"Just because tampons fly through the air really well does NOT give you the right to make them into rocket launchers!"
"I can swear as much as I want! When you pay the bills, you can swear, too. Until then; you are NOT allowed to chase your brother singing about the 'crapload of laundry' Mommy has left to finish, comprende?"
"I do NOT like your brother better than I like you, but today, you sure do make that difficult to say with an honest heart!"
"No playing with maxi pads, either!"
"Why is there glitter in my freshly washed bra? No, seriously. There's glitter in my bra. Who did this?"
"Put down the cat, Corinne! That yowling and thrashing he's doing? That means he doesn't like it!"
"I know, 'Tom Sawyer' sucks. You've told me. Repeatedly. Now read it."
Have you ever done something out of character (like forget to call home and say "I'm going to be way late!") and then give a half-ass apology because while you can acknowledge that what you did was wrong, it felt kind of like payback for all of the times you've paced the floors, frantically worrying about the location of that same someone who was supposed to be home by 1 or 2 and finally strolled in around 5 am, so you try to justify your wrong choice to balance things out?
Have you ever thought "But things are SO uneven in this situation! There's no reason for me to feel this ashamed about being irresponsible when I ALWAYS CALL!!" and then you found your inner-self shaking her finger at your idiotic outer-self, spouting off cliches in her best Mom Voice: "Two wrongs don't make a Right! Treat others as you want to be treated! And while I have your attention; Floss your teeth!"
"Daddy, you can NOT have a surprise party for your 40th birthday!"
"Why not?"
"You can NOT handle that kind of surprise at your age! Can you say 'heart attack'?"
~~~~
Wednesday evening on the couch in front of the Xbox. Evan is shooting zombies left and right. Guts are flying at the screen and he is joyfully squealing at their demise. Never tearing his eyes from the television, he raises his eyebrows maniacally and murmurs:
"Your son is enjoying this way too much. Mom and Dad: Should you be worried about your son? Oooohhh yesssss...."
He continues to murder the undead* while Patrick and I choke on our popcorn.
~~~~
*Oxymoron? Can one murder that which is already dead? Are zombies dead? They're "undead" so that would imply that they AREN'T dead, right? Somebody 'splain.
Feeling quiet this week. Really still in my heart and head...
I sit at the computer and stare and feel little desire to read or write.
So I pick up my current Harry Potter and dive back into the world of teenaged magic and forget about the dishes and schoolwork and tediums of life in February for a little smidge longer.
This morning, I heard a reporter say that Borders was going out of business because nobody reads real books anymore.
"When was the last time you curled up with a real book?"
She asked.
"We all pick up our Kindles and Nooks instead!"
Not me.
I understand.
I do.
It's cheaper/easier/cooler/etc. to read on a nifty reading thingy-bob. There may come a day when I break down and own one myself...
But paperless books just aren't the same.
My books are dog-eared and frayed. They have spots of spaghetti sauce and salsa from reading during meals. They have rips and creases from falling asleep with them. They can be shared or given away (is there something you'd like to borrow?) My books are loved and worn and cherished and I wouldn't want it any other way.
I know it's a cliche, but Where has the Time Gone?
No. Seriously. Wasn't it just yesterday that he could sit on my lap?
Wasn't it just last week that we taught him to read? When did overalls become something of the DISTANT past? And, for that matter, when did short hair become the same? 10.. 11... 12!!
Sigh...
My baby. My peanut. My introduction to Motherhood.
I love you, Justin. I love everything about you. (Even the things I don't like. Yep. You know what I'm talking about - I love that junk, too).
I love who you were. I love who you are. I love who you are becoming.
I love the mystery of who you will someday be.
I love that you were such an easy baby. You caused me to have great confidence in this whole parenting gig. What was the big deal? My kid slept everywhere, ate everything, and was so polite and brilliant, I thought that it was all the direct result of my own abilities as a mom. Thank you for being so good for my self-confidence. Without that early confidence, I don't know that I could have survived your grade school years. Because, as you know, they were... difficult. Let's leave it at that, shall we? This is, after all, a Loving Birthday Letter.
