Category Archives: Crap that makes me eat too much ice cream

The general insanity – father, children, brain – that sends me straight for the carton.

The Meaning of a Kiss

Posted on March 25, 2014 by Ice Scream Mama

My father calls just as we are about to leave the car.

It’s his third call of the day.

“Don’t pick up,” my husband instructs, fixing me with a hard stare.

But I do, immediately rummaging through my bag for a chocolate kiss and popping one in my mouth. Sugar calms. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

“Hi Dad,” I say pleasantly, the sweetness softening my tongue. “You’re at your doctor appointment?”

“Yes,” he grumbles dejectedly, sounding lost and faraway, which he is. “But they are taking a long time.”

“Let’s go,” My husband interrupts, exiting the car and opening the back door to release the children. I shoot him my nasty eye glare, which he returns to me with his own give-me-a-break eye roll. Touche.

“Don’t worry,” I hurriedly assure my father, the last bits of patience dissolving in my mouth. “There’s plenty of time.”

I hang up mildly abruptly, the only way with him, and hurry to catch up with my husband and our three boys who are already headed into the hospital to visit my husband’s aunt.

She has some health problems, but the biggest is her progressing dementia. Still, she nods pleasantly when we arrive; possibly happy to see us, possibly uncertain who we are.

We try to prompt some conversation but quickly realize that a polite, vacant, ‘No thank you’, ‘yes’, or ‘I don’t know’ is as much as she’s capable of giving. It’s uncomfortable and ultimately we give up on talk, instead opting to hyper focus on our blissfully ignorant boys as they spin quarters across the table.

They are too wild, but she doesn’t really seem to notice; her line of vision both straight ahead and internal. Remembering her fondness for sweets, I find some more chocolate kisses and set them in front of her. Slowly she reaches for one, automatically unwrapping it, and placing it in her mouth. I feel a childish pride in her acceptance and wish I had something more to offer.

Suddenly without prompting, she announces to everyone and no-one, “Time for bed.”

My husband and I look at each other startled. Was she asking us to leave? Were my boys too loud? I immediately stop the game of quarters.

Shortly after, we say our good-byes and leave her sitting in the same seat we found her, still staring straight ahead; her aged fingers slowly working the silver foil of another chocolate.

Back in the car, I notice a missed call from my father. Taking a deep breath, I dial his number and unconsciously search my bag for another kiss, which soothes me the moment it touches my lips. It makes me think of my husband’s aunt, sitting straight and placid; seemingly unaffected by our visit, her mouth full of chocolate but no words, and wonder if she was doing the same with us.

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Posted in Crap that makes me eat too much ice cream and tagged aging, chocolate, coping, dementia, growing older, Hershey kisses, nursing homes. Bookmark the permalink.

Say Cheese!

Posted on March 13, 2014 by Ice Scream Mama

I know some just think it’s a rat hole, but for years Chuck E. Cheese was my saving grace to save my sanity.

The boys may have been having a day where every word came out a wailing cry of whine, but the moment we stepped foot into the Cheese, all tears were dried, all woes forgotten, all snot just a smear on a sleeve.

They would take their golden coins and scamper away; walking up the skeeball machine to plop their balls in as high as they could reach, going from game to game swiping off any leftover tickets, getting stuck in the habit trail, forcing me to push another child up there on a search and rescue mission, before ultimately having to squash up there myself to save them both.

We’d be the first ones there, lay claim to a booth in the back and get deep-dish pizza to share even if it was only 10am. By the time the crowds piled in, just before noon, my kiddies and I had already retrieved our prizes and grabbed either a dollar ice cream from the machine or a bag of cotton candy to go. It was all sugary smiles, crappy toys, and children falling asleep in the car on the way home.

Cheesy heaven.

But that was a long time ago.

With all the kids now in full time school and the strict never on weekends rule – I may be crazy but I’m not that crazy – we hadn’t been there in close to a year. So when we had a random day off last week, I decided to surprise them with an impromptu visit. By the time we hit the parking lot there were cheers of ‘Best mom eva!” and I parked the car trying to see past my own giant head.

We walked in and stopped cold, our mouths hanging open in ‘Waaaaaa’. This was no Velvetta, this cheese had gone organic. The place had been renovated completely. It was shiny and new. The hamster tunnels were no more. There was open space and new games sparkling through the sun drenched windows.

