I'm No Britney Spears, But...Well...Thank God!

I'm like the Hare in The Tortoise and the Hare.  I always start out strong.  I love new adventures.  New ideas.  I'm an awesome planner.  I see something of interest, and I am instantly hooked!  I get everyone fired up (including myself) for something big...then...my enthusiasm...fizzles out!  Ku-putt!

Suddenly, I totally lose interest.  Or worse.  I get lazy, and don't have the energy to actually start.  This is why I hate to commit to anything.  Ya see, this overly enthusiastic trait that I have seriously contradicts my very dominant perfectionist trait.  If I start something, I want to do it right.  Perfect the first time.  With whipped cream and a cherry on top. 

Yep, little Ms. Firecracker always gets my ass in trouble.  Little Ms. Perfect hates Ms. Firecracker.  Ms. Firecracker's enthusiasm doesn't get the work done.  It's Ms. Perfect's job to follow through.  With a cherry on top.

Take this week's "Not" Mommy of the Year contest being hosted by the Mommyologist (Bad place for a plug, I know.  But you've got to go vote for her at Parentconnect.com.  She's in the running for the Best Parenting Blog of 2010. Check her out and vote!) and Life Without Pink (I wonder if she knows how truly blessed she is??  Think PMS at 4 years old).  A-hem, please pardon the interruption.  This post is sponsored by another ADD moment. K?

I found out about this particular contest last week, and was totally stoked.  I may not be able to tell you what a Super Hero Mom looks like, but I can definitely pick a slacker mom out of a line up.  Third one from the left.  Her in the ball cap with the beady eyes and no make up.  Yes, her.  Look at those nails; she hasn't cleaned a house or cooked a meal in years.  That's definitely her, officer! 





As is typical for moi, I contemplated for days about what I would do for this contest.  I wanted to have the perfect blog.  I wanted to finally embrace my lackadaisical persona and proudly present her to the world.  Flawlessly.  Ms. Perfect could not fathom anything other than the most impeccable of all the impeccable posts! 

Monday rolls around, and Firecracker is feverishly planning.  Tuesday rolls around, Firecracker continues to plan as she does a few loads of laundry.  Wednesday rolls around, Firecracker makes the beds, brings G to the doctor and E to swim lessons, and, oh yea!, ponders some more about the contest.  By Thursday, Firecracker is gone; no one is home but Ms. Perfect, and she ain't doing anything without a good plan, some spirit fingers, and a little glitter glue.

Today is Friday.  Ms. Firecracker is history; Ms. Perfect is pissed.  All that's left is LB, the one who is absolutely NOT Mommy of the Year but cannot, for the life of her, figure out how to express it! 

All I got is what I got, folks.  Thanks for stopping by.

• While I'm not cooking crystal meth, I'm not cooking chicken cordon bleu either.  
• G's shorts may not have BOOTY-LICIOUS written across the ass; however, she does like to dance like a, um, dancer.  
• Neither of my kids are doing science camp or dance camp or Save the Earth camp this summer because, frankly, I'm too lazy to drive them around and we'd never get there on time any way.
• Although I'm a teacher, I haven't even opened the folder of "fun lesson plans" sent home in May.  We may not be practicing our numbers, but I'm fairly certain E knows them.  At least the 9-1-1.  He proved that yesterday.  (Apparently, not buying him that Buzz Lightyear car is worthy of jail time.  Thank goodness that Sheriff's deputy was in a jovial mood.) 
• My son, who will watch TV for 47 hours straight if I let him, is a walking, talking billboard.  Why just yesterday when we walked into Subway, he shouted to the sandwich artist, "Subway!  Eat fresh!"  (The worker thought it was cute; I was a little embarrassed because I knew what the other mothers were thinking.)  
• I didn't breastfeed because it was just too hard.  *insert horrified gasp here*  I got frustrated and gave up in the first few days.  Don't hate me.  (If it's any consolation, my daughter did drink a bottle until her fourth birthday.  Now she has chocolate milk in a sippy cup.)
• My kids go to bed every night at 7-7:30 p.m.  Even in the summer.  What?!?!  Mama needs a little TV time before bed, too. 
• They both started sleeping through the night at 6 months because I let them cry.  I tried all the "good mommy" crap, but it took too much time and effort.  Crying took 2 days.  Harder, but far more efficient in my book.

