Sunday, September 25, 2011

If there is a hell....

If there is a hell, I am thoroughly convinced it is Chuck E. Cheese's.  Have you ever been there?  It's like Vegas for kids under the age of 12.  All flashy lights, no daylight anywhere, little tokens to put in games that spit out tickets that you win so you can redeem all 9000 of them for a pink eraser.  Vegas, man.

I waded through the massive crowds of people to find the birthday party for Brady's little buddy and I was in total awe.  Whoever dreamed up CEC was a genius.  And, if you don't already know, my definition of a genius is someone with a lot of smarts and no common sense.  I mean really, you invite people to bring their children into a dark and germ invested child version of an Indian Casino filled with slot machines and you have a two drink maximum?

My theory is they should give you a Xanax for every 25 tokens you buy your kids.  Although I suppose maybe CEC is the reason that flask technology has really improved over the years.  A flask is about the only thing you need to take with you, other than a credit card, to survive.  Oh, that and a shit load of hand sanitizer.

I have been VERY few places in my life where I felt that I needed a shower immediately upon exiting, this would top that list.  Oh.  My.  Goodness.

Towards the end of the adventure Chuck E. Cheese made a personal, and highly disturbing appearance.  The first sight I caught of the mascot mouse I thought to myself, "there's a nightmare waiting to happen" and sure as shit, there were several kids screaming and crying out for their mothers, myself included.

Can you pick a more creepy character?  It has a giant plastic head with a perma-grin and these two giant beaver-teeth looking set of chompers right under its pink, shiny nose.  I had an anxiety attack just thinking of what those two little teeth could do if he caught my arm.  Incidentally I left a voicemail for my therapist on the way home.

But the part that beats it all is when you feed your tickets into this little machine and it counts them for you.  It made the most skin-crawling "num num" noise every time you fed them in.  I kept looking around for It.  I shudder at the thought.

I can honestly say, that if there is a hell and I'm pretty sure I'm headed there, it's gotta be Chuck E. Cheese.

Friday, September 23, 2011

Notes from the teacher

So it's three weeks into school, we've only just completed the second full week and honestly the first one doesn't count for Brady because they went half a day the first day, then a full day and had a weekend.  Why bother?  Just sayin'.

I knew my little red headed devil was perhaps going to be a bit more of a challenge, behaviorally speaking, in school.  I did not, however, bargain for four separate incidents in two weeks' time.  Really kid?

Not to mention the fact that the kid is a magnet for dirt and chocolate milk stains.  Who, in their right mind, decided that a white freaking polo shirt was an appropriate uniform selection for boys under the age of 10? 

Honestly, it's like asking a pathological liar to just tell the truth once in awhile: newsflash, it's not gonna happen.  Much like my five year old keeping his white shirt white.  I hope to hell I don't get a note sent home saying his white shirt has turned gray and I need to get him more shirts.  I'll freaking lose it.

Speaking of notes being sent home, just thought I'd bring this crazy train back around to the original thought pattern that started this mess.  Here's what I've had sent home:

Mrs. Little:  Today Brady refused to sit quietly during story time and keep his hands to himself during story time, after REPEATED warnings.  (I am totally not shitting you on the all caps) 

Mrs. Little:  Today Brady was pushing and shoving kids during clean up time.


Mrs. Little:  Today Brady and student XYZ (name changed to protect the guilty) kept hitting each other in the privates.

On the plus side, at least he's getting it out of his system now before it really hurts, and thank GOD it was another boy, but then on the other hand what the hell was he thinking?  The privates?  Is he training for Bullying 101?  Is there an entrance exam for that program?  Sheesh, next thing you know he'll be practicing wedgies and learning how to steal lunch money.

Holy cow batman, I had no idea he would be such a devil.  The kindy teacher has been teaching for 25 years and I'm willing to bet the last few have been spent looking for a reason to retire.  And now, she has it.  My kid.  Never been more proud......

Saturday, September 3, 2011

It's that time of the year again....

Yes folks, it's time for college football.  The one time of the year that Mark looks forward to more than his birthday, more than Christmas, more than a day off from work.  I sense that his excitement level is the same as an 18 year old on prom night whose date is a "sure thing".

It's a throwback to the good old days of anticipation, wondering, waiting, hoping, and pouncing on his Christmas presents with sheer, unadulterated joy.  Instead of asking his parents "how many days until Christmas" I hear "guess how many days until college football?" on a near daily basis.  Then, at the 24 hour mark, it's "guess how many hours until kick off!?"

