My Education qualified me to do WHAT???
Thirteen years of school, Kindergarten through 12th grade.
Four years of college to attain Bachelor of Arts degree.
Twelve months of double graduate credits to earn Masters degree in one year.
So how on earth did I become a maid/short order cook/full time babysitter extraordinaire?
Don’t get me wrong. I love being at home with my girls and I love having kids. It’s just that there are some days when I feel like my time would be better spent banging my head against a wall.
Take today for example. This morning, during a rare moment where the girls were actually getting along, I was able to clean the kitchen and mop the floor. Thirty minutes later, Lil C came into the kitchen, opened the pantry closet, dumped a box of pop-tarts onto the floor, stepped on the one open foil pack smooshing it into the floor, before deciding that she’d rather have a cracker anyway. At least 40% of said cracker then ended up on the floor in about 4000 little crumbs. I got out the broom again.
Dry crumbs are no big deal, but after we returned from the grocery store today she insisted on having "razz-da’s" (raspberries) as a snack. She sat in her chair, eating her raspberries contentedly, right up until she decided it would be much more fun to chew one partially up and them whip it onto the floor. Since that poor little raspberry was all alone, it was only right that the bowl of raspberries followed the lone chewed up one onto the floor, spraying raspberry juice across my only temporarily clean kitchen floor in an instant.
Since "razzda’s" and "cwackers" are the nouveau thing to eat for dinner, Lil C then had an all out 35 minute long tantrum because I wanted her to sit in her chair and eat her chicken pot pie at dinner time. T H I R T Y – F I V E mind-blowingly-long headache-inducing minutes of nothing but screaming and streams of tears and snot. It was fabulous. Did I mention that I was trying to eat during this little incident?
The good thing is that Big I found the whole ordeal quite amusing, so at least one kid was content. I think that Lil C’s schedule is just all messed up right now. For the past three weeks, Big I has been having play/musical rehearsal every Monday through Thursday nights from at least 6-9 p.m., sometimes 5-9:30 p.m. This past week, she also had performances on Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday. We’ve all been busy, exhausted and lacking our usual schedules.
This week is officially all about getting Lil C back on a schedule. Then again, on Friday I will start my three day karate training camp, so if all the kinks aren’t worked out yet. . . oh well. Mr. BBM won’t mind one bit, I’m sure, especially since tonight he is away on business and I have a hot date planned for myself with a Season 2 DVD of 24 and some yummy snacks. . .
And now Lil C is awake and screaming, after being asleep for only an hour. . .
So much for that.
Point my head to the nearest wall please.
Sorry I said “Sorry”
There’s a new rule at the dojo during my one instructor’s classes, and I’m not liking it one bit. The rule is this: If I say the word "sorry" I have to drop and do five push-ups. Five. Big deal, right? Well, with my genetic programming, I ended up doing at least 25 push-ups tonight.
I screw up and my instructor catches me. I say "sorry." Five push-ups. I hit him harder than I should. I say "sorry." Five push-ups. For me, saying "sorry" is as automatic as brushing my teeth in the morning or saying "thank you" when someone holds the door open for me. It’s going to be a hard habit to break.
My instructor says the "sorry" has to go before black belt testing. He also says I need to stop making faces when I screw up and sound effects to accompany those screw-ups. I swear it’s harder than working on kata and bunkai; and unfortunately he is exactly right about each of these little BBMisms. I’m afraid that this is what I’m going to look like by the time black belt testing rolls around if I don’t stop saying "sorry."
I was thinking tonight, that maybe I should just try to program myself to say something else. He said the word "sorry" is push-up inducing. He said nothing about the following phrases or words, "I apologize" or "my deepest apologies" or "regrettable" or "remorseful" or "repentant" or "penitent."
So the next time I screw up, if I feel a "sorry" coming on I’ll just say "regrettable" and see what happens. Of course, something tells me that the push-up tally will only increase if I try that. Then again, I’ve been meaning to work on my upper body strength so I’m going to just roll with it. . . right up until I wake up tomorrow, sore as hell, cursing myself for being so damn apologetic.
