Super Bowl

                             

The Super Bowl is coming up this weekend. I don't really care about football. I think it's just a bunch of overpaid jocks jumping on top of each other, but the Super Bowl is as American as apple pie so I watch it every year. I usually pick a team to root for and enjoy the commercials and half time show. I have always wanted to have a super-awesome Super Bowl party. I don't know why it's an aspiration of mine but it is.

I did have a Super Bowl party once, in 2005 when the Eagles made it into the Super Bowl. It was the single saddest Super Bowl party in the history of all Super Bowl parties. I was so excited. We invited about 10 people, I decorated the house in green and white streamers. I made ALL kinds of food - a lunch meat tray for hoagies, meatballs, wings, chips, soda, beer. I even made a Super Bowl cake.

The vision in my head was a green cake with a foot ball in the center and "GO EAGLES" written on it. It was green but my foot ball did not look like a foot ball. It looked like someone took a giant dump in the center of my cake. The "GO EAGLES" looked like it was written by someone with Parkinsons. My husband looked at it and laughed. "Why did you put a poop on the cake?" I rolled my eyes at him, "It's not a poop. It's a football."

The game was ready to start and people started showing up. By people, I mean 2 people. That's it. One of them left at half time. The Eagles lost that night which was incredibly disappointing. After the game, I turned off the TV and walked into the kitchen and admired all the food I worked hard to make that no one showed up to eat. No one even wanted a slice of my football/poop cake. I picked it up and threw the whole thing away. It was sad.

Even though, I tried once and failed, I still have visions of one day having an awesome Super Bowl party. I mentioned it to my husband a few weeks ago. "I want to have a Super Bowl party but we don't have cable or friends." My husband was optimistic. "We could stream it. We could invite the family over." I sighed, "That is not a Superbowl party. That is called every-single-Sunday." He shrugged, "Good point."

My second alternative is to try to be invited to an awesome Super Bowl party, which is a lot harder than it seems. I ask everyone I know what they are doing for the Super Bowl in hopes that they will invite me to watch it with them. In my head, this is how I imagine the conversation happening:

Me: What are you doing for the Super Bowl?
Random Person: Actually, we are having some people over. You should totally come.
Me: That would be great! I'll bring wings!
Random Person: See you then!

That never happens. This is how it usually goes down:

Me: What are you doing for the Super Bowl?
Random Person: We are going watch it with friends. You aren't invited.
Me: That's cool.
              

We are just going to have family over, which will be fun. I'll make something special, not a poop cake.

The problem with this Super Bowl is that I don't want either team to win. They've already won the Super Bowl. I am just going to default to the Sea Hawks. I am so tired of watching the Patriots win the Super Bowl. Besides, they won the Super Bowl when they played against the Eagles in 2005 and I never forgave them for that. I'd like to see someone else in there. Give us some variety.

I told my husband that I am going to follow a team that totally sucks and root for them next year. I love an underdog. I am tired of the Eagles. Besides, even though the Eagles suck - they have a lot of fans. I decided that I am going to now be a fan of....The Cleveland Browns.

There are many reasons why I am now choosing to be a Browns fan. See list below:
1. I have never met a Browns fan in my entire life. Not one.
2. They are just horrible. In the 15 seasons of the "new'' Browns, Cleveland has lost in double digits 12 times, endured 13 losing seasons, finished last in the division 11 times and made the playoffs once, a one-and-done appearance as an unlikely 9-7 wild-card team in 2002.
3. The name of their team is a color. The color of turds. I find that amusing.
4. I like the hastily made Cleveland tourism video.

I declared to my husband, "I am a Cleveland Browns fan now." I gave him my reasoning. He thought for a moment and said. "I like how you think, I'm going to support the Tennessee Titans." Our choices in football teams reflect the idea that no matter how dismal things may seem, there is still hope. haha.

Next year, if the Browns actually do get to the Super Bowl I will make another turd cake, except this time it will be intentional. Look out, the Browns are coming to town!

Worst Gymnastics Mom Ever

                                                  
My daughter had her first gymnastics competition on my birthday. I feel like it's all she's been talking about since the beginning of December. She's been so nervous about it. To the point that it's been annoying me. Everyday I had to hear this: "What if I mess up? What if I forget my routine? I'm so nervous." Every.day. Every day I would assure her that it would be fine.

I woke her up at 5:30 am on Saturday to get ready. We ate breakfast together and headed to the gym. I didn't really know what to expect. I have never seen her do gymnastics except when she is doing cartwheels at home and breaking shit. Her gym doesn't allow parents in practice and I'm horrible and never talk to the other gymnastics moms. When we got to the competition, I didn't understand how the scoring worked. I tried to listen to the people around me to get an idea.

