Mama Moody's Bummer Summer

It's Back to School time for the chil'rens. August 1st marks day one. Suddenly, it's back to 5 a.m. wake-ups, packing lunches, and homework.

I'm sure the boys have their gripes, too.

In the days leading up to the end of the last school year, I swore to myself that I would make this summer more productive and most importantly FUN.

I reasoned that because I work from home, part of the beauty in that is that I have a bit of flexibility in my
day.

So why not do things like:

• Bowl for free
• Free (or super cheap) movies
• Go to the museum
• Go to the zoo (okay, we did do that one, but Big Daddy totally gets props for it.)
• Or some other event that we could get in for a discount because they all have them if just took the time to look for them 

I don't know what really happened, but things took a downfall and the chance of doing anything fun seemed like a long shot. 

Crappy Things That Happened This Summer:

• The upstairs heating/air unit was pronounced officially dead*
• Jessica left for boot camp**
• The water pipe broke at the meter
• Big Daddy had to have his wisdom teeth plus two others removed ($$$$$$$)
• The dishwasher broke (it also went to appliance heaven)
• Big Daddy's blew a tire on the interstate
• And some other things I can't remember but KNOW happened. 

Here are the things I did manage to cram in:

• Movie Night- Our city puts on a free movie in the park-type deal at the end of each month. Food, movie, mosquito bites: it's all free
• Bowling. But not where the free bowling takes place because we wanted to other stuff 
• The aforementioned zoo
• Nashville Shores (I didn't take them, but they went.)
• Lots and LOTS of games. Especially our new favorite, Skip-bo

I struggle a lot with the whole, "We are on such a tight budget, why can't we do more? And what effect will it have on them when they grow up?" We scrimp and attempt to save and make sacrifices so that I don't have to work outside the house. This year they are both in Pep Band, which is (our) middle school's version of marching band. Two weekly practices plus the games. Football and then basketball. I am also the secretary (and social media mogul) for the band boosters. Trying to coordinate their schedule against a schedule against the only type of work I am qualified for- retail - is/ and would be impossible.

So ends another summer. One might reason, "You grew up with less and look how you turned out!"

And therein lies the problem.

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Wordless Wednesday: Beat the Heat

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Stop the Clock

When my boys were little, I made an error.

A HUGE error.

It would be hard to pinpoint exactly what caused me to have such a lapse in rational, adult-like judgment. Nevertheless, I did it and there is no going back.

I wished they would get older. I couldn't wait.

Of all the wishes I had made in my life, I am not sure why THIS one had to come true. But for that one moment or twelve that I was exasperated with all manner of sippy cups, diapers, and other various and sundry tasks that sap the energy of a mother, I managed to conjure up enough superpower to cause time to fast- forward.

This seems to be a one-way trip with no refunds, no take-backs and no do-overs.

How else can I explain how two days ago I was changing a diaper on one, trying to keep another from destroying the house, while the oldest was watching "Pinky and the Brain"? Because yesterday while the oldest was sitting in the living room while we ordered her Senior pictures, the other two were stuck on the school bus that was parked on the side of the road waiting for the police to show up.

(In order to protect the not-so-innocent, I will not disclose WHY the police were called. I will say that thankfully no one was hurt, and it wasn't because of my boys.)

Of all the advice I was given as my children were growing up, the one piece that sticks out in my mind is, "Enjoy them while they are young."

I always thought the very idea was crazy. While we were in the moment, a day seemed like it strung out for a week. Enjoy it? What exactly was I supposed to be enjoying?!?

As  have finally approached middle age, I understand all the hoopla  now. Back when I was still a toddler myself, yet ironically seemed to have more patience, I thought life would just be better when the boys were older.

Older, as in the ages they are now.

My boys are twelve and ten. The youngest will be eleven in April. They are in sixth and fifth grades and I love this age. To a point...

(My actual favorite age is fourth grade, but that is neither here nor there.)

Instead of diapers, sippy cups, annoying cartoon characters/children's programming and complete and utter control over their lives, I traded it all in for unpredictable hormones, insatiable hunger, Star Wars, and compromise that will make all parties happy.

Most of the time, I am not regretting my wish for them to get older. Only between 6:00-6:10 A.M., 3:25-4:00 P.M., 8:30-8:45 P.M, and when they ask, "What's for breakfast/lunch/dinner?" or "What can I have for a snack?" do I think, "What in the world did I do?"

I love that they have an actual opinion about social issues. I love that they are interested in politics. I love that they are curious about the world and can't wait to learn more. I love that we can talk and have a real, actual conversation.