My boys had a beat where they almost couldn’t move, then with frenzied joy tripped over themselves in excitement. I handed them each 50 tokens and didn’t see them again for two hours. Okay, not true. It took them less than an hour to burn through those tokens, but it was a damn good hour.

We had the run of the place, with only two other families to share the space with us. One was a mother and a four year old bouncing around from game to game. The other was a mother pushing a baby carriage and dragging a screaming three year old. She was so stressed and miserable, even more so than her boy in the midst of a meltdown.

I felt bad for her. I really did. I understood perfectly the stress of an overwhelmed mom. I mean it wasn’t that long ago that I was somewhat in her shoes, but she was barking at him, “You brat! Stop it this instant!” over and over, like yelling at him was going to make him stop crying, instead of making him cry more, which is exactly what he did.

I tried not to focus on them, and instead on my happy day with my boys; although every now and then I’d sneak a glance. It was hard not to, the kid was losing it and the mother was having a nervous breakdown among a thousand happy blinking lights and bleeping games. It was almost a cinematic masterpiece.

I wanted to tell her to calm down. To let him have his tantrum. That it would be okay. That she would be okay. And losing it and lashing out at a three year old wasn’t going to make him or her feel any better. But I didn’t know any of those things really, so all I did was smile encouragingly, and make a light handed comment about kids being counted on to crack just when you needed them to stay glued together. She didn’t respond. I saw the furrow of her brow, the tight hunch of her shoulders, stress dripping off of her and knew she was in a really ugly moment.

I caught a glimpse of them leaving; her pushing the carriage with one hand, dragging her wailing son with the other as my son pulled me away to a machine which was spitting out a million tickets; his face lit brighter than the game. “Mommy! I won!” I smiled indulgently; so much happy for so little invested.

We stayed for another half hour, going through 20 more tokens each. before we redeemed our tickets, got some sweets and skipped out the door. It had been a perfect morning. As we drove away, my boys busy breaking the trinkets they won, sticky sweets on their hands and faces, talking loudly over one another with residual excitement; I looked back at them lovingly through the rear view mirror.

At 6, 8 and 11, they are growing up so fast. Soon they’ll probably only hang out with me kicking and screaming, or at least muttering and eye-rolling. But I’ll take it. I’ll take every day I’ve got with them. The good, the bad, the ugly. I’m going to appreciate it all.

Cheesy as it may sound.

Never follow men with candy, but always follow mice with tickets.

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Posted in Crap that makes me eat too much ice cream and tagged Chuck E. Cheese, family fun, surviving motherhood. Bookmark the permalink.

Burnt pans, burst bubbles and a visit to the dark side

Posted on March 11, 2014 by Ice Scream Mama

I am hunched over the sink, applying heavy pressure on my dishwashing brush to rub the burnt remains from the skillet; yet no matter how much or hard I scrub the dark coal like coating refuses to budge.

Frustrated, I search impatiently under the sink for scouring pads, hoping the extra abrasion will do the trick. All the while, I’m cursing myself for forgetting about the chicken stir fry on the burner when I ran to bring my middle son a cup of milk, and got distracted by the toy explosion on the carpet when my bare foot met the wrath of Lego Luke Skywalker.

My middle and oldest sons staring blankly at the television screen don’t even bat an eye in my direction as I yelp like a cat whose tail just got stepped on and hop carefully to the couch, avoiding the Lego Storm Troopers strategically scattered for optimal injury. As I plop down and clutch my foot tenderly, I hear my youngest cry accusingly, “You stepped on Luke!”

I’m raising such compassionate children.

Hobbling back toward the kitchen, my crushed tail between my legs, I heard my oldest son yell “Hungry” and smelled before I saw the dinner that would never be. And so I scrub, my hair falling in my face which I brush away unconsciously with hands I forget are wet.

Sighing heavily to myself, I push on, attacking the char with a vengeance while contemplating whether I should just give up and order a pizza or make it a breakfast for dinner night.

Of course I decide to make eggs; not allowing myself the comfort of easily solving a problem with a phone call. That would be weak and doesn’t work with the martyred status I have going on in my own head.

A thought bubbles to the surface as it does sometimes when I’m folding endless laundry, or negotiating with my children to do their homework, or scrubbing a pan, and I wonder, is this really me?

