Third Graders, Please Step Forward...

The Second Grade emotional roller coaster is still jerking and circling down the tracks...

         Kindergarten registration in progress,

                 and Pre-School applications, yep, still empty...

I have no clue how I'm going to pull off making tonight's meal without heading to the store, or how to wrestle three kids into the tub and sedate a deep-sleep before 9:00pm, to somehow finish these last weeks of school, so who is already thinking about preparation for Third Grade in September? ...well, every mother with a child on the Second floor, that's who!

"Did you request a teacher?"

"What class is Coldyn going in next year?"

"Well...hopefully not in with your boy's demeanor, sour mouth, or within a clammy hand's reach of yours, and yes, we will again be busy whenever your child's birthday party is..." 

This time I say, I'm skipping the teacher requesting, and simply just let me hand pick the 18 children, influencing my child's behavior for the next 10 months. Straight to the source- let's set the tone I'm wishing upon my home after school days, skip waving steak knives at the dinner table, and the slamming of bedroom doors while my foot is still attached...  

Oh, how life could be a bit more joyous, if my 8 year-old boy sat with a sweet little pair of focused pigtails, instead of with Captain Star Wars, laser shooting everything, and adding a string of robot-talk swear words to every activity. And certainly my kid's day would be happier, thus making him much more enjoyable, without the tension of the kid who called his shirt, "girly crap," who instantly introducing himself to Mama's lengthy stay away from that brat list: 

Bias, naturally! But sure, I would be completely suitable for the third grade student placement. I could fairly pick and choose, and without all the stacks of paperwork or time wasted on lotto drawing...Nope, by the eye of Mama! Simply line 'em up, like selecting farmer's market fruit... smell, squeeze, check for the rotten, and one's leaving a bad taste in the mouth of my boy...and with their parents displayed, before friendships were established, a must.

As simple as Duck, Duck, Goose- No, No, Hell No, Aw she's cute, No, So sweet, Yes, your daddy is a hottie, but your mother is a dysfunctional basket case, so no, No, If only your tattletale was as cute as your curly ponytail... No!

Okay, girl who shared the hairy cookies last Christmas, you and your mystery kitchen, out. Instead, we'll trade for the boy who lives in the $400,000 estate, clearly his kitchen is extravagant, cleaned by a maid, or his mother will pay $4.50 a piece for beautifully decorated treats; fresh from a licenced bakery, and without the Ecoli, ruining my Mall day, by keeping my kid home puking on the couch.

Mother with giant van, who drives near my house! Greetings! Well, I just think, not only should our kids be in the same class, but they should be in the same sports, activities, and similar schedules as well... I'll even leave the porch light on for you!

Child who loves to read, uses the word "Please" more than "stupid," brushes his teeth after lunch, also goes to bed at 7:30pm, still watches Max and Ruby, and takes extra kids on family vacations; I think I speak for my son, when I say, "Let's be best of friends!"

Reagan, Jordan, Hannah... Perfect, the three smartest girls in the entire third grade, take the immediate seats closest circling my child. Write large and clear, keep your work free of all things obstructing his view, and complete the homework before it reaches home to the "Don't ask me!" mother! 
"I'll help you, Coldyn!" is already filling the air, and need for bribing good grades just went from $20 a piece, to a buck.

Chubby girl, knock-knees, boy who always forgets his sneakers, and kid who can't tie his shoes, all in... as I can already see victory and joy in my child's sweet face; yes, this year he will be the fastest kid in his gym class! Yeah, buddy!

Welcome, the boy who never has a birthday party and the girl embarrassed by her house, unfortunate for you indeed, however any less wasted Saturdays driving to children's parties, the better for me!

And you, I've seen your mother volunteer for every holiday, HSA, field trip, and even the damn dunk tank, Say no more... Welcome classroom mom!

Now, add a few kids with multiple younger siblings...as my child should never be alone with urine drenched homework, outrageously over-sharing stories, or purple marker covering his every project. Include, the little boy with the always happy and sweet mother (like so sweet, I need to get close enough to find out what's in her prescription) mother!

Okay, don't want the kid who never zips his coat, sneezes on the crayons, or the girl who skips the seasonal flu shot and has washable-marker on her hands for days. Certainly, I have enough crap shared by a toddler licking shopping carts and a Kindergartner insistent upon sharing grape chap stick.  

Perhaps the glue eater should pair up with the loud-mouthed obnoxious boy, and the booger picker with the boy who likes to poke things with paperclips, but happily in another classroom. 

Additionally, by the power vested in a pissed-off mother, the boy who busted my son's lunch box, and the other who punched him on the bus, you'll both be repeating the second grade...in another state, Amen!

What a successful year of school, so closely on the horizon...
A five star teacher recommendation unnecessary. Perhaps, the teacher won't even be hiding in the elevator for frequent smoke breaks, or storing a flask in the drawer with the stapler and confiscated toys. Her year could be as pleasant as mine!

