Pumpkin Spice Better Chillax

Why is it that everybody is always in such a hurry to get to the next thing? It doesn't matter if it's an age (I can't wait until I'm old enough to drive!), a phase in our lives (I can't wait until he starts school), or, my current peeve, a season. Most specifically autumn.

It seems like as soon as mid-freaking-July hits, that's the secret signal for all of these stores to start rolling out the fall promotions. Soon everywhere you turn it's pumpkin spice this and apple cinnamon that. Swimsuits go on clearance (Because who would want to buy a bathing suit in the summer?!?!) and sweaters to start to roll out. Forty five people in your social  media news feeds will roll out that annoying "Who's ready for bonfires and crunchy leaves?" post.

Yeah, that's the one.

And why is it necessary to push all this autumn crap on us in July anyway? Can't you see that I'm trying to SUMMER over here? There's like 2 and a half months max that I get to enjoy the heat, the pool, cookouts and family lawn games, and growing my own vegetables and flowers. You know what's NOT good for growing flowers and vegetables? Fall. You know what's NOT good for pool parties? Autumn. You know who could give two craps about pumpkin spice ANYTHING? This girl.

Stores be rolling out emails in July like:

 

Come in NOW and stock up on your favorite fall scented candles and lotions!

FALL into a new wardrobe for autumn!

Save 15% on your favorite cardigans and hoodies!

Meanwhile, it's 85 degrees and I have sweat in places I didn't know I could sweat in just by walking to the car. I'm really not thinking, "Boy, I could use a sweater right now!" (Well, at least not until I go to work and sit my office with the AC that is set on the Popsicle setting.) And don't think that's a complaint about the heat, because it's not! I'm one of those weirdos who loves heat and humidity. (Plus humidity grows the best tomatoes!) 

Summer is short enough that if you blink even once after Memorial Day it's already Labor Day. And yes, while I do agree that fall brings some pretty kick ass things like apple picking, pumpkins, football, and gorgeous leaves, it's also a gateway season. That's right, first it's the light stuff like autumn and then before you know it, you're into the hard stuff like WINTER with it's icy nastiness and white shit everywhere. Do you know why winter has so many holidays? To keep people from realizing it's winter! Let's have a Christmas party! Ooh, now let's have a New Year's party! Hey, let's have a Valentine's Day party! Quick! Break out the corned beef and green beer, it's a St. Patrick's Day party! And then before we all catch on that we're stuck in this perpetual hell of slushy, frozen tundra, BAM! Spring is here.

I guess I just don't think it's a lot to ask for to let me live in the damn moment and enjoy my summer. There's something special about your kids being able to have spontaneous s'mores nights and swimming all day like they've suddenly grown gills. There's freedom in not having to worry about packing lunches and having to always have cash on hand for field trips and book orders. (Plus there's an added benefit of being able to tell the kids to go outside and play which may earn you 3.5 minutes of quiet time. You might even be able to pee with the door shut!)

So yeah, I know fall's on the way. The temperatures are starting to change ever so slightly and the stores are amping up their back to school ads like we might miss it if they don't tell us every week. (Like any parent doesn't have THAT day circled in red on their calendar complete with an internal countdown clock? Yeah, I know, we're contrary creatures. We may enjoy summer but we enjoy sanity too. What's left.) I know it's coming, but I don't have to like it. And I don't have to acknowledge it. At least not until:

Autumn Equinox 2018 in Northern Hemisphere will be at 9:54 PM on
Saturday, September 22

Until then though, it's still summer baby. You'll find me by the pool. 

Dear Daughter: An Open Letter to my Daughter on Her Graduation

Just three short years ago I penned an open letter to my son upon his graduation. Once again I find myself in a similar situation, only this time it’s my daughter that has graduated. Since sons and daughters are very different, I felt like she needed to have her own letter. So here it is:

Dear Daughter: Advice for Leaving the Nest

Dear Daughter,

Yee haw! Sweet, sweet freedom! I know that you, and many other college kids, will have adventures and try new things that your parents won’t hear about for many, many, many, many, MANY years. (And even then it will probably only be because it was accidentally spilled by a co-conspiring sibling/cousin/friend.) While I want you to enjoy college, I do have some advice for you while you find your footing in this big, new world.

