Thanks have been given. And now the following Public Service Announcements for All Things Retail Related

"Thank You..." words I very often use in my professional environment and shamefully, so often forget to use in my personal life. Here are some of the "Thank Yous" that don't get said often enough:

Thank you, mom and dad for saying, "Sure. Whatever you need..." so very long ago when we asked you for some space. I never dreamed we'd still be living  here, and I'm sure you didn't either. Thanks for never reminding us about the words we make ourselves eat every year that goes by: "just until we get on our feet."
Thanks for your presence in the boys' lives and the every day gift of having Nana and Grampa right up stairs.
It's not perfect, but our family is unique and has given two little boys twice the love and attention that others get since the day they drew breath. In our society, so full of single parents who struggle to give enough, that's one growing pain my kids will never ache from... and I am forever grateful.

It's hard to say that stuff. It's hard to live in your mom's basement with your family at the age of 34... (feel free to gasp. I just did upon reading that in print.) It's hard to feel like a grown up when you are an adult living with your parents. It's hard to know who you can tell that stuff to... hard to swallow your feelings of inadequacy and failure when people you haven't seen since High School note your address (which is still the same) and ask when your parents' passed away. It's hard, at the age of 34 to have to choke down the same meatloaf that made you gag when you were 7.

But it's harder to be worried all the time because there's not enough money. It's harder to be constantly unavailable to your kids because you can't think about anything but the bills you can't pay. The gift of being able to give to my kids all those worry-free moments in my day is invaluable. I should say my "Thank yous" more often.

Other "Thank Yous" that bear a note here are to the people who caught me when I got the wind knocked out of me a few years ago. The ones who shored me up when all I knew about my life was washed out from under me by a 22 year old tsunami who wanted another notch in her belt. Thank you to all the same people who trust my choices and understand that only The Dad and I know what could be rebuilt and how firm the foundation is. I am grateful for this and all the experiences that illuminated what I was too scared to explore of my own free will - I can take a hit and still be who I want to be. No matter what other people's choices set into motion, I can choose my actions, my words, my dignity. I write my history the way I want to look back at it. I can be vulnerable and pathetic sometimes and know with certainty that those times are not the ones that define me. I can manage the mess that I make of my life and help my kids to come through it too. My life as a teenager and as a younger woman used to be comprised of "I can't," or "I could never," and now I know I can... whenever I'm ready. There is deep gratitude in my heart for all that the last ten years has brought me.

With all of that said, I now I have to turn my attention to the retail world, because I DID venture out on Black Friday and was saved from incarceration ONLY because I was wearing my flops and my feet weren't hot. Hot feet make me cranky. Everything else in the universe was aligned in such a way as to prevent an enjoyable retail experience. I started my period, so consequently woke up feeling like manslaughter could possibly be part of the day's agenda. If I was to measure the day by the first words I spoke, it would've been clear after roaring "Get OFF me!" at the children at 7 a.m. that the day was going to suck donkey balls. Look out Wal-Mart... The Sassmaster cometh. At 11:02 a.m. I had a Nintendo DS Lite in hand and I should have gone back home. I'll leave you with the following as we hurl ourselves into the Vortex of Excess and all the caloric and financial debauchery associated with the Holiday Season...

Please take note of the following PSA's for the Holiday Season 2010

• Target stores, please devise a system for tagging and identifying the employees who "Don't Usually Work in This Department." If their only job is to stand around in a Santa hat and ooze out of their signature red "Target" shirt while re-folding sweaters, let us know... It will save us the aggravation of the post-question blank stare and could save the life of the ass hat you bumped out of the stock room who doesn't know what "sherpa-lined" means.
• Don't try to do any amount of Christmas shopping with the children around... hiding presents from their view looks an awful lot like shoplifting. Side bar - have you noticed how many Mall Security folks are short and surly???
• Piling that shit on your credit card and paying 18 - 28 % interest for however long it takes you to pay it off cancels out whatever money you saved on it. Think about that next year before you peel yourself out of bed at 4 in the morning to freeze your ass off waiting in line at Toys-R-Us.
• Gifting any of the following items to my children will mean a swift and painful ass-kicking: Candy Land, umbrellas, Moon Sand, and anything that eats or shits.
• Teacher gifts... please listen carefully. Your child's teacher does not need or want pot pouri, bath products, lotion, or candles. Chocolate, margarita mix, or a handful Vicodin in a decorative tin are all acceptable if you insist on spending your money. But seriously? Don't spend your money. Grab a pen and a folded piece of paper - remember those?? Write a note that thanks him/her for giving his/her time and energy to your child. Say thank you for something that you know has had an impact on your child. And end it with your sincere wishes that the holiday break is well enjoyed, and let 'em know that you know it's well-deserved.

