My Career as a Carny is Not to Be

I am so lazy this morning. Yesterday was a whirlwind of parenting errands. Okay, that is a lie. Having the Apple folks look at my Ipod, which crapped out after slapping the pavement on Thursday's run (Oh, the sadness of running back home with no music!), at 9 am, after dropping Rollie off in the rainy carpool mess, was a me-me-me errand. After being given their sincerest condolences, I left the Perimeter Apple store (which is so less annoying and hipster-crawling than the Lenox mall store, by the way) to sit in a parking lot of rainy 285 traffic.

I made it to Lavista to pick up more aprons for the Pre-K to decorate with Little Red Hen themes, then hit the Publix across the street and pick up a cheater's shameful dessert for the Cakewalk. Got back in the car, then drove through the dry cleaners to pick up one cat puke-stained down comforter, two blood-stained zombie prom dresses (no idea how the dry cleaning goddess removed the blood from the white dress!), and one shirt that has been lying in my car to go to the dry cleaners since we moved out of the old house. I don't make it to the dry cleaners very often. All of this in the pouring rain. I looked like a drowned rat.

Made it home, changed shoes, and had a cup of coffee to warm up. Had lunch, then did laundry and cleaning out of Tiller's closet for stuff to go to consignment store, while todd had taken her to the library. Handed off aprons to Todd to give to teacher when he picked up Rollie, then headed to school myself for Fall Carnival setup. Cotton candy machine had not arrived yet, so spent two hours sitting on the stage in the cafeteria blowing up balloons and tying them off until my fingers were worn to the bone, all the while talking to two complete strangers and a parade of precocious elementary school students who wanted to bust the balloons.

Finished the balloons, then got a run-through on the cotton candy machine from the events folks. Headed back home to meet todd and the kids, then turn around and head back out for mexican (read: much-needed margarita), and then dropped back off at home to change Tiller's clothes, which she managed to pee all over in the restaurant bathroom. Tiller and i went back to the school for the fall festival. Wandered the halls with Tiller having a freakout over something scary every two steps. Finally found Todd and Rollie in the treasure chest room, switched off kids, and waited with Rollie in line to open the chest. headed back to find Todd and Tiller so that I could ditch the kids and do my time on the cotton candy machine. (Evidently, the parents of pre-k kids get the cotton candy machine duty, which is extremely sucky, unless you happen to like being covered in sugar from head to toe, while having kids and parents clamoring for cotton candy.)

Did my 7:20-8:30 shift, then cleaned up cotton candy machine. Not the most fun job in the world, by the way. Didn't see any of my cleanup volunteers, so I stuck around to help clean up the school, which looked like a disaster area. Finally knocked off at 9:20 or so, then walked back the creepy nature path through the dark wood, spun sugar probably attracting a number of animals tracking me through the night to my car.

I made it home alive, in time to change, down three beers, and watch two episodes of Fringe.

So, yeah, I am tired today. No energy. No desire to talk to another elementary-aged kid for weeks. Or their chitchatty parents, either. I am also fairly sure that I do not want to be a carny. Ever.

Also? Go Dawgs! Do or die time today! Don't let me down, dang it.

Sportsmanship and Toeing the Parental Line

So, i know some of you are waiting for pictures from the costume party, but it is just gonna have to wait. I have a little something to get off my chest. It's called, "What the fuck is wrong with you, you sack of shit parents?"

I guess I should start at the beginning. I should mention first that I was not present for the event in question, Rollie's soccer game. It took place Saturday afternoon. His father took him to the game, while I readied our home for being descended upon by eleven costumed children on Sunday.

Rollie is my oldest, so this is my first experience with parenting a child in organized sports leagues. I played sports growing up, and really credit the experiences for giving me much of my self-confidence, and my sense of sportsmanship. I played tee ball, baseball, softball, soccer, swimming, and tennis, and even recreational basketball, at which i was pretty terrible. I am competitive and love to win, but I have never been a sore loser, and am always a gracious winner, except in drinking games, or games played while drinking (beer pong, pool, darts) where "talking shit" is acceptable, and even encouraged, and where it would never set a poor example in front of a child. I have looked forward to my kids playing sports and learning about teamwork, good sportsmanship, doing one's best, and self-confidence.