We watched our daughter and I thought she did excellently. I was literally on the edge of my seat, biting my nails as I watched her on the balance beam and the bars. After all the kids competed (after what seemed like forever), they did the awards. They did individual categories and then overall scores. We watched as the did the awards for the younger girls, then it was her age group.

The lady on the microphone said, "Your first place winner in vault is...." Then she called my daughter's name. She got up on the tall blue podium and they placed a ribbon and medal around her neck. She stood up tall, with her head in the air and her shoulders held back. My heart swelled with pride. She placed 4th in bars, and 5th in floor and won third place overall. We were cheering and clapping. You would have thought my child won the Olympics. I was like:
                       
I did it. I cried like a little beeotch. It's a thing that I do. I am a crier. I literally am a bucket of tears. Crying is my default response to any emotion or event. I cry when I am happy, when I am sad, when I am inspired, when I am frustrated, when I am angry, when I am sleepy, when I pass gas. I get teary eyed at LEAST 5 times a day. Easily.

Music makes me cry. God forbid the Cat's in the Cradle comes on the radio, I will ugly cry like someone just died. If I see someone helping an old lady cross the street, I will cry and think That is so nice. I cry when I see other people cry. I cry at movies. Loudly. It's a curse. My husband might tell you that it's because I am emotionally unstable but I think it's because I am in touch with my sensitive side.

Commercials are the freaking worst. Thank God we don't have cable. The latest commercial to illicit sobs from me is this one:

Tears....so many tears. Oh my God. I love dads. They are the best.

I showed my husband. He didn't cry. He looked at me like I was crazy. "It's a soap commercial. They are emotionally manipulating you." I wiped tears from under my eyes, "They are really good, because it's totally working."

If you can watch the videos below in their entirety and not cry once, you might not have a soul. You can thank me later for the torture.

The Kids are Making Me Crazy

                               
I have been incredibly busy doing a whole lot of nothing lately. Just a constant stream of laundry, making meals and driving kids around. Housewife problems. Let me get back to complaining about my children now.

This weekend was a little crazy. We found ourselves hosting a sleepover party on Saturday night. The following evening, my oldest daughter slept over a friend's house and my youngest daughter had a friend sleep over our house. On Monday I texted my oldest daughter that I was going to pick her up at noon. That is when all hell broke loose. This was the actual text conversation:

M: I'm picking you up at noon.
C: But I just woke up.
M: It's 2 hours from now. You have plenty of time.
C: But I want to play. Can you pick me up at 2?
M: No. I am dropping your sister's friend off in the same neighborhood at noon.
C: So?
M: I am not dropping her off and then turning around to get you 2 hours later.
C: It's not fair.
M: Be ready by noon.
C: 1?
M: NO. Noon.
C: 12:50?
M: NO. Noon.
C: 12:50?
M: I AM NOT RESPONDING TO ANY MORE TEXTS. SEE YOU AT NOON.
C: Mom
C:Mom
C:Mom
C: PLEEEEEEEASE
C: Mom

I was so annoyed at her. When I went to pick her up she scowled and refused to hug me. Whatever. We spent that afternoon cleaning up and relaxing. That night, I was laying with my 8 year and she showed me her nails. Her sister went to the mall with her friend and purchased fake nails that you essentially glue on with super glue. She super glued nails onto her little sister. "Can you wear those to school? Can you even write with them?" She tried to pull them off, but cried out in pain. "Just go to bed, and I'll soak them in nail polish remover in the morning and take them off." She seemed anxious about it, but she is anxious in general.

We went to bed and all was right with the world. Until I felt a tap on my shoulder in the middle of the night. I opened my eyes and my daughter was standing in front of me. "Mom, mom. Can I take off my nails now?" "What time is it?" She turned around to look at the alarm clock, "It's 3:11."
               
               "I don't care. Just go back to sleep." The alarm clock went off approximately 109 minutes later. It was horrible.

I had lunch with a girlfriend the next day and she remarked, "Man, your kids will just wake you up for any reason." She is so right. They wake me up to tell me things that I don't need to know and ask me questions that they already know the answer to. We've had discussions about this. They know that they don't need to wake me up to tell me they are going to use the bathroom at 2 am. I think they hate me and are trying to kill me.

Speaking of kids hating me, I had a heck of a time with my 10 year old this Wednesday. I signed her up for theater and acting classes and the first class started this Wednesday and was at 4 o'clock. It was a mad dash over there and traffic was beyond horrendous. I was yelling at people, "Move this funeral procession ALONG. It's holding up the living. We have places to be...."

