Suburban Bliss:: Birth Control Via The Written Word

Dr Seuss or Jesse Jackson.

This morning I actually said to the kids, "Who put gum on this wall? I'm not happy about this at all."

I am the Dr Seuss of parenting!

Also this morning Madison came in at 7am to explain to me her elaborate plans for her allowance the three items she will be buying with all that saved cash. This plan was explained to me yesterday after school, during dinner, and at bedtime. The plan is quite elaborate and involves some fuzzy math which makes me think my daughter does not yet understand the concept of 'allowance' and the fact that money does not ebb and flow to fill your wishes. You have what you have.

This morning she explained it again and tried to pin Logan and I down on the correctness of this math which involves some fuzzy math. Logan said, "We'll think about it." and went to get in the shower. Maddie started up again with the plan now that she had me alone, trying to get me to agree to the plan with all the fuzzy math. I said, "You've already explained the process many times. Daddy and I will think about it. Let it go for now, you're obsessing."

And then I realized I was mainly annoyed because when she came in the room I'd been dozing and dreaming about my latest house obsession and where I'd put my furniture and how I could convince the guy to drop his price and how fun it would be to live down the street from Andrea and to already know all the neighbors and then Maddie came in and interrupted my obsessing.

I just don't know where she gets it.

New post over at the buzz off, great birth announcement ideas to be had.

It's like I have a house blog now.

I painted and cleaned until 12:30 in the morning to get ready for a realtor walk through. I am exhausted and mildly deranged. Please see this picture. How have I lived my life for 33 years without knowing about Pine Sol?

Good bye 80's, hello HOME BUYERS!

Question

If you say "fuck" while trying to bury your St. Joseph in the yard, does this negate it's power?

TIA!

Melissa

PS: Thank you Emily for the cute new necklace. It's perfect and definitely full of good luck.

PPS: Logan and I used to go to a bar in Detroit, right near the state fair grounds where throughout the night the bartender would yell out, "Free Blue Shit!" I can't believe I consumed the free blue shit. Whenever I find freebies I feel compelled to scream out, "Free Blue Shit!" Mother's Day Giveaways at the buzz off.

Another Lesson.

So we had three showings last week. The first one came while I was writing that last post and that is why it's untitled. Not for some mysterious and insightful reason, 'It is untitled...because my feelings can not have labels'.

No it's untitled because the real estate company called and said, "An agent and her client are in front of your house, can they come in?"

Thankfully I've gotten into the habit of making all the beds and showering first thing in the morning instead of writing all morning in my pajamas showering just to take Max to school. Though about half the time I throw on workout clothes so that I look like I'm always ".....on the go....." I'm on the go if 'on the go' means sitting in my basement painting all the fucking time.

We got out of the house with all our breakfast dishes and also a cocktail shaker from the night before. And a chef's knife I hadn't washed yet. I wish we'd been in an accident because all these items would have been of great concern to rescue workers.

The agent let my agent know that the house is beautiful and her client was excited until he got to the basement. You recall the Bend Over Bar? I've done a lot of work in the basement since that time and it is actually much nicer with organized storage and even a gift wrapping cabinet....yes. But it's still a space with less than average head room, and this client was 6'5". I started to tell the realtor about the Bend Over Bar, maybe her client is gay? But then let it go.

****

Speaking of school. I've said over and over to always write as if the person you don't want to read it will read it. When I wrote this post, I'm not sure why I wanted the people I was referring to to know they'd hurt my feelings when it was so clearly a tiny blip in the universe and also so clearly a direct result of the fear in my head that the world knew I was from a whole lot of crazy.

It's true, sometimes I use my blog to explain things to people I am not entirely fond of. Sometimes I use it to express my true disdain for them. It's true this behavior makes me far from 'nice' but it's also based on some very real and intense hurts from the past and so I don't feel all that badly about that type of thing. Most of the time when I write about someone in unflattering terms I try to leave out identifying details so that I'm not spreading gossip, just sharing my part of the story. Except for the Creepy Long Haired Swinger and I want him to read this site because then maybe he'll leave me alone (actually, in fairness he has been leaving me alone).

I didn't think through the fact that when writing from the viewpoint I had as a 20 year old girl and revealing the identities of the people I was talking about, I was spreading gossip (something I hate more than painting my kitchen cabinets) and also leaving people with an unfair view of these two girls.

Which would have been fine if no one they know were reading my site but it turns out there are a few mothers from the school who read this site. And someone put together my bitchily rhymed names for these girls I had trouble with 13 years ago with a mom from our kid's class and let her know she should read my blog.

And she did and on Thursday night she emailed me to let me know and I explained and apologized and told her how stupid I was. That I could have easily told that exact story without being a bitch and leaving in identifying details. She said she did not remember that incident and also had no idea what had happened to my father and how I'd flailed about in high school. We talked further and she felt kicked in the gut and also a little silly having the mothers from the class corner her to tell her about this. And I'll bet she also felt a little ridiculous having all these women reading a story so clearly about her when she had no idea.

