You Are Feeling Verrrrry Sleepy

If you know me personally, you know that I’ve been struggling to drop the 25 lbs that magically appeared after Chubs was born. I look in the mirror and don’t recognize myself. I see pictures of myself from when I “thought” I was fat, and I’m like, “Girllll give me that body back any day.”

Last year, after listening to everyone’s advice for years and not losing a pound, I paid a small fortune for a hypnotist. I found a woman with great reviews and I signed myself up after meeting with her. I expected her to be able to shut off my constant craving for devil’s food chocolate cake, but that didn’t happen. What did happen though was I became very aware of what I was eating and when I was full. Without trying really hard, I lost 10 lbs. Omg! Progress!

Unfortunately my sessions ended and I didn’t have time to re-up them because: work. Then, a few weeks and a box of Baklava sent from my parents and the weight was back with a vengeance.

For my New Year’s Resolutions, yes, that’s plural, I decided to implement a Habit Tracker. I’m obsessed with this genius idea. You write your habits on the left and you track them in a simple grid. You can draw it out, a la the current bullet journal craze or you can make it on a spreadsheet program. Or, if you’re like me, a lazy Amazon Whore, a.k.a. Amazhore, you can just spend too much money for one on Amazon.

Here’s a great example of a Habit Tracker in case you have no idea WTF I’m talking about, Willis.

One of my habits is to cook more at home instead of ordering / eating out all the time. So off to the grocery store I went to get this year started right.

Instead of making a list, I have always wheeled the cart down every aisle so I don’t miss anything. So, I’m coming out of cereals and u-turning into cakes and baking items when I saw her. The hypnosis doc. I was like, “Oh shit, she cannot see me because she’ll be like ‘Big fat fattie, you need to get your fat ass back to see me.’” And she wouldn’t be wrong about that. I’d ignore her and she would yell, “NOT THE CAKE AISLE!!!”

I have never seen her in my (MY) (it’s not mine, I know) grocery store before and I’ve been going there for over 4 years. I bolted up the aisle thinking “Please don’t let me run into her, please don’t let me run into her, I’m weak and vulnerable after admitting I need to get serious about this weight loss.” I headed over to produce to camp out in case she saw me. At least if we have to bump into each other I’d rather be found next to the apples than in the farking cake aisle, even if I’m not buying any cake. She was all about removing temptation. “If it isn’t in the house, it won’t beckon you from the cabinet late at night.”

I waited until I thought she was gone and I picked a line to check out.

I loaded all my food on the conveyor belt. It wasn’t a bad haul, but I do have 4 and 6 year old daughters who like things like Cheerios and Chips Ahoy! (I’m not yelling. Chips Ahoy! really has an exclamation point after it.) As I finished, someone came up behind me with their basket and 3 items in it, saw how much stuff I had, passively aggressively eye-rolled and turned to find another register. Shut it Poindexter, we haven’t been food shopping in a month. We’re THAT FAMILY, who just goes to relatives houses for the holidays so we don’t actually have to cook. Same thing happened a few more times with people coming, seeing my haul and leaving for another line.

Then. She gets in line behind me. Noooooo.

For some reason, the gods were nice to me that day, and we didn’t make eye contact. She saw how much stuff I had and backed her cart out and went to another aisle.

Now that I know she goes to MY grocery store, I’ll need to drop at least 10 lbs, pronto because this is embarrassing.

Oh, bonus. All this running around the store and I hit my 10,000 steps! Another one to check off on my habit tracker!

When Santa Squeezes His Fat White Ass Down That Chimney Tonight, He's Gonna Find the Jolliest Bunch of A-Holes This Side of the Nuthouse

Growing up, the holidays truly never disappointed in the Terzis household. Before visions of Norman Rockwell dance in your head, let me clarify: We’re really talking more Griswalds. Someone kept screaming “Save yourself!” It was me, and too bad I never listened.

