Archive of ‘bad parenting’ category

Hey, You Guys!

 

Goonies-Movie-Quotes

On June 7, 1985, exactly 30 years ago today, ‘The Goonies’ was released. At the time, I was six. My brothers were four, three and eight weeks. My mom and dad were 33 and 36, respectively. Today, I am 36. My sons are seven, five and two. I am the exact age that my father was when he and my mother decided to head to the movie theater with four and three-year-old boys. Four children under six, including a newborn who was left with God only knows that day, would make anyone’s judgement a bit lax.

 

The anticipation was incredible. After what seemed like hours, 15 minutes real time, we walked in the doors. Candy, a huge tub of popcorn and one soda with four straws later, we were headed to the upper balcony ready for the Goonies experience.

 

We were all hooked on the tale of friendship packed with action, adventure and a really creepy guy chained up in the basement. Despite our young ages, we sat pretty still while devouring snacks and slurping drinks, until we didn’t. There was dancing down the aisle. Not tap or salsa, this looked a bit more like the hustle.

 

One-eyed Willy’s boat had just been discovered when the real performance started. A poor, Pepsi-filled toddler, began the chant familiar to all parents,

 

It began softly with a chair squirm. “Um, I have to go. I have to go to the bathroom.” He twisted and twirled. “I have to go. I have to go. Daddy, I really have to go.”

 

The Fratelli’s just appeared and now a kid is filled with urine up to his eyeballs. Perfect. With mere minutes of the movie left, but not wanting to miss a second, my dad did what any loving parent would do. He made the ultimate sacrifice. Even though he was really full, he forced himself to eat the last of the popcorn, creating a makeshift toilet and told my brother to tinkle. Right there. In the tub. In the theatre. And he did.

Goonies never say die……

Watch for Falling Idiots

I have never considered myself terribly proactive. I have been known to wait until there are so few groceries in the house that I make my children “junk lunches” to take to school. They call this an adventure, I call it a futile attempt to make string cheese, raisins and a handful of cereal flakes a balanced meal. The laundry has piled up to the point of no return and rather than tackle it, I have bought everyone new outfits. So when the change battery light came on in my car a few weeks ago, I looked at it for 10 seconds and then went about my business. It popped up again last week and I almost got concerned, but then forgot that I didn’t care. But when I saw it today a midst the snow flurries and temperatures that make me want to put on what the handsomes lovingly refer to as the coverfeets and keep them on for the next several months, I realized that I better take action.

It was the end of a long day at work and I figured that super big box store that does and sells just about everything was just as good a place as any for a quick battery replacement. Evidently 1/2 of SoCo agreed because the line was way longer than I anticipated. I arrived at about 5:50 and was greeted by a gentleman who said that it would be about an hour and that as soon as my car was finished they would page me. No big deal, I could certainly fill my cart with groceries and at least $100 worth of other crap that I didn’t need.

I walked the aisles grabbing bread, bottled water, pajamas, socks, deodorant, you know, the usual. I was quite enjoying the stroll alone without three little loves nagging, err helping me. I got lost in the peace and quiet and before I knew it, it was 7:15. I hadn’t heard my name called, so I strolled back to automotive to see how much longer the wait would be.

As I turned the corner, to say that I was surprised was an understatement. The department was dark as night, the registers off, the doors closed, not a sole in site. Certainly there must have been a power failure back there causing all of the lights to be off because no way in the world could they be closed, right? Wrong…..

I made my way to the service desk and very calmly, even laughing, explained my predicament. I mean, really, who comes in to the store in a car, asks to have service on that car, and doesn’t expect to leave in that car? I might as well have said that I murdered a family of puppies because the look of horror on their faces was intense. They had no idea what to do. Again, I was calm. They called a supervisor, who suggested they call a manager. Hmm, no $h!+?!?!? The manager then said to call a supervisor. These poor women were playing a game of who’s on first and I was starting to come unhinged.

I could feel myself  ready to explode. I called my husband and while maniacally laughing told him what was happening. He wasn’t sure whether to call the manager or the police, but ultimately laughed and gave me a, “Good luck. Let me know how is works out.” A manager finally showed up and when I, once again, explained what had happened, I was greeted with the look of, “I have no f@#^ing idea how to do my job,” on her face. She disappeared in to the night, leaving me with a cart full of a crap and an old man behind me offering to drive me home in a kind of nice, but I could totally be a predator way.

I was finally greeted by a man who seemed even more confused than everyone else in the store because he said that he was back there the whole time and that no one came to get him. At this point, I couldn’t have cared less, I just wanted to get the hell out of there and home to my babies. A cool $110 for the battery later, I was out the door. I had just discovered on my way home from work that Holly was back on satellite radio an I was ready to rock the hell out of some Karen Carpenter.

I turned the car on, all systems go. Well, all except the navigation and sound systems. If there is one thing that is absolutely essential in a minivan to a woman like myself who wants nothing more than to bless the world with her musical styling,it is a fully-functioning stereo system. When I got in the car tonight, instead of seeing my navigation and audio menu, I saw this middle finger right in my face.

Ha, Ha, Ha, Idiot…We win, we always win!

