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A weekend of misplaced children, overpriced dinners, and snot.

Written on January 30, 2012 by Jennifer in Huh?, Little Monkeys, Quirky Me

I’ve been fighting off a cold since the beginning of January. It started to set in the first week of January and again the 2nd week of January, but my body-the TEMPLE that it is-fought back valiantly. That is until it couldn’t fight it off anymore, so I’ve been hacking, coughing, blowing my nose, and generally feeling like my head is a sloshy mess for two weeks.

Tate and I had a date set up for last Friday night, so despite feeling like crud-o-la, we packed the kids off to the trusty Parent’s Night Out program at one of the local churches. This was the first time we’d been able to do this since August, Carson was actually sent off with the big, elementary age kids for the first time ever and Ella stayed with the other preschoolers. The church makes you take a card with your child’s information on it and it must be used to get your child back. No card-no kid. I guess they send those to the dungeon at the church if the parents don’t have their card at the end of the night. I don’t want to find out!

The older kids only get signed in, no card was given when Carson was dropped off, which made Tate very nervous. I’m protective of the kids, sure, but Tate is even more protective and he didn’t feel at all comfortable with the way it didn’t seem as secure for the older kids. I brushed it off and assured him that he was being a little anal and to relax because it DATE NIGHT WOO HOO! (Cough, snort, where’s my cold medicine?!?!)

We ate at one of those Brazilian restaurants where the men come by with hunks of meat that they carve off for you. Our date included three other couples- there was lots of laughing and wine sipping and general merriment. It’s all fun and games until the bill shows up, amirite?! HOLY $126 DINNER. I mean, it was fun to hang out with friends and eat a lot of carved meat, but it wasn’t $126 fun. This part of the post has nothing to do with anything-really it’s just a public service announcement: BEWARE OF BILLS AT BRAZILIAN STEAKHOUSES.

You’re welcome!

So if you’re one of those sleuth types, you may have already realized that when we went to pick up the kids, we learned that the night didn’t go so well for Carson. Somehow, not too long before we came to pick him up, Carson got separated from his class as they were leaving the movie room. He says that he went straight back to his classroom, but nobody was there. Somehow he managed to make it all the way upstairs, where a volunteer eventually found him sobbing.

I have no idea what the actual timeline of events really is, I have no idea if his teacher ever even knew he was missing. I’m confused how a child could get separated from his class and manage to make it past where I would have assumed adults would have been monitoring doors and up a set of stairs before he was found. I don’t want to be alarmist or make a mountain out of a molehill, but you know-when you trust people to watch your child-and that is basically their SOLE responsibility, it’s a bit disconcerting that something like this could happen.

I hardly slept that night, waffling between being utterly FURIOUS and grateful that he was smart enough not to go outside or get lost in the church. (It’s one of those mega churches with a school attached, so he could have easily gotten lost in the building.)

I should have called the director of the Parent’s Night Out Program, but I was afraid that I’d cry and sound either like a blubbering mom or a maniac. I did email the director, though, so that she’ll at least be aware that they LOST MY CHILD last Friday. Obviously they need to put into place a better system for keeping track of kids.

Unrelated to any of this, my cold is almost gone! So that’s good, right?

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The moral of the story is this: Don’t seek comfort with Taco Bell

Written on December 14, 2011 by Jennifer in Huh?, Quirky Me

If I showed you my calendar you might weep. Everyday there’s a party or someone *ahem the SCHOOL* needs something for a party. There are presents to be wrapped, toilets to be scrubbed, and crafts to be completed. Don’t forget the crafts!

So this calendar o’ mine, I have very carefully coordinated each and every activity, party, and craft into every spare minute that I have. It would all be going swimmingly if it weren’t for the unexpected birthday party invitation my son received for a party on a TUESDAY night (ALL CAPS because it’s SCHOOLNIGHTOUTRAGE). My son, he was so excited about this birthday party.

“It’s at Chuck E. Cheese, Mom! I can’t wait!” he said. His giddiness equally matched my irritation.

Tuesday night I was supposed to go out with my book club and discuss books. And by “discuss books,” I really mean, stuff myself silly with chips, guacamole, and enchiladas while sipping a margarita. Topped with a TUESDAY SCHOOLNIGHTOUTRAGE birthday party, I was feeling a little sorry for myself. I mean, I’d already carefully coordinated my schedule just for the promise of Mexican food and libations. I’d turned down other parties so that I could go to this one.

Whine. Pout. Stomp. Frumple Face.

