Wtf Conversations with My Cherubs

Getting ready for work is always a challenge. I’m never on time and I think my children sense that and wreak havoc. There’s many tears, kicking and screaming and that is all from me. Mostly because I am trying to work on time.

Now, any mom knows that once you are pregnant there is no modesty and no privacy any more. People are looking, poking and asking awkward questions. When you are in labor, it’s the same. No one told me that once those cherubs come out of your vagine it would STILL BE THE SAME. Awkwardness all around. No privacy and they are constantly poking you. I really hope other mothers experience this… otherwise this blog just got more awkward.

The kids yesterday all said some really weird stuff as I was getting ready for work. Let’s start with the first awkward encounter as I have my back to Vincent to maintain some modesty…

“Hey mom. How do you know how to put that on?” -Vincent
“My bra? Well, my mom taught me… you know, gran.” -me
“Oh. Well how do you take it off?” -Vincent
“Well, you just reach behind you and undo it.” -me
“Oh. Ok. Well does daddy know how to take it off?” -Vincent
“…….” -me
“And this awkward conversation is over.” -Joe

Next conversation was not awkward but extremely creepy.

My kids have major separation anxiety. I diagnosed them myself… no need to see a professional.

So as I was putting on my sneakers… Nicholas was screaming at the top of the steps so I wouldn’t leave. I go up to the top of the steps and ask what was wrong.

“Mommy a black, shadow man just walked from Emily’s room to the laundry room.” -Nicholas
“Oh yeah? Should I go check the laundry room? Is he doing our laundry?” -me
“No. He said he wanted to stay there.” -Nicholas

At this point, I think I wet my pants because wtf… close the damn portal. This shadowy figure is probably the reason none of our socks match… he is stealing our socks.

Then after much whining by me… I finally reach the door. Emily looks at me with her sweet face and says…

“Mommy. I want to kiss your nose.” -Emily

So adorable right?!

I let her kiss my nose and she pulls back and says…

“I just wanted to kiss your boogers.” -Emily

So my kids are awkward, creepy and sweetly gross. Is that even a phrase? Well, it is now. Yesterday there was no black and white… it was just all crazy.

Yours truly,

The mom with the laundry portal

The ‘T’ Word

Life is full of happiness as well as disappointment.

Trust is a big deal for me and it’s hard to trust anyone but there is always that small few that are trustworthy people.

And Dogs. You can trust dogs and you can trust your children. Not all the time but they are pretty honest. Here are some quotes from my cherubs over the past week:

1)”I saw your big body coming down the slide and I was going to try to save you.” -Vincent
2)”Mommy. You didn’t shave today.” -Nicholas… while he was rubbing my face.
3)”Whoa. Mommy. These are big… when am I getting those big breasts?” -Emily
4)”No mommy! Don’t eat my ice cream!” -Vincent
5)”No mommy! Don’t eat my ice cream!” Nicholas
6) “Nooooooo mommy! Don’t eat my ice cream either!” -Emily
7)”Look how my hand goes away when I push your stomach.” Nicholas
8)”Why is your stomach so soft?” -Nicholas
9) “Yeah. Why can’t I feel bones in your stomach?” -Vincent
10)”Mommy. Eat my boogers.” -Emily

So what have I learned over the week? Apparently, my kids think I constantly eat and steal their f-ing ice cream as well as there boogers. I clearly have to go on a diet, while doing crunches, while shaving my face.

So thanks kids for keeping it real. Thanks for being a trustworthy source to my tent size, hairy body. Mommy appreciates how brutly honest and black and white you are about everything but you are making mommy crazy.

Lovingly yours,

The hairy one

Students v.s Teachers… kids stop your whining.

Ok. Yes. I am a teacher and people complain that teachers get the whole summer off. Cool complainers but let me share with you.

Truth be told, I haven’t had a summer since I was like ten. I always worked through the summer and now I’m a mom of three small cherubs so in the summer, my summer job is 24-7. I honestly don’t understand how stay at home mom’s do it. They must have the patience of a God. Me, I’m pulling out my hair after one episode of ‘Miles from Tomorrowland.’ And I can’t entertain for ten hours. It’s impossible.

We have summers off so we don’t bang our head or a colleague or a student against a wall. There is only so much patience you are given and only so many times you can answer the same question without wanting to poke your eyes out with hot pokers and peeling off your skin off piece by piece.

So now summer is over a new year has started. Students have been back for three days and I think I have had more students in my classroom telling me that they hate this class or that class, how they are so sad that they aren’t with their friends for lunch and how they have to work after school.