Remember that you’re not always going to like everybody. Everybody isn’t always going to like you. This is fine. You don’t have to like someone to be nice. Be the bigger person. Being kind to someone who is trying to be cruel to you will confuse them even more. You don’t want to be the mean girl who inspires an epic Carrie like revenge scene where you end up covered in pig’s blood. (Do you even know how hard it is to get blood out of clothes?) Besides, being nice burns more calories than being mean. Did you believe me when I said that? Because that leads me to this next one…

Don’t be so gullible. Yeah, it’s cute at home when we tease you and you believe us, but other people will take advantage of it. So no matter what that person says, they probably don’t have puppies and candy in that 1980’s panel van. DO NOT go with them. And that guy who says that he’s a talent scout for a modeling agency and can assess your skills, you just have to get naked first…yeah, that’s probably a skeezy perv that you should just stay away from. (No matter what spell check says, skeezy perv is a thing. You don’t want to be one and you don’t want to know one.) This is how probably 50% of CSI/Law and Order/Forensic Files episodes start. The other half involve late night walks down dark alleys and early morning jogging in the most isolated areas that you can find. Please also avoid these scenarios at all costs.

NEVER leave your drink unattended. If you forget this cardinal rule and for some reason do not have eyes on your glass at all times, get a new drink. Yeah, I might sound like a paranoid mom, but you’ve never seen me played by Meredith Baxter in a Hallmark movie about a date rape fraternity house of horrors, now have you? (Because Hallmark will get the rights to any and all movies about women who have terrible things happen to them. I think it’s in their contract somewhere.)

Study. Take a snack break. Study some more. Do your best at all times. Even if you do your best and it’s only a B, you will have the satisfaction of knowing that you worked hard for the grade. You don’t want to get a B and wonder if you could have done better if you’d only worked harder. And it WILL be harder. High school leaves you ill prepared for college because they still hold your hand quite a bit. Then you go to college and get a hard shove into the real world with a short, “Good Luck, kid” and a bunch of well wishes. College should be harder than high school though. It’s preparing you for your profession, for your future, for dealing with all sorts of people.

Speaking of people…college is like a candy store. You’ll have a variety to choose from. There will be rich ones and poor ones. Nice ones and mean ones. Gay ones and straight ones. White ones and brown ones. Funny ones and serious ones. Sunny ones and cloudy ones. Weird ones and normal ones. Surround yourself with people who get you. People who lift you up, not bring you down. People who are nice and also like eating ice cream while binge watching Warehouse 13 for the 9^th time. (Okay, if you find that specific of a person, you might want to make them your instant BFF because honestly, what are the odds that there are two of you in this world and you found yourself in the same college?)

Which reminds me.

Binge watch quality shows on Netflix. None of this Real Housewives of Some Town I Don’t Care About or Dancing With Mediocre D List Stars Because All the Real Celebrities Have Real Jobs And Don’t Want to Do This Show. Occasionally you can watch Cooking with Celebrities Making an Ass Out of Themselves on National TV Makes Me Feel Better About Myself Because Even I Can Make Scrambled Eggs Without Screwing It Up, but that’s about it.

Don’t forget to call your mother. Pretend you need advice so that I can pretend that you didn’t grow up the second I blinked. Send letters to your family, text siblings, facetime with us when you feel homesick. We will always be your people. We will always love you. We will always have your back.

(But seriously on the dark alleys and 5 AM jogging thing.)

Love,

Mom

I’m Living in the Moment (I Can’t Find Today’s so I’m Borrowing Last Week’s)

It seems like everywhere I turn around lately there’s some sappy reminder that you need to spend time with your kids (NOW!!!) because before you know it, they’ll be gone and you’ll be a decrepit old lady who misses the smell of gym socks and the sounds of children screaming at each other. Okay, so it’s worded a little differently than that, but I’m not kidding about being inundated with the message.

It’s on commercials.

It’s in poems.

It’s on my FaceBook wall when I finally catch a minute to stalk, I mean, catch up with my family and friends.

What these well-meaning people fail to realize though, is that this just kicks my mom guilt into high gear. Suddenly I’m worried that all my kids are going to remember of their childhood is that I nagged them to pick up their dirty clothes instead of remembering the field trips that I chaperoned or the impromptu park trips or themed birthday parties that I killed myself over. (More on THAT later.)

And I know that I’m not alone either. There’s a gaggle of moms, wide awake in bed at night, second guessing everything they said and did with their precious progeny. It’s classic nurture versus nature. We nurture so it’s in our nature to worry that we’re doing it right. (Or wrong. Or not as well as Kevin’s mom. But definitely better than that wacko on the news who duct taped her baby to the wall. Poor thing. I wonder if the baby's okay now. I wonder if I’m okay. I wonder if my kids are ok. I just know the youngest is coming down sick. I know his signs. <Nods to self> You just watch, he’s going to get sick. Then he’s going to share with his siblings. They’re going to fall like dominoes and then time it so that someone is sick for the daughter’s graduation. That’s it, I’m going to start giving them all Vitamin C tomorrow! That’ll nip it in the bud. Oh, that reminds me, I have to….) And down the rabbit hole we continue until we pass out from sheer exhaustion.

