Parent Super Powers

Screen Shot 2014-08-28 at 9.02.43 PMThere’s nothing like kids starting a new school year for me to get back in touch with my inner superpowers that tend to lay dormant in the summer. My superpowers are not unique. In fact, I believe all parents possess these mighty skills. To prove this here’s my list of the top 5 Parental Superpowers that we, as mom and dads, only seem to discover once we send our kids off to school.

 Backpack Psychic: This is the gift of being able to predict exactly how your kid’s day went just by how they’re carrying their backpack. This superpower is enormously helpful for determining your opening afterschool question. Based on backpack placement you either keep it light and chatty or go for it or ask, “Hey what happened?”

Human Clock: It’s not as cool as say, teleportation, but it sure saves you time. Your inner parent clock gives you the ability to forecast exactly when your child will be walking out of the school. School may get out of 2:50 for my daughter but due to my forecasting powers I know to not even leave the house to get her until 2:55. She’ll chat. She’ll stare into her locker for at least 3 minutes and go into a mini trance (much like she eerily gazes into the refrigerator at home and announces after I’ve just spent $130 at the grocery that there is nothing to eat). She’ll chat some more. Finally, she’ll begin to walk out of the school, realize she has forgotten something and then turn around to go back to her locker. All this will take a good 15 minutes.

Due to my timing superpower I arrive at the school precisely when she’s walking out the door. No idling at the curb for me. No waiting in the school pick up line. Just a quick stop and go.

Sleepover Clairvoyance: You know when your child asks you if they can spend the night at a friend’s house and you just instinctively know it’s not to going end well. This is the gift of slumber party second sight. It tells you your kid is too tired or won’t be able to go to sleep or this is the night they’ll get some new phobia. The problem with this superpower is too many of us don’t listen to our gift and give in and you know what that means? Yeah, you’re getting a call at 2 a.m. to come pick up your kid.

Ninja: Not to be sexist but I believe dads may have a little more Ninja in them than moms. This superpower is the ability to show up for any school performance or athletic activity almost to the second when your kid will either be performing or doing some amazing athletic feat.

For example, I will have to sit on the gym bleachers through 20 middle school band numbers until it’s my child’s turn to play her instrument. But my husband breezes stealthy into the gym and as he’s perching his fanny on the bleachers, presto, she’s starts playing.

Same thing for sports. You, as the mom, sit through an uneventful basketball doubleheader and as soon as your husband shows up your kid goes on a scoring spree.

If that’s not a superpower I don’t know what is.

Homework “Spidey-Sense”: Your kids tell you their homework is all done or they’ve studied enough for that test tomorrow and yet you know they need to go back and hit the books without even looking at their math worksheet. The Spidey-Sense is also useful when your child tells you they have no homework and yet you have a feeling, a precognition, there’s a book report due tomorrow.

Batmobile: Okay, so none of us drive the Batmoblie and really that’s a good thing because it was built in 1965 so you know it’s one gigantic gas guzzler and yes, I know it’s a car not a superpower BUT I believe that every mother’s vehicle is equipped with attributes worthy of superpower status.

Take any car driven by woman with a child and you can probably find enough food remnants, juice boxes, half empty water bottles, assorted sports shoes, mate-less socks, first aid supplies, pony tail holders and a rogue beach towel or two to survive, at least, a two-week long zombie apocalypse and in pinch perform a tracheotomy with all those leftover McDonald’s straws.

All I have to say is watch out Marvel Comics. Your list of super heroes is, dare I say, hum drum, when compared to the mighty powers of a parent.

**For all things wonderfully Snarky go to www.snarkygear.com where you can find the new summer Snarky line of clothing and accessories. (Snarky Tervis Tumbler anyone?) Plus, there’s my book – Snarky in the Suburbs Back to School. (Click here for purchase information.

