Growing Up

Thirteen years ago today, at 4:22 a.m., a ten pound baby boy bounced into the room and took permanent residence in my heart.

Happy Birthday, Nicholas. Welcome to teenage-dom. 

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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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Saving the Funny

When I first starting blogging, or journaling as those of us on AOL at the time called it, my kids were small and saying funny things faster than I could type them up. Over time, the funny stuff started to wane as they either:

A. Realized I was writing everything for the whole world (read: the seven people that read) to see.
B. Developed hormones and lost the funny.

More than likely, it was secret option C. All the above.

They are still funny. But it comes in spits and spells, and usually so far apart in occurance that the mere shock causes me to forget immediately.

I am driving down the road. The twelve-year-old says out of the blue, "I wish I could get a job. I need money."

It never occured to me to ask him what his monetary needs were. Instead, I pulled the old don't-wish-your-life-away standard parental lecture that was given to me some twenty-five years prior.

That was the end of the converstation regarding money. Although, he was concerned over the cost of my monthly prescription when I picked it up.

I took the boys with me to my writers' group. Afterwards, we pulled into McDonald's. We are sitting in the drive-thru line. As I contemplated shining my high beams on the car that was cutting the line, Nicholas (the twelve-year-old) says, "At the rate I am getting money, if I ever get a girlfriend, we will have to eat off the dollar menu." This occurred about three hours from the last comment regarding money.

I. Cracked. Up.

I couldn't get home fast enough in order to tweet and facebook that statement.  (No texting and driving for this chick.)

Then, if that wasn't enough, about an hour later, he comes sauntering through the living room carrying the dog. Our seven- pound Chihuahua mix. And then told me, " The I-feel-rich-so-I-feel-the-need-to-carry-a-toy-dog-around effect."

Apparently he must have come into some money in the dining room.


Why can't every day be like this?




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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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For the Love of Reading

Studies indicate that children raised in homes where the adults are readers have a better chance of becoming readers themselves.

Of course, it helps if the child has a desire to read. Some simply don't.

My daughter has read exactly two books in her seventeen years that was strickly for pleasure. Both of those were the year before last and part of the Twilight series. She is an Honors student in English (and math and science, too, but I am not going to brag about that.) but will tell me with no uncertain terms, books are boring and a waste of time.

If she didn't look exactly like me, I'd consider getting her DNA tested.

My youngest has always LOVED books. It would be hard to say how many words I have read to him. Now as he is older, I will occasionally read to him or even with him, but his own reading time comes in hits in misses. He still loves books, but he has a processing disorder, so reading for pleasure isn't quite the same for him. We're getting there!


My middle child has never really been a fan of books. As he got older, he would pick some books out at the library, both school and public, but not read them all the way if at all.

Then he discovered Star Wars books. He couldn't get enough, and I couldn't keep up with the demand.

While I was glad he was reading, after about a year or so, I started to get concerned he would not ever pick up another kind of book. And ultimately end up an adult with no social skills except with others at the Sci-Fi convention and living in our basement.

We don't have a basement. Or livable attic.


Then in fifth grade, a magical thing happened. It wasn't major change, but it helped. Through the power of peer- written book reports, he found a new world of books.

Now, he'll read an occasional Star Wars book, but he has added:
The 39 Clues (series)
Diary of a Whimpy Kid
Harry Potter
The My Name is America series
and other various children's fictional writings. Currently, he is reading Freak the Mighty-- suggested by me. He has already mentioned wanting to read the sequel, Max the Mighty.

We frequent three public libraries. When it is time to go, he usually has a book or two in mind that he would like to get (despite my best efforts to subtly recommend some classic or "boy" series), and then he always spends his most time in the non-fiction section.

His fiction may vary. Right now he is in a 39 Clues, Harry Potter, and graphic novel phase. (superheroes- Batman, Superman, Spiderman)

His non-fiction selections never fail to impress me. This past Sunday, I found him at the computer trying to find some books. I asked him what he was looking for. He said, "Knights. I want to read about knights."

We found the section and he picked out a few on knights and a couple that talked about the Renaissance.

Other non-fiction subjects over time have been the following:
Vietnam War
Army
Navy
Marines
World War I and II
Holocaust
Military Weaponry
Abraham Lincoln (his favorite President)
Revolutionary War
Civil War

Just last night he was flipping the channels on the TV and "American Experience" was just coming on PBS. He said, "Oh! The Ulysses S. Grant one. I was wanting to watch that."

And he did. The entire hour and a half.

