Author Archives: Outnumberedmother

I’m running in a wooded swamp. It’s murky and dirty and foggy. All I can smell is sulfur and I can’t see my hand in front of my face. But I can hear my 8 year old is screaming for me, crying, yelling my name and I can’t find him. I’m covered in a think, choking fog and then I wake up in a cold sweat.

Okay, okay, this is a bit dramatic but I had this dream the other night. The same night after my son forgot his homework folder on Tuesday and his lunch bag on Wednesday. I finally sat down with my oldest and said, “What’s with you?’ That’s when the floodgates opened and tears began to fall and the bitter truth about the FCAT began to pour out of him.

8 year old: I’m worried about the FCAT (sobbing)
Me: What are you worried about that for? You’re a wonderful student
8 year old: It’s a “High Stakes Test” (and he did air quotes for me, freaking air quotes) and I’m worried about my score.

And that’s when I knew that this whole thing was screwed up.

My son is a really smart and genuine kid. He’s a great student, a loyal friend, a good athlete, and his IQ is over 130. He can mentally run circles around his Father and I, when he wants to (he is only 8). With all that in mind he’s worried about the FCAT. Beyond worried, he’s petrified.

I cant say that I blame him. In the last month I’ve received papers upon papers about how the FCAT is coming, how we (as parents) can prepare our kids for the FCAT. Make sure they’ve eaten the morning of the test, (like I don’t feed my kid). Write them a letter for the day of the test (like I don’t communicate with my child). Study and practice and review past tests with them (like I don’t drill my son and work with him all year round).

The State of Florida is driving the schools crazy. The schools are driving the teachers crazy. And then, they are handing that crazy down to my son.

This merit pay issue is insane. To even imagine that a teachers actual worth is based upon the scores of their students, who come from all walks of life, with a specific skill set, and take ONE Test!! ONE TEST! that can determine if they correctly have done their job, is asinine.

I’m saying it out loud, right now; The FCAT only teaches our children one lesson, and personally, It’s not the correct one. It teaches them that the journey doesn’t matter, only the destination. And I think that’s bullshit.

 

Eek,
It’s already Wednesday… shit, it’s already APRIL!
And with time traveling at Mach II with it’s hair on fire, I am finally coming to the grips that there is no such thing as the “Perfect Day”.

Considering I don’t really look for perfection in any aspect of my life it’s kind of humorous that I expect a whole 24 hour period to go off without a hitch. Actually, it’s completely and utterly absurd. What on Earth am I fucking thinking?

With 3 kids and a husband nothing is every going to go according to plan, EVER AGAIN. They never even went according to plan before. I’ve just glorified my memories to think that maybe, just once, just for a teeny, tiny, hot minute, they did.
They fucking didn’t.
I just rolled with the punches better back then.
There were less people depending on the outcome of other things. There were far less responsibilities and I really allowed myself a little wiggle room for things to go to shit. I don’t have that wiggle room anymore. If my life was a size 16 I’m trying to squeeze it into a pair of bedazzled, size 6, cutoff shorts with the pockets poking out the bottom.

Oh My G-d!
My whole schedule is like a wicked step-sister trying on the glass slipper.
IT’S NEVER GONNA HAPPEN!
THAT SHIT DOESN’T FIT!

And with this amazing realization comes the even bigger task of figuring out how I will allow the shit storm to fly around me and not get caught up in its gust.

Because the 8 year old is going to forget his homework. And his lunch bag. And his IPad. But that’s his responsibility and I’m only spinning my wheels when I let it effect me.
And 3 year old is going to have accidents. And paint on his clothes. And a million temper-tantrums. But I can only control the way I handle these things. Nothing more, nothing less.
And the baby is going to have fevers. And gas. And constipation. And as his loving Mommy I just have to roll with the punches and jump off each bridge as we come to it and stop worrying about the fall before I even get to the top.
And dinner is going to be late. A lot. Or from the freezer. A lot. And although I love to cook I have to remind myself that the little fires get put out first or else the house will burn to the ground…. so I might not have time to indulge in making the homemade things I love because homework, and driving to sports, and Hebrew school come first.
There is only one of me and I only have 2 hands.

Here lies my perfect day.
“Bury the dead, they stink up the place”

This shirt meant something entirely different 10 years ago…..
College and drinking and bikinis and the beach and booze and staring at hotties…. Oh, to be young, carefree and freakin’ childless… Ahhh, the memories. 

So after a whole weekend away for the 8 year old’s soccer tournament  last weekend (which is a whole slice of insanity I’ll save for another post), we had the pleasure of ALL OF LAST WEEK OFF (I know FML) and then today, Monday, off as well. Having today off was basically the “Fuck You” to parents everywhere. If last week wasn’t enough… Monday will put hair on your chest.

TODAY WAS A SHIT SHOW! 

It really was…
No one was happy up in this joint today. The 5 week old seems to be colic and the 3 year old is a complete mess, but only around me. The 8 year old came back from a weekend with buddies exhausted and crabby. Can we have our normal children back please?

I can’t wait for school to start up tomorrow and our schedule to get back on track. Big ups to the teachers for doing what they do so I can get back to doing what I do…
Laundry,
Dishes,
Cooking,
Driving,
Sorting,
Arranging,
Scheduling,
Joking,
Listening,
Talking,
Eating,
Feeding,
Changing,
Some Drinking (okay, more then some)
Visiting,
Calling,
Volunteering,
Commandeering,
And a Partridge in a Pear Tree…

Come on, sing it with me “Aaaaannnndddd, A Partridge in a Pear Tree ee ee ee!”

