Despite asking my 13-year-old several times for pics from his Washington DC school trip, I’ve received none. Turns out, I’m not the only one being ignored by their teenager. Click here to read the hilarious screen shots of other parents being ignored via So I’m Not the Only Parent Ignored by Their Teenager? – Hot Mess Memoir
I’ve done so many “how to be a decent human being” posts (you can find those at my self-hosted blog in the top menu btw) via How to Be a Decent Human Being as a Soccer Mom or Dad – Hot Mess Memoir
In today’s podcast, we are ranting about laundry! Folding it, putting it away, even dealing with foling a fitted sheet. Come along on this “journey” via Laundry- Podcast 6 – Hot Mess Memoir
While working out last week, I watched a woman have a meltdown in front of her kid that would make a toddler’s meltdown seem mild….via Classy Lady – Hot Mess Memoir
I’m just going to say it, Get Air is the waiting room of hell. Check out my latest post via Get Air Indoor Trampoline Park – Hot Mess Memoir
We’re diggin’ deep into subscription boxes and how I can’t wrap my head around it! Listen, like and follow via Subscription Boxes Podcast Episode 4 – Hot Mess Memoir
As my son slid gracefully down the basement stair steps, I kinda became envious and wanted to mimic him. Unfortunately, I did not have the same swan-like success. Here are the videos of him vs. me. 🙂 via The 10-Year-Old Vs. the 42-Year-Old – Hot Mess Memoir
If you want a game that tears families apart, play Monopoly. It will make siblings not talk to each other for days and children angry at their parents. Go on, I dare you.
Let me first say, I LOVE Monopoly. I have been playing it since I was probably 12. In addition to my Father owning a restaurant, he was also Real Estate Agent. This made him an automatic lover of Monopoly. Because he worked 70 hours a week, we would really only play it once a year- during our mini vacation to Port Clinton, Ohio. On the 1 night we were guaranteed it would rain, my dad would spread the board out as I fought with my sisters on which piece we would be. I always wanted to be the car. Who wanted to be the stupid candlestick? The candlestick is so stupid. This isn’t CLUE here peoples.
2.5 hours after the game began, I was cashing in every property and white, 1 dollar bill I had to pay my Father the Boardwalk rent I owed. I had clearly copped an attitude and was a little bitch for the remainder of the night.
Fast forward 25 years and I began to play with my oldest. A few years later I taught my youngest. Both caught on easily yet every single time we played ended in a meltdown. I even have the oldest on video crying and screaming.
“But I never LOST! You don’t know what it feels like!” It’s the funniest thing.
Today I had a plan that was fail proof and resulted in more time with my sons and bonding between brothers.
“Boys, I have a proposition for you.” I announced as they slayed another pirate in Assassin’s Creed.
“At 3 I want to play you both as a team. If you guys win, I will buy you Shamrock Shakes. If you loose, you have to clean the junk drawer.”
Both of them were on board in minutes and I thought I had finally found a plan where it wouldn’t result in sending one or both to their rooms.
At first both of them were on fire. They both rolled one dice each and always seemed to get doubles. They were buying up properties left and right. They were making bogus deals with me that I was gun ho about, just so I could loose and they could win.
Then shit hit the fan. For once, things went my way by every stupid roll of the dice. Actually irony kicked in and I guess things didn’t go my way, which was to loose. Every f’ing turn I would skip their 3 properties laden with houses. I would always land on free parking and collect the dough.
In turn, the boys had the opposite luck. They landed on the “income tax” 3 times in a row where you have to pay 10% of their money or $200. They went to jail twice. They landed on my railroads twice in a row then landed on my property where they were to pay me $200 but I lied and said only $100. When I said “don’t worry about paying me,” P became the martyr and wouldn’t hear of it. C began to cry at every roll. They took turns earlier reading the chance and community chest cards. Now they were fighting over who’s turn it was.
I tried to explain to them that what they thought was a bad situation wasn’t bad at all. Despite me having $700, they had 4 houses per property which equated to a combined total of $600. Did I do the math right?
“Can we just quit now and clean the junk drawer?” C asked.
“No! I want you to keep playing!” I was determined to loose more than ever.
“What? You want us to keep playing so you can watch us loose more?” P asked in a snotty tone.
“Oh my God, no. I’m just saying things aren’t as bad as you think they are.”
Then of course they land on one of my properties that has a house and I miss their houses again.
“I’M DONE!” P announces in anger.
C walks over and begins to clean out the junk drawer.
“Don’t you dare clean out that junk drawer!” I said firmly. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to work! I was gonna’ get you guys shamrock shakes regardless!”
Meanwhile my husband is muttering under his breath, “I don’t even know why you try this game with them. It’s always a disaster.”
Thanks for your words of encouragement. I was so frustrated. I just went up to our bathroom and cried.
After I composed myself, I came back downstairs, got my jacket on and announced I was getting shamrock shakes. I think my boys felt bad by now because P said,
“You don’t have to get them if you don’t want to.”
