Ode to My Phone – Fly On The Wall

Since it’s National Poetry Month, I decided to put a Poetic spin on this month’s FOTW post. I broke my phone this week and decided to write a tribute to my beloved ZTE Max… Enjoy!

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Your body in my hand- weighted, squared off, and smooth to the touch.
Shiny and new, pulling you from your box I already knew I loved you so much.
Before all else, I dressed you up; that purple otter box fit you tight like a glove. Everywhere we went together, at night you sat on a shelf over my head above.
You connected me to the world, voices speaking of life directly to my ears.
Appointments, information, conversations – happy smiles and sad tears.
Good news of raises, babies born, and relationships forged under the moon.
Bad news of passings, illnesses, and frauds reported with a melancholy tune.
So much more you had to offer me, though, with capabilities a hundredfold.
A lifeline to reality and fantasy alike- keeper of secrets and stories yet untold.
Capturing moments of enchantment, an interactive autobiographical scrapbook. Entertainment at my finger tips; videos, reading, gaming, giving websites a look.
Social media brought the village back to this stay-at-home-mom’s mundane life.
Giving reprieve from the lonely existence of motherhood’s endless strife.
You and I made quite the team, taking me places I had only once before dreamed.
My passion for writing turned into a blog competing among the esteemed.
Oh, why! Why did our time have to come to such a horrendously tragic end?
I believed that forever, case in hand, you would remain my very best friend.
That day at the park, unlike any other we made, I never saw the fall coming.
In an instant it all happened when my daughter took off running.
To the ground you tumbled, for the first time ever landing right on your face.
A losing battle against the gravel you shattered as I had to give chase.
Forever I’ll remember all that you have brought my life, completing me.
A friend to the very end, my beloved ZTE Max – I will treasure the memories.

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***Welcome to a Fly on the Wall group post. Today 13 bloggers are inviting you to catch a glimpse of what you’d see if you were a fly on the wall in our homes. Come take a buzz over to these links for a peek into some other wonderful bloggers home this month:

Baking In A Tornado   

Juicebox Confession                                               
Menopausal Mother    .                                        
Someone Else’s Genius                                            
Spatulas on Parade                        

Searching for Sanity                                           
Never Ever Give Up Hope .                                 
Dinosaur Superhero Mommy                           
Not That Sarah Michelle                      

Southern Belle Charm                                          
My Brain on Kids                         

Go Mama O                                       

 

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Free Range Food and Preschool: Fly On The Wall December

Welcome to a Fly on the Wall group post. Today 12 bloggers are inviting you to catch a glimpse of what you’d see if you were a fly on the wall in our homes. Come on in and buzz around. This month, we’re going on a field trip. That’s right! I’m taking all you lovely, but angrivated folks on the road. Load up the bus and come along….

It’s off to preschool we go!

Yup. If I was forced to endure our bi-monthly Parent/Child Literacy Day, so will you. I don’t play, you know. Better just sit down, shut up, and enjoy the ride to The World of Four-Year Old’s.

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This time the theme was, in the spirit of “The Holidays” (without crossing into religious territory or singling out only one of many winter solstice celebrations from different cultures, coloring nice and neat within the politically-correct lines) was The Gingerbread Man. We’re gonna read the three different versions of this damn story after putting our (pre-made) gingerbread men cookies in the oven, then go on a hunt for them when they weren’t in the oven like they were supposed to be when the stories were through. To the gym, out to the playground, around to the lobby, then into our classroom where they were magically waiting on napkins at the children’s assigned tables. Off with the heads, the arms and the legs…. this was just the beginning of their soon-to-be continued sugar rush.

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Next we went into another classroom to cut out and decorate our own gingerbread men. With glitter. And glitter glue. Did I even mention the sparkly confetti like glitter, too? There was some of that shit, too. At this time, I took a moment to myself and chugged the last third of my Starbucks Coffee + Energy drink I wisely stopped at the gas station for on my way. Wait? Y’all didn’t get one while we were there? Shame on you. What kinda newbie preschool parents are you? Guess you’re going into The Glitter without reinforcements. *Psssht* Don’t worry. It’s only fifteen deadly long, painful, seemingly-never-ending minutes. Even worse, they play an animated retelling of one of those Gingerbread Man stories on the white screen just to stick the ear bug deeper in your brain. Run, run, as fast as you can… You can’t catch me I’m the mother fucking Gingerbread Man.

