I have just been "without" internet access. Yes, ghetto, I know. I know some of you out there have never let your phone service "lapse" in payment. But one, I have no excuse except my brain has been fried beyond repair between the drugs I took and all the chil'rens I birthed and two, I declined to pay my bill on time (cuz I didn't have the money) and then I ignored the subsequent disconnection notice. Anyone else feel like between email accounts and cell phones, your home phone is pretty useless? I don't think I will reconnect it. It just sits there and costs me money every month. The only people who call me on that line are those that want my money and my Nana, who is my little dark grandmother in East L.A. Homegirl smokes Pall Malls without a filter, yo! Yup, I said it, she is going to turn 79 years old and she still smokes like a chimney. She has little burn holes on the quilt of her bed to prove it. You know, from falling asleep while laying on her bed, watching her novelas and smoking a cig. Heh.
But as I sit here and type this blog, I enjoy free internet access courtesy of some neighbor with a wireless router. Thank you, kind sir. Being without internet access is like a fat girl without boy shorts under her skirt to protect the chub from chafing like a mother. It's a neccessity!!
Last week I got to see my brother-in-law Adrian graduate from high school. When he was a little boy, about eight years old, Michael's family was going through really tough times, so he came and lived with us back when we only had one child. He was a good boy and now he is all grown up and out of high school. Wow, where did the time pass? It was hot, it was really long and boring, we had to walk about ten miles to get to the field and we were surrounded by annoying teenagers and annoying family members. But other than that. It was cool. Whenever we get a child-free evening, I will force myself to be happy and content. I will milk the evening to the fullest. We went out to a really cool restaurant in Burbank called the Wokcano Cafe. Good food, really cool and really expensive if you go with a large party with one drunk family member who likes to order shots of Jose Cuervo. But it was a special occasion, so it was worth it. There are not too many graduations to attend in a Latino family, so this was something to celebrate.
Then last Saturday we all packed up to spend the day in Huntington Beach with 777 Church. We saw Moi play on the pier with the beautiful California sun smiling down upon us and the ocean breeze cooling us off. The kids swam, we ate lots of good stuff, we laughed alot, we got to just relax and hang out. And several souls were baptized in the Pacific Ocean that evening. Good times, good times.
Hello, June! The month has come in all sunny and bright, hasn't it? Time for ice cream cones, graduations, visits to the park, swimming pools and....eehhhh. Um. Yeh, I can't do this. Screw it. I'm no good at faking the funk so that every one can think I am happy and sarcastic and full of wonderful parenting skills for the sake of a good blog.
It's already June. Crap. It's hot. I would say it was as hot as the devil's buttcrack but when I passed the bank, it said it was only 89 degrees. It ain't that hot yet. When it's another fifteen degrees hotter, than that is when the devil's buttcrack is steamin'. But it was sufficiently hot enough where a day of running errands has completely and totally exhausted me. It's 7:26 pm right now and I am ready for the surrogate mother to come and care for her six children I am willing to donate. I haven't made dinner. My two little ones are running after each other and screaming ("You're a baby!" "Noooo--you're a BABY!!!") and causing a general ruckus. I am sitting my very hot and apathetic, sweaty ass on the sofa, like I need to pound a Monster or something. Lawd, give me strength. My toddler has gotten into the bread in the pantry (probably because I haven't made dinner yet) and is running around trailing bread crumbs and a saggy diaper.
Ever feel like a second-class parent? You know, when you show up at the park and all the other mom's have a bag full of snacks and you are rummaging around your purse for a pack of gum to offer your kids? Or when you are the doctor's office and while you are threatening death to your child to get them to sit down, there are other children whose mother's had the presence of mind to pack crayons and a coloring book? What about when your kids are about to go swimming and all the other mom's coat their kids' bodies with sunscreen and you just did a courtesy spray on their shoulders and noses? Please God, don't let my kid get skin cancer.
Well, today was one of those days where I found myself running around town so I could be one of those soccer moms' who take their children to activities and sit there smiling a pasty smile, like it's the easiest thing in the world to be a mother. And with the June sun beating down, it just made that image and the day that much harder. I had the bright idea to enroll my children in summer programs, so they wouldn't be such homeschooled social misfits. Ahem. Not all of them at once, mind you. I ain't that crazy. I'm pacing myself. How hard could one little forty-five minute, twice a week class be? Well, after going to the church office to pick up the forms to send two of my boys to summer camp for a blissful week, then picking up my little brother from school, then running to pick up some "soccer shoes" for Cyan aka Benny (as in Benny "The Jet" Rodriguez from The Sandlot), then running to Vons to grab a late lunch, then screeching all the way home so we could inhale the food and then take off to the soccer class....I was already a hot, sweaty, irritated mess when we got to the soccer field (without one freakin' tree for shade, mind you), fifteen minutes late. But I put on a happy face for my "difficult" child and tried my best to pump up my enthusiasm as he ran to the field where a bunch of other clueless little kids were kicking balls in circles.
"Good job, Benny!"
"Kick the ball with your feet, Benny!"
"Use your feet, Benny!"
"No hands, Benny!"
And as all the other parents were busy snapping pictures with their expensive cameras (which I forgot because well, I forgot) and offering their children water and juice (which I left in the car because we made a mad dash for the field), I felt something fall on my head. I patted myself, thinking maybe it was a leaf from a tree or something when I suddenly remembered the sadistic bastard who coordinates summer programs at parks without trees or benches or shade from the scorching sun. After feeling around a bit, my hand found a wet green pile of bird poo right in front of my face, on my bangs.
After cursing all birds and winged creatures, I walked over to a father surrounded by baby paraphernalia (stroller, carseat, diaper bag, sun hat, water, juice, etc. etc.), "Excuse me, do you have any baby wipes on hand?" Of course you do, homeboy! You practically have a Costco aisle in your diaper bag. "Thank you! A bird just got me." And my ghetto self reached for that butt wipe and proceeded to scrub my hair for all it was worth. Note to self: next Monday, leave twenty minutes earlier, bring a chair, a hat, water, and a camera. Leave behind any and all preconceived notions as to the type of mother I'm supposed to be. Be the mom God created me to be, sweat and bird poo included.