I walked in 2 minutes late. When I did, they had just started giving introductions. We filled in and as soon as we did the lady in charge gave this speech (while looking at me meanly): "It's important that we teach kids to be on time. If they are in a play the director won't like it if they are late. You may need to plan ahead to get here a few minutes early. Being on time is important. Very, VERY important."

Geez, where is your hammer? Why don't you just nail me to a cross? I was mortified and shamed. I signed her in and ran out of there as quickly as possible. The class is only an hour and a half long and is a half hour from my house so I decided I would go to Starbucks to pass the time. When I went to pick her up, I was excited to hear about how the class went. I knew she would love it.

We got in the car and she saw the cup and said to me, accusingly, "Did you go to Starbucks?" "Yes, I needed to do something to pass the time." She was mad. "Well, I want Starbucks too. Can we go now?" I had traffic to battle, dinner to make, and it was out of the way at this point. "No. Not today." All hell broke loose. She started whining, crying and throwing a temper tantrum like a 2 year old.

If there is one thing I cannot put up with, it's whining. Whining makes me want to pull my skin off. I cannot stand it. "Stop whining. If you act like a baby, I will take your phone." She stopped whining and just cried pitifully. Over Starbucks.

I drove along and turned up the music. She turned it off. I turned it back on. She turned it off. I turned it back on. Then she turned to me and said....wait for it...."You abuse me."

             
"Because I won't buy you Starbucks?" She looked at me with hatred in her eyes and screamed, "YESSSSSS."

Somebody, get DSS on the line. We have a neglected child over here. I can see them coming to the door now. "We received an anonymous report that your daughter requested a caramel mocha frappe and you told her no. According to the State of South Carolina, we are going to have to investigate this matter...."

She was being moody the rest of the night and the next morning. I just left her alone and let her dwell on the injustices of life. The next morning, I dropped her off at school and came home to clean up. I noticed she had left her science notes and homework on the table. I got dresses, packed everything in a bag and wrote her a little note and dropped it off at the school.

When I walked through the door that afternoon, she greeted me with a smile. "Mom, you are soooo AMAZING." I thought to myself, I know. I said to her, "Remember that next time you are mad at me." She hugged me. She won't but I still love her anyway.

Thirty One

  My birthday is approaching again. This is the time of year where I engage in meaningless self- reflection. I generally don't make a big deal about my birthday. Turning 31 isn't special. I am grateful that I've lived through another rotation of the sun but I'm not going to go around blabbing about it and inconveniencing people by making them feel like that have to acknowledge it. I get annoyed at people that make a big deal out of their birthday. Some people are like, "I'm celebrating my birthday month." I'm in the background thinking, Bitch, please. Unless you are Oprah, you don't need a whole month to celebrate.

I usually don't ask for anything on my birthday because I can never think of anything good that I want. But this year, I am breaking tradition. I am asking for a gift. Wait for it.....I want a steam mop. How depressing.

When I lost my job, one of the first luxuries to go was our weekly house cleanings. So now I have to clean my own house. It's bullsh*t if you ask me.

                  
Now, I have to mop my own floors. I seriously have not picked up a mop in 3 in a half years. I try to mop now at least twice a week. One day I was mopping the floor and hating it. I moved the mop back and forth across the floor and had a little chat with God. I know you have a plan and everything, and I trust you and I am grateful for all that I have but I think there might be a mix up. I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to be in St. Tropez right now on holiday. I also am wondering where my mansion and Mercedes is. I know there is Elbola and wars and starving people and what not, but if you could work on that....that would be great. I know I am a horrible person, but admit it - you've done the same thing at least once.

I stuck my mop in the brown, dirty mop water. That's when it came to me. I can ask for a steam mop. It's not a million dollars, but it will make mopping a lot easier for me - so it's a step in the right direction.

As I have gotten older my expectations have changed so much. When I was younger, I was sure that I was going to BE somebody one day, I was going to change the world. Every kid thinks that. I wanted to be an OBGYN. I was going to deliver babies. Then, I discovered that I would have to do the GYN part too and the thought of having to deal with people's smelly vaginal discharge and menstrual cramps did not appeal to me. Then, I decided I would be an English teacher. I would teach in an inner-city school. Can you see me now? Sitting at the corner of my desk, reciting William Carlos William poems? The would-be thugs in my class would be so inspired that they would chose to express themselves through the power of poetry instead of gang banging and lives would surely be saved.

I went to college for English and Education. As part of the program, I had the opportunity to shadow a high school English teacher. Her kids were dumb. She told me I should jump off a bridge before I become an English teacher. Consequently, I have a minor in English because I went to the registrar the next day to jump off that train.

