Me and the Boys

Date Night. Then and Now.

2013-08-31T22:34:00.000-05:00

Tonight was one of those extremely rare nights where BOTH boys were invited to a sleepover. At the same house. Brave people. Anyway...

I throw some mismatched clothes in a beach bag, topped by some pj's that were probably more suited for winter than the 90º day we had today, and ~~sprint~~ quickly put the boys and some sleeping bags in the car. While pulling out of the driveway, I mumble aloud, "With you guys gone, maybe dad and I will have a date night." To which my oldest replied, "Don't you think you're getting a little old for that?"

We did have a date night. But we've been together for 10 years, and the original date night was 2 kids ago...things have changed.

THEN: Date night started at 9PM.
NOW: We're out the door at 10 to five to, 'beat the crowd.'

THEN: A good time meant finding a happy hour, a big crowd, and food that came in a basket. It didn't matter what it was as long as it was deep-fried.
NOW: We avoid the crowds, we have dinner AND appetizers...sometimes fried.

THEN: I spent at least an hour getting ready. I had to have the perfect outfit, hair had to look good, make-up just so, and a quick spray of perfume.
NOW: Jeans that allow some expansion, shoes that aren't too worn but are going on 5+ years old, and good luck finding a shirt that isn't a T-shirt and doesn't reveal the muffin top I have when in sitting position. (Imagine assuming a squatting position in front of a full-length mirror to see if my rolls show through the shirt I've chosen.)

THEN: Drinks consisted of cheap beer and shots.

NOW: Sprite for him, wine for me. And if I'm feeling a little wild, a margarita.

THEN: I picked at the fried food, watching my figure.
NOW: If I want steak, I order it. Medium rare. With mushrooms. And a baked potato.

THEN: Conversation was witty, and sometimes even suggestive.
NOW: We can debate for 15 minutes whether the fish on the wall is a northern or a muskie.

THEN: He refrained from burping.
NOW: He farts in the car, claiming to make room for the dessert we ordered to go and I don't bat an eye.

THEN: We ordered drinks for last call.
NOW: We're home in time for the 6 o'clock news.

THEN: When we got home, we poured more drinks.
NOW: We immediately change into our 'fat' clothes. I mean 'comfy' clothes.

THEN: We talked about world politics, the latest TV shows, and religion until the sun came up.
NOW: Conversation consists of what body part aches the most.

THEN: He hung on every word I said.
NOW: He actually admits that he had "tuned me out" for a minute and could I please repeat the last 10 minutes of conversation?

THEN: We enjoyed loud music and a game of darts.
NOW: We enjoy the peace and quiet of not being interrupted by children.

THEN: We slept in because we were hung-over.
NOW: We sleep in because we can!

THEN: We held hands.
NOW: Okay, we still hold hands.

THEN: Date night was every weekend.
NOW: Twice a year.

THEN: Spent money on me because he might get, 'lucky.'
NOW: Spends money because he IS lucky.

Back then, I was giddy to spend time with my husband on our dates. And now, I am still a little giddy, but for an entirely different reason, to have him to myself. I sometimes miss the "old days," but I actually relish these days. We laugh a lot, usually about something the kids have said or done. We love each other on a much deeper level than back then. And even if we don't talk as much as we used to, we understand each other without words.

We're not out to impress anyone, we're happy the way we are. We don't need alcohol to enjoy ourselves, we have life experiences. And even though we don't seem to have the time to "date" like we used to, it makes the dates we DO have that much more special.

Rant by Room

2013-08-10T23:35:00.000-05:00

For over 700 days, my house has suffered. Neglect, abuse, and at times, abandonment. Because I just didn't have the time or energy to give it the care it deserved or needed. And I wasn't getting any help.

I begged, pleaded, threatened my boys to please, please help me. I even lowered myself to a level I didn't want to come to, "You just must not care about me." Worked for maybe 2 hours. I wasn't asking much, just that they all clean up their OWN things...

Anyway, now that I'm done with school. Here's my pent up rantings in blog form:

Lets start in the bathroom, because that's so easy:
I don't care how accessible, how fresh, or how cold the water is in the dog dish, they insist on drinking out of the toilet. For our larger dog, it doesn't matter if the seat is down, he manages to stick his beak-y nose beneath the seat, lift it, drink and then lets the seat slam down when he's done. Usually at 2 in the morning. The smaller dog has very large lips. He dribbles everywhere.

We call him "Rip-Alot-Of-Lips"

And honestly, I think Kamrin gets in trouble more often than not for not aiming when it's actually Ripley leaving little puddles from the reservoir he calls lips. Bo will actually follow you into the bathroom and stare at the opposite wall, while you use 'his' water bowl! If he could hum and tap his paw, he would. The minute you're done, he rushes over like he's been stranded in the desert for a week!

There is a cup FULL of kid-sized toothbrushes. Each with bristles as hard as a pumice stone because each child refuses to rinse the brush after brushing.

We have an empty toilet paper holder, and 3 rolls of toilet paper sitting on the bathroom counter. But you only notice after you've started peeing that it's just far enough out of each that you have to lift you butt off the toilet and risk being a part of the Ripley statistic.

When you get out of the shower, the fogged mirror has each boy's name written on it along with several zombie faces (and hearts...go figure).

While in the shower, the towel you so carefully hung on the hook to use when you got out, is now lying on the edge of the counter...used to wipe up the millions of small beard hairs in the sink. And it wasn't replaced. And the towel closet is over two soggy steps away.

Along that same line...every time I give the bathroom I deep scrubbing, there is some sort of siren song that compels my husband to shave, or clip nose hair, or give himself a haircut. A small poodle ends up in the sink.

On to the bedroom:
My husband's dirty clothes always end up right. next. to the bed. I imagine my husband as some sort of Frankenstein, with arms outstretch grumbling, "urmmmm, bed..." and the shorts just end up right there. I've tried putting a laundry hamper in there. Doesn't work. I tried 3 laundry baskets, maybe thinking he was just a bad aim. Still, they end up draped over the fan, or become a fire hazard over our TV hook-up box on the dresser.

I'm one of those weird people who have to have their sheets straightened before I can climb into bed. Kind of a "princess and the pea" concept. We have a deep mattress and special sheets with pockets. Those have to be tugged all the way down or I will be awake all night.

I don't care how hot it is, I have to at least have a sheet on me. All of me. No feet poking out, no diagonal sheets, and enough that it goes over the edge of the mattress. My husband will be satisfied if 30% of his calf is covered and the top blanket is 3/4 on the floor. I have, several times, come in, retrieved the ball of sheet (haha) from underneath his right leg and completely remade the bed while he slept.

My husband feels the need to sleep with 4 pillows. There might as well be a 3rd person in our bed. Hate it.

Kitchen:
Oh kitchen, there is so much I could say here. I like my kitchen clean, but it's a never ending battle. Like the tiny top edge of the long freezie pop that was cut off and abandoned, and then left to melt and stain my counter. Not to mention the 5 sticky knives that are laying next to it, because lord forbid you use the same knife for each Popsicle!

Or when I'm sitting at the kitchen table, dislodging my elbow from a nearly invisible syrup stain, and my heart jumps to my throat because I saw something scurry across the floor out of the corner of my eye. Then I realize it's just a tumbleweed of dog hair caught in the breeze.

There should be a "minute to win it" sort of contest that test how much garbage you can stuff in to a swing top garbage can before it will get thrown out. When the dogs are able to treat themselves to a trash buffet and I come home to licked-clean pot pie holders, ice cream sandwich wrappers, and chewed up dirty napkins...PLEASE, someone take out the damn garbage!

Why do I find empty pop cans, half-filled pudding cups with the spoon still in them, and a partially eaten rock-hard sandwich in the refrigerator? Why?! Just throw it away or eat the dang thing. Really? Do you think you're going to re-heat and eat ketchup covered fries?

My garbage disposal never smells right. I've used baking soda, ice cubes...and even reached my hand down in to those gloomy depths, even though every scary movie has told me not to, to find the source of the stench. Only to follow my nose to the sponge that was not rinsed of the salsa it was used to wipe up. I squeeze it into the overflowing garbage and hope the dogs don't eat it.

I have to soak the glass microwave tray for an entire day before melted cheese will scrape off of it. Use a freakin' plate people! Not to mention the Chef-Boy-Ardee splatter all over top, bottom and sides of the microwave (Are you getting an idea of our family's diet here?)

Dishes put in the dishwasher with half a meal on them? Why are you surprised when they're not clean after the dishwasher's run?

Living Room:
Why is it that the dogs feel the need to puke on the living room carpet? Even if the hardwood floors of the kitchen is 6 inches away? And why is the puke bright yellow or red? There is nothing that takes this out. And if it does, the carpet is 'rougher' than the rest of the room. Or green from whatever I used to spray on it.

There is a multitude of socks thrown in frustration everywhere. They end up over couch arms, across piano keys, and just lying in the middle of the floor because in our morning rush out the door, I must go through 6 pairs that are "lumpy" or "don't feel right." Thrown, because by the time I've told them 7 times to get their socks in on in the morning, we're all frustrated that I need to LEAVE NOW!

Weird that I need to vacuum at least 13 fly carcasses off of the floor, because no one knows how to shut the screen door!

Family room downstairs:
It stinks like pigs. Literally. Because my son promised me he would clean the guinea pig cage...and he doesn't. All they do is eat, pee and poop. I hate them. I fantasize about releasing them in our yard and letting them fend for themselves. Ungrateful pigs. I bought you a GLASS drinking bottle for Pete's sake!

When I clean, I have to deal with empty Xbox game holders laying open like an unread book and disks stacked in the middle of the floor. I pain-stakingly put them all in their rightful holders, and then am screamed at because the boys can't find them. (What's wrong with that picture?)

There is a pile of dad's socks to the left of his chair. He settles in to watch TV, and off the socks go, to be gently dropped in an ever rising pile of sock puppets.

The Boy's Room:
Scares the hell out of me. Enough said.

Of course all of this is coming from someone who vacuums backwards so that I can have the satisfaction of not leaving any footprints. I enjoy the vacuum streaks. It gives me a sense of accomplishment.

I like a clean house. Some day, I hope I know what that feels like.

I Hate Kindergarten!

2013-08-03T00:40:00.000-05:00

The new school year is nearly upon us, and I admit, I'm feeling a bit more dread than the kids are.

Last year was Kamrin's first year at "real school." Around this area, kindergartners are rounded up, and placed in one building. Five hundred 5 year olds? What could possibly go wrong?

I was hopeful for Kam. He was very social, had no problems to talking to people, and he was excited to go. For about 2 weeks.

But I should've known when Kam and I met the teacher at open house, it wasn't going to be a good fit. We walked through the door and introduced ourselves, and that was it. She didn't talk to Kam, but rather looked toward the door for the next parent to greet. On our way out, she didn't remember his name. Now don't get me wrong, there are some AWESOME teachers out there, I had some myself, but she was young, and I didn't get the feeling that she loved what she was doing.

Kamrin is a special kid. I mean that in many ways. He started talking early and hasn't quit since. He can't sit still. There are few things that will keep him focused. And he's not for the faint of heart with all that energy he has pent up inside him.

Color charts suck. I hate them. This teacher had hers pinned to the board at the front of the room. For those of you who aren't familiar, a child starts out (in our case) on green. If you don't behave, you are "pinned down" to subsequent other colors...blue, purple, and the dreaded pink. If you do well, you "pin up" to yellow, orange and the coveted red. If you made it to red, you got special privileges. It's a form of public humiliation if you ask me. Oh sure. If you have that perfect kid, you'll argue that it's a good way to get kids to WANT to behave. But to Kam it was a label. He was constantly being asked to clip down. He tried so hard. I tried not to make a big deal about it. His first words to me when I picked him up after school usually involved what color he was on at the end of the day. I went as far as telling him that "it didn't matter to me what color he was on as long as he tried his best." A good day for us was when he managed to stay on the color he started on.

They had a calendar in their school folders that were brought home every day. In them, a circle was colored in with the color corresponding to where they were that day. The things that Kam gotten pinned down for were trivial. Humming in class (which he does when he knows he's not supposed to talk), not coming back from the bathroom on time (really? since when do 5 year olds know how long 10 minutes is?), not keeping his hands to himself (he likes to hug). Typical behavior of a hyper-active little boy. She would always write a note by the 'bad' colors, but once, when he reached yellow...there was nothing. So I wrote, "GOOD JOB KAM!" No positive feedback.

Unfortunately, this meant that ALL the teachers and the principal knew who he was. He was a behavior problem. And if something went wrong in the lunch line, they looked for Kam.

And the kids that made it to red? They were allowed to clip other kids down. Want to set kids up for being tyrants? That's the way to do it.

Since the clothes pins on the color chart had the kids' names on them, everyone in the class (and parents too!) would know who was constantly being "bad."

Don't get me wrong. Kamrin had a hard time adjusting. In his world, things are black and white. He knew what the rules were at school and he did his best to follow them. When he corrected a friend for getting out of line, and they pushed him, Kamrin got in trouble for trying to pull that kid back in line. He didn't understand why he was being punished for what he thought was doing the right thing, by a teacher who was the authority figure. He didn't handle it well. He would run and hide. 2 times, it wasn't in the classroom and an all out search was required. Didn't sit well with his teacher. She referred him to a counselor for 'anger management.'

Her solution? Tape a chart, on the TOP of his desk, giving him options to "cool down" instead of running. Another label. No other child had this taped to their desk. Singled out again.

One thing I noticed was that Kamrin's work that came home from school was sloppy. On the back of each page were elaborate pictures. Ones that he drew. Unfortunately, most consisted of zombies, or people with guns. More fodder for the counselor. By the way, the work was sloppy, but it was correct.