This year we’re heading to Connecticut the day after Christmas. The trip happens sans Real Estate Dad because he’s got other things to tend to. This is unfortunate because it means I’ll have to be extra vigilant, watching the girls like a hawk. Not because of their behavior, but because of everyone else’s.

I’m still scarred from our visit to the Pez Factory two years ago. My family felt compelled to teach the girls how to “sample” the different pez flavors from the dispensers specifically meant for purchase by the pound. By “sample” I mean “steal” because the pez were above a giant sign that said, “Not for sampling.”

When I vehemently stated, a la a verbal “strongly worded letter” that teaching our 2 and 4 year old how to steal is not right and not something we want them to learn, it was justified:

“Oh don’t be silly. Everyone does it.”

You know how people say, “Oh I grew up like this and I’ll never do it to my kids?” and then most of us turn into our parents? Nope. That right there will not be passed down to this generation.

Future Ex-Convicts, Learning the Family Business

Future Ex-Convicts, Learning the Family Business

Tonight I tried to FaceTime everyone’s ipads to ask a question (unrelated to the Pez debacle) about the impending visit. No response. So I had to, gasp, dial the house phone.

My Dad: Hello?
Me: Wow, it’s so weird to dial the landline since now we only talk on FaceTime.
Dad: Who is this?
Me: Really? You have no idea who this is?
Dad: No. No idea.

Huh. It’s gonna be a good visit. I’m already thinking that 4 days might be too long.

No real surprise though. There was that one year I landed at Westchester County Airport for Christmas. I had been summoned by my mother to come, when in reality we weren’t on the best terms that year. Or the several years before.

This was in the days when you landed on the runway, walked down the stairs, across the tarmac and into a building that looked like a storage shed. You’d say out loud: “THIS is an airport?” Yes. It was.

Okay, it wasn’t this bad in the 90’s but it wasn’t much more than a trailer.

Okay, it wasn’t this bad in the 90’s but it wasn’t much more than a trailer.

Thankfully it’s been expanded and it no longer looks like that. Or so I hear.

My Dad, who was supposed to pick me up? Nowhere to be found. I thought this was where they were just going to stick it to me and probably did this on purpose. But, I finally decided to call. What follows ranks as one of the stupidest conversations I’ve had in my life.

Mom: Hello?
Me: Hi, is someone coming to pick me up?
Mom: No, your flight was canceled.
Me: No it wasn’t because I was on it.
Mom: Melissa, your flight was canceled. The airline confirmed it never took off the ground.
Me: And I’m telling you, I know I moved out of New York 3 years ago, but I still know what it looks like. I guarantee you, I am standing in Westchester County.
Mom: Let me see what they told me. Yes, here it is - they said your flight was canceled and not rescheduled.
Me: We could go around like this all day. If you’re not coming to get me, I’ll call one of my friends and go hang with them for the weekend.
Mom: Okay okay, your father is on his way.

When my dad peeled around the corner and I got in the car, the first thing he said to me was "Who the hell are you?" "Your flight was canceled. Mom called."

I just grunted.

When we walked into my parents house, my mom yelled, "MELISSA!" with an enthusiasm I haven't heard since probably the day I was born. I smirked, turned to my brother and said, "Okay, what did you do now?"

That Beeyotch Manning the Toys for Tots Table

The Glover Park Holiday Party was this past Friday night. The party is just as much a neighborhood event as it is a school event. Because I like to be all helpful and shizz, I checked out the list of volunteer spots available to see what help was needed.

You gotta know your limits when you sign up for these things. It’s all fun and games until you slack off and someone’s kid flies out of the moonbounce and face plants on the gym floor because you are too busy retying your ponytail for the 17th time, hoping this time you didn’t have any hair bumps. That said, I signed up for the toy donation table.

Here’s the deal. You bring a new, unwrapped toy for Toys for Tots, and you get a raffle ticket. The prizes vary from bottles of wine to restaurant gift cards. All good stuff. If you bring multiple toys, you get a raffle ticket for each. The Marines are there, and they haul the toys away and handle the donation portion. Seems simple enough.