Then I had kids and I realized that I didn't really care about changing the world or being somebody. All I really wanted was more sleep and to eat a pint of Ben and Jerrys ice cream without gaining 3 pounds.

When did that happen? When did I start getting excited about household appliances with retractable chords? When did I start examining my hair for grays and bitching about my fine lines? When did granny panties start appearing in my dresser? It happens slowly, the slide from hopeful youth into jaded adulthood.

At 21, I wanted to world. At 31, all I want is a steam mop, a Groupon for Botox, and 20 minutes alone with my husband without the kids interrupting. It doesn't even have to be a good 20 minutes.

I don't know where I am going with this exactly, I'm tired and rambling. I think the point is that I hate mopping and I have given up on life a little bit. But, I'm sure you knew that already.

Library Problems

                                                    

I was so excited last Spring with I found out that they were opening a library down the road. I was going to be convenient. I was going to read a book a week and the kids could get books out over the summer and I didn't have to buy any books.

I got a shiny new library card and I picked up a ton of books, CDs....and books on CDs. I was good at returning books for a while. Then, I had 8 business trips in a row and I forgot I had books out and I never returned them. It pains me to say it - I am so embarrassed about it.

I got a letter in the mail from the library telling them I needed to bring everything back and pay them $84 in late dues. I am the worst community member in the world. I thought I could get by without anyone knowing my dirty secret - that I don't return my library books. I dropped everything off in the drop box under the cover of night. I mailed a check to cover the $84. I cleaned it up.

A few weeks later, I received my check back in the mail with a letter that informed me, that while they were appreciative of the fact that I was trying to pay my dues, they do not except checks and I would have to take cash or a money order into the library to pay my dues. What the hell? They don't take checks or credit cards. I didn't know we were still living in 1873.

'There was no way around it. I was going to have to show my face in the library. I walked in, with a look of shame in my eyes, I had the letter in my hand. I walked up to the counter and handed her the letter. I whispered, "I have to pay some fines."

She was quiet and read the letter. Then she looked up at me disgusted, as if the letter had told her that I killed a horde of kittens. Then she went into the computer and typed a lot. "Okay, that will be $84 dollars," She said it loud, like she wanted everyone in the library to hear it. She wanted them to know that I was not a person, that I was a library criminal. I handed her the cash.

"Does this mean I am banned from the library, now?" I asked. I assumed that surely they have a system where they banish people who don't bring back their books on time. "No. You have a clean slate. You can check out whatever you want." I was so excited to be back in good standing with the library community. My daughters and I browsed and picked out books. I came across the Forest Gump soundtrack and picked that up too.

I enjoy the Forrest Gump soundtrack. It has a lot of great 60s and 70s music. I popped it in the CD player on the way home. My eight year old really liked it. She has become OBSESSED with the Forrest Gump soundtrack. Literally, every time we get in the car she says, "Put on Gump."

The problem is that we can't JUST listen to the Forrest Gump soundtrack. Every time a song comes on she needs me to tell her what was happening in the movie that corresponds to that specific song. It's annoying. I hate it. She asks me every time, even if I have given her the answer a million times. She's trying to catch me in a lie. "Mom, what was in the movie for this song?" "I don't know - him and Jenny were sitting a tree." She looks at me suspiciously, "Well, last time you said it was when he was running."

                                                                 

We have to listen to the same songs over and over again. I listed to Rebel Rouser EIGHT times yesterday. Even Fortunate Son gets old after the 50th time. I have listened to Forrest Gump so much this month, I am about ready to put on a tie dyed T-shirt and organize a Vietnam protest rally.

I have tried taking it back to the library but whenever we goes, she finds it. I am going to take it back next time and lean over the counter with cash in hand. "You see these 3 Washingtons right here? They're all yours if you take this CD and send it to Moncks Corner."

The Forrest Gump CD has also caused physical pain. Earlier this week, I was sitting outside of the Middle School waiting to pick up my oldest daughter and I was on the phone with Medicare trying to take care of something for my mother in law. My youngest was in the passengers seat doing homework and I was ignoring her. That is, until I heard a scream. I turned to see what was going on and my daughter held up her hand.

She had put her finger in the hole in the center of the CD and now it was stuck. She was screaming and freaking out. I hung up on the lady on the phone and tried to get it off. I tugged a bit and she shrieked in pain. I tried turning it. It was on there good. My daughter then started screaming, "Get the butter, get the butter."

