So Who's Going To Be There?

Sometimes I think that I should hold family press conferences at the beginning of every day. That way I would only have to answer questions about where we're going (a 40th birthday party), what time we're leaving (about 6:30), who's going to be there (friends, including Jordan), and what we should wear (clothes that don't smell funny) one time.

Yesterday evening, while we were leaving tennis lessons, Charlie asked me, "So, are we going straight to the party, or going home first?"

Even though he was in sweaty tennis clothes, still had to eat dinner and Doug wasn't with us, maybe the answer wasn't as obvious to an 11-year-old as it was to me. So, instead of giving him a sarcastic answer, I patiently said, "Yes. We are going home. We all need to change and eat dinner. We need to pick up your dad. Then we're leaving around 6:30."

"Oh. Okay. Who's going to be at this party? Any kids besides Jordan?" Keep in mind that throughout this entire conversation, Zach was two steps away from me.

"I don't know who else is going, but I'm sure you'll have fun." And if you embarrass me, I will inflict pain.

Five minutes into the 20-minute drive home, Zach asked me, "So, are we going home first, or going straight to the party?"

I looked at him out the side of my face, sighed, and said "Home."

"Oh. So who's going to be at this party? Any kids besides Jordan?"

"Are you kidding me right now? I just had this identical conversation with your brother five minutes ago. You were standing right there! Weren't you listening?" I'm not sure why I bothered to ask this moronic question. I think I was hoping for him to say something like: "No. I wasn't listening. I know it's a pain in the ass for you to have to constantly repeat yourself. I should pay attention next time. Sorry."

Instead, he said, "No, mom. I do not listen to everything around me unless it matters and is important. So, what time are we leaving?"

There are times when I regret the fact that I didn't get the "Eject Passenger" option on my minivan, and this was definitely one of them. Instead, I cranked some Metallica and pretended I was alone for the next ten minutes, drawing happiness from the fact that there was plenty of vodka at the 40th birthday party, that Jordan was at, and did you know that it started at 6:30?

Party Poopers

After spending a few hours at the mall trying not to murder the other shoppers and attempting to find some unique gifts for the kids, I came across the perfect stocking stuffer for Zoe; a handheld fart machine. Like most kids, the girl is obsessed with fart and poop jokes. Some girls have dreams about unicorns and rainbows, but she had a dream about "having a bunch of poop on my head, and grandma came over and said 'Hi, Zoe! Why do you have so much poop on your head?' and she just rubbed it all in."

A few months ago we were at a piano recital for the boys. A room containing parents, grandparents, and a couple dozen kids all dressed up and nervously fidgeting in their seats while they wait to perform is kind of a tense environment. During a moment of complete silence between two songs, the girl directly in front of me shifted to her right and let one rip. I'm not talking about a little lady-like toot; it was a full-blown, reverberate off of the hard plastic chair, Taco Bell-fueled fart. I braced myself for the eruption of laughter, but instead everyone in the room just stared intently at their programs and pretended not to hear it. Everyone, of course, except for Zoe. She laughed. And laughed some more. Which made me laugh, but instead of just laughing normally I tried to laugh like a mime, which makes my whole body shake and makes the laughing last ten times longer, which makes her laugh more. Ahh...nothing funnier than a good fart.

I recently heard about a duo of women in Orange County starting a group called The Mothers Against Nickelodeon (or, The M.A.N.). These women are on a mission to boycott Nickelodeon until the network "agrees to eliminate the use of farts, boogers, belching, rehab," and pretty much everything else that's fun, from their programming. They are convinced that Nick Jr. shows are turning kids into "brainwashed consumers," and that the marketing strategies used by Nickelodeon are "harmful and dishonest." So, in order to protect their children from the hands of consumer media, they want to stop Nick. These are women that do not appreciate a good fart joke, and most likely do not own a self-inflating whoopee cushion.