I mentioned to my husband that it tickles me pink the choices he makes to read. Seriously, it cracks me up. But obviously other kids want to learn about those things, too, or the books wouldn't have been written geared toward them.


He's growing up fast, though. Before you know it, I'll be writing about straightening up in his room, picked up a book about some historical event, and a special magazine was hidden inside and fell out, opening to the centerfold.

Just as long as he still reads the articles, right?

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.

Come along and ride a Fantastic Voyage. Slippity slide.

Welcome to our today. This ride may take many twists and turns unexpectedly. Please keep arms and legs inside at all times. Those with back problems, heart conditions, or pregnant are welcome to ride. Riders are cautioned, however, and must proceed at own risk. Enjoy your ride!

I am not even sure how seven days have passed without posting. I couldn't believe it until I saw it with my own eyes.

First things first: earlier I was reading Knocked Up by Rebecca Eckler when I came across the line, "....doesn't mean I'm not cool and hip."

That just cracked me up for a couple of reasons:

1. The orginial title for this blog was going to be I'm Not Cool and Hip. But I didn't like the flow.
2. That is the number one search query that bring people to this blog.

Secondly: Apparently my grammar issues have rubbed off on my middle child. We were at Big Daddy's tent at the Goat Festival (I know. Please.) when he says, "Mommy. Look at that trailer over there. They have (uses his hands to make air quotes) those quotation marks around 'fried' and 'pies'. That doesn't look right."

::beams with pride::

I tell him, "You are right. It isn't."

He spent the rest of the day looking for errors.

Also, later in the day, I may or may not have corrected a stack of someone's business cards that were left in on top of the hair dryer in Burger King. The cards were proud of the fact that "to local companys" are opening soon.

I wish I had taken a card. I'd like to know what these "companys" do. Perhaps I could have offered my services....

Speaking of grammar, I was reading another book and found a subject/verb disagreement. I guess even the best editors can make a mistake.

Third: There are a couple of reasons I haven't written in a week. Well, excuses would probably be a more accurate description.

A. The kids are on Fall Break. We have one computer--a desktop. They are loud and I am used to quiet during the day.
B. I spent one WHOLE day reading.
C. Big Daddy has been getting ready for the festival. He needed my "help."
D. Yesterday, I ended up spending all day at aforementioned festival. (It wasn't bad. Cute, actually. Probably nicer than our state fair.)
E. When I went to write the next day's post for Sara's Challenge , after perusing the pages to find my style, it was then I realized that I didn't have one. Never have, really. (For day number 17)

That led to other feelings of doubt, which led to other feelings....

Basically I've been having a pity party. Which probably could have been avoided if I had been taking my prescription properly.

Oops.

Anyway, I am feeling better now. Or something like it. And shall resume posting regularly soon. Of course, we have one more week of Fall Break. But I will give it the old college try.



Thank you for riding the Cool and Hip Emotional Roller Coaster today. Please follow the arrows for the proper exiting procedure. Be sure to take all personal belongings. Anything left behind will be sold on eBay, Craigslist, or distributed as employee Christmas gifts. Have a lovely day! We hope to see you again soon.

I Can Literally List a Million

Day 8: "What is your least favorite quote or saying and why?"

There are three sayings that get under my crawl. And frankly, there are probably more, but I feel bad that I couldn't think of more than one quote that I liked.

I guess I focus on the negative too much. I am in a grumpy mood, so be prepared.
I am not sure if the order here is the exact pecking order as they all pretty much annoy me frequently.

3) "At the end of the day..."

To me this is a cop- out statement. It is a way for someone to justify what he or she is saying or doing by saying, "It won't really matter." I have only heard this used correctly perhaps once or twice. The rest of the time it is simply overused. Like the word literally.

(Although, I will claim to use literally. Literally once a day. At least.)

2) "I don't know."

This may not classify as a quote or saying; however, if I were perform a density percentage of my entire blog on this one phrase from quoting them, it would be HIGH. These people in my family drive me crazy with it. Again, I feel as though this is a cop-out. No one wants to actually have to think. Occasionally, I understand that whomever is being asked a question may not actually know, but come on, really? Every time a question is asked? Some days I feel as though they'd all rather I literally do their thinking for them.

1) "Boys will be boys."

Big Daddy KNOWS not to say this to me. I simply do not believe in it. It is another cop-out. Another way to justify some unsavory behavior.

