This year, for Mother's Day, no one wished me a Happy Mother's Day all day. Even with prompting, the Howler stubbornly refused to acknowledge me as her mother (in her defense, I don't think she knows the "MF" word.)
I had to work that afternoon, and when I had been home from work for about an hour, the Howler finds me in the smoking lounge, reading. She begins to blather on about something--don't ask me what, I wasn't listening--and then she goes silent.
I look up from my reading to find her grinning at me.
She says, "Happy Mother's Day" and holds out a $1 bill.
I look at the bill; I look at her. I look back at the bill. I ask, "You couldn't even scratch 'happy mother's day' onto a piece of paper to wrap that in?"
She wiggles the bill at me a bit and snaps, "Do you want the money or not?"
I took the money.
Happy Mother's Day to me.
Sunday, June 2, 2013
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Mouths of Babes
Saturday, May 11, 2013, was the 5th grade trip. What that means is the Howler is ending her elementary school days, and this fall will be at the middle school. I'm saving my ACK moment for later. I can't afford it right now.
So, on this trip, we are going to Kennywood Park, in Pittsburgh, PA. She loves rides, what I refer to as "Spin me, Flip me, Fly me!" and the only restrictions she has are no dark rides. She refuses to ride anything that goes in the dark--no matter how tame it is to you or me, she won't do it.
My Howler has been incessantly watching videos of the rides, driving everyone around her to distraction. She was keeping a notebook of who, what, where, and how for about a dozen rides.
Once there, her obsession became the Black Widow. It was closed for "maintenance" on and off throughout the day, which didn't lessen her insistance that she ride it. Watching this thing was terrifying.
By 5pm, it was open and running. And still terrifying. And she's riding it ALONE--she's immediately to the left of the girl all in pink. I walk with her to get in line. I watch with much trepidation as she patiently moves thru the line. Several other children and their chaperones are watching this thing too.
One girl asks me, "Why are you letting your daughter ride that, if it scares you?"
"Because I believe, especially for girls, it's important to face your fears and do new things, even if they seem scary to their moms."
She looks back at the Black Widow, then at me, then back at the Black Widow, and says, "I just can't ride that. No way!"
"Well, that's part of facing your fears: knowing that you just can't do some things, and sticking to it, regardless of what everyone else is doing."
I was terrified for the Howler--she's doing this, and doing it totally by herself....until she's on the thing. Once it started, the unadulterated joy on her face was enough to make me laugh out loud and garner odd looks from others around me.
It was sooooo very worth it...especially knowing that my own mother would never have allowed me on it at any age, because of her own fears.
So, on this trip, we are going to Kennywood Park, in Pittsburgh, PA. She loves rides, what I refer to as "Spin me, Flip me, Fly me!" and the only restrictions she has are no dark rides. She refuses to ride anything that goes in the dark--no matter how tame it is to you or me, she won't do it.
My Howler has been incessantly watching videos of the rides, driving everyone around her to distraction. She was keeping a notebook of who, what, where, and how for about a dozen rides.
Once there, her obsession became the Black Widow. It was closed for "maintenance" on and off throughout the day, which didn't lessen her insistance that she ride it. Watching this thing was terrifying.
By 5pm, it was open and running. And still terrifying. And she's riding it ALONE--she's immediately to the left of the girl all in pink. I walk with her to get in line. I watch with much trepidation as she patiently moves thru the line. Several other children and their chaperones are watching this thing too.
One girl asks me, "Why are you letting your daughter ride that, if it scares you?"
"Because I believe, especially for girls, it's important to face your fears and do new things, even if they seem scary to their moms."
She looks back at the Black Widow, then at me, then back at the Black Widow, and says, "I just can't ride that. No way!"
"Well, that's part of facing your fears: knowing that you just can't do some things, and sticking to it, regardless of what everyone else is doing."
I was terrified for the Howler--she's doing this, and doing it totally by herself....until she's on the thing. Once it started, the unadulterated joy on her face was enough to make me laugh out loud and garner odd looks from others around me.
It was sooooo very worth it...especially knowing that my own mother would never have allowed me on it at any age, because of her own fears.
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
The Cat is Trying to Kill Me
Or herself. Whichever.
We have 4 cats: one geriatric cat, one 3 years old, and two 2 year olds. The Violet, the 3 year old, is the fluffiest, and the smallest. Also, the wildest. She got a case of the rips on Sunday morning.
The rips involve zipping thru the house like her head's on fire and her tail is catching...running into, over, and under things. Including people and large pieces of furniture. It also means that something's gonna get broken, preferably something irreplaceable, like me.
Sunday morning she got it in her fuzzy little head that she needed to be on top of the dresser in my bedroom. Now, there's all of 4 inches free on the top of the dresser, what with the TV on top of it and all.
She gets up there, and then promptly slips behind it. She's effectively stuck, and we both know it, mostly because we've been here before. (Last time involved My Sweetie trying to lift the dresser so she could get out--she was squalling a racket like the apocolypse and managed to wedge herself under the dresser.)
