My kids

My kids think I resemble the mom in Malcolm in the Middle - frightening really, I think she's a raving maniac with no sense of justice, however, I do admire the way she embarrases her children publicly. I try not to truly embarrass my kids, unless they really deserve it, but I think it's fabulously funny! I did go through a phase where I would make them drop and give me twenty if they were disrespectful to each other, including in public - it was a bit embarrasing at the ballet recital reception where everyone was dressed lovely and some grandfather gave me the eyebrow. While I am frequently telling the kids we aren't financially able to do something, in my various different colorful ways..."did you learn to crap money at school today?", we aren't actually as bad off as Malcolm's family. I do threaten frequently to sell them to gypsies, the little smartasses usually retort with something about a re-stocking fee when the gypsies return them - I would never send one of them away to military school, obviously... no re-stocking fee. Also, I'm a far more lenient on chores, and a far worse housekeeper... I had to ground my kids from watching Clean Sweep because I was afraid they would sign me up and I'm such a pack rat. Would make a great episode, but I would probably do my Linda Blair in the Exorcist impression (also know affectionately in our house as "mom's head is going to spin") when they made me start throwing stuff out. Keeping one item just simply would never cut it (reminder to self, devote a post to all the ridiculous crap in the basement). I would much prefer if they would choose another T.V. mom to compare me to - although Donna Reed never wore sweats, Mrs. Brady never drank beer, and I'm very certain that Mrs. Cleaver never used the same colorful words that I do. If they picked another T.V. mom it would probably end up being Roseanne, and really I don't like malamars very well. Although I hate the Simpsons, I wouldn't mind being compared to Marge, aside from the giant blue beehive, she really has it all together.
Tonight I was driving home from the batting cages where I met my husband (the dear man who knocked me up three times in 2.5 years) to pick up the daughter who had been dropped off at the cages after her swim team practice (so far from home, she should need a passport and visa) and the boy was beginning a mini-camp (aka coaches can't take another minute at home and away from the game... neither can the boys). The daughter, oldest, fourteen years old, managed to fill the entire drive with suggestions of ways I could spend money I don't have -- kids have no concept of "recovering from the holidays". We aren't talking cheap either, she wanted to know if we were going as a family to "The Stock Show" - this annual outing generally costs a couple hundred dollars, tickets, food, beer, more food, more beer, etc. (yes I realize that if we cut out the beer we could save a bundle, but it just wouldn't be the same - I've been drinking beer every year at the stock show since I was like 9 or something... okay probably 18, since that WAS the drinking age) She also wants to know when we can go "Formal Shopping" - both daughters belong to an organization that requires formals for several occasions - hmmm there's another $150 at least. Then to top it off she asked if we could stop at Chubby's for an horchata, I said no to even this $2 treat, for which she offered her own money, isn't that generous of her.
Got home to the younger daughter (pre-teen, oh isn't it joyful), also my "drama queen". She managed to drag her wounded body to the door to unlock it and then whimper her way back to the massage chair (I assume her back is hurting, didn't ask, asking would have just opened a flood gate of dramatic sighs and painful groans). Apparently she had the energy and strength to clean her room (funny how the threat of dad's wrath is worse than any imagined pain), and to get through her day at school, which I am certain included much jumping and leaping, etc. She wanted me to sit and watch her eat her dinner, I fed her from my breast for almost two years, ate cold dinners for another three or four years because I was either feeding her or cutting up her food... and now she wants me to watch her eat. She really is quite entertaining, and lovely to look at, but watching her eat was somehow not on the top of my list of ways to relax after work.
Yes I work, at a lawfirm, downtown, with lots and lots of women... coming home and watching sports is a welcome relief to me, so it's been very good for my marriage to super-jock sports fanatic. Almost no one at work is aware that the NHL doesn't exist this year, they have no idea nor desire to discuss Oklahoma's abysmal performance in the Orange Bowl (although there were a few mentions of the lousy half-time show), I doubt anyone (even the token men) makes picks during March Madness, and I'm certain not a one of them celebrates the return of Spring Training or Opening Day. On the other hand, I have spent the last 15 years bitching about constant sports on the t.v. - I've had to, just to keep it in perspective, besides wives are supposed to bitch... and I'm not stupid enough to bitch about his family or the things he does around the house to help out. Speaking of which, he's on his way home with my dinner and my boy, maybe I will do a load of laundry to surprise him!