Apparently Not A Breakfast For My Little Champion

Good morning, blogosphere. Well, wait. Let me rephrase. Morning, blogosphere. There. That’s much better. It is morning, but it certainly hasn’t started out good. Though not horrible, so maybe the good can stay. Wow. I’m full scale babble already today, aren’t I? Let me explain why I am here at this early hour (and yes, I realize that it isn’t actually that early, and by the time I get this posted, it will be even later, but for a Sunday morning following a Saturday night bedtime of 2 am, it is ungodly early for me), drinking my chocolate creamer coffee and writing, instead of blissfully snuggled in my bed.

 

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My four year old (whom I still do not have a nickname to use for him here, what the hell is wrong with me that I can’t come up with a nickname that illustrates some of his personality?!) gets up pretty early in the morning (by my standards) about 99% of the time. When he goes to bed at his regular bedtime, I can pretty much count on him being awake by 6:30. When he stays up until his later, summer bedtime, he usually won’t sleep past 7:15. So, like clockwork, he was in my bedroom at 7:05 today. Now a year ago, that would have been pretty brutal having just gone to bed at 2 am. But now that he’s older, I’m working out a system so that even if he won’t sleep in, I can be a night owl and still get close to the amount of sleep I need. Apparently there are some kinks in the system that need to be worked out.

 

Anyway, 7:05 arrives and he is in my room, which immediately tells my dog he needs to get up too because it must be time for breakfast. He’s got an internal meal clock that is infallible too. He knows exactly when his meal times are and will start whining one hour before said meal time, causing me to lose my mind listening to the whining. But, I’ve gone off track again. (I know. Shocker.) Back to 7:05. The little one is awake, the dog is ready to eat, so I stumble my way out to the living room (opening my eyes as little as possible to avoid the light from forcing my brain to wake up), turn on the TV while he turns on the Xbox so he can play his game (probably not winning any mother of the year awards, but when a girl’s gotta sleep, a girl’s gotta sleep). While this is going on, my dog is doing his version of a happy dance around my feet. I can’t remember if I’ve mentioned it before, but my dog is a miniature dachshund, aka little weiner dog, so he’s fragile. Those long backs can get injured easily and his happy dance has me slightly concerned that I’m going to trip and fall on him. Which I’m fairly sure would jack up his back. But we manage to get the TV on and switched to the Xbox input without incident. Then I head to the kitchen with the dog racing ahead of me, where he proudly parks his ass down on the rug by his bowls. I open the cupboard and refrigerator, pulling out Cheerios and orange juice. And no, that is not for the dog, which I’m sure you figured out, but left him wondering what the fuck I was doing. Which is strange because we go through this same routine everyday.

 

I poured some cereal in a bowl and some orange juice in a cup and put it on the table for the little one. Unfortunately, it was not yet time for the dog’s breakfast, so he was left sitting by his bowl while I kissed little one’s head, told him his breakfast was on the table for him, and puttered back to bed. I climb back under the sheet, put the dark sock I keep on my nightstand over my eyes (I really need one of those sleep masks, but this works), and fall back asleep. Jump ahead to 7:40. Little one is calling for me so I yank my sock off my eyes and go to see what he needs. (And to put the dog’s food out since it is finally time for his breakfast. We’re smart and have his bowl made the night before so all we, I mean I, have to do is take it out of the fridge and give it to him. He’s on a strict diet of dog food and pumpkin and it’s a real pain in the ass to try to put that together when you’re trying to sleep while standing.) He is sitting at the table and asks if we had any more “bendy” straws for his juice. I tell him no. He asks if I forgot to buy more and I say yes. Which, technically, is a lie because I said when the last box was getting low that I wasn’t going to buy any more straws. He said he would use the other straw (one of those that came with a big water bottle), but I told him it was in the dishwasher and that he would just have to drink his juice like a big boy. And I head back to bed.

 

7:43. Yes. Three minutes later. I’m not even making that up. Little one is calling for me again. I yell from my bed to try and figure out what he needs this time and if I really need to get up to take care of it. (I’m sure Hubby was just pleased as punch that I was yelling six inches from his head, but I say tough cookies to that.) Little one wasn’t giving me any indication of why he needed me, but was still calling for me, so I again climb out of bed. And now I’m really starting to get grumpy because getting called out of bed two extra times is not part of the system. I knew he wasn't hurt because he didn’t have that tone in his voice. It was just his regular, ‘I need something, so come take care of it’ tone. I get to the dining room and see him frantically mopping up the table with some napkins. (God bless his little soul for trying to clean up the mess!) I asked if he spilled his juice and he said yes. So I grab some more napkins and start soaking up the juice on the table. Then I glance down and see a puddle, yes a puddle, of orange juice under his chair. I think I made some kind of noise resembling an ‘oh no!’ sound, but it’s all a little bit blurry. I run to the kitchen grab a washcloth, wet it, and run back to start soaking up the juice on the floor. (Why I wet it, I’m not really sure because clearly something that is already wet is not going to have as much absorption as something that’s dry, but my brain was still not clicking yet. I think I figured since it was juice it would be sticky so I’d need to wet it down to clean it. I guess I forgot about the whole 'having to get it off the carpet first’ part.) As I’m trying to soak up the juice on the floor, I see that he is sitting in a puddle on his chair. There is juice all over the place. His shirt is wet, his arm is soaked, legs, feet, underwear, everything. There is literally 7 ounces of juice on him, the table, his chair, and the floor. Awesome. I grab another towel (dry this time, because I realize I’m an idiot for trying to use a wet one) and start soaking up the juice on his chair so I can get him off of it without dripping. He stands up on the chair and proceeds to stick his toes in the puddle of juice and swirl it around like it’s a freaking rain puddle! I yell at him to stop doing that, get it all soaked up and him dried off, and haul him into the bathtub. After his bath, I finished cleaning things up in the dining room.

 

While all of this is going on, I’m asking him how it happened that he managed to spill his entire cup of juice. Have you ever tried interrogating a four year old? I bet even the most seasoned detective or FBI agent would crack before getting a real answer out of him. The best thing I got was, “It just didn’t work.” Well, no shit, Sherlock. The juice all over my carpet is evidence of that. I still don’t know exactly how he managed to dump all that juice.

 

But I do know one thing.

 

I’m buying more straws.

Fried.

This week has been killer at work. I’ve been doing all my regular ad scheduling, data gathering, spreadsheet inputting, marketing analysis stuff, but I’ve also been proofreading a book (the second of three) and listening to an interview (of sorts) while transcribing certain points of this interview. I’m classified as a part-time employee, but these past two weeks I may as well have been full-time. To say that my brain is mush, would be putting it mildly. My fingers won’t follow my brain’s commands and my brain feels like it’s fighting to run through molasses. I should have this sign on my desk.

 

 

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P.S. Even trying to find a sign was a struggle for my brain. So I just made one. Not nearly as funny as a real one, but it gets the idea across.

 

So given the fact that I can’t string together enough cohesive thoughts to make a whole post, I’ll just give you a few little tidbits that are jumping around in this skull of mine.