Some pretty sweet gifts started arriving and it really warmed my heart to see such nice stuff fill the table so quickly. But then, as it always seems to happen - whether it’s in a real estate transaction, or rescuing a corgi, or volunteering at school - someone pees the bed thereby sucking the wind out of my sails and making me question everything about humanity.

This man and his son handed me three junky plastic mazes with the tiny silver ball that he GOT FROM A FURKING HAPPY MEAL!!! I have to say, I was NOT happy about this. People brought in giant easels, tents, unloaded 15 toys they picked up for kids who won’t have anything else to unwrap this holiday. These people have the nerve, the furking (yes, FURKING, I am trying to make this blog more family friendly) nerve to hand me 3 pieces of plastic crap from last year’s happy meal and expect 3 raffle tickets in return.

Not on my watch.

They got one raffle ticket. They said “Uh, three.” and I said, “Well, these are very tiny toys considering the big items some other people purchased new. You can keep two of them if you want.”

Yes. Of course I said it. It’s absolute bullshit that they had the nerve. God. Just come to the party and bypass the toy desk. And in front of a Marine? These men put their lives on the line for us and you have the nerve to show up with this piece of crap and seriously hand it to them?

Just in case you’re thinking, “Well, this is sad, what if they don’t have the money to buy a new toy?” I get it. That’s fine. But, it wasn’t a requirement to bring a toy. Insulting the process and hurting an innocent child is something else entirely - and then expecting something for it? Whoa.

You want fries with that?

You want fries with that?

I wish I could say that was the extent of it. Nope. It got worse.

A man came in with his two kids and opened up a plastic Safeway bag to show me what was inside. I saw some oranges in there and a toy. He pulled the toy out and handed me a train car. But, it’s one car. The front and back of this thing have the hook and eye that indicate there are OTHER cars that connect with this train car.

So really you just grabbed something from your toybox that your kids no longer play with, and brought it here so we can do what with it - throw it out? Um. Thanks? Then they handed me a tiny little plastic figurine of some sort. Like the size of a hatchimal or something but not a hatchimal. I put it with the train and handed them one raffle ticket as well. Because, come on. I’m all about “it’s the thought that counts” until you’re dealing with some child who has nothing to open on Christmas morning and then all bets are off.

Then there was the group of 5 or 6 kids in the corner whose parents were clearly nowhere to be found. Their children were smashing plastic water bottles on the wall and floor of the gym. Real Estate Dad is more one of those “kids will be kids” type dads where I’m like, “Is this really my life now and get those hellions off my lawn” parent. Even he was like, “This is sort of outrageous, and no one says anything to them. That bottle almost hit you in the head when they threw it off the wall.” Yup.

So that was my Friday evening.

How many raffle tickets does just the middle car get me? What if I throw in an indescribable plastic figure?

How many raffle tickets does just the middle car get me? What if I throw in an indescribable plastic figure?

Bananas Never Survive a Roadtrip

Today is Real Estate Dad’s birthday. I thought about not saying anything until 10 minutes to midnight like he did to me last year, but I decided not to. I mean, I don’t want anyone to think I hold a grudge or anything. Besides, he looked so good when he got ready for a meeting today that I just had to hug him.

This week was the elementary school’s book fair. EEEEEEE I love book fairs! I used to love getting those flimsy little newspaper magazines from the Scholastic Book peoples. Clifford, Miffy, Hello Cat You Need a Hat - all the good classics still exist in our house today came from that book newspaper.

I know. You want to know why I still have books from 40 years ago. Even if you didn’t want to know, I’m telling you anyway. My parents? They don’t throw anything away. Like, at all. To this day, every phone call that comes FROM their house or any visit TO their house inevitably carries with it, some version of “I was cleaning out some closets and I found (insert piece of garbage) do you want me to save it for you?” My answer is always no, but that doesn’t stop them from dumping it on me when I visit. Now when I’m saying goodbye to them at the end of a visit, I keep my hands in my pockets so they can’t hand me anything.