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Lastly, they drug us out to some folding tables in the lobby. That Starbucks fuel kicked in full gear just in time, because what is piled on the table but all the fixings for gingerbread houses. If you have OCD, I’m sorry now, but you’re not gonna make it. Better just step away slowly and head back to the bus. Frosting went flying everywhere. Kids were shoving candy into their grubby mouths at ten times the rate it was going onto their frosting covered milk cartons. (The whole Graham Cracker thing is too much for little ones who’s tiny hands are clumsier than a bull in a china shop. This is also an awesome alternative for us Mediocre Mamas who can’t craft, bake, sew, or be creative to save our lives.) The sounds of parents chastising and kids choking on over-stuffed mouthfuls of candy filled the room with a blasphemous melody not unlike our own Christmas Eve chaos at home. It was a great reminder to refill my Valium this weekend. Don’t forget yours!!!

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Finally, our time was up! Everyone clambered back into the classroom to gather on the carpet for a round of the goodbye song and receive their very own copy of…..

You guessed it!

The mother fucking douche bag who doesn’t listen for jackshit and has absolutely no respect for my hunger pains, himself. The Gingerbread Man.

Run, run, as fast you can…
But I ain’t getting off my fat ass to catch you, Gingerbread Man
I don’t give a shit if you were even a ginormous Piecaken
I Free Range my food, not chase what I’ve been bakin’.

Now get off my bus and fly on over to someone else’s house. Maybe they’re the type who likes to chase their food before biting off it’s head.

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Happy Buzzing everyone! Click on these links for a peek into some other homes:
Baking In A Tornado

Spatulas on Parade

Follow me home

Menopausal Mother

Never Ever Give Up Hope

Someone Else’s Genius

Southern Belle Charm

Dinosaur Superhero Mommy

Go Mama O

Juicebox Confession

Not That Sarah Michelle

By: Kristina Hammer, aka, The Angrivated Mom

Fly On The Wall November

Welcome to a Fly on the Wall group post. Today 12 bloggers are inviting you to catch a glimpse of what you’d see if you were a fly on the wall in our homes. Come on in and buzz around my house, see what you think, then click on the links below for a peek into some other homes:

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This was parent teacher conference week for three out of four of my children. The resulting knowledge from each has left me completely dumbfounded and bewildered. It just seems so impossible in grand scheme of motherhood. My daughter’s are geniuses and my son’s, well, I hope I don’t mind a lifetime supply of free McDonald’s food. Because that’s all they’re destined for at this point… and it’s only fifth and sixth grades! How can my first two children who got the MOST attention from me be the least responsible, the least eager to learn, and the hardest to teach? But the quickest witted out of them, too? The girls, who are my youngest and have had to share the attention the most, are super smart in school to the point of being able to skip a grade if they want to be challenged hard. Yet the most gullible and senseless of my children. The littlest was just running around saying “knock, knock” as she knocked on her head, then answering “who’s there? Poke your eye out.”, and actually poking herself in the eye!!! Tell me, teacher, how this four year old is learning at a mid-kindergarten rate? Cuz, I’m just not seeing it here. Lol.

Earlier this week, my two dunce cap son’s were at a friend’s house playing football. A friend got a little heated and turned aggressive on everyone, with the younger boy taking an elbow to his gut and his older brother getting tackled into a fence where his arm went through and got stuck in one of the cross-holes. I knew it couldn’t be broken, but he wouldn’t trust my word, even knowing I originally went to college to be a nurse until he came along and led me to become a Health Unit Coordinator instead. For three days he whined and cried about the burning, tingling pains inside his fibia bone. He rubbed it, babied it, and kept it wrapped with an ace bandage, shielding it from anything which might potentially brush up against it ever-so gently. He even told his friends it was broken. So on Wednesday night I called him out on crying wolf. Took him to the Emergency Room and asked them to do xrays to prove his little ass wrong. Though, I guess after seeing his latest measurements, my eleven year old tween ain’t so little anymore. He measured at 111 lbs. and five foot two inches! Only five inches until he’s even with me! How could this come to be right before my eyes!?! Any who, back to calling the kid’s bluff. The nurse practitioner was so kind to put him in his place and let him know that it’s just a contusion and his pubescent hormones got the better of him. I didn’t have the heart to embarrass him further and correct her. He’s been this dramatically sensitive since forever ago; its SO not the hormones. Though, it sure doesn’t help.

