I often find myself wondering– if my family were to find itself in dire straits– how helpful would my children be? If we were in zombie apocalypse, “Independence Day” levels of shit, would they help, or hinder?
When it comes to the zombie apocalypse, I’ve already saddled myself with the understanding that in order for them to survive, I’d need to duct tape them to my body, and I shudder to think about how much whining and complaining they’d do if we somehow got slammed with some weird geothermal storm like in “The Day After Tomorrow” and were heaved into the next ice age.
As good as it is to be prepared, to know what you might be getting into, the fact is, those things probably, hopefully aren’t going to happen, so it may be best to focus on what might. REAL life emergencies. Full on Life-Alert style. They may not be prepared for a crazy blockbuster movie-style natural disaster, but are they ready for any kind of emergency that might occur in the household? What would they do if one actually happened?
We can teach them how to use a phone, how to dial 911, we can even teach them the Heimlich or how to perform CPR if we want them to be ultra-ready, but we never know how they’re actually going to perform in the heat of the moment until it happens.
I was shocked by what went down in my house when I was in need of immediate assistance. That sounds like a click-bait news headline, but it’s true. SHOCKED.
There I was, minding my own business. Actually, I was peeing, but that’s beside the point. The kids were upstairs playing, and for once, not trying to rip each other’s head off. Before leaving the bathroom, I always stop and look in the mirror. You can call it “vain”, I call it “making sure my makeup didn’t run and make me look like someone’s drunken mugshot”
I guess I wasn’t paying close enough attention as I whipped my head away from the mirror and headed toward the door, because that mofo caught my pinky toe and bent that shit all the way backwards. ALL. THE. WAY. BACKWARDS. I’m not sure if you know this, but next to childhood and taking a Lego to the arch of the foot, stubbing your bitch-ass pinky toe is the worst pain a person can ever experience.
In this moment, there are only two things that come to my mind, and they both come flying out of my mouth at decibels that could rival a 4th of July air show: “Fuck”, naturally, and “Ow.”
So I’m just standing there in the doorway of the bathroom screaming at the top of my lungs, over and over again, “FUCK! OW! FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK! OWWWWWWWWWWWWWW! FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OW!”
I think this must have gone on for a solid 5 minutes, because I was pretty sure I was either dying, or the toe was going to have to be amputated, or I was going to have to have the toe amputated and then I was going to die. It was a slam so hard that I was actually afraid to look at my foot in fear that I would see my tiny ugly pinky toe nail sticking straight up and faint, hit my head, and die.
I’m screaming so loud, for so long, that in between screams of agony I’m wondering if the police are going to show up thinking I’m being brutally assaulted, or if Satan is going to crawl out of the earth and tell me to shut the fuck up because I’m ruining his slumber, but guess who DOESN’T show up? My kids.
Once I checked to make sure my toe was actually still attached and the nail firmly secured (miracle of miracles, they both were!), I literally crawled my ass up the stairs to see what could possibly keep my kids from coming to make sure I wasn’t actually dying. We’d TALKED about this. We’d TRAINED. We’d PRACTICED. Something important must have been keeping them away. Maybe they simultaneously slammed their toes and we couldn’t hear each other over our own screams and they, too, needed assistance.
It must have looked like the zombie apocalypse in my house. I’m crawling, moaning, one bum leg dragging behind me, hair and face disheveled-
but somehow I manage to make it up the stairs, and down the eerily quiet hallway to the playroom only to find my kids perfectly fine, attached toes, playing with Legos.
“WHY DIDN’T YOU COME SEE WHAT WAS WRONG?”
They look like they’ve seen a damn ghost.
“What happened?” they asked, shocked looks on their faces.
“DID YOU NOT HEAR ME SCREAMING? I SLAMMED MY TOE ON THE DOOR! WHY DIDN’T YOU COME AND SEE WHAT HAPPENED?”
Blinks. Blinks some more.
“We thought you were yelling at the dog.”
I was yelling FUCK! OW!
The dog’s name is PASCAL.
FUCK! OW! …. PASCAL…. I want to be mad. I wanted to scold them for not coming to my rescue like the mamas boys they should be… but… I can hear it.
The moral of the story is: Don’t name your dog something that sounds like an exclamation of panic and pain or your kids might leave you to die.
I’ve been wanting to sit down and write a new blog for a few days now, but I’ve been dealing with the coming apocalypse in my house, and it’s prevented me from any rational thought.
Frequent occurrences of the ground opening up and threatening to swallow us all. Yes, right in my own home! I wouldn’t believe it had I not seen it myself, but I speak only the truth. The only safe place in this whole house is the kids’ rooms, so, naturally, in order to protect them, they’ve been spending a lot of time there since this natural disaster began occurring.
