The Princess' Frogs

  Yesterday, I came home from the grocery store to find my husband and girls tearing apart the laundry room.  They saw a frog and he jumped into the dirty clothes.  So here they all are, throwing clothes everywhere trying to find the frog and just making a big ass mess.  So I tell the girls to go clean up their room before dinner and I would try to find the frog.
   You're wondering if I found it aren't you?  You're God damned right I did.  Have I not mentioned I'm mama's daughter?  I put him in a Red Vines container and called my mama.  She told me what to do to make the little frog as comfortable as possible and my girls and I went out in the nice evening April drizzle to find dirt, grass, bugs and a piece of bark for the little froggy to sleep under.  He's got a pretty cool little terrarium set up.  I spent the evening checking on him to make sure the girls weren't shaking his little house up or anything and they didn't. They're Honey's grandchildren of course.
   Pretty sucky that I've lost a puppy in the last week and gained a terrarium of frogs already.  Yes, frogs, plural.  Today, while playing outside, Nonna found another frog inside of one of her snow boots she had left out on the back porch.  So now I have two.  I told the girls I wanted to name the frogs Prince Naveen and Princess Tiana.  They don't see the similarities.  Nonna wants to name them Shiver and Shake.  I have no idea where she gets this shit from.  I think since I got two frogs, they should obviously get fucking Disney names.  My kids don't understand the importance of the Princess and the Frog to their mama.  Frogs can't get Disney names according to them.  They're real frogs mom.
   My girls are only 5 and 2.  They don't really understand what it is to finally have a black Disney princess.  They won't grow up as little colored girls in a world where all the princesses look like Belle, or Ariel ,or Aurora.  They don't realize how groundbreaking Jasmine or Mulan were for me to see, even though I was past pretending to be a princess by the time those two came along.  They can't understand how earthmoving it is for me to see Tiana, not even my husband can because he's just a boy.  Tiana,who is a waitress like me too.  I could watch that movie from sun up to sun down and be happier than shit.  I love it sooo much.  I cry every time.  I sing to Evangeline in the shower.  "Almost There" is my new theme song.
  I get mad when they don't want to watch it. Even though secretly I am grateful that they take the little black princess cartoon for granted. Because they come from a world of Dora and Diego and Happy to be Nappy, they don't know that there wasn't always programming for children that celebrated the differences in us all as well as all of our similarities.  I am so proud of Princess Tiana.  There wasn't a Disney princess for me until now.  There was no Tyra, no Alica Keys, no Barack mother fucking Obama, just to name a few.  I grew up a mixed race child who had trouble at times identifying and socializing with the other kids of either race.  I am proud of the world I get to bring my babies up in.  
   And while race to my children at this young age is of little or no concern to them, it is always in the back of my mind.  I know that someday, someone, will judge them because of their skin tone.  I know that racism is still alive in this world and that my children will have to face it.  It is my duty to raise them to face these experiences with their chins up and their backs straight, and to not let the poison of hate in whatever form it takes break their spirits or dash their dreams.  Just because we have so many more black and other ethnic role models than we did when I was coming up, doesn't mean that they wont have to deal with it.  Racism, ignorance, intolerance, discrimination, HATE all live and breathe in this world whether or not people want to admit it or not.  My children need to grow up knowing that it is of course, the content of one's character and not the color of their skin that matters.   But also that they should celebrate the heritage that they have, the black people who have gone before them; while still respecting every person in this world as another human being neither greater nor lesser than they are.  We are all God's children.  Even little frogs that I want to name Naveen and Tiana.

