Most people want you think that your life should be like a regular episode of Cosby. Problems arise and are attended to with humor and tact, and are resolved within a thirty minute episode.
Awww. I heart Rudy.
In his Heyday, Bill Cosby embodied what people considered to be the perfect parent. Now that he’s out of the way, I feel like I am ready to take up the space he left.
This morning, for example, I awoke to an unexpected thunderstorm. This means that my morning just go complicated. I mean, MORE complicated. Since I don’t keep slicker suits and cutesy umbrellas with matching rain boots for each of my kids, I can’t simply send them out to the bus stop looking like the Morton Salt girl to wait for his or her bus. It means that I have to personally transport each one of them to school.
This sort of propaganda makes all parents feel inadequate and like there is something SEVERELY wrong with their children. Because in real life, the kids would be walking through mud and puddles and getting all their books and such wet and loving every minute of it, and arriving at school looking like they'd been playing in a pig pen all morning. Stupid Norman Rockwell inspired art.
Prior to my consciousness about the rain and the hellish morning that awaited me, the wiley rain managed to soothe me back to sleep each of the 3 times that my alarm went off and I hit “snooze”. So, Big E was late. Luckily, so was over half of the student population, so he was saved from potential detention. (Not unlike like last week, on his birthday, when he was about 10 minutes late, but when we drove up, all of the kids were outside for what appeared to be a fire drill. “Hey, it’s YOUR day, baby!” I chimed as he got out of the car.) After dropping him off this morning, I raced back home in the pouring rain to hurriedly get ready so that I could leave with the other three kids and get Teen C to school by her 8:00 a.m. bell. We made it BYTHISMUCH. I found myself in the little kids’ car line, instead of with my hair fixed and makeup on, with my hair barely blown dry and with my makeup in the trunk of my car along with my lunch and my shoes. Also, I was the mediator in the most ridiculous argument between Little A and Little B, whereby A was trying to tell me that she LOVED the snack I put in her bag, chocolate muffins, like 100%. B was steadfast in his position that 100% was not being used correctly in a sentence. A was countering with the argument that she was trying to convey her feeling that she enjoyed the chocolate muffin very very much. B explained that she should simply say that as opposed to assigning a percentage of ‘like’ to it when she’s not comparing it to anything. I was involved only as a verifier of facts. And to make a complete ass out of myself. You tell me:
A: “MOM! I love love love these chocolate muffins! Because they are MUFFINS, that are CHOCOLATE! I love you so much, you’re the greatest mom EVER! I love them a whole lot! Like 100 %!”
B: “Don’t say it like that. 100% doesn’t even exist the way you are saying it.”
A: “Yes it does! Because I’m saying that I love them a WHOLE LOT!”
B: “Then you should just SAY that you love them a WHOLE LOT! Right Mom?”
Z: “Um. Yes?”
A: “NO! Mom! 100% DOES EXIST! Right?”
Z: “Um. Yes?”
B: “No! Mom! You only say 100% when you are talking about other stuff, like numbers and stuff and when you are saying that one thing is better than something else, right?”
Z: “Um. I don’t know. I really don’t even know what’s going on right now.”
A: “No, B! You can say 100% whenever you want to say 100%!”
B: “Don’t say my name, A.”
B: “DON’T. SAY. MY. NAME!”
A: “But. Uh. B?”
B: “AAAAAAGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH! MOM! A IS SAYING MY NAME!”
Z: “B. Calm down. It’s not that big of a…”
B: “AAAGGGHHHHHH! STOP THAT!!!!!”
This argument ended right at the car line stop where the teachers open the door, where I’m sure all 4 of them, along with the on-duty security officer, heard me yell as the door was being opened: “A! STOP SAYING B’S NAME!”
And that, Dear Readers, is why I consider myself to be the Pinnacle of Parenthood. People will surely one day look to me for advice, as I am surely the utmost authority on the in’s and out’s…the do’s and don’ts, if you will, of being a mother.
One day soon, I’ll have to tell you the story about how Little A’s new favorite word is “nuts” and how I thought it was sort of funny because I thought that she was referring to the nuts that squirrels like to gather but she used it in a way that made it sound like she was referring to testicles. I actually smiled about it. The very next day, she told me that she kicked a boy at the Y in the nuts, but he didn’t tell on her because they are best friends. But I can’t really get into that right now, because I’m super busy being a bang-up parent at the moment, and developing my submission for the “Best Parent” contest.
I have SO got this...