MotherReader

Yes, it’s Festivus, the holiday for the rest-of-us, and now is the time for the airing of the grievances. You have free space in the comments for whatever is getting in your craw. I’ll start:

The director who didn't give my daughter the part she totally should have had. Still mad.

My mom - who doesn't read this blog - calling with problems that I can do nothing about from two hundred miles away. Misplaced keys? Can't program the phone? Lost the cat leash? Maybe try calling a local friend, neighbor, or my brother who lives in the same city.

Aging, like in general. My friends and I are dealing with multitudes of issues with elderly parents. And frankly, I'm not too happy with not being able to get myself off the floor without groaning. Aging sort of sucks.

Myself, for leaving so much to the last minute and generally being adverse to getting the work done.

So how about you? None of your people are likely to see your grievances all the way over at my blog, so go nuts. Talk about your boss, your neighbor, your drama queen of a friend. Tomorrow we can get back into the spirit of the season, but now it’s venting time.

Yes, it’s Festivus, the holiday for the rest-of-us. The iron pole is up and the feats of strength are on the schedule (mine are primarily of emotional strength, as I’ll be hosting my family, including my divorced parents, in my smallish split-foyer). Now is the time for the airing of the grievances. You have free space in the comments — my gift to you this holiday season. I’ll start:

• The high school’s decision to omit honors courses where AP ones are offered is killing my teen. There is no reason my fifteen-year-old sophomore needs to be taking college-level world history and it is completely dominating her homework schedule. And that’s even though she’s taking pre-calculus.
• I’m still peeved at my county’s decision to have new part-time employees of the library work both Saturdays of the two-week pay period. So for those of you keeping track, that’s every Saturday. Since I can’t possibly do that with all of my family obligations — every other Saturday was bad enough — I cannot get my old job back. Which totally sucks, because I loved it.
• My mom — who doesn’t read this blog, btw — has call to stop using our phone conversations to turn some event into something that is critically sad or upsetting. And then the next time I call, she tells me that it’s all fine. The last was a friend’s new marriage, which she might annul because it was so awful, and the follow-up call was that they “worked things out.” Seriously, I have enough in my life without adding second-hand drama.
• I’m not sure I get to have a grievance about the Republican party, not being a member or supporter. But with all that is going on between the ridiculous primary nominees, the constant filibusters, the amazing hypocrisy and outright intolerance, the best case scenario is that it’s some elaborate performance art piece.

So how about you? None of your people are likely to see your grievances all the way over at my blog, so go nuts. Talk about your boss, your neighbor, your mother-in-law. Tomorrow we can get back into the spirit of the season, but now it’s venting time.

Yes, it’s Festivus, the holiday for the rest-of-us. The iron pole is up, the feats of strength are on the schedule, and now is the time for the airing of the grievances. You have free space in the comments — my gift to you this holiday season — or you can always go to the official site. But truly, it would be more fun if you did it here. At least for me. I’ll start:

The parents at my daughter’s elementary school park like idiots. It’s street parking, people, not a cow pasture. Pull up to the car in front of you.

And on the same note, we aren’t living in a world where You and Your Child are the only ones in existence. When you stop in the drop-off line to watch Your Child walk up to the school, time doesn’t magically stop for the rest of us still waiting to move forward. Get out of the way!

It’s driving me insane that I tell my mom something important and she won’t believe it until a different person tells her the same thing. Sometimes it’s someone official, like the doctor, but just as often it’s a clerk in a store. OMG, Mom! Listen to me! (She doesn’t read this, and even if she did, I’ve expressed this to her many times.)

I love my sweet cat Chloe, but I’m so tired of feeding her half cans of food every couple of hours because that’s the only way she’ll eat enough to keep on, you know, living.

Talent isn’t necessarily rewarded. I know, big surprise.

So how about you? None of your people are likely to see your grievances all the way over at my blog, so go nuts. Talk about your boss, your neighbor, your mother-in-law. Tomorrow we can get back into the spirit of the season, but now it’s venting time.

Yes, it’s Festivus, the holiday for the rest-of-us. The iron pole is up, the feats of strength are on the schedule, and now is the time for the airing of the grievances. You have free space in the comments — my gift to you this holiday season — or you can always go to the official site. But truly, it would be more fun if you did it here. At least for me.

