Storm Clouds Coming

Photo of Hurricane Rita used by permission from wikipedia/commons

My summer hiatus was more that just a hiatus it seems.   Sorry about that!

The tantrums have some what subsided and I am not sure why and have decided that it must be the calm before the storm.  I feel sure Hurricane Ten Year Old will arrive as a category 5!

I don’t even have a tantrum to talk about today.  I do, however, have the dread of her growing older.  I realized this over the Thanksgiving vacation while peeking at her Christmas list.  It read:

  • IPhone Six, with case
  • an MP3 player
  • earrings
  • a bikini
  • lip balm
  • a laptop
  • pink earbuds
  • hand sanitizer

What I realized is that my ten year old, deep down, just really wants to be an actual teenager for Christmas.  Not only can I NOT give her that, but I wouldn’t want to.  It’s funny how, when your child is very small, you look forward to a slightly more independent little person because you’re so damn tired all the time.

All you want is for this little infant to be able to tie her shoes, pour her own cereal and help you out!  Then it happens.  Soon, even more happens. You’re talking about menstrual cycles, buying tween size sanitary products, and listening to talk about wanting to be a YouTube sensation.

You’re setting parental controls on the computer, reminding them about internet privacy, and you just want it all to slow down!   You want to replace the desire for electronics for blocks and puzzles.

I want my infant girl back because the time really did go by too fast, and I’m not ready the tantrums that will come when the hurricane arrives.



What do you mean there’s no popcorn?

Popcorn?   Ha!   Not in this house!
Popcorn? Ha! Not in this house!

The world ended this evening around 7:00.  You most likely didn’t realize it, but it did.  It ended with a complete explosion of tears, leg flailing, and the all important throwing of stuffed animals.

I had already told my daughter this afternoon that we wouldn’t have a movie night.  She’s been plagued with asthma episodes, has not been wanting to get out of bed, and had a soccer game this morning.  All of that is a recipe for a trip to the ER for emergency breathing treatments while I’m waiting for her new prescription to kick in, and so I just wanted her to go to sleep at her normal time.  I had told her all that, and she was fine with it until after dinner when she began pestering me and hoping I had forgotten that I had already told her no.

And really, it wasn’t that I had told her no to the movie night that upset her so much.  It was the fact that I told her that he also didn’t have any popcorn.  That’s what did it.  That is what turned my 9 year old from a likable child with great comedic timing to a complete uber freak of a meltdown!

When it ended and the earthquake that centered in her room quieted, things were normal again.  They were normal, that is, until she fell asleep and I wanted popcorn.  Remembering that we didn’t have any, and being completely pissed off that we also didn’t have any apples, or candy, or chocolate, or chips,  I got pissed off and wondered what the hell I was supposed to do without all those things!   I’m the one who buys everything, and so I had to forage in the pantry until I saw my daughter’s left over Christmas M&Ms from my parents.

And you know what I did?   I ate them!   That’s right.  I ate them because I’m a hideous beast who is most hated and never has movie night and never, ever has popcorn.

Nothing is ever easy for me in this house!

You know these window cleaners aren't having ridiculous tantrums!
You know these window cleaners aren’t having ridiculous tantrums!

Todays tantrum is brought to you by chores.  My 9 year old wanted to wash the windows, and I’m not about to turn down anyone who wants to wash my windows.  But do you know what you get when you have an overtired kid, some window cleaner and a roll of paper towels, and then add in some blinds that won’t stay up for her?

You get a tantrum!   And not just a normal tantrum.  You get a full blown Remember-Being-Three-Tantrum.

Since I was in the kitchen doing my own chore, I didn’t realize she was having trouble until I heard the blood curdling scream from the den.   “STUPID blinds!”   I go into the den and quickly and easily adjust them and then she just starts crying, “Why is everything so easy for you!   Why do you do this so easy?  It’s not fair!   Nothing is ever easy for me in this house!”  Then she runs to her room crying.

And so I stand there and walk back into the kitchen and finish the dishes.  And that’s when the two year old labrador runs and jumps on my daughter’s bed.  All the dog wants is to love on her and make her feel better.  She wants to play.  Yet, this makes my child cry even harder and then she screams, “I hate you Lucy!   Get away from me!”   She doesn’t use the OFF command though,  and so Lucy just stays on the bed.

And that’s when I lose it.  Not for the tantrum, but because she didn’t use a command and is getting angry at the dog.

When my little rant was over,  I just wanted to grab the keys and drive to Target and just walk around aimlessly looking at home decor.  I wanted to just drive somewhere.  Anywhere.  I dreamt of fruity drinks with umbrellas, going to concerts, and being able to do what I wanted when I wanted.   I took a deep breath and began to count because I wanted to tell her to get a grip.  I wanted to tell her that things were easy for me because I’m decades older than she is and that she needed to just suck it up!  That’s what I wanted to tell her, but instead I just kept breathing and counting because the tears were starting to form.  Nothing is ever really easy for me in this house either.