Nope, I'm definitely not Mommy of the Year material.  I may not be "Not" Mommy of the Year material either now that I think about it.  I'm just trying to make sure no one gets hurt around here.

Ahhh...my girl, Brit.  It's really hard to top that one, now isn't it? 

Facebook Confessions

I've been thinking about writing this post for a while now, but Tracie's post at Stir-Fry Awesomeness really got my creative juices flowing.  If you aren't already a fan, you've got to check her out.  She is honestly on the top of my list of must-read blogs.  She's that good.

Anyyou'rewelcomefortheshamelessplug, her post was about how she did a little, um, "research" about her ex on Facebook.  She was hoping he'd be fat and bald.  Instead, he was handsome with a nice life, nice job, and nice family.  She didn't send a friend request.

I have another friend, who shall remain nameless because she will beat my ass if I tell, that likes to stalk her husband's exes.  She doesn't befriend them; she just stalks their profiles and the posts they make on the walls of mutual friends.  She cracks me up with all that junk.  And gets me wanting to do the same.

Don't worry, Mr. OCD's exes if you are reading, I'm too freakin' lazy to stalk your profiles.  Not that I don't care, I just don't care.  Ya know??  I find it more interesting to stalk other people on FB.

My stalkees of choice??  The girls that I envied with every ounce of my being.  You know, the girls who were tall and beautiful with fabulous lives who drove fabulous cars and had the Brad Pitt-looking boyfriends who worshipped them? 

Yes, those are the profiles that I scan secretly hoping to find meth addicts living at the Pay-by-the-Hour Motel doing tricks to support their habits.  Thus far, I've not found that to be true.  This makes me want to eat a whole pan of brownies topped with vanilla ice cream, hot fudge, whipped cream, and nuts.  Great, now my fat ass is hungry...  Instead, I find that most are still living a "charmed" life. 

There is one girl, in particular, that just annoys the shit out of me.  In college, she was this tall, beautiful blond.  She always had a great tan, perfect highlights, and never wore the same thing twice.  Her family wasn't necessarily wealthy, but she got everything she ever wanted.  She had divorced parents desperate to buy her love. 

While we often ran in the same circle, we were not what you would call "friends."  We were not enemies either, though.  We were pleasant enough towards one another.  I seriously doubt she ever knew how envious I was.

Recently, I saw that she was mutual friends with another girl on FB so I sent her a friend request.  After all, we graduated college a gazillion years ago.  I am happily married with children; she is happily married with children.  She still looks great, but I'm no longer that insecure wannabe I was in college.  We have friends in common and common interests.  Let's be friends.  K?

Do you know that skank chick will not accept my request?!?!?  It's been months and still no response!  WTF?!?!  Are you kidding me?!  If I weren't so pissed, I'd probably laugh at the silliness.  However. This. PISSES. Me. Off!

I really don't know why it annoys me, but it does.  Nonetheless, I feel it my responsibility to stalk her now.  Apparently, she is a meth addict living in the Pay-by-the-Hour Motel giving BJs to support her habit.  That is why she won't accept my request.  She doesn't want me to know.  She's heard I'm doing research.  What else could it be?

It's unfortunate that her profile info is blocked from non-friends.  I do check out the pictures in which she is tagged, though.  She looks the same, yet not beautiful like I remembered.  She had a bad nose job done that hasn't aged very well at all.  Her hair looks the same, but dry.  Not shiny.  She's still tan.  And wrinkled.  Her hubs looks cute, but not any cuter than Mr. OCD. 

You know how I get my kicks, though?  You know what peaks my evil, non-Christian enjoyment when I look at that heifer's FB photos?  The fact that my children are far cuter than hers.  Seriously.  Hands-down.  Her daughter doesn't hold a candle to my pretty little G. 

Isn't it funny how the cosmos make full circle?  My daughter will probably be the envy of hers.  That makes me happy.  That's what she gets for not accepting my friend request.  *insert crazy, maniacal laugh here*

Crap, I sound like one of those pathetic "Toddlers & Tiaras" beauty pageant moms.  Sorry, Karma... Please don't bite me now!

Don't worry; G will not be making her debut any time soon.  These thoughts are purely for my personal enjoyment.  I won't be enrolling her into modeling/acting/porn star classes in the near future.  I'm not feeding G's head with any crazy shit about extreme dieting or breast implants or hair extensions.  G's hair is still ratty from lack of brushing, her feet are still nasty and bare, and she still smells like a pole-cat from playing outside in 125 degree temperatures for 12 hours straight.  A natural beauty with attitude, she is.  A fake beauty queen with a perennial smile, she is not!