How did I get to be 40 something? Where did these children come from? Wait, I’m married? It wasn’t so long ago that I fluttered through my days carefree and open. There was youthful insecurity of course, and uncertainty, but my face glowed with freshness and my eyes twinkled with possibility.

I didn’t know exactly who I was back then, but I knew I could be somebody. Somebody smart, successful, important…something.

Yet, here I am.

I realize I’ve tainted the picture with my negative tone; that if I just cast a rainbow filter on the scene, I could make it look comical or at the very least just an average mom day. The right lighting shows off the best side of things. With good lighting you don’t see all the wrinkles.

It would help if one of my boys came in right now to give me a hug, just because. It happens sometimes.

But not today.

So it seems that besides the scrubbing, I’ve also got some ironing to do.

42 Comments

Posted in Crap that makes me eat too much ice cream and tagged bad mommy moments, depression, housekeeping, LEGO luke skywalker, mental health, mid-life crisis, middle-age. Bookmark the permalink.

Help

Posted on January 27, 2014 by Ice Scream Mama

He walked out from the school, his backpack slung behind him looking sweetly melancholy or merely just exhausted. It was hard to tell in the dark.

Usually, my husband did this late night Hebrew school pick-up, but tonight he was working late. So at 8:10pm, I was in the car on a cold night with my two younger boys instead of in the middle of our stalling before bed routine, probably somewhere between whining for snacks and whining to brush teeth.

When he opened the car door, the noise of his brothers tackled him and he flung the door too hard and hit his hand on the car parked next to us. Not too bad, but enough to make him grimace. He didn’t cry. Instead, he decided to inflict some pain on his brothers. “You guys have nothing better to do than yell and play video games!” He lashed out at them. “Can’t you do anything else?”

“You okay?” I asked, a little concerned by the desperation in his voice.

He just nodded but didn’t say anything more.

Back in the house two minutes, he lost it again when his youngest brother complained that he pilfered one of his goldfish crackers. “You’re so sensitive!” he yelled and then stomped into his room.

Uh oh. Something was wrong and it wasn’t the hand.

I got the two younger boys in the shower and went in to see my oldest son. His room was dark and he was lying under his covers fully dressed, clutching a favorite old dinosaur toy, feigning sleep.

“Baby?” I questioned and rubbed his back soothingly. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” He muttered.

“I can tell something’s wrong. Please tell me.”

“Nothing’s wrong.” He insisted; his eyes squeezed closed so not to face me, his mouth twitching emotion.

I sat next to him in silence, studying his heartbreakingly sweet face obviously in the midst of some internal struggle. Do I respect his space or probe deeper? Where is that parenting book when you need it?

“Did you get in trouble in class?” I asked gently.

He shook his head.

“Did you get into a fight with someone?”

More shaking.

“Were you embarrassed or hurt in some way?” I persisted.

“Stop!” He almost cried, burying his face in his pillow. “You’re making it worse.”

I guess I should have chosen space.

“Okay.” I conceded. “I’m sorry. I just want to help.”

I rubbed his back a little longer; not wanting to leave him, dying to know what was upsetting him, but uncertain what to do. The idea that someone would put him in this emotionally vulnerable place was too much for me. No one was allowed to hurt my baby.

“You can’t help.” He said into his pillow.

What? Untrue! I can help! I need to help. I’ve always been able to help. Don’t shut me out, I wanted to cry. Instead, I left him to get the other boys into bed; the ones whose biggest problems were if I had pirate booty to give for snack the next day and if I could secure a good play date.

By the time I came back to his room, he was asleep.

But I would be up all night.

Back when it was easy… sigh.

41 Comments

Posted in Boys!, Crap that makes me eat too much ice cream, Middle School and tagged communicating with children, communicating with tweens, getting shut out, parenting, tweens. Bookmark the permalink.

Ice Scream Mama’s terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day

Posted on December 10, 2013 by Ice Scream Mama

Today was too good not to write about. I mean, seriously, it was that bad. So hold on to your hats. And I mean that literally…

6:58am – Callback from lice professionals. I had left a message at 11pm last night, freaked out that my sis-in-law’s family had lice and we had basically spent the weekend braided together. I checked my kids and found nothing, but smothered them with lice repellant regardless and barely slept, sweating rosemary and mint all night. Our appointment is at 9:30am.