Skinny Jeans are from Hell

None of this material should be made into skinny jeans!
None of this material should be made into skinny jeans!

Skinny jeans, I’ve determined will be the death of me.  They are what makes my life a living hell every morning.   My daughter used to be a kid who didn’t care what she wore.  She’d wear red, white and blue stripped shirts with pink flower pants and have three ponytails.  It just didn’t matter.  She was three then, and she marched to the beat of a different drummer when it came to her sense of fashion.  Nothing matched.  Ever!  One time she wore her Halloween costume for a week.

I miss those days.

Now, I deal with tantrums over skinny jeans.  Imagine my surprise when I felt the swoosh of the jeans fly over my head while I was walking down the hall from her bedroom followed by a screaming, crying fit over the fact I wouldn’t buy her more jeans.  You see, she has two pair of skinny jeans, and another pair that’s just “normal.”  And by normal, I mean absolutely hideous.  And by hideous, I mean jeans that aren’t “skinny.”

Somehow, my 9 year old has decided that all pants that she owns need to be “skinny.”   This is because all of her friends only have skinny jeans, and that she is the only girl in her entire grade who owns a single pair of non-skinny jeans!   Imagine the horror?  I’m ruining her life one pair of jeans at a time.

What I wanted to do was yell at her and invent some imaginative curse words that really conveyed what I was feeling at that moment.  I wanted to tell her that I just could care less about her jeans.  But I just watched her as she cried and cried while kicking her non-skinny jeans all over her room and then lifted them up and put them on and yelled, “See?   They don’t fit!   They are too small!!!!  I hate these jeans!  I hate my life, and these stupid not skinny jeans!”

I looked at her and squinted, adjusted my glasses, and replied, “But you’ve just pulled up your jeans without even unzipping them.  If anything you need a belt.  You’ve grown a bit, I think. But, they still fit!”

When did such young kids start caring so much about clothes?    I asked her why she didn’t tell me all this while we were buying her jeans at the start of this school year, and her only reply was, “Well, I just didn’t know I’d like skinny jeans this much!”

We play this little game now.  She hides the non-skinny jeans in the donation pile, and I drag them out while she’s sleeping and put them back in her closet.  They still fit her, after all!

My Basil Moment


It’s not always with my daughter when I’m my most crazy. On the first day of my 9 year old’s grounding of all things electronic, I had to venture to Benbrook to pick something up while she was at school. And by Benbrook, I mean the other side of the free world.

Since I had no idea where exactly I was going I had to use my GPS, and special thanks to the complete failure of my cell provider, my GPS kept going out on me. It went out right before I was to exit the toll road so I missed the exit. This resulted in my paying more fines. So thanks for that! I won’t mention any names, but it rhymes with B-Smobile.

I finally get to the general area where Benbrook is only to find out that now there is more of it. The expansion of this sleepy town has exploded. I passed a street called Calf Pasture (no..I really did!) only to find that there is no longer any cows. Or pastures. They’ve all been paved over and there are houses now.

As I’m on this windy road that I was quite sure would take me somewhere to Austin if I wasn’t careful, my GPS had failed again as I went over a hill and the road dead ended. Not only did it dead end, but it ended at a railroad track. That in of itself isn’t a bad thing. However, as I sat there looking at the railroad track I realized it had no desire to get out of my way.  I had no idea how to get to where I needed to go.

I had no paper maps since I let my daughter draw on them when she was 4. I didn’t print anything from Map Quest. I was stuck, and that’s when I had my tantrum.

It looked something like this:

It was not my proudest moment, and I’m sure my phone really wasn’t bothered.  However, I felt better.  While I’m certain my tantrum didn’t make the train move, I’d like to think it did because the train moved right after and I was able to get on my way.  I finally found the house I was looking for.

Don’t you want to be a bad mom?

Since I’m the most hideous of all moms ever created, I thought maybe you’d like to join my club.  If you’ve been sitting around being the greatest mother in all creation, you’re missing out!   Stop sipping on your wine and being your kid’s best friend and follow this basic rule:

Say no!    Do it often and do it with conviction.   When you’re standing in the check out aisle in Target and it’s close to dinner time and your kid starts complaining about everything and wanting chips and soda because they are hungry, don’t give in.  It’s that simple.   Will they cry and call you hideous?  Yes.  Will they stomp their feet and proclaim that you’re the meanest creature on the planet?  You bet!   Will other mothers look at you with disdain?  Possibly.  Should you care?  No.  You know that you live less than 10 minutes away from Target, and you can get home to actual real food before your child dies of hunger.   You know this and so does  your child.    While you may be tempted to give it, don’t do it.  Not even once.

Just don’t let them see the Snicker bar you snuck in the basket to eat later when the children are in bed.