It’s second semester of preschool for both my girls. This September, the now-five year old will be attending kindergarten.

My whole goal this year was to make a couple mommy friends before we all go to kindergarten so I wouldn’t be the only a-hole in my town that doesn’t know anyone after living here seven years.

So I made a couple friends. That live in my town. Come to find out it’s OVER THE IMAGINARY LINE so they’ll be going to the school that’s located in a different town.

My first thought was, “All that work, wasted.” Because I’m an asshat that thinks about how easy it is to be friends with someone. If you’re a hassle to be friends with, I assure you, we won’t be talking all that often. Nothing personal, I’m just not looking for friendships that need the writers of Grey’s Anatomy to script the phone calls.

Of course, if you sound like any of the cast members of Scrubs, call me the hell up already!

Ok, I know you’re just here to hear how I broke my kids. The thing is, I haven’t yet. I’m about to, though. Because I found out a few things, and they’re very timely.

1. My four year old is going to be too tall to be a great gymnast. So this is all for fun, and there are no scholarships in the offing. Which kind of makes it a waste of my time to drive her. Luckily, she looks wicked cute on the balance beam, so that’s buying her some time. (Yes, I know she’s too tall. No, really. I found it out and I promise it’s really true. Feel free to disagree. She’s going to be 5′9″ because everyone in both our families is that height or taller and she’s already tall.)
2. June we have to renew our Taekwando membership for the kids. It’s like two grand for a year (plus a “belt fee” for a new belt every six weeks – you know that bugs me LOL). They are not loving Taekwondo two thousand dollars worth. Just sayin’
3. Dance class will continue because it makes sense. But art class? We shall see.

My kids are used to being in school and having really cool activities they look forward to almost every day of the week…but in order to get back on track with the debt payoff and investment strategy…the kids are going to have to give some shit up.

So they’ll be sad. Because they won’t look at what they have, they’ll look at what they’re losing. I have about six months to figure out how to turn that perception around or I’ll just take them out of everything until they’re used to it then add something back in.

Plus, I generally don’t believe in activities that don’t have college scholarship potential. Just in case they want higher education.

Arts and crafts are…horrible, despicable things. Glitter gets everywhere, and I mean everywhere…I wiped my tushie the other day and viola, a piece of shining gold glitter. Unless I’ve actually learned how to pee urine or contracted hepatitis-f (f stands for fabulous, of course) it’s from that damn ornament my kid brought home from school.

You’ve probably seen one – or even have one – yourself. It’s a red plastic drinking cup (way to go green, preschool!) turned upside down, slathered in glue, and coated in glitter with a bell inside. Because nothing screams Christmas like disposable cups with glitter and a bell.

I asked my husband if I could tell the magical tale of the Christmas Cow to my children. (I tend to check in with him before doing something that could potentially scar my children or send them to therapy later in life. Just so it’s not ALL my fault. I can say, “You could have stopped this madness!” I’m basically covering my ass…but back to the story of the Christmas Cow…)

Every Christmas when the fields are dead and the cupboards are bare, little boys and girls who have been good receive a visit from the Christmas Cow, who comes bearing warm milk and sour cream. If you’ve been bad, your milk will turn sour and clumpy the second before it is consumed, thus creating a horrible and gross Christmas for naughty little children.

My husband said, “Sure” – which is what he always says when he hasn’t been listening. So I told my kids the story of the maaaagical Christmas Cow – and now if I think they’ve done something bad I immediately offer them a glass of milk. If they say no … I go look for evidence of the deed that has been done.

I swear everything I do is a setup to figure out what the hell my kids have done wrong when I wasn’t looking.

Oh, and for those that might be wondering, the Christmas Cow says “Moo! Moo! Moo!” just like Santa says, “Ho! Ho! Ho!” – I wasn’t original enough to come up with something better.

Got any suggestions for how I can incorporate the Christmas Cow into more Christmas stuff in my house? I tried to get cow-patterned stockings but that was vetoed by the husband. (Guess he was listening that time, damn!)

I get a lot of press releases in my e-mail inbox. Most of them are informative and leave me wondering, “What am I supposed to do with this? Give free publicity to a company I know nothing about?”

Seriously. Unless there are dying kids involved I rarely give any kind of press to anyone on the blog – unless they pony up the samples or a giveaway or, you know, SOMETHING. (I don’t think it’s too much to ask.)

That being said, I got a press release today and I found myself staring at it for a good five minutes. Here’s an excerpt:

You wouldn’t dream of leaving your toddler playing in the living room while you take a shower or putting your newborn down for a nap in his bedroom upstairs without turning on the baby monitor. But accidents can happen even when parents are careful. An estimated 64,000 children under age 5 are treated in U.S. hospital emergency rooms each year for injuries from accidents involving everyday nursery products, such as cribs and high chairs.

Seriously? SERIOUSLY?

