This week on "I'm struggling as a mom" join me as I flip my house upside down trying to find my child's birth certificate from 2013.
The first rule of hoarding is to know where you place important documents. For me, these documents either go in my wine cabinet drawers (appropriately so I can cry over how little money I have to spend on wine), or in my black fire box which sits on the top shelf of my closet. I only ever need to enter this box once a year which is during tax time because I suck at remembering her social. I have pee results from my first job in 2010 stored in this box if that tells you anything about my retaining important document skills. PEE RECORDS for Christ sake!
Well here we are days after learning I need to submit a VPK voucher in order for her to get in to VPK and I still can't place where I put her certificate to be able to apply for the voucher. Sonagram photos, check. News article from crowd-sourcing her name, check. Blockbuster card of my ex-boyfriend from 2010, check. (I'm not kidding about that. I sincerely wish I was though.)
The kid and I are both stressing about going to school. I'm stressing because I can't find a record that she was even born and she is stressing because "Who will be my friend there? Do they have tv? Will I actually have to do homework like my cousins?"
I have my own school troubles with financial aid needing more proof that I'm not trying to catch a free ride. I'm feeling a sass attack sneaking up soon if they don't get their paperwork together and start reading the documents I've been sending them.
Much like our house, our schedules have been tipped upside down lately as well. We really depend on the schedule to get us through our day. Let's just say it's been crab city here. Fussy toddler, frustrated momma, please send your JuJu vibes for us. On top of it all we are adding gymnastics classes to the mix for Ms. Lily per her request. Let's see who she really gets her grace from!
Send good thoughts for us this week and if we survive I promise you're all invited to our graduations.
xo-Frazzled Bocharski
Down with the Mouse
Death be to Mr. Cheese. That's right, I'm talking about the mouse. THE Chuck E. Cheese.
I did something this past weekend which taught me a lesson. Never, no matter how bored you are or how much you want to entertain your child, never take your kid to Chuck E. Cheese on a rainy day. Let me back track to my promise I made to my child a few days prior.
Here we are (Lily and I) just sitting on the couch, I'm chatting on the phone with the beau and we devise a plan to see this mouse since I have my kid on the weekend. I tell the tiny child of the plan and naturally, she goes ape shit. She wants all the tickets in the world and wants to play all of the games she's seen on T.V. Whatever. No big deal right? Wrong.
Fast forward to a rainy Sunday where I am grouchy due to being up all night consoling a toddler who only wants her father. Alas, I made a promise to the toddler and convincing her of the park is out of the question because hello! She is four and a damn good debater. The clock quickly ticks off the hours and nap time has come and gone but she still recalls the day and still asks to see about the mouse. An elephant never forgets.
Quarter til three and we are in the car on the way to see Chuck and the tickets/prizes he has in store for us. A quick stop at Dunkin for some much needed caffeine and a donut for the insatiably hangry human being in my backseat.
We've arrived. Time to unbuckle the beast and get her inside mouse-land. Not the mouse-land with Donald and Daisy but the kind where Chuck needs a smoke break and natty ice from a hard days work of standing from afar and watching kids turn in to savage beasts over needing a picture with this rat who likes cheese. As soon as we step inside my brain alerts me of an oncoming headache from sensory overload. Mini me starts screaming with excitement and of course we have to get invisibly stamped before we can proceed. We're greeted by some teenager who looks like he'd rather be dead than working at this knock off pizza planet (shouts out to my toy story lovers).
Okay, Mission one; find the machine that supplies us the gold coins. Scanning, scanning, walking around and scanning, tripping over kids and scanning, getting lost amongst the sea of tiny beasts and still scanning and back tracking now and looking hopeless but still scanning and "oh shit it's self service under this banner with a big arrow."
Mission two: collect all the tickets with a hyperactive 4 year old who insists on joining a random child's birthday party just so she can take a picture with the mouse. Side task; explain to the 4 year old why the mouse won't come say hi to her and try to convince her that tickets are cooler than hugging a guy in a mouse costume. Spoiler alert; she was never convinced.
Mission three: Find an open ticket muncher after what seem like eternity of pushing through the sea of kids and clearly unenthusiastic adults who shared our same uncanny expressions. We find the muncher, get the receipt and head to the counter. More waiting and the smell of old pizza with the combined noise of machines and lame music has brought about the headhache from earlier. Tiny beast is tired of being held by mom and insisting that 177 tickets will buy her some super cool toy on the top shelf. She is not interested in picking a toy from the bottom shelf and instead leaves with play-doh suggested by another teen who hates kids and is using the job as a birth control method.
Mission four; Abandon ship. This should have been smooth sailing except for the fact that the invisible stamp had to be checked by the first teen who was also pulling head Dippin Dot dispenser duties. This delays the process in leaving because Timmy can't decide on the color of dots he wants in his cup.
Final thoughts? I will never return and I suggest you follow my warning. The pizza bar/dippin dot cart is right in the entrance/exit. In theory, this should be a great way to start your time in hell. Get full on cheese and then run off the fat by chasing your kid around aimlessly from machine to machine as they have no regard as to how money works. Then they sucker you in to overly priced frozen ice cream balls. The mouse never comes out to the play floor which is really heartbreaking considering over a quarter of the machines there were out of service. Parents do a terrible job of wrangling their mini hellions but that is no surprise considering they trust the anti theft stamp placed on the party's hands at the entrance.
Lesson; parents still suck at controlling their kids in public and a mouse has given me nightmares.
I did something this past weekend which taught me a lesson. Never, no matter how bored you are or how much you want to entertain your child, never take your kid to Chuck E. Cheese on a rainy day. Let me back track to my promise I made to my child a few days prior.
