I Weep

Like the rest of the world, my heart is heavy. As I go through motions of my regular day, the victims of the Sandy Hook School shooting are on my heart and in my prayers. My heart actually hurts. I have shed tears for strangers and I just cannot seem to make them stop.

I have the same questions as everyone else. Why?? How? They were just babies.

When my older girls were first born, I avoided news media in any way shape or form for a good three years. It sent my anxiety sky high as I immediately went to my “what if’ place.  As mothers, once we have children our hearts are forever on our sleeves. As such, now I cannot stop my brain from placing my children in that school and my relentless imagination takes me there in perfect detail over and over and over again. My mind is my own enemy today.

And I weep.

I weep for the ones that were killed and I pray by the grace of God it was quick and not one baby suffered. I weep for their parents and families. Any time of year this would be tragic, but in my mind I know there are Christmas presents hiding in a closet, basement or attic somewhere, never to be wrapped, shaken or open in anticipation. No picture will be taken of the sheer delight on the face of a little one who believes in love and all that is perfect and good as their Santa wish list just came true.

I weep for the children that watched or heard the evil, yet were spared. They will be forever changed. They were told to close their eyes. I wonder what they will see and hear every time they close their eyes now and every night as long as they live.

I weep for the educators and adults in the school that lost their lives. They too have families, many with little ones who no longer have a mother. They are being called heroes. And they are. But my guess is they were already heroes to their own children and definitely as people who chose to educate others children as their career.

I weep for the shooters family. What was his own mother’s last moments on earth like? Are there words to describe her own grief as she was forsaken by her son? Did she question every moment of parenting for 20 years?

I weep for my own children as they try and wrap their heads and hearts around our world. I weep as they ask me questions that I have no answers too. I weep when my own baby asks me if she is safe at her school.

And I pray.

I pray for my American neighbours Leaders. I pray for the victim’s families. I pray for the survivors and their families. I pray for the first responders and a mourning community. I pray for peace and safety in this world we are leaving to our children.

I pray for no more violence. Simply no more.

And I am thankful.

I know this blog is a comical look at parenting. But today, I write because I am so blessed and thankful.

I am thankful for children that need to be nagged to do their chores. I am thankful for mountains of laundry and dirty dishes left on counters. I am thankful for upside down milk and moldy swimsuits. I am thankful for boy band posters and raging hormones. I am thankful for homemade ornaments and un-matching Christmas Trees. I am thankful for siblings fighting and school concerts.

I am thankful for these things because it is a tangible reminder that all is normal and they are alive and well.

I am thankful for my children who also wept when they heard the news and for their soft hearts and open minds. I am thankful for the privilege of being their mom and the ability to laugh and be a family.

Tonight, I cannot make light of this parenting charge. For now I just hold them tight and for the time being they just let me, without even one eye roll.

Sleep in heavenly peace little ones.

Xo

J

I Would Rather.....

I am super sports mom. I have spent hours in gyms coaching or sitting on cold hard bleachers. They will remember my passion for each of their chosen sports. Hell, I've even taken technical fouls as a Coach and been asked to leave the gym/field as a parent spectator. Apparently there is a fine line between "cheering" and “suggesting” to the referee how to do his job. Who knew?

But I am the worst band mom EVER!! 

Hate would be too soft a word for how I feel about sitting through Christmas Band Concerts.

I would rather dig my own eyeballs out with a teaspoon.

I would rather go on strike again.

I would rather dance naked covered in honey while waving a stick under a beehive like a piñata.

I would rather pour a full glass of red wine down the sink. HA!!.What are the odds? That’s just silly talk y’all.

You get the idea.

As far as I am concerned I have paid my dues sitting watching other people’s children for three hours in a hot crowded gym just for a two minute glimpse of my own offspring playing an instrument that I can’t stand, to music I can’t decipher. By my count from pre-school to present time, I have attended 18 Christmas concerts. Just give me my gold star for parenting already and lets move on.

Tonight was the basement trolls band concert. This was the conversation in the car on the drive home from school before the concert.

