PTA is like Seinfeld’s ‘Soup Nazi’

Dear PTA,

I’m all for bribery. It is how shit gets done in my house.

You want a friend over? Sure, go clean your room.

You want ice cream? Sure, go put your clothes away.

You want a snack before bed? Sure, eat your dinner.

It is simply how the world works. I get it.

But, when you attempt to bribe parents into joining the PTA with this Facebook post:

“Psssssst … PTA was granted EARLY ACCESS to the teacher list!!!!!

Come and join … sign up for the 2016/17 school year PTA membership and get an EXCLUSIVE, early preview of your child’s teacher and an icy, cold popsicle to beat the heat. Membership is only $5.”

… I can’t help but wonder … what is wrong with these people?


So, fine, I get it … it’s a membership drive. Great. Clearly new members are needed.

But what about those three (at least) parents who showed up tonight to only be turned away because they didn’t have the $5 lousy fee. One of them was apparently a new father to the district. His child was eager to see who his teacher would be and who would be in his class.

He actually was asked to leave the area.



My God. When did the Soup Nazi from Seinfeld take over the PTA?

I’m not sure, but as one mom put it:

“I’m pissed. They were acting like it was top secret info. Big fucking deal. They told me to check tomorrow. Well I won’t be helping them anymore. I think it’s a douche move on their part.”

And there you have it …

In a nutshell … no one should be turned away from the PTA – or as it stands now, perhaps, “Parents To Avoid?”


A Long-Ago Member







In-house ‘chef’ makes mom look bad

Two weeks ago, we vacationed in the Outer Banks with three other families.

There were eight adults and 10 children. (Yes, parents were outnumbered by their children – but the number of bottles of alcohol outnumbered all of us, so we were good to go.)

In an effort to avoid eating out every day, each set of parents selected a night to cook a meal.

It was almost like eating at a five-star restaurant every night.

We had the typical “American fare” of hamburgers, hotdogs and brats the first official night there – on the grill, of course.

The second night was my family’s night to cook – we opted for Mexican cuisine since that is one type of food that despite not being of Mexican heritage, I can cook (because really, who can screw up browning meat – which my husband did – and tossing in a packet of Ortega taco seasoning …). Shredded lettuce, cheese, tomatoes and salsa/nacho chips. Hell, I even made cheesy rice on the stove top and refried beans in the microwave. Boom. Dinner served.

We also had an Italian pasta, chicken paprikash and pizza burgers on the other nights. The final night, each family opted to leave the rental in search of seafood, or anything else they were craving that we had yet to make in the house.

Dinners were served buffet-style in the nearly gourmet-kitchen. Some nights we used paper plates while other times, dinner plates were used and then tossed into the dishwasher that ran almost three times per day. (Remember, this was vacation … so even the Red Solo cups were dishwashed – we managed to use them even if the rims were a bit deformed after being heated.)

There was never a shortage of food.

All food was homemade – including the side dishes.

Even breakfasts – and that is where I am still fighting the battle on the home front.

One of the dad’s made it his mission to create outstanding, yummy, finger-licking-good breakfasts every single day. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.

French toast. Pancakes. Waffles. Eggs. Bacon. BLTS were even considered breakfast on vacation.

And ever since we made our return back to Ohio, all my kids want to eat are homemade breakfasts.

No one has time for that here.

That was VACATION I keep telling them.

Here, in Ohio, we have this awesome device called a microwave that cooks their frozen pancakes to perfection. Instead of a waffle maker, we toss in the frozen waffles and stand by until they pop out of the toaster.

Eggs, bacon and the like are considered “weekend breakfasts” in our house. During the week, cereal and PopTarts are my go-to items for my kids. Maybe toast if I feel like lugging out the toaster from storage.

However, just this past Sunday morning, I was feeling a bit adventurous and made French toast for the first time in my life for my oldest who was craving a bit of vacation.

I didn’t burn it and he ate every bite! I felt like a five-star mom cooking in a one-star kitchen.

Two days later, I bought a cast iron skillet. So, maybe a two-star kitchen now?

Melissa Linebrink is a reporter/bi-monthly columnist for “The Mommy Wars” printed in The Chronicle-Telegram. She has been featured as a blogger on the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Conference site, She also writes, edits and manages her blog, She can be reached at



‘Goodwill’ Hunting

‘Goodwill’ Hunting

I love shopping at Goodwill Stores.

You know what I don’t love?

Finding books that were given to my children as gifts from grandparents or others sitting on the top layer of a shopping cart … at the Goodwill Store where they were donated. Followed by buying those books BACK again . (They were gifts in the first place, so I really got screwed!)

(Cue the sad music.)

I get it. The twins are packrats.

Two weeks ago, we loaded up boxes and garbage bags full of unwanted/unplayed with shit from their room and the toy room in the basement. (It was started to resemble an episode of “Hoarders: Buried Alive.”)

Many of the items that were placed in the “Goodwill” pile I saw with my own two eyes. Eyeless dolls, wheel-less cars and random Lego pieces. (Good enough to be saved in my opinion and donated to Goodwill.) Others, I wanted to keep – a monkey my Godmother gave our oldest after he was born and a barn my dad made with a name etched on the roof. Those, those are keepsakes.

Why didn’t my husband take the time like I did to go through each item before chucking it aside? Why didn’t he give a rat’s ass about the books? Why didn’t he CARE?

Because to him, the two books were shit.

The only time I hone my packrat skills is when it comes to items that hold significant value – such as books that were given as gifts by grandparents or others who took time to write notes or signed “Happy 3rd Birthday KK!”

So, perusing Goodwill the other day, in search of books to take on our 12-hour joyride to the Outer Banks, I heard a tiny voice behind me.

“MOM … this is MINE!” the voice told me.

I thought she had discovered one more stuffed animal she cannot live without.

But no, she was holding the book with her name in it.

“Where did you find that?” I asked her.

“In THAT cart!” she told me.

Son of a bitch!

Low and behold, I found another one-of-a-kind book sitting on top – one that was autographed to my oldest son in 2004 from an Ohio-based children’s book author.

It even said, “Dear Ethan …”

I snapped a photo of the two books and sent them to my husband.

“I didn’t do that,” he wrote back.

Um … someone did.

KK then insisted that we “tell the lady that those were her items.”

I did tell the cashier, but she didn’t care. She’s in the business to make money, not save memories.

Her gain was our loss.

Ten books and $4.99 later the two became ours … AGAIN (plus eight extra for the impending never-ending road trip).

I wonder if he’d have the same response if I “accidently” tossed his old baseball collection into the Goodwill bag?

Never mind, I am saving those … to be cashed in for our trip to Hawaii.

Guess being a packrat comes with a few advantages …