According to Dictionary.com:
Meltdown: (noun)
1. The term that describes the melting of a significant portion of a nuclear reactor core due to inadequate cooling of the fuel elements, a condition that could lead to an escape of radiation.
2. (Informal) A disastrous or rapidly developing situation likened to the melting of a nuclear reactor core.
3. (Informal) An emotional breakdown.
My definition:
1. My six and eight year old sons attempting to do homework while tired and hungry at 6:00pm in the evening.
2. My reaction to said sons.
The hours between 8:40 am and 3:30 pm (a.k.a. “bliss”) go by like a flash. It’s a cruel joke. The time after school and before dinner seems to be the longest few hours of my day. When I see the big yellow bus pull in front of the house, I begin to twitch. They exit the bus and descend on the house, dare I say, like locusts. Ravenous and frenzied, I am amazed how two children can go in several directions at once. Both of them telling me about their day – at the same time – seemingly unaware that the other is also speaking. “Can I go? Can I do? Can I have?” is all I seem to hear except, of course, for the other more popular mantra, “Mom… Mom… Mom…”
Knowing they are starving, I offer healthy snacks of fruit to which I get arguments and pleadings for cookies. Many times I relent knowing that just the crinkling sound of the Chips Ahoy package will be enough music to soothe the savage beast. Ahh, but I always seem to forget about the sugar rush that follows.
There have been some "expert" studies done recently that claim sugar doesn’t cause the hyperactivity and that it’s actually the excitement of the snack itself. I beg to differ. And I’d like to meet those so-called experts. I bet all my cookies they are childless.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Hot Mama!
Mother’s Day celebrations at school are always fun. Songs are sung, poems are read, cookies and juice passed around by little hands. Cards, pencil holders, flowers made out of cupcake holders and tissue paper. I look forward to this day all spring.
My youngest, who’s in the first grade, really gave me the best present of all. In his stack of drawings and projects was a five-page card filled with wonderful things about Moms. We are the kisser of boo-boos, the chef of all things delicious, the fixer of broken toys, finder of lost shoes, etc.
On page four, was the word “MOTHER” written vertically. Every letter had a word written in its place to describe Mom. M=Most fun, O=Outstanding, etc. I work my way down the list of words, taking my time to decipher the handwriting and phonetic spellings and get to the letter “H.” To my surprise my not-quite-seven-year-old lists “Hot.”
In a room with twenty other mothers whose children put “Happy” and “Helpful,” here I stand with “Hot.” At first I’m embarrassed, then I’m alarmed. Should I be concerned that he even knows how to reference this word? What did the teacher think when she saw that? Was she concerned as to what kind of house I run? I feel the teacher glancing in my direction. She looks like she’s nearly half my age, yet I’m strangely intimidated. She thinks I’m a bad mother, I just know it. In a flash, my mind winds through all the places he could have possibly heard this and I start thinking I should censor his TV a little more. The teacher catches my eye and smiles. I let out a sigh of relief. If she's smiling, maybe she doesn't think I'm a freak.
All of my anxiety quickly gives way to vanity. Truthfully, I’m ecstatic. I know that all kids (especially boys) want to have the prettiest Mom in the class. I’m thrilled to be the pretty Mom… not just the pretty Mom, but the “Hot” Mom. I find myself standing a little taller, shoulders back. Damn it! I am HOT! Even if only in the eyes of my six year old – I’ll take it!
Funny how affected I suddenly become. I am now scanning the room, comparing myself to the other Moms. All of us different shapes and sizes. Some with the latest fashions, haircuts and designer purses and others in sweats and ponytails. Some of us in our 20’s and others in our 40’s. Size 2 to size 22. Actually, I’m right smack in the middle of this cross section of women. Pretty well put together, but not a beauty queen either.
Something very interesting occurred to me: We Moms know that each and every one of us has given birth to the most beautiful child in the world. What we don’t realize is that our children ALL think they have the most beautiful Mommy ever! We’re always so busy admiring them, we don’t realize we’re getting admired right back!
To all Moms out there… we’re all HOT!
Happy Mother’s Day!
My youngest, who’s in the first grade, really gave me the best present of all. In his stack of drawings and projects was a five-page card filled with wonderful things about Moms. We are the kisser of boo-boos, the chef of all things delicious, the fixer of broken toys, finder of lost shoes, etc.
On page four, was the word “MOTHER” written vertically. Every letter had a word written in its place to describe Mom. M=Most fun, O=Outstanding, etc. I work my way down the list of words, taking my time to decipher the handwriting and phonetic spellings and get to the letter “H.” To my surprise my not-quite-seven-year-old lists “Hot.”
In a room with twenty other mothers whose children put “Happy” and “Helpful,” here I stand with “Hot.” At first I’m embarrassed, then I’m alarmed. Should I be concerned that he even knows how to reference this word? What did the teacher think when she saw that? Was she concerned as to what kind of house I run? I feel the teacher glancing in my direction. She looks like she’s nearly half my age, yet I’m strangely intimidated. She thinks I’m a bad mother, I just know it. In a flash, my mind winds through all the places he could have possibly heard this and I start thinking I should censor his TV a little more. The teacher catches my eye and smiles. I let out a sigh of relief. If she's smiling, maybe she doesn't think I'm a freak.