It’s not that we don’t want to spend time with our kids either. We all have that fantasy of a perfect outing with our family. Like going to the park and having a picnic with foods that they all like and eat, followed by a board game where we have some good clean family fun like a 1950’s "Leave It to Beaver" episode. (Google it Generation Z.) Everyone’s laughing and having a good time, the kids are happy, the parents are happy, and we will build memories that will have everyone sighing fondly over “that one time we went on that picnic”. We build it up in our head and convince ourselves that our family is actually normal enough to accomplish such a feat.

So we try it.

And then reality kicks in.

The picnic was sabotaged by nasty biting insects who made it impossible to sit down. That was fine though since the youngest kept trying to drown himself in the pond because he wanted to go swimming making you and your husband keep jumping up to chase him, the teenager decided that she’s only vegan this week and wouldn’t eat anything other than fruit, and the wind kept blowing the paper plates around, adding a nice garnish of dirt and grass to the food. You forgot to take your allergy pill and sneezed for 2 hours straight. By the time you made it back home, everyone needed a bath and you and your husband needed a bottle of wine or a couple Zoloft. (Or maybe wine with a Zoloft chaser.)

And a lot of the time, it doesn’t even have anything to do with our unrealistic expectations of family gatherings. Sometimes we go in with our eyes wide open, knowing that there’s a 78.9% chance it’s all going to turn into a shit show, but we just can’t seem to find enough time in our days. There’s work and after school activities and shopping and cooking and laundry and somewhere in there we even manage a few hours of sleep. (Occasionally.) It’s not that we don’t want to have meaningful moments, it’s that we are so freaking busy living our lives that there’s no time to live our damn lives! (Ironic, isn’t it?)

But this is why God gives us grandchildren. It's like our do-over. By that time, we've managed to successfully raise our own kids and have had the opportunity to remember what sanity is. Which is probably a good thing since our kids will be on that carousel and need us to lend them some of ours. (Usually in the form of babysitting.)

So I'll try to be living in the moment more. It might not necessarily be THIS moment, because I seem to have misplaced that one. But I think there's one from last week stuck between the couch cushions, so I can use that one. (I just might have to dust it off a little first.)

Looking for MORE mayhem? Come find me on Instagram (modernmommayhem) or find me on FaceBook (Also modernmommahyhem!)

I Insta-Regretted It

Social media offers us multiple platforms for us the stay connected with family, friends, and even complete strangers. (Celebri-stalking has never been easier!) You can like, follow, retweet and look at Instagram photos for every John, Jane, and Jack on the planet, celebrity or not. (It’s so easy a President can do it!)

But sometimes, that starry eyed wonder evaporates in the blink of an eye.

I admit that I don’t often use my social media to the capacity that I could. Most times I only use it by accident. If you’re proficient in the language of social media, I’m sure you’re wondering how I can accidentally use it. Generally, I see an article on some picture that some celebrity posted that caused some sort of (eyeroll) scandal, or better yet, brought out the trolls en masse. Normally I am seeing this headline briefly as I head online to one of the websites that I use for work, so I can’t really take the time to check things out. (Not to mention that everything fun is blocked at work. Or so I hear. I wouldn’t really know personally.)

Ironically, this is usually how I find funny Facebook pages and “tweeters” too. I don’t know if you have ever seen the imomsohard ladies, but their videos never fail to crack me up. (They might be my mom spirit animal.) And you have to live under a rock not to have heard of James Breakwell and his Xploding Unicorn Twitter account. Here he regals us with tales of his life with one wife, four daughters and a comedic timing that never disappoints. Both of these are so relatable and hilarious that I am thrilled to have stumbled upon their unique brand of entertainment.

But it’s not always that way.

Sometimes, I find something that I like or follow and start to regret it. Maybe it’s that they post too damn much. Maybe it’s that they were only funny that one time and don’t live up to my expectations anymore. Whatever it is that makes me disenchanted with them, I’m always super bummed to have to “unlike” or “unfollow” anyone. Plus, it’s like SO much work. I have to go find their page or their site and stuff and then figure out how to get out of it. They should totally make a universal process for this. THE BUTTON. Click once for “like”, twice for “love”, three times for “leave me the hell alone now”. (Which can double as the "I'm sorry I drunk liked you and now am rectifying that error in the sober light of day" button.)