This hoarding thing isn’t new. The aroma of my entire childhood is eau de rotting bananas. Every time we left on a vacation there would be the last-minute-grab of things that wouldn’t keep until we got home. We all know that bananas are really bad travel companions. That didn’t stop my parents from trying. We would leave our house, get on 95 south and in 20 minutes the banana rot could overpower the burning smell of the Bronx, circa 1979.

The gorgeous landscape of the Bronx in the late 1970’s

The gorgeous landscape of the Bronx in the late 1970’s

Now that we got that whole “descended from hoarders” piece out of the way, let’s move on to the book fair. I volunteered for a shift every day because I’m a book nerd. I love reading. I miss reading. I don’t get to do it as much as I would like to because, houses need to get sold, kids need to be raised, corgis have to be walked, other corgis have to be rescued, our house needs to be cleaned, yadda yadda yadda.

I have to say I did pretty well in my customer service role. Good thing the last day was indeed the last day because I started to crash. I didn’t even shower for my last shift and I didn’t bother to change out oOffspring T-Shirt. The one with the smoking skeleton head.

Ugh…..of course some kid said something to me. OF COURSE. In front of his dad too, who didn’t look like he was anyone who would appreciate the Offspring.

“Why is that skeleton smoking? That doesn’t even make sense. Why would he have a cigarette in his mouth?”

I could not ring that book up fast enough to get Chatty Charlie the hell out of there.

Then the security guard, who was milling around with friends, wandered over to the book fair and tapped a parent on the shoulder to say, “You didn’t sign in.” This shit again.

The point of signing in is so that they have your face on camera. I get that. But the school was a complete melee. For anyone to have any sort of false sense of security that the guard is going to be able to stop a real threat is comical. I should be nice because last week she appeared to give one tenth of one shit about my grandmother’s ring that Chubs defiantly brought to school and promptly lost. But she could be playing me.

The piece de la resistance was a Harry Potter Cookbook. This thing sold out like hotcakes and there was one left which a teacher had added to their wishlist pile. Someone wanted to buy it and it was late. Since no one had bought the book for said teacher, the book fair lead was going to let her buy it.

So, picture this. We have a line that’s got about 10 people in it, and a woman flipping through a cookbook trying to decide if she wanted to buy it. I have everything else rung up and ran her card and was waiting to see if she wanted this cookbook. I see the line getting antsy and I asked her to just step over so I could grab the next person. She clearly got mad and said “Never mind, I’ll just buy it on Amazon.” Yowsers. I didn’t think it was wrong to ask her to step aside to look at the book, and if she wanted it we could have rung her up real fast but yeesh. She said something about not having enough time to look through it and yelled the Amazon dig again.

Lady, you don’t have to threaten me with Amazon. I’m a full on Ama-whore. There ain’t nothing Amazon is selling that I ain’t buying. Like where would you ever be able to get something like this? (Don’t forget to read the comments - that’s where the gold is.)


Yes, but does it have a thermometer?

Yes, but does it have a thermometer?

Class Mom on Crack

The real estate market has come to a skidding halt. There. I said it.

Summers and Holidays are always slow times, but come September and January, all the agents out there prep themselves for the return of the market. We never quite know what it will bring. Will it pick up where it left off before the vacation season? Or will it swerve a bit and throw all of us off from what we expected.

We did have a ton of rain in the end of the summer. Then we did have a weird and oddly warm September and early October. Then interest rates did rise. But all these are just excuses. You can’t just pin the blame for a sluggish market on one factor. Here’s what it is - we replayed 2003 - 2006 again. Rates dipped unbelievably low, people dove into the market, and lots of future demand was pulled to present day. The people with houses to sell had already locked in low interest rates. They had no incentive to sell. Many of those people moved on up and chose to rent their current abode, building the beginning of their real estate portfolio.

I’ve still been busy, but it’s slowing now in time for the holidays and I plan to catch up on my corgi rescue and school obligations. In fact, I went on a field trip with Chubs!!

