Single parenting is hard, even for a week.

Last week, RJ had to go our of town on a business trip.  Although his job requires that he work insanely long hours on a regular basis, he almost never has to travel.

But last week he did, so I was on my own.

I'm a fairly competent parent, having never killed, maimed or otherwise permanently damaged either of my kids, so I didn't think much of it...

Yeah... this shit is hard.

Over to course of the three days RJ was gone, I dealt with a broken lawnmower, a leaky shower, water pressure issues, Easter shopping and preparations, about 9 gazillion tornado warnings, flood warnings and thunderstorm warnings, one kid who sprayed Windex in his eye, one kid who fell off a chair and maybe broke his back, and the various other pieces and parts of running a house and raising two kids.

 And it was HARD, yo.

At the end of the week, I was exhausted.

And even though I quit my job last year, on purpose, to be a stay at home Mama, this past week was one of the harder ones.

I mean, I signed up for the housekeeping, the poopy diapers, the injuries, and the day to day of it all, but I've always had a wingman before.  Someone to help out.  Someone to gripe to.  Someone who was present, and who had my back.

This past week just felt... different.

So to all the parents out there doing this on your own, my hat's off to ya.

If you even need to gripe, gimme a yell.

If you ever need a hand, I've got two.

But if you ever need a diaper changed, you're on your own.

I have plenty of those to deal with myself.

I just want to mow the $&(#*@!! yard already.

So, my yard... not great.

You know that one guy who's mostly bald, but has random tufts of hair sticking up at odd places all over his head, giving him a perpetually unkempt look?

Yeah, that's like the grass in my yard.

Nevertheless, it does still have to be mowed on a semi-regular basis, and at 154 Hidden Court, I am the primary lawn care provider.

Crazy though it sounds, I really enjoy mowing the lawn.  I consider it a treat to be able to be outside, doing donuts on the riding mower, ipod blasting, taking in some sun...

So on my week-before-Easter agenda was to drop the kids at the sitters, pick up a few things for Easter baskets, go grocery shopping, then come home and mow.

I accomplished all the running around stuff, then came home, changed into my lawn-mowing outfit (cutoff jeans and a tank top), got my iPod all set with good yard work music, and went into the garage to start the mower.

I turned the key.

Nothing.

Not a peep.  Not a sound.  

Hmmm.  

I turned it again, because clearly I must have been doing it wrong the first time, and this time it would surely work.

Nope.

I texted RJ.  "How do you jump start a lawn mower?"

He never missed a beat.  "There are cables in the garage.  Use the Montero (our SUV).  The battery is under the seat of the mower.  Remember red to red, black to black."

Good advice.

 After a few false starts, I got it up and running, and started to mow.  

Beautiful day, sun shining, I'm outside, Johnny Cash blaring on the iPod, it doesn't get much better... Oh Hell's Bells, there's a big stick.  I stopped the mower to pick it up and get it out of the way.  

Stick disaster averted, I climbed back on the mower, turned the key, and... nothing.

Not even a whine.

At this point, the mower was at one of the lowest and hilliest parts of our two acre yard.  No way was I going to be able to push it up the hill, so I texted RJ again.  "I'm going off-roading in The Montero to jump the mower again.  Wish me luck."

After pulling the car to the far depths of our very hilly yard, I hooked up the jumper cables again... And nothing.  I left them on.  Still nothing.  

I texted RJ again.  "We need a new battery.  Where do those come from?"  He responded with "Lowes, Home Depot, Wal-Mart... Take the old one in for a core exchange."

Uh, ok.

At this point, my time was running short, because I needed to pick the kids up at the sitter.

I did take time to change clothes so as not to be a magnet for wayward rednecks who were trolling Lowe's at 5pm on a Tuesday afternoon looking for a date.  

Ok, fast forward, battery purchased, old battery turned in, (I was lucky enough to have not one, but TWO brand new and very earnestly eager to help assist me with this), so I headed to the sitter's house and picked up the kiddos. 

