A note to Mother Nature and Old Man Winter

Dear Mother Nature and Old Man Winter,

I’m not sure what the hell is going on with the two of your, but you need to get your act together.

My children’s brains are slowly turning to mush because they have not used their brains since honestly Dec. 21. The three-day jaunt back to school last week doesn’t count. That was a tease.

They have not used a pencil in just as long. I’m not sure they even know how to recite the alphabet or count to 100 anymore.

And let’s not even talk about the amount of TP that has been used!! Seriously … I should have bought stock in all-things paper-made 30 years ago!

The days of them being home are long. I am beyond tired.

They roll out of bed at 9 a.m. Demand breakfast and then an hour later, they want a mid-morning snack.

On occasion, they have played PlayDoh and Monopoly, but for the most part, they wander around the 2,400-square-foot house whining about being bored.

Today, I told George if he didn’t play with his toys from Santa, I was gonna toss them in the trash.

I walked over to the stack of toys … he followed and grabbed one. That kept him busy for maybe 15 minutes.

By noon, they are demanding lunch. And then, naturally, an hour later, they want a mid-afternoon snack.

And just as 4 p.m. rolls around, they declare it’s another snack time.

I actually went to the store last week and hide $20 worth of food in my bedroom closet. I need to have SOME food to pack for school lunches … IF they ever go back.

Today, my daughter whined when I told her a Red Baron pizza was dinner.

“Aw, I want a home-made meal,” she whined.

“We had steak yesterday. You missed it,” I told her. (She was at friend’s house.)

“Aw, all I want is a home-made meal mom,” she said again.

“Well, I want you guys to GO TO SCHOOL. WE CAN’T HAVE IT ALL,” was my reply.

She is now searching the pantry for a pre-dinner snack.

So, Mother Nature and Old Man Winter, for the love of God … and for the sanity of all parents who are affected by your harsh weather that you are bestowing on much of the United States … please, get your shit together … before I lose mine.


Mom of Three Living in BFE



You can blame it on the rain … Cause the rain don’t mind … And the rain don’t care … You got to blame it on something

“Blame in on the Rain” by Milli Vanilli

Everywhere I went yesterday, moms of all kinds had the same expression on their faces … This summer has officially sucked.

Remember the 1990s one-hit wonder by the duo Milli Vanilli “Blame it on the Rain?”

Yeah … that’s it.

Dear Mother Nature – You have officially ruined the summer of 2015. And, if you don’t start providing some sun and a bit of heat, us mothers are going to go ape shit.

Yesterday, at Splash Zone I walked in on a mom yelling at her pre-teen. I didn’t hear the argument, but I heard the words, “Do you want it taken away until THURSDAY NOW?”

Yesterday, at Subway, a stressed out mom was telling her kid to stand in line. He wanted to sit at a table. She then had to tell him “We are NOT eating here! Let’s GO!”

And then, the icing on the cake was provided by a mom at my son’s t-ball game.

She and her two daughters sat next to me on the top bleacher – oh, wait, let me say this, we signed George up for OUTDOOR T-BALL … NONE of the games have been played OUTSIDE. Week after week, Tuesday and Thursday after Tuesday and Thursday, nearly 20 kids ages 7 and under are crammed into a gym to play games. By the end of the “games” half of the kids are bored and sitting on the floor. It’s not as fun playing indoors because you can’t play with grass, flowers or watch squirrels run up a tree. There is no dirt to toss or birds to watch. These poor kids are literally stuck playing t-ball. And they are sick of it.

But anyways, back to the mom and her two daughters … for several minutes, I thought it was my two kids causing ruckus, but then I remembered my oldest is on vacation and my other son was on the “field” so I was wrong. I was only dealing with one kid at the moment while the two next to me smacked each other. Usually this mom brings magazines for her daughters to flip through, but for some reason, she failed to bring “Redbook” and “First.” It was probably a parenting fail she won’t ever make again. The girls continued to whine, yell and smack each other until one smack was a bit “too harsh” and ended in tears.

“Don’t hit her!” the mom told the oldest.

“She did it first!” the girl replied.

“I don’t care. You don’t hit her BACK,” the mom said.

“SHE DID IT FIRST!” the girl said between gritted teeth.

