No Chocolate Milk For You!

You See, Mom

noreply@blogger.com (Kristin of course) — Thu, 14 May 2015 00:57:00 +0000

So Mom, here's the deal.

You know how I sometimes just trip over the air?

Well, you see, Mom, it wasn't like that at all.

I was actually on my scooter. Going like 123 miles an hour.

And I hit something and boom! My face hit the ground.

No, my hands aren't scraped at all. Why do you ask? No, I guess I didn't try to stop my face from hitting the ground.

I guess I should work on that whole Protecting My Head, huh?

Mom? Why are you looking at me like that?

The Good Wife, Otherwise Entitled "Suck It Up"

noreply@blogger.com (Kristin of course) — Sun, 12 Apr 2015 12:58:00 +0000

I feel I should preface this with two things.

1. Kevin has always been a little on the neurotic side. Mountains out of molehills and such. Especially about health. I'm not sure we know anyone else like that, do we? Apples and trees, yo.

2. When I'm asleep, truly asleep, I'm not a nice person at all when woken up.

Many, many moons ago, Kevin woke me up around 1 or 2am to tell me his stomach hurt. He was saying it was like gas, but it wouldn't go away.

I was asleep, understand. I believe Andy was still young and had slept a total of 15 hours his entire life (it doesn't matter the age; he's 12 now and has probably slept a total of 25 hours).

And here was this man-child whining about a tummy ache. And I was NOT HAPPY. He got up out of bed, did the whole bathroom thing, the Pepto thing and came back to bed. And juuuuuuuust as I was drifting back to sweet sleep, he started in again.

And then said he thought he needed to go to the ER.

Now, keep in mind we had kids asleep too. Just sayin' that I'm not the kind of mom to just run off in the middle of the night and leave the kids asleep in their beds. And that is totally rational and reasonable.

But I may not have said it like that. I may have growled "well then go to the ER if you think you need to." And promptly covered my head with the blanket to end this nonsense.

He went to the ER. You know, after tapping my shoulder to tell me it...just as I was drifting off again.

I was so pissed.

Try to understand. When you live with OCD, you live with The Issues. Whatever The Issues are, they are always something that needs to be focused on. OVER AND OVER AGAIN until that hamster wheel has completely broken into 50 tiny pieces. So I do my best to understand and be compassionate.

Ahem.

SoI drifted off to sleep again, while my husband took himself to the ER. THAT'S compassion, yo. Only to be woken up by Kevin who told me that the ER was so busy and that he had gotten through triage but then left.

I may or may not have cared. A bit. The man had woken me up three times now for a FREAKIN' TUMMY ACHE.

Not 30 minutes later again, he tapped me away to tell me he was going back. I think I swore at him and told him to just go and not come back until he was fine.

Less than an hour later, the phone rang. It was Kevin.

"Kristin, I'm in the ER and my appendix has almost ruptured and they're prepping me for surgery. You might want to come up here."

Well.

All that needs to be said is there needs to be a statute of limitations on using this as a weapon in marriage.

Back to Blogging Because I Win At This Parenting Gig

noreply@blogger.com (Kristin of course) — Wed, 08 Apr 2015 02:30:00 +0000

The irony here is that a couple days ago, I began debating closing my Facebook account. Because that is the reason that the blog stopped - it was so much easier to post a fun thing on FB than to write it all here.

And part of the irony is that I was scrolling through the Blog of Yesteryear and cracking myself up about the neurotic nature of the elder boy.

And how NOT MUCH HAS CHANGED.

Which brings us to today. Ahem.

Today I took Mr. Crazypants to the pediatrician. Why? Well, we need to back up to five days ago.

Five whole days ago, Andrew had a skateboard incident. I didn't see it but apparently there was a rock involved. Damned rocks...always causing troubles. All I know is that I was texted to get home because Andy's wrist was hurting due to said accident and that he NEEDED me.

By the way, that text? Was from Kevin, not the boy child.

So I moseyed on home, not really rushing because...you know, I've met my older boy before. His stomach always hurts, there's always something that feels weird on his body (an elbow perhaps), there's always something.

There's always something that takes us to the psychiatrist, heh heh.

Anyway, I got home to a non-swollen, non-bruised wrist. SHOCKER, right? But I was tired after a dumb meeting I had been to, so I did the whole Mommy-Advil-Magic-Potion Thing and we went to bed.

Four days ago, I heard about the wrist a lot. I administered more Advil, talked about sprains and basically made a lot of shit up hoping that the kid would buy it.

He did not.

Three days ago, there was less complaining but it was brought up enough times that perhaps I got a bit exasperated at one point. Because again...no bruising, no swelling and nothing poking out. See, when Rachel broke her wrist, there was a bone just poking straight out of her wrist that was so awful and ugly...his arm was perfection in comparison.

Two days ago, we brought in a former hockey player with Expertise on Bone Fractures who told him no, it was fine (thanks, Dan for trying). I thought for sure Andy would believe his cool uncle. He did. For about 2 hours.

