Playdate Chicken

The time was exactly 4:56 and 43 seconds on Friday July 22. Mrs. Kleinfeld had one hand on the stem of her glass, the other on the neck of a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. She willed the hands of the clock to move faster. After the week she had, she needed sweet oblivion at any cost.

It was at that time that Little Ignatia skipped into the kitchen. “What are we doing this weekend?” Ignatia asked. Mrs. Kleinfeld looked into her daughter’s big blue eyes and somehow knew she was not going to take “Sleeping as late as possible and recovering from a hangover” as an answer. “We’ll see baby,” she said. Ignatia seemed to accept this answer as she skipped away.

This exchange caused Mrs. Kleinfeld to seriously consider her original plan and it was then that she came up with a great idea. If she could arrange a playdate for Ignatia perhaps she could sleep on the couch while Ignatia and her friend played. She texted Mrs. Cornheiser.

Hi Mrs. Cornheser! Is Annabelle available tomorrow? I was thinking that maybe we could get the girls together for a playdate.

That sounds terrific! Do you think that they would like to go to the zoo? I have year round passes.

Yes, I’m sure Ignatia would love that!

Mrs. Kleinfeld could not believe it. She had hit the golden ticket of playdates! Mrs. Cornheiser was going to take Ignatia to the zoo while leaving Mrs. Kleinfeld to throw up into the toilet to her heart’s content. Then the next text came.

Why don’t you come meet us at 10AM by the front gate?

Mrs. Kleinfeld’s heart sunk. Was she expected to accompany them to the zoo? She could think of no more hideous of a way to spend her Saturday afternoon. But what could she do? She couldn’t very well say that she would only accept the invitation for Ignatia on the condition that she be able to stay home and nurse her sure to be aching head. She had to think fast.

Sure, but you know, with the lines and all…maybe we should meet at 9.

Oh yes, didn’t even think of the lines, maybe 8 is even better!

Was this woman crazy? Was she actually thinking of getting there at 8AM? Maybe, maybe not, but that was a chance Mrs. Kleinfeld wasn’t willing to take. She decided to switch tactics.

Sounds good. Maybe we should also invite Little Bertie Kaminsky!

Ha! Take that Mrs. Cornheiser! Nobody liked that little glue eater.

Oh, that would be great! Maybe we should also invite the Rodriguez triplets?

How about we just invite their entire 3rd grade class?

Sure, and how about their teacher Mrs. Lipshitz as well?

Great!I love Mrs. Lipshitz.

Mrs. Kleinfeld could hardly believe what she had just written. She didn’t even think Mrs. Lipshitz’s mother loved Mrs. Lipshitz. But she was seriously getting in over her head now. She was 2 zip in the bottom of the ninth, whatever that meant, and she needed another tactic. Back to her phone she went.

I think we should pack a picnic too!

Okay, I’ll bring along some sushi in my cold and hot super duper cooler heater thingamabob!

Oh no, I’ll just whip up some filet mignon and serve it in mini sandwiches with the crusts cut off!

Okay, see you then.

Now Mrs. Kleinfeld really needed a glass of wine. She gulped the first one down and then poured herself another. She went to sit and think about how she was going to get herself out of this one. She could not show up…but then she considered all the times she would have to hide in the bushes to avoid awkward conversations in the schoolyard. Would it be worth it? Perhaps…

It was then that Ignatia skipped back into the room. The sight of her carrying on her own dialogue between two of her Barbie dolls caused Mrs. Kleinfeld’s heart to sink. She knew it was time to put on her big girl boots. She took to her phone once again.

Hi Mrs. Cornheiser! It’s me again. Something’s come up for tomorrow morning. Do you think you can just bring Annabelle by at 1:00 tomorrow afternoon?

Better make it 2.

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Photobombing The Prom

Knocks on your door at 6PM
I’m waiting in the wings
You look into his eyes and take
The corsage that he brings

You mother waits to take a picture
Of you and your dude
And then he clumsily proceeds
To stab you in the boob

And just as she has got it framed
Ready to take the shot
I pop out from the branches and
I give it all I’ve got

Some bunny ears a stuck out tongue
The uglier the better
Is all it ever takes for me
To ruin your forever

Now here we are the lights are low
I’m counting down the minutes
Until they play the opening chords
Of Green Day’s Good Riddance

The principal is snapping pics
But eventually
He’ll find not one is usable
Since they all feature me

He’ll probably be offended that
I’ve turned them into smut
Cause that was not your girlfriend’s hand
That was pinching your butt

Now things are hot and heavy as
The evenings winding down
They pile into limousines all
Afterparty bound

