Your Summer Ride is a Jeep |
 For you, summer is all about having no responsibilities. You prefer to hang with old friends - and make some new ones. |
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
This is me alright, but where do I put Charlie and the Four Kids?
Confessions of a Sissy
O.K., I'm willing to admit it, I might not have been completely prepared for the marathon that is summer vacation.
We went down to the pool for the big End of the Year swim-a-thon Thursday afternoon. Last weekend we had gone to the pool, where on three different occasions Ace went bottoms up in the 2ft area. It's like all the mass of his body is located in his head, so once he goes down, that's all there is to it. He doesn't thrash about or kick his legs or anything, he just lays there like a slug waiting to be rescued. Even though I'm standing right there, it is totally scary. So for the swim-a-thon I insisted that he wear his arm floaties, which really should be located around his neck. We wrestled and there was screaming and crying and threats for what felt like five minutes. I won, and in retaliation for humiliating me in front of all the other mothers, I took him down to the 5ft. end, where he was at the mercy of my every whim. I told him I would not take him to the baby pool until he quit screaming at me. In his trademark REDRUM voice he screamed "PUT ME DOOOWWN! PUT ME DOWN!", but I held steady as I had no dignity left at that point. He finally settled his hash and I took him down to the shallows, where he immediately climbed out, stalked three feet across to the baby pool, sat down and glared at me. I went and sat down on a lounge chair where I could watch Peaches and be ever on the ready for his imminent return to the pool. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught him heading in my direction and as I turned toward him, he threw something at me. Turns out it was a small piece of gravel that he had fished out of the bottom of the baby pool. I jumped up, got down on his level, and said something (through gritted teeth) about not throwing things at Mommy and he headed back to the baby pool where he sat down to sulk some more. I took up my position on the lounger and not two minutes later he marched over and spit a mouthful of water at me. (please feel free to fill in your response here___________________________________.) I grabbed him by the arm, paddled his swim diaper twice and put him in a time-out at the end of the lounger. He straightened out after that (and more so after he got enough purchase on those arm-floaties to pull them off).
I find myself sighing alot. I live in the Bible belt, where one good spanking deserves another. Today my mom told me that I should go get a fly swatter, because they make a very loud swish and a snap on the diaper, I said "Mom, they don't make diapers out of plastic anymore." She's happy to tell anyone who'll listen that she just didn't have that kind of trouble with us, but I clearly remember giggling my butt off at her holding my brother by the arm while he ran around her in a circle and her dusting his bottom with that flyswatter all the way around. She also says "I spanked you once a day just on general principals." Which is funny, most of the time, because if you knew me, you'd know I never did anything that required a spanking. But when Ace is awake and on the prowl, it's just not very funny. "Don't hit your sister!" "Don't hit your sister!" "Don't hit YOUR SISTER!" *Swat*
How many weeks do I have to go?
We went down to the pool for the big End of the Year swim-a-thon Thursday afternoon. Last weekend we had gone to the pool, where on three different occasions Ace went bottoms up in the 2ft area. It's like all the mass of his body is located in his head, so once he goes down, that's all there is to it. He doesn't thrash about or kick his legs or anything, he just lays there like a slug waiting to be rescued. Even though I'm standing right there, it is totally scary. So for the swim-a-thon I insisted that he wear his arm floaties, which really should be located around his neck. We wrestled and there was screaming and crying and threats for what felt like five minutes. I won, and in retaliation for humiliating me in front of all the other mothers, I took him down to the 5ft. end, where he was at the mercy of my every whim. I told him I would not take him to the baby pool until he quit screaming at me. In his trademark REDRUM voice he screamed "PUT ME DOOOWWN! PUT ME DOWN!", but I held steady as I had no dignity left at that point. He finally settled his hash and I took him down to the shallows, where he immediately climbed out, stalked three feet across to the baby pool, sat down and glared at me. I went and sat down on a lounge chair where I could watch Peaches and be ever on the ready for his imminent return to the pool. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught him heading in my direction and as I turned toward him, he threw something at me. Turns out it was a small piece of gravel that he had fished out of the bottom of the baby pool. I jumped up, got down on his level, and said something (through gritted teeth) about not throwing things at Mommy and he headed back to the baby pool where he sat down to sulk some more. I took up my position on the lounger and not two minutes later he marched over and spit a mouthful of water at me. (please feel free to fill in your response here___________________________________.) I grabbed him by the arm, paddled his swim diaper twice and put him in a time-out at the end of the lounger. He straightened out after that (and more so after he got enough purchase on those arm-floaties to pull them off).
