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Tuesday, September 19, 2006

I've Seen the Future, Brother. It Is Murder.

When I'm not spending my time doing all the things that a jet-setting young unprofessional such as myself does (You know, like eating cheap cardboard-tasting frozen pizza while watching movies on the TV and hollering at the people on the screen as if they can hear me before remembering to call all my friends to remind them that there is a sale going on at the Dollar Store so we best get to gettin' before all the prime plastic knickknacks and badly painted rabbit statuettes are snapped up. Classy shit like that, yo), I'm concentrating on trying to figure out how to raise my children in such a manner that they do not grow up to be on COPS.

I'm not sure if I will mind them being the officers of the law on COPS or not, but I am fairly certain I don't want them to be that guy that runs away and trips over a fence and lands in a kiddie wading pool or that crazy person in the wool hat with the pom-pom on the top that's screaming at a stop sign for being a sinner.

Though now that I'm thinking about it, I really don't think I want my kids to be the heat after all. It would be a shame for them to have to arrest their own dear mother when she's caught shouting at a stop sign like a mentally ill homeless person at an advanced age. Not that their mother would be doing that because she is crazy, though. No, their mother would be doing that because mocking the homeless is fun. And last I checked, this was AMERICA. And in AMERICA, land of the something and home of the...pie? hot dogs? something, HAVING FUN isn't AGAINST THE LAW nor is it POLITICALLY INCORRECT or INSENSITIVE AND POSSIBLY TINGED WITH RACISM. No. Fun is just fun, dammit, so stop trying to act like it's not funny

Right. So, no being on COPS at all full stop.


I have a point here. And the point is this: the children. The children are our future.

Or something.

I don't really know what I'm talking about at this point and I just wandered through the dining room after grabbing a fresh can of Diet Coke and caught sight of the vacuum cleaner, which obviously frightened me and made me jump five feet into the air. I don't know why it should be obvious that that frightened me or why it even frightened me at all, but it did, and so here are three things about children, none of which are even remotely related to each other or vacuum cleaners or the future at all, except in the context that the future is murder, as was so wisely pointed out once by Leonard Cohen in a fantastic song and do you think this run-on sentence could get any longer at all because I'm almost certain I could drag it out for another 16 lines or so if I was so inclined, but WHATEVER. MY BLOG.


1.) Shoe Diva in Training.

Oh, Meredith. So young, yet you've already succumbed to the thing that will terrorize you for the rest of your life. If only I had seen it coming. I might've been able to stave off its arrival for a little while longer.

But no.

I enjoy lounging about while wearing four-inch heels as I watch The Doodlebops, because I am cultured. Plebe.

Oh, sigh. You are now destined to spend the rest of your life coveting shoes and buying shoes and envying the shoes of other women and feeling satisfied when you buy new shoes for ten minutes until you see another pair you'd rather have and then the buyer's remorse sets poor child. I'm sorry.

Though I must say, they look rather good on you...

Those are black leather, four-inch heeled, platform, pintuck peep-toe pumps and they do not belong on your hands, you silly girl. Show some respect.

...I think you still have a lot to learn.

Namely this: those shoes are mine, so back off.

2.) First Graders Get A Lot of Homework.

I don't remember getting homework in the first grade. My son comes home laden with worksheets and flash cards almost daily.

Yesterday, he brought home math homework. Math. The bane of my existence. Who knew that my mathematical shortcomings would be brought to light so soon in my son's short life? How did we end up at this place? It is so sad, I almost want to weep.

He gets story problems. Word problems, as we used to call them. "Mom, can you help me with this...if there are three goldfish in the bowl and I take one out, how many are left?"



"Well, son. Let's examine this. You say you have three goldfish in the bowl. But are they really in the bowl? Could it be that life is nothing more than a cruel cosmic joke and there really aren't any goldfish there at all? The goldfish were just something you wanted to have there? So if you take one away, it doesn't really matter, since the goldfish don't exist. Does that help?"

"Whatever, Mom. The answer is two."

"I knew that."

3.) Teenagers Are Goddamned Exhausting.

This evening, I had the dubious pleasure of the company of a 13 year old girl for several hours, visiting my home.

I am now wracked with the shakes as I realize that my kids will be that age one day and I just don't think I can handle it.

Teen angst is overwhelmingly tiring. The girl barely spoke other than to emit several grunts of assent when I offered caffeinated beverages and still I am reeling from the horrible sense of dread that accompanied her everywhere she went.

This kid managed to make playing video games seem like a punishment and huffed and sighed in a most put-upon fashion when I suggested that she might want to play some games on my laptop instead of spending the evening exuding a cloud of teenaged resentment all over my living room.

Because, honestly, if there's any resentment-exuding going on in my house, it's going to be coming from me, so shut up and play some fucking pinball, kid.

At any rate, this further cements the idea that I need to prevent my kids from growing up, because teenagers, on a good day, make me vaguely uneasy - and I'd rather not spend many years being uneasy because my kids are wild animals bent on destruction and mayhem.

Oh man. I'm doomed.

link | posted by Zombie at 5:25 PM |


Blogger skippystalin commented at 7:30 AM~  

Awww, you have a cute kid.

And some sexy shoes. Real, real sexy shoes...

Blogger Ralph Nadir commented at 11:54 AM~  

Check out the most awesomest internet toy since that Bush falling through bubbles thing:

Oh, and did you get the package yet?

Anonymous mary commented at 11:17 PM~  

Last year, when my ash was in 1st grade, he had tons of math too. Like, at least 2 sheets, front and back each night.

And, there's this place where you sign off saying "Yes, I checked my child's homework and it is correct"

He added like this whole section, instead of subtracting. I didn't notice it either, and signed my name.

Imagine my horror when I get a nice little note from the teacher about actually needing to check my son's math. I mean, I'm bad at math and all. Horrible even. I just don't want other people to know it.

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