I knew when they got older, there would be issues that would be hard. And I have had to have some hard conversations with them way before I ever dreamed I would.

It's one thing to say something like, "There may be some kids at school that _______ and this is how you deal with ___________."

It is completely different to have a conversation about the hard topics when it involves a child in their grade.

While I still have the time, I plan on enjoying every minute. One bird will be leaving the nest later this year. As much as I really, REALLY don't want her to go, she is ready. My other two chicks are going to have to slow down.

I am not ready to let them fly just yet.




 




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Don't tell me you weren't warned

Dear Future-Daughter-In-Laws:

I am telling you this now, so that you may prepare yourselves. I do not want calls made in haste asking me such things as why he pees everywhere even if he puts the seat up. And for the love of all that is good, DO NOT believe him when he says, "Well, my mom always did it for me."

Unless he follows up the sentence with, "...when I was two," it is with 100% certainty that he has told you a lie.

True, I have failed as a mother in some aspects. However, it can not be said that I didn't try. I thought I was going to break the mold and raise two fine young men that broke all the stereotypes associated with men.

Here is the truth and it's two-fold:
1. All things "man-like" is genetic trait, and
2. The buckeye doesn't fall far from the tree.

Don't get me wrong: he can be sweet. He'll flash those baby blues/dark browns and give a little blink, and you'll feel like you'll fall into puddle of jelly. Be firm! This is only a tactic! This is exactly how he will try to get around things.

Other common phrases I like to call, The Cop-Outs:

• "I didn't hear you."
• "Oh, I forgot."
• "I was waiting for a commercial."
• "I thought you meant tomorrow."
• "Are you sure you told me?"
• "I don't remember having that converstation."
• "Oh. I was sleeping."

Invest in a tape recorder, notebook that can fit in your purse, a good pen (ballpoint-no pencils, they break), note cards, post-its, calender (NO DRY ERASE), and a second set of eyes and ears.

There will be some good times. He'll bring you a Diet Coke or some M&Ms when you are feeling blue. (Just an example; your feel good items may vary from mine.) He will call you on his way home from work. He may even offer to cook dinner.

Again, while these are the niceties,  you have to shovel a lot of crap to find a tiny diamond.

It will be rare that the dirty clothes will make it to the hamper. If you don't get into a habit of picking them up, he'll do better about getting turned in a timely manner.

It will be rare that a dirty dish gets put into an empty dishwasher. The male mind can wrap his mind around the possibility that it is OKAY to put one plate inside. They would rather that the sink is overflowing first.

He will always know where things are kept. Even if you moved them. However, he will NOT remember where he got said item. Male memory is selective.

Same thing with hearing. He heard you. He wasn't listening. There is a difference (to him).

The words that are coming out of his mouth may not be exactly what he means. The exceptions to this rule are: money, sports figures, food, and well, let's not discuss that here.

 All in all, he is not a bad catch. Not that I am prejudiced or anything. I just want you to know what you are getting into. Don't tell me later you weren't warned.

Love always,
Your MIL
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Converstations in the Car

Darrin and I are sitting in the car after school. We are having our weekly alone time while Nicholas has his marimba lesson.

He is quiet for a while and then he asks, "Did the groundhog see his shadow?"

"Nope."

"So, what does that mean?"

"I think it means six more weeks until Spring."

Pause.

"What if he did see his shadow?"

"Then we'd have six more weeks of winter."

"Oh."

Long, thoughtful pause.

"Okay. What's the point? It's the same."

I had to laugh. Then have my own long thoughtful pause.

My ten-year-old analyzed something that took me until my mid-twenties to realize.



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Momma's Boy(s)

When I was pregnant with my daughter some eighteen years ago, I never read any books on what I should expect during pregnancy, during birth, or beyond. I may have browsed the pamphlets and literature that was handed to me by the doctor and the Lamaze instructor.

The internet hadn't been invented yet (can you imagine how we even SURVIVED?!?) or if it had, we didn't have it. I had a mother that was perfectly content giving me all the glory and gory details of the upcoming event.

Fast forward several years when I was pregnant with my second child. Internet was available to a limited few, (not me) but I read every single book I could get my hands on. As a matter of fact, about the third time I came home from work with yet another sack from the bookstore, my husband said, "Really. I think you have enough books. What else could you possibly NOT know?"

That was the last time he ever cut me off books. However, I don't buy them new anymore either.

We're both fast learners.

There was a lot of things I didn't know. Some things had changed since I had my first child. One of the main things I didn't know was that second child I KNEW was going to be a girl was in fact a very large, ten pound bouncing baby boy.