I find myself sighing alot. I live in the Bible belt, where one good spanking deserves another. Today my mom told me that I should go get a fly swatter, because they make a very loud swish and a snap on the diaper, I said "Mom, they don't make diapers out of plastic anymore." She's happy to tell anyone who'll listen that she just didn't have that kind of trouble with us, but I clearly remember giggling my butt off at her holding my brother by the arm while he ran around her in a circle and her dusting his bottom with that flyswatter all the way around. She also says "I spanked you once a day just on general principals." Which is funny, most of the time, because if you knew me, you'd know I never did anything that required a spanking. But when Ace is awake and on the prowl, it's just not very funny. "Don't hit your sister!" "Don't hit your sister!" "Don't hit YOUR SISTER!" *Swat*
How many weeks do I have to go?
Monday, May 29, 2006
Dish Network Did Me Wrong
Oh HGTV, how I miss you. I miss Candice Olson and her fabulous drapes. I miss the organizational shows where I get to meet people who have houses more cluttered than mine. I miss Designing for the Sexes where men and women agree to let a totally gay man resolve their difference of opinions over the leather recliner and big screen T.V.
I was So looking forward to a summer of Rabbit Ear free T.V. It all began with the TCA cable debaucle. We wanted to downgrade service and all of a sudden, they can't seem to get to the cable box. Turns out it's in my neighbors backyard see, and they've got a big dog. So now they want ME to ask my neighbor, what would be a convenient time for the cableman to come into their backyard. Can you just imagine the steam coming out of my husband's ears? Can you imagine three months later him throwing the cable bill down and saying, "That's it, we're not paying the bill." Can you imagine my panic as I try to broker a compromise, because what am I gonna do without Blue's Clues?
The cable got disconnected, I've been letting him cool off for about 6 months now. And with football season on the horizon, we started shopping Satelite Dish companies.
They were coming today. I had an appointment. I was THIS close. The men came out and couldn't find one clear view of the sky from anywhere on our property. (*Sob*) They left me with no hope. Don't get me wrong, I can get ABC on both T.V.'s, I can get CBS but it's really fuzzy. But you've got to be jones-ing REALLY bad to try to watch NBC. And Fox, fogetaboutit. Charlie says he guesses I can have cable. (With an implied "If I really want it.") Of course I really want it. But maybe if I wait till Football season, he'll want it first.
I was So looking forward to a summer of Rabbit Ear free T.V. It all began with the TCA cable debaucle. We wanted to downgrade service and all of a sudden, they can't seem to get to the cable box. Turns out it's in my neighbors backyard see, and they've got a big dog. So now they want ME to ask my neighbor, what would be a convenient time for the cableman to come into their backyard. Can you just imagine the steam coming out of my husband's ears? Can you imagine three months later him throwing the cable bill down and saying, "That's it, we're not paying the bill." Can you imagine my panic as I try to broker a compromise, because what am I gonna do without Blue's Clues?
The cable got disconnected, I've been letting him cool off for about 6 months now. And with football season on the horizon, we started shopping Satelite Dish companies.
They were coming today. I had an appointment. I was THIS close. The men came out and couldn't find one clear view of the sky from anywhere on our property. (*Sob*) They left me with no hope. Don't get me wrong, I can get ABC on both T.V.'s, I can get CBS but it's really fuzzy. But you've got to be jones-ing REALLY bad to try to watch NBC. And Fox, fogetaboutit. Charlie says he guesses I can have cable. (With an implied "If I really want it.") Of course I really want it. But maybe if I wait till Football season, he'll want it first.
Friday, May 26, 2006
Snoopy says....
It's Summer time, summer time, sum-sum-summer time!
