Friday, July 30, 2010

Just call me Bad Ass...

I don't know if you have noticed this or not, but I have a serious mean streak. I also have a temper and a lightening-fast tongue and the mean plus the temper times the tongue equals BAD ASS. And this time, my alter ego was unleashed on the teenage swimming teachers. Ok, that makes me sound mean, but read this before you judge. That explains how they threw my little boy off the spring board. And, what you don't know is that they did it again yesterday... even after the discussion we had the first time where his teacher and I came to the understanding that they were NOT TO DO IT AGAIN. So, the following is the recreation of my discussion today. And by discussion, I mean verbal bitch slapping.

I tell Will's teacher Nagem (names have been changed so I don't get sued even though I should sue their teenage asses) and the "Supervisor" of the swimming lessons (and by Supervisor I mean the head teenager in charge "HTIC" because the adult that organizes lessons but is never there doesn't have the balls to return my phone calls) that I need to talk to them.

Me to the HTIC: Hi. You don't know me. I am Will's mom and he is the little boy you threw in the deep end yesterday and I am beyond furious about it.

HTIC: I am sorry you....

Me, interrupting: Stop talking. I want the name of your supervisor now.

HTIC: I am the supervisor.

Me: No, the actual adult person who runs the program. I want his name and his number now.

HTIC: Ok, but he will back me up 100%.

Me: Then I will explain to him how you are all wrong. Now start writing. You have no business throwing my 4 year old child off the diving board.

Tabbi's Teacher Who is an Adult But For Some Reason Still Answers to A Teenager While Teaching Summer Swimming Lessons and is Basically Pathetic "TTWABFSRSAATWTSSLBP": I have been teaching swimming for 30 years and that is the only way to get kids to get over their fear is to throw them in enough times.

Me: No! All you did yesterday was confirm that going off that board is terrifying. Imagine if someone three times your size ripped you away from safety and forced you to do something you are terrified of. Then imagine how you would feel if you were only 4 years old! Not to mention the fact that he went in screaming and came up with a mouthful of water! All you managed to do is teach him that all of his fears come true if he goes off that board. Good work!

TTWABFSRSAATWTSSLBP: Well, I have done it that way for 30 years and....

Me, interrupting as I often do: Well I don't care if you've done it for 30 years and the Aquatic Director, the President and your mom all approve, I said no. I spoke to Negam last Wednesday after the first incident and made it clear that it was not to happen again. When I say no the answer is no. I don't care how you try to justify it.

More argument ensues where I explain to HTIC that her other justifications are crap and basically point to gross negligence on the part of Nagem, but it ended like this...

Me: Here's the bottom line. I brought Will to lessons today because I am not going to have him end on such a negative note. I am not going to have that be his final memory of swimming lessons. He is going to get in today and have a great time and if anyone even thinks about putting him on that board I will end this program. Believe me when I say this... I will end it. And let me make this very clear... you do not want to have a third conversation on this topic with me.

HTIC, mumbles looking down at the floor: Well, I am sorry.....

But I walked out before I heard the rest. Luckily, Will had a great day in swimming lessons today and we ended on a fabulous note. Then, we swam at my neighbor's house where he proceeded to repeatedly jump in off the board without any force at all. Swimming instructors my ass!

Thursday, July 29, 2010

Oh, to be a seahorse...

Did you know that male seahorses are the ones that birth their babies? I can only assume that if the dude is the one carrying the eggs around in his little pouch, then the dude is the one that they are attached to above all others. I've read Spock's stuff (Vulcans are so wise) and he says that human babies are so bonded to the mama because we did the heavy lifting for so long. So, I can only assume that baby seahorses become little daddy's seacolts. And I could go for a little daddy loving right about now. Wait... that came out weird.

Truth be told, my 4 year old is a total mama's boy. I'm sorry Will's Future Wife, but he is. He wants ME on the field with him during T Ball. He wants ME to take him up for bath time. He wants ME to do every freaking thing that he needs done, unless it is go outside in the 97 degree heat with a heat index of 105 because he knows that ain't gonna happen so he turns to Mark. And Jack.... Jack my little former Daddy's boy, has crossed over. When he was younger, he wanted Mark to do everything. He ran to Mark for everything. Now, oh no. It's me. He has joined the ranks of Mommy Worshippers and happily gulped the Kool Aid down.

It's not that I don't enjoy the unwavering love that I get from these two, but sometimes I really wish I could get a little less. Shouldn't Daddy get to make Jack's sippy of chocolate milk? No, Jack screams "MAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMA" like a never ending tornado siren, fluctuating in volume only because he is running around in circles shrieking until I give in and mix the stupid powder into the milk myself. And Will, I really need you to understand that Mommy can't hobble out onto the T Ball field right now because her foot is broken and she will look like an idiot and Mommy would much rather sit back and hide her face in shame as you bawl at shortstop over the fact that I am sitting on my butt and not catering to your every whim. And don't get me started on why Mommy is not going to be like the other swimming lesson Mom and jump in fully clothed just to get you to see you can jump in with a noodle and not be afraid. Be scared, because I am not ruining my favorite jeans for that.

