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Sunday, November 10, 2013

The Return of Crabby Crabmeister

As it always go, I write some blog on a nicer, kinder, healthier Mama Bean and then BAM- less than 24 hours later all these great, insightful commentaries are replaced with reality.

My husband and son were going fishing and hunting on Saturday.  We were actually going to do a weekend camping trip, but that had a very last minute change to "You know, why don't the boy and I just go for the day?" which turned into my daughter and I having a Girls Day. 

Since my husband had to get up at 2 am to leave, I thought I would give him a headstart on sleep on Friday night.  So he went up at 9 and I stayed downstairs watching TV.

I watched "Grimm", caught up on some "Jimmy Kimmel" episodes that I recorded (and if you're not watching Jimmy Kimmel, I feel bad for you.  So very funny.  And his interviews with celebrities are the best I've ever seen- no one ever looks nervous, stressed or annoyed-- anyhow, I highly recommend it) and then for some reason, unbeknownst to me, I thought "Oh- this is the last season for 'How I Met Your Mother'-- I should catch up!"

Catch up.

I watched the first season.  And I didn't particularly care for it all that much, although some parts of it are really hilarious.  The non-sequitur stuff really cracked me up.

But it's in its 9th and final season.  He finally meets the mother and quite honestly, I was a little curious.  Nine years of build up.  Not that I watched any of it in the interim, mind you.

So I watched 4 episodes back to back.

It was now 1:30 am.  My husband came down, kissed me good bye and was curious as to why I was still up watching a show I had never watched.

My son came down.  I said bye and went to bed.

The dogs are not aware that on days that start with S, I will not be awakening early to feed them.  My husband actually feeds them during the week. We usually sucker our son into doing it on weekends.

Our lab Oliver can tell time.  It was 6 am. 

He is like the Very Hungry Caterpillar. If I don't feed him, he will eat things that dogs are not supposed to eat-- socks, underwear, pillows...

He also howls and talks like a combo of Scooby-Doo and Astro.

So I got up.  Fed them.  Peed (never pass up an opportunity to pee, thank you Jack Nicholson).  Went back to bed.

Oh Glorious Sleep.  How Divine Thou Art.

I snuggled in. Empty bladder good to go for at least another 3 hours.... ahhhh...

My daughter is not an early riser.  I was thinking she would sleep until at least 9, stumble out to watch a little TV.

She also is nearly 8 and is completely capable of preparing a bowl of cereal.  We have SEVEN brands to choose from.  She prides herself on this skill during the week.

Therfore, I was a bit taken aback at 7:45 when Miss Thing excitedly jumped on my bed ready to start our Girls Day.

"Honey, Mommy just needs to sleep... I stayed up a little later than usual..." 

"But I'm hungry."

"Go get some cereal... please, sweetie let me sleep."

"But I don't want cereal.  I'm over cereal."


"We have 7 types to choose from.  Please let me sleep."

"But I want to have our Girls Day... it's not my fault you stayed up..." whine... whine.. whine..

I do not like whining.

I am actually quite pleasant in the mornings but not after be awakened and then whined to.


I would like to point out that I was quite nice up until this point.  The whining put me over the top.

"But I'm hungry."


"But I'm hungry."


"I don't want to go to gymnastics."

Oh. Dear.  Really? This is the argument you want to have right now?  I fully disclosed that I was a) tired and b) in the Crab Zone.

So now, still in bed, I start in about how she wanted to do gymnastics.  Yes, gymnastics is a little uncomfortable but she is sooo close to doing stuff and then it will get fun.  And we already paid for it.  So she can get her little butt in her gym clothes, brush her hair and then we'll go to breakfast. 

"I don't want to go to gymnastics.  I'm hungry."

Next, tears were shed.  I will spare you the conversation.  I don't actually remember it, but I'm sure she will recount it to her therapist word for word.

She got dressed.  After 379 requests, she brushed her hair.

There was no time to go out to breakfast.  Because it took her 2 hours to accomplish these 2 simple tasks.

So we get to gymnastics.

My daughter is not a talented gymnast.  She has no experience with it.  I am utterly useless as I cannot do a cartwheel.

But... she wasn't even trying.  Not even a little.  The instructor is great.  All the other girls are improving.  My daughter is putting zilch into it.

So I say sternly "Come here.  You are not even trying."

I look like a Dance Mom.  But honestly, if I was watching the class, I would think she had ADHD.  Which she does not.  She listens quite well at school.  She is a very good student. 

But you would not be able to tell that she was a bright student  if you saw her in her gymnastics class.

And did I mention the instructor is great? It's a small class teaching basics- techniques for forward rolls, handstands, cartwheels-- nothing insane.  It's work, but all the other kids appear to be listening.

And this is not the first time this has happened.  For whatever reason, any class outside of school- dance, music, soccer-  she pays no attention whatsoever.  I don't care if she's a superstar, but she needs to at least try and listen. 

I explained myself to the parents who were watching me and thinking I was pushing her "Um.. she actually wanted to do this class... she does this all the time.. honest... I am not a bad mother..." 

But you would not be able to tell that I am a good mom if you saw me in her gymnastics class.

And then the day continued to spiral downward.  We were going to go to the farmer's market but when we got there, it was also the Harvest Festival and it was packed.  As in walk-2-miles-to-park packed.  And of course she had worn flip flops.  We were not going to be able to make the journey.

So I asked:

"Where do you want to go?"

And it became a game of I Want to Do Anything Except What You Suggest Mind Reader Mom.

And I got even crabbier.  If that were possible.  Imagine your worst PMS.  Now double that.

So I said:

"What about pie?"

I love pie.  She loves pie.  Screw the healthy habits. I  was tired.  I was crabby. 


"Yes.  Do you want to get pie?  I haven't had a piece of pie in forever."

"I love pie."

"I do, too."

So we went and got pie for lunch.  And it was delicious.  And we giggled as we ate pie.  And everyone thought we looked so happy.  Where were the parents from gymnastics class now?  See, look, I AM a nice, fun mom.  I just needed some pie.

And we decided that the next time the boys went out of town, she and I would get pie.  Just pie.  It will be our thing.  Not the healthiest of things, but hey, a little pie now and again with my girl... sounds okay to me.

And then we went home.  And I said I really, really, needed a nap or else she was stuck with me being Crabby Crabmeister the rest of the day.

So she snuggled in next to me, grabbed my Kindle, put on the headphones and watched a movie while I slept.

And all was well.  Crabby Crabmeister was gone.

The real secret to my happiness is apparently sleep and pie.

Don't judge.

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