So, Rollie is playing soccer for the first time this year. He is in a co-ed, under six league. The kids range in age from 3-6 (a huge age difference actually), and they don't keep score. There are no referees, just the two coaches out on the field with the kids, giving them pointers and running the game. It is all about learning the skills, the rules of the game, and sportsmanship. Or so i thought.

Rollie definitely got a competitive streak from me. he likes to win, and we have been working with him on things like, "it is okay if you lose, as long as you give it your best" and "you can't win them all," and teamwork. One problem we have had so far this year is that not only does he want to take the ball away from the opponent, he also will go after the ball if his own teammate has it, and we are trying to teach him that he needs to work with his team, not against them.

Other than that though, we had so far had no real problems. So, Todd takes him to his game on Saturday. None of the kids on Rollie's team have played before, and there is a kid on the other team that is playing circles around the others. He also played pretty rough, throwing elbows, pulling on shirts and pants, etc. I have never seen any unsportsmanlike behavior called at these games. Either the coaches did not see this stuff, or they just let it go. So, Rollie is pretty competitive and started getting mad, and from what I can tell from what Todd said, he kind of did the same stuff, and told the kid to "stop it." Well, this kid said to Rollie, loud enough for Todd to hear, although it seems that other parents and the coaches did not hear it, "Y'all suck."

Now, as I said, Rollie is my oldest, and it doesn't take long after sending your eldest child to school to realize that they are in for quite an education. While they are learning the ABCs and 123s (or not, but that is a whole 'nother post), they are also learning a ton of really neat sayings and behaviors from the kids in their class who are not the oldest; these kids have older brothers and sisters and just aren't as innocent as the eldest siblings. They use words and phrases like, "You suck." "I'm going to kill you." And lots of stuff about shooting and guns. It is frightening the way that influences on your child are suddenly out of your control.

Back the game: This kid says this stuff, plus the other team is scoring a bunch of goals, and Rollie's team, not so much. And the team is getting pretty discouraged. Which is fine. In my opinion, it is just as important to learn how to lose gracefully as it is to win. But then Todd takes Rollie to school this morning, and one of the kids in his class was on the other team. He is a nice kid, and Rollie and he are friends. Well, his mom asks if Rollie had recovered from the drama of the game and it seems that Rollie was snarky with his friend on Saturday. (I guess out of frustration at losing, not that frustration is in any way an excuse for bad behavior.) She then proceeds to tell Todd some further stuff about the "Y'all suck" kid's behavior on Saturday. Seems as he was substituted out of the game, he came out and loudly proclaimed, either to the parents or in front of the parents, that he was "going to kick that kid's ass." We assume he was referring to Rollie. Apparently, no one said anything. At least this one parent heard the comment. Todd did not. We do not know if any one else heard it, but according to this mother, it was loud enough to hear.

I know what I would do in this situation. What would you do? Would you have said something? As a parent, do you rely on a coach to deal with these things? Is it really best to ignore it? What reason would his parents have for not reprimanding him for this behavior? Would you reprimand someone else's child for saying something like this? And what kind of a household is this child living in that he remotely thinks it is acceptable to say something like that, much less in front of a group of adults?

Am I being over-protective and raising a complete wuss of a child? Is it really so wrong to want my child to learn about respect for others, respect for adults, etc?

Most of all, what kind of a child talks like this at age six or under?

I am fuming and just mad I wasn't there to say something to the sorry excuse for parents that poor kid must have. And if I had, would i be labeled a troublemaker or a rabble rouser? And if I was, would i give a shit?

So Far

For those of you who know me well, you know that I have had some serious misgivings about putting my kids in the local public schools. Not because I think the kids are terrible, or the teachers, or even the administration (although I do have my concerns). It is mostly because it seems like the teachers and administrators have no way of overcoming crappy parenting. However, T and I decided that we would put Rollie in pre-K at the elementary in our neighborhood and so I will probably have a series of posts in the next months and years concerning my first impressions of sending my child to public school.

Things that I like:

• The school gets a high rating on sites like great schools.net
• I think his teacher is a great person, who likes what she is doing.
• I LOVE how diverse the school is - Rollie is not a white kid in a sea of white faces, or even a sea of black and white only. Think Benneton kids.
• Parental involvement is high.

