Category Archives: foul language in preschool

I Wanna Know

Someone recently very kindly pointed out to me that blogs occasionally contain some personal information about the author and their daily lives. This voyeuristic quality apparently makes it fun to quietly watch them go about their business while getting a peek into their brain.

This of course was a nice but passive aggressive way to let me know that me and my life are not at all present in the things I write.

Sure, occasionally I like to fume over the mindless jaywalker who stepped into oncoming traffic while I was on the road or reveal the horrifying incident at the Chipotle that took place only hours after my young son learned that ladies did in fact have vaginas instead of wieners but for the most part I leave my day-to-day happenings at the doormat when I step over the WordPress threshold.

After so many years of working diligently to not be vulnerable, needy or a pain in somebody elses ass, I’d almost forgotten how brilliant it is to see a person write something stripped down and bare enough that it makes them look completely human.

I’m not exactly sure when vulnerability and truth fell so out of fashion in my mind but there are days when all this autonomous droning about impersonal subjects and flaunting my “independence” gets tedious.

To exert so much energy in opposition to what I really feel at times is exhausting. It’s a struggle that results in exactly what I don’t want.

More isolation.Less warmth.

Since I am slow to absorb the most basic changes in routine, I’ll need to marinate in this sea of change for a few hours before I can produce a worthwhile post on the terrible new development of vagrants shitting in my garage.

Seriously. It’s either a guy without access to indoor plumbing, an urban Yeti or a bear that’s escaped from the zoo.

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Filed under a screw loose, adversity, am I doing anything right?, Back to basics, bad writing about nothing, buffoonery, crap shack, crazy ramblings, do this for me, do you really have the time to read about my life, don't destroy my dreams, don't take a crap in my garage please, excuses, foul language in preschool, getting it together, good smells bad smells, hidden grammar errors and bad writing, hole in my life, I can't spell, I can't end a story OR a blog post, I complain too much, I enjoy being inferior, i like to pretend, I need to get an original thought, I run fast, i said it was uncategorizable, I'm a hack, I'm a jerk!, I'm all over the map, make it more personal

We’re Making Plans For Nigel

 

At some point I’m going to get a phone call from various defunct 80’s bands demanding some sort of restitution for all the titles I’ve stolen after a morning listening to Sirius XM’s First Wave.

I like to use the drive back from drop off to think about what needs to be done during the day and to formulate a plan of attack for whatever bizarre circumstances or unforseen disasters will fall in my lap thanks to my smallest child.

You see, despite the best laid plans and extensive help from all the most expensive professionals he still has some issues that prevent him from being ready for prime time.

Like the Saturday Night Live players but with less parody and more physical pratfalls.

So here I am, the grown up, struggling to hack my way through the thick brush surrounding the path back to normality for this kid.

Never have I been so confounded by another human being.

I lie in wait for the ramifications of each decision I’ve made on his behalf  dreading the large casualty laden explosion that is clearly imminent. Nothing is clear-cut and never have the stakes been so high.

Imagine if laid before you are a deck of a thousand cards and you must pick five or six to determine the path that someone takes at various important crossroads in their life.

Now take a look at the possible outcomes.

Steven Hawking or the Unibomber.

Churchill or Mussolini.

Yes, perhaps I’m exaggerating his potential but his propensity for extremes is legendary and being in his service for these long five years has taken its toll on the staff here.

It would be accurate to say we live in fear.

Fear of the next step.

Fear that the wrong choice will cause everything to go up in flames (don’t laugh, it’s happened)

Usually I have these things set up far in advance of the actual decision-making event but I happen to be in the middle of a long period of wait and see fence-sitting that’s really starting to hurt my ass.

And so, as I perch here and think about making plans for Nigel I’m still frozen with doubt and remorse over things I’ve not even done yet.

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You’ve Got Another Thing Coming

Il Duce at the farm. See the weapon?

Yesterday I needed a momentary break from my service to the emperor. Doing his bidding all day every day can really wear on a person so after re-fixing his chocolate milk three times to get it just right and head off that epic screaming fit that we all could have suffered through, I sat down to catch up on some blog reading. I’ve got a list of fantastic mommy bloggers who I follow regularly because, well, I guess we have at least our reproductive abilities in common. God, it’s depressing though. After scrolling through all these upbeat, inventive tales of their funny and sweet children with the love they have for them coming across in every word they type I just got cranky. Especially one gal who posted an angelic pic of her smiling tot with goodness that just emanated from every pore in the child’s body.