First of all my main problem is the assumption that I wouldn’t dream of leaving my toddler in the living room while I take a shower. Um. Guess what. My toddler is playing in a totally different room than I’m in right now. I don’t think I’ve seen my toddler for the last thirty minutes. She’s playing with her sister.

The baby monitor thing is just as weird. I mean, I don’t know about anyone else’s baby, but I could have put either one of my newborn daughters at the end of the block and I wouldn’t need a baby monitor to let me know when she’s awake. Newborns cry. That piercing, soul-wrenching cry. The one that is the cause of most bouts of post-partum, “Why won’t she just be QUIET?!” thoughts – or sobs.

To read things I have done and to see that some PR person thinks that no mother would dream of doing it shows that whoever wrote this release isn’t a mom, or is a really protective mom who thinks it’s normal to be that way.

That does not take away from the statistic. Kids get hurt. My daughter had a hairline ankle fracture from setpping on one of those big-ass legos. Why did we get her the big-ass legos…you guessed it…so she’d be safe from choking on the normal-sized legos.

Sometimes trying to be super-safety-mom just gets you in a world of hurt. A different world of hurt than you would have been in if you hadn’t been safety conscious, but a world of hurt nonetheless.

Even though a couple of the no-brainer tips in the press release were helpful (don’t use the high chair tray to keep the baby from falling on the floor – no shit, really?) I have to give a big, hearty thank you to the May 2009 issue of ShopSmart.

Your press release lets me know your magazine is one I would never dream of buying.

Not me.

At least, not by the time Friday night rolls around.

I’d love for Friday night to be Date Night at my house. Drop the kids off at a sitter and just…go away…from family, from friends, from work, from everyone. Just be with the guy that I swear I remember is a pretty good kisser and be done with the strain of everyday life.

Sounds great, right? I never understood those, “Calgon, take me away!” commercials when I was a kid. Today? I’m all over that and would buy STOCK in Calgon if it worked that way. Actually, I’d be thrilled if I had a bathtub big enough for two people, but our bathrooms are too small so we have to stick with the normal tub.

But yeah, by Friday night the kids can get into pretty much anything and I’m not going to say a word. I’m so tired by the end of the week – between meetings, work, management, and parenting – that I just want to plop on the couch or collapse in bed and sleep off the week.

I wish I could have the same love for my children on Friday night that I do, say, on Tuesday afternoon, but they have just worn me down. Between fighting, screaming, and just being girls…they’ve taken everything I have to give.

On the bright side, as soon as the husband is out of the bath he’s going to put them to bed. So we will make some awesome homemade popcorn and watch a movie on the couch.

It’s not date night, but at least I’ll be able to talk to him without a kid interrupting every ten seconds.

I celebrate Hallmark holidays.

Well, not all of them…I only celebrate the ones my husband remembers.

In order for me to get a decent number (let’s say five) of gifts per year, I need to have about 20 or so available Hallmark holidays so he can forget a large chunk of them and I still end up with my five-ish gifts throughout the year.

So when I heard about push presents (the gift you get for shooting a baby out of your cha-cha) I was all, “I’m in!!”

Most women get jewelry, and I think that’s great for them. I have two preschoolers – when am I going to put on a swanky dress and go to the symphony downtown? Not for a while, my friend. That’s why I have chosen for my push present….a chair!

Because this chair (the only chairs we have in the living room right now are inherited wingback chairs that aren’t all that comfy) will allow me to feed the baby and relax with the baby and basically live in the friggin’ chair.

I’ve learned now that I’m on number three, that the most important thing in the universe for the mother of a new baby (this mother, anyway) is someplace to hang out with said baby when it needs to be cuddled, changed, or fed. Changed will be taken care of with the swanky matching ottoman.

Now…here’s hoping he doesn’t forget to buy the chair. Sigh.

Between morning sickness and now this raging cold I have my poor kids are going to think I have some chronic illness. I knew it was bad when I was laying like a beached whale resting on the couch and my 3yo came up and said,

“Does your tummy hurt today mommy?”

I said, “No honey, mama’s ear hurts.”

Her delightful reply, “You’re broken all over!” (followed by the cute/evil giggles that toddlers rock out like no one else.)

Well…maybe if you didn’t bring all those germs home from school I wouldn’t have gotten sick twice in the last month!

In other news, because of the nausea and the viruses that have been trolling our house since the beginning of preschool, I have not been in any condition to cook every meal.

I’m proud to say that both my girls are perfectly capable of going in the fridge and getting out yogurt or fruit (or a banana off the kitchen table) as a snack if they are hungry and I’m too achy to move. I want to bring down the granola bars too but I’m afraid they will eat the whole box in one day.

Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if they did eat a whole box of granola bars – but I’m trying to keep my guilt at bay by comforting myself with “It’s yogurt and fruit…totally healthy…I’m teaching my children habits for a lifetime…”

Whatever. I just need a nap.

What do you do when you’re sick? Give the kids easy food? Get up and cook no matter how icky you feel?

If you’re working from home, you’re going to be selling something.

