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Makes Me Stupid PDF Print E-mail
Written by CC   
Wednesday, 19 August 2015 13:55

I would like to imagine that even I am able to write a short and sweet little blurb every single day, to speak my truth in power and simplicity.  But really, that’s not what mac-n-cheesemartinis is about.  So starting today, try to watch my progress and judge quietly.  It won’t be spectacular. 


My kids are back in school.  And I write little words and snippets of wisdom in my personal journal.  I watch my personal growth, and I celebrate the little steps I take each day to become more like Depak Chopra and less like the maniacal mom I picture in my head.  And I do my  No, this isn’t a review for lumosity.  Well, not on purpose anyway.  But seriously.  Do this experiment.  And see how crazy this is! 

My kids were home with me this summer, because unlike some children, my kids BEGGED to stay home instead of going to summer camp.  Most kids are like, “Hey, can I go to robotics camp in East India?”  And most moms are like, “Wow, wouldn’t you like to take swim lessons at the community center?” 

 But me, I’m like, “Hey, what about robotics camp in East India?”  And my kids are like, “NOOOO, we want to stay home with you!”  And then we spend two weeks in bliss as we do all our summer activities at the water park and visit with friends and they do their schoolwork and piano and reading each day.

 And it feels a lot like awesome would, on a stick, with fluffy cotton candy wrapped around it.  And then the last two weeks come around, and they bicker more, and I get irritated faster, and they get out of doing chores, and I work from home and yell a little louder when they interrupt my work calls.  And I impulsively add robotics camp to the calendar for next year, knowing we’ll do the same things again. 

 But wait, I was talking about lumosity!  Soooooo fun experiment.  I was kind of rocking my lumosity scores, feeling like the little home genius that I might think I am when my scores go up and up.  And then somewhere after the two week vacation with their dad, like two days after they got home, my scores plummeted.  And let me be more specific.  My attention scores fell like a freaking anchor, dropped on land.  Turns out I became extremely stupid and unable to focus or problem solve when my kids came home, after two weeks of quiet and calm. 

Ok, tell me something interesting, right?! 

But for real, though, my scores have gone back up in the last couple weeks since the kids went back to school. 

There, I’ve done the research.  Working from home over the summer with your two favorite people home with you is not a good way to become more intelligent.  In fact, it made me stupider for a couple months.  So you don’t need to ask yourself anymore, “Why do I feel like I am losing my mind?”  You are.  Done and done.  I’ve done the research, and you can too. 

So while there is no better place to be than home with my beautiful boys.  While my goal in life is to be there for the things that matter, like picking up from school or seeing a school play or driving to karate or just having a snack after school and going through work from the day…  it does, in fact, make me stupider.  And let’s be honest…  we’ve known forever…  ignorance is bliss.  Enjoy your stupid, enjoy your ignorance, enjoy your kids!  And when they go back to school, recover for a couple weeks and know it does come back.  And now I have no idea what to do with all the power in my brain. 

 Fuck it.  Hand me a martini!


Love to you and yours today!







The Best, The Worst, and the Best PDF Print E-mail
Written by CC   
Tuesday, 19 May 2015 11:49

My kids and I took a walk last night.  My oldest, Mack, was chattering without a breath.  The kid must be a fish.  He can just go on, like a big run-on sentence without taking a breath, and I listen intently to the parts I’ve never heard before. I respond kindly and authoritatively to the parts about his little brother that could be skipped, and I tune out a bit when he begins to pontificate about vehicular attributes that I can barely stand to hear about again. 


Mostly, I take walks with my kids because I love walking at night.  I love how quiet and safe it feels.  Yes, I realize that sounds a little nutty, but I have always loved walks at night.  The world is dark, and it feels like you are a little bit alone.  You can hear things you haven’t.  You don’t dodge bikes and cars and children.   My kids and I just walk down the street.  My oldest on a scooter, whizzing ahead and behind and as in this moment I am describing, scooting beside me chatting, as if there is a whole string of words attached to each other, that must come out because there’s no more room to store them inside his body.

And my youngest has his arm around my waist, telling me he hates walks.  And then he darts over to pick a flower for me or a long stem off a weird plant and makes up a game with it.  “You want to kick the rocks like soccer balls on the way home, mom?”  The answer is no.  I just want to walk and listen and watch them.  They are fascinating and busy and electric.  And many times I play the games my Zoom makes up, but last night I didn’t want to.  I just wanted to be in my body, walking in a rhythm and listening. 


And Mack chattered on, and I came in and out of the one-sided conversation, and watched his beautiful outline of a face in the dark.  Wow, when did he get so big?  His face is as big as mine!  He looks a little like me.  He and I still have that special connection… and then I heard him switch subjects, and I jumped out of my adoring mode to hear him say, “Well, I think you handle things really well with me, mom.  You know me, and you know how to handle me.  But I realized I give you a hard time.  I used to think you were so sweet, and you could handle it, so I would give you more trouble.  But I’m trying to work on that because I don’t think it’s fair.”


