Even God Knows I’m Screwed
Posted
May 29, 2008 at
11:20 am by
Kadi
Today is my kids’ last day of school. Just the thought of summer break strikes a crippling fear in my heart and now, it is on my doorstep, ringing the doorbell. “I’m not home! Go away!” I’m yelling from under my blanket of denial, but he refuses to leave. I know that I have to open the damn door. I know it. I just cannot bring myself to leave the comfort that has been my denial for the past few days.
I have all of the teacher’s gifts, wrapped and ready to give. It is my last ditch effort to plead with them to take my kids home for the summer. My second grader’s teacher asked if we would keep the class pet, a frog, for the summer. I offered her an even trade…the frog for the second grader. She laughed. I didn’t. Maybe nobody will notice if I forget to pick up the kids after school today. Maybe I can bribe the custodian to lock them in the utility closet for ten weeks. Maybe I can pay her to slide some food and water under the door, so they survive. Maybe I can find a mission trip to send the kids on. What better way to spend the summer than learning about how good life really is in the United States? So they risk Malaria and other unpleasant side effects of third world visitation, it is all part of the experience, right? With great rewards, come great risks!
Okay, so I sound a little desperate. I am. The little beasts were off of school for one extra day, last week. Our house and my temper suffered greatly, that day. They “accidentally” spilled a smoothie in the cable box and broke it. They “accidentally” rode their scooters in the house and made several gouges in the wall, before I caught them. They “accidentally” poured a bottle of baby shampoo all over the bathroom floor, to clean up the ink pen that “accidentally” broke and splatter painted the floor a lovely shade of midnight. They “accidentally” killed my last shred of sanity. I’m not sure how I’m going to avoid being the next “Parent Gone Mad, Drowns Her Children” news headline, but something has to be figured out. I decided to seek out divine intervention, yesterday. I emailed my husband’s uncle, who is a priest, to seek some advice. I kid you not, this was our correspondence:
“Hi Uncle John. How are you? We are fine. The kids will be out of school on Friday. I’m a little scared. It makes me wonder how your sister (my mother in law) survived summer break with 13 kids! Any guidance that you can offer me? Love, Kadi”
“Dear Kadi, I am doing well. Find a summer program for the kids…quickly. Love, Fr. (uncle) John”
I was expecting some words of wisdom, a prayer, a novena, or even a suggestion of exorcism. Nope. He told me to find a place to shove my kids for the summer. Even the priest knows I’m doomed. I’m heading to the store now, to buy a lot of Mr. Clean Magic Erasers, Clorox Wipes, duct tape, rope, Lexapro and other survival essentials. Then, I’m going to schedule some weekly phone “confessions” with Uncle John, because I’m going to need some major absolution of sin, for the next ten weeks! Now, how am I going to leave the house, without opening the door for the grim reaper who is still lurking on my stoop?
Shitter Envy
Posted
May 23, 2008 at
10:15 am by
Kadi
Everytime we visit my brother in law, the kids are in constant need of bladder relief. Yes, they have a pool, in which my children swallow as much salt water as the equivalent of a keg. Yes, they have every kind of beverage known to man and worshipped by children, available in their fridge. No, these things have nothing to do with their frequent restroom trips. Why do they spend the majority of their time at their uncle’s house, copping a squat over the pot? This is why:
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The “New” Star Spangled Banner
Posted
May 21, 2008 at
7:02 pm by
Kadi
My son’s class is having a cacophonous torture session patriotic program, next week, to show case their hard work and singing talent (or lack of, in my son’s case.) As he was practicing the “Star Spangled Banner,” something dawned on me. The words in the song are extremely sentimental and rich in patriotism, yet the majority of our citizens are not. Many people who were born and raised in the good ol’ US of A, have lost (or never had) a strong sense of patriotism. They spend much of their lives complaining about the state of the union, the war, the politics. Not until a national tragedy occurs, do many of our neighbors show a sense of pride for their country. It is pretty sad that the only time I saw amore than ten vehicles display a flag or support slogan, was right after the events of 9/11. Over time, the display of support dwindled. Eventually the complaints started seeping back up through the patriotism. Election years are especially rampant with negative nellies and anti-American slurs. So, as I endured relished my son’s serenade, new words came streaming into my mind. In five painful blissful minutes of being a hostage captive audience, I formulated a new version of our beloved National Anthem. Yes, I am quite the multi tasker….I have mastered the art of pretending to listen while composing poetry, cooking, ending world hunger, etc… It comes from nine years of school performances. Here is the “new” Star Spangled Banner according to the Complainers Anonymous Club of America (aka: CACA)
Oh say can you see
that this country’s lost sight
of the values and God
on which it was founded.
