Me: Shit, I have only 48 hours to teach Bean how to wipe his own butt.
BW: Um, why?
Me: Because at the open house they said that all kid's in the 3's class have to be able to wipe themselves. They have some kind of policy that the teacher's can't touch poo, so, like, if he takes a dump at school they would have to call me to come wipe him if he can't do it himself. I mean, I wish I had known about this earlier.
BW: Jesus Christ, I am paying this little school $330 a month-- they better wipe my kids ass.
Me: Do you want to call the school and tell The White Witch.
BW: *Pause* Just tell him he can't take a dump at school.
Me: Like, "No hitting, kicking, or shitting?'
BW: Exactly.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Morning's Suck.
The shittiest thing about being in charge all the time is being in charge all the time.
Mornings suck for me because I cannot get out of the house without going fucking ape shit, running around like a chicken with head cut off, and sweating off what was left of my deodorant.
Here is a brief list of what must be accomplished by 8:35:
Get Bean, Doo, Me dressed
Bean, Doo, fed
Me, coffee
Bean, make lunch
Get house ready for Sarah, cleaning lady
Let dog out, in, and feed
Find Bean's backpack and remove shit I should have already looked at two days ago
Pack diaper bag
Locate big sunglasses
Cheerios are flying while Doo pounds on the high chair. Bean is yelling at the dog to stop eating his Cheerios, and I crunch, crunch, crunch my way to the bathroom (grinding renegade Cheerios into the hardwood floors.) Well, shit, at least the cleaning lady comes today. Guiltily, I try to put a little mascara. I mean, is that even okay?
***Is this freakin' Revitalash ever going to start working?!?***
After shoveling various and sundry diapers/snacks/Hot wheels into my purse, I grab my iPhone-- and it is dead, totally dead. Fuck. I have to take my kid to preschool today-- I must have my phone today of all days!!! Where is my charger? Why is this happening? What if he breaks his leg, shits his pants (there is a 'No Touching Poo Policy" for the teachers), chokes on a seed from "Manipulative's Table" and coughs so hard that he makes himself puke? This happened last week, and I rush into the school office to see little Bean holding a trash can between his knees "Look my mama, look how I cough and puke!" Hack, Hack, *slight pause* Ralph.
Dead phone in hand, my mind starts to race, and I imagine I am walking along in Target with Doo in the cart, blissfully unaware that Bean, eyes filled with tears, needs me. I picture The White Witch, phone in hand, staring down at his little cherub face, shaking her head, "Your mommy doesn't love you enough to remember to charge her phone." Shit! There is no time to charge the phone; it's Chapel Day, and we cannot be late for Chapel, as it would alter the very flow of Bean's existence. Have to figure this one out later.
So it's too the care to load up all 24 lbs. of Doo into his 20 lb. capacity infant car seat, inadvertently poke Bean in the eye as I try to buckle him up-- hurting his feelings more than his retina, thankfully--and we are off to school.
NPR. Breathe. Okay, what did I forget? My sunglasses, didn't brush Bean's teeth, a check for the school....nothing too major, I can live with that. Now to figure out how to charge the phone...I'm sure another Mommy will have one, right?
It was not until our arrival back home this afternoon that I realized I forgot to leave a key for the cleaning lady. Of course she called me in a panic, leaving messages, not hearing from me all day, unable to get in to do her job and collect the check that puts food on her family's table. Of course I feel like the biggest asshole here because, not only did I forget the key, but I am also not capable enough to clean my own damn house. Cheerios are still ground into the floor. But at least Bean didn't inappropriately expel any bodily fluids at school today...I call that a win!
Mornings suck for me because I cannot get out of the house without going fucking ape shit, running around like a chicken with head cut off, and sweating off what was left of my deodorant.
Here is a brief list of what must be accomplished by 8:35:
Get Bean, Doo, Me dressed
Bean, Doo, fed
Me, coffee
Bean, make lunch
Get house ready for Sarah, cleaning lady
Let dog out, in, and feed
Find Bean's backpack and remove shit I should have already looked at two days ago
Pack diaper bag
Locate big sunglasses
Cheerios are flying while Doo pounds on the high chair. Bean is yelling at the dog to stop eating his Cheerios, and I crunch, crunch, crunch my way to the bathroom (grinding renegade Cheerios into the hardwood floors.) Well, shit, at least the cleaning lady comes today. Guiltily, I try to put a little mascara. I mean, is that even okay?
***Is this freakin' Revitalash ever going to start working?!?***
After shoveling various and sundry diapers/snacks/Hot wheels into my purse, I grab my iPhone-- and it is dead, totally dead. Fuck. I have to take my kid to preschool today-- I must have my phone today of all days!!! Where is my charger? Why is this happening? What if he breaks his leg, shits his pants (there is a 'No Touching Poo Policy" for the teachers), chokes on a seed from "Manipulative's Table" and coughs so hard that he makes himself puke? This happened last week, and I rush into the school office to see little Bean holding a trash can between his knees "Look my mama, look how I cough and puke!" Hack, Hack, *slight pause* Ralph.
Dead phone in hand, my mind starts to race, and I imagine I am walking along in Target with Doo in the cart, blissfully unaware that Bean, eyes filled with tears, needs me. I picture The White Witch, phone in hand, staring down at his little cherub face, shaking her head, "Your mommy doesn't love you enough to remember to charge her phone." Shit! There is no time to charge the phone; it's Chapel Day, and we cannot be late for Chapel, as it would alter the very flow of Bean's existence. Have to figure this one out later.
So it's too the care to load up all 24 lbs. of Doo into his 20 lb. capacity infant car seat, inadvertently poke Bean in the eye as I try to buckle him up-- hurting his feelings more than his retina, thankfully--and we are off to school.
NPR. Breathe. Okay, what did I forget? My sunglasses, didn't brush Bean's teeth, a check for the school....nothing too major, I can live with that. Now to figure out how to charge the phone...I'm sure another Mommy will have one, right?
It was not until our arrival back home this afternoon that I realized I forgot to leave a key for the cleaning lady. Of course she called me in a panic, leaving messages, not hearing from me all day, unable to get in to do her job and collect the check that puts food on her family's table. Of course I feel like the biggest asshole here because, not only did I forget the key, but I am also not capable enough to clean my own damn house. Cheerios are still ground into the floor. But at least Bean didn't inappropriately expel any bodily fluids at school today...I call that a win!
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