(Note to my other snarkies, Mouse-Mom was supposed to be a chaperone but she didn’t come because her kid was sick. Sort of like when she got us all sent to the trailer classrooms then stopped sending her kid to school because she was allegedly sick. Probably from the trailers, you dumb ass.)

(Yes, I realize I am going to hell.)

(I will see many of you there.)

Here we are on the bus to hell! Oh wait. This is the field trip I chaperoned.

Here we are on the bus to hell! Oh wait. This is the field trip I chaperoned.

I sent my parents and brothers a picture of this momentous occasion. They were all shocked I could even find the bus since I refused to ride it when I went to school. I am sorry but there is NO REASON for a bus to pick you up almost an hour before school when the school is 7 minutes away.

I also wo-manned the Costume Shop at the School’s Fall Festival. As one of the Pre-K moms, I was on an email chain a few weeks ago where we learned of a delicious surprise. The Pre-K class is responsible for the costume fundraiser. Pre-K has to collect costumes from the school and sell them at the Fall Festival to raise money. I winced as the Lead Class Mom replied, “Well, we don’t want to break tradition…” while the other Class Mom and I huddled behind her and cried our pain.

My mom used to help a lot in the schools. I don’t know how she did it. Oh wait. She didn’t work more than full time and run an animal rescue. Right.

Here’s me at the Costume Shop.

Here’s me at the Costume Shop.

And here’s where my husband lost all respect for me.

And here’s where my husband lost all respect for me.

After I class-mommed it at the field trip and the costume shop, I had to staff-appreciation it. I found this cool crafty idea for Principal’s Appreciation Month.

Each student would make a petal and each class would assemble their petals into a flower. I would have 19 flowers I could put in a flower pot for the Principals. Thankfully, the former Staff Appreciation Chair slapped me hard and said “Just do one per class, it will be so much easier” and thankfully she was right. I’ll be phoning this staff thing in by June, I’m sure.

Unfortunately I had no idea that teachers can’t follow instructions and I only got 13 of the 19 petals back. Oh well.

As I was walking out the door to go affix them to the Principal’s door, Real Estate Dad said to me, “Remember when you used to be fun and now they know you by name at Michael’s Crafts Stores?”

Ugh. Like a knife in the side, Real Estate Dad. I won’t soon forget that. I will be punishing him today by taking him to a corgi costume party in Annapolis.

Four is the New 17

School continues to provide a never-ending source of frustration and entertainment.

M’s bestie told her mama that a girl in their class said that she doesn’t like Hillary Clinton because certain types of people give her money.

(This is why my parents spoke Greek at home, so we wouldn’t go running our mouth about what they think of the world.)

This is what gold is made of, people.

In other news, this note that came home in Chub’s Folder.

School 2.jpg

Stupidity knows no bounds. It really doesn’t matter if your 4 year old has homework or not, it’s not going to make them smarter in the long run. Maybe people believe that their kid is Harvard-bound if they start homework shortly after they are ejected from the womb but, seriously?

My child can’t even remember to wipe her butt after she uses the bathroom and she’s supposed to do homework now?

This is the note I’m sending back:

School 1.jpg

The Pre-K Teachers will expect nothing less of me. The last time I spoke with them, they said the Mouse-Mom said “I am being z’attacked by zee people for zee mice!” (It’s my best attempt at a French accent.) (She’s not even French, I don’t know why I did that.)

Not “people.” Me. That was me attacking you, because you were being an idiot. Just like the parent who asked for homework.

It’s gonna be a long year.

DCPS Will Land Me in an Early Grave

Things I don't have time for: another school committee.

Things this idiot just volunteered for: another school committee.

When I heard the history of said committee, I felt like I couldn't not help. I shared my interpretation of how DC Public Schools work (or rather, don't work) with a parent of older children.  They congratulated me on figuring it out quickly, as most people never realize the clusterf*ck that is DC Public Schools. 

There will be more to come from me on this as I learn that the powers that be just don't care. I don't mean at the school level - I'm talking the downtown "OSSE" level.