I laugh and tell her that she's stuck now for a while, until I feel like getting her out of there.
She's got other plans, probably featuring the TV falling on top of one of us.
Charlotte, one of the 2 year olds, enters the room and plants herself in front of the dresser. Charlotte is wide-eyed with either awe or terror. That's the dresser where she stuffs most of the catnip mouses so that we can periodically drag them back out. I assume she thought that it was those very mouses grown big and strong and coming out to look for her.
I notice that My Sweetie's slipper is moving. Violet has reached from under the dresser and snagged it. She's keeping it. What she thought that would prove I don't know.
As I watch, still laughing, the Peach, as Violet is also called in our house, begins trying to cram herself out thru the space in the front of the dresser. Perhaps she thought that if the slipper would fit in, she would fit out. I don't know. She's on her third try, and getting very close to getting herself jammed in there, much like Pooh Bear when he was stuck at Rabbit's house....but not quite so cute and nice.
I can see that this IS going to get ugly, and possibly bloody, and also cost me a TV.
I shove Charlotte out of the way, and remove one dresser drawer. Charlotte's back, suddenly excited that the dresser drawer is out, but she's making herself dizzy trying to decide between investigating the drawer or the hole that is now in the dresser. I shove her out of the way again, and get the lowest drawer out.
Charlotte hops in the now-open space, with two Sweetie slippers and Violet.
Violet meows loudly with annoyance and jumps out. I remove two slippers and Charlotte. I have to put the drawers back in one handed--I'm fending off two deranged cats.
Once the drawers are back in the dresser, Violet begins zipping around the room, bouncing like a crazed thing, still in the throes of the rips.
On the way downstairs, the other 2 year old, Vendetta, "Precious," weaves thru my legs and under my feet.
They're trying to kill me.
We have 4 cats: one geriatric cat, one 3 years old, and two 2 year olds. The Violet, the 3 year old, is the fluffiest, and the smallest. Also, the wildest. She got a case of the rips on Sunday morning.
The rips involve zipping thru the house like her head's on fire and her tail is catching...running into, over, and under things. Including people and large pieces of furniture. It also means that something's gonna get broken, preferably something irreplaceable, like me.
Sunday morning she got it in her fuzzy little head that she needed to be on top of the dresser in my bedroom. Now, there's all of 4 inches free on the top of the dresser, what with the TV on top of it and all.
She gets up there, and then promptly slips behind it. She's effectively stuck, and we both know it, mostly because we've been here before. (Last time involved My Sweetie trying to lift the dresser so she could get out--she was squalling a racket like the apocolypse and managed to wedge herself under the dresser.)
I laugh and tell her that she's stuck now for a while, until I feel like getting her out of there.
She's got other plans, probably featuring the TV falling on top of one of us.
Charlotte, one of the 2 year olds, enters the room and plants herself in front of the dresser. Charlotte is wide-eyed with either awe or terror. That's the dresser where she stuffs most of the catnip mouses so that we can periodically drag them back out. I assume she thought that it was those very mouses grown big and strong and coming out to look for her.
I notice that My Sweetie's slipper is moving. Violet has reached from under the dresser and snagged it. She's keeping it. What she thought that would prove I don't know.
As I watch, still laughing, the Peach, as Violet is also called in our house, begins trying to cram herself out thru the space in the front of the dresser. Perhaps she thought that if the slipper would fit in, she would fit out. I don't know. She's on her third try, and getting very close to getting herself jammed in there, much like Pooh Bear when he was stuck at Rabbit's house....but not quite so cute and nice.
I can see that this IS going to get ugly, and possibly bloody, and also cost me a TV.
I shove Charlotte out of the way, and remove one dresser drawer. Charlotte's back, suddenly excited that the dresser drawer is out, but she's making herself dizzy trying to decide between investigating the drawer or the hole that is now in the dresser. I shove her out of the way again, and get the lowest drawer out.
Charlotte hops in the now-open space, with two Sweetie slippers and Violet.
Violet meows loudly with annoyance and jumps out. I remove two slippers and Charlotte. I have to put the drawers back in one handed--I'm fending off two deranged cats.
Once the drawers are back in the dresser, Violet begins zipping around the room, bouncing like a crazed thing, still in the throes of the rips.
On the way downstairs, the other 2 year old, Vendetta, "Precious," weaves thru my legs and under my feet.
They're trying to kill me.
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Monday, December 17, 2012
Christmas Past p.1
This year, the Howler announced that, "Duh, you and Mom are Santa." So, I'm spending this holiday season, remembering the Howler That Was.
With that said, I bring you an unadulterated rerun, from 2007:
With that said, I bring you an unadulterated rerun, from 2007:
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Amazing
I have been in a state of high-level self-righteous piss off. I don't like it. And it's scary to think that I actually used to LIVE this way. All the time.
Anyway, tonight, I received an apology for how I was treated. Was it sincere? I believe so. And I feel better already. It's amazing, because an hour ago I was just about frothing at the mouth hurtangryinsane and swearing like a ... well, you fill in the blank.
