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.


I’m annoyed.

With work, kids, the husband, food trucks, & life. With hectic schedules & never enough time & stress over paying bills. [But seriously, why are bills a thing? Can’t we just go back to a system of bartering?] With wanting to do more in this space & I can’t because again – why are bills a thing? With starting posts & never finishing them because I a) get interrupted or 2) feel like I’m an Olympic gold medalist in whining. [Which means there is a solid chance this post won’t ever see the light of day.] I’m annoyed with those first five pounds, because they’re always the ones that come back when PMS hits.

I’m also annoyed with newer Ford Mustangs because I loathe┬átheir turn signals.

I’m also annoyed with cleaning, boys & the fact that they’re so dirty, laundry, & library fines. [When Butter is President, this First Mama is going to gently guide him to his first legislation. And by gently, I mean I don’t care how old he is, I will threaten to ground him & take Skylanders away if he doesn’t do away with money & reinstate bartering as a thing.]

I’m annoyed a large chunk of my friends aren’t immediately available for me to express these annoyances to, because they live so far away. [Bear is already working on teleportation for us.]

I hate that my baby is starting Pre-K in the Fall. I can’t stand that the school system wants to label my bright & curious boy in a quest to get him on medication to calm the busy mind that is always questioning, always coming up with a great idea, & just wants so much to please people. I abhor that my soft hearted child is made to feel bad about his sensitivity because that isn’t what boys do.

I’m annoyed that Comic Sans is still a thing.

But even after this list of annoyances [many which are foolish & likely because I have been awake since 3AM!], I love the people I am surrounded by. Because even when they annoy me . . . I know they do it with love.

The Struggle Redux

The struggle to not complain when my husband has to work nights, weekends, holidays, and even in inclement weather is real.

My name is Trinity, and I am a restaurant widow.

Please don’t think I’m about to complain about not being able to celebrate Valentine’s Day with my husband. The truth is, he & I celebrated Valentine’s Day exactly once [we saw Hitch in theaters a few months after I moved in with him] & quickly realized it’s not a holiday for us. I don’t care about candy & flowers, & I think he mostly just appreciates that I don’t care about candy & flowers. We celebrate Pitchers & Catchers Report Day [incidentally, that’s today], but that’s a story for another blog post.

But I do get a little miffed when the weather sucks, everyone else is home, a state of emergency has been declared, the mall is closed, & the National Guard has been called out & M still has to go in to work.

Gee, can you guess what happened today?

I was thrilled when the restaurant broadcast a message via their scheduling system that they’d be closed for lunch, & pretty excited that M said he didn’t have a “big” station tonight, so he thought he would be able to stay home if they opened for dinner. They opened at five & he was called in after spending 2.5 hours shoveling our driveway.

So I flipped out a little. Okay, a lot. Look, I love my husband, but this kind of thing never really bothered me before we had children. The last time we had a bad winter, he was the assistant GM at a restaurant & had to go in because the GM lived in New Jersey. I threw a fit then, too. What I’m saying is I worry about his safety.

For the record, I told him to go in tonight after I freaked out. It’s a short month & we have a lot of bills. [Remember The Leak?] Only after I maybe yelled a lot while he was on the phone with his boss. And only after he told me that, out of 25 people on the schedule tonight, four had agreed to come in.

The roads were clear when he went in. I was more worried about what it’s doing now [thunder snow!] & what it’s supposed to do as the hour gets later. He dropped me a text when he got there, then again a little while ago. Apparently they got slammed with people. Which is good for us, I suppose. I just wish he didn’t have to be on the road, which is going to get worse as the night goes on, with other people. Because when it comes down to it, it’s not that I don’t trust his ability to drive. I just don’t trust anyone else on the road.

If your spouse had to work during this storm, how did you handle it?