Yesterday, rinse and repeat. Except that after school, I did think maybe there was a slight swollen spot. But knowing Mr. Crazypants, his brain willed that spot to swell just to prove a point.

So last night I threw my hands in the air and declared that yes, I would take him to the doctor today. He was satisfied. Privately I told Kevin that for the love of all creation, that kid wasn't going to stop until he heard from a Professional. It was worth the copay just to shut the danged kid up.

We traipsed to the pediatrician, who has known me for 21 years (yes, in this new and improved update of the blog, Rachel is now 21) and knows that I'm slightly crazy and that Andy definitely has The Anxiety and The Issues.

Dr: So Andrew what's happening?
A: I hurt my wrist. I fell off the skateboard.
Dr: Ooh, did that happen today?
A: No, Thursday.
Dr: What? Did you take a stagecoach here?
A: No, she wouldn't bring me in here because she doesn't believe me.

Sigh. Kid speaks the truth, yo.

Pediatrician sent us for an xray because OF COURSE he did. In all fairness, only an xray was honestly going to be the definitive proof for Andrew's OCD brain so another $30 well spent.

We traipsed downstairs, filled out forms, wrist was xrayed, and we traipsed back upstairs to the pediatrician's office.

Dr: Okay, I've got bad news and bad news.

We waited with baited breath.

Dr: There is a fracture. It's right here.

Doc began drawing on the paper the bones and where the fracture was. My son jumped down from the examining table and began fist pumping in the air. Doc stopped drawing and looked at him, shook his head and told him to sit down.

A: Take that Mother! I told you, I told you, I told you!

Dr: Yeah mom, great job there. Okay the other bad news is that it's just a slight fracture and it's stable so no cast. Wrap it for about a week and you know, don't hit it on things and don't fall on it.

A: Booyah. I was right!

Again, the pediatrician knows me and my little weirdo, so he understood.

No you knock it off, Mother.

So to recap....my kid fractured his wrist 5 days ago and I kept telling him to suck it up and knock it off. In the words of Charlie Sheen, poundsignwinning.

Remember this story, anyone?

Turner Falls with The Boys

noreply@blogger.com (Kristin of course) — Fri, 22 Mar 2013 11:51:00 +0000

The Waterfall of Oklahoma

It turns out I can take photos, but focusing is not my strong point. I mean, yes, I intended to focus on the falls and not my kids...yes, I purposely blurred the children for effects. Yep, that's my story and I'm stickin' to it.

Turner Falls is a gorgeous place. Especially when there's not a lot of Oklahomans there. Plenty of room to explore.

And explore they did. I don't have that many photos because my Inner Mom was screaming that they were going to fall to their death. Which of course they didn't.

You'd think I'd be more reassured with the larger Y chromosome there. I wasn't. Look at how far he is from Andrew. Sheesh. Again, no one fell or even slipped. But do understand...Paul can't even walk straight. He trips over the flat floor.

But apparently, he has incredible balance in rocky places.

This is me watching him through the zoom lens...not necessarily aiming for nice photos. Hey Paul, that's enough!

"Look Mom! Look at how high I climbed!"

Those words should be grounds for punishment. "Look Mom! Look at what I can do!" I'm fairly certain had she NOT been watching smaller children, my mother-in-law would have heard those words right as her son, the father of my children, flew off a retaining wall on his bike. I listen to Kevin and Jason's stories in horror because isn't the rule of thumb that the children are worse than the parent? I also had a good laugh when my MIL was listening to these stories and she was shaking her head and saying how glad she was that she never did know these things when they were kids, saying "I really thought I had my eye on you."

Time for a commercial break to let you, the viewers, know that Andrew's shoe is now my size.

Anyway.

A good 45 minutes was spent teaching his spawn how to properly find and skip rocks. According to Kevin, he skipped rocks with his dad EVERY Saturday at 3pm. I may or may not have lowered the camera at that point and asked if he was sure it wasn't 3:05? And why 3pm? Because that's when his dad got off on Saturdays.

As an adult, I'm fairly sure my FIL didn't do this every single Saturday of Kevin's life, but that makes for a good memory!

When I do get focus right, dang gurrrrllll.

Apparently, it's all in the rock. And wrist. And shoulder.

And then there's Paul..."hey Mom, look at me!"

Andrew CAN focus. Nicely done kid. And "Hey Kevin, it's Niagara Falls again!"

As if having such a pretty waterfall in Oklahoma isn't a tad weird enough...there's the story of the dude who decided to build and live in an old English-style castle. You know, in Oklahoma. And by "castle" I mean, several rock buildings up in the "mountains" (I do have put that in quotes because I married someone from the Rockies...you know, the real mountains).

Paul in the window. See those steps on the left? Yeah, so NOT happening.

The highlight of Spring Break 2013. There are no photos of the Chickasaw Cultural Center, before this and the Action Figure Museum, after this. Because I'm lazy.

Spring Hath Arrived

noreply@blogger.com (Kristin of course) — Thu, 14 Mar 2013 15:00:00 +0000

Okay, it's Oklahoma, so spring arrives every other day and sometimes in the fall too.

