I Don’t Know

I don’t know what to call this post. It’s probably going to be a rambling of wild, insane things.

Or it will be a lot of vague-blogging. Is that even a thing? I blissfully deactivated my facebook account, so I can’t vaguebook anymore.

The boys.

They’re growing like weeds. Kindergarten & third grade & IEPs & Bulldog Bucks & awards for being respectful & homework battles & “What do you MEAN you left your papers at school again?!” That’s what our year has been. They’re finally in the same school, which is a major plus for this mama. I like where they are. They like where they are. We all like their teachers. It’s a change for Butter because he’d been in the gifted program for a few years, but now. Now he’s doing so much better. His handwriting could still use a little work, but whatever. I’ll gladly take that battle over dealing with teachers who seemed to want to pretend they cared, but didn’t at all.

They’re fighting like brothers. [Duh.] This morning I had to remind them that we don’t threaten to pee on our brother’s head & no, I don’t care that it’s because he wouldn’t let you play with the multitude of Legos on his bed.

We’re planning birthday parties & trips to Pittsburgh to see Mommy’s home city & lots of other things. All in the next few weeks, because our summers don’t look like most people’s. We are a food truck family.

There are a thousand other things I want to discuss, but can’t. Because they’re not public knowledge yet & frankly they’re not really for public consumption. There are things I want help with, but I’m too afraid, too introverted, too . . . something to ask for it. So I’ll keep plugging along. Like I always do. Like the good little worker bee I am.20161106_025


Um. Oops?

I know it’s been a while. The last post I wrote was in March?

I hate that. But it’s been crazy busy around here & I haven’t felt much like writing lately.

There are highlights I can hit.

  • Our hearts broke when my father-in-law passed away in December. He went quickly & that’s all we could ask for, but there are very few days that go by when Bear doesn’t tell me, “I miss Pop Pop.” Buddy, we all do.
  • M opened his cafe in January. It’s gorgeous & infuriating & I’m so so so so so proud of him.
  • We’re working through an official ADHD diagnosis with Butter.
  • Both boys will be in the same school this year. Thank. Goodness.
  • Oh yeah, Bear is going into Kindergarten. And Butter will be in third grade. It’s insane how fast time has gone.

I quit a job in February. I’m still waiting tables, still working with MIL, & still working with/for M doing stuff around the cafe.

Life is insane.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.


It’s Been 84 Years . . .

Okay, it hasn’t been 84 years since I’ve written a post, but if you got that reference? You are my new favorite person. Yes, you.

In reality, it’s been just about six months.

A lot has happened in six months.


But that’s not what I’m here to write about. I actually started writing this post in my head when I took the boys to breakfast last week. THAT is how I knew I was ready to start blogging again. [Yes, yes, I will get to why I nearly shut the entire thing down one of these days.]

Anyway. There was this one morning last week. You parents know the kind of mornings I’m talking about. For once, the kids didn’t need me to herd them to get them ready for school. They were ready in time to leave for Butter’s bus. BUT! Butter had a project due that I was not in any way, shape, or form letting him destroy on the bus, so I was taking him all the way to school. That would have made Bear late, so I was going to take him to school first.

I searched the kitchen for breakfast, & that was about the time I realized I haven’t gone grocery shopping in like, two months. No really, it’s been a while. We grab staples when we need them, but our freezer is pretty well stocked & we kind of a have a plethora of veggies sometimes from the restaurant [OH LOOK AT THAT OTHER BLOG POST THAT NEEDS WRITTEN!], so. Basically, I didn’t even have two pieces of extra bread to rub together for toast.

Okay, boys, go get in the car. We’re going out for a Mommy/Boy breakfast date. Who cares if it was to McDonald’s? They loved spending the extra time with me, I’m sure.

This post started writing itself in my head about the time I told the boys to go find us a seat while I waited to collect our food. There was an older gentleman there who looked HORRIFIED that I was letting my children search for a seat without hovering over them. AND THEN! I let them climb up on stools! I am clearly The Worst Mother in the Entire Universe ™.

Seriously, this guy judged me the entire time we were there. AND HE DIDN’T EVEN DO IT SUBTLY.  He blatantly stared at me, glared at me, & gave me these terribly judging looks.

Had the children not been with me, I probably would have laid in to him.

What I would have liked to say to him is that no, I am not a perfect mother. I’m teaching my kids independence by telling them to go find a seat. It’s not like the McDonald’s was so huge I was going to lose sight of them. So what if they climbed on the stools? I’m not a litigious  person. I wouldn’t have sued McDonald’s if one of my children had fallen because of some stupid thing he was doing. Did I freak out that they were climbing? A little, yeah. But that’s because they weren’t climbing over carpet. I’ve seen my five year old scale a stool that – incidentally – is not attached to a table & meditate on it. He’s part monkey; he’s got this.

I know this is probably going to catch me a lot of flack, but there’s a generation of people who hate the way mine is raising our children. They call our kids entitled brats, screen zombies, & worse. They call us helicopter parents who refuse to let our kids get a bad grade because of the kid’s screw ups. News flash: I am not one of those parents. If my kid gets a bad grade, I’m the parent in the first strip of this comic. That’s not to say that I don’t go to bat for my kids when I think that something is wrong with what’s going on in their school [oh look, another blog post!].

I’ve always said that not only was I born in the wrong generation, but I’m parenting in the wrong generation. If my kids get hurt while they’re playing outside, that’s okay. If they’re not bleeding, I generally tell them to go back outside. I tell them all the time to GO OUT & PLAY. GO PLAY OUTSIDE. GOOOOO PLAYYYYYY.

I bet that guy was really offended when I let the seven year old go into the men’s [single person] bathroom alone.