My House

My house day time:

Mommy are there pink grapes? Magenta? What does the word future mean? Why aren't there any asteroids crashing into the earth right now? Can you make something lava proof?

Me: Honey lets take a question break just for a little while.

Mommy what's a question break mean?

Me:Its when you stop asking me questions for a little while

Oh....... How many seconds are there in a little while?

My house night time:
That's it! The next one who gets out of your bed gets a consequence.
What if I have to go potty?
You just went
What if there's a fire?
There wont be a fire
What of a robber comes and says he'll rob us if we don't come out of our bedroom?
There's no robber
What if I have an disease and the only way to get better is to sleep in the living room
That's it one more word and consequence
NOOOOOO!!!!



I gotta go potty

The Nigeria Project

Today was the final day for my son's third grade Nigeria project. The project that was supposed to be and I quote, "A little something we'll be working on in class" instead its been the center of my families universe.

Every conversation with my son starts with, "Have you done blank with the Nigeria project today?" and ends with someone crying (usually me).  I wrote a dissertation that was over 300 pages and took me four years but this pales in comparison to the Nigeria project.

I have made Nigerian food at 11pm at night when of course someone forgot to tell me something was due the next day. I googled Nigerian music, googled Nigerian fashion we have a Nigerian flag hanging on our wall. I know all about the Super Eagles the Nigerian soccer team and I don't even know which game The Yankees play (baseball? hockey?).

Its the end of the year for goodness sake. I thought it'd all be field trips and movies but no! Every day there's another task about NIGERIA!!! 

I'm sure it's a nice country,  no offense to anyone from Nigeria. I've learned all about its beaches and culture and its great. But after the last few months of this project hell no one in our house will be able to talk about romantic trips down the Niger river without facing my wrath. And if anyone has any erias they need to talk an aspirin and tell someone who cares. 

Friday's Poetic Thoughts About Saying Goodbye

An Ode to the Gate I Have Opened Each Morning for the Past 14 Years
Dear old ugly storefront gate

It’s you I truly truly hate

You’re heavy and old and often covered in pee

Hearing your creaky squeak each morning does not fill me with glee

When I was sick and heavy with child

My poor body you did beguile

Even after operations on my spine

You made sure to stick and whine

And now as I get ready to say a-due

I pretty damn sure I will not miss you

An Ode To The Time Clock

Time clock time clock on the wall

You always made me feel so small

You tracked my days hour by hour

And never once did you produce a flower

You almost always decided to break

When I was leaving and it was late

To fix you was an awful job

I wished out the window with you I could lob

In a cold lobby I shivered and shook

While your operating system I would look

Come snow or rain you always crashed

And you machine I wanted to bash

I will say goodbye and soon

I hope someone hits you with a broom

Mouse Haiku
Mouse in my office
Have you come to say goodbye
I never liked you

Wordless Wednesday

You know what's funny? 

Giving your kids corn on the cob when they have no front teeth.

Please note not one kernel was harmed during the filming of this Wordless Wednesday

Little B Solves Hunger and Homelessness

Last night I came home to a line of ants walking through my children's bedroom window.  My son was sitting by the window with a strange look on his face trying to kill the ants as fast as they marched in.  I walked in and let out a little cry of shock at the band of ants quickly taking over my house.  

Little S looked up at me and smiled.

"B did it! He did it its all his fault punish him." pigtails bouncing and the little gap with the two missing teeth shining in the ant light.

"Did what I ask? " not really wanting to know what crazy scheme had ended with my house over run by black ants.

"Fed the ant blueberries. He opened the window and fed them blueberries!" 

"Why B? Why?"

My son cleared his throat and with a look of pride announced , "They were hungry so I fed them blueberries. They were cold so I opened the window." 

I'm not sure if I should be proud or ground his little butt until next Tuesday. 

Calling the President

Todays the day. The day of the dreaded test. My poor son has had nightmares and anxiety attacks about this test. Its gotten so bad I actually called the president to complain. Not the PTA president the president of the USA.