Here we are (Lily and I) just sitting on the couch, I'm chatting on the phone with the beau and we devise a plan to see this mouse since I have my kid on the weekend. I tell the tiny child of the plan and naturally, she goes ape shit. She wants all the tickets in the world and wants to play all of the games she's seen on T.V. Whatever. No big deal right? Wrong.
Fast forward to a rainy Sunday where I am grouchy due to being up all night consoling a toddler who only wants her father. Alas, I made a promise to the toddler and convincing her of the park is out of the question because hello! She is four and a damn good debater. The clock quickly ticks off the hours and nap time has come and gone but she still recalls the day and still asks to see about the mouse. An elephant never forgets.
Quarter til three and we are in the car on the way to see Chuck and the tickets/prizes he has in store for us. A quick stop at Dunkin for some much needed caffeine and a donut for the insatiably hangry human being in my backseat.
We've arrived. Time to unbuckle the beast and get her inside mouse-land. Not the mouse-land with Donald and Daisy but the kind where Chuck needs a smoke break and natty ice from a hard days work of standing from afar and watching kids turn in to savage beasts over needing a picture with this rat who likes cheese. As soon as we step inside my brain alerts me of an oncoming headache from sensory overload. Mini me starts screaming with excitement and of course we have to get invisibly stamped before we can proceed. We're greeted by some teenager who looks like he'd rather be dead than working at this knock off pizza planet (shouts out to my toy story lovers).
Okay, Mission one; find the machine that supplies us the gold coins. Scanning, scanning, walking around and scanning, tripping over kids and scanning, getting lost amongst the sea of tiny beasts and still scanning and back tracking now and looking hopeless but still scanning and "oh shit it's self service under this banner with a big arrow."
Mission two: collect all the tickets with a hyperactive 4 year old who insists on joining a random child's birthday party just so she can take a picture with the mouse. Side task; explain to the 4 year old why the mouse won't come say hi to her and try to convince her that tickets are cooler than hugging a guy in a mouse costume. Spoiler alert; she was never convinced.
Mission three: Find an open ticket muncher after what seem like eternity of pushing through the sea of kids and clearly unenthusiastic adults who shared our same uncanny expressions. We find the muncher, get the receipt and head to the counter. More waiting and the smell of old pizza with the combined noise of machines and lame music has brought about the headhache from earlier. Tiny beast is tired of being held by mom and insisting that 177 tickets will buy her some super cool toy on the top shelf. She is not interested in picking a toy from the bottom shelf and instead leaves with play-doh suggested by another teen who hates kids and is using the job as a birth control method.
Mission four; Abandon ship. This should have been smooth sailing except for the fact that the invisible stamp had to be checked by the first teen who was also pulling head Dippin Dot dispenser duties. This delays the process in leaving because Timmy can't decide on the color of dots he wants in his cup.
Final thoughts? I will never return and I suggest you follow my warning. The pizza bar/dippin dot cart is right in the entrance/exit. In theory, this should be a great way to start your time in hell. Get full on cheese and then run off the fat by chasing your kid around aimlessly from machine to machine as they have no regard as to how money works. Then they sucker you in to overly priced frozen ice cream balls. The mouse never comes out to the play floor which is really heartbreaking considering over a quarter of the machines there were out of service. Parents do a terrible job of wrangling their mini hellions but that is no surprise considering they trust the anti theft stamp placed on the party's hands at the entrance.
Lesson; parents still suck at controlling their kids in public and a mouse has given me nightmares.
Tea Time
Welcome to Shelby-land. I am a mid-twenties female (last time I checked) who has the mind set of a forty year old. My talents include, but are not limited to, belching at inappropriate moments and being a hypochondriac. I am well in to a month now of living the divorced life and I have to say, living on beer and cheese fries is working out for me. I am keen on this whole living in my pajamas and not wanting to mingle with people thing. If it takes me longer than 10 minutes to do my hair or make-up, I am most likely going somewhere I don't want to be in the first place. Please read; the above mentioned things have absolutely nothing to do with (#momlife). It took me 26 years on this Earth and a failed marriage to realize I need to stop trying to impress people. I do not have the patience or determination to pretend to be someone I am not.
If you followed my last blog with my now ex-husband, then you know I went through postpartum depression and a series of financially risky days. I also did the whole "new mom, super in to my kid" phase. One thing I learned for sure is I am not a regular mom by any stretch of the definition. I am most definitely a cool mom and yes, that was a Mean Girls reference. At any rate, the same rules are going to apply to this blog just as they did the last. This may be a new series to my life but I promise you I'm still going to throw out something that will piss off one of my readers. Divorce has turned me in to a more opinionated person, that is for sure! Hopefully you stick it out to read some opinion pieces and relish in the divorced life with me. Somewhere along the way there will be a few collaborations with the best friend a girl could ask for, the one and only Mr. Hartmann-Hanson himself.
In the meantime, I am hardcore living inside of the "this is fine" meme with fire surrounding me. My mom said it best "Damn millennial's have no patience." A severely reduced income with the overwhelming urge to pay off all of my debt as well as attend school and be a single parent? Step in to financially independent land with me will you? I really need to go ahead and find out where the patience is stored inside of me because I am running on fumes.
Not everything is going to move when I want it to. I am well aware of the old "return is worth the wait" saying and I am crossing my fingers that this is one of those moments. I figured nearly 10 years out of school was long enough to make my return and finally decide on a degree. Who knows if I will use it but at least I am back to finding my niche.
Welcome to my big cliche of a year of change and new blogging. Follow me?
-xo newly Bocharski again!
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