Things that in theory, are easy. Suburban Mommy Disguise-Clueless about the conventional
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Things that in theory, are easy. -

2005-05-02 - 10:36 a.m.

Things that should be easy, but you realized later were doomed to well, distinct unease on somebody’s part.

The set up, semi-innocent vegetarian attempts to buy joke gift of McDonalds Gift Certificates.

I pull up and immediately notice a big promotional sign involving $5 gift cards, being a fool, I decide to follow the advertising and ask for the gift card.

Me: “Hi, can I have a $5 gift card please?”
Fast Food Employee: “Yes ma’am, anything else with that?”
Me: “No thanks, just the card please.”
FFE: “Would you like some fries with that?”
Me: “No, no food please, just the gift card.”
FFE: “So just the card and the chicken tenders that come with it?”
Me: “No chicken tenders, just the card please.”
Incredibly Lame Fast Food Employee: “The tenders are free.”
Me: “That’s nice, I still don’t want the tenders.”
****Long Silence****
ILFFE: “Why don’t you just pull up to the first window please?
ILFFE: (after I have pulled up to the window so he can make sure I appear to be sane) “You don’t want the chicken?”
Me getting more and somehow less amused by the moment: “I’m a vegetarian”
ILFFE: “Wow, is your family all vegetarian?”
Me: “Yes.
Amazed AND lame Fast Food Employee: “Even the kids?”
Freak Vegetarian: “Yes, even the kids”.
AALFFE: “Can you hold on while I get my manager?”
Me: “Couldn’t you just have the chicken for lunch or something?”
AALFFE: Dumbstruck stare.
Me: “Or you could give it to the people behind me in line?”
AALFFE: Wanders off, presumably to find manager.
Manager: “So let me get this straight, you WANT the $5 gift card, but no chicken.”
Me (slowly getting numb): “yes, no chicken, yes $5 gift card.
Manager: “So can I just get you a $5 gift certificate instead?”
Me: “Yes please” which by now comes out like a whisper because frankly, I’m exhausted.

Happy Birthday George. Ha ha ha.

Please skip if pap is not in today's diet plan -

2005-04-27 - 8:49 p.m.

I lied; I’m not following up with more things about Suburbia I still haven’t figured out. There are so many I need more time to cull it down to spare you the agony of having to view how pathetically many things that would include. *

Instead, I am going to give just a paragraph or twelve of unadulterated mush. If it’s not that kind of day for you TURN BACK, turn back now because if at all possible I will be working hard to send a tear trickling down your cheek…just because I can.

I am now coming off of a good hour spent “cutting” apart wooden vegetables. Also, a lovely wooden loaf of bread. This was done with a wooden knife, all items were stained with lovely European style non-toxic paints made in a distinctly non-sweatshop setting where the employees are happy and they sing folk-tunes together as they trundle home up the lane from work. There to share a little cherry wine with their spouse and neighbors to celebrate the beauty of the day. **

Sorry, major digression. I was being a good mom, I was doing therapy type things that involved matching objects, hand strengthening exercises and all those things the enthusiastic therapists tell you to do, Daily…for many, many hours as though the house will clean itself and magic fairies will deliver food to our door.

Cassady came up and curled along side of me and asked what I was doing and I explained. I showed him how to help, explained that Mason was more likely to follow the lead of a sibling than a mother and Cassady pitched in. He used super annoying elmo-style, high pitched, Mason friendly, singsong voice and worked it. “OK Macy, just push the knife like this and cut the tomato!” As I sat watching this amazing scene resembling something from “Touched by an Angel”, (which OK, I have never actually seen, but I have seen A LOT of their ads) I got all teary eyed.

I suddenly realized that all those women who make me do eye roles until I look possessed may be on to something. You’ve heard them, they almost always wear flowered dresses, have big blond hair and a southern accent. They quote something from the bible and then say, “Little Shane was a challenge, but I truly feel that I have learned from this special child. He has made us reprioritize the way we spend out time and rediscover all the simple joys of having children and family surrounding us.”

Now here to give you a chance to do a giant eye roll is a real honest to goodness quote that sprang from my mouth unbidden and everything. “I was afraid we would take all those “firsts” for granted this time around. I was afraid we wouldn’t spend as much time with Mason or give him the same kind of attention we gave Cassidy. Instead, I find myself completely willing to give up my work, my art, my free time and my sleep in the name of his happiness. We are planning on moving to give him a slightly better school district and when a friend asked me if I resented all the sacrifice I was absolutely amazed. I have never thought of any of this as sacrifice. It’s quite simply and obviously what any parent who loves their child like I love Mason would do.”

