Some of you reportedly think I am Supermom of Universe. I would like to say something here — You are on glue.

Things that are bugging the hell out of me, in order:

1) Making dinner. Everyone complains, and then I’m supposed to clean up, too? Where is the incentive for me? THERE IS NONE.
2) Making breakfast
3) Making lunch
4) Figuring out something for Snack Time that is not from the Ho-Ho’s, PopTarts and 7-Up family
5) Taking care of the pets. They stink and eat too much.
6) Sleeping with anyone. My husband, the kids, the dog, the cats… Anyone. Generally my husband is not on this list, because I like sleeping with Hockey God. Perks and all, so to speak. However, lately I have been wanting to read and read and read before I fall asleep — stress does this to me and I must escape into a good novel. But he is not a stress biscuit like me, and can usually unwind and crash sooner than I do. And my reading light bugs him. Also, when I tickle him and ask, “Can I read you this part? It’s so funny.” (OK, I can see how that would be obnoxious.)
7) The neighbors. Icky Devil Neighbor AND Angel Neighbor. Angel Neighbor — aka Wacky Nekkid Neighbor — it is not her fault. It’s mine. I’m being immature and am fully aware that this is my problem, not hers. She’s just been out of town ALL THE TIME and not DANCING AROUND IN HER PANTIES IN HER DINING ROOM, TO ENTERTAIN ME. As she is nearly eight months pregnant, this would be Big Entertainment for us all. Also, I am being needy and bratty and WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN, YOU’RE ON THE EAST COAST AND CAN’T FIX ME COFFEE?

Yes, she’s off to see… oh, whoever. Family, friends, something about going to church. WHATEVER. I have needs here, and lately, I have needed a good laugh. WHICH SHE IS NOT PROVIDING, ie — no chicken suits, no panty dances, no goofy question-and-answer sessions, no calls, even, to ask me what I’m making for dinner! And I hate making dinner! (See #1 of this list.) And she never reads my blog, so she is not even going to figure this out unless I tell her. Which would be, you know, so stupid, for me to say, “Can you please dance around for me? You’re not that pregnant! C’mon…”

8) Going to funerals. I’m not going to another one ever again. Not even my own. They can send a proxy urn of ashes and call it good. I had to go to a funeral this weekend and it was awful.
9) Elections. Because it is not a perfect world, people, and I do not run it.

But the thing that really should have been first on this list?

10) Volunteering in the classroom. Because the parents with the worst kids, oh no, THEY NEVER VOLUNTEER IN THE CLASSROOM.

“That’s because they need a break,” my friend C told me.

My kids are fairly well-behaved. As in, their teachers say, “I hardly even notice that he/she is here.” Why do you think that is, exactly?

BECAUSE THE ROTTEN KIDS GET ALL THE ATTENTION. Twenty-eight kids (in my daughter’s class) twenty-two in my son’s, one teacher (preschool has two teachers), one parent volunteer (me) in classroom. (Preschool has a few more parents who volunteer in the classroom, thank God.)

Don’t think I volunteer every day, or even twice a week, because that is not the case. I volunteer Monday mornings only; one week in Wacky Boy’s class, the next week in Wacky Girl’s. And this? This is NOTHING. But it feels like OH MY GOD I WAS JUST HERE WHEN IS THAT KID GOING TO LEARN TO STOP MOUTHING OFF TO THE TEACHER? How about washing hands after using the bathroom? How about paying attention in class and not asking, “What was the question, again?” every ten seconds. How about not sneezing on me? Would that be too much trouble?

I like the kids, for the most part. I don’t like most of the crap they pull, but I like them, and they like me all right. (It’s the terror in their eyes that convinces me this is true.) It’s mostly the same group of kids since preschool (I was with my daughter’s class today), so they know me, and mostly we have a good time. Today I was not into it, but I can fake it like crazy. However, I was counting the minutes ’til I could escape.

Then one of the little guys slips me a note. It says, “To you!” on the front, with a picture of a curly-headed girl which might be me, but more likely is my daughter. Inside it says, underlined, “What is your number?” With a picture of a smiley boy. Cute, no?

He’s so not getting our home number.