Unfortunately, I feel guilty when I actually DO follow through with kicking their asses off my followed list. I feel like they’re keeping an eye on their numbers (well probably not them if they’re mega famous, but definitely an unpaid intern peon or something) and then I go and betray them by leaving. I always imagine them ending up with hurt feelings and taking it personal, wondering what they did to offend someone. I’m sure that I’m making too much out of it and that in reality, no one really gives a flying fudgecicle but WHAT IF THEY DO? It’s just too much. (FYI, when my document program doesn’t know that fudgcicle is a word and gives me zero spelling suggestions, it really starts to make me paranoid that it’s a nonexistent word that only I use. So if that’s the case, I truly apologize but you’ll have to add it to your own personal dictionary now. I don’t make the rules, just that one.)

The guilt isn’t usually enough to trump the feeling of “Wow, that’s really bleeping stupid.” Especially if it’s a sentiment I’m uttering multiple times over the course of a day due to the frequency of posts. I’ve come to the conclusion that there IS an amount of posts that is “just right”, or the Goldilocks Syndrome as I like to call it. (As of this moment.) If it’s too much, I’m annoyed. If it’s too little, I don’t remember who you are. But if it’s just right, plus it made me laugh, then there’s a good chance I won’t feel guilty for giving you the axe. There are only so many hours in my day and this small chunk of time that I have blocked off to waste on social media already has 5 minutes of cats falling off table videos.

And I would totally LOVE to go on a really big rant about how much time I actually DO waste on some sort of cat related videos (why are there so many out there?) but I actually am nearing that pre-determined period of above referenced social media time wasting, so you probably dodged a bullet there.

Psssstt…….

If you enjoy wasting time on social media, and you’re just looking for someone new to follow (and then unfollow next week), come find ME! I promise I won’t post too much and when I actually remember that I am the one that has to manage it (because APPARENTLY there are no social media posting fairies), it’s probably something that gave me a chuckle. (Or an eyeroll.) Look for me on:

Instagram: modernmommayhem

and/or

Facebook: Modern Mom Mayhem

Making Memories (Or is it Mom-ories?)

Do you ever think back to your childhood and there are those few things that stand out to you as memorable? Chances are it's either something really funny or something really awful, isn't it? Like the time you went on vacation and your sister threw up in the car. Or that time that you got stung by a bee on the beach. Or that time that your Dad burped along to a song on the radio. (Listen, for boys, gross IS funny.)

For some reason, our memories seem to catalog the funniest and most horrendous things as the most memorable. Sure, you might remember the song that your mom sung you to sleep with when you were little, but first you'll remember how your little brother wet the bed  until he was 5.

Why am I thinking about this you ask? Probably because the one memory that my youngest brother has of me (and he wasn't even there, it's just a "passed down" memory) is that when I was four, I ate a stick of butter. Why? I have no freaking clue. I mean, yeah, I DO love me some butter, but not enough to eat an actual stick of it. But that's adult me. Maybe four year old me was like, "Mmm, butter. Must eat some." And it makes me wonder what memories my own kids will carry with them as they grow up.

For instance, our annual vacations where we drive for two days each way. What are they going to remember from that? (I mean, other than creative ways to insult idiot drivers.) Will they remember the "snackpack"? (The backpack full of "Shut up and eat this" snacks for the drive.) Or the movies they'd watch on the way down?

Ha! Right.

Here's what they are going to remember:

That year that the boys had a fart off to see who could stink up the car more. (that was THIS year, thank you very much for that.)

That Mom would drive in New Jersey so that Dad didn't end up flipping anyone off.

How much Mom HATES driving in the Carolinas and their stupid two lane highways. (Just put in a third lane already!!)

Sleeping in a hotel room with your entire family sucks. No, I take that back. It actually SUUUUCCCCKKKKKKKS! Big time. (Sleeping with kids. Snoring husbands. No fan for white noise. Need I say more?)

How cranky Mom can get being stuck in a traffic jam when he bladder (that's been squished by four bouncing babies thank you very much) is full to bursting.

How long into the drive it takes Mom and Dad to start squabbling because traffic also SUUUUCCCCKKKKKS! (Sometimes we actually make it out of the driveway! Ha ha ha.)

How annoying Yo Gabba Gabba can be on repeat for 18 hours.

That time there was a snake in the bedroom. That Mom found. At 11:30 at night.

That year that the dead jelly fish were all over the beach and Mom kept having a heart attack anytime the two year old went near one.