 I waited on hold for about 45 min. I felt patriotic waiting to share my thoughts with the president the commander and chief the big todoo. I felt I was doing my duty as an american and letting  my president know about the issues facing me and my family. When I finally got through I was inspired I told my sad story with elegance and compassion. I told them about how my son now hates school. How class time revolves around preparing and is no longer about learning.I told them how my son's curiosity has been squashed.   I poured my heart out to Obama. When I finished the operator said to me, "So you hate standardized testing and think it should be done away with?  Should I check that box?"

Yes check that box.

I hate those stupid tests.

The Evil Spring Break

You may have wondered if I have taken another leave of absence from my blogging.  have I abandoned ship, skipped town, tripped the light fantastic? The answer is no. I was being held hostage by the evil villain also known as Spring Break.

Spring Break is the time when there is no school for a long, long time and parents still have to work. It is a time of fear, terror and of course the time when the evil words are uttered with complete abandon "I'm bored."

I guess I'm lucky cause I can bring my kids to school with me. However since they're not so little anymore they just tend to run around the school terrorising the babies and saying things like "You can't tell me what to do!" to the teachers who are trying to quiet them.

I had an important meeting this week and I told my kids under no circumstances were they to come in my office while I was meeting with the big boss. So being the literal crazies they are they stood directly in front of my office door jumping around trying to get a good look at my boss and saying things like, 

Is that the Big Boss?
 He's always mean to mommy? 
He doesn't look so scary. 
You go poke him!

and other gems that I'm sure will help my career. 

So on Wednesday I packed those backpacks up with a smile on my face knowing I had escaped the dreaded Spring Break .....until next year

Guess What A Small Child Hands You At 1:30 am?

Last night at about 1:30 am I was awakened by my daughter handing me something. Past experience has taught me that anything handed to me in the middle of the night by a small child is not something you want to hold onto. Typically it's a booger or head lice. So it being 1:30 am and with this prior knowledge tucked firmly in my mind I took the offending object and hurdled it across the room.

Little S looked up  and me and smiled. Even in the dark I could see a hole where her tooth had previously been.

Mommy it came out! I lost my first tooth! Should I put it under my pillow? Will the tooth fairy come tonight?

Suddenly it hit me. 

I had had thrown my daughters first tooth somewhere in the dark. So at 1:30 am this morning the great tooth hunt began. Armed with Kindles and flashlights we searched the great expanse of the rug. Boy those little baby teeth are small. After several panic filled minutes I found it stuck to the bottom of my foot.

I think were waiting for that tooth fairy's visit for tomorrow night.

The First Night Away From Home

Tonight is going to be the first night I've spent the night away from the kids unless you count a hospital stay for gallstones (which in my book writhing in pain doesn't count). So in my totally not insane fashion I have prepared everything for tomorrow morning. There are post-stick notes everywhere the eye can see. It is like a field of yellow sticky paper telling my Hubby what to do next.

 Its not like he's not a competent guy but I'm sure my detailed step by step directions of how to do pigtails will make all the difference in their morning. I rehearsed it with my son last night and I cant say it went very well. He couldn't seem to make the hair bands work and there seemed to be lots of hair pulling and wrestling to the floor involved which I generally don't do when fixing my daughters hair. I'm a little paranoid about the hair since I had lice in my eye while teaching pre-k but that's a whole other story. So I do insist on it going up. 

There are detailed direction about socks and lunches. There are even details about which bear goes where for bed time. He should be all set. I have packed multiple lunches I have done laundry, written notes to teachers ahead of time even prepared dinner in little plastic containers which I know no one will eat. 

My son says he's going to be Mommy tomorrow. My daughter says she'll be Mommy too. I guess there's going to be a lot of people telling each other what to do. Which should be fine cause three people being on charge of ..um...no one is totally a recipe for a smooth morning.

So I'm relaxed, totally relaxed not at all paranoid that something horrible will happen and everyone will get sick, get lice, forget to go to school, get lost, set something or someone on fire, drown in a horrible scuba diving accident or loose a limb while using a can opener.  