After all, the real sculpting of my child, either loving school, or learning new ways to make farting noises and destroy things with pencil lead, is held in the germ-covered hands of his classmates, not the perfect teacher. Even a super-hero can not undo the works of a class full of dysfunctional behaviors, bad attitude rubbers, and peer pressure demands.   

So why bother picking the teacher? Save buying printer ink just to type the teacher request to the Principle, and printing it twice, as the first falls victim to grape jelly, and the second rides in the visor of your car for weeks after the deadline, anyhow... 

So Third grade, desired teacher or not, here we come! Probably ten minutes late, with shoes untied, breakfast still in the mouth, and a sibling squirming in peanut butter-covered p.j.s...but with passion, a fake smile, and the coolest damn sneakers, a weeks worth of groceries will buy!

I'm pretty confident, my children will still have that mother: the one, power reading last chapters out loud, the night before a book report is due, blocking bus lanes to sign agendas, and giving great advice like, "hit him back," or "I have no clue, ask the smart kid in the class!" No matter the grade, or the teacher, so lets just survive the summer first...   

      

But, who wouldn't want this cool dog in their class and on their dodge ball team, anyway? 



The boy in the Principle's Office...

The principle's office is always full of high-energy and naughty little boys, and won't it always be... 

yet, once upon a time that little boy was mine!

Second grade has been the same for centuries; little girl's mouths' run like diarrhea, and little boys mouths' speak of diarrhea... So wouldn't it be such talk, running from my child's mouth and thankfully not from his rear, landing him into a seat with the dear Mr. Principle. 

Yes, sobbing... as one of his third grade idols from the bus, once shared, "All you have to do is cry, they won't call your mom, and you don't even get in trouble..."

So, one child mixes all their school lunch contaminants and nutritional deficient sludge, together with a straw, and another states an observation of it simply resembling diarrhea... sounds like a normal cafeteria scene to me...

Yet, wouldn't little miss. sludge slopper walk over to the lunch lady, carefully not to trip on her tattletale, and say, "He called my lunch diarrhea!" 

Well, it was a school purchased lunch, so I properly state- it was one step up from diarrhea, like from insect to rodent! 

Still not convinced this was even talk that came from my child's mouth... He was much more expected to say something more farm child-like; looks like a shit pit, farm lagoon, ...liquid manure, something spread from Grandpa's shit-spreader, gutter soup, cow-pie?? Not formal diarrhea! And then, if the conversation didn't continue with... the make and model of Papa's shit spreader, what's broke on it, and which field he was currently spreading on... it wasn't words from my boy, anyway...

To the office for talking about diarrhea at the age of 8... really?

While some ignorant people may be proud when their child goes to the office, and some over-barring types are frantic when their child goes to the office... I, Thank God, they didn't waste a phone call on explaining this one to me, because the conversation would have probably started with; me pushing the talk button long before ready to answer ("SIT DOWN! YOU'RE SMEARING SHIT ALL OVER... NOW IT'S ON YOUR PANTS... WHAT THE HELL DID YOU EAT? ...AND YOU DON'T NEED THE WHOLE ROLL!" then sounds of a flushing toilet, followed by the phone, balanced on my shoulder, smacking the bathroom tile...) 

And then a simple throat clearing, on cue,  "Hello?"

Principle:  "Mrs. Hackett we have your son in the office over a disturbing case of diarrhea..." 

Mama: "Are you shittin' me? I told him a mixing bowl of Raisin Bran was not for school mornings! I even made him a waffle...So, I suppose he won't wear the Nurse's spear sweatpants, and now what... I gotta make another special trip for pants and he thinks he needs a Gatorade?"

Principle:  "No ma'am! He doesn't have diarrhea... He used poor language choices, like speaking of diarrhea... and inappropriately at a time of lunch.  

Mama: GET OVER HERE! GET THAT OUT OF YOUR MOUTH... SPIT IT OUT! NO WONDER YOU'RE SHITTING LIKE A GOOSE... QUIT EATING PLANT DIRT!

(Then, sound of phone hitting floor again, because my hand is instinctively held out to catch child number three's spitting debris)  "What? Did you say...he said the word, "diarrhea?"  Hu? Not the runs... squirts, or craps, ...shits? But, properly spoke no slander, no swearing? Yes I am proud..."  But, we gotta make this quick- I gotta cramp in my neck, another brewing in the gut, and I can't fold laundry one handed, while the other holds a mixture of toddler spit, plant dirt, and a half-chewed fruit snack... it looks like diarrhea!  But, really thanks for nothing..." 

Fortunately, no one called on this bad case of diarrhea... instead I received this letter home about it...

Whats that... oh, you can't read it?  Yes, that was the plan of my intelligent offspring...