Dammit.  Can't mow with the kids home.  Now my yard is half mowed, and I'm even more THAT neighbor than I ever have been...  

Suddenly I had a brilliant idea.  One quick turn around, one McDonald's drive-thru and two Happy Meals later, we we back on the road home.

This is where it gets a bit dicey.  If you are, say, a representative of Child Services, you probably have a million better things to do right now than to read my silly little blog.  If you are one of those judgey I'm-such-a-good-parent-oh-the-horror-gasp!-how-could-she-ever-do-THAT? types, you probably never should have been here in the first place.  Anyway, at this point, desperate to finish mowing my half-mown lawn, I moved the kids to the back porch, strapped cj into his high chair, threatened zj with bodily harm if he left the porch for ANY reason - Yes, even werewolves.  Yes, even fire.  Yes, even aliens - plopped a Happy Meal and a juice box in front of each of them, and I finished mowing.

It took me three times as long as it should have, because I had to make a loop by the porch every other minute just to make sure no one was dead.

Also, I did not take the time to change out of my "going to town" clothes, so you can imagine how absolutely freaking insane what that looked like.

But I got finished.

Mission accomplished.

Next time, I'm just going to let the damn dandelions win.

The one where the water heater broke - twice.

For years, I was a manager at a large chain bookstore.  One of the most challenging aspects of my job, aside from making those poor employees actually WORK for their pay, was maintaining a 22,000 +/- square foot building.

Something was broken all the time.  All.  The.  Flippin'. Time.

I dealt with repairmen on at least a weekly basis, and usually it was more often than that.

I spoke fluently to them about grease traps, HVAC units, reverse osmosis water filtration systems, R2D2 scanner units, paint colors, stopped up urinals, pounds per square inch of pressure necessary to automatically close a door, breaker boxes, electrical closets, broken slatwall, duct detectors, etc.

Etc.

Etc.

I knew my building inside out, and could proactively pinpoint problems and discuss them with the appropriate repair persons in an intelligent, informed, logical manner.

This is a skill that, for some reason, never has and never will translate to my real life.

When something breaks at 154 Hidden Court, I almost always attempt to fix it myself first.  I faithfully Tivo shows on both HGTV and the DIY Network, so I'm more than qualified.  Anyway, when that doesn't work out, I a) panic and b) call RJ.

RJ then calls the appropriate repair person, and takes time off from work to come home to deal with him.

Because I can't.

I just can't.

For whatever reason, when faced with a plumber, a gardener, a carpenter, and electrician on my home turf, I become a bumbling idiot.  No, that's not the right phrase.  It's much more helpless female/Blanche Dubois than that.

 Which brings us to last week.

On Thursday, I got up at my normal butt-crack of dawn and headed into the basement to hop on the treadmill and get my run in.

On the way down the steps, I heard a strange noise.  It sounded like... running water?  Uh-oh.  

The water heater, which lives in the basement, was pumping water out like a faucet on full blast.

Shit.

I was pretty sure that wasn't supposed to happen.  

I yelled for RJ, but by the time he got downstairs, I had found the shutoff valve and, well, shut it off.  Now there was no more running water, just STANDING water, which is ever so much better, especially at 5am.

Anyway, none of my HGTV shows had covered this particular problem, so RJ called a plumber, who would come at 10am that day.  Unfortunately, he wasn't going to be able to miss work, so I was on Plumber Duty. 

Joy.

I cleaned up the water and waited.  And waited.  And waited.  Most plumbers are on Eastern Plumber Central time, which has no bearing on or resemblance to real live time.  Anyway, 11am came and went, and the plumber finally arrived.  He was a typical plumber looking guy - sort of sandy haired, probably ate too many Doritos in front of NASCAR on the weekends, and totally non-threatening, as plumbers go.

"You got a leaky water heater?" he said.

"Um, yeah, it leaks, well I wouldn't call it LEAK exactly, it more like gushes.  Or pours.  Maybe a I have a POOR water heater.  Ha!  Yeah, that's it." All the time, I'm standing in the doorway, preventing him from entering.

