funny

I’ve finally given in and given up. I have been worn down. I lost.Though the journey was long and I fought the good fight, I am now a card carrying member of the Loser Cruiser Club.

I, like you, never saw myself as this and vowed never to sink to this level of mommery back in my formerly hot life. Today, however, is a new day and I now drive a Loser Cruiser.

The word “minivan” has such a stigma, doesn’t it? I just don’t care anymore.

I am in love with this fine piece of machinery, this living-room-on-wheels. My heart swells with gratitude every time I drive it, knowing how much it has reduced the stress in my life in so many ways. I won’t bore you with the details of cupholders, cargo space, automatic doors and the like. You’ve all been in one at some point, I’m sure. The stories are all true and I’ve never met an owner who doesn’t gush over their Loser Cruiser.

School has started and I have officially moved into my car. I thought I spent a lot of time in there this summer with all the driving to and from beach vacations but nothing compares to now. Two kids, two different schools, two different start and finish times. Throw in various after school activities and my car turns into my mobile home. I feel like I am always looking at the clock to see exactly how late I can actually leave the house and still make it to carpool on time. Do I want to be first in line or 184th? Do I want to chat with my friends or blow in at the last minute having the teacher stare at me like I just grabbed the last cookie at snack time?

I am depressed. I am still clinging to summer with every fiber in my body. Now that it’s over, I am forced to do some real parenting. I have dreaded getting my kids back on a schedule.

The process involves lots of yelling on the back end of the day (to get in bed) and lots of yelling on the front end of the day (to get the eff up). I was still screaming last May and by then I should’ve had the process down. It is sad that my kids begin and end their day with me screaming at them – making a mental note to knock it off.

The end of summer also triggers memories of some elementary school “had to haves”. Each back-to-school season, the nostalgia washes over me and although I can’t remember what I had for dinner last night, some of the most frivolous of memories remain etched onto my brain.

Have you ever had “a worst week ever”? A week so bad that you know you will be talking about it for years to come? I just had mine. Well, the worst so far. I hate to think of having another that tops it. I understand that bad things happen to people. Lets face it they have to. It can’t be all rainbows and cupcakes all the time. A little misery is good for the soul sometimes. It makes you appreciate your normal boring life.

Bad thing #1

My week started with my sweet Dad who was recently diagnosed with advanced lung cancer having to have emergency surgery. It was terrible, for me, for him for everyone. I haven’t really ever seen someone come out of surgery on a ventilator before. He looked so helpless and sick. I was scared to death. I aged ten years in one day. He got off the vent on that Monday, I sat with him and played Scrabble against him on his iPad. I actually had a chance of winning since he was on painkillers and kept falling asleep. My Dad is the smartest guy I have ever met and does the New York Times crossword in pen everyday. Finally I had a fighting chance. I got a call from my stepmother the next morning saying that he had crashed in the middle of the night and had to be put back on the Vent. Crap, scared all over again. Skip forward three days still on the vent. I continue to age rapidly and grey hairs start spurting up everywhere. He finally fights hard and can breath on his own. I exhale the breath I have been holding since he was admitted. This is a Friday, I think.

Dear Cute College Freshmen Girl:

Let me be the first one to tell you (even if you don’t believe me), you’ve got it good, sister. I mean, seriously. Sure, you’ve got to do a little studying, maybe decide what you want to do for the rest of you life, perhaps try to find a husband in a sea of belligerent frat boys who think they make great cocktails but actually need about 10 more years of practice, blah, blah, blah. We’ve all been there – it’s nothing new. The difference is you get to do it in style.

I’m sure you don’t want to hear this old lady talk about what it was like in her day, but that doesn’t matter. You’re gonna listen. I bet you’re emailing with your future roommate right now trying to figure out how you’re going to decorate your dorm room. Who’s bringing the fridge? What Vera Bradley pattern is your bed going to be decorated in? Which MacBook Pro did you get?