7:30am – Frying up latkes for middle child’s class for Hanukka party we would no longer be attending. Still, the latkes must go on, with or without us.

8am – Call to wake my father for doctor appointment that he already missed once and had issues you don’t want to know about, the second time. Bless the stars, he is awake.

8:30am – Frying, making breakfast, calling schools, freaking out over lice which I cannot see but know is there.

8:40am – Middle son runs in with finger gushing blood. I think it’s a joke from the magic kit we got them for Hanukka. “That’s not real blood.” I laugh. Yeah, it was.

8:45am – Call from dad alerting me that he would be missing appointment again because boils have broken out all over his body. Seriously. Boils. Blood. Lice. It’s officially the plagues.

9:30am – Without a trace of hail in the sky, we make it to lice professions. Whew.

Boy 1 checked, pronounced clean.

Boy 2 checked, clean.

Boy 3 checked…. Noooooooooo!!!

Mommy checked, clean. So they say. Mommy lays with boy 3 every night at bed time.

The brush out

Noon – Scratching the invisible bugs in my brain, we leave lice professionals cleaned of nits and cash.

Drop latkes at co-class mom’s house for afore mentioned party, pick up library book for oldest son, pizza place and home.

1 -2:40 – Laundry to sterilize every fabric in house.

3pm – Orthopedist for oldest son who hurt his hand a few days ago and is still somewhat swollen. We figure we should check it out.

4pm – Hello irresponsible parents. It’s a fracture. Cast applied, child and mother miserable, Coach Dad inconsolable.

4:30pm – Father at primary care doctor for boils who offers up this bit of brilliance, “Wow. No idea what that is!” Appointment with specialist secured.

5pm–8pm – Missed homework, dinner, never-ending laundry marathon continues.

Suffocate all stuffed toys in garbage bags.

Find children rolling on top of one another playing. Freak out and spray them like crazy with lice repellent. Near blinding occurs.

8pm – Oldest, “Uh, mom, I forgot I need this stuff for school tomorrow.”

8:15pm – At market.

8:40pm – “Time to shampoo and lice comb!”

“You forgot Hanukka presents!” Cry boys 1,2 & 3.

Crappity crap crap.

Run up to get gifts, run back down. Hurry through prayer and candle lighting. Throw gifts at them. It’s all extremely meaningful.

Boy 1 – “Why’d you get me this?”

Boy 2 – “This isn’t what I asked for.”

Boy 3 – A small nod of happy.

Yay. We can still make the 5 year-old happy. That’s almost thanks. Kind of.

8:30-9:30 – Lice shampoo all little heads. Pull UV light off lizard tank for better view while combing. Identify questionable dots of brown. Could be 8 year-old cradle cap or nits.

Husband who can’t find OJ in fridge glances over and says, “I don’t know why you’re driving yourself crazy. They’re good.”

Beat husband with lice comb.

9:45 – Children asleep on newly made up beds. 6^th load of laundry goes in.

10:45 – Sitting here writing this list, getting ready to shower and lice shampoo my head.

Feeling about 100% confident that tomorrow will be filled with combs and shampoo and stress.

I am totally bugged out.

This would never happen in Australia

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Posted in Crap that makes me eat too much ice cream and tagged a bad day, alexander's terrible horrible no good very bad day, boils, lice, one of those days, parenting, plagues. Bookmark the permalink.

You got to go with Aunt Flo. Or she will destroy you.

Posted on November 19, 2013 by Ice Scream Mama

My Aunt Flo is due to visit tomorrow, and I have to say I’m just a bundle of anxiety. I don’t know why I’m surprised. It’s always like this, even though she comes every month. Still, somehow I’m consistently taken off guard and unprepared for her visit. I fidget nervously. I’m a bit on edge. Nothing seems right and I have to fix everything before she arrives. Everything!

The pictures on the wall have magically all tilted overnight, and there’s cat hair all over the place. It’s also apparently too difficult for anyone to put their cereal bowls in the sink, or manage to reach the hamper with their dirty underwear. Seriously, are those extra two inches just too much?

Don’t they realize the stress I’m under? She’ll be here any minute.