Merry Humbug, poppets...

At Long Last! An Update... Head Start Stockholm's Syndrome

I am trying to forget that there's a health and safety check happening at school tomorrow and that there are a handful of loose ends in the children's files that I left until the absolute last moment, which could result in major disaster should my files be checked on Friday during the return of the federal reviewers...
I am also trying to forget about the two buckets filled with Halloween candy on the shelf directly behind me.
Do you think it's possible to smell a Butterfinger through the wrapper 5 feet away?

I will now attempt to write to forget,  in order not to eat to forget. I have totally neglected this endeavor for way too long and have even gotten requests for updates - Thank you!! Granted, it was my best friend and a family member but it's nice to know someone wants to hear more of my bullshit. I honestly thought when I started this blog that my preschoolers would be a plethora of blog-fodder but, I'm beginning to think I'll have to comb the cob-webby corners of my memory for tales of preschoolers-past in order to keep you entertained.

Stay tuned for A Preschool Story: The Tales of SassMaster Scrooge! Fortunately The Viking has entered full-fledged toddler-dom and has begun his attempt at world domination via tantruming and pinching. There will also be an installment of Viking Misadventures the very minute I'm done with the college course I picked up this semester. That's another blog post in and of itself that's begging to be written - the course is called Students with Special Needs but I now refer to it as "Teachers With Special Needs." I am still astoinshed each and every Tuesday evening to be sitting in a college classroom with 20+ grown ups (who ALL work in the field already) and hearing "I don't get it" more than three times each class.

Pre-blog, I envisioned the same old, same old -  12 rowdy Snotbots who would find their own unique ways to make me wish a meteor would blaze through the atmosphere and directly through our classroom ceiling each and every day, but... guess what... They're all FABULOUS... Even this year's Queen Bee is redeemed, and succeeds in tickling my funny bone rather than tap dancing on my last nerve for once. Sure, she tries the patented Disney Princess, doe-eyed smile as her first line of defense upon hearing that someone else (me) in the room has an agenda, and sure... she then ignores (albeit unsuccessfully) all requests that technique fails to deflect... But she also has no inhibitions when it comes to making silly faces and weird Tourrette's-like vocalizations as she plays. She will "BEE-DOO, BEE-DOO, BEE-DOO" at the top of her lungs in the echo-y bathroom stall and then walk out casually smiling as she continues past me and my clearly amused face. Often, she can also be heard making a strange, gutteral "GAHK, GAHK, GAHK, GAHK" sound with her mouth wide open and her lips curled over her teeth. So, am I completely annoyed by a child who is willful, who blatantly and silently defies me in front of my face? (Anyone one who has worked with me probably needs a moment to stop laughing at that obviously rhetorical question... Take your time.) Yeah... but because she's a pain in the ass who flies her Freak Flag a little higher than all the rest, I am more amused than annoyed for now. I don't mind letting this one wear the crown - she and I have already established who wears the top hat at this Circus...

The truth is they are all interesting and well-behaved. They clean up their shit when I tell them to, they love to sing and be read to, they walk where they're supposed to, and 5 out of 11 of them remember to turn off the faucet with a fucking paper towel! I bet 5 out of 11 of the people who read this don't do that, for Christ sake. They are a really great group of kids and you wanna know what? I'm completely bored with them. Clearly I have some sort of Head Start Stockholm's Syndrome... Apparently I can't function and feel like I'm earning my crappy pay unless someone's tossing chairs around or falling to the ground like a boneless pile of screaming, writhing flesh every five minutes. I have been waiting for 10 years to have a classroom like this and I'm ready to open a vein. What's wrong with me? them? no... it's definitely me.

Last week two little girls ran up hand and hand, waving a book at me and smiling like something out of a JC Penney commercial,  "I can read this book to her?" the bigger one asked. They had one of my "home books" (this year I don't have to hoard them away on my Teacher Desk because everyone in my room loves and respects books) I said "Sure!" and had to stop mysef from adding, "But wouldn't you rather push her?"
It's only the 8th week of school and half of them are already negociating the solutions to their own problems. They only really need me to accompany them to the bathroom across the hall. Thank goodness a few of them still have laces on their sneakers that need tying now and again, or I might be tempted to just lock the door, leave out some juice and crackers and take a nap under the desk.