We've talked and she's been incredibly gracious and more kind than she needs to be. She said, "Let's just move on. Don't apologize anymore. You don't need to apologize."

Which I'm trying to do because that's the most gracious anyone's ever been to me in the face of my bitchiness. Well except my friend Andrea and also Logan. And maybe my sister.

But all weekend I worked in the basement painting cabinet doors. It's funny how your kitchen can have so little storage but SO MANY FUCKING DOORS. As I painted I kept churning the whole situation around in my head. I often do this while I scrub the kitchen floor but the house is already so clean I didn't bother.

The fact that these girls had no idea what I'd been through during high school and yet I felt it was so obvious to everyone. I believed everyone knew and had labeled me 'weird'. I thought about how I make myself feel like the star of my own show and believe everyone is constantly watching and judging me. Like when I almost hurled myself off a sailboat and was then so incredibly embarassed and my friend Jean said, "No one thought a thing about it."

The truth is, when you peel back all the layers of popularity and wealth and all of that stuff that is always a part of high school. The truth is I had no friends not because my father killed himself and I was actually happy about that. I had no friends because I was shy and more awkward than I am now. (I know! Not possible! But it is.) I had no friends because I was afraid people would see I wasn't like them.

I had no friends because I was really deeply sad.

The way I felt about that argument that summer at day camp was so much less about what anyone said or did. It was all about how I was seeing it because I believed everyone knew I wasn't like them.

Something else made my stomach churn all weekend. Why would I be such a bitch? Why did I even want these two girls to see what I wrote. I even said it in my original post, "I'm rhyming their names so they won't find it Googling their names. But if they come across it they'll know it was them."

I read it again after hearing from the mom from school and was stunned. Why did I do that?

As I painted yesterday all day and into the night I practiced saying this to myself.

"Sometimes you are a bitch."

That is a really hard thing for me to say because I don't want to be a bitch. I want to be honest with myself. I want to be up front with the people I dislike or who are offensive to me. I want to learn from my past mistakes and remove myself from relationships or situations which make me bitchy.

And still, sometimes I am still just a bitch.

Since the house has gone on the market we've had zero viewings. This is making me feel all warm and cuddly inside. The weather has been shitty it's true and my realtor wanted to do a realtor open house yesterday and I pushed her off to next week since our new cupboard doors are being installed today. (Eee!)

Yesterday I met with our mortgage guy. I did this alone. By myself. Because Logan was busy trying to convince a client not to scrap $500,000 worth of work to go in an entirely different direction. Every question he asked made me fear he would realize I'm really just 12 and I'm trying to get a mortgage. A large mortgage.

Funny thing about mortgages, they don't give out money based on how incredibly badly you want the house. Isn't that funny? My only hope now is that the house I want (same as original dream house on dream block with dream neighbors) which is about 90K more than we can afford will go through a series of price drops, my house will sell for 20K more than what we're asking and life will go on happily ever after. I'm pretty sure that's the way it works, I decide what I want and the universe makes it happen. Right?

These are the worthwhile things I spend my energy on. Hoping for the impossible. All through this process of getting the house ready to sell there have been several 'dream houses' I obsessed over. And three of them sold well within our price range, one was even below our price range which meant we could keep eating and pay our mortgage every month.

Now that the house is on the market, there's very little I can stomach living in which we can also afford. We're going to end up in a van down by the river. In other news Logan and I have a joke. It goes like this:

Me: "Wow! This house is filthy! Who the hell is your housekeeper."

Logan [staring at me]: "I guess we don't have one."

Me: "You're right you should get one."

But suddenly the house is so nice I find myself giddy to clean it. If I have 10 minutes, I clear out the linen closet and clean it, reorganizing everything. I dust the blinds while I watch Oprah. I washed the bathroom floor on my hands and knees yesterday and while Logan was peeing later in the evening I stood nearby pointing out how awesome this new Pine Sol I bought is.

He was delighted.

I've become a Stepford Wife.

Today at the Buzz Off I'm trying to figure out a new approach to talking with Maddie about all the scary fucking shit in the world. I don't miss having little kids, I like having older kids so much more. But damn, for everything that gets easier (No more diapers! 8-10 hours of sleep!), another thing gets harder (Mood swings! Friendship heartache! Being aware you could get shot at school!).

I'm also going to try to write more at Did They Eat It. I vow to keep the camera around and update more often. It helps me stay motivated to try new things in the face of the Pickersons.

I also took another gig at Strollerderby, home of the urban hipster parent. I am neither hip nor urban and still they hired me. I know, I know, you're saying, "Melissa! How quickly you forget the Flogging Baby days! Remember how miserable and unpleasant a human being you were?"