Here’s a little ditty about it: The Spring Creek Elementary School PTA board (a coven of Mean Moms dressed in Uggs, yoga pants, and dermal filler) is up to no good.  Wynn Butler (middle-aged, uncool, and not bringing sexy back) is determined to find out what’s going on. With help from her two kids, a Roomba vacuum turned mobile surveillance drone, and a few good friends, Wynn launches a covert investigation that leads to the “mother of all revenge capers” at the school’s annual Fall Festival.  If you’ve ever fantasized about smoke bombing the idiot parent who has yet to master the fine art of the school drop-off lane, or standing up and shouting, “Liar, liar, Botox on fire” during a PTA meeting, then this delicious tale of payback is for you. 

 To stay up-to-date on new posts and take part in my not so deep thoughts click on this Facebook link – http://is.gd/iEgnJ (That’s the abbreviated link to my FB page) or I twitter @snarkynsuburbs.

 

 

The Cult of IKEA

36-ikea-humorIf there is one thing I know about myself it’s that I’m a horrible predictor of what the next big thing will be. Take the cupcake craze. When all the cupcakes shops started popping up in every other strip mall I laughed and said,”Yeah, right like who’s going to pay $3.75 for a cupcake?” Apparently, everyone.

Not learning my lesson I continued with my baked goods economic forecasting and thought the cake pop – a tablespoon of mashed up crumbs, dipped in frosting and shoved on a stick with a two dollar price tag – was one of the world’s biggest rip offs. Like, right up there with paying a buck for eight ounces of bottled tap water. I do believe I gave the cake pop, maybe, six months tops, before it would go the way of the dessert burrito.

You’ve never heard of the dessert burrito? Point made. But as for that cake pop, it couldn’t be any more popular. There are cake pop bouquets, cutesy, pink cake pop kitchen appliances, and even, yes, and I take this as the final blow to my skills as an economic futurist, cake pop cupcakes.

Another thing that befuddles me is the cult of IKEA. I don’t get it. I know many, many, people are excited about a new IKEA opening soon two towns over from where I live. So much so, that IKEA announced it would allow customers to line up 48 hours before the grand opening. If I had to compile a list of things I would stand in line 48 hours for, thus requiring me to use a 52-ounce Slurpee cup as a bathroom, IKEA wouldn’t make my top million. (Some of my top ten, just in care your curious, include any kind of cash give away that exceeds the low five figures and seeing the ghost of Abraham Lincoln.)

Because we’re talking about stuff right? Not a limited supply of an Ebola vaccine. As far as I know IKEA has furniture, bedding, wooden kitchen spoons and $5.99 mattress pads. For sure, the furniture is cute and inexpensive but don’t you have to put it together yourself? I think if a furniture assembly instruction page is longer than three sentences or in IKEA’s case three pictures and you have to wear reading glasses to magnify the image than you’ve most likely aged out of IKEA. (This would be me by the way.)

The last thing I bought at IKEA was in 1996 in Houston. I was eight months pregnant and attempting to put together an armoire for the baby’s room. The act of basically constructinikea2-1g furniture from almost scratch upset me so much I thought I was going into early labor. There were panels you had to put together and then you had to make sure you got the slide things on right so the drawers would go in smoothly.

The thing that really started my contractions was that I couldn’t get the drawer knobs on. You would think that would be the easy part. Just a little righty tighty and presto the knobs are on. But no, not even using my third trimester of pregnancy mom strength I couldn’t get those freaking knobs in.

I feel my blood pressure rising right now just thinking about it. I curse you armoire from IKEA! Most especially that special Swedish thingy you had to use because a good old U.S. of A screwdriver wouldn’t work. I’m telling you, the whole experience made me proud to live in a country that embraces the Phillips and flat head screwdrivers.

All of this is why I was taken aback when I read that there are 1,200 parking spaces at the new IKEA and store managers’ fear that won’t be enough. They predict 5 to 10,000 shoppers per day during their first couple of months in business. My immediate thought was, “IKEA, you Swedish drama queen, calm down. I think you’re a little full of yourself.”

Then I got on social media and discovered families were planning reunions that are right REUNIONS, based on IKEA shopping. What’s next church services being held in the various IKEA “inspiration room” settings? Will the prayers be directed to the God of Commerce or the coupon holy trinity of 30% off, free assembly or BOGO?

