What's Wrong With The World Today...

As the novel coronavirus, COVID-19, sweeps the globe, I've lost my sense of humor.

I looked back through my texts to my son who was away at college and on January 27th is when I was first concerned about this virus, 81 deaths at the time, China the only country reporting cases. He thought my concerns were unwarranted.

When the first case hit the US, I started to worry a little more about the spread, starting talking about it more and my family brushed me off.  My mother was on board and we bought a few shelf-stable supplies just in case. Nothing on the level of hoarding, three extra packs spaghetti, one extra pack of toilet paper, Clorox wipes (because I was already using them daily since my husband is a teacher).

Then I got sick.  My doctor said it sounded like the coronavirus and not to come into the office.  The hospital told me not to come in because they were reserving tests for travelers.  I was really ill.  Couldn't breathe, couldn't get out of bed, slept way more than anyone should, fever, coughing. Had my flu shot, but this didn't feel like the flu. Put on a 14 day quarantine.

Now I'm mostly recovered and the US has (currently) 19.969 cases.  Since I had to go to the store for supplies, I donned a mask (I do a lot of painting and sanding so had a few in the garage) and went out.  Shelves were empty, but the store was not.  People are everywhere despite warnings.  It's a paid vacation to most and that really angers me. Nobody will heed warnings, everyone is hoarding, but STILL going out. Social media is blaming the President. I don't remember anyone handing it out like free candy.  He was criticized for acting too quickly, then criticized for not acting quickly enough. I'm not supporting him, just saying stop pointing fingers when the beaches are packed. I'm sick of hearing "it's just a flu" or "the flu kills more people every year".  Wake up World.

This is what's wrong with the world we live in.  Our own little bubble that's full of false information and a personal sense of entitlement. Blame someone else while not contributing to help.  I offered my four pack of toilet paper to an older lady standing in an empty aisle while being thanked by a nurse for being the only other person wearing a mask and trying to prevent the spread.

We eat dinner with our phones and zero communication.  We spend more time on social media than socializing with people face-to-face. Everyone is looking out for themselves and not taking care of our communities as a whole. The medical world has been warning us for years a "superbug" was coming and here it is.

Stories of people buying up everything to sell at exorbitant prices are everywhere. Now those people are stuck, unable to sell anywhere, and the rest of us can't get those very products we need for every day life.

As everyone ignores the social distancing warnings, the virus continues to spread. What I don't get is that most people never go ANYWHERE and now that they are told to stay home, they just can't. Maybe if the government told us to go out and infect as many as we could, the streets would be empty.

I hope this is a lesson to the world.  Maybe when the internet shuts down because workers are ill and we're forced to look up, we'll see things differently. Well, those that are left anyway. Maybe the Mayans were off, instead of 2012 it was supposed to be 2021...

I just checked after typing this, the US now has 22,132 cases.

Raising a Child with Special Needs

My only son is now 22.  Throughout his life we have faced many challenges, seizures, autism, being a military family...

My son started having seizures when he was 1 1 /2 years old.  It started with a bout of meningitis. The seizures were never normal, lasting ten, twenty, forty minutes, followed by confusion and a lengthy recovery time. When he was seven, he contracted meningitis again and we were simply told it was bad luck, different state, different circumstances.  We battled with the why of it all.  We battled with the tests, spinal as well as CT scans, MRI's and blood draws.  We finally started medicating when he was 11.

Being on the spectrum didn't get diagnosed until later.  All of his little "quirks" were attributed to many other things and the doctors weren't adding them together. I tried working when he was younger, but daycare and his idiosyncrasies proved difficult, plus with his dad's job requirements, we decided it best that I stay home to handle things.

He gets his own meals, sometimes what we eat, sometimes not.  He wears monochromatic clothing most of the time. He DOES NOTA take change well, so don't even think about suggesting something. Nobody can fathom our personal troubles.  Many have autism, many have epilepsy, many have both.  But every single one of them is different, unique, often challenging.

...and I am a combat vet, this is far harder.

