Life Among the Never-Winged

Once upon a time I was writing a book called, "Just Another Love Letter", about angels behaving badly. Now I just quietly ask myself each day, "What the hell am I doing?"

My Photo
Location: The Rocky Mountain Empire, United States

My friends always knew I was going to hell. My only hope is that God likes good jokes and bad redheads.

Life Among the Never-Winged Sponsored By:
  • Books Unlimited
  • Wednesday, May 30, 2007


    Before I go off and mommyblog all over the place, I finished the quilt and it's winging its way to Illinois and the shower. I wish I could be there, but the boyos' last day of school is Thursday, and that's something they shouldn't miss, even if they don't remember it later on.

    Now. I am thoroughly sick of small children. Sick. Of. Them. I'm this close to eating my young, and I can't promise I won't eat anyone else's. I have recipes people, and I'm not afraid to use them!*

    The house has been bombarded by small children since last Wednesday night. We seem to have become the neighborhood drop-off point. The kid-friendly house. Only I'm not Mother Goose, so it's more like a toddler flophouse. Little children sent away by their fed-up parents, wandering the world in their ragged jammies, scrounging by with paper routes and chimney sweeping gigs, find their way here – The Last Stop on the Way Down.

    But why can't they be winos? Winos are quiet, peaceful people. Instead they're whinos – shouting, screaming, demanding, turning anything they get their grubby little hands on into some sort of weapon, fighting with said weapons, shrieking when said weapons are taken away.

    I have bruises.

    I can tolerate this in small doses. It's all part of being a Mother of Boys. They fight. They're loud. They get dirty and smell bad. But it's been non-stop. On Sunday there were five of them. Five. Ok, one was a little girl and she smelled fine, but still.

    We're spending too much time in the front yard, where people can see us. That's the problem.

    “Yeah, sure, he can come over and play! We're just out here doing yard work. Yeah! Sure they can come over. Yeah!”

    Yeah. For hours and hours and hours.

    I tried to keep them outside. Inside is just a bad deal. Too many rooms. Too many stairs. Too many breakables – like the cat for instance. But they poured in like water through an Army Corps of Engineers levee. And someone got hurt. The littlest one of course. She was fine, but we returned her to her mom, who collected her son about half an hour after that, with the promise that she'd watch them all next time. Just like she said the time before.

    And then there were three. And then there were three that night. And then the next day all the parents had hangovers except me, so guess what? And then when it was someone else's turn to watch them all after school on Tuesday, her son wanted to come to our house instead (god knows why).

    I finally lost it yesterday. But I had my reasons. When I see a kid pitting my sons against each other, and then running to me to tattle on the one he's isolated, I get a little upset. So I yelled at him. Loudly. I think my hair caught fire.

    I had to separate my boyos, reading to the one who had been picked on last (this kid took turns choosing his 'favorite' when he played his little games) while the other two watched a video. I don't know if it was the best solution, but it brought peace for a while.

    *Stuff the urchins with lemons and brush on a little rosemary-infused Oliver oil before roasting in an 350 degree oven. Serve with fingerling potatoes.

    Labels: , ,

    20 people left me a love letter:

    Blogger Irrelephant wrote in a love letter...

    Okay, I need to catch my breath...too much laughing, too much horrible/wonderful wordplay.

    You've got a knack, don't you, for taking really horrible things happening to you and turning them into our entertainment. What gives? *s*

    4:15 PM, May 30, 2007  
    Blogger Lynn wrote in a love letter...

    Breathe in and out...o.k. so here is the upside of having a kid-friendly house...when they get older, at least you'll know that a responsible adult (that would be you) will be keeping an eye on what is going on (read that as: being sure they don't drink, get high, or have least not on your watch) O.K. fine then maybe you won't have the cool house, but at least you'll know where your children are.

    4:38 PM, May 30, 2007  
    Blogger Lisa wrote in a love letter...

