Shopping With the Kids

What Christmas shopping with the kids has taught me:

* Children can use the restroom before and after eating a meal at a restaurant, and still need to visit two rest areas and the mall bathroom as soon as you arrive.

* Children can eat at a restaurant and be hungry again an hour later.

* My son can look at the same Goth chick I think is cool, and tell her, "You're scary."

* I need a pull-string and speaker box, with the phrases, "Watch where you're going, hun!", "Don't touch that!", and "I'm sorry!" played at random.

* That you cannot browse leisurely through Spencer's Gifts, for fear that your kids will see products meant for those far past their tender years. And that your efforts at telling them to "Stay up front!" will be thwarted by the fact of, "But that's where the cool lights are!"

* That children braving the restroom on their own will want to test the acoustics of said facilities, much to the amusement of the adults standing outside.

* Despite using the restroom before leaving the mall, they still have to visit the rest area five miles from home.

Conclusion: My children must have the smallest stomachs and bladders in the history of mankind.

Also, my son can do an amazing robot impersonation, and his robotic laughter kept me in stitches for a good 15 minutes, despite my bone-weary, dead-eye tiredness.

Those Squirmy Eels

I've been living the pseudo-single-mom life for a while, and came up with a pretty good analogy of how life as a single parent seems to go. At least for me.

Imagine you work at a pet store. The store receives a shipment of eels. Eels? Yes, eels, just bear with me for a minute here. The manager asks you to transfer the eels to another tank, and by the tone of his voice, it sounds like a task that would take maybe 20 minutes.

You plop your hand in the tank and grab an eel, squeezing it firmly enough that you have a good hold on it, but not so hard as to hurt it. You carry it to the other tank. This ain't so hard, you think. Transfer a couple more, then the next trip, to save time, you grab two. One squirms out of your grasp and hits the floor. You transfer the other eel, and try to catch the escapee. Some customers are giving you dirty looks.

You catch the slippery critter, put it in the tank and go grab another. You turn around, and about half the eels have managed to slither out of the tank. So you catch those and put them back. Look at your watch -- it's time to feed the hamsters!

You hurriedly feed the hamsters, and go back to the eel task, when a customer needs your assistance. You help them and go back to the eel task, realizing now it's time to feed the fish. What you thought should have taken 20 minutes will actually be a two day job, there's water on the floor, you've got little accomplished, customers are unhappy, and you feel like you've let your boss, the customers, and all the pets down. You're a big, fat failure.

So how does it relate to real life? The pets and eels are your children. They need to be cared for, correctly, in a timely manner. The customers are people in your life, whether they are friends, family, school acquaintances or people who give you dirty looks in the store when your kids act up. And the manager? That's the voice in your head that tells you that you can never do good enough. Or maybe there's a person who acts like the boss in your life. For me, it's that voice.

Just my opinion.

Yeah, I'm OK

Well, hello again, faithful readers. (My joke. I don't have any readers yet. ha ha). I have seen the other side of crazy and survived.

Four days after my big meltdown, Aunt Flo came into town for a visit. Now Hubby is chalking up the "Nervous Breakdown" to PMS. Maybe it was an extreme case. I don't know. Everyone around me seems able to predict what I'm going through or what I'm going to do, while I don't even know myself.

This is true. I don't know how many times I've told a story about something that happened to me, or something I've done, to Hubby or friends, and been told they suspected that would happen, they could have told me that, or they "just knew" I was going to do that. Myself? I don't have a clue. I consistently surprise myself.

I do know that I need a break. It's not that I'm under any extreme stress, it's just the day to day things. Hubby does his best to help around the house, though inconsistently. His line of work has erratic hours. I can expect him home anywhere from 5-8 p.m. That leaves me home with the kids who fight, wreak havoc, constantly disprespect me, backtalk and unless they are having a sweet moment, are generally unpleasant to be around.

I love my kids, but I find I don't always like them. My mother has a plaque on her wall that reads, "Raising children is like being pecked to death by chickens". I have to say I agree. I feel pecked at all day long. Mix that with cabin fever and spring fever, and you have a recipe for meltdown.

So, if there's anyone out there concerned for my wellbeing, afraid they might find I've been locked in a padded cell and wearing a straightjacket -- I'm fine. I'm looking forward to getting out this weekend with a friend of mine, and making plans to visit with some high school friends the next weekend, if possible.