My husband was always deployed and almost always during the holidays. It was like being a single parent for most of 20 years and with a son who just wasn't like the other kids...well, it made it hard, but we managed.  Every child with problems is different, everyone has advice easily rendered and I took it all in stride.  We worked hard and stayed strong through it all.  We never got used to it, but we got through it.

High school was especially challenging.  Kids can be cruel and trying to build self-confidence daily was never easy. We made sure he wore the latest trends or had the latest in everything so he didn't stand out. He outwardly appeared normal to many so they couldn't understand that he was different, that he processed things differently, that his abilities were different, that although he was outgoing and funny, and brilliant, he was totally and completely different.  He began to withdraw from friends, and the world in general.

He worked hard and got into a good college.  Several good colleges actually, but Penn State was his choice.  The first year was a strain because it was the first time he was on his own.  I made a few trips to see him, several hours away.  He eased into the second year, but by the third, his seizures were becoming more frequent and violent. He began to withdraw more. Due to his seizures, his embarrassment started, followed by anxiety and depression.  By his senior year, he was not doing well in school, he was not doing well mentally, and we pulled him home to get help.

Now we're in summer.  We seem to have gained control again and he begins school in a month as a fifth year Senior. What he doesn't know while we play MarioKart, or swim, or watch TV, and what I strive to hide is the financial burdens we're taking on now.

The GI Bill ran out and we can't afford to send him to college.  I'm struggling to continue to lift him so he may soar, but I've stopped sleeping. We're drowning in bills, my elderly, disabled parents are now with us, and all the while, I try to smile.

My pride aside, I need help.  I researched, and applied, and begged, and called...  so I started a Go Fund Me.  His tuition is $19378.  Anything, anything is appreciated:

https://www.gofundme.com/f/education-for-my-son-with-epilepsy-and-asperger039s&rcid=r01-15650932429-705e9bcf29314969&pc=ot_co_campmgmt_m

December 26th

I love Christmas!  That's kind of an understatement...  When the turkey comes off the table Thanksgiving day, the Christmas centerpiece goes in it's place.  My family jokes about it. How mom gets the Christmas Crazies.

Hallmark is he only channel I watch.  Christmas tunes play every moment that I am awake. I have a throw pillow fetish: embroidered, sequined, some even light up.  And even though I have an entire spare room for storing decorations that barely fit, I still feel compelled to buy more every year. I have Christmas bedding for all four bedrooms and even Christmas curtains.

Many nights my husband and I sit by the glow of the tree sipping hot chocolate laced with cinnamon schnapps, just basking in the romance of the season.

The over-sized, live, nine foot tree that barely fits in the den.  The tree I force the family to help choose before Thanksgiving to store in the garage so I can decorate on Black Friday.  Or Thanksgiving night if I'm not too tired from cooking all day.

Side note:  One time my parents-in-law came for Thanksgiving.  Went to bed and woke up for Christmas.  They were quite shocked.

Christmas is a wonder to me.  The lights outside that seem to twinkle in the breeze. The warm glow that permeates throughout the house making everything seem warmer. The crackling of a fire. The smells of Christmas especially: breads, pies, cookies, candies, the evergreen scent underneath it all...

Christmas day is the culmination of all the magic, presents, happy and laughing people, a big dinner followed by games or movies.

Then there's December 26th.  I get up to a sink full of dishes from late night snackers.  My back suddenly hurts from all the baking I've done on my feet over the past few weeks. The tree is no longer a wonderment, but a dead thing shedding everywhere who's lights only highlight the dust around the enormous amount of knick knacks I felt the urge to place on every surface of my usually neat and tidy home. My house is no longer festive wonderland, but a cluttered, dirty mess I must clean up. I try to hold off for the sake of my family, but I swear my eye twitches looking around.

I'm from New Orleans originally and we are supposed to leave decorations up until January 6th, the Epiphany, Three Kings Day, which also kicks off the Mardi Gras Season.

I can't do it.  I really try. I made it to December 28th this year when a whirlwind blew through my house and everything is clean and back to normal. My eye has stopped twitching, the knot in my neck is gone. Suddenly all is right in the world.