To a point, I believe boys may have some primitive, unconscious desire to do things that are stereotypically "boy-like." And while that is all well and good, if my boys were to act up and I said, "Oh well. Boys will be boys," all I am doing is reinforcing that behavior rather than teaching them how to control impulses and make good choices.

If I wouldn't let my daughter do it, why would I let my boys?


And that's all I have to say about that.

Getting Tunafied at Miss Walker's

Day 30- One last moment

I guess it's time to wrap this challenge up. Although, I really don't wanna. Even though I have managed to spread it out over two months, I liked the comfort of knowing I "had something to talk about" on those days that all I may have done was make coffee.

Oh, I kid. I would never have the luxury of only making coffee. The dogs have to go outside. And someone has to change the channels on the TV.

At any rate, I have procrastinated on posting this simply because I didn't know what to write about.

And then it just happened.

Last night , Nicholas and I were talking about music. He has taken a sudden interest in my iPod. All he wants to do is listen to music.

::heart swells with pride::

He is talking about the songs he would want if he had his own music player because, "yours doesn't have anything good on it."

::pop::

Let the record show that I have about 497 songs LOADED on there. If one can't find something good to listen to on my iPod, there's nothing I can do.

He does like the song, "Roses" by OutKast. We are singing, and he says, "You need a golden calculator tunafied...."

After I stopped laughing about an hour later, I showed him the video and told him that the only thing one could do with a golden calculator was to divide.

Apparently, not really knowing the lyrics runs in the family....

For the last twenty plus years, I have been singing, "On a one-winged dove" instead of "a white-winged dove" to "Edge of Seventeen" by Stevie Nicks. (Hello. Still best song EVER.)

Even when I would be singing that song, quite loudly I am sure, I always wondered how it soared. What with its one wing and all.

But the award for alternate lyrics goes to Big Daddy.

We are looking up some songs by the group, "Kentucky Headhunters." They are playing at a festival he is going to be at next month and neither of us recognized the name.

I find an album and click on a song I thought sounded familiar, "Dumas Walker."

The sample starts to play, and we both say, "OOOH!" at the same time. However, our ohs had different meanings.

Mine was for recognition.

His was because of the lyrics. They sing, "Let's all go down to Dumas Walker's."

He thought they sang, "Let's all go down and do Miss Walker."

This was three days ago. As soon as I stop laughing, I need to ask him what he thought the next line was...

"We'll get a slawburger, fries, and a bottle of ski.."


So there you have it. One last moment, thankfully, full of laughs.

Here's to many, many more....

Maybe I Am Closer Than I Think

Day 29- My aspirations

I can't believe this 30-Day Blog Challenge is coming to an end. Of course, I have strung it out over like 45 days, so you're probably tired of it already.

I have a lot of aspirations. And anyone that has read me for any length of time knows what they are:

• Great teacher
• Published writer (well, technically I am published, but you know what I mean.)
• Debt free
• A size 10

At this rate, I probably have a better chance of being debt-free than I do a size 10.

Anyway, there is one thing that I think about ALL. THE. TIME. And if I accomplish this, than the rest will just be gravy. Well, a gluten, fat fat-free version.

I hope that when my children grow up, they remember their childhood in a positive way. That they don't remember the times I was "sick." That they will always want to come home for the holidays or "just because." That they won't feel like anything I may or may not have done to them has a negative bearing on what they become.

Quite simply, I don't want them to feel the way I do.

--------------------------------------------------------

Side note: As I was typing this up, Nicholas walked by. He saw the bullet points and said, "What is this. 'Things I Am?'"

I replied, "No. Those are things I want to be."

He looked confused. "But you are already this (points to published writer) and this (great teacher) and this (debt free). "

I laughed. "No. Honey, I am NOT debt free."

"Oh. Well, you are almost this (points to size 10). You are an 11."

That kid is smart. He is going to make some lady a very good husband. ;)

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?"

I spy with my little eye....

Hello and welcome! It's Friday again. Although, from my position, I am not sure how that happened. This week has FLOWN by.

If you are new, I hope you'll choose to come back. Thanks for taking the time to visit!

Thanks to Smart and Trendy Moms for Hosting Social Parade and Thanks, Mail Carrier for Friendly Friday.

:D
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Disclaimer: The following post, while not graphic in nature, has a subject matter that may not be comfortable for all readers. The author apologizes for any discomfort this may cause.



Do you remember when it was time to give Nicholas "The Talk?" I did follow up with him the next day after school.

Sort of.

I went in brave. I asked him what they talked about. He didn't go into specifics, but he did show me a vocabulary sheet the teacher had them copy.