(Yes, ladies. Ten whole pounds. And he came to town through the main highway.)

But a boy?!? I didn't know how to deal with all that stuff. Anyway, we made it through with flying colors and when I got pregnant with my third child a mere six months later, I don't think I cracked open any of those books that were collecting dust already.

I've been thinking that there is a reason that the books don't tell you what to expect after the second year.

No other child would be born. Ever.

The Trying Threes (none of my kids had the Terrible Twos) were nothing like the Pre-Teen years we are going through with the boys. Thankfully, my daughter really didn't give us much grief. She was pretty easy going. Still is.

But the boys? They are the reason that I have grey hair, sleepless nights, adult onset acne, and a secret stash of chocolate.

To make life even more complicated, they are polar opposites. When it is said that "opposites attract," it's not siblings that are being referenced. Believe it.

So to sum it up, we have two completely different personalities, unpredictable surging hormones that can't be helped with Midol or chocolate, unsatiable appetites for foods that aren't in the house, and the inability to hear my requests to pick up ____ (backpack, socks, clean laundry, books, etc.)

I have been making it my life's mission to inform everyone that I can of the impending doom that is boys. Only, I don't have any reference past eleven-almost-twelve. While, I am trying to spread the knowledge as far as I can, I also have to deal with the day-to-day activities and HOPE that I am not making some critical error that will forever alter his, mine, or our life path therefore insuring any and all success he could have had coming to him had I ____ (whatever.)

If I don't let him audition for the play, will that stunt his future chances of becoming an Oscar-nominated actor? (Because it is an honor to just be nominated.)

If don't get him a cell phone so that he can text with all his fifth-grade friends, does that mean he will be ousted and it will hinder his ability to win the election for class president his senior year thereby eliminating colleges he can apply to?

No matter what I decide or not to do with these boys, I am afraid of any possible damage. Big Daddy says that I am doing a good job and that they will have plenty of fodder for the tell-all book that will be written.

He's quite the active partner in the parenting process.

I've been working hard and diligently working on raising respectable children that will grow up to be responsible adults. The last couple of months have been much better than the six prior, but it is still a jiggling act at best.

Don't misunderstand me. I love my boys with every fiber of my being. I can't imagine my life without them. If I was given the ability to a do-over and have only girls, I wouldn't do it.

But you need to heed my warning: Boys are harder than girls. They will work your last nerve.

I have no doubt that should any of my children find themselves in need of therapy later in life, I will be blamed for everything.

I also have no doubt that should one, two, or three of them become famous their father will be the one that is thanked before I am.

I can live with that.

My Wish For You

Dear Kids:

Tomorrow you will start a new chapter in each of your lives; each one will be as special and unique as you are. As I sit here and search for the best deals and coupons to finance these special days that lie before us, I can't help but think that it wasn't all that long ago that the idea of school seemed like a million years away. While each day drags on for an eternity for you, I have to force my self not to blink, afraid that I will miss something in the hustle and bustle.













Jessica,

It seems impossible that you starting your Senior year. Of course, you are going to rock it since you spent my senior year with me (even though you were in-utero and claim not to remember it! I think your ACT scores reflect something more, Ms. 23.) Not only are you starting your last year in high school but taking college courses as well. Words can not describe how proud I am to be your Mom. You are everything that I dreamed of and so much more. You have a passion and drive that can take you anywhere you want to go. Recognize that and use it to your full advantage. Enjoy this time that you have. You only get one shot.









Nicholas,

Sixth grade is an exciting time. You finally get to do some of the things that you saw Jessica do (like band and soccer) but thought it would be FOREVER until it was your turn. It may seem like it took forever to you, but it was only minutes for me. Try to enjoy what you have in front of you at the moment. Don't be in a hurry to be older.

I know you are nervous about band, but so are the other kids that will be in there with you, regardless of what they say. You are going to rock the percussion section. Practice all you want; you'll never hear me to tell you to stop. Unless it's like 2am. (You know, the neighbors and all.)
And just so you know, it's a new chapter for me, too. We are in this together.










Darrin,
I am not sure who is taking this year harder, you or me. I know you are nervous that you won't know where to go. Or you can't get your locker open. Or you'll have Mrs. Yellsalot for Math. (Trust me when I tell you that I've got my eyes on her, if you do.) Know that you are feeling the same things as all the other fifth graders. Think of this year as new adventure that ONLY you got to go on. Jessica and Nicholas didn't get to spend fifth grade in a Middle School. It's a pretty spectacular thing that as the youngest child, you are doing something the other two didn't.

