My Life of Crime

I was gonna take a bloggy break but then I I went out. I hear the gasps out there. Yes I really went out. Thus here is the after post. Its sort of like the after glow but with typing instead of smoking.

So I went out. We hired a babysitter and everything and went out to a party. OK it really wasn't a party. In fact it was some travel agent event where they tried to hawk expensive vacations that we couldn't afford in a 100 years. But there was free food and drinks so lets call it a party.

So at the party there were tables set up advertising different trips that we would never go on. We walked around and took the small amounts of strange swag they offered. We had luggage locks and bookmarks and even a bandanna. But on this one table they had these banks that were shaped like penguins. They were so cute I could imagine the look of joy on my kids face as I handed them the penguin in the morning. I asked if I could have one but was told no they were just for display.

As the night wore on I got a little tipsy and suddenly that bank looked mighty appealing and before I knew it I had that bank in my grubby little hands. Yes I stole a penguin bank me Suzie the mother, wife and moral compass for the family. I was a thief and whats worse I liked it. I laughed and hid it feeling so bad ass. The old Suzie was back. I was dangerous and wild and the bank was mine. I had done it. I was home free.

When suddenly a hand tapped me on the shoulder.

Give me the bank.

I turned and there was a very angry travel agent stamping her foot in anger and looking like she wanted to kill me.

She grabbed the penguin bank.

Just kidding I stammered.

No you weren't! She said as she walked away in obvious disgust with my thieving ways.

I guess I'm not cut out for a life of crime but for one shining moment that penguin bank was mine...all mine.

Where Have I gone?

I've been a bad blogger lately. Somehow I seem to have lost the drive, the joy de blogg, the muse of the blogg. There's a lot going on and each day I think today's the day I will blog about my hang nail or today's the day I will complain about my child's complete lack of interest in brushing his teeth but each day I seem to get caught up in this and that and before I know it I'm laying in bed wondering where the day has gone. Its sad but true. I think it happens to all bloggers eventually. Its not like nothing interesting is going on its just hard to keep up with it all and sadly blogging seems to fall to the bottom of the list each day.

What is also hard is enough people I know read this that I have to be careful about what I can say and the idea of self censoring while writing just gets overwhelming. I'm not sure what Ill do about all of this. I guess I'll post when I can and give myself a break if I take a break. Still love you guys and I plan to get back to my bloggyness when I can .

I Should Be Ashamed

I like to think of myself as a reasonable person. I am polite I try to be nice I dont curse or hit people. I might even be called mild mannered by some. But what most people don't know is that under this seemingly nice exterior is a temper. It doesn't show itself often but something about the DMV (Department of Motor Vehicles for you foreign types) unleashes the volcano of anger that has been lying dormant in me for years.

I think it starts when they call me Ma'am. I know it is supposed to be polite but it makes me feel old and something about that ma'am word feels snarky and down right rude.

The next thing is the blank stare they give when the paper work they handed you and told you to fill out is now not the right paper work and they tell you to go stand in another line for the next twelve hours of your life to get another piece of paper.

It is at this point where I snap. I don't even drive but I made myself a promise I would drive by the age of 40. Its down to the wire as I am getting old and I thought (I guess in a naive laughable who do you think you are kind of a way) that getting the learners permit would be about studying and memorizing traffic signs not seeing if I could stop myself from freaking out at a DMV employee who just snapped her gum in my face while announcing that my New York State ID was not good enough proof of ID for New York State.

So I started off my Friday morning the way I did last Friday morning being escorted out of the DMV office by security. Yes, even keeled Suzie cursed and yelled and flailed her arms while screaming at the entire DMV office. Not once but twice!

What can I say.... I guess every superman has his red cryptonite and for sure the DMV is mine.

Day 35

Day 35. Still no cook hired at work. Day 35 of me, the director doing the cooking for the whole school.

Day 35 shall also be known as the day Suzie the director/cook set a very large pot of rice on fire. Complete with flames and smoke.

And day 35 shall also be known as the day of the tremendous stink.

For those of you who have never set a large pot full of pounds and pounds of rice on fire you are missing out on a very unique smell. The smell is a cross between burnt smell, farts and desperation. It is a smell no matter how you spray or air and area out will never seem to go away.

Its the kind of smell where upon entering the school people stare accusingly at one another and wait for the other to blush.

It is the kind of smell that clings to you and follows you home.

It is the kind of smell that says do not let this women ever cook again. Take away her pot. Take away her serving spoon for the good of mankind.

The smell has spoken...I beg of you people please listen before it is too late.

I Got IT!

Little S has eczema that seems to flare up for no rhyme or reason. When she gets a flare up we cover the area twice a day with a prescription cream and then smother her in Crisco. I know it sounds crazy but in a day or two it usually goes away.

My hubby on the weekends gives the kids a bath. So I reminded him about using the cream after her bath.

Its in the second draw I reminded him by the diaper rash cream.

Got it he said.

After the bath I heard crying and the sounds of a struggle. I wandered into the bathroom.

He seemed really annoyed and told me I got it! I did it last night it was fine it'll be fine again tonight! She just doesn't like it.

I looked around but the prescription cream was no where in sight.

But honey I don't see the prescription cream just the Crisco. I said trying not to sound like the nagging wife I am. What cream are you using?

The cream from the second draw. He barked at me.