If you need a moment to re-read that, I’ll give it to you here.  I am a fast processor, but I had to replay it in my head for a moment too.  Had I fallen and hit my head?  Was I on morphine?  Can I get a little more of that dripping stuff, nurse?  This vision is really phenom, so don’t wake me for a little longer.  Leave the concussion.  I promise we’ll deal with that as soon I finish hearing what my son told me. 


Yah, funny stuff happens every day.  I am never bored.  I never know what will happen next.  I never know what challenge will embrace or squash me as mother.  And I take responsibility for my part in all of that. 


But that really blew me away.  Sometimes I look at this child with so many challenges and so many gifts.  And I wish for him to have everything that’s available.  I have literally spent half my waking hours since he was born trying to figure out what that even is!  And last night I knew something… he was going to be ok.  If at eleven years old, he can give me any sign that he is self-aware, open, honest, kind and loved enough that he can share that with me…  well, I know he will be ok.  And so will I. 


For just a moment, and you know I am all about those, I felt triumphant.  I felt gleeful and full.  Being a parent is the hardest thing in the world, but sometimes, sometimes we get a glimpse of the best parts of these beautiful people we call our children.  Sometimes, we see the really good stuff that makes us wonder why we’ve ever complained—until they break my grandma’s porcelain parakeet she handed to me on her deathbed as she sang out “Happy Birthday”.  But you understand, even if I get off track. We are lucky to be able to experience the best and the worst.  And we are most blessed if we understand that at the end of either one of these extremes is the other or something in between.  All together it’s called parenting.   But today, this memory is called the best.  And I get to revel in that today.


Short and sweet, just like what I could be if I really tried. 


Love to you and yours today!  Cheers to all the best moments!


The F*ing Folder: The Saga Continues PDF Print E-mail
Written by CC   
Thursday, 19 February 2015 08:03

Yes, I was on the yearbook committee a couple years in high school.  Sometimes I feel that question is on the tip of everyone’s tongue when I meet them or when they’ve known me for years or when they have read my blog for years or even a day…  and today I am ready to spill.  I was.  At least 2 years. But who can remember how long they did anything before they were 20. And if we’re being realistic…  who can remember what fucking happened yesterday sometimes. 


It was a good time in life.  I had finished my “real” classes, and the teacher was kinda awesome and funny and cool. And my super most-perverted and hilarious friends were in Yearbook too.  So there were lots of antics and fun and silliness and days when our teacher thought we all sucked. But that’s all in the life of…  insert character here.


So I lived it, loved it, didn’t work toooooo hard there.  I saved that hard work for, well, something else, I imagine.  And that was before you had a computer app or program that you speak to in any language…  “insert picture here” to make a flawless yearbook.  This was in the old days when we had to draw the pictures with our homemade pens.  Okay, I am exaggerating a tiny bit.  But why have these memories been dredged up?  Well, because of that damn folder again, the one my son brings home from school.  I promised in the last post never to open it again…  But turns out my son might fail school if I don’t.  And let’s just say since he flipped off another kid in art---things are tentative.  I have to “show up” as a mom, at least until a couple more kids do the mighty middle finger and erase memories of my wild child’s infraction. 


So I get this black and white and varying shades of gray notification that “Yearbooks On Sale Now!”  The English doesn’t translate well on that, but forgive the poor grammar for a moment.  The first price I read for the SOFT cover is $33.25. 


And pause. 


Because I like to think before I react. 

Are you fucking kidding me?!  And that was it.  I thought about it.  And…  reacting in my usual subtle hues…


First of all, there’s a soft or hard cover?! Really? Where’s the fucking digital version?  Isn’t that less?  Can I download it on my kindle for like $9.99? 


Why would my child need a HARD cover version anyway?  To put in our family library?  They are going to forget the damn thing halfway through the summer anyway. 


Where’s the rating?  Five stars?  Less?  Why?  How will I know how much I want to pay for this if I don’t know what other consumers think of it? 


BUT OH WAIT!  There are several packages! Oh freaking perfect!  Not only am I irritated that there is hard and soft version that cost as much as my designer handbag…  Please…  don’t judge.  You can get a designer handbag for $33.25… in China, in a back alley, in a locked room, where you have to give up your virginity and post pictures on facebook and like their page and yelp it and you get the idea…  So yes, I have a designer handbag for $33.25.  And less self-esteem and self-respect.  Whatever.  But a yearbook!  Where’s the back alley? Show me the way!  Sure, I’m not a virgin anymore, but in a dark alley…  okay, I erased what I wrote the first time…  Feeling generous to your morality today.


Too much?  Not yet? Still some takers? 


