Common Sense Ain't So Common

Have you ever met someone who lacks even one eensy bit of common sense and wondered how they've managed to survive? If the answer to this question is no, you're probably lying, I mean, lucky. There seems to be an epidemic of senseless humans walking the planet and it got me thinking....are we supposed to teach our kids common sense?

Before you answer that question, I give you exhibit A:

Now that Tommy* (Names have been changed to ensure that ceaseless teasing does not force said kid to become a recluse that lives under a bridge like a hobbit. Wait, do hobbits live under bridges? I think that might be a troll. Or a hobo. But I digress) is a mature, college kid getting a taste of the real world by going to school AND working, we don't see him as often. Last weekend we got to visit for a bit and the following conversation took place:

Me: Careful, don't trip over your shoes. You left them by the door. (See how I thread a concerned comment with a veiled admonishment for leaving the shoes where they don't belong? Epic Mom move.)

Tommy: They're two left feet.

Me: (Uncertain Mom laugh because I think he's making a bad pun.)

Tommy: No, really. They're two left feet.

Me: What?

Tommy: Well, I lost my first pair of work shoes. (?!?!) So I bought another pair and apparently I didn't check the box too carefully because there are two left feet. But one is a larger size so it's ok, it's not too bad on the wrong (right) foot.

Me: Why didn't you just take then back?

Tommy: Well, Mom, I was just too lazy and I waited until the eleventh hour, you know, half an hour before I had to be to work, so I really didn't have time to return them.

Okay, okay, that last sentence really only happened in my mind. I know it's probably the right answer, but what 18 year old kid likes to admit to their parents that they're an idiot?

This is immediately followed by this mental conversation:

How do you lose your work shoes? They're either on your feet at work, or they're where you took them off. It's not like you're partying at the beach with your non-skid soles on for cripes sake! Seriously. And is this kid so lazy that he can't even take his shoes back? How long has he been walking around, in public, looking like this? How many people saw him walking around with two left feet, literally, and thought that his parents must not have raised that one right? Doesn't he know that he's a reflection of me when he's in the outside world? What if he saw someone that knows he's my son? Hopefully they don't go to Pizza World.

Luckily, I've gained the ability to keep my inner monologue, well, inner, so none of that was verbalized. Instead we just went to the store and I bought him a new pair (with both a left and right shoe!) and we all had a good laugh about Tommy's two left feet.

And then of course I told my family and co-workers, the mailman, the grocery store cashier, and anyone who would stand still for five minutes "The Story of the Boy With Two Left Feet". He's become a cautionary tale to prevent reckless shoe buying.

And if that's not enough evidence, I give you Exhibit B:

A few days later, I asked the eight year old if he would please take a baby wipe (the heaven sent cleaner of the busy mom) and wipe down my shoes that had gotten a little dirty. A few minutes later I put them on and noticed they were still kind of soiled. I mentioned that he must have done it really fast because the outsides were still dirty. He looked at me and said, (I kid you not):

"Oh, you wanted me to wipe the outside?"

"What did you think I wanted you to wipe?"

"The inside."

O-kay then. So I have one son who will wear two left shoes and another one who would clean the inside of the shoe that non one can even see. Fan-tastic.

It was at this point that I wondered how you teach someone common sense. Can you teach it? And if so, do they have cliff notes versions? Because I just need a quick crash course. After all, I'm starting a little late with a few of them and I really do need to catch up.

OMG! Someone made my blog title into a sign! How'd they know before I did?

Modern Mom Morning Mayhem Madness

Some people dream of vacations, some people dream about untold riches. Lately my dream consists of getting out of the house in the morning with minimal damage done to my kid's psyche. (Or mine!)

If you're a working mom, you are all too familiar with the guilt associated with it. Or maybe you're not. Personally, I am convinced I must be 100% Italian because I can guilt myself into a lather over just about anything and everything. (And if you don't know what I mean, you don't know an Italian mom.)