I'm so excited! No more getting up at 7:00 (am I lazy or what!) No more yelling up the stairs for people to "HURRY UP, YOU'RE GOING TO MISS THE BUS!". No more making up lectures on the virtue of brushing your hair before school. No more forgotten library books. No more panicked phone calls about being ten dollars in the hole in the cafeteria and being forced to eat a Peanut Butter and Jelly.
Summer presents it's own challenges. How to feed four people 3 times a day. (Sam's Club.) What is the appropriate time to let the boys go down the street to the pool by themselves? (When it opens.) How to maintain the sacred nap schedule? (Sheer force of my will.) How many times can I pawn off my chores to the kids without there being a mutiny? (Only time will tell.)
dddddd
Ah yes, summer....
Everyone join me in a collective *sigh*.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Read em and Weep!
My kid's smarter than your kid, my kid's smarter than yours, my kids smarter cause he aced the TAKS test, my kid's smarter than yours!
I can only gloat, because although he is exceptional in brain power, he's a little lacking in moral judgement. So there's room for you to gloat about your kid being holier than mine. We got TAKS scores back yesterday and they were BE-U-T-ful. Then my balloon got busted today when I got a phone call from him during English class.
"Mom?"
"Yeah, what's up?"
"I did have notes I was supposed to turn in today."
"The ones in your binder?"
"No, I already turned those in."
"So there were more notes that you haven't done?"
"Yea."
"So you lied to me this morning?"
"Yea."
"Why are you calling?"
"Ms. Wedemeyer made me."
Score one for Ms. Wedemeyer. Plus she's making him do the notes tonight and turn them in to her tomorrow. I worried all day about what his consequence was going to be and lo and behold, he came home with the answer. At the Big End of the Year Pep Rally, he won the grand prize. An IPOD NANO. He is SO busted! The Thrill of Victory and the Agony of Defeat. I believe he's going to have his attitude adjusted, and right quick. Plus I'm taking him to confession on Saturday, ooo that's gonna hurt.
(Please note: The first line on the bar graph shows where the average kids score, the second line on the graph that's a little further to the right is where the smart kids score, and that little triangle with writing at the top and further to the right is MY kid. Don't hate the player, hate the game.)
Monday, May 22, 2006
Can't...make it...out..of the ....chair....
The grass needs mowing.
The laundry needs doing.
The carpets need vaccuming.
The sausage balls need mixing.
The house needs a good pickup.
The Yukon needs mass amounts of detailing.
Ace spilled another drink in his carseat a week after I washed it.
The couselor emailed and wants to call and have a chat, imagine that.
And here I sit mesmorized in front of this computer, not wanting to do any of it.
Ace has been so terrible the last two weeks that now I carry my wooden spoon in my purse.
Don't get the wrong idea, I only stir his diaper padded bottom occasionally, mostly I use it as a threat.
I could put my head down on this desk and take a nap now, but if I did, that's when the couselor would call.
Can you imagine the kind of impression that would make? "Mrs. D? Did I catch you nappin on the job?"
The laundry needs doing.
The carpets need vaccuming.
The sausage balls need mixing.
The house needs a good pickup.
The Yukon needs mass amounts of detailing.
Ace spilled another drink in his carseat a week after I washed it.
The couselor emailed and wants to call and have a chat, imagine that.
And here I sit mesmorized in front of this computer, not wanting to do any of it.
Ace has been so terrible the last two weeks that now I carry my wooden spoon in my purse.
Don't get the wrong idea, I only stir his diaper padded bottom occasionally, mostly I use it as a threat.
I could put my head down on this desk and take a nap now, but if I did, that's when the couselor would call.
Can you imagine the kind of impression that would make? "Mrs. D? Did I catch you nappin on the job?"
Saturday, May 20, 2006
The Ebb and Flow of School
I spent the better part of yesterday crying because it was Peaches last day of Yellow Bear Class. I know what you’re thinking, I’m crying because I’m gonna have my four kids home with me for the next three months without so much as a day off, but you’d be wrong. Boy the hormones were flying!