Things that I'm Not Liking, or Am Just Downright Bewildered By

• The people responsible for teaching my kid have sent home numerous memos with grammatical and spelling errors. This does not engender confidence.
• My kid has learned all sorts of semi-frightening phrases, like "Die" and "Kill." I realize this has little to do with the school, and everything to do with hanging out with other kids who have older siblings. It is still disturbing. (Or maybe he reads my blog and Facebook.)
• We went to a PTA picnic and the local fire and police departments were there. They fingerprinted my kids and gave us a digital photo in a little packet. We are supposed to include DNA and dental records in this also, and keep it "in case of emergency." There is no sicker feeling than watching your 2-year old getting fingerprinted so that they will have a better chance of identifying her in case of "emergency." The kids thought it was fun, but what about the older kids who realized what it was for? What does that say about the way we view our world and the message we are giving our children about our worldview?
  
• The school sent home a sheet in my five year old's backpack, which i am supposed to discuss with my child and then have him sign. He can barely write his own name, and I am supposed to discuss Saying No to Drugs with him? That's great and all, but I'm not doing it. My kid doesn't even know what drugs are. I am not going to introduce it to him at just five years of age either. You know what I think I might do? Parent him. As in, keep enough of an eye on him that someone giving him drugs probably won't be an issue until at least, oh, Kindergarten.
• One day in the carpool line, I discussed the program my son is in with another parent I met recently. Her son had the same teacher last year. I asked her what she thought about the class and the teacher, and her reply was, "We really liked Mrs.______. Bobby loved going everyday. Just don't expect him to learn anything." Ummmmm. . . seriously?

Just some things I've been thinking (read: Worrying and Stewing) about recently. Thought i would share. This parenting thing is, as I've mentioned before, fucking hard.

This Week in Dogwood Girl

Is just kinda dark and confused, and not really ready to be written about at all. Some things suck and are nebulous and I just can't put them into words without it all coming out completely wrong.

It will all come out. I just don't know when.

Just didn't want everyone to think i fell off the face of the earth. And no, no one is dying. I just got a reality check is all.

On a happier note, there is some Cecil discussion of purchasing a Waverunner or Seadoo type of thing. I will believe it when I see it. But if that happens, then all we need for the lakehouse after that is a chihuahua and a frozen drink machine.

This Cracks Me Up

And it will you, too, if you have ever done a road trip with kids and had to go through a drive-through.

Vanessa, at this point, you should put your fingers in your ears, start humming the Bear Went Over The Mountain, and stop reading: Yes, I let my kids have fast food. Call DFACS.

Thanks, Dorothy!

Cathedral Building

Okay, I'm not religious, but I think about God, and I think about my role as a mother, and I often get fed up with the thanklessness and monotony of the job, but I think that after reading this, I am just going to concentrate on the fact that what I'm building isn't meant to have my name on it, and I wouldn't really want it to anyway.

I'm not sure if my non-parental friends will get this, but I know that my fellow parents will, and I hope that it will make their jobs easier some days, just to think of parenting as a bit of grand architecture.

In the Principal's Office

I registered Rollie for school yesterday. I had met his pre-K teacher at the open house in May, and I liked her very much. Yesterday, when we went in the office, there was only one other family (incidentally, a little boy who will also be in Rollie's class). The Principal was working the office and he remembered me from the Open House a month earlier, and explained all the paperwork to me. (I'm pretty sure that it is easier to buy a handgun than to register a 4-year-old for pre-k.) I liked him immediately.

Anyone who knows me is probably aware that I have some serious doubts about how America educates (or fails to educate) her children these days (don't we all, to some extent?) and how much we have agonized over where to send our child to school, where to move, etc. How would we find a school that had decent to good test scores, racial and cultural diversity, but not so affluent that my children would be so sheltered that they wouldn't know that not everyone lives like they do? Most of all, the school had to be safe and in a decent middle and high school district.

Todd and I have decided to have Rollie repeat pre-k this year, since it will not seem to him like he is repeating, as he is going to a new elementary school, and will have a new class. He was having some problems keeping his frog on the lily pad last year, which basically means that while he did fine with the "academic" parts of school, he was struggling to control his behavior, follow directions, and generally play well with others. His teacher thought that it was probably just emotional immaturity and an inability to control his impulses, and that holding him back wouldn't harm him, and might help.

I talked to tons of parents of late-summer boys about the holding back issue: Those that didn't hold their boys back were split down the middle concerning their feelings about it; About half of them regretted not holding the boy back. On the other hand, not one single parent I've talked to regretted holding their son back. It just felt like the thing to do for us.