Now, you may be thinking that I'm feeling bad because I can't stay at home with my precious angels all day, stalking Pinterest and making macrame whatevers, but you'd be wrong! Mostly I feel terrible because I secretly enjoy being able to escape my mom-ness and be an actual adult. I can type on a computer without sticky toddler fingers sneaking onto the keyboard to punch the space bar fourteen times while I'm ineffectually yelling, "Stop that!" I can have conversations without using baby talk or such phrases like, " Do you have to go potty?" or "Did you just fart on my leg?" My sanity pretty much rests on my ability to leave my children for eight hour stretches.

Cue the guilt.

Because Moms are supposed to want to maximize the time spent with the fruit of their looms, er, loins, right? And if not, we can't EVER tell anyone that we enjoy working outside the home. If we do, we open ourselves up to all the judgy comments and mom bashing. And really, who has the time (or mental fortitude) to deal with that? But we do exist. And we are smart enough to know that the time away from our kids makes us appreciate them even more.

But this after school special isn't really what today's blog is about. In fact, I apologize for making you start to think I might have gone soft on you and lost that sarcastic, satirical snark I carry around with me. What this is really about is my madhouse of a morning schedule.

I might as well get this shirt since running late is my new exercise plan.

It starts off innocuously enough. Alarm, shower, dress. But then it starts to go downhill when I have to wake the kids up. When you have a routine designed to wake your two year old up with the sole purpose of avoiding his Jekyll personality, (or is the evil one Hyde?) you should know that there's a 50/50 chance things are going to go epically wrong.  It goes a little like this:

Tiptoe outside bedroom door. Slowly (as in horror movie I-don't-know-what-I-will-find slowly) open door, trying to be as quiet as possible. Once the door is open, tiptoe back into the kitchen and start making oatmeal, prepare coffee, make some noise but not enough to wake the beast unnaturally. After a few minutes, peek back in bedroom to see if your toddler is standing up in his crib with his blankie and a smile. (If not, abort! I repeat, abort mission!) Seriously, I live in a hostage situation where my 2 year old holds all the cards. Oh sure, I'm sure I could do something like just turn the light on and wake him upby plucking him out of his sleepy slumber. Tough love, right? And then I'll drop his crank-tastic, have a 20 minute meltdown over oatmeal, crabby diapered butt off at your house. (Then you'll understand, not only the ritual, but also why I'm so clucking crazy.)

This is followed by 25 minutes of me trying to get my 8 year old to do something: "Please get up and get dressed. Right now. Seriously. Hurry up. Don't forget to make your bed. What are you doing in there? How long does it take to make your bed? What do you mean you aren't even dressed yet? We have to leave in 25 minutes, you haven't even eaten breakfast AND you're not even dressed yet? Yes, you have to eat breakfast. It's the most important meal of the day. Eat NOW please. No, you can't have cookies. Have cereal (with ten times the amount of sugar than cookies) instead. Stop playing with your iPod and eat please. Okay, let's get moving, we're leaving in ten minutes. Eat! Drink your milk. Alright finish your cereal and then drink the milk but please get a move on. Ok, put your bowl into the sink and get your shoes on. Where are you? I thought I told you to get your shoes on. Of course you have to poop three minutes before we need to walk out the door, what was I thinking trying to get out of here on time. Ok, let's hustle. Shoes. Coat. Hello, are you forgetting something? Where's your backpack? Yeah, you'll probably need that. Did you put your lunchbox in there? Ok, we're only 7 minutes late today, I think that might be a record for this month."

And if the eight year old actually has his act together that morning, that is usually the day the two year old has the aforementioned meltdown because the oatmeal wasn't a s'mores pop tart. I mean, low fat yogurt with healthy blueberries and granola. Yeah, that. Because I would never feed my kids pop tarts and rename them breakfast crackers so that I don't get hassled by the nutrition police for feeding them junk for the most important meal of the day. Or have to follow up said lecture with a five minute explanation that when your child has decided to be the pickiest eater in the history of the world, you're just happy to get through a meal with food being ingested, even if it's mostly empty calories covered in frosting. We have plenty of years to force feed vegetables, but let's not start this morning because I'm already running late and mommy needs her grown up time now.

Right?