Mr. Most Improved Is Not So Improved

Recently my son was awarded "Most Improved" in his kindergarten class.  I was so proud of him.  His teacher indicated that he was doing so well, and his behavior had gotten so much better. 

Being a proud mom, I didn't give the comment "his behavior has gotten better" much thought.  I'll admit, I did feel a bit anxious about the title of "Most Improved" because I am a hopeless perfectionist.  As such, improvement implies less than perfect to begin with.  Yes, I know.  No one is perfect.  I'm not perfect.  My kids are not perfect.  Still.  That is the goal.

Without going too far off into my ADD La-La-Land, today I got a note from his teacher.  She wants to meet with us.  About my son.  And his behavior.  While it has improved in her class, it is far from stellar outside of class.  To be more specific, he throws tantrums at lunch, in the gym, while in art class...UGGGHH!  Apparently, my adorable little boy acts like a certified B.R.A.T. in front of other people.

*insert horrified gasp and that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach*

I try so hard to be a good mother, and still my worst fears are materializing. 
When things don't go E's way or he doesn't get what he wants, he breaks into complete meltdown hysterics.  My kid is one of those high-maintenance, tantrum-throwing, whiney butts that I spent my single years avoiding.        

I can remember sitting in a restaurant and thinking God I wish those people would shut that kid up!  And I cannot believe that woman lets her kid act that way in public!  I even thought there's nothing wrong with him that a good ass-whooping can't cure!

I'm embarrassed.  I feel like a failure.  I want to cry.  Kindergarten is supposed to be one of his "good" years.  If he's acting crazy now, can you imagine what he'll be like by 7th grade?!?!

Here I am, a former smoker, drinker, and full-blown party girl who gave it all up to get married and have kids.  I stopped all destructive behaviors for fear that my children would be exposed to them.  I made a complete 360 for the sake of my family; yet, it doesn't even freaking matter. 

My kid acts no different from his classmate, a former crack baby who still wears Pull-Ups.  All my theories about the importance of good role models flew out the window today.  It's very likely that my child is no more likely to be successful and well-adjusted than the kid whose mom is in jail for cooking meth.

Lord, I need an intervention before I blow my paycheck on a carton of cigarettes, a case of Grey Goose Vodka, and a one-way ticket to Vegas!   

Who's Kid Is This?

So my sweet little boy has started kindergarten.  Today was his first day of after-school care.  I'm sending him a few days a week so I can get some work done, go to the gym, or whatever.  It's way cheaper than daycare or a traditional babysitter.  Since I require lots of "Me," after-school care sounded like an ideal plan.

Like I said, today was day one.  As in the very first.  Imagine my horror when I picked him up and found that he'd been in quite a bit of trouble.  According to the Director, and one of my former students, he smarted off to his teacher and was being an all-around brat.  His teacher, yet another former student of moi, referred him to the Director's office where he proceeded to be biligerent towards her as well.  Finally, the Director called in the Principal who pretty much ripped my son a new asshole one scolded him and brought him to tears.

According to the report when the Director told my son that she'd call his parents, Mr. Smarty Pants replied, "You don't even know my daddy."  The Director explained to my son that she did, in fact, know his father's name, my little angel responded with "Well, you don't know his phone number."

Who in the hell is this kid???  I've never heard him use such a smart mouth before.  He's made comments, but they've always been squashed rather quickly with the mere mention of a time-out.  We are talking about my GOOD kid, people!  He is no hellion; he doesn't buck authority.  Typically.

Needless to say, he's not watching TV right now.  His dad will be picking him up tomorrow, and looking for a better report.  If not, we're going to have some DNA analysis done.  Apparently, the Easter Bunny kidnapped my sweetheart and left me with Mr. Smarty Pants. 