Totally ...fine...and relaxed

Getting Hit With The Old Flu Stick

About a week ago everyone in my house was sick. The whining was monumental. My son whined for soup the soup was too hot then after cooling it it was too cold. My daughter was thirsty but her taste bugs made everything taste funny. They took turns keeping me awake all night. First my son threw up then my daughter couldn't breathe through her stuffed up nosy and needed me to blow it. Then my son was cold then my daughter was hot. It was a relay race of non sleep.

They gooped on me 
They coughed on me. 
I wiped their little fevered brows. 
I blew their little snotty noses.
 I could feel the germs crawling on my skin and jumping aboard for the ride of the lifetime. And then as they miraculously turned a corner and felt almost all better, but still needing soup and cookies type of almost better I got hit with the big fat flu stick from hell.

It was a mean type of flu the kind where you rent movies like the Notebook which you've always wanted to see and yet after watching it you couldn't tell who had the notebook why they would even want one and why they just didn't buy a new one from Target.  The kind of flu where taking NyQuil doesn't lead to a sleep filled with plaid elephants eating cheese steaks off Kenu Reeves backside and instead just has you waking up in a pile of green drool and snot feeling even worse.

It was no fun at all. My kids tried they really did. I awoke one afternoon to find I was covered in sparkles and home made get well cards. But most of the time I woke to the sounds of my kids killing each other.  From my flu haze I still found myself yelling about things like:
 Let go of your sisters neck!
 and 
Stop sitting on your brothers head!

 Through a  haze I searched for shoes, made peanut butter sandwiches and attended parent teacher conferences. I was on automatic mom and it worked not well but it worked.

So 13 cans of soup, 12 episodes of Extreme Couponers and 23 boxes of tissue later, I have emerged from the flu haze and good lord what the hell happened to my house!!!

Thing Are Not As They Seam

Every morning its the same thing. The days begins with B's battle cry:

My socks don't feel right.Mom! They're bothering me!!!

It's the whining call of the morning like a bugler in the boy scouts letting everyone know the sun has risen.  My mornings are spent adjusting sock and changing sock.   I have a whole collection of different kind of socks big ones, thin ones, thick ones, silky ones, rough ones all waiting for their turn to be tried on the feet of B only to be thrown back down again in shame and ruin.

I have tired turning them inside out
I have tried buying expensive unseamed ones
I have tried yelling and just telling him to deal with it.
I have tried ignoring the problem.
But nothing works.

Its gotten so bad my son now wears his socks like this! 

No that's not the latest in shoe fashion those are the kid's socks pulled down in such a was that he doesn't feel the seam. The socks flop around on the top of his shoe like a Great Danes tongue. 

His teachers have written me notes about it.  Apparently its hard to be a star in gym when you have dumbo ears flapping out of your shoes.  

People point it out to me on the street like I don't know my son's socks are pulled up around his ankles like a crazy cat lady might wear while roaming the streets looking for an alien space craft driven by a race of very large tabby's. 

My husband and I have taken to ignoring it hoping that one day he'll out grow it or get self conscious or something. Maybe the peer pressure will get to him and he'll wear socks that don't need their own zip code. 

Don't get me started on the underwear.

The TEST

There is this test they give kids in third grade. Not one of those little pop quiz things were all the kids groan and have to take their books off of their desk and take out their pencils. One of those:

 OH MY GOSH YOUR WHOLE LIFE DEPENDS ON THIS TEST IF YOU DON'T PASS YOU'LL BE HOMELESS AND LIVE IN  A CARDBOARD BOX FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE TESTS!

My poor boy thought school was fun until he hit spring semester at school. He was no longer having his curiosity peaked and finding out all about the world and his place in it. No, now he was in a pressure cooker from hell!

