I can think of a few readers of this blog who will wholeheartedly appreciate and relate to what I am about to say and other readers who will probably think I am the worse mother of special needs children in the world. To the latter group one word.
It all started with an invitation to the birthday party of Mama Maria's granddaughter, Little Mia. I met Little Mia two years ago when she spent the summer with grandma Maria and found her to be a darling, polite, well-mannered little girl. Unlike my brood.
I had never met her parents, though. Until yesterday. Dear God. The poor things.
Little Mia's parents recently moved the family to Florida and decided to throw a birthday party for her complete with amazing cookout (ribs and burgers oh my!) and yummy cake with sprinkles.
Earlier in the week I had purchased an impressive assortment of flavored lip glosses in little carrying cases for Little Mia....Nerd flavor....Ring Pop Flavor....and safely secured them on a high shelf. Safely secured that is until The Boy climbed up on something, removed the carrying cases, opened ALL of the lip glosses and yes, I don't even have to ask, slurped and slobbered all over every flavor. He is not
I. Could. Have. Wrung. His. Neck.
And since this was not an isolated incident and since he made The Baby cry twice this weekend with his bad attitude and made The Teenager cry with his relentless teasing this weekend and was almost road kill when he pulled out in front of a school bus on his scooter from the high sloped neighboring drive way he has been told to stay off of...oh....I don't know....about 128 times in the past 3 months.....and since the smarty, smarty informs me I will forget I'm mad in the morning because I always forget I'm mad in the morning and further reminded me, "you can't spank me because I have a fragile butt," I felt it was time to inflict some pain.
Physical butt warming pain would have been truly satisfying but psychic pain would have to suffice.
"You are grounded for the weekend and you will not be going to the party."
After my proclamation The Boy's pain level was about a 1.
When i came to my senses and realized my lesson regarding suffering consequences for wrongdoing was gong to cost me $10.00 and hour for a sitter my pain level was about a 5.
Curly T volunteered for the
While there we also saw the two and only two movies that The Teenager wanted to spend her Christmas gift cards on. They were on sale so we grabbed them both and tossed them into the cart. Fortunately, the nice young checkout boy sputtered something about Blue-ray.
Try explaining to The Teenager that we don't have Blue-ray and that these wonderful bargains we found need to be taken back immediately. In hindsight it may have been easier to go out and invest in a Blue-ray home theater system than it was to explain and re-explain to The Teenager that we had to return the DVD's .
I found her hiding behind a post in Target crying and giving me the malocchio and she's not even Italian.
I was seriously doomed.
After I managed to drag her out of the store kicking and sobbing we rushed home to wrap Little Mia's present. WT? The Disney pj's I picked up to go with her Disney dolls were two sizes too small. Obviously when a "6" looks like an "8" to you with your glasses on it is time to get new glasses.
Could it get any worse? And why do I keep asking myself that insane question? Of course it can get worse. It generally does when you're on the expert slope and your skis fell off a mile or so back.
We make it to the party where shortly thereafter The Teenager has a sudden choking spell and while choking rushes the party table and heaves and gags perilously close to the cake with sprinkles
Help me! Somebody Help me!
I truly thought she was going to blow chunks all over everything and everyone so Brasilia and I grabbed her and attempted to shuffle her off to the bathroom where she could blow up and out.
She would not budge. It was like trying to move a rock. A big one.
Mercifully, the retching stopped having spotted the cake and ice cream so she plunks herself down at the head of the table.
"Is she ok?" asks Little Mia's mother who is cutting the cake.
Yes...she's fine. I'm puzzled. I'm standing behind the Teenager and I can't see her face. Why would she ask that? After all, it had been nearly one minute since the gagging drama.
"Because she's crying," Little Mia's mother states.
I walk around in front of The Teenager to get a better look. Sure enough, big tears are streaming down the cheeks. I'm even more nervous now because when this girl decides to wail she can wake the dead.
"What is wrong?" I fake sweetness through clenched teeth. I may have cracked a molar.
"I. sniff MISS. sob MY. snort BROTHER!"
Are you frickin' kidding me? Am I really hearing this with my own ears?
You mean the Brother you "H-A-T-E?"
The Brother you think should get his own apartment? At the age of 11?
The brother you wanted to trade in for a new baby yesterday?
The brother who eats lip gloss but does this to perfectly good potatoes?
The Jingle Bells all girls smell brother?
Somebody please give me some of this...
Can I purchase it at Wal-Mart?
Or at the very least would someone introduce me to this woman? She looks like she could be a lot of fun...
I'd be more than happy to wheel her around and be her BFF as long as I could legally inhale her second hand smoke.
Perhaps I should hire a nice nanny? I wonder if this guy would be interested?
He looks like he would be good with kids.