Mistress of Madness & Mayhem

Summer Of Discontent

2014-08-11T11:41:00.002-06:00

Great-Grandmother & the cousins

This is my summer of discontent, filled with the incessant chatter of a five year old and the constant ramblings of a nine year old. My days are filled to the brim with managing the antics of two brothers simultaneously warring with and loving each other. My nights are filled with dinner, American Ninja Warrior and trying to squeeze in some quiet art-making time.

It’s been a summer filled with therapy appointments, film school for the oldest and not enough physical activity for the youngest. It’s been a summer filled with doubts, barely enough income and a garden that just didn’t hold my interest. It’s been a summer of trials and patience testing.

It’s been a season of new beginnings and also endings. I lost my ideal work-from-home content manager job. I started a freelance writing business and struggled through the first few months to get the website off the ground and my first few clients found and sold on hiring me.

My baby is starting Kindergarten in three weeks. This makes me laugh (with a giddy kind of crazy people giggle) and cry (the deep sobbing of a mother’s achingly devoted heart). My oldest is starting fourth grade; hopefully better equipped to handle social interactions on the playground and self-management in the classroom after months of therapy (both occupational and behavioral).

I taught the boys how to do laundry this summer, from loading the washer to folding socks and everything in between. I wrote two eBooks in between Lego fights and trampoline injuries. I doubted my sanity and embrace crazy. I sort of took the month of May off, to figure out what I wanted to be when I grow up. I desperately missed having season passes to Roaring Springs and so did my two little water babies.

I drove to Featherville, Idaho, by myself for the first time, and didn’t get lost. I watched the stars with my husband at 4:00 am from a spot just outside our tent, up in the mountains where you can still see the stars. I watched my five year old jump on his cousin’s bike and ride around our campground with no training wheels for the first time.

I held a precious tiny baby girl with painted toenails, my cousin’s first born. I cradled her sleeping baby body and sniffed her sweet baby scent, kissing her delicate baby hair. I held my little Squishy, the boy with the gorgeous eyes and wild brown hair, another cousin’s first born. I packed him around, showing him the hustle and bustle of family reunion and sang him to sleep in my arms.

I’m not sure how much more heart ache and jubilee I can take in one season. I watch Madness and Mayhem argue and wrestle and just as suddenly laugh and play together like best friends. Madness yells his feelings, anxious and angry. Mayhem hops around like a monkey, laughing and taunting. (He’d throw poop if he thought he could get away with it.) I love them both unconditionally and want to strangle them too.

I am ready for school to start.

Picasso Strikes Again

2014-06-04T07:00:00.000-06:00

This is our family dog, Daisy. (Yes, that is her real name. She doesn't care if you know her true identity since she doesn't get on the internet much.) Notice her sweet little face and how pretty she is posing for me. Now notice her coat and fur.

Daisy is a little Blue Healer/Border Collie Cross, and her preferred fashion is to sport a shiny black coat with some white markings on her nose and feet. Now, notice the strange yellow patch of fur on her back/side? Whatever could that be?

Oh, hmm, let's see. Might that be yellow spray paint I spy? Now who do we know that likes to spray paint inappropriately? Yeah, you guessed it. Mayhem. And can you guess who left the spray paint out again...He-who-must-be-severely-beaten (aka Daddy).

Once again, the Sol-u-mel took off most of the incriminating evidence. Most of it. Daisy is very grateful for Melaleuca cleaning products. They are non-toxic to pets and small children. Daisy would also be very grateful if you not mention this to her. She was very embarrassed about it when I took her picture.

This kind of behavior is: #1. Why our dog dislikes our son. And 2#. Why Mayhem is not allowed near my art supplies. I guess he figured eating a nickel last month was just not quite enough attention. He must really like the nickname Picasso.

The moral of our story: Hide your paint people.

Madness Writes A Book

2014-06-02T15:14:00.002-06:00

My son is now a published author and illustrator. The same son who was recently diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrom and ASD (Austism Spectrum Disorder). How about that? That's basically what happens when your kid attends a stellar Arts Charter School.

Am I just a teeny tiny wee bit proud? Uh, yeah. You could say that. Considering he comes from a long line of writers and authors and painters (oh my), and that I myself am attempting to transform from once banking professional and content manager into now Mommy Blogger and Mixed Media Artist - yes, I am just a little bit excited about this.

He did not, however, choose to dedicate his first published book to me, the writer mommy. He chose to dedicate it to Hubby (aka Maniac). Yes, you read that correctly. Dad got the kudos and the shout out. I got squat. I'm still so stinking proud. Guess what else?

Madness started his occupational therapy and counseling a few weeks ago to help him (and us) better manage his ASD. This week his therapists invited him to join a select small group of their patients in a summer program where they will learn all about making a short film. They believe Madness's interests and natural talents make him an ideal participant.

He gets to choose which areas of the film production to be most involved in, which is another smooth move on his therapist's part. She's awesome by the way. (Shout out to Cherie!) Is he tickled pink about the whole thing? Yeppers. He has decided to be part of the set crew and the guy behind the lens.

