Archive for the ‘school projects’ Category

image

I spent a life time doing this, but not anymore.

If I’ve learned ONE thing, make changes to love and accept yourself but do not bend with the societal wind that tells you that you need a product, a thing, a drink, a drug or whatever, to be better.

I’m a slow learner, I’m stubborn, I may make the same mistake a hundred times before I learn the message; YET, this lesson right here, may be the most important one I have learned. Changing your perception of oneself is an inside job and it may be the most important one you ever have in your life!

If you change to be accepted by or be like others ~ it’s like flat ironing your hair, in the shower, while using curl enhancer all at the same time! I plead the fifth as to whether I have attempted the  aforementioned shower~flat~ironing insanity.

My kids are pictured because I learn so much from their acceptance of themselves and their unabashedly contentious nature to grab life by the horns and not let GO; no matter who tells them what they can and cannot do,including their MOM!!  aka scrappiemomma!

I aim protect them, I make A LOT OF MISTAKES, I’m impatient, I’m scrappie, I’m messy, sometimes I lack the polished filter that most suburban moms seem to carry around like a pink hammer of grace and poise. I feel like I eff up any type of school event or extra curricular activity as in “Um ? wtf am I supposed to be doing because the hospital manual stopped at three months and I’m flying blind?”( case in point ~ forgetting to dress my daughter in her dance costume, for DRESS REHEARSAL because I apparently I didn’t comprehend even the title of the email “DRESS REHEARSAL”. These types of clueless mom shenanigans happen more frequently than expected, and I don’t even drink….)

I’m drifting off tangent a bit. My point, I try to shield them too much from the aching hurts of the world all while knowing that I have to let them spread their wings to ready themselves for a world that in one breath is as miraculous as it is cruel. I guess what I truly wish, through my unwavering love and guidance, is I never, ever, ever break their tenacious spirit or their acceptance of themselves at their inner core, because, that my friends, is the key to true, inner peace.

My 2 cents today.

image

It’s actually 10 reasons, but the bus is coming, and I promised myself that I would blog or write in my book at least six times a week and well, I want to get this published today so I do not break any more promises to myself, or have to blog or write when my kids are home.  I do realize summer is just right around the corner so am I planning to just “not write” for two months?? No,  I will have a strict schedule with mandatory writing time for all,   six times a week, okay maybe five, okay maybe I will we will count writing out birthday cards to Mee Maw and Pee Paw as writing time. You will see why I want to concentrate on writing this summer with my children, with my # 2.

On with it:

 

1) As referenced in the above picture , It’s Dress Rehearsal time for dance recital. Let me break down for you what happened last year:
a) I drove my daughter betwixt non-Perimeter and Perimeter Atlanta traffic to a Performing Arts Center that JUST HOSTED A CHICK FIL A CONVENTION. To a Dress Rehearsal. In which I FORGOT TO DRESS MY CHILD IN HER DANCE COSTUME. I did not read the email last year. No, I did not even read the SUBJECT LINE DRESS REHEARSAL !!!!

B) I had to drive all the way betwixt this Armageddon of traffic back home. It was a Friday Spring night. Bass was exploding from every hooped up hooptie and monster mash truck rattling my nerves (Usually I love bass explosions).  At one point I got completely lost and tried to turn around in a large parking lot and couldn’t  get OUT OF THE PARKING lot, while my son was in the back, I ended up doing doughnuts (unintentionally ) screaming expletives at the top of my lungs. He said and I quote “You really need to relax Mom”.

C) There is much more to this story, but it does provide an amazing glimpse as to why I DID NOT GET THE MANUAL.

wpid-20140324_131500.jpg

2) I’m not sure if you can read this but this is a breakdown of some type of standardized testing my son had recently on writing skills.  I burst into tears when I got the scores back because he “did not meet expectations” in nearly 90 percent of the categories, and I am a “writer” and it  truly is all about ME and I live vicariously through my children. I think I also had really bad PMS OR I am in some type of peri-menopausal purgatory because I am much more emotional two weeks before and after that time of the month, which is basically 365 days of the year.  Thankfully, I showed my extremely level headed husband WHO DID INDEED GET THE MANUAL and said “I do not understand any of this jibber jabber* either, our kids are smart, quit stressing, hey how’s that book coming? are we going to be able to retire in Ft Lauderdale because you will be like that lady who wrote all the Harry Potter books?” Oh my poor poor husband. No, he shouldn’t listen to my jibber jabber* either.  Quite frankly I do not think he does listen to much of it.

