The Not-So-Simple Life

I’ve decided that I’m going to single-handedly make prairie living the new wave in real estate. I’m bringing Prairie back, much in the same way that Justin Timberlake brought Sexy Back, only way hipper (making the prairie hipper, that is, not Justin Timberlake. He's pretty hip, don't think we can up his hip factor). My book club meeting the other night sealed the deal for me after I had a minor panic attack and started searching for illegal Xanax online.

The discuss-the-book-part of the book club meeting ended and we started to chat about school, summer camp, after-school activities, kindergarten teachers, and topics that I don’t have to deal with for another 2 years but nonetheless my personality is one of “Why worry about that when the time comes when I can worry now and for the next 2 years?” The moms with older, school-aged children are honestly a wealth of information and they know what lies ahead. And it scares the bejesus out of me.

Here is what I heard as my head spun and my heart palpitated:

Mom 1: “And then I took Bobby to karate after I ran Sammy over to soccer. I picked up Liza from ballet and we ate pizza in the car while Bobby, or was that Sammy, finished soccer.”

Mom 2: “Liza goes to kindergarten next year, right? Make sure she does not get Miss Newbie because she has all the experience of a just birthed veal cow. March in that school and demand to get Mrs. Tenured because she’s 90 years-old and can whip those 5 year-olds into shape with just a glare from her one good eye.”

Mom 3: “But Mrs. Newbie is all about the standardized tests, and she really knows how to teach the material for the Kindergarten Calculus test that our district needs. We just HAVE TO score well on those tests.”

Mom 4 (that’s me): Whomp. Thud.

Mom 1: “I think she just passed out.”

I’m ready to stitch me up a floor-length dress, pull my hair into a bun, and don my bonnet. Break out the covered wagon. There may not be a Target on the prairie, but, (gasp) I think I’ll live. A mere sacrifice for sanity. Laura Ingalls was way ahead of her time.

Hey Baby, What's Your Sign?

Conversation at breakfast this morning:

Me: “I’m going to get my hair cut today.”

Monkey Man: “Why?”

Me: “So my hair will look pretty.”

MM: “But your hair is pretty.”

Me: ”Thank you, buddy.”

MM: “You’re pretty mommy. Your face is pretty. Your nose is pretty.”

Look out girls, this one’s a charmer! And he’s handsome, too!

Abracadabra and Amen

Conversation in the car to Poppy & Aga’s (my parents) house:

Monkey Man: “Does God come out in the daytime?”

Daddy: “God is around us all the time, in the day and at night.”

Monkey Man: “Does God have a magic wand?”

Daddy: Looks at me, the two of us smile and start giggling, trying not to let Monkey Man see us. Husband doesn’t know how to answer (this is not to say that hubby doesn't know if God carries a magic wand - because he really does know that answer, the kid just kind of took him by surprise). I pipe in to help out because I know this answer.

Me: “Why, yes, he must, because Monkey Man, you just rendered your father speechless and only magic wands and trickery can make this man STOP TALKING.”

Sunday Funnies

I Should Write a Book

I was home alone tonight with the spawn of Satan. Normally, being alone with my child doesn’t faze me one bit, but these days I’m constantly feeling like I need to call in for back up because just one parent will not do. But tonight, I became a parenting genius. I figured out how to go 3 hours without hearing Monkey Man say, “No. No. No. NO. NO. NO. Stinky. Stupid. I don’t like you. I’m not going to (pick one): eat my dinner, take a bath, play with a toy, ACT LIKE A HUMAN.

Supernanny, Dr. T. Berry Brazelton, Dr. Sears listen up: The secret to getting a pre-pre-pre-pre-pubescent child to behave? Sit Jr. in front of the T.V. (any Noggin show will do, but tonight I had the joy of watching some 90210 with Monkey Man as per his request, and if this system is to work for you, you must abide by their requests) and stuff child full of any or all of the following: chocolate pudding, watermelon, pretzels and grapes. Of course, substitute your child’s favorite foods as I cannot guarantee that the above menu will please each child’s palate. When your angel asks for the next goody (note politeness and slight hesitation in the word “cookie” because of amazement about how mother is behaving), “Mommy, can I please have a cooookie now?” “Why, sure my darling lovebug, you may have another cookie to give me one night of sanity. You may have the box of cookies if it means I won’t cry myself to sleep tonight.” Wait until child is in a food-induced daze, then carry your sleepy and bloated cherub off to slumberland.

Special Note: If puking occurs in the wee hours (child's puking, not yours because after little one's bedtime you mainlined that bottle of chardonnay) , wake husband up to deal with it and simply state, “Hmm, must be that stomach bug that’s going around.” That’s what hubby gets for leaving you with Beelzebub’s offspring for the night.

Sunday Funnies

Put me in place of Eeyore and it now reads, "Girls, Come On, Road trip to anywhere that I'm guaranteed no screaming, crying, whining children and a few rounds of margaritas, a dance floor, fun, loud music, a few mornings to sleep past 6 a.m., maybe some lounge chairs and a pool!" Terrible Threes has been so bad that I'm letting you in on my daydreams.

I love this kid but there's a good chance that this period of his life could kill me, or put me in a catatonic state in which you'll find me in the corner of my bedroom on my dog's bed, curled up fetal, rocking back and forth singing, "Jessie's Girl" to take me back to my happy place.

Sunday Funnies

I get royalties on this one because I wrote it. You should see me run to the mailbox to collect those checks!
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