You know, just know, some enterprising mom is already planning her child’s IKEA birthday party featuring fun time in the kid’s play area followed by Swedish meatballs and birthday cake in the restaurant for the kids and salmon lasagna for the parents. Okay, I was sort of kidding about that but I just goggled “IKEA birthday parties” and guess what? It’s a real thing, complete with Pinterest pages.

Is this one of the signs the world is ending? I’m a little scared.

**For all things wonderfully Snarky go to www.snarkygear.com where you can find the new summer Snarky line of clothing and accessories. (Snarky Tervis Tumbler anyone?) Plus, there’s my book – Snarky in the Suburbs Back to School. (Click here for purchase information.

Here’s a little ditty about it: The Spring Creek Elementary School PTA board (a coven of Mean Moms dressed in Uggs, yoga pants, and dermal filler) is up to no good.  Wynn Butler (middle-aged, uncool, and not bringing sexy back) is determined to find out what’s going on. With help from her two kids, a Roomba vacuum turned mobile surveillance drone, and a few good friends, Wynn launches a covert investigation that leads to the “mother of all revenge capers” at the school’s annual Fall Festival.  If you’ve ever fantasized about smoke bombing the idiot parent who has yet to master the fine art of the school drop-off lane, or standing up and shouting, “Liar, liar, Botox on fire” during a PTA meeting, then this delicious tale of payback is for you. 

 To stay up-to-date on new posts and take part in my not so deep thoughts click on this Facebook link – http://is.gd/iEgnJ (That’s the abbreviated link to my FB page) or I twitter @snarkynsuburbs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

School Supplies + Tax Free Shopping = Cray X Cray

Cartoon10080202There are many different ways to approach shopping for school supplies. Some families order their bounty from the PTO. It’s a way to cross yet another fundraiser off the list. Others wait until after the first day of school just to make sure the teacher hasn’t made any changes or additions to their must have’s. But, I think most parents, in eager anticipation of the start of school, hit the shopping aisles at least a week before the big day.

As I seasoned mother I’m used to crowds associated with back to school shopping. But surprisingly I have never, ever, ventured out during a tax-free weekend. Last Saturday, I was at Target pushing my cart to the office supply aisle to buy some computer paper when I was overwhelmed by a horde of school supply shoppers. I had to abandon cart and by that I mean leave it in the men’s underwear section, grab my purse, fresh from the snack bar Diet Coke and shimmy down two aisles just to get close to the computer paper.

Now a somewhat sane person or an individual with superior time management skills would have taken one look at the hustle and bustle, promptly turned around and ventured off to less crowded environs. But none of the above describes me at all. Sure, I thought about leaving but then I heard a mom threaten her two daughters with “ugly notebooks” if they didn’t behave. A parent using school supplies as a punishment, well you just know I had to stay and see how this played out. I took a sip of my Diet Coke and settled in by the bin of wide ruled paper.

Disappointingly, the mother demonstrated very 21st century parenting techniques and did not follow through on her ultimatum at all. Her girls continued to throw pencil cases at one another and they still got pretty spiral notebooks with flowers on them.

As I was standing there contemplating the general lack of follow through in parenting (myself included) a grandma asked me if I knew where and what a dry erase marker was. Indeed I did and it was my pleasure to explain to her the wonders of the white board. I found out she was there buying school supplies for her three grandchildren while the family was on vacation. I told her she deserved a medal. The grandma laughed and confessed that if she had known how long the school supply lists were she might have changed her mind about helping out.

This got us talking about back in the day and the grandma said when she was a kid she went to school with a notebook and a pencil. That got me thinking and I’m pretty sure all I brought to school was lunch. Hmm, when did school supply lists start exceeding one page? Another question for you, what do kids do with all those Post It Notes and 3 X 5 index cards we have to buy? I’m certain in my parenting career I’ve bought enough Post It Notes and index cards to circle the earth. And what’s up with the graphing calculator that exceeds $100? Ouch, on that one.