There's hope for something lively yet - room for a wild card... One of the kiddos will be leaving this week and as Forrest's mama always says, "Life is like a box of chocolates - you never know what you're gonna get." Who knows what or who is coming down the road, but for now, I'll try to be careful what I wish for and appreciate what I've got. And come Thursday I'm really going to miss Mr. "Please May I Can I Have..." Safe travels, N - May peace and plenty bless your world, with joy that long endures.

Page 77 from 1001 Ways to Kill Your Mother...

We live in a college town. In fact we live in an area that boasts at least a dozen or more colleges within a 60 mile radius. This means there is no shortage of too-tan, vapid idiots yammering "Oh. My. Gawd." at one another with words like "PINK" and "JUICY" written across their asses and a rat's nest of fried hair piled up on their empty heads. Most of the time I only have to encounter these girls from behind the wheel of my car and as I've posted on Facebook before, I try to impress upon them this note of public service - it's a crosswalk, ladies. Not a fucking force field. Sometimes I have vivid fantasies of watching Uggs and Coach bags fly to the left and right of my hood.

Today we headed out for breakfast and were deterred from lines out the door at all the places I prefer. We eventually ended up at a chain restaurant - the kind without a drive through window. I thought MAYBE the morning was salvaged upon learning that because it was that magical time of day, right before lunch but we could still order breakfast, everyone got what they wanted. The Tornado got a grilled cheese, I ordered an omlette and home fries, The Dad got an appetizer sampler and The Viking got toast. Not because he likes it but because he puked in the car on the way to the third restaurant. (Yes. Some people would've gone home. I, however, was on a mission for an omlette and that kid is one of the reasons that my tits look like something out of the pages of National Geographic. He owes me.)

Even though we were all destined to nosh delightfully without necessity of compromise, it became clear immediately that the morning could still tank. On the way to our seats I was inwardly cheering about the proximity of our table to the bathrooms - a total score in case the Viking needed to hurl again, and I was oblivious to the three tables full of Oomp-Loompa colored college gals seated ALL around us. Once I knew I was going to get what I wanted to eat, my senses tuned back into my surroundings and instantaneously my ears were assaulted by some of the most mind-blowing conversation I've heard in a really long time.

My children regularly hear me swear. So trust me, I wasn't worried about what they were hearing or being exposed to. I just couldn't fathom the lack of depth all around me. I knew The Tornado would only have tuned in if the conversation went something like, "Oh my Gawd, Tiffany! I was so drunk when I got those Silly Bandz... I didn't even realize I hooked up with Spider-Man and the Hulk until they each left some Glow-In-The-Dark ones on the nightstand!" And none of them had wheels or a diesel engine so The Viking was only aware that they were blocking his view of the interstate and all of it's vehicular charm. I'm not talking about "blue language." I'm not even talking about recalling some drunk shenanigans which included discoveries like, "These are NOT my panties." (Who hasn't retold THAT story a time or two, right? Wait. Right??)

This was an entirely different league of dip shit banter. These girls were not only shrieking about all the losers and ugly guys they'd hooked up with, but also all the other "bitches" they'd scrapped with at parties. (The ONLY time it got quiet was when they were trying to figure out how to divide the check.) One of my favorite quotes was "I just called up that kid, Josh so I could make out with somebody after Tim blew me off." (laughter) "I totally wanted to hook up with Tim. He's so hot. Screw him. He doesn't know what he's missing." (high fives from her "girls" and more laughter)

Doesn't know what he's missing? My guess is crabs or chlamydia... yuck! My next thought was terrifying. What if someday one of my boys brings home some chic with a bad tramp stamp and some salacious word stitched across the ass of her sweat pants??? GAH! If they ever wanted to just kill me... a girlfriend from the "Oompa-Loompa Delta Ugg" sorority would nail the coffin shut. A friend of mine with no children told me I wouldn't have to worry about that for many years. Bullshit! 15 minutes ago the Tornado was a precocious toddler running circles around me and the Viking was a hazy idea called "Someday We'll Have One More." I'm going to blink and tomorrow will be the prom. This is exactly when I should be worried about this and that is why I've decided to order shock collars - one for each child. We'll start with a few episodes of Jersey Shore, ZAAAAAPPP!!! and move on to a stroll through the mall and several local tanning salons, ZAP! ZAP! ZAAAPPPITTY ZAP....

If this works, I'm slipping it on The Dad so I can take care of that snoring problem once and for all.

The "Dailies"

This isn't much in the way of substance but it's something... and it's serving it's purpose nicely to deter me from doing what I really ought to be doing - homework.