Our First Real Fight

    This evening, as I sat on the couch watching the clock tick its way towards bed time, Nonna came and climbed up on my lap.  I held her like I used to when she was a bitty baby, she's so longer now.  Anyways, we're sitting there, cuddling and I'm looking at her beautiful porcelain doll face thinking of how hard I love her and telling her bed time is coming for her ass.  She's disagreeing with me like a little meeny lawyer about how she isn't tired and shouldn't have to go to bed.  Looking at her little face set so resolutely, I remember our first real fight.  She was 2.
      When Nonna was 2, daddy was still property of the state, and it was just me and her against the world.  Muffin was just a twinkle in my eye at that time.  I was only about 700 some odd days into mommyhood when this little beast tried to test me.  I was ill equipped to deal with my mini me and her viscous games of manipulation and mommy mind control.  I was a stressed out, over worked, over scheduled single mom.  She was a 2 year old.
     It was a hot summer day and I was late for work.  I was always late back then because I was stuck in the single mom/single child time warp.  I say this because before I had Muffin I could never get anywhere on time.  I was intimidated by people with more than one kid, how the fuck did they do it?  I wouldn't find out for a bit yet. Anyways, I was always late and Nonna was never any help.  She'd insist on taking her clothes off right before it was time to leave, or shit her pants, or take her hair down, or go and get all fucking wet in the sprinkler while I was trying to take the trash out or load up my car.  Whatever it was to make me late, I believed she was doing it and on purpose.
   The straw that broke this mama's back was a pair of pink womper stomper snow boots.  You know the type, every kid has a pair, like the ones Rainbow Bright used to wear.  I'm trying to get her out the fucking door and on our way to Auntie's house and she goes in her room and takes off her little sandals I put on to match her little dress and puts on those god damned boots.  I'm like, "Nonna you cant wear those boots, its 100 degrees outside," she's like "no!" a 2 year olds favorite word I know, but fuck if that didn't set me off.  I tried to reason with her, really I did, but she was having none of it.  After about 45 seconds of that shit, I was livid. So I get to yelling at her and trying to take her boots off and she's freaking out and screaming "no,no,no".  Every time I tried to put the sandals back on, she'd arch her foot and curl her toes and wriggle away from me and run off with the boots.
    Now I'm sure there are those of you wonder mommies out there who have already a whole list of how I could have handled this situation, but I had none of you then.  I was just trying my best to be the best I could be and she was working actively against me.  I know that I should have just took her to my sister in law in whatever state of dress or undress she was in, I shouldn't have cared if she was wet or if her hair wasn't done.  But I did.  I barely ever got to see her, I worked 65 hours a week back then.  I felt like she didn't love me when all I was doing was working myself to death to take care of her needs.  When I dropped her off at my brother's for Auntie to watch her, she didn't cry.  When I picked her up she would though.  She treated me like I was her sitter and Auntie was her mommy.  Auntie took such good care of my baby girl, I am forever in her debt for that, and so much more.  She taught me how to be a mommy just as much as my mommy did.  But Nonna was there soo much that I felt like the least I could do was make sure she was dressed, hair done, presentable and well packed and ready for her stays at Auntie's while I worked.
    This was why the boots were such a big deal.  Not only was it way too fucking hot for me to let my kid go running around in a pair of pink foam snow boots, they were really very ugly when paired with the dress.  And I didn't want her Auntie to have the burden of Nonna getting heatstroke cuz her mama didn't know how to dress her baby for the conditions.  So we fought.  We yelled.  We wrastled around on the hardwood floor.  Finally, I picked her up, grabbed my purse and her diaper bag and tossed her in my camaro.  I'll never forget it.  I yelled, "You can't treat me like this, I'm your mama!"  As I was trying to buckle her while she did everything in her power to not be buckled into her car seat, my mom called.  I said "See now my mama's on the phone and I'm telling on you! I'm her baby and she aint gonna let you get away with this!'
    Ha. Ha.  My mom heard the screaming toddler in the background and asked if everything was okay and I told her hell no it wasn't and filled her in on the situation.  This is when my mother gave me some of the best advice I have ever received on parenting.  She said: Let the girl wear the fucking boots.  Every kid has a pair of fucking boots that they want to wear till their mamas go crazy.  It won't hurt her and it's not a fashion contest at Auntie's.  She said, she is just a baby.  Give the baby a pass.  She wont even remember this part of her life. ( Very true since I know that I sure as hell can't remember being 2.)  At this point, I was speeding down the freeway screaming into the phone at my mom "But that's bullshit mom, she's fucking with me on purpose, just get on the phone with her and tell her to leave me alone!"  And Nonna is still in the backseat crying and sweating in my car with no A/C and her fucking snow boots in the middle of the summer.  Mom told me all I had to do was keep her alive and relatively happy and that I was a good mom. "Don't traumatize the girl over some boots."
    Mom wouldn't talk to Nonna, said she said all she had to say to me and that I needed to be the mama and hung up on me.  By the time I got to Auntie's I was crying and Nonna wasn't.  I unbuckled her, and walked into the house with mascara all over my face and here comes Nonna behind me taking big giant moon walking stomps in her moon boots.  She sat directly down on the couch and tried to take the boots off now that she had reached her destination and supposedly won the argument.  I told Auntie on her since telling Honey hadn't helped.  Auntie said, "nuh uh Nonna, you gonna wear them boots all day now that you got your mama crying over them, you can't take them off."  She made Nonna wear the boots all day too.
    When I picked her up she refused to put them back on and when we got home she asked me if I could put them up.  I did so gladly.  We never went through the moon boot fiasco again thanks to Auntie making her have her boots and wear them too.  We've had plenty of battles since then but I learned a lot about momdom that day.  She may reduce me to a screaming, crying, fit throwing mama who has to act like a 2 year old to make her see the error of her ways, but I know that I am the mama and she is the kid.  She still likes to make me late.
    I learned that she is still just a baby, even though she's almost 6 now.  She is still alive and relatively happy, so I guess I'm doing an alright job.  She still tests me, she always will I guess but I'm better prepared to deal with her knowing that she just can't help it, she's just a kid.  I just can't help it either I'm just a mama.  We still fight, over lots of things like clothes and bed time and sharing with her sister.  But I still remember that all I really have to do is keep her alive and relatively happy.  I don't always win every battle, but I will win the war.  I'm still trying to be the best mama I can be and she's just being a little girl. She still hates boots too.