 

1. In the last five days, I think I’ve gotten about 26 hours of sleep. The person/animal that wakes me up tomorrow morning had better be severely injured or else they are going to be face to face with a very grouchy mama. Oh who am I kidding? There’s no way in hell I’m going to be able to sleep in. Between my dog and my four year old, I can kiss any hope of sleeping in goodbye.
2. I’m really fucking hungry but I can’t find a single thing that sounds even remotely good to eat. And I just went grocery shopping last night. I hate when that happens.
3. I bought some new hair clips at the store last night. Kind of like those butterfly clips, but with a slightly different shape and the words “Will not slip” on the cardboard. This is important to me because my hair is pretty fine and is constantly falling out of anything I try to put in it. I twisted my hair up onto the back of my head this morning, put a clip in, and completely forgot it was there! It’s fucking amazing to me that this clip has stayed in place for like 12 hours! Unheard of!
4. My daughter got a hamster for her 11th birthday last year. (I thought it was a bad idea given all the other animals we have in this house. And I did not want to end up being the one that cleaned it’s cage.) Tuesday, she noticed something on her little rat’s hamster’s face and she wanted to clean it off. Pretty soon she came running out of her room because whatever it was, was not coming off. She started freaking out – crying and generally being hysterical - because she didn’t know what was wrong with it. After some close examination on the part of Hubby and Drama Queen, they came to the conclusion it might be a tooth. (Did I mention I didn’t want the thing?) I looked it up online and sure enough, hamster’s teeth have been known to become over grown and puncture their cheek. All that needs to be done is for the tooth to be trimmed back to it’s normal size. Hubby called the vet the next morning and made plans to take her in Thursday morning to have it taken care of. All day Drama Queen was stewing around worried about what was happening. Thursday afternoon the vet called Hubby back and asked that he come in to talk about what needed to be done before they did anything. Not. A. Good. Sign. (Have I said that I thought getting this thing would be a bad idea?) Hubby and Drama Queen left to go see what was up. Drama Queen was only allowed to go if she promised to stay in the truck. Not too long later, the three of them were home. Protruding tooth and all. Hubby said it was going to be over $150 for the “surgery” to trim the tooth (which had become so overgrown that it actually started to curl because her lower tooth had fallen out and it had nothing to grind against to keep it naturally trim) and then we would have to keep bringing her back every so often to get it trimmed. At a price tag of more than $60 a pop. (Oh dear God, did I not say that we shouldn’t have let her get the damn thing?!) Hubby said thanks but no thanks, paid the $60+ dollars for them to do nothing but grace us with their presence, and brought her home. After a couple calls, he found another clinic that would do it for less, though not as little as I would have liked. It was farther away, but they made the trip this morning and the little rodent got her tooth trimmed. Apparently one of the vet assistants (are they called nurses, too?") said this was the worst overgrown hamster tooth she’d ever seen. (Joy. We’re the worst hamster owners ever. Maybe I should have been a little less vehement about not wanting the thing. Now I feel guilty) They even got to bring it home to show the rest of us. I was going to take a picture of it, but now I can’t find the pill bottle it was put in. I’m slightly disturbed that this tooth has suddenly gone missing. I just pray that Hubby threw it away and that Drama Queen didn’t sneak off with it somewhere. Though I suppose we should frame the damn thing since it cost us about $120!

 

Well, I’m going to have to leave it at that because, well because Drama Queen has been sitting here in the living room with me watching the Olympics and she won’t stop talking, and I can’t hear myself think. Add that to my already addled brain and you have a very unstable situation. And toss in some beer (can you see me smiling?) and who knows what could come out of my mouth. Or I guess my fingers in this case. Until next time.

Not An Actual Marathon, But It Almost Seems Like It

Whoo! I am worn out. I feel like I’ve been operating in overdrive for the last five days. Like I’ve just run a marathon. I spent the weekend cleaning because I got some bug up my butt telling me I should dust and vacuum. Everything. Right Now! It’s a sick ritual I keep falling into. Every once in a while, I get irritated about something and then I feel like taking my frustrations out on dirt and grime. But I really hate cleaning so halfway through I get pissed that I’m cleaning while everyone else is just laying around or (worse!) continuing to dump toys on the floor. But by then, I can’t really walk away from cleaning because I’m already too far into it to stop. When I finish, I feel really good because A: I’m in a clean environment, which always makes me feel relaxed and B: I’ve worked out all of my frustrations. But then, within a day, toys are scattered all over my floor again and I wonder why I even bother. That’s the trouble with living with kids other people I guess.

Then, my daughter recently had a birthday so we took her a place called “Incredible Pizza” to celebrate. Just the four of us. (We’re trying to get her away from having parties every year. She’s 11 now so I think it’s probably time.) For those of you that aren’t familiar with Incredible Pizza it’s like an arcade on steroids. It’s very similar to Chuck E. Cheese, but it tries to attract a larger demographic by having more games and attractions that are more suited for older kids and adults, while still having plenty for the younger ones to play with. They also have a really large unlimited buffet that you can eat at the entire time you are there. (Yes, we have actually done both lunch and supper with playing in between the two meals before.) It’s a pretty cool place to go. Unless, of course, you’re like me and don’t really enjoy large crowds. Well, that’s not true. Large crowds are sometimes okay. It’s the large crowds of children that I don’t like. The only saving grace is that this place is large. The building used to be a large grocery store, so they are able to spread things out a bit. We were there nearly five hours and by the time we were ready to leave, I had just about been worn down into the ground.

Allow me for a moment to get on my soapbox. Grownups, I know that places like these are not always fun for the adults. Especially when you have a number of children that you are responsible for. I would much rather sit at my table the whole time too. I even had a really good book in my purse calling my name. And I also know that you cannot always keep your group together. Please, when you allow your children to go off without you, teach them ahead of time what is acceptable behavior. Kids that are twelve should not attempt to play on the toddler playground climbing equipment. It’s called toddler for a reason. Kudos to the boy who saw his friend getting ready to climb and was smart enough and brave enough to tell his friend, “My dad says we can’t play on that.” Kudos young man and I salute your dad. Job well done, sir. And grownups, do not allow young children to play without you. That’s just asking for trouble. Plus, they are not old enough to understand and/or remember said acceptable behavior. Also, when playing with your children, do not allow them to do whatever they want even though you are right there next to them. Standing on a moving car ride is not a good idea. I know you told your child to sit down but after he didn’t listen the four or five times you said it, maybe you should just yank your kid off the ride. It’s not going fast and he’s not even buckled in. I know that he’ll probably cry. I know it costs money to ride, but don’t worry about the 30 cents you’re wasting by not getting a full ride. Chalk it up to a learning experience and have hope that next time, he’ll stay sitting. Finally, adults and children, when going through the buffet line, do not pay more attention to the music that is playing and for the love of God, don’t dance while you’re picking out what food you want. Next time, this tired, hungry mama might go ape shit on your ass and no one really wants to see that. Especially my family. They would be mortified. As would I. I really do want to keep up the façade that I’m an easy-going person. Thank you.

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An example of indoor toddler playground equipment

Now I know that all of you, my lovely readers, do not need the instruction that I just provided. But I am sure, in the course of your days, you will run into people that do need the reminder. I don’t expect you to tell another adult that they should be doing something differently when it comes to their kids. No one likes getting unsolicited advice. But I just had a brainstorm. Maybe you could make up an event that would illustrate why their kid should not be doing whatever it is they are currently engaged in. Take this for example. When I saw the mom with the kid standing up in the car ride I could have said to her, “You know, I heard a couple of months ago at some other arcade, a kid was standing in a car kinda like that one and he fell out and got his foot caught in the gears underneath. I guess it really messed up his foot.” Well, maybe not. I wouldn’t have the guts to do that and I’d probably get called out on the story. But it’s pretty entertaining in my head! So I guess you don’t have to do anything, but maybe chuckle a little to yourself and remember that I went through the same thing.

So anyway, back to my weekend. My parents and Hubby’s mom all wanted to come over so they could give their gifts to Drama Queen. (I’ve decided that I need to give names to my family on here, so my oldest is now Drama Queen. Haven’t come up with a name for youngest yet.) My parents showed up about an hour after we got back home, which allowed me just enough time to tidy up the dishes from the morning and disaster still remaining on my kitchen counter. (Which apparently is oftentimes mistaken for a catch-all. Not only does it collect junk mail and other various papers, but also books, tools, toys, and whatever else we happen to be carrying as we walk by it.) Hubby’s mom came about 40 minutes after my parents. My parents left about seven o’clock, but then mother-in-law didn’t leave until quarter till eight. So it was a rush to get both kids into the bathtub and into bed. Needless to say, there was no time for me to make a cake or make cupcakes for Drama Queen to take to school. And I didn’t get my laundry done.

