The Great Spirit of Blogging

Nothing summons the Great Spirit of Blogging like a stack of essays by junior college freshmen. In fact, I’ll do anything to avoid those essays. Proof–list of things to do:

Clean toilet

Inspect belly button for lint

Bathe cats

Inspect toilet

Iron shirts

Iron T-shirts

Iron bed sheets

Inspect toilet again

Check belly button again


Let’s just skip to the last one, shall we?

Ah, summer. The Jedi are driving me batcrap insane. I’ve been having to haul them to my stepper-mom in the mornings while I go teach my classes and collect papers that I have yet to grade. On the way down there, the Jedi are fairly quiet in the backseat of the Porsh…er, Neon. It’s 7:00 in the morning. It’s summertime. They’re half-comatose.

On the way home….

You know, I was fine up until my 30’s. I used to say I was never, never having kids. People who had kids were not only stupid and had poor taste in movies (I mean Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles? I want to watch that sh1t? And no, it’s not COOL. Unless STUPID is now a derivative of COOL) and were just poor in general. Also, their kids were grubby, and the smaller ones smelled like blue cheese.

But there’s something to that biological clock thing. Thirty comes and goes, and there’s me, thinking, “Well, I might like to have one.” So, I did that. And that one was so beautiful and perfect and charming, and then it started to grow, and it wasn’t a baby any more, and I thought, “This thing is wonderful, but I do miss those baby days.” Not only that, but the one looked so lonely riding in the backseat by itself. The one didn’t have anyone to play with unless we spent beaucoup amounts of time and moolah to take it to the Little Gym and Parents’ Day Out and Mom’s Club events. And frankly, you try spending a significant amout of time at Mom’s Club events and see if you don’t want to strangle every middle class bee-atch you see driving a Surburban, while sporting lacquered hair and French manicured nails. You’ll find yourself saying things like, “You talk about your fvcking automatic minivan door that isn’t working properly one more time, and I’m going to stuff your head in the trunk of a Neon and slam that trunk lid on your neck about fifty fvcking times!

(Some bee-atches are so sensitive, you know? I mean, they’ll just kick you out of their goofy little club for almost ANYTHING, dahling).

So, I added a second one to the first one. Then the first one would have someone to play with, you know? And aren’t they cute playing that X-Box or their Legos together?

And fighting together.

Angels and ministers of grace….

My cousin was here the other day and told me I “got lucky with those two.”

Excuse me?

“You have it pretty easy,” he said.

Yeah, well, come over HERE and say that, fathead!

He went on to explain that his kids, who are about 4 years apart (the Jedi are 2 1/2 years apart), a boy and a girl (the Jedi are both boys), fight from dawn ’til dusk.

Immediately, I start thinking of ways to deal with that:

A roll of quarters in a sock

Sending them into the bathrooms at Wal-Mart, then running like a crazed mo-fo to the nearest exit

Cattle prod


Xanax hidden in Kool-aid (“Drink up, Bitches!”)

Massive dose of Benadryl at 6:00 p.m.

Oh, believe me, I could go on and on.

I mean, to listen to that crap from dawn ’til dusk?

The Jedi fight about 15-20% of the time. During summer breaks, that percentage may rise to as high as 25%. The problem is, that most of that fighting takes place in the back. seat. of. the. car.

“Mom, Obi-wan sneezed on me!”

“Mom, Anakin’s copying me!”

“Mom, Obi-wan won’t stop looking at me and laughing!”

“Mom, Anakin is picking his nose again!”

“Mom, Obi-wan put a tractor beam on my ship, and THAT’S NOT FAIR!”

Me: If you don’t SHUT UP this instant, I am going to pull over and SHOOT MYSELF IN THE HEAD!

Obi-wan (snorts): You don’t even have a gun.


Anakin: What’s a tire iron?

Obi-wan: I’m hungry.

Anakin: Can I see the tire iron?

Obi-wan: I’m thirsty.

Anakin: Are you going to pull over and get that tire iron out?

