Have you read The Time Traveler’s Wife? If yes, HELP.

October 28, 2016 in Beth, But Seriously by Beth Woolsey

I keep waiting to write you until I have time to write something helpful or important or, at the very least, thoughtful, but that’s not happening this week, so I’m going to write to you to be needy. That’s what I seem to have right now. They always say, “Write what you know.” Well, being needy, friends; that’s what I know, so here we go.

I’m having a minor crisis at the moment, and it’s your fault. Not that I’m all about placing blame, but, seriously, you’re going to have to take responsibility for this one. ALSO, while my personal crisis may be minor, you’ve created a major crisis for someone else, and I thought you should know. Two someone elses, actually, and since it’s not OK to let major crises fester when you have the power to alleviate the harm you’ve (albeit unintentionally) caused, I say you get right on this situation. STAT.

Yes?

Yes. I’m glad we agree.

Here’s the situation:

You told me to read the Time Traveler’s Wife.

That’s the whole situation.

Let’s recap:

I TOLD you I can’t read things that are dark, tragic, sad, thoughtful or, God forbid, triumphant, and then you told me to read the Time Traveler’s Wife ANYWAY.

Trust us, you said.

You’ll be glad, you said.

I would not say it’s triumphant, Katie said.

You can do it; you are a Brave Girl, said Heidi.

But I am pretty sure I can NOT do it, and I am NOT a Brave Girl.

I’m pretty sure because I’ve sort of tried.

I bought the book, and then I read half of it. A WHOLE HALF of the Time Traveler’s Wife, and I’m starting to suspect it’s tragic and triumphant. There’s an orchard and a father and brother with guns, and a Henry who tells young Claire not to worry, and a later SIGNIFICANT LOOK between the men around the dinner table. GAH! It’s like a glowing neon sign at the 50% mark, flashing DANGER! DANGER! GO BACK!

I wrote to Katie and Heidi, and also Sarah who agreed with them, and I said, “The Time Traveler’s Wife was totally engaging. And then I quit halfway through, overcome with dread at the foreshadowing of Something Terrible to Come. You guys. Seriously. I AM BROKEN. Complete anxiety. I love the characters so I’ve left them suspended half way through the book LEST SOMETHING HORRIBLE OVERTAKE THEM. I wish I could just read the end of a book when I become fearful, but then, of course, the Awful Thing Still Befalls Them, and I can’t take that risk. Have you ever read the Sesame Street book The Monster at the End of the Book where Grover selflessly does everything in his power to prevent the end of the book from coming? I AM GROVER. I am tying and gluing and locking ALL THE PAGES together. And sticking my fingers in my ears singing LALALA. I just thought you should know…”

So here we are, in the middle of my minor crisis and Henry and Claire’s VERY MAJOR crisis; we are, all three, STUCK in the middle of this book, and there are people who might DIE. I can’t, you guys. And please do not try to tell me that Henry and Claire’s crisis doesn’t count simply because they’re fictional. Characters are only fictional until they become real. Anyone who’s read The Velveteen Rabbit knows that’s so. And Henry and Claire became real when you forcibly held me down, propped my eyes open with toothpicks, and compelled me to begin reading, thus caring about what happens to them.

Frankly, you were not all that helpful in your responses.

“My unsolicited advice is to leave it groverized until you are in need of a good, fugly cry. I could barely read the words through the tears and snooger bubbles. AND THEN it had the nerve to follow me around for a week-long emotional hangover. (But, really, it’s great),” wrote Jaime. <– NO. No. THESE THINGS DO NOT MATCH, JAIME. It’s like you think I’m a NORMAL HUMAN who feels feelings and doesn’t try to alternately shove them deep, deep down inside where they will rot and eventually explode or eat enormous amounts of sugar and salt to numb myself. Are you even American, Jaime? I suspect not.

And Sarah wrote, “YOU HAVE TO FINISH!! It is beautifully tragic and hopeful all at the same time! It’s seriously not all terrible.” I’m sorry, but WHAT? WHAT, Sarah? Beautifully tragic and hopeful is ALL OF LIFE. It is not, however, reading we do for FUN. No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

So I’m throwing this out there to ALL of you who’ve read The Time Traveler’s Wife with this one question:

Should I keep reading The Time Traveler’s Wife??

‘Cause I’m willing to allow for the teeny, tiny, remote possibility that you’re right and I’m wrong and that I might also be a freaking freaker who should calm the hell down and finish the damn book already. It’s just… I’m scared.