A Battle Of Wills: David & Goliath

I haven't posted in a bit, I know, I've been settling us into our new home.  The unpacking may never end...

I've relocated to Connecticut and the biggest issue isn't high taxes.  It isn't adjusting to a New England state of mind versus my friendly, open Southern background.

The biggest issue is the state trying to find a home for it's newest project, the state trooper firing range.

My peaceful home located in The Quiet Corner is threatened by this in the most direct way.  My backyard. Literally.

Many small towns are learning from Willington (Unwillington.com) about fighting the proposal.  Hampton is just the latest taking a staunch stand.  We're digging our heels in and saying, "NO!"

It's a good lesson for our representatives who think citizens are passive.  The state should realize that when you affect us in the most personal ways, we're not going to stand for it!

Many towns are coming together and sharing tactics to fight.

I support our police force and the importance of their job, but they won't be training in our town.  Not if I have anything to say about it, and I do.  I'm joined by my neighbors and for a bunch of people who lead private lives, we're joining hands and hearts to fight this uphill battle.  We're in it for the long haul.

Goliath may think size matters, but...

I Am New Orleans

I have traveled all over the world.  I have been to Europe, Africa, Asia, and almost every state of the Union.

I was born in Charity Hospital in New Orleans.  Although I have seen and experienced many cultures, foods, and traditions, my heart always returns to a moment in time.

It could be sitting under a veranda sipping a dacquiri while a paddle boat passes on the Mississippi River.  It could be wiping powdered sugar off my face at Cafe Du Monde while watching the sun beat off of the Jackson Monument in front of St. Louis Cathedral with jazz playing all around.  It could be Mardi Gras, a family experience before "girls gone wild" made their debut.

Waiting in long lines for the best po-boy.  Shopping for wares at the French Market.  Seafood coated in spices the rest of the world couldn't fathom.  Shopping on Canal Street.  The World's Fair.  Cream stuffed sno-balls outside the Riverwalk.  Streetcars, beautiful architecture, the music...sounds so uplifting or haunting you never forget the experience.

“New Orleans food is as delicious as the less criminal forms of sin." — Mark Twain

The most diverse city I've ever been to.  It's unique style has come from a blending of races, cultures, and religion.

I'm not afraid or embarrassed to dance in public when music starts.  I'll sing along to any song, anywhere I go.  I wear hats, boas, tiaras, anything that sparkles, outfits that make me look like a hobo or a queen.  I don't save my best outfit for office parties, I've worn sequins to a PTA meeting.

I've raised my son the way I was influenced by this phenomenal city:  Judge a person on their merit, not their color or religion.  If you have an opinion, don't voice it unless you are educated on both sides of the argument and can back up your opinion with facts.

I never saw Jackson Square, Lee Circle, or any other "Confederate" monument as a white supremist dedication.  I've seen them as a gateway to learning about our history.  I know many things about them because as I drove by or sat near them, I've asked "Why" then studied and learned about where we've come from, how we've become greater because of the paths we've taken.

History is defined as the study of past events, particularly in human affairs.  If we erase history then our human affairs will be dictated by outspoken and slightly skewed opinions.

Opinions.  Not facts.

If we tear down every little thing that offends someone what will we have left?  Why are we so afraid to voice an opinion, stand tall for what is important?  Political correctness will be the downfall of our society. It won't be long before we are all in matching jumpsuits, eating paste, and generic.

I don't want to be generic.  I want to be unique, quirky; let the crazy aunt out of the attic and pour her a drink!

I'm proud of our countries triumphs as well as her mistakes.  Without mistakes, without history, how can we ever be a better society?  We cannot run or disguise our past, we must embrace it, learn from it, or fix it.  Not destroy it, hide it, or forget it.

I am damn proud of who I am.  I am not black or white, I am New Orleans.

Struggles Only The Curly-Haired Understand

I have long red curly hair.  It's a natural curl which means it's a disaster.  I wear it long because the weight keeps the curls heavy enough to not float up and away like I've been struck by lightning.

