OH! My Bad!

Have you ever seen a more irritating, poke-your-eyes-out-with-a-stick, vein-throbbing-in-your-forehead phrase in all your life?  MY BAD.

I have teenagers.  They used to be children.  They used to say “Oops.  I’m sorry.” when they screwed up or forgot to do a chore or stepped on someone’s toe.  Not anymore though.  Now it’s MY BAD.

DUDE, I KNOW IT’S YOUR BAD!  Otherwise, I wouldn’t have said “you forgot to pick up your towel from the bathroom floor.”  I would have said it to your sister.

Is it because I take the shackles off to let them leave the house and go to school every day?  Is that where they pick it up?  Is it Nickelodeon, or Radio Disney?  Do we let them watch too much PG-13 television?

I really need to know… how do they suddenly go from “I’m sorry, Mommy” to “Oh.  MY BAD”????  And how do you get them to go back, short of threatening their life (cause that didn’t work)?  Otherwise, someone tell me how to turn off the twitching, because that look is so not working for me.

I am not responsible for your child!

Since starting middle school 2 1/2 years ago, my middle child has had a friend whose mother just refuses to be responsible for.  It never fails that if there is an event at school (or THIRTY MILES FROM SCHOOL) that this child is participating in, I will get the following phone call:

“Mommy, can we give Nikia a ride to (home from) the performance? (dance, pta meeting, etc)  Her mom can’t come get her (after dark, in the pouring fucking rain).”  In the beginning, I felt bad that Nikia wouldn’t get to participate in these things if I said no, so I became the cab for someone else’s kid.

But you know… it’s been 2 1/2 damned years.  Not once has an adult in this child’s house shown up for a performance she’s in, or provided transportation for something that they signed the permission slip saying she could attend.

This weekend was my middle daughter’s birthday party, so color me shocked when (an hour before the party) I got the question.. “Mommy, can you go pick up Nikia?  She wants to come to the party.”   ……. uh, no.  We’ve got 20 guests arriving in an hour, I’m not playing taxi tonight.

“Well, she’s going to walk and she wants to know if I can walk half way and meet her?”  … uh, no.  We’ve got 20 guests arriving in an hour to see YOU and you’re not going to be walking down the road in the dark when they do.  And if she comes, I’m NOT taking her home!”

Amazingly enough, someone managed to find it in their heart to drop the child on my doorstep during the party.  Of course, she ended up inviting herself to the sleepover afterward, because she couldn’t get a ride home.  Raise your hand if you’re surprised!  Yeah, me neither.

Finally, yesterday about 3:30 in the afternoon, my husband had to take the girl home because it was raining and still nobody at her house would come and pick her up.

How do people do this?  How the hell do they just dump their kids off for everyone else to be responsible for?  How do they promise that the kid can participate in things at school and then let them down EVERY FUCKING TIME?  How do they break their kids’ hearts at every turn?  And, even more importantly, how do they teach their kids that it’s acceptable to beg, whine, needle, cajole, and negotiate to get other people to pick up their sorry ass slack?

Some people need to wake the hell up, get off the sofa, and be parents to the people they brought into this world.  And some of us (or me) need to stop enabling those other people to dump their kids off for us to care for.

I forgot where I was for just a minute

To say that I’ve been under a little stress lately might just be the understatement of my life.  So yesterday, while dangling at the very tippy edge of my sanity, I posted this on Facebook:

C.R.A.N.K.Y. ……. if you love me, you will find me a nice quiet warm place to be with nothing breakable within reach and shove chocolate under the door. #thatisall

A while later, while puttering on Facebook during a conference  call (which he can do… because he works from home… in his underwear… and nobody can see him surfing on Facebook during his calls.  fucker.)  my husband left this comment on my post:

My arms work?

Did I say fucker?  I meant … I love you hunny bunny and always will!

After the FOREVER LONG DAY I had yesterday, I drove my cranky self home … and sat in the driveway for 5 minutes flipping a coin to see if I should go in or just go crawl into a Mexico Lindo margarita. I went inside, bracing myself for the “ZOMG MOMMY YOU HAVE TO HEAR ABOUT MY DAYYYYYY” deluge.

I opened the front door, ever so cautiously… to a nearly spotless living room.  Something was definitely wrong here.  I sniffed and asked “Uh, what the hell is that smell?” and a child responded (sedately…?? WHAT) “Oh, M lit candles for you.”  and then “Oh, and he poured you a glass of wine too.  Here you go, mommy.”

Sounds from the house started penetrating the fog that is my brain.  Washing machine going.  Dryer going.  Someone washing the dishes.  At this point, I MUST have had the confused tilted head look on my face. I mean.. it looked like my house on the outside.  These looked like my children.

My husband is the most amazing guy on the planet.  He marshaled the troops (kids) and they all pitched in on a “Take care of mommy” night.  After asking just a couple of procedural questions, he got dinner started while I puttered on a couple of chores.  With a stern look, he picked up my wine glass and told me to follow him to the bedroom.  (Get your mind out of the gutter!)