Boy, am I full of grievances this year. I’m going to have to limit myself or I’ll be here all night:

• Okay, okay already. I believe in The Secret and the Law of Attraction in that the chaos in my life attracts more chaos. Now MAKE IT STOP! Thank you.
  
  
• Teachers should want to teach and perhaps even actually like kids. They should not give impossible and vague assignments — like writing a sequel to a two-hundred-page book — or two hours of homework a night to fifth graders. They should also be somewhat open to hearing the problems from parents, instead of defensive and antagonistic.
  
  
• My dad desperately needs a hobby that doesn’t involve calling to tell me to sell my Apple stock.
  
  
• Why oh why can’t we win? We did a great film in May, but didn’t win anything other than an audience award. My daughter did a great video for a contest, but didn’t place. I can’t even get retweets for our Snowpocalypse design, while I sift through the third version of Ten Reasons Why Your Blog Might Suck, which only serves to flame my insecurities. Three times.
  
  
• I like our little hamster, but it drives me crazy that she constantly loads up her wheel with food and then runs, making herself into a rodent maraca.
  
  
• My political grievances for the year are way too much for this post, but right now I am angry at the entire Congress for holding up and/or messing up health care legislation. As far as I’m concerned, they can’t leave for Christmas until they get this puppy passed. No sympathy.
  
  
• Copy and pasted from last year: My kids are brilliant, loving, and kind, but can’t manage to put away their own stuff or comprehend that failure to do so is making it twice as hard for me to tackle the house clutter which makes me unhappy. Ditto on the husband. (Happy Birthday, Honey. Love you!)
  

Okay, your turn. Anyone want to start with the December snowstorm? Zhu Zhu pets? Glenn Beck?

Yes, it’s Festivus, the holiday for the rest-of-us, and time for the airing of the grievances. You have free space in the comments — my gift to you this holiday season — or you can always go to the official site (you know, no guilt or anything).

Boy, was I pissed last year. I don’t have so many annoyances to vent about today, just three big ones:

• My computer is so slow lately that I’d be better off with a telegraph and an Etch-A-Sketch. This has got to change. Soon.
  
  
• I need a big Pause button for Time, so I can stop everything else from intruding and take care of my house so it doesn’t look like a “before” on Clean Sweep’s hit list. (BTW, it amuses me to no end that for years, my kids would stop their playing momentary by telling the other to “pause the game,” like it was a DVD or Nintendo.)
  
  
• My kids are brilliant, loving, and kind, but can’t manage to put away their own stuff or comprehend that failure to do so is making it twice as hard for me to tackle the house clutter which makes me unhappy. Ditto on the husband. (Happy Birthday, Honey. Love you!)
  

Okay, your turn. Anyone want to start with the weather?

I’ve come to believe that I killed someone in a past life. Based on the karma I’ve got going on lately, it’s the only reasonable explanation.

But today is Festivus, the holiday for the rest-of-us, and it’s a good time for the airing of grievances. You’re welcome to contribute in the comments if you so desire, or even go to the official website. Here are the grievances top of the mind today.

Teachers don’t need to assign projects that absolutely require extensive parental assistance, and if they feel compelled to do so, then perhaps those projects don’t need to be assigned during the week before Christmas.

People who feel they have to buy these huge SUV and minivans need to be able to park them, specifically pulling up closer to the car in front of them on the street so another car can park behind them. It would also be great if they could manage to get out of a parking space without a major production.

Prices of hotel rooms shouldn’t go up a hundred dollars overnight months in advance of the date, and if they do, then the managers should work with the needs of a tired Girl Scout Leader who’s just trying to do a good thing.

Friends whom you’ve stuck by through a personal crisis should not ditch you when they’re happy again. Even if their new girlfriend is ten years younger than them and really hot.

People who keep making the same mistake shouldn’t expect everybody to cover for them when they do it again.

Bloggers should keep commenting, because sometimes they feel like the only friends you’ve got.

Children whose moms have spent a lot of time on their activities should not roll their eyes when asked to help with the household chores.

Tires shouldn’t come up with a flat over the holidays. Period.

Husbands can put their own beer bottles in the recycling. Even if it is their birthday today. (Happy Birthday, Bill!)

I’m off now to put up the Festivus pole and set up the feats of strength. Oh, and celebrate a nephew’s birthday and my hubby’s as well. Tomorrow it’s all wrapping and cleaning, cleaning and wrapping. I can’t wait.