Shear brilliance!

Cry in the office, snatch marker from teacher's desk, complete scribble mission tucked into bus seat! 

The boy doesn't need detention, he needs a certificate of achievement! 

It wasn't a case of diarrhea at all... looked more like my 8 year old boy had simply started his period, and no better explanation was found anywhere in his head for the massive red blotch to make me believe otherwise.  

"What's this, bud...?"

"Oh that... just a red dot!"



Yep a red dot... covering the entire teacher comments section of his agenda, and in the same color as her initials on the previous page... hu?

Further investigation found the teacher's red marker in his book bag, and his pants a bit squirmy when I threatened to call the teacher and ask about his period.

"What does this say, bud?"

"It doesn't say anything... see it's just red marker!"

"What did it say under all this, at one time, before you scribbled it out wit a red marker?

Then he caved... Reciting beautifully in full sentences, and closing with "I hope tomorrow will be a better day... A full paragraph of brilliant crap... sounded legit, and I bought it! 

It mentioned nothing of the real case; no principle's office, nor diarrhea...

It wasn't until the next day, the teacher shared the real writing... then I shared with him he soooo could have got out of this one easy... Going to the office over saying diarrhea...well, that's crap...like runny diarrhea crap, bud... Mom's not even worried, but lying to your mother about it- now, you went and created a problem, child!

You're in more trouble than if you ate gas station pizza, with a warm milkshake,

wearing a button fly on your jeans,

and thrown into an out of order bathroom...

Yeah, still want to talk about diarrhea, boy? 

Say "AAAAAHHHHH!"

Since talking my daughter for ear piercing wasn't so tragic,
                  my youngest had a 30 month well visit, that almost went well,
                                           and even my 8 year-old survived another "itchy" ear-clipping hair cut...

Dentist times three, sure why not!?

Lace the shoes, dust the cape-- time for a toothpaste covered nightmare!

It went nearly as smooth as that one time I attempted aerobics;
That's right, rhythm of hitting thruway rumble strips, exhaustion and sweat gluing the shorts in your ass and causing bumps on your thighs...I couldn't catch my breath then, and couldn't catch the toddler darting through the dentist office today...

Naturally, a long wait to be seen! Trying to entertain three kids with a gum wrapper, giant toothbrush-- sized to clean a ship, and a game of waiting room name that bacteria! Booger or crumb? Raisin or shit? 

My littlest, yep the one on the table, indulging in the waiting room's finest contaminants-- the mother load of public saliva covered toys! Nearly as health hazardous as eating a gummy bear off my car floor, yet a childhood necessity!

Immune system building and hand covering joy! No need to share...

 Ashlyn is thrilled, intensely thrilled, and amused...just look at her enthusiasm for my gum wrapper origami!

Quite entertaining to brush a bear's teeth, indeed... that is until, your brother rips it from the hands, leaving trails of bristle burn, and then runs off with it for his own pleasure!

Ashlyn sobs, as it was nearly a death experience, and Bostyn remains finding joy in using the brush for a sword, and attempts to knock the head off!

The poor bear's, one of many blows to the head, and the first sight of stuffing is exposed!  

I now have one child who thinks he's a ninja, one crying that the world is over, and another dumping my purse for entertainment, while whining, "I'm board!"

(yep, the one who is missing school for this, still not happy) 

There he is saying "ouch," and putting his leg back on, after Mama convinced him-- yes, you will go first...

And Bostyn watches in amazement, and dreams of cramming this giant brush

into brother's vulnerably open mouth!

So, the oldest does quite well, as far as I know-- not a clue really to the condition of his teeth, whether he chose cotton candy or bubble gum flavored fluoride, or even if teeth are currently still in his head-- as he was tortured in the hot seat, I was chasing a toddler, with a weapon, through the office, over the table, out of the bathroom...well, not exactly out of the bathroom, really I was trying to use the bathroom, and wouldn't you know he could independently open the door, and show everyone

Mama's "pirdy un'ies," bright purple un'ies to be exact!

There I was, doing a little hover-squat, mid stream at the peak of non-shutoff point,  full views shine down the hallway, full view shine up the crotch, and all I could beg was no one was looking...

Deer in headlights, no longer means shit, once you've seen full-view mother in squatting dog!

 (now there's your panic freeze frame) 

And I wish someone could have captured that photo for all to enjoy, as I had so many photos of the day but, not the coordination to share this priceless moment.

As I begged my child to shut the door, it was like making a deal with the devil; he simply laughed, knew I had no candy to fulfill my bribe, and then wanted to brush my hair with his weapon. Knocking my sunglasses down off my head, all I could beg was that putting them over my eyes would really make me invisible. 

 My thighs, so stuck with sweat from chasing my toddler already for miles, I knew a quick yank up of the pants, would not be an instant cover up! Rather, it required eleven motions of churning butter to get these suckers up on a normal day, and was going to be similar to getting a dry inter tube up over my hips!