So, today I've decided that I should have been a seahorse, so that Mark could be their bestie and I could be their shrugging "Sorry, he wants you to do it" parent. Plus, seriously, look at that 'do. Dye the top blue and I totally looked like that in college.

Saturday, July 24, 2010

Thoughts On A T Ball Game...

The following are thoughts occurring in a mother's mind during her son's first T Ball game. Names have been changed to protect the guilty.

  • I am so excited! My little man looks so cute in his hat and his mitt and his little T shirt!
  • Geez, is it hot.
  • Look at him with his team. He is such a big boy now!
  • Holy crap.... it is really hot.
  • Ok, they are lining up! Take me out to the ballgame! Take me out to the crowd....
  • Good God Almighty, it is freaking crazy hot.
  • Oh look... our team, the Porcini Mushrooms are up first. Go team!
  • Ok, seriously, am I outside or did I take a wrong turn and enter an oven?
  • Ooo, my son Niblet is at bat! Come on, Niblet! Ugh.... strike one. Thank God in the 4/5 year olds they don't matter because Niblet is missing everything. Wait, that pitch sucked. Niblet could be great if there was another pitcher. Oh.... time for the T. Oh well, why call it T Ball if they aren't going to use the T? It just makes more sense this way. Good job, Niblet. You are upholding the integrity of the game!
  • It's a hit! Niblet hit! Wait... run to 1st, Niblet. No! Drop the bat! No... don't run to the pitcher's mound. Run to 1st. Niblet! Drop the bat. HEY! NIBLET! STOP SWINGING THE BAT AT THE OTHER TEAM!!!!
  • Phew! Niblet didn't hurt anyone.
  • Damn. It is too damn hot.
  • Ok, the Porcini Mushrooms are fielding now. Come on, Niblet! Ohh! He is going for the ball. Oh, he got it but fell. Get up, Niblet.
  • Ok, Niblet. It's ok. You scraped your arm, but really... it's a sports injury! Be happy! It's your first one. Now you are a man! Ok, it's hard to be a man if you're crying that hard. Seriously... Niblet.... calm down. You aren't even bleeding. Ok... you can cry through one batter and then you have to go out there and field. Ok.... after this batter you have to go back. Niblet, seriously, this is the last batter you get to sit out through. Haven't you heard, there's no crying in baseball. Really... buddy, calm down. GET OUT TO THE FREAKING FIELD!!!!!
  • Hmmm.... I wonder if other people are as annoyed at my son as I am? Hmmm. Coach Thingamagig is for sure.
  • Hmmm.... I wonder if anyone else feels like their skin is being flayed off their body from this stinking sun?
  • Hey, Niblet! Stay on the field! Oh, thank God. It's time for the Porcini Mushrooms to bat again.
  • Huh, Niblet is walking the bases instead of running.
  • Huh, I no longer give a rat's ass about this game because I have officially become well done.
  • Huh.... we have to do this again next week.
  • Shit.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Swimming Lessons... The Detailed Version

So, here's a little story about a protective mother and her baby.

Once upon a time, in land far away (or near, depending on where Indiana is in relation to you) there was a mother. Let's name her Lynn. Lynn took her baby boy, who was really four and kinda big for his mother to still call him a baby, to swimming lessons.

Will, the boy, did a great job. He swam. He jumped in. He went under. He was practically Nemo, but without the whole getting lost and gimpy fin parts. Lynn beamed proudly from the stands (which could also be interpreted as "read her book while occasionally glancing up to make sure Will was alive). Then, she saw that Will was sucking his thumb. That was a gesture that only occurred when Will was tired, sick or scared. Lynn's head perked up like a meerkat doing whatever meerkats do when their heads perk, and she watched closely.

Will and his class marched on the side of the pool down the deep end. "A HA," Lynn thought in her infinite wisdom. "Will is afraid." You see, during Will's last session of swimming lessons, he was quite petrified of the deep end and the 4-foot high spring boards that stretched over the black abyss. Soon, Lynn's theory was confirmed as Will's terrified shrieks and frightened wails drifted up to the bleachers. Lynn did was Lynn does when confronted with a dilemma. She called her mom.