I cried because I’ve never experienced a teacher who loved my kid so much. I cried because she loves her teacher so much. I cried because Ace is going to be in this class next year and the teacher is going to loose any respect she had for me.
We stopped by the grocery store for powdered donuts and cheese balls and I was feeling a little bit better.
Then I got home and had a reply from John’s teacher, who I had emailed almost a week ago to get an update in his Social Studies class. Instead of being helpful with answers and other how-to’s, she blew me off like she does every time I email her. And then I got pissed.
Good morning,
I do not have final averages yet, but I will have those next week. We are done in the notebook, so I will not be taking any more grades from that. The word scramble should help, but I have not factored that in yet. If you would like to email me next week to check on grades, I will have a better idea.
Thanks
XXXXXXXX
Was that helpful? NNNNNOOOOOO! If I wanted to know his final grade, I’d wait for the *&*&#%%^ report card! I want to know what we can do to prevent a smudge on our permanent record! And “Up your’s, because not only did we complete all the things in that notebook that were missing, we ironed the pages we found cramed in the bottom of his backpack!” The word scramble should help, but because I find your effort lacking, I’ll string you out for another week and see if you still feel like rolling the dice and emailing me next week, then I’ll check and see if I find you worthy of a response.
Ms. XXXXX,
Your ability to care less is overwhelming.
A tack on your chair,
John’s Mother
I understand he’s not the only slacker she has to contend with, but dammit, he’s a slacker with a mother that cares enough to shove him up the Mt. Fugi that is Middle School. Give me something. …so I sent a carefully crafted email to the school counselor to say “TTTHHHHPPPTT”.
I cried because I’ve never experienced a teacher who loved my kid so much. I cried because she loves her teacher so much. I cried because Ace is going to be in this class next year and the teacher is going to loose any respect she had for me.
We stopped by the grocery store for powdered donuts and cheese balls and I was feeling a little bit better.
Then I got home and had a reply from John’s teacher, who I had emailed almost a week ago to get an update in his Social Studies class. Instead of being helpful with answers and other how-to’s, she blew me off like she does every time I email her. And then I got pissed.
Good morning,
I do not have final averages yet, but I will have those next week. We are done in the notebook, so I will not be taking any more grades from that. The word scramble should help, but I have not factored that in yet. If you would like to email me next week to check on grades, I will have a better idea.
Thanks
XXXXXXXX
Was that helpful? NNNNNOOOOOO! If I wanted to know his final grade, I’d wait for the *&*&#%%^ report card! I want to know what we can do to prevent a smudge on our permanent record! And “Up your’s, because not only did we complete all the things in that notebook that were missing, we ironed the pages we found cramed in the bottom of his backpack!” The word scramble should help, but because I find your effort lacking, I’ll string you out for another week and see if you still feel like rolling the dice and emailing me next week, then I’ll check and see if I find you worthy of a response.
Ms. XXXXX,
Your ability to care less is overwhelming.
A tack on your chair,
John’s Mother
I understand he’s not the only slacker she has to contend with, but dammit, he’s a slacker with a mother that cares enough to shove him up the Mt. Fugi that is Middle School. Give me something. …so I sent a carefully crafted email to the school counselor to say “TTTHHHHPPPTT”.
Friday, May 19, 2006
In Honor of the Start of Football Spring Training
AN IMAGINARY CONVERSATION
"Hey, you're home."
"Hey, what's up with ya? The house looks great!"
"Thanks Charlie. We knew it was gonna be an uphill battle today. We've been training for it all season. We were really cruising through the first half , but I'd have to say when I lifted up the couch and saw what was under there, I thought we were gonna be outmatched. We've got a really young team and we were missing a couple of key players today; and even though I've got a lot of experience, we're well under the salary cap. We came out hard for the second half and just focused on the basics. We could have been stronger in some areas, but I think overall we're happy with today's outcome. We had no major injuries, so that will help us stay strong for next weeks match-up."
"Hey, you're home."
"Hey, what's up with ya? The house looks great!"