He once brought home a 12 page booklet, pages front and back consisted of pictures with 3 boxes under each picture. The home work was for the parent to cut letters out, then give them some to choose from, so the could write what the picture was. Parents were encouraged to give them a hint and provide the first letter. So I cut out all the letters, and tried to persuade Kam to participate in completing the home work. He absolutely refused. It wasn't due for a few weeks, so I told him no Sponge Bob until we did at least three. Well, that lit a fire. He sat down, pencil in hand, and looked at the first page. He completely ignored the pile of cut out letters, and started writing. He wrote the name of every. single. picture. On all 12 pages. In 10 minutes. He missed one, "yak." I don't think I know a 5 year old that knows what a yak is.

I emailed his teacher on several occasions. She basically told me that she didn't have the time to give Kam "special attention." At conferences, when she pointed out his sloppy work, and told me that Kamrin will sit and draw until until she tells him that he has to get it done or risk being clipped down. At that point, he'll flip it over and blaze through it. Boredom? I think so. I pointed out to her, that it was all correctly done, even if it was sloppy.

It broke my heart to drop him off at school, shoulders slumped and feet dragging. He was a trooper though.

The last straw was when I received an email from the principal telling me that Kam had 'gauged' a fellow student in the arm with a pencil. What?! That wasn't my good-hearted Kam. I asked Kamrin what had happened. He told me that he was sharpening his pencil and the as he was finishing, the kid behind him pushed him, so when he turned around (sharpened pencil in hand) he 'scraped him' (his words). I went to the principal, fully expecting to have to meet with this kids' parents. I asked him if the kid was okay. He informed me that the child was fine. Didn't even need a band aid. So I said that I didn't consider that a gouge, more like an abrasion. I also found out that since they didn't actually SEE the other kid push Kamrin, they couldn't punish THAT kid. So apparently, until my child is pushed and suffers injury, he will not be believed.

I finally decided to have Kam tested. My mind was thinking everything, hyper-activity, autism, just something to explain why he couldn't relate to school. And then I found the school psychologist. I love her. Mostly because she loves Kam. It turns out that Kamrin can't focus because he takes in everything.

Here's how she explained it to me. When you or I are talking to someone, we are looking at them and hearing them. Kam does that too, but he's also very aware of how his butt is sitting on the chair, feels his arms on the table, ingests everything that goes on in the background of the person. He is bombarded with information and can't filter it out. This information overload causes him to become distracted. (I'm sure the humming sometimes acts as his filter.)

They decided to try 'sensory breaks.' Apparently Kamrin isn't the only one with problems. These breaks allow him to leave the classroom for 10 minutes a day, and spend some time with his counselor, just doing calming activities. Like filling jugs with sand, playing with texture oriented toys, or swinging. It seemed to help. The psychologist also suggested that Kamring be tested to see if he needs to have more advanced learning, as he seems to be bored in class.

This discovery came within the last 2 months of school, and it seemed to be working. But now we have the transition to 1st grade. He has to ride a bus. THAT could be interesting. I'm hoping his teacher will be able to 'tune in' to him more.

Now that this rant is incredibly huge, I also want to add that I find it sad that we herd our young students through the system. Can't slow down for some, can't speed up for others. This has become my slogan.

Get rid of these stupid charts. Or make them more private. Quit labeling my child, and making him believe he's a failure because he doesn't make it to "red." His best was yellow, and I'm proud of him. I'm color blind.

I'm Back...Finally!

2013-07-27T23:59:00.000-05:00

I have to breathe a sigh of relief here. I've been absent from my writing for nearly a year now, but it's with good cause. So, I'm hoping that those of you who read me before will catch up where we left off.

Why the hiatus?

As some of you know, I went back to school...in my 40's. I'm not going to lie, I didn't think it would be as hard as it was. But let me tell you, this has been my biggest accomplishment. (I'd normally say my kids are my biggest accomplishment, but I'm not through with them yet!) So let me tell you what's been going on for the last couple of years, and then I'll get back to writing about the good stuff...my boys.

There were some major struggles with my deciding to go back to school:

1) The most significant one being, our family income was reduced by half. This meant my husband had to step up to pick up the slack. And he did. Without complaint...at least not to my face.

2) It also meant I had to go back to waiting tables...which meant working weekends and nights. Not so fun for my boys during school, when that's the only time I got to see them in the first place. Not fun for this old body either. I'd get home from work and could feel my heartbeat in my feet.

3) Smaller income meant being creative to keep our household within budget. I became a coupon queen! I'd get a small rush when I looked at our grocery bill and I had saved 25%. Unfortunately, hamburger helper and pasta became a staple and fresh produce a treat.

3) Trying to juggle family time, work, homework, and household chores. I didn't have a single free minute in my life, and I'm not exaggerating. When I got home from class, I picked up the boys, made supper, tried to do some housework, help the boys with their homework, and my homework started after 9PM and usually went until midnight. Then up at 5:30AM to get the boys to school before I had to go to school and then do it all over again that night.

4) We had no health insurance. I was able to get the boys on a program that at least covered some of the costs, but my husband and I became paranoid at walking on too icy of sidewalks during the winter. We just couldn't afford to fall and get hurt.

5) Problems 1-4 created a need for blood pressure medication.

6) Trying to multi-task, I'd take my kids to the park, but with the warning that swings were off limits because they required me to push them, and I was there to study and/or do homework on the bench.

7) My last quarter of school required a full-time internship position, which lead to an even greater reduction of income, because I couldn't physically create more hours in a week that allowed me to work AND do all of the above, even part-time.

8) My working in an actual clinic caused my dogs to sniff me like a package of raw meat and then shun me the rest of the night because I "cheated" on them.

And you were where, today? Yeah, right.

9) I also was not an active participant in supper-time conversations because my clinic work stories caused gagging and loss of appetite.

10) Going to school made me realize that the older I get, the harder I had to work at remember things. Hell, I can't remember what I ate last meal let alone whether a bacteria was gram-positive or gram-negative.

11) I lost the ability to relax. If I had free time, then I must be forgetting to do something.

But we all survived. My family was amazingly understanding (most of the time). And I now have a degree in veterinary technology. I graduated with honors and a GPA of 3.76, which isn't too bad for an old lady like me. And at the graduation ceremony, the loudest cheers came from my kids.

And best of all, the clinic I interned at, 'created' a job for me so I could stay there! Now I just have to pass my boards...

But enough...I can't wait to get back to writing. And I have SO much to write about, so much that I haven't had the time to put down in words. The kids have grown in the last 2 years, and still give me some amazing and humorous stories. So I hope you'll "stay tuned" as the saying goes, as I play catch-up in my next posts!

New Year...umm, Let's Just Call Them Toughts

2013-01-03T22:33:00.001-06:00

New Year's. The guilt trip they've labeled as a holiday. Forcing a person to take a look at the past year and decide where some improvements can be made. I fail at this. Every year. I think because I tend to make resolutions that are beyond my reach. Losing 30 lbs, not yelling at the kids. Ever. (that one lasts about a day and a half), etc.

So this year, I've decided to set my standards a bit lower. This way I can at least feel like I haven't failed and will not feel the need to lock myself in my bedroom with the covers over my head until, oh...June.

1. I will wash my car more than twice a year.
Although this may be problematic when trying to find my car in the Wal-Mart parking lot. It was always so easy to identify it with its randomly written letters in the salt/slush solution that had adhered to my door. I always felt confident putting my key in the door that had the hand AND nose prints (go figure) on the windows.

2. I will dust my ceiling fans more often.
Preferably BEFORE the dust has had time to clump into balls suitable for knitting and BEFORE they are whipped off by centripetal force, hitting someone on the head and causing a concussion.

3. I will reduce my road rage.
To inside my head. IF my kids are in the car with me. That's as good as it gets. If I'm alone in the car, drive at your own risk.

4. I will use lotion more often.
And I mean on my legs, elbows, heels and feet. Get your head out of the gutter, you perv!

5. I will try to relax more.
This one will require me to work at it. Seems like an oxymoron, doesn't it?

6. I will allow myself to accept compliments.
I'm horrible at this. I never know what to say when someone compliments me, my work, or whatever. Then my silence can seem like arrogance, which I'm sure defeats the purpose of the compliment.

7. I'm going to stop being so nice.
No really. This allows me to be walked all over by other people. It allows too many people to cut in front of me from the 'on' ramp. It also is not helping me in my education. Explanation: A lot of the Vet Tech program at this point is 'hands on.' By standing aside to let other people have a chance, I feel like I'm missing opportunities and experience. No more I say!

8. I'm going to vacuum under my couch cushions more often.
When you start find things like socks, half a sandwich and the plate and fork that came with it, beneath your couch cushions, it's time to re-evaluate your cleaning habits.

9. I will not skimp on light bulbs.
Even as I write this, my kitchen light (which takes 4 bulbs) is down to two, and the Hollywood lights in my bathroom are at about 30%. Several of our "less used" rooms require flashlights as we have already stolen the light bulbs from them.

10. I will not store anything in Tupperware for more than two weeks in the refrigerator.
If I have to smell it, scrape something off it, don't remember when it was made, or can't even identify it, it should have been thrown a long time ago. I lose more Tupperware that way. At some point I have to decide whether I don gloves and a mask or just throw the whole damn thing away. Waste of precious time.

Well, that's about it. I think I can handle that. Definitely obtainable. Check with me next year.

15 Things Moms Need to Teach Their Sons (and then there's reality)

2012-12-28T00:38:00.000-06:00

Ever since my sons were born, I have read numerous blogs on parenting. Particularly ones concerning life lessons that need to be taught, just in case I'm missing something. And while these blogs tend to be heartwarming, I am met with the reality of those lessons on a daily basis. So I've created my own list based on these wonderful blogs, and what REALLY happens in my household:

1. Teach him to express how he feels with words.

Unless these words include, "You big jerk!" or "Quit being a butt face!" I am failing miserably at this one. If I calmly interject and try to suggest other words, I am met with, "Leave me alone!" hands over ears, stomping to a bedroom and a slammed door.

2. Teach him to do laundry.

Riiiggghht. Dirty shirts, socks, pants and underwear are my breadcrumbs to the bathtub. Towels, barely used once, are dragged along my wood floors picking up every piece of dirt and strand of dog hair and deposited in the middle of the living room. Even CLEAN laundry that's been folded, sits on the dang chair until it's all considered dirty again...having never found its way to its proper drawer or hanger.

3. Read to him and read with him.

Every book they bring home from school contains zombies, world's grossest records, superheros who wear underpants and nearly every line contains a fart joke. Not to mention there's a fight over who can and can't see the page and where mom sits to read.

4. Encourage him to dance.

We do a lot of this at home. My oldest has "moves." They're something between break dancing and jitterbug. When we were invited to a wedding, he spent hours perfecting these 'moves'. He constantly asked me when we were going. The wedding took forever (roll eyes and drag arms), and the big moment came. He wouldn't budge from the sidelines. The bride grabbed him and he nearly crawled out of his skin to get away from her. For some reason, he didn't understand that there would be a crowd! I pulled him to the dance floor, got a couple of hip shakes and we were done. *sigh* I bought him dress clothes for this!

Dress clothes AND tie!

5.Make sure he has examples of men who are powerful because of their brains, integrity and determination.

In my kids minds, this includes the soldiers in Halo, any superhero whose name ends in "man," and James Bond. Hell, I only got my oldest interested in history and Abraham Lincoln when old Abe was seen wielding a silver axe and killing vampires.

6. Be their superhero.

I've cleaned house in a single bound, kissed away ouches, used x-ray vision to find the elusive blankie every. single. time., hurdled every obstacle from a dead sleep...in the dark...to rush a kid to the bathroom when I hear him about to throw up, am able to carry a 50 lb rag doll to bed under one arm and 3 stuffed animals in the other. I've used super sonic hearing to know that the kids are up to something even though they are in the backyard 'playing.' THAT'S the superhero I am.

7. Teach him manners.

Okay, my kids are pretty good at this one...until we're in public.

8. Teach him to be gentle.

I've rescued guinea pigs, dogs, precious electronic equipment and newborn babies from their 'gentle' on many, many occasions. 'Gentle' is about as familiar to them as 'quiet.'

One of our two guinea pigs...still breathing.

9. Teach him to be a good loser.

If "good" means how far you can throw the dice across the room, quitting when you're behind, or suddenly thinking this game is boring...I got this one.

10. Teach him to aim when he pees, someone has to clean this up.

Yeah, and it's usually me...because some of the places I have to clean, they can't even reach! I cringe when they walk into the bathroom in the early hours of the AM, eyes half open, blanket on their head and whip it out in the near vicinity of the toilet.

11. Teach them it's okay to ruin their clothes once in awhile.

Finally! I have this one down pat. And it's usually socks. Why do boys believe it's okay to wear socks outside...rain, shine or snow, without shoes?! I've had to ask their dad that same question more than 100 times.

That's about 1" of mud coating.

12. Teach them to hold the door for women.

They are also fairly good at this. Except that I stand at the entrance of a restaurant as they hold the door for EVERYONE. And at what point do you pull them away without being rude to the people still coming in?

13. Let their dad teach them things.

Does this include belching, farting, drinking out of the milk jug and slapping their mother on the butt every time she bends over?

Notice any similarities?

14. Teach him that sometimes people will break their promises.

I'm pretty sure that kid on the bus isn't going to pay you $5 for the comic strip you drew. Just know, that if I promise you something, it won't be broken. (But I have to say the word "promise," pinky swear AND do the elaborate secret handshake, THEN it's a promise.)