Leave me your recommendation — to read or not to read — in the comments, but no spoilers please, in case I do summon heretofore unknown reserves of reading courage.

Yours truly (and anxiously),

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P.S. I sort of misled you with my opening paragraph. I do, actually, have time to write one thing that may be helpful. My bathroom, as you may know, smells like boy humans use it. This week, I tried to mask the smell with a mulberry candle, and it worked, folks. It WORKED. Now instead of my bathroom smelling like pee, it smells like mulberry candle and pee, proving once again that we do not live a life of Either/Or, friends, but of Both/And. Both mulberry candle AND pee. #SmellsLikeLife #ForTheWin

P.P.S. I just realized the cover of the Time Traveler’s Wife says, “A soaring celebration of the victory of love over time.” OH MY WORD, you guys. That’s, like, textbook triumphant.

This Is My Brain on Parenting

September 4, 2016 in Beth, Funny by Beth Woolsey

Listen; this doesn’t make me proud. It’s just true.

Here’s what you need to know, where “need to know” is used in the loosest possible sense along with my discretion and sense of decorum:

I just peed part way — like, a smattering — and then I stopped peeing and got up to do other things.

I was seriously standing up, buttoning my pants, before I realized I hadn’t actually finished. Like, I was in such a hurry that I ran into the bathroom, tossed a teeny, tiny bit of urine into the potty like I was throwing a fastball from a pitcher’s mound, my Subconscious said, “GOOD ENOUGH FOR NOW, BETH; NOW OFF TO DO OTHER ESSENTIAL THINGS — GO! GO! GO!,” and I listened and obeyed her.

Allow me to note… this is not OK, friends.

This is NOT RIGHT.

But this rushing and doing and never finishing is so deeply embedded in the mama brain that she runs to the restroom, pulls down her pants, pees halfway, clenches, stands, and is flushing and buttoning before she realizes she has the inalienable right to pee all the way.

DEAR SWEET JESUS ON A POGO STICK, friends.

I was Pants-Pulled-Up and Button-Fastened before I realized I should not only finish what I went to the bathroom for, but that it’s OK to use the additional 5 seconds it would take to fully empty my bladder. Like, I’m allowed to take that time. Pee Completion is an appropriate and wise use of the precious and few minutes in a day.

I realize there are people who say the internet is a wasteland of potty stories and people who share TMI, but THIS IS HOW FRENETIC THE LIFE OF A MOTHER IS, friends, and I don’t know a better way to illustrate the insanity than this.

 

This Life of a Parent thing? It is ridiculous. Also, it is an excellent excuse for being TOTALLY NUTS.

Solidarity, fellow parents. And fellow nut jobs. And fellow humans, because, let’s be honest, we’re all weird weirdos who are weird,

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P.S. I AM, however, totally rocking parenting on other fronts! I was feeling frazzled and frenetic making breakfast for my children without having had my morning cup of coffee. I was trying, man; I swear. But I was vacant-eyed and sluggish and said, “What? What?” forty-five times every time my children tried to talk to me because sans-coffee I cannot possibly be expected to understand words. Finally, one of the nine-year-olds, said, “Mom? MOM. Mom mom mom mom mom,” and I said, “What?” and he said, “LOOK ME IN THE EYES, MOM. ARE YOU LISTENING? This. Is Very. Important. HAVE YOU HAD COFFEE?” “NO, I HAVE NOT,” I said, and, “I AM DYING OVER HERE,” I said, and he replied very slowly, “MOM. HAVE YOU LEARNED NOTHING?? PUT ON YOUR OWN OXYGEN MASK BEFORE ASSISTING OTHERS.” Which is when I realized I am the Best Parent in the History of the World because I am raising a child who sees the needs of others and speaks Love into their lives. I WIN PARENTING!

P.P.S. Full disclosure, though: after I had coffee, the same child told me he watched a YouTube video on how to make tiny drinking glasses out of strawberries and fill them with jello shots. “Naturally, we’ll need a lot of vodka,” he said. So feel free to add or deduct Parenting Points as you will.

Mother/Daughter Look-a-Likes: Can’t Tell Them Apart!

June 28, 2016 in Beth, Family, Funny by Beth Woolsey

Everywhere my daughter and I go, people can’t tell us apart. That’s why we have a history of taking twinsy pics; to blow people’s minds that we’re actually mother/daughter.

We took some yesterday, in fact, just for you. See if you can figure out who’s who!

Good luck, friends.

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You’re never going to believe this, but we’re 25 years apart in age. FOR REALS.