In other news, I found this interesting website where you can plug in your site and it gives you a rating, like a movie rating. Mine is as follows:
Want to know what that rating is based on? I kid you not. I get this rating because of the presence of the word "pooped." No wonder Karl is rated NC-17.
In the interest of starting off on the right non-apologizing foot, you won’t see me apologizing for my use of the word "pooped" or my PG rating.
Sorry if that offends you.
(Sigh)
I have a long way to go. . .
The Bubble Lady and the Shhher
At my local mall, there is a woman who works in a department store shoe department. She has worked there for decades now, and that’s not the only thing that has stayed the same. When I was a little girl, my Mom would take my sister and me to the department store; and while my Mom tried on shoes, the bubble lady blew bubbles from a bottle and wand that she wore around her neck. I adored that lady. There’s just something exciting about blowing bubbles in a department store when you’re a kid.
Today, Lil C and I were roaming the mall while waiting for Big I’s reading class to finish up. Because Lil C has long abandoned her love for the stroller, I brought along her little push car and it was working perfectly right up until it wasn’t. Lil C was standing there in the mall, walking the opposite direction almost constantly, and I was trying to get her back in her car. She wasn’t behaving badly, just being a typical one year old, wanting to assert some control over her shopping decisions.
And that’s when, out of nowhere, the bubble lady appeared. "Here," she said, "I’ll blow bubbles over the car and I bet she’ll sit for you." There, in the middle of the mall, the bubble lady worked her magic, blowing bubbles for Lil C until she was mesmerized. After a minute of bubble-induced happiness, Lil C was more than willing to get back in her car. I was elated; but the bubble lady didn’t stop there. To encourage Lil C to continue sitting in her chair, she got out a sheet of frog stickers and handed those over. We began putting the frog stickers on her car and she was thrilled.
"You know," I said to the bubble lady, "you used to blow bubbles for me when I was a kid." She laughed and said, "Really?" and I continued to tell her how much I had loved her as a kid and how much more I love her now as a parent. I truly believe there is a special place in heaven for the bubble lady, because anyone who helps a woman entertain her child and get more shoes in the process is truly a very special person.
Contrast this with the very rude shher in my daughter’s reading class only an hour later. I was feeling happy with the world after my encounter with the bubble lady. Lil C and I left the mall and went to pick up Big I. Parents are supposed to attend the last 10-15 minutes of class to hear what the homework is for the following week and get tips from the teacher. I arrived about five minutes before I needed to be there, because I wanted to make sure I was on time. I stood outside the closed door with Lil C and was going to wait until it was the exact time. The reading teacher smiled, and waved us both in.
Lil C and I went in and took a seat in the back of the classroom. Lil C is a talker. She was sitting on my lap and running through her inventory of favorite things: "Mommy, Dada, Big I (o.k. she doesn’t really call her Big I but I’m not telling her real name)". I quietly told her to whisper and then occupied her with looking at the pictures and credit cards in my wallet. She preferred the credit cards.
While this was going on, the kids were playing a game to end class. They were divided into two teams. The room wasn’t exactly quiet to begin with. And then, out of nowhere, came this loud "SHHHHHH." And again, "SHHHHHH," and on this second Shh, I whipped my head around to see one of the father’s Shhing me and my daughter from across the room. Being the involved parent that he is, he sits in the back of the classroom each week, apart from his daughter, busy with his own reading. At least when I was able to participate (when I had a sitter for Lil C) I was involved in her learning.
If you’ve been reading here for a while you know that I am not the type to be Shhhed. And don’t even think about SHHing my children. Seriously not cool. So, when I whipped my head around, I couldn’t help myself. I gave him a look that could easily put him 6 feet under and mouthed the exaggerated words "I. AM. TRYING. SHUT. YOUR. MOUTH."
