Regrets, I’ve had a few…

As I sit here, hungry, waiting for my Outlook to restart and check for non-existent problems for a perpetual period of 7 minutes that really is 70 minutes of billable time, I cannot help but think about how crappy I eat when I am not on a diet.

And then, when I am exercising and trying to follow Weight Watchers or starve, one in the same, I do not think about the junk that I consumed just last week.  The crappy leftovers from the plates of my children.  The mediocre take out.  The large bag of Famous Amos cookies from Costco that I finished off because the kids didn’t like it. 

I am completely focused on a loaf of hot crusty French bread, a wheel of brie cheese, and a bottle of Merlot.  I can’t think of anything else.  I can even smell it if I try hard enough.  Why didn’t I eat that instead of all the cookies and the nuggets, and the ice cream, and the “anything that has butter on it or in it”.  Why did I eat such shit when there are so many better ways to get fat?

I want to get fat My Way next time.

Tailspin

There are socks all over the house.  I watch sitcoms during which fat nondescript housewife follows fat nondescript blue collar male around the house bitching about how he does not pick up his towels, socks, whatever, he further does not put the toilet seat down.  I have no memory of my skinny accented mother following my hard working, albeit overweight, white collar father around the house asking him to pick up or do anything.  I am sure she’d squat over a cold, seat raised porcelain god before disturbing the state it was in to ensure my father would not be bothered.  In fact, she often would be in the middle of dinner clean up, homework, kids, washing the ashtray, and bringing him tea and pistachios when he’d ask for a glass of water.  She’d bring that glass of water and then the vacuum to clean up the stray inner shell of the pistachios. 

I digress. 

My husband J’s athletic socks all over the house.  L is a mouse.  He pesters his brothers to be rats or cats or anything so they can play with him.  It is a club.   When they lose a tail, they get another one.  And another one.  And another one.  The discarded tails are in the kitchen, bathroom, toilet, front door, garage, several in the car, front door, on their scooters, on the steps, in the bathtub.   He is becoming a mouse.  He crawls around.  His imagination is wild.  He talks non-stop.  We had a play date today with a cool kid and his cool mom and she literally asked if he ever shuts up.  Seeing as how she too has a four year old and happens to be a teacher, it is an interesting observation indeed.

Should I love this imagination of his?  Should I embrace it?  He keeps asking me if I could just like the tails.  Could I just maybe wear one with him all day and be a mouse too?  I do sometimes because it just makes him too happy.  But now he is asking the guests if they’d like a tail.  Not a cold drink on a Pomona summer day.  A tail.   I think it would be fun to wear one to a NAWBO meeting.  “Hi there CEO of X.  Yes, I am the managing partner of a law firm and yes I have a tail on my gargantuan ass.  How are you?” 

One morning we were walking into school.  He forgot to take off his tail when he got out of the car.  This is the only time he takes it off and he never forgets to do so.  He sleeps with it, he puts it aside when he goes to the restroom (now that he lost one down the toilet.)  But, he voluntarily amputates his tail before going to school which I find fascinating…I have never had to tell him to do it.  Does he know other kids would tell him that it’s not a tail at all?  And so, another Mom sort of chuckles and says, “don’t you hate when the clothes stick together in the dryer.  L you have a sock stuck to your shorts.”  {{I chuckled too…like I would wash J’s filthy socks with L clothes.}} 

L glares and says:  “That’s NOT a sock, it’s a TAIL.” 

That is my tale.  And these are my mice. 

Off Target

And so today, I went to Target to buy a couple “last minute” items for Father’s Day.  Like, cards and something that my father can put on a shelf and ignore for another year.   Aside from Mother of the Year, I am also in the running for Wife and Daughter of the Year.  All is right in the world.  Mediocrity at its best.