My poor snotty boys. Paul is home today because his eyes are swollen and watery, snot spewing from his nostrils and looks like the Nightmare in Kindergarten. When Andrew was so little and got sick so easily, I cursed all those parents who dragged their kids out to school or play areas while green snot was dripping.

I will not be that parent. Even if it costs us another day absent. Paul's missed 15 or 17 days, depending on which person at his school you believe.   He's allowed 20 per year. Sigh...

Andrew's missed 21 days. Which means we get to have an Appeal Process to determine if he can be promoted to the 5th grade despite missing 21 days. The kid has straight As, so I'm not too worried.

I just don't see the point of sending kids to school only to have the teacher call me to pick him back up. Nor do I think it's worth it if the kid isn't going to be able to do any work because he feels badly. Or doped up on Benadryl.

Fun times, this parenting gig. Fun times.

In other news, spring break starts tomorrow. I see the following activities on my planner:

Science Museum & Zoo Day
Trip to the Chickasaw Cultural Center down in Sulpher & Turner Falls fun
Throw out half the crap in the house (Extreme Spring Cleaning)
Clean up backyard
Dig up a potential garden (Paul and Rachel want to try their hand at this)
PLAY PLAY PLAY

How Many Titles can say "Boys will be gross?"

noreply@blogger.com (Kristin of course) — Wed, 13 Mar 2013 11:13:00 +0000

My boy's school held the monthly skate night on Monday and as he rolled over to the parent table, the other mom I was sitting with suddenly turned to him and said "what did you just say?"

Oh, the fear that raced through me. Inappropriateness is common at our house with boys, because obviously a joke is not a joke unless it involves the hiney area. But then I noticed she had a twinkle in her eye, so I took a breath.

My son giggled. "I was saying when I went to Dani's party, I chased the girls around with my head sweat."

The other mom looked at me, amused. I shrugged my shoulders and waved him off.

Whew. Dodged a bullet there. No need to wax poetic about how girls never say sh!t like that - that was a total boy remark.

The other mom has a boy too, so she nodded and we moved on to discuss other things.

Which boy? Does it matter? Really? Okay, fine. This boy...

Worst. Parent. Ever.

noreply@blogger.com (Kristin of course) — Thu, 31 Jan 2013 14:28:00 +0000

So February 1st is now the new New Years Day, I hear. Or maybe that's just in my head...regardless, it's a new year for the blog and unlike last year when I promised to blog at least weekly, this year...well, I'll try.

The path to hell is paved with good intentions. Set the GPS.

Oh, why am I starting off 2013 with worst. parent. ever. ? So glad you asked....

Let me preface this story that it's been an unusually dry and windy fall/winter here in the Great State and allergies and sinuses aside, there has been an awful head/chest cold that everyone has held onto for a good month or longer. The kind of cold that starts in the head by clogging up your ears to the point of pain and then slowly drifts down into your chest for a good thick cough and then works its way back up to the head. We've all enjoyed it.

So, two weeks ago, I hauled myself and Andrew up to Kansas for a Boy Scout event called Trappers. It deserves a post of its own so all I will say is that Andrew and I, plus a few thousand other people, camped for 2 nights outside of Newton, Kansas. Camping involves campfire and as usual, everything from your clothes to your hair smells like campfire when it's over with.

We got home on a Sunday afternoon and I promptly threw him in the shower and then I did the same. Our clothes were immediately thrown into the wash, same with the blankets. Sleeping bags cannot go into the dryer so I figured I'd wait and air them out when it warmed up one day. And by the end of the evening, I'd not gotten to the pillows, so we just made do with others in the house.

That's the clue in this story. Just sayin'.

The next day, Monday, I had to haul The General's butt into the ER because he was wheezing. Again, that story deserves its own post because any story involving Andrew's neurotic personality requires more than a paragraph. We were discharged with a steroid and a stern talking to about campfires and asthma.

Fast forward a week. The head cold/allergies/whatever attacked Andrew full force. Nose running something fierce and his complaints escalated...his nose hurt, his head hurt, his chest hurt...blah blah blah. My response is "dude, we're all miserable from snot, so toughen up." We forced him to go to school yesterday because hello, snot is no longer a valid excuse to stay home. However, after lunch his teacher called and Kevin had to go pick him up. And he was miserable...his little red nose, the raw upper lip from it, his cough and now a bit of wheezing.

Breathing treatments ensued. Inhalers were used and borrowed (thanks neighbor and bro). Benadryl was administered. The kid was genuinely looking ill and I worried that the dreaded "worst flu since the Spanish flu of 1918" had hit...one of his classmates was tested for flu so it wasn't completely out of the realm. But just a mild fever so eh. We got all set up for the ensuing Night In The Recliner So Breathing Is Easier and settled in.

Again, another story for another time, but when your 10 year old is neurotic, OCD and anxiety-prone, being unable to breathe easily tends to cause panic. Which tends to cause more difficulty in breathing. It's fun, really.