15. Teach him to be independent.

As sweet as it is to hear that my youngest is going to, "grow up, get married and live with mom and dad," it's not going to happen. You WILL go to college, you WILL get a job, and you WILL move out. Not only for my sanity, but because if you're old enough to get married, you're old enough to provide for your family by whatever means it takes...nothing should be "beneath" you when it come to putting food on your table to feed your kids. But hopefully, with all these life lessons, you will be successful enough to not only take care of yourself, but also your elderly parents. 'Cause honey, I'm going to live with YOU.

I think these lists provide a rose-colored vision of everything we can pass down to our children. Sometimes, my life-lessons are shouted, or learned because I'm "mean," but my best way of teaching my children is going to be through example. People aren't perfect, I'm not perfect. But I try, I do my best, and if I'm not home enough, it's because I work hard to provide for you. I can only hope that as much as my kids may seem to take me for granted right now, they will look back and say, "You know, my mom always..." and hopefully that sentence will end with something that makes them a better person.

Garage Sale Personalities

2012-10-04T22:13:00.001-05:00

We're moving in the next 3 to 6 months. I decided to have a garage sale...like 4 months ago.

I started early, because there was clearly a lot of crap that I didn't want to move. I sorted, discarded and priced room by room. I came across a lot of stuff where I questioned my sanity as to why I chose to hang on to a particular item in the first place. (i.e. a fake feathered bird, a spider Christmas ornament...what the heck was I thinking?!)

There was stuff that I knew had to go, but couldn't part with...my electronic keyboard reminiscent of the 80s (hey, it's exactly like the one Van Halen used to play "Jump"!), tons of arts and craft stuff (I can always use beads shaped like dragonflies, right?) and stuff that I just knew I wouldn't get the price I wanted (like genuine lead crystal bowls, a model train from the 60s, still in the box).

Anyway, I worked my ass off for 3 months. I didn't have much spare time, so had to do it little by little. There were times I actually cried because of items that brought resounding memories...baby blankets that I swear I could still smell sour milk on (but not true because I washed EVERY piece of clothing and every toy...anal. I know.) I forced myself to get rid of anything in my closet that I hadn't worn in the last 3 years, no matter how much I tried to convince myself I could still fit in it if I just put in a little effort. And all that stealthy work I did behind the kids's back to price toys that they don't even remember they had, and to avoid the protest, "HEY! You can't sell this, I play with it ALL. THE. TIME."

Anyway, I gradually put everything in my basement, and when the day before the big day came, I put everything in the garage.

My husband FINALLY commented, "You did this all by yourself?!" Really? You didn't pick up on all the pot shots I took at you for NOT helping? Did you not see me popping Ibuprofin like they were Skittles?

We had 40 mph winds the first day, and every time a big gust blew through, I was racing after my perfectly folded clothes, and double checking that nothing fragile broke. I nearly cried when several boxes of puzzles went flying. What do you do then? Put together a 1000 piece puzzle to make sure all the pieces are there when the box top landed in your neighbor's yard...two doors down? Trash it. No other option.

My youngest was hilarious. He greeted everyone. Took them to every table to introduce them to items HE thought they should have. But the people watching? That made everything worth while. I have shoved them into categories:

The Early Birds. Usually couples that are 60+ and show up a half hour before we are open. I don't know if they assume my sale is going as popular as Best Buy on Black Friday, but they're there early to stake their claim. They usually don't buy anything, but they feel better that they were there first.

The Slummers. I don't mind them. They have money, but they're always looking for a bargain. They don't haggle you on the price if they find something they want, because they're used to paying twice that much without blinking. They are also the people who paid a $1 for my son's 50¢ glass of lemonade at his lemonade stand (who am I to stand in the way of entrepreneurship?), even though it was only 50º outside. Love them. And thank you.

The Drive By's. Do all their shopping from their car at 15 mph. But don't stop.

The Barginer's. It doesn't matter what price you have on that sticker, they're going to offer half. "Hey, you willing to take 15¢ on this?" and the sticker says 25¢. Hell, I made it a bargain in the first place...fine. You need to win? You win.

The Groupies. Usually women who shop in groups of three or more. They compliment each other on their "find" but are secretly jealous they didn't find it first.

The Unexpected. Like the guy who looked like a former member of ZZ Top band member or roadie and showed up on his Harley, yet bought my entire cat figurine collection without batting an eye.

The Double-Take. They show up, offer you a ridiculously low price on something. You refuse. They leave. They return the next day and if the item is still there, they pay the full price. No questions asked.

The OMG, I Can't Believe That Just Happened. A guy who shows up, looking like someone you'd search on sight at an airport. He tries on all of my husband's sweatshirts, right there on the driveway, exposing his pot belly and extra hairy back before buying. At that point dude, just take them! I'm not touching them any more.

The Ripley's Believe It Or Not. Won't buy anything until you run a 50 ft extension cord from the back of your house, through the garage, to the item he wants to buy, just to make sure it turns on.

The Wish I Knew You. People who wanted to buy items and told me stories about themselves and I felt like I could have sat and listened for hours. We had a guy show up, he knew what he wanted. Deer antlers, old ammo, or anything to do with hunting. He told me his wife died not too long ago. He seemed to just want to hang out and talk. Before he left, he gave each of my sons a $2 bill and a 50¢ piece. I loved him.

And last but not least, the Random Act of Kindness. I had a couple of brothers ride up on their bicycles. They were nice, polite (and without being racist) ethnic. They looked over the toys and asked if we had anything for free. At the same time, a petite woman examined my clothes, looking for her daughter. To be honest, I focused my attention on her. What size do you need? What type of clothing? Thy boys played in the background with some of the toys. Finally having her fill, the lady came up to my table and asked, "How much for the wrestling ring and action figures?" I told her $5 for all. She walked back, near where the boys were playing, plucked the items out of the box and laid them before me. She handed me a $5 bill and I thanked her for her business. As she left with the toys, she stopped by the boys. "Here guys." She said as she handed over the items to the two boys, "Have fun." And she left. The boys came up to me and said, "Did that lady pay for these?" I smiled. "Yes." I said. They grabbed their bikes and left.

Honestly, I felt humbled. I wish I would have said something to her. I wish I would have given them something "free." But I inwardly promised myself, I would pay it forward.

And I did. Everything I didn't sell, I donated to a group at school who were trying to raise money by having a garage sale. I borrowed a dear friend and her pick up. We boxed everything up, acquired more bruises. And felt entirely great about the whole thing.

A Short Prayer

2012-09-07T00:00:00.001-05:00

Dear Lord,
It's me again. It's been a long day, and I'm tired. I hate getting up at 5 AM, but thank you for granting me another day.

I hate having to drive an hour every day to get my kids to school on time, but I thank you for having a vehicle to drive.

I had to take another test at school today, but thank you for giving me the courage to be back in school at my age, and thanks for the determination to get through it.

I've been so busy that I haven't had a chance to eat yet today and it's 1:30 in the afternoon. Thank you for the food that is in my refrigerator.

I'm stuck in traffic trying to pick up my kids from daycare. Thank you that I'm not the one in the accident that is causing the back-up.

My child is not moving fast enough because he hasn't finished his dinner at daycare. Thank you for the providers that feed him healthy meals and care for him when I can't be there.

The long drive to pick up my other son can be frustrating. Thank you for allowing me the time in the car to talk to my oldest child, to connect and know how his day was today.

It's a long walk inside the school to find my youngest child in the gym. Thank you for the opportunity of a good education and amazing teachers available for my him.

My kids are so loud in the car, I can hardly think. Thank you for the laughter that fills my car, even if it relates to pooping and farting.

It's a pain in the butt to have to go door-to-door selling coupon books to support Kaiden's 3rd grade mission to raise money for iPads for their classroom. Thank you for such kind, understanding and generous neighbors.

I have to take time out of my busy night to run my son to my brother-in-law's to try on a tiny tux for Kam. Thank you for family and being able to participate in their celebrations and special moments in their lives.

I need to take more time out of my nightly schedule to help my husband with an estimate for his work. Thank you for providing us with income and a job.

Can't my children just go to sleep when I ask them? Thank you for children who feel that can't sleep unless they get hugs, kisses, and secret handshakes from their parents.

I take one more hour out of my day to talk to my mom on the phone. Thank you for my parents who are still here to talk to.

I have tons of laundry to do and must stay up late until it's dry, or else my kids won't have anything to wear to school tomorrow. Thank you for the clothes on our backs.

I'm tired, Lord. But thank you for everything in my life that has exhausted me.

Amen.

What Every Waitress Wants You To Know

2012-08-09T23:23:00.000-05:00

As you may or may not know, I have had to find some sort of employment that is part-time, is flexible enough to bend around my school schedule and random moments of childhood puke-fests that force me to stay home and kill bacteria with Lysol, and allows me to make some money. And when I say money, I mean at least more than panhandling the corner of I-94 and 32nd. If I owned a puppy, I might make more on the street corner.

Not me...but could be...

Anywho...there are some things, that as a waitress, I believe you should know before you decide to eat out. (Just because it turns out, that what I thought should be common public knowledge, obviously is not.)

1) We may be considered a "casual" restaurant, but that does NOT mean you show up in your pajama bottoms and flip-flops. For Pete's sake, if you're going to take the time to drive somewhere and actually pay to EAT...take a moment and at least slip some real pants on. Hell, we don't even serve breakfast.

2) If you're 23 years old, you have no right to be offended when I card you when you order an alcoholic drink. And if you're over 30 and I card you? You should be grateful. If I don't card you, serve you alcohol, I get fined...the restaurant gets fined...and they won't let me work for 2 weeks to make money to pay the fine. So naturally, I'm going to err on the side of caution.

3) If you're coming to sit in the bar to catch a buzz...leave the kids at home. We are not your babysitter. Just because we have a game room does not mean you can let your kids run wild, annoy the crap outta everyone else that's there for a quiet dinner, and potentially have your child suffer 2nd degree burns when the 20 lb. tray I'm holding on my shoulder with one hand (and tray jack in the other) comes crashing down because he's running in the aisles between tables. I have my own children, and it's parents like you who are forcing some restaurants to not allow children...and I can't say I blame them.

4) And since we're on the subjects of kids...(and remember...I have two...and this is what happens when WE go out...restaurant hell). There are certain behaviors that need to be corrected IMMEDIATELY...do NOT continue to let your kid scream. Do your best to calm them. I will help you if I can with crackers, or getting their food out first. (Helpful hint: if I suggest these options to you, I'm not only doing my job, I'm telling you your kid is TOO LOUD.) And if they are inconsolable, take them outside...or home. If you're sitting in a booth, it is inconsiderate for them to drop spaghetti onto the head of the person sitting behind you. Also, I will clean up the table and floors and high chair when you leave, but this doesn't mean that you can let your kid throw his crayons, pizza crusts, napkins and silverware on the floor. If you don't allow it at home, why is it okay in public???

5) It is UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES okay for you to change your baby's diaper on the table. (Seriously?!! I even have to tell you this?) We have changing tables in the bathroom. And after studying parasitology, I now have to bleach that table. Not to mention I will personally avoid ever touching it again, let alone eat off of it.

6) I will do everything within my power to cater to whatever food allergy you may have. But may I suggest that if you're allergic to garlic...you choose somewhere other than an Italian restaurant? Just a thought.

7) There are 30 in your party? Why in the hell do you think we will be able to seat you immediately? This is especially for those parents who travel with their children to various sporting events and cater to their every whim. First of all, call first and give us a heads up. If you say there are 15 of you in your party, I am NOT going to assume that 40+ will show up. We only have so many servers on that night even IF the banquet room is open. It doesn't help that all the parents sit at one table, you have one son waaayyy over there (jersey #14) and your daughter is somewhere in the middle of that table and your husband is at the end of the table with the guys. If this is you, you now have the following rights automatically taken from you....NO RIGHT to complain if the bill isn't correct, NO RIGHT to complain if we can't fit you all in the same area, and NO RIGHT to complain if your food take more than 20 minutes. (By the way...it takes every ounce of my strength not to slap your child silly when he says, "How much longer for my food?!" while not even bothering to look up from his iPAD). How long would it take you to prepare appetizers and entrees for 40+ people on a moment's notice? Not to mention the other 100 people in the restaurant...and you're allergic to garlic.)

8) When I ask the table, "Is there anything else I can get you?" I am speaking to everyone at the table. Each individual does not need a special trip.

9) If there's something wrong with your food, I will do everything within my power to remedy the situation...it's just harder for me to believe you are of pure intention when all that's left is two bites and you ask for a box. Also, it would have been nice for you to have mentioned that when I asked you how everything was tasting 3 minutes after you received your food.

10) The restaurant I work at has 110 beers on tap...forgive me if I haven't tasted them all (but believe me, I'm working on it!)

11) When I was just old enough to drink, we had maybe 2 kinds of shots...whiskey and Everclear..that's it. So if YOU don't know what's in a "Wonder Woman" or a "German Chocolate Cake" don't expect me to.

What the heck are these?!

12) I work for $4.86 and hour. No lie. The kitchen is 90º F, I'm on my feet for anywhere from 5 to 13 hours at a stretch and I'm pretty sure I could compete in the Olympics as a speed walker...carrying an extra 30 lbs on my shoulders. I don't get to sit down and I don't get to eat. I depend on tips to feed my children. If you can't afford to tip me when I give you the best possible service...you can't afford to eat out.

13) If you'd like to linger and talk after your meal...please feel free to do so. But take in to consideration that I only have so many tables in my section and if you and your friends are taking up two of them to drink water for 3 hours...remember that when you tip me.

14) If you're looking for a manager...it's going to take about 15 minutes, because he's probably 15 years younger than me and is hanging out in the bar talking to the "cute chicks."

15) Here's something totally truthful, and it's not really common knowledge...if you pay with a card...try to tip in cash. Here's why...the restaurant is charged a fee every time we swipe a card on our machines. That fee comes out of my tip at the end of the night. So if you mean to tip me $5, it's actually less after I run your card.

