Better than revenge

Jeff is a lot like my dad. They're both the kind of dad to drop you off at school with the windows down and the greatest hits of the 80's blaring. They're both the kind of dad to chase you down the driveway yelling "make good choices" and "daddy wubs you" as you head for the bus. They're both the kind of dad who fart in the exam room at the hospital and leave right before the doctor walks in. My kids, like me, will suffer years of torture and embarrassment just so they're dad can get a giggle. When I packed up and moved out and finally got married, I'd never thought I'd have to worry about someone doing the "cabbage patch" dance in front of my friends ever again.
I hate to admit that sometimes I even get pleasure from Jeff's little game. It was funny for me, too. I've had a hard time keeping a straight face when checking my daughter out of school wearing the exact same shirt as her. I giggled too, until a few days ago. Jeff drove me up to the front door of Fred Meyer, so I could hop out and run into the ATM. He rolls down the window and says "Don't forget to get a box of Ex-Lax to help take care of that nasty little problem of yours sweetie." I turned around and gave him the best evil eye I could muster up. I was kind of pissed, but only for a minute. A very attractive male walked up beside me and said "Yeah, my DAD still tries to embarrass me too."

I couldn't help myself

"Mom, I need a white sports bra for cheerleading," she said

I laughed out loud. "I don't think your boobies are quite done 'training', how on earth could they be ready for sports?"

New Pants

So, I got some new pants. "Utility pants" is what Old Navy refers to them as. They have 3 little tab thingies on them, which you are supposed to "utilize." I suppose if I were a construction worker I could hang my hammer and clamps from them, or if I was telephone install and repair technician I could keep a can wrench and snips attached to my thigh. But, I'm pretty sure I have previously established that I am just a housewife. I wonder, what might a housewife utilize "utility pants" for? Here are some suggestions:

Keep your cooking utensils at your disposal in case of a macaroni and cheese emergency.

A mere arsenal of cleaning supplies for when an unruly toilet may need your immediate attention.

Bad hair day? Not for long with an array of hair essentials right where you need them.

Or, you know, to keep all the real "tools" close at hand. For those times when you need to service your husband...or yourself.

This may be grounds for divorce

Last night, I walked into the bathroom to wash my face. I reached for a clean washcloth, but noticed there was one already in the sink. The washcloth was wet, and it was folded neatly and hanging over the edge of the vanity. I assumed it was the washcloth Hannah used to wash Parker's face with 5 minutes proir. Still safe to use, right? I turned the warm water on and rinsed the washcloth off a bit. I leaned my head over the sink and washed my face with the cloth, and then brought it out into the TV room to wipe something sticky off Jeff's foot.

"No, no, no, ewww, no, what are you doing?"

"I'm wiping your foot off."

"Not with that, you're not"

"I only washed my face with it. What? You're too good to use the same washcloth as me?"

"Uh, no...but I'm too good to use a washcloth that was used to clean the toilet."

"What do you mean? This a washclot was folded over the vanity."

"Because I put it there. After dinner I came down here and poured some bleach in the toilet. Then I used that rag to wipe down the toilet seat and toilet bowl."

"This is not a rag, it's a WASHCLOTH! You better be kidding."

"I'm dead serious. I used that to clean the toilet. It even has pubes on it"

He began to laugh. I burst into tears. Big, loud sobs...while HE continued to laugh. Real funny until I reminded him he's the one who has to kiss me goodnight.

My stellar parenting skills

Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing anything right. I wonder if I'm effectively passing on my values and moral standards to the kids.

One of my standards happens to be modesty. I think bodies should be covered. The girls don't wear skin tight clothes, low cut shirts, tank tops, mini skirts, short shorts, low waisted jeans, or bikinis. Leave some things to the imagination, for crying out loud. I do my best to lead by example. It's not enough to convice the girls, though.

Katelin was invited to a party at the swimming pool. The stores around here only sell swimsuits that would appeal to hookers and exotic dancers, or fat old women. Seriously. I bought the least slutty bathing suit, but it lacked the "cool" factor.