"Well, ma'am, if you can show me where it is..."  

"OH!  OF COURSE!  FOLLOW ME!"  Why was I shouting?  Plumber seemed  to wonder that, too, and took a couple steps back and broke all eye contact with me.  He took a deep breath, then bravely stepped into my house.

At this point, I decided it would be better for all of us if I shut the hell up, so I directed him into the basement with a series of complicated gestures, sort of like flashing gang signs and/or interpretive dance. Brave soul that he was, he followed on...

He glanced at the water heater for .1827 seconds, declared it needed a new overflow tank, and asked to see my regulator.

Well, how FRESH!  He didn't even buy me dinner first.

"Uh, bumble, bumble, uh, I, uh, toil and trouble, uh, I don't know what that is."

"Show me where the water comes into your house."

OH!  That I can do!  

He glanced at THAT for .17493 seconds, and declared we needed to put a water regulator on our house, or all our pipes were going to go Old Faithful.  Soon.

"Uh, I, uh, what?  Uh, let me talk to my husband about it."

He replaced the tank, said it might buy us a little time, warned me to get a regulator put on ASAP, and got the hell out of crazy town.

Whew, glad THAT was over...

The next morning, I stumbled out of bed, headed downstairs to get some weightlifting in, and heard it again.  Yep.  Water gushing out of the water heater.  Turn off.  Clean up.  Rinse.  Repeat.

RJ called the plumber guy again, told him to come put a water regulator in TODAY, and left on his merry little way to go to work.

Lucky bastard.

Anyway, Plumber Guy showed up, and carefully avoiding my gaze, he made his way down to the basement where he installed said water regulator in record time.  

"MA'AM!" he yelled.  "Can you come down here so I can show you what I done?"  Plumbers are not known for excellent grammar.

I made my way down the steps and over to Plumber Guy, who was pointing proudly at a doomehickey thingamajig that was now sticking out from one of the water pipes.  

At this point, he began to explain pounds of water pressure, how to adjust the regulator, etc. with great proficiency.  Also, every sentence he said began with "Now you tell your husband..."  As in, "Now you tell your husband that this is set to 55 pounds of pressure, and you tell your husband that he can adjust it up a little by turning this screw a quarter turn and be sure to tell your husband that this access door I took off can be replaced if he moves the hinges from the top to the side..."  

I snapped out of my self-induced coma for a minute.  Hey!  I hung that door!  Oh well,  he seemed so earnest that I didn't correct him.

And then finally, finally, he was gone.

I poured myself a stiff drink, never mind that it was before noon, then I sat on the couch for the rest of the day, staring off into space.  It was really all I could manage to get done.

Plumbing is hard work, you know.

This one catches on quickly...

Me: "How does a chicken go?"

cj:   "Bock, Bock!"

Me: "How does a cow go?"

cj:   "MOOOOOOOO!!!"

Me: "How does a puppy dog go?"

cj:   "Woof! Woof!"

Me: "How does a kitty cat go?"

cj:   "Meow!"
Me: "How does a monkey go?"
cj:    "Oooh  oooh,  aaah aaah."
Me:  "How does a Mama go?"
cj:    "NO! NO! NO!"

Well, at least it's accurate.

Spring Time Scramble 5k - With Complete Redneck Playlist!

So this morning, I got up out of bed at the buttcrack of dawn, got dressed and went to a local park with about 175 other crazies, where we ran 3.1 miles, chasing each other, sweating, cussing, and trying to cross a little line ahead of as many other people as possible.

It was loads of fun.

This race was lots of fun for lots of reasons.  1.  It was a 5k.  Since I've done a 10 miler and have a mini marathon coming up, it wasn't too terribly taxing.  2.  Since it was local, my family was there.  Two of my cousins even walked it!  Good job, you!  3.  It was small.  With only 175 or so people participating, it was minus the large crowds that I HATE at some of the other races I've been at.  4. It was local.  I live in a bit of a small town, so races here are few and far between, and I didn't have to drive for an hour to make it to the starting line.