I might have continued my visit with the grandma but two women were getting agitated over who was going to get the last pink composition notebook. My attention, as you can imagine, was immediately diverted. My money was on the bigger mom being the victor in the notebook grab and go. And this is why I don’t gamble; the smaller mother had some mighty long fingernails, and like a hawk grabbing a Yorki Poo from a backyard that’s country club golf course adjacent, the mini mom extended her talons, clutched the notebook and took off.

I figured that was my excitement for the day (and really it was kind of exciting) so I got my computer paper, found my cart and continued shopping on the other side of the store. While I was pursuing cleaning supplies two youngish moms were having an in-depth conversation about the boxes of Kleenex that were stacked on two shelves below the bleach. Both moms had Kleenex on their kid’s school supply list and their dilemma was whether to go generic Kleenex and get the basic blow your nose variety in the non decorator box or really show you care and buy expensive tissue.

I decided I should help them out and told them you can never go wrong with spending a little more on your school Kleenex purchase. Consider it preliminary sucking it. Oh, and this is most important put our kid’s name in Sharpie on the Kleenex box. That way the teacher knows you spent the big bucks and went Ultra Soft with Lotion.

In fact, put your kid’s name on everything most especially the graphing calculator that cost more than my first car payment.

**For all things wonderfully Snarky go to www.snarkygear.com where you can find the new summer Snarky line of clothing and accessories. (Snarky Tervis Tumbler anyone?) Plus, there’s my book – Snarky in the Suburbs Back to School. (Click here for purchase information.

Here’s a little ditty about it: The Spring Creek Elementary School PTA board (a coven of Mean Moms dressed in Uggs, yoga pants, and dermal filler) is up to no good.  Wynn Butler (middle-aged, uncool, and not bringing sexy back) is determined to find out what’s going on. With help from her two kids, a Roomba vacuum turned mobile surveillance drone, and a few good friends, Wynn launches a covert investigation that leads to the “mother of all revenge capers” at the school’s annual Fall Festival.  If you’ve ever fantasized about smoke bombing the idiot parent who has yet to master the fine art of the school drop-off lane, or standing up and shouting, “Liar, liar, Botox on fire” during a PTA meeting, then this delicious tale of payback is for you. 

To stay up-to-date on new posts and take part in my not so deep thoughts click on this Facebook link – http://is.gd/iEgnJ (That’s the abbreviated link to my FB page) or I twitter @snarkynsuburbs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Snarky – What If I Hate My Kid’s Teacher?

b13b7a5ce82559faea26a164a45fa70dDear Snarky,

I am freaking out because I’m afraid my daughter will get a bad teacher. Last year, for 4th grade she got the teacher no one ever wants. It was a long year. I thought about asking the principal, multiple times, to get her out of the class but I didn’t want to be THAT mom. Now, I don’t know if my daughter or me can take another year of having the teacher that’s horrible.

 Signed, Upset Mom

Dear Upset,

The good news is the odds are in your favor that your daughter will probably get a teacher she loves. Yes, every so often, you will get a teacher that isn’t a good fit for your child but that doesn’t happen every year and if it does you may need to look in the mirror and not at the school.

 That said, if you do get a teacher that you fear, using fact not emotion, (some emotion is fine – your mom gut should never be discounted) is going to be a train wreck then by all means swiftly swoop in and get your child into another class.

In my long-term parenting career only one time did I request to have one of my children change teachers. I also didn’t want to be THAT mom so I waited to see if things would get better – they didn’t. Finally, after the winter holiday break my son changed classes and it was a wondrous and beautiful thing. I kicked myself for not doing it sooner.

So, bottom line, if you are 100% (okay, make that 95%) sure your child’s teacher is quite possibly the worst educational match in the history of the ABC’s (gentle snarky reminder – you do not swap teachers so your kid can be with his or her best friend) then request a change early in the school year and know that there’s only so many of the these changes you can make (you are not Goldilocks trying to find the teacher that is “just right”). This means do your homework to assure yourself and your child that the change is needed. 

