Stop, Drop and Go!!!

Taking my kids to school (and picking them up for that matter) can be a challenge. It shouldn't be but it is. I don't get it. Why make something so easy so hard??? You just stop your vehicle at the proper spot. Your sweet angel opens the door and exits the vehicle, and you leave. That's it.

This is not the case at my kids' school.

I take a total of five kids to school. Four boys and a girl. Two of them belong to me. We go to our elementary school first. That drop off isn't that bad. Since I'm a bit of a rebel, I drop them off in front of the school instead of waiting in line. Things move quickly. I press a button, my van door opens, four boys spill out, the van door closes, and I'm outta there. I move on with the girl to the middle school. This is when the shit hits the fan. I don't know what's up with these people. They have tweens and teens. I've been so tempted to scream, "They don't want to talk to you!!!! Seriously, they just want to go and hang with their friends. Is that why you must sit in the line and talk with them??? Why????"  The girl I take to school has a cast on her foot. She can walk on it, but when it is raining, she needs to be dropped off closer to the school entrance. "What is so damned important that your kid is sitting in your car for five minutes??? Why must you have this conversation now??? I just want to drop her off and get the hell out of there. You are making this so much harder than it needs to be. Just go already!!!!"

Today I actually honked and came this close to flipping someone the bird. I stopped when I found out it was one of the 4th grade teachers.

Good save, Sheri!!!!

Seriously, Dude, Seriously

I remember back in the day, sitting around in my back yard, daydreaming. I've wanted to be a wife and mother since, well, since I could remember. I loved to play mom and wife in my playhouse. I had it set up just so: fake food in the fridge, fake chicken and veggies bubbling away on the stove, clean lil pots and pans and plates put away in their cupboards, sweet baby dolls quietly napping away in their sweet little baby beds. Everything went smoothly. Dinner never got burnt, babies never cried, my fake husband (usually Donny Osmond or Keith Partridge) was happy happy happy and always made more than enough money to pay the bills and feed the kids. Life was good. Of course, the playhouse was a storage shed when I wasn't playing house, the kitchen set was metal and fake, my dolls were plastic, and my husband wasn't real, but I didn't let that stop me from enjoying this life and hoping it would be mine in real life one day.

Fast forward a few years, (ok, more than a few but who's counting??) I've got the house. It is barely big enough to contain all the crap we've collected over the years. One bathroom--nuff said. The kitchen is nice, but jeez, why can't it clean itself. And seriously, plastic food was much easier to cook. The kids are nutz. Their issues are many. They hate school. Two of the three have autism, they all have ADHD. And my husband---that's a whole other ball of wax. God knows I love the man.

I guess I'm just overfreakinwhelmed. I know I shouldn't be. There are women out there who work so much harder than I do. They have jobs. They cure cancer. My job?? To stay home, clean, cook, and take care of kids. How hard should this be??? Women have done it for years. In heels, backwards. No washing machine, dishwasher or even a car made available to them. These women wore dresses and hats. They wore makeup and their houses were spotless. Their children were well-behaved and listened to them. These women, they greeted their husbands at the door with his slippers and a drink. Heck, Paul is lucky if I greet him at all.

I feel like I just want to drop down, go to sleep and never wake up again. I'm tired. Tired all the time.

Why is this so hard for me??

If you figure it out, please let me know, because I don't have a clue.

I'm BBBBAAAAACCCCCKKKKK!!!

Well, people who read this blog, I'm back.

"Why??" you ask. Because my facebook peeps keep telling me that I really really need a blog, and I have one, I just haven't written in it for two years. It is sitting here all lost and alone in the internets. Waiting patiently, or maybe not so, for me to come back and care about it.

I am hoping writing will be easier--theraputic, perhaps.

And since I'm spewing forth little and big pieces of my life, I'm hoping someone finds my writing interesting.

And now for the disclaimers--and there are many:

I graduated from high school in 1986 and didn't finish college. I stay home all day and clean, cook and shop. You want proper grammar, spelling and the like--leave now. I am going to write like I talk and I'm sure it won't be pretty.

I cuss. A lot. I am not proud of it, but it is me. Sorry. Consider yourself warned.

There is no topic that is completely off limits.....my period, my mood swings, my political views. If you want me to write about something, let me know.

I will NOT fight with you. If you hate me, then hate me quietly and leave me alone. I've got a lot of shit on my plate and the last thing I want to hear about is how my children could be better citizens if I would have taken the time to breastfeed or vote republican.

Other than that, I'm going to bed. Tonight was my weekly Go-and-buy-crap-from-Target run and I'm friggin tired.