This is Nonna.  This was the day she snuck out and got hay all in her afro.  I was late that day too.

   I didn't really mind when the gold fish started dying.  Until the one that my 5 year old picked out for me as my Christmas present began swimming sideways and floppin around his tank.  Then I drove straight away to the next town to get Terri Dundee, aka Honey, aka my mama to come try to save this fish.  She's the only fish vet I know.  When the fish didn't make it, I said the Lord's Prayer with my girls and we very ceremoniously flushed him.  I told him he was going to fish heaven.
   I didn't even get a chance to try to help Ook.  I'm glad it was fast, as it usually is with semi vs pit bull action, and I'm glad she didn't suffer.  But now my girls will have to have the Heaven Talk again.  I've lived on this stretch of highway my entire life and I have lost many dogs to its dangers.  Charge it to the game.  The world keeps spinning.  Life will go on.  But I feel for my little girls.  They will feel her loss, she wasn't a fish in a tank in the corner of mama's room and we all know mama hates fish anyways.  She was my viscous bitch.  I'm gonna miss her.  The only one of my girls that I didn't mind sleeping with me.  I loved her.
  This is another reason I don't like pets.  I hate to lose them.  I know that this loss will help teach my kids a valuable lesson about life and death, but sometimes I just want to sheild them from all this.  Last month it was the baby in Auntie's belly that went to Heaven.  This month its Ookla.  I don't want them to think everything around them is fading away like I do.....I'm just sad.

Waiting For a Head Start?

 I had a home visit with Muffin's teachers today.  I'm sitting here listening to them tell me how great she is and what a good mama I am, and all I can think is what a fucking crock.  She isn't even 3 and she is raising herself.  Maybe Nonna is raising her.  Daddy too, but me? No, no, no lady, you got this all wrong....

   I may be her mama, I may be the spokeswoman for Little Miss MuffinCake, but you're giving me too much credit.  Yes I birthed her and nursed her and take her to all her appointments and social events, but I feel like I'm failing my youngest baby.  She walked at 9 months, something it took Nonna 12 to do.  She potty trained with no problems what so ever and minimal accidents that were really my fault due to timing and my own laziness.  I had to threaten, cajole, and outwit Nonna into pooping on the pot.  She talks better than most little kids her age is excelling socially with her little classmates, everyone loves her.