    Oh, fuck, girl you are singin' my tune! I hate that feeling. I hate it, I hate it. All of it. I've had little jerk-off kids pit my boys against each other, too and it is just stomache churning. At least mine are a bit bigger at this point so when the entire street ends up here they are semi-on their own. Semi. But I somehow, moronically say shit to the trepidatious parents like, "No, it's fiiiine! He just blends in with my boys, I hardly even know he's here!" What is the MATTER with us???
    If I was your neighbor I would never make you watch my kids. Come live on the lake with me, oh artist dear!!

    5:00 PM, May 30, 2007  
    Blogger Bud wrote in a love letter...

    I couldn't eat them so I guess they'd go right in the dumpster.

    5:32 PM, May 30, 2007  
    Blogger patches wrote in a love letter...

    Boys at that age are too sinewy and they taste a little gamey. I'll throw a salmon filet on the grill for you (hope you like fish) and get you a glass of vodka and key lime juice from the freezer.

    6:38 PM, May 30, 2007  
    Blogger meno wrote in a love letter...

    I'm going right out and buy you a "Just Say No" t-shirt.

    And on the back will be that wonderful recipe for rosemary-lemon urchin. Oliver oil. I'm still chuckling.

    6:54 PM, May 30, 2007  
    Blogger Sober Briquette wrote in a love letter...

    I have a friend with two sons who is officially known at school as The Mom of Boys. She is incredulous that many of the other parents have never met her and don't even seem to care where their kid is when he's gone for hours at her house. Having met her, I know just how cavalier they're being...

    At least once each time little girls come here I hear them whisper to my daughter, "your mom is mean. Yep.

    7:29 PM, May 30, 2007  
    Blogger Scott from Oregon wrote in a love letter...

    I think I'm gonna swear off fornicatin'...

    7:47 PM, May 30, 2007  
    Blogger Mother of Invention wrote in a love letter...

    This post is such a hoot! I felt myself losing it and I'm here in my quiet kidless house and even my 2 cats and husband are sleeping! I almost feel guilty.....ALMOST!

    Here's my enamel roasting pan!

    9:34 PM, May 30, 2007  
    Blogger Stucco wrote in a love letter...

    (*snort*) Yeah, riiiight- Pants'll be the one making sure they don't drink/get high/have sex....

    I dunno why you just don't set their little feet in plater filled buckets as they sleep- then they could play "potted harry".

    10:00 PM, May 30, 2007  
    Blogger Cheesy wrote in a love letter...

    Oh Pants~~ that sounds yummy... I'll bring the "wine"!!!

    Breath deep and soon you will grin at these memories,,, I promise...this is the good stuff.
    My twins rarely fought, boy howdy how they would gang up on outsiders tho, but I think it was mostly due that they are boy/girl. ! Well until their senoir year in high school... then they did that "separation" fighting. I believe they were trying out the "I won't be at the same college as you" feelings.

    10:09 PM, May 30, 2007  
    Anonymous d-man wrote in a love letter...

    Kids taste good with some butter and a little garlic.

    2:58 AM, May 31, 2007  
    Blogger Mona Buonanotte wrote in a love letter...

    I love you!

    I've secretly thought of lacing my kids' chicken nuggets with Benadryl. Ergo to nap.

    Instead, I just turn a brilliant shade of purple and take a 'Mommy Time Out', which freaks out their little souls, and then they stop the crap for all of 2.3 minutes.

    Roasting kids is a lot like roasting a chicken, innit? Although you do need a bigger pan....

    7:20 AM, May 31, 2007  
    Anonymous clowncar wrote in a love letter...

    That was pretty amusing.

    Were I you, I'd have O dig a big pit to throw em in. Fling some Cheetos and a few cans of Red Bull down there and let em have at it. And if they start to get out of hand, threaten them with the Big Bag O' Snakes.

    8:51 AM, May 31, 2007  
    Blogger amusing wrote in a love letter...