3) I was going to take a picture for #3, as I just got though vacuuming five pieces of destroyed chicken fingers that I had made from the book Deceptively Delicious , where you try to hide vegetables in the kid’s food. I probably should have foreseen these type of shenanigans when I saw the word “flax seed” as an ingredient.  I am not sure I even like flaxseed but I put it in all my food because I read it helps get rid of cellulite. Okay, NO I didn’t read that but I inferred it from the reading because it’s one of the new “superfoods” like “chia seeds”  (I like) “chai tea” (I like)  “kale” (strongly hate) and every freaking wheat barely foo foo grass from here to China. I digress.  Consequently,  My stubbornly honest daughter told me it and I quote the nuggets “were disgusting Mommy, just disgusting” and burst into tears. My  sensitively innocent son, told me he ate all five pieces.  Refer back to beginning of paragraph.  No disrespect to Jessica Seinfield, (who wrote Deceptively Delicious, I have tried a lot of the recipes and let’s just say I had to freeze all the chicken because that will be my lunch for the next 356 days. I made like a quadruple batch because I most certainly thought it would be a huge hit.

4) Sometimes, I watch “106 & park’ on BET,  in the evenings when they are doing their homework to make sure my Bootie Explosion play list is currently up to date with every “drop it low shawty” jam. Here are a few lyrics I find quite entertaining right now. Yes, I should be hovering over them (my kids, not the Bootie Jams)  with a plate of warm cookies, but Momma needs her jams. (“not jellies, jams like JAMZ” or “Jam on it son”) And notice I said “Sometimes.” Although I think Lil Bow Wow is the cutest thing in the world, I do not have time to watch “106 & Park” every night.  Please notate these JAMMIN lyrics:

Jason Derulo’s “Talk Dirty to me”

“Been around the world, do not speak the language, but your Booty don’t NEED SPLAININ”
I wonder if my booty don’t need much splainin’ or does my booty leave much to be splained? (that’s me thinking, in non italicized)

Trevor Jackson and B.O.B   “Drop It, Drop it, Drop it where you are”

” and she finna drop it low in Bobby Rae BootCamp, Hopping out the old school, let the door slam, She got a fistful, call her Lindsay Both hands”

Beyonce’s  “Partitions”

Radio say speed it up, and I just go slower,

high like treble, puffin on them mids,the man ain’t never seen a booty like this,

and why you think you keep your name rollin on my tongue, cause when you want to smash I just write another one,

I SNEEZED ON THE BEAT, AND THE BEAT GOT SICKER (THIS IS ME SCRAPPIE, OMG HOW DOPE IS THAT LINE RIGHT THERE!!) .

etc etc etc

 

5) I say things like “Pretend you are grown like me and your child does not listen to you and you have to ask them 10000000000007 ways to Sunday to clean their room. every. day., how would that make you feel??” I do not think my kids are ready for all the philosophically laden, therapeutic jibber jabber, but it sure as hell does make me feel better to ask them really long questions just to hear myself jibber jabber.*.

 

*I gleaned the term jibber jabber from the Big Bang Theory, Penny Always tells Sheldon he needs to quit with the jibber jabber.

She finna drop it low in Bobby Ray bootcamp
Hoping out the oldschool, let the door slam
She got a fistful, call her Lindsay Bothhands
Read more at http://www.songlyrics.com/trevor-jackson/drop-it-remix-lyrics/#VtRd5twSBPt3cBTo.99

 

More jibber jabber on this topic ..later.

image

Do not fret young padawans, I shant quote the lyrics from the riveting One Direction ballad. This is the story of my life and our life because ‘we country’. Seriously, you can take the people out of the country but you cannot force them to relinquish their country ways.   We, ok ok, I (just me) have been known to wipe counter tops with my “Nike Just Do It” tshirt (as instructed by the shirt btw) in a hurry to unveil the actual countertop.  We keep the dern boxes my sons legos come in because and I quote from my husband and my son “those will pay for college”, Good because I was hoping to use the 529 accounts to buy an Island and be highlighted on HGTV “Island Hunters” (obsessed with that show btw. Please if you get a chance watch Island Hunters, you will find yourself wondering, “What exactly do this people “do” for a living such that they are buying up islands now? )

Pictured here is my husband’s attempt at drying out his tennis shoes. In his defense he did use the drying bracket thingy that came with the dryer but it  almost broke dryer. The irony of this can best be summed up by telling you my husband is the “Serv Safe Chief.’ He works in the food industry and I have lost count if how many looks of disdain have been cast my way for my abhorrent kitchen behaviors. Yes, the Nike t-shirt cleaning tactic would in his top two, the other is when I set the coffee creamer spoon on the counter versus a paper towel. *

If you have read other blogs you might be confused because I may have confessed to obsessive behaviors , some of which include and addiction to  Clorox wipes. I do not get it either. I will wipe the bathrooms down , 5665788 times a day with proper wiping gadgets, but Nike t-shirt rags (that are still being worn) and shoes on the candle on the kitchen table do not bother me one bit.