Me: Do you have to show up tonight?

Them: Yes mom, we committed.

Me: What would happen if you just didn’t go?

Them: We would get a fail on our school pride mark.

Me: So? And? That's it?

Them: Mom, we can't fail. We are part of the band and have to go. It’s about showing pride in our school spirit. (Damn responsible children. Who on earth taught them that?)

Me: I wouldn’t get mad at you for that mark on your report card. Pinky promise.

Them: Plus mom, we can’t go to the Christmas Dance if we don't show up. (Ahhh, now that’s more like it my ladies)

Me: What if you are… sick?

Them: Mom, we were just at school perfectly healthy all day.

Me: Right. Damn. What if we all caught the worst surprise stomach flu ever? Ohhh like Ebola? Yes, we all officially have Ebola.

Them: Mom we have to go.

Me: Whatever.

The school’s music teacher is one of the loveliest teachers I've met. She has passion for children, music and education that I bow down too. I would suck ass as a teacher. Not only do I not like other people's children all that much, but the thought of being surrounded by so many of them at once and then purposefully putting noise makers in their hands all day long makes me want to vomit. She deserves a freaking gold medal and extra jewels on her crown.

Mrs. Stearn it's not you. It's me. By me, I mean the band and the instruments and the gym full of parents and the fact I need to take my shoes off like a four year old at the door to watch said performance. My socks weren't matching and that was embarrassing. Plus I think it’s freaking conspiracy theory that my children are always the last act. No matter what grade, school or function, they are always last. It's like the band gods hate me and force me to stay until the very end. What the hell have I ever done to you band concert gods? Never mind, don't answer that.

I watched longingly as more than one parent hauled a screaming toddler out of the gym in a panicked hurry. I locked eyes with one kicking child and whispered...”I know it's painful right?” Lucky bastard winked at me as he escaped the gym and gave me a ‘in your face sucker’ thumbs up.  

I felt jealous. Not jealous that I didn’t own a screaming two year old, but that he had thought of it first. How could I possible kick and scream for a forced exit now that he already played that card? Asshole.

A *twoonie bar should be mandatory at ALL school functions. They would make a frickin’ fortune.  That's my idea of successful, stress-free fundraising…just sayin’.

Umm…there was no cell phone reception in the gym!!  Are you kidding me?  I couldn't even check Facebook or Twitter. It was torture. Social-media-band-concert torture with background music of twelve years old playing tubas and clarinets.  Uh, that’s actually double torture. I may sue for undue pain and suffering.

I didn’t bring a camera. I felt a little inadequate watching the other parents set up their personal production studios that would make Hollywood jealous. I held my phone in the air, aimed it toward the stage and hoped for the best.

On the upside, Dylan passed like six levels on a card game app and I did find the two hours a very opportune time to tap out this blog on my phone. All whilst humming along to 'Hark the Heralds Angels Sing'…well, at least I think that’s what the song was.

Next week is grade five hand bells...I’m bringing a to-go cup. Fa la la la la, la FML!

Disclaimer: It's just my honest opinion. Remember, no judging allowed. I admit, they sounded pretty good. If I am ever forced at gun point to sit through another concert, I would totally choose this one again. Well done and thank you Mrs. SJ

*Canadian two dollar coin eh.

12 Days of Hormones

I’m feeling ever so festive. Or maybe just tipsy. Meh, whatever. I’ve decided to share the hottest and newest renditions of a traditional Christmas Carol with you. 

Get yourself a glass of wine, gather around the Yule log and sing a long with me!!

We all know how the ‘original’ song goes...and it is fricken’ long and painful. So in the interest of time and to save us all from drinking three bottles as I write and you read/sing along, I am just going to start with the last verse and work my way backwards. You get it right? This way you will be sober enough to read all the way through.

You’re welcome. Unless you are already drunk. In that case…CHEERS!!!

I will never judge you, I’m good people that way.