Fast forward a month to Rollie suddenly reading whole books. We started having doubts about how he would fare in Pre-K if he could read and other kids couldn't. Would he be bored? Would he be a frustration for the teacher? Would he languish without attention or challenge?

This parenting thing, it's pretty complex, and it is a game of stamina, like some mindfuck marathon that you just keep running, with diverging paths, and a finish line that keeps on slipping in and out of sight. Honestly, I think it has finally sunken in that there is no finish line.

I decided to talk to the Principal about my concerns (also making sure that if he needed to, Rollie could move up into Kindergarten.) I was so happy after my discussion with him: He said that they see kids across the spectrum in the Pre-K; that some come in not speaking little English, or not knowing their ABCs. Some know letter sounds. Some are starting to sight-read words. And that some can read sentences and books.

My favorite part? Every Friday, the kids who can read in the Pre-K and K classes come into the Principal's office and read books with him. I like the idea that my child won't be bored or ignored, and that he will be put into a group that is on his level, and that his accomplishment will be rewarded and acknowledged.

Anyone know if this reading group thing is common practice in elementary schools? Does anyone else have experience having been held back, or having held their child back? I'm curious what others have experienced.

Is it Bad?

That I really, really want to teach my two-year-old daughter to say:

"Konichiwa, Bitches!"

Go ahead and call DFACS.

These Important Years

So, you've probably been wondering where the hell I am, as normally I don't take a shit without blogging about. I alluded to it in an earlier post, but we have our house under contract and are moving. I haven't really had time to digest what that means for us, but I do know that I am having some serious identity crisis. I am a city girl now. I have lived in East Atlanta almost as long as I lived in my parents' last house. But now the conflict between personal identity and parenthood has come to a head, and we made the decision to move into a better school district. We tried our damnedest to find a house we could afford in a decent intown school district to no avail. We just can't afford private school. So, we are off to the burbs. No, we didn't go whole hog and buy a house in Cumming or Suwanee, although we did consider the pros and cons of doing so. But when it came down to what we really wanted (shorter commutes, better access to the city (Braves game, etc.), and proximity to my sister (and my impending nephew!), we decided on . . . Atlanta. Turns out Atlanta is pretty big. The Atlanta we decided on is Dekalb Co., barely outside the perimeter, and in a great elementary district. We are getting a decent amount of house for our money, we will be close to some other friends who live in the area, and we will be staying true to our promise to educate our children well, which is the most important thing in the long run.

So, this week, Todd and I are counting down our last days in the EAV, and pretty bummed out about it. Sure, we will still come over here to drink and see old neighbors, and see shows, and for his book club, and when I just have to have a Blue Bacon Burger, but it is one of those moments where we feel really torn, and we know that having children means sacrifice and this is a sacrifice for us in many ways.

So, my sister (a.k.a. "The Best Sister in the World") is watching the kids today while Todd and I make a seriously huge dent in the packing. (This of course also included a two-pint lunch at the Flatiron; All work and no play makes Annie very sad.) Afterwards, Todd started packing up Rollie's room, and I have been packing the kitchen. On a side note, packing the kitchen is like playing a very weird game of Tetris; the spices are particularly satisfying to pack tightly together in the most streamlined of space-saving manners.

I was listening to an Itunes mix, with an ass ton of music on shuffle, and the Husker Du song, "These Important Years" came on, and I was reminded of the summer of 1990, packing up all of my stuff to leave for college, listening to that very song. It was one of those really strange deja vu moments, where time seems to have passed in a millisecond and to stand still at the same time, and I could be 18 or 25 or 30 or 36 (minus the tight abs and ass, of course) and I have that same sense of bittersweet excitement and sadness. The difference is that, at 36, I know that change is almost always a positive, and i have the power of hindsight, of knowing that i never regretted any of my moves, not one. They all meant the end of things that I look back fondly on now, but they also always meant that i was about to embark on something completely new that I had never experienced before: New friends, new love, new job, new place all by myself, new place all the way across the country, promotions, and learning, and husbands, and dogs, and cats, and kids. All of these were impossible if not for the constant change. Change is good. Change is responsible for these important years.

