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.

Buttercup was sick. Throwing up all over me and herself. It was a nasty mess. The fact that I was on vacation some 1,500 miles from home with no one but my mother-in-law to rely on wasn’t making matters any better.

“Oh honey,” the MIL cooed to the baby, “do you want some Pepto Bismpl?”

“She can’t have any,” I said.

I got a raised eyebrow.

“What do you mean, she can’t have any?” the MIL asked indignantly.

“I mean she can’t have any,” I calmly replied. “I’m not a doctor so I don’t remember all the medical reasons behind it but the bottom line is I was told by multiple doctors and pharmacists that children this young cannot have Pepto Bismol.”

This did not sit well with the MIL, who does not enjoy being contradicted. Instead of responding by shutting up and going with my “Mommy Call,” she got pissed off and responded with something I promise you can shoot me over if I ever utter anything baring any resemblence to it: “Whatever…I raised 4 kids and they all survived…that’s just stupid.”

Stupid? Excuse the fuck out of me?

I don’t care if the words that had come out of my mouth were, in fact, stupid. She’s my kid. I pushed her out. And last time I checked, that means I get to make the rules and the rest of the world gets to shut the hell up and mind their own damned business.

Shit like that grinds on my last nerve (and I promise you I only have that very last one left). Sure, the woman may have raised her own kids and watched them thrive and grow into fully capable adults, but things have changed in the last 35 years.

But this post is not just a bitch against the MIL. It’s my promise to myelf and the rest of humanity that I will never say any of the following Ten Things that Piss Me Off that I have heard from family, friends, and strangers to anyone I ever meet.

1:”Well, I raised 452 children and 1,999 grandchildren and they all survived.” (Good for you. Now step back and let me take care of this round on my own. Your job is done.)

2: “You’re going to have a natural birth/epidural/selective C-section/V-BAC/midwife/home birth/water birth/pop the kid out while swimming with the dolphins? That’s just stupid.” (No, it actually isn’t. It’s my choice. But thanks for sharing your opinion.)

3: “Oh, how far along are you?” (I’m actually not even started. I’m just fat. But thanks for asking!)

4: “You want to name your baby what? Are your crazy?” (Yep! Let’s just leave it at that and move on, shall we?)

5: “I would never let my own kids do that…(Well yippie-fucking-do for you. I myself have no problem wth my children literally playing in traffic. Next!)

6: “Oh you think “pregnancy/labor/post-partum/the newborn stage/teething/sleepless nights/insert your current state of being here” is bad? Please! Just wait….(Ya know what? I loathe that “been there, done that, got the T-shirt” attitude from well-meaning friends who think they are actually doing you a favor by being condescending. This isn’t a race and you aren’t winning cuz your kid hit puberty and turned into a pain in the ass while mine is still in diapers.)

7: “My kid would never do that…” (Ya know what? I’m sure I could bribe him to, so get off your high horse already. A fiver and a hershey ba goes a long way. Besides, if you have that kind of attitude, your kid is probably already doing whatever it is you think he isn’t, anyway.)

8: Your not breastfeeding/Your STILL breastfeeding? (Oh make up your mind already. Either way, I’m content knowing my very existence annoys you.)

9: Well, MY little Suzie/Johnnie was rebuilding engines and working on high school math before she/he was even six months old! (Oh, and mine is still sitting here smiling in her own dirty diaper. What kind of mother am I?)

10: “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you…” (I’ll make you a deal…if you shut up and let me raise my kids the way I want to, I’ll do the same for you. And I promise not to remind you that you warned me.)