Even though I won't physically be at school every day like you are used to, I will be in your heart. You will be able to open your locker. You will make it your classes on time and know where you need to be. You will know the right choices to make and be able to handle the consequences of the choices you shouldn't have made. You are not alone. The last five years in school have not been for naught; it's all been leading up to this year. Just as this year will prepare you for the next.

(But let's just enjoy this year for now, OK?)


So, kids, even as you grumble about being up early and putting on polo shirts and khakis, and I may even complain at the writer's cramp from writing checks, let's all just take a deep breath and relax. This is the only time that you each will be a Senior, sixth grader, and fifth grader, collectively. My wish for you is to maybe listen to me just this one time and ENJOY the adventure that lies ahead. Don't think of school as a chore, but an opportunity to do something exciting. Take on the attitude of, "I get to go to school," rather than, "I have to go to school." Grab onto the reins of this next school year and hold on tight.

Because I am here to tell you, in a blink, it is gone.

In the words of one of our faves, Eminem:
Look, if you had one shot, or one opportunity
To seize everything you ever wanted-One moment
Would you capture it or just let it slip?
.
.
.
You better lose yourself in the music, the moment
You own it, you better never let it go
You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow
This opportunity comes once in a lifetime yo

Love,
Mommy


P.S How 'bout for dinner, I make "Mom's Spaghetti?"

Tears ahead: You have been warned

Apparently I have fallen off the wagon.

I have been super busy the last couple of days. Mostly with a couple of projects that I am working on that seem to be consuming all of my time. That is clear if you'd walk into my house right now....

I had planned this special entry for Father's Day, but ultimately ran out of time decided against it. I can tell you, however, Big Daddy had a great day.

He received a few things even though the budget I was given was approximately zero dollars and no cents. I was most excited about the photo collage that I had made through Walgreens. I was fortunate to get the idea from Jessica at Inspiring You to Save. She had posted that Walgreens had a special on 8x10 collages for the low, low price of FREE.

Yes, ma'am. Sign me up.

AND because I had to sign up, I also got 25 4x6 prints for FREE.

When I gave him the picture, (framed AND matted--items I had on hand. One of the perks of closing a portrait studio) I also included the receipt. He was impressed.

Probably his best present came from Darrin--a handmade card. Inside Darrin wrote:
"Dear Daddy,
I love you more than deviled eggs* but they are really good. Happy Father's Day! I love you!"

*Please note: The love that Darrin has for deviled eggs knows no bounds. I love chocolate and Diet Coke, but this goes beyond that. Seriously. I have never seen anything like it.

Later that night, Big Daddy said that brought a tear to his eye.

::passing the tissues::

Other than that, it's been pretty average around here. Nothing out of the extraordinary. Tomorrow, Jessica has an appointment to get her Senior pictures made. Just typing that makes me want to flip through her baby photos while playing "Memories", "Photograph","Yesterday," and "Good Riddance(Time of Your Life)". I am not really sure how it's even possible, because I am pretty sure that last weekend I put on her favorite dress, Mary Janes, socks with lace around the edge, and her hair in pigtails (with bows!), and Big Daddy took us to Chuck E. Cheese on a date. I have a photo of the event.

::taking the tissues back::

I think I better stop here. My keyboard won't be able to take much more....

Life in the fast lane

Darrin came in from playing and announced he would like a Wendy's for dinner.

"What would you get from there?" I am expecting him to say, "A Kid's meal," or "Chicken Nuggets."

"A salad."

There's a shocker.

So, I think about my options for a moment:

• It's already after 6.
• I haven't slid the mac-n-cheese in the oven yet.
• They really hate when I serve mac-n-cheese, a vegetable, and fruit for dinner on nights Big Daddy is at work.
• Yesterday, it was affirmed I would not be getting my Mother of the Year award after all.
• A frappe sounds good and McD's is next door to Wendy's.

Nicholas wants a salad, but he doesn't know what comes on them. This is starting to turn into drama. I tell him that McD's has (I think) a BLT salad. Drama is avoided for the moment.

Until we pull up at McD's. Why is it the one time I need a moment to look at menu there is NO ONE IN LINE? Any other day and they'd be at least five people deep.

In a panic, I ask what all is on the Bacon Ranch Salad. He responds, sounding quite exasperated, "lettuce, four tomatoes, bacon bits, and cheddar jack cheese."

I am glad he was specific naming the lettuce, because you know, I wouldn't have guessed.

Nicholas gives me a thumbs up, and I order it. The speaker asks if I want crispy or grilled. I ALMOST said, "Crispy or grilled, what?" because those aren't options that correspond with the ingredients we were given. However, I assumed he meant chicken (even though that wasn't given as an option) and ordered crispy.