Around 1am, I was in the recliner and he was on the couch. But he was coughing so darn bad, I got him up and forced him back into the recliner and set up a breathing treatment. I proceeded to collapse on the floor and laid my head on the recliner's footrest. Our dog, Chewy, was curled up there, snuggled in with blankets and whichever person's legs happened to be there. I was drifting in and out for a few minutes when it occurred to me that I smelled campfire.

Which was weird. Campfire? I shook my head and figured I was totally tired and my brain was pulling stunts. I could still smell it so it was obviously a great stunt.

Breathing treatment ended. I tucked him into the recliner and headed to the couch in hopes of an hour of sleep. I got myself all snuggled up in the blankets and pillows and a while later, I still thought I was smelling campfire. Huh. Stupid brain.

Another breathing treatment later and sporadic "sleep," it was time to get up and get Paul off to school. I lay there and realized my brain was still messing with me about smelling campfire.

Or was it?

Wait, no, wait. I buried my nose into the pillow and distinctly smelled it. But wait, I had washed the pillows...I had eventually done that. But, but...what if it didn't wash out?

Oh wait....the sleeping bags. The unwashed sleeping bags were on the floor of the piano room (because my house is so messy that things on the floor simply become part of the decor). The DOGS have been curling up on them. Wait...wait...no way.

I grabbed Chewydog and sure enough, just a lingering of campfire. I snatched up the sleeping bags and sure enough, campfire. I re-smelled the pillows and sure enough, campfire.

Holy crap, I made my kid sick. By being a lazy housekeeper and a terribly unobservant laundress. ARE YOU FREAKIN' KIDDING ME?

I still have to haul The General's butt to the doctor because A) schools are pissy about kid's missing without doctor's notes and B) The General doesn't buy it when I tell him he's okay and only believes the doctor.

And who can blame the damn kid now?

LegoMania

noreply@blogger.com (Kristin of course) — Thu, 27 Sep 2012 23:08:00 +0000

I hope my boys remember their childhood as Mom-Let-Us-Dump-The-Legos-Out.

This isn't even all the Legos.

The Hidden Language of Parents

noreply@blogger.com (Kristin of course) — Tue, 25 Sep 2012 21:00:00 +0000

Thank the heavens above at least one of my children has learned to translate my coded messages. For example:

"Ignore the 5 year olds" translates to "march back into the living room and spew venom until they scream back and someone cries."

What? You didn't get that? Thank the heavens Andrew does.

Perhaps I can market him as the new Rosetta Stone.

Here's another example (just now, as I'm typing):

"Andrew, you and Jackson are to walk out there and tell the 5 year olds that everyone is sharing the 4 bajillion Legos we have or I will have to come out and put you guys in 4 separate rooms."

Translation per Andrew: "You two better stop pelting us with Skylanders or Mom is going to put you guys somewhere else."

See? Saw right through my carefully crafted linguistic disguise.

The Absolutely Hysterical FDA

noreply@blogger.com (Kristin of course) — Sun, 23 Sep 2012 15:23:00 +0000

So, as the story goes, I took Andrew into the doctor on a Saturday for wheezing. It is September, after all, and in Oklahoma, that means ragweed and winds. Add the summer drought and it means that everything is in the air for our delicate little noses to freak out about.

Side note. I understand the purpose of allergy shots - you basically inflict your body with the things it is allergic to every week and your body finally gives up its sensitivity to said things. I don't recall having much luck as a child with them, but bygones. My point of contention here is that in Oklahoma? It's like being exposed to allergens 365 days out of the year and you'd think that after 38 years of this, I'd have a great set of allergen-free sinuses. Tis not the case, so perhaps allergy shots should be tried again.

Additional side note. Since my health insurance scoffs at my pleas to control my allergies and asthma (see: pre-existing conditions), this will be a true test of the so called Obamacare. Mr. President, if you can get me allergy shots and inhalers for a decent copay and not just chuckle at me, I will salute you and your universal healthcare system.

BACK TO THE STORY. Ahem.

So I take Andrew in for his September wheezing, and the doc on call does the whole routine examination of the upper respiratory orifices, including a strep test. Since I'm used to pediatricians checking every little thing in their efforts to reassure me that my child is indeed well or sick. They know how to deal with moms.

Please note too that Andrew is always sick. As in, always has a stomachache, always has a headache, sometimes his knee hurts or his elbow or sometimes it's this really weird spot and "mom, what is this right here on my arm?" It's called a freckle, kid, now knock it off. Point is, living with an mildly OCD and anxiety-ridden child for 9 years has taught me to pat him on the head and reassure him that he is not dying on a regular basis. He does get the canker sores all the time, hence one of the tangible reasons he is in counseling (more on that another time).

Doctor insists on a breathing treatment and as soon as it's done, he loudly announces that Andrew has strep throat. Well, OF COURSE he does. We got an antibiotic (with a coupon!!!!) and inhalers and were sent on our way.