Instead, I had glasses hanging off my head, hair wrapped in a giant brush with a tot beating it against my head...I'm yanked around by his controls, wishing I hadn't drank so much on the ride in, and shrieking, "Someone shut the door!"!  

A girl in the second exam room, giggles and stares...hopefully hooked to laughing gas, and not that she caught a glimpse of my three days unshaven glory or the dimples in my legs! 

 I swoosh my bangs back and walk from that bathroom like nothing happened, and don't I arrive to little miss filthy feet in the chair for her turn...

The dentist admired her flip flops so much, she took them off to show she had

disgusting feet just as admirable. She explained that she was such a fast runner, she'd throw a flip flop, and still win a race. How difficult it could be to peddle a trctor while wearing flip flops and that hopefully they were dirtier than her teeth...

In fact, she talked so much, they couldn't even get a brush in edgewise or clean her teeth, that's my girl...

With little chatter nearly taking up two appointments, they call for Bostyn to another room...

"No, don't go Mommy," Ashlyn whines.

Oh, trust me...mommy did not want to go, any worse than she wanted to go in that bathroom ever again!

Our first attempt to seat him in the chair...ended in a dart away and fall to the floor!

Second, was similar but, included knocking of an assistant's glasses...

The third was the "Look mommy's sitting" attempt, that ended with me laying back in the chair, stuck like a turned turtle, and gasping for air!

And finally, we (we- I mean three of us) finally get him to sit in the chair-- after four wiggling escapes, a tuck and roll, poked eye, and Mama beading with sweat, he will sit with only a choke hold grip.

Have you ever tried to put shoes on a slippery walrus, or stick your head in a lion's mouth? Me neither, but it has to be a similar experience...

Trying to convince him to open his mouth, "It's okay, I just want to brush your teethers! Lets make bubbles...you want toy tower tokens?" She tries everything, and who the hell was she kidding--

He wasn't going to open his mouth for Santa Claus or a new car, what the hell leverage did she have on a two year-old, using a token?

  

Then finally, like trying to force a wormer tablet down a dog's throat... we broke through the teeth barrior, and without much enamal damage. Nearly like, when gremlin meets h2o! 

Most of his brushing, I kept one hand braced across his forehead, and the other pushed against his chest. Yet, he just would not open his mouth any wider than the toothbrush, covered in bite marks, distance.

 Sure he could unlock and open a bathroom door but, not unlock his jaw and open his own mouth...

 "I'm just not sure that we'll get much better view at this age," and she acted as if defeated...

I however, was thinking a bit more of...  you're charging me $48.00 for a dental evaluation, you sure's hell better be able to see something other than largely inflating nostrils and foaming at the mouth...

So I brace my foot and go in for the fishhook, similar to steer wrestling, I twist till he has to open... 

Biting her finger a second time, and spitting purple latex, I knew if it happened again, she was going to ask for his immunization records before she continued or just ask that I take him to the vet next time. 

Her tugging at the corner of his mouth, and bubbles flowing down the sides,

made him look even more rabid than usual!

"Open! Brush! Brush! You like making bubbles? Do you brush your teeth a lot?"

Then, fresh from the mouth of my delighted 8 year-old, "Like never! He never gets his teeth brushed...all he does is eat tooth paste. Mom don't like dealing his biting and soaking the counter!

Once she threw out his toothbrush cause he scrubbed the floor with it, and he put it back in his mouth after being in the garbage! haha... It was funny"

Ha ha! If it wasn't obvious by the child's performance, he wasn't in regular brushing practice, 

the older blabber mouth was filling her in, and adequately leaving off the sugar coating to

impress a dentist...  

I glared a look of, Shut your mouth boy, this wasn't confessional, it was the dentist office!   

 He continued, on and on, "Once he squirted soap all over his tooth brush and mom made him brush..."

Now clawing my oldest in the arm, there I was...

in that ironic moment of making one child shut his mouth, while begging the other child would simply

open his mouth...

Although we weren't leaving with ribbons of high scores, or a belt buckle, Bostyn and I survived his first rodeo ride in the dentist chair, and miraculously the dental assistant and the toy tower survived his

smashing and smacking too...

He shook that sucker like a fat factory worker losing his last dollar in a vending machine, and when he was out of tokens ran the distance of the office, to snatch another handful from the exam room! 

"Oh, it's okay, he didn't like what he got the first time, did you...?"

Gee lady, weren't you really helping...he worked her like a runway, and collected more prizes, making the other two whine and "not fair!" Clearly she hadn't any knowledge of proper gumball machine edicate...

Simply, you get, what you get, and you don't throw a fit... 

Life's greatest disappointments were handed over after the crank of a coin machine!