Obi-wan: I’m hot!

Anakin: I’m cold.

Me: I have a headache! (From bashing my forehead against the steering wheel, but I don’t tell them that, of course. Not that they are susceptible to the old guilt trip that my own mother perfected).

I”m thinking I’m really not all that crazy about summer, you know? You always think summer is going to come, and you’re going to relax and get some rest and catch up on your reading…. Nope. Not gonna happen. I wanted to work with the Jedi on their math skills. I wanted to plan some lessons for the fall and start out the next school year ahead of the game. Also, I like winter clothes better. Boots, sweaters, jeans, fitted jackets….

But, you know, I do admire the Obama parents for being willing to let their two girls speak on TV. I cringe to think of the Jedi in a similar situation. It would look something like this:

Anakin, in response to a question about whether or not his mother embarrasses him: No, I like to fart.

Obi-wan: He is the fart king.

Anakin: I am the fart king.

Obi-wan (to Anakin): Don’t touch me! I saw you picking your nose!

Anakin: Don’t make me bust your head with a tire iron.

And, then, it’s on.

This plays on CNN, MSNBC and FOX, etc., repeatedly all day….

Oh, those Obamas have to be pretty damned confident in those kids of theirs. Personally, I admire that confidence, that security in the knowledge that their kids aren’t going to publicly humiliate them.

Like in Denny’s. Saturday night. We’re the only people in there under 70, which is surprising since kids eat free. Suddenly, Anakin announces, in his high, clear, ringing voice: “I bet that guy over there has old man breath.”

Angels and ministers of grace….

Just get me through this fecking summer.


~ by Scarlet Blue on July 11, 2008.

30 Responses to “The Great Spirit of Blogging”

  1. I remember the magic moment when I only had two children, my daughters, who were fighting in the back seat with each other. Things got physical, the hitting and whatever else I couldn’t see. I had told them a thousand times, literally, to stop it, to talk it out, all that crap, but here they were again. I just gave up. I surrendered to my insanity and did not interfere, as they hurt each other. After about two minutes, they both just sat there crying, and I thought, “Boy, that was easy.”

    I was wrong, or rather that experience became irrelevant as they became bigger and my fears that they would hit each other’s noses up into their heads or break the sternum (my two biggest fears in those moments- revealed) prevailed.

    Now, the only effective thing I can do in a mini-van (yes, our automatic side door broke a few times, but I didn’t complain because that just meant the kids had to get in the front door during after school pick-up and that was good ’cause then stuff didn’t fall out the door) is turn the situation into my being the brunt of a joke. It works like a charm.

    My kids heard me scream, “I can’t drive like this! Do you want me to pull over to the side of the road?” enough times that all I have to do is say it and they laugh. “Oooh no, don’t pull over.”

    Crap, I hear my sons fighting in front of the XBox downstairs (the three steps to their room which was an add-on and supplies their room with an outdoor-grade door.)

    It’s time for some boys to do some chores… or for me to write my blog post for the day.

    (Good to see ya, Scarlet.)

  2. If your kids will say that during an interview, will you please please please run for national office? I just want to see a fellow parent fucking lose it on the tube. Heh heh.

    So often I think of Peter’s dad on Family Guy. “Of course I love you son. I just don’t like you.” Kids, I love you, but some days, oh, how I do NOT like you.

  3. The Dreaded Car Fights. Background: mom’s paternal side of the family emigrated from Austria just before my grandfather was born. They changed their name from Millikowsi to Miller. He was always very sensitive about being called Polish, which we could never figure out. Anyway, we always talked about it behind his back.

    So one day, my uncle is driving us 3 kids and my grandfather somewhere, I forget where, and he made a wrong turn. I said, “Bill, we need to turn around – it was a left we wanted to make.” My sister was in smart-ass mode, high gear, and proclaims “Duh, you’re Polish.”

    I did a death grip on her wrist, which was the exact wrong thing to do. She then proclaims “Let go of my wrist you Polock.”