So now you know what's happening in Madness's world. Or as I like to call it...our new normal.

Nickel Eater

2014-05-29T07:00:00.000-06:00

Pre-Op

The same day I was laid off from my day job (April 23rd), Mayhem decided to celebrate by swallowing a nickel. A nickel. It was bedtime, and prayers and tuck-ins had already happened. I heard a suspicious choking and gagging sound coming from his room. (I, myself, was already in bed half-sulking and half-giddy over the lay off.)

Just as I was heading down the hall, a very paranoid looking five year old comes walking up. He looked seriously sheepish, which almost never happens, because...the boy has no shame.

Me: Why were you choking? Are you okay?

Mayhem: Um...I swallowed a nickel.

Me: What? Are you sure?

Mayhem: Yeah, I'm sure I swallowed a nickel. It wasn't a penny. Pennies are copper.

Oh well, pardon me. I told Maniac (aka hubby) about the nickel. His response was so typical. "No way he swallowed a nickel. He's probably just messing with you." Uh, okay. Have you met our son?" is what I wanted to say. Instead I just looked at him, numb from my job loss, and slightly indifferent in that moment about the nickel.

Next morning, I called our pediatrician who suggested I monitor the exit material, aka fecal matter, of my five year old's bowels. He said most coins should and do pass, to give it a few days (up to two weeks) and then call him if I had any concerns. Okie-dokie then.

Post-Op

After 6 days of monitoring the exit material with nothing to show for it, Daddy was beginning to think it was all a big hoax. He's a logical guy and wanted some scientific evidence as to whether the nickel was even in there. Plus, he was tired of me whining about poop. So he got out his metal detector and conducted a highly scientific experiment, wherein he ran his little machine over the chest and stomach of our neighbor's son as a control subject (roughly the same size as Mayhem), with no results.

Then he ran the machine over Mayhem's belly. The chimey-buzzer-noise-thingie went off like a fire alarm! At last, I had some evidence that there may indeed be a coin living inside Mayhem, along with who knows what else because he is a boy and he plays in the dirt.

On Sunday, May 11, two and a half weeks later and after several swipes of the metal detector, Mayhem started running a fever and complained of stomach pains and cramping. Nice. Fever and tummy aches came and went intermittently all day and into Monday. My mommy-stress and spidey-sense went into overdrive. I called the pediatrician again.

Me: So, it's been two and half weeks since he ate the nickel and it still hasn't passed. What should I do?

Doc: Oh, that's not good. Can you be here in twenty minutes? We had a cancellation.

That's not comforting at all. I took Mayhem to the pediatrician, who examined, poked and prodded. And then ordered us to get X-Rays. The X-Ray technician was pleased to show us a stark silhouette of Mayhem's skeleton, shadowy organs and dead center...the nickel. Bingo!

The findings proceeded an emergency visit to the pediatric gastroenterologist, who was very nice, laid back and pretty funny. He quizzed Mayhem like crazy about the nickel, the swallowing, the reasons and the impending surgery.

Evidence

Surgeon: So, you swallowed a nickel huh?

Mayhem: Yep.

Surgeon: Why'd you do that?

Mayhem: Uh...it was an accident? (This is the same kid who spray painted my car 2 years ago.)

Surgeon: Seriously, dude. Why did you put a nickel in your mouth?

Mayhem: I was worried about my dad. (Oh sure, blame your parents.)

Surgeon: Oh. You know I have to go in and get it now, right?

Mayhem: How?

Surgeon: I'm going to stick a special camera and tool down your throat while you are asleep and grab it.

Mayhem: Oh. Can I keep the nickel after you take it out?

Surgeon: Sure!

And so, on Wednesday, May 14, at St. Luke's Hospital, I took Mayhem in for an endoscopy. They put him completely under, the surgeon located and removed the nickel and Mayhem got to eat as many popsicles as he could handle. Also, he was hilarious coming around from the anesthesia.

Seriously. Almost comical enough to erase the mommy terror of the experience. Almost. I do not recommend feeding your children coins. Playing "piggy bank" is also really not a good idea. Seriously.

Meteor Showers And Messes

2014-05-27T10:04:00.002-06:00

This is their idea of having fun - sleeping in the back of Maniac's truck (aka my husband) on top of Whiskey Mountain in the Owyhees, waiting for a meteor shower to start. I spotted a total of three shooting stars/meteor shower pieces the entire time. And I got a sum total of two hours of sleep, sharing an air mattress with Madness, Mayhem and the great snoring beast or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Allowed-To-Snore.

This is not my ideal evening of fun. It was however entertaining and obviously comical. And makes for great blog fodder. I should mention we invited Nana and Papa "D" along for the adventure, who to my surprise were totally game for roasting weenies, watching for meteors and sleeping in the bed of a truck overnight. They even brought their wee dog, Dolly. She was less than impressed with the abundant Sage brush and lack of shooting stars.