I didn’t get a chance to eat dinner before taking Carson to the party. It just wasn’t scheduled on the calendar, so by the time the party was over (8:00 on a SCHOOLNIGHTOUTRAGE), I was starving. Since my Mexican food bonanza had been cancelled, I decided that the only this that could soothe my sad, sad heart was a quick trip through the drive through at Taco Bell.

This is when a good friend sitting in the passenger seat could have really helped a girl out because a six-year-old in the backseat only serves to egg you on. A good friend would have talked me out of a trip to Taco Bell, but my son thought it was a GREAT idea.

“You LOVE tacos, Mom,” he reminded me. Indeed, that is true. I love tacos, but I really love tacos that come from places that don’t serve food out of a drive through window.

At home I devoured my Taco Bell order, dejected. I even managed to meet my goal of “stuffing myself silly,” but it didn’t take away the fact that instead of having fun at a much needed night away with friends, I spent an evening at Chuck E. Cheese with 20 kabillion very excited children. Instead of feeling better about the whole situation, I just felt gross AND sad.

The moral of the story is this: Don’t seek comfort with Taco Bell. I hope you’ll find this tip very helpful in your times of need this busy holiday season.

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Cooking Bunnies and Coinkydinks

Written on July 18, 2011 by Jennifer in Huh?, Little Monkeys, Men?

I’m just going to start off by saying the part that I think will be hardest for you to hear. (Trust me, it’s hard for me to type.)

I cooked a bunny on Saturday for dinner.

Now that I’ve said it, I’m going to defend myself and say that it wasn’t a boiled bunny à la Fatal Attraction. (Completely unrelated but super interesting sidenote: On the day that I found out that I didn’t even make first cuts in 7th grade cheerleading tryouts, in other words, THE WORST DAY OF MY ADOLESCENT LIFE, my best friend, her mom, and I went to see Fatal Attraction in the theater. Why we went to see this particular movie I don’t know, it certainly wasn’t a feel-good, pick me up sort of movie–unless you’re talking about the part where Michael Douglas picks up Glenn Close, uh, never mind. I cannot imagine taking an adolescent child to see that movie, but I mostly turned out okay, I’m not scarred for life, though you could make a case against me now that I’ve admitted that I have indeed cooked a bunny.)

So, yes, I cooked a bunny. It’s a long story leading up to the point where Tate brought home a bunny, “took care” of the bunny, and did other things to the bunny to make it into something that resembled normal, grocery store, cook-able meat, but that long story isn’t nearly as interesting as the Fatal Attraction story above. I really kept hoping that Tate would forget all about bringing home a bunny to eat, he’d been talking about it for months and MONTHS and forever.

“People eat rabbit, Jennifer. This isn’t that weird,” Tate tried to convince me. Ooookay.

We were very secretive with the children about the whole cooking a bunny thing. I cooked a recipe from my Anthony Bourdain Les Halles Cookbook (affiliate link!). The recipe is called Lapin Aux Olives, so we just told the kids we were eating “lapin.” See, it turns out that Ella LOVES bunnies, she has a whole family of stuffed animal bunnies that she carries around in a box. She treats these bunnies like real pets and has given them names, Baby Bunny, Baby Bunny, Baby Bunny, and Mommy Bunny. It didn’t seem right to tell the children, “hey kids! We’re eating bunny for dinner tonight!” Talk about scarring a kid for life.

Ella was acting a bit like a FREAKING JERKAZOID that morning, so I had to put Baby Bunny (x3) and Mommy Bunny in time out. I completely forgot about the bunnies and so did Ella until later that evening when she suddenly remembered and asked if she could have them back. She carried her box of bunnies into the living room where in the adjoining kitchen, Tate was taking care of his box of bunnies.

As he did whatever he was doing with his bunnies, Tate overheard Ella talking to her bunnies. “Baby Bunny! You’re alive! You’re alive! I’m so happy you’re alive Baby Bunny! I love you bunnies! I missed you so much!” Ella cheerfully loved on her returned bunnies.

Tate is convinced that I coached Ella to say this and prove my point that eating bunnies is weird, but I most certainly DID NO SUCH THING. And just so you know, the bunny/lapin was actually not bad. Kinda tasted like chicken.

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Liars and people who can’t follow directions

Written on December 8, 2010 by Jennifer in Huh?, Little Monkeys, Pictures

Not five minutes after I found some lovely artwork in ink on my wall, I discovered this broken ornament hidden in a drawer.

“Who did this?” I asked.