To top off the insanity this week, our school does these morning off half-days. Kids stay home until after lunch then go until the end of the day. This is done for morning conferences because the school isn’t big enough to have all day conferences, just one morning and two evening sessions. Since middle school conferences are not until next week, I still had to get him up and off to school instead of sleeping in. Good thing. Two of the kids I shuttle to the elementary school with my own showed up for a regular school day, both parents ignorant to the half day the school sent out 6 memos and one reminder phone call for over the past two weeks. I think it was done purposely, because they both pulled the work card and begged me to babysit with a little extra in my monthly pay for the shuttling. Instead of my usual three hours of alone time while my preschooler is gone in the mornings, I had 4 kids, ages 6-10, running amuck and under foot all damn morning. Yet the husband couldn’t figure out why my migraine could’ve been so horrendous before noon. Men. Maybe THAT’S where the girls get their senselessness from. Yeah… we’ll run with that one right now. It’s always the dad’s fault anyways.

Oh! I almost forgot! My animal lover grandfather’s spirit dropped another orphan off on my porch on Wednesday, too! I’m now fostering a 3½ week old, orange tabby kitten until it’s old enough to go to a forever home. My kids think we’re keeping this one, too, and named it Tangu after the orange desert in the cartoon, Sophia The First. But, we can’t. Two dogs, three grown cats, fish, and aquatic frogs are more than enough for this overworked and underappreciated mother to take care of. Bad enough I gotta feed this little adorable shithead every 4 hours around the clock by hand because it’s supposed to be nursing still. So, before you buzz outta here… wanna purrfect new friend in 4-6 weeks? Anyone? Anyone?

NEXT ON THE BUZZ LIST:
Baking In A Tornado

Spatulas on Parade

Follow me home 

Menopausal Mother

Never Ever Give Up Hope

The Momisodes

Someone Else’s Genius

Eileen’s Perpetually Busy

Southern Belle Charm

Dinosaur Superhero Mommy

Go Mama O
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Day 20 #NaBloPoMo 2015

By: Kristina Hammer, aka, The Angrivated Mom

Fly On The Wall: Wake Me When September Ends

Welcome to a Fly on the Wall group post. Today 16 bloggers are inviting you to catch a glimpse of what you’d see if you were a fly on the wall in our homes. Come on in and buzz around my house.

This week was totally insane in our house. It was the first full week of school for my older kids and it was packed full of parent meetings, curriculum overview nights, band equipment rental appointments, and extra- curricular sign-ups for me to attend and complete. Plus, add in the thirty thousand duplicates of  paperwork I have to fill out for three kids and you get one completely angrivated mom. Thursday was the first day of preschool for my not-so-baby-anymore baby girl, too, but it was a parent stay day, so we got through it without too many extra feels. I think I was just too tired to process the full gravity of the event. Maybe that’s also how I managed to forget the kids’ first early release day! Thankfully I have a middle schooler who gets home moments before I have to leave for the Elementary kids, or else I wouldn’t have been startled into remembering them at all!

My body is on strike against me lately. I have had the worst (secondary) sinus infection my head has ever suffered from, caused by a ruptured cyst-type thing on nerves from my teeth near my jawbone. Three failed rounds of antibiotics later, I am going to have to have surgery to remove the source of the trouble before an abcess forms above the surface and the infection gets into my bloodstream. I’m nervous and scared, but can’t show it, because I don’t have time to. My husband’s work schedule makes it impossible for me to take a second for myself, which is doing this illness no good whatsoever.

On the bright side, my little Stinx made a show of herself on her first day of school. I knew that she would, because it is in her nature to be an ostentatious I just didn’t know how she would pull it off. Part of the activities list for the day was to decorate a popsicle stick figure to represent themselves so they could be attached to clothespins to hang their artwork up on the line. Everything was going well. She used a purple feather for her hair, put on googly eyes, and put buttons on for the shoes. A few foam shapes and sequins for the skirt then she grabbed a marker and drew a diamond necklace and put two dots on the shirt area. Teacher walks by and starts admiring the students work. “Your girl looks really neat! I like her polka dot and sequin dress”,  she says when she gets to Stinx. And that’s when she let her personality shine. “Those NOT polka dots. They’re BOOBIES!”
Only my kid. She’s a force to be reckoned with and my greatest inspiration in life, because she doesn’t let anything hold her back from loving life.