    It was summer in Phoenix and no air in the car. All of the sudden there was less air. Since my Uncle is Psychic, he could read my grandfather’s mind, (which was physically manifesting in the form of this red blotch stretching all the way the back of his bald little head) and says “You better stop it or Grandpa is going to turn around and slap the stuffin outta you.”

    To which the little darling replies “You can Beat me and BEAT me, but I’m STILL Polish.”

    Gramps crumpled into a little non-Polish ball.

    We all started laughing so hard, I almost peed my pants.

  4. I was just talking to a friend today who had one child and I told her how envious I was that she does not have to hear the fighting all day over MINDLESS crap. all. day. long.

    :MOM! She is almost hitting me!:

    :Well then, she’s almost in trouble:

    Forget water boarding at Guantanamo, just throw an 8 and 9 year old in the room to bicker for half a day. Those suckers will give up the goods faster than some tart on prom night.

    I tell the kids to work it out unless someone is A)blue from lack of oxygen, B)on fire, or C)bleeding…..

    work. it. out. fortheloveofallthat’sgoodandholy!!!

    and really, what good, well-adjusted parent doesn’t threaten the tire iron?

    It would solidify my vote for Obama if one of his kids was in the picture background scratching their cranium from their nasal cavity. Now that is real change.

    Oh, and amen to winter clothes.

    PS. YAY for you getting your certification. You RAWK.

  5. Aw, Shit&stuff……it is good 🙂 to read you again!!! Always make me grin….Tanks!

    // Angels and ministers of grace // Sounds like a punk rock band…..playing in the back seat.

  6. i like to fart – classic

    better u than me with the3 essays lol

  7. I love it when people refer to their children as “it.”

  8. Ah, Frieda, I have surrendered before and just said, “You settle this,” but then I ended up having to wrestle the little one down and choke him out. His older brother just curled up in a tight ball and howled.

    But, RG, they’re so cute when they’re sleeping. Like little angels.

    That’s a good story, UC.

    Bee, blue, on fire, or bleeding. I’ll remember that.

    Thanks, OKJimm.

    Plenty to go around, Raw Dawg, if you’d like to pitch in.

    Cowboy the Cat, good parents do not do that. Only the truly bad ones such as moi.

  9. When my father ran for office, I was interviewed as a wee 8 year old. They asked me if I knew what he did, and I promptly replied, “He’s a shyster,” which is what my grandmother had coached me to say.



  10. better you than me 🙂 i used to raise other people’s children when i worked in human services- teenage girls. completely cured any leftover maternal hankerings i didn’t stomp out before 30. they are lovely when they are babies- just like kittens. they grow up- and barf hairballs around the house- i mean pick their noses and fight 😉

  11. And frankly, you try spending a significant amout of time at Mom’s Club events and see if you don’t want to strangle every middle class bee-atch you see driving a Surburban, while sporting lacquered hair and French manicured nails.

    Us stay-at-home Dad’s (or maybe it’s just me) are pariahs. We never get invited to those things. I guess I should be happy about that.

    But as for the “sibling rivalry”… “I feel your pain.” I’ve got a 6 year old and a 2 1/2 year old and summer has just been swell.

  12. I was a coward.. had one and decided to let him make his own friends.

  13. boys of summer

  14. This is when I like you the most.

    I was going to talk about this really funny thing Bella said this afternoon, but I can’t remember what it was.

  15. Tengrain, that is just the kind of thing that might happen to me. Hilarious. Was that his mil?

    Betmo, I have a hairball barfer, too.

    Ah, DED, do I have a story for you. You will relish your pariah status. Read
    The Stay-Away-Mom….

    Susan, yes, but you’re probably normal. I had generations of genetic weirdness to compensate for.

    Hi, GD. Thanks.

    Don’t you wish you had written all of those down, fairlane? Every once in awhile I remember something cute from the past, like when Mr. Pink said to Obi-wan (age 3 at the time), “YOU are pushing your luck, mister.” Obi-wan answers, contritely, “Oh, no, I’m pulling my luck right back to me, mister.”