Monday was a mad rush to get my exercise at the Y in and get home to get laundry going. Monday night I got the cupcakes made and frosted and got finally got Drama Queen’s birthday cake made. It’s a chocolate lava cake and definitely one of my favorites!

Today I had to get Drama Queen to school early for her band rehearsal, get a quick trip into Wal-Mart done, and drop off the cupcakes at her school (preferably before school started so she could just stop in the office when she got to school after band.) I was already feeling stressed by the time school started because I did get the cupcakes dropped off beforehand (read: ran through the store like a mad woman, throwing everything into my cart in order to get done as fast as possible), it was raining and really cold and windy, and Drama Queen spent too much time not getting dressed and was late for rehearsal. (She left the table to go get dressed and 15 minutes later I went into her room and she was still in her pj’s!) But that’s how she learns, right?

I also had to do more laundry today to completely catch up. I open up the dryer to get the first load out and I see a pair of earbuds that came with a cell phone and can be used as a “hands-free” device. Shit. As soon as I saw them, I remembered putting them in the pocket of this flannel shirt that I washed. Clearly I didn’t think about checking the pockets. Oh, who am I kidding? I never check pockets! I know I should, but it takes enough time getting all the laundry done. It’s not like I use them very often, but sometimes I use those for my computer instead of my mp3 player earbuds. Now I’m afraid if I try to use them again they will short out my computer. Or shock me. I’m going to ask Hubby if they’re worth saving or if I should just throw them away.

We also cut the eggs of our first clutch tonight. Today was they day we expected them to hatch, so when we reach the expected hatch date, we snip a small slit in the egg so the snake has an easier time getting it’s head out. I can’t wait to see what we have inside this clutch! This is the most exciting part of breeding snakes.

But now I’m seriously ready for some rest and relaxation. I don’t know when that’s going to happen, so I guess I’ll just look forward to some quiet time in the cardio room tomorrow. I think Drama Queen has to go in early again tomorrow though. They’re really upping their rehearsals because the concert is coming fast. That could interfere with my plans to get to the Y. We’ll have to see how well I can plan this out.

Confessional

I have a confession to make.

 

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I have an unhealthy relationship with food. I love food and I tell myself that food loves me too. When I’m feeling down (sad, lonely, angry, stressed, bored, whatever), I eat. And it’s not like I eat things that are good for me. You will not find me wrist deep in a bag of carrot sticks. No way. You’ll find me stuffing my face with comfort food. A.K.A. junk food. Brownies, chips (Cheetos especially), candy bars and whatever else I can dig up. They are like family to me. I can always count on them. I don’t know when this started or if it’s gotten worse the last few years, but this relationship has been one I have known about for quite some time now. I’ve just never really talked about it. Sometimes I feel better after I eat them. Sometimes I feel guilty. And sometimes, like now, I feel like I’ve eaten enough to feed an army. I’m uncomfortably full. Worse, I’m too full, feeling guilty, and still unhappy. They let me down. They weren’t there to make me feel better. Right now I don’t think they care more about me than any other person who eats them.

 

The reasons I’m upset don’t even matter. Part of it is just normal things that all parents have to deal with from time to time. The other half shouldn’t matter either. I keep telling myself that it’s okay. In the grand scheme of life, it doesn’t affect me at all. That I can’t have everyone like me. That I have plenty of people that do like me and they are the ones that matter. What’s ironic is I remember giving this very advice to a fellow blogger. That she shouldn’t let the people who don’t recognize her greatness get her down. That it’s their loss. Funny how the universe has a way of throwing that back in my face.

 

As a total shift in subject, the blog where I found this picture is actually pretty funny. It’s written by a nun and she’s got some spunk in that Catholic sort of way. Being a disenchanted ex-Catholic myself, I was surprised to find myself continuing to read her posts and even laughing now and again. But I guess being a nun doesn’t take away your sense of humor.

 

Remember when I talked about how the early dismissals at my daughter’s school would interfere with nap time? Yeah, it’s been fun around here. I’ve been pushing my son’s nap back until after we get her picked up and home. Unfortunately, he falls asleep on our way to the school and wakes up when I try to get him into his bed. And I haven’t been able to get him to go back to sleep. If I’m lucky, he’ll lay in bed for half and hour. So the time that I need to work on writing has turned into just enough time to start something and then turns into breaking up the verbal World War III. They don’t hit each other (usually) but bicker and argue until my three year old is crying and then my ten year old starts crying because she’s the one in trouble. You would think with that big of an age difference between them, they would get along and just play nicely. Only in my dreams does that happen. I can only imagine what the next six days are going to be like. I need to start planning plenty of activities to get them out of the house. Sigh. So if my posts don’t come out as regularly as they had been, or I don’t comment on your blogs as often, just think of me and send some patience and peace my way. I know I’m going to need it.

Spring Break For Kids?

This week starts the beginning of Spring Break for my daughter’s school district. It also just happens to correspond with the end of the trimester, meaning early dismissals and parent/teacher conferences. Translation? Hell for parents! For working parents it means figuring out childcare for the three days of early dismissal and the six weekdays (yes, I said six!) they are off for spring break. For stay-at-home parents like myself, it means listening to my kids bicker and fight for those six should-be school days. And an interrupted naptime schedule for the early dismissal days. (For my three year old. Not for me. Although a nap is sounding pretty good right about now.) I think I’d like to put in for a well deserved respite from my kids vacation. Too bad the odds of that happening are about as good as lightning striking a lotto jackpot winner.

 

But seriously, who came up with the idea that elementary kids needed spring break? When I was a kid, we got an Easter Break and that consisted of Good Friday and the Monday after Easter. That’s it folks. The rest of the time our sorry little butts were in our desks. Even in high school we didn’t get a spring break. Sure I would have liked the days off to just lay around and be lazy (or grab more hours at work when I was old enough to have a job), but it didn’t really matter all that much to me. I mean, it’s not like I had big plans to head down to Daytona Beach or Cancun or whatever other hot spot for spring break. Come on. It’s high school. We’re teenagers. Not college students.

 

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I guarantee when my kids are in high school, they are not going to be allowed on any spring break trips unless it’s a family one. (And it certainly won’t look like the picture!) There is no possible way I would ever allow that. I’ve heard too many tales, seen too many news stories, and watched too much MTV spring break specials to ever consider it.

 

And elementary? Really? What are they gonna do? Plan a trip to Chuck E. Cheese for five straight days?! Campout in the park? I haven’t heard of too many parents planning spring break vacations with their kids either. The whole thing is just craziness I think. Elementary kids, and even middle school and high school students do not need six days off for spring break. I hope the teachers do something really extravagant because from the way I see it, they’re the only ones who are coming out on top in this bargain.

 

Now just so you don’t think all I ever do is bitch (although I will admit I do it a lot. Ask my poor husband.), I’ll do something a la Paul and list three good things that happened yesterday.