“Is something wrong?” My husband asks, as I straighten the toys up for the kabillenth time, huffing and puffing and deep sighing, tossing toys with gusto into their bins. Stupid Superman figure. His face is so annoying. He makes me sick. I hurl him into the bin.

“What do you mean?” I snap. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s the same old wrong of every day. Why are you badgering me?!”

He looks afraid, and slowly backs away.

“Where is the freaking phone?” I yell to the air. I was holding it a second ago. A second! Oh, it’s still in my hand. My bad.

There’s too much to do. I need something to eat. And it has to be sweet. I need it right now. I head to freezer and take out my ice cream tub and spoon out five scoops to my usual three, then reconsider, and add another scoop. I shove the container back into the freezer but something is wrong. It doesn’t close properly no matter how much I slam it. I slam it again! It’s not closing! I can not deal with that right now! I need to eat.

I’m consuming my bowl unconsciously; my brain thinking ahead of all the things that need to be done that aren’t done, and all the things wrong that might never be right, when my son comes in and asks for a cup of milk.

I nod, and reach into the fridge, but there is no milk. There is no milk! How did I let that happen? I’m usually so on top of stuff like that. I am a terrible mom. How do I not have milk for my children?

Tears start to well.

“I’ll have juice, mommy.” My son says, sensing my distress. Overwhelmingly grateful for my sensitive child, I hand him a little box of juice and he runs away happy. He’s so good and sweet. I’m so bad and disgusting.

When my husband comes back in, he finds me sobbing, kicking the freezer door trying to close it.

Tentatively, he steps towards me.

“There’s no milk,” I say.

“It’s okay.” He soothes. He’d better not laugh. If he does, I might kick him next.

I take a deep breath to regroup, and find my ice cream.

It’s all Aunt Flo. She’s making me crazy.

Because the only thing worse than waiting for Aunt Flo is when Aunt Flo is late.

Sometimes, you’ve got to go with the Flo.

photo credit: nostalgictelevision.blogspot.com

http://yeahwrite.me/challenge-136/

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Posted in Crap that makes me eat too much ice cream and tagged aunt flo, i got my period, menstrual cycle, mental health, mental illness, monthly cycle, period, women's hormones. Bookmark the permalink.

Hanging by a Thread

Posted on November 5, 2013 by Ice Scream Mama

The last time I remember wearing the skirt was almost 12 years ago. I was not quite three months pregnant with my first child. My husband and I were at a birthday dinner for an old friend. I think it was his 35^th. We sat in a u-shaped formation where everyone laughed loudly and talked over one another; dishes of Italian specialties spread across the table on steaming, over full plates.

I picked at my pasta merrily. The waistband of the skirt wrapped snugly against my middle; and for the first time I wasn’t worrying about holding in my stomach, just about holding in our secret. I looked around at all the faces animated in happy excitement; people more like family than friend. My cup was void of wine but I felt drunk on love.

I had worn the skirt before. It was one of those items that seamlessly blended into life outside my closet. I wore it to parties and to meetings at work. I wore it to wakes and showers. As time marched on, I wore it less and less. Yet, on the right occasion it would make an appearance. “Can you believe I’ve had this skirt since before I was married,” I’d say and twirl around, so everyone could see how fabulously practical and cute I was, and how it still fit.

Today, twelve years after my last vivid memory in it, I wore it to a funeral.

I sat in the pew, looking down at my hands, and picked at the threads of the skirt that I had noticed were beginning to fray. So many familiar faces surrounded me, there to pay respects to my step-father’s brother, who died too young after suffering with a long illness. We were all older, sad. We looked more worn; the wrinkles beginning to show and in some cases crease from the wear and tear of everyday living.

I listened to the kind, sorrowful words about a good man from his loved ones left behind. I looked in front of me, where two brothers sat and the third now lay. Tears slipping silently, I tried not to think of the dark reality of life and played with a string on the hem of my skirt, trying to pull it off and instead making it unravel even further.

Life just keeps going.

All of these people here are the faces who had been there through the moments; the big ones like weddings and holidays; the small ones like playing a round of golf and having a good pastrami sandwich. They are a comfort that you wear like a favorite tee shirt.

Or an old skirt.

My step-father’s brother is gone, along with so many others, like my friend whose birthday party I celebrated back then. He died just seven years later.

But the skirt is still with me.