My husband thought it was best to be low key about it. We would joke about it, lovingly telling him the test didn't matter and that if he failed "Which of course he wouldn't" it would be fine and he would only  immediately burst into flames the minute his pencil hit the desk. And then we would laugh , ha ha ha ha.

But as this dreaded thing has gotten closer its gotten less and less funny. Everything is geared to to test. And although I am anti high stakes testing (something that's been a subject in my professional life of my research and publishing) I find myself saying things like you better make sure you have a period on the end of that sentence it'll be on the test, your'e not planning to sit like that for test are you? THE TEST is now not only an event it is a living and breathing thing that lives in our apartment throws it clothes on the floor and eats the peanut butter straight out of the jar with unwashed hands. 

We have tutors, computer programs and handouts all to battle the test we plan around it we worry about it. This test is a monster. I know I'm not alone in this. My work mate has a third grader too. We plot we plan how to handle it. I think I spent less time planning for my wedding then we have figuring out how to pass this thing (and I had a big Jewish wedding). 

I got a note home the other day from the Chancellor of Education he said how wonderful the tests were. How not to panic even though this is the first time they administered these new things and they'd be tested on things they hadn't taught yet. He said I'm sure it'll all be fine.  After all there's always summer school. 


Really Mr. Wallcot? Really? Then come to my house Mr. Wallcot  cause this test is not only driving us all insane its hiding under the bed scaring the cat, hogging the internet  and is peeing on my floor. 

Dinners at Out House

My hubby and I have been guilted into starting family dinners. We frankly never did it before cause its just awful and we'd rather enjoy our dinners alone. But everyone says family dinners promotes family bonding, supports brain growth, stops cancer blah blah blah. When I think of  family dinners I think of those Pillsbury commercials where everyone is smiling at the wonderful meal mom has cooked.  They all sit happily around the table and eat whats served in front of them and talk happily about the  day.

This is not family dinners at my house. First off all family dinners seem to involve going to the potty about 50 times during the course of the dinner first one goes then the other. Then my Hubby goes apparently sitting at the table for dinner is a diuretic. 

As I proudly serve my dinner which I lovingly cook after after a 9 hour work daydreaming of my happy grateful family being nurtured and nourished from my hard work everyone groans: 

I don't want to eat it.
 Can I have peanut butter instead?
Can I only only eat one corner? 
Look I'm like that guy on Bizarre Foods who eats the slugs I tried it twice. I still don't like it can I have peanut butter now?


Then my loving, bonding, brain growing family starts fighting: 
I can't eat cause he farted.
She touched me!
He almost touched me!
She's thinking about touching me!
Aided by my hubby, "Gee I love family dinners what a great idea!"

Finally everyone settles down for about 2 seconds as I ponder the wonderful family togetherness we are creating and then the little one starts to wander. Its not intentional but its like the seat is  made of some type of spring which ejects her from the seat every 2 to 3 minutes. She leaps around not eating but effectively knocking things over while the older one wines that he should be able to wander too. 

My son begins to slide down on the floor and my hubby rests his head on his plate in despair. 

The table is covered in spilled chocolate milk lots of half eaten foods and tears and everyone gives a loud cheer as the signal is finally given to clear that table. 

I'm pretty sure our family couldn't sell a crescent rolls to save our lives? 

My Little Juvie

Whenever they talked about kids misbehaving at school I used to laugh.  Just throw back my head a gafaw. I mean my kids are demon spawn at home. My daughter as you may know if you read my blog is prone to having her head spin around and spew green vomit at the word "No". And I don't have to remind you about my son smashing in the shower door like Bam Bam on crack. But at school? No way! Not my kids until ...this Wednesday.

On Wednesday I knew something was off the waffles were soggy and the underwear was too tight. But I wasn't prepared for a call from the principals office letting me know my son was now a juvenile delinquent.  On Wednesday a roving gang on 3rd grade boys went nuts in the lunch room. They rolled across the floor they stood when they were told to sit, they kicked doors and made a poor teacher, trying to control the marauding band of berserking 3rd graders, cry.   In short they were bad.