Two things: I'm making the same amount I used to make for writing 125 posts a month for writing just 60 (just two a day) and I am not the lead blogger and therefore only responsible for my personal contribution to the site. Finally, over half my crappy comments at the Flog came from a specific troll I have since identified as following me from site to site for the last 4 years. This makes the bile spewing far less random and less personal.

In my first piece I was able to work in "The Italian Chandelier" and "The Reverse Cowgirl" complete with links to drawing mannequins modelling sexual positions.

This is going to be great.

AHHHH! Phone just rang a showing.

New Guy.

My sister is the third child in our family. Because she is the third child there are four pictures of her as a baby in existence. I hear this is true, though I have yet to see one.

My mother told my sister a picture of me just home from the hospital was actually a picture of her. I know that is a picture of me because I have a weird almost cleft palate, the room is full of boxes because my parents bought the house the week before I was born and also because on the back it says 1973, four years before my sister was born.

There are precious few pictures of my sister even as a child and almost all of those are polaroids. My sister had a baby book. The first page reads, "Teri Lynn Williams Born May 31, 1977" Then, apparently my sister failed to perform anything more interesting than that.

Sometimes, because my sister is the baby of the family, I have trouble remembering she is no longer this child. Even though she hasn't worn a bathing suit in more years than even me.

Sometimes I forget she isn't this little girl who calls her tennis shoes her "Tenny Runners" and Mrs. Mitchell, the neighbor down the street with the seven kids, "Mitchell Mom".

Sometimes I forget she isn't the little girl who could eat her body weight in ribs.

I try to forget when we were forced to wear hideous dresses and she looked like a demonic child, but I'm having a hard time forgetting.

The other day my sister sent me an email because she'd gotten a dream job she'd been hoping for. The job with a large ad agency, with benefits Up The Ass (that's what her offer letter said) and more money than she thought possible. I screamed with joy because I was so happy and also confused. My sister is 17, how can she be making that much money?

Max had a friend over at the time and they both came running up, "What is it?"

"Teri got a great job. I'm so happy for her!"

The boys cheered and ran around the room like lunatics as they often do.

Then Chase stopped, "Who's Teri?"

Over Thanksgiving my brother was in town with my favorite sister in law so we had everyone over to our house for Chicken Shack because my brother lives for Chicken Shack and if my sister in law would let him he'd put a big greasy drumstick in one pocket and a pile of 'broasted' potatoes in his other pocket to have for later.

My sister came with her boyfriend Mike, who my sister in law named "New Guy" because there have been a few boyfriends for my sister, especially since she's still 12. One gave me a painting of a nude for Christmas one year. I think the model was my sister and that was awkward. One unemployed one told us he didn't have a job because even monkeys could work at a gas station. Which is kind of amusing because what he's saying is even monkeys have more motivation than him. My brother's head exploded. We like to get her boyfriends drunk at Christmas and do obscene things just so the cream rises to the top. ('Old Guy" rose to the challenge but then, I think Choppable scared him away.) "New Guy" we just fed a lot of trans fats and he loved it.

On Saturday my sister called me and I didn't answer because I never answer. She called Logan's phone and I worried something was wrong. She said, "Mike and I are getting married!"

And for a brief moment I was ready to do my Snotty Big Sister thing, "Are you sure?" Because she's only like 8. But then I remembered, because of that baby book with the one page filled in, she's going to be 30. She's a grown up.

She's having the best week ever.

When we told Maddie Aunt Teri was marrying Mike, she said, "Can I still call him 'New Guy' or do I have to call him Uncle Mike now?"

These are important questions.

Photo Booth, don't you stop being you.

Photo Booth saved my Spring Break.

I hate school breaks. I understand Winter Break and I understand Spring Break but I still call bull shit on "Mid Winter Break". I use quotes because Mid Winter Break is a sham. A farce. A big pile of crap.

I can accept Spring Break, everyone needs time off and spring is lovely time to get away from Michigan. Michigan in spring is a tease. One day it's 70 degrees and sunny. No bugs, no humidity....life affirmingly perfect. The next seven days you pay for that one glorious day with 6 days of 30 degrees, gray and potential for snow. I understand people need a break from this.

Mid Winter break has no excuse for being.

During Spring Break, though I accept it's purpose, I realize how close we are to summer vacation and so, it angers me. In just a few more weeks I'll be burning daylight with the Bickerson's for 3 months. I dread it. If they made ProzacSummer®, I would take it.

But this Spring Break, the kids found Photo Booth and life was good. Hours of daylight were burned without intervention from me.

Max!

Sleepover with Erin and Chase.

This is Madison inhaling all the oxygen from the room as she often does when she starts talking.

This is our son BlockHead. Please don't stare.

God Bless Technology. And God Bless The Public School System.

Comparison Vol. 2

Today I took pictures of my closet to help sell my house. As I took pictures of my closet I realized how my husband is not just a slob but also unable to part with any of his clothes. Last weekend he pulled two rubbermaid containers out of the attic full of tapered leg jeans and 63 torn Boston t shirts. As he dug through these containers he said to me, "Jesus, why did I keep this?"