The one you point out, is never the one that falls, 

and until gumball machine expenses are excepted on tax forms we will never continue attempting...  

Just when I could see light at the end of our appointment, nearly at checking out, wouldn't it be obvious to expect a three way shove over putting last tokens in, and turning...and then was the drop of a bouncy ball!!

Good Lord, worse than a Rottweiler chasing a tennis ball through church, destruction and screams left the timid little receptionist wanting to throw that token tower through the window, and tell her boss what she really thought of the job! 

And now he want's to open his mouth...

to show you why we don't run, when mommy tells us, "You're going to fall!"

Let's hope my children are as excited about brushing their teeth now, 

as they were about all their new treasures!

I'm excited to have six opened toothpaste bottles to fetch from the toilet,

and more cheap token shit for fighting over and to clog the vacuum...

 and you gotta love more tooth brushes directly on the floor

(good thing he scrubbs it on the bar of soap, before dipping in the toilet, and jabbing the dog) 

I could take a guess to why he is so exhausted, as am I, the locked-down dental office, 

as well as the crank on the token tower, and the poor bears gums...

But, I'm quite optimistic, he might just like the 3lbs. of frosting and sprinkles, off of a Horton's donut enough, to convince him he needs to hang on to that toothbrush...

Who the hell, would pick this profession pediatric dentistry, is beyond the sainthood of me...

There only 45 minutes; I had third degree burns on the back of my neck from fighting under the light, gobs of hair missing, and a size 7 shoe print across my chest, with permanent tread damage to the left nipple. 

And I was wrestling only one child today, my child, one I loved!  

Bless the people who wrestle other's brats, to simply brush the teeth that just bit them in the arm!!!!

Here is your purple heart <3... to match your purple swollen eye, and purple gloves...

See you in six months!

Good morning pissy-pants!

There are a few things that suck worse than Monday mornings…like an early Tuesday morning after a holiday, unloading groceries and a toddler in pouring rain, and ah…the joys of early morning, wet piss-covered sheets…

Rise and shine! This morning not awaking to smells of coffee, or sounds of birds, but rather the aroma of urine drenched beds, with whines and screams of hissing children, similar to that moment; when cat hits dryer!

Hadn’t I loved to pretend, I was done with buying giant packs of night time Pull-ups, no more slathering lotion on dry chapped buns, and through with sheets that sound like the wrestling of last crumbs from a chip bag.

Relapse!

Double header, or double wetter; This morning not one little pissy pants, but two…

My two year-old’s started with whines and whimpers at 2:00am, and the only way to omit those sounds from carrying into third and forth hours, was drowning him with a drink of water. Naturally, that giant overnight necessity, slurped from a soapy cup at the bottom of the tub, would end up recycled onto his bed sheets hours later...but at least he slept!

My daughter’s nightly mayhem however, was not as easily pinpointed; More of-- 10:00pm an itchy foot, 11:00pm spotting of a shadow, 11:05pm then the noise 12:00am the Velcro of her pillow-pet grazed her skin, with 12:02am meaning a band aide was necessary for her nonexistent injury (Yet, I Hello-kitty covered a freckle and kissed it anyhow) 1:00am I was summoned to lay with her, again, and it topped with the 2:00am bad dream…of a bug, that bites…(First taking her potty! I swear) now she comes into my bed…

Nearly 6:00am (much too early for our traditional missed the bus day) there it was; the tap,tap,tap, simultaneously felt with warmth on my back…

“Mama, I peed…”

She meant to say, “I pissed every where, like 30 gallons, and nailed both sheets, dad’s pillow, my blankie, your down-filled comforter, and sopped right through your memory foam mattress topper…please except this gift of three extra loads of laundry and join me for an early morning bath!”

She was so drenched, her bottom inches of hair dripped. Possibly how could such a small child, who went to the bathroom hours before, have nearly freed Willy with a giant aquarium sized blowout…not a clue. I even searched for the missing end of the garden hose—not in my bed!  Hum?

Through 5 inches of memory foam, numerous blankets, and still a puddle soaked on my mattress top. Spray, dab, Lysol, blot…no, not going to resolve this one. Fire up the barn fan, sprinkle with the Nascar speedy dry, or just hand me a match…

And attempting to strip her piss-glued clothing off, while growling and squirming, is as easily done as peeling an orange while wearing wool mittens! I needed a crowbar to pry her bottoms down off her thighs. Shimmy down, a tiny movement left, then right, and when it finally rolled down to her feet, what you had left was looking like a rolled purple pony condom for a dinosaur.

If it wasn’t bad enough turning the kid’s dirty socks right side out, now I’d have to reach my arms down each of the leg holes and try to disassemble pissy underwear and p.j.’s rolled together tighter than a cigar.