Now there's an idea for the TCAP writers. I bet kids (ok, mostly the boys) would study voluntarily then. Probably form study groups and host all-nighters the week of exams.

Anyway, while the information contained on the aforementioned sheet was terminology I was comfortable discussing with him, there was one term that was left off. And I couldn't bring my mouth to form the word.

You know the one.

It's Wheel of Fortune time. There are no more vowels. $1,000,000 is on the line.

_ E _

The category is "What rhymes with 'Flex'?"


So, to make a long story short, I still don't know if he knows. I KNOW I have to tell him. I just feels like a piece of childhood is lost when you gain that kind of knowledge about adulthood. I'd just as soon tell him that there is no Easter Bunny or Tooth Fairy.

Speaking of the Tooth Fairy, she is going broke. Both boys are losing their molars like they are going out of style. I am wondering if they are buying spares out on the streets because they can't have that many in their mouths.

Back to the adult stuffs, I don't have to tell you the crap that is on TV these days. Back in April, Big Daddy talked me into turning off the cable. It had some benefits, like saving $ and not having to worry about the kids stumbling on something inappropriate on a supposed kids' network. I can appreciate those now that the withdrawl symptoms have subsided. Mostly because I can watch most of the stuff I like online.

Let's all praise the wonder that is the internet. I am not sure how I lived through the 80s and early 90s.

After six weeks or so with NO TV, we got an antenna to go on the living room TV. We get exactly ONE channel (ABC), but it is our favorite for news which was the purpose of getting the antenna.

Today, for some reason, one of the boys turned on the TV and Dr. Phil was on. I didn't really think whatever they were talking about was that bad and there was only about fifteen minutes left, and if you are at all familiar with talk shows, means that there is actually about five minutes left. Therefore, the viewer is bombarded with commercials.

I don't ever watch these shows but apparently I would be the market the advertisers are targeting. Because today at 3:45 CST, a commercial for KY Yours and Mine came on.

As in, personal effects that are for a couple. In a romantic and private setting. Not for travel brochures to Kentucky, unfortunately.

In slow motion, before my mind could come up with an appropriate distraction, Nicholas asks, "What is that for?"

This. Is. Not. Happening. "It's for adults." Please let him take that answer and drop it. Please, please, please, please, plea-

"But, what do they do with it?"

"Um. Well. ::cough:: It's sort of hard to explain."

THANKFULLY, he let it drop. But let's face it. This child may look like his daddy, but he is all me. ALWAYS THINKING. He has not forgotten nor stopped thinking about it.

You kind of have to feel sorry for the kid. Once I finally give him the cold, hard facts (oops, no pun intended), he is going to connect all the dots. Then he'll be poking out his mind's eye just like we did when it came to our parents.

Please give me some sympathy, though. I still have one more boy to go through this with.

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...

Breaking the Rules

Ok. So no one has any questions? Let's move on, shall we?

Today was the official last day of school. Official in that it counts as one of our 187 days (or whatever the count is) and not really because all we have to do is pick up the report cards.

We are driving down the road. Well, technically, UP as we were going north at the time. Nicholas is complaining that they had to be in dress code and no one else was in dress code and what could they do anyway? "You were with me."

Calmly as I could, I tried to explain to him that I couldn't help what the other parents chose to do that morning, but I felt it was my responsibility to show him the right thing to do. And in this instance, the school board specifically said, "It is a school day. Be in dress code." Sure, there was nothing the school could do, nor did they do anything during the year for the kids not in dress code (at his school). But, there are times in life we have to do things we may not want to do. However, rules need to be followed even if we don't agree and as long as not one is getting hurt.

And let's face it. The dress code is about as lax as it can get. He was dressed in jean shorts (carpenter jean shorts), a red polo, and tennis shoes. Not a stretch from what he'd be wearing otherwise, other than his shirt was tucked in, and he was wearing a belt.

In his pre-teen angst, I am sure he heard, "Blah, blah, blah, bladity, blah-blah, because I SAID SO!"

Nonetheless, his attitude soared to a new degree when he was talking about how late we went. None of his friends were milling about. The buses were even leaving.

I responded with, "We went late to beat the crowd. That way we can talk to the teachers and even other teachers if we so chose."

He said, "No. We went late because you didn't want to be in the crowd. You thought you'd have a nervous break-down. You had a nervous break- down when there were twelve people trying to buy vegetables the other day at WalMart.

The inflection in his voice couldn't be missed. It wasn't one of mere comment but rather of disdain.

