|
at 2004-10-04 around 9:27 a.m.
So how was your weekend? Mine was�meh. It didn�t suck, but it didn�t rock either. I did eat a whole bunch of meatballs yesterday, and that made up for a lot of annoying things that had already happened. Also, I ate tiramisu, and they let me have the leftovers. I brought them right downstairs to my fridge so no one can have them but me. Mwa ha ha ha.
My back still hurts, which makes me think I did something more than sleep wrong, but I�m just going to ignore it and hope it goes away. My suffering was belittled by the fact that my sister was in yet another car accident, this one entirely her fault. She�s uninjured, but she has two black eyes from her airbag hitting her in the face while she was wearing her glasses, but her car is totaled. (She was wearing a seatbelt. Of course.) Funny thing, the car she hit is barely scratched. Maybe because it�s an Escalade. Ha ha. I was going to laugh more, except that for some reason my dad had full coverage on her car (it�s a thirteen-year-old Corsica) so now all she�ll get a check for whatever it�s worth minus the $500 deductible. The moral of my story is: if anyone knows of any cheap but reliable cars for sale in the Northeastern Illinois area, please let me know. I�ve already found her several, but she�s so picky she didn�t want to hear about them. Even funnier is the fact that even though she was totally not paying attention and plowed into the (gigantic, really hard to miss) car in front of her, my mom is insisting that she�s still a perfect driver and these things are not her fault, ever. Listening to the excuses that my parents make for my sister is getting pretty old.
Also getting old: my mom trying to tell me that I�m too hard on my kids and that she never yelled at us once in her life. Nice try, but I can remember her yelling at me. To set the scene: Nick left early for work on Saturday, and the kids and I were playing outside. Nick called and told me to pack up the kids and meet him at Rob�s (his ex-stepdad/guy that raised him/more of a father than his real father), so I told the kids to stay in the yard while I went downstairs to throw on some jeans. Normally, they have no problem whatsoever doing this, and my sister was sitting in the kitchen next to a huge picture window that looks directly into the yard. On this particular morning, though, they had been nothing but monsters since the moment they woke up, throwing their breakfast on the floor plate and all, biting and punching each other, splashing in the disgusting fish pond in the yard. I was completely run ragged and thrilled to get them out of the house for a while. I asked my sister to keep half an eye on them, and went downstairs. Not even two minutes later when I got back upstairs, I found my angels in the living room, doing donuts with their big pushable trucks on the carpet. Covered in mud. There was mud everywhere. Now, if this was my house, I might have laughed, and said fuck it, I�ll clean it later. But since it�s not my house, I tried to hold my temper and told them to get the trucks outside NOW. Lukas looked at me, looked at Nickolas, and said, �We�ll stay in here, baby.� (He never says Nickolas. He always calls him baby. I hope that doesn�t last too long.) I. Was. Furious. So I screamed at them to get the trucks outside now. Full volume. Get out. And they did, so it worked. Then I hear my mom calling me. You know what she wanted to tell me? That I sound like a washerwoman when I yell at my kids and that she never yelled at us like that, not once. Which is bullshit, and I told her so. Then she told me that maybe if I let them be kids, maybe I wouldn�t have to yell at them because that�s what she did with us. Excuse me? I do not practice helicopter parenting. My kids are allowed to get dirty. I don�t freak out if they bump their knee on something. I�m not that mom who goes running after her kids on the playground and gasps in horror when they swing their arm into a railing or something and immediately demand �Oh goodness, you poor thing, are you okay? Oh, let Mommy give it a kiss.� I despise that mom, because that mom is just creating a crybaby bitch. My kids are allowed to do pretty much as they please, unless they want to do something dangerous, of course. But after an entire morning of their misbehaving, sure, I screamed at them. Anyone would have, unless they were on a lot of Xanax or something. I did not have the time or patience at that moment to clean mud out of the entire living room carpet. (And I do mean every bit of that carpet was COVERED.) So before I could say anything else to my mom that I know I would regret (regardless of its truth), I vacuumed, left the ground-in shit where it was, and I left. This is not the first time my parents have voiced pointed jabs in my direction. In the three months I have lived there, I have been called white trash, a drunk, irrational, lazy, and been told I have poor parenting skills. I had to take two Xanax to get through the family gathering yesterday, which led to my mom asking loudly if I was high. I wish. (No, I don�t. I don�t like the pot buzz.) But for the love of God, this has got to stop. Once again, while we were discussing our plans to move, everyone within earshot told us that we�d never make it and we�d be crawling back here within months. Well, hey, guess what, everyone? Fuck off! (Except for you guys. Because you would never claim to never have yelled at your kids. Or call me white trash. I�m far from it.)
Kids are:"Complicated" by Avril Levigne. Again. Last person who pissed me off:There's really a list this morning, but I'll go with Nick. My day is not going well at all. Heard in my house:Too many things to list.
<< || >> Miss
Anything? pics - 2007-06-05
I said I'd update again, but I didn't promise substance - 2007-06-04
I said I'd update again, but I didn' - 2007-06-04
the short version - 2007-05-30
title this - 2007-04-14
 <<
#
Bitch Club
?
>>
|