The pharmacy tried to charge me $420 for the antibiotic, to which I loudly protested "I have a coupon!!! $25!!!" They ran the coupon through and then came back to tell me that my insurance doesn't want to pay for the antibiotic, because it's new, and even with the coupon, it's still over $400. I stared her down for a moment and she started giggling and said something about how she would call my insurance and see what she could do.

Ten minutes later, I had a $25 dollar antibiotic.

Now, before we get to the photo part of this ramble, let me explain what my doctor told me years ago about strep throat. Apparently, strep is so common that as it gets passed around and all these little kidlets go to the doctor, the strep virus supposedly mutates around the popular antibiotics. Like good ol' amoxicillin. Apparently, it's just not that effective anymore against strep because strep declared war and won. Hence the use a new antibiotic.

Here's the fan-badbadword-tastic warning label from it.

Weeks to months of this side effect? MONTHS?

Luckily, after 9 years of living with Andrew, I knew better than to read that aloud. Can you imagine what an anxiety driven child would have done with that? Might as well have cancelled 4th grade.

Well played, strep. Well played.

The One Where Benjamin Leaves Us

noreply@blogger.com (Kristin of course) — Sun, 09 Sep 2012 01:50:00 +0000

It became apparent this summer that Rachel's darling beetle was a problem child. The air conditioning refused to work, so as temperatures climbed into the 140s (ok, 110s) she began driving my van to work.

Benjamin the Bug was sitting in our driveway. Growing more decrepit each day. Finally, I took him into the dealership service department to see how much it would cost to get him running and running well.

See, we got Benjamin to be a Yukon car and really, that was its purpose. So while it was a bit disappointing when the service department listed off the multitude of things that needed fixing, we groaned and went "thanks but no thanks." It wasn't that we needed Benny to run, but he needed to be reliable enough to go from Yukon to Moore 5 days a week for 11 months, as Rachel attended culinary school. It also would have been a whole other ballgame if there were lots of mechanics who worked on Volkswagons, where we could go with the lowest bidder.

The decision was made to sell the bug. But how much? Would anyone buy it? Should we just give it to salvage? Donate it to a tech school? After 2 weeks of listening to a couple people (ahem, Kevin) say that they would make phone calls, I finally decided to put an ad on Craigslist.

Read below.

I have a 2001 VW Beetle in my driveway that needs to get gone. We bought the car 2+ years ago so that my daughter could run my errands for me, including hauling her brothers around, thus leaving me time to watch more reality tv and eat chocolate covered cream puffs. Unfortunately now, she needs a real car that can drive distances, like to college and stuff wherein the goal is to improve her future immensely. And this VW does not share her future plans. By the way, it's name is Benjamin and he is a boy beetle. At one time though, he had pastel polka dot vinyls all over him so Benjamin can pass as a Bernadette if you feel so inclined.

It was cyber green, but 11+ years on this planet have faded it to, well, a faded green. Not to mention the built up grime that probably a good scrubbing could eliminate, but since I'm not driving the car, I'm not scrubbing it.

It has over 120K miles on it, and I would tell you the exact number but the engine has to at least pretend to start so the dashboard will tell me the mileage. And apparently that's not happening.

Benjamin's medical records are at Cable Volkswagon, a place filled with very nice people but very expensive labor and parts. Thus, the reason for selling the car - I took it in to see what it would cost to make Benjamin run long college distances. I think it was something around $1500 or so (dealership prices) and I politely said no. I left Cable in the beetle and it promptly died a block away from the dealership service department.

I'm sure Benjamin's not DEAD dead. Just in a coma.

Things I Am Disclosing About The Beetle:
* front fender is off, due to an unfortunate roll into a ditch. But the fender is in my garage!
* Driver's light lens is off
* O2 sensor "needs to be replaced" (so says Cable, but everyone else says no)
* a hole in the AC compressor
* the bar that holds up the radiator is bent and should probably be replaced
* it burns oil up, not leaks it, but we pour oil into it on a regular basis
* Tires are bald and no spare anymore (because the spare is on the driver's rear....it was a full size spare!)
* Hubcap missing, but may be in my garage
* Rotors and brake pads need replacing
* Passenger handle on inside is ripped off (apparently a fairly common thing for new beetles)
* various interior fabric stains and tears
* Driver's seat cannot be adjusted (well it can, but you have to wedge the stick in so it won't move)
* Sunroof works (yay!)
* doesn't like to go over 45mph (perhaps another sensor thing Cable told me was wrong with it)
* Doesn't run (remember the coma)

I don't want to give the thing away for free but perhaps there's a dashing young man would would like to practice his skills of New Beetle Mechanics. Or a woman. I'm all over equal opportunity here for selling this darling piece of steel. So take 5 minutes to mull this over and then shoot me an email saying that yes, you'd be delighted to pay me to take this darling piece of steel from my driveway.

Thanks for reading my ad here.

Just for the record, there may or may not have been a glass or three of wine involved when I wrote the ad. Nice, huh?

Within 2 hours, I had 4 emails requesting to know more about Benjamin. One response was "Great ad. If I give you $700 in cash today and haul it off tomorrow, would you take it?"

