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Worst Week Ever

Apparently when you blog about Tropical Breeze floats and hard lemonade in your crotch the universe laughs at you.

If you float in the ocean and tell the world that you are happier than you have ever been….

The universe will immediately pop your brand new tires on the way to work…

Remember when I stole Mr. Gaga’s car with the sunroof?

So imagine me just cruising along on the highway listening to some great tunes, getting a tan through the sunroof, and then all of a sudden my whole car is filled with smoke and I fishtail off the highway into a cloud of doom – leaving shreds of rubber in my wake.

Many times I have noticed a shredded piece of tire on the side of the highway and a shudder goes through my spine thinking about what happened to the poor person who left it behind.


Apparently you will find yourself on the side of the highway with a shredded tire when you are an hour late to work…

And then after Mr. Gaga rescues you from the perils of the highway and the late to work situation…you will say “Well that wasn’t so bad….” and then the universe will laugh at you again.

Monday Michael and Sam went to camp.

They came home crying.

Remember that picture I posted of the idyllic children playing dodgeball on the beach?


Remember how smug I was when I said basically that children in modern day times can actually play dodgeball without crying?


I was wrong.

Apparently there was some dispute during the dodgeball.  Someone got hit with a dodgeball and didn’t admit that they were out.  This erupted into a fight. There was a squabble.  They all agreed to disagree.

They ate lunch.

Camp resumed for the afternoon.

In the afternoon when the children were playing in the park, Michael decided to seek revenge on the child that had refused to be out.

Unprompted while everyone was making potholders with their looms….

He threw the dodgeball at this child’s head.

The child sized up Michael, clearly assessed that he would lose this fight and chose to start beating up Sam instead.

Michael then rose to his brother’s defense and beat the shit out of him and got into trouble.

Meanwhile….back at the ranch…while my children are at camp, if I don’t have to be at work, I just want to bask in the sun, enjoy my Tropical Breeze and relax.

I just want to be tan and read my book and enjoy my life…is that too much to ask?

In case you missed the first three years of their childhood, I breastfed and chased these maniacs around every minute of my life.  I just want to read my book and every day occasionally have a cocktail.  I deserve this.


Michael and Sam returned from camp crying.

I threw down my book with only one page completed.

“What happened?” I asked.

They cried and moaned about their troubles.

“I had to beat him up because he was beating up Sam!” Michael pleaded.

Can't I read my book and enjoy my pina colada you fucking assholes??

Can’t I read my book and enjoy my pina colada you fucking assholes??

I ripped their arms out the sockets, dragged them to the camp counselors and demanded that they resolve the issues, and returned to my beach chair to read my book.

That day was somewhat salvaged.

Next day, I send kids to camp and tell them I will beat the shit out of them if they cause any trouble and tell them if they are too soft to handle dodgeball then they should spend the day making potholders.

I go to the beach and get settled in for a glorious day of sun and surf.

The kids get out of camp and swim and enjoy life until 5 PM.

Michael says he is going to ride his back to the house to take a shower, I tell him we will head back shortly and see him in a bit.

When I arrive home, I find Michael has lost control of his brakes and crashed into a rock wall.

His leg is a bloody mess.

It’s meaty and fleshy and gushing blood.

My mother is there holding a cold rag on the wound while he cries and wails and she whispers to me “I think he needs stitches.”

We hope in the car after sending pictures of the leg to Mr. Gaga for confirmation, and head to the E.R.

I am NOT nurse-ish.

I am NOT Meredith Grey.

I am NOT a good mother someone that is good with injured people.

I gagged and held back tears as the nurse basically power-washed the shit out of his leg to get the gravel and sand out of his wound.  He held my hand tightly and cried, while I tried to remain calm and collected.

Then they gave him a shot in his leg and then they gave him 7 stitches.

After all of that, the worst was yet to come.

Imagine in slow motion a doctor saying “No swimming for two weeks.”

Imagine me literally wearing my bikini and a cover up -fresh from the beach- with sand on my feet and legs – throwing myself into oncoming traffic.

Somebody kill me.

Somebody kill me.

Poor me  Michael.

I mean we live at the beach.

As we drove home, I was thinking if I could just wrap up his leg in saran wrap – it should be fine.  I mean I am sure they just say “no swimming” as a precaution – but they probably don’t mean it.