   I love her so much.  She is me.  I am she.  I've never known such an old soul in such a tiny body.  She came out just knowing the ways of the world.  Maybe its because she's the second born and has had so much time around that old Nonna that has her so advanced by my mama standards.  It's just that everything from weaning to sleep schedules to teething to potty training has all been a muffin cake walk compared to the outwit outlast outplay game of motherdom survival I've had to partake in raising Nonna.  

   I used to have to hide from Nonna to get her to go to sleep when we were living with my brother in the little room we shared.  She used to come into my bed when we got our own place, just the two of us and refuse to leave.  Because of all the crazy swing to graveyard turnaround shifts I did when Nonna was littler, she has the night time hours of a college frat.  She'll be the one opening the door for armed robbers because she heard them picking the lock while she was sneaking around my house in the middle of the night looking for shit to get into and something good on TV.  I still have to tell her good night 99 times and yell to make her stay in bed and go to sleep.  Muffin?  She goes down and stays down, no problem.  She unlike her sister, never had to go to a sitter though.  Daddy was home and Muffin was never woken up in the middle of the night to get buckled in a car seat to ride home and get put back to bed.  Just Nonna.

   She was almost 4 before she was done with a cup, and that was only because my best bitch came over and very dramatically "stole" all of Nonna's cups for some new baby.  She still tries to talk me into letting her sleep with one on some nights, and she'll be 6 in July.  Nonna was and is the hardest thing I've ever slammed my head repeatedly into with no avail.  God I love her mean ass.  And she talks to and looks over Muff like she's her mama and not me.  I don't know how many times I've caught myself screaming at the top of my lungs, "DON'T yell at my baby! I'm her damned mama not you little girl!"

   Maybe I have just been doing such a thorough and bang up job raising Nonna to be the self sufficient-free thinking-no shit takin-order barking-never sleeping little road dog she is, that now she knows all there is to know about telling her little sister how to get in where she fits in.  Mama runs a tight ship.  I'm a despot.  I enjoy it.  But my guilt is eating away at me that I am failing my kids.  I try to teach them the shit my mom taught me, I love them with all I got.  But how come their early accomplishments, especially Muffins make me feel so bad.  She's just easier, I guess.  God must've put enough shit for me into Nonna, I had to give her a pass not too long ago.  I decided that its just in her genetic make up to fuck with me, and keep Muffin in line.

   So while her teachers try to pump me up about what a good mom I am and  they tell me how to transition my Muffin to a new school like she's some kind of fragile little cream puff who needs fluffing, I try not to roll my eyes.  I'll tell her when its time, and she'll be ready.  She Miss Muffincake.  She a motherfucking beast.  She don't need no head start, she's got this in the bag.  I'm just hanging on to her little feet to keep her grounded.  Don't grow up without me Mari.