That's me.  I often get complimented on my hair, "Oh I love your hair! It's all natural? Wow!"  It makes me cringe because people just don't get it.

Washing my hair is a chore and I'd rather scrub the toilets, but then they both have to be done eventually.

It's a two hour process and I have to do a timed deep-condition every time I wash it.  Let's just say I wear a lot of hats...

You know that scene in Princess Diaries where the guy breaks the brush in her hair?  I've done that.  Too many times to count.

When I was young and dating, for some reason guys always wanted to put their fingers in my hair.  That's like a rubbing a cat the wrong way.  Two hours of careful washing and controlling and now I look like Troy Palomalu which means I'll have to start all over.

I have trouble rolling over in bed because I lay on it, or my husband lays on it, or the cat is hung up in it...

Every sharp edge or hook is a torture tactic because my hair gets caught like barbed wire and usually stays attached to said object while I'm left rubbing my sore head.

The vacuumed is clogged with it.

Yardwork requires a pet monkey to pick leaves and sticks out of it when I'm done.  The year-round tinsel in the trees?  My hair.

It's wiry and coarse.  Forget ever having bangs.  You can straighten them, but as soon as humidity hits them, they bounce in weird directions.  This is a wig, it gives unrealistic expectations to people with curly hair, because this may be a new trendy look, but it's not for those of us who actually have curly hair.

It's. Not. Real.

Pushing sunglasses on top of your head? Nope.  Those nose pieces aren't coming out.  I've stood in public struggling to get the now dangling glasses out of my hair while people look on in confusion.

It's everywhere too.  I lose a hair and it ends up in the weirdest places.  Inside my husbands socks (which he hates), meals, when I was in college a guy in a class said he found one of my hairs in his checkbook.  Seems suspicious to some, but we did use the same laundry room...

Anyone remember Captain Caveman?

This is reality.  The things he pulled from his hair?  For me it's lost earrings, bobby pins, food, sunglasses nose pieces, there's probably a lost pet in there somewhere, and quite frankly, I can never find the phone....

On a windy day, it'll catch my hair like a sail and nearly pull me off my feet.

This year I tried to color my grey.  I dyed my hair six times with zero result.  Hair same color, grey still there.  It's like trying to dye steel wool.

Yes, thank you for the compliment, but no, you don't really wish you had my hair!

Bear Brown Boy Detective

Inspired by my son, Bear, and our cat, Butler, I've started my children's series.  It's based on some of their real-life antics.

My husband always tells me that I can do it and as a writer, there is always the fear of rejection.  Will it be good enough?  Will be people cringe behind my back?  What would my family think?

Well, I got out of that pajama cave of indecision and put it out there for all to see.

First in the new series is The Dilly Dally Bank Burglars, now available on Kindle and soon to be released on Nook.

I'm hoping for a long running series that inspires humor, fun, and a throwback to a Norman Rockwell era of life when kids could just be kids.  They are short stories so an easy read and perhaps a good bedtime story to invoke happy dreams.

I hope the world enjoys them, I know my son does.  It's also a living tribute to our beloved cat that passed a few years ago, but was the ever faithful sidekick to my son.

Coming soon, the second in the series:  Ms. Peach's Parrot.

My Kryptonite Is Poison Ivy

After twenty-seven years of military traveling and fourteen moves...I finally got my dream home in the country.  Sort of.

Rarely do dreams homes come without work.  Painting, gardening, and especially unpacking.  Mine also came with a mailbox held up by rocks with many-legged inhabitants.

Six hours of digging in the rocky ground full of the remains of the last ice age's boulders and we completed that project.

Two days later I have poison ivy popping up everywhere.  My ankles, the back of my knees, my neck, my arms, and now it's in my hair.  MY HAIR.  I can't control how I sleep or what I touch while unconscious...

Trying to prevent the spread, I have so many band-aids on, I look like I survived a wood chipper.

So there I am at the doc's begging for help.  She says, "How'd you get it in your hair?"

"Oh you know, I made a crown of it so the wee folk would recognize me as their queen....I DON'T KNOW, JUST FIX IT!"

