It's the End of The World...Again

So the end of the world is scheduled for tomorrow according to some "religious" people. Maybe it's a good thing we live in the rich neighborhood then. We can totally squat in the mansion next door! If it's still occupied, at least we won't have too far to carry stuff when we loot from other richie rich's mansions! Hell yeah! Imma gonna get the good lawn furniture - not the metal chairs we have now - maybe something like this:

I'd look good drinking a Pearl Lite on this!

It's Not You, It's Me

E had a singing (caterwauling) program last night at her school. I saw several moms I went on the camping trip with. I actually talked to a few. Of course, I approached them. Unlike on the camping trip, last night I was wearing a sleeveless dress. Hence, tattoos showing.

On the camping trip, there was one mom that I really liked. She seemed to keep apart from the other moms and even seemed to give me a "look" a couple of times like "can you believe this?" I probably imagined that last part, but that is how it seemed at the time. She is also one of the moms I talked to last night. She came up to me on her own after my initial 'stalk and pounce' to chat. Which was totally cool of her.

I found that the other moms said hello back to me but that was all. There were no any real feelings or genuineness expressed. I wondered if they recognized me. But if I could recognize them, I'm sure they could recognize me. Right? It's not like the parents don't socialize - there was socializing and chatting going on all around me.

I sometimes wonder if it's me. Occasionally I feel that I should try harder to make friends. It isn't easy for me to make friends. Never has been. I only have a handful of people I consider real friends. I can be a little stand-offish when in a crowd and am not good at the whole small talk thing. On the other hand, do I really need to make friends with these women? Other than for my daughter, why should I? I like the few friends I have - the tattooed, drinking, swearing moms who work for a living. We all feel the same guilt. We all sit in the front yard enjoying a beverage with our feet in a baby pool. We all say "fuck" at inappropriate times. We all try our best to raise our children to the best of our ability. What's more important is that they like me for me - the flawed tattooed white trash I am. Why would I want anything more?

Update on the crazy

R came home Monday with asthma flare-ups. She doesn't have the typical wheezing asthma. Oh no no. My special Piglet has cough-variant asthma, which means she coughs and coughs non-stop until she either can't cough anymore or throws up - whichever comes first. It's usually vomit. I had to take her to the allergist where her medicine was increased. Luckily that seems to be working. And no vomit this time. Aren't I lucky?

And how sweet of her to point out the "mosquito bites" on my face while we were waiting for the doctor. She also raised my shirt and used my belly button as a mouth to say the old "chubby" jokes. You know the ones, "my momma's chubby, my daddy's chubby, and I'm chubby." Yes, she did that with my belly button.

Tuesday night (a/k/a last night) E had the first softball game in her tournament. We play again tonight and possibly again Friday night and possibly again Saturday. Really? For a team that lost most of its games this season, we sure are playing a lot of softball.

Thursday we have a school event. E has to memorize three sentences for the 2nd grade production. Ask me if we've worked on this. What with the softball and illness this week I can barely find time to scratch my ass. By the time I get home after the softball games it's time to take a bath and bedtime. Of course the other moms at the field have had all afternoon to get homework done and dinner eaten. I show up looking like a haggard homeless person.  Come to think of it, that is no different from any other time.

I think the salmon was dancing....

When I was a kid, my mom would call us to dinner, we sat down, and we ate. Sometimes mom would make salmon patties. I detested everything about salmon patties - the smell, the taste, the texture, everything. So you know what I'm referring to, this was salmon from a can. With a cartoon salmon on the front. And by the way, I've also had ham from a can. No meat should EVER come from a can. I'm talking NEVER EVER.  But you know what? I ate that shitty salmon. Why? Because that is what my mother made for dinner.

The kind we used came in a black can with a pink salmon on the front. He may have been wearing a top hat.
Traumatized me.

Flash forward 30-something-ish years and I am now blessed with E, an 8 year old who every single day - every. single. day. - asks me what we're having for dinner. It's almost the first thing out of her mouth when I pick her up.

Me:   Hi. How are you?

E:   Good.

Me:   How was your day?

E:   Good. What are we having for dinner.