Yet, wouldn’t it be only after the tub was drained, and the floor dried, that soaked contestant number two would come on down. Walking like on stilts, tottering side to side, not to bend the cold wet against him, “Me not pee, Mama…just wet!”    …okay

His bed just washed yesterday, four blankets, along with 19 stuffed animal friends, soaked! I didn’t know if I was ready to burst into tears by now, or if the morning’s overwhelming ammonia was simply burning my eyes…either way, I was starting the day wanting to hang myself with soaked bed sheets!

Dragging a mound of laundry, he was abnormally clingy and ornery this morning, “Uppie! Want you!” Of coarse, because I had chased behind a swinging weed eater for continuous hours the day before and my arms worked as well as using chopsticks …so, if wrestling a wet king-sized, down-filled comforter, and two bed changes down the stairs was not enough, I was doing it with a 32lb. parasite attached.

The washing machine door shut only with a bit extra force, thrusts and a few hip checks, nearly through the wall. And it sounded in cycle like boulders going down a playground curly slide, and a boat propeller with half of a whale caught in it. It made so much racket, the dog thought someone was at the door, and barked each time it spun.  Shut-up!!

Anyone who attempted this over-sized garment duty knows; the

harder part of the process is the drying… Certainly raining, so it

couldn’t be hung on the line, and the dryer quickly wadded it into a

giant fruit roll up.

Stopping the dryer, I strenuously yank it back out, as pulling off a pool liner, while hog-tying then flipping, a wild bird on its back. Then I'd beg it wouldn’t stall when re-started again. Blowing giant bird gobs and feathers from the vent, anyone passing would surely assume I was attempting to collect a urine sample from an ostrich.

Then the dryer would shriek loud beeps and the lint filter light would flash again…so I’d pull out more gobs and beat the filter against the side of the garbage can. Choking and spitting feathers, I’d brace my foot against the dryer front, tug and pry, trying to flip the ostrich roll so the inside could dry. My laundry room looked like I’d been butchering meat chickens, and the intense yanks were like I was trying to teach that damn ostrich to lead… 

My plan for the day was to accomplish something, anything from

my “to do” list. So, I brushed the feathers off, and the tot and I

headed for groceries. What better was there to do on a rainy day,

while the ostrich flailed through the laundry room wall and the dog went nuts?

He insisted on a pack of gummy worms and chocolate milk, but the worms ending up tucked into the check-out magazines, and the milk dumped into his car seat before we left the store. If only he would just sit down and patiently get buckled, instead of making me hit my head, and drag him over the backseat, while mooning all the nearby vehicles.

Cleaning yet, another soaking mess using a few drive thru napkins and my sweatshirt to sop the puddle under his seat, then loading grocery bags while rain poured from buckets…I obviously hadn’t seen the shopping cart in front of my car, as I slammed it into gear the cart spit out compressed like a tuna fish can.

Ooops!

Next stop was preschool to pick up the darling little angel…the one who didn’t sleep much that night before… 

“Ugh! He got Chocolate milk?” 

sobbing

“I want strawberry then! Why did you go to the store?”

Kicking and pouting!

“You said you would paint my nails, and no one wanted to play with me today…I’m not eating any lunch, so there…”

It was a ride of furry! Frankly, the child talked so fast and was so

intensely hating the world, it wasn’t even necessary I respond to any of

her hisses.

I scrubbed and fired up every fan in the house to blow on

my mattress, and suddenly it was the best thing ever happening in the

day…I couldn’t hear a thing over top of all the motors spinning and

humming. It muffled out all the whines and cries, and was as lovely as

hearing waterfalls flow. Then it happened…ah, sleep little child! Both

sound asleep, and quiet! Thank you, Peppa Pig!

Please, just don’t pee all over my couch…

A field of sugar! No napkin necessary!

Just like that…suckered into chaperoning a litter full of highly sugared, over-excited cavemen...another glorious class trip. Second grade, the age of the never shutting yap, and stamina of a set of humming bird wings.

A mother’s involuntarily commited to being covered in fire ants, and joining a bus full of unrestrained hyperactive animals. Zookeeper for a day, sure piece of cake for most mothers, but zookeeper in a quiet theater to watch an endless play…takes miracles, duct tape, and three ibuprofen chased with Scotch.    

The chaos started while waiting to board the late bus-- We were standing on the sidewalk a mere ten minutes, yet seemed like an eternity for the patience of 7 and 8 year olds, lying all over the ground, fighting, and the complaining already starts. Teachers at maximum stress levels fought for the first buses, as the principle attempted direction, and every other school official seemed clueless to which buses were for each field trip. Our bus finally approached, and they screamed even louder, cheering like a cluster of drunken men at a play-off game. Kids were throwing rocks and then punches, and I was already feeling urges to throw myself in front of the bus’s moving wheels.

The torturous bus ride left me feeling a lot of things; mostly nausea, pounding in my temples, but every bump in the road made me feel my bladder bubble through my throat. I feared it was coming, and by the gallon, one thump of anything larger than a crossing snapping-turtle, and my pants would be wet.