Lynn explained the scenario to Sharon, going play by play as Will panicked and then was soothed by the swimming instructors. Initially, Lynn assumed that she should watch and wait and see how these pool pros (aka teenage swim teamers) handled the meltdown. Then Lynn watched in horror as Will's teacher carried his screaming, flailing body back to the deep end, and up the rungs of the high dive ladder. "What the [crap] are they doing now?" Lynn thought although the word crap was inserted where other more colorful words may have initially appeared. Sharon confirmed her fears by saying "GO GET HIM" when his screams were loud enough for her to hear... not over the phone... but all the way downtown in Sharon's office.

Lynn stood up, her Super Mom cape blowing in the breeze. "I WILL GET MY SON" she declared as she walked down her aisle and down the steps and GGAHHHHHHHHHHHHH... down she fell like a ton of well oiled bricks on a steeply sloped slip and slide. Luckily, the entire pool area was watching her as she walked, so not a soul in the aquarium missed her acrobatic feats. Then, as she pulled her now wet, poorly chosen skirted ass off the cement floor, she saw that the teacher dropped her baby into the deep end. As he came up he sputtered and shouted the highest pitch screech ever uttered by a two legged creature outside a Sci Fi movie, and the sound was echoed by the now fractured bone and sprained tendon in Lynn's ankle.

So, let that be known to those parents whose children also attend swimming lessons. Just let them go. You'll be of no help to them flat on your ass in a puddle of pool drippings. And when you do get pissed... wait til tomorrow then kick some teenage ass before the class starts... and walk carefully to do it.

Monday, July 19, 2010

Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day...

You know it is going to be a bad day when...

When you wake up convinced that you are dying because you cannot get a lungful of air and you see your life flash before your eyes and you quickly pray for your children's future as you slowly close your eyes.... and then you realize it's the stupid cat sleeping on your face.

When you step into the shower and your hair gets tangled on your shower curtain and you can't get it off without ripping it or suffering the indignity of calling for help as you stand naked in your bathroom. And thanks to the ripping, you now need a hair cut.

When you put your deodorant on generously under your right pit because you know it is going to be a hot one, and then realize there is none left to do your left. So, you have to use your hand to wipe some off the right and spread it to the left.

When you step out of your bathroom and see that your almost two year old managed to destroy your room more thoroughly than a category 5 hurricane with a tornado chaser.

When you realize that all of this really happened and it's only 9:32am.

When you sit back at swimming lessons later and see that your son and stepdaughter are doing awesome and think that this day has actually turned itself around... only to come home with McDonalds and dump the bag in the garage on the dirty nasty floor.

When you come back in the house from cleaning all the trashed McDonalds off the garage floor only to realize that your four year old spilled the entire contents of the keg of lemonade on the kitchen floor.

When you realize that all this has really happened, and it is only 1:26pm.

When your husband comes home and only then do you remember that once you discovered the spilled lemonade, you forgot to completely finish the french fry mess. So, then you ask him about whether or not he saw it (secretly hoping that he will say yes, and that he cleaned it up, too.) Then he will say yes, and when you get a nagging feeling that you need to confirm that he cleaned it the right way... you will discover that his version was sweeping the fries into the grass. Your grass. Your front yard. And it's raining. So, now instead of fries in the garage, you have a pile of fries in the front yard. Soggy, wet fries. Yes, you have now realized that your house is the one your neighbors are blogging about.

When you realize you still have an hour and a half until bedtime.

Monday, July 12, 2010

I Got My Life Back


That is me breathing a hefty sigh of relief. Why? Because Mark got a job, and actually started it today. Translation: I got my life back.


Looking back, my life in a deadbeat family wasn't as bad as I initially thought it would be. Circa day two, I thought I was going to pull my hair out but really I think we made it through pretty well. There were moments on both our parts where the stress took over and the relationship got rocky, but I give us credit that we were able to get ourselves back on course rather effortlessly. It gives me hope for later years when we're rocking on the porch in our retirement community. Maybe I won't end up smothering him in his sleep after all!

The best part of getting my life back isn't even the fact that I am back on my schedule, solitary owner of the remote during nap time or that we actually had a conversation tonight where no one had to say "I know. I was there, remember." The best part is that I liked myself again today.

I am not a person who stresses out much. Give me a crisis, and I can think it through (except that one time when my hand towel caught fire in the oven and I screamed like a weenie and Mark had to save the day... but I blame that on postpartum hormones). Give me a hard day at work (back when I worked), and I could just power through. But, give me an extended period of time when income didn't show up, but bills still did and I'll show you an unfriendly Lynn. I was worried and stressed and afraid and I was the worst thing imaginable.... OUT OF CONTROL. Talk about torture. Forget water boarding; find a control freak and then take away all control and life is just about over. I was morose.... unhappy.... depressed. Talking to friends didn't pull me out of my funk... even the kids couldn't take me away. I had "Oh my god! Oh my god!" running through my brain on repeat since April 26th and it didn't go away until today. Until I woke up at 7:13 this morning and realized that Mark was at work.