I could let him swim for a little while.

Just a quick dip.  As long as Mr. Gaga doesn’t show up and catch me sunbathing while Michael’s leg gets filled with ocean bacteria…..

I could just imagine him running to the edge of the ocean screaming “Get out of the water!” like a maniac – and then I would wake up from my nap on my beach towel…It would be disastrous.


My fate and Michael’s was sealed.

The next day while Sam and I lounged on the beach in the scorching 90 degree heat, Michael announced he wanted to walk over to the playground that’s down the road from the beach, since he couldn’t swim.

I agreed.

I laid back and finally tried to read my books and magazines and relax.

Twenty minutes later Michael was back on the beach headed towards me in tears.

I threw my book down.


“What now??!!!” I screeched into his sweaty face.

“I squirted a squirt gun into a guy’s face at the park and then he pushed me to the ground and punched me in the back of the head twice!”  he cried.


“When you are fucking annoying and squirt water in people’s faces that you don’t know – what do you think is going to happen?” I yelled. “You got what you deserved!” I said with disgust.

When Michael had calmed down and I had calmed down, I explained calmly that although it was a tough lesson to learn, he should think twice next time he is about to do something impulsive that could potentially piss someone off.

He agreed.

We went back to the beach.

I picked up my book.

“Oh Mom – there’s the guy that beat up Michael.” Sam said matter-of-factly pointing to a huge man.  I was shocked to find that the person who beat up Michael was clearly ten years older than him.

I threw the book down….AGAIN.


I waited by the edge of the water for the huge “slow adult” to come out of the water so I could let him know that assault on a minor would not be tolerated.

When he finally came towards me, I stopped him to say my prepared speech about how I would be pressing charges if he went near my child again.

He looked at me defiantly. “Your kid squirted water in my face,” he spat, “That’s assault!”

“OK, well he’s nine, so I will be calling the police the next time you try something like that,” I said sternly, sure that he would be anxious to have an adult threaten him in this way.

“I don’t really care!” he shouted as he walked back ashore, “Fuck off!” he yelled as he gave me the finger.

This is not how I thought this was going to go down...

This is not how I thought this was going to go down…

I was speechless.

I was filled with rage and anxiety until Mr. Gaga came to the beach the next day and hunted him down and took care of business.

Today was the day – I was sure would be normal.

Sam woke up screaming in pain, and Mr. Gaga spent two hours at the walk-in clinic before having a doctor diagnose him with an ear infection.

“No swimming.” Mr. Gaga said matter-of-factly, when he returned tossing ear drops on the counter.  I shrugged numbly.

I had all but given up on the sun, the surf, and the reading.

But at long last, the universe was done punishing me.

I received an email from the Tropical Breeze people.

They think I deserve a brand spanking new Tropical Breeze.

AND! They think I should give one of my loyal readers a brand spanking new Tropical Breeze!!  (Stay tuned for details.)

I am hoping this week finds us all splashing in the surf and reading our books….





9 responses »

  1. With that kind of luck, don’t ever go on a ski holiday!!!!

  2. Sorry about your bad week! Things have to get better!

  3. My last few weeks have been like that! I could definately go for a tropical breeze and hard lemonade in my crotch!! 🙂

  4. I do not find you remotely funny. I am not above repoach as i refer to my littles as assholes now and again, because they are, but sounds to me like you could do a bit more to be a prepared mom and not a train wreck. Maybe play with your boys at the beach instead of letting them run a muck. Idk, but i will stop reading your blog as it just frustrates me.

    • Play with my boys at the beach????? I’m not funny – but you sure are!!!! LOL

      • You keep complaining about how you have to put down the things you want to do in order to deal with your kids. Maybe your expectations are that you get to have some me-time at the beach while you have middl/elementary school aged kids. I think that expectation a bit unrealistic. Idk…you complain A LOT about things that are preventable. Takes a little forthought and things could go smoother for ya. You may have less to complain about and more positive aspects to rant on.

  5. Pingback: Keep Calm and WIN!! a Tropical Breeze | Lady Goo Goo Gaga

  6. Pingback: The Evolution of Date Night | Lady Goo Goo Gaga

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