Teaching Stuart

As most of you know, I am a teacher.  I don't really talk that much about that part of my life because...well, frankly...I like my job.  Schools are kinda like Vegas.  What happens at school, stays at school.

In addition, we live in a small town so you know what that means.  If I wrote in my blog that Johnny asked Tommy for a pencil, it would get around town that Johnny asked Tommy for his penis.  See how just a little typo can ruin a kid's and a teacher's life??  As a rule, LB stays away from specific incidents in the classroom.

Now generalizations???  I'm all over them.  Scenarios?!?  Well, they are just case studies in human behavior.  Hypotheticals?!  Why an absolute necessity in research.  Consider today's post a case study in parenting.

Meet Beulah, a beautiful, hugely successful, online teacher to some very lucky high school students in Wyoming.  Over all, Beulah has been very pleased with her students.  As a group they are hard-working and very conscientious.  This semester's students are an especially bright group of teens with one exception.  Stuart Cummings.

Stuart is enrolled in the course for the third time, and is apparently wanting to take it again in the fall.  Stuart, no novice to the online classroom, was MIA for the first two weeks of the six week course.  After several failed attempts at contacting him, Beulah is finally contacted by Stuart's father via email regarding Stuart's progress.

Beulah gives Stuart's dad the run down.  He hasn't logged on in 13 days.  He hasn't opened any of the files.  He won't answer my phone calls.  He won't respond to my emails.  However, he still has time to finish the work.  He's a great kid.  I love, love, LOVE him!   Positives are added to kinda soften the blow.  Dad immediately forwards the report to Stuart and his mother.

Stuart tells dad that the system is incorrect.  Mom agrees with Stuart.  Dad forwards all the ensuing emails to Beulah who assures Dad that while a system error is unlikely, anything is possible.  Dad calls Stuart and 3-ways Beulah to get to the bottom of it.

Stuart, who sounds extremely humble and quite sincere, continues to proclaim his innocence.  Yes, ma'am.  I've been working!  I swear!  Cross my heart and hope to die!  Beulah lets him off the hook in front of Dad, but tells Stuart that he has to submit the work in order for it to be graded. 

Fast forward two more weeks, Stuart has done three assignments.  Three of three hundred.  With only two more weeks remaining.  Beulah and Dad are frantic.  Stuart?!?  Cool as a cucumber.

The system is lying on me.  It must be because I'm working on a different computer.  I submitted all my work.  The internet ate it.  I swear, I swear!  Pinky promise!

Obviously out of sheer desperation, Dad continues to entertain Stuart.  Beulah, being a very clever reformed underachiever herself, wants to rip Stuart's head off!  Even more, Beulah wants to beat Dad over the head with a big stick in hopes that it will knock some sense into him.

Instead, Beulah asked Stuart to send the assignments as an attachment via personal email.  No system needed.  If you submit the work, I will give you credit manually.  No biggie. As she predicted, Beulah did not receive the assignments in email.

Beulah knows Stuart cannot send work that he has not completed.  She is always one step ahead of Stuart.  She knows that the every student has a unique log in and can access the system from any computer that has internet access.  Furthermore, the system logs the sign-on information every time a student accesses it.  Additionally, Beulah can "impersonate" the student and kind of spy on him which is exactly what she did.

Beulah spied on Stuart.  She logged into the system as him.  Contrary to Stuart's statements regarding his steadfast work ethic, Beulah can see that Stuart hasn't even finished the first section.  The only assignments completed are those which have been successfully submitted.  All three of them.  Fact.

This clever little system will not let Stuart even see the instructions to the next unit until he completes all the assignments in the first.  Stuart cannot even see the title of the 2nd unit until he completes the first and takes the exam.  It's just not possible.  Unlike a text book, a student cannot navigate through the material freely.

BUSTED!  

Beulah delivered this information to Dad today.

********

Parents, what is the answer here?  What do you think Dad should do next?  What about Beulah?  What about Stuart?  Even if he doesn't successfully complete the course, will he become the next governor of Wyoming?  President of the United States?  Or just a cheap, used car salesman?

My Little Apple

In the summer, I am always reminded of what a flop I am at parenting, wifery, and housekeeping.  In my last post, you saw my pathetic house and it's mounds of clutter.  Yep, we are one Sheriff Woody away from your classic family of psychologically impaired hoarders.

