Mommy and Not Me

My husband and I had breakfast at IHOP this morning. Harvest Nut & Grain pancakes. Yum.
We also had the pleasure of sitting next to, what I assume was, a Mommy and Me Group. 
I did the inconspicuous head tilt toward the group and whispered, "A Mommy and Me group."
My husband continued eating, "Why didn't you ever get involved in a group like that?"


It's a good question, really. He already knows the answer. Which is why he laughed when he asked the question.


But then I thought, what is the reason for my not participating in a Mommy & Me Group? I came up with several.


I'm not a super emotional person. There are many things that have shaped my distorted view. If you're in a Mommy & Me Group, don't get all irritated. It's just my opinion. Which, if you ask anyone in my family, doesn't count. I'm sure women's lives are enriched in some way and they're better from Mommy & Me, blah, blah, blah. Or something beautiful and personal.


So, I made a list of the reasons I've personally never participated in Mommy & Me.


1. I think "Mommy & Me" would've been more appropriately named, "I'm Bored and My Real Friends Are at Work."
2. I never had an organized diaper bag, let alone a stylishly colorful one. I barely remembered mine. (mostly I didn't remember it.)
3. It didn't seem like my idea of FUN. If I'm going to be part of a group, I want it to be fun. Like maybe, The Anti Mom-Jean's Club.
4. Hang on tight for this one (please don't send me hate mail.) It seemed pathetic. Like, the only people who would want to hang-out with me are the other pathetic people that signed up to be part of this group.
5. And if I'm being totally frank, I wouldn't have enough invested in any of these women to care when their child walked, talked, or said mama. I just wouldn't.


I should mention, my husband read this post and said, "Heather, Mommy and Me is a child-centered group. It's meant for the kid." Huh. This never crossed my mind. Which probably indicates that the problem lies with-in me, and not so much the group. So really, I inadvertently helped these women by not participating with them. And I even somehow managed to find friends who had similar aged children, all by myself. Friends who share the same distorted views.

My Daugher Would Never Do That

I heard a mom say to another mom today, "My daughter would never do that."
I thought Whaaaat. A. Dumb. Ass.

If you're a parent and you disagree with me...you're wrong. Teenagers try very hard to be badasses even if they end up being mostly jackasses.

Last year my daughter sent me this text while we were at a basketball game: Can I get something to eat with Josh after the game?
My husband and I responded:  Not tonight.
Her:  Whyyyyy? Please can I go?
Us:  No. Not tonight.
Her: They won't let me go. They're bitches.

I processed this for a full minute and handed him the phone to read. And then I started laughing. Uncontrollably laughing. He looked at me and said, "This is NOT funny."
I said, "It's not." (Still laughing) "She called us bitches." (Still dying.) Omg, she actually called us bitches and accidentally sent it to us.(Crying laughing.) (Other parents staring at me laughing.)

When I finally pulled myself together, we collaborated and sent this back: I don't think you meant to send this to us.
The greatest pleasure was watching her read it. She was about 10 rows below us and to the right. It was the best punishment of all. There she sat, all red faced with nowhere to go. (She was a JV cheerleader and required to sit through the whole game.) And she cried. And cried. And cried.

Boy, that was a fun ride home. We put on great game faces and said some very parental things.
And that night before we went to bed, I said to my husband, "Can you bring me a glass of water?...bitch"























 

Why Motels are a No Go

A conversation I had today with my 12-year-old about our spring break accommodations:


Me: I booked our condo today.


Him: Is it a motel?


Me: No, it's a condo.


Him: Why can't we stay at a motel?


Me: A condo is nicer.


Him: Why? What's the difference?


Me: A motel is what you see sometimes when we drive down the highway. The doors are on the outside. As opposed to a hotel which has a bigger lobby, the rooms are nicer and you enter from the inside.


Him:  But we aren't staying in hotel. You said we're staying in a condo. Don't we enter from the outside in a condo?


Me: (Long Pause.) Yes. Ok, look... motels are cheap and dirty. You're dad tried to get me to stay in one in San Fransisco. It had cigarette butts in the ash-tray and candy wrappers on the floor. And the sheets looked unclean and there were bars on the windows. I cried until we finally left. (pause)
Plus the people on CSI always die in motels. We're not staying in a motel.


Him: Oh, that makes more sense.

My Husband's Response

My husband feels as though my earlier post warrants a response. So, I am allowing him the floor for a moment. Because he is a child. And this is his childish rant...

If we are telling bedtime stories, you should know that my wife's side of the bed looks like an episode of Hoarders. She has at least 10 empty and half-full diet coke can's on her night stand, a half eaten sleeve of Ritz crackers with crumbs, and a few bowls of left-over whatever that she took to bed cause she was, "staaaarving." It's a wonder we don't have rodents.

Seriously? Such a child.

This Morning's Rise and Fall

I love my husband. I do.


Last night we went to bed around 11:30p.m. At 4:45 a.m. this is what happened.


I was asleep on my side, facing outward. The same is true every night.
He slept flat on his back.


He must've jerked (which he often does) and it woke me. I'm glad it did. I wouldn't have wanted to miss this.


All of the sudden he jerked toward his side of the bed. Hard. It all happened so fast it was hard to process. I barely turned my head to see what the hell was going on...all I saw were arms grasping at air. (Our bed stands 4ft high) I think he may have been trying to grab the covers, or maybe a hope and a prayer. He was almost successful. But somehow I was coherent enough to know to hold tight.


It was the loudest thud EVER.


I did good. I quietly and slowly said, "Honey...what are you doing?"


He was pissed. Actually, I think he was several things...pissed, embarrassed, frustrated, tired, but above all confused. He said "I fell off the bed. Damn. It." "Son of a Bitch."


I don't know exactly what happened next, but according to him (much later in the day) his foot was stuck under something. He attempted to stand up. Not once, not twice, but 3 times. It sounded like someone was wrestling him, or hiding under the bed holding onto his foot. At one point, when he was trying to stand, he fell to a knee. And the combination of words that came out of his mouth were so randomly vulgar I thought I would die.


He said, "Was that funny to you?" Ummmmm. You bet.