Okay, cause I have more.  BELOW the designer bag prices are several packages you can choose from…  Apparently the price I felt quoted when I picked up the fucking price list was the Package A CHOICE. Choice means I get to choose another package if I’d like….  you know, like options.  Handbag in the alley or in daylight…  without the logo on the bag or with? 


And I scan to the lowest price I can find… Standard Yearbook…  Soft Cover $25.00. Perfect.  That’s me.  I mean, that’s my son, soft cover. My second grade son.  Ok, now I know why my mom never bought us yearbooks…  besides keeping her dignity… she knew we wouldn’t give a shit who we went to school with in 25 years…  and not only that, but we would have our yearbooks packed away in a storage unit with a bunch of other crap we’d never go through.  Find a friend with a yearbook, son!  And maybe steal it before they get it signed.  Pick the kid who stole all your Skylanders… the ones you brought in to show on ‘I’m a Star’ week…  Take his yearbook and sign the shit out of it… And then say, “What?  You lost your yearbook?  Sorry about that.  If I had my Skylanders, I could probably find it for you!” 


I feel my karma depleting as I write this…  And I’m not as mad as I was when I started it.  But I should still finish, right?! 


There are Packages A through D, and the standard yearbook…  and get this… fucking fancy…


A La Carte Options!!!  Seriously?  If only I could write about the China Designer Handbag options!!!  This I get! 


But what the hell is a “yearbook sticky”?  You understand why I’m concerned, right?!  And an “Autograph Insert”?  You mean, as opposed to writing on the pages in the book?  You mean an additional page that will get lost?  Perfect!  Sign me up….  for ten of those…  so I can replace the ten we lose between the time my second grader gets the yearbook and the yearbook actually gets home…  sans insert. 


Boy, I am tired of getting things in that folder, and I am NOT tired of the folder theme for my blog posts yet.  It’s so not over.  It might not be over for years.  I love the announcements with absolutely no helpful information, but I have learned to love, and by that I mean hate, the announcements with too many freaking options and prices that are exorbitant.  Example… you read it. 


Hey school, thanks for the invite to that fundraiser last week and thanks for the opportunity to do a fun run in 2 weeks and donate to my child, which, of course, I will.  Because I can’t stand the look on his face if I say I won’t. 


Big sigh.  I’m done. And I may have gone overboard.  I am probably most mad at myself prematurely, for giving in to the requests that will no doubt catapult my buying price to the top of the pyramid for this yearbook.  I am probably happy that I had a chance to reformat the sheet so my son does not know there are actually five choices and an a la carte menu, maybe I won’t pay the top price?  I am probably uncertain whether I should be working right now to pay for this measure or just writing about it on my blog that I share for free.  And I am completely in awe of my ability to make a positive about anything.  I am most grateful for that. 


So, buy a damn yearbook this year for your kid.  And try not to notice the GDP of any third world country, insinuating your child does not in fact need that yearbook.  And give up ideas of any cushy nursing home.  This isn’t the last flyer that’s coming home this year, my friend.  There are more designer bags to buy! 


Love to you and yours today.  Don’t call me.  I can’t go out. My budget is blown this month.  And I have been sent to treatment for my dirty mouth.  Working hard to be a better person… next week. 



F*ing Folder OR Glasses Are Great PDF Print E-mail
Written by CC   
Wednesday, 10 December 2014 11:19

So my Zoom comes homes from school with a folder every day.  Yes, you know the folder, the fucking folder.  It’s the portal from the teacher’s classroom to your home…  you know, the portal of perfection, right?  The teacher puts something in the folder, it comes home.  There is something different in the folder than what the teacher put in.  You read it, file it away, you miss the deadline, you don’t put it on the calendar, you forget, you email the teacher, or maybe you did…  Who can remember?  I hate the folder.  And if you have a child with ADHD, the folder is a portal to hell and back.  You always wonder what the teachers are talking about…  a folder?  A book?  My child does math at school?  Wait, he doesn’t attend that school…  who is this?  Why do you need cookies from me for the bake sale?  I’m calling the police.


 You know…  it’s a slippery slope.  I am working on my rage, incipient rage, that flies from all things school I cannot grasp or respond to as I imagine grown up, competent, pretty, smart moms are supposed to do. 

Truths of the Universe! PDF Print E-mail
Written by CC   
Friday, 17 October 2014 08:13

I’ve decided to print some truths for the week.  What an intro, eh?!  Now that you’re all settled in with a cup of coffee and a croissant or a mimosa…  get this…  and no need to write it down.  It’s on my blog.  You can come back and reference it whenever you need.


*If you put corn kernels in the dryer, they do not pop and make popcorn.  Even on normal heat, for an hour…  no popcorn.  So if your microwave dies, and your stove quits working and you don’t have a bag of already popped popcorn…  do NOT assume you can pop it in your dryer.  I now have a backup generator for the microwave.  Ask me if you want to know where to get a good deal.

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