Little Miss Perfect

Tallulah is doing The March of Dimes reading thing.
I tried to avoid it by throwing away her envelope.

Because they had pictures the 2nd week of school.
And on the 3rd week, Oliver had a fundraiser.
And on the 4th week, Oliver had pictures.
And on the 5th week, Oliver had a book fair.
And now Tallulah has The March of Dimes.
And Oliver has a Band fundraiser.
And next week is her book fair.
And that weekend is the school “Family Fun Day”.

And Dad has yet to offer any monetary contributions to all of this.
Therefore I’m broke.

So I threw the envelope away.

And Tallulah went to school the next day, told her teacher she had lost the envelope and got a new one.

Then she came home and read 5 books.

And last night, she read 13 more.
And tonight she’s planning on at least 2 more (but that’s only if she can’t find more than that).

Who is this child??

How did I end up with this overachieving perfectionist??

I may be a little anal now that I'm an adult, but that’s mostly because I’m lazy.

I don’t want to have to look for shit. So I want it left where I can find it easily.

And I don’t want to have to iron, so I want the clothes put away just so.

And I hate having to spray for ants and roaches, so I want the damn dishes done and the counters wiped down.

But its only because I’m lazy, and the alternative to doing things my way is more work. And I hate more work.

So how did my daughter turn out to be overeager??

But she’s been this way since birth.

When she was 18 months old she used to line up her Scooby Doo figures and put all the Daphnes together, and all the Freds together and the Velmas and the Shaggys and the Scoobys. All in one perfectly straight little line.

I don’t get it. It baffles me.
I also love it.

Because life will be so much easier for her.

She won’t have to work super hard to make sure that she remembers the due dates for things so that she can be sure and do it the night before.
Everything will be completed and tidy 2 days after it was assigned.

And she won’t have to worry about people randomly showing up at her house and seeing it messy.
Because it will never be messy.

And she won’t have to feel self-conscious about how she looks.
Because her hair is always fixed and her clothes always match.

I’m happy for her.

But I don’t get her.

Mean, Cruel and Heartless

Oliver brought home his conduct sheet the other day. There were 2 C’s, 1 B and 1 blank space, and I have no idea what that means.

B’s are pretty normal for him. He just can’t manage to be quiet. Or sit still. Or follow directions. And most teachers recognize that and don’t give him a whole lot of crap for it. So he gets B’s.

But C’s?? That’s a slippery slope. Pretty soon the C’s turn into D’s and the D’s turn into F’s.

And I hate to punish him for talking conduct marks. Mostly because I’ve come to realize over the last 6 years that he just can’t help it, he has a big mouth. But also because if I did then the boy would be grounded every day.
So I normally let those slide.

This time I had to crack the whip.

We talked and I told him that if they weren’t pulled up into B’s by next week that his weekend plans would be in jeopardy.

Because I’m mean.

That was the same night that he didn’t get to go to fencing because he hadn’t finished his homework in time.

Because I’m cruel.

And then, the next morning he called me at work moderately hysterical because the dogs had eaten his conduct sheet.

I laughed.

Because I’m heartless.

If I Only Had a Brain

I am an idiot. Did you know that?? Oh yeah.








I know absolutely nothing. Not the color of the sky. Not what’s for dinner. Not how to make a dog behave. Not how to spell A-P-P-L-E. Not how to make a six year old behave.


It’s been occurring gradually. At first it was little questions, like this:

Me: Oliver, please go take a shower.

Oliver: Can I take a bath instead?

Me: What time is it?

Oliver: 7:45

Me: Since that’s 15 minutes before bedtime, no. Take a shower.



Then it became help.

Me: Tallulah, please pick up your room.

Oliver: Yeah, Tallulah! Go clean your room!

Tallulah:?!?!

Me: Oliver, I don’t really need your help.



But now it’s outright and open, Mom you are dumb as a stump and I must hold your hand and help you because obviously you don’t know what you’re doing.



Me: Oliver, please don’t roll on the floor with the dog – you’re encouraging bad behavior.

Oliver: (looks at me & continues to roll on the floor with the dog)

Me: (?!?!) Oliver! I asked YOU to stop that!

Oliver: (HUGE melodramatic sigh) Mom. He likes it.

Me: But I don’t.

Oliver: (HUGE melodramatic sigh) Mom. He’s having fun.

Me: But I’m not.

Oliver: (HUGER melodramatic sigh) Fine. I’ll go play my DS.

Me: (And I REALLY hope you’ll excuse this example of HORRIBLE parenting, but at this point it’s a complete credit to my self control that my hands are not around Oliver’s little pre-pubescent throat – you’re not seeing the smirk on his face, it’s INCREDIBLY annoying) OLIVER!! I WASN’T TRYING TO GET YOU TO NOT PLAY WITH THE DOG I WAS TRYING TO GET YOU TO PLAY WITH HIM CORRECTLY, BUT SINCE YOU OBVIOUSLY KNOW BETTER THAN I DO, GO AHEAD AND PLAY WITH HIM HOWEVER YOU WANT AND HE’LL GO AHEAD AND BITE YOU HOWEVER HE WANTS. BUT I HOPE THAT AT SOME POINT YOU MIGHT NOTICE THAT HE DOESN’T BITE ME THAT WAY, SO MAYBE, JUST MAYBE THE WAY THAT I TREAT HIM MIGHT HAVE SOME MERIT.



I don’t know where he gets these emotionally charged dramatic impulses from. I definitely need to ask his Grandma Maude - it's got to come from that side of the family.

Mommy Play with Me!!

I am apparantly I horrible mother. On Mondays my kids don't get home until 6 or so, and then it's homework, dinner, bath & bedtime. This Tuesday, I took them to the park to play while I walked. Wednesdays & Thursdays are Dad's nights and every other weekend we veg for the most part.
But I watch their shows, and read books (yeah ok, that's only when begged), sing songs (that one is whenever asked, and sometimes spontaneously, and often just to annoy), and I paint toe nails, and take shopping trips and lunch dates and all kinds of things.


But I'm not really a play on the floor with the Barbies kindof Mom & I'm am the most uncrafty person on the face of the planet, and these are the kinds of things Talullah loves. So she's taken to telling me:


Mommy you NEVER play with me.

I have no answer for that.