I’m giving up Space Bags for Lent. What I mean is I have too many of them, so I’m giving some AWAY. Who knew a blog would be such a great way to get rid of all the extra clutter in your house?
I really hope someone from my town wins, otherwise I’ll have to drive the Space Bags to the winner. On second thought, I hope the winner is from California or Georgia or somewhere equally nice and toasty warm.
Just leave me a comment at the end of this post and then tell 200 of your friends all about The Kerrie Show (just send a mass e-mail is what I would do). Then after 100 of your friends have visited my blog, I will put your name in a hat to win.
JUST KIDDING!
Just leave me a comment. You can tell me how blue my eyes are or how you love the antlers in my Profile photo or how much you, too, love tacos.
I’ll have my oldest son write your names on pieces of paper and then we’ll draw a couple on the 5th of April. I’ll let you know if you won, and then we can work out my travel details. I only fly First Class.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Follow-up to Parental Abuse Expose
Back on the 14th I wrote about a woman who didn’t care who was watching her elderly mother overnight as long as she didn’t have to bother with it. Since then I’ve talked to a friend who said, “Maybe the mother was abusive and that was the daughter’s way of giving that back.”
I said, “Maybe. But that would be pretty sad. I don’t think I could do it because I’m not that kind of person. No matter how crappy someone is to me, I always seem to give them chances. I’m not good at being mean to someone just because they were mean to me.”
I would arrive around 9:30 p.m. Mrs. K would let me in and lock the door behind me and hide the key. We’d watch TV for a while. She couldn’t handle the news, so we mostly watched Letterman, but she had to catch the weather. If she accidentally saw some news, she grimaced and groaned and changed the channel fast. I had been at school and work all day long, so I was always beat and did a little homework to try to stay awake.
Then it was time to make her breakfast for the next day. She thought she was allergic to the Freon in the fridge, so she’d stand on the fringe of the kitchen and give me orders. One hard-boiled egg in melamine bowl with melamine dish on top. Put in fridge. One slice of cheese on top of that. Five prunes (pronounced “pwunes” by her) in a bowl with a dish on top. Then maybe some odd jobs like changing a light bulb or taking out the trash, all with very specific instructions. There was no small talk. I was merely “the help.”
The bedtime routine started after 11 p.m. She’d go to her cash box and give me $25. She’d hop my case for wearing something she could smell, like deodorant or hair spray. I had to stay awake while she got ready for bed and I couldn’t turn out my light until she turned out hers. I woke around 6 a.m. to get to school and work. I had to wake her in a certain way so she’d get up and unlock the front door for me. I always worried she’d die in the night and I wouldn’t be able to get out of the house in time to get to school.
So yeah, she was kind of a pain in the butt (and I know I’m forgetting lots of annoying little things), but she was still somebody’s mother and a human being, so I just dealt with it for a few months. She died a few months after that.
I said, “Maybe. But that would be pretty sad. I don’t think I could do it because I’m not that kind of person. No matter how crappy someone is to me, I always seem to give them chances. I’m not good at being mean to someone just because they were mean to me.”
I would arrive around 9:30 p.m. Mrs. K would let me in and lock the door behind me and hide the key. We’d watch TV for a while. She couldn’t handle the news, so we mostly watched Letterman, but she had to catch the weather. If she accidentally saw some news, she grimaced and groaned and changed the channel fast. I had been at school and work all day long, so I was always beat and did a little homework to try to stay awake.
Then it was time to make her breakfast for the next day. She thought she was allergic to the Freon in the fridge, so she’d stand on the fringe of the kitchen and give me orders. One hard-boiled egg in melamine bowl with melamine dish on top. Put in fridge. One slice of cheese on top of that. Five prunes (pronounced “pwunes” by her) in a bowl with a dish on top. Then maybe some odd jobs like changing a light bulb or taking out the trash, all with very specific instructions. There was no small talk. I was merely “the help.”
The bedtime routine started after 11 p.m. She’d go to her cash box and give me $25. She’d hop my case for wearing something she could smell, like deodorant or hair spray. I had to stay awake while she got ready for bed and I couldn’t turn out my light until she turned out hers. I woke around 6 a.m. to get to school and work. I had to wake her in a certain way so she’d get up and unlock the front door for me. I always worried she’d die in the night and I wouldn’t be able to get out of the house in time to get to school.