Want to know what else is not my idea of fun? Being laid off from an honest work-from-home job that I loved. Yeah, that happened. Last month, on April 23rd, my boss and the owner of our little company called me at the end of my work day and dropped a grenade into the middle of my otherwise peaceful work week. Bam! No warning. No severance. No "you have until the end of the month." They were admirably distraught about the lay off. Or at least they sounded distraught.

Apparently the company was out of money to pay a Content Manager. (For those of you who didn't know, I worked as a content manager for a family owned internet publishing company for the past two and a half years.) Essentially I managed, created and curated content for several different websites as well as all their corresponding social media accounts. I learned all sorts of new useful skills, developed a deeper knowledge of writing, editing and publishing content online and picked up a little bit of SEO wisdom too.

You would think this experience, job title and skill set would make me an ideal candidate for other work-at-home content creating opportunities, wouldn't you? Well, not so much. I am still job hunting.

In the meantime, I'm having a blast writing a novel with my brother, crocheting a ton of new original patterns and really digging being a stay-at-home mommy. I don't know if I truly understood or appreciated the gift of just staying home with your own kids. It's sinking in...how much fun that can be. And how wonderfully inspiring it can be to have space in your head for more creative ideas.

So, we didn't witness a spectacular display of shooting stars from the heavens and I didn't get much sleep. But I did cuddle up between Madness and Mayhem, and enjoyed the distinct smell of little boys filled with hot dogs and marshmallows. I haven't found a new job yet. But I have found a new appreciation for my boys, my husband, my self and my time. Cheers!

The "D" Word

2014-03-25T08:05:00.000-06:00

*Warning: long post.

I am just like every other mom. I have dreams for my kids. I want the best for my boys. Yes, I poke fun at their antics and use monikers like "madness" and "mayhem." And it's all in good fun, because honestly you gotta have a sense of humor to survive parenthood. Essentially, its about my little dudes, what's best for them and what will help them feel successful.

When Madness started to have some behavior problems at school last year, I went to the mattresses for him. I marched in to school, met with his teacher and Vice Principal, and had a little chat. That turned in to a big chat. That ended in the Vice Principal suggesting we have Madness tested, which the school psychologist could and would administer. Cool. No biggie.

So, the tests - revealed a high I.Q. (Raise your hand if you are surprised.), coupled with an inability to focus, easily distracted and some other stuff that will bore you. Recommendation: monitor his behavior closely, use positive reinforcement to achieve desired outcomes and revisit these issues later on if needed. That was second grade. Who stresses over second grade?

When Madness's behavior problems at school escalated this year, I went to the mattresses for him. Again. I marched in to school, met with the crew, and had a chat. A hard chat. A chat that would change everything. The Vice Principal requested we have Madness tested by a specialist for ASD (Austism Spectrum Disorder).

So, the tests. A lengthy process. Meeting with a Developmental Pediatrician who specializes in ASD and neurological developmental disorders in children. Assessments. Evaluations. Questionnaires. Family histories. Detailed account of my prenatal health with Madness. And Madness, sitting beside me looking as adorable and brilliant as ever.

[An insert: When the behavior problems at school started and then escalated, behavior problems at home mirrored that pattern. Our peaceful home became very UN-peaceful. Madness acted angry all the time, had horrible outbursts and mega-meltdowns, and the rest of us three tried valiantly to maintain our cool and deal. We also tried desperately hard to make it seem like all was well with our home - to the rest of the world, family, friends, etc.]

Then, the "D" word. (Or as doctors like to call it, a diagnosis.) Last week, Madness was diagnosed with ASD: high functioning with an extremely high intellect, and some other stuff with scientific names that may bore you.

I am shocked, but not entirely surprised. He has always been my quirky-cute, thick-Harry-Potter-glasses-wearing little boy. He has always been a wee bit strange. He has always made very adult comments or observations that seemed far too wise or old for his age. He has always displayed some very strange behaviors and repetitive movements. And I have always loved him for every bit of it. I just never put it all together.

Madness is still the same sweet boy he was before the "D" word. He is still the same quirky, cute, too-smart-for-his-parents, nerdy, computer-loving, exasperated with his brother, strangely wise, caring, curious little dude he always was. Only now, we are learning how to help him manage the not so fun parts of his behavior, the meltdowns, hysterics, problems at school, focus issues and all the rest of it.

We are still processing this as a family, as parents and as a couple. We are NOT ready for a bombardment of helpful advice, special diets or snake oil. We are open to recommendations of books, support groups, or online resources.

I've glossed over some of the gory details. Honestly, we are all on a need-to-know basis. And some things just don't need to be known. (Especially since Madness may read this 10 years from now, and I doubt he'll thank me for airing all his laundry.) Yes, this is quite enough for today.

Padawan And Mini Me

2014-03-19T09:59:00.002-06:00

Photo: Jedi & Padawan

I had a painful epiphany recently. I have created a monster...a monster mini-me. My boys were playing in the living room together, a rare thing. This is what I overhear.

Madness: Stop saying firmilar. It's FA-miliar. Or similar. It is NOT firmilar.

Mayhem: Oh, okay.

Madness: Yeah, well now you know.

Minutes Later...