Cue the music. So let me get this straight… you are bored on the third day of school? Meanwhile, I have been so lovingly teaching the same subject matter for almost nine years. I feel bad that you aren’t in lunch with your friends but you should have worked on that… I’m in lunch with my friends thank God. And you have to work after school? Noooo! I do too! But my job is 24-7. When was the last time you were woken up in the middle of the night and given boogers? It never happened? Oh ok… I get boogers ALL winter long. The other night, Emily woke me up because she didn’t like her bed and wanted to sleep in mine. When I asked her where I should sleep she yelled at me and tried to banish me to the back bedroom. Vincent and Nicholas wake me up to ask if they can go to the bathroom. Let me tell you this, the answer is always yes. Go pee but please don’t tell me about it. So students, enjoy what you have now… youth.

I realized that teachers are just like students. We love to be at school for the social aspect. We love to hang out in the hallway after the bell. We enjoy hearing the groans as we ask you to write or to sit in assigned seats. We enjoy cursing like sailors when you’re not around and we enjoy telling you what to do. Why? Because we spent a lot of money at college to ‘play’ teacher but we don’t ‘play.’

So students, when you are sad that you have two more years of high school or ten more months, I want you to look at me and realize that I have like thirty more years till I’m out of high school. I will probably die in my rolly chair.

And right now you should love high school for the friends you will make and the time you broke up with what’s-his-name. These are your best years. I know they will be the best thirty years of my life. Now stop whining and enjoy a life without small people telling you about their pee, without picking boogers off tiny hands in the middle of the night and without being banished from your bed.

Life right now seems crazy but when you get out into the real world, you will see that life is black and white mixed with some craziness. However, that craziness will be worth it but wait to have kids till you’re like thirty.

Lovingly yours,

High school student for life

Dinnertime or Hell? You Decide.

So here’s the deal. As parents we have to feed our children. If we don’t, there will be whining and tears.

In my house, I am in charge of dinner. Yes, it’s a thankless job and no one appreciates the meal. Usually, my kids tell me that my meal is yucky and gross and I ‘didn’t make the best dinner.’ Really? I didn’t make the best dinner? I don’t recall you  sweating over a hot microwave.

So yes, maybe I didn’t make the best dinner but your meal is lukewarm. Be happy it’s defrosted. When I sit down to my lukewarm dinner, you want milk and juice as soon as my ass makes contact with the chair. And I know as soon as I get up you are eating my dinner off my plate which is the same damn dinner that is on your plate. Why are you complaining about your dinner… it’s the same thing…SAME THING.

Let me tell you what a dinner is like in this house. It isn’t about family time and eating; it’s about who the hell is sitting on the chair and who is eating off the floor. Tonight, Emily started waving at her reflection in the light fixture and started saying ‘hi different family.’ Ok, you’re creepy and could you just grab this little yellow spoon and eat your almost-homemade chicken noodle soup? Is it really that hard?

Dinner is like an hour long here; the tiny people that live here usually hate the meal. Let me tell you something kids, I put a lot of thought into this meal; at least three minutes, while in panic mode because I have to constantly feed you people. Meanwhile, I am at the stove dodging three tiny people rolling around on the ground in the kitchen, while they are crying for juice, while they are asking me to play with them, while I am helping with homework.

First of all, stop rolling around in the kitchen. We literally have a nice sized house… go roll somewhere else. You want me to get you juice but you are crying that you are starving and my cooking is taking ‘too long’, so what exactly would you like me to do? No, I can’t be Elsa right now and go to the snowy mountain… I am cooking soup today; which my husband commented on because I made the soup on the hottest day in September. And now Vincent has homework; I can’t wait for sight words. Sight words. Sight words… All. Year. Long… the same damn words.

On the weekends dinner is pretty much the same. My kids enjoy chicken fingers like so many other kids. I love when they ask for the them because it really takes one minute in the microwave. Yup, they just asked for those dinosaur chicken nuggets but then I put down their plates and I didn’t ‘make the best dinner.’ Really? Really? I just gave you five chicken nuggets with two sides; the side of ketchup and the side of barbeque sauce was placed so nicely on your plates and you don’t want the nuggets? They’re dinosaurs. Wtf? When I was a kid; we didn’t have chicken nuggets; eat your chicken nuggets with your ketchup and barbeque side and be happy.

I only have one request for dinner. Well, I have several:

  • Sit in your chair.
  • Don’t eat off the floor.
  • Stop bringing down my dinner
  • Stop touching me and trying to tickle my armpit.
  • Stop talking to the different family in the reflection; that’s how scary movies start.
  • Get your feet off the table; when was the last time you changed your socks?
  • Be thankful for dinosaur nuggets and your healthy side of sauces.
  • Stop rolling on the floor.
  • Stop making me go to the snowy mountain.
  • Stop stealing my food off my plate because you have the same damn thing.
  • No, I don’t want to do site words. Ever.
  • Finally… use your spoon and point it to your mouth; this will help with the eating process.

With these simple rules dinner could be ten minutes instead of an hour.