I’ve documented these occurrences for scientific records, posterity, and for evidence once the rest of the world finally realizes what’s been going on, I can say “Hey, my kids knew it first! Here’s proof!”
Here are the ways the world has almost ended this week, according to my children:
One sat on the stool the other one wanted to sit on
One got a bigger piece of Nutty Bar than the other
It being bed time
One using a Lego block from something the other built a month ago and hasn’t touched since
His brother wouldn’t let him destroy his Lego car
We ran out of mustard
The waffle was too toasty
It’s lunch time
It’s not lunch time yet
They can’t have a snack 10 minutes before dinner
Babybels are too hard to open
His head wouldn’t go in his shirt’s arm hole
The cheese on his sandwich wasn’t melty enough
He has to take off his socks to put sandals on
He has to put socks on to wear shoes
We have to go grocery shopping
He didn’t know off the top of his head of Christmas this year is on a Wednesday
I told them to stop playing with Legos for five seconds and put some clothes on
I asked him to repeat himself
He tripped over a toy I told him to put away or someone was going to get hurt
He couldn’t decide what kind of meat he wanted in his taco
I said the words “it’s time to brush your teeth”
I said the words “we just argued about this last night”
I wouldn’t let him sleep in my bed
I moved him from my bed once I found him in it hours later
I didn’t DVR a show I didn’t know they wanted to watch
Hold on… wait… what’s that you’re saying? NONE of these things could cause life as we know it to cease? Not a single one of these things would cause the beginning of the apocalypse? Not a single one of these is reason at all to believe that it’s the end of the world?
CAN YOU TELL MY KIDS THAT? Thanks.
It was something my mom strived for my entire childhood, but never succeeded. It was the thing I swore, when I became a mom, that I would actually achieve.
COOL MOM STATUS
The mom other moms wanted to be. The mom with the house all the kids wanted to go to. The mom everyone thought was awesome. Not the minivan driving soccer mom. Not the mom jean wearing frump. THE MOM OF ALL MOMS! I wanted it all.
I don’t want that anymore.
Look, it isn’t like I wouldn’t take the honor if it were bestowed upon me. I totally would. Being a “Cool Mom” would be awesome, but aiming for it, striving for it, trying to be something other than just myself– and who that is varies from day to day– is too much work on top of everything else I have to do, none of which is “cool”.
I’m a mom who tries not to use “no” as every other word.
I’m a mom who looks for missing patience just about as often as I look for missing socks.
I’m a mom who hates crafting. And sports. And the park.
I’m a mom who tolerates playdates only so my kids stop bothering me all the time.
I’m a mom who tries to schedule these playdates anywhere but at my house.
I’m a mom who yells, and curses, and doesn’t feel a hell of a lot of shame over it
I’m a mom who may or may not have considered selling her kids on the black market a time or twenty
I’m a mom who also may or may not have searched for holy water on this black market
I’m a mom who isn’t currently concerned with raising future world leaders, but humans who PUT DOWN THE TOILET SEAT AFTER FLUSHING
I’m a mom who some days counts the minutes until the kids go to bed
I’m a mom who is not at all above bribery
I’m a mom who has legitimately considered running away and joining the traveling circus.
Mostly, I’m just me. It doesn’t really matter to me if my kids think I’m “cool”. I’ll consider myself cool if I raise decent human beings who are polite to strangers, don’t litter, and yeah, if they put the frickin’ toilet seat down.
This is a sponsored conversation written by me on behalf of Kingsford®. The opinions and text are all mine.
We did it! We survived two weeks of summer break! Sure, we had some ups and downs (downs being the stomach flu ravaging our household), but we did it!
Life is too short not to celebrate the mundane, small victories in life, so we decided to do something outside of our comfort zone, and grill out to commemorate this moment! Because what says CELEBRATE like food cooked on the grill?
We aren’t avid grillers, or experienced, or even great, but that’s also what made this occasion even more fun.
We ran to Wal-Mart and grabbed our favorite (and also easiest to use) charcoal- Kingsford® Match Light® Instant Light Charcoal, some supplies for kebabs, and ran home to get started.
Check out our piddly little grill that gets the job DONE!
We lit the charcoal and let the kids help put everything together (which, surprisingly, wasn’t at all frustrating like cooking with kids usually is), creating their own kebabs (and stealing most of the good stuff).