Yes, I expect phone calls tomorrow from several friends checking to make sure aliens haven’t taken over my higher functions. But despite that risk I would like to end this with a quote. It’s not from the bible, but if written in fancier language it sure sounds like something that somebody wise and ancient would have said. In this case, it’s just credited to anonymous:
"While we try to teach our children all about life, our children teach us what life is all about."

Karen, who has quite obviously gone over to the dark side. OK, possibly the pastel and flowered chintz side, the side that wears slips and coordinates their handbags and shoes. It wasn’t that far a stretch, remember, my mom was a gladiola queen.


*Note the optimism with which I think I might actually “get it” one day.

**Sorry to digress, Please note that the cherry wine reference is an ode to fav blogette of mine who spent a day or two obsessing about it recently with her hoards of fans: http://chezmiscarriage.blogs.com/:
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Better, better, best! -

2005-04-26 - 11:53 a.m.

In any organized group of people and I regret to say, especially in a group of women who left their careers to stay home and be the BEST DAMN MOTHER EVER! There is always conflict. There is always conflict and a fall-guy. Possibly several fall gals depending on the situation. There is always a mom who knows better, better, best! You pray fervently that you find a few other moms sitting around thinking “dear god, why are they so nuts? I thought this was just a mommies group.” This isn’t limited to moms in any way…do you happen to belong to the kind of church where members get to participate in governing it?

I refused to join the Board of Directors at my son’s cooperative preschool because anyone who knows me understands that when I see true morons in action I have a strong need to make the situation even worse. I attract conflict like a cross in front of a public building. If someone really needs something to be pissed off about and someone in particular to aim their venom toward, congratulate me, I have been voted most likely to win that honor!

So I figure I’ll take a quiet job choose to volunteer for the seemingly innocent job of "schedule mom". Quit laughing! Get up off the floor and quit laughing now. I didn’t know! The teacher has apparently been burned by too many years of indifferent schedule moms either unwilling or unable to get it right. Apparently last years schedule mom didn’t coordinate the ½ birthdays properly or remember to only put the most energetic mothers in the room for party days and the teacher felt the need to. swoop in repeatedly to save the day. Now every other schedule mom to be has to overcome the hurdle of Mrs. F’s disappointment in years of lackluster schedule moms if they want to be taken seriously. For months mom’s kept pulling me aside and saying “ummm, Mrs. F called and she wanted to let me know that even if you screwed up and didn’t give little Suzie the right day for her birthday celebration that she would fix it for me. What’s that about? Have you been screwing up? Are our children safe with this woman?” So I sweetly write a note to Mrs. F.

Dear Mrs. F,

Here are the finished schedules for the next 3 months, which you may notice, are being turned in well ahead of time. As you can see I considered all the birthdays, ½ birthdays, field trips, energy and fitness levels of the moms involved, their horoscopes the time period they will be volunteering and whether or not their outfits will coordinate with that days theme! I understand from some of the other moms that you may have concerns regarding my ability to schedule them to work on the day closest to their child’s birthday celebration. I have dutifully considered each of the mothers work schedules, jazzercise schedules, childcare arrangements and karmic influences prior to calling them and confirming that the proposed date works for them. They were all very accepting of my limitations involving the schedule given that a full ½ of them only want to work on Fridays due to their pedicure and massage appointments and most Fridays are taken up by holidays and field trips.

In Service,

Cassady’s Mom


Well, the letter was close to that. Guess what…I got a contrite “Thank you so much for your help dear” letter and haven’t heard a word of conflict since.

Once in a while, evil girl emerges, does her job and fades away quietly to applause from her loving host. Me.

Next up! Surprise, More Suburban lifestyle rules I am trying, and largely failing to get a grip on.

In Service,

Karen
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Things they "forget" to tell you -

2005-04-17 - 3:30 p.m.

Part One in a Possibly Endless Series of Stuff nobody tells you about or writes about in the parenting books.
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Guess what? Cassady is learning to read!

Oh crap, Cassady is learning to read.

Guess what? He can read more than just the “Bob” books bought for the purpose of learning to read.

He can read SUCK and other assorted words on the inside of bathroom stalls; apparently this is a problem at even seemingly innocent places like Whole Foods. He then repeats them…loudly…asking if this is a good word, or a bad word. Charming.

Guess what! Dear children also write naughty words inside the climbing tubes at the playground! More words he can sound out! More words he can inquire loudly about from the top of the slide.

