Fat Ten on Fat Tuesday

Let's try this again, shall we? I posted this YESTERDAY which really was Fat Tuesday. A child of mine who I used to think of as a sweet and kind and soft love but who now ranks #1 on my Crappy Roommate list logged me out of everything on my computer and I lost half of this post.  Everything from 3 1/2 on down is done from memory.  You have been warned.

So apparently it's Fat Tuesday.  I will admit right here that I don't quite know what that means.  I do know that a lifetime ago there was a bar called Fat Tuesday's at the Mall of America and my then-roommate Lara and I drank like sailors at the grand opening. Other than that I have a loose grasp on the concept. I think it has to do with the fact that Lent starts this week.  Which I call "Countdown to Panic" because when Lent starts it's always cold and I can layer my lumberjack body in fleece, scarves and other fabric camouflage but by the time it's over my "oh shit it's spring and I'm still fat" panic is in full bloom.

I think Fat Tuesday is the day everyone eats and drinks all of the stuff they're going to give up for Lent. Since I haven't decided what I'm going to give up I guess it's kind of like Normal Tuesday for this lame Lutheran.

There hasn't been a Ten in some time.  So here ya go.

1.  New reality t.v. show idea:  "How Crappy Roommates are Made". Starring me, and my four children whom I used to call "kids" but I now call "the crappiest roommates EVER" (only once in a while though, and always muttered under my breath). Seriously..sometimes I imagine their future roommates and spouses calling me, in anger, saying "Did you raise them in a barn? With wolves? In a wolf barn??" because holy hell.  I may have not done such a great job raising these angels.  Seems my enabling style of parenting has created four giant toddlers who can't/won't do much anything to help around the house.  It wasn't until I started my new job in December, the one that keeps me working until 5:30 every night, that I realized I lived in a dirty fraternity house.  The only difference between my house and a frat is there is way less booze and no sex.  Other than that, they're pretty similar. I'm trying to be patient and kind and all Super Nanny about enlisting the kids to help out more, but some days Super Nanny gives way to Super Bitch. I wish there was a Mystical Mr Clean Magic Eraser that would wipe away last night.  Not one of my proudest moments as a parent...I came home at 6:30, after running to the store after work to get tampons for Molly and a head of cauliflower for me (don't ask...I'm back on the Weight Watchers). Get home to find freaking Armageddon in the kitchen because the kids were hungry and didn't want to wait for me to get home for dinner. So there was a pot of mac and cheese, a pan of couscous, remnants of ham and bread, the freezer door was ajar thanks to the ripped open box of waffles left all askew inside, and for some reason Charlie decided to brew a pot of coffee at 5:00 p.m. and left a trail of coffee grounds from fridge to coffee maker in case he forgot how to get there. Spend an hour cleaning it up (okay maybe not a full hour, but close) and then decide to plop down on the couch to watch my new favorite show "The Following".  Ten minutes in, a smackdown starts.  Doesn't matter which kids (okay it was Molly and William, and then Henry must have been feeling left out so he joined in) but it intensified quickly and I felt my blood starting to boil.  Because really, all I wanted to do was take a little break, put my feet up and look at Kevin Bacon. Is that so wrong?  The smackdown ended when I sat up and implored the children to PLEASE SHUT THE HELL UP.  Only I might have said something more profane than hell.  I cried a tiny bit, did some angry laundry and then tried to finish watching the Kevin Bacon show.  By this time they could tell I was in one of my Joan Crawford moods and decided to stop fighting and start doing homework.  They let me finish my show in what now passes for peace (answering biology questions and helping someone track down a light brown colored pencil and trying to get our ancient &#%@(# printer to work doesn't sound peaceful, but believe me, it is).  I felt my blood pressure go back to normal and decided that things were okay and that maybe I wouldn't sign up for the Peace Corps in the morning.

So we'll see what it's like when I get home tonight.

2. Phew. I think maybe I needed to vent.

3. Molly is going to Switzerland. Her BFF has family there and they asked if Molly could go with them over  Spring Break.  At first I balked. With a capital B. Molly persisted, said she'd pay for the plane ticket herself. I hesitated because the money she's saved up is supposed to be college money. She's worked really, really hard, every weekend and several days after school and has managed to save up a nice amount of $$$.  To see a large chunk of that depleted in one fell swoop gave me the twitches.

But then I had a thought:  I pictured my daughter at my age.  I pictured a 46 year old Molly looking back on her life, on her regrets and her rejoices. And I knew that going to Switzerland with her best friend when she was 17 was going to be one or the other.  So she's going.

We went to apply for her passport this past Saturday.  Her picture is beautiful.  Someday my 46 year old daughter will look at her old passport and smile.

4.  So one of my "fans" (still think we can come up with a different word for that...any ideas?) suggested this humble little blog for a contest seeking the Top 25 Single Mom Blogs.  To say in Yoda-speak:  Flattered I was.  I agreed, and then did something I've never done before: pimped for votes.  To be honest with you, I didn't even take a look at the website hosting the contest, and had no idea what the prize was for getting on this list. I was hoping it would be bags of money and a lifetime supply of Reduced Fat Wheat Thins, but when I delved into it yesterday I discovered that the winners basically get to say they are on a Top 25 list.

And when I looked at some of my "competition" I realized that I had just stepped into a pile of Mommy Bloggers.  Nothing against these fine women, after all we are in the same Single Mom boat, but I have never, ever considered myself a Mommy Blogger.  I don't post pictures of my kids wearing outfits I bought on Etsy.  I don't take Instagram pictures of slow-cooker meals in progress.  I don't have a whimsical brown/pink/orange header with the name of my blog watermarked everywhere in whimsical font.  I talk about petulant teenagers and fat arms and shitty ex-husbands.  Which I guess could be considered mommy talk? 

When comparing myself to the typical "Mommy Blogger" I feel like a pair of Levi's being compared to a pair of 7 for All Mankind jeans. And not skinny Levi's.  More like stonewashed, bootcut stretch Levi's.

But anyhoo.  If just one single mommy, a gal who isn't trying to find out how to make hair bows for her daughter or the best way to store her Christmas wrapping paper, a woman who is scared and sad and just wants to know that she's going to be OKAY, finds us through this contest?  So worth it.  So click on the link below, and vote for my badass self.  And you can go back EVERY FREAKING DAY and vote.  If you want.

Click here to vote or just to giggle at the ludicrousness of my blog being on this list.

5.  This past weekend we were hit with some crazy frozen rain and snow.  And I discovered that my little car absolutely sucks in frozen rain and snow. Like, stuck-four-times-in-an-hour sucks.  Once again, I depended on a wonderful family from our hockey team to get William to and from a tournament which was being held just north of Buttf*ck Egypt.  We carpool quite often, this family and ours, but I'm getting to the point of feeling like a massive mooch.  I wish we lived somewhere less arctic, like in Arizona, so I wouldn't find myself crying behind the wheel of a Little Tykes Cozy Coupe for Grownups that is stuck in a pile of snow.  But then I'd have to wear less clothing.  Rock and a hard place, I tell ya.  Wait..that doesn't really fit in this situation.  Double edged sword? No. Tit for tat?  Huh? Oooooh...the grass is always greener.  Kind of.

And that's the Ten.  What? What do you mean "pretty sure that's only five, Einstein"?  Look at number one.  That could easily be broken up into 4 paragraphs.  Besides, I have to get to work.

Now I'm off to preschool, a land of hugs, honesty and lately, a whole lot of poop. 

Have a great day, friends.  And for God's sakes, give your kids some fiber once in a while.