I know, right??

Minds. Blown.

You’re welcome, The Internets! It’s like the blue dress all over again.

With love,

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P.S. If you’re not done being shocked and amazed, here are some of our other Twinsie Pics…

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P.P.S. In unrelated news, MY KID IS THE BEST SPORT EVER. The End.

The Day I Peed My Shoe. Yesterday, Actually. Yesterday, I Peed My Shoe.

June 20, 2016 in Beth, Funny by Beth Woolsey

Once upon a time, I wet my shoe.

Not the pretty kind of “wetting my shoe” that’s an adorable misleading statement where I say, “I wet my shoe,” but then I’m all, “J/K! I got my shoe wet with the garden hose while watering the garden. Gotcha!” You know what I mean? Like when you drop a pea on the floor and say, “I peed the floor,” and your nine-year-olds think you’re HILARIOUS and your teenage daughter rolls All the Eyes in All the World and goes, “Stop, Mom. Just stop.”

Nope, this is not that; in this situation, I wet my shoe with my very own urine because — and here’s where I offer as true an explanation as I know — at my core, I am a gigantic dork. A gigantic, shoe-wetting dork.
Now, to be fair to my sweet self, this incident wasn’t actually as bad as the time last fall when I wet my office, about which I haven’t written because I’m loathe to be the girl who pooped my closet AND the girl who peed my office. I mean, how much believable pottying-on-oneself can one actually do? At some point, people will necessarily question my credibility, right? In our current shame-based culture where we can’t even share our lovely lunch pictures on the Facebook (while being simultaneously chided to treasure the little things) without being accused of the overshare, I was afraid I Couldn’t Take It. Losing even more credibility AND being re-accused of over-sharing? HOW WILL I ENDURE THE SHAME?

So I didn’t.

I left the office-peeing story untold.

And it shall remain untold for now, because I have a more pressing matter to address, which is the wetting of my shoe, about which I felt a similar measure of shame to the wetting of my office, until I remembered this afternoon that I HAVE no shame. I lost it long ago, as well as my dignity. I also realized that being absent the credible makes one incredible, and I was all, “INCREDIBLE ME can SO TELL THIS STORY.”

Which is why I’m here to let you know that once upon a time, I wet my shoe.

Yesterday.

Once upon a time yesterday, I wet my shoe.

While on my way home from the Grace in the Grime Spiritual Formation Retreat, I wet my shoe.

In a port-a-potty, I wet my shoe.

After bragging at the retreat how good I am at the “hover, aim and pee splash-free” maneuver — because this is the kind of thing one always discusses at a spiritual formation retreat, yes? — I wet my shoe.

I hovered, indeed, but then I missed, and it cascaded off the seat, creating a waterfall effect off the rim, which is how I wet my shoe. Which I failed to feel at first, so I REALLY wet my shoe.

The night after I told lovely retreat ladies in the hot tub overlooking the Pacific Ocean at sunset about Peeing My Office and about the shame which kept me from telling all of you, I wet my shoe.

Probably because Jesus was giving me more opportunities to be Authentically Me, I wet my shoe. We must, after all, credit Jesus with All the Gifts and Give Thanks in All Things, and I clearly have the spiritual gift of Soiling Myself, so Thank You, Jesus!

I wrote the ladies just now, in fact, and I shall share with you, too, for the sake of expedience and friendship and OBEDIENCE TO GOD, as you will see…

Ladies. Ladies. Ladies.

I need to tell you something.

I WET MY SHOE ON THE WAY HOME FROM THE BEACH YESTERDAY.

I WET it. With PEE. I am writing about it currently, but I feel that Jesus, who is mean and vindictive (not really) (I think) FORCED ME TO PEE MY SHOE because I neglected to tell the story in the fall about peeing my office. Do we think it’s a COINCIDENCE that I confessed that story to you in the hot tub on SATURDAY and then on SUNDAY I peed my shoe? THAT IS NOT COINCIDENCE, friends; it’s obviously my spiritual gift to pee and poop All the Things — I mean, HOW MANY TIMES DOES JESUS NEED TO SHOW ME THIS BEFORE I ACCEPT IT AS TRUTH?? — and then write about those things. I REJECTED my spiritual gift last fall after the incident that combined tights with that lady-pee-device and my consistently poor judgement, and then I hid my light under a bushel AND TOLD NO ONE WHAT I HAD DONE. Except a few friends at work. And also some people on my back patio when we drank whiskey one night. And also the people at the writing retreat. And also all of you ladies in the hot tub. But, other than, like, a few dozen people, I TOLD NO ONE, so Jesus made me wet my shoe to get my attention. Because Jesus is WILY and PERSISTENTLY IN PURSUIT OF HELPING US FIND AND ACCEPT OURSELVES AND OUR SPIRITUAL GIFTS. (Psst… one part of that may actually be true.)