All the prep, and the flipping of the kebabs, and high-fives for making it this far were all making memories, even when there’s no real occasion other than to do it, and honestly, I can’t recommend it enough! You don’t need a huge life event to celebrate, just celebrate everything!
It was the most fun meal we’ve had in a long time, and I get the feeling our tiny little grill will be getting a lot of use this summer celebrating anything, or nothing at all.
What are you celebrating this summer?
Submit your favorite non-holidays and/or best ‘adulting’ moments to @Kingsford on Instagram, Twitter or Facebook.
Get to celebrating! (and grilling– try a honey teriyaki marinade over shrimp & veggie kebabs, drool-worthy and simple!)
Summer is my jam. I’m meant to live in places with temperatures that never dip below 75. I hate snow. I hate cold. I hate hail, wind, ice, sweaters, and especially pants. I like to be free in flowy dresses or loose tanks. I like being able to float in the water like the fluorescent buoy I am. My skin may not agree, but my heart says yes.
Some moms have plans, activities, crafts, scheduled outdoor play time, play dates, group play dates, day trips, camps. I don’t have those things. That’s mostly my fault, maybe my lack of disorganization and motivation, but I honestly don’t have the time. The kids might be home, and I might be home with them, but it doesn’t mean I am good enough, multi-task mastery enough to drop everything to dedicate to them. I’ll fully admit that my summer-enthusiast self fails in that arena, but that doesn’t mean we DON’T have activities. That doesn’t mean we do NOTHING every day all day. Our days are chocked FULL of fun!
I want to share with you how we spend our summer days as maybe an inspiration for those of you out there who may be bored, or looking for things for your kids to do. I know I’m always looking for ideas that don’t involve destroying my house with Pinterest fails, or spending a ton of money I don’t really have just to kill a few hours.
Outside of special trips & activities, here is what a typical summer day looks like around here:
6am: Kids wake up. Consider making shitloads of noise, but realize they’ve done this so many times and ruined so many sleeps that they aren’t allowed to leave their rooms in the morning until an adult comes and gets them. Quietly read or plays with toys instead.
7am: Breakfast! Weekdays get to choose between cereal, oatmeal, or waffles, and a variety of fruit. Complain about there not being enough selection.
8am: Inside play time. Find something stupid to argue over and end up getting sent to separate rooms.
10am: Creative morning snack time! As in, get creative with what we’ve got in the pantry because I’m not going to let my coffee get cold just to make you something when we have a perfectly decent selection of ready-to-eat stuff.
11am: Random chores that are apparently more painful to complete than being waterboarded.
12pm: Lunch! Get to pick a type of sandwich, or leftovers. Chooses to complain we’re not going out for lunch, instead.
1pm: Whine about already being hungry again.
1:15pm: Harass the animals
1:30pm: Act out what must be deleted scenes from The Hunger Games over the last granola bar
2pm: Impromptu trip to the park, because mom is going to snap if she’s stuck in this house any longer
2:30pm: Even with 45 other kids at the park, find a way to fight with each other over some weird version of hide & seek they’ve made up.
3pm: Impromptu reward trip to Starbucks! … for mom. For not snapping in public. Get the kids something small just to avoid hearing them complain.
4pm: 30-minute battle over Hot Wheels car found under chair
4:30pm: The “Can we sneak a snack upstairs without mom noticing?” game
5pm: Commence daily whining about being hungry and how long it is until dinner, even though dinner is only an hour away.
5:30pm: Harass the animals again
6pm: DINNER! You’d think they’d be happy. Nope. They have a competition to see who can find the more ridiculous thing to complain about
7pm: Family TV time. Aka Time to fight over what to watch time
7:45pm: Kiddie shower time. Spend 15 minutes fighting over who’s turn it is to wash their ass.
8pm: Bed time. Battle royale over tooth brushing until they each collapse into bed.
My love of the months closest to the sun is the one thing in my life that never changed, never faltered. I swore I’d never eat avocados, and now I put that shit on everything. Said I hated dresses and would never wear them unless I had to, and now half of my closet is full of breezy frocks. Insisted I would never have kids, and, well, now look at me. With those kids came the death of my Grease-level Summer Lovin’.
I never want to be one of those moms who does nothing but talk about how “it’s all fun and games until you have kids” but we’re less than two weeks into summer break and I already hate it. Summer is no longer my warm, loving friend. I don’t recognize her at all.
You might think I’m just being dramatic. Surely over 30 years of dedication to summer couldn’t possibly be ruined in less than 14 days, but if you don’t think that is a distinct possibility, you don’t have children.
Is it time for Back to School shopping yet?
How you win at parenting pic.twitter.com/vFxCsfqmh7
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