Anyhow, I get there, catch my reflection in the mirror and decide that I would look less fat and awful, if I took the keys and cell phone out of my sweats and shoved them into my purse.  The improvement was nothing to write home about.  I put my purse in the cart and started my normal route around Target.  I will always walk by the $8 t-shirts and tanks of which I have so many in so many different colors, it is disturbing.  I then go by the workout stuff and the pajamas.  Anyhow, I did not buy any crap today that I did not need, at least not really.  I went by the toys and found some “make believe doctor” type toys that I knew J and J would love so I picked that up and then I grabbed the cart and went on my way. 

I headed straight for the DVD section where I was certain I would find something suitable for my father.  I did.  Threw said Clint Eastwood Western compilation into cart with fake medical kit.  I then walked over to the electronics section thinking that maybe I would find him some kind of handheld game that he could play without moving from the couch.  And then, I realized I had not checked my phone for the last several minutes.  And THEN, I noticed that my cart had no purse in it.  My purse was gone.  The little area where a purse should be wholly lacked a purse.  And honestly, I had NO IDEA how that happened.  And then, a red polo shirt saleswoman walked by and I must have looked pale and nauseated and frantic but she said nothing and walked by.  And I decided to retrace my steps. 

I would not have held my heavy ass purse because there was perfectly good compartment to hold my purse. So, I figured I would go to where I was and see if someone there saw the bastard Pomona shit steal my purse so I could make a report to the police. Then I figured that all Pomona hooligans stick together and so why would anyone help.  I then cursed Pomona, sweat pooling in my still too tight underwire.  Not by the DVDs.  Go to the toy section.  Father-daughter still negotiating about a Barbie.  Pleased at this point that although I do not have a purse, I also do not have any Barbie heads in my house.  I glare at the father because he must be in on the delinquency whereby my purse is now with some gang member in Pomona. 

I am seething and fuming and upset that I have lost all my contacts and a few hundred bucks, all my credit cards.  My new giraffe wallet.   Totally irritated that I have to go to the POMONA DMV.  There is nothing worse than Pomona DMV, you go there to risk your life.  My newly opened Carmex.  My CAR KEYS.  I couldn’t even call Julio to ask him to pick me up because I HAD NO PHONE.  DAMN POMONA!

And I go up and down the aisles.  Aisles I did not even go in.  And there is an empty cart with just my purse in it.  My untouched purse, an empty cart.

Weinergate

Today, my year as president of my local NAWBO chapter ended which means that I have all kinds of wonderful free time to swim around in. I am not real sure what to do with this time but I am a little twitchy that not one email has come in and fallen into my Outlook NAWBO folder since about 2 pm. Holy shit. What am supposed to do with this freedom?

I could bill. That would be good. Probably would please J tremendously.

I would rather, however, talk about penises. And no, not Weinergate. I am over his penis and pictures thereof. I will also not mention opposing counsel who did not like my very thorough discovery responses.

L. has a song that he sings every night now about his penis. I wouldn't even bother mentioning it if it was one night but this has been a few weeks and it cracks me up. A song and a dance. And I have to control my smile and I can't even let my eyes smile because, truly, it's not appropriate. I mean really...how do they start so young with this fascination and how does the fascination manage to stick around to the point that it can bring down a sophomoric, albeit charismatic, Congressman?

I digress. After his bath when I am attempting to dry him off and dress him, he walks around the room and puts his penis on every object he can find and sings a verse:

I put my wee wee on Mooooommmy. Booty Shake.
I put my wee wee on the bed. Booty Shake.
I put my wee wee on the bookcase. Booty Shake.
I put my wee wee on the dresser. Booty Shake.
I put my wee wee on the chaiiiiiir. Booty Shake.

And so on and so forth. I am pleased that he has such a strong handle on his vocabulary and likes to dance. I am little curious about the tune he sings the song to because it reminds me mildly of a porn soundtrack. It's definitely not from Alpha and Omega. Whatever. I would record because it is so funny but then he will think that dancing with his package is funny and special and then one day L Jr. will end up on Twitter and we know how that ends.