It hurt.

To be continued....

Momma's Boy

When the kids were little, and I am talking about preschool age, I had these grandiose ideals that I would be the cool and hip parent. Ever so liberal with them and their questions be it sex, drugs, or rock 'n roll. While I can honestly say that I have never tried any type of drug, nor was I ever at a party that served alcohol and got trashed therefore having to sneak home, it's not as if I have had a squeaky-clean track record.

Let's remember that I got pregnant with my first child the summer before my Senior year of high school. I was 17. No one is going to call me to be the spokesperson for teen abstinence.

So, in my infinite wisdom, I thought it would be best to be open and honest with my kids about my past, sort of a what-not-to-do manual. If my husband and I were open about things they were curious* about, then perhaps that would keep them from sneaking off and doing who knows what.

While there were avenues my husband was comfortable with (sex) there were some he wasn't (drinking). One thing he hates from my childhood was that my brother and I were able to drink if we were at home. Not get trashed and party all weekend, but if we wanted a beer, we could have one. He thinks that allowing a teen to drink at home opens the gates to allowing them to drink at parties and whatnot. It's hard to say if my parents' philosophy worked--I am not much of a drinker (and never beer-ick) but my brother is. So to make a long story short, my brother became the partier, (sex, drinking, and drugs) and I just got knock-up. At least my brother didn't get anyone pregnant until he was in his mid-twenties.

Flash forward to the oldest heading towards puberty. Easy stuff with her. Cramps, moods, hair, periods--nothing extraordinary there. I was all about telling her what she needed to know or wanted to know.

Until.

She was about ten I think, and we were in Target with my mom. I am not sure what started it, but she and I started singing "Baby Got Back." We were coming up on the lyrics, "...when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist and a round thing in your face you get sprung..." and I tried to skim over it. Something in me sort of snapped to attention. As luck would have it, she turns to me and says, "Mommy, what does 'get sprung' mean?"

Um. Excited? Like a kangaroo?

Honestly, I don't remember what I said exactly, but later my mom said, "Why didn't you just tell her? She needs to know."

I knew then I was in trouble.

So, I put the whole I-am-the-coolest-parent-that-doesn't-want-you-to-have-sex-but-I-know-you-will-so-here-is-the-appropriate-precautions on hold.

Flash forward to present day. Jessica's junior prom was last weekend. I said, "Don't have sex." She said, "I'm not you."

Well, alrighty then. And let the record show, as I told her, that I was still virtuous at my junior prom.

Nicholas is eleven, and I had been putting off the talk but knew I'd need to do it before he goes to sixth grade. I had forgotten our school does a puberty class in fifth grade. The letter came out two weeks ago. I happened to be teaching fifth grade that day and handed out the letter/permission slips. After school, Nick comes to my room and says, "Um. What is puberty and why do you have to sign this?"

Crap.

This afternoon, the boys will be shuffled into one room- the girls in another. Ever the Queen of Procrastination, I waited until yesterday to sit him down and talk to him. My plan at letting Big Daddy talk to him first had failed miserably. He doesn't even like talking about that kind of stuff with me.

So, trying to be that liberal mom I had hoped to be but failed with Jessica, I got a book from the library and took Nicholas in my room to talk to him.

I didn't have a clue on what to say, how much to divulge, or what is appropriate for a boy of his age to know.

Needless to say, I failed. Big time. If you heard a big boom around 5 pm Central time, it was me getting my 'F' stamped on my parental report card.

He is a smart boy, but yesterday I saw what they mean when they talk about boys being more immature than girls at this age. He "eeewwwed" the body hair (especially in the southern regions), "ewwed" the picture I showed him of how he would "change," and laughed like a school girl when I told him what his testicles were actually for. We never got past that.

He so wasn't ready for this talk. Neither was I.

Yes, dear Reader, I took the chicken way out. I finally just told him that the teacher giving the class would tell him all he needed to know, and when he got home today, we would privately talk about what he'd learned and either I or Daddy would answer any questions he had.

I might as well have thrown some pamphets on his bed and told him to talk to the school nurse or his buddies if he has a question.

Of course, now I'll probably have to pay for therapy because not only will he know his parents have had sex, but his mother even blogged about "The Talk."

He will write a book one day about his tragic childhood. Hopefully soon though; then he can give The Talk to Darrin next year....


*Curiosity in terms of legal things. There is a definite NO on illegal things like drugs. There will be no permission to try drugs. Probably not alcohol either....Big Daddy already said no.