I wish I had more time to write. When I am alert. And alone. I have the stories in my noggin, but they need to plop out more often to sustain a blog.
I’ve been beating myself up for only mustered up two posts in two weeks. Tired of my whining, my kind husband offered to take the kids out of the house on Sunday afternoon so I could spill my guts onto my keyboard.
The day started off with church and then an at-home sermon preaching about the evils of electronics to my children. It’s all being turned off today, people. Their pupils are dilated thanks to endless hours hypnotized by the screens of their Nintendo DS, iPod, Wii, computer games and TV shows. Of course it is my fault that they are addicts, but they are so quiet when they are zombies!
Within an hour of no screen time, Eileen was in trouble for copping a serious eye-rolling-lippy-omg-my-parents-are-total-idiots-I-am-so-misunderstood-and-suffering-from-Beiber-fever attitude. We scolded some sense into her until she cried.
Then Tom discovered Aidan in the bathroom sitting on the mug, playing his DS video game. Judging by the fact that he couldn’t walk because his legs fell asleep, Aidan was probably hiding out for a half hour. We scolded some sense into him until he cried.
Was it time for them to leave yet? Tom was taking them swimming at the Y and I couldn’t pack them up fast enough. As they were ready to pull away, I ran a forgotten item out to the minivan and headed back into the house.
Huh, the steps are pretty icy. I shovel them off before someone breaks their neck. I finish up and my friend spots me while she is walking her dog. We catch up over the next 15 minutes and I realize that unlike my kids today, she is actually listening to me. And not rolling her eyes or stomping her feet. And I am laughing! It was lovely.
Energized to write, I run back into the house, pee and the toilet clogs. I head toward the basement to get a plunger and spot that the sink is buried in dishes, emitting a putrid scent of onions and old milk. Unload and load the dishwasher. Scrub the sink. Get halfway down the stairs and the phone rings.
“Thank god you’re home! I am so fecking lost right now, you gotta help me!”
It’s one of my gal pals from high school who gets her Italian up when she is excited.
Note: I am substituting other vowels in for the F-bombs in case I am discovered by Oprah. Or my kids.
“I am trying to go to focking Enchanted Castle (arcade) and I can’t read a goddamn sign because I am old. Where the fick am I?”
I jump on Google maps, figure out what highway she’s on and try to determine what direction she is heading. I am tempted to speak in an English dialect as I serve as her personal GPS, but fear that it will put her over the fecking edge.
“I am so facking late already if I knew where the fick I was going, I would turn around and go back home. I can’t believe this shit.”
Okay, you should see the Container Store on your right. Make sure you stay on your right because you will be exiting soon.
“Got it. And I am so upset I can’t stop sweating. I keep rolling the focking windows up and down. I swear I am going through the goddamn change already! Okay, I think I see the ficking exit.”
Now you will go in a loop de loop and end up heading west. You’ll be there in 15 minutes.
“Honey, don’t worry, Miss Karen is helping us find the place. She said that we would be there soon.”
Um, who is in the car with you?
“My daughter. I’m bringing her to a birthday party. I keep telling her that Mommy is stupid when it comes to driving and she is so sweet and patting my arm telling me I am not stupid.”
I transform from Garmin to the negotiator, talking her off the ledge as I guide her to the destination. Trust me, she is an incredible mom who just crossed into the dark side thanks to sleep deprivation, hormones, three young children and an out-of-town husband.
Chuck E. Cheese should be coming up on your right. You’re almost there. Look for the McDonald’s. Keep on your right and watch for Jewel then take a right.
She’s nearly there so we hang up. I run downstairs, unclog the toilet, plant my ass back in front of my laptop, check a couple of emails and open a blank Word doc.
“Mooooooooom, we’re home!”
Ah, fyck it.
In honor of the F-bomb, help me get more followers than the eloquent @MayorEmanuel prankster on Twitter. (Thanks, D!)