Surely, the teacher had sent home a lengthy list of field trip preparations but, exactly who had time to read all three pages of it before it was covered in over-flowing pasta starch? I can guarantee, it mentioned of using restrooms before arriving to school…yet, I had earlier wrestled a spraying toddler on top the toilet, wiped another screaming child, and ran by it six times to wiggle the handle, for sanity of the continuous running trickles-- but who actually had time to sit down, risk being delayed by a jelly seat mauling, on a school morning?  

Instead, I searched for a focal point to distract my bladder from feeling like a kid mauling a water balloon…and anything that would help to drown out the kids screaming, so fiercely and directly into my ear, I could feel saliva dripping off my earlobe. To make matters worst, obviously when I had told my child, “Go up and brush your teeth,” this morning, he chose to go collect a pocket full of Legos instead. His teeth still looked of crumbled Colby, and his breath gave me goose bumps, which furthered my sensation to piss myself. 

Each time my restless child flailed around our seat, squashing our lunches a little more, was the only time I felt bladder relief; distracted by smells and sandwich remains, squeezed through the sides of the Ziplock blowout, and my mouth watered instead of my pants. I was starving, and could have busted that soggy, mangled sandwich from its disposable bag using only my teeth.

Best of intentions to starting the day with a healthy breakfast, was home collecting flies, on my kitchen counter. Naturally, I was braiding pigtails, packing my littlest a bag for ruining Grandma’s day, and attempting to chase my hair weasel with a curling iron, instead of eating soggy cereal. Like every other morning, I wolfed down the first three bites intensely, like a hog at the trough, but never got back to the remaining sludge until after my kids were shipped to school. 

This morning I had to drop Grandma the toddler bomb, walk my daughter to her pre-school class, before racing to the 2nd grade for the lecture, bags of lunches, and find the bus!     

No doubt the delayed bus made our class late, and we arrived to the theater with the show already in place. So, if chasing kids into theater seating wasn’t complicated enough...now, we had to do it in the dark and silently…

“Silently!” The usher kept holding a finger to his lips… Ha! They were like herding cattle into fenced shoots for vaccinations, and with a distinctively dressed and smelling vet, holding a visible giant needle! Each time we’d close in on the silence, one would backlash and circle back around to the door… “I don’t want to go next. Where’s Hannah? I want to sit by her…” 

Cranking on kid’s head tops, to realign their direction, “Shhh! Keep walking unless you want so much swelling in your vision you won’t be seeing dear Hannah again!” And don’t even make me jab my thumbnail under your rib cage to inspire you attention forward!

I was doing agility lines, like in a gymnasium fitness test, to corral their incapability to simply follow in a line. With one crawling over another, like piglets searching for the last teat at feeding time, I finally forced them into one row seating. And as I was just about to seat myself, a little girl darted into the seat I was unfolding… Really?

“Foolish child, do you really want all this voluptuous tonnage crushing down on the sparrow bones filling your leggings?” Wishing to avoid the flyswatter effect given by my back pockets, she wisely slid down a seat. There, she and the girl next to her would argue over the armrest the entire show.

“Mrs…. Tell her, I had my arm here first!”  

I told them to knock it off and share several times, and each time they’d blow snot, then push each other off. Back and forth, they’d teeter-totter on the armrest, and then I’d get, tap.tap.tap.tap.tap. on my shoulder. “Tell her…”

“Coldyn’s mom…?”

I was nearly ready to whisper down, “Yes, you tell her yourself,” pointing to the girl she was fighting with… “If the little woodpecker annoying the piss out of Coldyn’s mom doesn’t stop, because you can’t share with me, she’s going to rip off your right, and my left, and place them on spare armrests at the end of the aisle, and we may have them sewn back on at the end of the show!!” Apparently, my facial expressions spoke of a similar feeling, as they decided to call a truce after my final glare!

Certainly, my phone would still sound during the play, and noises of awakening a hibernating bear voiced from of my stomach. It was a long play, and if the after questions of numerous kids weren’t torturous enough, each class was dismissed independently. And wouldn’t you know; the interrupting last arrivals would obviously, be the last departures as well. We watched the entire theater dismiss, as our group hooped and moaned, and impatiently frolicked like dogs awaiting a frisbee… Like wormy dogs, sliding around the tops of the folded stadium seating, squirming as disturbingly as being drenched in gasoline, and then threatened with a match. The man with the microphone held the match, and was going to face the wrath of Mama if he didn’t start picking up the pace with our dismissal…

I had appreciated the wait before a dental procedure and found post-surgery recovery much more enjoyable than the zoology that was ripping at my hair, tugging at my shirt, and burnt into my sole. One teacher mauled so intensely, with children at her heels, the strapping of her flip flop tore off. Certainly it was all fun and games until there's a flip flop blowout…Us chaperoning mothers were not continuing on anymore out numbered, patching up the man-down using a band aide from a mother’s purse for sticking it back together.  

