of our students. And so happy for J.J. He wore his suit and that crown all day long. I suspect he may have even slept in it. And may even be sitting in church this morning adorned with his crown. I'm sure God doesn't mind.
I just love this commerical. I cried; now it's your turn.
It's usually when I'm totally sick of snow and longing for warmer weather that I start to consider our yearly vacation options. We've been to Disney World for three straight years. I'm ready for a change of scenery. I <3 Walt Disney and his little dream, really I do. I'm just wanting to try something different.
I've been surfing the internet all day, while my kids destroyed the house, looking for the perfect non-Disney vacation. Guess what? It does not exist! I googled "best family vacations" and "top vacation destinations for kids" and "vacations for kids" only to get basically the same results each time. Number 1 on most lists is freakin' Walt Disney World!
Crap! So I dug deeper. Looked harder.
What about a cruise? Nope. I'm too paranoid about my son throwing his sister overboard. I'd never forgive myself.
Ah-ha! Mexico would be perfect! Oh, wait a minute. Mr. OCD hates the beach. He has issues with sand.
Then I came across Atlantis in the Bahamas. It's beautiful and has lots of activities for the kids. Yes, there's a beach but we don't really have to go there. I'll admit; I'm a poolside kind of girl any way. From the website, it looks like Atlantis has a bazillion pools to choose from AND a ji-normous water park!
"Let's do it!" my son said, though I suspect he had absolutely no idea about what he was so excited. He just likes to spend money.
The reason for the title of my post. I priced a glorious 7-day vacation in the beautiful Atlantis Resort, and nearly had a full-blown kaniption! It cost about the same as a Disney vacation PLUS my husband and I will be responsible for entertaining those little people who suck up so much of our resources.
*sigh, open a new browser tab, and type in www.disney.com*
Walt and his little animal friends have me just where they want me. No matter where I look to vacation, the cost is roughly the same. WITHOUT all the amenities and convenience of Disney.
It's like a cult that we can't escape! Only the leader is a bigger-than-life mouse that we cannot help but worship. He and his goons are just too adorable to resist. The luxurious compound lures us back year after year.
I certainly hope they don't start offering Kool-Aid with the meal plan.
For the first time in like a gazillion years, I had zero responsibilities on a Saturday night. I'm out of town for an educators' conference. With some coworkers who happen to also be friends. And young. In addition, I'm apparently blind to the fact that I'm pushing far-too-old-to-be-up-past-nine. Consequently, we did the only natural thing to do on a Saturday night. We hit the club.
*yawn* It was so effin' boring! Clubbers are boring people who smoke too much. Seriously! I mean, I had fun with the girls, but we could have camped out at the hotel in our pjs and had just as much fun. Instead, we spent far too much money to have a boring ass time with some lame barflies destined for lung cancer. The highlight of our night? FMK.
In the third and final club of boring, weird people, we decided to dabble in a little game of eff, marry, kill. If you've not ever played, you should. It's simple and requires no props. Just the names of people everyone playing knows. A player picks three people from the pool - one you have to eff, one you have to marry, and one you have to kill. For example, I say Rush Limbaugh, Donald Trump, and O.J. Simpson then you rank them. Go ahead; I'll wait.
Now it's your turn. Brad Pitt, Vince Vaughn, and Usher? Damn, that's a hard one.
Seriously, though, it can get intense. And very twisted. Without mentioning any names, I'm afraid there are several folks I work with that I may not be able to look at ever again. 'Nuff said.
The rants and observations of a 25 year old hot blonde trapped in the body of a 49 year old woman with cellulite, a double chin, and a severe case of smartassness.