The Kind of Mother I Wanted to Be

One of the major things that you never hear about having children is how completely isolating it is. I spend all week with my kids, except for when I play trivia on Tuesday nights, or when I go out if Todd watches the kids. I get a couple hours off on Tuesdays and Thursday mornings when they are in MMO. Rollie goes all week, so i have some mornings without Rollie, but I still have Tiller. More manageable, but not what I would call relaxing. My weekends are exactly like my weekdays, so that they blur together and become one big block of monotony that continues for weeks, only being broken up by occasional trips out of town. Before I had children, I thought I would be someone with well-behaved children who could travel anywhere, who would be well-behaved whenever i took them out, and who would thrive on the interesting and stimulating things that i wanted to do with them.

This, of course, is making anyone who has children laugh their asses off. Unless you have one child under a year old, in which case you are still in the honeymoon phase, thinking that your child will always nap well in public, and that those people with kids having tantrums in restaurants are just crappy parents who did everything wrong.

The thing is, a parent wants to go out in public every once in a while, and so you take the chance on your kids. You explain that we have to use inside voices, and show respect for others, and that anything else will not be tolerated. If the kids can't follow the rules, then they must understand that we will leave the restaurant. If they can't behave, they will not get to go run errands with Mama, like we planned. So, when you take them to a restaurant, everything is fine, until someone takes a crayon from someone else, and the one warning is issued, and the bad behavior continues, and then you have to cowboy up as a parent. You have to leave the restaurant, and take the little offender home, with apologies to all the patrons staring at you as you leave the restaurant near tears. And you pile them in the car, and feel sorry for yourself because you can't even have one fucking meal in peace, or have one Saturday afternoon where you walk around with your child and look in shop windows, or get a coffee, or stop by the bike shop, like you had planned all fucking week. Nope, you gotta go back to the fucking house, and be stuck with the little assholes who fucked up your day in the first place. And then you feel like you could die, because you love them so much, and what if something happened to one of them, and you had written something so terrible about them?

Truth is, i am lonely. We made a choice to live somewhere that has lots of things to do that Todd and I like to do, but that really don't translate all that well to the preschool set. We live in a neighborhood where there are no kids Rollie's age. Mom says she used to have friends in her neighborhood who had kids our age, and so they watched each other's kids. That sounds awesome, but there are no Stay-at-home moms in my neighborhood, and I just don't think trading dogsitting and babysitting services with the gay neighbors is an option. Babysitter, you say? Yeah, we use one for special events, but babysitters do not come cheap, and for a family on a very tight budget, it just isn't something you are going to do weekly.

So, we continue to watch the kids for each other, and that is cool and much appreciated by both of us, and we go out with friends and it is fun, but it would be nice to go out with my husband every once in a while. Another thing about parenting, especially once you have two children, is how dividing it is. There is just not enough time for everyone to get what they need, and so you go out of your way to watch the kids for each other, so that each person gets kid-free time, but what you never get is kid-free time together. It would be nice to win the lottery and have a night each week where i get to go out in public with him and not have the kids with us.

Most of all, it would be nice to not feel like I'm turning into some desperate housewife (I have never watched that show, so i have no idea what it means to be that kind of desperate housewife.) My son seems to pretty much despise me, except when he wants something. He is four, for God's sake. I used to tear up a little when he screamed and cried for Daddy at bedtime, but now i just feel a little dead inside, like here is what I got myself into, and there is nothing honorable to do but keep on loving him and taking care of him, and just shut off the part of my heart that used to hurt when he insulted me every night. I just know that I lose my temper too much, raise my voice too much, often dread being with my children, and feel resentment that I never have any free time to think straight. And so I can see why they love their father more.

There, i said it: Sometimes i dread being with my children, and I cringe at the sound of their grating little voices, and sometimes I wish I was the one that felt fresh and renewed and fun when I was with them.

And I hate myself for that, because that is never the kind of mother I wanted to be.

Rhyme Time

Rollie is learning to sound out words, and even recognizes some on sight (like "Max" on the boat in Where the Wild Things Are), and it is fascinating to talk about words and letters and languages and sounds and to see how his brain is grasping things. Today on the way to school, he asked me "What rhymes with caution?" I was stumped. I told him,
"Um, okay, you stumped Mama. I can't think of one. Give me another."

"How about 'mailbox."

Geez, kid, I've only had one cup of coffee! I decided to pull a Seuss.

"Snailfox rhymes with mailbox."