I'm still fairly new to blogging and have only considered this blog a "Mommy Blog" because I'm a mother and a teacher of young children and the snotbots are the source of most of the crazy and funny shit that happens in my life. A fellow blogger, newly dear to my heart at A Mother's Musings, Mishaps and Milestones started talking about the trend of daily blog themes and that started me thinking about how my blog does and doesn't fit into this category of Mommy Blogs. I sort of already knew that I wasn't your typical mommy blogger because I know that I don't fit the mold of the "Mommies" that I know outside of cyber space. I would rather my kids NOT eat dirt and lick stuff on the playground, but I'm not going to spill my Diet Coke leaping up to spray, wipe or slather them with anti-bacterial products, either. Seriously, ladies... ringworm isn't forever. I don't think...

So in the spirit of irreverence in which this blog was born, let me offer my ideas to this daily blog post craze *rolling up sleeves*...

Here's what would grab MY attention:

• Margarita Mondays - post your favorite recipe (the ONLY recipe allowed at The Circus) and your best tequila story. If your story involves donkeys or ball gags, feel free to preface your post with "This actually happened to a friend of mine..."
• Tough Shit Tuesday - list all the things you denied your children this week that they were sure they had to have or do. My entry this week would be this ridiculousness: Mighty Beanz
• Fuck My Life Friday - post your gripes about whatever's got your undies knotted...

It's not cute and probably won't sell much ad space, except possibly from the fine folks (wink, wink...) who bring us Jose Cuervo, but it's honest and it would make me laugh. BTW - much thanks to the kind and thoughtful people at Cuervo for making pre-made margaritas for those of us who have only enough time to crush the Xanax that we use to "salt" the rim. Cheers!

If You Always Thought Your Mom Liked Your Sibling Best, You May Be Right

The Tornado - formerly known here at The Circus as The Six Year Old, turned seven today.
Here's why it's hard NOT to have a slight inclination to play favorites at my house:

After dinner and just before cake, the Viking gets a hair across his ass about something and begins to throw a fit and then, because he has yet to really grasp who he's dealing with, throws a sippy cup at me. Time Out, cherub. You suck, you lose. My inner Soup Nazi, barks "NO CAKE FOR YOU!" in my head.
There are candles and we sing... and the Tornado wishes the Viking out of Time Out, so "he can share my cake..."  I KNOW... I know. Line up your daughters, now folks.

Five minutes later the Viking is sitting in my lap shoveling frosting and crumbs into his cake-hole. I'm over the sippy cup incident so I playfully ask, "Who's a mess?"
My child turned around, looked at me and then smeared a gooey hand across my chest and gleefully giggled, "You!"
You can clearly understand why there might be a preference here, right?

I Don't Know Much About This Guy, but He's My New Hero...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RxsOVK4syxU&feature=player_embedded



There's really not much more to say about this, but "brilliant..."

Back in the Saddle but No Snotbots* to Wrangle for 2 more weeks...

But first... I just have to share this:

The Tornado has been waiting for two years to get on a soccer team and has begged me since his birthday party on Saturday to try on his shin guards...

I came out back tonight just in time to see him hand the Viking (who was grinning from ear to ear) a stick to whack his pads with. Tomorrow, he's going to be totally pissed and utterly bewildered when he gets nailed in the leg and doesn't remember inviting this abuse. I know one thing, for sure... The Viking won't forget. But, I'll be at work and THAT will be Daddy's problem.

Day 2 back at work today and although I left the house for a training yesterday with two different shoes on, and I may have permanently damaged my hearing by unplugging the carbon monoxide detector while underneath the METAL desk, I think my back-to-work transition is going to be as smooth as silk.

By 11:00 each morning during the summer the Viking has yelling at me for things like putting the wrong spread on his bagel or not putting the right color top on the sippy cup - a difficult task to manage with a little booger who doesn't identify colors correctly... Can't you just see me? Unshowered, my face looks like a punching bag because I was up until 3 watching bad reality t.v. and posting all kinds of nonsense on the Internet - "This IS the yellow one!!!! See?!? YEL-LOW!"

Today, when I got home there was yelling too - "MAMAAAAA!" and jiggly cheeks as the Viking ran to greet me at the door. I didn't even mind fielding the Tornado's incessant "Can we go somewhere?" question because I hadn't already had to answer it 394 times prior. Home is great, but work is good too.

The snotbots arrive for their first day in 14 more calendar days - let's see what hijinx and havoc ensue...
 *The term "Snotbots" has been pilfered for my own use from my smart and funny friend and colleague. She not only has a great vocabulary, but she also brings me fancy duct tape. I like her.