My poor son was (after the fact) a mess not only had he never been bad in school before he had never gotten caught. He was in tears when I came home hiding under the covers. When I thought of my son behaving like that I read him the riot act. Thoughts of evil band of boys throughout the ages played like a lifetime movie through my head. I took away game boys, internet yes even his i-pad!In tears he told me he was ashamed and would never do it again. Satisfied I had put the fear in him I sent him to bed.

Yesterday I was at work when the phone rang. Guess who my boy had gotten in trouble yet again during DETENTION! no less. What the... this boy has no sense! Who get in trouble while they're being in trouble? Yes my boy.

So last night I read another riot act I took away the things I had taken away. I talked about responsibility  how not to follow the crowd. I talked and talked and he cried and cried until vaguely satisfied I put him to bed.

Dear lord what was that...I hope its not the phone.....

Wordless Wednesday

This is what happens at my house when I leave the room for 5 min:

Cooking and Me

I don't know what my problem is of late but the whole cooking thing is not working out at all. It all started out a few days ago I thought I'd make a wonderful Indian dinner for my honey.

After slaving over a hot stove for hours (o.k it was those packets you put in boiling water but still) I decided to cook some poppadoms up . I put them in the microwave and of course the minute I did the screaming began. Lately any time I turn around its like a debate about the second amendment on Facebook. I ran to the kids room to untangle my sons hands from my daughter's throat when a thick black smoke began to fill the apartment.  I ran to the kitchen where I found the poppadoms were not only burned but were black.


My daughter turned to me and asked "Is that dinner" I nodded opening the windows to air out my fragrant meal and then she asked me with all sincerity, "is this my punishment?" 

I'm not really sure what she's being punished about but if she has to eat those papadums it must have been pretty awful.

You know cooking and I are not friends. However every once and while I get inspired and I do a big pot of chili or stew enough for about 4 meals and freeze it. The  problem is I never label anything and serving up a big plate of "Umm Brown Stuff" does not seem to please the masses. So now I just call everything "chili".

So last night I thawed one of the frozen unnamed brown things and discovered it was a far cry from chili . It was cholent!  I don't know if you've ever tried cholent but its this type of yucky stew Jews serve up on the Sabbath .

A few months ago my son really wanted to make it and as my Unlce Frank has a good recipe  I decided to make it with him.   After working on this thing for over four hours it ended up looking like this:
Yes it has eggs in the shell in it. It's supposed to. However
one of them burst so it had little pieces of egg shell all through it.

I thought I had gotten rid of it all the disastrous cholent. I swear I threw it out but that cholent is a survivor and there it was in all its glory all thawed out and in the pot.

So being the great mom I am I threw some hot sauce on it  and called it chili.
And they ate it...at least it wasn't the poppadoms

I Quit!

I don't want to be overly dramatic here but its finally happened I have reached my Mommy breaking point.
After breaking up the 60th fight of the morning, dressing both kids and turning around and finding them completely nude,  wrestling with my daughter to get some medicine in her only to have her spit it back out over my shirt, I have reached the end. I quit!



 I announced it this morning and both kids looked at me with their mouths hanging open, "Yes you heard me I quit find a new mommy!"

At first they kind of laughed, then when they saw I want smiling they got a little freaked out.

I then announced it to my husband and told him he needed to find a new mommy cause I was done.

I got on my coat and my hubby looked at me with horror in his eyes. "Not really right?"

"Really" I'm done. "Maybe he should think about posting an add on e-bay cause I quit!"

Friday's Rant

I love NYC isn't that what all the tee-shirts say?  Well I gotta say I just don't! Its dirty, expensive the people are mean and there always seem to be some kind of a disaster. Hurricanes, terrorist attacks, the day the whole city smelled like maple syrup (which you know was some strange terrorist attack created by Jenny Craig or Weight Watchers to give us all a diet crisis.) just to name a few.

Now I know a water main break is not a disaster but its sure is icky.

Yes today we have a water main.  Water pouring in the streets but none in the taps. The news keeps harping on subway troubles but come on really no water how yucky!