“Not me,” they both chimed, looking less than innocent.

Upon further grilling, and without getting either criminal to fess up, I realized that my no-longer-toddler children are actual KIDS who are sneaky and prone to lying.

*Sniff* They are growing up so fast, y’all.

******************

In completely unrelated news, we attended a birthday party on Friday night. The invitation specifically stated, “No gifts, please!” It was even highlighted in neon yellow! I, being a direction follower and all around AWESOME person, did not bring a gift. Several months ago we were invited to a no gifts party, but we were the only people who didn’t bring a gift. I felt like a total jerk as we sat and watched the birthday girl open gift after gift. So this time, I considered bringing a gift as a backup, but thought that surely the first no gift party was a fluke and that people would follow simple directions and not bring gifts this time.

I knew immediately when we walked into the party and I saw the gift table, filled with gifts, that I’d been foiled again! Carson even said, “Mom! You said we weren’t supposed to bring gifts!”

If the party invitation says “No gifts, please,” then why do people still bring gifts? I really don’t think that the request is just an attempt by the party hosts to be polite and not ask for gifts. It seems rude to bring a gift when you’re not asked to because not only are you making the direction followers look like a Jerky McJerkson, you’re putting the party hosts in an awkward position. It’s not like they can say, “Didn’t you read the invitation, jack, NO GIFTS.” Then again, as a party host, if you requested no gifts, then don’t have gift table and gift opening time.

Phew. I just needed to get that off my chest. Please remember this the next time you’re invited to a no gifts party: Make sure you bring a gift. The more you know!

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Almost, Butt

Written on October 13, 2010 by Jennifer in Huh?, Little Monkeys, Pictures

All I really wanted was one framer of the kids at the pumpkin patch! Seriously, why must this be SO HARD?

I think a lot about becoming a professional photographer, but as evidenced by my ability to take staged photos of my own children, I don’t think I have the touch. Nearly everyday I read blogs about how to become a pro photographer!!, how to take great pictures!!, how to get children to stop looking like doofuses in your pictures!!

I guess I need to study the sites that are devoted to how get your children to stop looking like doofuses a little more.

I also either need to obtain a cattle prod to keep people and their butts out of my pictures…

The picture below! It is so cute, actually…except, wait…someone’s butt is ruining my picture.

Maybe next year!

A year ago, I couldn’t get a good picture of the kids either. Two years ago I was definitely not on House Hunters.

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Miss Merry Sunshine

Written on August 23, 2010 by Jennifer in Huh?, Quirky Me

When I met Tate twelve years ago I vividly recall him telling me that he was laid back. Of course now I know that this was a bald-faced lie. Laid back is exactly the opposite of how I’d describe him. His complaining and pessimism are legendary, so much so that while most couples fight about money or sex, we regularly fight about his constant complaining and pessimistic outlook on life.

He’s quit using phrases like, “this is a disaster!!”, because I’ve threatened to run away from home if I he ever uttered it again.

I’m by no means (completely) perfect, but I do try to look at the bright side of things. I try very hard not to complain too much, I try to stay positive. I’m practically Miss Merry Sunshine!

That’s why I feel so awful about what I’m getting ready to complain about.

My vacation could have been better.

It pains me to even utter those words. SERIOUSLY. Poor me! Me and my first world problems! ¡Que terrible! It must be so awful to get to go on vacation and have it not be perfect. So many people in the world without food and my beach vacation “could have been better.”

So yeah, I feel ridiculous complaining about my vacation. Nonetheless, I can’t help myself.

1. My children acted like total a-double-s-holes for the vast majority of the time. They freaked out over things like getting Sprite instead of chocolate milk when we went out to eat and having to ride on a horse drawn carriage through Savannah. What horribly deprived children! The constant need to correct their behavior ON VACATION where we were supposed to be having FUN completely drained me.

2. Ella and I got stung by jellyfish the very first day of vacation. We then learned that August is prime jellyfish season on Tybee Island and this year has been particularly bad. Perfect!

3. Our vacation rental wasn’t exactly what I thought it would be. The “summer house” with a bed in the backyard was really an unairconditioned shed with a cot from 1940 that held a moldy thing on top masquerading as a mattress.

4. Despite the beach house being advertised as “fully stocked,” we ran out of toilet paper less than 24 hours after arriving. (It REALLY pains me to complain about that, yet there it is.)

