It's 8:30 and I am in my pajamas, in bed with a piping hot mug of cocoa on my nightstand. The house is mostly quiet except for muffled sound of sh*tty pop music that is coming through the kid's bathroom door. Yes, I have survived another day.
My life has been crazy. I say that all the time, but I mean it very sincerely. It's crazy in a way that only my life can be. My husband's birthday is a perfect example. It was two Fridays ago. I woke up up extra early that day to make him a big breakfast. I made eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, a fruit salad - a nice spread. I served him coffee and I told him he didn't look a day over 30.
It was an unusual day. When I decided to do online school with my youngest, I pulled away from a lot of my volunteer commitments. However, I stayed on to do the books for band boosters because it does not take a lot of time and most of what I do I can do from home. Our biggest fundraiser is in the fall and that day was the day money was due.
My plan was to bring my oldest daughter to school, stay for a few hours, reconcile the money and finalize the order. This happens ONCE A YEAR. My husband was leaving at 8:15 and I planned to be home at 11:30. My youngest daughter had finished most of her lessons for the week already so her friend that also does online school was going to come over and they were going to do their lessons together, and work on a project. After I got home, I was going to make them lunch and we were going to make a birthday cake for my husband. An easy day.
I got all my stuff together and went to the bathroom before I had to leave. I reached for the toilet paper and the roll was empty. That bathroom either has 10 rolls of toilet paper in it or none. There is no in-between. I yelled for someone to get me a roll of toilet paper. I listened to everyone in my family argue over who was going to retrieve toilet paper for me. I just sat there and I thought about how if I was a man, I wouldn't need toilet paper to pee. I could just shake it off and go about my day. I want to be a man, I'm jealous of them with their low maintenance man-parts and higher pay. Do you know what's more inconvenient than owning a vagina? Literally nothing. MAYBE the DMV. The DMV is a close second. Uggggh.
Before long, the bathroom door opened and and a roll of paper towels landed at my feet. Not toilet paper- paper towels. Because no one wanted to walk up the stairs to get toilet paper. "REALLY, GUYS?!?!?!" I screamed through the bathroom door. I knew then, that the day was not going to go as planned.
I kissed my husband goodbye and then drove my oldest to school which was the longest ride ever because we got in an argument about her not turning in classwork. CLASSWORK. That's an easy thing to do. She was being super defensive about it, "I know what I need to do!" Eye rolling, arm crossing and deep sighing ensued. "Then do it!" I yelled back. "Like, if you checked PowerSchool as much as you checked Snapchat, you'd be on point." By the time I pulled up to school we both were heated. She slammed the car door and walked ahead of me. I was not in a good mood. I just wanted to put my headphones in, do my money counting and not talk to anyone.
I'm walking through the hallway and I was pulled aside to get a talking-to about my daughter's pants that were ripped. I guess one of the rips was too high. She's worn these pants multiple times a week since school started and this was the first time I heard they were not within dress code so I was like, "Okay, whatever."
I get to where I needed to be and my daughter is now having a full on teenage nervous breakdown about her pants. "Calm down, it'll be fine. I'll buy you a new pair of pants." I was still pissed at her. She leaves, I sit down and count money. Not 5 minutes later, she is back again in full on panic mode. "They said you need to go home to get me different pants."
Now, I'm annoyed. I get up and go to the person and say, "Listen, I'm not going home to get her new pants, so what needs to happen?"
"I told her she can tie her sweatshirt in front of her to cover up the rip."
I almost laughed out loud. She's in middle school. In middle school, kids get ridiculed for simply existing, so I know for a fact she is not going to walk around all day with a sweatshirt tied around the front her waist. I'm not going to insist that she do that either.
"Yeah, she's not going to do that. So, if she doesn't do it, she will be sent to ISS. Correct?"
I know how this goes.
"Yes, but we don't want to have to do that."
So I go back to my daughter and say, "You have 2 options. I am not going home to get you new pants so you can either tie your sweatshirt around the front of you OR you can be in ISS today."
She threw her hands up, in defeat. "I'll just go to ISS." Then she went on a rant.