Thanks for commiserating with me friends,

ONM

It is always something.

I am really convinced that I have a sign on my head which reads “Crazy Spoken Here” because if there is a strange situation to be had it always happens around me. And yes, I realize this is an incredibly narcissistic way of thinking but I don’t fucking care, it’s true.

Since today is Sunday and the Hubby is off from work I was able to leave the house, alone. And after this crazy week of Spring Break with all the kids home, I was in desperate need of some time by myself.

I headed out to our local Walmart Family Market with the intention of buying Colic Drops for the baby and wine for me. They really should have both items on the same damn shelf but that’s a post for another day. Of course they didn’t have the Colic Drops because my Walmart Family Market sucks so I grabbed wine and coffee and made my way to the register.

For the first time ever in Walmart history I had the chatty Cathy clerk… this lady was just talking, talking, talking. Now, I’m all for some normal pleasantries with strangers (especially because that is the only contact I usually have with adults all day) but this woman was really going for the gold star in random conversations. As she bags my wine and then proceeds to put it in my cart (when do people at Walmart ever do that?) the plastic bag proceeds to break and the wine bottle tumbles to the ground with a huge crash… wine and glass are now everywhere and I’m just standing there with a look of shock on my face. Then the voice comes over the store PA, “Clean up at Register 4” and I’m left as Cathy runs off to get me another bottle (when do people at Walmart do that?) and deal with the pissed off cleaning guy who has to mop up my broken liter of wine.

Hubby always tells me that the most random shit always happens to me and I’m starting to think he’s right.

No, I know he’s right, he’s absolutely 100% right.

At least I got my wine.

It is always something.

I am really convinced that I have a sign on my head which reads “Crazy Spoken Here” because if there is a strange situation to be had it always happens around me. And yes, I realize this is an incredibly narcissistic way of thinking but I don’t fucking care, it’s true.

Since today is Sunday and the Hubby is off from work I was able to leave the house, alone. And after this crazy week of Spring Break with all the kids home, I was in desperate need of some time by myself.

I headed out to our local Walmart Family Market with the intention of buying Colic Drops for the baby and wine for me. They really should have both items on the same damn shelf but that’s a post for another day. Of course they didn’t have the Colic Drops because my Walmart Family Market sucks so I grabbed wine and coffee and made my way to the register.

For the first time ever in Walmart history I had the chatty Cathy clerk… this lady was just talking, talking, talking. Now, I’m all for some normal pleasantries with strangers (especially because that is the only contact I usually have with adults all day) but this woman was really going for the gold star in random conversations. As she bags my wine and then proceeds to put it in my cart (when do people at Walmart ever do that?) the plastic bag proceeds to break and the wine bottle tumbles to the ground with a huge crash… wine and glass are now everywhere and I’m just standing there with a look of shock on my face. Then the voice comes over the store PA, “Clean up at Register 4” and I’m left as Cathy runs off to get me another bottle (when do people at Walmart do that?) and deal with the pissed off cleaning guy who has to mop up my broken liter of wine.

Hubby always tells me that the most random shit always happens to me and I’m starting to think he’s right.

No, I know he’s right, he’s absolutely 100% right.

At least I got my wine.

 

 

The baby is napping and the older kids have been whisked off to Grandma’s for a sleepover…

Time to write? Don’t mind if I do.

Let me just preface this post with a small disclaimer:
I am a human. I make mistakes in the millions and I say the stupid shit that most people know not to say. I fuck up and then I suck it up because I consider myself a good person who attempts to do the right thing. I usually laugh off a lot of shit because laughing makes me feel way better then crying. I started this blog because sharing it makes me feel really good. If ever it doesn’t, I’ll stop.

So, I’m a really lucky bitch. I have a large extended family who resides in the same town as I. My grandmother is 91 and not only still drives but lives 20 minutes away. The hubby and I have siblings we are close to and parents we adore. We have some really great friends and the boys want for nothing. I sometimes wonder how I got so lucky while I spent the majority of my life feeling like I didn’t deserve it.

Isn’t that crazy? And when I stop to think about it I’m just amazed. Where does this feeling come from?

After the birth of my first child I was a straight up shit show. I felt this need to be everything to everybody all the time, and for what? All of that behavior made me feel worse and less then I had already felt. Over and over my inner voice kept saying the one phrase that scared the shit outta me, that I dreaded everyone already was saying…. It was on loop.

“You’re doing it wrong!” “You’re doing it wrong!”

And come to find out no one was saying that.
No one,
but me.

And of course now here I am one month after the birth of my third child and I still hear HER saying that. That nagging inner bitch who wants to spoil my party still tries to creep in every once in awhile with her self hating, demeaning, diva bullshit. But this time she’s drowned out by the laughter of my boys while they admire their new baby brother, or a story about the funny thing that happened to Hubby at work, or song lyrics, or a recipe or just the sound of my baby snoring.
Because  I told that self conscious voice to fuck off a long time ago. And she’s not coming back. Not if I have anything to say about it.
So, I might not be doing it RIGHT all the time….
But I am DEFINITELY, not doing it wrong.