Twelve Days of Hormones

On the Twelfth Day of Hormones

My preteens gave to me:

Twelve Mood Swings

Eleven Outfit Changes

Ten Loads of Laundry

Nine Hours of Grounding

Eight Tears for No Reason

Seven Worst Mother Awards

Six Temper Tantrums

Five Slammiiiiiiing Doors

Four Feet a Stomping

Three Siblings Scrapping

Two Rolling Eyes

And a Pic of Mommy Drunk Under the Tree (don’t judge me)

Another version you ask? Ok, if I must. Here is the always-popular variety:

Twelve Days of “What my Preteen SAID to Me”.

On the twelfth day of Hormones

My preteens said to me:

Twelve “You’re ruining my life”s

Eleven “She started it”s

Ten “She’s looking at me”s

Nine “She’s touching me”s

Eight ”I have nothing to wear”s

Seven “Where are my jean”s

Six “It’s not my fault”s

Five “You are SO unfaaaaaaaaaair”s

Four “Worst mom EVER!”s

Three “Just one minute”s

Two “Everyone else is allowed”s

And a  “Mom why are you drinking wine under the tree?”

And my personal favorite, the Twelve days of What I Say to My Preteen.

There is no need to point out that it doesn’t match the tune of the original song…I already know that. I deserve a voice too. Geesh.

On the Twelfth Day of Hormones

I said to my preteen girls in glee:

Twelve "Take that make-up off, it looks trashy. Are you the guest clown in a circus that I don’t know about?”

Eleven “Do you really think you are wearing that out of this house? When did leggings become classified as pants?”

Ten  “Pull your pants up. Crying out loud ladies ‘Hugs…not drugs’.”

Nine “No you still can’t have a phone.”

Eight “No you still can’t have Facebook.”

Seven “Do you really think I care what your friends are allowed to do? I am not their mother. Lucky, lucky you. I am YOUR mother. It’s like you’ve won the freaking parenting lottery isn’t it?”

Six “Watch your tone…or the next time I drop you off at school I will walk you in, holding hands and skipping. All while singing this song at the top of my lungs.”

Five “For the love of all that is good and holy pick the dirty socks and wet towel up off the floor before I snap my biscuits and my head flies off it’s axis.”

Four “Slam your door again and it’s gone. Do it! I dare you! It’s become a sport for me at this point.”

Three “Bring up your laundry or you are never wearing clean clothes again. NEVER, EVER, EVER! You shall stink for the rest of your life and I will laugh and point at you.”

(Crap, now I’m confusing this song with Taylor Swift’s new and highly overplayed latest tune)

Two “If you don’t stop fighting I will tie your arms together and make you sing ‘We are Family’.”

(Double crap! Now I have Taylor and the boyfriend she is never ever getting back together with and ‘I’ve got all my sister and Me’ and this song all mixed up in my head)

One  “Bring mommy a glass of wine under the tree before I cry. Oh, screw it bring me the box. Yes, wine in a box. No judging remember?”

Ok, I know this last one isn’t pure musical genius. Clearly, I’m not going to quit my day job…but I am singing it in my head and trust me, it TOTALLY sounds fantastic.

I’m going all like Christmassy Adele on your ass’s.

It may go platinum. Just sayin’.

Xo

J

Calling all Moms!!!!

Anyone interested in doing a little social experiment?

I have been contacted by the Steve Harvey Show (I love that Guy!!) and they are looking to feature a story about...yup you guessed it, my Mommy Strike.

The show airs out of Chicago and although moms and families in that area would be ideal, they would love any of you fabulous readers to take the challenge of a Mom Strike, document it and then come on the show with your family.

I'm  thinking if you live in England or Australia they probably won't fly you out. But especially to any USA mom's out there reading...are you willing to give it a shot?

If I can do it, so can you. I'll even bring ya a bottle of wine.

If you are interested please contact Patrick at:

patrick.hester@steveharveytv.com

If you are up for the challenge please also email me at crazymomopq@gmail.com as I would love to connect with you.

I double dog dare you.

Please do a sister a favour and share this on your Facebook/Twitter/Pinterest.

xo
J

Dear Santa

I have been introduced to a whole new world of blogging!! It’s amazing and sucks my time away. There are some very talented blogging peeps out there!

