So. How was YOUR day?

For reasons I cannot go into, I neeeeed my dryer! Guess I will be headed to the laundromat tomorrow. Don't ask.

T, who hopes your day is better than mine

I said no, and I meant no and that's final.... OMG how cuuuuute!

My littlest daughter has a new love. She wants a chinchilla. Yes, if you said the thing they used to make coats out of, you win! But, it is very cute, and it even made me squee. And they are relatively low-maintenance. I once had a friend who had one. They take dust baths, to keep their fur clean, and they don't ever get fleas. So, there's that. (but it is still another pet, something else to feed and clean up after...NO) Ahhh! Did you hear its wittle squeaks?? Oh, halp and bother.

I could be in trouble here. See what you think?

T, who wants no more things to take care of

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Mediocre Mother, it's the new black

There's a bit of a fray on bad mothering as a trend on the Interwebz, and as we all know, what's on the Interwebz is completely true, always. Some voices I respect have weighed in, and since this is a post I have been meaning to write for while, I finished it up and here is my take.

I grew up as a latchkey kid. From the time I was in the fourth grade I would walk to school, on my own, every morning. The chain that hung around my neck was cold from the early morning air. All day, I harbored a secret. Hidden and tightly nestled against my chest, warm from the proximity of my heart, was a key. I felt like a big kid. I would arrive home to a list of chores and an empty house. It taught me responsibility. And what it was to be lonely.

While my mother worked full-time, I would sit after school with the television as my only friend, caught up in the world of Suburban Advertising Moms. You know the ones: perfectly coiffed, calling for the Kool-aid Man, (not that she needs rescuing), as her kids emerge from the game, hot and thirsty. She, of the Betty Crocker persuasion, apron-clad, spoon in hand, she bakes up heavenly confections for her family. The smell wafting through the air brings the neighborhood kids forth just in time to get warm brownies. And isn't she a good mother? She didn't believe in the fight for feminism, choosing instead to grace the airwaves with her domestic presence. And I wanted to be her. Or, rather, I wanted her to be home with me. I promised myself I would be home for my kids.

That's exactly what I did. Once I had children, I stopped working, and never looked back. Yes, I remain involved in the community as a leader. And I am not indolent, I work from home as a freelance writer. (earnings are not the issue, the definition of work is) I homeschool my children, due to the lack of accommodations for special needs kids from our local school district. And I am generally more busy than not.

But I failed. Don't get me wrong, I am a good enough. But I never quite measured up to that image in my head of the Good Mother. I expected to be That house. The one on the block where all of the kids congregate? For chocolate chip cookies and video games or Lego, or swingset. And, when my kids were littler that did happen, at least for a bit. But I found that they were loud, and I was annoyed and stressed.

To be honest, part of the reason it didn't work out was that I don't particularly like the kids in this neighborhood. There's the girl down the street whose mom invited us over to go swimming. None of my kids knew how to swim and besides do people really just send their kids over to a strange family's home, willy-nilly? Since I didn't know her, I went with them, and she spent all afternoon in her house, on the phone or cleaning or drinking herself into a stupor who knows what, leaving me outside to watch the kids. All of them, hers included.

And to show that I didn't harbor any ill will, when they invited my daughter to pizza a few weeks later, I said yes. And the mother and her husband proceeded to get in a screaming argument complete with the f bomb in front of my then-sixth grader. no one cusses in front of my kids except me. And this was the good family on the block.

There's the kid next door who was on the same soccer team as my son, and made fun of him for being too slow as he ran for the ball. And the kid next door to him who, when he found out my then young son had a special affection for snails, made sure to turn over all the rocks in the flower bed and stomp the snails hiding there, every chance he had. And then he left the evidence smashed across my driveway for my son to find. So, yes, there is a reason I don't have these kids over at my house.

And this was before we realized just how different my kids were.

I find, that despite how warm or genuine I am, how much of an extrovert I play for limited periods, I don't really like Other People's Children much. At least on my own turf. I love kids, and I love working with kids and I am a high school youth leader at church (that's right, they actually let me near teenagers) but when I am at home, I protect it. Some people have the hospitality gift. I have the Raise the Drawbridge gift, I think. I see home as a castle, fortified against intruders, and while I love a lot of people and want to hang with them, I want to do it outside the walls. Inside, I want to sit around in my underwear, swear under my breath and leave dishes in the sink. That's just not conducive to entertaining.

Not to mention, I have very little domestic anything in me, not even beer. ( I prefer Guinness). I hate to clean house (which stems from being Cinderella to my "ugly-stepsister" family as I was growing up), the thing I would most prefer to make for dinner? Reservations. I tried for years to be a good Christian wife, and I fail miserably. There is a mountain of laundry piled as we speak. I admit it, I suck at the domestic wifely crap. But I have a very happy husband, and if you cannot read between the lines on that one, I refuse to spell it out for you. Let's just say there are some things more important than how springtime-fresh your toilets are.

I have finally, after many years, embraced my lack of mom-ness. I am not Supermom, she doesn't exist. She's about as "real" as the Real Housewives. I am not a bad mother. To the contrary, I am a good-enough mother. I don't do everything I could do for my children's comfort. I am short with them, preferring quiet to chaos more often than not. But I love them, and they know that. Even if I grouse at them, or complain that they don't put their shoes away or lock them outside because they are constantly traipsing in and out of the damn house! I only did that once, I swear, don't call CPS I love them. And that? IS good-enough.

T, who embraces mediocrity, try it

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Why I Love Twitter and Cage My Children

Disclaimer: I don't Really cage my children....