And guess what? Almost all the basic four letter words can be conveniently sounded out by the beginning reader. Not a one of them includes a PH sound or a QU to throw them off. Take some time to think about it.

Just yesterday we were innocently examining the Sh in the word Shoe, and now I’m thinking twice about it. You know what else SH can spell? Shit just seems like the kind of word one might run across in random bathrooms across America.

That’s right! I’m going to try parenting by complete denial of reality. If you have any prior experience with this particular style or have read a book on the subject…bring it on!

Karen
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Chinny Chin Chin -

2005-04-16 - 12:56 p.m.

Yet more Suburban Mom Type Stuff I knew nothing about and apparently should have.

Boys wear white socks. Always. If you put your child in socks that match his pants for occasions other than church, weddings or funerals you are asking for him to beat up on the playground. This from more than one source, apparently the tie-dye socks Cass prefers are questionable as well.

When invited to a child’s birthday party, many children who can’t attend present the birthday child with a gift anyway. This even if it is a child they barely know from their soccer team or piano lessons. I get this if the child is a friend or a relative but for little Andy who largely ignores my son in class and vice versa? I intend to feign ignorance now that I actually know.

You lie to get into morning Kindergarten. Your child will learn nothing and it will ruin the rest of his life if you are in afternoon kindergarten with all the other loser kids who’s parents couldn’t arrange mornings for them. I have no idea why this is…it just is…and everyone knows, well until this week, everyone except me. I found out from various sources when I asked the woman at Kindergarten registration “Is it possible to request mornings? My other son, Mason, has therapy most mornings and it really helps if Cass has something to do at that time, so mornings would be best.” I swear… she curled her lip at me, apparently thinking I was using the sympathy ploy to get my child a coveted morning slot. That’s me, lying about a special needs child to get my way, I feel good about it too.

How did other mom’s know it was kindergarten registration time anyway? I found out by the hair on my chinny chin chin (which I was actually thinking of plucking). Our district does not send out a helpful update to parents in the district, the pre-school didn’t mention it, at the last moment, a friend did. It appears one needs 36 forms of identification in order to register a child here, and we are not one of the top districts. What do you suppose they require on the North Shore or in Naperville? You must pull up in a current model SUV, fling back your magnificently cut hair and produce little Lily. She should be dressed in her Hannah Anderson casual wear and be ready to present your hefty mortgage statement and her passport for perusal?

Sorry about that, I am bitter after spending too much time looking at houses we will never live in and streets that would be perfect if I wasn’t afraid they would mistake me for the cleaning lady.

Things I would like to know and don’t:

What does one do with a 5-year-old boy when confronted with the entry through the locker rooms at the swimming pool? They don’t seriously think I would send him through the men’s locker room alone, what about when he has to use the bathroom. They don’t have family locker rooms…ummm…what does everyone else do?

When you take your child to a play date and the mother of the other child mentions casually as you are leaving, “Little Annie has some kind of nasty intestinal parasite. She probably caught it from another child through fecal contact”. Do you grab your child and run screaming. Scrub him with bleach as soon as he arrives home? Maybe (and it’s not like I really did this*) you just stand there for several minutes staring wide eyed at the other mother, reminding yourself to blink once in a while until she pledges incessant hand washing and disinfectant all the way around.

Karen

*Yeah, I really did do this.

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Well Stuffed -

2005-04-09 - 2:41 p.m.


We need to move. Crud.

I guess we don’t HAVE to move, but we should. Any clearer? Yeah, not for me either. The thing is that Mason is going to need some kind of special education when he turns 3. The way the law is written, it happens literally the day he turns 3. He is 18 months old soon and my husband is freaking out about interest rates. The interest rates are unconcerned about Mike’s freaking out and are doing their own little thing in any manner they feel like. One day the $400,000 dollar house is attainable…the next it’s not. Oh please! Don’t lecture us about overextending...we know the pitfalls and are absolutely willing to risk them to live in a place that benefits Mason. On the upside a friend who lives nearby our target neighborhood offered to feed us dinner every night to help out, but we are thinking it might strain the relationship of even this lovely and generous soul.

I love my house. I have a burning love for this pointy, baby poop yellow house that only comes from knowing you won’t be able to have it much longer. We tore out a sidewalk that led nowhere along with giant overgrown bushes and now have a lush out-of-control jungle of a flower garden full of perennials out front. The dark purple fancy lilac I planted 5 years ago will flower for the first time this year, right before we move. We have removed all the 70’s wallpaper, refinished the hardwood floors and re-roofed a roof so pointy that roofers gasp in horror at the sight. What’s not to miss? We tore out more giant hideous bushes last year and now find out selves having to plant a garden we won’t get to enjoy. I have no doubt I will drive past frequently and weep in the general direction of the dark purple lilac and the daffodils next spring.