 

1. I had an awesome sandwich for lunch yesterday and I’m having one again today. (Turkey on oat-nut bread with mayo, lettuce, and provolone cheese. So good!)
2. I got the majority of things done from my list. (Too bad some of the things like laundry and dishes keep multiplying and are never truly done.)
3. At my PTA meeting last night I got to jerk the chain of City PTA. (I take such joy from disagreeing with them, I think there must be something wrong with me.) A member had attended the last City PTA meeting where the officers for City were asking those who attended to go back to their individual units and get money to pay for the lunches at State Convention (which is being held in our town) of seven little old ladies that normally attend the Founder’s Day luncheon that was cancelled. I raised the question that since they have $200 in their budget to cover Founder’s Day and they’re not having it why do they need money from us? That made everyone pause and reconsider whether or not we really need to take money out of our budget to pay for something that isn’t our responsibility. The issue is tabled for now and it makes me happy. (I must have an evil streak in me.)

Call It Tough Love

My 30th birthday is getting so close I can practically touch it and it’s been bothering me. I’m not ready to turn 30. It feels like I’m losing my youth. My opportunity to do those wild and crazy things that 20 somethings do. That later in life can be written off as “Oh well. I was twenty whatever and didn’t know any better.” Well, now I can’t use that excuse any more because I do know better. From the time I was 19, I knew better. Babies have a way of changing how you act.

 

I’ve already sort of talked about this here, so I won’t dwell on it.

 

But two weeks ago, I had a series of texts from one of my sisters that lead to a revelation for me. One that I should have had a long time ago.

 

A: You turn 30?

Me: yes

A: Oh yeah, you’re so old…ash turns 30 this year too. I turn 43. What are you complaining?

Me: I didn’t get to live my 20s!!! And now they’re gone.

A: Boo hoo. I actually accidentally spelled boob. *niece wants blood and carnage. (They were at a hockey game.)

Me: Why does she want blood & carnage. (Not connecting the conversation to the hockey game until later.)

A: I drank too much tequila.

Me: I can tell.

A: lol

 

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When the conversation was happening, I was a little pissed off that she was being so insensitive about my feelings. But then I realized she was right. (If you’re reading, gloat while you can. I may never admit it again! Haha) And I wonder if she would have said they same thing if she hadn’t been enjoying the tequila maybe a little too much. Knowing her, she probably would have. Because sometimes you need a dose of tough love to make you see things clearly.

 

Eventually I came to realize that life is full of choices. And those choices will forever change your life. But those choices brought me where I am today. I probably would never have met my husband if I hadn’t had my daughter. Which means I never would have found someone that I love so completely and who also loves me back! I never would have had my son. I never would have had a lot of things. And really, my life is pretty damn good. Naturally, there are bumps in the road, but nothing we haven’t been able to handle. And everyone has bumps along the way. I suppose that’s what gives you character. You fall down, get back up, and brush yourself off. And are better because of it.

 

Who knows what kind of person I would have been if I hadn’t been a mother at such an early age. The past is behind me. Now is the time to embrace where I am and look forward to the future.

 

Plus, hey, the bright side of turning 30 is that I get to join Studio30+, right?

Just A Bunch Of Gobblety-Gook (Plus Yoga!)

I really didn’t know what to write about, so I’m just gonna start talking at random and see where it leads. Fortunately, I’m not on any cold meds right now, so my head is firmly attached to my neck and all body parts feel as they should. In other words, I don’t think there will be any fog-related, incoherent babble. Well, just based on what I’ve written so far, I could be wrong.

 

The first thing I wanted to mention was this really cool bookshelf that is down at the bottom of my blog. All the way down there. Coolest. Thing. Ever. (Thanks Chanel for letting me steal it from you.) I love putting all the books (that I could remember) that I’ve read in there and then ranking and reviewing them. Okay, well, I haven’t actually gotten around to reviewing them, but it’s in the plan to do so. Feel free to peruse my book shelf and see if there’s something there that might tickle your fancy. I’ve even included books that I haven’t liked so much just so I can keep track of how many I’ve read over the course of the year. Maybe you’ll like one that I didn’t. Never hurts to try.

 

Another thing is I have a poll that I started over the weekend. It’s mostly out of curiosity because I really have no intention of changing the way I do things. But I have been wondering how many people go back and read the comments that the blogger may have left for you or the comments that other people read. Sometimes I start asking questions in my replies to comments and I don’t know if you’ll ever see them or not. So, vote if you so choose and if you want to comment on the poll, please feel free. I’d like to think of my blog (as I’m sure many other bloggers do) as an open discussion where we can talk back and forth. It makes life more interesting, doesn’t it?

 

Today my daughter doesn’t has school because of President’s Day and it’s really thrown things out of whack for me. I’m such a creature of habit, any little deviation from my normal day makes me feel all discombobulated the rest of the day. Today also happened to be my first day of yoga class so that’s a whole new element of my daily schedule that I’ll have to get used to. So instead of trying to sleep in and be lazy on my daughter’s day off, I was up at my regular “school day” time and had myself and both kids ready and out the door at 8:30 so they could play at my mother-in-law’s house while I tried out this whole yoga thing.

 

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The class, honestly, went better than I expected. It was bigger than I hoped it would be, but like everything else I’ve experienced at the Y, I’m the youngest in the group by probably ten years, (although the majority of the class had a good 25-35 years on me.) But this time, it worked out in my favor because I’m still quite a bit more flexible than most of them. (Not all I don’t think because there are some freakishly in shape retired people there!) It was the start of a new session, but as the instructor didn’t recognize me, she came over and introduced herself and asked if I had taken any yoga classes before. I said no, but I had done it on the Wii. I laughed when I said it because I didn’t think it was going to make much of a difference, but it really did help. She told me that she would show certain modifications to some of the positions, and I could work at my own pace. But being the superstar that I am (just kidding, I’m actually nowhere close to superstar status,) I didn’t need to do any of the modifications to make it easier. Did I feel it? Oh yeah. Am I going to be sore? I think in some parts of my body I will be, but I really enjoyed it! Even the instructor after the class said I did really well (“I’m a natural” were her exact words) and that the Wii must have helped. (I don’t know why I giggle every time I talk about doing yoga on the Wii. It sounds so kidish. Oh well.)

 

After my class, I picked my kids up and at my husband’s recommendation, took them to McDonald’s for lunch. That was stupid on top of brain dead. With no school today, the place was packed and the play place was a nightmare come true. Kids were everywhere and adults were scarce. Even my kids were a bit taken aback by the commotion (ah, I’m raising them well) and didn’t feel like staying long. My daughter (much to my amazement) patiently helped her brother through the tunnels and showed him where I was sitting and watching, so they could wave. He was pretty scared so they only went through the thing a handful of times because he was going so…slow…But she was good and only left him sit once while she crawled up and around calling for him to follow her. But I watched in horror as big kids chased little kids trying to scare them and one big sister kept picking up her very small (maybe two year old) sister by the wrists and standing her on one of the play tables, then telling her to jump from the table to the stool to the floor. Um, hello, can we get a parental figure over here please?! We’ve got a big sister trying to maim little sister! (Parents/caregivers should come up with a code system like cops or doctors for situations like that. “We’ve got a 10-16 in progress! Requesting parental authority immediately!” Just a thought.) Maybe I should have been the one to step in and stop it, but frankly, I’ve seen it enough times where a parent goes ape shit on another parent for trying to tell their kids what to do and I just wasn’t prepared to deal with that. If we would have been at the school, yes, I would have been more comfortable stopping the behavior. But McDonald’s? Nope. Sorry. Maybe that makes me less of a good person, but that’s me.

 

That was when I decided it was time to go home (the kids had had enough trying to compete for tunnel space anyway) so I could get my little guy down for his nap and laundry started. It’s way late to be starting laundry (did I mention my whole day goes to shit when my schedule is messed up?), but I’m trying to get through it.