I looked down my crying little baby was completely white like a ghost. She smelled like fish and seemed very put out.

And in my hubby's hand was the diaper rash cream.

Yes my hubby had covered my baby head to toe in destine.

I wondered why it was so hard to spread. He grumbled.

Say It With Shredded Cheese

I gotta say. There's no use holding back. I'M gonna say it loud and proud... I hate cooking!

Hate it!
Loath it!
Detest it!

So how is it I am now the cook for my kids my husband sometimes even my parents and now MY WORK!!!! OK there's a long story connected with it but suffice it to say the cook she is gone and no one including me wants to be the cook anymore. So rather than let the kids starve. Rather than let the parents complain and relvot I am now up to my elbows in baby bottles and graham crackers.

Not to sound like the guy on Star Trek but I'm a doctor not a cook dammit!

In this job as daycare director I have drained radiators, killed large bugs, unblocked toilets. I even held a girls arm on as part of it dangled off after falling off the jungle gym. I did this all gladly with a smile on my face (except for the last one cause that would just be sick) but making macaroni and cheese for 56 ungrateful kids and teachers...NO! I say NO!

Why why did I go to school for a million years to get my PhD? Go into debt with school loans? Was it to spill someone else's breast milk all over my suit jacket? Was it so I could make 56 pita pizzas?

No!

In fact I just threw a fit with shredded cheese that left me embarrassed and slimy. And why? Cause I don't wanna be the cook anymore!

I hate it!

I hate it!

I hate it!

...anyone need a job?

Grandpa's House

I just came back from a few days in Philly visiting my folks with the kids for Passover (my favorite holiday!). For little B it is better than Disney Land. He and his Grandpa spend hours jumping on the bed and causing mayhem in the house. He believes his Grandpa is 4 years old and just an over sized kid (maybe he has some glandular problem that makes him so tall but B is just too polite to ask) and a great play mate.

The trip always ends with B saying can we please stay here forever?

I love this relationship It is sweet and wonderful and it makes my heart swell with love for both of them but no matter what by the time we leave B has infected my (not four year old father) with something awful. B sniffles and slimes on his grandpa and this time he even threw up on him. So its not surprise that as we leave my father sniffs not only with remorse at seeing his little play mate leave but with the first symptoms of the tropical illness B has infected him with.

My Dad is in his 70's although he's a strapping guy he's eligible for free bus rides and discount movie tickets. Age does not make these icky childhood illnesses any fun at all. So I have the impulse to wrap B is plastic wrap and fit my father with a plastic bubble so I would not have to wait for my mom to call and say the inevitable.

Your father is sick....he's not a young man you know.... (insert pause for guilt and foot taping)

So when B asks Can we stay here forever the answer is no you little pattrie dish! Not this year. Now get your finger out of your nose!

So Sorry

I'M not trying to ignore you guys. You know I wouldn't. I love my bloggy friends but lately Ive barely had a chance to clip my toe nails let alone blog or even read blogs.

Each morning I wake up to some kind of crisis. Whether its wet sheets water bugs or nightmares. What would a morning be without doing excessive laundry, nose wiping and monster chasing

Give BOTH kids asthma treatments. Yes my kids never do anything easily why do once when it is so much more fun to have both kids get morning asthma attacks at the same time and vie for the one machine we have in the house. Yes I lost the other machine. I don't know where it disappeared into the wear house of stuff I call my house.

Get to work and cook for 56 kids. Yes while the cook is on leave I am now the cook. I have set oven mitts on fire and burned waffles but still they let me cook aren't I lucky.

Change 26 kid's diapers. Make 46 baby bottles.

Deal with crazy staff members. Deal with crazy kids. File, stamp, and do the Hokey Pokey.

Go home cook for the kids clean the house, bathe the kids set up everything for the morning.

Put kids to bed cook for hubby.

Fall into stupor

Wake up do it again.

So I am a little overwhelmed right now. But don't worry my Bloggy friends as soon as I've found time to take care of my luxuriously long toe nails, and maybe find some time to brush my teeth I shall be back to posting a little more frequently until then....Arghhhhhh!!!!

My Baby is A Genius!

You know me. I'm not one of those parents who gloss over the hard stuff I can be cynical even a little sarcastic at times when talking about parenting. But something happened today that made me the sappiest, gushiest most over the top mommy ever. My little boy my sweet little baby wrote his name for the first time.

He just sat down and boom there it was.

So I did what any other reasonable person would do. I snatched it out of his hands ran into my office and promptly burst into tears. After that I called his Dad his Grandma and Grandpa and all of my in laws. Then I emailed every relative yes, even Aunt Carol who has never liked me since that grilled cheese incident of 74 (just don't ask) yes, even Aunt Carol received an email with an attachment containing in high definition and a ridiculously huge size (so one can study it if need be) my baby's first writing of his name.

After I was done with that I went on Face book and posted my sons crayon masterpiece that proves he is not just any four year old he is a super genius ready for early college admissions with the beautiful writing of his name.

I stopped myself from running out of work and having the paper laminated and framed so upon my death bed I could gaze at his first name printing and cry with joy at my wonderful son who could do no wrong ever for any reason (shhh...I'm having a moment)

So for now I will bathe in the glory that is my sons first writing of his name and hope my tears of joy do not smear the wonderful red crayon that spelled his wonderful amazing name.

...Maybe I should lay off the caffeine for a while too.