Through long wars and false tongue
we are robbing our young
of a world rich in peace
and a leader who’s grounded.
And the battle for oil
lines their pockets with spoil.
Our leaders live well
from the fruits of our toil.
Oh say does our poor mangled
country cry loud
for return to our first creed
and a truth that stands proud!
While I agree that there are some changes needed and that this is not a perfect land, I still love this place. I feel privileged to live here and think that those who hate it so much, should leave.
Change Is Inevitable…So Spend It!
Posted
May 20, 2008 at
11:38 am by
Kadi
When I was a little girl, my daddy would tell me that I had champagne taste on a beer budget. He also said that I couldn’t put a penny in my pocket without it burning a hole right through. Aside from the realization that my dad wasn’t very original in his witticisms, I learned that my love for the finer things in life, paired with the inability to save money, would stick with me throughout my teenage years and right into adulthood. Most people would get a good paying career and quench their desires to spend money frivolously. Not me. What did I do? I popped out seven kids, making it pretty damn hard to squander money on the coveted True Religion jeans that make my butt look so fantastic. Even though the demands of financially providing for so many kids make it impossible to go on shopping sprees and chug two hundred dollar bottles of 1932 vintage wine, it doesn’t extinguish my champagne taste buds from yearning for the flavor of it.
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Cry Of The Weary
Posted
May 19, 2008 at
10:01 am by
Kadi
Get lost, Sun, and take your rays that sear my bloodshot eyes.
Come back in two hours, when I’m ready for your rise.
Shut up, birds. Be quiet! Stop that perky song.
Don’t you know that I have babies who woke me all night long?
Alarm clock, if you have the will to live, do not bother me.
For if your beeping dares pierce my ear drums, broken you will be.
Husband dear, I love you, but keep your distance, friend.
Your persistence in nudging me awake, may surely mean your end.
Sounds of energetic feet echo loudly in the hallway.
But I’m not prepared to leave these sheets and start another day.
My night shift was a double and seemed to have no end.
Crying, bad dreams, teething, all endless needs to tend.
Sleep, you have eluded me, for the fifth night in a row.
Rest, you have betrayed me. Your face I no longer know.
The only one who accompanies me through long and taxing nights,
Is my dreaded foe, Exhaustion, who afflicts, taunts and smites.
Isn’t there some other mom, who has the luxury of sleep?
Can’t you pick on her for now, so I can count some sheep?
Two hours is not a lot to ask to mend my mental state.
If you do me this small favor, I’ll let you stay up late.
Custody Battle
Posted
May 17, 2008 at
4:43 pm by
Kadi
I have succumbed to the fact that nothing I own belongs to just me. Even my personal sanctuary was tainted with kiddie cooties, when Dad had to put the kids in my special spa tub last night. He had no choice, as the other tubs were out of order, but that is another long and disgusting story. Grimy playground residue now decorates the non slip floor of my precious bath tub, because my husband forgot to rinse it out. Being that he took on the task of bathing all seven kids, it would have been down right bitchy to complain about the presence of spawn scum. After last night’s bath, it was quite evident that the separation of “Mom” and “Me,” is dangerously close to extinction. There is rapidly decreasing space for a “Me” in this house. As a result of last night, I’m currently trying to figure out how to install a secret spa tub in the back of the van. I tried to take measurements but the fossilized layer of fishy crackers and football equipment, kept me from being able to maneuver around. I may have to call in a professional. Once the tub installation is complete, I will be able to drive to an undisclosed location and take a relaxing soak, without fear of slipping on tear free shampoo slime and having an amputated Barbie leg inadvertently crammed up my ass…ouch!