At some point in the last dozen years, all three of my kids have watched Nick Jr. Now that they are older, we have been fortunate enough to move on to better shows that include even more fart/poop/belch jokes with a little violence mixed in. Despite the fact that they were subjected to the voices of the "Wonder Pets" and the questionable wardrobe choices of "The Backyardigans" at an early age, they don't own any merchandise emblazoned with any characters and don't spend all their free time figuring out what licensed products they should be suckered into buying. We walked right through "Nickelodeon Universe" yesterday and no one asked for a Spongebob T-shirt, a Dora Xmas stocking, a Diego shot glass or even the stuffed Plankton, which I actually thought was pretty cool.

Should I blame television and Nick Jr. for Zoe's love of fart jokes? No. She likes them because farts are funny and she's normal. Watch any Judd Apatow movie and you'll realize that not only does fart humor never go away, it gets funnier. If you don't like a certain show or network, don't watch it. Unless, of course, someone happens to be standing in your family room with a gun to your head saying, "You must watch Diego save the humpback whale or I'll shoot you in the face." In that case, you should probably watch the show.

Kids, like everyone else, are consumers and they will eventually ask for stuff, a lot of stuff, whether they watch TV or not. If you don't want to buy the purse that has a picture of Dora on it, pick the purse that has a picture of Tinkerbell instead. Or if your daughter is like mine and doesn't want a purse...a handheld fart machine.

Would You Like Chaos With Your Coffee?

My mornings consist of three kids and a husband waking up at four different times, making breakfast at least two times, feeding the dog, emptying the dishwasher, taking a swig from the super secret bottle, making coffee, throwing in a load of laundry, packing lunches, blah blah blah. Basically, it's the same as every other mom, except maybe the coffee part. After all, some people prefer tea.

Some mornings go smoother than others, and the motivation to work through each glitch comes from knowing that eventually, for a couple hours, everyone is gone. Before I reach that goal, though, there are two things that are always guaranteed to happen: Zoe and Charlie will fight, and someone will snap at me.

Yesterday morning it started before the first bite of eggs was off his fork. "Knock it off, Zoe. Quit looking at me. You're being rude."

"I'm not looking at you. I'm looking by you. And you're chewing weird." Zoe doesn't believe in sugarcoating things.

"Just. Stop. Looking. This. Way. Then. Geeeez." Charlie said, while turning his back toward her.

"Now you're sitting weird and chewing weird. Hey Charlie! We're going to see Santa in one sleep! That'll be so fun!" We're really hoping that her short-attention-span phase ends soon.

After a few more petty arguments during which Zoe criticized her brother's ping pong serving skills and accused him of being "annoying," it was finally time to pile in the car and head to the Most Funnest Place In The World, also known as school drop-off.

I needed to deliver a bag containing three plastic shopping baskets, a giant box of noodles, four cans of tuna, and a shoe box (please, don't ask) to Zoe's kindergarten room. The bag was too heavy and cumbersome for her to carry, and I thought: "Hey! I have this useful sixth grader! He can carry it and Zoe will think it's really cool that her big brother is walking her to class! Now I don't have to get out of the car at drop-off and risk bumping into the VC!" When I informed Charlie of the chore I had for him, his expression didn't exactly radiate goodwill and a voluntary willingness to help. I reminded him that Santa's watching his crabby mood and taking notes, to which he replied, "Yeah. Mmm hmm. Sure mom."

After securing my spot in line for the minivan/SUV parade, I pulled up to the curb and waited for the kids to hop out. Zoe was the first out, followed by my carpool kids, and then...no Charlie. I turned around and looked at him, peripherally detecting the angry looks being shot my direction from the other drivers because: "I was taking too long to drop-off! Get going! What's wrong with you? Don't you know how the drop-off procedure works? Go! GO!"

After giving him a few seconds, I finally said, "Charlie. You have to hurry up and get out of the car. There might be a drive-by."

"I WOULD!" he snapped. "But my backpack is really heavy and I have this stupid bag of baskets and tuna and crap that you want me to carry, ALL RIGHT? MAN!"