I considered offering up my flip flops, as the trip already seemed of walking on broken glass and hot ashes anyway, who the hell needed shoes…

The teacher again did headcounts, as did I, but not to count for missing, rather to ensure we weren’t taking any damn extras. The kids finally excused, rampaged out, the teacher skidding along in her repaired stride after...it was finally time for pouring back into the discomfort of the bus nightmare. The hot seat, the electric chair, a bed of nails, anything seemed more enjoyable than cramming back into holding cells designed for three foot tall children. Hot and humid, clammy children's hands covered with disgust of a homeless blanket.    

It was a nice sunny day in the city limits, but wouldn’t it make more sense to drive back home to pouring rain and a wet playground, before starting our picnic. The bus following, apparently did not see our bright yellow mass of 18 seats turning off the exit, and kept trucking straight past…unconcerned, we hadn’t a care if that bus was driving straight in to a pit of lava or off of a bridge, we were going to eat our smashed and sun-baked lunches without them…

I have to say—the reasoning for hyper action and outraged behavior in the children, was oh, so clear once assisting in opening a few bagged lunches. 90% were the contents of a vending machine, and the other 10%, included only my wilted sandwich vegetables mayo-glued against the bag, and the orange that was used for dodge ball.

Nearly every child had some kind of boxed Lunchable. More commonly know as; enough stale items to feed an ant, plastered with a full serving of preservatives, stuffed into box packaging, and yet, hassle free because it includes even a drink. Amazed as the company has brilliantly packaged them with our greatest requirement—water! Simple water, yet a warning, nearly bold printing… Do not drink “A” until mixed with “B”…a giant packet of 36g of sugar, Red40, and artificial strawberry kool-aide flavoring. Havens no, water was for ruining the bathroom floor and slopping in holes dug into sand, not for drinking!

If that wasn’t enough, a box of nerds, or pack of skittles, becomes an adequate serving side in a child’s meal. Some kids had simply the boxed lunch, others had additional junk food items sent along, and another girl had an attempt at yogurt, but no spoon. They were effortless attempts to meals, equivalent to sending a tissue box filled with leftover trick-or-treat candy and a few smashed crackers. 

All different Lunchable boxes; cold chicken nuggets, or a sub or pizza making kit… a tiny flour shell, a sauce packet the child couldn’t open, and lastly the assembling of finely shredded cheese…looking worse than a sink of whiskers after a man shaved, it left a mess just to prepare; yet small hands still had to figure out how to eat it, ...on a picnic, and without a napkin. The box had enough sauce for a large pan pizza, a sugared red beverage, along with an Oreo cookie and melted candy, but no full bib, or even a cheaply transparent napkin.

Seeming a mother no longer exerts herself with even the spreading of peanut butter, or pulling of the red bologna string, and still can not add a piece of fruit or a damn napkin to the bag… 42 kids on this field trip, and only two napkins in total…mine, and the other chaperoning mother’s! Mine ended up on the child’s lap, where the flimsy crusted pizza bomb had landed. And with no more napkins, I simply gave my spoon to the girl slurping and tapping the bottom of her yogurt, since her hands would soon be covering me.

Each child assembled directly on top of the park’s old picnic table tops, and one even slurped a wad of mayo from the wood. The child with the sub making Lunchable, smeared the enormous packet of mayo all over the roll, the table, wiping the remaining on his shirt, and then added the tiny portion of meat. A twin pack of Ho-Ho’s, and two packs of fruit snacks, made up the child’s remaining lunch…but, most likely because his teeth were rotted so severely, he couldn’t possibly eat an apple or a carrot anyhow…

Certainly, on occasion my children have enjoyed a Lunchable, but only as a snack, and after I had eaten the candy bar from it, everytime!   

I opened kid’s packages, foiled tops, and wrappers, in between each bite of my already chewed-looking sandwich…yet, wouldn’t my child sitting right next, be the only one to gnaw and tug at his Go-gurt tube without wanting help, then launch the glob of sour cotton candy into my hair. Wouldn’t some napkins be nice about now…

Then, came more rain… Thank the Lord!

I was a winner either way-- The trip would end early, or I could wash my hair...   

And with the miserable rain, washed away any feeling of guilt I had from neglecting all the things collecting at home on my lengthy check list (or realistically, nothing checked off list) The sky was as dark as the bags under my eyes, it would have been a perfect nap day, if that was ever possible…but, if I ever felt a nodding moment on that ride back, it wasn’t lasting long with little sewer breath, and the dragon-like child throwing steam in my ear.

The comfort returning and survival!

“Mom can I go home with you instead of back to class? I promise to brush my teeth…”