Today, my crazy-yelling-lady style of parenting reared its ugly head.  I hate that I'm a yeller.  My mom was a yeller, and I always hated her yelling at me.  I know my own kids feel the same way.  It seems, though, that I lose my mind with frustration and just go with what I know. 

STOP!  No Yelling! (Just shut up.)  When we get home, you are SO going to get it, young lady!

G, my mean-as-hell stubborn mini-me precious four-year-old, has recently developed a bad case of the smart mouth.  I honestly thought I had a good five years before having to deal with that behavior.  Apparently, she's quite "mature" for her age.  Anydrivemeuptheeff'nwall, her mouth has become my nemesis.  And I'm losing the battle.

Though a novice, G's got her smart-ass perfected!  The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, ya know.  G starts off with mockery.  She says everything that comes out of my mouth with one hand on her hip and her head just a-bobbin'.  That's just a little appetizer to get my blood boiling.  By the time our little "discussion" is over, she's smirking at me and I'm screaming my head off!

I'm tired of your smart mouth, G!

"Mama, you are a big Smarty Butt!"

She's right, but that's beside the point.  This house ain't big enough for two smart asses.  And seeing as she is incredibly adorable, I'm afraid I'll have to concede.  Either that or get her butt in check! 

The Pocket Parent says I should just ignore her.  Nowhere in the book, however, says I should yell at her, or threaten a spanking that will never come to fruition.  The book goes on to explain that she's just trying to test me.  She knows my buttons and enjoys pushing them.  I am the parent and the adult so I need to stay calm.  FAIL. FAIL. FAIL. 

A friend of mine suggested that she actually washes her kids' mouths out with soap.  The concentrated liquid kind.  She's batting a 100% effective thus far, though.  Maybe I should give it a try?? 

Time outs with G are unbearable.  She refuses to stay, goes into hysterics, and the whole process lasts so long I forget why I actually put her there.  If I try to spank her, she turns around and tells me that it didn't hurt forcing me to spank her again.  I don't like that approach either.  God, I wish someone would write a book for the lazy parent.  How to Transform Your Child into a Wonderfully Charming Genius in Four Hours.  My kind of book.  Heck, I can do anything for four hours. 

In the meantime, though, how do you stop the kids from getting to best of you?  What works at your house?  To Soap or Not to Soap?  That is the question. 

Buried Alive!

Have you ever seen that show, Hoarders:  Buried Alive?  I think I'm one of them.  Seriously, my house is just full of stuff!  On the very, very rare occasion I attempt to clean, I am reminded of how much stuff we have.  It's beyond ridiculous!

There are some third world countries with less stuff than what we have.  I just hope we don't find any small animal carcasses buried under the piles when the Environmental Protection Agency comes in and makes us clean.

This is ONE of four bookshelves that is home to the 56 gazillion books my kids own.  Notice the shelving has collapsed from the weight.  The wire basket came from the DVD bin (which is also overflowing with all things Disney).

This is the coffee table in our living room.  My husband cleaned it yesterday.  It's now covered with Little Pet Shop paraphernalia, paper airplanes, Nerf ammo, pink computer, art supplies, and a Blues Clues book my kids haven't seen since 2006.  Now that it's been rediscovered, though, it is a valued treasure.

This is the living room toy box.  There's one just like it in the playroom, G's bedroom, E's bedroom, and the bathroomS.  The lid won't shut due to over-stuffage.  If you look closely, you'll see that nearby are a few plastic totes filled with toys, and some straggler toys too big to fit in the box.  Oh, and I can't forget about Woody on the play table where my kids eat while watching too much TV.  It gets worse; the shed in our backyard is one humongous toy box full of sports equipment, multiple kiddy pools, and every battery powered vehicle created by Fisher Price and Hot Wheels (thanks Santa!). 

This just may be where they'll find the skeletal remains of our dog.  This...my friends, is a closet full of my kids' play shoes.  I say play shoes because their dress shoes are upstairs in one of their closets.  If you weren't appalled by the previous photos, I'm sure this one sent you right over the edge.  We ain't the Gosselins, folks!  This is for two freakin' kids!  They have crocs in every style, flip flops in every color, tennis shoes in every brand...  None of these shoes belong to my husband or me.