16) It should be required that before you are actually considered an adult, you have to wait tables for one week. Because that's all it would take.

I actually love being a waitress. I enjoy meeting new people, and I come from a generation who knows what customer service is. I generally make good money (and good tips) but I think it's because I enjoy what I do and it shows. Unfortunately, my body is not young any more and waiting tables is a cardio workout and weight lifting all in one. I can actually feel my heartbeat in my feet by the time I get to sit. And if I sit for more than 5 minutes at a time when I get home, I can barely stand back up. But just remember, this is a taxing job, a draining job, and entirely dependent on you for what kind of money I make. And believe me, I totally get the people who are pissed off when they don't get good service. I work with a lot of "kids" who come to work hung-over, are in a hurry to get you out of there so they can go party, or who may not show up at all. In a nutshell, if you have a good experience, let your waitress/waiter know...and even though the verbal compliment is always welcome, tip them too. You never know what their story is.

*All of these stories are true and witnessed by other waitstaff...just so you know.

Had a good or bad experience? I'd like to know...

Things My Kids Will Never Know

2012-07-29T00:28:00.003-05:00

Since I'm an older than average waitress while going to school, I have a tendency to feel my age at certain moments...such as A) having a feeling of disgust when people come to work hung over and still sweating alcohol B) wanting to be done with their shift by 11 PM so they can still make a "party bus" and recently C) mentioning the song "Yellow Submarine" and someone looking at me with a complete blank stare. Wwwhaaa?!! How can ANYONE not know who the Beatles are?! Good Lord, has it been that long?

But it got me to thinking, what is it that I feel should be common knowledge, but my kids will have no clue?

So here's my list:

1) A rotary phone with a cord. And so many things that go along with that. They will never know the limitation of having a phone call ONLY when you're home, and then only 10 ft of cord length. Privacy? You had to shut yourself in a nearby closet, and your parents only had to trace the length of the cord to find you. AND they would always know who you were talking to, because you are RIGHT THERE. Not like you could disguise your conversation. AND I was from a Pierre, SD, so at one point, I didn't even have to dial the prefix. Only the last 4 numbers. I had to wait for that stupid phone to rotate all the way around, (7...tick, tick tick tick, tick) and if you had a lot of zeros in your number, you had to be a good friend, or you just weren't worth the effort.

Along with this, add an answering machine. They will only know voice mail.

2) Microwavable anything. NOTHING could be cooked in less than 10 minutes. Even now, when I cook a potpie for 4 minutes and it ends up still frozen in the center and I have to put it back in for 45 seconds...the kids complain!! Are you kidding me?? If I wanted a hot dog, it didn't take 20 seconds...first, I had to boil the water, then put the hot dog in and wait for at least 3 more minutes. Popcorn. Worse. Heat oil, put in 2 seeds, wait until they pop, add more popcorn wait an ungodly amount of like 6 minutes for it to finish popping. AND you had to stand there or you would start a fire. Which I did. Several times.

3) Television without the ability to fast forward through commercials, record your favorite program...or hell, even a remote! If you didn't set time aside to watch your favorite show, you were SOL. You had to pee? You waited for the commercial...and sat through them all. You missed something? Well too bad. Gone. You had to actually get off your fat bum to go turn a dial. You were considered rich if you had more than 5 channels. I remember the birth of HBO, and MTV. And MTV played music videos (gasp!) of bands in front of a psychedelic background. You adjusted antennas. Your TV was a huge box, not "flat." Your favorite program was on? You made time to all view it together, it was almost as important as the family dinner. If your favorite cartoon character farted, you couldn't rewind and play it over and over. (But, wait, farting and burping and vomiting weren't a part of our cartoons...)

4) We washed our dishes by hand, and you divided the chore into "wash," "dry" and "put away" and there were marvelous conversations held over hot water and bubbles.

5) We couldn't "Google" anything. You went to the library or you were lucky to own a set of encyclopedias.

6) We had "typing" class in Jr. High. With real life typewriters that didn't have a backspace or delete. Just "white out."

7) We played outside, made-up games. We knew our neighbors and we came home when it was dark. No worries. I remember a time when my parents had a camper parked in our driveway, and a friend and I spent the whole day drawing, coloring, and cutting out paper food for our "restaurant" in there. We sold lemonade, and painted rocks at the end of our driveway.

8) Parents (and Teachers) were allowed to "spank" us without fear of a 9-1-1 call or some sort of civil suit filed.

9) We behaved in public places without the aid of a "tablet" a "a Kindle" or any other electronic device. We behaved or we were spanked. End or story.

10) If you were a bully, you did it in person...not on Facebook, or via email. It's so amazing how brave certain people are when they don't have to confront someone face-to-face.

11) Obesity was not an issue.

12) Everyone suffered from chicken pox at least once.

13) Birthday parties were simple. You played pin the tail on the donkey, or pop the balloon by sitting on it and you blew out your candles on a lopsided cake. It wasn't a competition of which parent could outdo which parent by rental blow up games, or rental of facilities or entertainment.

14) Roller skates that involved a key and a sturdy tennis shoe.

15) You had limited brand names...Wrangler, Levi's and that was about it.

16) College was affordable.

17) Video games were Pong, Donkey Kong, Centipede, and pinball. And they cost 25¢ to play.

18) Gasoline cost less than a dollar a gallon.

19) If you were lucky enough to own a video camera, it had a huge battery pack you strapped around your waist large enough to make Rambo proud.

And once you got older (18 was legal), choice of liquor shots consisted of whiskey, Everclear, Jack Daniels. Not a Chuck Norris, not anything involving Red Bull, or anything tasting like cake. Beer was American and was limited to brands such as Olympia, Pabst, Miller High Life, and Schlitz. We didn't care how many calories it had.

20) Barbie didn't have several Kens to choose from, or a mansion, or a car, or a Pet Shop. Most of mine had homemade clothes.

Ahhh, the simple life. Makes me wonder what my grandparents thought of as evolutionary....

My youngest is turning 6. He wants to play laser tag. He hasn't been to kindergarten yet, so I have to invite MY friends to be bait. Just so he has something to shoot at. Sad.

We look at everything wrong in the world today...drugs, shooting sprees in schools and public places, sexual and physical abuse, a disconnect with parents and children, violence, puberty happening sooner than 13....I think sometimes our world has allowed us to be more 'disonnected' in an all too connected world.

Family suppers have disappeared, holidays like "May Day," are gone, kids growing up too fast and exposed to so much too soon, families gathered around the TV instead of enjoying one-on-one interaction with one another...

*sigh*

Too many distractions, not enough interactions.

Life should be simple. It seems to have a greater impact.

And Now on the Lighter Side

2012-07-13T12:16:00.000-05:00

I thought that as my boys grew older, the cute things they say would diminish. But as it turns out, they just have an understanding of a wider range of subjects. For example:

One early morning, I was having a private conversation with my husband about a woman's...um...monthly "friend" for lack of a better word. I didn't realize that my oldest was within earshot and suddenly, he had all kinds of questions. If you tell him, "Never mind Kaiden." It only fuels the fire, and he will pepper you with questions until you are brow beaten and worn down. So I handled it the best way I saw fit, I left the room. In my absence, my husband explained in gentle 8-year-old terminology what it was. It causes pain, makes mommy tired (and Lord knows what else!) After the short lecture, my son found me and sat next to me. He put his arm around me, and with genuine concern, looked me straight in the eye and said, "Mom. I'm really sorry about your spin cycle."

Well, that's one way to look at it.

My youngest was an early talker and hasn't quit since. He starts conversations with complete strangers. He usually will introduce himself and then add a little tidbit about him that he thinks you'd like to know.

"Hi, I'm Kamrin Schweitzer, and I can whistle!" or "Hi, I'm Kamrin Schweitzer and I like guns." (Which goes over great with authorities and concerned parents.)

Look for this picture on the news someday.

He has a slight lisp where "s" sounds like "th" and "th" sounds are pronounced as "d's". So when he's talking a mile a minute, you can see everyone just nicely nod their head.

He IS obsessed with any sort of weapon of destruction. We visited the museum in Pierre while at Grammie's and Papa's. After having lengthy conversations with both the greeter AND the gift shop lady, he was all over the place. He didn't seem to be listening to anything. But when we got home, he was able to tell his dad that he saw an "AK47, a REAL grenade and a purple heart medal from WWII." That's what's amazing about him, he doesn't seem to be paying attention at all, but he is actually absorbing everything you say.

He has his own language. A doorbell is a "ring bell." So he will tell you to, "ring the ring bell."

If you sneezed, you "bless you-ed". So he may tell me, "Mom I bless you-ed 3 times!"

Along the same lines, if he 'accidently' did something, he oopsied. As in, "Momma, I oopsied peed the bed."

He looks for his swimming 'gobbles.'

He asked me if he dressed up as Santa Claus on Halloween, could he get presents AND candy?

When dad takes him fishing, he brings his "fishing hooker." (Umm, is there something I should know about?)

Anyone who waves to him is an instant "best friend." Which I find disturbing and endearing at the same time.

He is concerned about Kaiden's 'love life.' He told Kaiden that he should be ready for a girlfriend, because he will have 45 of them when he turns 10.

He randomly visits our neighbors and chats with them until we discover him missing and have to go look for him. (That earns us a 'parent of the year' award.)

The dynamics between the two is, for the most part, sweet. Yeah, Kaiden will hip-check him into a wall and then immediately ask if he's okay like he had NO IDEA how that happened!

Kaiden mothers him. Holds his hand at the dentist, even if they're just showing him how to floss. He holds him back at the curb when crossing the street to make sure he's safe. Reads to him.

A quiet moment.

But he manipulates him as well. There have been several occasions when I've told Kaiden, "No. He can't do (something)" and it won't be 2 minutes later that Kamrin is there asking again.

They have common interests, usually concerning the size, shape and smell of poop, which they feel the need to discuss in the bathroom at the same time. They care about their hygiene, especially the way they smell, "for the ladies" (Kaiden's term), which involves a cloud of dad's Axe body spray. And they are constantly perfecting their dance moves.

No matter how trying the day has been between the two of them, how many verbal and physical injuries have occurred, or one is considered a "butt cheek" by the other, they absolutely CANNOT be separated at bedtime. I love that time. I often check on them to find them sleeping soundly, but snuggling one another.

I swear those are NOT the only PJs Kam owns.

They're a perfect match. A yin for one's yang. I hope someday when they are older and they read this or are reminiscing together, they are still this humorous, this connected, and still best friends.

Peace out.

Insight On Moving...According to My Kids

2012-07-13T00:14:00.000-05:00

Without trying to incite a pity party, I have wanted to write this post for a long time. I held off, hoping not to embarrass my parents or to classify myself as a "failure." I've battled this a long time, and feel if I write about it, I may somehow, relieve myself of some of the guilt I've been feeling.

About 3 years ago, when my husband lost his job, I decided the best thing we could do was to consolidate our debt. I went to Wells Fargo, a bank who considered me a VIP for nearly 20 years. They referred me to Wells Fargo FINANCIAL, who, using a salesman pitch so slick they could sell ice to an Eskimo, convinced me take a loan which would allow us one payment a month, rather than several payments to credit cards, car loans, etc. I was under the assumption that they needed to appraise my house as collateral. What they were really doing was giving me a home equity loan. I didn't understand that, and I have no one to blame but myself. They told me that they would start me out at 9+% interest, and every year that I made my payment on time, they would re-evaluate me and lower the interest rate. Sounds good, right? Except they went out of business 2 months later, and I was stuck at the high interest rate.

We sacrificed as much as we could to make those payments. We robbed Peter to pay Paul, we gave up Netflix, went to basic cable, bought our kids' clothes at second hand stores, gave our kids haircuts at home (bad idea), had to forgo fresh fruits and vegetable for frozen (they suck), didn't take any vacations, clipped coupons, and gave up our health insurance (not the kids), and worried ourselves to ulcers. But we did it.

I called every person I knew to try and help, the mortgage company (who informed me that I was making "empty threats" when I genuinely asked them if they wouldn't want payments vs. a foreclosure) I called the head of their complaint department, other banks, everyone I could think of. I said "no" so many times to my kids because "we didn't have money" that every sentence they asked me, started with, "someday...when we have money...can we..." I'm worried I've warped them.

Then I lost my job. I went back to school and worked part time. We had to file bankruptcy. I was ashamed. Humiliated. Degraded. And after cautiously telling my closest friends we had to do that, found it was more common than I had thought. Two weeks after we filed, we had to transport my husband to the hospital by ambulance for vertigo. Where he stayed for 2 days. Without health insurance...well you get the idea.

After consulting a lawyer, she said we would be better off giving up our house. I can see why Kleenex boxes are common in their offices.

Long story short, after 8 years of on-time-payments and more than 20 years of VIP status, we have to move.

Now to tell my kids. Thank God for my kids...they put it in perspective...

I told them, "We have to find a new place to live."

They say, "We need a new house, ours is old."

I told them, "You might not have your own rooms."

They say, "Yea! Can we get bunk beds?"

I say, "We need to go through everything because we might not have room for everything."

They say, "I think other kids would like this toy."

I say, "I'm going to miss our fantastic neighbors" (And, Oh Lord, I so will.)

They say, "Can we be somewhere with more kids?"

I say, "I can't imagine packing!"

They say, "We have so much junk."

I say, "We have to have a garage sale."

They say, "Can we have a lemonade stand?"

I say, "It might be a longer drive to daycare."

They say, "Can we be close to a place where we can go for bike rides?"

I say, "Our new place will be so small."

They say, "You won't have to clean so much, mom."