And there was no way I could answer his question without gutting him like a fish.

Only because I told him 10 years ago when he put those rubbermaid containers in our attic, "You know, you're never going to miss those shirts."

But he didn't believe me. So he kept them for 10 years.

The good news is I now have 252 cleaning rags made from those 63 Boston t shirts.

Logan often says, "I have nothing to wear. I hate my clothes."

I often say, "I have 3 shirts and 6 t shirts and that just doesn't seem right to me."

In the spirit of our nightstand comparison from a few years ago, let's compare our closets and our dressers.

I decided a couple years ago I would only keep clothes I felt good in. This decision has resulted in an extremely pared down collection. Here is my closet.

Here is Logan's closet.

He never has anything to wear. Please note the 15 shirts right there in the closet.

But wait, there are more clothes! Here's Logan's sweater drawer.

I don't have a sweater drawer. I have three sweaters stacked next to my t shirts on a shelf in my armoire. See?

I just realized haven't worn that sweater on the bottom in two seasons so guess what? I'm getting rid of it.

I have a stack of 10 t shirts. Logan has a very deep drawer full of t shirts.

There are at least 55 t shirts in this drawer.

Why I hate buying clothes.

This is the suit I bought (in black, with underwire).

Before I had Max I used to browse the Lands End catalog and think to myself, "Wow that stuff is awfully matronly."

Then I had Max and 6 months later made plans to meet friends in Philadelphia to go to Sesame Place. If you think Chuck E Cheese feels like dying, imagine being at Chuck E Cheese in a bathing suit just 6 months after giving birth. That's dying.

Whenever Madison pulls out the "You like Max better." I remind her of the fact that I exposed thousands of  innocent people from the east coast to my thighs in a bathing suit ALL FOR HER.

I looked at those same Lands End catalogs and thought to myself, "Wow, Lands End has really changed! They're so much more stylish and fresh. I think I'll buy a tankini! How hip!"

But the truth is Lands End didn't really become less Mom-ish, I became more Mom-ish.

The really important part of this story is that I had an anxiety attack as I entered my credit card. I had to talk myself into going through each step of the ordering process. I hate buying things for myself. In part because I have this innate sense that I should not have nice things because I am overweight and also just a mom at home all day.

But then I'm also afraid to shop because I'm afraid I'll like it so much that I'll go back to my old ways. The old ways when the UPS man and I had coffee every morning while he unloaded his truck of packages just for me. The days where I found so many 'bargains' sometimes the bargains would just sit in the basement until I sold them at an embarassing yard sale.

But then I reminded myself of my hair cut and the necklace and how they haven't started me on a wild spending spree but have given me a measure of confidence when I'm out running errands and seeing friends or out with my husband and all the pretty pretty 13 year olds he works with.

Then, I did something really crazy. I bought....a pair.....of shorts.

I haven't worn shorts since 2002, except for one moment of weakness in 2004 when I ran a 5K. I vowed I'd never wear shorts again. I made this vow after seeing a picture of me wearing a pair of shorts at a parade. It was one of those moments where you don't recognize your body and you think, "Did Logan photoshop this picture with my head on someone else's body...as like, a joke?"

But then you realize that is your body with your own head and you look at the Lands End catalog and those cropped pants you thought were so matronly last year, all the sudden look so fresh and hip.

Lands End didn't change. Your ass did.

I actually wore jeans to the beach last summer.

I bought a bathing suit today. A bathing suit I intend to wear in public.

I don't think I need to explain the significance of this.

"A real cream puff."

Okay so maybe you don't want to buy my house. Maybe you'd like to buy a dollhouse.

I can help you with that at The Buzz Off.

But I'd really like it if you bought my house.

Tornado Men Better Stay Away From My House.

I have some valuable drawings to share with you.

I have a small notebook in my purse where I am supposed to write notes about things I want to write about. At this time there are a few pages of math notes, a couple of grocery lists and a note which reads "Guy On Phone: 'Dude, 'I'm eating rotisserie chicken tonight!' "

If I ever love the phone enough to call someone from the store to tell them I'm eating rotisserie chicken tonight, please stop answering my calls.

A few months ago when I was in New York, I went to a museum with a boy named Henry and his mother who is both my favorite spooning partner and also my favorite world travel partner. After the museum Henry showed me how to ride the subway, with tokens. Henry knew tokens were for using on the subway, where I'm from tokens are for using at places meant to torment parents, like Chuck E Cheese. He also let me know that the people across from us on the subway were not speaking english. In case I hadn't heard them speaking another language, he wanted to let me know, those people are not speaking english.

Logan is really good with kids and kids love him. Kids seem to look at me as a mother figure, as in I ruin all the fun. I don't mean to, I just know that every fun thing kids like to do will cause them to lose an eye and I must protect the vision of the children of America. It's a service I provide free of charge. "Stop doing that!" is my catchphrase.

