Spring Break Isn't What It Used To Be!

Now, I didn't go to college but I always thought of Spring Break as a time to drink too much, stay up too late and flash your boobs to Joe Francis (of Girls Gone Wild). Times, they are a-changin'!
In my quest to find a great summer/day camp program for Chicken, I chose a Spring Break program as a "trial" for summer. I chose this place because many of her classmates went there for preschool and will go there this summer and I want her to be comfortable with people she already knows.
But y'all know I'm crazy. Like restraining-order-crazy.

When Chicken was 3 and went to preschool, I was very confident about where she was going. NHA was pretentious, clean, bright and featured accredited teachers. I never shed a morning tear there. I had a "feeling" about the place that allowed me to drop her off guilt free as I went about my silly monkey job. Then something happened that needn't be detailed here but I had to abruptly remove Chicken and eventually was served with a restraining order from the administration of NHA. Then the search was on for another preschool to place Chicken during the 5 remaining months before kindergarten. I never found the "best" place and we ended up in an "ok" but not the best, program. I cried everyday for 5 months when I dropped her off. The place was safe and clean but dumbed down. I began to doubt my instincts. After all, I'd had a great feeling about NHA and for years trusted them with my precious Einstein Chicken. And see how that turned out?

We're back to square one. I've been dreading and avoiding the task of finding the best summer program. I can't bear touring schools with directors telling me only what I want to hear again. I'm still raw from the endless registration process last time. And the tears feel as fresh today as they did when I was crying them last spring. But because I am a mature and dignified parent (what?), I'm doing it we'll try this Spring Break program. For the low, low price of $150, my child can enjoy field trips, new camp shirts and swimming lessons for five days!! (Must pack bag lunch for child. Mommy's agony included free of charge.)
Chicken, however, is so excited she insisted she take the school's business card to class with her. With promises to be open and honest with me, she'll embark on a school bus (her first without me) filled with screaming 6 to12 year olds to the skating rink in a couple of weeks. A pocket full of change for the arcade, my cell phone number in her memory for emergency and a dose of Mommy's agony on the side.
Happy Spring, folks!

The Kids on the Bus Go "HA HA HA"

I've had a stressful and sad week. It really started last Friday but the bitterness and anxious feelings continue to grace me throughout the week.

Wednesday, I didn't sleep. Ok, that's a lie. I did sleep. For 3 hours. It was just one of those nights ("if I don't go to sleep RIGHT THIS MINUTE, I will only get 5 hours sleep" "Damn it, I'm still awake; that leaves me 4 hours sleep" and on and on.). I was functioning through Thursday but with a newly acquired eye twitch. Then Thursday night, I felt the same anxiety creep up on me around 9pm. So I knocked back a couple glasses of wine and was well into my second dream cycle by midnight. Excellent.

What does this have to do with kids on a bus? Well, shut up and let me finish. (Gosh, you people are so impatient. Can't you let a sister tell her story?!?!)
Today was nothing special. I continued with the melancholy in my heart, darkness in my eyes and blur in my head. Fast forward to 2pm. I was scooping up Olivia from school and my new favorite song came on the radio. Lets Get Married remix by Jagged Edge featuring Rev. Run. I know it's not a new song. But it's new to me. And I love it. So there.
I'm getting there. Promise.
Where was I? Oh, old song, new favorite comes on the radio (which it hardly does) and I turn the volume to it's maximum capacity. Then I feel the itch. You know, the dancing itch. Before I know it, I am fully breaking it down in the driver's seat of my car. It's cool, though. Because this bitch is W O R K I N' I T ! If I could have scrubbed the ground, I would have.
Then I feel that eerie feeling we all get when someone is watching us. Like a creepy old guy, or a ghost. Or say...a school bus full of middle school kids.
Dammit. I hate when that happens.
It's cool, though. Because for three minutes and thirty two seconds, I was released from my own pain.
Besides, now 30 twelve year olds have the pricless story about the chubby white chick they saw booty dancing in her car.