They are so excited to move. I hate it. There's not a day that goes by that I don't look around and miss a part of my house. Kamrin may not even remember this house. I'll miss the height marker in the garage.

A patio that my husband and I worked on in 90+ degree heat to create. My faux painting that I have received so many compliments on. My Sponge Bob mural in the kids' playroom I painstakingly painted. An extra bedroom for my parents to stay in. The piano I've had since I was 8.

The faucet my husband installed for me, the bathroom remodel that happened because my kids chipped a tile...my very soul in each and every space. A place I can navigate in the dark. Every ding, every scratch, every stain, every memory. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't have a part of me die because I have to give something up.

My oldest once asked me if we could move somewhere where they had a pool. I said it would be very hard to find a place like that with our two dogs. He replied, "I'm sure going to miss Bo and Ripley."

I see it as a mountain, a chore, a devastating life experience. They see it as an adventure. A new start.

I'm trying so hard to see it that way. But I LOVE this house. I LOVE the people around me. I'm mad at me, I'm mad at the economy...we tried SO hard. We didn't live off the government! We struggled to not be "those" people.

And we don't know WHEN we have to move. That sucks the most. I can't even plan on what to keep and what not to keep, because I don't know where we are going.

And you assholes on Craig's List, who advertise an affordable house for rent, only to find out you are "missionaries in Africa, have a sick wife," may you rot in hell. I hate you people. Because you give me hope and then rip it away.

I made this house. It's mine. I know every crevice, every nick, everything I had hoped to improve...and Wells Fargo, I'm not even going to tell you what I think of you. So glad you covered YOUR ass.

Oh I know, things could be worse. And my parents have been supportive beyond belief, but I hate this. I hate letting go. I hate having to prioritize my belongings into keep and not keep.

*sigh*

God isn't suppose to give you more than you can handle...but sometimes...I wish He didn't have so much confidence in me.

How My Kids Murdered My Type A Personality

2012-06-30T00:22:00.000-05:00

I have reluctantly resigned myself to the fact that I am a type “A” personality. I get it from my mom. Both of us are planners, or at least that’s a nice way of putting it. We’re in control. Not because we necessarily WANT to be be, it’s because we feel we HAVE to be and no one else it capable of running things. If we don’t do it ourselves, no one will. We worry not only about ourselves, but everyone close to us. We’re “involved” in our families lives and do whatever it takes to make sure that everyone receives the best outcome. We are full of advice. We don’t always volunteer this advice, but if you ask our opinion...watch out...you’ve just opened a whole can of worms that you hadn’t anticipated. We fret. We worry. We toss and turn in our beds. We plan every outcome to every scenario possible.

It’s hell for us. And probably hell on our loved ones. But only because we care, and because we want what’s best and we just love you so much! At least that’s what we tell ourselves.

Not entirely, but for the most part, my kids have done what they can to demolish that side of me. And I don’t mean they’re like water and have gently eroded away my control...they have taken a 50 lb. sledge hammer and shattered it to bits.

So now comes the week that I look forward to every year. I relish it more than Christmas and Halloween rolled together. It’s the week my parents take the kids. It means the world to me. A week without interrupted conversations with my husband. A week where my house stays clean for more than 5 minutes. A week of not working around schedules. A week of being spontaneous! But not for my mom.

She adores this week and does everything within her power to plan a fun-filled week with Grammie and Papa that would revile Disney World. But in so doing, she fills her schedule with allotted times, cleans her house, and worries about what isn’t going to get done.

Here’s some things I have reluctantly realized:

1) EVERYTHING takes more time than you allow for it to take. A 15 minute trip to the grocery store? Plan on 45. You need to consider the time it takes them to get their shoes on, the time it takes you to tell them 7 times to find their shoes, and the time you spend looking for them in the grocery store after you turned your back on them in the produce aisle.

2) All that time you spent making your house look so nice? Gone. In less then 10 minutes. Guaranteed. And picking up? Yeah, they’ll help...for about 5 minutes and then they get distracted and you end up doing it yourself.

3) The most awesome thing on your agenda for them...a plane ride. The thing they will tell mom and dad about when they call...the time they spent at the City Pool. With a slide.

4) You have to tell them it’s time for bed an hour before their bedtime. Not kidding. Because there will be glasses of water, having to pee, and someone needing, “just one more thing” before they actually hit the bed. And it doesn’t end there. Count on 20 more minutes of giggling and laughing, farting, burping, and “it was his fault” before they actually fall asleep. On top of you. In a king sized bed.

5) Something will get broken, scratched, or lost and it will be nobody’s fault. And there is NO WAY you can prove it.

6) Nice clothes for public, washed faces, and combed hair...will be stained or messy 2 seconds after you’re in the car.

7) You think you can “wear them out” so they will go to sleep early (and so can you!) HA! They somehow find an adrenaline shot of energy 6 seconds before bedtime, even if they were asleep on the car ride home.

8) The reward you said you would give them if they ‘promised’ to be good? You will end up giving it to them first because of all the begging and pleading and they will disappoint you. I tell myself over and over again that I won’t do that the next time, and yet...inexplicably, I do. (Grammie has more self control on this one than I do.)

9) All the parenting advice you have given me over the years? Don’t yell. Don’t threaten. Don’t take your frustration out on them. Be patient. You will find yourself doing within the first few days if not hours. It’s okay. It happens. If you don’t’ sometimes raise your voice to them, you end up taking it out on your spouse, then everyone’s mad at you.

10) I don’t care if you paint the worse case scenario of being bitten by the dog...stitches, a trip to the doctor with shots, losing a limb...they will still tease the dog. And not understand when he bites them. Maybe they need to be bitten so they stop (not hard, mind you.)

They will leave every light on in the house, they will feed the dog “people food”, better check your hoses at night to make sure they’re not running, you will retrieve items of clothing from you backyard at 10 o’clock at night, your refrigerator will be sticky and have hand prints all over it’s stainless steel surface, they will want to play your computer 10 hours a day, they will “surf” in your bathtub and “accidentally” miss the toilet when they pee.

So just remember...sit back...enjoy the time they spend with you even if it doesn’t coincide with your schedule. Because when they come home, they talk about are how Grammie read them bedtime stories, or how Papa played the Wii with them. Go with the flow, and if it isn’t what you planned, and you still enjoy what you’re doing, then so be it.

I have to admit, I get a little jealous. Because you have taken this time out of your busy life and dedicated it all to them. You are able to sacrifice a busy work schedule to cater to their every whim. Something I can’t do...yet. I have school, I have work, I have to get up early, I have to study. I have laundry. I have to clean the house. They anticipate this week probably more than I do because they realize that they are going to be the center of attention. And they are so lucky to have you in their lives. Able to do the things you do together. What a wonderful opportunity for them to have the relationship they do with you, since there are a lot of grandchildren who don’t.

And I am lucky too. Because the week allows me not only time for myself, but also allows me to realize how empty my life would be without them.

The List

2012-06-24T00:45:00.002-05:00

Oh my gosh, I can't believe how long it's been since I've been able to write! I'm sure most of you thought I was dead. I'm not. I'm in school. Which is almost the same thing. And I swear it takes up every waking moment of my time. But I have lots of posts swimming around my head, and now that I'm on my three week "summer" break, I can write some of them!

Spring and summer is also my husband's busiest seasons with his handyman business as well. And together, we are trying to manage time with our sons and time to get the every day things done around the house. With all the time constraints, I have become a slave to 'lists'. They come in several different formats; a white board calendar on the 'fridge-color coded for appointments vs. work schedules vs. (now past) school activities. Sticky notes with "things to do..." like laundry, so I don't have to send the boys to daycare with mismatched socks...again. That list is also my 'ego list' since I can judge how productive my day was by how many things I was able to cross off. And if I accomplished something that wasn't originally written on my list--I will write it on there just for the satisfaction of crossing it off. OCD, I know. Also, my 'bible' which is also known as my day planner for school. It not only includes when assignments are due and when tests are scheduled and ward care (when I take care of animals), but also my work schedule, just in case I missed it on the whiteboard.

But the most sacred of all the lists is the grocery list. This list takes more than one day in the making. Without being able to cook as much as I used to, I worry that I may be the sole demise of my family's health. That my sons will be on Dr. Phil with some sort of eating affliction that will be traced back to their mother's neglect. Diets cannot consist of hot dogs, ham sandwiches and 78¢ potpies alone. No. For my own peace of mind, I must include things like, fresh fruit, yogurt, and popcorn for snacks. Then somehow I can feel I have done my motherly duty in making sure my family eats healthy! (Even if "fresh fruit" comes in the form of Scooby Doo shaped fruit snacks.) What? Don't judge me.


Not our actual shopping trip, but close!

Right.

My husband, who has a sweet tooth the size of our refrigerator, will "pick up a few things," to fill the vast hole my list has left...junk food. If, after spending several hours planning, and ordering my groceries online to be delivered (did I mention the greatest idea on earth?!), there is no chocolate, my husband will either, A) intercept the Schawnn's man with a flying football tackle in the driveway to order ice-cream sandwiches, or B) need to pick up something essential I left off the list...like toilet paper. (Or so he claims.)

One day, against better judgement, I had no time to order online, nor run to the store myself. I should have known better when he volunteered to run for me.

Now I must interject here, my husband, no matter how good his intentions are, can only remember things for about 20 minutes. (Don't even get me started on how he left the dryer with a broken timer running for 6 hours!) So I decided to write him a list. We needed mayo. Which I tried to burn into his brain by singing, "MAYO! MAAAYYYO! Daylight comes and I wanno go home" about 50 times that day. (From Beetlejuice, and yes, I'll include the awesome scene for you. You're welcome.)

I wanted some kettle corn (which had become my 'studying snack' and new addiction). I wrote these things down. On a list. I gave him coupons. One of which was $5 off a $45 purchase. He told me he wasn't going to spend $45. I said, "take it anyway, you never know."

When he came back, he had about 5 bags worth of groceries and I started unpacking. There was Ho-Hos, Oreos, a package of brownie mix, oh...and mayo, frozen pizzas, and various other garbage food. As I was unpacking the bags, he slaps his forehead, "Urgh. I forgot your kettle corn!" Ok. He made the run. I forgave him...until...

"How much did you spend?"

"About $45."

"Well, good thing you had that coupon then..."

(blink. blink.)

"So...you mean to tell me, you bought all this junk, PLUS AA batteries, which wasn't on THE LIST and didn't use the coupon?!"

At which point he opens his wallet and hands the coupon back to me. "It's good until the end of the month."

*sigh*

No wonder the kids like him best.

Crap My Kids Have Ruined

2012-03-27T23:27:00.001-05:00

I have decided that even if I DID have the money to buy nice things, there would really be no point in doing so until the year 2025 or later. It all depends on where my kids decide to go to college (note I did not say "if"). I started learning this lesson the hard way when I had my first, and the realization has become more concrete ever since.

1) I haven't owned or wore anything white, excluding socks, since 2004. From spit up and overflowing diapers, it has progressed steadily to Chef BoyArdee fingerprints and unidentifiable stains that are only noticed AFTER leaving a public place. No matter how many times I've washed those clothes, there is a faded orange spot that refuses to detach itself from the white fibers of my shirt (or pants...or coat).

2) The arms of my couch. Scotch-Guard...pshht. Doesn't stand a chance against my kids. The dirt and grime from their hands, and feet for that matter, have worn its way past any sort of protection barrier that chemical may have attempted to provide. I have scrubbed them so many times, they have become nearly translucent. Finding banana peels and Popsicle sticks left there hasn't helped either.

3) Along the same lines, Shawn's Laz-E-Boy has acquired a slight tilt. Apparently, when the floor becomes lava, it is necessary to get from one end of the room to the other by hopping from arm to arm of whatever available furniture is close at hand.

4) Shortly after we bought and hung custom cut blinds for our kitchen, I noticed a bite mark in one of the slats. And although both children claimed the indentations just miraculously appeared out of nowhere, it bears a strong resemblance to my youngest's mouth size. Along with the coinciding hole where he is missing a tooth.

5) At least 3 walls have been written on. PLEASE! Do not tell me you didn't do it when you wrote your own name!

6) My piano has one key that "clunks" every time it's depressed and I don't know enough about pianos to get in there and see what's causing it. I'm not really sure I want to know. Also, that piano bench has multiple scratches in it from being a Hotwheel ramp.

7) I actually have to purchase the 2 year insurance policy on any video game that is purchased. Just as leaving them out on the floor to be stepped on by kids and dogs alike, they didn't hold up well when "cleaned" by scouring pads.

8) My vacuum accessories have been missing for 18 months.

9) The hallway ceiling is in need of repainting due to an experiment in how long "slime" will hang before they can try to catch it when it falls.

10) Baseboards didn't stand a chance against soccer balls, monster trucks and rollerblades.

11) Shawn and I decided that purchasing our own carpet steam cleaner was the best investment we ever made. Although it works well enough, I have yet to find something that will remove chewing gum remnants. I'm hoping it wears off on its own.

12) I own more plastic glasses than real ones and can never have more than three people over at a time, since none of my wine glasses match. My dishes are a mishmash of colors and styles...the survivors of once complete sets.

13) Might as well lump the rest together...a vent cover, a space heater, several toilet seats, an oven burner, many window screens, knick knacks to numerous to count, a huge glass-top table at grammie's house and a set of outdoor patio chairs. However, a bath tile repair job did turn into a complete makeover that I am not unhappy about.

14) And lastly, my figure. Although they are not completely to blame...THEY STARTED IT!

15) Don't even get me started on the intangible things, such as privacy in the bathroom, spontaneity, an uninterrupted phone conversation, or any quality study time before 9 PM.