Apparently there's little else to do, but treat topically, stop scratching (yeah right) and take a steroid.  So I'm washing my hair with stuff for the rash, no hair products and I can't put my contacts in because my hands may be contaminated.  

My husband has one little spot that got in a cut.  You'd think he was dying.  Boo.  Hoo.

It's bad enough I look like Merida (from Brave) anyway, but no gel or mousse?  Looks like we're eating whatever's in the house until I can go out again when this clears up or my haz-mat suit arrives.

Let's see, we've got some celery, vegetable crackers, some jello, and a dusty can of clam chowder....

ADD Became ADHD Became...Did You Say Fleas?

A few years ago I met the husband of a friend for the first time and he asked if I had ADD.

Pffsht, no.  Just...you know... a lot of caffeine intake, makes me a Chatty Cathy!  I mean wine does too, which is why I don't drink much, because I'll tell everyone's secret if I'm drinking.

Back in the day it was just called ADD, but I guess too many people started doing math and they threw in an "H".

I have a high IQ, that's not bragging, just something I guess I was born with.  They say talking to yourself is a sign of genius, so I thought my random world-problem solving in my head and nonsensical verbage was normal.

The tangents I can take because I have so much going on in my head is astounding.  My son will snap his fingers in my face to get my attention and my husband often tells me to "focus".  They both try to finish my sentences because if I want to tell you something, it can take a while.

So whether it's ADD or as we now call it ADHD, it's the same thing to me and no I don't have it.  Or do I?

Driving my son to drop him off at college was five hours of fun.  The first hour was quiet while he brooded in the passenger seat and I made idle chit-chat.  Then we pass a sign for a town and I ask aloud, "What is that town known for?  Why have I heard of it?"

I should backtrack and say we just moved to Connecticut two months ago and I'm from the South.  Therefore I have zero clue about the area.

My son was trying to say he had no idea, but I was still talking out loud."It's not famous for historical figures, I don't think.  I didn't house hunt this far west.  No sports teams.  Maybe it's where that giant flea market is.  Or that dog breeder?  (laughing) Did you say fleas?"

I looked over at my son.  "Fleas, that's funny.  Like a flea circus?"

He had the oddest look on his face and said, "I didn't say anything.  That's all you.  You've been talking to yourself for the past ten minutes."

Now I'm laughing harder because I realize I heard myself say "flea market" and just inserted him into the conversation.

He still looks irritated and asked if there was a smaller, tiny version of me sitting on the other shoulder talking in my ear.

Laughing harder.

Deadpan, "You know you're crazy, right?"

I almost had to pull the car over because I could barely see through the tears, my tummy hurt, and I couldn't breathe I was laughing so hard.

When I got myself under control and things returned to normal conversation, there was a lull and I started laughing again.  My son looked out the side window and asked stoically, "She's talking to you again isn't she?"

When I managed to catch my breath after the next bout of laughter, I just mused, "Maybe I do have ADD."

On this long drive, I was driving my son's car, my husband was following behind us.  I guess I was driving erratically because he called and asked if we were ok and the laughter started all over again.

Sidenote for PC people:  For those suffering or know someone who has ADHD, this is meant to poke fun at myself, not disparage anyone.

The Internet Is Permanent Ink

I always warn my son that whatever he posts on the internet is out there forever.  FOREVER.  Once it's sent, you've lost all control and all rights to your privacy.

This sort of happened to me today.  A photo I posted on my blog years ago just reared it's head:

My sister-in-law texted me with the new meme (see below) of me saying how much it looked like me.  

But it was me.

My husband, always knowing me to be "a witch" found it flattering, but I'm floored.  23,000+ shares on a Facebook page called The Old Crones Corner with more than 67,000 followers.  What stunned me was everyone on that page asking permission to share the meme.  

Permission happily granted.  Nobody asked my permission if it was ok to splash me all over the internet.  They changed the background, too.  

It actually looks better...

I have to say this is one of my favorite photos, the look on my face is not wicked intent, but love shining towards my son who was cracking me up during the photo shoot.