Not.a.clue. Not a f%^&!”! clue…..You might as well ask me to predict the Powerball numbers because there was just as much of a chance that I would get those correct as my knowing what the hell this PIN is. I tried everything, every combination of every significant and insignificant numbers, nothing. So instead of singing Christmas tunes on the way home, I screamed, cried and beat the steering wheel. Dramatic? Perhaps, but this on top of the news of Richard Simmon’s depression today. I just can’t even…..If you need me, I’ll be singing along to Sweatin’ to the Oldies 2 while eating a bowl of Cookies n Cream…..

Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies….

There is one household chore that I hate. No, not like I hate to do the dishes, or I hate to pay my bills, or I hate to make dinner for these kids that will likely look at it and say, “I HATE this!” No, I would gladly do any of those things before I have to change the seasons in my children’s closets. I would rather clip their toenails with my teeth than take their itty bitty shirts, off of itty bitty hangers and put them in giant rubber tubs and then unpack other giant rubber tubs filled with things that make me wonder why I ever saved this $h!+ in the first place. How many moms have pulled out onesies from baby 1, 2, 3 etc. to use on the new child and found them riddled with holes and poop stains?  I look at this crap and think, “You are a moron. You would never put this on your sweet baby? Why did you save it?” But as I am feverishly throwing dozens of shirts, shorts, pants and mismatched socks into a new bin, it is very clear why. If it is locked away in an opaque bin, it is out of my face and I can forget about it for a number of years. I can stuff it fast, put a lid on it and Scott will gladly take it down the steps and hide it so that I quit crying. Yes, there is crying and screaming, but no one puts me in timeout for the afternoon and lets me fall asleep just to make me shut up. Oh no, I have to keep working.

Please send the TLC truck away, this is not Hoarders. This is just and episode of ” Hey Guys, nothing to see here. I just wanna kill someone and am crying in the corner.”

While working on my kids’ room this past weekend, I had my iTunes on random and “A Spoonful of Sugar” came on. This is quite a change from my normal house-cleaning soundtrack, but the iPad was too far away to press next, so I figured I would give Julie Andrews a shot. As the upbeat tune blared through the speaker. I was suddenly a bit more cheery and transported back to being a kid. As children, we were all memorized by Mary Poppins. Her sweet smile, beautiful voice and quick-snapping fingers made cleaning your room a game. Remember how the toy soldiers walked right into the toy box and the blankets flew up in the air and landed perfectly folded on the bed? Why, just a spoonful of sugar will make it all better, right Mary? Wrong! You lied Mary Poppins, not a damn thing was going to make this job a game! I could have downed a 5 pound bag of sugar this weekend and still needed a half a dozen Zoloft to take the edge off. The more I listened the more infuriated I became. No magical bird was appearing on my finger.No cute little boys is short sets were there to help? I would have settled for filthy Bert coming in and tossing crap in a bin with soot-covered hands. But, nope, no one came to the rescue. Sure, periodically I would hear Scott down the hall warning the boys not to come near the bedroom or they may not be seen again…ever…..But that was as much human interaction as I saw for days.

It took me what felt like 72 hours to complete this one godforsaken room, but when it was finished, I had made a large pile of clothes to give to charity. But as I was on my way to the Goodwill bin, I had the brilliant idea to take the clothes to a children’s resale shop to see what I could get for them. Most were is good condition, but older styles that I likely won’t put on Handsome #3, and I was tired of storing them. I went to the store and was offered $43 for the haul, which seemed fair. I headed to the ATM at Schnucks to make my deposit, feeling like a big shot with a couple of Andrew Jacksons for my troubles. I made my deposit and grabbed what I thought was my receipt, but suddenly my big score at the resale shop didn’t seem so great when I saw that the person who had visited the ATM before me, and left their receipt,  had a mere $24,000 in their checking account.

Well look at you Mr. Big Shot! $24,000 in the checking, huh? I bet you can hire Mary and her team of snapping clowns to come over and clean your house every week can’t you? You think you are so great with your pinstriped suit and monogrammed cuffs, don’t you? Your fancy spectator shoes that you wipe off on your welcome mat before you walk on your freshly-shined wood floors that glow just like that bald head of yours? I quickly realized that this pompous jerk, who I made up completely in my mind and was hating because of his ATM slip, was built in the image of my own husband, right down to the lack of hair on his head. Well, except for the actual ATM slip and hoarding of $24,000. That and the shined floors. That doesn’t happen unless he shines them himself, I am not a floor person. And he does that…pretty much every time that I ask him to. So in actuality, he is a fair, good guy, who I really love, but sometimes I need to direct my frustration and he is an easy target. Perhaps I had some deep-seeded resentment for the fact that I cleaned the room alone, and the remark, “You did this to yourself, quit buying them all of this crap.” Somehow in my rage I had made my way through the store and picked up a gallon of milk, bananas, a package of tortilla wraps, two cans of black beans, an avocado and a half gallon of ice cream. Whether or not I had a full-on conversation with myself about the a$$hole who left the ATM receipt or just thought it is unknown…..I did however polish off half of the half gallon when I got home…..but that can be our little secret……

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