All of my anxiety quickly gives way to vanity. Truthfully, I’m ecstatic. I know that all kids (especially boys) want to have the prettiest Mom in the class. I’m thrilled to be the pretty Mom… not just the pretty Mom, but the “Hot” Mom. I find myself standing a little taller, shoulders back. Damn it! I am HOT! Even if only in the eyes of my six year old – I’ll take it!
Funny how affected I suddenly become. I am now scanning the room, comparing myself to the other Moms. All of us different shapes and sizes. Some with the latest fashions, haircuts and designer purses and others in sweats and ponytails. Some of us in our 20’s and others in our 40’s. Size 2 to size 22. Actually, I’m right smack in the middle of this cross section of women. Pretty well put together, but not a beauty queen either.
Something very interesting occurred to me: We Moms know that each and every one of us has given birth to the most beautiful child in the world. What we don’t realize is that our children ALL think they have the most beautiful Mommy ever! We’re always so busy admiring them, we don’t realize we’re getting admired right back!
To all Moms out there… we’re all HOT!
Happy Mother’s Day!
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Addict Acting?
So it would seem actor David Boreanaz has joined the “Cheating Husband Club” along with Tiger Woods and Jesse James. Of course, this comes on the heels of the other woman coming forward. It would appear she’s one of several extracurricular activities he's had recently. He’s made all requisite apologies and has informed America that he’s working on his marriage. As of today’s news, he’s not yet checked into a treatment center for sex addiction. I can’t help but wonder if these three boys can get a group rate.
To Tiger Woods and Jesse James claiming to be sex addicts, I’ve really just got to say something here: Do you really think we’re buying this? I’d like to be a fly on the wall of every house in America that tuned into the entertainment segment of the news when they announced this. I would bet my paycheck that I’d see the rolling of eyes in every house in the land.
The whole idea is an insult to our intelligence. The picture of an addict is someone who is so desperate they will do anything for a fix of their drug of choice. It could be alcohol, drugs, gambling, etc. They gamble the rent money. They sell their mother’s wedding ring for some crack. They can sink to the depths of hell and live in squalor, all to chase that perfect high. So you’ll excuse me if I’m not buying this. Have you seen the women these men are sleeping with? None of these so-called “addicts” are exactly hitting bottom, as they say.
I don’t think they need sex addiction counseling. I think they just need a reality check. Do they think the sex addict thing will work like a Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free card with their wives? Even my husband shook his head at this one. I’m just not getting it. I can’t imagine my husband cluing me in on countless affairs over the course of our marriage and me reaching for the phone for the sex addict hotline, “Hello, please direct me to the nearest treatment center. My husband needs help!” Come on ladies, you know what we’re reaching for… a baseball bat, the knife drawer, or something that will really hit him where it hurts – a divorce lawyer.
These men have the world on a string. Success, family, fame and fortune. But outside women throw themselves at them and marriage is no deterrent. Maybe it’s just a case of over-inflated ego? Everywhere they look, women want them. It’s in their faces constantly. OK, I get that, but just because you can doesn’t mean you have to do it.
It’s like that cheesecake in my fridge. I’m dying for it. I am. I have motive (my sweet tooth,) I have opportunity (I’m in the kitchen) and I have reason (because I deserve it.) But, no, I can’t. I won’t.
See – done. How easy was that?
Like everything else in life: You can’t have your cake and eat it, too!
To Tiger Woods and Jesse James claiming to be sex addicts, I’ve really just got to say something here: Do you really think we’re buying this? I’d like to be a fly on the wall of every house in America that tuned into the entertainment segment of the news when they announced this. I would bet my paycheck that I’d see the rolling of eyes in every house in the land.
The whole idea is an insult to our intelligence. The picture of an addict is someone who is so desperate they will do anything for a fix of their drug of choice. It could be alcohol, drugs, gambling, etc. They gamble the rent money. They sell their mother’s wedding ring for some crack. They can sink to the depths of hell and live in squalor, all to chase that perfect high. So you’ll excuse me if I’m not buying this. Have you seen the women these men are sleeping with? None of these so-called “addicts” are exactly hitting bottom, as they say.
I don’t think they need sex addiction counseling. I think they just need a reality check. Do they think the sex addict thing will work like a Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free card with their wives? Even my husband shook his head at this one. I’m just not getting it. I can’t imagine my husband cluing me in on countless affairs over the course of our marriage and me reaching for the phone for the sex addict hotline, “Hello, please direct me to the nearest treatment center. My husband needs help!” Come on ladies, you know what we’re reaching for… a baseball bat, the knife drawer, or something that will really hit him where it hurts – a divorce lawyer.
These men have the world on a string. Success, family, fame and fortune. But outside women throw themselves at them and marriage is no deterrent. Maybe it’s just a case of over-inflated ego? Everywhere they look, women want them. It’s in their faces constantly. OK, I get that, but just because you can doesn’t mean you have to do it.
It’s like that cheesecake in my fridge. I’m dying for it. I am. I have motive (my sweet tooth,) I have opportunity (I’m in the kitchen) and I have reason (because I deserve it.) But, no, I can’t. I won’t.
See – done. How easy was that?
Like everything else in life: You can’t have your cake and eat it, too!
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