It will be interesting, ten years from now, to look back together and compare our memories of the same trips. I'm sure that everyone will have a different perspective on things. Hopefully their Mom-ories make me out to be less crazy and frazzled than I really am. Or if not, maybe they'll think it's funnier then.

For all the families making similar "rememberies", may they be as funny, stinky, and memorable as ours have been. And from my family to yours, Happy Easter!

Looking Out From the Eyes of a Mom

Looking Out From the Eyes of a Mom

One day, I might finally open the laundry room door,
and not find mountains of dirty clothes from ceiling to floor.

Someday, I can look in the mirror and see,
Past the dark circles, frown lines, and crows feet.

On another day, I might be able to solve the mystery,
of where the mates to those lonely socks are hiding from me.

One day, maybe even soon, I will finally see,
what fuss is all about this time that's for "me".

Someday, maybe, I will have the joy of knowing,
what it's like to have hampers not overflowing.

On this day, I know that every mom can understand,
why I listed two laundry complaints, oh they know firsthand!

On a distant day, I could finally begin to plan,
little boy bedtimes without checking for bogeymans.

One day, I will finally beat back those damn dust bunnies,
under furniture, in dark corners, thinking they are funny.

Someday I will know what it really looks like,
to have windows minus sticky prints from little tykes.

On another day, maybe I can climb the top of laundry mountain,
I'll claim these lumpy piles as my own, with a saucy grin.

(Maybe one day, hopefully quite soon, I will be taught,
Don't climb laundry after drinking that bottle of wine that I bought!)

One day I may actually know what it's like to eat,
a HOT meal, sitting down, in my very own seat.

One far away day, I may sleep through every single night,
without sick kids, crying tots, or monsters from scary dream frights.

Some distant day, I will have to explain to people why,
I am so effing weird and why aspirin commercials make me cry.

On that day, I'll simply blame every single thing,
on hormones out of whack from birthing my offspring.

(One day, my own will know how true that really is,
when they've grown WAY up and have their own kids.)

One day, that seems so far away now but is closer than I think,
I'll look at my kids to see that they grew up in a blink.

Some day, they always say, you'll miss these times,
of sticky kisses, boo boos, and mystery wall grime.

(One day, the mystery grime will be known to me,
even if it's clearly a hand print from child number three.)

One day, these kids of mine will still call me mom,
but they'll have their own lives, far from calm.

On another day, they will finally begin to see,
through my eyes, and how fleeting time can be.


P.S. I promise next time I will be back to my sarcastic, eye rolling, sassy self. But for this time, hug those babies a little tighter tonight and be thankful for all of the moments and memories you are giving to them right now. (And stock up on tissues. I wasn't kidding about those commercials.)

Because...Winter (And Other Reasons I’m Losing My Mind)

I love living on the east coast for a lot of reasons but the biggest one has always been because we get to enjoy all four seasons here. My kids get to go sledding in the winter and swimming in the summer. They get crunchy leaves in the fall and the renewal of the Earth in spring. I love the heat (especially the extreme hot temperatures!) and while I hate being cold, I’ve generally tolerated winter fairly well. It’s only a single season after all.

Until winter 2017/2018 started kicking my ass.

I am not sure why, but this winter seems to be extremely heinous. Could it be because the temperature’s favorite setting is deep freeze? Maybe. Is it because it won’t f%*#ing stop snowing? Quite possible. Is it because I’m getting older and my body is slowly preparing myself for retirement and moving to Florida with the rest of the nation’s retirees? I don’t know. What I do know is that the cold seems to have settled into my bones permanently. I’m tired of single digit temps. I cringe at the thought of another bleeping snowstorm not to mention the fact that I’m seriously contemplating buying an arctic snowsuit. I have to psyche myself up to take a brief 15 minute walk outside for some exercise.

Because I’ve lived here my entire life, I think that means I’m supposed to have some sort of super immunity to the snow and cold. It’s like one of those ‘Meanwhile in NY” memes I’ve seen floating around the Internet. You know, the ones where the South shuts down over 3 inches of snow and we’re barbecuing with 3 feet of snow in the backyard? Yeah, like that. The winter is starting to drive me crazy. I’m losing what little sanity I have managed to save over the years. It doesn’t help that January seems to be the longest month ever. Is it March yet? Because I feel like January has been at least twice as long as it should have been.

Yeah, this is the one I was thinking about.

And if you open your mouth and a complaint about the weather falls out, it’s bound to be in your grandmother’s voice. Crabbing about the economy, weather, politics, and “kids these days” is something that is reserved for a specific age, one that generally comes with grandchildren, retirement, and crotchety old person-ness. I’m too damn young to qualify for that. So the weather is driving me insane and I’m not allowed to complain about it for another 18 years or so.