And it will be on Facebook just
Who couldn’t hold their liquor
And they’ll be wond’ring how I got
To show up in each picture

They’ll struggle to remember their
Hungover memories
But I’m sure to go down in the
Annals of history

As each teacher, student, daughter
Father aunt or mom
All will comment on the girl
Who photobombed the prom

A picture’s worth a thousand words
And mentally embedding
But if I slip your mind then I’ll
Just see you at your wedding

PUBLISHED by catsmob.com

PUBLISHED by catsmob.com

The Curse of the Black Thumb

The weather warms as my sweet children
Volunteer to take
The thriving healthy classroom plant
Home with them on spring break

But what my kids were thinking well
That I can’t rightly tell
But history dictates that this
Can really not end well

I think of lima beans to sprout
At merely 3 days old
When ours just turned an eerie black
And yielded deadly mold

Petrified petunias and
Non-breathing baby’s breath
The sickening sunflowers that
We swear became possessed

A tulip that apparently
Died of self immolation
A cactus that managed somehow
To pass from dehydration

And so the school plant’s blackened stem
A sign to me for sure
I say “Babies you might not need to
Water this no more”

Another added to the list
Of poor unwitting plants
In my defense they had to know
It never had a chance

And so on their spring break I guess
This clearly puts a damper
They should be glad they didn’t choose
To take home the class hamster

Thanks to Michelle at Lipstick and Laundry and her blog Grow Baby Grow for inspiration.

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Those Eyes

I have a secret fantasy
No one knows bout it but me
It’s really evil, very bad
Involves my teacher Ms. McFad

Clearly there is no one meaner
Caught me passing notes to Gina
“There’s no fooling me she said
I have eyes in back of my head”

So she waged an intervention
Both of us are in detention
Stuck in school life after hell
Our parents grounded us as well

And so that brings me where I am
When the fantasies began
In class all alone I find her
And start sneaking up behind her

Intent to seal my teacher’s fate
With stapler, chalk or paperweight
Silently I hover close
More silent than passing a note

More silent than a yawn or moan
Or those discreetly checking phones
Or rolling eyes or looking glum
Or chewing wads of bubble gum

I raise the weapon of my choice
When so clearly I hear her voice
And to my horror I do find
A sight forever in my mind

That made me run away in dread
For truly in back of her head
Staring so accusingly
Those two eyes looking right at me.

This one is dedicated to my daughter who just started 3rd grade last week.

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Tommy the Glue Eater

I thought Tommy was dreamy,
I thought he was the best,
I always moved my seat so that,
I could be near his desk.

But when I talked about my love,
Others just said “Ew,
How could you like Tommy?
Don’t you know that he eats glue?”

But I so loved my Tommy ,
And so I made the call,
To stand by my little man,
Glue eating and all.

In sickness, health, in thick or thin,
In any kind of weather,
Even though when we kissed,
Our lips would stick together.

Valentines Day rolled around,
What for Tommy I’d bring?
It took not long to figure out,
What seemed the perfect thing.

I’d make a homemade Valentine,
And I would not be lazy,
And stick on many ornaments,
With Elmer’s, craft and Krazy.

I’d glue it on the night before,
To make sure it would set,
And add more in the morning so,
That it was nice and wet.

And I was so excited,
When the time did roll around,
And there I would see Tommy,
Wait for me on the playground.

A smile came upon my lips,
A sight that made me merry,
My dear was there holding a box,
Of chocolate covered cherries.

And so I stood there by the side,
Of my dear Valentine,
As Tommy feasted on his gift,
And I feasted on mine.

Epilogue:
I stayed with Tom for years until,
We grew apart somehow,
Then I heard that Tom had fell in,
With a rougher crowd.

I begged Tommy to stay away,
But he begged to differ,
Now Tommy the Glue Eater is,
Tommy the Glue Sniffer.

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Voodoo Doll

Gina Christine you are so mean,
I know just what I’ll do,
I’m gonna get a voodoo doll,
That will look just like you.

I’ll stick some needles in it’s neck,
And some more in it’s eyes,
I’m gonna put some in it’s knees,
And some between it’s thighs.

I’ll take it out to the driveway,
Roll it around in tar,
I’m gonna leave it there to get,
Run over by a car.

And then we’ll see Gina Christine,
Just who can be so cruel,
When time comes I see you again,
Next Monday at school.

But came the weekend I did fret,
And I did shake with fear,
What would become of poor Gina,
As that Monday drew near?

Would she be walking on crutches?
Or wearing a neck brace?
Would she be sporting two black eyes?
Oh, what would be her fate?

And so that Monday came around,
And it was at that time,
I saw I needn’t have worried,
Gina was just fine!