 

Oh yeah, a piece of good news. Remember when I talked about my son always wanting to be on the computer any time I would try to sit down at it? My husband and I ordered a laptop for me over the weekend and I should have it by the end of the week! Do you hear angels singing? Cause I do! I’m so excited because now I’ll be able to relax on the couch and write whatever, any time I get the words flowing in my brain! It’ll be great! No more having to pick between watching TV with Hubby or working on the computer. I’ll be able to do both! And in situation like now, where the neighbor comes over, rings the doorbell to ask if my daughter can come over to play and it wakes up my sleeping son. Goddamn it! Okay, deep breaths. Deep breaths.

Chicken, Fine. High School, What?!

Well, I’m going to pretend my breakdown yesterday didn’t happen and just move forward. But before I do, I think it’s important to review the lessons learned or reinforced from yesterday.

 

1. Drinking too much coffee before running is a really bad idea. (I’m not even going to go into it because I don’t want to relive the horror.)
2. Trying to reason with children of any age will only result in a headache. (This doesn’t really require any explanation. Kids don’t listen. Period.)
3. Read the directions carefully at least twice before making a recipe. (It’s kinda like construction. Measure twice, cut once. Read twice, don’t screw it up. Luckily everything turned out still tasting good.)
4. There are untold treasures waiting to be found under the couch cushions.
5. Denying that you’re sick does not actually make the illness go away faster. (I caught my kids’ cold and have been trying to tell myself that it will go away fast and with little discomfort because I have been downing vitamins, exercising, staying hydrated, etc. I finally concede defeat. I’m sick and I feel like shit.)
6. Moms don’t get to take a sick day.

 

(Your regularly schedule post will now continue.)

 

I’ve debated whether or not to do a post similar to this ever since I learned of the news, but it’s finally reached a point where I feel like I have to speak out. In January, Flavor Flav opened a restaurant specializing in fried chicken in the town where I live. It was a shock when I learned of the news, because this is a relatively small city on the river. If it were New York City or Los Angeles or some other major urban city, it wouldn’t have fazed me at all, but come on, this is Iowa! After getting over the initial shock and hearing all the different reactions, I didn’t really care if Flav or any other celebrity wanted to open a restaurant here. Actually, we should be glad because it’s providing more jobs and generating sales tax (which a portion of our local sales tax is being used to build a new middle school.) So if anything, we should be thanking Flavor Flav for causing such a buzz and drawing people from all around to eat in our town.

 

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And believe me, they came in large numbers. I haven’t been there to eat, but I have driven past a few times during the evening and seen the lines of people waiting to get in. Even in the bitter cold and snow, people would stand outside for an hour or more, just to get inside to order. Probably with the hope of catching a glimpse of Flav himself. (Which he was good about mingling with the customers.) Apparently, the chicken that is made is Flav’s own recipe and that struck me as odd because how many rappers take pride in their own special fried chicken seasoning? There were a number of articles in our local paper leading up to the opening and the week following. In one of those articles I read that Flavor Flav had gone to and graduated “cooking school.” Okay, that answers my question then. (And I’ve heard that the chicken really tastes quite good.)

 

Finally, the articles about the restaurant and Flavor Flav dwindled until they had all but stopped.

 

Until last week.

 

Last Saturday, an article on the front page stated that Flavor Flav had met with the superintendent of our school district about the possibility of doing a reality TV show. A show where Flav would go back to high school and finally get his high school diploma. Excuse me? Say that again? He wants to take cameras into the school (where other children are trying to learn) and film himself getting his high school diploma?

 

What genius thought that scheme up? Who would think that was a good idea? How can anyone expect the other students to not be distracted by that? They said that they would only do the filming after school hours, but then, how is that documenting him getting his high school education? And even if the cameras were not inside during the school day when other students were around, they would still be distracted by him. Just him being there would cause the kids to focus less on the instruction and more on what Flavor Flav was doing or saying. Apparently, the superintendent has already shot down the idea, but that still leaves one question lingering in my mind.

 

How did he get into “cooking school” without a high school degree? According to the article in the paper, he graduated from “cooking school” in 1978 and worked as head cook at numerous places after that. (Side question: Is “cooking school” and “culinary school” the same thing? Or are we talking about two different educations?) But isn’t a high school degree required to attend cooking school? Am I the only one fixated on this one issue? I’ve heard lots of opposition to the idea of his show, but I haven’t heard anyone else talk about this specifically. I just can’t get past it and I can’t figure it out. Hence the post.

 

So, all in all, fried chicken restaurant, fine. Going back to high school, I don’t get it.

Prank Calls, Dreams, and Missed Sleep

Last week I promised Chanel (who’s really great, if you haven’t checked her out, you should) that I would share my “prank phone call” experience after reading one that happened to her. Mine was not as recent, but it still sticks in my memory banks.

 

Let me set the stage.

 

My freshman year of high school, I was dating a senior. (What were my parents thinking allowing me to do that?!) He had a very common name. We’ll call him “John Smith.” He would call my house all the time and sometimes he would do silly stuff when I would pick up, like play a song or something. Now remember, this was before any of us (at least any of us in high school) had cell phones or even caller-id. When you heard the phone ringing, you had to answer and hope that it was someone you wanted to talk to. So one night the phone rang at my house and I answered it.

 

A man on the other end: “Hello. This is John Smith and I’d like to talk with the head of the household.”

Me (laughing because it sounded so serious): “Okay. That’s me.” (Obviously not true as I was only 15.)

John Smith: “You’re the head of the house?”

Me (being the typical teenager): “Yep!”

John Smith: ….

John Smith: “Okay, I’m calling to talk to you about…”

(I don’t remember what exactly it was now, but I continued to play along answering questions.)

Me (growing bored with the game): “Will you stop now and just talk to me?”

John Smith: “Stop what?”

Me: “Stop trying to prank me and just talk to me.”

John Smith: “I don’t understand. I’m from…” (I don’t remember the company name he said.)

Me: “You are not. Knock it off and talk to me!”

John Smith: “I really am. Is this the head of the household?”

Me: “Yes, now just talk to me!”

John Smith (growing very uncomfortable): “Um, are you sure you’re the head of the household?”

Me (finally coming to the realization that this is not my boyfriend): “Oh my God! I thought you were someone else! No, I’m not! Oh my God! I’m sorry!”

And I promptly hung up the phone. That man had probably never been so happy to end a sales call in his life.

 

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Have you ever been woken up so abruptly that you have no idea what’s going on, but spring to action, hoping to resolve the problem and still get back to bed to catch the few remaining minutes of sleep before your alarm goes off? That was me last night. I was in the middle of a dream about all of you, my blogging friends. I don’t really remember what was going on, but Hero was so excited to show off his new hairstyle. It was a mohawk dyed red (think UFC’s Dan Hardy.)

 

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Anyway, I was sound asleep and dreaming when suddenly I heard my son make a loud noise in his room. I jumped out of bed, ran across my room and into the hallway where I met him coming out of his room. I’m thinking there’s very little time before my alarm is set to go off and I want him to go back to bed so I can get those last few precious minutes. I herded him back into his room and helped him into his bed. He started whining that he wanted his bouncy ball to sleep with, so I told him I’d get it for him and, (for the love of God!) stay in bed. I rushed out to the living room and after a moment or two of looking, couldn’t find it. I grabbed his MP3 player and took it in to him. I got him tucked in and I staggered back to my bed and looked at my clock as I came around to my side of the bed. 12:38 am. Normally, that would have been great because I’d still have a good long stretch to sleep. Last night however, not so great because I couldn’t fall back to sleep. I tossed and turned and counted in my head. Nothing. I thought about getting up to start writing, but I knew I’d really never get back to sleep if I did that. I started getting pissed because I could hear my husband’s deep breathing next to me and knew that he wasn’t fazed in the least by our son’s awakening. The last time I remember looking at the clock was around 1:20 am. Until 3:30 am when I heard my bedroom door open and my son start talking. I sat bolt upright in bed and shouted, “No!” That finally got my husband’s attention and I think he took our son back to bed. I can’t really remember.