What does she think this is? We were in the car. Of course, why didn't I think of that? Let me get a stick of butter out of my purse. I make sure I always have one available in case of emergencies. In case I want to make pound cake on the go....

Finally I got the stupid thing off. She rubbed it for a minute and then put the CD in the player. Hound Dog started playing. Again. She looked up and do you know what she asked me? "Mom, what was in the movie for this song?"

Thankfully, I do not need to endure the waiting to pick up kids anymore because I have finally put my foot down and signed them up to take the bus after school. My oldest daughter is not happy about it. I do not care. Get your snobby butt on the bus. I apologize that our butler, Jeeves cannot come pick you up in our town car. Life is hard.

I have included a video below, so that you too can enjoy the melody of Rebel Rouser. It's from the part where he was running, just in case my daughter asks. You can thank me later.

Lunches

                             

Christmas vacation is officially over, which is slightly disappointing. We had a nice holiday and New Year. The kids went back to school today which meant that we are back to waking up at 5 a.m. - and making lunches everyday.

I hate making lunches. It's one of my most hated chores - behind dishes, laundry, and mopping. We used to spend an unreasonable amount of money on school lunches and my husband going to lunch out and when I lost my job - lunches was one of the first luxuries to go. Packing lunch is the new reality.

I shouldn't complain really, it is a first world problem. Let's face it, it's not like I have anything better to do. I just despise it. It's because I try to have standards.

I am weird about meals. I need to pack a protein, a dairy item, fresh fruit, a vegetable and a grain. I try not to pack the same things every day. I want to give the kids variety. The problem is that they like different things. My oldest likes carrot sticks, my youngest doesn't. My youngest likes cherry tomatoes, my oldest doesn't. One likes bananas, the other clementines. I have a damn lunch matrix that I have to go through every day. It's annoying.

I've looked online for lunch ideas and I come across shit like this:

                        

and this:


and this:
.

What the hell!?!?!? Is that what the world has come to? Parents have to aspire to not only pack healthy lunches for their kids but they have to be fun and entertaining too? Moms have to make animals out of sandwiches? Don't these people have anything better to do? Even if they don't, they could be drinking bottles of wine and reading magazines instead of spending 1.5 hours a night making wraps that look like Hello Kitty. Someone should tell them that. I refuse. Let's face reality - all that food is going to just be poop soon. It's just pre-poop.

The kids get on me that my lunches are "too healthy" and I am ruining my middle schooler's street cred. "Mom, it's too healthy. I want sweet stuff in there." If she thinks she's getting soda, chips, and cupcakes for lunch she must be trippin. I don't care if she thinks I'm the worst mom ever, I am not raising future diabetics. For lunch today, I made peanut butter banana sandwiches on whole grain bread, cubed cheese, fresh cantaloupe, mixed nuts, carrots, and fruit snacks (the junk), and a Capri Sun flavored water. My daughter had the gall to say to me, "I don't even eat the carrots. I give them away." She said it like she wanted to hurt my feelings, like she was stabbing me.

I will pack carrots anyway. At least some growing child is benefiting from the beta carotene, even if it's not my child. My kids are always trading their lunches. They make deals at lunch like crack heads. "Man, I've been jonesin for some hostess cupcakes. Tell you what - I'll give you my fruit snacks, a sip of my Capri Sun AND do your math homework for it...."

My youngest is more forgiving about my lunches except she insists I buy her school lunch when they serve meatloaf. She begged me. "Mom, can I please buy lunch tomorrow? It's meat loaf and school meatloaf is my favorite. It is just so delicious and it has this special sauce." Gross. What a weirdo. Who likes school lunch meatloaf? I humor her and give her $2 for meat loaf day.

My husband is less picky but he has a tendency to not eat the lunch I pack and go out to eat, which drives me crazy. There is always an excuse. He was trying to pretend to forget his lunch for a while so he HAD to go out for lunch. I was on to him. Now, I put his lunch in the passenger seat of his car before I take the kids to school. The first time I did it, I told him so. "Honey, I put the lunch in your car so you don't forget it." I smiled big. He looked at me like I was the devil:
                      

One day I ran out of soda and made the mistake of putting a juice in his lunch bag. He came home and said, "I would appreciate it if you don't put a Capri Sun in my lunch again. Do you know how embarrassing it is, as a man to have to poke the bag and drink out of a little straw?" I didn't even consider that. I think Capri Suns are delicious and if it were me I would drink one like a boss no matter who was looking. Unlike me, my husband has a sense of pride and self-worth. I made a mistake. I am a bad wife and a horrible lunch maker.

In conclusion. I am in lunch-making hell with no reprieve in the near future. I'm going to go put together an egg salad now.