Kitchen Cleaning at 11PM

     Guess what, no really, fucking guess what!  I believe that my husband was abducted by aliens with a sense of humor while on his LA trip.  They returned him to me seemingly the same, but tonight, he cleaned the kitchen and took out the trash when I got home from work and went in to do the dishes.  I know, you're saying big deal, my husband does dishes, but mine does NOT.  He also has an interview tomorrow morning.  For a job.  Yes, a mother fucking J.O.B!  This is what leads me to the conclusion that there is some body snatching-mind controlling-reeces eating-new type of entity inhabiting his silly ass.
     Now please don't think that I am some fantabulous housekeeping super bitch either, cuz I'm not.  I hate dishes so much I could make you a list of how bad, but that's another time.  I have no clue what had me up in the kitchen that late either trying to straighten up before I go to bed.  Maybe something happened to me while he was gone...hmm that's another theory to pursue yet another time.  Anyways, I did go clean up and then he did too.  And that's big.  Last week while he was gone I kept up on everything, even dishes.  I cleaned as I went along.  I folded and put away laundry as it came out of the dryer!  I did all that shit and more, it's not like I had anyone to keep me company or anything good on TV to watch.  I missed him so I kept busy.  I think that the keeping up on the mountain of laundry and dishes and toys and shoes thing all came about this time while he was gone because he was gone.
     When I am in single mom mode I kick ass.  I think he made me lazy by simply being here.  I automatically expect him to help.  He does of course, but when he helps me and picks up slack I take it for granted and don't  do yardwork or don't wash a bit of laundry for like, ever.  I also don't do bathrooms  or any wood or clean up dog shit.  He does all of that.    Any time any outside work comes up, I run inside and try to find a fucking meal to cook.  I HATE yard work and will always claim the inside of the house is my domain and that all the outside is for him  to deal with.  I say, I cook I clean and I give boss head.  I aint going outside to do dirty work too, cuz then I'm fuckin for free.  I fold ALL clean laundry though, and anyone who has kids knows how much laundry a family can have.  And I always wait until the pile of clean clothes is so big I cant see the top of the dresser that its  in front of and then I have a giant 2 to 3 hour laundry party and get it all put away.  I even match the god damned socks.  And I wear a fucking uniform most of my life so all the other shit I'm usually folding isn't none of mine!  I'd say that I have approximately 19% of the clothing in this house and anyone who DARE say I'm lying better whisper it.  But I do everything to it but wash it.
     He has an interview.  Big shit for me.  He's been a house husband taking care of the kids while I work.  I am so fucking happy I can't see straight.  I don't even mind if he doesn't get the position.  I'm still tickled he applied.  It means to me that he knows and sees how hard I am really working and the toll its taking on me.  He has recovered from his major knee surgery and is back to thinking like I do, that this can't be all there is for us. Tonight, I'm going to bed with hope.  Not just for his job.  But hope for us.

I'd Rather Just Bitch About It

     There are lots of things in my life that I do not like, cannot stand, or just flat out hate.  Many of these things are easily fixed and very petty but still, they irk me.  I could spend the time it would take me to fix them, or I could get over them.  I usually do both.  But either way, I'm bitching about it.  I thought I'd share some of these things with you.
     My mom was, while I was growing up, and still is, the crocodile hunter of Northern California.  Also known as Ellie Mae Clampet or Miss Barton If You're Nasty.  Growing up we had at one point, 15 cats, 4 dogs, a 6 foot Nile Monitor Lizard, and pet rats that she bred.  That was all at once.  We also had: chickens, ducks, frogs, birds, mice, snakes (we fed them the mice), various lizards that my brothers and I would catch and put in tanks or exotic ones she bought, guinea pigs, rabbits, caterpillars we would catch and watch them cocoon and become winged creatures of various species, a bat she rescued from a barn,  opossoms she caught in the yard, oh and a horse.  She taught us kids the meaning of respecting all life.  Would never let us hurt anything but a mosquito and only if it was messing with us and not minding its own mosquito business.  And flies, we could kill flies.  She taught us about the circle of life.  I saw so many things borne, live and die.  I saw her heal animals as if she were a licensed vet.
   So now I have 3 dogs, a giant oscar, and another tank with a sucker fish and a bottom feeder in it because I hate fish.  All the other fish in the tank died and I'd rather just wait out these algae eaters till they die and be done with the dumb ass tank.  I can't put them in with the oscar because he is mean and ornery and ungrateful to the point of tearing up all his tank decor and tank mates.  He's a big ugly fish in a big empty tank in my living room who swims around trying to take bites at my baby or one of the dogs when they pass by.  I hate animals, you'd think I'd love them growing up in Terri's Arc, but I don't.  I hate that I have pets in my own home as an adult.  I did it for my kids though.  I do so appreciate the values and lessons taught to me by my crazy mother and her menagerie of critters, and I want to pass those things on to my girls.  I love my dogs but I don't like them.  I flat out hate the fish.  He's lucky there's not a drop off program for fish or he'd be out of here.  I've been waiting 5 years for him to kick it.  So since I'm stuck in the be a good mama and teach your kids all the things pets can teach them scenario and all I can do is bitch about it.
     Another thing I freaking can't stand is having a crappy yard.  Now growing up on a quarter acre of wooded and grassy land, may have spoiled me, just like growing up with a claw foot tub ruined me for all other shower/tub baths.  But be that as it may, I have now a crappy yard.  I will give it some benefit of a doubt because we moved in in the fall and it is only just barely spring, but still the prospects are grim.  I really hope that when the weather gets nice and things start growing, I might get some grass for this mud pit I live in.  On the plus side, this is a big lot of property and when it is nice outside, I hardly ever have to see my kiddos.
   They are like my brothers and I were, perpetually outside till the sun goes down.  Throwing rocks, playing on the yard toys, exploring with their dogs....they love it.  I want to love it too.  I want a hammock for lazy days when I'm not working to lay in and read my Nook.  I want a little table next to my hammock for my margaritas.  I just fear it's going to take me actually going out there with them and actually working on the yard for me to get to like it.  I'd rather just bitch about it though.  Maybe, if I bitch enough, James won't make me help landscape.  I may be a country girl, and I wouldn't change that for the world, but I hate to work outdoors.  I hate to work indoors too, but I have to pick an evil right.
     I bought the kids bowls with straws on them so that they could drink all the milk left over in their bowls when their cereal is gone.  Ya fucking right.  I haven't had milk in my fucking coffee in ever!  I break down every so often and spoil myself with a bottle of coffeemate Italian sweet cream creamer because I can.  But otherwise, I just drink it black because the guilty mommy in me could never take away from her kids' milk supply even a tiny bit to fuel her caffeine  addiction, and when I do just take a little bit for my coffee to the last  drop, I feel bad.  Especially since I have so many cups a day.  So I yell at my kids every time I clear the table of bowls of milk left with soggy cereal in them.  The jerks could have drank the damn milk.  Especially with how they love to holler about being thirsty.  But no, mama throws out the soggy cereal and craptastic looking milk and thinks about another cup of coffee without the damned cream.  Just a drop in my coffee wouldn't hurt would it?  No, probably not but I don't want any of lucky's leftover charms floating in my Folgers either.  So I'll just bitch about it.  I blame their father.  The "I don't drink milk but I like cereal" jerk who started the whole mess by letting them think it's okay to not finish the milk since he doesn't.  I should cut his ass off the cereal completely and see how he likes that shit.  I'll only buy healthy cereal he don't like.  I doubt thats gonna work either.  See I'm back to just bitching about it.
  