Then I look at Il Duce. Every photo I have of him he’s either sneering, giving me the finger or brandishing a weapon. This filthy little animal has ruined nearly every family photo I’ve tried to take in the last two years. Not even his make-believe games come close to normal. Last night I heard him using his Diego plastic marsupials in a jungle adventure, except he kept calling them “sex monkeys” and putting them in jail for kissing. What the fuck does that mean? Don’t even start pointing the finger at me, because the phrase “sex monkeys” has never passed my lips. Even my ten-year old was scandalized.
We got his weirdly inconclusive test results back from the world-renowned three thousand dollars a pop Neuro/Psycho/Edu testing dude and he’s all like “what a funny kid! He’s super smart but not so good at being told what to do huh?” Yes, super expensive rip off artist, I could have pooled the collective resources of every  idiot who’s ever come in contact with him and come up with a more comprehensive plan of action than scratching my head and suggesting meds if he doesn’t calm down in a few years. Better yet, I’m gonna steal those meds and help myself to a big heap of mother’s little helper during the afternoons when it’s too crazy to deal with here. Okay?
Uggg. So anyway, I’m off to chauffeur Palpatine to his next engagement that takes place right after his school day ends. Let’s hope he’s not suffering from his usual fit of distemper and all goes smoothly. But realistically, probably not.

He got along REALLY well with the goats. Must be the horns.

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The Rise and Fall of Il Duce

You just wait until I can talk.

You just wait until I can talk.

 

No, no, no, not again…….

After a particularly grueling evening of bed time shenanigans all I needed was one incident free day to recharge my batteries but alas, it was not to be. No sooner had I dropped my youngest into his classroom than I was dragged into a conference room to discuss the “options” we were considering for kindergarten next year.  Suggestions, including several schools for the criminally insane, were offered up to help steer us in the right direction. They were trying to make it as clear as possible that my kid was not cut out for traditional education. I sat quietly and listened again to some of the same things I’ve heard for years.  Too active, contrarian, bad temper, bad language, threatening to kill anyone who annoys or doesn’t listen to him, blah, blah, blah, blah. Our family have lived  life under fascist rule for four years now, these guys can’t even handle two months of oppressive dictatorship- man up people!

Honestly guys, I get it. He’s either a hopeless sociopath heading for an epic crime spree or to a third world country where he can stage a coup and rule with an iron fist for fifty years. Sheesh, give a parent some hope would you?

What about his bizarre sense of humor? Or his infectious laugh? The fact that he is wonderfully smart and loves hugs and kisses, that’s got to count for something.  He feels things far more deeply than my other two and is adept at noticing even the slightest change in your mood. Too bad most of his good qualities are lost on most people who meet him. He’s difficult and sometimes impossible to teach so I will obligingly see another in what promises to be a long line of psychological professionals and who knows? Maybe someone out there has an answer  or even an effective method. It sure can’t hurt to try.

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F is For Fun!

Here’s a question for you. What do you do if one of your kids suffers from a chronic case of potty mouth? Soap? Time out? Throw your shoe in a fit of rage? I’ve gotten past the point where I pretend to be aghast and make a spectacular attempt at show parenting. “My heavens”! I would exclaim with mock surprise. Then I would shake my head and commiserate with the parents witnessing this spectacle.”He must have heard that from Johnny Smith, you KNOW what a filthy mouth that heathen has”. So when I look at things now, sometimes I see them bathed in a new light. The light of someone who’s kid exclaimed last week that “It’s so freaking hot out here, our asses are burning RIGHT OFF!” when the class spent the afternoon on the outdoor playground during a spell of unseasonably warm weather.
Imagine my quandary then, when I read the phonics letter that the fours class will be covering next week. F. Yes, the letter f starts so many wonderful words, fun, frolic, fish, fancy, but I am 100% positive that I already know the word my son will offer up when they go around the circle and ask with naive glee “do YOU know an f word?”

You KNOW I'm going to say it.

You KNOW I'm going to say it.

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