Anyway — I’ll write more on the blog, but just wanted to let you know — NOT GONNA HIDE WHO GOD AUTHENTICALLY CALLED ME TO BE! HEART INTELLIGENCE! WORK OF THE HOLY SPIRIT!

Also, friendly word of advice… maybe aim REALLY GOOD in port-a-potties so your pee doesn’t cascade off the rim of the toilet, over which you’re hovering, and create a waterfall that gushes into your Dansko clog, which is uniquely shaped to capture every bit of the ever-flowing stream. I mean… up to you to accept or reject my advice, of course… you do you… but I thought I’d mention it in case it helps.

In conclusion, I once peed my shoe. Yesterday, actually. Thanks be to God.

Sincerely,

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P.S. I stole the Danskos pic from the Danksos site and am using it without permission. FREE ADVERTISING FOR DANSKO! I figure they won’t mind. I mean, who DOESN’T want to know Dansko clogs are easy to pee into? <<<SELLING POINT.

P.P.S. I’m finishing this (rudely) while at dinner with Greg and our friends, John and BJ, and I told them I can’t talk yet because I’m writing about peeing my shoe. Greg said, “Again?” And John said, “I peed both of mine today.” In extra conclusion, I like John better than Greg. The End.

But First, Tacos

June 2, 2016 in Beth by Beth Woolsey

Things you should know:

  1. I’m still alive, and
  2. I’m missing writing here,
  3. but one kid had surgery,
  4. and one kid has mono,
  5. and one kid, who’s in the special education class, told another kid in the special education class that she was taking out a hit on him because he didn’t let her help him with science, and everyone knows when someone doesn’t let you help with science the only reasonable solution is to threaten that person with death.
  6. Also, one kid has a tiny concussion. And maybe mono, too. But probably just the concussion. I told him if he has mono like his sister, I’ll spank him, so he decided not to have it, after all.
  7. I won’t actually spank him; partly because it turns out I’m not a spanker, and partly because he’s hard to catch, even with a concussion.
  8. Also-also, one kid is graduating high school Saturday, so we are preparing to Fake Having a Clean House for the party. The struggle is real.
  9. Also-also-also, my Coma Friend had a heart attack last week, which she did not technically do at me or to me, but it was still unacceptable and uncalled for. She has apologized, so we can forgive her, but we are writing it into the Friendship Contract that she shall not have another. On the bright side, I got a free night’s lodging at the hospital.
  10. This morning, I threw away my mostly-consumed tub of Pillsbury Creamy Supreme Chocolate Fudge frosting (aka, COPING MECHANISM) because I do NOT need to eat ANY MORE of that crap at night while reading Meljean Brooks’ steampunk romance novels,
  11. BUT DO NOT WORRY because this evening I dug that tub of processed sugar out of the bathroom garbage and am finishing it now.

All of these things are happening, and also more things — All of the Things, really — and we may get to them in the coming days, but first, tacos.

First, tacos, because I feel they are emblematic of All the Things and particularly emblematic of the last two weeks.

I saw this in my Facebook feed:

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“Start typing @m [in the comments] and the first person that pops up has to buy you tacos (no cheating)”

I thought, “Ooooh. I love tacos. I could TOTALLY USE tacos right now. I could stuff, like, A DOZEN FEELINGS about illnesses and momming and busy-ness and heart attacks with a plate of tacos. I would EAT THE HECK out of those tacos!”

So I did it, friends. I typed “@m” in the comments while I thought, “I wonder which of my friends will have to buy me tacos?! Maybe Melissa. Or Mindy. Or Monica. Or Mary Ellen. These are all friends I see regularly. These are all friends who have, in the past, bought me actual, literal tacos. These are all friends who, if I’m pathetic enough, will buy me tacos AND margaritas. This is a WIN!” Which is when I saw my results…

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… and the Universe cackled at me because the Universe sucks sometimes. “You know who’s going to buy you tacos, Beth?” the Universe laughed, “NO ONE IS WHO. You are ALL ALONE and TACOLESS.”

I wish I had a happy ending to this post, but the Universe stole it.

Waving in the (tacoless) dark anyway,
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P.S. One of the kids just stole the rest of my frosting.