Logan is one of three people Juniper is not particularly anxious with, a high compliment indeed. He has a way with children and dogs. Our friend's german short haired pointer used to pee on the floor every time Logan came over. Their greetings happened on the porch, with Logan's feet about 5 feet behind the rest of his body.

I've picked up a few tips from Logan and Henry and I seemed to have a little connection. Henry won't put on his hat? What would Logan do? I'll tell him I'm taking it and wearing it myself. Henry puts on his hat! Mittens? Same joke....and it worked. Henry? You don't want to wear your coat? WWLD? Guess who's putting it on? Me! 

I didn't resort to the Handshake Game™ Logan plays with all kids to win them over. I also didn't resort to the Pick You Up And Shake You Around Like A Rag Doll™ technique because I'm not that strong and I'm uncomfortable with such forward attempts at friendship. Also someone could lose an eye.

At dinner with Henry and his mother, we sat next to each other for a while and after he inhaled his grilled cheese sandwich, I pulled out the notebook and Henry used it to draw me some pictures. I consumed a beer at the same time this was happening. Just pointing that out because that's the type of person I am. Irresponsible and unable to let anything go.

When Henry's dad arrived and took him to catch the next train home, Henry let me keep the drawings to show Max and Madison. I'm sure Henry wanted to save Max from his lame life, a life where Max is not familiar with the Star Wars world. When I told Henry that Max didn't play with Star Wars guys, he said, "What does he play with?" I told him Max plays with his own feces because that's the only thing a child as deprived as Max could possibly play with.

I now keep a tiny container of Play Doh in my purse as well. I think Henry will marry me after we share another meal.

Now that Henry's been on television catching a ball while his mother fumbled it, Henry is famous and I have his artwork to put on Ebay and make a million dollars. Please go here to see Henry on the television. Henry is not a mother and therefore not a casuality of Mainstream Media's investment in perpetuating the Mommy Wars. Henry is an artist.

This one is Tornado Man. I think.

This is definitely Tornado Man, he fights crime by creating a tornado. Generally horse mounted policemen and tornados stop crimes. Especially looting.

Here is a man. I should have captioned all these pictures but I was drinking that beer so I couldn't. My best guess is this square shaped man with the fiery boots is Henry's Dad, On His Morning Commute. Trains are for suckers.

Eventually Laid Off Dad joined us at the restaurant and provided henry with a green pen and a highlighter. This is definitely Tornado Man and Tornado Man can shoot tornados out of his fists. You can see that because of the highlighter.

When I put this one on Ebay it will be titled, "@@@@ Tornado Man Very Rare @@@@@ Color! Wow! L@@k!"

Today a lady came to my house and she put papers in front of me and I assume these papers said, "Wow! How about we sell your house for A Kabillion Dollars!"

So I signed them because a kabillion dollars is a lot of money.

Tonight when I showed Logan all the paperwork, he said, "Wait, we have 30 days to find a new home once we sell this one?"

I said, "Yes."

And he said the words I've been longing to hear for the last, oh, 5 years.

"You better get looking for something new."

Oh Baby, baby baby baby....I've been looking the shit out of houses for the last year. I'm ready for whatever this house throws at us.

==========================================

PS: Best part of the video: "What do they do to kind of relax?"

Imagined dialogue.

"Well, some of these so called <fingers>Alpha Moms</fingers> have a cocktail at playgroup everyone once in a while."

"Oh! Hey! Those mothers are irresponsible and stupid! Let's do another segment about that! Some moms are too perfect and some moms are stupid and irresponsible."

Executive Producer: "Thank God For The Mommy Wars!"

....and so the cycle of morning television continues. Thankfully Nickelodeon rules our morning television viewing.

...

...
Dr. Janet Taylor would like to add: "HEALTHY WAYS!!!!!"

Songs on Logan's iPod which might make you think he's a girl. Vol. II

Every single weekend for the last three months we've worked on the house. Logan likes to work with music playing.

Sometimes his choices are, surprising, as I already noted years ago.

Barbara Streisand: Jingle Bells

Beyonce: Irreplaceable "To the left, to the left."

Brie Larson: She Said (Radio Edit)

Christina Aguilera: Ain't No Other Man "Hey! Do your thang honey!"

Journey: Who's Crying Now.

Sixpence None The Richer: Kiss Me

Ashlee Simpson: The Entire Autobiography Album. Holy shit.

New Bumper Sticker: "My Kid Reads The Shit Out Of Books."

A few weeks ago I off handedly mentioned my concerns about Max at school. I'd mentioned before the class is a little chaotic with too many kids and not enough supervision. I had an entire other list of concerns, which one night woke me up and kept me awake for several hours debating how difficult it would be to fake an address in the school area we want to be in. Those concerns are still very real, but I chose to focus on the most important issue. My son hates kindergarten.