Anyway, I gave a play-by-play of my last run, the Papa John's 10 Miler, and since it was met with a wildly positive response (i.e., at least 5 people read it, and one person read it twice) I thought I'd give you a rundown of my run today.  This time, with complete Redneck Playlist.

Clearly, It's your lucky day.

And away we go...


On the playlist: Queen of Hearts by Carlene Carter What a beautiful morning!  The birds are singing, the weather is beautiful, the flowers are blooming, my kid is over there waving at me... It's a great day for a run.  I'm pretty sure I can beat her, and her, and her, and her...

On the playlist: Whole Lot of Shakin' Going On by Jerry Lee Lewis  Ok, running in grass - not cool.  There must be moles in this park.  Or hippos.  They burrow underground, right?   Whew.  The lady in front of me with the disproportionately large rear end looks like she's about to bounce right outta her pants.  Hey!  She's in FRONT of me.  Not cool.  At. All.

On the playlist: Bringing Out the Elvis In Me by Faith Hill  Can't.  Breathe.  Stupid.  Flowers.  And. Trees.  And.  Their.  Stupid.  Blooms.  Stupid.  Pollen.  Can't.  Breathe.  Must slow down.  Too crowded through here with people and I need to hock up some crap, which is totally unattractive and best done in private.  Whaddya think you're looking at, dude?  Never seen a cute girl hock and spit before?  You must not be from around here, then.

On the playlist: He Drinks Tequila & She Talks Dirty In Spanish Ok, that's a mile.  Two more to go.  Hey, this isn't bad at all!  Except for the hills.  And the grass.  And the not being able to breathe.  But other than that, it's totally fun!  Why are all the women running here so tall?  And why do they all have the same short, super-gelled, spiky haircut?   No, go on by me lady.  I'm afraid you'll cut me with your hair if I don't get out of your way.

On the playlist: Poor Me, Poor Me, Pour Me by Trick Pony  Did I turn on the wrong playlist?  It this my "Songs to Get Drunk To" playlist?  Nah, It's just that pretty much all country music is about drinking...  Ok, concentrate, mj.  Focus.  That really old power walker guy with the florescent yellow shirt that says "Jesus walked for me so I'll walk, too!"  keeps getting further ahead of you.  Yes, his legs are taller than your whole body, but he must be at least 80.  Dig!  You can surely pass him...

On the playlist: Bubba Shot the Jukebox by Alan Jackson Ah, the water station!  Apparently 80 year old power walkers don't need water to survive, so he's long gone now.  Oh well.  Hey, I'm not totally sure which way to go  through here...  That way looks shorter, though.  Oh, stop looking at me like that, lady.   You totally know you want to cut through there, too.  Ok, FINE!  I'll go around.

On the playlist: Boot Scootin' Boogie by Brooks and Dunn  Two miles in - this is practically over.  I'm so bummed that Brooks & Dunn broke up...  Focus, mj...  Hey, there's the 80 year old power walker.  I think I can catch him!  Then, I'm gonna trip him.  I'll push him into the grass though.  I'd hate for him to break a hip on account of little ole me.

On the playlist: Won't Take Less Than Your Love by Tanya Tucker and Paul Overstreet I really expected to see more redneck/white trash types here.  Hey, is that guy CHEWING TOBACCO?  WHILE RUNNING A ROAD RACE?  Yep, feels like home.

On the playlist: Next To You, Next To Me by Shenandoah Hey!  There's the lady with the disproportionately large rear again.  How in the world did she get in front of me again?  And how is it possible that she can run faster than I can?  Whatever.  I'm gonna catch her and beat her, even if I die trying.

On the playlist: Boogie Woogie Fiddle Country Blues by Charlie Daniels  Dying. Dying. Dying.  Damn hill.  Go on lady.  You can have this race, but at least my ass is smaller than yours.  Ha.  Dying.  Stupid hill...  At least I beat the 80 year old power walker...