This exchange took place on twitter today...after mentally wrestling with my children again...in exasperation I posted the following:

@sendchocolate: Some days I ask myself why I do it, and don't say, run away to Costa Rica and categorize monkeys

@sendchocolate: I already categorize monkeys, but at least in Costa Rica I wouldn't have to TEACH them. Or clean up after them

I received this reply:

@missbanshee: @sendchocolate I'M sorry, WHAT? You CATEGORIZE MONKEYS? Helloooooo, best job EVER!

And I answered:

@sendchocolate: @missbanshee it's not all it's cracked up to be. They fling poo at me. A lot. And they are disrespectful. And don't do their schoolwork.

Well, after this little exchange and a withholding of the monkey chow I am happy to say, the monkeys straightened up and now are flying right. (flying monkeys??) They finished their schoolwork and actually listened and did what I asked. In return, I let them out of their cages. Of course, in the process of getting them to do what they are supposed to do without me blowing a gasket, I probably sounded like one of those screechy monkeys you hear when you go to the zoo...I hurt my own head. No, really. I did.

I get so tired of being the bad guy around here. Why do I have to ask someone multiple times to get them to do what I ask? Kills me. They finally do it, but in the meantime, I am thisfar from the intellectual equivalent of flinging poo. Between two with autism and a teenager? I want to know where I go to quit. It is so much faster just to do it my own self. But if I didn't, I have a boatload of excuses to choose from...the monkeys have taught me that.

Apparently:

*it's not my fault
* I didn't get it out
*It's not mine
* I cleaned it yesterday
* the garage is scary
* I want to play
*I forrrrrgotttt
*I finished it already
*It's not my turn
*I didn't see it
*I didn't know where it went
*you wanted me to do that, too?
*I didn't hear you
*I didn't know it was my responsibility
*I have other things to do
*I am not a slave
*what would you do if I wasn't here??
*it's not on my schedule
*nobody but you cares about that
*you worry too much
*you're making more work

None of these reasons flew. (not like the monkeys, anyway!) I guess it appeared I was serious, because I didn't have to repeat myself (or fetch my flying monkeys) that much in the afternoon, and things were actually done! of course, I cried at one point, in frustration..amazing what that does to childrens' attitudes. I would suggest you use it sparingly, however. Might lose its impact. I'll let you know the next time I use it.

How about you? Ever feel like you are walking uphill, both ways when it comes to kids listening? What works for you? Commiserate, misery loves company

T, who says see how much fun we have on twitter?

follow me on twitter
thanks to @missbanshee for the conversation & blog fodder

Technorati: flyingmonkeys, children, chores, parenting

Confessions of a Non-Cook

I just want you to know, it's a vicious lie. I cook. I do. I feed my family and everything. So if some skinny guy claiming to be my husband shows up and tells you that I don't... you can't believe him. Why, just tonight we had taquitos for dinner! With sour cream, salsa and guacamole! And last night was Annie's mac n' cheese and even...salad!

Ok, so yeah it's true that I don't cook as much in the summer. I mean, really, do you like to heat the house all up with the oven when it is 90 degrees outside? Me, either. And it just makes our air conditioner work that much harder. Tell him to quit sniveling. Besides, the only reason for a job is so you can buy food. Food that you personally don't have to cook or clean up after.

Don't get me wrong, I like to cook I really do. But some cosmic joker thought it would be real funny to time my childrens' meltdowns with the dinner hour. It is really difficult to wax poetic about creation and EVOO when you are trying to keep the little darlings from pulling each others' hair out by the roots.

"JBear, no, you can't throw your sister off the loft bed! No! I don't care if she took your stuffed animal. Maiming her in retaliation is NOT okay!"

Given this onslaught, is it any wonder I don't play more Food Network Fanatic? I am a decent cook. I can find my way around in my kitchen. I don't often burn food. People like what I cook. But have you ever tried to stir fry anything with a cacophony of

"GIVE IT BACK! I'M TELLING! YOU BETTER NOT! MOOOOMMMY! NO! DON'T DO.... SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!"

in the background? I swear, Alton Brown never had to contend with that! I can't tell you how many times I have been jarred into spilling food all over myself based upon that car-alarm scream! At some point, after the third time of turning the heat off on stir-fry, mind you! in order to go running down the hall, hoping to divert a disaster, you end up throwing the whole soggy mess down the sink and fetch fast food!

Someday, I am going to cook again. Life will be more than, "Quick, what can I make them before they can tear the house apart?" I broil a good piece of fish, and I serve that frequently. I marinate chicken, and they like that. But everything I do is fast and dirty. It has to be. The last thing I need to be is hauled into court as the prosecutor looks at me and asks, eyes beady over his horn-rimmed glasses: "And what were you doing while the children killed one another/burned the house down/streaked naked through the neighborhood??" Fixing dinner seems like a lame excuse.

I need to keep my wits about me. So for now, it's cook as fast as I can. Spaghetti, fish, chicken, things that require a minimum of prep. And the occasional fast food run is thrown in for good measure. (not that the kids mind that) As they get older, there will be more gourmet-type fare. Until then, maybe I will see you at Taco Bell. I'll be the one with sauce down my shirt and the wild look in my eye.

Here is where you come in. What are some, quick and tasty, tried-and-true meal ideas that work for you? I neeed your help!

T, who would like an Alice like in the Brady Bunch

Technorati: family, children, cooking

We're Going to Name Him Fluffy

I admit, with summer I get a little lackadaisical. The heat, the fact that it stays light longer outside... so it makes sense that I have been a bit busy, and not really cooking a lot. So many other activities demand my attention. Which brings me to.:

We have a new member of our family. He is white and poofy. He seems nice enough. A bit quiet.

In all my years, I have never seen one quite like this one. Such body! So much fur! Still, he isn't much trouble. See for yourself.

T, who will clean out the fridge tomorrow

Technorati: home, family, humor