I'm 34 going on 17- and u can't stop me

I'm in charge of so diggety much around here.. it makes me a grown up by default .

ANd it blows ass.

I bounded down the outside stairs today- ( I use the term 'bounding' loosely) following P for some reason and just FELT .. I don't know.. felt not 34. Really. Thought to my little pea brain self... I can't really be 34. I feel like I'm 17. Me in my hoodie, jeans and flip flops. Pony tail ( pathetic attempt at one) zit faced ( WHAT IS GOING ON FACE???) goofy self.

Wiser and assuredly better looking ( as evidenced by my outing in MEme #1) goofy self, but not really a whole heck of a lot much more.. grown up, goofy self.

I have such an overwhelming amount of ' don't eff it up' on my plate.

It's really one of the seven natural wonders. Why me? Why give ME such insane trust and enormous responsibility?

I'm a fuzzlebutt... a Fup-Uck. Who the hey diddle put me in charge? And of 3 kids to boot. ( not 'as in' kick.. I don't kick them.. nudge yes... kick no.. )

Things Fup-Uck is in charge of.

I handle the bills- the girl who destroyed her credit as fresh meat freshman ..all in the name of good style is in charge of bleeding out our bank account .. to every Tom Dick and Visa out there. ( And by good style. I am lying. A large cargo sweater and kilted school girl skirt from the Limited...was a farce. I looked like I should have been working on a lobster boat...or at least in classes on one. )

What's also disturbing about handing the financial baton off to me, ( people.. we know this...) I DON'T DO MATH.

Yet here I am. With my handwritten adding and carry signs.. every single week. My number line securely taped on my office desk. Fighting off the finances with my trusty clicky pen and post it notes. ( yes i use them IRL)

WTF?

Goofy 17year old self is also tasked with such super stellar important things like:

making sure our children are nourished.

* I did not say WELL nourished.. I just said nourished mind you. Rice Krispies are INDEED a dinner... occasionally.. here and there... every Wednesday. and maybe Mondays*

This from the girl: who cried microwave most of her life. Who licked beaters laden with salmonella laced eggs (I'm certain.) Who knew the VELTRE'S pizza number - was #4 on speed dial.

I have to FEED PEOPLE. Or they die.

Nuff said.

But.

I don't cook. In any Julia Child's related way. If you put a turkey in front of me.. I will say to you. - will it fit in my microwave.. and boy that's one big sumbitch chicken. Where'd ya find it? AnD WHOSE puttin their hand up that hole???

SAY WHAAAAAT?

Frantically pushing #4 on her phone.

I copycat. I have no idea what flavors what.. and don't care to find out. Just tell me what to do.. I'll not like it.. but I'll do it. All in the name of the children.. who won't eat it anyways and cry foul when I disguise veggies as.. Popsicles and stuff. I LOVE BROCCOLI POPS. DON'T' YOU??

... it's not right.

LIFE ALTERING jobs have been handed to me.

ANd I didn't' even submit my damn resume.

I have 3 little girls.

Girls who will assuredly grow up to want to be woman- at least I hope. If they choose otherwise... I'll have to defer to Cher for tips on handling it. Though I will. Cuz my girls will be whomever they want to be: as long as they rock the dignity and respect for others and are goofy.

But someone put me in charge of "rearing them."

THE ONLY thing I ever reared: were some pet Angel Fish. And tHEy , NO JOKE... fucking jumped out of the tank LIKE THEY WERE HEADED FOR THE PROMISED LAND.. only to be met with MY WALL . Only to be found by me... weeks later. In a semi-Venus de Milo statue state.

I could've used them as letter openers... they were THAT hard.. or Chinese stars.

What hope do my girls have? Let's pray that I check on them more often at least.

R.I.P little angel fishies. (gag)

How about.. I have to KEEP TRACK OF MY KIDS.

yes. The horror.

One was alll goood. I was a pro.

I used a leash.

I'm just kidding. I glared at leash users.

Two- was like a constant poke in the eye...vicious.