Building A Nest In My Mantra (aka: What I Learned From Supernanny)
Posted
May 15, 2008 at
12:20 pm by
Kadi
“I have hives! I have hives!” I ran screaming from the bathroom, on the first morning of shooting. My husband gave me the signature “So what’s the big deal?” look from the kitchen, where he was making waffles. The kids were all decked out in logo free, plain colored outfits that had been painstakingly selected the night before. Do you know how hard it is to find nine logo free, plain colored, wardrobes…without holes? That is 63 outfits, all meeting the guidelines laid out by the production company. No wonder thousands of itchy, red bumps had taken up residence on my face and neck. The hunt for appropriate wardrobes, alone, had been a royal pain in the ass. I knew that our wardrobe quest was just the beginning of a very long and stressful two weeks. I slumped over on the bathroom floor, hives covering my skin, wondering if I was even going to make it to the point where Jo Frost knocked on our door. I kept repeating, “It’s for the kids, it’s for the kids,” every mother’s mantra.
Sure, everything we mothers do is for our kids. We live for our kids. We sacrifice without with little complaint, so that they will have a better childhood than we had. I have always tried to make choices that reflected the best interest of my children, since the day my first daughter was born. This experience, however, was testing the limits of my will to be the best parent I could. I was knowingly throwing myself and my spouse into the lion’s den. We were about to allow the nation to see every flaw, every mistake and every moment of our lives, edited at the discretion of a television production company. I had survived some extreme situations, all in the name of motherhood. Deciding to film an episode for Supernanny, trumped every other parenting trial I had encountered. If I survived the whole two weeks, I would feel an indescribable sense of accomplishment and pride. That “If” was heavily loaded.
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Sanctuary!
Posted
May 15, 2008 at
10:45 am by
Kadi
Ever wish you could freeze time, when you’re amid the screaming of children and general chaos that is life, to take a moment for the sake of regaining your sanity? Yeah, me too. Trust me, I’ve tried that remote trick that Adam Sandler did on “Click” and, much to my chagrin, it didn’t work. Hey…it was worth a try! I am well aware that the chaos and ear splitting shrieking that sometimes plague a parent’s day, are the norm. I understand that the high pitched decibels of toddlers mean that our children are healthy and that the chaos is the result of not doubling up on my birth control methods. That doesn’t make it any easier to navigate through the moments that make me want to call CPS and turn myself in for a made up infraction, just to get a day of peace.
Voice Of An Overworked, Underpaid Uterus
Posted
May 12, 2008 at
3:58 pm by
Kadi
Allow me to introduce myself, I am the woman you glare at in the grocery aisle, because her children are running amok. I am the woman with the two cart fulls of groceries, who you always get stuck behind in the check out line. I am the one you do not want at your Mom’s Club gatherings, because we are always late and usually forget snack when it is our turn. I am the owner of that dirty, fifteen passenger van in the school pick up line, who takes forever to load up her spawn. I am the maternity ward patient who all the nurses know by name. I’m the mom with a baby permanently attached to her hip and boogers crusted on her shoulder. I am the lady who makes women glad that they have only one child. I am the parent who does it all, but masters nothing. I am an imperfect parent of seven children. Around these parts, I go by the name of “Mooooooom, make him stop!” But you can call me “Kadi.”
I decided to join the ranks of the Imperfect Parent crew for a few reasons:
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