In the rearview, I could see Rollie looking at me with suspicion. Parenting is hard.

Bonus: One smartypants point for each real word you come up with that rhymes with caution or mailbox. . . .

Pooped Out

I am so tired. Todd and I went to the EARL last night after his book club at Flatiron. Anna Kramer opened, and I loved her! Got this video of a new Band of Horses song they say they hadn't played before. Me likey. Their whole show was really great - I was impressed. I think they were much better than I thought they would be.

Must go to bed now - stayed up till 2:30 and woke up with kids at 7:30. I don't know what their problem is, always wanting me to get up and feed them and stuff like that. They are so needy.

Typical Tiller

Tiller is the kind of kid that yells out, "Mama, I'm stuck!"

I walk around the corner to the entryway and see that she has put her head through the balustrade. She is on the first step, and crying her eyes out, and saying over and over, "Mama, I'm stuck."

My first instinct is panic. That is a lie. Panic is my second instinct. First instinct was to stare at her and then laugh. I yell up the stairs, "Todd? Can you come down here, please?" in the same faux-calm voice my father used one summer day in the 80s, when we were supposed to leave in a couple of hours for a week's vacation at the lakehouse. I believe his exact words from the parquet hallway at the bottom of the stairs, up to my Mom, were: "Honey, can you come down here? I had a little accident with the lawn mower."

He had, in fact, cut his toe off with the lawnmower.

We walked downstairs to find him standing in a pool of his own blood. He then yelled at me to go out in the yard and look for his toe. I never did find that thing.

Okay, so Tiller was not bleeding, but she was screaming, and crying, and trying to pull her head out of the balustrade, and getting a little panicky when it wouldn't come out. I was on the floor of the entry, talking to her, and trying to feel around her head to see just how tight it was, and as Todd came down the stairs, he probably heard me mutter, in true Mother-of-the-Year fashion, "Baby, how the fuck did you manage to do this?"

I told Todd to go get dish liquid from the sink, thinking we could slick her head up with soap and push it back through. He ignored me, walked between Tiller and me, and then gently pushed her head right back through. Much crying ensued, but we think little to no brain damage.

Then we rocked her and held her and looked at each other over her head, shaking our heads and both thinking to ourselves, Typical Tiller. This will not be the last.

Sir Duke: Tiller Pitches a Royal Fit

Dragging a kicking and screaming Tiller, age two, into Publix. As I lifted her into the buggy, trying to force her legs into the holes of the seat as she attempted to keep them straight and throw herself out onto the cement floor at the same time, the first notes of Stevie Wonder's ever-so-cheery "Sir Duke" came on over the store music system. As my Mama says, sometimes you have to laugh to keep from crying.

Breaking News!

Worst Day in a Long Time Becomes One of Best Days of Year for Beleaguered Mom, Gator Haters Everywhere

An Atlanta mother of two, sick, and caring for her children and grandfather for the weekend, was pleasantly surprised when her self-described "Worst day ever" became fucking awesome as the Georgia Bulldogs unexpectedly defeated the Florida Gators in Jacksonville this afternoon.

Says Dogwood Girl: "Hell, yeah! Diarrhea be damned, I'm having another beer!"

This is Ironic

So, I am almost 36 and I still feel like I am 26, maybe even 16 on a good day. I still think of myself and my friends, even the ones pushing 40, as "us kids" and the parents, teachers, etc. as "them." "The old people." "The man." Whatever.

When my friend Tara was made "Room Mother" for her son's class, I laughed. It was an evil laugh.

So, it is with much dismay that I find myself in the position of a pending nomination to a position on the board of the PTFuckingA at my son's preschool.

I am not kidding people. Anyone who knows me can vouch for this: This is the sign of the Apocalypse.

Smart Cookie

Husband goes out of town and, in excitement over evening of unadulterated control of television, Annie drinks a complete bottle of wine over the course of the evening.

Very with it this morning at 7 a.m. when son pooped on potty (so proud!) and then came in and asked me to wipe his butt. Who needs coffee?

Waiting for nap time. For me. I need a nap.

I thought that I had learned that, as my Mama says, "The wages of sin are not always death." For the non-Southerner, I believe that translates to "Don't drink a shitload when you have to get up with two kids under four the next day."

Why, Yes . . .