Mayhem: Eenie, minie, monn...

Madness: It's not "eenie, minie, monn." It's "eenie, meenie, minie, monn..."

Mayhem: (a hint of disgust) Fine.

Madness: If you are going to use it in an attack you must say it correctly.

Mayhem. Thanks. Now can I see my sword for a second?

Unspoken: ...so that I might remove your head from your body for being such a know-it-all grammar Natzi.

Truth hurts. I am a know-it-all grammar Natzi. Otherwise, my young padawan would not be one. As the mother, so the child. It's uncomfortable to face the realization that my male mini-version of my self is truly a mirror image.

Can the training be undone? Should it be? Or should I move forward from this moment, correcting my own harsh obsessive-compulsive tendency to correct other people's pronunciations and verb tense usage, in hopes that Madness will follow in my footsteps down this path too?

Tell me it's not too late! There must be a way to lead him from the temptation of correcting everyone's poor adverb placement and dangling participle habits. Maybe we should grow matching braids and yank on them whenever one of us acts like a member of the dark side of grammatically correct snobs.

Beards and Stuff

2013-12-20T08:00:00.000-07:00

Conversation this morning with Madness.

Madness: Did you know that Daddy, Uncle Scott and Papa Dale ALL have the same beard?

Me: Not possible.

Madness: It's true!

Me: They would have to share a face. It would defy the currently held laws of physics.

Madness: Oh, you know what I mean. They all look exactly alike. All the beards I mean.

Me: Um, yes.

Madness: Well, they are all really hairy. And I have really hairy legs. Go ahead, feel them.

Me: Are you trying to grow a beard? (An attempt to avoid touching the hairy legs.)

Madness: NO!...Not yet.

Me: I see. You come by your hairy legs naturally. Daddy, Uncle Scott, Uncle Justin and Uncle A.J. all have really hairy legs. Like Sasquatch hairy. You are destined for hairiness my friend.

Madness: Oh sheesh. Well, someday I will grow a beard. Just. Like. Dad's. Hey, how hairy are your legs?

Me: Alrighty then. What do you want for breakfast?

My conclusion: Madness wants a beard. But he doesn't want to be hairy. Hmm. I wonder if he knows he is related to Sasquatch? (Sorry, babe. But you know I am not referring to me.)

Elf On Our Shelf

2013-12-18T12:47:00.001-07:00

Mayhem, touching his elf.

*Warning: this post is slightly irreverent and a little racy. You have been warned.

Recently, Santa brought us our very own Elf on the Shelf, early. Before Christmas. (Okay it was just last week. Happy now?) Keep in mind, no one in our home was familiar with the concept behind the elf.

We hadn't read the story book that came with the elf, hadn't delved into the mythos behind the elf nor explored the deeper symbolic meaning of said elf.

We were elf virgins. Naive to the ways of the elf. Non-elf owning people. Personally, I am against owning people, of any ethnicity or race, including elves and dwarfs. That's just how I roll.

Any-who. Back to the elf. Can you guess what the first thing is that Mayhem wants to do when he sees this adorable footless elf in the box? I bet you can! Yes! Correct! He wants to rip the little guy right outta there! He is almost five. Not the elf. I have no clue how old the elf is.

Like any adoring, indulgent and social-media addicted mommy, I post the above image of Mayhem holding little elf on Instagram, which in turn shares it with my Facebook page too. And the NSA. (Hey, they are monitoring for terrorists right? Both Mayhem and the elf may qualify.) Immediately, I get bombarded on Instagram with the same essential message: "DON'T TOUCH THE ELF!"

At this point, I am still clueless because we haven't opened the rest of the box, haven't read the story book and haven't indoctrinated our boys to the elf and all his Christmas magic. Still rather virginous. What do I do? I turn to Google for help. "Google, why can't I touch my elf?" is my inquiry. I'm a concerned parent after all. Google is extremely patient and helpful. I receive 20 gazillion results about why I shouldn't touch my elf. I shall summarize.

Apparently, touching the elf may result in said elf loosing his Christmas magic, which in turn prevents him from returning to the North Pole each night to report to Santa on the current behavioral state of our home, aka: naughty or nice. Have you met my children? I'm pretty sure I don't need some tattle-happy 10 inch elf reporting their naughties to Santa every night. The dude knows my boys.

I blame the packaging. I double checked before composing this rant. No where on the box does it say: "DON'T TOUCH THE ELF! Or risk voiding all his Christmas magic!" You actually have to pull the story book out, and about three pages in it finally explains the whys and where-fors of not touching the elf.

This begs the question: Do you allow your kids to touch their elves? (You were warned.)

The boys named our elf Loki. Madness's reasoning: "Well, Santa is from the North Pole, so he is probably Nordic right? So his elves are probably Nordic too. So they probably all have Nordic names like Thor and Odin and Loki." And he can pretty much talk his brother into anything. Which terrifies me almost as much as the creepy little elf.

On a side note, Loki the elf is really good at creeping Daddy out at least once per day. And that is totally awesome!