  

Why Are Wednesdays Tougher Than Mondays?

     Once again, the alarm rang and I turned it off to keep sleeping.  And of course she missed the bus!  By two minutes is all, thats the shitter.  Now, all summer long, I can wake up ass crack early with no problem, but as soon as school is in session, I can't get my shit together anymore.  I think it has something to do with yard sale season being in the summer time and you all know the early bird gets the worm.  I'm up like pow! Whispering, "James, I'm going yard saling.  The girls are asleep.  I'll be back soon".  The sooner I get my ass up and out of bed on the weekends during the summer, the more time I have to troll the county for good deals on shit I don't need.  Then I get to stay gone till usually around noon before he realizes his wife is missing and texts me.  And I come home with a car full of stuff he gets to unload and bitch at me for buying.

     I also think my early summer waking hours have to do with the fact that I know there's gonna be a ton of "Momma's" coming my way as soon as their eyes open and I need at least 2 cigarettes and 3 mugs of coffee before anyone can call me that.  Also my own inner unspoken phobia that if I don't get up to feed they who hunger when they rise, my sweet and sour little girls will ravage the kitchen and bring various food items to my bed to prepare for them.  Just this week, while James was gone, I woke up with a tub of Skippy and a bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos in my bed courtesy of Miss Muffin.  And there's the time Nonna poured out a whole gallon of milk on me while I slept at 2:30 in the morning.  I cut her off the cup the NEXT night, believe.