Three points I need to make here:

1. I didn't get smart-mouthed because as Monty said in the movie Waiting, "You don't make the people that handle your food mad."

(Totally paraphrasing. He may have been a might bit more colorful in his advice.)

2. When I googled McD's because I couldn't remember the name of the
salad, I saw that there are two versions. One is without the afore-
mentioned chicken. Dude totally duped me.

3. The Shrek glasses at McD's have been recalled due to cadmium.
Shocking, I know.

After, I made the selection for the crispy chicken, Speaker says, "That's $.."

I'm all, "Great, but I am not done."

"Oh. Well, pardon me." Sarcastically, he says.

I ordered three drinks and my frappe and then say, rather nicely I might add, "OK. Now I am done." The whole time I can hear him sighing in the background.

"Again, I apologize. $12 something or another, pull around to the first window." He acts like I am putting him out.

We zip over the Wendy's and get Darrin's salad. She does the same thing--gives me the total directly after I make the order. I mean, there was no, "Would you like a Diet Coke to go with that?" or "How about a frosty this evening?" NOTHING. Just, "$6.54, please pull around."

I guess I am too passive in my ordering. I know they are typing the orders in, so I pause after each item, or sometimes, just take a breath. When I said, "What in the world? Why did she assume I was done? Nicholas said, "You paused."

Fine.

Watch out fast-food restaurants. The next time I come in to order it will sound like this:

:::takes big breath:: Ineedtwodoublesplainwithcheeseonlyregfrylargedietcokenomakethataspriteakidsmeal
withcheeseburgerplainbutaddketchupandsweetteaanotherkidsmealwithchickennuggets
anddrpepper.....

Breaking the Rules--Part 4

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
__________

So, in my infinite wisdom, or lack there of, I decided to let my concerns over Nicholas fly. Big Daddy seemed to think that it was a passing phase as well, using the examples of other students I had mentioned in his defense.

Occasionally, thoughts about my depression would seep into my mind. Wonderings of what the kids would say when they grew up when it came to their individual childhoods....

"Sometimes Mom would lay on the couch, in the dark, just watching TV. We knew not to bother her if the blinds were closed."


"Dad always called her on his way home from work. I thought that he just loved her and missed her. Once I heard him say that he was trying to get a feel of what he was walking into."

"She never had time to play. She was always cleaning something."

"She hated going to places where there were a lot of people. We missed a lot of fun stuff because she was afraid. Either to take us alone, or just being too overwhelmed."

The last year seemed to be okay. I hadn't seen anything that warrented a call to a child psychiatrist.

Or maybe I was so caught up in my own personal drama, I missed the signs.

Then, just when things were going great, Nicholas made his comment. "You always have a nervous breakdown."

He is right. I do have problems in crowds. I have medication to help deal with the anxiety, but I don't like to take it. Not to mention that it is habit- forming.

So, what is worse, a mother that is dependent on pills, or can't leave the house without worrying about a crowd?

It wasn't so much the comment that Nicholas made, even though the wording was a bit exaggerated, but the way he said it that really stabbed my heart.

For the last week, I have been working on my anxiety. Especially this last weekend.

I am certain that isn't the end of the story. All, I know is that I am more determined than ever to break the rules. Mental illness doesn't have to break-up the family. Just this once, I am going to break the rules.

Breaking the Rules-- Part 3

New to the story? Get caught up here (part 1) and here (part 2)

_____________

By the time Darrin came around, I thought maybe I could keep things under control. I was still dealing with some heavy baggage, but I was determined not to make mistakes that I had made in the past.

Also, I was determined not to be like my mom. Before you think that I am blaming all my problems on her-- that is SO not the case. While I do place some of the blame at her doorstep, I also lay some blame with my dad. But the biggest percentage of my problems lie at my doorstep. All my life I have been a pleaser. Probably been bred to be that way. That tends to happen in households where a certain amount of fear was the preferred method of discipline*.

Between a combination of my upbringing, a depression brought on by either situation or genetics (and really, does it matter how I got it?), the Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder diagnosis, and anxiety it was really a wonder I could get out of bed in the morning. But I did. I was determined not to let my disease(s) affect my children.

There has been more than one time I have worried that my problems are genetic (all the docs seem to think that is my case). I worry about my daughter the most. I guess because she is a girl, and the girls in my family seem to be affected the most all the way back to my great-grandmother.

I have had a fleeting thought now and again that the boys would/could show signs. But somehow I thought it would be the younger boy, not the older one. He (the older, Nicholas) is so much like me. Needs to be in control, Type A, overachieving eleven- year old.