I must confess, my enthusiasm for college football season is similar to that of going to the dentist:  I dread it just a little bit, but I know in the end it's good for me, and with any luck it passes by quickly and relatively painlessly.  I wish I shared his enthusiasm, I really do.  College football means the TV doesn't get a day off for nearly 5 months straight, the poor thing.

It isn't that I hate watching football either, I enjoy it, but would much rather do it in person.  Get it over with in an afternoon rather than an entire weekend, beginning sometimes on Thursday night!  Mostly I feel bad for Mark because I simply cannot bring myself to look forward to watching football.  At.  All. 

I would imagine that the way I feel about college football is strikingly similar to the level of anticipation he feels when he hears the words "Hey, let's take the kids shopping, they need some new clothes" or "Is it OK if I host a Pampered Chef Party at our house?" 

It's one of those things we'll probably never share an affinity for.  It's a sport I never played, barely understood, and one that I don't think I can ever truly love the same way Mark can.  I am sure he'd give anything for a wife that puts on his favorite team's jersey, brings him cold beers all day and provides and endless supply of potato chips and chili dip.

And, as I'm typing this, he's in the other room watching ESPN college football preview.  The ONLY thing that makes pregame worth watching is my fantasy boyfriend Herbie.  Thank you ESPN for hiring some eye candy in the form of Kirk Herbstreit so those of us college football widows have SOMETHING to look forward to. 

Friday, September 2, 2011

One for the books

We have some basic rules in our house.  Things like if Mom or Dad says no, the answer is no.  The kids aren't allowed to ride their bikes past a certain point around the corner because we can't see them.  Don't take food without asking a parent.  Keep food in the kitchen not on the brand new carpet, and don't give food to your friends without asking me first and them asking their parents first.  This rule is the most important because not only should parents always sign off on what their kids eat, we have a sweet little neighbor girl with a peanut allergy and you have to be careful and read labels.  And, um, Brady can't read labels.  YET.

However, I think Brady had an AWESOME day yesterday because he literally ignored all those rules and did whatever the hell he wanted to.  It started out when I found him trying to sneak back in the house with a bag of mini-marshmallows that he "shared" with a buddy in the backyard.  I kid you not, when he saw me, he said "Uh oh..." so yeah he knew he was totally busted.

Next I watched him ride around the corner and silly me I assumed he was stopped as far as he was allowed to go.  When he didn't come back right away I went looking for him and I didn't see him.  Panic set in.....I started yelling for him and prepared to go find him in the car, which sadly I've had to do before......

He finally pulled in the driveway, and luckily for him, his buddy sold him out and told me how far they rode their bikes.....I do hope it was worth it.

Then, throughout the day he asked probably a half dozen times if the same friend could go in the house.  At least a half dozen times I told him no, because we needed to keep the house clean for a visit by the Grandparents and for Pete's sake it's really nice outside you should be playing OUTSIDE!!!

And yet, after the final ask and final NO, I saw them go around to the back yard.  PHEW.  Well, the back door was unlocked, why wouldn't it be anyway, and by the time I figured out that they had gone inside not only had they totally destroyed the bonus room upstairs, but they were standing on the carpeted steps eating go-gurts!!!!!

Oh but the fun doesn't end there folks!  Let me just tally this up for you, just to be sure you're caught up:
1.  Ignored mom and let a friend in the house
2.  Gave friend mini-marshmallows which he didn't ask me about and KNOWS I would have said no! (and I'm pretty sure that friend didn't ask his mom first either!!!!)
3.  Rode his bike way too far, past the point he is allowed
4.  Ate food all over the new carpet

And daughter went into the fridge looking for a vanilla yogurt snack and Brady casually says, "we're all out of vanilla" which I said is impossible because I bought four containers just the day before.  Then, his eyes double in size, he slapped his little thieving hand over his mouth and whispered in the most deathly afraid voice "The yogurt!"  What about the yogurt says I?  The little monkey just ran outside and brought in FIVE containers of yogurt, two empty, one half eaten and two that were never opened.  Five yogurts for two little boys?

Yeah, so why were there five containers of yogurt outside?  Thoughtful little fella shared yogurt, go-gurt and mini-marshmallows with the same kid.  I must apologize to his mother, I'm pretty sure the poor kid didn't eat any dinner what with all the food my son so generously gave him! 

Words cannot begin to describe how mad I was last night.  And, I still am.  But since we have a LOT of cleaning to do today, I'll just put the little fella to work.  Hope he can run a vacuum.  And use a mop.  And scrub a toilet......