    See, this is why I hate letting my kids go play at anyone else's house. I'm convinced the mom is hating me and wondering why I don't fetch my kid home. Well, and since I"m talking about the neighbor who did freak out on me with every grievance, real or imagined, from the last ten years, I suppose I have good reason....

    In Navy Housing we used to roam from yard to yard until the sun went down. Red Light/Green Light, crabapple fights, biking adventures, Red Rover, etc. not to mention the secret "fort" (a blanket picked out of someone's "we're moving" garbage pile) that we had in the woods, complete with password.

    9:15 AM, May 31, 2007  
    Blogger Irrelephant wrote in a love letter...

    Anyway, you know you'd eliminate the problem if you just took down those gingerbread shutters, dug up the lollipop trees and ditched those ghastly sugar frosting shingles...

    9:18 AM, May 31, 2007  
    Blogger Maggie wrote in a love letter...

    You know, I've been thinking and there are some great recipe opportunities here. Like just drizzle them with olive oil and roast them for about 20 minutes, serve over pasta with a little parmesan cheese and perhaps some plumped sundried tomatoes for extra zing.

    Or you could throw them in a pie crust with a load of veggies and stock and make a nice tot pie. Hmmm.

    Is this sick or what?

    10:02 AM, June 01, 2007  
    Blogger meno wrote in a love letter...

    Hi Nancy. Just checking in to say hi and see how you are.

    8:36 AM, June 06, 2007  
    Blogger Nancy Dancehall wrote in a love letter...

    I love you guys. Anyone up for brats on the grill?

    What gives, Ir? 'Just keep laughing, just keep laughing, just keep laughing laughing laughing...'

    This is very true, Lynn. My parents used the same tactic on me, and I wore my white wedding dress honestly. Ok, well, mostly...

    Doesn' it break your heart o see your boys fight like that, Lisa? Aw, bring 'em on over, I'll watch them. Especially if it's on that lake front property, fellow artist friend.

    Composter, Bud. What I can't use goes into the composter.

    Salmon? *drool* Give me a minute and I'll make you a mojito to go with it, Patches.

    I WANT that shirt, Meno. But I think you need to tattoo those words to the tops of my knees so when I wake up in the morning they are the first thing I read.

    Yikes, SB. I hope she's not me. You don't live in CO do you? Mean's the way to go sometimes.

    Don't swear off the fornicatin', Scott. Besides, fornicatin's probably not what actually got me in this situation, though there's the possibility.

    Feel guilty, MOI. Feel very, very guilty. ;-) Thanks for the pan!

    I don't know what you're insinuating, Stucco. *blink blink*

    Cheesy, you are my role model, my guiding light, my hope that you can survive raising twins, even if _they_ don't. Will that wine go with brats on the grill?

    Damn straight, D-Man, especially the salt water children.

    I love you too, Mona. :-) Oh yeah, that 'mommy time out' really freaks 'em, doesn't it? It works for me. MOI brought a nice big pan...

    BTW Clowncar, you left your Big Bag 'o Snakes up here. (Actually you left Leap.)

    I have the same fears, Amusing. I'm always afraid that I'll pick up my boyos from someone's house in a To-Go box with BBQ sauce. And actually a dad brought them home on Sunday because they were fighting with his kid, so...

    But then I'd lose my status as Wicked Witch of the West Ir...

    Oh, yeah, Maggie, and a little lemon zest with the sun dried tomatoes. We are going to cook together for sure! I love tot pie myself...

    I'm back, Meno. I missed you!

    1:13 AM, June 07, 2007  
    Blogger Donna Piranha wrote in a love letter...

    How did you get my life? The boys, the front yard, the neighbors little bastards. I'm not much of a cook, so I never came up with recipes for eating them, but I did make one of my boys wear a "For Sale" sign on the side of the road once.
    I'm amazed.
    I stumbled across this blog searching for an image of a tiara, of all things.
    I don't have much time to read, but I'll look forward to peeking in once in a while.

    10:36 PM, June 08, 2007  

    Post a Comment

    << Home