The Spaz's Day Off

Yesterday was The Man's birthday. We celebrated it on Easter Sunday with my family who sang to him and made him wear a funny hat. Thank goodness we did, too, because yesterday became known to me as

The Day When Nothing Would Stay In My Body For More Than Ten Minutes

It all started at 5:30 am when I was rudely awoken to that lovely hot saliva thing that happens right before I'm about to hurl. I willed it away for about 30 seconds before I realized there was no willing it away. I was about to hurl.

You know what pisses me off about puking at 5:30 in the morning? There's no one to hold my hair back or baby me. The Man slept soundly while I wretched. It didn't even phase him. My groans of discontent as I got back into bed went unheard.  And then when the alarm went off at 7, I was still expected to get up and take Goober to school, wake Munchkin and Bug up, and make sure the day still went as planned. Or at least make sure the children made it to school. That was really the only important thing.

Sure, I could have shaken him awake on his birthday and said "Get up, Mister. I'm sick and you're on duty."

But what kind of martyr would I be if I did that?

At any rate, I did manage to make it through the day, thanking the heavens above that my kids are now old enough to pretty much take care of themselves and even make their own freezer pizza for dinner.

I spent the day wrapped up in a blankie watching Lindsay on OWN and Gossip Girl on Netflix. Don't hate. I did attempt to get a little work done, but the effort needed to get anything done was great. It was mostly about Lindsay Lohan and Blair Waldorf - all day long. And during the day, I asked myself some questions.

1. Why does the cat meow incessantly for me to pet him and then lay just out of my reach?
2. Why don't I remember eating that?
3. If Lindsay has a personal assistant, why doesn't he make sure to get her anywhere on time?
4. Have I lost weight today?
5. What do people from Manhattan really have against Brooklyn?
6. Why has no one invented a closet that washes and dries the clothes while they're on the hanger?

It's a great idea, really. Someone needs to figure that out. I'll be the guinea pig.

At any rate, today I'm feeling.... better.... still a little off but so much better. I'm planning on getting some work done today and doing a few errands so I sincerely hope I don't spread this funk around too much while I'm out.

I'm totally throwing out the Mardi Gras beads.

I just realized today is April 14th... which means that tomorrow is April 15th.... which means that I have to file my taxes.

I do realize I can file them before the 15th. In fact, every year I fully intend to do so. I get all motivated in January, thinking I'll get them done early and get them off of my mind.  And then I don't. I have to wait for stuff, yanno? And then.... math.... ugh.

Doesn't it seem like there are usually a lot more reminders about tax day than there were this year? Maybe I haven't been watching enough television. This year I sort of just pushed taxes to the back of my mind and was all "Yeah... those are due, like, forever from now. It's cool."

At any rate, today I realized I was really pushing it and decided to get started (right after this blog post, that is). But first I would need to locate all of my stuff. Forms with numbers for names. Or number and letter combinations. Forms that look official and that I should have been keeping in a safe place. A file perhaps.

And that's when I took a good, hard look at my desk.

Ah, my beautiful desk. The place where I spend so much of my time, a hub of busy activity, a cornucopia overflowing with everything that passes through my fingertips on a daily basis and then some.  It's a ridiculous mess.

The above picture is just a small selection of disaster. What IS all that stuff? Expired coupons, a patch that needs to be sewn on something for some kid, mail from my alma mater asking for support... my desk would certainly win on Let's Make A Deal.

Somewhere under all that mess are a few important tax documents I'll be needing for the good old IRS this year. So I'm hereby declaring April 14th to be National Clean Up Your Desk In Order To Find Your Crap Day. 

I think it might catch on. 

In which the Spaz doesn't care if you're a helicopter mom.

I read a blog post today written by another mother exasperated by the helicopter parent trend. To be fair, I sort of started skimming the post toward the end, but I'm pretty sure I got the gist of it.

Parents who coddle their children and make them the center of their universe are not preparing said children for the real world in which they will be required to function.

I agree with this. Wholeheartedly.

However, I really and truly feel like this issue is one that needs to be put to bed. It's none of my business how someone chooses to parent their child and it's none of anyone else's business how I choose to parent my child. Unless I'm opening the door for parenting advice, I think everyone needs to keep their hands in their own affairs and stay out of mine.

If you want to spoil your precious princess and teach her that whenever she has a "boo-boo" the world should stop and address it, then that's your prerogative. It's none of my damn business.

Just like I don't want you judging the fact that I tell my kids to "shake it off", I'm not judging that you whipped a first aid kit complete with happy face stickers out of your Thirty One bag. That's your deal.

I truly don't think this helicopter parent thing is even all that big of a thing. I have lots of friends with kids and we all went through the same phases.  When our kids were infants we kept them close and monitored them constantly. As they became toddlers we followed them around making sure they didn't choke or electrocute themselves. When they went to school we both cried and sighed in relief to drop them off with someone else for a few hours a day. Now that they're older and active, we let them do their thing - giving them independence but always being nearby just in case they need us. In my experience, this is what typical parenting is. Of course there are extremes in both directions - but who am I to say someone else is doing it right or wrong?

I just feel like there's so much judgement among mothers and women and it makes me sad. We're all (okay, well most of us) just trying to do what we think is best and we're all making mistakes along the way. Let's all just jump off the criticism train for a minute and try to support each other.