Lost

I know a little girl who may be lost.
I fear for her life. Not so much physical safety but her emotional and mental survival. I will worry about her physical self later, when she is older. It's coming; right around the corner.
Her life is filled with adult-type drama. She is caught in the middle of everything.
Why can't these people let their child live? They can help her. I can't decide if they don't know how far she is, if they know and don't care or know and cannot find the strength (or time) to help her.
If continued, she will end up in a bad place. She will outsource the love required from home. She will dip her toes in danger, only to fall in and bump her head. Hard. She will hurt just to see if she still bleeds. She is quickly becoming numb. A numb child is a dangerous thing.
I know she is misguided and lonely. I know her insides are twisted from her own reality. She reminds me of myself when I was 12 years old. Bright, with so much potential but everyone has given up on her.
I'm having nightmares about her future. I've been begging everyone to let her come stay with me this summer. For I believe I can "fix" her. I want to scoop her up with stability, love and guidance.
Perhaps healing her will close the wounds I have carried for 15 years. I will never forget the devastation I experienced when I was her age. She feels like no one loves her or cares about her, I know. She doesn't even have to say it. In her big brown eyes, I know what she can be. And they just won't have it.
"It's none of your business" they say. I have watched her grow since she was a toddler. I may not have birthed her or raised her but my heart literally aches in worry. As if she was my own.
How can I help a child who doesn't even know she needs help? And no one believes me.
I know and I love you.

The Doctor

In spite of my hormone induced rage earlier in the week, I've turned a corner.

My ho-a-scope said my "luck will be changing today". That was yesterday.

-Chicken's homework is done. 4 days early. Without argument. With Husband's help.
-Today was Baby Back Ribs night @ Scruby's BBQ. SCORE!!
-I purchased two new mah-va-lous pieces of jewelry from the Q. (That's QVC, fools!)
-I remained dignified and mature during an argument with another school mom who is acting stank.
-I confirm plans with Gramma & Silly Grandpa Bobby. I love them.
-I may or may not have completed a very complex permit application for a job at work.
-I sent birthday wishes to an old friend and received a very sentimental reply. Olive You!
-We did not watch another Sopranos re-run.
-I wore a new shirt today. And I have another new shirt to wear tomorrow!
-My husband still loves me. Even though I go out for Chinese and come home with Burger King.

So what that there is a meeting at 8am that I am not prepared for? The bathroom is growing mold (again?), there are still dishes in the sink and laundry is scattered throughout. I still haven't called laid-up Vermont Aunt and there is a weird smell coming from a non-smelly room in my house. So what?

From the words of my wise homie Dr. Dre:

Today was a good day.

New Era

So. Chicken has her very first crush. Before you folks get all jacked up about her only being 6 years old, let me tell you a story.


When I was in Kindergarten, I had a boyfriend. A little black boy named Phillip. Man, I l o v e d Phillip! During boring lessons in class, Phillip and I would sneak under the desks and hold hands. He kissed me on the mouth once. Then I punched him.

Chicken's Phillip is the older brother of her (this week's) best friend. Crush is in 4th grade. I noticed something funny about a month ago. I was in her class after school doing some yearbook stuff when Best Friend wrote on the board "I love Crush" and she told Chicken "I'm going to tell Crush you wrote that". Chicken's head whipped around and she looked at me, embarrassed and a little afraid. I just smiled and continued counting money. A couple of weeks later, Chicken comes home, blushing. "Oh my gosh, Crush was wearing a red and blue striped shirt today. Isn't that so funny?" she said. I asked her if she liked Crush, she said nodded with the same embarrassment and slight fear in her face. We talked about crushes and how it's perfectly fine for her to like a boy but that she was way too young to have a boyfriend or any type of anything. She would have plenty of time to have boyfriends and hold hands, pass love notes, etc when she got bigger. We talked about boundaries and when she could have a boyfriend (high school.). I hugged her tight and thanked her for talking to me about it. I talked more about how she could always come to Daddy and me to talk about her feelings about boys, school, whatever. I squeezed her again and let her know how proud I was of her; she's becoming such a big girl in front of my very own eyes.


Then Sunday came. I pre-arranged with their mother to meet Best Friend/Crush at a local Festival on Sunday @ 1pm. Chicken woke up at 8am, ready to GO! It was the longest 5 hours of her life. Finally, we are getting ready to meet Best Friend/Crush!! Chicken disappears in her room for about an hour and finally emerges wearing a tank top with a shrug-tie wrap and the shortest shorts I've ever seen on a child. I don't know WHERE these shorts came from; she must have been hiding them for a long time, saving them for a special day exactly like this. They were a size 2T, which fits her fine in the waist but were definitely Daisy Dukes! Baby got booty!

