Sunday, August 14, 2016
Do you guys know that Meghan Trainor song, Me Too? It’s my jam. Love her songs. So catchy. Every time it comes on the radio we have to immediately crank it up so I can tap my steering wheel in perfect drumbeat fashion. I have the head bop/shoulder shimmy down perfectly. I’ve got the rhythm. I’ve got the moves. I’m so white.
I get more of a workout in listening to this song than I do in my yoga classes.
If I could carry a tune even a little bit or had video editing capabilities I would make one of those awesome YouTube parody videos and become an Internet sensation. But being as that I have neither of those things, I will settle for blogging.
So every time I hear this song, I add all of my own sarcastic comments throughout. Shocking, I know. If you don't know it, listen to it here:
Who’s that sexy thing I see over there? (That’s Ryan Lochte on my TV.)
That’s me, standing in the mirror (Mirror’s make me want to gag myself….literally)
What’s that icy thing hanging ‘round my neck? (Probably a booger from William)
That’s gold, show me some respect, Oh Ah (No, it’s an $8 necklace from Charming Charlies)
I thank God everyday (Indeed I do)
That I woke up feeling this way (No, I feel this way after millions of hours and years of gymnastics)
And I can’t stop loving myself (It’s real easy)
And I don’t need nobody else (except for my chiropractor)
If I was you, I’d want to be me too (Who wouldn’t want to be this?)
I’d want to be me too (Well, it’s not ALL that great)
I’d want to be me too (yeah, I’m done being me. Who else can I be?)
If I was you, I’d want to be me too (ok, I have a lot to be thankful for)
I’d want to be me too (I’m happy to be me)
I’d want to be me too (this song is getting boring, good thing it has a good beat)
I walk in like a dime piece (don’t even know what that is. So old. Just so old)
I go straight to VIP (nope, I’m poor. I work in non-profit child welfare)
I never pay for my drinks (My husband does. Out of our joint account)
My entourage behind me. (and in front of me, and running circles around me)
My life’s a movie, Tom Cruise (I hate that prick)
So bless me, baby Ah-Choo (stupid line in a song)
And even if they try to they can’t do it like I do (yeah, nobody has it going on quite like we do)
I thank God everyday (yes)
That I woke up feeling this way (with a slight hangover from a margarita. Damn, I’m old and a lightweight)
And I can’t stop loving myself (still working on loving myself)
And I don’t need nobody else (except the 14 people it takes to keep my carpools going to get my kids to all of the zillions of activities I insist on having them in)
If I was you, I’d want to be me too (depending on the day)
I’d want to be me too (I’ve got the good life going on)
I’d want to be me too (yeah, it IS good to be me)
If I was you, I’d want to be me too (except for those days when it’s not good to be me)
I’d want to be me too (like last week when I totally lost my shit on the kids)
I’d want to be me too (but I’ve got some good stuff going on….stayin’ positive!)
Turn the bass up. (I don’t know where it is in my minivan)
Let’s Go (I’m halfway there already)
I thank God everyday (yup, still do)
That I woke up feeling this way (thankful no one had a nightmare or peed the bed)
And I can’t stop loving myself (stiiiiillllll workin’ on it)
And I don’t need nobody else (I do like peace and quiet)
If I was you, I’d want to be me too (Yeah, I like being me)
I’d want to be me too (but you should just be yourself)
I’d want to be me too (seriously, quit the single white female thing)
Sunday, August 7, 2016
Anyone that has ever taken their children, or anyone children, to church knows the struggle. Sadly, some weeks it can be a deterrent to even attending Mass. Other weeks it is so clear that we all need a little Jesus that nothing could keep us away. Still other weeks, it is something we are squeezing into our busy life.
We made it today. Praise Jesus.
William was William. He wiggles. He talks. He kicks his brothers. He tries, or succeeds, in ripping pages in the hymnal. He "reads" the book (usually upside down). He stacks the books. He lines them up. He pretends they are cars and makes motor sounds as he moves them along the pew. He sings when we are praying. He plays with my necklace. He stands. He sits. He lays down. He sucks his thumb. He's basically every 3 year old at church or at least the churches I have been in.
