Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Road to Independence, One Fruit Snack at a Time

I'm attempting to raise independent kids. Kinda tough when they are 6, 3, and 21 months. But you gotta start somewhere, right?

I start with fruit snacks (I know, MAJOR misnomer, but they're still yummy). They come to me wanting me to open their package, a package containing flavored, gummy sugar, a package that begs to be ripped open and devoured in 30 seconds. Or less.

I charge an opening fee. If I open it, I get to take a little of whatever is in that package. They hate it. If they are struggling with opening a package, they'll say, "Will you open this? BUT DON'T TAKE ONE!!!". But I do anyway. I have to. Otherwise, they will feel comfortable coming to me when they're 16, asking me to open their potato chips. Or Snickers. Or whatever it is that teenagers eat.

It's all for their own good. And the good of my sweet teeth, because I know I have more than one tooth that likes sugar.

So, my little sweeties (it's ok, you can roll your eyes here), you can thank me when you're in college and you are able to open Doritos all by yourselves. And with a tear rolling down your cheek, you'll think, "I have my mom to thank for this moment." Sniff, sniff.

I will be accepting my Mother of the Year award anytime now; I can feel it.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010


I'm unemployed.

My mom called me up a couple of weeks ago to see if she could make the 3 1/2 hour drive to pick up my kids and take them to her house. Um, ok! So, I guess technically I'm not unemployed, but on an involuntary vacation.

Life is good.

I took a really long shower today. I shaved my legs. I enjoyed the absence of banging and screaming.  I didn't have to worry if my kids had escaped and were wandering the streets half dressed. There has been no fighting over the bean bag, no head whopping, and no "I hate you, Mom!".  No Wonder Pets!, Dora, or Batman on TV. No one begging for food, telling you "you will kill us if you don't feed us." No time-outs, consequences, or awards. No hugs or kisses. No sweet little lips lined with peanut butter and jelly being wiped on my pants. No one saying, "Look at me, Mom!".  No singing time. No playing. No reading. No giggles. No smiles.

It's kinda quiet around here.

Then again, it's kinda quiet around here.

Come what may and love it, right?

Come what may and love it!