Life in Munchkinland

My almost teenage munchkin (aka: tweenkin) went to the music store with me the other day, because my garage door broke.

I made a deal with Scottie the Door Man. He would fix the overhead mechanism if I would string his guitar and teach him to play it.

I guess you could say I got my garage door fixed for a song! (LOL)

Anyway, I'm browsing the sheet music at the string shop while my tweenkin is chatting up her "peeps," (thats munchkinese for friends, from the root word "people. btw) when the hot rock star clerk leans over the counter and beckons me with his finger for a confidential chat.

I was intrigued. Many a moon has passed since the last time THAT happened.

"I just heard your daughter tell her friends on the cell phone that you are the coolest mom ever."
"Really?"
"Yeah. That's hot. I don't usually hear kids talk like that, unless they want something." He shrugged and flipped back his long black hair in that rock star cool sort of way. "I just thought you'd want to know."

"Thanks. Of course, the title has its downside. I have half the population of Munchkinland in my living room every day of the week."

He laughed.

"The food bill is insane, and my carpet, well, It aint the yellow brick road, but it sure has a well worn path!"

"We had a mom like that in my neighborhood. We started our first band in her basement."

"Sounds like I have a lot to look forward to."

"Oh Yeah. But don't worry, it's worth it. It's cool, having kids in the house."

Yes it is, but Ms. Mayor of Munchkinland knows the job is fraught with mishaps and mayhem.

On Sunday I took the tweenkins to our schools first Ski club event. Twelve Lakefront Lines Deluxe Tour busses filled to capacity, and I was a chaperone.

We herded em in, showed em the drill on how to get lift tickets, skis, boards and boots, and warned the beginners repeatedly to stay off the black diamond runs.

Tying shoe laces was never my favorite mom duty, but hunching over to fit a busload of em made me wish a house would fall on me.

One kid ended up in the clinic with a bruised collar bone, saying "The bunny hill is for babies." One threw up on the bus during the ride home, and I still can't straighten my spine out of the boot fitter hunch.

Overall, I'd call that a successful day.

Well, gotta run. The Semi truck delivery of snack foods is backing up to the garage door right now.