     So back to now, not summer or then, once again I overslept just enough to miss a bus and have to yell at my kids to get them up and moving.  I hate when I'm mean to them in the mornings.  They can't tell time.  They don't have an alarm clock in their room or all the necessary gross motor skills and common logic to get to school on their own yet. I don't think the kindergarten or preschools they attend would care for them trying to drive my truck either!  Now on Mondays, I don't work.  So I get to be here for bath and bed time.  I get to make sure they get laid out early and then I can get to bed decently early too.  Thus on Mondays and Tuesdays, I am able to pull my head from under the pillows the first time the alarm buzzes and get them off on time with hugs, kisses, and even snacks in their backpacks and songs in their little heads.  Especially Mondays if James doesn't wake up for his assigned Monday duty, because I desperately need them gone so I can recover from a weekend of being called "mama".

     Tuesdays I close the restaurant so I'm not even out of there until sometime after 11, and that's if I'm lucky and its been a slow night.  That means it's like 1 or 2 before I get myself to sleep on a Tuesday night/ Wednesday morning.  When the alarm goes off, I just fell asleep for fuck's sake.  I hit snooze and snooze until the dogs go crazy barking at the sanitation workers collecting the trash downstairs, usually around 7:39. Just late enough for Nonna to have missed the bus.  So I wake up and go flying into their room barking orders, turning on bright lights and turning on the TV and they go all insta-grumpy on me.  My fault, I know but damn.  We then fight over wardrobe, teeth brushing, who gets to pee first; it's terrible.  All while playing the "don't wake up Daddy" game.  Nonna always wants to bitch about what snack she's taking and Muffin just takes her lead.  They bitch all the way to the car and the whole ride to school about music, seatbelts, the whole nine.

     It's really not about her even missing the bus though, I'm going that way to get Muff to the preschool.  It's that when Nonna misses the bus and rides with me and her sister, she then runs the risk of missing breakfast. This happens partially because we are late, and partially because she cries the whole way that she wants to get dropped off second because she wants to go into the preschool with me to drop off her sister and see her old teachers.  Might be okay if we weren't late, little girl.  Or if you didn't run around the preschool like you never graduated, climbing on stuff or under things to hide from me.  Then you wouldn't miss breakfast either. Dramedy.  That's what I call my life with little girls.  Part drama, part comedy.  It's a battle to get them to school on Wednesdays, I swear.

     This all leads me to a couple of conclusions, I am first going to need my friends and family who live in my area to leave some shit in your front yards for me to drive by looking at on weekday mornings during the school year.  Also,  I think I picked the wrong days when James and I split up the take the kids to school days.  Wish I could switch to Thursday and Friday school duty.  But it was hard enough arguing him into taking Mondays,which I usually end up doing anyways because those thangs need to get out of my house and go to school on a Monday and leave me the hell alone to enjoy my last day off in peace.  The plan was I picked the days I felt I needed to be up early on anyways and gave him the days that I wanted to sleep in on or had to work early on.  But he usually fails me on Mondays, and like I said, they gotsta go to school on Monday more than any other day!  Writing this I realize I'm getting the short end of this stick.  Oh well, I suppose I have summer to look forward to when I will wake up early everyday and they won't have to go to school.  Wait just a fucking minute. Why doesn't that comfort me?

Quiet as the Night

   What a nice morning, babies off to school from spring break and mama gets coffee and a nice long talk with an old friend.  This is the stuff.  Things are changing.  Spring is here.  My children are growing.  Muffin is potty trained and Nonna starts t-ball on Saturday.
   I used to think that days like this one would never come.  But they do, though they may be few and far between at this point, they do.  My man has been gone for 6 days now.  I miss him and I do so value his companionship.  Can't wait for him to come home tonight....I've had enough of the quiet nights.

It's in the morning and I wanna touch you...I wish you were here....

it aint bout you n it aint bout me

I wonder how it is that you can even think,

that I could walk away from you

and never even blink.

How do you feel now, 

I bet it's all still about you.

Not everything I write's for you,

I put it out there and you catch it and call it your own.

How is that my fault?

Project, internalize, analyze and cry.

You aint the only person in my life

who I go through shit with and have things to say to.

And when I say something and you make it bout you,

It just goes to show, who's got a problem with who.

No I won't stop talkin,

just stop taking what I say so personal.

I aint said shit to you,

YOU said it all yourself.