  16. Brilliant my dear! Those are two fortunate laddies, to have someone so articulate honest and funny as a mom. YOu do all that food, cleaning, driving, hugging, laundry, shopping, school stuff too, right?

    And I bet you wouldn’t hit yourself more than once with the tire iron. And if my brother picked his nose and touched me, he’s effing dead, even if he is 50 years old. And if my other brother covers my name up one more time on the bottom of the brain coral I want when my mother dies, he’s dead too. Last time at her place I peeked and he had taped over my tape and actually wrote, “Gary said this is Sandy’s.”

    Oh, but they do grow up and mature…

  17. My two girls have been grown and gone from home for quite awhile now, but when I stepped into Target this morning and saw the school supplies display, the first thing into my head was still an automatic “Thank god. Summer will end.”

    I was never sure which was worse: the open squabbling, or the ominous silence when the little barracudas put their heads together to cooperate in something that inevitably turned out to be messy, dangerous, or both.

  18. Scarlet – I’d like to say it gets better but it only gets worse. There has to be something in the genetic make up of humans that forces siblings into mortal combat with each other. Maybe it’s to gear them up for the kinds of mental battles they must engage in as adults. I don’t know. But I swear if I had a dime for every time my two boys and only daughter have gone at it, I’d still be working the crappy desk job I have now, but in a lot less debt.

  19. Old man breath! Hilarious. As someone who didn’t take the plunge and have kids, I commend you for your efforts and thank you for perpetuating our species so that I don’t have to< LOL! At least you always have blog fodder when you have kids, they say the darnedest things as Art Linkletter used to say!

  20. Nothing like time with the kids to unleash a bunch of pent up blogging.

    I can only add one thing. … I just periodically run away from home.

    The bastards always find me.

  21. G, I think you’re probably right about the tire iron. Brain coral is kind of creepy, though.

    Oh god, Nan, school supplies already? Do you think they’d catch me trying to shoplift $100 worth of school supplies out of Target?

    Spart, perhaps it is nature’s way of training them for life. Like when a co-worker puts a pubic hair on your coke can, instead of whining about it years later, you could just throw down on the spot?

    Mauigirl, just when I was thinking it was a thankless job…. 😉

    Well, DCup, today my stepfather told me if I ran away, he’d hire some ex-FBI agents to track me down. There is no escape from this place.

  22. Are you calling me Normal? Nobody ever said that about me before.

    btw – Does this stepfather person ever blog?

  23. Normal is relative, Susan. I mean, consider the source.

    No, he doesn’t blog. Also, I think it sounded like he would miss me if I ran away, but what I meant to say is that there’s no way he’s letting me dump the Jedi on HIM.

  24. You’re supposed to ignore the first egg, which will usually be eaten by a skua, and focus on the second one. DUH!

  25. It’s definitely one of those things that once you begin you must follow through but the benefits can be substantial.

  26. Don’t get me wrong. I love my Jedi. Even when I’m sober.

  27. Like when a co-worker puts a pubic hair on your coke can, instead of whining about it years later, you could just throw down on the spot?

    Scarlet – Exactly. Throw down on the spot.

  28. Ah, DED, do I have a story for you. You will relish your pariah status. Read “The Stay-Away-Mom”

    Ah, economic status prejudice receives the same “warm welcome” as the “wrong” parent staying at home. Nice. My sister would fit in well with the “Mom’s Club” you describe. In fact, she’s got one all her own.

    Pariah status relished. Someday my kids will make friends on their own. In the meantime, they have each other. 😉

  29. Spart, it’s actually a lesson learned from the youngest Jedi. 😉

    DED, I would so love to hear stories about some stay-at-home dad with a sense of humor crashing a Mom’s Club event. And yes, now the Jedi have each other, too.

  30. Well, it isn’t funny, but I posted my Mom’s Club story on my blog.

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