The reason they will not have a choice about attending college is obvious, they are going to need well paying jobs to replace the things they've ruined. But by that time, I'll be too old and senile to enjoy them. Oh well, in the meantime, I'll have to make do.

Yep, He's Mine...

2012-03-02T22:40:00.001-06:00

If you're any of my family or facebook friends who have already seen my son's Christmas concert excerpt, you can skip the rest of this blog.

I have talked about Kam often. About how he marches to the beat of his own drum, resides in his own world and lives by his own rules. To say he is a "people person" is an understatement. Do you remember that statement about living life where it says something like, "Dance like no one is watching?" Well, everyone is watching and my son doesn't care. In fact, I'm pretty sure he enjoys it.

This video is of my son's Christmas concert. At his school. Christian school. It starts a little slow, but keep watching. A little less than a minute in to it, and Kam has truly tapped his "inner performer." At one point, the guy sitting next to me leaned over and whispered, "There's one in every crowd." And before he could say anything further, I replied, "Yep, and that one's mine."

I'll admit, I was somewhat embarrassed, even though I nearly wet my pants laughing. When we left the concert to claim our child in the school hallway, my first tendency was to look around to see who was watching to glimpse of the parents of "that child." But luckily, my husband set the tone and actually surprised me. He saw him first and shouted, "Hey Hollywood, give me five!" I couldn't have loved him more at that moment.

Anyway, this video gives you an insider's look into my son's personality. I couldn't be prouder.

Take a minute to watch, and remember...no one's watching:
Kamrin's 1st Christmas concert

You Better Hope Nothing Happens to Me...

2012-02-20T15:27:00.000-06:00

How many moms have said that? To their husbands, kids...usually in the heat of the moment. Of course we're implying that there is no possible way that life as they know it could continue to be as good as it is for them without us there.

Now, I'm not saying that I am more the grease that keeps this family running as smoothly as it does (okay, I'm lying, that's exactly what I'm saying). And Shawn will quickly point out that I pamper the boys. I don't see it like that. I see it as utilizing every available minute with as little drama as possible. I have often considered writing down my "tricks" in a tiny spiral-bound notebook and placing it somewhere that Shawn would be sure to find it, if for some reason, (ahem), ANYTHING SHOULD HAPPEN TO ME. It just makes everyday a little simpler, a little less tantrum filled, a little less stressful for everyone. If that's pampering, I guess I'm guilty.

Some of the things I'm talking about...

1) Lumpy socks. Instead of putting on boots/shoes and taking them off over and over again, with tempers rising, causing a boot/shoe to be shot across the room (by parent or child) because a sock, "just doesn't feel right," turn them inside out. Use ones that don't match. Or if you're just going to the store, or somewhere they won't be taking the boots/shoes off...let them go without. If you decide to be the dictator in this situation, you may win the battle, but trust me my friend, you will NOT win the war. On your way to school, the bus stop, wherever, your son will calmly take his boots/shoes off, which you will only discover when you have stopped the car to get them out and only have 2 minutes left on your timetable. They will REFUSE to put them back on with the willpower that only a child has, and you will end up carrying said child into whichever facility you're at. And if this place needs shoes, good luck to you. One other thing I've learned...if you put their socks on them when they are still half awake in bed, you're chances of lumpy socks decreases by about 80%. Not sure why.

2) Waffle presentation. Trust me, I know it sounds ridiculous, but you must fill EVERY square of the frozen waffle with syrup. And honey, you can't take the shortcut of ripping the waffle into pieces and pouring syrup over it...they know. It may take a couple of seconds longer than random strings of syrup over the dang thing, but this method as been proven time and time again to prevent spontaneous explosion of our youngest one and wasted waffle. Do not listen to what the dogs are telling you, they just want the waffle after it's been rejected.

3) Bedtime is actually 30 minutes earlier than you think it is. Don't worry, it doesn't mean that you're sending the kids to bed at 7:00, because I guarantee it will take you AT LEAST 30 minutes before they even reach the bedroom. Also, you can't say, "Time for bed!" and expect them to jump up and race one another to be the first under the sheets. Oh no. I know it defies explanation, since you're ready to be asleep by 9, but they don't actually want to go to bed. In fact, it is best to give them some sort of warning that you will be telling them it's bedtime. For example, "10 more minutes, then bed." Also, don't expect them to think to themselves, "Hmmm, only 10 minutes? Well, sheesh, I better get that glass of water/go to the bathroom/read that book/get that snack, because I'm almost out of time." Nope. Those excuses are saved for when you think you've actually won and have the covers tucked around their chins.

4) Even though you think it takes 10 minutes, it takes 20. Keep this in mind. I don't care if you're not due to be somewhere for another 20-25 minutes. Get out the door. It's amazing what will catch you're child's undivided attention in that mere 7 ft from door to car. It will also prepare you for that last minute realization, "I gotta go to the bathroom. NO I can't hold it!" (Refer to #3)

5) Everything is your fault. I don't care if you've told them to look for their shoes and put them on 50 times, in the end, if you yell at them for being late because they didn't get their shoes on, it's YOUR FAULT because you didn't tell them where to look. Just so you know. Oh, and if you throw your hands up and go to look for the aforementioned shoes, DO NOT expect one to be in the same relative vicinity as the other. In fact, they may not be in the same room. If you have exhausted all possibilities, it is not considered out of the ordinary to look in the backyard. Again, I have no idea why this happens.

6) Dum-dum suckers are a secret weapon. Anywhere they are given away free, and you're alone. Stock up. They make great bribes if you're in a pinch. A good place to store them is in the car.

7) Watch your language. I don't care if you're on the phone in the bathroom or out in the garage, one slip of the tongue and it will come out of your kids' mouth at the worst possible time. If you scold them, they will say, "But YOU say it!"

8) What happens in the house, does not necessarily stay in the house. So if you're thinking anything pertaining to pooping, farting, picking your nose, the word "butt," "penis," or anything similar in nature will be "just between you and the boys," think again. It will make it's way out of the house and come back to bite you in the butt. Ahem. I mean behind.

9) Eats and drinks stay in the kitchen. It doesn't matter how 'spillproof' you think you've made something, or how 'safe' you'll think they'll be, they will manage to slop kool-aid on the carpet, make a mark on the couch with ink, or leave chocolate fingerprints on the remote. Oh, and it will be YOUR FAULT.

10) You are responsible. I don't care how much you hate to go places, attend activities, or may not enjoy the same things your kids do. You will have to suck it up and go. YOU NEED TO BE INVOLVED. I know it takes up your time, I know it's hard to keep one kid occupied when the other is playing baseball, I know you don't like to dress nice for concerts, but at some point, it needs to stop being about you and you need to remember it's about them, even if it's out of your comfort zone. If you don't take an interest in what is important to them, they will stop trying new things. And who knows what wonderful possibilities that could rob them of. Oh, and also, make an effort to introduce them to some of those new things...like outdoor concerts, art in the park, bike trails, etc. Remember, if you're involved in what they do, then you know what they're doing. (that sounded profound for a moment).

11) At some point, you will have to push. I think our biggest hope for our children is that we want them to be better people than we are. So there may be times where you won't be their friend. But that's okay, you're the parent. And it will mean probably pushing yourself as well. It's our job to be hated at moments.

Anyway, I know you think I'm morbid when I say, "If anything ever happens to me..." but just in case...I'll leave you a constantly updated spiral notebook. Look for it.

Unite Against MRB! (Male Refrigerator Blindness)

2011-12-29T22:56:00.000-06:00

I really don't understand why this disease hasn't had its place in the spotlight, its own colored ribbon plastering the backs of cars everywhere, or even its own telethon! I'm considering having T-shirts mass produced at an out-of-pocket cost, just to raise awareness and hopefully find a cure.

MRB (Male Refrigerator Blindness) does not discriminate between race or age. In fact, its symptoms start to manifest themselves in ages as early as 4 or 5, seemingly about the same time a young boy is able to open the refrigerator door in search of something to eat. The research has not been entirely completed as of yet, but these first signs seem to correlate with a trigger of mom having JUST sat down in a comfy position for the first time during a 12 hour period.

The disease may be defined as the inability to see anything that is not eye-level in a clear container that resides within the cool temperature controlled appliance, such as a refrigerator. Anything that is covered with aluminum foil seems to block the optical nerve from processing the contents of said aluminum foil and as such, it is not even perceived existing.

Invisible

It also seems to be the case for all foods that are:

in the door of the refrigerator
hidden cleverly behind a gallon of milk
residing within its own compartment - such as the veggie drawer
not stored in its original container (i.e. the two left-over pieces of pizza wrapped in foil, rather than the 16 - 18" cardboard box it came in, and needs an entire shelf to itself)
on a different shelf than the middle one (it doesn't seem to improve symptoms if the levels are made of glass)
not marked in large bold letters with a black Sharpie and neon blinking arrows pointing to it

Unfortunately, there is no cure in sight, and the disease seems to progressively get worse as the male ages. It also has been dubbed as the "doorway" illness that leads to other such afflictions such as:

FLS - (Folded Laundry Syndrome) where the victim is unable to process the fact that the folded clothes that have been sitting there for 5 days are his, and actually need to be put away.

RCM - (Remote Control Migration), if the remote control is not sitting on the arm of the lazy boy it is "lost" and never to be found again

It may even cause so much damage a person my suffer from FTN - (Failure To Nod). An extreme disorder which results in momentary paralysis of the head and failure to acknowledge that someone has spoken to them even though they may have heard every word. This particular ailment also freezes the ocular nerves and the larynx so the person may appear to be completely blind, deaf and mute, offering no response in any form.

Ladies, we must unite! We must find a cure to save not only those afflicted by this ever growing epidemic that may, at last count, have claimed the lives of 90+% of the male population, but their loved ones who must suffer along side of them every. single. day...leaving their comfortable positions on the couch to move that milk jug a fraction on inch and point out the food they were looking for! We must bring light and relief to all of those involved! Right hon? Hon? HON! Geez, can't you give me some sort of sign you heard me? I'm not yelling...

Facebook Rant

2011-12-22T23:32:00.001-06:00

Facebook has become a regular part of my day, as much as I hate to admit it. And, as we all have, I've noticed certain personalities that have emerged because of our online social activities. Some have managed to annoy the crap out of me. Here they are:

1) Those who have to tell you where they are and who they're with...every single second. I think they invented something called Four Square or something like that, which tracks your every move. This is a very handy option for anyone who would love to document your habits, stalk you, and then abduct you in a large shopping parking lot. Just saying, there are a lot of people out there who shouldn't be trusted with that kind of information.

2) Okay, I know the "proper English language" has been flushed down the toilet. But all of the misspellings...it saddens me that people don't know the difference between "there" and "their" or "here" and "hear" or even "too" and either "two or too". Call me old school.

3) Every one has a bad day. I understand complaining about your boss, your boyfriend, the bad service you had at your favorite restaurant. But really? You can't find one thing to be happy about? You're bringing me down man, every day you complain about something. It must really suck to be you. Or at least that's the image you want to portray.

4) How about the people who need feedback to survive? I really think that you're striving for a world record of some sort to see how many comments you can get when your status reads, "OMG, I can't believe I survived!" Tell us already! I'm not going to go back and check every 10 minutes so I can have closure on whether you were hit by a car, or whether you sneaked by having 11 items in the Wal-Mart express line instead of 10. It's not that important to me (unless you WERE hit by a car, at which point I'm guessing you're not updating your Facebook status.)

5) How about the person who "Likes" everything? I think maybe you're just short on time, and you're trying to let me know that you checked out my latest photo or status, because you don't have time to comment, but you like what I have. It's kind of the cyber graffiti saying "I was here." Thank you.

6) In the same sense, I have people who will NEVER comment or like anything I have posted, but when I see you face-to-face you will stop me mid-story to let me know, that yes, you already read that on Facebook. Fine. Well now I feel stupid.

7) The abbreviator: kind of like the person who hits the "like" button all the time, only in acronym. You will LOL or LMAO at everything! I don't even know what some of those abbreviations mean! You may be sending a completely misinterpreted message. No kidding, I'm old. I have to Google abbreviations. My kid thinks LOL means "Lots of Love." Just saying.

8) I'm not sure how I feel about status shuffle. I think a lot of what they say is great, but does that mean you're just too lazy too think of your own status? And if you rely on a second source to come up with a status, maybe you shouldn't say anything at all. It's the Hallmark card of status posts.

9) I'll admit, the first thing I do when someone requests to be my friend, I check out their page before I accept. If you have like 4,358 friends...I don't need to be another notch in your belt. Pretty sure you can't keep up. Who are you friending? Do you really care? Good Lord. It's not homecoming queen all over again, trust me.

10) The people who tell me every. song. they. listened. to. in the last half hour. Stop it. I don't care. When I want to see what my friends are up to, I don't need to feel like I'm sharing an ear bud with you. Your tastes in music are completely different than mine, I'm NOT going to click on the video, stop hogging my update page room. If I want to know what you're listening to, I'll go to the bar with you.

11) Stop posting "duck face (pursing your lips into a kissy face)" pictures every time you go out to the bar with your friends. As much as you think you're being sexy, you're not. And really, I just think you're a drunk, because I know you have 2+ kids, yet you're at the bar every weekend...at least according to your Facebook pictures.

12) I really don't need to have you tell me goodnight or good morning every day. I'm not living with you.

13) I admire faith or lack thereof in our political system or your religious views, but please don't shove them down my throat.

14) The whole kid/puppy/kitten pictures with some sort of quip? Funny the first time, but not 30 links later. I'm happy that you have time to read every one of someone's posted pictures, but I don't need to be in on it.

15) Arguing with your ex/sibling/parent/boyfriend/spouse...whatever. This is NOT something to take public. Are you just looking for people to take sides?! This is a PERSONAL problem, keep it personal. Be a grown up here. This is like having a fight right in the middle of the most crowded restaurant with everyone listening to you. People will judge, and not for the better. Take it outside.