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Click on these links for a buzz around some other homes:

    Baking In A Tornado

    Spatulas on Parade

    Follow me home                          

    Menopausal Mother

    Never Ever Give Up Hope

    Just A Little Nutty

     The Momisodes

     Someone Else’s Genius

     Dinosaur Superhero Mommy

      Nichole Mom of 8

      Searching for Sanity

      Cluttered Genius

      Eileen’s Perpetually Busy

       Southern Belle Charm

       Go Mama O

By: Kristina Hammer, aka, The Angrivated Mom

Fly On The Wall- A Peek Into Life At The Angrivated House

Welcome to a Fly on the Wall group post. Today 13 bloggers are inviting you to catch a glimpse of what you’d see if you were a fly on the wall in our homes. Come on in and buzz around my house.

~ “MOM! CAN I HAVE A POPSICLE?”
“Tee, take off the Mic, come out here, and ask ME, then we’ll see.”
“FINE…….I’M COOomming, now can I?”
“Nope. Go do your chores.”
“BUUUUUT!” Tee sulks into the kitchen and does the sink full of dishes in a record time of 3.2 minutes. He then positions himself directly in front of me again. “Now?”
“Nope. I know you only rinsed the dishes off just because they were freshly soaking in hot, soapy water still. No excuse for not scrubbing them unless you’re trying to kill your family, that is.” Sometimes, I think he really is. Ten-agers are evil.
“But, I’m in the middle of a game and my team’s yelling at me to hurry up.”
“Then NO popsicle.”
Tee heads back to his room and slams the door.

~ Riding on the rocking horse with broken handles, that she’s way too big for, Bean comments about the rattling noise coming from inside the plastic toy. “I still can’t believe your tools are stuck in here still, dad. I’m just glad I didn’t get in trouble since you believed Stinx really did it.”
“You blamed Stinx! Let her get in trouble,” I said.
“I know,” she replied smugly.
“Bean,” I warn, with the Mom Voice, while giving her The Look.
“What? I’m telling the truth now, at least. I’m sorry I lied. I, uhh, just didn’t know any better. Yet. (Gulps) It was a long time ago and she was just a stupid baby!”, Bean says in her sickly sweet, trying-to-sound-innocent voice.
“Bean, it was last summer. And Stinx was 2½, NOT a baby.”
“Oh…. Well, umm, I thought I’d get… a… (giggles absurdly) spankin’. Glad I cleared the air, though. I’m really not a liar, normally, you know.”
“You’ve never had a real spanking before in your life, and, this is NOT your first rodeo, little girl. You knew what you were doing and that it was wrong,” I scold.
Duh! That’s why after hearing it rattle, I decided it was time to come clean. I said how sorry I am. What more do you want from me, I’m just a little girl, you know!”
Bean is certainly my little pot-stirrer, all right.

~ “Mom, can I have a popsicle, noooww?”, Tee asks, oh so sweetly.
“Did you rewash those dishes yet?”
“Uuuggghhhh. Really!?! Never mind.”
He storms off unsatisfied with my parenting decision.

~ The Dunce comes prancing into the living room. Or bobbing. Or doing some odd sort of galloping hop. Whatever you wanna call it, it’s definitely NOT walking. His ADD prevents him from doing as such, all of his movements are bouncy, because, internally his brain is constantly bouncing. I’m sitting in my favorite spot, trying to write.
“Moh-uhm! Can I go to D’s house?”, he asks in this high-pitched, silly, baby-talk-ish voice that he and D find hilarious to use.
Immediately, I reply, “Please do.”
With all the stress of losing our puppy this past weekend, my mind can’t seem to focus, can’t keep my thoughts sorted, and the noise of four kids is not helping a single bit. Taking just one kid out of the equation changes the dynamic drastically, and I was hoping to find a moments worth of calm for me to try and get my shit together. Depression is such a bitch when you’re in crisis, no matter how major or minor.
“Thanks, Mom! We’re going to Las Vegas, so I’ll see you later. Don’t have any fun here.” The Dunce is our family clown.
“Don’t sleep with any hookers and don’t come back until you’ve hit the jackpot and we’re rich!”, I called after him as he walked out the front door.
He pokes his head back in with a disgruntled, almost peeved look on his face and says, “Whade’ya take me for, a divorced, fifty year old man?!”
I laughed, and laughed, and laughed some more, until tears streamed down my face and I was on the verge of my bladder busting. My heart felt happy for just a minute, but it was a minute well served, because, just briefly, I forgot all the troubles weighing heavy on my mind. Laughter is always the best medicine, besides writing, that is, and my Dunce is always the one who does it best for me.