She must have read my mind because again, with the look of embarrassment and a little bit of fear, she tuned around, came out 20 minutes later wearing capri pants. And pale pink lipstick.


I can't win them all.

Damn Cycle!

I'm very grumpy today. I think I got up on the wrong side of the bed. Of course, there is only one side to the bed as "my" side is against the wall. Perhaps that's the problem. One side of the bed. If I had two sides, then I'd have options. I like options. I need options. Must. Move. Bed.
I digress. Everyone is pissing me off. I've got a wicked look in my eye that says "Anything you say will cause me to kick you". Perhaps it's not a great idea to have 2 cups of espresso within 30 minutes of waking. And another on the way to school/work. In my defense, the espresso is good. I mean, trade-espresso-for-sex-good. In my brand-new, very fancy-shmancy, self doing coffee machine.
I feel like I'm running through a cycle that is never ending. You know, just life. Wake up, drink too much coffee, open Chicken's eyes enough to dress herself, more coffee, make lunch, check back pack, more coffee, drive to school, chit-chat a few minutes too long, race to work arriving 20 minutes late, make more coffee. Work silly monkey job, go to school, go back to silly monkey job for an hour, back to school. Home, school work (for both of us), cleaning, cooking, sports activities, continue my role as "Queen Yenta" with other non-Jewish friends. Wrestle, kiss and tickle child, threaten her with homemade cookies into the shower, bitch about and demand the toothpaste in the sink get cleaned NOW!, Chicken is in bed. I clean. I sleep. And hopefully, 5-6 hours later, I do it all over again.
See what I mean. It's just a-spinnin'. And I don't mean the records. I mean the wheels in my head.
What can I do to improve this, how can we make more money? Is she getting sick, I need to call the insurance company, must order more soccer pictures, must mail Kara's CD & Jillian's Nemo. Must call laid-up Aunt in Vermont. (If I were a cartoon, here's where the steam would come whistling out of my ears. WOOOOOOOOOOO)
This morning, in the midst of my grumpiness, I put her in the car and prepared to drive away. "I'm so lucky", I thought. This is the life I always wanted. The life I fought for and semi-maintain. Of course, the bitch inside pushed my (rare) grateful attitude aside but now that I reflect; I am lucky. Maybe not so much luck as blood, sweat and tears. Ok, mostly tears. But whatever.
When I was growing up, I dreamed of being a mom. It was all I ever wanted to be. I dreamed of June Cleaver, baking cookies, PTA meetings and cleaning toilets. I knew being a mom was hard and a lot of work and draining. I prayed for it anyway. And on mornings (days, weeks?) when I feel like there is nothing left of me, I thank God for answering prayers. For allowing me to give people the life I never had and fulfilling emptiness I grew up with.
It's everything I wished for and more.
Thank you.

Open Letter

This is an open letter to several people I know yet no one in particular.

To: Young Mothers of Young Children
From: A Young Mother of a Young Child
Re: Behavior

Dear YMOYC,

I know that you may have grown up in less than desirable circumstances. In a less than desirable neighborhood. With less than desirable parents. Me too. So I write you this letter of advice with experience because people all over are judging you. You say you don't care but clearly you do. This does not excuse your inappropriate behavior. STOP! You have kids now, babies who need you. You are no longer allowed to travel the tri-county area seeking the best parties and cheapest drinks all. the. time. Stay home. All kids need their moms. Even on weekends. Please close your legs and stop with the promiscuous (I knew this word before that silly song!) behavior. This is what got you kids you didn't want in the first place. If you must sleep around, don't let him stay over. Saying that your life revolves around your child does not mean it's true. Be home when your child wakes up Sunday morning, make her breakfast. Pop Tarts is not an acceptable breakfast. Hung over moms do not make for good moms. Don't take unappealing pictures of yourself and post them to the Internet. This applies especially to those currently locked in a custody battle. These pictures will be used against you in a court of law. You are no longer "cool". Being called a "MILF" because you wear revealing clothing doesn't mean you are one. Put your boobs away. You are not from the ghetto, stop acting like it. Don't let your daughter behave that way either. Stop teaching your sons gang signs. Instead, teach them to behave one class higher than your actual income. They will get much further in life that way. That's a tried and true method.
Lastly, love your babies. Because when you're all dried up and the "love of your life" stopped returning your calls, you'll only have your babies.
Sincerely,
Brown