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Posted in Crap that makes me eat too much ice cream and tagged Birthdays, celebrations, death, dying, funerals, life and death, old clothes, what I wore. Bookmark the permalink.

Shut Up. Yep, that’s what I said.

Posted on October 31, 2013 by Ice Scream Mama

I see the moment so clearly; all of us walking into the restaurant, my friend bickering back and forth with her snarky, then 11 year-old son, her, ultimately, telling him to shut up.

I remember how totally and completely horrified I was. I had babies at the time; sweet little yum yums. I could never imagine speaking to them that way, and I’m sure my judgment showed.

My friend shot me a stern look of reproach. “Just wait.” She warned. “You’ll do it too.”

I nodded, embarrassed for all of us, but I didn’t believe her. We were different, I told myself. I would never. And I didn’t, until the day I did.

I was past the point of frustration and on to exasperation when I snapped at my squabbling 8 and 10 year-old. It just came out. I don’t know how, and my hand quickly flew to my mouth in shame.

They looked at me, momentarily confused, all speech halted.

“Mommy, you said, shut up.” They both giggled.

“I know, I know. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.” Bad mommy. Bad, bad mommy.

“You always tell us never to say that.” More giggling.

It’s true. I think saying ‘shut up’ is worse than cursing. My kids regularly amuse themselves by dropping something and loudly exclaiming, “Damn it!” The expression of frustration doesn’t really bother me. Of course, I don’t encourage it, but it’s those words and phrases with intention to hurt that make me cringe. Words like, “I don’t like you.” Or “You’re stupid.”

Or, “Shut up.”

How did I just say that?

Well, they were obviously driving me insane and I wanted them to shut up. Sigh.

Back at the beginning of my mommy career, I sat quietly on my horse with my perfect child, looking down at the moms of children running wild through the playground, or climbing on top of carts in the supermarket, or manipulating a second or third oreo. Tsk Tsk.

Until all of a sudden, I did things I swore I’d never do like: let my child sleep in my bed, reduce me to tears in Target, make me want to throw them out a window, bribe them with sugar and TV so I could talk on the phone, make three different meals each night, or just give up and give a bowl of cereal, hide in the bathroom, buy expensive gadgets or iPhones…

Well, ha ha ha on me. Because it’s easy to judge, when it’s not your life in the midst of mental meltdown.

While I do my best to exhibit respectful behavior and make the right choices, sometimes I don’t do as I intend, and I learned long ago, never to say never.

Telling them to shut up is certainly not on my highlight reel, but I guess, it happens. Or, it happened. Hopefully, it won’t again. But it might.

I can just hear my friend saying, I told you so. And while I’d like to tell her to shut up, I try not to say those kind of things.

Damn it.

Clearly not winning any parenting awards over here.

33 Comments

Posted in Crap that makes me eat too much ice cream, Every Day Scoops and tagged bad mommy moments, Bad parenting, never say never, parrenting, saying shut up. Bookmark the permalink.

I’m sexy and no one knows it

Posted on October 8, 2013 by Ice Scream Mama

I might be having a mid-life crisis.

I’m not sure because crisis is exactly the opposite of how I’m feeling, which is sexy.

Hard to believe, since I can no longer just bend down and get up in a single motion, and have a wrinkle in between the brow that is now a crevice you could lose things in. Still, I’m sashaying around wearing all my fancy clothes that are actually years old, but I would never wear before because apparently, I was saving them for my mid-life crisis. Also, I have clean hair. Never underestimate the power of clean hair.

I had no idea that this feeling was one of the mid-life symptoms. So I started researching, and sexy wasn’t anywhere on the list of what to expect.

It did say that mid-life is the time more people step out with a young lova. But this makes no sense to me. Someone young cannot see someone middle aged without causing one to die of shock and the other of embarrassment. If anything, I’d have to get me a very old, blind lova. That is, if my husband says it’s okay.

They also say there’s a lot of reassessment, and I have been contemplating my life lately and wondering if I actually have one.

Many people quit their jobs. I don’t have a job. Maybe I’ll get a job! Yeah! That’s it.

But then how could I go to the gym to lose the five pounds I need to rock my minivan right and attract my old, blind lova? All of sudden, I understand why men buy Porsches. They’re feeling it and want to show off their badass selves, while they’re still badass.