There are tons of companies and MLM pyramids that will tell you that you’re not selling anything, you’re just sharing the information. I’m here to tell you they’re full of shit. If you go around sharing information without asking for a sale, you’re going to be far less successful than the person that says, “Would you like to charge it or write a check?”

Even if you’re a service provider, you have to sell yourself. It’s not that much different from a hooker on a street corner. Whoever is strutting the corner looking the most disease-free, is rocking the shortest skirt and the highest heels wins. You need to have your hooker outfit ready and be willing to show someone a good time when you get the chance.

Take me, for instance. I write. That’s how I make my money, and I make (what I consider) a good full-time income doing it. Here is what I did to get – and keep – my main gig:

1. Filled out the application. It was long, it asked for samples, and it took me over an hour to fill out…with no promise of even getting back to me. I didn’t have writing samples at the time and had to write them from scratch.
2. Found out stuff about the company. The company had a podcast – so I listened. The company had a call in for writers and “aspiring writers” – so I called in and listened and asked questions.
3. Picked up the phone. Probably the number one most important thing I did. I knew who to call because I heard her on the podcast and her title was “talent wrangler.” She answered the phone and I charmed her pants off. Asked her to “wrangle me, baby.” It was a fun phone call and put me on the fast track to being the company’s favorite writer.
4. Followed up. One phone call with some great bonding isn’t enough. You have to let them know you’re ready to work. I emailed about once a week with a “Hey, how’s it going?” email to let them know I existed and was ready to go to work when they needed me.
5. Didn’t screw it up. When I did get an assignment I turned it in on time. My first assignment was a $5 article rewrite. I got it back to her in ten minutes. I’ve never been late on an assignment since and they know I’m dependable. When we had a power outage? I went to a library in a neighboring town to do my work and submit it online. (Your library card doesn’t just get you on your local library’s computers, in most cases.)
6. Sweetened the deal. When I finished my first “big girl” assignment all my own I sent the editors, the owner, and the accountant a small box of truffles. It cost $60 to buy and send all that – but made an impression that has never gone away. I still send holiday gifts. They pay me thousands a month – I can suck it up and send out chocolate bunnies for Easter.
7. Don’t listen to the hype. I’ve seen forum posts and blog posts and blog entries about the company I work with and how you can’t make any money with them. How they only pay two cents a word and that’s just downright insulting. For another writer, this job might be awful because it does pay (in many cases, but not any I’m working on now) two cents a word. But if you type over a hundred words like I do you can easily make $40-$60 an hour, and when you’re talking about sitting on your ass in front of a computer making an average of $50/hr? Who cares what the price-per-word is? I’m all about my bottom line.

Jen is a work-from-home mom that actually works. She balances a full time writing career with two toddlers and a bun in the oven. She pretends that this is easy for her and causes no stress, so don’t burst her bubble and tell her she’s freaking out, okay?

I’ve never seen a full page laxative ad (but I also don’t read Parents, Parenting, Working Parent, or Scare Me About Something I Hadn’t Heard About That May Kill My Kid magazines…so maybe that’s why…)

But what on earth were they feeding kids in 1941 that they were giving kids laxatives so…often? Even better, did people really used to live in neighborhoods where the school nurse walked by on the street…or knew that much about children other than how to dole out medication?

The funniest part for me is #3 in the list of medical background info. “has little tendancy to cause irritation or constipation after use” – I would sure as hell hope the laxative wouldn’t cause constipation.

I’m a total closet fan of that 17 and Counting show on TLC.If I could figure out how to convince my kids not to kiss anyone until their wedding day – I’d do it in a heartbeat.

My fandom does not make this ANY less hilarious.

I found this image on SynthesisBlog – I don’t know if that’s who made it. Just trying to give credit where it’s due.

Ok, so I’ve been sitting on the sidelines all, “Well if that chick with octuplets wants to have babies to make some money maybe that’s her talent.”

But for some reason, now that she HAS a website openly asking for donations, well, I plan on making an anonymous (ok, not so anonymous since I’m posting about it publicly) call to the IRS asking how this not a not-for-profit can get donations and ask about the tax ramifications, because man, I was okay with Oprah potentially paying her $2M but get the hell off my interwebz with your beggin’ strips ass.

Seriously. People are going to give her ass money that should be donating to the Red Cross or the March of Dimes or the autistic kid’s family that lives down the street that Mrs. Jones (or whoever) didn’t say hi to at the store the other day.

That she is going to be the excuse that lets people give her $5 via paypal to sleep better at night for not helping the local fundraiser they skipped out on or did not participate in. That just bugs me.

Where do you think it ends? Do you think she’s going to now spend the rest of her life trying to get money for free?

Even more important: Do you think she reads the messages people send? Or do you think she has someone that screens out the bitter, awful people like me who threaten to turn her in to the IRS?

Jen is an awful person and secretly wishes she could set up a website and sit on her ass and collect money all day. She actually works, albeit from home, so no one thinks she really does anything but blog all day.