Mayhem's Real Feelings

2013-11-02T17:19:00.000-06:00

...about family pictures.

My talented and very sweet friend Lisa takes awesome pictures. So I asked her to practice her mad skills on my family.

We met her in Boise at the Veteran's Memorial Park...and it was perfect. We walked, hauled photo props, laughed alot. Nana changed tops and jackets.

Our toes and noses were cold. Because, you know, it's November. I bribed my sons with treats if they behaved, listened to Lisa and gave her nice smiles.

I bribed my husband and father-in-law with lunch at The Ram, if they behaved and gave Lisa nice smiles.

She took 3 hours of pictures and the morning was splendid. Until this happened.

2013-07-29T12:11:00.002-06:00

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That's Just Country

2013-07-22T10:49:00.002-06:00

Cousins at Nana's House

You know you're a country girl at heart when you visit your parents' home over the weekend and revel in the smell of Alfalfa fields and cattle feed lots.

This past Saturday I loaded the car, the boys and my iTunes and headed off to the place I was raised - the Magic Valley.

(Growing up it did not always seem very magical, but now that I'm a mommy the valley holds a certain mystical and nostalgic power over me.)

After 150 miles or so of cooped up little boys and audio books, I rolled down all the windows and took in deep breaths of country air as we approached our destination - the farm.

Here is what Mayhem thought of all that brisk healthy country air:

Mayhem: Uh, what's that smell?

Me: (Sucking in a deep breath of country air) That's the smell of country!

Mayhem: Why does country smell like that?

Me: Because it's made of clean fresh air, crops growing in Papa Al's fields and the feedlot on the other side of the hill.

Mayhem: Oh. What's a feedlot?

Me: It's where they feed lots and lots of cows and the cows poop, a lot.

About 40 seconds later and within a 1/2 mile of my parents' house, Madness, who paid no attention to our air conversation, pulls his nose out of his video game and says...

Madness: (Sniffing the air wafting in through his window) Ooooh, what is that smell?

Mayhem: Bubba, (dramatic 4 year old pause) that's just country.

Hungry Madness

2013-07-17T11:44:00.001-06:00

Madness in the Stocks

I worry about Madness. I think he needs to develop more independence. One of his second grade teachers made a point to point out this fact about him, informing me that "in third grade they will expect much more independent study, self-management and organization skills."

Excuse me. Have you met my son? He is the walking embodiment of the phrase "Mom, will you..." Oi vay.

I thought adding more responsibilities and "duties" over the summer would help build some of that missing independence. It's now the middle of July and...I thought wrong.

Here's how it went down this morning.

Me: You realize that when you start third grade [in September] your teachers will expect more independence and self-management skills from you. You'll be nine, and nine-year-olds are older, wiser and more self-reliant.

Madness: What's self-reliant?

Me: Self-reliant means you rely on yourself to do things like make breakfast, remember to brush your teeth and do your homework. Stuff like that. Instead of expecting Dad or me to help you with everything.

Madness: I don't mean to be rude or braggy or mean or anything, but all this talk about third grade is making me hungry.

Me: I'm trying to have a serious conversation with you about learning to be more independent and what they'll expect from you in third grade.

Madness: Hungry. Really hungry.

Me: For real? You can't give me 5 minutes out of you busy morning to discuss this?

Madness: Still hungry.

Me: I give up.

Madness: Will you make me some toast?

That's A Woo-Woo.

2013-07-11T06:00:00.000-06:00

FDNY Truck

Sirens blaring in the distance, coming closer, closer, closer...until finally:

Mayhem: Look MOM! It's a woo-woo!

Mistress: That's a fire truck.

Mayhem: Mom, I'm pretty sure that's a woo-woo.

Potato, pah-tah-toe.

(Note to the reader: Yes, Mayhem is four and yes he still calls fire trucks woo-woos.)

I'm Not Dead

2013-07-10T14:07:00.001-06:00

Crochet Models

And neither are Madness nor Mayhem.

Nor Maniac.

Yes, we are all alive. And kicking. Usually each other.

So, what have we been up to lately? School is out for summer - I may start drinking, heavily. We survived one family reunion, with another one coming up in a few weeks. Again, I may start drinking.

We bought season passes to the water park near our home - so our vitamin D intake is way up, like maybe on the brink of overdose. Madness has been learning how to swim underwater, like a dolphin. It's a hilarious. I'd post pics but my iPhone is not water-proof. Dang.

Mayhem is deathly afraid of the waterfall at the water park. I like to torture him by threatening to take him under the waterfall if he misbehaves while we are there. And sometimes, I carry him underneath it just because I can. Mean.

Then there was the little gathering in our front yard and driveway, in which Nana & Papa, the neighbors and their kids, and the four of us all sat around in lawn chairs lighting things on fire and then clapping our hands while cackling like a pack of hyenas. Also known as the 4th of July.

We took down the bunk beds in Mayhem's room. Nana gave us a full size bed. (She got a brand new mean lean queen.) Mayhem's sleeping has improved, and he no longer stalks me in my bed at midnight. Having a full size bed must have removed the mystery. The bunk beds are headed to Aunt Jen's house for the cousins. Enjoy them boys...