 

Needless to say, hearing the alarm go off this morning was not a happy moment for me. (Not that it is any other day, but today it was exceptionally unwelcome.) To make matters worse, today I had to take my daughter in early for band rehearsal. (Which means leaving an hour early.) It’s not at her school, but at another elementary school in town, so I had to make sure my brain was functioning at a high enough level to go the right way. (I have been known to miss my turn and keep heading to her school when I was supposed to go to this other school for rehearsal. What? It’s not part of the routine to turn for the other school.) She apparently didn’t sleep well either because she was a real peach this morning.

 

I need a nap.

Conversations With A Three Year Old

Talking with any child can produce any number of wild things coming out of their mouths, but depending on age and speech skills it can be especially frustrating entertaining. I am lucky (or unlucky depending on how you look at it) to have two children that have possessed good speech and good vocabulary from a very young age. That does not mean sometimes there are language barriers than pop up from time to time.

 

Case in point: Bedtime for my three year old.

 

For over a year (maybe closer to two), we have played a CD for my son to fall asleep to because he has always been a light sleeper and we hoped that the music would cover up any noises coming from the rest of the house. (We also used to turn a fan on, but with it being winter, we don’t want him to get too cold.) He’s in a “big boy bed” now, so sometimes getting him to stay in bed at night is a challenge. Okay, I’m lying. It’s always a challenge. But one night last week, we tucked him in, read his book, and turned his music on. We said goodnight and walked out of his room. After a number of times of him running out and me taking him back into his bed, he comes running out telling me that his music shut off. I ask, “Did you turn the music off?” He says no. Okay, then, back into bed. Music back on. Not long later, he comes out again telling me his music turned off. And again I ask, “Did you turn your music off.” (Now I’m running out of patience.) He says yes so I tell him no more music. (My husband finds this whole scenario hilarious because he sees it as our son conning me into more awake-time. It’s also funny to him because he gets to watch it play out instead of living it, but I’ll just leave that alone.) The little man finally falls asleep and the music stays off.

 

The next day at naptime, I didn’t even bother with the music, but that evening, I turned it on in hopes that I could get some things done before having to pretend to go to sleep (which so far has been the only surefire way of getting him to go to sleep because he thinks everyone else is sleeping too.) No luck; he came out telling me the music was off. Well, I wasn’t going to fall for his tricks and the CD player stayed off. The next day at naptime, however, he really wanted his music playing, so geez, okay we’ll turn it on. I hear him come barreling out of his room so I stop him in the hallway and tell him to get back in bed.

 

3 year old: Music turned off!

Me: Did you turn it off?

3 year old: No.

Me: How did it turn off?

3 year old: I don’t know. (He says this really cute too, so it’s hard to keep a straight face.)

Me: Did you turn it off?

3 year old: No, he did.

Me (alarmed): Who did?

3 year old: Music.

Me: I know your music turned off. Did you turn it off?

3 year old: No, he did.

Me: …

Me (really starting to have internal panic attacks but also feeling like I’m in the middle of a “Who’s on first?” joke): Who did?! Who’s he? 

 

Now, let me interrupt briefly to explain that I don’t have any reason to believe our house is actually haunted or anything like that. On occasion I will think I see something out of the corner of my eye, but it’s usually just a stray piece of hair that’s either not doing what it is supposed to do (by laying flat and pretty) or it got stuck on my glasses (on those days I can’t work up the motivation to put my contacts in) and is messing with my peripheral vision. My father-in-law did pass away six months before my husband and I got married, but I doubt he’s taken up residence here. And to top it off, our house is new and we’ve been the only ones living here. (I do think it would be cool to have a haunted house. I used to live in a haunted house, but that’s a different story altogether.)

 

3 year old: Music.

Me (doing deep breathing exercises to keep from showing my irritation): Did you turn your music off.

3 year old: I don’t know. Just turned off.

 

So, while still kinda freaked out, I kept thinking it was probably just him turning it off. We left it off and I tucked him back in bed.

 

I had pretty much decided we were going to be done with the music until my son again insisted that he wanted it on. We turned it on and I was in and out of his room about a million times because he really did not want to take a nap. One of the times I was trying to get him to lay down and close his eyes, the music stopped. I take the disc out thinking there is a scratch or something on it. So I examine it, wipe it off (even though I don’t see anything on it) and try it again. No good. Stops again. Hmmm….I removed the entire CD player from his room so I could look at it later.  Still, he wasn’t going to sleep and I was at my wit’s end. My husband (who was still at home during all of this because of the weather and road conditions) said to me, “If you turn his music on, it might help him fall asleep faster.” I practically bit his head off telling him it turned off while I was in there and I brought it out to look at as soon as he gives me five solid minutes to finish working on what I was doing. (Which was writing this…took way more than the five minutes I asked for. *giggle*) My husband messed around with the CD player for a minute and took it back into my son’s room.

 

Now it seems fine. I hate when he makes it look easy.

 

A second example:

 

Me: Okay buddy, time to put the game away and go night night.

3 year old: No.

Me: Yep. Here we go. (as I pick him up and carry him on my hip to where his game charger is plugged in.)

Me: Did you go pee-pee in your unders?

3 year old: No.

Me: Why do they feel warm?

3 year old: I don’t know.

Me: Okay.

 

We put the game on the charger and I carry him back to his room to get him into his “nighttime” diaper. I lay him down and look at my shirt.

It’s wet.

 

Me: You went pee-pee in your unders!

3 year old: Yeah. (In a tone of voice like ‘you hadn’t figured that out by now?’)

Me: That’s naughty! My shirt’s all wet now.

3 year old: It’s wet?

Me: Yes! With pee-pee! That’s yucky!

 

Now today, I just finished 30 minutes of playing “puppy” with my son.

 

3 year old: Fetch it mommy puppy!

I go get it and bring it back to him.

3 year old: In your mouth mommy.

Me: Mommy’s not putting that in her mouth, honey.

 

*sigh* What we don’t do for our kids.

The Sleepover

Friday night, my daughter had a friend from school spend the night at our house. It was kind of a big deal because she hasn’t really had many people over to spend the night. A neighbor once and a cousin once. That’s it. (I know, I know. We’re bad parents for not doing more.) So, I was a little nervous because I didn’t know what to expect, wanted the girls to have fun, but still wanted to enforce the “rules of the house” without seeming mean. Anyway, we brought her friend home right after school and they were practically bursting from excitement. We got home, got everything situated in my daughter’s room and went out for supper.

 

I had forgotten how much girls could talk when they get together. (Which is really stupid considering how much I talk when I get together with friends.) But I don’t think they stopped the whole time we were eating. My husband even had to remind my daughter to eat her food because she had let it sit untouched for so long. While they were eating, they got on the subject of Greek gods and goddesses and wondering what kind of jobs they would have if they lived in modern times. So they started planning a “town” for the Greek figures they knew. I was impressed. I said they would have to write them all down when we got home and then they got the idea to draw a map of the town too. Even better! (Now they really had enough things to keep them busy for the rest of the night.)

 

We got home and the two girls rushed off to my daughter’s room to start their project. They had movies going and dolls out and their colored pencils, paper, and random toys scattered all over! It was the typical sleepover. About the time I was getting my son ready for bed, the girls came out wanting popcorn. (Impeccable timing!) So, okay. Wanting to be the “cool friends mom,” I headed to the kitchen and found some popcorn. Now, I should tell you that I don’t eat popcorn often and even when we do have it, I eat very little. (My mom used to love having popcorn when I was little and I got really tired of eating it.) When we do happen to pop popcorn, it’s always my husband that does it. There were also lots of other factors that made reading the entire directions difficult, but I don’t want to make it sound like I’m trying to come up with every excuse in the book. (*giggle*) That being said, don’t laugh at me.