On the playlist: Ready to Run by the Dixie Chicks The end!  I did it!  I beat my time goal and everything!  I'm so proud of me!  Hey!  Why isn't my family here at the finish line cheering for me?  Is that my kid way down there playing on the swings?  Yep.  Mama gets NO respect...



And next up on the race calendar, the Derby City Mini Marathon.  Should be good times...

Even Meth Heads watch movies.

Tuesday was RJ's day off from work, and possibly because I have been sorta grumpy lately he and the boys stayed home and I went out to "run errands," even though we both knew I had no real errands to run.

I got my Route 44 unsweet tea, extra ice from Sonic, wandered around Target for an hour, wandered around Kohl's for an hour trying on things I would never in a million years buy, and made a quick stop at the liquor store.   Not once did I have to wipe any bodily fluids off anyone.

It was like Heaven.

My last stop of the day before heading home was to drop a movie off at the Redbox.  RJ had a free code and how brought home Due Date, which I would like to point out we had not really watched.  We just like to rent movies and pretend we are not too old to stay up past 9:30 to watch them.   

As I walked up to the Redbox, I noticed something strange - a line.  At the Redbox.  Ok, I have time, I'll just queue up and wait.

Directly in front of me was a young boy, 14 or so, who was bouncing from one foot to the other and looking decidedly nervous.  In front of him and at the Redbox was a woman who could kindly be described as a crack whore.  Or a meth head.  Or whatever.  I'm not totally up on all the cool drugs, not since that one time I tried sniffing Coke and the ice cube got stuck up my nose.  Anyway, she was high on something, and she was PISSED.

She alternated between yelling into her cell phone, punching random buttons on the Redbox, and yelling at the Redbox.  Occasionally she would also kick and/or slap the Redbox for good measure, too.   The kid on front of me bounced faster and faster and looked everywhere except Meth Head, which I assume would be difficult, considering her underpants (and lack thereof)  were totally visible through all the rips in the ass of her pants.  

Yell.  Punch buttons.  Kick.  Yell some more.  Punch the same buttons again, but harder.  Surely that will yield a different result!

I was getting ready to turn around and walk away to find another Redbox somewhere, and the kid in front of my was now bouncing so high from foot to foot that  thought he might take off into space when, in a moment of semi-coherence, I heard her say to her phone, "What effing kind of Redbox doesn't effing have effing Due Date?"

Hmmm...

Now I'm no rocket scientist, but since I was standing in line holding Due Date, and Crack Whore wanted to rent Due Date, it stood to reason that after I returned it, it would be available...  Hmmm...  

"Excuse me." I whispered.

Nothing.

"Excuse me." I said, a little louder.

No response.

"EXCUSE ME!" I yelled in my best I'm-The-Mama-And-You'd-Better-Sit-Down-And-Listen-Up-And-Listen-Good Voice.

Meth Head/Crack Whore turned around to see what could possible be making so much noise. 

I waved the DVD in her general direction.   "I'm getting ready to return a copy of Due Date when it's my turn."

Blank stare.

"After I return it, it should be available for you to rent." I hope.  Oh well, I'll be long gone by then if it doesn't work out.

Slowly I could see the wheels turning in her brain.  Was I a threat?  No.  Was I a cop?  No.  Was I trying to steal her stash? No.  Did I have something she wanted?  Maybe.

At this point, the kid stopped bouncing and looked at me as though I was a savior.  Or a giant pizza with pepperoni and extra cheese.  Whatever.  He was happy to see me.  "Why don't you go ahead of me and return your movie so she can rent it?"  He was practically begging.

At this point, Crack Meth Head Whore looked a little suspicious.  And very dirty.  Whatever.  Were we trying to gang up on her?

"Look," I said, opening the case.  "This is the movie you want, right?"

She nodded slowly, blood-shot eyes darting back and forth.

"So let me return it, then you can rent it."  I was careful not to make direct eye contact.

She nodded slowly again, then immediately morphed into a completely different drug addict.

