IT’S RAINING, IT’S POURING

It’s been really, really pouring lately here in SoCal. I’m sure it could be much worse, I could live on the east coast, but the rain is bad enough for me. I don’t like rain unless I can sit at home bundled up with a book in front of the fireplace. But, I’m a mom, a student and I still have to work, so I find myself sloshing through the rain far more often than I want.

Snot Face, however, is different. Tuesday morning it sounded like the rain was going to break my window in. I woke San Francisco and asked “if I take her to school will you pick her up?”

“Yes.”

When I opened my bedroom door there was Snot Face in the hallway decked in her blue plastic parka and a smile on her face.

“K, I love you see you later.” She said.

“Hold up missy, I’m taking you to school today.”

“But I want to ride my bike,” she whined. “I like the rain.”

“It’s pouring out there,” I argued.

She stomped, she pouted, she tried to talk back. It was cold and wet outside and I sure didn’t want to go out. I thought about giving in…Why lose the 15 minutes I had left to stay snuggled in bed?

I shook it off and put on my Uggs. It was too cold to have her out there, the rain was too ferocious and I was worried that her long parka would get caught in the spokes of her bike and that she’d end up face first in some gigantic puddle along the way. So I held firm…. And the ungrateful little thing wouldn’t even give me a kiss goodbye as she got out of the car.

Who's the Boss

Brilliant MILF is back. I took a much needed six-week hiatus from school and this blog. I’m sorry to have left you. Yes, I missed you, but boy did I need it!

If you recall, San Francisco moved in at the beginning of August. Last semester was pretty stressful for us just trying to get him acclimated to being around a kid all the time, me trying to get my schedule on point and Snotface trying to figure out how to get over on the both of us.

By get over on the both of us, I really mean San Francisco. He works from home for the most part, but technically, he’s not working anyhow. That said, he is the one home most of the time. He tries, he does, I see it. Snotface though, she is pretty dang good.

Here’s how this transpires …… I send Snotface outside to get her outta my hair so I can think. While she’s out I need to go to the grocery store and I instruct San Francisco to instruct Snotface to take a shower as soon as she gets home, which should be and is in 20 minutes. I return an hour and a half later to find an un-showered Snotface is sitting on the couch reading her book for school and San Francisco at his usual spot at the kitchen table on the internet.

I flash ‘the look’ at him and holler to her:

“Were you told to take a shower?”

I have to ask this because there is a chance that he didn’t say anything and then it is not her fault. She however was not off the hook.

“I told her to,” he chimes in, “and she said you would want her to get her homework done first.”

“What did I tell you?” It’s a rhetorical question. I know what I said, so I quickly turn to her. “Get in the shower!”

She jumps. That’s called Mommy Power.

“We need to have a more united front.” San Francisco dares to tell me.

“Are you serious?” I chuckle.

“She can’t be able to use us against each other,” for some reason he goes on, “She knows how to work you already, and she sees that she can’t get over on me.”

I leave it at:

“If I tell you she has to do something that means she does that and nothing else, understand?”

I proceed to make dinner.

Oh Say Can You Say?

It starts off as silly, sweet little things like:

“The sun is sick. It has a cold. That’s why it rains.”
[Super fitting considering whose mouth it came out of…. And EEWWW!]

Then they get a little older and on the way out the door, they mimic:

“Let’s bounce.”
[Little ‘twang’ on the “-ounce” included.]

At 10, it’s the fourth time you tell then to do the dishes when:

“I know, I will. Whatever.”
[And you’re sure you caught a bit of a head roll.]

At 10!?!?!
Wait, did I go wrong? This shouldn’t happen. Surely not so early! At 10 I believe my dad would have catapulted me into sometime the next year.

Speaking of my dad, I think he’s grown soft in his old age. On one visit my 13-year-old sister said “crap” … right next to my father! It didn’t faze him. I’ve made that little mistake, but mine was only:

“That sucks!”
[Which landed me in the next month.]

I happen to like Snotface, and would like to keep her, so rather than toss her into some unknown time frame, I decided to explain it to her. Its not wash-your-mouth-with-soap status.

We had an hour long discussion on how ‘whatever’ could be a bad word.

“Mommie, whatever.”
Ggrrrr.
“At school I can say it. It's not a bad word.”
“Okay,” I reasoned. “If you said you were hurt or hungry and I said “whatever”, how would you feel?”

I’m pretty sure she gets it now.


personality traits

Committed to What?.... Grrr.