So yeah, she was kind of a pain in the butt (and I know I’m forgetting lots of annoying little things), but she was still somebody’s mother and a human being, so I just dealt with it for a few months. She died a few months after that.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Christ Renews His Parish Weekend ...Men
Folks, look forward to many more pissy stories like the one that follows. The more pregnant I get, traditionally, the pissier I get. When I was pregnant with Michael, I (generally a total wus who got bullied all through school) challenged a woman at a Phoenix library to “take it outside” because she used up all her time on her computer while I was waiting and then re-signed on and then had the audacity to get in my face about bringing a 16-month-old child to the CHILDREN’S section of the library.
So here’s a discrepancy for you, and I’m interested in your thoughts and comments. My husband is at this religious men’s weekend at church. It started at 8 a.m. yesterday and ends today at 5 p.m. He stayed the night at the school. I’m taking the kids to Mass by myself today.
So I called the Coordinator before the retreat just to see if Aron would be able to call home Saturday night (last night). I told him even when Aron travels, he never goes a day without talking to the kids or to me. I told him if I knew he’d be calling, I’d stay home since my cell phone is broken. In case you’re wondering why I even called and are saying that’s something you would NEVER do, let me remind you I am a bit ornery, especially when pregnant.
They guy said they can’t have cell phones and can’t call home. I asked why, which I seem to do more and more the longer I homeschool. It’s not like I will die if I don’t talk to him, but isn’t this a churchy thing? Doesn’t the church (especially the, ahem, CATHOLIC church) encourage FAMILY? The guy says, “We’re on GOD’S TIME this weekend.”
I LAUGHED my butt off and said, “Huh. Well, with GOD’S help, Aron and I have made FIVE kids. You’d think GOD would encourage him talking to his wife and kids daily, especially with the divorce rate these days!” So they can’t take 5 minutes out of 33 HOURS to say hi to their kids? Weird.
When Aron put the boys to bed Friday night they were upset that he couldn’t call us and that he wouldn’t be going to church with us today. I’m thinking my husband doesn’t even NEED this weekend since, to me and the kids, he’s the perfect father and husband anyway.
So yesterday morning 10 minutes before he’s even supposed to be there, they CALL our house to make sure he’s coming, which annoyed Aron. I told him to please not come back with a chip in his skin acting like a Stepford Husband. I also told him not to drink the Koolaid they may provide.
I hope I’m not spoiling anything for anyone who goes on a future weekend like this, but my friend who saw her husband off at the school for the weekend said all the guys’ luggage had been packed in a van. Huh? If they are sleeping at the school, why is their luggage all in a van?
The snow and ice were coming down crazy yesterday and I’m sure Aron was worried about our power going out and us freezing to death. We were prepared and made a fire just in case and had candles all ready to go.
Why are church-y events sometimes so disruptive to family life? My friend’s husband says, “God always comes first.” I agree. Without God, I would have and be nothing. But I think there’s something to be said for mothers and fathers making children and then BEING THERE for them most of the time and not being made to feel like heathens for not being in a Bible study or going on a religious weekend when the ma and pa are in the baby-raising phase (and happen to be having a bunch of kids, by the way).
Oh, and I'm betting it's like Marriage Encounter where they make it a big secret and you can't tell ANYBODY about your "special" weekend, which just freaks me out. I'm a Gemini and have to know stuff, not to mention we don't keep secrets from each other. I bet they tell the guys "don't tell other guys cuz it'll ruin the surprise and don't tell your wife in case she ever goes on the women's weekend." Forget THAT!
So here’s a discrepancy for you, and I’m interested in your thoughts and comments. My husband is at this religious men’s weekend at church. It started at 8 a.m. yesterday and ends today at 5 p.m. He stayed the night at the school. I’m taking the kids to Mass by myself today.
So I called the Coordinator before the retreat just to see if Aron would be able to call home Saturday night (last night). I told him even when Aron travels, he never goes a day without talking to the kids or to me. I told him if I knew he’d be calling, I’d stay home since my cell phone is broken. In case you’re wondering why I even called and are saying that’s something you would NEVER do, let me remind you I am a bit ornery, especially when pregnant.
They guy said they can’t have cell phones and can’t call home. I asked why, which I seem to do more and more the longer I homeschool. It’s not like I will die if I don’t talk to him, but isn’t this a churchy thing? Doesn’t the church (especially the, ahem, CATHOLIC church) encourage FAMILY? The guy says, “We’re on GOD’S TIME this weekend.”
I LAUGHED my butt off and said, “Huh. Well, with GOD’S help, Aron and I have made FIVE kids. You’d think GOD would encourage him talking to his wife and kids daily, especially with the divorce rate these days!” So they can’t take 5 minutes out of 33 HOURS to say hi to their kids? Weird.