“No, I’ll get them. Just know, I think we are going to wait a few more years till we play Monopoly again. It’s not worth the meltdowns.”
Surprisingly, neither protested. Ok, so lay it on me…..tell me how much you HATE Monopoly and how long it takes. I can take it, I’m a big girl….but if you ever want to play……
I have no idea why I am obsessed with tiny houses. I flippin’ love tiny houses. I don’t know if it’s the ingenuity of the dwellings or the concept to live smaller so you won’t be house poor. Regardless, I’ve browsed hundreds of online tiny homes thinking, ‘could we do it?’
To have the best of both worlds I sent an e-mail to my sister with a Tumbleweed PDF that she should should consider a tiny home. Tumbleweed has an amazing collection of floor plans and there are a few homes that aren’t so tiny.
This was a win win situation for me. She could build a tiny home and I would live vicariously through her. Should the cramped quarters become too much, not my problem.
Surprisingly she responded back that her boyfriend’s parents told them the same thing and they could put their house in their backyard. I’ve never been to their house but I’m guessing it’s huge and I know it sits on a large piece of land.
Not to be outdone, I said she needed to build her tiny house in my backyard. My land is about the same size as a Tim Horton’s, minus the employee parking lot. I said this in jest, knowing that our HOA is anal and you must submit a bunch of paperwork just to put up a stupid shed.
Below is a screen shot of my sister’s response to suggesting she move to my backyard. When she talks about An, An is her boyfriend’s sister who lives at home because she has cerebral palsy. She has a tricked out wheel chair they lovingly call her command center:
“I am laughing my ass off right now but yes, that is a fair assessment.”
Against my better judgement, I promised my youngest I would take him to Build a Bear at Kenwood Mall in Cincinnati. By now we had 2 teenage girls in our group who were bored as hell so I asked them if they wanted to come along for the journey. They practically attacked me.
We piled into the SUV around 3 and headed North. 20 minutes later we were pulling into the Kenwood Mall and so was the entire population East of the Mississippi. I told the girls I would meet them in 45 minutes outside the Pottery Barn Kids. C and I checked the directory to find not only were we on the right level but we really weren’t that far.
15 minutes into walking we were confident that we clearly missed Build a Bear. Turns out the map was NOT to scale and we just hadn’t gotten there yet. We checked another directory in the wing to confirm this. 5 minutes later we were walking over the threshold of Build a Bear.
I’ve always had a thought about Build a Bear and it is this: What adult man applies AND works at Build a Bear? Build a Bear corporate, that’s fine, I get it. But when you are wearing an apron, with an Easter bunny rabbit in a nylon backpack, while dragging around a wiener dog on roller skates, that signals a mental problem.
“Can I help you?” Ken doll says without blinking, eyeing my youngest.
I push C behind me as a form of protection. “Oh, we are just trying to figure out what bear to buy. We’re good.”
“Ok, well my name is Ken. Lemme’ know if you need anything.” He says, eyeing my child like a sweater he wants, emphasizing the word need.
Then the cult magic of Build a Bear happens.
“Do you want a smell to put in your bear?” The bear maker asks, splaying her hand out to what looks to be miniature soaps.
“Nope, we’re good. I’ll just use perfume.”
After a minute, Bear Maker asks C what his name is and if we’ve ever been to Build a Bear.
“Do you want a voice for your bear?” She asks.
‘esus Christ, we just want the f-ing bear.’
C picks out a Boba Fett costume costing more than the bear. For Christmas he received a $10 gift card and I had “bear bucks” that were to expire 3.15.16 allowing this trip to be a little cheaper. He attempted to rally me for a $12 light saber in which I immediately put the squash on.
“Would you like to purchase a nylon backpack or just use the cub condo?” The teenage girl at the wrap desk asked.
“How much is the backpack?” I asked.
“C, you want a backpack?” I was willing to get this for him as he would be adorable with a bear hanging off his back.
“No. I just want the cub condo.” He said as if he was reaffirming his lunch selection.
“You qualify for a $10 gift card for only $5. Would you like that?”
“No thank you.” I said politely. I was officially loosing my shit inside.
Once out of Pedophile’s paradise and ready to head back to the our car I saw a unicorn. Not an actual unicorn but a type of person I’ve only seen 3 other times in my life- a midget.
She was walking along with her friends, completely animated. She had a super long weave and I really felt like the weave wore her and wasn’t proportionate to her body type. Then again, I really shouldn’t judge.
After we met with the girls and got in the car, one of the girls began to rattle off things she can’t stand. I don’t know how we got on the topic.
“I can’t stand clowns, sporks or cockroaches.” She announces as if she was telling us what extra curricular activities she participates in.
“What? Sporks?” I ask her, giggling at the randomness.
“Yeah, I was once hurt by a spork and have hated them ever since.”
“Well…what if you had a clown, using a spork to each cockroaches?” I said slowly so they could process the epically awesome concept I had just thought of.
“Yeah, no. On their own they are awful.”
“True,” I concurred.