What's with boys and their members, really? Sigh. I think I know. I don't need answers to this. But seriously, this does not bode well. Imagine all three dancing like this or all four...crap, this can't be good. To be continued.

Stuck

I am very allergic to dogs and cats.  I remember going to my best friend Rachael’s house when she was getting ready to go to Homecoming with Diego in high school and her mother had like 32 cats in the house.  So, we ran into the house.  I ran up the stairs and she locked me in her pre-cleaned bathroom so I could help her get ready.  Within 15 minutes, I was sneezing every 30 seconds.  It is pretty gross but I am certain that the reason her hair stayed in place that night was because my sneeze mucous particles were distributed all over her hair as I was working with the hot curling iron on it.  We are still friends. 

By the end of Sunday, my nerves are usually worn thin and I am longing for Monday morning when I can wake up at the crack, go to Spin, and then come home and take my children to SCHOOL.  God bless school.  Anyhow. 

I went with my kids and husband to my in-laws house this afternoon wearing the only jeans that fit me anymore.  They have two Pomeranians that have taken over the house and usually I preload with Zyrtec and prepare to sneeze for a few hours.  The kids have fun with their cousins.  We all visit.  My MIL prepared some yummies for everyone to eat.  Well, as always, I walked into the house and within 15 minutes or so I was all stuffed up, losing my voice, rubbing my eyes, sneezing, coughing, etc.  It was way cute.

We got back home and the twins were experiencing a meltdown because (1) they wanted me to take off their boots, (2) their dad took off their boots, and (3) they wanted to take bath wearing their rain coats that they hadn’t taken off since 3:30 even though we were inside with the Pomeranian hair.  That just does not work.  And it’s Sunday.  And they need to go bed so that I don’t call 9-1-1 screaming 5150 repeatedly just so I can get seventy two hours of peace and quiet with a straight jacket on.

Meanwhile, I am going to pee in my pants. I hold it and hold it and hold it …until every one is bathed sans rain coats and in bed.  I run to the bathroom with snot running down my face and pee almost dripping out and I grab a Kleenex and try to rip off my jeans simultaneously and the Kleenex catches on the zipper of my only fat ugly pair of jeans and the zipper fails.  Totally fails.  With Kleenex stuck between each crevice of the zipper mechanism.  No more jeans.  Big fat ass.  I am all stuff up.

And that was the makings of my Sunday evening breakdown.  I cried.  A lot.  Things just aren’t going well.

Good Night. 

The Review that Made the Cut

So this is what I think I will go ahead and post as my review…is it better?  a little less psycho?

Dear Potential Employer:

Our family worked with Aline for almost two years.  She started out being really great, she had a good relationship with the kids, and she was mostly very reliable.  However, she began to slack off over time.  She spent a lot more time on her cell phone texting and calling friends…even when the kids were awake and in front of her.  She also stopped interacting with them as much.

On what turned out to be her last day, I was concerned about something that happened that could have only happened if she was not paying attention to my kids.  I guess she did not like that I questioned her because after I went back to work, she texted me that she had left my house and was not coming back.  In other words, she left my kids unattended and texted me to end a two year relationship with my family.   

My advice:  Try another nanny.  She is not trustworthy, ethical, responsible, or mature.  I would be very concerned about leaving any kids in her charge.

The Ex-Nanny Chronicles: The Heartbreaker.

See, the other day I wrote a review of this ex-nanny so that I could post it on Care.Com. And then, J read it and told me that the only person who would write a review like that is completely insane and no potential employer would ever regard it in their decision making. Sigh. Well, for whatever it's worth, it made me feel better to write it.