Every. Single. Damn. Day. Listen, I hate making dinner. I loathe it. I hate trying to decide what we're having. I hate cooking it. I hate cleaning up after it. So this whole line of conversation makes me doubly crazy. When I tell her what I have taken out of the freezer to slave over in order to ensure she doesn't starve to death, the reaction tends to range from "ugh I don't like that" to almost in tears crying "but I don't want that." 

The rule WAS that if she didn't like what we were having for dinner, she could have a peanut butter sandwich. After last night, the rule NOW is I don't make dinner for her. She is on her own. When she asks me what's for dinner, I will say "Well, WE are having this. YOU on the other hand are having whatever you can find to eat that is somewhat healthy."  Plus, I told her not to ask me what's for dinner at all anymore.

I tried other tactics in the past to stop this behavior. Obviously, I was less than successful. I have to see where this plan goes. I'd like to say that I use the stay-calm Love & Logic system all the time, but it seems I revert back to the parenting style my mother used -- anger followed by silence and guilt. I see how well that worked out, so I definitely need to try harder to use Love & Logic.

Maybe I should also make some shitty salmon patties. See how she likes that.

Camping, Part II

Oy!

For ease and continuity, I'm going to stick to the term "camping" but really it wasn't so rough. I'm sure it could have been a lot worse. We had a bathroom in the house to use but other than that, we had to stay outside. The house we stayed by was super gorgeous inside and out. The property had been in the family for years.  That made it extra special that both E and I defiled the one bathroom we were using. Only onE of us cloggEd the toilEt though. I won't mEntion any namEs.



The really nice house with the nice bathroom, until we got there. Yes, that is our tent!


The tent went up easily with no problems. The M gave me his official combat tent. Look, if the tent can survive Afghanistan, it can survive me putting it up. E got her sleeping bag all set up. I waited setting up my sleeping bag until later, which FYI was a mistake. By the time I got around to unrolling it and getting it like I wanted, I was so tired I didn't care that I was sleeping on the ground. Let me tell you: after about 2 minutes, I cared. The ground is hard and unyielding much like R when she throws a tantrum. As a matter of fact, after discussions on bears and raccoons and the liklihood of one of them approaching our tent, E says, "I don't like sleeping on the ground in a tent."  Really? I love it. As much as I love period cramps and sticking a sharp stick in my eye.

One of my main concerns was how I would get along with the other moms. I even took a change of clothing so I wouldn't wear the same clothes two days in a row. You must understand - that is a big deal for me since most weekends I don't even like to shower. But anyway, turns out the other moms were alright. I could have saved the trouble of packing the extra clothes. Except my underwear was losing the elastic and falling down so I was glad I had a spare. I kept my tattoos mostly hidden and didn't get in the water so the huge skull on my hip stayed incognito.

But holy christ, I was almost blinded a couple of times by the huge rocks on the fingers. The conversation sometimes turned to topics that I had zero input for, such as equestrian things and travel. I was thisclose to spouting the virtues of my beloved pit bulls during one conversation about dogs, but I kept my trap shut and listened. Most of them (and I would venture to say ALL) have Labs. Typical and really? How cliche. At least get a mutt from the pound.

The food, including the mustard and ketchup, were from Central Market. I could kick myself for not taking a picture of the table with it all set out. Everything was organic. I like to eat organic crap too, but shit, on a camping trip?? There was no Hill Country Fair and Oscar Meyer for these people! Hell by the time we ate, I could have eaten a Wal-Mart wienie. And by the way, that is such a fun word to say in my head. Wienie. Wiener. Wiener wiener chicken diener.  I'll stop now.

The coolers I brought with juice and water. Pretty.

All in all it was a fun time and I enjoyed the bonding with E. She needed some alone time with me. Of course, we really weren't alone and she spent most of the time with her friends. But it makes me feel like a better parent to say that stuff.

E ate her weight in s'mores and caught her marshmellows on fire. Good times.

E says she wants to continue with Brownies/Girl Scouts next year. Maybe I can convince her to start a goth Girl Scout troop instead. We can camp at Casino El Camino on 6th and learn the virtues of rock-n-roll and discuss the many nuances of the color black. Ahhhh......