Because every dickhead I have ever dated is having a midlife crisis.
And sending pathetic messages like this.
Subject: sorry Im sorry about the emails that not fair of me! All I know is I am a different man and i have never fell out of love with you I miss and think about you everyday, just wish I had made some different decisions in my life and I was waking up with you in my arms every morning singing in your ear.
PS- are they trying to be ee cummings or are are they illiterate? What was I thinking? Why can't they spell or punctuate? How did I not notice that?
The point of this post is NOT to point fingers, but to give parents back a little bit of what they are missing. Control.
Now I am NOT John Rose-whatever who spanks and punishes and "grounds" and regularly advises parents to engage in power struggles with children (mistake #1). Newsflash- they've got all day to throw that tantrum. No pressing engagements when you are in kindergarten. The rest of us need to finish buying groceries, pick up other kids (mistake #2), go to work, etc. We don't have time to win the game. Adults have shit to do. So don't play the game.
As your child's teacher, I see things everyday that I put in my "I will never do that" file in the back of my mind. Yes, I am judging you. And I don't mean I am judging you when you come flying in with coffee down the front of your suit and your kid is wearing their Dora dress for the 6th day in a row and your shirt is tucked in your pantyhose (mistake #3, hygiene 101). Kiss your kid, wave a little and dash away. We all have those days. I am also not judging you the day after book club, when you have huge bags under your eyes and you still smell like chablis and fake intellectualism. I get that. We all have those days, too.
What I don't get is spending 10 minutes pleading with your child to give mummy back her cellphone. Mummy needs it, honey. Please. Mummy has to go now. Please. I am rolling my eyes and checking the watch. I am betting on Sally- Mum doesn't have a prayer. After watching your pathetic display, I shrug my shoulders and walk on out. "Sally, give mum the phone and come in to start your day." Sally is looking at us, back and forth. "That's right Sally, listen to Ms. X, give Mummy the phone." Sally at this point will decide one of two things. She wants to go in and draw in her journal and maybe play a computer game. Sally gives mum the phone and skips in to start her day. Or...it's just too much fun to fuck with Mummy and in front of other grown-ups, too. Cue the tantrum. Okay, this is where I walk the line of diplomat and taskmaster. "Christine, why don't you take the phone, don't snatch it, but unpeel her fingers and take it. Say goodbye and go on to work." Mum is hesitating. "Christine, she'll probably scream and cry but in 5 minutes she'll be fine and you'll be 5 minutes less late to work." I am still using the voice I use with the kids but Christine doesn't notice. Finally, she leans over and takes the phone. Sally screams on cue. I wave goodbye to mum who is embarrassed but on her way. What is wrong with this scene? Getting your own phone from your child should not be as difficult as hostage negotiations. And why do I have to interfere?
You are in charge of your child. Man up. Say no. Let them scream. I know you think when your child is screaming people think you have no control. That's not true. After a few tantrums, they will figure it out. Tantrums aren't working. Then they'll find a new way to embarrass you. And you'll just have to deal with it.
Day 3 of the Thailand diet. H and I are going in 7 weeks and he has decided he needs to lose a few lbs. Which he does. Around the middle. And so do I.
So this would be the week that families decide to send in tea (which is usually a pumpkin scone or banana bread). Now it is not that I am usually a sweet eater but after a fucking shake for breakfast and lunch I am sorely tempted by mid-afternoon. I succumbed today and yesterday. I topped off last night with a few too many drinks as well. I did not tell H about the "tea". Why? Because I hate to lose.
And I think I will lose more weight than H because I work out regularly. So why am I so obsessed with the sin of a scone? And it was small, too. Because I am totally controlled by my lack luster body image. About 80% of my waking thoughts consists of calories, weight, scales, bikinis, etc. Why am I this way and how do I stop?
Okay, Lady at the petrol station. You had obviously already filled up your car. You saw pull up and wait patiently behind you. Your friend pointed out that I was waiting. You just kept chatting away. Your friend looked uncomfortable and she left. Then you have a long conversation with your child in the back of the car. Then you pay. You didn't pay already. 10 minutes of my life I will never get back, you inconsiderate harpy.
On my way out of the gym, a woman talking on her phone and looking into her visor mirror nearly rear-ends me.
Come on, women. Let's get it together or the jokes will never stop.
I promised myself I would not be a bitchy blogger, the kind that only complains and uses their blog as an excuse to whine about everything. And here I am, post #3, and whinging away.
Do not under any circumstances use Virgin Broadband as your internet provider. They are terrible. And they are evil and lazy and support the beheading of puppies. VB doesn't work and it is eroding my marriage. We are both sick of arguing over whose turn it is to hit the reset button. I hit it this time...the things I do for love.
Do you watch the show "Criminal Minds"? The goofy-gangly-slightly-attractive-because-you-could-snap-his-neck-with-a-pout guy, you know who I mean, a guy that looked JUST like him sat next to me on the plane.
But the guy was 24 (I carded him. Seriously- A guy basically called me a cougar in Indianapolis so now I am a *liar* and very careful.) He ranted on, (cocaine binge I suspect. strongly suspect) about liberal politics, our awesome president and all that I hold dear. He did not get the hint when I put in my earplugs and jammed The Who as loud as a human can. He kept going like a coke-fueled Energizer bunny. So, I agreed. And argued. And accepted drinks (I AM ONLY HUMAN) from a 24 year-old extra from the show First Blood. Apparently, Anna Paquin is super hot and has a nude (not really) scene coming up. So stay tuned. And, apparently, I smell like vanilla. Which is odd because I flew into Denver from an undisclosed Midwestern location that stinks of diesel fuel and abandoned dreams. (poetic license). No, really, I lived in a Bruce Springsteen song for 17 years. Which is why I moved to a Kris Kristofferson song coupled Rolling Stones longing with some musical theater thrown in. After that tired of me, I moved to an Eagles song with some ironic Elvis Costello. Then some operatic wanderlust and Rolling Stones and Carpenters took over. Which is where I am today. Except for Baba O'Reilly and Memory Motel.