A year ago, I started to question his attitude. Seemingly overnight, he was like a child I didn't know. I thought back to my own pre-teen years and thought perhaps that I wasn't "just a girl going through puberty." Could it have been that I was depressed, could have been helped had someone thought to look a little deeper? No one talked about depression especially children in the 80s, so why would I have been so special.

I went to my parents with my sudden epiphany, and they laughed my hypothesis off just as if I had said I was going to clown school. I was being an over-reacting, over-protective, over-thinking mom. "He's 10! Just let him be. Boys will be boys!"

Why did I ask them? And further, why didn't I go ahead with my gut? This is my child I was talking about. Wasn't I trying to break the cycle I felt trapped in?

To be continued....

*We weren't abused. At least I wouldn't say that. But, there was fear and most of my evenings were spent walking on eggshells. Not because we were afraid of getting spanked (and we would if needed) but because my dad was always grumpy. Nothing pleased him.

Breaking the Rules Part 2

Get part 1 here
____________

In order to understand the pain I felt from Nick's comment, I feel like I need to back up a little bit.

Some of you know more about this subject than others, it's a pretty painful topic for me to talk about. And then there is the fact this is a public blog, and I like it that way, so some things just aren't going to make the cut.

To make a long, complicated, and now confusing story short, I decided a long time ago that I didn't want to have any more children after I had Jessica. There are too many things that I went through with her and my parents. I felt at the ripe old age of 19 (by the time I made my decision)that I wasn't good enough as a mother, so I would not be having more.

Enter, Big Daddy. At the time we started dating, Jessica had just turned 4, he had just turned 31, and I was 22. He feel in love with both of us and was willing to be a part of her life and supported my decision not to have any children.

Two years later, Nicholas enters the scene. And not for lack of trying not to, I'd like to add. We could have been spokespeople for proper precautions. Rather, we turned into the "less than 1% failure rate" statistic.

Nicholas turns out to be a model baby. Sweet, happy, always smiling--we couldn't have asked for a better baby. That is probably why I thought it would be a good idea to have just one more and started trying when he was a mere six months old.

Nine months later, exactly two months and five days from Nick's first birthday, Darrin came to the party.

Darrin was just as good as Nicholas. In hindsight that is probably a good thing. I would not recommend choosing to have your children that close together. Not that I have anything to compare it to, but I'd like to think twins would have been easier.

But, my demons, they just wouldn't stay quiet.

To be continued...

Eats like a bird

This morning I am upstairs making the bed in our bedroom. The windows are open and I hear Nicholas and Blake running across our front yard but give it no thought. A few minutes later, I hear them running back toward Blake's house and Nicholas is giggling quite loudly.

"I got a big one! It is wiggling in my hand!"

I look out the side window that faces Chris and Blake's house. The four of them are huddled together over something but I can't see anything but grass and a brown leaf.

After watching them for a minute or two, I asked them what they were doing. A baby bird had fallen out of its nest, didn't have any feathers, so they were feeding it worms.

They kept the bird alive until 5 o'clock. I think the cause of death may have been the broken pieces of raw carrot they fed it.

With nine, you get whine

Birthday week is drawing to a close.

Did you catch that?

Birthday w-e-e-k.

You can't really blame the kid for speading the love for as long as possible. It's more cake. More favorite food. Potential gifts.

Normally, we have the kids' birthdays the weekend before, if it happens to fall in the beginning of the week. This year, with it being Easter weekend (for the third year in a row) we chose to push it to this weekend. I should have seen what was going to happen.

Tuesday (on the actual BIRTHDAY) he requests pancakes for breakfast. I am out of mix, so I make fried eggs, sausage, and cinnamon toast. He would also like to eat at Beef O'Brady's because Big Daddy is going to be home for a change for dinner. Big Daddy is late-we run to Burger King as Mommy had no back up plan. We did not have cake here-he had mini-cupcakes at school.

Wednesday he has requested pancakes for breakfast. Daddy brought home doughnuts, and it is possible that I woke up late, so he happily ate those. We eat at Beef's for dinner.

Thursday, I make his pancakes. He takes this as an omen for a birthday week, apparently.

On Friday, he comes to my room with his buddy and asks if he can go to buddy's house for birthday gala. I say no, that we already have plans-we'll have buddy over another time. Darrin replies, "It's my birthday. I can move it to next weekend."

I think you know my answer to that.

Friday night we go and get groceries. And of course, he is helping me pick out cake, icing, ice cream and stuff for his birthday. I am thinking this birthday business has gotten old. We are leaving store and he says to me, "And tomorrow for my birthday breakfast I would like to have..."