At that point I'd mentioned my concerns to the teacher, mainly focusing on my rather modest goals for my kids in preschool and kindergarten. I think of preschool and kindergarten as the foundation for the rest of their school years. I want those years to be good, so they approach school with a positive attitude.

This was especially important for Madison who cried when I dropped her off for the first 4 years she went to school. Thanks to very patient preschool teachers (Presbyterians are patient baby eaters), a patient kindergarten teacher (who had cried everyday during her own kindergarten year) and a patient but firm first grade teacher who didn't coddle and didn't belittle, Madison is now very fond of school and runs into the school each day without tears. This is very good news because for many years I thought I'd be pushing a crying 16 year old into her homeroom each morning.

Max started school as a 3.5 year old full steam ahead. I barely got a kiss and hug before he ran in to class to play. As he made good buddies, he loved school even more. He wanted to go every day. All day. He was sad when it was over after just 2.5 hours. On T days when he couldn't go, he said he wished he was still three so he could go to school that day.

When we started Kindergarten it was the same way. He ran into the school even on the first day without a glance back over his shoulder. I walked Madison into the school every day for the first 2 years, but Max wasn't scared or nervous, he was excited about school.

In the last month or so Max started to cry when he realized he would have to go to school after lunch. He came home angry about having to use the computer reading program. He said it was boring and he missed playtime sometimes and snack time other times and he hated doing it. He said he cried when the teacher made him go, sometimes he said he was "spitting angry".

He started to make up illnesses. One day a sore throat, the next he couldn't possibly go because didn't I just hear that cough? Another day his shoulder was killing him, it was obviously killing him as he hurled his body all over the house demonstrating how to be a ninja.

I mentioned my concerns to the teacher. I told her how he'd loved school but now really hated it, how he often tells me he can't hear because the other kids are talking. I told her he said it was boring and that he couldn't stand the computer reading program and I could imagine he found it boring based on the books he brings home using the system. These are small books with high frequency words meant to build a child's confidence in their ability to read.

This morning Max and I read a chapter from a library book. We switch off pages and Max read a page which included the words silhouette, shoulder, assimilate and parchment. Books consisting of one sentence on each page like, "I go to the Drive-In." "I go to the dock." "I go to the dairy." are not really what Max needs at this point.

I expressed my concerns but didn't have much hope for anything to change. I was placed in the horrifying position of both looking forward to summer vacation so Max could get a break and a fresh start in first grade and dreading summer vacation because summer vacation makes me want to die as I face months and months of "What are we doing today?"

I was going to write a post about how frustrated I was, which I sort of just wrote, but I was so frustrated I couldn't even make sense. I wondered if the teacher was even taking my concerns seriously.

But, guess what, she was! The other day she grabbed me as I dropped Max off and mentioned some of the things she was trying with the class. Letting them wait 5 minutes before going to the computers so they could wrap up whatever it is they were working on before. She was taking things 'up a notch', and for the most part the class was keeping up with more challenging work.

Then, yesterday she waved me over when I picked up Max. She'd tested Max in reading (uh....just now?) and he scored in the upper 1st/lower 2nd grade level. She talked to the first grade teachers and they're going to make room for him at their reading groups. Hooray! You'll forgive me for bragging a moment. I mentioned my feelings about reading groups before.

I was at a birthday party recently and had my very first run in with a braggy sport parent. I've been a parent for eight and a half years so you'd think I would have seen one before. But that's how little this family cares about sports. Maddie takes yoga and it's difficult to be competitive in yoga. Max has tried a couple of sports but he's mainly in it for the ice cream and high fives with the team.

But this family I spoke to was really into sports. I saw them at two different parties and at both I was asked what sports Max is playing. What about doing this? How about this? Does he like this? I answered, "He's trying a lot of things but nothings really grabbed his attention."

Then I listened as these parents (mother at one party, father at the other) told me all about their son's excellent sport prowess. He's doing soccer and swimming and t ball and basketball and karate and there's a drills class they'd signed him up for because he just can't get enough. Oh, and he's also a chess champion.

When the mother walked away, the other mother I was with said, "Wow, her kid's winning chess tournaments and I can't get my kid to stop picking his nose."

I said, "My kid can't master wiping his own butt."

My kids may not be sports (or bathroom) abled, but damn it they read the shit out of books. And I'm proud.

This was the beginning of the Buzz Off but my God I ramble.

This morning Madison, who is 8 years old, came to me while I checked morning emails and asked, "Mom, are we Jewish?"

My grandfather just rolled over in his grave, not because there's anything negative about my daughter wondering if we're Jewish, but because my grandfather would be screaming, "I don't care what you are.....JUST PICK A RELIGION FOR YOUR FAMILY MELISSA!"

"Well, no we're not Jewish, you may have noticed we've never celebrated any Jewish holidays," I answered. "But we believe in God, just like Jewish people. So we have something in common in that way."

