You Go Out Of Your House Like That?

So, I'm at Lowe's trying to buy some paint.  I say trying, because the 155 year old man behind the counter seems to not only have no clue how to make paint, but also seems not to be aware he is supposed to be working.  The line for paint is at least 7 people long, and he's talking to himself.  Seriously, wandering around the paint mixer machine muttering to himself.  One can only hope he is looking for something besides his mind.

So, I'm waiting, torn between hoping the kids don't cause too much damage running around the aisles and hoping they do, so their commotion might cause a manager to come over and see what is going on so I can complain about the employee without losing my place in line.

The slowpoke behind the counter finally waits on someone.  I had noticed this lady as soon as I got in line, because she was hard not to notice.  A long, obviously fake fur coat was the first thing to catch my eye.  Not sure if she skinned her kid's teddy bear or what, but that coat was something else.  Her extremely flourescent blonde hair next caught my attention, followed by the scent of her cheap perfume, which seemed to trail for miles in her wake.  Her Wet and Wild red lipstick and bright blue eyeliner told me she was fond of the 80's.  Not a skinny woman, she's wearing leopard print leggings, a far too short yellow sweater, and fake Uggs.  No one over the age of 10 should wear leggings as pants!  Oh, a sight to behold for sure. 

But what caught my attention the most was her loud way of speaking.  In an English accent.  In Pennsylvania.  "I'd like a gallon of this please, and be sure to mix it thoroughly and bang the lid on quite well this time, so we don't have a repeat of yesterday's problem", she announces in her English way. 

I continue to study her, because I'm bored and she is fascinating me for some reason.  Then her phone rings.  Sounds like an Irish River Dance.  She listens for a moment after she answers, then turns around and whispers into the phone "I'm at Lowe's getting paint, I'll call you in a few minutes.  Leave me alone now, I have to go".  In the thickest New York accent you ever heard!!!  I'm even more fascinated now. 

Gets her paint, thanks him and says "cheerio" on her way out of the line.  English again.  

Bipolar?  Stupid?  I'll never know but pretty sure she deserves a smack upside the head.

Don't Judge Me!

I must admit, before I had kids, I was Ms. Judgemental.  Queen of ripping others apart, for any little offense.  Especially parents.  My kids would never behave like that.  My kids would never scream all the way through dinner in a decibel that could surely be heard on Mars.  My kids would never throw a temper tantrum in the middle of the grocery store.  Get your act together, you lousy excuse for a parent. 

Then, I had a son.  The boy is 7 now, and I must admit, he was a golden child.  Not that he didn't have his moments, as all kids do, but he's so good all the time, even to this day, that I often wonder if something was wrong with him!  I know, I know, shut up and count your blessings and quit bragging!  The worst he had at the grocery store was a few tears when he was told he couldn't have something.  He always moved on quickly.  He was a prince at dinner, we could even eat out at fine dining places, and he'd be an utter angel.  Sitting at the table with hands folded, ordering his own meal from the age of 2, couldn't ask for a better child.  And no, I didn't beat it into him, as my father in law was so fond of asking. 

Then, child number 2 came along.  I can tell you, if she had been born first, she'd have been an only.  She is a whole world apart from her brother.  I often wonder how two kids who sprung from the same seed could be so different.  From birth, she was different than the boy.  She cried.  A lot.  He rarely cried, and if he did, he was hungry or pooped. She cried often.  And loudly.  For no apparent reason sometimes.  Dinners out became a far too infrequent treat.  She would screech all through the meal sometimes, even if someone held her.  Grocery shopping, fugeddaboutit.  She was OK when she was smaller, but once she could walk, watch out world! The cart could not contain her.  If you set her free, she grabbed a million things off the shelves and dropped them on the floor.  Or insisted on carrying them with her.  She can make a mess that would rival a hurricane in 10 seconds flat. 

Grocery shopping has become my most dreaded chore.  I started to go as infrequently as possible.  We'd be out of almost everything before I'd go.  I'd stop and grab milk and bread at convenience stores and try to slide through another week without shopping.  Mother Hubbard had nothing on me.  Hubs was spending a small fortune in take out.  But, then I'd go shop and have a cart that rivaled Mt. Everest, and she was even harder to control.  So, I am currently trying weekly shopping. Smaller carts, less items needed, less time spent in the store.

So, twenty something woman child walking the aisles in four inch heels and a leather jacket, back off sister!  Yes, I used to be you.  Now, it's more likely to be a stained shirt and jeans that I'm busting out of due to the extra Mommy weight I can't get rid of.  My hair that desperately needs to be colored will be in a sloppy ponytail and my Coach purse has been replaced by a cheap diaper bag.  My kid screams and makes a mess.  You silently judge and send disapproving looks my way.  I make it a point to follow you down a few aisles so you can get further irritated.  Makes the trip to the store just a smidge better.  You will be me someday, I promise you that. 