I agreed. I mean, come on. I had written a pretty darn good ad and it was nice that he recognized that.

Turns out they are just a couple of guys who like to tinker with European cars and get them back to running. They are car flippers, if you will.

And now Rachel's bawling her eyes out because her presshhuss Benjamin is moving on without her tomorrow. I thought she'd be happy that Benjamin's not going to the salvage yard (Toy Story 3, anyone?). I think she is but she's in mourning right now.

I tried to cheer her up by saying "You know, I was so sad when I had to get rid of my little blue Nissan Pulsar NX. I loved that car. Would have kept it forever except your darn carseat wouldn't fit in the back of it. So really, your situation is much better than mine was."

I am not only a literary genius in car salesmanship, I am also the pinnacle of comfort and understanding.

My Baby Gets His First Girlfriend

noreply@blogger.com (Kristin of course) — Fri, 07 Sep 2012 01:02:00 +0000

Here is the conversation from this afternoon:

Paul: "Mawm, there's a girl named Sophia in my class and I am her girlfriend."

Me: "You mean, she is YOUR girlfriend?"

Paul: "Yeah. She is my girlfriend."

Me: "Does she know this?" Because we girls are fairly clueless sometimes. Not.

Paul: "Yes."

Me: "How does she know this? How do you know she is your girlfriend? Did you walk up to her and ask her to be your girlfriend?"

Paul: "Yes. I mean, no. No."

Me: "Then how do you know she's your girlfriend?"

Paul: "Because Cooper and I raced to see who got her as a girlfriend. And I won."

Me: (laughing my hiney off) "So did Sophia watch this race?"

Paul: "Yes."

Me: "And was she happy that you won?"

Paul: "I don't know. But I was happy that I won!"

And this marks the end of the first conversation with my youngest kid about his first girlfriend. And his first competition to see who could win the girl. It seems a bit early to start on the "girls are NOT property or trophies that you win, son." Or, "do you even care what SHE thinks?" Because chances are, Sophia does not care right now.

So let's do a summary of my children's first "significant others." Rachel was paid two dollars by Michael Schwarz in first grade to be his girlfriend - they got married on the playground later that year. Andrew declared his love for Melissa in PreK and held steadfast through the end of Kindergarten....remember, he was the one who said when he married Melissa that they would sleep on our floor until we died and then they could have our bed.

So there you have it.

Boy Peer Pressure

noreply@blogger.com (Kristin of course) — Sun, 22 Jul 2012 13:59:00 +0000

Boy peer pressure is not like girl peer pressure. Girls submit to peer pressure to conform while boys (so far in my 9 year experience with raising a boy) turn that same peer pressure into showing off or being cool.

Boys adore bigger boys. If they can accomplish something a bigger boy can do, they are on top of the world. And if said bigger boy acknowledges them, well...it is out of this world.

Boy peer pressure. Not intentional. But still very much there.

Which explains why yesterday my son jumped off the high dive for the first time. No one asked him too. No one dared him. It was an impulsive thing that I credit to the fact he was with another boy and more boys were due to arrive (Cub Scouts).

And lo and behold, not 10 minutes later, the other boy did it, much to the gaping of his mom.

Maybe it is conformity but it's definitely different from girl pressure.

Summer of the Pool

noreply@blogger.com (Kristin of course) — Thu, 19 Jul 2012 19:03:00 +0000

We inherited an above ground pool at the end of last summer when Uncle Dan and Aunt Ashley decided to flee the state (or relocate for a job...same difference).

And so we are first time "pool owners," which translates roughly to You Don't Know Sh!t About Pools So Plan On Flooding The Yard Several Times As You Drain And Refill The Pool In Your Crappy Attempt To Maintain Crystal Clear Water.

Ahem.

The pool however has served a unseen purpose of The Universe, which was to unite these two brothers in a summer o' fun. Specifically, Andrew has unintentionally learned how to PLAY with his brother and accepted that his brother can, in fact, be a terrifically fun playmate.

It's not sunshine and rainbows all the time, but a half hour here, half hour there...I will take it!

Summer Snippit

noreply@blogger.com (Kristin of course) — Mon, 16 Jul 2012 23:39:00 +0000

This is summer. Just laying on the grass playing with your McDonalds toy from days gone by while Mom stops reading long enough to snap a pic.

Where is the other one? Across the street with the newest neighbor kids, examining their stash of toys.

The Barber Shop Incident

noreply@blogger.com (Kristin of course) — Fri, 20 Apr 2012 14:21:00 +0000

I don't remember if I've written this story down but it's worth retelling. It's one of Kevin and I's finer moments as adults.

Andrew, like most boys, has an obnoxious cowlick. He was also fairly obnoxious at the hair cutting place so Kevin and I finally started doing it ourselves when he was 2. It wasn't worth the pain of having someone else do it. We did pretty good when you consider it was a burr cut.

Anyway, Andy and I had begun spending the carpool waiting period at Rachel's school playing with another mom and her 2 year old - Andrew was 2 as well. She and I were conversing one day about hair cuts and the torture and she said she had a great barber named Kenny who was so great with her boy. I asked where Kenny worked. She told me; I recognized the shopping center and figured we'd give it a try.