Speaking of not caring, the Pre-K class is still in the West Wing, aka the trailer park. They were supposed to be there 2 weeks. We're now in week 3. My most recent outrage came as a result of learning that the parent who started all this "I saw mouse poop" drama and demanded the students be relocated - her kid hasn't been at school for a week. So, uh, thanks for getting all our kids sent to this stupid ass trailer while your kid stays home. In what is not a trailer, I assume. . Traps have been set all over the place and not a creature has been caught, not even a mouse. Yes. You read that correctly. Not. One. Mouse.

And now a storm is a-coming. So, I'll be keeping Chubs home for most of this week because I'm not playing this game. I saw the Wizard of Oz. I know what happens to trailers in natural disasters. I'll put Chubs to work. She can help me write an offer for my client, who is too smart to pay list priced for yet another overpriced listing.

The rain this week is killing real estate. I have a pretty cool studio listing that has gotten very little traffic because while people will house hunt in the snow and ice, they won't do it in the rain. It's sort of interesting but it's how I got my house in Glover Park. We were coming off of 10 straight days of rain several years back. I was 8 months pregnant with Chubs and had no desire to look at this house as I was convinced it was underpriced and would sell in a bidding war. But it didn't. Thanks rain! We got a good house and a good deal for all parties.

And for the file marked "Awesome Things Other Real Estate Agents Have Said to Me," this week we have this gem. I called a listing agent to ask a couple basic questions and was met with a string of "I don't know's." Finally he said, "Clearly I know NOTHING about this listing, you seem to know more than I do."

Yeah. That's our industry, people. There it is. Blech.

 

School, Corgis & Realtoring ~ Hitting Snags

I'll start with the good.

M: Mommy, when we say the Pledge of Allegiance at school, the Principal makes everyone wearing a hood take off their hood. Why?
DCREM: Because it's a sign of respect, and the Principal is right, people should take off their hats.
M: Then we sing the National Anthem.

I'm not sure why, but when M told me this, I was so happy I felt my smile spread slowly across my face. Like the Grinch.

It was news to me that they still say the Pledge of Allegiance in school but I'm pretty happy to hear that tradition is still going strong. M buzzes around the house singing the National Anthem and it's several kinds of awesome. Real Estate Dad said she learned it on "America's Got Talent" but M claims they sing it in school.

The littles are still in the trailer park. Or as the school calls them, "The Demountable Classrooms in the West Wing." Nah. They're trailers. In the parking lot. Trailer Park. Supposed mass-trapping of mice occurred this past weekend but the scores are in. Zero point Zero mice were caught. Now the mice story has evolved to "last year a child was bitten by a mouse." This, too, is becoming all kinds of awesome. There is not enough popcorn for this show.

And then, Realtoring this week. Yes I know that Realtoring is not a word! It is when stuff like this happens.

Some asshole obviously needs to borrow my Labelmaker. I love that Labelmaker.

Some asshole obviously needs to borrow my Labelmaker. I love that Labelmaker.

By the time I worked through each of those keys my clients could have had their loan underwritten. What a nightmare. I'm not sure who thought it was a good idea to toss that many keys in a lockbox. Jerks.

Then someone flew half way around the world to surrender a corgi to the rescue. No. Literally. Flew from Korea to surrender a corgi. A board member picked up said corgi at the airport, and not even like an hour later the prior owner wanted the corgi back so it could be given to her friend. All these conversations back and forth necessitated the "a lawyer is going to have to weigh in here." Lo and behold, one of our board members located a corgi-loving litigator who brings his corgi loaves to the office and lets them run around. Yes, this is really a thing. And we are loving it!

So this is what is currently making my world go round. Kids. School. Mice. Corgis. Keys. Real Estate. That's all I got for you.