P.P.S. I can’t get it back, though, because she’s been known to threaten to take hits out on people.

P.P.P.S. Actually, I think I will go get it back. If I have to die, doing it for chocolate frosting feels like a worthy way to go.

The Magical Cleaning Fairies Are Threatening to Sue

April 25, 2016 in Beth, Family, Funny by Beth Woolsey

Dear Friends,

Sad, disquieting news from the Cleaning Fairies ahead.

A couple days ago, I mentioned to you that the Magical Cleaning Fairies still haven’t cleaned the kitchen or the bathrooms or finished mining the myriad mountains of laundry because those damn fairies never ever show up even though I ask and ask, and I think we should talk to the Better Business Bureau about them because I hear I’m not the ONLY one with this problem and, frankly, I’m tired of their slacker ways.”

Unfortunately, the Cleaning Fairies (one of whom might be my father, who resided in our home with a few of our wily, wild children while we were on vacation) have officially, and in writing, objected to my statement.

Yesterday, I received the following Pre-Grievance Notification:

Fairies Brotherhood International
Oregon Local 97000
April 24, 2016

Ms. Beth Woolsey
DBA BethWoolsey.com

PRE-GRIEVANCE NOTIFICATION

Ms. Woolsey:

This shall serve to advise you that under the terms of the Collective Bargaining Agreement (CBA) dated October 13, 1973 (revised January 14, 1995) between the Fairies Brotherhood International (FBI) and Beth Woolsey (successor of Elizabeth McDonough) Section 4.B Professional Conduct our member(s) employed at Your House, Oregon allege defamation under the above referenced section, to wit:

You did knowingly, and with intent to defame, publish in a public media venue on or about April 23, 2016, the following:

 …still haven’t cleaned the kitchen or the bathrooms or finished mining the myriad mountains of laundry because those damn fairies never ever show up…

Our members, the Magical Cleaning Fairies, have provided sworn testimony that between the dates April 8, 2016 and April 18, 2016 (inclusive) two (2) bathrooms, one (1) bedroom, the laundry room, and the kitchen of their assigned place of employment, i.e. Your House, Oregon, were in fact clean, neatly arranged, and “mountain free.” Our members further testify that any degradation of these circumstances is entirely the due to the actions (or failure to act) on the part of the Employer, i.e. Beth Woolsey.

Under Section 23.C.4.c of the CBA Pre-grievances, you are afforded ten (10) business days to resolve the foregoing issues raised under Section 4.B Professional Conduct to the satisfaction of our member(s) or this violation will be formally filed with the System Board of Adjustment.

[signed]

Thugly N. Forsser, Esq.
Contract Administrator and Legal Counsel
Fairies Brotherhood International
Oregon Local 97000

Here’s the thing, folks. The Magical Cleaning Fairies claim to have left several areas of my home “clean, neatly arranged, and ‘mountain free,'” and blame me — ME! —  for the “degradation of these circumstances.” As though *I* have failed to keep my house clean instead of relying, as I should be able to, on supernatural creatures to magically appear and enchant my house into the perpetual, preternatural state of cleanliness to which it and I am entitled. I know. I’m finding their missive hard to swallow, too.

Now I know the internet is full of too much misplaced outrage these days, and I swear to you I’m not trying to add to it. Occasionally, though, there are some stands we must make and some banners we must take up to protect both ourselves and others who have been insidiously silenced, and, let’s be honest; there are many of us, numbering into the millions who have NOT had the kind of cleaning service from the fairies — or, hell, even Snow White’s or Cinderella’s woodland creatures — that we deserve. Which is why I didn’t bury the letter above and why I’m speaking out now.

So the question becomes, how do we move past our collective outrage, because obviously we’re all outraged, and move toward fundamental, necessary change? I mean, I could point out that the Magical Cleaning Fairies have no proof that they ever cleaned my house, particularly considering the state it’s in right now. And I could point out that, although they claimed in the subsequent phone call I made to discuss the Pre-Grievance Notification to have “witnesses,” said witnesses are historically unreliable. I could point out a number of things, but what I’d rather do is discuss Meaningful Change.

Thus I turn to you. If you have any ideas for how to handle this kind of unfair, baseless communique from the Magical Cleaning Fairies — any similar experiences you can share — please let me know. The time for change is now. And we will not be intimidated.

For us all,

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P.S. For the few of you who may feel sympathetic to the Magical Cleaning Fairies’ missive, I offer these photographs, most of which were taken yesterday, and ask you whether it’s likely these areas were truly “clean, neatly arranged, and mountain free” a mere 6 days prior:

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You can see more of our linen closet here.