He took me to our bathroom where there was a row of lit candles around the bath tub… and a small dish of chocolate truffles… and began to run a bubble bath for me.   Smiling from ear to ear, I reached into the tub to stir up some bubbles.  And then…DUN DUN DUN….

I stood up and collapsed into a heap of giggles in my husband’s arms. Just when I started to believe that I came home to the wrong house… NO HOT WATER. The youngest didn’t take a shower before school, so she took one after school instead and used up all the hot water.

I blew out the candles, ate all of the chocolates and checked my email.  But I’ll tell you what… I was smiling the entire time.

You think the Sock Monster is bad? He’s got nothing on this guy…

12… twelve… TWELVE!  That is the number of travel mug lids in my kitchen cabinet.  No mugs.  Just lids.  I am not kidding!

I have no idea where they go, or how they’re getting there.  Obviously there are multiple meanings to the term “travel mug”.  I never dreamed it meant they’d be traveling alone… and leaving their handy dandy partners (the lids) behind!

They aren’t in my van (ok, one was, but it had the lid on it…).  They aren’t on the porch.  None in my husband’s car.  None in the kids rooms.  The dogs are NOT happy that I keep looking under the beds and finding their stashes of things (mismatched socks….. hmmmm) and shuffling things around.  Still no travel mugs.  I’m almost certain they have been devoured by the long lost (and obviously more vicious) cousin of the Sock Monster.  I think we have a Travel Mug Monster.

To all you bigtime travel mug maker companies out there… please put one of those baby glove attachment strings between the cup and the lid.  That would be so very helpful.  Maybe then I would have a cabinet full of half washed mugs to bitch about instead of just those sad, lonely, pitiful looking lids who are pining for their missing mug companions.  If we could save just one travel mug from this evil and malicious monster, for under $.12 a day… oh wait… wrong plea…  If we could save just one travel mug from this evil and malicious monster by attaching a teeny tiny connector, life would be so much more pleasant for the people who have to be on the road with me in the mornings.

OH and while we’re on the subject… if you could all just pick one darned size of lid and stick with it, that’d be great.  Have you ever spent 20 minutes fishing through (TWELVE) lids to find the one that actually fits your mug so that you can go to work?  It’s annoying as hell.

So, in conclusion:

  • Attach the lids to the mugs so they don’t get traumatized by the separation (and then give me one for my birthday)
  • Make the lids uniform size
  • Get a doggie gate for the laundry room so the “sock monsters” go away.

That is all.

Word of Mouth is only as good as the mouth it’s coming out of

Dear Dave Ramsey,

The endorsements that come out of your mouth are bullshit at its finest.  Which is a shame, because your real message is amazing and changes lives.  I believe in your financial advice… and until I found out how WRONG I was, I believed in your famous Endorsed Local Providers.

After hearing you talk about how your Endorsed Local Providers are the cream of the crop who “have the heart of a teacher”, I decided to take your advice and get my taxes processed by someone on that list.  Your financial advice may have never steered me wrong, but so far the other companies you endorse are shit.

After spending almost 2 months repeatedly answering questions, following their suggestions, and trying desperately to get them to return a telephone call or answer an email in a timely manner… we finally got our taxes for last year filed… only to find out months later that they didn’t do the whole job.  So we had to file an amendment and flurry of other paperwork to get things sorted out.

Last month, the IRS told us that none of the numbers on our personal return matched the numbers on our business return and now we have to file ANOTHER amendment.

Oh yeah… and we’re going to get audited.

OH YEAH… and the IRS rejected our otherwise qualifying Offer in Compromise, costing us SIXTY THOUSAND FUCKING DOLLARS.

OH YEAH AND… now these amazing Endorsed Local Providers refuse to return phone calls, return emails, or schedule an appointment so that we can file yet another amendment to fix their continued screw ups.  YIPPEE!

I should have learned my lesson, but no.  I thought that, since this wasn’t the first time we had been unable to find a reliable tax accountant over the last 5 years, this was just the way tax firms worked in the 2000s.  Completely lazy, unresponsive, and incompetent.

Holy Cow was I wrong!  Last week, I took my car to one of the shops you advertise in my area about 10 times every single episode.  Good mechanics that don’t screw you out of hundreds of dollars a pop are getting harder to find, so I took another shot with someone that you recommended.

After two full business days (not including the holiday weekend), we still didn’t get a call from the garage with the ESTIMATE.  So, my hubby called today and guess what… oh, I’ll bet you know… they haven’t even looked at it.  Amazingly enough, not even an hour after he called, we got the estimate.

They say we’ll get a call today when the repairs are finished.  Maybe.  Given the track record, I’m not holding my breath.

Lesson learned.. Rest assured that this bitch won’t be using your endorsed insurance, investment, or real estate providers.

Truly,

Bitchy Momma