That was part of the problem--treating people shitty is NOT how I know the people on the board to be. I would not have given my time and efforts to the PTA if they were. When there were others running things, I made myself scarce, because I knew this is what it would be like, and self-preservation (and realizing that high-level self righteous piss off is not a good place to be) making it easy to just shrug and walk away.
I still don't like how the trip is being handled. I think we have 3 queen bee wanna-bees deciding what they (and their snotty daughters) want, and doing that.
Now that I am calmer, I see that their letter actually states that they want every parent to help with fundraising for the trip. They want my money, and my silent support. They don't want my (or anyone else's) opinion and they sure as shit don't want my participation beyond what scraps they deign to toss our way.
I know 2 of the 3 women who are now making all the decisions for this trip. They were like this in high school, and they're like this now. They have no concept that they are snotty, nasty, self-serving *ahem* (yes, there IS a word I won't use here. Go figure. Betcha you know which one!) I'll be conserving my energy for the fight it will be for me to be allowed to be a chaperone, because I'm sure they'll "lose" and then "forget" that I signed up.
I already know that there are several kids who don't want to go to an amusement park, mostly because they don't ride the rides. Apparently, though, their opinions won't be needed, because, really? If they're not friends with these 3 women's spawn, they obviously aren't worth worrying about. I hope there's a revolt and the other parents totally take over the trip and these women find themselves with no power, no PTA funding, and no one but themselves to blame. That's a meeting I'll go to.
I wish the PTA president and his board Good Luck--I already know they're gonna need it.
Anyway, tonight, I received an apology for how I was treated. Was it sincere? I believe so. And I feel better already. It's amazing, because an hour ago I was just about frothing at the mouth hurtangryinsane and swearing like a ... well, you fill in the blank.
That was part of the problem--treating people shitty is NOT how I know the people on the board to be. I would not have given my time and efforts to the PTA if they were. When there were others running things, I made myself scarce, because I knew this is what it would be like, and self-preservation (and realizing that high-level self righteous piss off is not a good place to be) making it easy to just shrug and walk away.
I still don't like how the trip is being handled. I think we have 3 queen bee wanna-bees deciding what they (and their snotty daughters) want, and doing that.
Now that I am calmer, I see that their letter actually states that they want every parent to help with fundraising for the trip. They want my money, and my silent support. They don't want my (or anyone else's) opinion and they sure as shit don't want my participation beyond what scraps they deign to toss our way.
I know 2 of the 3 women who are now making all the decisions for this trip. They were like this in high school, and they're like this now. They have no concept that they are snotty, nasty, self-serving *ahem* (yes, there IS a word I won't use here. Go figure. Betcha you know which one!) I'll be conserving my energy for the fight it will be for me to be allowed to be a chaperone, because I'm sure they'll "lose" and then "forget" that I signed up.
I already know that there are several kids who don't want to go to an amusement park, mostly because they don't ride the rides. Apparently, though, their opinions won't be needed, because, really? If they're not friends with these 3 women's spawn, they obviously aren't worth worrying about. I hope there's a revolt and the other parents totally take over the trip and these women find themselves with no power, no PTA funding, and no one but themselves to blame. That's a meeting I'll go to.
I wish the PTA president and his board Good Luck--I already know they're gonna need it.
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Vocabulary
The Howler, as we know, as murderized the langridge for years.
Recently, the Toad moved out. That left the largest bedroom in the house vacant. We debated taking that room ourselves...or moving the Howler into it.
We decided that no one would move into it (there's always a chance that the Toad will move back--let's all hope to hell not, tho) and it could become, effectively, a playroom.
We moved the dollhouse, several bins, large and small, of toys and whatnots and whoozzits into the room. An old TV with a DVD was also installed. The fold out red cushiony chair/bed thing went there, as it the folding chair originally purchased for the Howler's room.
My sister had a futon she no longer wanted, and that was also put in there.
Shortly after the that was moved into the room, the Howler came to us asking how to fold the crouton down so she and Missy could lay on it to watch a movie.
I love that even at 10-going-on-11, the Howler still manages to make me laugh by re writing the dictionary.
Recently, the Toad moved out. That left the largest bedroom in the house vacant. We debated taking that room ourselves...or moving the Howler into it.
We decided that no one would move into it (there's always a chance that the Toad will move back--let's all hope to hell not, tho) and it could become, effectively, a playroom.
We moved the dollhouse, several bins, large and small, of toys and whatnots and whoozzits into the room. An old TV with a DVD was also installed. The fold out red cushiony chair/bed thing went there, as it the folding chair originally purchased for the Howler's room.
My sister had a futon she no longer wanted, and that was also put in there.
Shortly after the that was moved into the room, the Howler came to us asking how to fold the crouton down so she and Missy could lay on it to watch a movie.
I love that even at 10-going-on-11, the Howler still manages to make me laugh by re writing the dictionary.
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