So Saturday morning, Kevin and I hauled Andy over to the shopping center. We yanked open the door and bustled in.

To a total upscale black salon. It never occurred to me that Carpool Friend was black.

People stared at us. Seriously, the shop almost came to a stop and looked at the caucasians infiltrating.

Kevin recovered first and asked if Kenny was working. With straight faces, they directed us to the back.

Of course Kenny was in the back. We made our way to the back, and I made the introductions and dropped the carpool name so he didn't think we were weird or anything.

Because THAT would have been the odd part - not having a connection to Kenny the Barber.

Kenny had a customer and thought he'd be done in about an hour. We said we'd go hang out in the shopping center and we made our way out. Through the entire salon. Of straight faces. And near silence.

Out of sight of the salon, I turned to Kevin and we both started laughing. I asked what we should do and Kevin said "well, we've already gone in there. Might as well come back or we're going to look like bad people"

Because our concern was that these nice upscale salon people might recognize us somewhere and call us on prejudice or something. And we didn't want to look stupid.

So an hour later we made our way back in to Kenny. He plopped Andy up in the seat and started messing with Andy's hair. And then out of nowhere, totally ruining our suave appearance, I blurt out "so I bet you don't get much blond hair on the floor much, huh?"

Kenny laughed and shook his head. "Nope, this is a first." The ice was broken and we all made polite conversation for the rest of the rest of the haircut.

It was a good haircut. And we never went back. And I'm certain we are still fodder for good entertainment in the salon.

"Let me tell you about the time these white people just stumbled in here..."

Ninjas are Deadly and Silent

noreply@blogger.com (Kristin of course) — Fri, 20 Apr 2012 13:48:00 +0000

"Ninjas are deadly and silent. They are also unspeakably violent..." From a group called Bare Naked Ladies who made a kid record.

Anyway, Paul NEEDED a ninja mask this morning. Right now. I guess we are under attack.

Darling boy doesn't believe that ninjas are silent killers. So I have a boy in a ninja mask creeping around the house letting out a blood curdling "Ah ha!!!"

Where Do They Come Up With This Stuff?

noreply@blogger.com (Kristin of course) — Tue, 13 Mar 2012 02:02:00 +0000

"Let's go tussle without weapons!"

This phrase came out of my young son's mouth this afternoon. I had to call him back to ask if he said "wrestle." No, he said "tussle."

Who says "tussle?" Apparently the neighbor kid, also 5 years old, taught Paul the vocabulary word. And how to use it properly in a sentence.

Tussle. Huh.

The One Where Andy Eats 2 New Foods

noreply@blogger.com (Kristin of course) — Mon, 27 Feb 2012 19:21:00 +0000

I've mentioned before on here and to anyone who asks that my Andy only eats 9 things. In order of preference, here they are:

1. Chicken nuggets/strips
2. Fish sticks
3. CheezIts
4. NutriGrain bars (strawberry only now, used to be blueberry)
5. Scrambled eggs
6. Toast
7. Plain Eggo waffles (remember the Eggo crisis of yore?)
8. Blueberry muffins (mine and not store bought)
9. Hashbrowns, tater tots or french fries

Brownies, Oreos, popcicles, sugar cookies, suckers - don't really count. Obviously.

For Lent this year, the kid made a crazy decision, ON HIS OWN, to try one new food a week. Kevin and I both laughed privately at absurdity of the situation; the kid has eaten the same nine foods for over 7 years now (post baby food era). But we encouraged him publicly and made a big to-do about it all.

First, he tried popcorn. Scoff if you will, but the reason I never forced him to even try popcorn is the kernals. He's a texture kid, all the way, and let's face it, popcorn goes from pleasant and soft to a hard crunch very quickly. But he liked it and ate a good handful. That was last week and just last night, he asked for some more. Unfortunately, I popped the kettle corn and he declared his dislike of that. And since I was already sitting down, I told him I wasn't getting up to see if we had Movie Theater Butter. Perhaps tonight.

Last night was a biggie. Grilled cheese. Again, scoff if you like. I made it and made one for Rachel too, who has been surprisingly supportive of Andrew, saying she would eat one with him while they watched the Oscars. He ate the whole sandwich. THE WHOLE GRILLED CHEESE SANDWICH. And said he didn't really care for the way the cheese oozed in his mouth but he got used to it. No gagging, no shuddering, no repeal of his Lenten vow.

I realize the question is: Will I be able to serve him more variety at dinner in the future? And the answer is still (from a non-optimist mom): we shall see.

Tune in next week for either pizza or hamburgers. I bet we do pizza first.

Acceptance

noreply@blogger.com (Kristin of course) — Fri, 17 Feb 2012 23:00:00 +0000

A while back, I was forced to accept that whatever meatloaf I made would never measure up to my mother-in-law's meatloaf. Which, honestly, didn't bother me all that much because well, it's meatloaf.