I love Facebook. It has allowed me to stay connected with people that I would never have been able to before. But I think some things have gotten out of hand. And I admit, I'm guilty of more that one of these things myself. If their was a category called, "People who always post things about what their kids say," I'm totally guilty.

But I needed to get that off of my chest. And it's the end of finals week, maybe I just need to let off some steam. Let me know what YOU hate about Facebook.

Parent Teacher Conferences Translated

2011-12-09T23:45:00.000-06:00

My Kamrin is something else. He really doesn't fit into your "normal" barely 5-year-old category. And I kinda like it that way. He's outside the box, and frankly, hard to understand if you're not with him ALL the time, which I am. Or his mother, which I also am (even though I've been tempted to deny it). He's the boy whose food preferences are more adult than his peers, he picks the pepperoni off his pizza, but will fight his dad for the banana peppers. He asks for salads and steamed broccoli. During conversations with him, I feel like he is constantly processing everything around him and even the things that aren't, easily bouncing from one subject to another.

Anyway, a lot of his "quirks" can be interpreted has being a hard to handle boy, and I was slightly nervous when parent/teacher conferences rolled around in November. Did I mention that he attends Pre-K at a Christian school? It was one of the only full-time Pre-K classes available in town, and I was positive that the teachers there would be more patient with him as I am sure they feel they are held accountable by a higher power than just the principal.

I arrived at the school about 10 minutes early. I was the last parent slotted for the day, and I knew, that like a doctor's office, everything by the end of the day would probably be running late. So I settled in the dollhouse-sized furniture situated outside the classroom. On the table were several handmade books of the children's drawings. I flipped through each, each containing its own theme and was relieved to see that most of Kamrin's drawings related to the subjects at hand, even if there was the occasional bomb-throwing or gun toting stick figure in there. Hey, at least he was giving it a shot, you can't put limits on creative genius.

Across from me, on another miniature table, sat a laptop playing a slide show of candid photos that had been taken during the year thus far. In pretty much every single picture that Kam was in, he was making a goofy face. Yep. Have the same problem with my photos of him.

At that moment, his teacher stepped out to greet me. We exchanged pleasantries. "So," she began as she escorted me through the door, "let's talk about our special Kamrin." The defense walls shot up. What was that supposed to mean? I looked for any indication of malice or frustration in her face and saw none. She motioned me to sit in yet another teeny chair at another tiny table. She looked for his "file." She brought out his folder, and handed me his report card.

We started in. She lead with the good stuff;
She said: he was able to count to nearly 20, even though they had only covered 1-7.
I heard: Possible mathematical genius.

She said: He was able to identify over 90% of his capital letters, yet only 5-6 of the lower case ones.
I heard: Capital letters look much different from each other than lower case letters. All the lower case ones were basically loop and line variations, right?

We moved on to the areas that could use improvement.
She said: He had a hard time moving from one task to another.
I heard: He wanted to finished what he started. He was focused.

She said: He sometimes had a hard time paying attention to the task at hand, that you could see the wheels turning in his head.
I heard: He's a thinker. Constantly trying to solve the world's problems in his head, who has time to worry about drawing a line to match the mouse with the "M"?

She said: He can at times be overly concerned about how well others are doing...
I heard: Born leader...
She said: ...and it has caused some disputes, particularly with one other student.
I heard: He's not afraid to stand up for himself.

She said: He holds his pencil correctly and cuts very well for his age, although he tends to rush through his projects, only to flip them over to draw on the backside.
I heard: Picasso

She said: He is very helpful and has a special friend named Paige and that get along marvelously.
I heard: Ladies man.

She said: She put an "X" by 'writes own name' on nearly everyone's card because the first letter needs to be all the way to the top line, while lower case need to be under dotted line.
I heard: Stupid rule, blah, blah, blah.

He writes his own name. He just thinks outside the box (or lines).

She said: His biggest obstacle to overcome was going to be the fact that when he is scolded, or corrected, his first response is tears.
I heard: He's a guy in touch with sensitive side.

She said: He has a wonderful sense of humor, is curious about everything, and once he matures a bit (refer to previous statement), he could do anything he sets his mind to.
I heard: He has a wonderful sense of humor and can do anything he sets his mind to.

Overall, not a bad conference. Not bad at all.

I'm not a scrooge, but Christmas makes me stabby.

2011-12-03T00:04:00.001-06:00

Never mind the fact that Wal-mart already had their Christmas display up when I went to look for the kids' Halloween costumes. Or that I had to shop for my Thanksgiving groceries with Bruce Springsteen singing, "Santa Claus is Comin' to Town" blaring from the grocery store speakers, I'm just not a fan of Christmas. I've said more than once, "I hate Christmas." Which is not entirely true, if I could just fast forward to Christmas Eve and not deal with all the B.S. in between.

I would love to be able to decorate for Christmas, I just don't know how. We drag our tree from the basement, all tightly packed in it's little box, and we put the bottom, middle and top together. We try our best to bend every branch so it "fills out" and covers the five outlets we must intricately string together in order to light it up. It ruins the whole effect of the brilliant lighting of the tree when I have to tell everyone to close their eyes while I plug it in just to make sure all the connections are working. I hate our pre-lighted tree. Rainbow colors seemed the way to go at the time, but really have no congruity in theme. My tree is showing its nearly 8 years of age. It is not elegant, nothing matches, and honestly, I don't know how to decorate it.

One year, I bought tinsel and just threw it at the tree hoping it would stick and create a random effect. Not only did it end up in here and there clumps, but my dogs had some very sparkly poop. My mother cross-stitched some wonderful ornaments to represent significant times in my life. But now, some have to do with my previous marriage and find themselves on the back of the tree, hidden, but on the tree just because my mother made them.

Decorating the tree was always a special night when I was growing up, but not so much with my kids. During the time it takes me to unravel the ball of paperclips used to hang the ornaments, my kids have become bored, and now are engrossed in some re-run of "Johnny Test." My cheap felt tree skirt, is already pulling apart from itself and ends up in a crumpled ball within 3 hours of being perfectly positioned. Lights? Would love to make my living room a winter wonderland, but the duct tape just really doesn't do much for the ambiance.

I tried to be creative one year and spell out "NOEL" in lights in our window. Due to a technical malfunction, our window blinked, "NO...NO...NO..." the entire season.

How do your compete with this?!

I get depressed because, even though I can't force myself to actually buy foundation that matches my "winter skin," or despite the fact I have been piecing and smoothing my last bit of deodorant together for lack of money, I feel like I have to "spoil" the kids at Christmas. When I told them that we couldn't afford a new X-box 360, they told me not to worry, because "Santa would bring it." How do you tell a 5 and 7 year old that Santa's profit margin wasn't what he expected, he had to lay off a lot of elves this season, and really just can't afford to bring that this year?

It's not just about not being able to get my kids what they want either. I would LOVE to get everyone who is near and dear to me....something. My neighbors bring us food and treats during the holiday season, for which I am eternally grateful, because, with my baking skills, there would be nothing. But how fun would it be to decorate sugar cookies with the boys without having to scrape off the burnt parts? I have no idea what a dutch oven is, or a double boiler, or even how to use a candy thermometer. I do, however, know how to make microwave peanut brittle.

I would LOVE to be able to pay my daycare provider an extra week of pay, knowing that after only 2 days on the weekend, I'm ready to give them back to her. And just like the commercials suggest, I would give anything to hand out McDonald's certificates to my sons' teachers, bus drivers and mailman. Not going to happen. Those Christmas cards with a family in front of their tree dressed in identical atrocious Christmas sweaters? Yeah right. Mine would show the boys hitting each other, Kam making some sort of face, and the vein in my forehead being a pulsating prominent feature.

One year, I totally ruined Christmas for everyone. Our family tradition was to open gifts one at a time, enjoying the reaction as each present was opened and taking the time to thank the person who gave it to you. Apparently, this is NOT the tradition in my husband's family and he was totally okay with an opening frenzy, wrapping paper flying everywhere with a nano-second of a pause before moving on to the next. Well, I blew up, and pretty soon no one was talking to anybody and my parents considered going home early. Yea me.

Wrapping sucks. That's it. I just can't master that. No matter how hard I try, the gifts end up wrapped with a 1" strip of radically different paper, because I measured short and had to substitute. Not to mention I had to seal everything with packing tape, because that was all I had.

My oldest has come of age where he wonders if Santa Claus is real. He asked my husband point blank, and despite my violent shaking of head and hand across the throat motion behind my son's back, he told him the truth. I've been fighting that one ever since. DON'T DO IT! ALLOW THEM TO BELIEVE FOR AS LONG AS POSSIBLE!

I don't have to travel this year, but, if I did, add that to my list of stressors. North Dakota weather can change in a heartbeat.

I love seeing the kids' faces Christmas morning, but I just don't do "surprised" at 4 am until at least 3 cups of coffee has been consumed.

My favorite Christmas TV show is "Rudolf the Rednosed Reindeer," which I'm sure my sons will dub as lame the minute it doesn't live up to the animated graphics of "Up."

Remember this?

You know what I DO enjoy about Christmas? Tom and Jerry's. The end.

I know, I know, Christmas is not about gifts, or Santa, or what you can give or receive, but about Jesus' birth. And when we go to church, I always cry. I'm pretty sure it's the guilt I feel for missing the true meaning of Christmas, not being able to sing Christmas hymns like I used to, or just realizing we survived another year and have so many gifts that aren't the kind that are wrapped and sitting under the tree.

Charlie's Story (insert goosebumps here)

2011-11-17T23:18:00.001-06:00

I'm an animal lover, always have been always will be. But I especially love dogs. I own two. There's just something special about dogs and the way they interact with humans, the way they cock their head at you like they're really listening. You can leave the house to start your car, come back in, and they act like they haven't seen you in 6 months! If you love dogs too, you know exactly what I'm talking about.

This is one of the reasons that, at the age of 41, I'm enduring late nights of studying, memorizing medical terms that are Greek (or Latin!) to me, stressing over grades and devoting every spare minute to becoming the best Vet Tech I can be.

But this next story is a once in a lifetime story, and makes all those sacrifices seem trivial and is the total sum of the reason that I'm doing what I'm doing.

Let's start out by telling you that my mom had a dog named Sophie. She was a little Bischon mix, that was frankly, hard to love at first. And even harder for me, because I like BIG dogs (think Great Dane). But Sophie mellowed out from her puppy stage, kept my mom company and became the reason we had to spell out "walk" any time we were within earshot of her. But Sophie, at the tender age of 5, became very ill. My mother was frantic. She took her to one Vet who had the horrible task of telling my mom that Sophie only had a few days to live. She had liver disease. Like anyone would do if told you were told you had a fatal disease, my mom sought a second opinion. The next Vet opted for exploratory surgery. But Sophie just didn't have the energy to fight anymore, and she left us. My mother was heartbroken. She called me, barely able to talk through her sobbing.

Fast forward to about 4 weeks later. I had explained to my sons about Sophie's passing when it happened. But who knows what goes on in little boy's minds and how they think like they do? As I was driving my youngest to school, he mentioned something about Sophie, some random comment that indicated that he was thinking she was still alive. So the conversation went like this:

Me: "Honey, remember that Sophie went to heaven?"
Kam: "Oh. I forgot. (pause) Grammie should have a new dog, he should be black."
Me: "You think so? What should we name him?"
Kam: "(Pregnant pause), I think his name should be Charla. (pronounce the 'ch' like "chew")."

I didn't think anything of it. I know that Grammie was considering adopting a dog to fill that empty space in her life, I was encouraging her to adopt, because there were so many wonderful dogs that just need a forever home. All of our dogs at school come from different rescue shelters, so I had my instructors on high alert to any potential dogs that would be suitable for mom. Morning progressed, and after I had dropped Kam off and had gotten to school, one of my instructors stopped me right away. "There's a perfect dog for your mom. You should go see him."

Of course I dropped my backpack and went to take a look. Here in our kennel, was the sweetest terrier mix. According to his chart, he had been kept (I use this term loosely) in a shed for six months. He was a year old. My gathering is he had very little human contact. I was told that he was going to need a lot of socializing. He was scared. When I went to see him, he didn't look at me, he laid curled up in a ball on a large blanket and wouldn't make eye contact. My heart immediately went out to him. "Hey sweetie," I coaxed. I opened his kennel door and sat beside him. He wasn't even interested in sniffing me really. I scratched his head, his ears, ran my hand along his back. I tried to be soothing with my voice. He was mostly black in color. My heart ached for him. How can people be so cruel? His whiskey colored eyes tugged at my soul. After a few minutes, I decided he really wasn't that interested in me, but he would be a terrific addition to my mom's household. I stopped petting him to reach for my phone to take some pictures, and he army-crawled a few inches and laid his head on my lap.

I took a couple of pictures, and then stood, closed the door and looked at his chart. His name was "Charlie." I stood stock still. My son's conversation suddenly filling my ears. The hair on my arms stood up and I could barely catch my breath. "Charlie?" I said. He glanced at me and then quickly looked away. I immediately called my mom. "You're not going to believe this..."

Charlie didn't know what a leash was. The Vets were worried because he wasn't eating. I visited him two more times that day. He had to be lifted from his kennel to go outside, and even then, would just sit the minute he got out the door.

I couldn't get him out of my head. I thought about him alone in that kennel at night and willed him warmth and comfort. Those eyes haunted me. I sent my mom the pictures. He was a bit bigger than she was hoping, and he looked nothing like Sophie. I convinced her that it was a good thing. She didn't need a replacement Sophie. I dog who looked different wouldn't be such a painful reminder.