It Was a Rough First Week of School

Real Estate Dad: You need to give up on this school stuff.
Me: It's only been a couple days!
Real Estate Dad: I know, and it's driving you crazy.
Me: You said I'm not paying enough attention to the kids so I get involved in their school, join a committee and become a class mom to be more present instead of working all the time. Now you're telling me to give it up?
Real Estate Dad, laughing: I've seen enough. Go back to how you were.

He might be right. The outrage. The sheer outrage I have felt this week having to deal with some, um, really stupid ideas. Home Schooling is starting to look real damn good.

M started school on Monday. She was excited! She had a great first day. The second night of school, her teacher sent home a folder with a bunch of papers for parents to read. One of them said that instead of doing individual birthday celebrations, they are going to do one big party for everyone, with the date to be announced.

I almost did it. I almost got a sharpie and wrote in giant letters, "I LOVE THIS! THANK YOU!!!" See, I'm burned out from these birthday parties. I'm burned out from driving 100 miles to get to a party. I'm burned out from having an entire weekend day hijacked with a birthday when I am a Real Estate Agent and when do houses sell? NIGHTS AND WEEKENDS PEOPLE! Every time I get an invite for the girls that involves chartering a jet, I can't do it. (Unless of course, I like the mom and want to see her, because it's all about me.) But, we just don't have this kind of time in our days, or in our lives.

Day 3, another letter comes home. It says, "Due to the response from parents, we will be celebrating individual birthdays." Um, can we analyze this for a moment, and can we do it from the teacher's point of view?

Having 20 some odd celebrations is time-consuming. It's disruptive. It's also a pain in the ass for parents who have kids with allergies who have to then wake up at the crack of crack to make something that's allergen-free for their child to enjoy. M is fortunate to not have allergies, but her bestie? She's allergic to eggs. Eggs! Eggs are in pretty much every birthday cake that I know of, and the reason I know this is because once, in junior high school, I made a cake from scratch and forgot the eggs. And yes, my family never let me forget that incident. "Remember the cake Melissa made when she forgot the eggs? yukyukyuk." That thing came out of the oven like a brick.

(My dad and I still ate it.)

I messaged the teacher and apologized and said I thought it was a fantastic idea. She said she was surprised there was such a response to it. Special snowflakes is all I can think. People want their kids recognized on their day of eviction from the womb. I wish I could say I get it, but I don't. I also have kids with summer birthdays who participate in the end of year / summer birthday celebration with all the other summer birthdays. If they can do a joint party, can't the other kids? Come on, snowflakes.

On Day 4, Chubs started Pre-K. Despite the tears and that they had to surgically remove her from me, she loved it and did well. That evening we all received an email from an irate parent that they saw mice poop in the cubby room. I wasn't outraged. I frankly didn't care and moved on to the next email pretty quickly.

Later on, I notice this mouse email thing is picking up steam. Another parent joined in and told everyone this was a crash course in DC Public Schools and we ALL needed to email the Principal, Vice Principal, the Chancellor's Office, and anyone else they could think of.

You would have thought John Wayne Gacy and Wayne Williams were in there playing dress up and reading books to the kids. The emails continued unabated with updates on what these two parents were doing to help. Except, no one asked them.

Finally I couldn't help it and I jumped in to explain that I have had mice in every house where I've lived, and it's not a big deal and everyone needs to just dial this back a few notches. Nope, rabid dogs will turn in a moment, and they both spit venom in my direction, asking what kind of place I grew up in that had mice?

Them's fighting words.

Um. I grew up here.  The town of billionaires. And we had mice! In fact, one of the favorite quotes in our house, coined back in the 1990's is, "Why did you eat half a chocolate bar and throw it under the dining room table?" To which my brother replied, "Think about what you just asked me..." Then we inspected the Toberlone Bar and saw tiny tiny teeth bites. We had a mouse. What ensued was an entire winter of a witch hunt. That little stinker could NOT be caught. He was snapped in a trap and he dragged his bloody carcass across the living room and went back into the hole from where he came, leaving the trap leaning against the baseboard.