It was an important lesson that struck home.  Literally.  The internet is permanent ink.

Well, the moon is indeed full and at least I'm not naked or in an embarrassing manner.  Everyone got a kick out of it and I'm just curious where it came from...

Blessed be.

Update:  I spoke with "the old crone" who was a wonderful person and we chatted all morning, of course I told her not to take the photo down and she found me by random chance in a Google search for "witch".  

There you have it, blasted with calls and texts from around the country, I'm now a pretty famous one.

The New Rules Of Sharing

My 17 year old had a friend come over and I heard loud voices, then the friend left.  Curiosity led me to his room so I asked, "What was that all about?"

"DJ wanted to borrow the pool key."

We live in a neighborhood that has a community pool.  It's not very big, always overcrowded and I think in six years I sat out there once, never putting foot in the water.  It's got a fence with a locked gate and only homeowners have a key.  A key.  One per house and they change the lock annually.

So I pause then say, "If you don't get the key back, there won't be another one."  I could care less, but my son goes down with his friends occasionally...

My son likes to share.  Although I should commend his generosity, it bothers me.  When he was old enough to hold something in his own hands, if another kid wanted it, whatever it may be, he'd give it up.  Happily.  A gentle soul that was often taken advantage of and other parents of bullies knew it, encouraging their kid to go get whatever he had.

Where I've been touted for raising such a gentleman, I cringed inside believing he'd never stand up for himself, but let me go somewhere else first....

What right does any child have to ask for something that belongs to my son?  What right does another mother have to expect my child to hand over something that doesn't belong to her child?  "Oh just let him see it for a minute."  Why, because your kid is throwing a tantrum?

No.  Go buy your kid their own!  So I've lost a few friends over the years because of this, but I don't agree with this new generation of entitlement.

Gimme.  I have never seen such spoiled brats demanding more and more without earning it.  You shouldn't get a pay raise just because you showed up for work.  The squeaky wheel sometimes needs to squeak because it's not working properly and it should stay a reminder of that fact.

My son has a lot.  Every video game system, every game he's ever asked for, a big screen TV, he has the big recreation room over the garage as his bedroom with a leather sofa, papasan chairs, marble topped tables, book shelves and his bedroom set. His own bachelor pad.  BUT, he's never received anything without earning it first.  If he gets straight A's, he's earned that all on his own (no, I don't do his homework) and I reward his hard work with whatever he asks for, within reason.  The honor roll gets him a video game.  One per report card.

This year he's had straight A's the entire year as a Junior in high school, with honors classes, and I told him if he stays on it until summer, I'd buy him the one thing that eludes him:  the WiiU.  One B and he has to wait until Christmas.  I think that's fair.  He works extremely hard and he earns his things.

He has a friend that gets stuff just because my son does, he's a C-D student.  Another friend, is failing school, smokes marijuana and gets everything because his parents are divorced and they feel bad.

I have three rules in my house, I've repeated them like a mantra over the years:

1.  Never lie to me.  Always tell me the truth and you'll never get in trouble.  I may need to take a breath and walk away, but it keeps him honest.
2.  Ask me anything, no matter how awkward and I'll always answer honestly.  If I don't have the answer, I'll find it an get back to you as soon as possible.  And I do.
3.  Your only job is the make good grades and go to college, a real one.  I don't care if you're a hobo after you graduate, you'll have that degree when you're ready.

Rules 1 & 2 have kept an open line of communication and trust.  That I'm proud of every time he uses them.

Rule 3 leads back to my point.  He works hard, he gets rewarded.  I don't just hand him something because he wants it.  That's not how the real world works.

When I was a kid if I messed up, I got spanked.  I also got grounded and told "NO!"  I'm sick and tired of the not-my-kid parents and their weird system of if their kid wants it, then go take it, and it's ok!

Because it's not.

I started with, "You might not want that, my son has some virus they haven't identified yet."  Which worked wonders with the germaphobic era of kids being allergic to everything.

Then I eventually turned into, "Nope. Get your own," after things either came back broken and I had to buy a new one because the other parent claimed it came that way or it never came back at all with parents denying their kids ever had it.