"Thanks Charlie. We knew it was gonna be an uphill battle today. We've been training for it all season. We were really cruising through the first half , but I'd have to say when I lifted up the couch and saw what was under there, I thought we were gonna be outmatched. We've got a really young team and we were missing a couple of key players today; and even though I've got a lot of experience, we're well under the salary cap. We came out hard for the second half and just focused on the basics. We could have been stronger in some areas, but I think overall we're happy with today's outcome. We had no major injuries, so that will help us stay strong for next weeks match-up."
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Food Encounters of the Family Kind
For Mother's Day my family took me out to eat to a real restaurant. With cloth napkins and everything. However, the whole ambiance was ruined when the waiter brought out the plastic kid cups, shaped like crayons, but it is what it is. I've got four kids.
And I remembered why I never take them out to eat as soon as we got into the "waiting" area. Why are my kids the only ones who can't stand still? Why are my kids the ones playing with the satin pillows on the bench seats? Why are my 9 and 12 year olds acting like 2 and 4? They get consequences, they're grounded on a regular basis, time-outs-check, spankings?-yes occasionally. Yet there they are, inching closer to the desert tray trying to sniff the cakes. Then when we sit down we have to go through the argument with the 12 yr old, as to whether or not he has to order off the child's menu. ("But, what if it's not enough food?") I'm thinking about sending him to Africa for Boy Scout Camp this year. The food arrives, and the pasta starts flying. It's not like "food fight" kind of flying, more like "cavemen coming to dinner" kind of flying. About four bites into my dinner, dear daughter needs to go to the potty. We go to the restroom, where we have to discuss which potty is the cleanest, the tallest, whether or not I need to go to the potty, can I get her some tp, which is the cold water, which is the hot water, "I can reach it MYSELF!", how many paper towels is enough...back to lunch. Two more bites, she's full; standing up in the booth, trying to see what's going on at the other table, she's ready to go. Mr. 2 is slouching lower and lower down the seat until his head is even with his Dad's elbow. Mr. 9 has eaten an entire bowl of pasta without ever closing his mouth to chew and Mr. 12 has conceded that indeed the kid's meal portion was enough food. I am exhausted and my husband is wishing he had never met me.
It looks like it may be another few years before we're ready for anything other than a McRestaraunt.
And I remembered why I never take them out to eat as soon as we got into the "waiting" area. Why are my kids the only ones who can't stand still? Why are my kids the ones playing with the satin pillows on the bench seats? Why are my 9 and 12 year olds acting like 2 and 4? They get consequences, they're grounded on a regular basis, time-outs-check, spankings?-yes occasionally. Yet there they are, inching closer to the desert tray trying to sniff the cakes. Then when we sit down we have to go through the argument with the 12 yr old, as to whether or not he has to order off the child's menu. ("But, what if it's not enough food?") I'm thinking about sending him to Africa for Boy Scout Camp this year. The food arrives, and the pasta starts flying. It's not like "food fight" kind of flying, more like "cavemen coming to dinner" kind of flying. About four bites into my dinner, dear daughter needs to go to the potty. We go to the restroom, where we have to discuss which potty is the cleanest, the tallest, whether or not I need to go to the potty, can I get her some tp, which is the cold water, which is the hot water, "I can reach it MYSELF!", how many paper towels is enough...back to lunch. Two more bites, she's full; standing up in the booth, trying to see what's going on at the other table, she's ready to go. Mr. 2 is slouching lower and lower down the seat until his head is even with his Dad's elbow. Mr. 9 has eaten an entire bowl of pasta without ever closing his mouth to chew and Mr. 12 has conceded that indeed the kid's meal portion was enough food. I am exhausted and my husband is wishing he had never met me.
It looks like it may be another few years before we're ready for anything other than a McRestaraunt.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
A Young Peter Boyle
The other day I went to have my hair trimmed. The last time I went, I had waited a really long time, because I'm trying to grow it out. So she gave me a lecutre "You've got to get it trimmed every four weeks, if you want it to grow. When the ends die, the longer you wait, the further up the hair shaft it goes." Evidently they have a class on 'Hair Folklore and Other Ways to Keep Your Clients Coming 'Round', at the hair academy. How can I get to be this age and stage in my life and still be intimidated by the hairdresser? So dutifully I went back four weeks later to get the ends trimmed off and she said
"What? About an inch?"
