Fear Factor

Can't. Seem. To. Get. My. Sh*t. Together. Lately.

Where to start?

We had a bit of drama in our house during the last week of school when Son #1 dis-invited me from the fourth grade poetry slam. Why? Because I embarrass him. Nothing I do, per se, just my entire being and presence thereof (i.e., nothing I can change short of moving to Guam which I am considering). The next day he apologized and asked me to come but it was a bittersweet event for me. I wanted to cry the entire time because I was a) grateful to be there and b) acutely aware that I wasn't really wanted or needed. Thankfully, the hubby was his usual hilarious self, quipping quietly to me as each kid performed, so the day was not shot.

Another recent weekend my girlfriend Yammikins came to visit. We spent one day at Niagara Falls riding the Maid of the Mist and going on the Journey Behind the Falls. Very cheesy but fun. At the end of the day, Son #2 and I went to the haunted house that we were steered away from last year -- the woman manning the cash register had warned us that it was too scary for little kids. He complained the whole way home last year and insisted on going this year. So we did.

Pitch black. Narrow hallways. Dingy mirrors. Things that bump into your face. Costumed men jumping out. Noises. Touches.

Son #2 was freaking out. He wanted me to carry him. (He's eight; I'm not that strong.) After what felt like an eternity of holding hands and walking very, very slowly while Son #2 whimpered, I asked one guy who jumped out at us, "How much further do we have?" He responded, "You're about a quarter of the way through." Holy crap! We continued for another few minutes, frantically trying all of the exit doors that we located, until the next dude scared. us. "Would you be willing to help us out of here?" No problem. He walked us through the maze, flashlight on, garden hoses hanging from ceiling fully illuminated, telling us what was going to happen. "At the bottom of these steps, you're going to step on a mat and a big, loud, blast of air will hit you in the face." Even knowing this piece of information, and seeing the mat, didn't stop Son #2 from panicking.

When we finally exited, we needed to sit down for a minute outside with Yams and Son #1 because Son #2 told us that his legs were paralyzed.

Note to self: parenting means making decisions that are in the best interests of your children. Once again, I need more lessons.

I can't control my fingers I can't control my toes, oh no no no no no.

Sorry dude. Put me in a wheelchair. I wanna be sedated, too.