You didn't like discipline so you thought spoiling your child irrevocably then defending their poor decisions and bad behavior would be a better way to go?

I surround myself with like-minded parents and avoid it all together, because sharing is not caring, sharing is a pain in the ass saying that parents of spoiled children created to justify their actions.

In the end, that kid brought the pool key right back.  That was what the arguing was all about.  My Bear cub has turned into a Grizzly and I couldn't be more proud!

A Real-Life School Year Mom

I was reading a viral blog about a failed school year mom.  How she sort of gives up towards the end of the year with her kids.  Judging by the complaints she voiced, her kids are still young.

My son is a Junior in high school and I can tell you that it wears off sooner as the years pass by.

New school clothes and supplies, by January things are covered in duct tape (that stuff comes in colors now) and I'm making false promises to buy new ones just as soon as I go shopping.

This is followed  by daily lists for my husband to "grab" something on his way home and let me tell you....I can drag it out for six weeks without leaving the house!

By February there's a whole lot of whining, "But I don't wanna go!  That's stupid!  Can't you just write me a note?"

To which my son always replies, "No mom, I don't write like you."

March I'm usually facedown in the carpet immobile.

I stopped making dinners a long time ago, "Just crack open a Lunchable."  Lunches consist of a pre-packaged brownie I scrounged from the back of the Lazy Susan, just wipe off the dust.  And breakfast?  What's that?

Last night I offered Pringles for dinner, to which he replied, "Tempting..." until I found some leftover taco neat in the freezer.  2 1/2 minutes later I was back to being a rug.

Posting real pictures of my epic fails?  Won't happen because I can't lift a camera, my phone, or a crayon to draw a pic, that's how truly exhausted I am.

A stain on your jacket?  Turn it inside out for Heaven's sake!  You couldn't tell me before 10:00pm?!?

"What do you mean you lost your toothbrush around Christmas?  I'm pretty sure you didn't tell me that.  No, I'm pretty sure I would have remembered (maybe not).  Well, chew some gum and I'll get you one next time I go shopping."

I stopped checking for homework months ago.  I have no idea what's in the backpack that now looks like it's been recovered by FEMA.  "School's almost out, do you really need a new one?"

When I get the late night visit with a paper in hand, "Mom?" I die a little inside because I know it's going to require more than a passive answer.  I actually have to read something and for the love of God is he holding a pen, too?

Damn, it needs a signature which means I really have to read it, not just pretend, pick out key words to regurgitate and get it over with.  I struggle not to sigh audibly.

School ends mid June here and there's so much time left.  I was notified there will be another play and choir performance.  Both mean practices.  That means I have to find something I own that doeasn't make me look like a homeless person, actually wash my hair that's been dreadlocked into a bun for months, and leave the house!

Damn it all!

Why are they still doing projects?  Things that require me to go buy stuff and help.  Why can't kids just color the last month like they used to?    What happened to fun days outside, ice cream parties, and teachers giving up by May?  Nobody should be that devoted for so little money!

My husband leaves the parenting to me.  Probably because he sees the bags under my eyes and the harried look on my face.  I give periodic reports and he's satisfied.  Maybe it's just the smell of the clothes I've been in for three days straight, too tired to shower.

I love summers.  My kid stays up all night playing video games online, sleeps all day and I have a somewhat normal schedule.  I leave pizzas on the stove, like feeding wildlife.  I get a lot of quiet time to recouperate after a long hard year.

There are parents I know that are still going strong with a house full.  These are the parents doing the Pinterest success pins and making the rest of the world feel inferior when they can't do those projects with the same results.  By the way, I secretly hate you through my fake smile.

Sidenote:  I hate you is what I said through clenched teeth at parent night, to which you replied cheerfully, "Awww, thanks!"

And we're supposed to give a gift to the teacher?  The same one who's homework assignment had me at Walmart buying a new printer cartridge at midnight?  Pffft.

Yeah, I know I gave up months ago, but I still have to pretend to be a part of it all and that's pretty hard work in itself!