~ “I’m sooooo hot! My room is a thousand degrees because the air conditioning doesn’t get in there enough. Can I pleeeease have a popsicle now?”, Tee asks, yet again.
“Did you fix those half-washed dishes yet?”, I inquire, though I already know.
My gigantic, almost bigger than me, half-man looking ten year-old stomps off, huffing and puffing, starting to cry and get super angry with me, as he slams his door once more, because he doesn’t like my answer. Oh darn, I don’t feel bad at all. Shame on me for mothering.

~ It’s dinnertime and I’ve been sitting on my fat butt, scrolling Craigslist and Facebook groups for ads about a puppy matching Ollie’s description, religiously for over an hour. Stinx, my 3yo, takes food very seriously, and so she starts tugging, hard, on my shirt until I start to hear seams snap. Snapping me right out of my mega-focused search zone.
“Momma, git uhhhp! I ungry. Go. Make. Deenir nowww.”
“All right, all right, I’m going now, NinxMajinx,” I said as I put the phone down.
She follows me into kitchen, still whining about being “ungry.” Seeing me pick up a bowl with cheetos in it, leftover from snacktime, to put away, Stinx face turns evil with the Stank Eye hard glare she adopts when she’s royally pissed off, and growls at me:
“Not DAT deenir, me want real deenir, momma.”
This is a poster ad moment for Parenting The Fourth Child, I think to myself. My depression, my patience, my exhaustion, and fehking reality, have all taught me how resilient, flexible, adaptable, forgiving, unbreakable, and unconditional children truly are. Not particularly in that order, though. It takes some serious, hardcore trauma to damage a child’s spirit. Not, Kool-Aid, Cheetos, and a King-size Hershey’s chocolate bar for breakfast on occasion, or dinner, because my sanity, as well as any other mother’s, is way more important than Satan’s favorite poison- good ol’ refined sugar.
Thankfully for Stinx, I wasn’t in one of those mentally debilitating funks, so I dumped the Cheetos back into the bag with a chuckle over how often I must have those episodes for her to assume so presumptively that those stale Cheetos were her meal tonight, and pulled out the chicken breast, broccoli, and rice that was to be her “real deenir,” so she would no longer be disapprovingly “ungry.”

~ “Can I please, please, PLEASE just have one popsicle and then I’ll do the dishes?”
“Do the dishes, THEN you may have your popsicle. Oh, and if you plan on eating dinner tonight, you’ll want to get those dishes done, too, because I’m not cooking until those dishes are clean and out of my way.”
“Okay, okay, okay. I’ll go do them. With soap this time. But then, you’re giving me 2 popsicles,” he grins his cheesy grin thinking he’s got me on this one.
“If you don’t get started now, you’ll get NO popsicles, dinner, or game time tonight,” I reply.
Tee pouts, knowing I’m not budging and finally goes and does the dishes the right way. He comes out with a popsicle in his hand and I nod in approval.

I go right back to burying my nose in my phone so I can get this post done the night before it’s deadline, and go back to searching online sources for our stolen puppy, forgetting all about getting up to go make these kids their dinner. Again. For the moment. I already know, Stinx and her internal alarm clock will come force me to get my arse up off this couch when she’s “ungry” enough. Besides, even Stinx would agree, finding our Ollie boy and whoever stole him outta our yard, is WAY more important to our hearts than feeding our stomachs.

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Now go check out these phenomenal blogs to see what the Fly On The Wall saw in their houses this week!
Baking In A Tornado
Spatulas on Parade
Follow me home 
Menopausal Mother
Never Ever Give Up
Just A Little Nutty  
The Momisodes
Someone Else’s Genius
Sanity Waiting to Happen
Southern Belle Charm
Dinosaur Superhero Mommy
Eileen’s Perpetually Busy

By: Kristina Hammer, aka, The Angrivated Mom