I went back and said, "She will not be covering up the rip so you will have to give her an ISS." Then it was, "We don't need to do that. All she needs to do is cover up the....." I lost my mind. Seriously, I was giving ZERO F*CKS about these pants. I didn't want to deal with it. Put her in ISS, send her work to her and maybe she might get things done without distractions, maybe even get a nap in - which she needs. I was OVER IT. If that is what we do with kids that show a small portion of their upper thigh, that is more of a reflection of our f*cked up society than anything else.
So I go back to my melting-down kid who now is smiling. She had tracked down some black duct tape, taped it to her skin, under her pants and now she was within dress code. "I covered up the rip," she said, her eyes still red. Good, problem solved. I can't say she's not resourceful.
I hugged her. "I love you and I want you to have a good day but seriously, turn in your classwork and GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER." She rolled her eyes at me, "Ok. love you too," she muttered under her breath.
I sat down and started doing was I was there to do. I was on edge though. So annoyed. Like, beyond annoyed. Then, 10 minutes later, my phone rings. It was my youngest. I was assuming she was calling to ask me something ridiculous- like can she have leftover meatloaf for breakfast. I picked up the phone.
"Hey whats up?" I asked.
"Yeah, so mom....uh...the police just left here."
"WHAT?!?! Why?!?!"
"So, uh, my friend rode her bike over here and she left it in the front yard and the police came and wrote me ticket."
"For what?"
"For having a bike in the front yard, but don't worry, you don't have to pay any money. It's like a warning."
"Did he ask to speak to an adult?"
"No. He just wrote me a ticket. Then the dog jumped on him and ran down the street. So I had to go get her and we put the bike in the garage. We are going to start our lessons now. It's ok."
"Alright, I'll be home soon."
Who writes a ticket to an 11 year old? You get a ticket for having a bike in your front yard? What kind of fascist bullshit is this? WHAT IS HAPPENING?
I ended the call and I put my head in my hands. I am a shit mother. How did my life spiral this out of control in an hour and a half? Help me please.
I finished my work there and then signed my older daughter out and headed home. I walked through my front door at the TV is at full blast, my daughter and her friend are on the couch with their laptops and my house was destroyed. Sh*t everywhere, dishes piled in the sink....
I made them help me clean up (which they complained about) and then I made them lunch and we got to work on my husband's cake. My youngest had surveyed him earlier in the week about what he wanted and made an ambitious plan for this cake.
We had made the actual CAKE the day before and now it was time to put it together and decorate it. Well, you could say it did not come out quite as planned.
Is it a cake? A hat? A f*cked up nipple? Who knows?
To top it off, we went to the Dollar Store to get candles and they didn't have the same 3 and 5 so the final product was this.
This cake is the physical manifestation of how things usually go for me. LOL. It's just sad, but made with love and that's what really counts, right?
I had the house cleaned and dinner made by the time my husband came home. He laughed and laughed at the cake but was very gracious about it. We sang Happy Birthday and called him "old man". I brought him his favorite beer and poured myself a much needed glass of wine.
My dad and brother came over and we did our favorite thing. About once a week, they come over and we all take turns playing the CHEESIEST music videos we can find and we dance and sing along. It has almost become a tradition. The kids get really into it too. We listened to Europe, Steve Winwood, Rod Stewart.... the girls did an amazing impression on Milli Vanilli that had us all rolling on the floor. It was a nice, relaxing low-key night.
By 9:30 I was exhausted. I kissed my husband. "Sorry your birthday was kind of anti-climatic."
"What?!?! It was amazing." This is why I love him. Because I can be a hot mess and we can make a ghetto birthday cake and sing along to Milli Vanilli in our pajamas and it can still be a good day.
That, folks, is a slice of my life.
P.S. I was trying to write this yesterday evening, but my 13 year old closed my laptop, hopped into bed with me and said, "I'm going to need you to stop what you are doing and pay attention to me." Then the 11 year old showed up and talked my ear off as well. For all the parents with young children wondering when you will get a break- you won't. Just give up hope, surrender yourself, this is your life now....
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