I love that you are now a happy pre-teen. Your interests and abilities are uniquely you. Your insights and perceptions never cease to amaze me. I know now that all of these special qualities are not solely BECAUSE of my parenting abilities but I'd like to think that I have influenced them just a tiny bit...
Enjoy this year, my baby. (And please don't get embarrassed that I still call you that!) Don't rush to grow too quickly! Continue to hold onto your childhood, for as long as you can! Go easy on your mom, because though it may feel to you as if it's taking forEVER to grow up, it feels to me like the clock is on some sort of super-speed setting...
...But in a GOOD way because I adored "my" Chevy Traverse that was on loan for a week and nearly wept when the meanies came back to reclaim it. :( Corinne actually DID protest when she realized that she could no longer watch Ice Age with headphones in the 5 minute ride to ballet...
Between checking out the Chevy Traverse, attending the Chicago Auto Show and then test driving the Chevy Volt, I must appear to be really automotive-savvy.The Volt! Drives like a regular car but is mostly electric!! This car may not be big enough to be a large "family car" but it's fabulous for commuters or families with only 1 or 2 children. There were tons of cool features (keyless, comfortable, attractive, safety precautions) but the best point of it, in my opinion, is the main feature:
You plug it in.
You are no longer 100% dependent on gasoline. The emissions you emit are practically non-existent! If a new sedan type car is what you are looking for, I highly recommend that you check out the Volt.
~~~
I am not a gearhead. This was quite evident the instant I wandered onto the floor and exclaimed to Barb, "Oh look! I like THAT car!"
"Yeah. That's because it's a PORSCHE, Trace."
Aha. Yes. I knew that. Still, have you seen a Porsche? Quite snazzy.
"Ooh! Then how about this one?!?"How about this one, Barb? Can I pull of the Christie Brinkley look?If I drape myself across the Camaro, do you think I'll look like a car model?!?
Hmmm. I'm sorry to say, but I think that THIS car is more my style. Isn't it CUTE?!? A little Fiat! And I just wanted to cuddle it and squeeze it help it build a leaning tower of tires!!
Actually, THIS is what I want for my birthday. This or the Traverse, ok honey?
Did you know that I have friends in France? I didn't, either. But apparently they really like me! And they keep emailing me about their finances so that I can help them out. I guess they plan on visiting me soon? It's so sweet that they use my full name and say "bonjour" in the subject line. Every time I get one of their emails, I feel European. I know I have a beret around here somewhere. Think my kids would mind if I threw it on for our Monster Jam thingy tonight?
I also have a great appeal to "single mothers looking for a good time without commitment" in my local area. Email after email from them, too! They "know just what I need." AWESOME! Because what I need is someone to clean my house while I take a nap.
I am guessing that the folks sending me the information about improving the size of my penis are mistaking me for someone else.... But I SO appreciate their concern. Day after day, email after email, all about my mythical penis and how I can make it big enough so that "she" won't leave me. Whoever "she" is. I hate to embarrass them by letting them in on the secret that I am of the female persuasion...
I know how to do the whole "do not call" list. Is there a "do not email" list?
Recovering from Justin's sleepover birthday party. 6 boys for 18 hours with No blood = SUCCESS! Met these lovely bloggers at Panera for a lunch that I ORGANIZED. I know. I'm still in shock over that one... (Clockwise from top: Sabrina, Farrah, Barb, Melisa, Jen, Lou, Rita, Amy. I'll try to link up later on) I WAS THERE!
Test-driving my lovely Chevy Traverse and entering a contest that I am sadly waaaaaay behind in. Thanks for your votes, though! Making sushi at homeschool club and then bringing home the wasabi paste.... Agreeing to let them try it out... Laughing at his initial reaction... (Yes, those are tears you see. She was moving so fast that I couldn't get a shot!) Not so funny now, eh? Heh. Strange, because I found it quite humorous. Got all emotional when I caught Evan lovingly reading to his sister while I cleaned up the house before bed one night.... Pondered why there were army men in a 5 pound bag of pinto beans. Pondered why I HAVE a 5 pound bag of pinto beans.*
Pondered at why those beans were in a bag marked "carrots."