It’s not just the weather that’s making me lose my marbles, it’s the cabin fever. Being cooped up inside all the time with rabid children and stir crazy pets. I’d love to send them all outside but Mother Nature flipped her bitch switch and gave us a temperature with a wind-chill factor of negative 5. This is the weather so cold that your snot instantly freezes to the inside of your nostrils if you take so much as a small breath outside. And if it’s not too cold, then it’s too dark. Sure, the days are starting to get longer, but the sun is still cutting out from work pretty early. By the time we are home from work and school and dinner is done, it’s midnight for all intents and purposes. The house, which normally has ample room and space for five people to maintain peaceful cohabitation, starts shrinking until everyone is in everyone else’s business. (You can’t hide. They will find you.)

As if that wasn’t enough to earn me a nice white jacket and a pretty, padded room, the house is starting to check things off its “Make My Owners Daft” list. In the last few weeks we have had four light bulbs go out in three different fixtures, a carbon monoxide detector died, the basement door handle refuses to stay on, and the front step is taking a beating from the subzero weather and is disintegrating before our very eyes. If we manage to make it through this winter intact, it’s possible that the house may not. There’s a giant conspiracy between Mother Nature, our kids, and our house to move us to the funny farm.

Yes, I am ready for my tinfoil hat so that the aliens can’t zap my brain.

So while I’m slowly losing my marbles like I’m in a game of hungry hungry hippos with a roomful of toddlers, I am seeking solace within the confines of a good book. It’s so pretty in there and they don’t have frostbite. I think I’ll stay there awhile. At least until the ground is green again and I can feel my toes.

If You Don't Do It This Way, You're Wrong!

Do you know that there's a "proper" way to fold a fitted sheet? I'm not even kidding. Apparently, there's this magical method of folding that makes that hot mess of a lumpy, bumpy sheet into a masterpiece worthy of the finest obsessive compulsive individual.

This is such a hot topic that you can find instructions and even how to videos on YouTube and HGTV.com.

I have even seen it implied that if you DON'T know how to fold a fitted sheet, that there's something inherently missing in your makeup. You must be a heathen for cripe's sake! Which made me think, do I know how to fold a fitted sheet? I mean, sure, most of the time they're done in a hurry so even though I'm pretty sure I know the "proper" way, it just gets done willy nilly so that I can finish folding the load in the dryer before the wash cycle finishes. It's a revolving door of laundry in my house so most of the time it boils down to, "Crap! I forgot I have laundry in the dryer, let's just put it on for 10 minutes to fluff them up quick!" My folding area is generally just the top of the washer or dryer so it's not like I'm looking for professional quality folding here. (Not to mention, most of it is hung up in closets anyway.)

It was then that I realized that I was starting to get just a little too concerned with the semantics of folding a fitted sheet and it occurred to me to ask myself why I care? Don't they just get shoved into some dark linen closet until they get put on a bed? Is there some sort of linen closet inspection crew that's going to randomly inspect my folded sheets? Are there linen police that are going to take me away to laundry jail? Why do I care how it's folded? It literally sits in a closet until I put it on a bed...which is then covered with blankets. If anyone comes to my house, turns down my bed, and remarks on my wrinkly sheets that "must have been incorrectly folded in order to achieve the specific type of wrinkles that have formed around the fitted pockets" then you can drag your ass out the door. I cannot be friends with anyone who has such high expectations of my cleanliness standards and clearly doesn't know me that well. I'm no slouch when it comes to cleaning but there are areas that I find I don't really care enough about until such time that it smashes me over the head, like when the dust bunnies form an army and begin to stage a coup. Laundry folding, sadly, falls into this category as well. They are clean and dry, what the hell else do you people want from me? (No, don't answer that, it was a rhetorical question.)

It makes me wonder if this is another one of those things that the internet tries to trick me into thinking I am supposed to care about. Like the Great Toilet Paper Roll Debate. (Caps worthy.) It usually starts with some sort of meme or picture on the Internet. Maybe one like this:

Ha ha ha... funny though.

If you read the comments underneath one of these images, I am sure that World War III is ready to break out over the people defending the "wrong" way that they hang their toilet paper roll. I am amazed that someone has so much time on their hands that they needed to design this picture. It couldn't have been a mother with children in the house, because we are just amazed that the toilet paper roll was actually changed in the first place, let alone how the freaking roll is hanging. Heck, we would even take the "monster" version because, hey, points for effort, right? Akin to finding an empty milk container in the refrigerator, finding an empty toilet paper roll can be just as maddening. (Especially when it's usually right next to where the toilet paper hangs. Grr.)