"Do we get presents for Passover then?"

Oh my sweet, darling, capitalist, advertising poisoned, heathen daughter. 

Thankfully I had the computer and was able to quickly Google 'Explaining Passover To Your Heathen Child" and we both got a great education about the history of Passover and the traditional observances. Only Madison thought I was simply full of this information all on my own. I love kids because they think you're really smart and with Google I don't necessarily have to make things up like my own parents did.

All I really wanted to say was Happy Passover to everyone celebrating this week.

I also wanted to make a clumsy segue into our mostly non-religious celebration of the death and rebirth of Jesus Christ. I mentioned to Madison we'd be coloring eggs to celebrate Easter and she said, "What does that have to do with Jesus dying on the cross."

Again with Google. I feel like the Wizard Of Oz here sometimes, pretending I know all the great and powerful things when I really have no idea what I'm talking about, I'm just a nerd with a computer. Hopefully Wikipedia isn't lying to me or Madison's going to be a little embarassed when she gets out into the real world.

I explained the eggs symbolize new life and we decorate them for big fun. "Oh," I said. "Jewish people also have hard boiled eggs as part of their Passover Seder to symbolize new life and the Temple service in Jerusalem."

Maddie replied, "So we're Jewish?"

"How about we just color our eggs, have brunch with friends and call it our holiday."

Go ahead, you can read even more rambling and clumsy segues at today's Buzz Off.

Forced Imagination.

I've packed away about 50% of my kid's toys and other 'non-necessities'. They've been pretty happy with the toys which are left and seem to just focus on what they have with more intensity. There have been the occasional requests for "You know, that round thing that the penguin sits on?" Or "Mom, where did my bed go?"

But for the most part we're happy with less stuff. Except today I could have used that box of halloween costumes that's packed away in one of 65 boxes in the storage unit on my driveway.

Today the school is having a character parade to celebrate the school accomplishing their reading goal for the month of March. Each child is to dress up like their favorite character from a book. It turns out the school hates me.

Yesterday Madison came home from school and announced she would like to dress up as the Ice Queen from Narnia. Which, according to Madison, is a costume I can easily whip up in an evening. When I said no, I don't think so, we spent the rest of the day running through all sorts of wonderful ideas. There was the Polar Bear from Albert The Bear, "You can just make me a big white fur suit!" Yes! In between making dinner, laundry and painting the basement wall I'll whip you up a white fur suit! There was the moose from If You Give A Moose A Muffin. "You can just make me antlers with paper mache!" I'll get right on it.

Madison was at least being reasonable about the lack of choices she would end up having. Max, in typical Max fashion, pursued his typical plan of action. Ask for something unreasonable and impossible, get an answer you don't like, stomp around for a little bit, come up with another something unreasonable and impossible, get an answer you don't like, stomp around for a little bit, come up with another......and so on.

There was Wilbur from Charlotte's Web, involving a molded rubber nose I could make "with [unspecified] stuff in the basement". The puppy from The Poky Little Puppy, which I would make out of, "brown and white fur all sewed" Easy to follow instructions even! And still I refused. I am the meanest mother ever.

I suggested they go as Max and Ruby wearing borrowed bunny ears. At first they seemed to go along with that idea, until Maddie let the Logan Summers in her take over and decided she must have a floor length dress, just like Ruby wears. Then Max decided he would need to wear blue overalls. These are both things I would just create for them, if I loved them at all.

This morning while Maddie got dressed I said, "You know, you could go as Ramona Quimby." She went for it! Except she started looking at her collection of Ramona books and began suggesting I run to Target and find a pair of red boots. I said, "No." and thought to myself, "Holy Crap my kids are spoiled and unimaginative."

I dropped Ramona at school and thanked God she wouldn't be able to change her mind again.

Max was still having trouble coming up with an acceptable idea for his ensemble. He decided maybe he would wear the bunny ears and be Little Nut Brown Hare from Guess How Much I Love You. But this was too girl-ish. I suggested being Max from Where the Wild Things Are, but that is the dumbest thing Max could possibly be ever. Only an idiot would suggest that. You are the worst mother ever. Why can't you just make me a fur suit?

So I went to do laundry, because that's what horrible mothers do when they're not making their children's lives a living hell.

When I came back upstairs (from our lovely clean and bright finished laundry room in the basement. Buy My House!) Max had put on his dark blue hooded sweatshirt and had his hands on the pockets, creating fairly realistic wings.

"Look! I'm Stellaluna!"

And I praised his great idea and his imagination and I thought, "Maybe the tv hasn't ruined my kid's imaginations forever."

Two minutes later Max came to me, "But Stellaluna's a girl.....maybe you can make me a MetaPod costume."

Just tea for two. And two for tea.

Proof positive tea sets will still exist even without Disney princesses adorning them.

New Buzz Off is up.