When Aron put the boys to bed Friday night they were upset that he couldn’t call us and that he wouldn’t be going to church with us today. I’m thinking my husband doesn’t even NEED this weekend since, to me and the kids, he’s the perfect father and husband anyway.
So yesterday morning 10 minutes before he’s even supposed to be there, they CALL our house to make sure he’s coming, which annoyed Aron. I told him to please not come back with a chip in his skin acting like a Stepford Husband. I also told him not to drink the Koolaid they may provide.
I hope I’m not spoiling anything for anyone who goes on a future weekend like this, but my friend who saw her husband off at the school for the weekend said all the guys’ luggage had been packed in a van. Huh? If they are sleeping at the school, why is their luggage all in a van?
The snow and ice were coming down crazy yesterday and I’m sure Aron was worried about our power going out and us freezing to death. We were prepared and made a fire just in case and had candles all ready to go.
Why are church-y events sometimes so disruptive to family life? My friend’s husband says, “God always comes first.” I agree. Without God, I would have and be nothing. But I think there’s something to be said for mothers and fathers making children and then BEING THERE for them most of the time and not being made to feel like heathens for not being in a Bible study or going on a religious weekend when the ma and pa are in the baby-raising phase (and happen to be having a bunch of kids, by the way).
Oh, and I'm betting it's like Marriage Encounter where they make it a big secret and you can't tell ANYBODY about your "special" weekend, which just freaks me out. I'm a Gemini and have to know stuff, not to mention we don't keep secrets from each other. I bet they tell the guys "don't tell other guys cuz it'll ruin the surprise and don't tell your wife in case she ever goes on the women's weekend." Forget THAT!
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Does a Booger Sandwich Have a Mother?
We’ve been reading the book “Does a Kangaroo Have a Mother?”
So Michael asks me the other day, “Does a booger sandwich have a mother?”
I told him yes. Wouldn’t you?!
All of our babies have had names in utero (Baby Mac, Squirt, Sprout, Pokey P.). Michael got to name the one that is currently cooking.
Michael has named Baby #5 “Samwich.” Not sandwich. Samwich.
So Michael asks me the other day, “Does a booger sandwich have a mother?”
I told him yes. Wouldn’t you?!
All of our babies have had names in utero (Baby Mac, Squirt, Sprout, Pokey P.). Michael got to name the one that is currently cooking.
Michael has named Baby #5 “Samwich.” Not sandwich. Samwich.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Make Good Choices
I risk offending a few people here, but it drives me nuts when parents tell kids to “make good choices.” Yeah, like YOU are making such great ones yourself. Let’s explore:
“Daddy didn’t make a good choice when he got drunk at his work party and then drove home, resulting in a big, fat DUI. He needs to make better choices.”
“Mommy knows we are broke and can’t pay our bills, but Mommy REALLY wants that pair of heels at Macy’s, so Mommy’s going to buy them with a credit card. It’s not a good choice, but Mommy’s a grownup and can do what she wants.”
“Mommy only gets to eat air for dinner tonight because she made a bad food choice and had 3 pounds of M&Ms earlier today.”
So what’s my alternative? My solution? Just tell the kid to “CUT IT OUT” if they’re doing something bad. And when you send them to someone’s house to play without you, just tell them, “BE GOOD” and then do that thing where you make the peace sign and point from your eyes to theirs to signify that you are watching them all the time. I get so sick of all the psychobabble when parenting can be so simple.
And, yes, I AM an expert at screwing up at the job of parenting, so you probably shouldn’t listen to me.
“Daddy didn’t make a good choice when he got drunk at his work party and then drove home, resulting in a big, fat DUI. He needs to make better choices.”
“Mommy knows we are broke and can’t pay our bills, but Mommy REALLY wants that pair of heels at Macy’s, so Mommy’s going to buy them with a credit card. It’s not a good choice, but Mommy’s a grownup and can do what she wants.”
“Mommy only gets to eat air for dinner tonight because she made a bad food choice and had 3 pounds of M&Ms earlier today.”
So what’s my alternative? My solution? Just tell the kid to “CUT IT OUT” if they’re doing something bad. And when you send them to someone’s house to play without you, just tell them, “BE GOOD” and then do that thing where you make the peace sign and point from your eyes to theirs to signify that you are watching them all the time. I get so sick of all the psychobabble when parenting can be so simple.
And, yes, I AM an expert at screwing up at the job of parenting, so you probably shouldn’t listen to me.
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