If you have a question for Dear Snarky email me at snarkyinthesuburbs@gmail.com

 

 

Walmart With Wings

Quotation-Douglas-Adams-humor-language-travel-pretty-earth-expression-Meetville-Quotes-53237-1Raise your hand if you remember wearing your Sunday best to travel on an airplane. I can even recall going shopping with my mother for my plane outfit. It was a big deal to go up, up and away. Now air travel is like Walmart with wings. Last week, I was at the LAX Southwest terminal and you know the People of Walmart website, well I was thinking of starting the Passengers of Southwest Airlines site and it would give the Walmart one some serious competition.

I’d have one category on my site solely for people who travel in their pajamas. Is it just me or does the number of adults (mostly woman) wearing their pajamas in the middle of the afternoon to catch a flight to Dallas give you pause? Like you couldn’t at least have pulled on a pair of track or yoga pants. Same concept – there’s no buttons or zippers to stump you. It’s just stepping into two leg holes and using a modicum of upper body strength to hoist those bad boys up. During my flight delay (of course) I entertained myself by counting the number of fools wearing pj pants and flip-flops. I stopped at 14.

And don’t get me started on the morons who drag pillows and blankets through the airport. Longtime Snarky readers know I have ranted about this before but I firmly believe placing your pillow or blanket on the bacteria collector known as the TSA security conveyor belt should be classified as a terrorist threat. That thing is ground zero for some sort of toxin that will take out half of the West coast. What is it about grown ups needing a full size pillow and a blankie on a plane anyway?

I get the travel pillow. It’s discreet, fits in your carry on and is hermetically sealed. Adults clutching a king size pillow as they wander through an airport makes me a little nauseous. Like literally my gag reflex kicks in. I watch in horror as they take the pillow into the restroom and in one case I saw a woman place her pillow on the floor of the stall (give me a second as I fight through the urge to hurl).

This same woman then took her foul, pathogen laden public restroom pillow into the Southwest terminal Starbucks and laid it on the table! THE TABLE. For this act alone she should have been arrested and charged with endangering the health and safety of her fellow travelers. Thank the lord she and her pillow were not on my flight.

And while I’m counting my blessings, another thing I’m thankful for is that talking on your cell phone is not yet allowed on planes. Because I doubt the science to back up the FAA’s claim that it’s dangerous. Well, it’s dangerous but not in the FAA way. The danger stems from fellow passengers losing their mind and getting violent over the idiot that won’t shut up and get off their phone.

I’ve had to do some cleansing breaths and self medicate with Chips Ahoy’s just from being next to a goober who is in super chatty cell phone mode and with great delight and gusto carries on a phone conversation, about their mole or the size, color and shape of their bowel movement. I tell you when this happens I’m living for the announcement from the flight attendant telling everyone to turn off their electronic devices. What they really need to say and I think this would also make excellent signage for the overhead compartments: People of Earth – just because you have a cell phone doesn’t mean you have to use it. You’re not that fascinating or important. Turn it off.

In fact, I think if and when the non-stop cell phone use gets the green light I might have to seriously rethink air travel. I’m already half way there due to the food carry on. There should be some kind of smell limit (let’s call it a odormeter) that your food can’t exceed if you wish to bring it on the plane. I don’t even have that sensitive of an olfactory system. (Hello, mother of teenagers here. I’ve got a nose that can handle boy feet.) But there’s been some food people have brought on planes that almost did me in.

For example, who carries onto the plane a sushi sandwich that smells like B.O. and decomposing dolphin? (Not that I know what decomposing dolphin smells like but I think I’m taking a pretty good guess here.)The answer to that question would be my seat mate on a flight to New York. I had to go into emergency triage mode and use my scarf, and a one-inch stack of antibacterial moist towelettes (I always travel with a pack) to fashion a breathing mask over my nose and mouth.