And Yes. I do currently have pinto beans covering my living room floor. Why do you ask? Been trying out several new items for reviews... This means bathing... ...and MATH... ...which SHE loves. It means creating LOADS of messes on purpose. Coffee grounds, glue, paint, spaghetti sauce... it's been quite an adventure. Just wait till you see the finished product... ...and I finally decided to get on top of the dishes so that my kids can stop drinking out of random containers. This looked too much like urine in a doctor's test kit instead of the apple juice in a smoothie glass that it was for me to pass up the photo op.
So. Nothing much. Just a regular ole week. How about you?
*Obviously, they were being punished for their crimes. There is no pain greater than suffocation by pinto beans. Or so sayeth Evan...
Ok. I don't ask much of you guys but I am going to ask for a favor today:
Please hop on over to the Chevy's site and click on my picture for the Driving the Midwest photo challenge! I would really love the prize which is to drive out the electric Chevy Volt for 2 weeks if I win with enough votes! AND! If I win, I promise to drive each and every one of you around in it!*You don't even want to know how hard it was to find a spot to pull over that didn't have a ditch filled with SNOW. Happy to say that I got the Traverse out of every snowy ditch before I found this flat spot to snap the shot. Vote for me, would you?!? One vote per IP address, so be careful!!!
*This won't actually happen. I may be amazing, but I'm not a logistical genie. I will, however, drive several times to ballet and art classes AND try to visit anyone in the area since gas won't be an issue!!
My initial reaction to this picture that Corinne drew when asked what she dreamed of was standard with today's typical parent which is that I mini-freaked out! MY 5 year old daughter is having dreams about Justin Bieber? Where have I gone wrong? I've failed my little girl and allowed her to become overly sexualized in PRE-SCHOOL!!
And then? I took a breath, a huge chill pill and a little trip down memory lane...
Enter Mr. Jones.
Long before I saw Marcia obsessing about him, I managed to concoct dozens of personal fantasies equal to that of a Harlequin romance novel (minus the actual intercourse comparisons of flowers being opened...). From my top bunk bed in my pink and white bedroom, Davy whisked me away on romantic excursions to exotic white sand beaches. Oh! How we laughed and raced, hand-in-hand, all in slow motion! I vividly recall spinning in romantic circles with my love as he cradled me in his "manly" arms...
Such detail!
It struck me that I was about 6 or 7 when I first fell in love with Davy Jones. Close to the same age as my own little girl who imagines herself on stage with a sweet and attractive young man...
So cute!
Hmmm...
Were WE overly sexualized? I'll bet our grandparents thought so. In truth? Or at least, in my opinion of the truth?
I don't think so.
Every generation frets about the one that follows it. Rightfully so! After all, the changes that happen from one age to the next are so vastly different that we, as their parents, feel uncomfortable and out of our element. Anyone remember the Elvis situation? With all of that hip shakin and grinding, parents were in an uproar. Rock and ROLL?!? Their kids would surely be led down a dark and dangerous path of lust and drugs!
How about the Roaring 20's? Women cutting their hair? Wearing revealing clothing? Sleeping with men they weren't married to?!?
Dare I even guess at how horrified the older generation was when the young women of the early 1900's fought for equal pay and (gasp) the right to VOTE???
My point, as it is, is that human beings (especially FEMALE human beings) have been surprising and concerning their parents since the dawn of time. Constantly held down by men, we struggled to rise up and assert ourselves. Our daughters of today are the direct result of the battles fought by millions of women before them. The freedom to be ultra-feminine or completely butch is theirs to seize. The ability to choose a career in construction, Fortune 500's, or as a SAHM is theirs without question.
And so, my daughter's choice to daydream about a nice young man with a cute smile is ok by me. I won't be putting any posters of him on her ceiling anytime soon, but having a crush is one of the sweetest and most innocent loves a girl can experience. I have no desire to destroy this experience for her.
Shoot. Now I'm singing "Daydream Believer"... Try getting THAT song out of your head...
Hahahahahahahaha!!! FOOLED YOU!!! This is totally not about puppies or kittens. This post is about SNOW!