One ran here.. the other there. I re-thought the leash issue and quit glaring so much.

Three-

fuckin'A. All hell has broken loose. She can't do anything but roll and drool with a little laugh on the side... and I cannot keep tallies on anyone in any professional way.

Do they make a 3 kid leash?

I have to HEAD COUNT MY KIDS- all the live long day.

Or YELL out like some maniac... E?????? p???? WHERE ARE YOU? ANSWER ME!

Like some .. one .. two.. old lady in the shoe ....

Supahs Supahd- Dupah Daycare- but with only HER kids.

"ONE, TWO......WOOOAHH.. hold up. Back the bus up.."

"We're freaking missing one DBD! "

P, check. M, check.

"Awww sit. E's goinna be PI- ISSED this time DBD. GO back around. HURRYYYY! "

My kids ALSO need dressed.

COME - ON NOW!

THIS IS PUSHING IT.

It is my job.. it falls squarely on my shoulders- to teach them to

1. dress appropriately for the weather

2. dress fashionably

See up top REFERENCE to lobster school gear.

I lose.

So as to serve the greater good of all mankind

(Reads: volcanic temper tantrum averted)

I allow such tragedies as : tutu's and scarfs with a little bit of superhero shirt on the side to occur.

My daughter greeted the cool 57 degree fall weather, as well as all of the after-work - hangin out.. neighbors with her swimsuit attire and flip flops. Because ... i just wanted to finish bloggin. And she wouldn't take.

NO. NO. NO.NO.NONONONONONONOONOONNONONOONONONONON for an answer.

So i said.

WHAT THE FUCK EVER P. "YES."

"yahh good mommy " stares were all around from my neighbors who were shivering in the fall wind.

While...

I waved back with my middle finger and hustled the little swimsuit model .. in the door.

I 'm expected to act like an adult to others who are caring for my kids too.

Quite an acting gig.

Miss Kindergarten Teacher Extraordinaire- I plan my attire around you.

No wait. I THINK about plannin my attire around the possibility of "an impromptu confrence request.. that leaves me high and dry in my Edward Cullen T-shirt and yoga pants.... " and then choose to risk it.

no wammies.. NOWAMMIESNOWAMMIESNOWAMMIES

um. 17??

I don't DO CONFERENCES!

I am NOT OLD ENOUGH FOR CONFERENCING PURPOSES.

Those were adults who joined me table side when I was first grade teacher.

Not people like ME...

Who blogs about affairs with McHeyHey.

Who suck up toys in the vacuum cleaner.

Who occasionally hold science experiements during bath time.

Theory: The longer they sit .. the more clean they shall be.

Trial run: 456.

Results. fail.

Who moon the cameras with barbie ken dolls ( sorry troy bolton)

I am STUPID GROWN UP GIRL NOW.

( humph *pouts)

i can't be 17.

The Gods that be.. have decided otherwise.

They must see some reason for me to continue on my journey as an 'ADULT."

I'll do it.

I just won't like it.

I'll write about it on my blog.

I'll stick my tonuge out when they turn their heads.

Just remember... if you see me and i'm acting all shoo shoo and froo froo 34

it's all a lie.

you can call me out

but remember ... when the teachers' not lookin.. i'm goinna beat your ass for doing so- cuz no matter what age I am.. I'm still goinna be a bad ass, mchey hey lovin, Cullen T-shirt wearing, angel fish killin, bloggin machine.

And hopefully I won't eff them up too bad on the journey.

So bad....that they'll blog about me when they grow up.. or worse.. tell their teachers RIGHT NOW.. the things I do.

I remmber the kiddos ( my first grade students) tellin me stuff their mommy / daddy said... that mommy/ daddy , I'm certain, DIDN'T mean for FIRST GRADE TEACHER EXTRAORDINAIRE to hear.

But i did. I listened.

I giggled.

and I took notes.

i shared every tid bit with the whole lunch room faculty

cuz i'm 17 at heart.

and waaaaay not 34.

and you can't even stop me.