I love my house. I love my house. I love my house.

This last week I decided to be positive about my house. It's not my house's fault it's an 82 year old house and it's not my house's fault I want out of this neighborhood. Houses need maintenance, even brand new ones. All things considered, (mainly the amount of money we've invested in this house over the last nine years), this house has been very good to us even when we've been forced to neglect it because of our budget.

It's still true I'm tired of working so hard on a house we need to leave but it is a cute house. I fell in love with it when we bought it and someone else will love it even more after seeing all the work we've done to leave it better than when we found it.

On Friday my love for my house was boosted by the women from Menagerie Redesign.    

Growing up I used to babysit for Julie's kids, she owns Menagerie with a few other women. Her home was always full of great colors and beautiful things. Her great room and kitchen could also hold my entire home, roof and all. The house I grew up in was a little full of carcinogens and trauma plus a sofa which looked like autumn. If autumn threw up.

Being at Julie's house I always told myself I wanted to live in a home where everything had a place and there were nice things to look at and maybe less pathogens.

When the ladies from Menagerie asked if they could come and help me get my house ready for sale, I hesitated because I live in a very small house and things don't always flow together very cohesively because I am both poor and not very talented at putting all my things together into a pulled together look. Like say, my sister in law can.

Julie's twin sister, Jean, is someone I consider my personal Oprah. She's like my second mother who consistently knows how to do all the things I am not very good at doing. Like, making life long friends or not over reacting to my in laws or talking on the phone without medication. I've learned a lot from her but some things, are just impossible to teach.

When I told Jean I wanted to have Menagerie into my house, but I was feeling a little embarassed of my house. She told me to shut up and take the help, your house is cute! She said it and I didn't really believe her because, as you may have noticed, I have been a little tied down with low house self esteem.

Last week I spent hours and hours clearing out my house. Moving half the kids toys and Logan's vast collection of things he doesn't even know he owns yet he NEEDS to own these things once he sees that he owns them into the PODS on our driveway. I washed windows and got rid of everything we don't need and some of the things we do need.

And when they came into my house they had great things to say. They loved my columns.

They loved the large dining room and the wall of windows.

When I showed them the bathroom they gasped in appreciation and I have to tell you, I love the work we did in the bathroom. I'm proud of it. Logan pulled it off better than I ever could have imagined. But hearing these women who's taste I admire and have aspired to have my whole life loving my bathroom....it was rewarding and melted my cold dead heart toward this house.

I showed them Maddie's room and they said "adorable" and "great closet space". I showed them our room and they admired the beams Logan and his brother made.

We spent a lot of time in the kitchen because the kitchen is like a living hell.

We all agreed on the good bones of the room. The two walls of windows, the very tall and newly finished ceiling. We also all agreed on the heinousness of the cabinets and the mismatched appliances. I showed them the paint chip Logan thought would look good in the kitchen, and they agreed with his choice so that Logan's head will now grow another 20% and he'll forevermore call himself "The King Of Color". Nice.

They ended up convincing me that it would be foolish not to have the cabinet doors and drawer fronts replaced because the man who does our drywall finishing also makes cabinets on the side and offered to replace all our doors for just $300. 

After painting this weekend, I hoped maybe the cabinets would look okay and I could go ahead with my April 2nd list date. But, there's a reason these women are professionals.

Painting the walls was the most rewarding job we've done in this house in the last 9 months. We used very nice Benjamin Moore paint and I'm now an expensive paint convert. Using this paint was like painting with fabric. The coverage was so nice and cutting in, which usually makes me unbecomingly grumpy, was like a vacation. I said 352 times, "I love this paint!" Until Logan threatened to leave the rolling for me too.The paint looks amazing (check out that straight edge at the ceiling....no tape people! I rule!), but just imagine how lovely crisp clean cabinets will look. The kitchen is the only room in this house which makes me cringe at this point and for such a minimal investment, it just doesn't make sense to leave it undone.

As a final omen, last night as we prepared our taxes we found a freelance check of Logan's misplaced with our tax information in the exact amount the cabinets will cost.

So yeah, the house wins again. The house isn't listed but I feel in control of everything here. I am feeling friendly towards our house and I'm hoping this means the house will reward me by not making me repair anything.

I worked really hard last week. I moved 75 small boxes of stuff into the POD and moved furniture and cleared the attic and threw away 8 boxes of trash from the basement. I made it through our 'must do' list and now there are just 3 items on it.

Let's all pray the cabinet guy isn't terribly busy, that painting the cabinets doesn't kill me and that Menagerie will come to my new house to help me make a realistic list of improvements so that in another 10 years I'm not working my ass off to give my house away.

They do that too. They don't call it that, they call it "Design Consultation" but they might want to think about adding a new category to their offerings. "Don't sit on your ass for 9 years only to realize you could have spent $300 and 40 hours of your time making your kitchen nice."

Maybe that's too specific. I don't know.