Actually, I'm amazed that I even have extra toilet paper because my children seem to eat it and I feel like I am always buying toilet paper. If they made a super, mega, extra jumbo pack of toilet paper, I'd probably buy 2. Toilet paper, milk, and coffee creamer...those are the 3 things I am always out of in my house. You'd think, because I know that, that we would never run out and yet, we still do. It means that my entire life consists of: Go to the store, buy the stuff, bring it home, find something else you need, repeat the first four steps daily. 

The moral of the story is this: You can't force me to care Internet. I'm just too tired, I ran out of shits to give like 10 years ago and I'll fold my sheets improperly while you watch, just for spite. Muah ha ha ha ha ha. (Evil villain laugh.)

iWanna Send a List to Santa

It’s pretty well established that I am an iAddict. I keep waiting, very patiently I might add, for those cunning, innovative Apple executives to find something new to sucker me into. I mean, I’ve already got the iPad, the iPhone, and the iWatch. What’s next? iAlarmClock? iTelevision? iSneakers? (iWill probably have them all!)

While I continue waiting for new Apple products, they just keep cranking out updated versions of their old products. Why? Because they can. They know that us suckers who are hooked on their easily adaptable, interfacing iTech will continue to feed our habits with updates that contain cool new features that we are convinced we must have. Sure, we’ll bitch and moan about the headphones that use the charging port now, making it so that we can’t charge our phone and listen to music at the same time, but we’ll still buy it and get over that idiotic quirky feature. Then they’ll roll out adapters that we can buy for a few bucks that will allow us to do exactly that…and then never use them because how often do we really charge and jam out at the same time anyway? We will buy these newfangled phones because we have to keep up with the times (and the iTunes updates).

If anything is proof of this, it’s the iPhone 8.

Now, those wily associates at Apple, Inc. are usually rolling out a new version of a phone fairly quickly now, at least since phone numero 5. This time they decided to roll out two new versions kind of close together: The 8 and the X. I’m assuming the X stands for ten (but then again, you know what they say about assuming…) which begs the question: “What the hell do they have against the number 9?” I mean, I can understand if they skipped 13, but 9? That’s numberist and I can’t believe that they’d discriminate against 9 that way. Geez.

I digress. (Which is really just a shorter, nicer way of saying I strayed off topic to rant about something trivial but you followed me there and back again, so what’s that say about you?)

So my husband and I just iTeched ourselves with updated phones last winter. Nine months later they rolled out the new version. My first thought was this was no big deal until I found out that the 8 has the charging pad that I have envied on the Samsung phones for quite awhile. Now I’m convinced that I must have one. I MUST I tell you! My second thought was “Really?!?! You couldn’t have bleepin’ told us that the new one was coming out so soon? We would have just waited!!” (Followed very closely by a lot of mental F bombs that were okay because they actually looked like this: @!%&%@! And there was no harming of any child’s psyche from the silent cartoon swearing that occurred in my head.)

So I’ve been slow simmering about this whole situation, turning into a grumpy old woman who grumbles under her breath when she sees the iPhone 8 commercials, silently (and covertly if small eyes are present) flipping the TV off. (No, not turning it off, flipping it off. You know, giving the bird to an inanimate object? This in no way signifies I am nuttier than a Christmas fruitcake. I don’t think.)

And then I saw a commercial for the iPhone X.

Now, remember when I said they keep adding new features that we are convinced that we must have? Yeah, the X takes the cake in this category. Instead of making you put in a passcode or using a fingerprint to unlock your phone, it uses your face. That’s right, YOUR. FACE. How freaking cool is that? How difficult is it going to be to steal a smart phone that is so smart, it won’t unlock without the owner’s face? (Although this brings up interesting questions like: Could identical twins open each other’s phones with face recognition or is Siri so flippin’ smart now that she would know the difference? But I am digressing again.) To steal my phone, you’d need to steal me too. And I am not so light. (Stay safe, eat cake etc)

So now I live in a world where faces can unlock phones. What’s next? Ass cheeks that verify your PIN number? (Ha ha, I just got a mental image of that one. You’re welcome.) So the next time you’re bummed out and feeling blue, consider what an amazing world we live in that would encourage us to eat cake to keep our iPhones from being stolen. Freaking fantastic!

And to all my readers: Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy (Festive?) Kwanzaa, Feliz Navidad, and Gesundheit. 

