Goddess in my own right!

Yes, it’s true. I am domestically challenged.

I figured if you can roast a mean chicken and bake a cake from a box, you’re good.

But NOOOOOOOOO. Apparently the gods of great-grandmothers’everywhere, are on to me. Hanging out with the “other mothers” as I affectionately call them has brought up the rather embarrassing and WAY TOO FREAKING FREQUENT questions.

Them : So, what kind of yeast do you use for your whole wheat bread?

Me: Umm….Is that a Wonderbread product??

Them : Did you sew those curtains yourself?

Me : Yeah, and the flimsy purple power ranger costume that Oscar is wearing for Halloween this year is also my creation. Really. I made it with my Superstore machine!!

Them : What kind of canning did you do this year? Did you make peach jam?

Me : Screw off, Martha Stewart. I BUY my condiments. (K fine, I didn't actually SAY these answers but I angrily barked them inside my head.)

I don’t sew, make breathtaking crafts, or throw lavish parties with hors d’hoeuvres that don’t come out of a box in the freezer.

My meager garden has about 4 basic vegetables and sometimes the kids have to take Snak-Paks (shout out to snak-pak inventor!) to school.

Ideally, I’d like to be one of those mothers who grows all her own food, bakes her own bread, whilst gently nurturing her children in an environment of educational bliss. And the charming high heeled wife who naturally converses and chortles among her husbands business colleagues about the Dow Jones and Syria’s nuclear developments.

But not today. Or tomorrow. Sorry, my disappointed internets. It most probably won’t be happening.

However, I may switch from Dream Whip in a can to the powdered stuff. Just don’t push me!

Grade One is the devil

Soooo, it appears that I am doing mildly better than anticipated with this whole “Oscar is 6 and goes to school every day now,” thing.

You faithful readers may remember the letter blawg I wrote to his teachers last year(did not send however due to fear of being diagnosed with some kind of severe neurosis).

Well, Oscar has definitely grown up a lot in the past year. He will tell you himself he’s more than ready for big-boy-every-day school. After all, he can count to eleventy bazillion, is a super awesome monster truck driver, and mostly puts his clothes on frontwards. He can even brush his own teeth…and YES, the big boy teeth are coming!

I, on the other hand, am NOT ready for big-boy-every-day school. I thought I was. I walked out of the school yesterday morning feeling calm and mature. But then one mother asked me if I was okay, at which point, my knees started to buckle, and I booked it to my car and let the tears flow freely. And then today, I walked him all the way to school teaching him carefully to stop at each STOP sign and look both ways. TWICE. (I would like to know who taught him to roll his eyes at me and say “I KNOW MOMMY!!)

I watched him walk across the playground with his little Ninja Turtle backpack and felt an overwhelming sadness that he was not suddenly turning around in panic and running back to the safety of his Mommy’s arms, begging to stay home with me. And then I saw two much bigger shady looking grade two-ers approach him on either side, and was ready to run at them with my teeth bared and my fists flailing, but later learned that those were his friends who were saying Hi and hugging him, not pushing him and trying to sell him drugs.

I spent this bleak afternoon making fattening desserts that nobody needs and watching the clock for 3:30 to finally come.

For Sale - My right to say NO!

Over the many years of my adult life, I’ve attended many ridiculous direct selling parties. I don’t think “party” is the term I would use for these “suck all your female friends into buying crap with a 500% markup so Sheena doesn’t have to get a real job” events. However, that is what they call them. You’ve all been to them…(okay well maybe not the men), but ladies, you’ve attended at least one Tupperware/Party-lite candle/Pampered Chef/Silk Plants/Mary-Kay/Weekender Clothing …etc…BARF…part-ay.

Well these fancy soirees just aren’t my bag. Don’t get me wrong, I love to go eat tiny crackers, cheese and cutesie little spring rolls, whilst we gossip about the new neighbour and her real or fake bustline… BUT…seriously, are you a true friend if you want me to spend $20 on a little box of tealite candles? Or $50 on a plastic cereal container? How bout $100 on a polyester vest that my great-grandma might have liked? Especially when you KNOW that I love to find me a sale at good old Target and can get all the above crap for less than 20 bucks and still throw in a bag of Doritos. And don’t EVER say, “oh silly, you don’t HAVE to buy anything…just COME…it’ll be loads of fun!”…I know that as soon as I’m out the door, you’re bitching about what a cheapskate I am.

So I’m sorry friends. I’m not going to go to your selling parties and feel pressured to buy a large amount of crap I don’t need just to get you to your sales goal so you can get a free votive or measuring cup.

Please feel free to invite me to your wedding/baby showers, anniversary parties, or plain old catching up with coffee nights, and I will jump at the chance. Just don’t invite me to something where I’ll feel like a bonehead if I don’t hand over my cash for useless crap.

P.S. I hope I still have friends!!