"OH MY GOD! YOU WOULD DO THAT FOR ME? YOU'RE GOOD PEOPLE.  THERE AREN'T A LOT OF GOOD PEOPLE LEFT AND YOU ARE ONE OF THEM.  YOU ARE WILLING TO HELP ME OUT AND NOBODY IS EVER WILLING TO HELP ME OUT - WHAT'S YOUR NAME?"

"Jennifer,"  I lied.

"WELL JENNIFER, YOU ARE A TRUE FRIEND."  At this point, there were big tears in her blood-shot eyes and her too-thick mascara was beginning to run down her meth-sore marked face.  

Awesome.

I made the druggie cry.

I sort of stepped around her as she continued to tell me I was nicer to her than her own family - imagine that - and quickly returned my movie.

I said, "Well, there ya go.  Hope you like it!"  and briskly walked away before she could ask me for my number.

As  I was walking away, I made pointed and direct eye contact with the kid, who was STILL in line.  "Get away now.  I'm not sure if this will work," I said with my mind powers.  He seemed to get it, and turned and followed me back toward the parking lot.

I got in my car and started to drive away, but my nosy nature got me, and I found myself slowly driving by the Redbox.  There stood my Meth Head Friend, movie in hand, looking like she had won the lottery.  Or scored a hit.

Either way, I had done my good deed for the day.

I wonder what "Pay it Forward" means to a Crack Whore?

I'm still pretty new - how do I request a day off again?

I'm still pretty new to this whole stay at home Mama business, and I'd say that for the most part, it's gone pretty well.

My boys are happier.  I'm definitely happier and more relaxed than I've ever been.  RJ is happier.

It was a good move.

But occasionally I have a day when I think maybe I'll get a part time job, just to get out of the house a little.  Or maybe I'll run away to join the circus.  Or maybe I'll just run away.

Yesterday was definitely one of those days.

I woke up grumpy.  I had a headache from hell - you know the one where every time your heart beats, it feels like someone is tightening a vice around your head?  Yeah, that one.  Zj woke up grumpy.  Even sweet little cj, who never has a harsh word for anybody - grumpy.  RJ, who may or may not have been grumpy, got to leave and go to work, so he missed all the fun.  Lucky dog.


We muddled through our morning with a minimum of interaction.   Trust me, it was for the best.  Mid-morning, I wandered off to screw around on Twitter to put in a load of laundry.  Don't worry, the tv was babysitting for me, so the kids were occupied.  Until I heard zj come running up to me yelling "Mama, Mama!"

Uh-oh.

"Mama, electricity and water DO. NOT. MIX."

Great tip, kid.  Now, where did I stash the fire extinguisher?

Ok, fast forward to lunch time... nothing was actually on fire, by the way.  I had the kids settled in to eat, and I wandered off again to screw around on Facebook scrub some toilets.  After a minute or two of peaceful, blissful, quiet, I realized that it was... quiet.  A quick peek at the kids led me to a quick conclusion - one was missing.

Zj was sitting, peacefully eating his lunch.  Cj was no longer strapped into his high chair and was nowhere to be seen.  Hmmm...  Not in the kitchen, not it the living room...  Ok, over the baby gate, past the closed bedroom door...  Yep... Throwing random stuff in the toilet.

Zj:  "Mama, I came as quick as I could when I heard you yell 'Oh Shit!'"
Cj: "Chit! Chit!"

I know cj is in a motor skills acquisition phase right now, but learning how to 1) unbuckle himself from the high chair 2) climb over the baby gate and 3) open doors - all in one day?  Come on, really?  Totally not fair.

And so it went.

At one point, zj asked me if he could go to the sitter's house.  Apparently, she's "nice,"  whatever the hell that means.

At another point, cj walked up to me, patted my leg comfortingly, then said very sternly "Shhhhh, Mama."

Best. Mama. Ever.

At different times throughout the day, no less than 2/3 of the people in this house were in tears.

Not my best work, people.

But today is a new day, kids have short memories, and I'm not above a bribe or two I'm decidedly less grumpy today.

Strangely enough, so are these guys.

What's up with that, I wonder?