That was my almost-four-year-old son spectacularly showing his ass in the Barnes and Noble at Edgewood Retail District. He was the one running up and down the aisles from me (as I dragged his poor sister along by the arm) and screaming at the top of his lungs, "Don't get me! Don't get me! Don't get me!" and then screaming, "Nooooooooooonooooooooooooo. Nooooooooooooooooooo. Nooooooooo!!!!!!!" as I dragged him kicking from the store, with an embarrassed look on my face, muttering "I'm sorry" to every patron we passed along the way.

My apologies to anyone who suffered permanent hearing loss, or who will need therapy before deciding to have children of their own.

The perpetrator is now sitting in his room, thinking about the consequences of his behavior (No storytime, no haircut.)

Look, Mama

"Look, Mama," Rollie says from the kitchen table. I am sitting at the computer in the den and I can't see him. "I made something!"

[momentary pause]
Me: "As long as it isn't a mess, that's awesome."

Morose: Marked by or expressive of gloom

One of those days where everything just seems so hard. Even using complete sentences. Getting out of bed. Going for a run. Getting house cleaned for showing, even though no one is ever going to fucking buy it anyway. Taking kids to sister's, where Rollie craps in his pants, and we have to put women's shorts on him for lunch at Fellini's. Fall asleep on couch thinking husband is sick in bed upstairs and miss out on opportunity for nap time sex. Go to dinner with kids and husband and baby throws food everywhere. (Silver lining: Both of my kids are pieces of gold compared to brats in restaurant at same time, and whose parents seem immune to their screams. Take the cotton out of your ears, y'all, your kids are a fucking nuisance. Please remove them from the establishment.) Get home and realize no time to get in run before dark, so get bike out for a 30-minute ride and find tires need inflating and will not have time for ride either. Wonder why physically incapable of getting out of bed before seven. Water garden (illegally? Too morose to check watering restrictions) while thinking that for being this tired, you should have accomplished something. Anything.

Go drink beer and watch t.v. Not even energy to write or blog. Okay. Always energy to blog.

I like the word gloom. Feeling gloom? Not so much.

Gender Shmender

My friend Vanessa and I had this very long, drawn-out discussion of the influence of dolls on young girls, and of marketing of sexualized toys to girls, etc. the other night over margaritas. Yes, I do most of my sorting out of world problems while under the influence of alcohol. To make a long story short, we are both very concerned about the media and other outside influences on our daughters, and about how we can minimize these influences in their lives.

The funny thing? I didn't need to be worrying about my daughter at all. She doesn't give a shit yet which bib I put on her at the dinner table. Rollie, though? The morning after margaritas with Vanessa, I asked him to put a bib on before breakfast, and walk over to the table to find him wearing Tiller's Disney Princesses bib. He then proceeded to put his Bass Pro Shops hat on Tiller and appropriated her white Easter hat, the one with the big white bow, for the ride to school.

Ain't nobody gonna put my kids in a gender pigeonhole. Nobody.

How to Charm Annie

Dooce has this cute thing she calls "How to Charm Me." I often think of things that the kids and husband do that are just downright charming and then I forget to share them. Not today!

How Rollie charmed Annie today:

Three year olds talk a lot. I mean a LOT. They pretty much wake up, walk out of their room, come in your room, tell you to wake up, and then bombard you with constant questions for the next, oh, thirteen hours or so. Non-stop. You don't have children and you think I am exaggerating; I am not. It is the Spanish fucking inquisition over here.

Before I have coffee, I just nod and say uh-huh, even when Rollie says,

"Mama, mama, mama, mama. I asked you a question. Mama, I asked you a question. Mama!! I asked you a question."

The question is usually,

"Mama, why do cars just bump?"

Translation: Why do cars bump into each other in races and get into wrecks? Sometimes, it is

"Mama, why do you like coffee?"

I want to tell him the truth, which is that I am addicted to coffee and I can't handle his fucking questions all day without drinking it. Instead i say,

Me: "Because it is good."
Him: "Why it's good?"
Me: "It just is. Drink your milk."

Kids questions aren't influenced by the constraints of physics in any way whatsoever. Last night, Rollie asked us

"Why can't you go outside the walls?"

We aren't sure what this means, but i think he was trying to find out why we can't walk through walls, and well, damn. The explanation for that is over my head, how the fuck am I going to explain it to him? A good answer for one like that is

"Go ask your father."

