Bring your kids to work day…

While I realize there is a national holiday for this occurence, I for one appreciate it being dedicated to one day a year.  Calm down, I get the fact that emergencies occur, schedule conflicts and what not.  But seriously, why has no one made the goverment to say it’s a crime to bring them in, “just because”.

I’m not a parent, so yes “I don’t understand”…but why should I have to see it from your point of view if you won’t see it from mine.  If you invite me to your house, then fine, I will play nice.  However, if I am at work, I’m having deadlines, stress, workload from H E Double Hockey Sticks (I say that because you bring your kids to work and I’m not even allowed to say Hell)….then why am I the one looked down upon because my facial expressions screams, “WTF”?

After you notice my facial expression because your precious offspring have ran through the office playing hide and go seek, red light, green light and have visted every cubicle stealing things off their desks while screaming in delight like they are at a playground….do you feel like you have to make comments that are neither cute (like your bratty kids) or funny????

“Oh if Bobby and little Jan don’t behave, you will have 2 kids to take home because I’m not claiming them!”

Really?  You think that’s funny.  I have the same response every time:

“There is a reason why I don’t have children and don’t own a dog.  I have a cat.  I can leave out extra food and leave for 2 weeks, and she’ll be fine”.

I get all sorts of knee jerk reactions to this comment.  But it’s always followed by yet again, another unsolicited ignorant comment, “Some day, you will have kids of your own and understand!”

I don’t appreciate people assuming that because I’m packing heat, rather an uterus, that I will want to have kids.  I’ve tried all sorts of approaches in responding to people that like to assume this about me.  Nothing works, it turns into them wanting to recruit me to the “Parent Club” or a long lengthy discussion where they do not like my answers.

So for now, I’m settling on my new response that leaves the recruiter to question why they even bother speaking to me…”I’m selling my uterus on Ebay.  As is.  Never been used, seller does not guarantee it works but will tell you it has never been used.  Buy at your own risk!”

Back off people…if I want kids, you’ll know it the second I come waddling around the corner 20 months pregnant or if I appear to be as defeated as you with all your stains from puke, crayons, dirt, boogers, tears, etc.  Until then…do not assume you know me.  Katie out.

Never give up a good thing…but let the 80′s fashion RIP

While I’ve realized a while ago that I am truly old.  This whole fashion saga of bringing back the 80′s is killing me.  The long, over sized tops with the leggings (which btw are NOT pants) reminds me of when I was younger. 

My mom and big brother always left for work/school in the mornings before me.  Yes I was a latchkey kid that had my housekey on a rope necklace around my neck.  I used to wear the stone washed, circulation strangler jeans, hightops and oversized shirts to school.  On the few days that my mother would force me to wear a skirt, this chick right here made sure she had shorts on underneath.  “But Mom, I can’t play football in a skirt.  What will the boys think?”

Most days, I would sneak into my brother’s room and steal his IOU sweatshirts, wear them to school, come home and hang them back up.  No one will be able to tell the difference.  I mean really, that sketti stain down the front and the grass stains was there.  You just don’t remember sliding into an Italian picnic last week.  Those stains are all you!!  It never worked, but I would deny it to the grave that I wore his clothes.  Looking back…I was more naive than I thought. 

This one particular morning, I had this fabulous pair of stretch paints that my grandparents bought me.  I just couldn’t find anything in my closet that would be worth wearing.  I then decide to go to my Mom’s closet.  She had this oversized red knitted, v neck sweater.

I’m off to school, pumped on how awesome I am.  Every step I took I felt like a rockstar.  I managed to not get any of my lunch down the front of me, avoided football on recess…I was home free!

On my walk home, I decided to take a short cut through someone’s back yard…unfortunately I took a wrong turn somewhere and had to climb a fence.  I’m climbing up, over the top, go to jump off and BAM!  I find myself swinging with my feet 3 feet off the ground.  After regaining my senses, I turn around and climb back up, unhook the sweater (which at this point is no longer awesome and is now my enemy) and finally climb down to my freedom.

I get home, remembering there are no stains, take the sweater and hang it back up in my Mom’s closet, WAAAAYYYY in the back so she won’t see it for a while.  I’m good.  I’m awesome.  I have a bruise on my neck from the self made noose.  Tis all good.

About a month later my Mom comes to me with this same sweater, holding it up.  It’s mangled.  One sleeve is about 6 feet longer than the other, it’s no longer a v neck…it’s more like a sache.  So she asks me, “Ka Whit, do you happen to know what could have possibly happened to my sweater?”

“Nope, Momma, I swear!”….imagine me with my very innocent, eyes.

“Are you sure you didn’t wear it to school?”, she pushes.

“Mom, why would I ever do that?  You told me I’m not allowed to wear your clothes!”…still working the innocence.

I’m not sure how long this conversation went on.  But I found quickly that I was about 2 seconds away from a good ole Momma whoopin.  So I finally broke down and confessed.  I’m telling her details about the fence and how it jumped out at me….

Needless to say I was in HUGE trouble…but I wouldn’t know that for about a half hour.  She laughed, she cried, she snorted…I’m thinking she wet herself a little. 

To this day, if I can get her to tell this story, she immediately starts laughing hysterically.  She loves to recount the moment where I was swinging by a fine red piece of yarn.

To the youngins out there that think this fashion is new…Pshaw.  Just heed my words of advice, be careful of your shirts, they may choke the life out of you