And I've started using my children as crochet models. Which gets difficult when they have to model girlie hats and accessories. When they get whiny I just laugh and say "Put the tutu on anyway!"

So yeah, we're not dead.

Why Did The Chicken Cross The Road?

2012-11-06T11:33:00.000-07:00

Last week was parent-teacher conferences. Madness attends an arts charter school where they have "student led" conferences, pretty much self-explanatory.

On the way home from a semi-successful student-led parent-teacher conference*, we spotted some "back yard" or "city" chickens working their way across the street, foraging for...asphalt?

Madness says "Huh, no wonder those chicken crossing the road jokes are so popular. People see chickens cross the road and just want to make a joke about it."

I chuckled and clucked all the way home.

*Not to worry, grandparents and other interested parties. Madness is passing 2nd grade. Apparently, he scored off the charts on the beginning-of-year standardized tests, like...way off the charts. Like highest scores in his class "off the charts."

However, lest you offer applause and congratulatory comments too quickly...It was brought to my attention, again, by both Madness and Mrs. B. that he is lacking in...motivation to complete daily work.

As an example, last week Madness spent every reading class hour staring off into space or chatting with his neighbor (who will remain anonymous for his own protection) about Skylanders and Halo Megablocks.

(Note to self: I wonder if I can convince Mrs. B. to come up with a Skylanders curriculum?)

On a scale of 1 - 4, 4 being excellent, Madness scored a 2 in "refraining from talking when inappropriate" and "completes in-class assignments in a timely manner." Remind you of anyone?

Side note - he is doing excellent in piano. (Another perk of an arts charter school - piano lessons twice a week.)

And now you know why the chickens crossed the road. They like gravel.

Un-hallowed Halloween

2012-11-05T10:51:00.001-07:00

Their "I'm a serious Quidditch player" faces.

Another Halloween came and went and I would like to tell you we conquered it. But sadly it conquered us. (Or just me.)

I would like to tell you we ruled the night like monsters at a ball and all that, but...no. That didn't happen.

What did happen...

My two small-but-aggressive Quidditch players trampled around the neighborhood with the next door neighbor's kids whooping and hollering "Trick or Treat!" and basking in the glow of Halloween trickery and treatery.

Also, they made a stinkin' huge haul of candy. Candy that will mysteriously disappear before they can go on a massive sugar binge or develop 5 cavities.

Hubby & I trailed along behind walking with the neighbors, enjoying the gorgeous night (a rarity on Halloween night in Idaho) visiting about our holiday plans and watching for speeding cars. Well, that's what Hubby & the neighbors were doing. I was doing something else entirely.

I was, not by choice of course, brewing a nasty little fever that pretty much took over my mental faculties. Thankfully, we began our trek home just a few blocks away. But, it took FOR-EV-ER! I'm pretty sure I was delirious by the time we made it to our front porch. I did make it.

We gave Madness & Mayhem each 2 treats from their bag and then put them to bed. Hey, Hubby & I both start work at 6 am. Work waits for no Halloween frolicking.

We were in our jammies and in bed by 9 pm. At 9:30, with all the external lights off, someone pounded on the front door. Yay! Halloween! Hubby bolted out of bed to investigate. Me? I just laid there shivering under my electric blanket, enjoying my fever.

They kept pounding! And finally Hubby answered the door. "Trick or Treat!" came a post-puberty young male voice. Hubby said "Dude, we're out. And we were trying to sleep. And the lights are all off."

The PARENTS standing with a small cluster of kids, in front of our yard, were overheard saying "Hey, someone just answered the door!" Seriously? Are you kidding me? Yes, parents...as in big people, responsible adults, contributing citizens. Take your pick.

Hubby caught sight of the "parents" and yelled something to the effect of "Come on!" (I'm paraphrasing.) He snapped the lights back off, shut the door, and came to bed.

I continued my fever.

And that was our 2012 Halloween!

Mochilas And Chonies

2012-10-26T14:53:00.000-06:00

You have been reading way too much Skippy Jon Jones to your kiddos when your 3 year old asks...

Mayhem: Mom! Where is my mochila?

And you automatically answer...

Mistress: In your closet!

And your 8 year old yells...

Madness: Mom! Where are my chonies?

And you respond...

Mistress: In your dresser!

Apparently, my boys are embracing a new language, which is great...but only if we all can speak it. Guess I'll be investing in Skippy Jon Jones on CD for Hubby to listen to on the way to work. So he can communicate with the rest of us.

I wonder if I can teach them all Klingon?

(FYI: Mochila - back pack, Chonies - little boy underpants. And now you know!)

Does your family have any quirky, zany or funky words or alternate names for stuff? I'd love to read about them in the comments section or over at Facebook!

How Hulk Is Made

2012-10-11T19:58:00.001-06:00

Mayhem: Mom! Mom! Moooooooooooooooommmmmmm!

Mistress: Yes?

Mayhem: If I pick my nose and then eat my buggers I will turn green and become the HULK!