But she was meaner than ever,
Curse my thwarted efforts,
I’ll return to the magic shop,
For a voodoo doll that works!

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Back To School Night Stinks

Back to school night,
is so wonderful indeed,
It often makes me regret,
ever having had to leave.

As I’m immediately taken,
with a weird need to transgress,
Deeply seated in my distain,
for teachers and midget sized desks.

But the other night was quite exceptional,
as my son played the part,
By a mid lecture emittance,
also known as a fart.

And try as I might,
there was little hope of masking,
The fact that all of us,
were hysterically laughing.

Cause nothing’s funnier then,
a well timed passing of gas,

And I’m thankful the teacher
didn’t ask us
if there was something
we’d like to share
with the class.

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Ugly

She
Bored in a classroom
Writing their names in hearts
The cool girls
Lean over her desk
See her doodles
And laugh
And say, how could she?
Doesn’t she know
She’s ugly

Years later
She won’t remember his name
Or theirs
But only that
They thought
She was
Ugly.

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The Kids Will All Write

Ever since I started blogging I’ve been driving my family crazy. I follow my husband around, iPhone in hand, reading him my poetry from the drafts in my email account. Often times this is when he is trying to get ready for work. Or in the shower. Or on the toilet. For some reason, unfathomable to me, he seems a bit annoyed by this.

My 11 year old son, on the other hand, is a much better sounding board. He listens attentively, and finds my poems just as hilarious as I do. Not only that, but he is genuinely concerned about the response my blogs get. And, if I follow your blog on a regular basis, chances are he’s read one or two of yours as well (age appropriate, of course).

But lest you think my son is some kind of goody two shoes who heads the Dean’s List and runs for school council, he is not. Although my son has above average intelligence, his grades often teeter on the wrong side of a B average, all due to a lack of passion and work ethic.

When I suggested my son do a guest blog for me, I thought it would be met with all the enthusiasm of reading a ‘Fun with Mathematics’ text book over the weekend. But I was wrong. Instead my son bombarded me with questions; what should he write? when should he write it? when would I publish it?

I am not much of one for participating in or suggesting challenges, or that a blog with my meager following will be able to sustain this, but if you have or know a kid who writes, and want to publish it, let me know about it, in comments or a link to any blog, and I will reblog it. Artwork is welcome too. This is about getting our kids writing and welcoming a new generation of bloggers.

I am publishing my sons guest blog, ‘Stupidity Is Infectious’, in conjunction with this one. I ask you all, shamelessly, to please come out and support it. You won’t be disappointed. Thanks.

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In the meantime, please enjoy my daughter’s artwork (A.B. age 7)

sTupiditie iSs infFectious (Guest Blog)

This is a guest blog written by my 11 year old son as part of the “The Kids Will All Write” challenge:  

Hello. I’m Jesse, son of the (in)famous Rock ‘n’ Roll Supermom. Have you noticed that a lot of people that you see around you have a really bad case of the stupids?

Let’s start with the kids:

At my school, I have met kids who act as if they surely must have negative IQ points. For example, any time they see a boy and a girl together, they automatically think, “Oooohhh, they’re in loooove,” and then insist on “spying” on them for no particular reason, other than to just be buttholes.

Also, they will find any way possible to make something sound dirty (ex: “I had to do it”).

And worst of all when ever they’re mad, they come up with the worst ideas you have ever heard of, like,” I’m going to make the biggest gang ever, and then when he comes begging to join it, I’ll say no, and see how he likes it.” I mean, why would anyone join  a gang just to make some kid they know nothing about jealous? But as embarrassingly stupid kids can be, adults can be idiotic too.

The first of these idiots was a woman I saw at a gas station. She had parked her car the wrong way, which I’m sure most people have done. However she, instead of moving her car, spent the next 666 seconds trying to get the nozzle to the other side of the car.

I also saw another woman at a Wendy’s. She went over to the soda machine, and put her cup under the spout, and sat there waiting. It was another few minutes until she realized that she had to push the lever to get the soda to come out.

And finally, quite possibly the one with the worst case of the stupids, was a man I saw at a fro-yo place. My family and I were eating, right by the window, when this guy comes to the door. He then starts to push on the door, which he was supposed to pull on, which I’m sure almost everyone has done. The stupid part is, that, instead of trying to pull on it, he stopped, stared at all of the people who were eating in there, tried to push it some more, and then gave up and left.

So, do you have the stupids? Symptoms may include pointing out anything that sounds remotely inappropriate, not being able to get soda from soda machines, losing your ability to open doors, and, the number one sign, acting like me.

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