The Truth Hurts. The Lies Hurt Too.

Kids can be brutally hurtful in their honesty. Take the little boy in my daughter's class, for instance. He asked her why her Mommy is so fat. Or the little girl who told my eldest that girls do not like him because he tries too hard to be funny.
Adults can be brutally hurtful in their dishonesty. Like the Mom who sees my husband in the carpool line at school and tells him how much she likes me and wants to be my friend, and then proceeds to have all kinds of parties and events and neglects to include me. Or like the same Mom who says the most viciously mean and hurtful things about her close friend and walking partner, and then plays kissy nice-nice to her face (and invites her to all the reindeer games, by the way - just thought I would throw that out there.) I can only imagine what she says about the people whom she does not invite! Then, when she sees me on Shabbos, she sits down next to me and chats like we've always been great friends. The irony of the whole thing is that she is one of the handful of intellectual people around. I really like her the way that she portrays herself to me. I just feel the need to separate myself from all the middle school ugliness. Because I am 34 years old, and it is seriously, like, time to grow up already!

How to Get a Day Off

My baby girl had her physical therapy evaluation this morning. I made sure to have it early enough that I could still arrive at my all-important job on time, at 8:45 AM. As I pulled in to the parking lot of my office building at 8:39, I received a phone call from the Lower School Principal at my children's school. It seems as though my almost-eight-year-old had found himself in the midst of a fist fight and was being suspended from school for the day. So I brought him in to the office with me for the day. I arrived almost an hour late and took an hour-long lunch break. I have no doubt that the Boss Lady was tsking at me in her mind. And my boy learned an important lesson. If you want a fun day off from school to spend at your Mom's office, all you need to do is sucker punch your friend.

My Decision

I went over the Boss Lady's head. Just like that. I went to the "Big Boss" and said "lookie here, big guy..." Well, not exactly in those words, but I explained that I am a really good worker, I never take advantage and I am always the first one to volunteer to go that extra mile to help out. So he defended me. To the point where the two of them got into a screaming match (in a foreign language) about family values. Clearly, the big guy won. Which means I won. The pity of the whole thing is that in general, the boss lady is a whole lot nicer and easier to deal with than the Big Boss. And, she has a daughter of her own, so theoretically, she should understand where I am coming from, as a mother. Sadly, as a minority and a foreign woman, she has had to sacrifice much, too much in my opinion, of her family life in order to prove herself. It is unfortunate that she expects the same of a lowly worker like myself. So this time it went my way. But next time it might not. And the working plan for 2008, which I handed in on Friday, which she loved on Friday? I had to redo the whole thing this morning, because she suddenly decided that it was not good enough. Quite a coincidence, huh?

To Have To Choose

'Tis the season for three of my children's Chanukah plays. Which also makes it the season to have to ask for a couple of hours off of work, smack in the middle of the day, to go see their plays and celebrate the season with them. Being a Mom has always been my priority. Now that I am a working mother I feel as though I am pulled in multiple directions, always feeling the need to choose between carreer and children. In my mind, there is no contest. My children win, hands down, every time. So now, there are two separate mornings that I need to take off in order to paticipate in important events in my kids' lives. And my employer is forcing me to choose. I will not choose. I need to grow the cajones to march right into her office and explain to her that after practicing for many weeks for their plays, these are important events in my children's lives. How can I choose one over the other? And how can I allow any of them to be the only ones without their mommy there? The answer is simple. I just will not do it!

Kvelling

For those of you who are not well-versed it the Jewish tongue, "kvelling" is bursting with pride. And that is exactly how I feel today. My boy, my carbon copy of me, my seven-year-old who struggles every day with a disease that can make him appear to be an obnoxious monster, when he really is a misusnderstood sweet delicious adorable baby boy who craves the love and attention that he seems to despise, that boy got straight A's on his report card. He deserves a reward. And, by golly, he shall receive one. I just had to share this great news with my favorite cyber-buddies :)

Delicious Moments

I came home from a particularly difficult day yesterday and my kids were happier than usual to see me. The baby said "Mama" and gave me a zillion kisses. My little girl told me that she wished I was little and could go to school with her. My five year old son detached his brain from his electronic devices (DS, Wii, computer) long enough to tell me that he loved me. Most mind-blowingly, my seven year old son *gasp* actually hugged and kissed me. All that love is enough to get me through the morning.

Oh Crappity

I am doing it again. I have this deep dark feeling that people just do not like me. I usually get this way when I forget my little white magical pills, but I have been taking them religiously. So I am forced to face the reality that perhaps, in fact, it is true. People just don't like me. I know that there are a handful of couples in my neighborhood who have ostracized me. And that is perfectly O.K. Because, really, who needs people who talk about me behind my back and then deny it to my face? And who needs people who take advantage? Not me, that's who. So they can have and use each other. And I will hold a bigger and better party and not invite them. So there. But those are not the people about whom I write. It's the people at work. And the people whom I truly call my friends. Again, it makes me regret moving to this city. Because the old place was not ideal, but at least there were two or three people who would call me. And the friendships were not all one-sided.