So when Joe and I eat together, life is simple. The fork goes in my mouth and I eat way more than I should but that’s how we are; simple and life is black and white. Meanwhile, my children are talking to different families, tickling my armpit and eating off the floor because dinner with kids is black, white and crazy.

Until next time,

The underappreciated cook who never had dinosaur chicken nuggets

WTF Art Projects: A Dedication to the Start of School

I am always so proud of my kids when they bring home an art project.  I am the last one to ever be critical however, here is Emily’s picture of our family. Let’s critique this picture, shall we?

1) Emily thinks she is a newborn.
2) we don’t have a cat.
3) Joe is apparently a woman.
4) she can’t have that dog. That dog looks too big and it will probably eat Emily.
5) apparently Nicholas is black.
6) Vincent is eating peanut butter which he is highly allergic to soooo he will die if he eats peanut butter.
7) she pretty much nailed the picture of me. Well done Emily.
8)why is the whole family in the house and Emily, as a newborn, is just chillin’ on the roof… alone.
9) I feel like she could have used the elements and principles of design a little better. The background is lacking and has too much negative space… poor planning.
10) I really feel like Emily needs to pay attention and observe her surroundings better. I mean come on, she has been living here for two years. Let’s get it together kid.

image

This post is dedicated to my mother in law, Fran Iannone. 🙂

When You are Called a Bitch

Our family is out today on a lovely outing to Sesame Place. Yes, it is the happiest place in the world… or in the tri-state area. But I swear if Elmo talks to me in the third person and in that whiny Elmo voice, I will punch him right in the face.

As I ran into Wawa to get a ‘few’ things, I came out spending my retirement fund on breakfast, sandwiches and drinks. Anyone who knows Wawa knows you can’t go into that store without spending a small fortune. I go in there and it’s like I have never eaten before. So anyway, $38.00 later, I get back to my car.

I am busy passing out sandwiches and chocolate milk… which is so large by the way, my kids will never poop again. Then I needed to put the sandwiches into the cooler. As I open the trunk, Nicholas leans over the back seat and into the trunk instead of getting his seatbelt on.

I look at him and say… “Nicholas, come on put on your seatbelt. We have to go.” Then he looks at me with that little smile and says “what’s up bitches?”

Ummm… wtf? First off… use proper English. It would be ‘what’s up bitch?’ I guess he needs to learn the difference between one bitch and multiple bitches.
Secondly, it might be time to change my ring tone because it indeed says ‘listen up bitches.’

So yes, I am the model parent with an inappropriate ringtone and a son who doesn’t know the difference between one bitch and multiple bitches.

I guess I should teach him how to tell the difference in bitches before he starts up public school. I don’t want him to stick out by not knowing this information.

So remember the difference. Being called a bitch isn’t just black and white; being called a bitch by your son is black, white and crazy.

Yours truly,

The bitch (not plural)

And this blog entry was dedicated to my fan, Sandra Clev

Ruining Hopes and Dreams

As a parent you always try to help your children achieve their hopes and dreams.

The other day Vincent told me he wanted to be a vet, a doctor, a lawyer a construction worker and a kid when he grew up. Sounds great Vincent! You be all those things as long as I don’t pay for all of your schooling because I don’t want to be in debt forever. So yes son… achieve your dreams with your own money.

Nicholas wants to be a firefighter, a police officer and spiderman. Excellent. Sounds great. I am proud of you for wanting to save the world. I would even support you if you wanted to change your name to Peter Parker.

Emily told me her dreams this morning while she was going to the bathroom. I mean, don’t we all have our best thoughts while sitting on the porcelain throne?

Anyway, she is sitting there watching her pee come out and I am proud of her for her curiosity however, I don’t want to be there if she pees in her face. So as she is watching her pee and telling me how big she is getting, she then looks deep into my eyes and says “mommy, I think I am growing a penis!”

And that is when it happened. I had to tell my baby girl that her penis is never coming because she is a girl and she won’t grow a penis.

Yes. I had to squash her hopes and dreams about automatic growth of body parts.

Don’t get me wrong… she is like any other girl out there. I would love to have a penis just for the sheer fact that I could get in and out of the men’s room in a matter of seconds. Have you seen the woman’s bathroom line? We are in there for minutes and then we have to wash our hands with soap. Gasp!

So yes. I would like one too Emily. I would love to write my name in cursive in the snow, I would like to pee in the bushes, I would like to cross streams with my buddies but hey… I. Am. Never. Going. To. Grow. A. Penis.

So sorry. But mommy is here to tell you the truth and if that means destroying your hopes and dreams then I have to do it.

Sorry that you told me that you hate me but I feel like when you become a teenager, the ‘I hate you’s’ will hurt less because of all the practice we are having while you’re three. That’s why they say ‘practice makes perfect.’

Yes. In this household even going to the bathroom isn’t black and white. My kids make it black, white and crazy.

Until next time,

Dream destroyer