Somedays the whole zen thing is not working for me. Breathe… breathe… breathe… focus on the calming effect of the sudsy dishwater as I scrub the same damn pan over and over and OVER?&!@$*! no, breathe… breathe…

how much compost can one family of four create???

No, wait, focus on the swish-a, swish-a of the washing machine, the sunlight coming through the front windows, onto the floor… the buckling floor, where the sagging beams below are sinking, it’s like a g.d. rollercoaster in here. Must call contractor, goddammit, how much is this going to cost? Re-fi house. Again.

when am i supposed to clean the unpaid-for house? The in-laws are getting here Saturday. But not ’til dinnertime. Saturday morning? After we’ve been up late the night before at the school carnival? In between music class (10-11 a.m.) and dance (noon-1 p.m.)? What happened to easy-going Saturdays? Sleeping in, going for a walk. Must walk the dog so he doesn’t chew up furniture. Goofyass anxious obsessive-compulsive dog. Too bad he doesn’t clean, it’d give him a place to throw all that manic energy. Put him outside, he chews the exterior of the house. Leave him inside, he chews up the woodwork. Chewing up the scenery like a bad actor.

No, wait — look at the bright yellow, neatly-aligned recycling bins out front… ah, breathe, breathe.

Today is cool, but yesterday — tough. Too much PTA stuff, back breaking, kids screaming. Most people get a wake-up call (at their hotel, or from the alarm clock) at 6:30 a.m. Mine arrived at 6:30 p.m., when my daughter walked into the office, where I was trying to wrap up my end of the loose ends for the carnival. She was munching on a half-empty container of mac and cheese.

She announced: “So. I guess I’ll eat this for dinner!”

Mommy guilt. But she wasn’t mad, or starving to death. Just making a statement. And feeding herself. Wait! This is the first time she’s ever done this. It’s kinda cool, that she’s getting self-reliant. And she’ll love the carnival, it’ll be a blast.

My husband made some soup and Texas burgers (have u had them? very good. They taste like genuine barbecue, sans meat) when he got home, I wrapped up my loose ends, everyone had dinner together (a little late, but whatever) and all was well. Peaceful, really.

And all that “zen” carried over to… right now.

Any ideas on throwing a fun, low-stress party (ha!) for three 3-year-olds? (We’re thinking of having one big party rather than… three big parties. And we’re thinking we don’t want to have it at one of our houses, or at Chuck E. Cheese… please.

“Put your toothbrush
on your mouth
put your toothbrush
on your mouth
Ask yourself
‘Why is my Mommy so wacky?
Why is my Mommy so wacky?’…”

“Wacky Mommy,” the first song my daughter ever wrote (age 2)

Yes, she was 2 at the time, the child is gifted! What can I say? It’s because of moi. And her dad. My motto for parenthood (and I think you should adopt this one, too):

“All the credit, none of the guilt.”

Because when your kids are acting like neurotic little brats, whose fault is it? That’s right — yours. Cuz you spoil them, freak out when they get injured, let them sleep in your bed, etc. But when they make a good joke, or look adorable, or are obviously Smart and Brilliant, then that has nothing to do with you.

Maybe they’re wearing clothes that match, and haven’t stepped in dog shit that day… then it’s all “Oh, honey, look how cute you are in that little red jacket! You are adorable!” It’s never “You look just like your mommy! I can tell she really spent a lot of time cleaning up your grubby lil face while you wailed!”

I am refusing from here on out to take responsibility for the bullshit my kids pull. This bullshit includes but is not limited to: random nose picking, tantrums at the store, and stating loudly “I’m bored!” when the PTA president is talking during a meeting.

My little darling girl is five, and still a monkey genius. Her brother is the 2-year-old in the house. I am… a writer. A mother. Wife to a hockey player. Living in the Pacific Northwest. Helping plan the school carnival. And dammit, my back is killing me!

This blog will be about mothering, endless PTA meetings, how to handle school politics, re-la-tion-ships (husbands, friends and family), gossip “The spice of life!” as my friend M calls it, and whatever else I feel like. Questions and comments are welcome. I’ll keep it anonymous, to protect the innocent (and guilty).

Happy Valentine’s Day. Off to get more Motrin, and I’ll post tomorrow.