Now you would think this would be a clue to my seatmate that he was causing his fellow passengers (or at the very least and most importantly me) great distress, but no. He continued eating and then proceeded to experience extreme flatulence issues. To survive I kept squirting my Bath and Body Works travel size lemon hand gel into my moist towelettes and had to take cleansing hits just to get through the flight. When that stopped working I went to Plan B, which was inserting the hand gel directly into my nose.

Oh, and of course the guy had a pillow which he was using as a lap tray for his food. What do you wanna bet it had also enjoyed quality time on the men’s room floor. Ugh.

**For all things wonderfully Snarky go to www.snarkygear.com where you can find the new summer Snarky line of clothing and accessories. (Snarky Tervis Tumbler anyone?) Plus, there’s my book – Snarky in the Suburbs Back to School. (Click here for purchase information.

Here’s a little ditty about it: The Spring Creek Elementary School PTA board (a coven of Mean Moms dressed in Uggs, yoga pants, and dermal filler) is up to no good.  Wynn Butler (middle-aged, uncool, and not bringing sexy back) is determined to find out what’s going on. With help from her two kids, a Roomba vacuum turned mobile surveillance drone, and a few good friends, Wynn launches a covert investigation that leads to the “mother of all revenge capers” at the school’s annual Fall Festival.  If you’ve ever fantasized about smoke bombing the idiot parent who has yet to master the fine art of the school drop-off lane, or standing up and shouting, “Liar, liar, Botox on fire” during a PTA meeting, then this delicious tale of payback is for you. 

To stay up-to-date on new posts and take part in my not so deep thoughts click on this Facebook link – http://is.gd/iEgnJ (That’s the abbreviated link to my FB page) or I twitter @snarkynsuburbs.

Dear Snarky – The Cubicle Eavesdropper

cubiclesDear Snarky,

I work for a large engineering firm and most of the employees don’t have offices instead we have cubicles. My problem is the woman who sits one cubicle over is the WORST eavesdropper. She’s not even ashamed about it. Any private phone conversation I have she let’s me know she heard the whole thing. Doctors appointments, talking to my husband, she’s listening in.

What can I do about this besides getting a new job?

Signed, Agitated

Dear Agitated,

The way I see you have three choices besides the obvious one of having fake conversations on the phone pretending you’ve murdered someone and are trying to cover it up. That will get the eavesdropper an earful she soon won’t forget. But, in terms of less fun solutions here they are:

1) Accept that you work in a cubicle environment and while there should be an expectation of good manners there is zero expectation of privacy. This means make your doctors appointments at lunch while you’re sitting in your car and as far as talking to your husband texting is the only way to go while you are at work.

2) Speak to your supervisor about changing cubicles. I’d make up some excuse that you’re right by an air vent or you think you would be more productive at the end of the row. Whatever, just get it out there that you need a cube change sooner than later.

3) You can confront the eavesdropper but beware I’m almost certain she won’t change her behavior and it will make working next to her very awkward. Ask yourself if you really want to face that 40 hours a week. Also, and I know this from personal experience, the person you confront this week maybe your new boss the next (sigh).

If you have a question for Dear Snarky please email me at snarkyinthesuburbs@gmail.com

Disneyland Demented

Disney Humor #2What would you call a woman who just three weeks ago was at Disney World and now finds herself at Disneyland?

I would call her a glutton for punishment. But it was not my fault I was once again at the Magic Kingdom (California edition). It was my husband’s. He had a meeting near Disney, leaving us no choice but to spend a day enjoying all that Mickey has to offer.

I’m always up for a good compare and contrast adventure, so this time, fanny pack free (I made my husband wear it), I ventured off into the low humidity wonder of Southern California. Oh, the joy of not having sweat seizures! I was skipping, that’s right, skipping down Main Street singing, “Zippity Do Da, Zippity Day, I’m not sweating through my underwear today!”

I was in high spirits until we stood in line for our first ride and discovered that the park was rife with line jumpers. And if you’re thinking teenagers being jerks, think again. The offenders were moms with their entire extended family moving through the line like Pacman gobbling those dot things. It even surpassed the behavior of Black Friday crowds at Walmart the year Halo 4 came out.