And yes, I now often answer him with only "Because," or even the dreaded "Because I said so." You may judge me for this when you have walked a mile in my shoes and listened to the incessant damn interrogation.

Biology is a remarkable thing. Survival of the Fittest actually extends to human children. In addition to their little immune systems and ability to heal from wounds quickly, they also have this neat little mechanism where, just about the time you are going to wring their little necks if they utter another syllable, they pop out with something so funny, or absurd, or clever, that you bust out laughing and forget to kill them. Case in point:

"Mama, when is bunny coming?"
"Easter."
"When is Easter?"
"Easter Sunday."
"Tomorrow?"
"No. Sunday after next."
"What is Sunday?"
"The day after Saturday."
"Is Tiller going to have candy?"
"If y'all are good, you will both get candy for Easter."
"From the Buster Bunny?

And that, folks, is what happens when you have been watching Bugs Bunny and talking about the Easter Bunny all in the same day.

Call Me Tipper

Yesterday, Tiller and I dropped Rollie off at school, then headed for the gym. We were coming through Oakhurst and were on 2nd Ave. We stopped at the four-way stop at Oakview. This intersection is across a two-lane street (Oakview) which has a grassy median in the middle. So, when you are crossing on 2nd, you go across one lane of traffic, then there is an area that cuts between the grassy median, and then you cross the other lane of Oakview. We were the first car there, then two other cars pulled up: One at the Stop to our left, and one at the Stop directly across from us. There was no one at the Stop sign to our right. We began to cross and as I reached the beginning of the middle of the intersection, a truck (Ford F150-sized, I'd say) came blowing through his Stop sign on my right. He was going about 40-45 miles and hour and didn't even slow for his Stop sign. I slammed on my brakes, and skidded a few feet in the median section, coming to a stop only a few feet from where the truck passed. I sat on the horn, taught Tiller how to give the bird, and then started shaking. If we had been one second faster, the truck would have hit the front, right side of my van. Another two seconds, and it would have t-boned us on Tiller's side of the van. Either way, it would have fucked us up, if not killing her.

I spent the next hour or two just thinking about the tenuousness of our existence on this earth, the preciousness of a baby girl, and how quickly the rug can be pulled out from under us, control completely out of our reach. I was FREAKED. Today, I am not so shaky and wigged out, but still kind of scared and angry when I think about it.

Anyway, we picked up Rollie from school and found out that he has been acting out in class. He is hitting, kicking, pushing, and won't stay in line. They also informed me that Rollie was the most difficult child in the class. Great. Just what a conscientious mother wants to hear. Sure, the teacher added that it was most likely his age - he is the youngest child in his class, and he is within a week of the birthday "grade cutoff" in the state of Georgia.

We have been seeing some of the same behavior at home. Todd and I have been at our wits' ends (albeit, our wits don't encompass that much distance) trying to figure out the origin and the solution. Along with this more physical behavior, he has been saying things like,

"I wanna be first."

"I win."

"I wanna be in front."

"You are a joke!"

Rollie continues to bump and cut in front of us. Not a big deal for us, as I know who is going to win if we have a Rollie/Daddy collision; A little bit bigger deal when wobbly, only-walking-for-a-few-months Tiller is the one being bumped and cut off. We have tried taking away privileges and toys. We have tried consistent time-outs. We have, on occasion, tried spanking for extremely blatant and strong physical behavior. Nothing has worked.

He has also been asking us repeatedly "Mama, why do cars bump?" We would answer, "It is not nice to bump." We had long conversations about how good cars do not bump, and that bad cars bump, and that we will not accept the behavior. In one ear and out the other. He still asked about why they do it, as if I am capable of explaining good and evil?

It became obvious to me after talking to the teachers yesterday, and giving good thought to his behavior at home. It is the influence of that seemingly-innocuous, Oscar-nominated movie "Cars." His favorite movie. The one he once watched three consecutive times in one day while sick on the couch. The one that is going to break his heart, because we are not letting him watch it anymore.

Yep, it seems that Rollie is questioning us about the behavior, because he can't watch the movie and tell that some of the cars are good, and some are bad. He is not capable yet of drawing that line between acceptable and non-acceptable behavior. And so it begins: We have now censored what he watches to the extent that we are not allowing him to watch something that he wants to watch. As I type, he is laying on the couch watching that little PBS pussy, Caillou. Sigh.

Wow. Call me Tipper.