 

I burnt the popcorn.

 

Not bad, but enough that the insides were a little dark and it definitely smelled, well…burnt. (I’m not actually a terrible cook. Really. I’m not great, but I’m adequate.) Not wanting them to complain about it, I put a happy spin on it by telling them, “It’s a little overcooked, but it’ll still be good.” (Any parent will agree that if you put a happy or positive spin on something it reduces the chances of whining or complaining.) They started eating it and, God love them, I didn’t get one peep from them about not liking it. (My daughter was probably pissing herself that I was being so nice and agreeable about everything, she didn’t want to screw it up!) Then, my husband walks in the room. And what’s the first thing out of his mouth? “Looks like mama burnt the popcorn.” AGH! Now why did he have to say anything? The kids were fine with it. Why bring it up?! My daughter, bless her heart, told him it was just a little overcooked (see, it worked!) and the two girls and my son (who by this time had come out of his bed wanting popcorn too) sat and happily ate their bowls of popcorn.

 

And I more than made up for it by pounding out a massive amount of chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. (All nice golden brown, yummy, gooey, melt in your mouth chocolate chip pancakes. Delicious!) Between the three kids (ages 11, 10, and 3), they had nine! Nine big ones.

 

But all of the excitement about sleepovers got me thinking about my own sleepovers and slumber parties when I was growing up. When I turned 13, my parents let me invite 13 friends over to sleep over. Yes, you read correctly. 13! That’s nuts, right? I mean, who does that? No one. That’s who. Not unless they’re certifiably insane. Or, as in my parents case, have a spoiled last child. (Although my siblings would probably disagree, I wasn’t super spoiled. I think my parents were just too tired after the first three kids, that by the time I came along, they didn’t have the energy to fight.) So me and my 13 friends basically took over the house. That’s the only way I can think to describe it because, really, how can you fit 14 girls between the ages of 12 and 14 under one roof for at least 18-20 hours? I was fortunate that my bedroom was the attic so we had the entire third floor to ourselves, but we still spilled out throughout the entire first floor as well.

 

I remember there were movies going on all night in the living room and a group playing with the Ouija Board in the sewing room. Food was everywhere and by morning there were sleeping girls everywhere too. Upstairs, downstairs, you name it. I don’t really remember seeing my parents much so either I have very selective memory or they were hiding in their room trying to sleep. (My dad I’m quite sure could have slept through a third world war outside his window because of the shifts he used to work. Now, maybe not, but then…he probably didn’t hear a single sound from us girls after his head hit the pillow.) But, geez, what were they thinking? I can pretty confidently say, “Not. This. Mama.” I sometimes don’t have the patience to deal with my own children (okay, most of the time don’t have enough patience), but to add that many more that don’t belong to me? That don’t know the kind of behavior expectations we have in this house? No thanks. No slumber party extravaganzas here. Sorry, kids. I just don’t think I could take it.

 

But really, both girls were very good and it’ll be fun to have her come back and stay again. I enjoyed reliving my childhood memories just watching them.

I’d Like To See You Do My Job!

I’m going to make this one short and sweet because frankly, I’ve got a million things to get done before tonight and the time that I have to leave to pick up my daughter is coming at light-speed pace. Okay, well, maybe not sweet. I’m actually really pissed off.

This weekend, I was minding my own business on Facebook, taking care of my “homestead” on Frontierville. (I just love that game!) Up popped a chat window from someone I went to high school with. He asked if I was playing The Sims because he knows how addicted to that game I am. I replied “No, can’t do that and be online at the same time. I’m playing Frontierville.” To which he responded something along the lines of “I can’t believe you. I wish I had your life.” Maybe I should have given him the benefit of the doubt, but it instantly pissed me off. For one thing, he knows very little about my life and for another, his life is pretty damn simple. Sometimes I wish I had his life. He’s not married, has no kids, has a job that I think gives him the winter off, and goes out partying more times a month than I do in a year. Maybe two years!

So for all those people out there that think because I am a stay at home mother and don’t work outside of the house and have an easy life - get bent! I’m up early and to bed late every night of the week even weekends because kids (especially three year olds) don’t really know the difference between Saturday and Tuesday. I have to cook and clean and keep schedules for four people. I have to get kids where they need to be, shop for every household need, and be at everyone’s beck and call when they need help. I have to play kid games, give up my TV time for kid shows, rarely ever have adult conversations, and turn over the computer when someone else wants it. And I’m still expected to help out at school, stay in shape and always be happy on top of it all!

So yes, I’m going to play a computer game or other stress reducing activity when I happen to have a spare moment. I’d like to see you get through one of my days.

Okay, thanks. I think I feel a little bit better.

D.A.R.E. To Keep Kids Off Drugs

Did any of you go through the D.A.R.E. program when you were in school? I did. I don’t remember much, but the basic idea still sticks with me. Well, my daughter is going through the program at her school right now. And it’s making me nuts.

You’d think that I would be happy and excited that she’s learning about the dangers of drug and alcohol abuse. And I am. Really. I don’t want her to get into trouble when she gets older. (Although, it didn’t stop me when I was in high school.) But she’s turning into the “drinking police” here at home. I can’t pick up a single drink without her giving me the third degree. Well, really no one can without some sort of remark.

The first time was minor. It was when we were having our Christmas with my husband’s side of the family. My sister-in-law’s husband was telling me a story about when him and his brother went out for supper and they each wanted to order a beer but they couldn’t because the restaurant had let their liquor license lapse or were behind on their bills from that vendor (or something along those lines. I forget the whole story.) But my daughter was sitting across the table from me and was listening to the story too. Her eyes were kind of wide and she whispered to me, “Why does Uncle _____ drink beer?” I made a shushing motion and when he left the table, I quickly explained that it’s okay for adults to have a beer or two when they want to relax. I thought that had settled it.

Nope. Christmas Eve my husband and I always invite our parents over for supper and the traditional Christmas Eve activities. As I’m finishing the supper preparations, I open a bottle of wine for my mom, mother-in-law, and myself. My daughter, naturally, sees what I am doing and tells us we shouldn’t be drinking. I say to my mom that she’s in D.A.R.E. and sort of taking what she’s learned to the extreme. So good ol’ Grandma tells her that it’s okay for adults to have a drink on special occasions. Poor kid. She’s probably so confused by now because between wanting to relax and special occasions, that’s covers pretty much every night of the week! But, she listens to Grandma better than me so again, I thought that would be the last of it.

Fast forward to New Year’s Eve. I poured myself a glass of champagne about 11:00 to start getting ready for midnight. We don’t really celebrate New Year’s in any extravagant fashion; it’s always just been watching TV the whole night and then seeing the ball drop at midnight. (But it’s an excuse for me to break out the champagne!) This year we watched MMA fights that had been held in Japan. Not very celebratory. It was really bizarre and I didn’t enjoy it. I’d rather watch plain old UFC, thank you very much. Apparently, my husband isn’t quite so discriminating in his fight choices.

Oh, right. Drinking. Daughter. D.A.R.E. Anyway, I poured myself a glass of champagne and sat down to enjoy it. Champagne, especially this particular champagne, is my favorite. About 11:45 or so, I got up to refill my glass. My daughter was also up getting a sip of her ginger ale. (Special occasion, you know.) As I’m pouring, she’s watching me and informs me that I’m drinking too much. I look up, surprised, because I have been known to drink too much (that’s usually with my sister), but this was not one of those times. I replied that this was only my second glass. Then she asked how long ago my first one was. I told her and she nodded saying, “Well, that’s okay I guess. But you should only have one an hour because your liver can’t process it any faster than that.”