One mama blogger who writes Mom of the Year recently featured guest bloggers who are writing letters to Santa about what moms really want for Christmas. To say I snorted red wine at more than a few of them would be an understatement.

Her guest bloggers are like the ‘whose who’ of the mommy blogging world, so while I don’t expect my blogging invite to come in the mail anytime soon, she has had me thinking A LOT about what I would ask Santa for. So here goes.

Dear Santa,

I know you are busy and all taking credit for everything, but this year I have been really good. Well, maybe not all year but this week for sure. Ok, I was good today so let’s focus on that. I think the term ‘good’ is a bit ambiguous anyway. Is it your definition or mine? Let’s just split it down the middle and make both of us happy. Deal?

I don’t want to sound greedy but can we start with having my kids flush the toilet. Ok, I know this may not be environmentally responsible for water use, but can we at least aim for “If it’s brown, flush it down?” 

While we are fulfilling wishes in the shitter, can you please bring me an elf to replace the empty toilet paper role? I know this task is very complicated, so please ensure it’s one of your smarter elves.

An elf with a vagina will probably be your best bet.

Perhaps further narrow your search to those Elves with Masters Degrees or Doctorates on their resume, as I’m convinced that’s the level of knowledge base required for the job. I’m hoping the one you send me will also be able to handle ice cube trays and clothes hangers.

Christmas is just such a magical time isn’t it?

Moving right along, can you do something about the missing socks, sports jerseys and library books? If that’s too much to ask, can you just leave me a set of clues or a treasure map as to where these items hide out to party together? I always enjoy a good party so I don't want to miss out. I'll even bring the booze.

I would also like a sound proof partition in my car to block out the incessant fighting and a meal that everyone approves of on the same night. Can you also place a little magic dust on the girls so that whenever anyone rolls their eyes at me, they spontaneously shout out at the top of their lungs “I LOVE MY MOM!!!” no matter where we are?

Sorta like Christmas Hypnotism.

I will be testing this one out at the mall on Boxing Day.

Oooh I’m on a roll now. Can you make Dylan stop snoring or at least bring me a long sticky pokey thingy that will reach across the king size bed so I don’t have to flail my arms and legs in an effort to have my kicking make contact? It wakes me up, so if I can’t have a stabbing device then I respectfully ask for a nap instead.

Am I pushing my luck? Oh well…

Since you are ‘watching’ me all the time anyway, you no doubt are fully aware of the three suitcases that have been sitting at the top of my stairs for the last 5 weeks.  I know, I know, I don’t understand it either. I even moved them to where people that live here actually have to step over them to walk, but I fear I’ve just created a fun obstacle course? I’m not sure if you have time to watch TV, but I feel like I am living in an episode of ‘Everybody Loves Raymond’. Not as funny in real life, trust me.

Anywhooo, can I get you to put those away for me on your way downstairs when you stop by on Christmas Eve.

I assure you they will still be there.

A big strong burly man such as yourself should have no trouble managing them all in one trip. Oh and on your way down, can you grab the bags of moldy towels and swimsuits that the girls have left on the bannister since their swimming night three weeks ago? At this point I don’t really care what you do with those, but if you take them with you please take my advice and place them downwind at the back of the sleigh.

Rudolph will thank you.

Ok, this next one may seem excessive, but I haven’t asked you for a thing in like 27 years. Can I get one machine that collects all dirty clothes then washes, dries, fold and puts them away. You’re a smart man I’m sure you can figure something out, if in doubt just ask the Mrs.

To finish off, can you pretty please suck away about 15 pounds of the fat that has mysteriously accumulated on my ass and thighs, remove the grey hair growing like wiry pubes out of the top of my head and leave a little something to take care of this phenomenon called gravity. No biggy right?

If you can’t provide any of these meager requests or deem I am not worthy, please just substitute each and every item on my list with a bottle of wine.

By my count that will be 18 bottles of wine to add up for each of my Christmas wishes.

Yup, 18 bottles and we can call it even.

Sincerely,

Jessica