Mistress: Awesome.

Mayhem: Yeah!

And you thought Bruce Banner used gamma rays to create the Incredible Hulk. Who knew right?

Pushing Buttons and Legos

2012-08-19T15:24:00.000-06:00

So there I was...in the middle of a full scale mommy battle of the LEGOS, a battle I was losing.

Me: Boys, please pick up the Legos. They are everywhere!

Madness: But we're playing with them.

Mayhem: Yeah, we're playing with them.

(Curse you, brilliant Danish toy inventor Mr. Christiansen!)

Me: Boys, if I step on one more stray Lego brick...or head, I am going to lose it.

Madness: Fine! But Mayhem has to help cuz he dumped the box over.

Mayhem: Huh-uh!

Legos literally make me want to eat my own hair. Yes, I realize they inspire creative play and are therefore excellent toys for my boys' budding imaginations. But really, have you met my boys? Like they need help coming up with tiny parental mine fields scattered about? I should add that Mayhem refused to take his nap that afternoon.

Me: You are pushing my last button! I've had it with the Legos!

Madness (to Mayhem): Yeah, you pushed ALL of Mom's buttons and now she has no buttons LEFT!

Mayhem: Huh-uh! You did!

Thus commenced the argument over who pushed Mom's buttons and how. I had to leave the room before my giggles were discovered. Hubby walked in just about that time and stepped on a Lego. He is also very good at pushing my buttons.

But as Madness pointed out, I have no buttons LEFT!

Madness Gone

2012-07-26T13:13:00.000-06:00

I miss my Madness.

No, I did not suddenly discover a way to silence the voices in my head. (Nor would I want to.) Instead, my Madness went to stay with his grandparents in Twin Falls for a week.

A WEEK People!

We have never stayed apart for longer than 3 days, and that was in 2007.

At first I thought I would sooth myself with a dozen cupcakes, and then realized I am sans-cupcakes. Me, a sad mommy with no cupcake comfort.

I mean, really, who knew I would miss him this much? They don't come with manuals, e-books, or kindle docs. Heck, they don't even come with random sticky notes that say helpful things like "You will miss him like your heart was ripped out of your chest. Don't Panic!" or "Keep Calm and do not kill your kids." Nothing, no warning, nada.

I called my mom the first two days, hoping that he was missing me and wanted to talk to me. When she put him on the phone the extent of our convo was...

Me: Hi Sweetie!

Madness: Oh hi.

Me: What are you doing? Are you having fun?

Madness: I am playing Nonni's Kindle Fire! Okay, bye now!

Me: Oi.

Replaced by a Kindle Fire.

Not to fear, there was a happy ending - so to speak. Last night, according to Nonni, he got a bit teary and agreed that maybe he should call me, later...after he played the Kindle Fire a little more.

I realize this isn't the end of the world and that I will see him again Saturday. I also realize my parents will take great care of him. (They raised three semi-normal and healthy children.) But I didn't realize how much I would miss him.

So, I am down to one son, who is currently struggling to breathe as I constantly hug, smush and kiss his little face...clearly a desperate attempt to reconcile my longing for Madness. Well, what can I say?

For now, Mayhem must fill the void left by Madness.

Graffiti Brought to You By Mayhem

2012-07-12T02:59:00.000-06:00

Mayhem's Masterpiece

A Short story: I tucked Madness & Mayhem into bed at approx. 8:30 PM. At 9:45 PM, Mayhem came into our bedroom, to my side of the bed with his hand up.

Mayhem: Mommy, I need help.

Mistress: Mayhem, why aren't you in bed?

Mayhem: I have paint on my hand. I need you to wash it.

He holds up his hand, right in front of my face, and it is black. Hubby laughed, hard, into the pillow next to me. Not funny. Mayhem turned his head to reveal the entire left side of his face and hair covered in more black paint. Dripping black paint.

Mistress: Where did you get the paint from?

Mayhem: From the can.

Mistress: (Now hyperventilating.) What can?

Mayhem: In the garage!

Neither one of us heard him get out of his squeaky bunk-bed or open the squeaky laundry room door. This leads me to question his sneaking and creeping abilities which very much concern me, but which I will save to examine in a later post.

Let me pause here to describe the sheer panic that washed over my husband's face and reflected in my own. Hubby literally leapt out of bed and ran for the garage door (via the laundry room). I got out of bed, flipped on the lights and attempted to wash black paint out of Mayhem's hair, afraid of what Hubby would find.

Hubby came back in, grabbed every cleaner we own and running back out shouted "DO NOT come in the garage!" So what did I do? You guessed it. Stopped cleaning black paint off my 3 year-old's face and dashed to the garage. I found my hubby attempting to scrub heavy-duty primer plus black paint off of my baby, my most favorite of all vehicles I have ever owned, my pretty red Ford Escape.

My knees buckled and I went down. I mean, way down. Like down & out down, only without all the booze and illegal drugs. I lost it. I also totally freaked out my 3 year-old. But...he kind of deserved it right? Yes, I cried. I am not too proud to tell the truth.