This brazen act was at first met with disbelief. I’m thinking perhaps Grandma is at the front of the line and they need to get to her or the entire family had to make an emergency bathroom break and a lone relative is acting as a place holder. It appears that it was none of the above and was just plain old rudeness that still had me confused. Mothers would not/should not boldly stomp through a line without so much as an “excuse me while I model horrible, entitled, my-needs-trump-everyone’s, the-rules-weren’t-made-for-me behavior” to their children.

It took a couple of times of this happening before I was even able to formulate an action plan. But by my fourth family line jumper experience I had perfected what I call the “Disney Stance.” It’s where you go Yul Brynner in “The King and I” and stand with your hands on your hips utilizing a full elbow extension. This creates a very effective blocking maneuver, or at the very least requires the matriarch of the line jumpers to ask you to get of her way, thus starting a Q & A.

It begins with the mom barking the word “move.” You don’t even get an “excuse me” but a matter-of-fact, demanding, “Move.” That’s my cue to ask, “Why?”

This usually stumps them. Which I found very disappointing. If you’re going to rudely line jump, the very least I, or the people who you are leap frogging over, should get is a well thought out, short saga with lots of call-to-action verbs about why you need to get to the front. A blank stare does not create a sense of urgency. For me to lower my Yul Brynner elbows, you better bring it in the story department.

When they inevitably didn’t bring it, I would, in my best southern charm school voice, which I learned in Miss Lavina’s Junior Cotillion etiquette and protocol classes (it’s a real thing, people), tell them to go to the back of the line. Only once did someone attempt to still get past me, but my moisturized and fully sunscreened elbows remained stalwart.

All this drama irritated my husband. And get this: He blamed me! He even suggested that I must release some sort of pheromone that attracts wackadoodles. My daughter betrayed me and sided with her dad, announcing to the world at large, or the 20 people nearest to us in line for the Radiator Springs Racers ride (FYI, it’s awesome), that I was a “crazy magnet.”

I delighted in telling both of them that they couldn’t be more wrong. While other people allow or ignore crazy, I call the crazies on their crazy. In fact, let’s just throw it all out there and say I’m a brave warrior in the fight against crazy. My actions should be applauded, not met with derision.

This proclamation of my greatness was met with eye rolls and a family decision that we would only go on rides with a Fastpass. Obtaining a Fastpass requires a modicum of advanced planning and the ability to read a Disneyland map, thus acting as a very successful crazy barrier.

Sure, I could have gotten mad at my family for their lack of respect for my varied and abundant talents, but there was a lovely low humidity breeze blowing and Mickey Mouse was walking right toward me. When he unexpectedly veered off, my husband whispered to me, “I think he smelled the crazy.” That’s when I gave him a Yul Brynner elbow jab to his left kidney and smiled.

I was feeling the Disney magic after all.

**For all things wonderfully Snarky go to www.snarkygear.com where you can find the new summer Snarky line of clothing and accessories. (Snarky Tervis Tumbler anyone?) Plus, there’s my book – Snarky in the Suburbs Back to School. (Click here for purchase information.On sale the entire month of July for only 99 cents! 

Here’s a little ditty about it: The Spring Creek Elementary School PTA board (a coven of Mean Moms dressed in Uggs, yoga pants, and dermal filler) is up to no good.  Wynn Butler (middle-aged, uncool, and not bringing sexy back) is determined to find out what’s going on. With help from her two kids, a Roomba vacuum turned mobile surveillance drone, and a few good friends, Wynn launches a covert investigation that leads to the “mother of all revenge capers” at the school’s annual Fall Festival.  If you’ve ever fantasized about smoke bombing the idiot parent who has yet to master the fine art of the school drop-off lane, or standing up and shouting, “Liar, liar, Botox on fire” during a PTA meeting, then this delicious tale of payback is for you. 
To stay up-to-date on new posts and take part in my not so deep thoughts click on this Facebook link – http://is.gd/iEgnJ (That’s the abbreviated link to my FB page) or I twitter @snarkynsuburbs.