“STOP!” the stressed out mom said in reply.

So you see Mother Nature, I’m not 100 percent sure all of these incidents that took place on July 14 were in correlation to the shit weather we have been experiencing in Ohio, but I’m blaming it the rain and in the end, I am blaming it on YOU.

All us moms, or hell, even parents in general, are asking is for the remainder of the summer to be just that … SUMMER. NOT SPRING OR FALL. Summer. We are craving days spent poolside. We are missing days when the kids can turn on a water hose and just spray each other. We want SUN for crying out loud! So please, we are begging you on our hands and knees … just end the shitty cold, dreary, damp, sunless days and replace them with hot, humid, oppressive heat before it’s too late and we all end up zombies.

The World’s Petri-Dish: AKA McDonald’s Playland

I don’t know why I do it. It’s as if I am asking for punishment. Yet every so often, I make the impulse decision to take the twins to the McDonald’s Playland.

In theory, I sit there, eating my Southwest Grilled Chicken salad, sipping a Diet Coke and reading the newspaper in peace as the twins sit together and eat their lunch of plain cheeseburgers, chicken nuggets and French Fries. When they finish eating, they politely ask me, in their sweet-as-pie voices, “Mommy, we are finished, may we go play now?”

Remember … that is my theory.

What really happens is this:

I sit down, underneath the twirling ceiling fans, freezing my ass off, devouring my Southwest Grilled Chicken salad, guzzling the Diet Coke at warp speed and try to read the newspaper. The twins do sit together, but instead of quietly eating their meals, they declare, “WE ARE NOT HUNGRY! CAN I GO PLAY?” And because, all I want to do is eat my damn salad before the chicken freezes from the cold air, I tell them “Sure, but come back to get a few bites before it gets too cold!”

Meanwhile, they are playing, I am nibbling at my salad and a lady sits down at the table next to me with her daughter.

It’s fine, really.

Until … she hacks and I can actually see the nasty-germs floating onto Derek’s plain cheeseburger that he left sitting there, half-eaten.

I decide at that point, he is done with his meal and toss it in the trash.

As I continue to eat my now frozen salad, the twins continue to play in the petri-dish. It’s a petri-dish really because the only knowledge I took away from my high school biology class was that “shit grows inside a petri dish.” And I am pretty sure shit was somewhere on the playland.

Alas, I continue in my quest to eat until I hear the voice behind me scream, “I AM DONE! DADDDDDDYYYY … I AM DONEEEEE!” forcing me to turn around where I see a young toddler standing in the bathroom doorway with his pants down, looking for his father, who of course is conducting some “important conversation” on his cell phone.

He didn’t even know his kid needed to pee.

Yet being the Good Samaritan I am, I locate the father, who I spotted earlier and tell him in my “mom tone,” “Your son NEEDS you in the bathroom!”

He gives me a curt, “thanks” after he leaves the bathroom and sends his toddler on his merry way back up to the petri-dish. The next time I spot the dad, he is actually outside the playland, still on his fucking phone, yacking away while his kid is now telling me “I PLAY WITH SNOW!”

As I sat there, I finally finished my salad and dug out the newspaper I bought for a mere quarter and prayed to God no one would recognize me as I sat there reading stories by my co-workers. No one noticed me and that allowed me to then begin the crossword puzzle.

Mind you, I know I am there, reading the paper, but I can actually HEAR my children – most parents know the sound of their own children. Except, maybe that mom who was hooked up to her iPhone, listening to music, or whatever, and burying her face in her mini-laptop computer – at the same time. Actually, I don’t even know if she had children there, but two little girls walked by her once in a blue moon to grab a fry, so I am thinking those must have been her off-spring? But one can never really tell whose kid belongs with which parent since the parents never really pay attention to their kids in the first place – case in point, toddler taking a pee by himself.

So, it’s now March 14 and the only reason I actually took the twins to the petri-dish was because they had been cooped up in the house all damn week since Mother Nature hasn’t taken her Prozac and insists on making everyone as miserable as she is lately.

So, please … Mother Nature … go find your pills or have a martini … and let spring come in all its ragweed glory. I can no longer handle taking the twins to the petri-dish EVER again.