Of course much drama ensued. Katelin can't understand why I want her to keep things covered. "It's not like I'm gonna do anything, just because of my swimsuit!!" My reply of "I'm the mom and I said so wasn't going to cut it this time." I pulled her aside and explained why I felt so strongly about modesty. These were my exact words:

"Wouldn't it gross you out to know that some greasy 15 or 16 year old boy was masturbating and thinking about your body in a bikini?"

"Yeah like,I guess, that is like really gross."

"You don't want to be USED so some kid can get off!"

"I like never thought about like that."

She saw my point. I have rubbed off on her. All the heart-to-hearts and after school specials in the world have got nothing on me.

I finally understand

For lack of a better word, I call myself a "housewife." I finally understand the true meaning of this word. I spend more time cleaning and maintaining my house and it's inhabitants in a single day than I do having sex with my husband all week.

I got up at 5:45am today. I nursed a baby. I drove a kid to early morning yazz band rehearsal. I straightened one daughter's hair and curled another's...how ironic. I showered and blow dried my own hair. I ironed 2 outfits. I made grits and turkey bacon. I unloaded and loaded the dishwasher. I wiped counters and appliances. I swept the kitchen and dining room floors. I got on my hands and knees and washed the floor with vinegar and water. I supervised one shower. I washed 3 faces and six hands. I got one baby dressed and one preschooler dressed. I made 2 beds. I folded 2 loads of laundry. I tripped over 3 barbies. I changed 3 diapers, one full of runny sticky poop. I drove one kid to early choir practice. I walked another kid to the bus. I took a very gassy dog out 3 times. I read 4 stories. I had one lengthy phone call with a principal. I drank 4 cups of coffee and spilled one. I nursed a baby, again, and put him down for a nap. I went to he bathroom...with the door closed! I french braided an unruly head of hair. All of this well before 10:00am. So far I have "managed" my house for 4 hours and 15 minutes, and I've only just begun.

I have sex at least 4 times a week. So that's 1 hour times approximately 5. I have sex for 5 hours a week.

I guess the term "housewife" is completely suitable. I'm married to my house. Does that mean I'm having an affair with my husband? Oooh! That suddenly makes things all the more exciting.

My girl

Katelin has to be the coolest kid I know. I'm proud of the person she is. I really wish I could take credit for all her good qualities. I wish I had those qualities when I was a kid. She's beautiful. She's petite. She's smart. She's hardworking. She's gregarious. She encompasses every meaning of the word "cool."

Like every other kid in school, she's had to endure teasing. In sixth grade she complained that some chic at school kept telling her that her clothes were stupid. I was immediately furious, and defensive. Her clothes were not stupid. I darn well made sure she dressed in all the coolest clothes. That mean little girl was going to get it. I rehearsed all sorts of whitty quips Katelin could use as combacks. Katelin could see me getting mad as I was pacing and tapping my finger on my chin. She told me to chill, and that she'd already taken care of it. When the girl started in on her, she simply said "so?" That's it. Just "so?" I don't get it. All of the anguish I experienced with one simple little word. I spent the better part of 10 years trying to imagine what all the cool girls would say about my outfit, and hoping if I wore that perfect outfit to school I would somehow be allowed into their sacred little circle. If I could just go back in time and practice saying "so?" in the bathroom mirror.

Then there was the bus incident. Some high school girl demanded Katelin get up out of her seat on the bus. Katelin said no. According to Katelin the girl tossed her backpack on the ground, threw her hands on her hips and informed her she didn't know who she was dealing with. My stomach knotted up. "What did you do? Where did you move?" My little girl didn't move one inch. Katelin told her she didn't care who she was dealing with and she wasn't getting up, and she told her she would be more than happy to share the seat with her. The high school girl huffed and sat next to Katelin and spent the rest of the bus ride staring out the window. When they arrived at school Katelin wished her well and then high fived a bunch of kids sitting around them. Me?? I would have spend that day and probably the rest of the year hunched over my backpack sitting 3 to a seat in the front row.

Who knew it was this easy?? Are these qualities nature or nurture? I still can't believe my kid is one of those cool kids.