WAIT! Don't go! My snow pictures are just as interesting as the 29,643 other posts you've seen the past few days!!! I SWEAR!See? MY kid in 2 feet of snow! Not someone else's kid, but MY KID. I told you this post was unlike anything you've read thus far.Oooohhh.... Piles against the windows and driveway with token children AND a shovel for ambiance. Sort of a "frustration" mood or even "Precursor of things yet to come..."LOOK.
Look at what I did. 90% BY MYSELF.
Have you seen me? I am 5'2" and not athletic. While Justin helped me for 45 minutes near the bottom and my neighbors pitched in once they were all done with their own messes (the remaining plowed in snow at the bottom disappeared in mere moments!) I did the majority of this all alone because Patrick got snowed in by his work and stayed at a cousin's house the night before. Which means I WAS alone during the freakish "thunder snow" (it happened and it was scary as shit). The kids and I watched Happy Feet (fitting) and huddled in my bedroom with candles and the one lantern I could find that works. My husband FINALLY got home juuuust as I was finishing up the driveway. Convenient, no?One of the two kids who DIDN'T help me shovel. Too much fun to be had. Moments later she was giggling hysterically because she couldn't get up. "Help! Help! I'm STUCK!"
No way. I have snow to shovel. Toodles, sucka! Muwaaaahaaaahaaaa!!
All of the big kids even played football in the backyard. Every 20 minutes found one of them banging on my back door to borrow some more gloves as theirs were coated with snow. God forbid they choose the WATERPROOF ones. You can't grip a football with big gloves. Apparently, only thin and stretchy ones will work.
And yes. That IS a pile of random, broken items on my back patio. Yes. We ARE "those neighbors!" Nice of you to notice.
Am I a bad mom for not curbing my initial reaction to my middle child's first criminal action?
"What was my initial reaction?" You ask? (You really are becoming nosy lately. We need to discuss this further)
My initial reaction to my 8 year old thwarting the system at the Pinewood Derby was to laugh. In front of him. And then shake my finger with my husband (who was also guffawing in his own right) at him.
It wasn't until Evan began to slyly grin over his brilliantly evil scheme that the visions of his future life in organized crime flashed too brightly for me to ignore.
So I did what any GOOD mom would do: I sent Patrick* to the snack counter with him to apologize for washing off the permanent marker mark that was supposed to signify which scout had already received a piece of free pizza and pop.
I observed them from my hiding spot behind Justin's curly mop atop the gymnasium's bleachers. When Evan glumly scuffed his foot by the cash counter and Patrick paid for the food that had now been TOUCHED and could therefore not be given back, I felt a wee bit sorry for him.
When he strolled back to our seats, pizza and pop in hand I will admit this right now: I was struggling. Struggling to not grin at the audacity of such a child and at the likeness to his own Mom and Dad at that age.** I persevered and crossed my arms and frowned with all 37 muscles.
He straddled the bench in front of me and commenced with popping that soda's top.
I finally found my "Good Mom" hat.
"No way, kiddo. We HAD to buy it but you are not being rewarded for STEALING and then LYING about it. That pop and pizza? It's now Justin's."
His face fell as we handed the coveted food over to his big brother (who then leaned over and whispered, "I'm totally not hungry!" to which I hissed, "PreTEND!"). Tears gathered in Evan's big chocolate eyes and he moped away to a corner of the bleachers.
All alone.
All defeated.
And Pat and I?
We finally let the giggles of astonishment burst free.
I leaned into him and whispered "If he's going to break the rules, you'd think he'd be smart enough to HIDE the evidence! Amateur!"
Because we're strong parents like that.
* Hey, I KNOW those ladies. Pat doesn't.
**From the combined stories of our childhoods and our own trickery and pranks, I am amazed that we made it into adulthood without a criminal mark between us.
Poetry Month in our Homeschool
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Sure, you *can *force a kid to read a book. Any book, actually. But you
*can't* force a child to love to read. You can't push and push literature
on them a...
Oh yeah.... I forgot I had a homeschool blog!
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1st Grade!
5th Grade!
8th Grade!
Chillaxin after a hard day with cucumbers on their eyes... "spa day" is
what they called it. Evan did his spelling word...
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