The story of our lives is one of organized chaos. Polarizing children that love me so much one minute they are still wrapping their tiny little hands around me. Ten seconds later “I am never speaking to you again” and slammed doors are echoing through or Nike~candled~counter~washed house (I don’t think shoes in pictures are Nikes, I doth apologize profusely- whatever brand I have thus shunned). We are a house of “perfect imperfections” (Johnny Leg, you hit the nail on the head with that one) , subtle nuances integrated with rebellious bedlam.  A rowdy circus juxtaposed against fabulous rainy Sunday afternoon naps.

Thank God I have the pictured paragons of excellence to keep our house in order!

image

Please take note of toilet paper roll.. How is this part of this warrior brigade!? And I do not know why there are beach towels hanging on banisters. We do not own a pool and we do not live on the beach and it is not warm enough to go to the pool. Also , I’m pretty sure it’s been a couple since either one of my children have had a shower or bath…

* The alternative to setting my spoon on the paper towel is letting in jingle around in my cup all day which is by far much more annoying to him, I can most assuredly inform you I have received feedback on my spoon stealing coffee up antics as well…..

Earlier, I had a bad case of good old fashioned, PMS. I walked into my daughter’s room to strip the beds and Little Pony and her diva hustling sisters had a fraternity party with every teeny, tiny, ‘itsy’ ‘bitsy’ figurine known to mankind.  They had infiltrated every square inch of her room. This all happened in a matter of an hour because she had just cleaned her room meeting this one Scrappie Momma’s expectations (which are, “PLEASE FOR the Love of GOD..GET EVERYTHING OFF THE FLOOR OR I’M GETTING A GIANT BAG and sending THEM ALL BACK to SANTA).  Here is a glorious “selfie “of me  eating Ice Milk or NON Milk or Coconut Goat milk some kind of healthy version of  ice cream or non ice cream, with the goal of this  “‘faux’ ice cream” to abate my PMS symptoms versus bagging up all the little ponies and sending them back to the Pony ranch or to Santa or whatever it is you believe they would go if Big Bad Mommy bagged them up and sent them along their way.

ice cream blog

Speaking of  Santa,  “DUDE, WHY DID YOU BUY HER THE MY LITTLE PONY TENT THAT TAKES UP HALF HER ROOM WITH AGE LIMIT OF 3 SO IT GETS BEATEN DOWN BY MY LONG LEGGED DAUGHTER and RAUCOUS little pony fraternity parties , daily.       Obviously, I bought the tent so in case you are all like “oh gasp, that was kind of a tough dis for Santa”, I have only myself to blame for this insidious tent and all its debauchery. However if you still believe in Santa, then I am still mad at Santa and he is the one to blame in this situation.

As for my son’s room, he has a lizard in his room; while at the same time, the sun cascades its blinding, white rays of sizzling heat making it the hottest room in the house (except for the garage, in August)  Due to the fact that I am irritated by this onset of hormones (  I googled the word ‘hormonely’, it does not exist; hence, “onset of hormones” was a replacement for my made of word of ‘hormonely’) Yes that was all extremely necessary and pertinent. My point being,   I knew better to engage in any kind of “why is EVERY LEGO FIGURE FROM HERE TO KINGDOM COME HAVING A  SEANCE TRYING TO CONJURE UP MORGAN FREEMAN FROM THE LEGO MOVIE, HE’S NOT COMING!!!!!!” I was just too damn hot and cranky to deal with Legos and Morgan Freeman apparitions. (if you are like wtf does Morgan Freeman have to do with Legos, please delve into the Lego Movie, it’s a freaking riot).   A caveat to the word “hormonely”, it was not even hot in his room that day, but I was hot; hence you see my point.

Calm, level headed Scrappie, knows that my children’s’ room will never look like a Pottery Barn magazine. (you know, kind of organized, kind of messy but altogether fabulous because even the “mess” is organized, monogrammed and dotted with glorious patterns of tweed and ________________ Paisley?) I do not know my pottery barn schematics very well.  PMS infiltrated DEF com five Scrappie which is agitated by the slightest “imperfection of perfections”. Yes, John Legend’s super model girlfriend would absolutely irritate me when my hormone levels go from ” furrowed MOMMIE dearest brow”  to “OMG, dial up my shrink, something’s terribly wrong, why am I crying so hard?” to “WHO ATE ALL MY DARK CHOCOLATE AND WHY IS THIS ICE CREAM SO FROZEN, HOW LONG SHOULD I PUT IN THE MICROWAVE TO MELT THIS HUNK OF ICE???”.  The synapses in my brain go all haywire. Thankfully I only get this type of PMS every four months, it’s like a quarterly report for my husband who provided a range of opinions from “it’s OK let it all out” (good feedback) to “why are you arguing with a 6 year old” (not so good feedback).  In my PMS mind, arguing with a 6 year old (who acts like a 16 year old) makes COMPLETE LOGICAL AND SANE SENSE.

