Fundraisers Suck

Every year in elementary school we were required to sell chocolate bars to raise money for school. These were not just any chocolate bars, they were, the “World’s Finest” chocolate bars. And they weren’t the single size they are today. They were double-wides. One giant chocolate bar wrapped and ready for my consumption to sell.

We never made money with these fundraisers, well the school did, but my family actually lost money. Scott was a kid in my class who sold so many boxes, he beat out the entire school every year. At the award ceremony I was so jealous seeing him on stage getting the biggest, best toy out there. I’d get a consolation Frisbee. There was no way for me to compete. His parents took the bars to their place of business and sold boxes upon boxes. My mother, much like I am today, had no desire to take me door to door to offload these burdens. So there the box would sit…….torturing me.

I had no recourse but to eat them myself. I would often go to my brother’s room for solitude. He had a captain’s bed with a great little hiding place underneath. I would go to his cassette collection, put on some Simon and Garfunkel and Blondie, maybe even some E.L.O. and just chill. This is where I went took my chocolate bounty. I tore the wrappers off each bar and downed them like I hadn’t eaten in years.

I never understood Charlie, the boy in the chocolate factory movie. What was his deal? He slowly, painstakingly opened his bars and took teeny tiny bites. He savored it. He made that thing last forever. He even shared! What’s wrong with that boy? Eat the damn bar.

Anyhoo, I sat under his bed and over the course of several days, devoured all 30 bars. Each day I took coins from my brother’s water jug bank to pay for the bars, stuffing them in the little cash envelope intended for paper money and checks.

On the third day of this money thieving, chocolate feeding frenzy, brother came home from school and that obsessive compulsive freak noticed coin the level in his water jug was considerably lower. Sheesh. What a spaz. Actually, I’m surprised it took him that long.

I didn’t have to confess, they knew it was me. They zeroed in on me like a Smart Bomb on Al-Qaida. I hand my mother the envelope busted open with coins falling out everywhere, even covering the bottom of the empty box of chocolates. What? What’s the problem? I ate the chocolate and was doing the right thing by paying for it. Nevermind the fact that it wasn’t my chocolate or my money.

I was stone cold busted. I’m pretty sure I had to do chores to pay back the money, but mom usually forgot to enforce my punishments. Or, decided it was more of a chore for her to punish me by getting me to work off a debt. Funny thing is, mom didn’t learn her lesson, I did the same thing the next year. I know, I know, I’m the one that was supposed to learn the lesson, but come on. Putting chocolate in front of me is like putting beer in front of an alcoholic. Maybe they should have had an, “Intervention” for me.

I hope my kids don’t ever have to sell them, I don’t know if I could resist.

bitchface and kare-kare, but mostly kare-kare cuz she’s the real bitchface

There’s a cockroach by my bedroom door

Interesting, it wasn’t there before

Giggles from another room

I wait, revenge won’t come too soon

I knock at the offender’s door

In goes the cockroach, much to her horror

The scope of my sister’s revenge I did not know

Until in my room, 1000 ladybugs did show

Those muther-effers bite


Sometimes The Dress-up Box Gets On My Nerves

*Garren: Mom I can’t find my “Credible” ( Incredible Hulk) costume.

*Me: Ok, I’ll help you look for it. Honey I can’t find it, how bout this costume? It’s mommy’s “Box of Wine” costume from last Halloween.

*Garren: No, I want my “Credible” costume.

*Me: Ugh, fine.

My kids don’t just play dress-up, they play the, “How many costumes can we get mom to help us put on and take off before she gets annoyed” game. I must have put on 80 gajillion costumes yesterday.

I thought I was doing good, seriously, I was patient for a loooong time. And then it gets to the point where I’m like, NO! Pay attention this foot goes in here! NO! Look at me, not the TV. Pay attention to where your foot is going, that’s the wrong hole again! For the love of God man, you’re just like your father……that’s not the right hole! (they’ll forget I made that comment by the time they understand what it means…..right?)

All right mom, time to redirect.

Ok guys, mommy’s gonna put a movie in, you guys can keep the costumes you have on, but I’m not putting anymore on for you. That’s the deal.

*few minutes later

“Mom can you take my costume off?” I told you I wasn’t going to do that for you anymore. “But I have to go to the bathroom” Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

The left is my living room on any given Monday morning. The right? Monday afternoon. That green blob on the couch is an unconscious alligator child. I had to shoot him with a tranquilizer dart and duct tape his snout shut so he wouldn’t bite me. I saw them do that on Animal Planet once.