But even when I followed her directions exactly (which, by the way, were like directions from anyone who has cooked a long time - "oh I just throw in a little of this and if I don't have that, then I use this..."), I still get the wistful looks from Kevin like he's remembering a childhood from a Norman Rockwell painting.

But this takes the cake.

Just three days ago, on Valentine's Day, we were all sitting at the table eating diner when Kevin made a comment about how he could sure use some chocolate chip cookies for Valentine's Day. Being as it was 6:30pm and I didn't have enough butter, I tried to get out of it, but he valiantly offered to go to the store.

Then he burst out "Oh, you should make them like my mom made them. They were so incredibly awesome. She used this recipe. It was on the back of...." And he jumped up and opened the cabinet to find the chocolate chips.

"Yes! Here it is! It's on the back of the chocolate chips! See, right here? Oh yes, that was it!!"

I stole a glance at Rachel, who mirrored my dumbfounded expression.

"Kevin. This is the recipe that I use. That I've used forever. Everybody uses this recipe. Any chocolate chip cookie you have eaten in this house in the past 13 years has been this recipe."

He looked genuinely surprised. Because obviously he was remembering the taste of a cookie so amazing that his wife couldn't possibly duplicate it. Or perhaps his momma is just up there on the pedestal...with her meatloaf and chocolate chip cookies!

Good thing I like the lady. Otherwise, this could be trouble.

Paul's Valentine

noreply@blogger.com (Kristin of course) — Wed, 15 Feb 2012 12:11:00 +0000

Paul asked me what Valentines I got yesterday. I grinned and told him I didn't get any Valentines.

Andy quickly ran off and used scissors and a Sharpie (appropriate, no?) and made me a quick Valentine.

Upon seeing this, Paul said "Mommy, do you know what my Valentine to you is? A Valentine hug and kiss."

Seriously, could the kid be more cuddly?

Parenting Tip #312

noreply@blogger.com (Kristin of course) — Tue, 07 Feb 2012 13:32:00 +0000

Always check your car doors before bed. To make sure they are shut.

Because no matter the age of the kid, someone will leave a door open and expose all of your dirty little crap for hoodlums to steal.

Because there is QUITE the black market for Cub Scout supplies and history papers. At least in this neighborhood.

Lucky for the child in question (9 years old), my car started despite the dome light (which must turn off after x-amount of hours) and 32 degrees outside this morning.

Crazy Hair Day

noreply@blogger.com (Kristin of course) — Thu, 02 Feb 2012 14:17:00 +0000

Of all the things Kevin never imagined he'd hear his wife say on a fine Thursday morning, this might rank up there.

"Okay, son, let's go get your hair purple."

It's crazy hair day at school.

The Plague

noreply@blogger.com (Kristin of course) — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 04:18:00 +0000

The plague. The unnamed bacteria/virus that finds its way into small children and leaves them feverish and coughing. And the doctor just shrugging his shoulders and saying "it's just a virus."

At least it's JUST fever and coughing. Nothing leaving bodily cavities en masse.

Paul is on day 4 of not feeling so great. No fever today but he did puke the only thing he's eaten in 3 days. Wait. I take that back...2 days ago, he did eat an Eggo waffle and I never saw that again. So having not eaten anything (and puking up the only thing he did eat), I suppose he's staying home from school again tomorrow.

Andrew was in coughing fits last night, which led to one gagging and puking moment. He was home yesterday and today too, but he is going back tomorrow. Although as I write this, he's asleep in bed, coughing and I just KNOW his little subconscious is working overtime to try and convince me he's still sick.

Oh! Fantastic moment last night. While Andy was puking and I was holding his head and had the washcloth, Paul was standing right behind me begging me for cheese pizza. Perfect timing, Paul.

I had taken the request for cheese pizza to mean he was on the mend and feeling better. Nope, that's what he threw up today. The whole 3/4 of a slice he ate. How long can he go without food, I wonder?

I should homeschool...that's a science experiment right there. And yes, I'm totally joking.

The 2012 Parenting Win Games!

noreply@blogger.com (Kristin of course) — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 03:04:00 +0000

Let the games begin!

So yesterday was Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. State holiday, federal holiday, banks and schools closed. No major plans for the family but it was a nice three day weekend.

Until about 2:15pm yesterday. When I checked my email and found a message from a parent of one of Andy's friends. She asked if I would tell the basketball coaches that her son had hurt his ankle and that's why he wouldn't be at practice today.

I laughed all haughtily at her foolishness and had a moment of superiority that for once, I was the more responsible parent. I emailed her back and told her she was silly - it was MLK day and therefore, no school no practice.

What a silly woman. And making such a Kristin-like mistake. That I happily didn't make.

Almost immediately, I received a return email from her. "Uh, there was school today."

Nuh-uh. No way. I texted another mom - "we had school today?" Her reply was a simple "yeah, it was the first item on the newsletter on Thursday."

I went home, found the newsletter that I didn't read and there it was - "Remember, school is IN SESSION on Monday."

Well.

We sure are starting 2012 off great. Let the games begin!