Perhaps that's a lawyer thing...writing a mean letter makes you feel better? Now, though, I feel worse because I still want to post a review. Maybe I will edit it a tad and take out about 6 paragraphs...? Or maybe, I will just stew. Any thoughts, friends?
**
Dear Potential Employer:

If you are considering hiring Aline, the first question you should ask her is what she's been doing since she left Brazil. She has been working for me full-time for the better part of 2 years, on and off. You should then seriously consider the fact that she has failed to obtain a recommendation from me after such a long relationship. That ALONE should disturb any potential employer. Sadly, my experience with Aline ended in a very negative fashion.

Don't expect any loyalty, maturity, work ethic or decency from this nanny. Perhaps, she'll care for your kids and they'll be fine but she will have very little respect or honor for the parent/nanny relationship. In fact, the only reason that I have given her 2 stars is because my children appeared happy and unharmed during the two years they were in her charge. But, perhaps this was only a function of the fact that my husband and I worked from home and kept an eye on things.

On the day she left, I had questioned the fact that she had clearly been ignoring my children. A toy which had no reason to be destroyed was in a hundred pieces. An open magazine and her cell were on the table. She had obviously been ignoring my kids while she amused herself reading about celebrities and texting her boyfriend. After I questioned her about it, she answered me that they had been "playing". Um, seems to me that her entire job was to pay attention to the kids. No one in their right mind would have allowed them to "play" in this fashion.

I let the issue go even though I had a few choice things to tell her because Aline had already told me this would be her last week and I wanted to keep things friendly. Frankly, you expect people to slack off a little during their last week on the job. Sadly, this is all you can expect from people anymore. However, I was very disappointed in the fact that she would allow my kids to destroy a toy when they had managed to keep the toy in one piece for several weeks. Perhaps it was her grasp of English but she seemed to think that I was accusing her of destroying the toy, but really I was wondering what SHE was doing that allowed her to so thoroughly ignore my children that they could have done such an enormous amount of damage. My boys are normal toddlers - so, I am not disturbed by what they did. Toddlers take things apart. I, do, however wonder what SHE was doing when she was supposed to be taking care of them.

Next thing I knew, I was working in my office and I got a text that she had left my home, that she had "no guilt" regarding what happened to the toy, and she wouldn't be coming back. Heartless. Isn't that lovely? Isn't it lovely that the moment I questioned her care of my children which was her only job, she would jump in her car and LEAVE my children unattended after having a relationship with my family for TWO years.

Frankly, I now must also question her intelligence. Would an intelligent person allow children to act without regard for themselves and their belongings without a second thought? Would an intelligent person sacrifice their only job reference in this country? Probably not.

She is the exact kind of person who places no value and has no regard to a long relationship or a good repoire with her employer. Aline collected her Christmas present and large bonus and went on vacation for a week. A vacation I permitted because I assumed she'd return. Well, dear friends, the woman emailed me on the Tuesday (during her vacation) preceding New Year's Eve to let me know that the next week would in fact be her last week working for me. Not even 2 weeks notice...on a HOLIDAY week no less! How appropriate. Collect your bonus and bail? Aline is a real class act. AND THEN, come ONE morning and leave without saying goodbye and TEXT that you are gone merely because your employer had the "audacity" to question the below standard level of care of the kids.

Who DOES that? Can you imagine the kind of person who would be so rude and inappropriate? After treating her as part of my family and paying her timely for TWO years, she summarily left MIDDAY with a TEXT. Seriously? Heartbreaking. She'll screw you, folks. Have no doubt about it.

{{To be fair, please understand that this relationship was good for a long time. She used to care about the kids and what she was doing. I am not a negligent parent and would not have kept her on for this long unless she had some good qualities. However, that clearly changed and her actions upon her departure showed me that perhaps she was clearly not the person I thought.}}

You can't trust this person. Keep her out of your homes, out of your lives, out of your childrens' lives. She has no moral compass and I hope I never have to cross paths with her again. She is the worst kind of employee and hopefully the only employment that she manages to obtain when comes back from Brazil is one where disrespect, a low IQ, and a below average set of values is the norm...a telemarketer perhaps?