Yeah. Right.

The kids ask if we can stop at Sonic and get some ice cream. I say, "It's up to Daddy." We are about to turn and I need to know his answer so I can get in the correct lane. He says, "Well...it IS Darrin's birthday."

This summer, I am going to say I want to go to the beach. "You know, it was Darrin's birthday in April."

Along with the birthday week, he has seemed to have acquired a slight attitude problem. It was like a switch was turned on in that boy. And lets just say we had a talkin' to this morning, and tonight he seems right as rain. I hope it sticks.

(We all know it won't.)

Ok. Since I wrote that, I have had to talk to him twice for his attitude. Geez.

Here are some pictures for your viewing pleasure....

OOH. Spongebob puzzle!

What time is it?

Video games? Oh my!

Spongebob is my hero.

Techdecks. Yay.

3-D Explosion.

Tiny pieces for mom to vacuum up? Sweet!

Box'o cash

This thing is as big as I am.

Tonight, the neighbor boys are spending the night. Four boys are trying to decide a movie to watch. Every time one makes a suggestion, three say yes, one says no.

I am so over birthday week.

Through the years...

When Nicholas was six months old, I told Big Daddy that I wanted to have another baby.

People have taken longer to decide what to eat at McDonald's, because two weeks later I had a positive pregnancy test.


Other than a slight scare at the beginning, a slight case of gestational diabetes, and growing to gargantuan proportions, I had a rather uneventful pregnancy.


On Friday, April 14, 2000, I went in for scheduled induction. It was about three weeks early as they were afraid he would be larger than 10 pounds if I went 40 weeks, (Nicholas was 10 pounds at birth) plus there was a risk because I had just had a baby a year earlier.

(In hindsight, I might have voted to keep him in and had a C-section...oh well.)

(Might.)

At 3:05pm, Darrin Alexander was born weighing 8lb. 11oz.

To say we are lucky is an understatement. He was such an easy baby. Hardly cried. Ate well.

As he grew into a little boy, he has continued to bring us nothing but joy. He is the sweetest, most caring child. Don't get me wrong-he can get an attitude. (Not sure where that came from; it must be a recessive gene. ::cough::)

He has always been my baby. I think he always will.

Today, he turns nine years old. And if having him meant I had to have two babies in a year, I'd do it all over again.

New baby

About six months

Nine months old

First Birthday

18 months old (I won an award for this picture)

Second Birthday (My mom is beside him.

Fishing for the first time. He also fell in the lake. Scared me to death.

Third Birthday.

At the park. One of my all time favorite pictures.

Nicholas' first day of preschool. One of my favorite "brother" pictures.

Fourth birthday. Look at Nicholas' face. This was probably the beginning of, "Darrin gets everything!"

First day of preschool. Ok, this may be my favorite picture of all time.

Preschool picture day...(taken by me)

Fifth birthday @ Chuck E. Cheese. Wee.

October 2005

seventh birthday

Eighth birthday

To be continued...

Now Showing, "Typical Day"

Scene: Mother has arrived home from her last minute shopping for Easter baskets. She is sitting in a chair reading bulletins on MySpace when Father walks in and asks why she seems so sad.

Mother: looks up with tears in her eyes I feel like a failure as a mother.
Father: Why?
Mother: Easter is tomorrow and while I was not the only person out, I should have planned better...Mother continues on telling Father the details of going to Target, Kroger, and Walgreens. She has tears streaming down her face. Father gets up and leaves the room.

A noise comes from the garage. It sounds like a child crying.

Mother: getting up and setting computer on ottoman Oh NO! She runs to the garage.
Father: What happened?

Scene: Garage. One child is laying on the floor, crying, his arm at an odd angle from his body. Other child stands about three feet from the laying child with hands on his mouth and a look of fear on his face.

Blond child: I didn't mean to!
Brunette child: continues to cry
Mother:What's wrong? What happened?
Blond child: I am sorry! I didn't mean to! Mother ignores Blond child and tries to figure out what is wrong with Brunette child.
Mother: Where are you hurt? She touches child softly, worried that something is broken.
Brunette child: My butt!
Mother: chokes back a giggle Your butt. Aww. How did that happen?
Brunette: I was on my skateboard and Blond pushed me and I fell and hit my butt. continues to cry
Mother: starts to laugh and speaks in a sing-song voice Oh. Your butt! Poor baby? Did you crack it? Is it ok?
Brunette: cries louder NOOOOO!
Mother: Does anything else hurt? Can you stand up? She reaches for him to help him get up. Come on...it's ok. Do you want me to rub it? Or should I kiss your butt?
Brunette: Stands up, continues to cry No.
Mother: wipes Brunette's eyes and gives him hugs You know Tony Hawk probably fell one hundred thousand times before he got famous.
Suddenly, Blond child kicks off shoes and storms into the house
Mother: Come on. Let's get you something to drink. What do you want?
Brunette: smiles and wipes his eyes. Orange drink. I have some in my cup. Mother goes with Brunette into the kitchen. He gets a drink and all is right again.