I noticed that a few people were on the sidewalk wondering why in the hell I was taking so long, and I didn't think they'd be very impressed with my "scream like a lunatic while I hit Charlie with the bag of tuna" show. So in my best I'm-such-a-happy-mom voice, I said to him: "Get out of the car. Now. And this attitude of yours might just guarantee that you end up without any Christmas presents from anyone. In fact, I might just make you give some back from last year."

Silently, he got out of the car, and I'm sure he would have loved to have slammed the door on me. Unfortunately for him, though, I have power-sliding doors, so he had to settle for pushing the button with a little extra force, which doesn't really have the same dramatic effect, but still pisses me off.

Really, I've Been Good

Dear Santa,

As you know, 2009 had it's ups and downs, but for the most part I think I handled things pretty well. Yes, there was the occasional empty threat of violence, a sprinkling of hand gestures, and a couple brief moments of rage-induced silence, but since no permanent damage was done (so far), I think I'm entitled to a few requests. A couple of my wishes are for my kids, because I truly believe that this isn't a time of year for selfishness. Please bring me the following:

1. A restaurant kid's menu that offers something besides chicken hunks, burgers, corn dogs, fries, and gloppy mac-n-cheese. And would it kill them to offer fruit or a salad?
2. A lotion bottle that allows me to use the bottom inch of product without having to pull out the pump and smear the stick on my legs.
3. Although I appreciate you sending my kids the gift of filling the garbage, what I really need them to have is the coveted gift of taking out the garbage.
4. A voodoo doll resembling Fanny.
5. If I tell a kid to "come here," please bring them the ability to stop saying "Why?" from two floors away and just COME HERE!
6. An end to the school/science projects.
7. A normal long-sleeve shirt that doesn't make me look sleazy, boring, or like I qualify for a senior citizen discount.
8. A caffeine patch.
9. My kids could use the ability to be able to figure out, all by themselves, that if we're leaving at 9:30, they should maybe get their shoes and coats on at 9:25.
10. Dog pee that doesn't destroy my lawn.
11. A package of chicken that, when I think about the fact that I need to defrost it for tomorrow, automatically moves itself from the freezer to the refrigerator.
12. When you're in the area, please break my neighbor's lawn mower, leaf blower, weed wacker, and Shop-Vac. And feel free to let your reindeer crap in his yard.
13. A vacation.
14. I know a few people that could use a sense of humor, and you probably know who they are, too.

Please note that I didn't ask for anything unrealistic like sanity, more good-hair days, listening skills for my kids, or a built-in vodka dispenser on my refrigerator door. And if you really want to know the truth about what happened during school drop-off that one morning involving that fake-boobed/not-really-a-blonde/rule-breaking/know-it-all lady, it wasn't my fault. She tripped on the curb.

Sincerely, Love, and all that stuff,

The Mean Mom

Little Known Facts About Santa

While having lunch with Zoe yesterday, I told her that since there's no school on Friday, we're probably going to see Santa. Her eyes immediately registered panic and I could tell she hated the whole idea, but then she found out that Zach and Charlie will be there with her. After shoving a couple strawberries in her mouth and chewing in silence, she eventually said, "Okay, I'll go. Zach can hold my hand. But won't Santa's lap get super tired when Charlie puts his big legs on there?" I reassured her that Santa would probably survive, considering the fact that most of his elves are bigger than 70-pound Charlie. Mentioning elves triggered an avalanche of information from the girl, and I had no idea that she was such an expert when it came to a guy that she has never had the nerve to talk to.

• His favorite song isn't "Jingle Bells," it's "Tingle Bells."
• He eats cookies and spaghetti all day.
• His favorite cookie is sugar with red frosting.
• Sometimes he takes a bath, but not very often.
• He lives at the North Pole, where he takes care of his deer: Sam, Dasher, Fatty, Chowdy, Dingy, Manny, Shoobie, and Daisy.
• He likes to watch TV, mostly the news and Tom & Jerry.
• He plays football with the elves, and is really good at throwing.
• His favorite elf is that little guy named Liddy.
• If I'm naughty, Santa won't bring me a toy, but he will bring me worms.
• Santa has a wife? No way.