I'm pretty sure that when I die and get to the pearly gates, St. Peter will probably have these photos on file under GLUTTONY! 

Sure, LB...you found a cure for cancer, saved the entire Asian continent from nuclear innihilation, single-handedly rescued all those abandoned children in Brazil, and repaired the hole in the ozone; however, I can't let you in.  Have you seen these horrific pictures????  Sinful, girl, sinful!

The Significance of July 4th - LB Style

The day has finally arrived!  It's July 4th, bitches!  You know what that means, don't ya?  It's hibernating time!

Oh, I know.  It's also a special day to commemorate our freedom from oppression.  Those darn British treated us like crap, and we revolted.  I'm not going to go through the whole shpeel; Schoolhouse Rock taught me everything I know.  Check 'em out:



What more can I possibly add to that?

Besides the whole independence, declaration, revolution thing, July 4th holds even more significance.  Maybe not for some of you, but I'm sure my brethren down here in the armpit of hell South will concur.  Every year starting at 11:59:59 p.m., LB begins to hibernate.  No more beach vacations, zoo trips, or bike rides.  If it's happening outside, I ain't going!

I hope you all got to see me this summer.  If not, you'll have to wait until mid-September.  In meantime, you can find me inside with the A/C cranked and blinds closed.  Forty thousand degrees at 7:45 a.m. is not my idea of a warm and sunny day.  That falls more along the lines of a day in Death Valley.  With no water.  Death being the key word.  No thanks, I'll be getting my tan at the Fake Bake salon where there is plenty of air-conditioning and soft towels.

Enjoy the rest of your summer, boys and girls.  Try not to die from heat exhaustion.  Drink plenty of water!  Stay in the shade!  Last, but most importantly, don't leave those kiddies in the car no matter how badly they piss you off, people!!!

ADD moment #456:  I am always shocked and appalled when a child is left in a hot car to suffocate.  And the parents always have the same excuse -- "I didn't know he was there."  I call "bullshit."  There ain't never been a car ride in the history of my children's lives that their presence was not known.  Mine may be heathens, but I'm pretty sure even the shy kids make a little noise back there.  Not to mention that you had to strap them in the freakin' car seat to begin with.  Hell-O???  Those parents should be given the same type of death sentence.  There's no excuse!

He Fell From My Pedestal

I'm in a bit of a pickle.  I'm torn.  Challenged.  My heart just won't let go, but I can't move forward until it does. 

This is really an oddity for me.  I usually suck it up.  I'm a forgiver.  I don't like the burden of hate or discontent.  It requires too much effort.  Plus, my ADD doesn't allow it.  Remind me again why we aren't talking?  Oh, I forgot.  You ran over my dog.

That's just not how I roll.  Shit happens!  People are people.  We all make mistakes.  Lord knows I've done a few things that even Walmart can't take back!   

I'm sure I'd have a hard time forgiving someone who harmed one of my loved ones, but I firmly believe that the ability to forgive is the most important part of the healing process.  Anger only hurts the owner, and has little or no effect on those toward whom it is directed.

Ya gotta let it go, people!

But I just can't.  I've thought about it.  I've lost sleep over it.  Hell, I've prayed about it.  No matter what I do, I still come back to the feeling that I just need to end this relationship.  My heart just ain't in it.  I feign joy, but I'm really uncomfortable.  And if you know me at all, I won't be able to pretend for very long.  I'm not a good liar.  Management material, I am not. 

I guess in actuality, I have forgiven him; I'm not mad anymore.  He is a wonderful person.  Honestly, one of the nicest men I know.  Very humble.  Very devout.  And until now, I thought was very loyal.

I'm soooo disappointed, though.  My feelings towards this person have changed.  Sad, I know, because we are all human.  And fallible.  Why did I expect more of him?  But I did.  He fell short.

Maybe time and distance will help, but I don't know.  Being away doesn't help me forget.  It only makes me remain focused longer than I'd like.  I want resolution.  I'm not good in limbo.  I need structure, definition.

My husband wants to continue to wait.  For what, I do not know.  He's wishy-washy like that.  Mr. Passive Pants.  He doesn't like to face things head on.  I guess that's why our relationship works.  I'm the piss and vinegar; he's the smoothie.

I'm tired of waiting, though.  I'm ready to move on.

What would you do?  If someone you admire lets you down, what do you do?  Should I try to repair the relationship?  Or should I wish him the best and move on?