Anyway, because the first mouse poop complainer bitched and moaned so much, they decided to move the Pre-K class out to a trailer class in the parking lot. Then DC Real Estate Mama lost her shizz. I replied in the email and said that because of her, a decision was made by the school to quiet her down and it affects all of our children. 

Aww c'mon! I only come out at night anyway!

Aww c'mon! I only come out at night anyway!

 

Between animal rescue world and now school-momming it, I really have had enough of the crazy. I've got zero tact or ability to be PC. Someone tried to surrender an aggressive dog with a heart issue and only a couple years to live and I about lost my crap on him. I told him he needs to keep his damn dog and see it through to the end of its life instead of making it someone else's problem. No one is going to adopt that dog, and no one is going to take on the medical expenses for a dog who stands little chance of survival.

I should delete my email accounts before I really tell someone to go to hell.

Where the Hell Did Summer Go?

Argh!

I love summer. And I hate that it is coming to a rapid close. DC Public Schools start, in my opinion, stupidly early. August 20. That's a bunch of BS. There are so many days off during the year, I'd rather have this time in summer with the kids. It's still 100 degrees out with some serious hair-frizzing humidity going. The kids need to be at the beach or the pool. Not in school. I'm not a fan of this nonsense.

The school also apparently waited way too long to mail the class assignments, so school starts Monday and on Thursday they finally decided to post the list of class assignments on the front door of the school. Like I'm in Middle School all over again trying to see if I made varsity field hockey. (I didn't.) (And I still don't know what "Foul! Advancing!" means.) (The skirts were hot though.)

Not having the teacher assignment also meant, we didn't have the class supply list. Luckily, Chubs is in one of only one Pre-K classes. That was easy.

Unfortunately, M is in one of four 1st grade classes. Each teacher has posted their list but we didn't know which list was ours. On the last day of our beach vacation, we stopped at WalMart in Rehoboth to get backpacks. And because I am a Terzis through-and-through, I could not pass up the chance to buy cheap school supplies with no sales tax. I decided to knock out Chubs's list and try to get some stuff from M's list. How did I do this you ask, without knowing her class? I just compared all 4 lists and bought the things that they had in common.

This wasn't easy.

These lists are sort of...insane. Expo pens with low odor. (How DARE they with this "no odor" nonsense!?! Sniffing markers is one of the only reasons some kids even showed up to my elementary school.) Some teachers want highlighters in certain colors but not others. Others want pencils of a certain brand but you can't find them anywhere. They all want the Crayola 10 pack of markers but some want a blunt tip and others want the classic tip. Everyone wants tissues. There are gonna be lots of snotty noses in school. They all also want blunt tip scissors which begs the question - y'all got 30 of them last year, where did those go? I got the blunt tip scissors but also got the pointed tip so I could stab myself in the eye. (I actually didn't get the pointed tip, I'm kidding. I don't need the pointed tip because my friends from West Virginia visited and they talked me into how useful having a pocket knife is, so now I have one!)

Back to the supply list. They want composition books, some want folders, some want a needle in a haystack, others want the leprechaun at the end of the rainbow and everyone wants a partridge in a pear tree.

I'm not cut out for this school stuff really. I admit it. A lot of stuff seems like time-wasting or resource-wasting nonsense. Like that kindergarten homework. Or like - WHERE DID ALL THE SCISSORS GO? I have walked by my elementary school in recent years and you can see right into the kindergarten classroom. THE SAME CADDY of scissors is still there. The same damn one. With what look like the same metal scissors. If North Mianus can keep the same rusted metal scissors caddy (and probably of the same scissors) from the 1970's, how come we can't do it here?

I know, no one's ever gonna recommend me to be Class Mom or on the PTO.

But, did I tell you, I'm Class Mom and Teacher Appreciation co-chair! It's all about keeping the people who have a direct impact on my littles, happy, and hanging with the cool ass-kicking moms. Because any mom who voluntarily throws herself into the 27 car pile-up that IS DCPS has my utmost respect.

First order of business, dumping a giant basket of treats off in the teacher's lounge.

Next order of business, find out where the scissors went.