If we stay where we currently are we are part of a co-op special education system. If your child is diagnosed with Autism or Downs Syndrome or is blind etc. they know what to do. They have a special room for them; they have a program and a well-qualified teacher who knows how to work with them. It is, of course, when you don’t fit into a well-defined category that the problems begin. I am familiar with the “doesn’t fit in to a well defined category” issue and personally want more for Mason.

They might send them to another district in their co-op, the one next door or the one a half hour away. Yeah really, it’s their option. My current, sporadic babysitter who is working on a master’s degree in special needs children (yes we are SO lucky) works in one of our current districts special needs rooms. She agrees that the teachers are earnest and sincere in their efforts to assist. When I called to discuss the program though, you could hear the woman I spoke to trying to figure out exactly what they would do with him.

Have I mentioned how much we LOVE Mason lately and how lucky we feel in many ways?

Mason could end up in a room full of kids who all function at a lower level than him. This district provides for no interaction between special education kids and typically developing kids until Mason is 6. How weird could he think the world is by then? What kind of funky version of reality could he seeing? Who are his role models going to be? So where are we at? I take the chance to harass my dad on a regular basis because he moved us to a truly crappy school district when I was 5. Add to that the fact that I regularly say stupid preachy lameness like “Once you choose to become a parent you have voluntarily forfeited a lot of your own personal choices. You owe it to your kids to do the very best you can to provide them with the tools they need to succeed in whatever they decide to do.” Doesn’t that sound ridiculous in writing? I hope I don’t actually say that out loud, although truthfully I probably have. At some basic level it’s completely true. We brought him into the world, we love him more than it ever seemed possible to love and those are the facts. So there, we are trying to move.

Option 1: A town where all the homes near the train have been ripped down and replaced with “homes” resembling private country clubs. OK, it’s not really an option, I think even the apartments are all owned vs. rented and cost well out of our range. I don’t think being poverty stricken would be a big plus in the “quality of life” equation.

Option 2: A town we love, where we go to church and where the downtown near the train station is having a similar building binge. We could move to the edges of town, buy a big new box of a house and a second car for commuting to the train. Sigh. I have 3 art degrees, is it too much to ask that I don’t cringe each time I catch sight of my home?

Option 3: A town on the verge of having numbers one and two happen, but it hasn’t quite yet. They have an amazing program for kids like Mason. If we find anything with charm we can afford in this town and is within walking distance to the train we will, well…we will be paupers for a while. We may have to let Laurel and family feed us after all. *

We already asked them to sign our medical power of attorney documents and her husband to be in charge of pulling the plug should the worse occur. Think we are asking too much to be fed nightly?

That’s all. Now, I am off to clean out closets and pack all the kinds of things that seem useless now and I will realize I desperately need a week after we haul it to storage. **

Karen

*Somewhere right now, Laurel is reading this and blanching at the thought that she actually made the offer. We are vegetarians and she is wondering how many days a week macaroni and cheese will suffice.

** Apparently my amazement with the tidiness other people’s houses exude is unfounded. I have found that everyone rents storage lockers. This gives the impression that everything a modern family of 4 needs will fit into closets designed for people who lived 100 years ago. Meanwhile all the real stuff is stuffed in a big metal building somewhere with giant piles of everybody else’s stuff. As a society, we are truly well stuffed.
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Pity Party-Can you bring Cake? -

2005-04-09 - 2:39 p.m.

News Flash.

I apparently need to start accepting and using the term “special-needs”. The back-up doctor I took Mason to for an ear check spent some time gently prodding me in this direction last week, i.e.: “yes, my special needs son is also full of smiles and very agreeable”. “Yes, when you have a special needs child you do tend to want to keep a closer eye on potential problems”, “Yes, those of us with special needs children often find…blah, blah, blah”. I am guessing it would have been rude to tell the earnest young doctor with the Down’s Syndrome child who has had 3 heart surgeries to “SHUT THE HELL UP BEFORE I CRY ALL OVER YOU”.

Yes, I am gently being told we are part of their club.

Can you believe it? I am now in a club where you pay your dues in doctor’s bill’s and therapy sessions. Where nobody knows for sure whom the leader is and nobody wants to belong. A club where every single member stay’s up nights wondering who the hell they can blame for voting them in.

Sorry it’s a pity party today,
Karen


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