The next day, I went in early just so I could see him. The same instructor who had told me about him now knew I wanted my mom to adopt him. I went in again at noon to see how his physical went, and she allowed me to keep him out to play with him. I sat on the floor and he came right up to me and leaned on me. After a few minutes, he would explore, but any loud noise or unfamiliar person, and he was right back next to me. Since he wasn't eating, I grabbed some dog treats to try to entice him. He eagerly snatched them from my hand. My instructor (we'll call her S.), said, "Let's get his dish and see if he'll eat for you." He looked at the dish, looked back at me..."Come on honey, have some food." I stuck my hand into the mixture of food and held it out for him. He gobbled it up and continued to sniff my hand, which I placed back in the bowl. It took about 2 seconds for him to realize that there was food in there. "I bet they just threw food at him and he doesn't know what a bowl is," said S.

Anyway, Charlie and I bonded. It became the running joke of my classmates that I had "fallen in love." Every day there was something new, he stood up and was excited to see me, he wagged his tail, he made some noise, he was curious again. I tell you, I have never been affected by any dog like I am with Charlie. The transformation I saw in him in just 4 short days was nothing less than miraculous. And although I would like to think it was all me, it wasn't. All the students there doted on him. By the 4th day, he was greeting me at he gate, licking my face, enjoying time outside and behaving like a dog should. Socializing? Nah. What he needed was some attention and someone to just love him. Which I do. I can't explain it. The other students started to refer to him as, "my dog." I was also told that this would be one of many that I would feel like this. But I don't think so.

My philosphy is that when sentencing someone for animal cruelty, they should endure what the animal has endured. I want to put this person in a shed for six months, throw his food on the floor and neglect them. I think anger is going to be one of the hardest emotions I have to deal with in this profession.

My mom has also fallen in love with Charlie through pictures and daily progress reports. She has already filled out her application, written her letter (along with mine) and we're hoping for the best. I'm pulling every string I can pull to ensure that he can live with my mom and dad. I'm not going to lie, I want him for myself, but he would be spoiled rotten with mom and dad, and I'm not sure who needs who most.

I only get a week with our animals at school, and tonight was my last night. S. could see the special bond we have, and allowed me to have my "alone time" with him. I walked into the kennel run, and this sad, lonely dog just a few days earlier, stood at the gate, tail wagging. "Charlie!" I exclaimed. He greeted me with paws on my lap and licks to my face. I took him outside, and saw something that would mean nothing to anyone else. He put his front legs down with his butt up in the air. Something we call a "puppy stance." He wanted to play! Something completely foreign to him. He was unsure of himself, but he after play position, he would run to me and stand on his hind legs and lay his head in the crook of my arm.

Can you tell the difference?

After about 30 minutes, I knew my time was up. I think he sensed it too, because as I put him in his kennel, I whispered, "keep your paws crossed, Charlie." He put one leg on each shoulder and licked my face. I don't cry easily, but that lump in my throat was the hardest I had to swallow. I closed the kennel door, and for the fist time, I heard him whimper.

I cried all the way home.

The story isn't over yet, hopefully. I love him enough, that even if it isn't with my mom, I hope beyond all hopes he gets the perfect "forever home." He deserves it.

Highlights of the Year

2011-11-11T23:16:00.000-06:00

It has been a year since I started blogging. Some months are better than others as far as having time to write when I want. But I wanted to thank all of you who read me on a regular basis. I can't tell you how much it means to me when people ask when the next blog is coming out because the can't wait.

So here are some of MY favorites from the past year. I hope those of you who started reading as of late will take the time to read some of my earlier posts! Thanks again!

Laughing in Church
Now you'll understand that it's not that I'm not a believer....

Sheep & Weapons of Destruction
Boys are so much fun, you don't play with dolls...

Over the Hills
The dreaded six hour car ride and all it entails.

Pet Peeves and Perfection
One of my all time favorites

Snow is a 4 Letter Word
Appropriate. It explains so much.

Scouts or Just Armed and Dangerous?
It's a cult I tell you!

The Way it Should've Been
This is for all my Vet Tech friends.

Visitation Rights
If you've ever had to take your kids to a restaurant, or be seating next to that person...

Well I hope you enjoy these as much as I enjoyed writing them. Here's to another fun-filled, blog moment filled year!

Can't You Just...

2011-11-10T10:41:00.002-06:00

Can't you just. Three little words, so innocent and non-threatening when they're all by themselves, but stack them one on top of another, up and up and up and soon, they're towering over me like an impending avalanche. Looming. Suffocating with their massive weight.

My last, "Can't you just..." piece was placed on top of my already created mountain, and came tumbling down. It had it's casualties. My cheerful morning was ruined and my husband reeled from the severe bite wound of, "I JUST SAID, I WOULD DO IT!" It seemed like a petty thing, asking me to run to the bank, but on top of all the rest, it brought the mountain down.

Can't you just.

My schedule is packed. I mean, every minute, every second of every day. Those three little words cause more chaos than anyone in my family understands. "Can't you just get me one more glass of water?" Every step to retrieve this water, standing waiting for the cup, pushing through the stalling tactics of going to bed, is directly proportional to the amount of time I will have to stay up to finish studying. Forget the fact that I had just asked you if you needed anything before bed ten minutes ago.

"Can't you just help me get dressed?" Means I have less time to make sure we have everything we need to before we leave in the morning, and has on more than one occasion, resulted in my going hungry throughout the day, because I didn't have time to make me a lunch, or a forgotten piece of crucial homework.

"Can't you just tell me what there is to eat?" No. I haven't had the menus printed. Get off your butt and go look.

"Can't YOU just call the insurance company?" I'm on the phone in my car, or during the 10 minutes between classes taking care of something that seems so incredibly simple.

"Can't you just go to school conferences?" Now I must check my work schedule, call the school to find a different night and time, and take an hour and a half out of my nightly list of things to do.

Can't you just...get that paperwork together, pay that bill, send that email, take the kids to the walk-in clinic, pick up that prescription, feed the dogs, look up someone's phone number, get the kids out of the bath, help me with my homework, pick up snacks for school, drive the kids to or from school, make that appointment, approve that ad, or record that show?

When asked what I'm doing today, when I say "not much" doesn't mean I'm sitting in the recliner eating bon-bons. It just means that I don't have to work after classes. I still have housework, homework, laundry, dishes and other menial tasks that fill my day.

I used to think that it was just easier to resign myself to this position since it probably would take me half the time to do it. But now, when I have to claw my way out from beneath the rubble without any recognition or appreciation, I realize I have put myself in a very dangerous position. A position of being constantly frustrated, to a point of gnashing teeth and high blood pressure. Of being too weary to be able to do the "fun" things, like going for a walk or playing outside.

So now it's my turn. I'm throwing some stones your way, and if we all carried just a little bit, it would be a lesser burden.

So....

Can't you just pick up after yourself? And I mean actually put the dishes IN the dishwasher instead of gambling that the last spoon isn't going to topple the leaning tower of Pisa in the sink? Can't you just go to bed without argument, without poking each other and fighting over who has more blankets? Can't you just do what I ask the first (or I'll even take second) time I ask instead of wondering why I'm hurting your feelings because I've raised my voice on the 8th try? Can't you just respect me as your mother/wife instead of your personal wait staff? Can't you just give me some input about what groceries to buy instead of complaining that, "There's nothing good." when I plan a week of nutritious meals? Can't you just take out the garbage when it's overflowing instead of attempting to put ONE MORE wrapper in and walking away when it falls to the floor? Can't you just do a couple of loads of laundry when, "I don't have any underwear." or at least put away the stacks of folded clothes that I have even sorted into shirts, pants, PJs and socks? Can't you just realize that when you leave them sitting out until I'm not even sure what's clean and what isn't anymore, that you have now created another hour of laundry? Can't you just take it upon yourself to do some of these things without me asking you first?

I drink LOTS of caffeine. Not because I particularly enjoy the taste of coffee, but more because I am up at 5:00 and in bed by 11:00 at the earliest. I NEED caffeine. I don't relish being "mean" or "hurting feelings," I am trying to do my best not to totally lose it and go ballistic on all of you. I really DO want to read just one more book at bedtime, but my precious minutes and seconds have been nearly eaten away throughout the day.

I know this is true for a lot of women out there, and I'm sure they would all want just a little empathy, a little compassion, and some more recognition. We know you've had a "hard" day, but I'm pretty sure you'd crumple under the pressure if you had to walk a few steps in my shoes.

I realize that at this rate, I'm going to end up with a couple of pansies, mama's boys, whose future wives will hate me if something doesn't change. And honey, when you scoff and rib me when some TV doctor tells the audience the benefits to your health if you're intimate 3 times a week? Help me make time in my schedule! Think about it. "I don't have time" does not mean, "I'm not interested." So let's make it happen, alright?! That should be some motivation for you.

So, because I know that everyone would benefit all around, then next time that, "Can't you just..." is casually flung out there. Expect a resounding, "No! No I can't." It's for your own good.

Mirror, mirror on the wall.

2011-10-09T00:25:00.001-05:00

Do you ever have those moments, when you're looking at yourself in the mirror, and you realize...yep, I'm not 26 any more. I mean, really, I know it, I do. But sometimes I wish I could see myself from someone else's eyes. What do I look like to someone else? Honestly, I quit looking at myself...literally looking at myself, in the mirror, ages ago. I don't like to. I look at parts. My eyelids to put on make up, my legs to shave, and my hair to curl it. But not the whole. I'm scared to. I know I won't like what I see, but more than that, I don't want to look at myself and see that I've aged.

I've had hints, I know you all see them too, that famous lead singer that you lusted over as a teen, they make the news and you think, "My god! What happened to him? He's so OLD!" Granted, they may have lived a harder life, but then you realize, if they're that old, what does that make me? (Jon Bon Jovi is still hot though, don't get me wrong).

David Cassidy...what a heart throb then.

Okay, he's not horrible now, but kind of looks like he needs to be on a sitcom of some sort.

You find yourself reevaluating what you consider sexy. No longer is it the rock singer with long hair, but someone who wears a suit and has a bit of salt and pepper in their hair. Sometimes it's the "before" picture in the "Rogaine" commercials for men. I no longer fantasize about someone with a rock hard body, because I know in my heart of hearts, that I would no longer compete with the women he has available to him (this is all a fantasy, I'm perfectly happy in my married life). Not only that, but I know the rock singer is not stable and would not be a good father figure for my children. Pathetic, right?

My oldest was mad about something the other day, and I actually told him that if he didn't quit frowning, he would have a wrinkle between his eyebrows as deep as mine. See? He immediately quit. Nothing like scaring your kid with reality.

Other signs that I'm actually growing old:
I don't wear thong underwear any more. Honestly, it didn't bother me at one time, now it's comfort over any possibility of someone seeing me with a string up my ass and thinking it's sexy. Like that's going to happen.

My pajamas are a cotton blend that have three-quarter sleeves and reach below my knees. Nothing is see-through, nothing is silk, and more often than not, the top is the ratty T-shirt I was wearing that day minus the bra.

Speaking of bras, I buy a bigger cup size because I have to manually scoop up any extra arm and/or back fat into the cup while leaning over when I put my brazier on. The straps are wider because I tighten them to hoist up the fat and make my boobs look perky.

I'm pretty sure that's at least 3 cup sizes.

I do a little happy dance when I'm carded and totally ignore the, "WE CARD EVERYBODY" neon sign in the window.

The panther I had tattooed around my ankle now looks like a Shynx.

I pee myself a little when ever I cough, sneeze, or laugh too hard.

I could actually live without cellphone for 24 hours and not miss it.

I saw the original "Footloose" movie and consider it blasphemy that they want to do a remake.

I'm sorry, but no one could nail this like Kevin Bacon.

I know how to dance with another person and it involves holding hands, spins, and actual footwork.

My kids find it hilarious that my skin wobbles on the backside of my bicep and will actually call friends over to watch and see how funny it is.

"Fame" was the only TV show that incorporated singing and dancing.

I can cook a hotdog without a microwave.

I have long hair and enjoy it, I don't so much enjoy that I now have to look for a chin hair that managed to grow over an inch while I was sleeping.

I don't even remember what color my hair is naturally, but I do know that when I grow roots, I don't find gray hairs, but PURE WHITE. What the hell? Don't I get some transition time?

My favorite radio station with the songs that I can sing all the words to, is called a "classical" station.

Retro fashion was my fashion. I'm afraid to throw anything away because it WILL make a comeback. Hairstyle on boys today? We used to call them the "Beatles." You're nothing new Justin Beber or whatever your name is.

I clean my house thoroughly if I'm going to be gone for more than a day, because I DO care what the police will think if they need to search my house for clues.

I record "Dr. Oz" because I can relate.

I'm afraid to attempt a cartwheel or even run, because I could twist an ankle and I will feel it every time the weather changes for the rest of my life.

I will not allow my son to have a turtle as a pet because it just may outlive me.

I have a "tramp stamp" tattoo, but I'm 99% sure that they should call it something else if it's on a woman over 40, and if I actually owned a pair a jeans that allowed that to be seen, it just may elicit some "eewwws" from the observer. By the way, all my jeans now incorporate a comfort waist band and some sort of tummy panel.

I now think of 60 as young.

If I have extra money, which is never, I linger at the "under eye" make-up section of the pharmacy (yes pharmacy) rather than the eye shadow section.

But I so want to still consider myself young. In my head I'm still in my 20s even though my body constantly reminds me that I'm not. I'm tired easier, I worry about certain aches and pains and what they could mean. But that doesn't stop me from going down the water slide with my kids, chasing them as the "bad guy" in spy games, or dressing up to go trick-or-treating.

You're only as old as you think you are...oh crap, I forgot how I was going to end this.