This year I signed Snot-face up at The Boys and Girls Club. I didn’t before because 1) I couldn’t’ afford it and 2) it doesn’t really suit my needs. I do school all day, a half-hour from where I live, and then straight to work, another ten minutes from school. B&G closes at six; I get off work at earliest, 7:30. With San Francisco here now, it’s possible.

I’m already obligated to $34 a week, that’s for two days and even if she doesn’t go. That’s the contract, fine. But… over this break, I was told that if she comes in I have to pay an extra $11… each day. That’s a load of bologna! Why are they allowed to do that? I get that it’s a longer day when they are out of school, but I was out of school too, so she didn’t go until three.

I’m in such a funk that I don’t want Snot-face to go anymore, except that I stand by stability, even with activities. But gee-wiz! It’s bad enough that our needs aren’t served, but paying for them not to be is ridiculous.

Somehow I don’t think Denzel Washington wanted to endorse a program that would rip-off the poor single moms of America. If I recall, his commercials said between 3 p.m. and 8 p.m. and were geared toward the working poor. We don’t necessarily work 9-to-5s.
I feel stuck in this system built for a white-picket-fence-cookie-cutter world and my little family is just too messy.

2009 Childcare statistics in California

Wild Things

I know I’m a bit on the late freight with this movie, (I wait for them to show up at the three dollar theater, because I’m broke) but Where the Wild Things Are was fantastic. It was part child's fantasy, part sentimental deepness and part furry’s wet dream.

The movie is an embellishment on the classic children’s book, which was short, sweet and effective. The film gives more depth with a back story to Max’s tantrum and then personifies his emotions as giant monsters that live in the forest of his mind. Contentment, anger, insecurity are all there and more.

I found myself looking over at Snot Face because it seemed I understood her just a little more. I forget sometimes that she is a little person and it is possible for her to have angst.

When she gets upset I either coddle her or freak out, depending on the situation. I realize that while I have to be sensitive to her, more than anything she has to learn how to work though some of this stuff on her own.

How Jonze pulled off making a six page book into a masterful peek at my daughter’s little soul, I will never know, but I thank him.

I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus

I never understood the significance of that song until recently. I used to laugh at the thought of Santa being unfaithful to poor old Mrs. Claus.

“HoHoHo, honey, I’m sorry but I’m running a little late.”

Only it’s not about the secret life of Santa, it’s about the parents getting caught. Mommy wasn’t kissing Santa, mommy was kissing daddy dressed as Santa.

When do we get to tell our kids there is no Santa? As parents are we even allowed to?

I found out when I was seven. I slept on the couch so I could catch Santa. I heard the rustling of presents and tree branches, opened one eye, and there was my mom, unsuccessfully sneaking our gifts under the tree. Her cover was blown, but I never said anything for the sake of my little sister...and the presents.

I feel like that was an organic discovery. That’s not the same as having your parents crush your little fantasies of St. Nick. But which is worse, Santa not giving you what you want for Christmas or knowing that your mom is Santa and she can’t get you what you want? But being Santa is hard.

So, Snot-face is now ten and still believes in Santa. Her Christmas list this year is impossible. She is asking for parts to make a working robot. WTF!!!!

I want to let myself off the hook... I wonder how San Francisco feels about putting on a big red suit?

How Did I Become the Go-To Mom?

As I stepped out the bathroom, Snot-face came running up stairs asking me if I know how to get New Moon tickets.


“At the movie theater,” I said awkwardly, “it’s not a concert, you just go…”


“But they’re sold out,” she cut me off, “and Sierra really wants to go!”


First of all, what am I, a pre-adolescent’s version of a drug dealer? Snot-face will ask me for the most random of things for her friends; hey, do you know to get the new Black Eyed Peas song for free, Hanna wants it….Can we get a whole pie so I can take it to school to share with my friends…. Can we get one for Kacie, her mom won’t take her to get one?


Next, I can barely keep up with my own kid’s needs and wants, let alone those of her whole posse. I’m broke. I’m busy. Today, I’m sick and have tons of homework.


Last, I’m not even cool, I always say no. And I don’t condone this fascination with fake vampires. It’s the stupidest thing. Vampires don’t sparkle in the sunlight. They burst into flames.


I ended the conversation.


“Honey,” I said, “it will be in theaters for a long time, it won’t always be sold out. Plus, it’s not my job to get Sierra tickets. Her mom needs to do that for her.”


San Francisco snickered from the bedroom.


“Okay, Mommie.”


I know, I’m mean, but I had to nip this in the bud.