Fast forward to our Soccer Game, I am still a little torqued up; yet my emotions start to slowly level out and dissipate.  I am enveloped by a sense of calmness as I hear the screaming kids (screams of joy!) pattering throughout the turf fields. My kids are full of vim and vigor and raise their hands wildly to yell out their ideas for the team name. My daughter asks to take a “selfie” with me so she can show the world her lost tooth.  My son offers to play goalie, which makes my heart soar because I drink in the confidence my kids set forth into the world.   Suddenly, little pony mosh pit parties and Legos that paralyze my bare feet into “fall down on the floor holy sh&% wtf did I just step on ” pain, all seems to disappear and the echo of the referees whistle through the woods sounds like harp to my ears.

wpid-20140302_175547.jpg

PS. This blog is meant to be facetious. It is therapeutic outlet for my PMS or whatever feeling that has transcended upon my psyche.  I am not looking for PMS cures or meticulous parenting advice or on how to get my daughter to clean up her my little ponies. Trust me, if I need tips on how to organize rooms, Legos, ponies and twisty ties, or how to parent my children, PINTREST, FACEBOOK and my husband’s aunties have PLENTY of information to assist me with these types of conundrums.    Some people “get” the type of humor I put out there in my blog and on social media  some absolutely do not and see it as a window to shower me with all sorts of remedies for what seems to appear to them as a very problematic life strewn with maladies and bad parenting decisions.  Oh and I do not need to lower the temperature of my sons room either, we good.

image

….BECAUSE I FORGOT HOW TO SPELL THE MAN”S NAME, WOMAN?.. ARE YOU INSANE..???

Today was Book Reading Project Day. The Crafty Mom’s dream, the Mommy Issue’s Mom – nightmare and crafts, projects and hair conundrums are my nemesis. I really try and the adage “our last mistake , is our biggest lesson” never comes to fruition for crafty craftsmanship, in fact it progressively gets worse and there is neighborhood concern that I may one day super glue my hands to my daughter’s ‘french braid’.

I post this undoubtedly adorable picture of my children on social media and directly beneath it, from a neighborhood mom (or Dad, I’m very PC)  is Cindy Lou Hoo HERSELF.. (Do not ask me what my son is, something from Harry Potter, a squawking phoenix? His screeching squawk can break the sound barrier, so have fun today Teach!) .

You could run a roller coaster through the loops, hoops, dips and hops on my neighborhood’s daughter’s hair. It is truly magnificent. I am not in any way disrespecting her craftsmanship with this blog, I’m blown away by its aesthetic artistry.

I am just curious though,  what happened to me when they were handing out the gene that they give to Mommies ( and Daddies!! Again PC) that makes them so prolific at crafts and hair? Was I in the bathroom? Was I break-dancing? Did I pass out? Are my hands not shaped in craftsman “craftymanship” crafty form?

I am sure there are a few of you out there too that were break-dancing with me when the “craftonator” descends upon earth and hands out crafty craftsmanship genes to all the new Mommies (or daddies, I’m extremely PC you see, as I have repeatedly mentioned to thee) . I’m here to tell you, do not sweat it bro, just go with the to and fro, YO!  We all have or loops and hoops dips and drops AND POPS AND LOCKS because we know how to break dance!!! Remember???

In my defense, if there was any pretense in my husband’s mind that I posessed the crafty, hair , pottery~ barn decorator gene, he simply missed the pre~marital signs because he was smitten with my transcendent beauty. Signs such as:

  •   Burping
  •   Wiping the counters with bottom of  my t-shirt
  •   Brushing my hair with a plastic fork
  •   Heating up food in oven, IN STYROFOAM
  •   Identifying, WAY TOO MUCH, with the crazy, younger mom in Divine Secrets of the Ya Yas (you fell asleep honey, The signs were ALL THERE)
  •   And so on so forth- henceforth.

I’m not lamenting the fact that I missed the “Craftonator’s” calling. I’m not complaining. I’m not sad. Or mad. Or blue with a shoe. I’m actually moving more money into Cindy Lou Hoos bank account so she has enough for her therapy sessions, and break-dancing.

ADDENDUM :
End of the day conversation with my Cindy Lou Hoo:
Daughter: “Mommy, um, people kept asking me who I was..And Mommy, so & so’s Mom put a cup on her head and then the hair to look like Cindy Lou Hoo and Mommy so and so (aforementioned in.blog) REALLY looked like CINDY LOU HOO”
Me: “I’m sorry baby, Mommy has bad hair skills, but do not fret child , Mommy & Daddy have tucked away a rainy day fund for therapy and break-dancing”
Daughter Shrugs: “okay”