Any NYC disaster brings out all the crazies.  When I went to lunch 20 min ago people were camped out on the sidewalks with gallons of water drinking it like they had just run a marathon. People were asking strangers where the water went and would it ever come back again. Some very tall crazy man wearing a tiara  and child sized purple rain coat with Dora on it  was walking down the street yelling "Prepare yourselves for the end of days there is no drinking water in the city! The lord will take us all!!"

And speaking of lunch I didn't bring my lunch today so since there's no water how is everyone washing their hands? And I work in a daycare so think about all the diaper changes done each day with no water to clean up butts or hands ick!

 And while I'm eating my contaminated sandwich I now remember that everyone uses my keyboard.   I'm as always I'm eating and typing oh ick ick ick. I'm probably getting some illness that will cause my fingernails to turn blue and fall off and my eyes to turn into gooing orbs of fire.

And don't get me started on the whole toilet thing cause in just a few hours it will no longer be known as the big apple but as the stink apple or the apple filled with unflushable poo.

I love NYC? Not really, not today, sorry. Yuck

Sympathy And Belly Buttons

 

I realize I usually post about the harrowing experiences of motherhood but yesterday I had one of those sweet aww moments that I thought deserved recognition.

Little S is sick she was sent home from school with a hacking cough and slight fever. We had spent the day watching every kid movie ever made; Puss in Boots, Shrek, Barney Searches for the Wreck of the Titanic, Diego Makes Calamari With Some Cute, Bug Eyed, Squid He Doesn't Rescue. If  they made it we watched it. Anyway it was around 5 or as I like to call it the hour when all children hit the wall and start to freak out, when I gave S a bath. In the bath S took a long look at her navel and suddenly announced in horror "My outty is now an iny!" and promptly burst into tears.

I took her out of the bath and explained it was ok all bodies changed. Causing her to only cry harder with those big sobbing bursts only a sick, totally unreasonable, child could make.It was at that point B came home from Hebrew school.  He went up to his crying sister and gently asked her what was wrong. S relayed her grim tale shaking with grief for the belly button that once was.

B pulled up her pajama top looked at her traitorous navel and asked her to stand up and suck in her belly. Slowly choking back tears S did as she was told and looked down. The button protruded and looked an awful lot like an outy.

She cried in joy and threw her arms around her big brother. B then went over to his back pack and produced a coloring book and gave it to her saying, "I got this for good behavior but I think you need it more than I do." She smiled up at her hero with love and devotion in her eyes. I paused and took a mental photograph of the wonderful, empathetic, little boy I had helped to create.

Then B farted and they both started laughing and running around the house like a cat on roller skates with a bad case of gas.

It's been so long

I know I know where the hell have I been? Working parenting blah blah blah. I have forgot about you old blog old friend when something happened this weekend that made me remember why I love you so.

It began Friday night when it started to snow. I went to the drugstore and the kids were all tucked in bed when B asked me to come back with some snow. So I did what any good mommy would do I wrapped my frozen fingers around the whitest spot I could find and brought it home. The kids were thrilled. B grabbed a handful and proceeded to eat it. Some of you folks in places other than NYC might think this is fine but in NYC all sorts of badness can be in that snow. Crack viles, dog pee, you name it its there.  That's is why we have a firm no eating the snow rule in our house.

Anyhow within about 15 min B found the filling in the pinata- rock salt. I don't know if you know what happens when you eat rock salt but it ain't pretty. The kid began to puke and puke like a foul smelling chunkie fountain. It was so bad I had to leave the room lest I join him.

Within two minutes of stopping he ripped off all his clothes and began to run back and forth across our apartment screaming in naked glee.

He grabbed his sister dragged her across the floor while laughing in delight. I finally cornered  him in the bathroom and tried to talk him down. He turned from me and with a giant push he shoved our glass shower door and it smashed into pieces filling the tub with broken glass. 

It was then that I knew the blogging must continue.