The Y Just Ain't My Scene

I am such a freakin' brat!  I've grown up quite a bit over the years, but I can feel Hollywood Bitch trying to express herself these days.  I call my bratty side Hollywood Bitch because that was my nickname growing up.  Well, my cousins called me "Hollywood," but I know what they meant.  Omarosa ain't got shit on LB!  I put the D, the I, the V, and the A in DIVA.

Anysnottybitch, I have been nagging my husband to death for a pool.  I want my own damn pool in my own backyard!  Our kids are getting older and fight too much love to swim.  We need some recreation around this junk!  What better way to survive the sweltering summers of West Tennessee, right? 

Think of Hell with a bonfire going at all times.  That's a Midsouth summer. One hundred gazillion degrees.  In the shade.  All day long, I'm sweating like a whore in church.  Ain't no way on God's green earth are you getting me outdoors from June 1st to September 1st.  That is, unless there is some nice, refreshing, cool water close by.  I. WANT. A. POOL. AND. I. WANT. IT. NOW! *insert clinched fists and foot stomping here*

Mr. OCD-I-pay-the-bills-and-we-are-broke says, "no."  He's such a party pooper!  I wasn't happy, but figured I'd compromise.  Here's the deal...If I'll wait another year, I just may see a sparkling oasis in my very own backyard.  I have to wait, though, something I've never been very good at.

Fine, then.  I'll just join the Y!  The kids and I can go to the pool every day!  Besides, they have babysitters...um, I mean...lifeguards!

I was almost giddy just thinking about it.  I could workout while they stayed in the childcare room.  Then we could hit the pool!  It actually sounded better than I'd expected.  Until this morning.

First, it took me like an hour to get our shit gear together!  I packed swimsuits.  Check.  I packed sunscreen.  Check.  Floats, goggles, towels.  Check, check, check.  Since it's a bit of a drive, I packed lunches and snacks and water.  By the time I was finished with that, I was exhausted.  Not to mention, the kids fought the entire time.

Finally, we got to the Y.  I checked the kids into the nursery then hit the gym.  Disappointment.  At my other gym, there are little TVs on all the cardio equipment.  This equipment was in a large room with several TVs turned to various channels with subtitles.  I was bummed, but found a bright spot in the magazine selection.  It was nice to read a chick magazine, something I only do when getting a pedicure or waiting in line at the grocery store.  Before I knew it, I'd done 30 minutes on the elliptical and learned about a few "super foods" at the same time.

I thought, okay, this is not my ideal gym setting but I'll manage.

Afterwards, the kids and I hit the pool area.  With lifeguards (yippee!!!). 

I know why they need lifeguards now, though.  There were forty thousand kids in the damn pool!  Seriously, they were all over the place.  Not a single cubic inch of the pool was vacant.  Made me a freakin' wreck!

Not this bad, but you get the idea...

In addition to all the screeching kids, there was a "Mommies Club" to contend with.  Great, I thought.  I hate playing nice in an effort to fit in. 

All the mommies sat poolside with their chairs lined up together.  They all wore similar black tankinis and had similar looking children with nice little tans.  The moms wore big floppy hats and nibbled on Triscuits.  The kids grazed on apple slices and drank from little juice boxes.  I was in Stepford Hell.  I was in no mood to "play" so I found a nice chair in a corner away from them.

Of course, Stepford Hell was a far better place than the Redneck Riviera on the other side of the deck area.  The moms on that side of the pool weighed in the rotund range.  As the swimsuits they sported weren't bad enough, a few were tatted up with the most heinous of all tattoo art.  One woman actually had what looked like a portrait of the Insane Clown Posse on her left leg.  I saw barcodes on the neck, homemade monograms on the shoulders, crosses and religious memoriams on the back.  It made me long for the Mommies Club Rush parties.

Who'd put this on their leg?!?! Her kids are probably serial killers in training!

No commentary needed here...

The Y just ain't my scene.  I may have to pull out my sex trick arsenal.  Daily blow jobs for the rest of the year???  I dunno, but Mama really, really, REALLY needs a swimming pool!