Bribery and Other Fun Parenting Tricks We Don't Admit to Using

I have found that bribery is a most useful parenting tool. Anyone who hasn’t used this at least once in their lives either has Stepford children or is lying. Before I had kids, I thought I knew how to be an effective parent. It probably looked a little Mary Poppins-esque in my head. I would have polite, well behaved children who did what they were told and didn’t give me any lip about it. But apparently, that only happens if you’re a movie mom with movie children. Non-mannequin children are loud, messy, chaotic, gas expulsion machines with no filter and sticky fingers. They can be polite and well-mannered with other people, but drop all pretenses of refinery once they hit home. Which is fine. I’d rather they’re little heathens at home and angels outside of it. It just means that sometimes, bribery gets the job done better than anything else. Sometimes, the desire to be the perfect mom gets trampled by the “It’s not hurting anyone and it’s saving a lot of time spent arguing about it” rule.

I’m currently bribing the youngest with coins. Potty training hasn’t gone as smoothly as all the imaginary scenarios in my head have gone. So, in exchange for doing his business in the toilet and not in his pants (thereby making more laundry to get heaped on top of laundry mountain), he gets a coin. It’s been a quarter, but when I run out of those, he gets two dimes and a nickel. (Frankly, he’s happier with the two dimes and a nickel because in toddler math, three coins is better than one coin anyway.)

It’s funny that this works but it totally makes sense if you think about it. He’s three years old so he has an idea of money, but not a full understanding of it. He just knows that when he asks for McDonald’s and Mom doesn’t want to stop, she says that we don’t have the money right now. (He’s probably going to grow up and tell his friends we’re poverty stricken because of it, but we’ll burn that bridge when we get to it.) So money equals happy meals. He hasn’t figured out that coins aren’t as good as paper money and let’s be honest, no one other than young kids seem to want pocket change when a dollar bill will suffice. (Or a five spot!)

It’s not just money that I use to bribe my kids either. I’m not above leveraging snacks or desserts to get my kids to eat dinner. Especially when one of them is insisting that they “don’t like it”, even though they ate it the last 3 times I made it. If I make a kid’s favorite cake or cookie, it’s go time! I have at least 2 days wheedling good dinner behavior out of that, maybe 3 if I’m lucky.

The biggest bribe worthy opportunities come from events.

“If you’re not good, you’re not going to Alex’s birthday party on Saturday.”

“If you pinch your sister one more time, no trick or treating!”

But the best, most awesome event that gets weeks and weeks of bribery for parents is Christmas. Everyone is complaining about store rolling out the holiday decorations earlier and earlier and I’m thinking, “Thank you Baby Jesus!” Let my kids see Christmas stuff everywhere. It’s just going to remind them that they have to be good because Santa’s watching! That’s right, kids, you have to behave even longer! They’re starting that Christmas hoopla right after Halloween now. Some places start before Halloween. So we’re getting a good two months of bribery out of the deal. “Remember, Santa’s making his list!”

Technology is making it easier for us parents too. My kids love electronic devices like the iPad and Alexa (Echo Dot) and playing computer games on the laptop. It’s a gold mine of things that you can use to elicit good behavior from your children. Yeah, yeah, I know, YOU would never do such a thing and your kids are perfect, etc. etc. and yadda yadda. Come see me the first time you are trying to diffuse a toddler-who-had-a-not-long-enough-nap meltdown in the grocery store. I will promise that kid a kidney if we can just get the hell out of that store immediately!

Another parenting trick that I would never use is sibling rivalry. This one has a short shelf life and only works a few short years when they’re little and too young to remember the mind games that Mom and Dad had to play just to get him to eat his vegetables.

“Wow youngest child, look at how good older brother is at eating his dinner! I bet YOU can’t eat your dinner like your big brother!”

“Look teenaged daughter, your oldest brother is doing so well in college, I bet YOU can do just as well, no, maybe even better!"

“Hey middle child, you are behaving SO well. Thank you for being a good boy.” (Said in front of current misbehaving child.)

Now, before you get your judgey face on, listen.  It’s not like I’m proud of having to stoop to these measures. It’s just that sometimes, you just have to find something, ANY thing, that works and stick to it. Not many people will admit it, but this parenting thing is freaking hard! It doesn’t even come with a manual. You’re supposed to figure this shit out for yourself and hope that you can produce decent, productive members of society using chewing gum, a paper towel roll, and a paper clip. (Ha! MacGuyver reference.) I know people who can't even make meat loaf let alone productive members of society. So if we need five minutes to think and the iPad educational app is just sitting there so quietly....go ahead, I won't tell a soul. (At least not while I'm paying my kid to poop!)