I know that I owe you some more answers to some questions, and I apologize, but I’m up to my eyeballs in science fair projects right now.

And oh what a debacle that has been.

Despite the fact that I have seen NUMEROUS YouTube videos on children who have powered an MP3 player and a clock with potatoes, we have been unsuccessful.

We have, however, determined how much salt it takes in a glass of water to make an egg float, provided that the eggs you use are not bad eggs.

Oh the stories I have to share.

We have one project board down (and oh how I’m grateful I have yet to get rid of my scrapbooking stuff) and one to go.

We have a sick child and one who fears he’ll fail his science project.

And a mom, who is struggling to make it all happen.  But surviving.

And at the end of the day, if the kids are still alive, I’ve done my job.

At least, that’s how I feel today.

Answers, and maybe a video… later… but not today.  And not tomorrow.

Monday.  The moment I drop the children and their blasted science fair projects off at school.

Until next time…

Filed under Mom Stuff | Comments (6)

In my 11+ years of mothering my children I have made many grocery store trips. I have had my ankles run over by my children who wish to push the cart and SWEAR they won’t hit anything with it.

I’ve shushed them way too many times because they were being too loud in the store or were arguing.

I’ve calmed crying babies.

I’ve said no to all the sugary cereals (ok, well not ALL of them.)

I’ve allowed them to help pick out fruit and showed them where to find the “clearance” foods.

I’ve pretty much done it all…

except…

…causing a store employee to pipe over the loud speaker that some retard spilled something all over the place.

that is, until Friday night.

And the worst part about it?

I was that retard who caused the spill that required a clean up.

Not my children who were fighting over which $2 12-pack of soda to purchase for the week. Not my children who were not happy to even be at the grocery store. Not my children who argued and pushed one another from the time that we set foot through the electric, motion sensored doors…

No. Not them….

Me.

And it was so careless that I’m embarrassed.

Well, not as embarrassed as I would be if someone actually saw me, but still.

When we still, after 5 minutes, had not come to a conclusion on the carbonated beverage of choice, I grabbed a box of Diet Dr. K. After all, if they couldn’t chose, I would chose for them.

But when I did, I knocked over the Big K that was sitting right next to it.

And when it hit the floor?

Spew. Fizz.

I thought about just walking away. It was such a little leak that surely the next person would report it. I mean, no one was there to see that I had caused the spill.

And really? That box looked like it had been through the mill and had been on the shelf for a gazillion years, so no one was going to buy it anyway.

But, the kids were there. And if I EVER found out that they broke something and didn’t report it, I would skin their hides. So I felt it was best to find a store employee and let them know what I had done.

Except I didn’t have to. Samara darted off before I could process the direction in which I wanted to move.

I waited to hear those dreadful words on the loud speaker, but when Samara returned, they still hadn’t proclaimed that some doofus knocked a box of soda over in aisle 10.

Thinking that she got lost and never actually told someone, I asked her, “Did you tell some one?”

“Yes.” She replied.

Still no word from the overhead voices.

“Well, what did you tell them?” Knowing her, she probably just darted up and said there’s a spill and darted off.

Very loudly, with new inhabitants of aisle 10 within earshot she said, “I told them that my mom had a meltdown in aisle 10 and now there’s a huge puddle of the cheap soda all over the floor.”

And at that moment, I heard it.

“Clean up in aisle 10″

Until next time…

Filed under According to Samara, Manly Man Matthew, Mom Stuff, No Way... | Comments (10)

There was a time that when I decided I wanted to go to bed, I would simply fall in the bed. I didn’t have to worry about lunches being packed, 5,000 Legos being picked up so that you could again walk through the living room without killing your feet, or ensure that all permission slips were signed and ready to return the next morning. Of course, those were also that times that my days extended well into the wee hours of the morning, large amounts of alcohol were consumed, and cabs were always the preference in getting home.

No, there was no need to make sure the car seats were buckled in the right way, no wondering if all of the kids were in, buckled and their doors shut before pulling out of the driveway.

Shopping was enjoyable as no one demanded any of my money for a toy, and no tantrums ensued as the result of saying no. I could watch what I wanted on the television and never had to sit through an episode of Hannah Montana, SpongeBob, or Pokemon. Shoot, I didn’t even know what Pokemon was, and I was okay with that.

The worries were only that of whether I had enough money after my long week of waiting tables, to see the latest hot band in concert with drinks afterwards, or who I would allow to take me out that weekend and whether or not he would ask me out again.

There were no thoughts of who has practice, what time does she need to be picked up, and why on earth didn’t you start your home work earlier?

Oh, how I loved the days when I could finish my shift, come home, debrobe in the foyer and prance around my house in what ever I so desired. I didn’t have to worry about who had clean socks and underwear. I didn’t have to search for what seemed like hours to find a shoe, or shin guards, or mouthpieces.

I didn’t have to pump up tires for a parade around the neighborhood. There were no snotty noses to wipe, tears to dry, and I didn’t have to deal with all night puke fests, unless they were my own fault; nor did I have to worry about bandaging cuts and scrapes.

There were no elbows and knees shoved into my side through out the night. My sleep went uninterrupted and I could take up the whole thing if I so desired.

The tales that I listened to did not involve who pushed who on the playground. I didn’t worry about bad grades, raising them before the next report period, studying more or rewards for good behavior.

Of course, there were no hugs and kisses for no reason. There were no “I love yous” with out demanding something in return.

It was just me, on my own terms, not having to worry about anyone, but myself.

And it was empty.

Yes, there was a time that I wasn’t a mother. There was a time that I didn’t want little snotty nose things clinging to me.

But Someone else knew that they would eventually be the ones to save my life.

Until next time…

Filed under Mom Stuff, Thoughts..., workshop writings | Comments (9)