Today his Instigator came with us. The Instigator is not a cuddly stuffed animal with a funny nickname. Nor is it one of his brothers. I think you know who it is. It's his dad. Yup, the Instigator was present today. When the Instigator in in attendance I usually try to keep William with me. We are all better off for it. However after several minutes of squirming and previously identified church behaviors, Instigator decides to take over for a while. Instigator isn't much of a whisperer. He's more of a talk in a low man voice kind of guy. So he "whispers" into Will's ear "You have ants in your pants." To which William loudly says "I have ANTS IN MY PANTS?" Followed by "I have ants in my bottom" several times throughout Mass.
So I separated Will and Instigator for a while. Before long they were back together wherein Instigator looks over at me and non-whispers "Am I in trouble?" No. No 37 year old man, you are not in trouble because I am not your mother. But for the love of all that is good and Holy, please leave that kid alone during church. He gets into enough trouble on his own or with his brothers who poke at him the minute I get him sitting quietly for any period of time. Of course, that is only when they can distract themselves from playing with their Fitbits and trying to scam their step counter by slyly swinging their arms back and forth as if they are walking.
The kids measure the time in church by the songs. "How many songs left" starts about halfway through church. So we all made it to the last song without any additional notable events. Time for donuts. Everybody happily dodges their way through the crowds on the way to donuts until the Instigator denies them. WHAT?? No donuts? What do you mean we don't have time for donuts? Donuts are the bribe that gets everyone ready on Sunday mornings. They are the finish line. The light at the end of the tunnel. They are the end of our weekly faith journey. They are the reward for staying sane (me). They are the casual threat during church "Be good, or you aren't getting a donut." So there we went. Heads hung low, shoulders slumped, past the stairs that lead to the almighty Sunday morning sugar high. So long sticky fingers. So long spilled orange Kool-Aid that stains their upper lips. We hope to see you next week.
On the way home from dinner tonight we passed the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception and Instigator asked if the dome was really gold. He said when he was young he always dreamt of flying a helicopter and stealing the dome. It's all starting to make sense now.
Tuesday, August 2, 2016
Parenting, schmarenting. I have my good days and I have my why-in-the-world-did-anyone-
think-it-was-a-good-idea-for- me-to-be-in-charge-of-small- people days.
I recently had one of the latter. It involves the stupid tooth fairy. I hate that bitch. She always comes at the most inconvenient time. A tiny flying Tinkerbelle sort of thing that comes into a child's room at night and crawls under his pillow to steal his tooth? CREEEEEPY! Why? My husband tries to tell the kids that the TF actually eats their teeth. I nearly threw up in my mouth even thinking about it.
As usual with anything that even remotely relates to parenting, I was completely unprepared. Justin's tooth had been "super loose" for weeks. I had stopped paying attention to anything having to do with teeth. Except for brushing of course. I make sure they brush their teeth. Every-ish day.
Anyway, his tooth falls out and we set it on the kitchen counter where all bloody former body parts belong and then we forget about it for two days. It just sits there with all of the other crap including unpaid bills, random change, the still uncompleted school residency form for the upcoming school year, a Kohl's coupon, an empty fruit snack bag, and items that William has set aside for his "collection".
Then comes the night that he actually remembers to stick it under his pillow for weirdo fairy witch to come take it and leave money. Oh, MONEY??? Nope, don't have any of that. Of course Jeremy the cash cow is at the firehouse and I don't have a single bill on me other than the unpaid ones on the counter.
But guess who does have money?
Yup, I stole from my 3 year old's piggy bank. Parenting win!
And have I paid those $3 back to Will's piggy bank? Oh no I have not. Why? Because I am generally unethical and Will is clueless and 3 years old and he doesn't know any different and I'm really busy with a lot of other things that are more important than finding three dollar bills to stuff back in a glass pig.