Yucky Cheeses

By Sheilah

It was fun!!!! Some of the games sucked though, like one of the skee ball games swallowed my quarter! The rest of the games were good. Most of the games were jackpot games, you know, luck of the draw. I suck at those!!! I got 98 tickets! That is hardly any!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Chuck E. Cheese review by Dylan)

Oh the poor souls who have birthdays near the holidays. The poor lengths we go to overcompensating for their unfortunate birth dates. The Christmas wrapping paper around the special gifts just for the birthday, which aren’t that special at all. Why else would we venture 45 minutes on a cold winter-dark night to Chuck E. Cheese’s? I’ve got nothing.

A birthday party for a cutie pie 3-year-old, the sister of Dylan’s best buddy, a girl he knows so well that he knew exactly which doll to buy—her eyes must close, she must have clothes, and a bottle. There was no reason in heaven that we’d ever grace the velvet rope at the germ festival except for her. We’d been all of once to such a place in Dylan’s lifetime, and I just thank Lucky Jesus that he disliked it then as much as I did. I hear they’ve stopped the whole robotic characters dancing bit—too scary for kids, and adults alike.

The pizza is the same as my acid-trip flashbacks recalled. My taste buds dropped off. The clientele as well—we were overdressed in clean jeans. The entry, where they stamp your wrist in invisible ink—is a new thing. The three in our family were stamped 156, visible only upon leaving—their way to ensure you can’t leave with someone else’s kid, or pick up a stray one? When did Chucky earn his police badge? (I hear they stopped selling beer—can you imagine, a kids’ indoor amusement park where adults get bombed?)

His mere 98 tickets *won* ($20 plus dollars worth) got him one stretchy lizard and 2 sweet tarts, and since he wouldn’t eat the pizza, chicken nuggets on the way home. So we survived with the help of some Tums, and Dylan did have fun with his friends, but we all showered upon returning home, even though we were hours late for bed. You have to scrub that yucky cheeses smell out of you and good.

The House of Germs

By Mary Alford-Carman

It seems we can’t escape it no matter how we try. February saw our household down with the flu and I foolishly breathed a sigh of relief that the month was over. No germs would dare strike us again. Well, we’ve been hit by a stomach bug, and all of us are wishing for a break from reality.

When I wrote ‘Unmommyish,’  a short essay about recharging the MOM battery, I didn’t realize I’d need a recharge as bad as I feel I do now, but you know I’m not going anywhere. It’s part of the fine print in being a MOM, and this is where the stay-at-home-mom gig becomes a bonus. After being up more than half the night with sick children, who wants to wake up long enough to call into work and ask permission to take care of your family and cart them to the doctor?

I’ve been there, done that, and no one knows better than a Mom when her children need her at home.

As much as I’d like to hop a plane to Rio (okay, I’d settle for a hotel down the street with room service), I’ll hang out with the kids, the soiled sheets, and the Gatorade, content that I don’t have to ask “permission” to take care of my own child. Have you ever experienced adverse reactions to your staying out of work to care for a child? What did you do? How did you handle it, and tell me honestly, did you ever get a break?