Saturday, February 11, 2012

What I learned in preschool.

* If your child only punches three instead of the usual five children in the last 8 1/2 to 10 hours, I will tell you *insert name* has had a "GREAT DAY!"

* I have bad days too, okay? Pack your kid an extra brownie. That cheesestick just ain't doin' it for me around noon.

* This is my JOB. I'm trapped in this room for up to TEN HOURS. Help ensure your goddamn kid cleans up his mess before he leaves. Stacking rainbow blocks is not something I dream of doing on a Friday night after hours. The words "Did you clean up your mess?" are pure gold coming from your mouth.

* 90% of our impression of you fits in your child's lunch box. A heat-up Chef Boyardee and cheese doodles?  Pretty sure you're not winning Parenting Award of the year. How long does it take to make a fucking sandwich and throw in an apple? Start now. I'm timing you.

* "Well, I'm a parent and .  . ."
Yeah. I get you have kids. That's why I'm here. But thinking you're the Luke Skywalker of all parenting SIMPLY BECAUSE YOU POPPED ONE OUT does not make any argument valid. Look at my parents for chrissakes. Having children? Doesn't increase brain power.

* And most importantly. I love your child. Fucking. Love. Them.

Even when they wipe snot on me. Or smear poop all over the bathroom. I cannot stand to see your child hurt. No matter what kind of a shit they are being that day. And I hate when you don't love them as much as I do. Actually, I'll hate you. Be careful with those tiny bodies. Pick up your humiliated and sick child ON TIME when they vomit all over the class. 

Reprimand them. Love them.

Oh, and bring in extra cupcakes on their birthday. I down like, five of those in a sitting.

Quit Day.

Smoke lassoed around his head
and a small white cylinder glowed
giving me the evil eye
"You ready to quit yet?"
Not until I can't feel the burn in
my chest and sweet tingle of euphoria
Maybe, Marlboro Man, maybe next week.
You can have my father, but you can't have me.

Yes, I've been hiding a dirty little habit the last month. I've bought the e-cig to help quit. I know I can't afford to smoke, never really could. I think it's ironic - in a humiliated sort of way - that I'm spending hard earned grocery money that I need on those terrible, lightweight (and tasty) white cylinders of death.

So many of us who struggle to feed ourselves just can't stop feeding into that horrid tar cycle. I'm even quitting coffee in an effort to get me away from that beloved/hated 'Coffee and Cigarette' moment. That pure gold-and-tar stained moment when you hear the tobacco crackle, take a sip of black coffee, and let the world slide on. Because it can, without you. For this moment.

See, at one point, to afford cigarettes, I just ate less. One (or two very small) meals and the rest just went up in smoke. That is pathetic. Don't roll your eyes. I know I'm not addicted to meth, or snorting off my pocket mirror - it's not a hardcore addy. And I was so proud how long I quit this last time. A couple years. But wham-bam. Hard knocks just built up, and I toppled. I gave myself so many excuses. Only four days off a month for the last 11 months. I deserve a little break. *Insert lighter* Job I loathe, constantly feeling like a trapped rat. *Insert cigarettes* Car repairs, half my income going to student loans, no writing. *Insert repeat repeat repeat*

And these are all bullshit excuses. They're really no reason to go back. None of them.


A Restuarant Called Home.

fold open those napkins like my legs

quick and clean

please, ask for seconds

or thirds

it's a compliment to the chef

Clean up your mess before you

leave. I do so hate having to wash alone.


  1. I'm going to try to clean up my mess today, but please excuse me if it's still a pyramid of rainbow poop blocks at 10 tonight.

    The whole cigarette thing, I get. Well, no. I don't smoke, I have never smoked, I will never. I won't date smokers. I would probably kiss you, though. Having said that, I write an extraordinary amount of (mostly male) characters as smoking. Because it's sexy. I feel slightly guilty about perpetuating the myth of the sexy smoker, but there it is.

    Days off, exhaustion, no time to write. I hear you. At least I know someone else out there is in the same boat.

  2. Oh, god! *smoooches-you-both* (yeah, I´m like fourteen, so wha?!)

    Never smoked either, second Becky on all of that (except not kissing them. I used to do that. A lot. T even used to smoke...).

    But I still really get it. And I wish things were easier for you, but having said that, I´m sort of glad there are other people out there who are like me because then I´m not alone and that´s a big deal to me =)

    I clean up the rainbow messes too, you know, and I love. Yesterday I met one of the mothers and I told my husband "She´s the mother of one of my kids" and he was like bwahahaaaa.

  3. I've never smoked. It probably helped that when I worked a job laying sod, most of the employees had quit at one time or another, but within weeks of being trapped in the cab with another smoker after a long day laying sod, they all started up again. Fortunately, I never believed I would be different and able to quit if I wanted.

    The restaurant called home has a nice counterpoint to the opening.