I stood there shocked. This is my ten year old daughter right? She didn’t suddenly get back from medical school, did she? Unable to think up any sort of response that wouldn’t make me a really terrible influence, I simply said, “Okay. I’ll remember that.” But, man oh man, how long this is going to last? Am I going to have to explain myself every time I have something with alcohol in it? And are the other kids in her school taking it so seriously, or am I the only lucky parent?

Technology for Four, Please

It never ceases to amaze me how much technology has infiltrated our daily lives. I mean, really, between computers, the internet, cell phones, satellite TV, GPS, and iPods, we’re almost always connected with technology. It’s even more incredible when you compare the childhoods of my generation to the childhoods that my children are currently living. It’s astounding! And there isn’t even that big of a time difference. Imagine the differences between my parents’ generation and my kids!

 

Think about it.

 

When I was a kid, I didn’t get to watch cartoons every day, all day long if I wanted. I had to wait for Saturday mornings. My kids have at least five channels with programming almost solely geared for them. (I do have to say the restrictions my husband and I put on our children are a little more tight when it comes to TV shows than other kids’ parents. There is definitely some questionable shows out there that they say are for kids.)

 

I didn’t get my first home computer until I was 17 or 18 and then it was a really old hand-me-down that my mom got from someone she worked with. And the only reason she got it was because she figured it would come in handy when I went off to college. My kids have had access to a computer since they were each about two. And they are really good at operating one! My son, who just turned three, knows how to log into his profile, open games, and play. He even knows how to log someone off so he can get to the right screen to pick his name! I couldn’t believe it the first time he did it because no one taught him how. He just picked it up on his own.

 

My first experience with the internet was either my eighth grade or freshman year of school and it was a section of our computer class. It was being taught as strictly a research tool and I remember being in awe of all the information I could find online. My daughter got to go online at school starting in kindergarten and they were allowed access to certain websites to play games! Kindergarten! Now she knows all about Googling and has asked for a MySpace or Facebook page. (Yeah, that isn’t happening for a long time.)

 

I remember the first gaming system my family had and I was actually pretty little. Maybe four. I was lucky that my siblings were much older and they had an Atari. (I still love those games and wish they would come out with newer ones!) But now, kids can carry game systems with them! There’s Nintendo DS, PSP, even Leapster for the toddler age kids. And the choices for home game systems are incredible. PS3, Wii, and now X-Box with Kinect! (I had my first experience with Kinect just this past weekend, but that’s a whole other story!)

 

I didn’t get my first cell phone until I was 18 and it was just a month or two before I left for college. Now kids as young as fourth grade (maybe younger) have them and you see elementary kids breaking them out as soon as they walk out of school. (Not my kid, though. She’ll have to wait a bit longer. I’m such a meanie.)

 

And mp3 players? I just got my first one this Christmas, whereas my kids? My daughter’s first was when she was maybe seven and my son when he was two. Yes, I said two. He kept trying to steal his sister’s so we figured it would be better to get him his own. His doesn’t need headphones, though, so we don’t have to worry about him blowing out his eardrums or anything.

 

As I sit here typing, my son is wanting to be done with his breakfast so he can get back on the computer. It’s turned into a major strategy session just to plan who gets computer time when. There are four of us in the house. My husband has his own laptop from work, so he doesn’t need the house computer very often, but there are times. My daughter just got her own laptop, so that has reduced the conflict considerably. Now it’s between me and my three year old to fight over computer time. And of course, I give in and let him play. Which leaves naptime and occasionally bedtime as “Mommy’s computer time.”

 

But, it leaves me wishing I had my own laptop. There are times when I really need or want to use the computer and it doesn’t work out. Never in a million years would I have ever thought we would need four computers for a family of four. Especially since one of those members is three years old. But it’s looking like that more and more. It sure would make it easier to get things written or just play my games and do all the things I like to do.

 

It also makes me wish for the simpler times. I sometimes can’t help but think the technology is what is causing kids to grow up too quickly. They have access to things that we never had a chance to experience until we were much older. We had to rely on our dolls or cars or (gasp!) books to keep us occupied. Kids don’t think about picking up books like they once did. Now they’d rather pick up their game controller or remote control and watch a distorted view of life instead of opening up a whole new world in a book.

 

But who am I kidding? I love technology! I can’t let my cell phone leave my side and I have to check into Facebook at least once a day. (Gotta keep up with my games, you know.) And I am a huge computer game player. If I didn’t have kids, I would probably be one of those people who is on their computer for fourteen hours without even knowing it. But technology is just the way life is now. They need to be comfortable and familiar with it because so many jobs now depend upon it. We as parents just have to make sure it doesn’t take over our kids lives.

Did I Miss That Day in Sex Ed?

You know, the day where the teacher described, in detail, just how hard parenting is. Wait, what? That wasn’t in my sex ed class? Huh. Well, it should have been because had I gotten a taste of just exactly what parenting was like, I think I would have stopped and tried a little harder to cool down my hormones. I’m not talking about taking the computerized baby home where it’s programmed to wake up at two in the morning or cry for ten minutes inconsolably. Although, that’s a great idea (but one that wasn’t offered when I was in school). I’m talking about the times when your three year old starts screaming in a store because he wants to walk instead of ride in the cart, but wants to grab or touch everything. Or the times your teenager gives you attitude and talks back. That’s what needs to be taught in sex ed class.

A friend of mine and I were talking about this very subject. We think we should be the ones who go into schools and give presentations to high school kids. Tell them exactly what they could end up with. Bring video tape and show them what those cute little babies that they think won’t be so hard to take care of, turn into. Hellions. Smart-mouthed, think they know more than their parents, pains in the ass. Tell them that their kids would turn into THEM! I know. My daughter is turning into exactly what I used to be. Except she’s doing it at 10 instead of 16.

It kills me when people tell me how great their kids are. I can’t help wondering if it’s true or if I went terribly wrong with mine. Or even more confounding is when teachers or other adults tell me how good my kids are for them. I’m glad they’re good for other people, but why for other people, and not at home? Don’t get me wrong. I love my kids and don’t know what kind of life I would have had if I didn’t have them. But they can make me crazy! And yes, I get it. They have good days and bad days, just like adults do. But sometimes I wonder if my kids act up just to drive me nuts. But, still, I love them terribly and there are days when I wouldn’t trade them for anything. And then there are the bad days…

I read a blog on here by Simple Dude (funny guy; kinda reminds me of my husband) where he talks about a friend of his that got married in his early 20’s. (Read it here.) He mentions no should get married young because you’ll always wonder what you missed out on. I would like to add having children to that statement. I had my first child just after I turned 19. My 30th birthday is less than two months away and I am having a hard time with it. I don’t want to turn 30 because I feel like I haven’t lived my 20’s yet. I didn’t get to go to wild college parties, stay out all night and go out for breakfast before crashing, or even try to pick up guys in a bar. I was at home, taking care of a baby. My friends tried for a time to get me to come out and do all those wild crazy things that people in their early 20’s do. But I had to say no because I didn’t want to be one of those “teen moms” who left their kid with their parents and did whatever they wanted. I wanted to be responsible and mature. So, eventually, my friends stopped calling. But on those bad days I spoke of before, I will sit and wonder what I missed and try to imagine what my life would have been like had I made different choices. Maybe that makes me a bad mother, but it’s hard not to wonder.

But, getting back on topic.

I think scientists should get to to work on the whole time travel notion. Or maybe not time travel, but the ability to show people the future. Sort of like Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. Except not with ghosts, but just be able to type a name into a computer and bring it up on a screen. Show kids what their life would look like if they had a kid too young. Now that would be some good birth control!