Scene: Living room. Mother has returned to computer. Brunette grabs remote, turns on Spongebob and lays on couch. Although they can't be seen, the audience can hear Father talking to Blond.

Blond: ...and when I smashed my fingers in the door, no one came running to see if I was ok!
Father: You were in the bathroom and barely crying. And it's not like you fell or anything.
Blond:Well, I was crying.
Father: Drama Queen
Blond: squeals in anger
Father: Drama.Queen.
Blond: squeals louder
Mother: without looking up from computer Blond, you squeal again, and you will be crying.
Silence falls over the stage.

Curtain closes.

Snips and snails, and puppy dogs' tails...

My son's teacher is pregnant with her first child. Last week she went in for the ultrasound almost every mom looks forward to--determining the sex of the child. She had fingers crossed for a girl, and I assured her she was having a girl; I had only guessed wrong one other time.

She is, in fact, having a "stinky ol' boy." (Her words, not mine.)

I really felt for her emotions. I have a girl. I have a boy that I just KNEW was going to be a girl, and I cried (I mean BAWLED) when I found out the last was another boy.

Then I started thinking about all the things that come with being the mom of boys that I would have never experienced had I gotten my way of having only girls.

Overalls.
Shirts in primary colors and whimsical animals.
HotWheels. (Mommy's back makes a great race track!)
Sand.
Finding rocks in the washer.
The way his hair sticks up at the crown in the morning.
Finding joy in dirt. (That joy unfortunately does not extend to the living room carpet.)
Riding bikes.
Soccer games.
They way they need "only Mommy" when they are sick.
When they bring you a bouquet of dandylions, wild onions, and clover.
The joy of a frog in the yard.
A boy and his dog.
The color blue.
Handprints on every painted surface. (Ok, that does get old, but from time to time it is sweet.)
Army men.

The list continues to grow as they do. I know that she is going to make a great mom. In time, she will find the joy that I have found over the last ten years....

Trick or Treat

Tonight's lineup:

Devil in a Blue Dress

Forrest Gump
and
Spartacus

Hooters Employee of the Month:
Hannah M, 2016

Perhaps he'll really be president someday...

This morning, the boys were getting ready to with Big Daddy. Darrin brings me his Webkins dog (Shep) and says, "Here. Please keep Doggy safe."

"Oh, you need me to babysit? Ok, but I charge $10 an hour."

"That's ok. You don't need to pay me."

Interview with the chil'ren. Part two

Darrin, the 8- year old. He is a man of few words. Just like another guy I know...

Enjoy.



So. How do you feel about getting interviewed by your mommy?
"I don't know."

Do you know what interview means?
"No."

Then how do you know what I am doing?
"I don't know."

So I could be doing it wrong?"Yeah."

How would you know?
"I don't know."

You sound a lot like your sister. An interview is when someone asks you a series of questions. Usually for a publication. Does that help?
"No."

Well, we aren't going to get very far, are we?
"No."

How about I just ask you some questions and you answer them without the 'I don't know.'
"No."

Why?

"I don't know."

::sigh::

"How long is this going to be?"

How did you get a black eye?
"Nick threw a book."

Why was he throwing a book?
"To scare me."

Did it work?

"No. It hit me."

That's true. I think he might have been scared of Mommy. What do you think?
::smiles: "Yes."

What is your favorite thing to do?

Play Playstation.

Really? I hardly see you play it. Which game is your favorite?
::goes in search of game:: Mx vs. ATV

Ok. Cool.

Do you like being the youngest child?
"Yeah."

Why?
"I don't know."

So, you don't think you'd want another brother or sister?
"No."

Hmm. Interesting.

What did you think about that new Spongebob episode?
"It was cool."

What was your favorite part?
"When Spongebob was the "mayor."

If you could have a whole day to do whatever, wherever, what would you do?
"Play. Drive a golf cart. That's all."

That seems pretty ambitious. Who are you going to take with you?
"Chris and Blake."

What about Nick?
"Yeah. But I get to drive."

Alrighty then.