I don’t think he was expecting that response from me. I think he thought I would rush Lil C out of the classroom, because God forbid Lil C or I interrupt the group game (which we weren’t doing anyway). I continued to look at him like I wanted to rip his head off, and he sheepishly looked down and away.
After class I stood around and waited to see if he would say something to me. I wanted him to, because I really wanted to tell him that he needs to mind his own business, and that if he ever thinks about Shhing me or my child again, he should strongly reconsider since I may need to then shush him. He instead looked intimidated and steered very clear of me.
I didn’t do anything wrong. I never would have even walked in that classroom with Lil C had the teacher not told me to do so. AND, it wasn’t like she was screaming in the background or even being loud for that matter. She was just talking occasionally in her normal voice. The Shhing was completely unwarranted.
Afterward I thought about the contrast between these two people. One sees a young child and decides to make her day (and therefore her mother’s); the other sees a young child and decides to reprimand for no reason and try (notice I said "try") to make the mother feel about two inches tall. It made me think about many different aspects of my life, and how the good and the bad are just inherent in life. I guess to really appreciate the good people in your life, you have to encounter some not so great people. Likewise, the unfortunate or bad things that happen in life, make the good moments and experiences that much sweeter.
Happy Monday (for a change)
Generally, I’m not a fan of Monday’s. Despite the obvious reasons: not the weekend anymore and very far from the next weekend, Monday’s always seem to pose additional challenges in the BBM household. The girls are usually super challenging on Monday’s (or maybe it just feels that way since I slack off over the weekend and let Mr. BBM deal with stuff, only to take back my full role each Monday morning). For whatever reason, Monday’s are usually just plain not cool.
But when your Monday starts out with a comment on your blog saying that you are the Crazy Hip Blog Mama’s, "Mom of the Week," things are obviously looking pretty up!
I’m thinking that my music video had something to do with this. I may have to come out of retirement after all.
Floating, Oozing, and Encores
When I went to karate last week, I had to climb in my moon roof because my head wouldn’t fit through the door or even in the car for that matter. Driving with your head sticking out of the moon roof is not easy. Despite all the odd looks I got and the few bugs who met an unfortunate fate, driving in such a fashion was not all that bad (Bugs are protein right?). I’ll deal with the bugs, because compliments like the ones I got certainly don’t come every day. When you guys like something, you know how to compliment the hell out of a girl, so thank you all!
After watching all the comments and emails rolling in from across the blogosphere in response to my debut music video, I came to two possible conclusions: either the mirrors in my house are straight out of a fun house, or my readers need to seriously consider seeing an eye doctor. I’m going with the latter.
Mr. BBM is so thrilled with the response from the video that he’s been scratching his head trying to think of an encore. I had imagined this would be a one-time thing but Mr. BBM says that it was entirely too much fun to only do once. After such a fabulous response to the debut, I don’t think I’d ever be able to top it, so he’s going to have to do some major convincing for me to get out the echo microphone and heels and come out of retirement. I think I’m more of a one-hit wonder.
In other news, mosquito’s are not the least bit threatened by a bo. I’ve been taking advantage of the nice weather to work on my bo kata’s and bunkai outside. I figure I better get all of the bo kata’s and their applications nailed down now since winters where I live are not exactly bo friendly.
Before I went outside, I sprayed a decent amount of natural bug repellent on my arms and legs. It spelled worse than the DEET stuff, a harsh concoction of lemon and eucalyptus. I think the spray is more of a human repellent than anything else though. I know I wouldn’t want to stand near me smelling like that! The mosquito’s, on the other hand, must be really into citrus fruits. My legs are currently a spotted mess of itch and ooze.
The good news is that despite the attack of the mosquito’s, days later I am able to walk a stranger through the bunkai. It is definitely starting to stick in that slippery brain of mine. The bo kata’s are starting to make a lot more sense to me, which is a big relief. If only bunkai came as easily as lip syncing. . .
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