Blurbs from the Burbs by Chickysara

I love the way my husband comes in after I’ve completely come un-glued and told the kids off at the top of my lungs. He walks in like he’s the sheriff or something and he is going to come in with a big plan to make all the pilgrims happy. He seems flummoxed when his nosing in like this pisses me off even more. He’s like “Here I am to fix the mess you’ve made.” And I’m like “Oh so NOW you want in on this? Where the hell have you been the entire time I have been on my own coping with YOUR children’s problematic homework issues? Huh…where were you then???” I always come off looking like Denzel Washington while he gets to be Ethan Hawke in Training Day. It’s so unfair. Because every single day, I get to play bad cop, nagging about unfinished homework, pointing out that neatness counts, and making sure that exactly twenty minutes of reading has been completed—not fifteen minutes, not eighteen minutes—exactly twenty minutes. Meanwhile, he gets to do “important” things like checking his e-ma...

Dear Children, Has it ever occurred to you that I need not bust a vein in my forehead yelling at you to finish your homework every day? Golly, I don’t give a damn! If you don’t want to make it through elementary school, then don’t. Why should I care if you are the only 12-year old third-grader at your school? It’s no skin off my nose. Sure, the other mothers will talk, but I won’t have to hear it because I’ll be in Bora-Bora spending your college money. What’s that you say? You don’t like the lunch I packed for you at the crack of dawn this morning? Well, don’t eat it. Yeah, I am the rotten mother that won’t pack your lunch full of Funions and Oreo’s in favor of a sandwich on whole wheat and an apple. Forgive me if I don’t want your teeth rotting out of your head or don’t want you to get childhood diabetes. Pack your own damn lunch from now on. The sodas and chips are on the top shelf. Go for it. Oh, and by the way, if you forget to take your lunch to school, do NOT count on me to brin...

This morning, during one of our after-drop-off coffee runs, I confessed to Carol that I was contemplating legal separation because of the way The Husband eats corn-on-the-cob. I was ashamed to admit this because my husband is a good man—a great husband and father—BUT, the mechanical way he twirls an ear of corn while simultaneously ripping the kernels from the cob with his front teeth makes me want to scream. To my relief, Carol confessed to me that the way her husband eats cereal makes her want to call a divorce lawyer. “He clinks his spoon against the bowl—clink, clink, clink—I swear I can’t take it anymore!” After several years of marriage, I am noticing that overlooking these minor infractions has become more and more impossible. Like the balled up socks in the hamper. How exactly are they going to get properly washed rolled up in a ball like that? Am I supposed to unfurl each sock ball? I’m sorry, but unrolling dirty sock balls is so not sexy. True, in the beginning of our mar...

The other day I was having lunch with J and T at J’s favorite Chinese restaurant. This was a big concession on T’s part since he is not a big fan of anything that isn’t pizza or mac n’ cheese. At the end of the meal, the boys cracked open their fortune cookies. The scrap of paper in T’s cookie said something like: “You will soon enjoy a pleasant journey.” He was amazed. Right after we finished at the mall, we would be journeying twenty minutes home. This accurate prediction was not lost on T. T: J, how do you think the cookie people know our future? J: Huh, it’s a conspiracy, you know. (J is very into conspiracy theories right now). The cookie people probably know Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. T: But Santa Claus doesn’t know the future. He just knows if you are good or bad. J: …Well then, it’s the government! They probably have cameras all over the place…and some sort of magic 8-ball is involved. T: Oh yeah! Mom, do the cookie people have a magic 8-ball? Me: ...

The other day T came to me and said, “Mommy, I heard a bad word today. And...it was a compound word.” “A compound word?” I asked. “Yes. The first word started with a ‘B’ and the second word started with a “sshh” sound. “I see.” My tax dollars at work.

Claire: I dreamed last night Alan had an affair and I was getting divorced. I was twisting his ears off with my bare hands while he was plunging the toilet. It was very violent and I was sweating when I woke up. Chickysara: I wonder why you were twisting his ears off while he was plunging. Claire: I think I dreamed about the toilet because I'm taking cleansing tablets and going to the bathroom like crazy. And you might like to know that I socked Alan in the arm when we woke up. Chickysara: I once dreamt that T.H. had an affair and I was totally nonchalant about it. In my dream he was telling me he was going out with his girlfriend and he told me very casually, like he was just running out to buy a gallon of milk and not off with another woman. I was standing at the stove cooking pork chops and I was put out because I was making one for him and he made other plans. I wasn't upset about the mistress, just the extra pork chop. So I was like, "What t...

I believe that, if possible, my head would explode and then catch on fire. There’s a lot-and yet not so much-going on in there.