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And you can see more of our entry-way lockers here,
which, frankly, are supposed to work better than this.

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You see my point.

AND — P.P.S. There are still a few spots left at TWO upcoming retreats in June. I would LOVE to hang out with you there. If you’ve been thinking about it, or if you have any questions, or if you want me to talk you into coming, email me at fivekidsisalotofkids@gmail.com. These retreats are my Favorite Things EVER because they breathe life into my weary, waiting soul, and I want to share that with you.

1. THE MAGIC IN THE MESS WRITING RETREATJUNE 12-15, 2016
The Magic in the Mess Writing Retreat makes space for writers to explore their creative voices, discover a supportive writing community, and give shape to the messy but beautiful stories we each carry with us.

AND/OR…

2. THE GRACE IN THE GRIME SPIRITUAL FORMATION RETREATJUNE 16-19, 2016
The Grace and the Grime Spiritual Formation Retreat exists to create space to deepen our experience with God in an authentic, encouraging environment. In addition to the grounded and the graceful, we welcome those who are weary, wary or unsure, and we believe we’re all wildly worthy of love and grace.

Your Help Requested: Burning Questions

March 30, 2016 in Family, Funny by Beth Woolsey

Some people’s kids ask them for glasses of water at night. Or to read one more book. Or to have an extra snack. Or they mention they’re scared or hot or cold or itchy or wet or sick or not tired at all and why do I have to go to bed right now and nobody in the WHOLE WORLD makes their kids go to bed as early as you do, Mom.

I’ve heard.

Our kids tried all those things which never worked because we were always consistent. By which I mean, they always worked and we were never consistent except at saying, OhMyGoshGoToBED and IWillGiveYouANYTHINGIfYouWillJustSLEEP.

Still, even though our kids had effective Stay Up Past Bedtime methods, they like to invent new ones from time to time. To keep us on our toes, I suppose. Or steeped in misery. Or to punish us for that lack of consistency.

Their latest method? I’m calling it: Ask All the Questions.

Yep. That’s what bedtime is these days. Telling them 45 times to brush their teeth. Reminding them to both pee and flush the toilet. Hollering at them that this is Bedtime, not TackleYourBrotherInTheHallwayTilHeCries-time. And threatening them with the dreaded Early Bedtime should they not heed my words.

We tuck them in bed.

We breathe the sigh of relief like we haven’t yet learned that it’s not over.

And then the Questions begin.

“Hey, Mom?”

“What?” ( <– This is where I always go wrong.)

“Why do people wear spandex?”

“Seriously? This is not the time. Go to bed.”

Ten seconds later…

“Hey, Mom?”

“What?”

“How much are people paid in China?”

“Child! Go to bed.”

Twelve seconds later…

“Hey, Mom?”

“What?”

“Can I tell you the plan I have for our yard? We’ll need a lot of temporary fencing, some chicken wire, some plastic bags, a goat and a pair of scissors.”

“Oh geez. Go to bed.”

Twenty seconds later…

“Hey, Mom? … Mom. … Moooommmm!”

“STOP TALKING.”

“I am! I just need to know; why do we have drink coasters?”

Guys. Seriously. These are actual questions I was asked just last night. And here’s my problem — it’s not the failure that is bedtime; it’s not the lack of consistency; it’s not that this takes forever and will never improve because we don’t have the chutzpah to crack the whip — it’s that I have promised them answers to these questions.

Yep — I have unwisely promised answers to questions. “In the morning,” I say. “STOP TALKING,” I say. And “GO. TO. BED!” And when they reply, “But Mom! I need to know,” I promise them answers. Answers I do not have.

So I’m just putting that out there. In case you have answers looking for a home, I will take them off your hands.

Here are some of the things we need to know. Again, just from last night. I’ll have a whole new list in the morning, which is why I need your help. STAT.

  1. “Why do people wear spandex?”
  2. “Is head lice the only kind of lice there is or is there also kinds of lice like foot lice and butt lice?”
  3. “Has Stephen Hawking ever been to space? And if not, because of his wheelchair, that is mean, and they should let him go to space, and how can we help make him go there?”
  4. “Is it bad for boy penises to get fiery and hot and red?”
  5. “How come you never buy us marmalade?”
  6. “What’s the difference between suspended and expelled?”
  7. “How come you always say mean things like, ‘Keep your hands to yourself?'”

Answers welcome.

Sincerely,

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