“GENITAL HERPES HERE”

I’ve decided to have these words tattooed on Fynn’s forehead on her 13th birthday. That way no boys will want anything to do with her and I won’t have to worry about things like boys with cars kissing my daughter in the garage after a bonfire and then getting her pregnant and ruining her life before she has a chance to get into an Ivy League school and bankrupt me so that she can graduate and get a 6 figure income and support me in my old age because jeebus knows all that money I paid into social security isn’t coming back.

 

I’ve turned into my father.

In bed by 10. Up at dawn. Eating breakfast and watching the political news before anyone else in the house is awake.

Now, if Fynn would just turn into me, she would awaken with the first whiff of coffee brewing and go get me a newspaper.

 

Dear Small Child,

I am not doing your homework for you. There is a big difference between quizzing you on your spelling words and giving you the answers to your reading questions. By the way, it is not going to be MY fault if you get an ‘F’ because I wouldn’t give you the answer. That’s all on you, baby.

Welcome to responsibility.

Hugs n Kisses,

Your Big Mean Mommy

P.S. The pouty face has not worked since you were 3. I suggest you file that one away and try it again when you’re 20 and trying to get your rich boyfriend to buy you diamonds.

P.S.S. In the future, please refrain from going to the nurse’s office because you think you have chicken pox the next time you get a zit.

 

This is the part where I take a 6 hour nap after work…

and then drive to Taco Bell for breakfast at midnight.

 

Recruited.

And not in the military or religious cult kinda way. In the employment kinda way. In the words of Borat, “Ni-ice.”

 

Dear Department Store Conglomerate & Unknown Shopper,

What the fuck is wrong with the two of you? What makes one of you think it’s okay to offer a ridiculous discount on certain school supplies without imposing a quantity limit and the other one think it’s okay to come in and buy *ALL* of those supplies with the excuse that you’re “supplying a whole school for a whole year”?

May you both rot in hell.

Yours,

Molly

P.S. I’ll burn down the building.

 

If I only had a machete…

That is all.

 

This is the part where Fynn spends the night at her Grandma’s

with her cousin who’s visiting from out of town and I pass the time watching every episode of South Park ever made instead of doing laundry.

 

This is serious business.

We moved out of our old school district at the end of the school year, with the hopes of achieving open enrollment into Fynn’s sibling’s school district. We were summarily denied, as I, being unaware of the first-come first-serve policy, allowed others to go ahead of me whilst I waited on BD to arrive only to be told that he did not need to be there for me to register :P Being uncertain about the new school district, I opted to attempt to keep Fynn in her old school district for one more year, knowing that we will be in a more permanent place by the time she enters middle school next fall. That application, of course, was swiftly approved.

*fast forward two months*

We’ve settled in nicely into the new school district and school is starting 2 weeks from Monday. As we browse through the horrible assortment of school uniform shirts that are available, I began revisiting my decision to keep her in the old school. And one by one, the logic of my brain now has shot down the arguments from the logic of my brain then. I have been over and over everything and decided that the single obstacle that stands between us and the new district can be overcome with a few quick phone calls and conversations.

Some people say I’m flighty, but I think I just get smarter as time goes on.

 

Oh yes I did.

The Teenager on her trick bike trying to pop a wheelie : “I can’t get it up!”
Me, sipping wine on the back patio : “That’s what he said.”