I read that mid-life crisis’ spurs drinking, so I bought a couple of cases of wine because I like to be prepared. I don’t know if that would go over well on my new job, but I’m thertainly giving it the ole college try. urp.

Not that I’m qualified for anything anymore.

I can just see me at a business lunch, cutting up a client’s food and then, if he gets distracted by our fascinating conversation about what’s on sale at the supermarket, forking some fish into his mouth. At least since he ordered it, it wouldn’t come back out in a disgusted dribble like I just fed him clumped dirt. So there’s that.

Okay, forget the job. I’ve got too much to do anyway. Let’s see… well, the kids are all finally at school, leaving me with the bulk of the day to my own devices. It’s the first time in over ten years that I’ve had the house to myself for the hours of 8:30am-3pm.

It’s amazing. I can actually think when they’re gone.

Silence.

Think.

They are gone. My babies! Oh my babies are gone!! Oh my GOD!!!

Pause for slug of wine.

Okay, deep breaths. Much better.

I do wonder what is going on in my body that’s making feel so full of… No. Not myself. I was going to say, life. Whatever it is, I’m feeling good. Maybe I’ll take up tennis. Or start running races. Or schedule a little fix in the face? Or dye my hair a ravishing red.

Wait?! What if it’s like when a person is near death, and they all of a sudden get that last surge of energy before the end??!! Oh no!! Is this my last bit of sexy?? Then it’s gone?! FOREVER?!

Well now I’m depressed. They say that’s a sign too.

Pause for another slug.

Whatever. For the moment, I got my sexy back.

Maybe hot flashes will be better than I think.

How you doin?!

49 Comments

Posted in Crap that makes me eat too much ice cream, Weight Watching and tagged aging, growing older, having a mid-life crisis, hot flashes, mid-life crisis, sexy back, symptoms of a mid-life crisis. Bookmark the permalink.

I’m in trouble

Posted on October 3, 2013 by Ice Scream Mama

They are fighting at the breakfast table.

“I have the most loom bracelets.” My little one brags, even though he doesn’t.

“You do not.” My eight year-old is quick to correct; soggy, Honey Nut Cheerios falling from his mouth.

“Yes I do!” My five year-old insists, holding on tightly to his dignity. It’s a loom eat loom world.

“You don’t!” My eight year old yells, totally agitated. He is the enforcer of justice in the world, except when he’s wrong, then he’ll just scream till you forget what the original argument even was.

“Stop teasing each other,” I reprimand mildly, wiping up the cereal. “And eat.”

“No! I won’t” My boy with the offended morals exclaims. “He’s wrong. Admit it.Tell him, he doesn’t!”

I sigh, heavily, and tell my five year-old that he indeed does not have the most bracelets.

“It would just be nice if you guys wouldn’t make the biggest deals over the smallest things.”

“Now you’re making a big deal over a small thing.” My eight year-old yells.

“Okay, you need to stop yelling.” I’m getting annoyed.

“NO!”

Eight year-old has transferred his frustration onto me and I’m close to transferring mine right back.

“If you don’t, you can go right up to your room.” I am calm. I am in control.

“Ha ha!” My five year-old provokes, with the stinky, little brother face to match.

“You’re so annoying!” Eight year-old shouts, again spitting wet Cheerios on to the table.

I need to put an end to this nonsense. “Okay, stop it right now, or you’ll both go to your rooms!”

At that, my 11 year-old, who had miraculously been minding his own business, snickers.

“What’s so funny?” I huff.

“You. You’re not sending anyone to their room.”

“What do you mean?” His twinkly, smug smile is pissing me off.

“I mean, you let everyone get away with everything.”

“I do not!” I am not so calm. I am not so in control.

“Yeah, you don’t really ever do anything.” My eight year-old pipes in merrily. Nothing like fresh meat to turn the tide.

“Yeah Momma! Yeah momma!” My five year old chants, standing on his chair doing the ‘my momma has no balls’ dance.

They’re all laughing.

Apparently, everyone is getting along just fine now.

Whatever.

I’m going to my room.

He's going to be way better at it than I am.

He’s going to be so much better at it.

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Posted in Crap that makes me eat too much ice cream, Uncategorized and tagged consistant discipline, parenting, punishing children, sending children to their room, sibling teasing. Bookmark the permalink.

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