And if you aren't me someday, then you'll have missed out on the greatest love of all...the love of a little person who drives you so insane, but then throws her little arms around you and says she loves you, with such exuberance you are almost knocked off your feet, that you forget the day's hassles in a heartbeat. 

So, back off before I smack you upside the head!

I Hate My Neighbor

Did you ever have one of those neighbors that you really just can't stand?  I do. She lives across the street from me.  First thing she did to annoy me?  After they moved in, they put up a hideously ugly carport that looks like a good wind will take it down.  I don't know why, but that thing really bugs me, I hate it.  And it's right outside my living room windows.  Every time it storms, I wonder if that's the day it's going to finally come down.  But it survives.  Just to piss me off probably.

I did my neighborly duty and waved to her when I saw her.  Then her hubs came over to chat with me and my hubs when we were outside one day.  He's hot.  He works out.  Not to shabby to be looking at.  So, when he wants to get together, I'm on board.

We do dinner, they seem nice enough.  Then, after dinner, all of a sudden she thought she was my best friend.  She called all the time.  She came over unannounced and knocked on my door.  I disliked her more and more all the time.  Then we both get pregnant at roughly the same time.  Being pregnant agreed with me about as much as the Republicans agree with Obama.  Not such a happy glowing lady in this house.  Being sick, she backed off, I didn't see much of her.

Time goes by, we both have our children.  Then she decides it's time to be friends again.  The calls and visits resume.  I'm tired.  Oh so tired.  I do not have the energy.  One day, my son had been up all night.  Finally got him to sleep in his swing in the living room.  I slept on the couch next to him.  Soon, my phone starts ringing.  Hubs, in his downstairs office, shuts it off.  Sometimes, I love that man.  Then, the doorbell starts going.  I look outside, it's the neighbor from hell.  I ignore her and pray she does not wake the boy.  As I ignore her, she attempts to open my door and prance right into my house.  WTF?  Back off bitch!  Then she goes back to her house and leaves me a nasty message about how she needs help, and she knows I am home, who do I think I am to ignore her?  Oh, now we are going into stalker territory here.

Never spoke another word to her again. 

They recently got a dog and it seems they want it to be an outside dog.  They leave it chained up outside all day and all night.  All night long, with the weather in the teens and the wind howling, they leave this dog tied outside.  It barks.  It yelps.  It whines.  I can't stand it.

People, bring your freaking dog inside and learn what it is to be neighborly!

She just needs a good smack upside the head. Why doesn't he? Because he's hot.  He gets a pass.

Does It Look Like I Want To Talk To You Right Now?

Yesterday, I was dropping my seven year old son off at school.  He didn't want to go to school that day, and was appearing on the verge of a meltdown.  I'm kneeling down on the floor, talking very quietly to him in front of the lockers, attempting to bribe him to go into the classroom without a scene.  Yeah that's right, I'm not above bribery as a valid parenting tool.  As I'm trying to sooth him, a Mom I really can't stand comes down the hall.  She's one of those holier than thou, my way is the best way Moms, and that's so not the way I roll.  Not to mention her brat of a kid is not so nice to my kid.  So, no love lost there.  Anyway, as I'm trying to talk to the boy, she stops in her tracks and starts talking about my hair.  

My hair is quite curly.  And unruly.  And most of my life is a giant bad hair day.  That particular morning, well most mornings, to be completely honest, I didn't have time to shower and just threw my hair up in a bun.  I had brushed some of the curl out of it.  

"Oh wow", says the mom of Satan's spawn.   "I didn't even recognize you with that hair. Did you have that professionally done, or did you do it yourself?"  Ummm, what the messy, half falling out bun?  Would you pay to have this put on your head?  If so, I charge 50 bucks an hour and am free during the school day.  And  I can recommend a nice pajama bottom to go with it.

I ignore her, continue talking to the boy.  She takes this to mean that I haven't heard her.  She edges closer.  Repeats herself. 

"I just brushed it" trying to pacify her so she moves on and I don't snap on her nosy ass.  "Oh, that must be the difference, you don't usually brush it".  What?  I'm a slob, is that what you are saying?

I give her my best stinkeye.  She takes the hint.  Boy goes to class.  Had to bribe him with staying up an hour past his bedtime.  The current school lesson is telling time.  Guess I need to come up with a new bribe before he figures out he still goes to bed at the same time.

Not so much socially acceptable to be beating up on your kid's classmates mom, but I just wanted to smack her upside the head.