5. MOSQUITOES the size of Montana.

6. The sheets on our bed were satiny and stuck to our feet like velcro.

7. The water tasted like what I’ve always imagine dirty feet to taste like.

I’m so ashamed by these petty complaints. If I were a priest, I’d assign myself 4,000 Hail Mary’s and an order to volunteer my time at a homeless shelter or donate the equivalent cost of the vacation to a women’s shelter.

I’m no longer a practicing Catholic. I guess I dodged that bullet.

Instead, as soon as I download and edit the bajillion pictures I took while on vacation, I’ll repent by writing about the good things.

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It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood

Written on June 3, 2010 by Jennifer in Huh?, Little Monkeys

I remember exactly how old I was when my mother allowed me to leave the house, roam the neighborhood, and not even bother to tell her where I was going, who I was going to be with, or who the parents were. I remember this because IT NEVER HAPPENED.

When I was in elementary school, my parents knew (or had at least met) my friend’s parents. If I were to walk to one of their houses, it was with the understanding that I would go straight there, I wouldn’t leave and go somewhere else without telling my mom, and while I was there, I’d be polite and respectful.

Mostly, I was a good kid, but I didn’t always follow those rules. There were times that I remember leaving one friend’s house to go to another friend’s house, without calling to tell my mom, and feeling both exhilaration and the pit of fear in my stomach for breaking a major rule. I’m sure that there were times I annoyed my friend’s parents by overstaying my welcome, or eating snacks, and drinking their juice boxes, but I can’t remember ever being purposely rude to a friend’s mom or dad.

We’ve become friends with a family in our neighborhood who have kids the same ages as Carson and Ella. Down the street there is a family that also two kids the same ages as ours, but until recently we never saw them outside. A few months ago, the five year old (I’ll call him Jared), whose parent’s we’ve never met, started coming down to knock on my neighbor’s door to play. He would stay for several hours, only to leave when my neighbor would tell him it was time to go home. Jared has also shown up in my neighbor’s fenced backyard, and tried to open their back door when they didn’t answer the front door.

My neighbors have also seen him roaming around the neighborhood alone on numerous occasions.

Jared has come over to my house a few times, usually with my friend’s son, Aiden. Every time he comes over there is some sort of incident. He ran over my son with our Power Wheels monster truck, literally RAN OVER him. I know it was an accident, but I told Jared that he was no longer allowed to drive the truck because he couldn’t drive it safely. When my husband dumped the water out of our baby pool because all of the boys were getting too rough, Jared threw a fit and kicked the pool, then sassed Tate when he told him that he wasn’t allowed to kick our things.

He’s told my neighbor and I to get him something to eat, or something to drink. “…And be sure to put ice in it.”

These are just things that kids do. The interactions between our boys are things that will happen, kids pick on one another, they’ll be too rowdy, accidents will happen. I’d like to think that I’ve taught Carson to be polite to adults, but I can’t guarantee that he’d act like a model child if I weren’t there to watch…which is exactly the crux of this issue.

Where are Jared’s parents?

My friend let her son walk down to the Jared’s backyard today to play with water balloons. From her backyard, she could watch them as they played. About five minutes later, Jared’s dad came outside and told the boys that if they wanted to play, they needed to go back to Aiden’s house.

Apparently my neighbor (and sometimes me) have been designated Jared’s babysitter.

There are so many things wrong here.

1. Jared’s parents do not know us and have never attempted to meet us. I don’t even know what their names are.

2. Jared has spent entire afternoons at our houses, HOURS, and neither of his parents have come outside to check on him.

3. My neighbor and I don’t appreciate the assumption that OH! Sure we’ll babysit your kid, feed your kid, and give your kid drinks for hours on end.

4. My neighbor and I are worried about Jared’s safety since nobody, besides us, seems to be watching him. He regularly crosses the street without looking, because he’s only FIVE-years-old and doesn’t have the best judgment.

5. Jared is FIVE.

I admit that I don’t really like Jared much, but I know that Carson and Aiden enjoy playing with him. My knee-jerk response is to make a rule that Jared’s not welcome at my house simply because he’s kind of a jerk and because he ran over my kid. My softer side, the one that doesn’t want to shame a child who is only five-years-old, is to make sure that Jared understands our rules and to send him home only if he breaks those rules.

My neighbor and I both are unsure how to handle the situation as a whole. We don’t feel comfortable being responsible for Jared, we don’t want to become his default babysitters, but we don’t really know what we should say to his parents. It’s not like we want to say, “Hey, we watch your kid for hours, you should take a turn and watch our kids, too.” Um, no.

But what do we say?

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