Later, after my melt down, as we scrubbed my car (11:30 PM) Hubby asked if we could trade him in on a little Chinese orphan and maybe we'd have better luck.

An inventory of what Mayhem painted: My car, Hubby's cherished ATV (4-wheeler), some scrapbooking supplies, the inside of the garage door, our wooden TV trays, his brother's bicycle seat, a Little People's Red Barn, the toy-box in the garage, the A/C unit, a metal filing cabinet, the floor and my Taekwondo practice bag. Oh yes. Also, his right hand and the left side of his head and face.

After a gazillion hours of scrubbing.

Why did he paint these things? We are not entirely certain, but a full investigation is currently underway. Someone asked if he at least enjoyed himself. Hmm. I didn't ask. I was busy not killing him. Seriously, orange jumpsuits are not my best look.

Now I call him Picasso. Mainly for my sanity. If I don't call him Picasso, I fear the strain of the incident will be too great for my psyche and I'll wake up on the floor in the fetal position, 2 days from now.

I wonder how much they will give me for him on trade for a new Ford Escape Hybrid.

(I have now added "please don't let him become a juvenile delinquent graffiti artist" to my daily prayers.)

You Know You Are a Mommie...

2012-07-01T23:35:00.000-06:00

At Family Reunion 2012

Of two little boys if:

10. Your response to any question [tattling] is “Are you/Is he bleeding?”

9. Your favorite bath towel is a VERY worn “GO Diego!” beach towel.

8. You drink your scalding-hot coffee in gulps for fear of never finding it again.

7. You find your coffee cup in the garage on a shelf 3 days after setting it down there.

6. Shaved Ice has replaced your Iced Mocha as a go to treat, because “they” are with you.

5. You haven’t seen any of your girlfriends in over 30 days.

4. You have forgotten what your girlfriends look like.

3. You are ecstatic if your t-shirt is clean enough to wear to Wal-Mart.

2. You understand why some mammals eat their young.

1. You realize God gave them to you because he is confident you won’t kill them.

(God bless Mommies of little boys!)

Invisible Power Ring And Vexing

2012-06-06T05:51:00.000-06:00

I am glad to report that Madness has completed first grade with flying colors. Also, his teacher survived. Good news on both accounts since at his charter school he has the same teacher for first and second grade years. Lucky for them they seem to like each other, though both vex the other often.

Here is an end of year story Mrs. B. relayed to me to illustrate the above mentioned mutual admiration and simultaneous vexing that occurs frequently between the two of them.

Madness: Can I go get my invisible power ring?

Mrs. B: umm…no…*giggle giggle*

Madness: Please?

(a few min later)

Madness: Can I please get my invisible power ring?

Mrs. B: Where is it?

Madness: In my backpack.

Mrs. B: If it’s invisible, how can you see it?

Madness: It’s in there.

Mrs. B: Ok, go get it and show it to me.

Madness: (runs to backpack) Here! (he puts it in my hand)

Mrs. B: Can I show Miss T?

Madness: Sure.

Mrs. B. walks over to the aide to show her the “ring” of power. At this point, Mrs. B. has a herd of first graders huddled around her wanting to see too.

Miss T: Can I touch it? It’s so sparkly and shiny.

Madness: No.

Here begins Madness's lifetime protocol for interaction with older women. Oi.

Arranged Marriages Are Still Cool

2012-05-21T01:15:00.000-06:00

[caption id="attachment_252" align="alignnone" width="350"] Mayhem & Princess[/caption]

Recently, (well like a month or so ago - because I am way behind in blogging) we went hiking with some dear friends & their kiddos. The result was a super fun family day filled with hiking, whining, splashing, more hiking, more whining, and then some awesome grilling!

A huge shout out and thank you to Nate & Lisa. We had a great time and hope to repeat it soon (with you guys of course)! Where was I? Oh yes...

I have long entertained the noble notion of arranged marriages for both of my boys. You really can't be too careful, over-protective, or over-bearing when it comes to your children's future spouses. I am happy to announce that I have procured a future wife for Mayhem.

She is adorable, tolerant of his boy-ness (thanks to a rowdy older brother of her own), a little bossy when he needs it (lest he attempts to "run over" her - yeah that won't happen), plays fair, patient with his...mayhem, and just mischievous enough in her own right to give him a real run for his money. (Just ask her mother.)

Did I mention she comes from a wonderful family? She boasts good genetics (always try to enhance your gene pool), a healthy home, fabulous parentage, and she has great hair, (I guess that falls under genetics too). I also really like that she is super girlie like me and her mom but is still totally able to hold her own with the boys in her life and run with the big dogs when she needs to. She plays hard, wears pink like a true diva, and keeps Mayhem in line.

We just call her Princess. This is to protect her identity so that she doesn't get teased in high school for participating in such an antiquated notion. And we hope someday she will fall head over heels for our Mayhem (mainly so we don't have to force her).

Don't they look happy together? (Muhahahaha)

[caption id="attachment_253" align="alignnone" width="350"] Mayhem & Princess, again[/caption]