"NO...MY HAIR DOESN'T GROW AN INCH EVERY FOUR WEEKS! MY HAIR DOESN'T GROW AN INCH EVERY FOUR MONTHS!"
But did I say no? No. I squeeked out an "I guess." and off to the races she went. Then she gets to the bangs and says "You grow out bangs too?" (she's oriental) And I said "Oh no, I've got to have my bangs! I've got a big forhead." And she said "No you don't. Everybody say that."
You be the judge.
You be the judge.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Sugar and Spice
Oh my girly,I had such a nice time at your Mother's Day tea today! You looked so cute in your yellow ruffle shirt and hair pulled back to camouflage the bangs your Daddy wants us to grow out. I can't believe the year is almost over and next year you'll be a blue bear. The time is flying by and I wish I could just spend one more year of you being 3 and 4.
You've made me a girly-girl after all. I don't know if it was the extra shot of estrogen when you were in my tummy or whether it's just my proximity to you. When I was a girl, I didn't like anything with flowers on it. I hated wearing dresses. I drove your poor Nana crazy. When I was in grade school I would go in the kitchen and say to her. "I can't decide what to wear, what should I do? She would say "Why don't you wear that red plaid jumper with the black shirt underneath?" I'd wrinkle my nose and whine "I don't want to wear that." and she'd say "O.K. why don't you wear that white skirt with the rainbow shirt and ties on it?" I'd make another face and she'd say "You'll have to pick something yourself then." I'd head back to my room and feeling guilty, I'd put on the plaid jumper and sulk all the way to school.
You're the girl I wish I had been. I don't think I ever see you sulk. As soon as you realize you're awake, you jump out of bed talking and ready for whatever your day brings. It always took me a good hour to give way to the fact that it was a new day, despite the fact that I wasn't ready. Your love for shoes has inspired me and although they may just be flip-flops, I have them in every color, you gotta start somewhere.
I believe you make me a better Momma. So I'm gonna salute you for Mother's Day. I'm definitely a different Momma today than I was four years ago, because you've inspired me with your giggly ways. Don't get me wrong, the boys are special, but I already knew how to arm wrestle and shoot a basketball. Now I know how to whisper and giggle and accessorize an outfit with jewelry to match.
Love you!
Your Ruffle Hearted Momma
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
What the ....?
I'm loosing my ever lovin mind people. The last two years I've made excuses, but this is getting riciculous. I have no short term memory.
First it was hormone justification. I'd just had a baby, takes time to adjust, it'll work itself out and so on.
Second was kid justification. I've got four kids now, there's alot to remember. The baby has appts. every month. That will only last a year. Peaches is a toddler, she has alot of appts too. John's just going through an adjustment, he won't have these couseling sessions forever. It's going to get easier. It's just a matter of time.
Third was age justification. I'm forty now, a person just can't be expected to remember as much as they did when they were twenty, right?
I'm tired of people telling me it's because I have four kids. Let's think of something new.
Could it be the haircolor? I have been coloring my hair for some twenty years now. Hey, I can't help it if I inherited premature grey genes. I'm not the kind of person who would look stylish with "silver" hair. I'm already fighting the matronly look because I'm fat. I'm not giving up my haircolor. Maybe I'll sue.
Could it be the school system? Too much presure on kids to be involved in multiple activities and if you have a smart kid, they shovel them into some gifted class where the school can earn government dollars and have to justify themselves by loading the kids down with multiple projects which require four trips to the craft store, three trips to the library, and for my "add" kid, requires that I do all the physical work for him as he can't stay focused long enough to get it done. I think I'll sue.
Could it be Saturday morning cartoons and video games? I've been forced to sign up the boys for swim team because they need the excercise. The swim team committee, in turn have devised a brilliantly evil system in which I have to leave a deposit of $100 and sign up for seven "volunteer" shifts, so that if I don't show up, they get to keep my one hundred dollars. My neighbor said "It used to be only $40. I don't know why it's gone up so much." I do. I'd pay you forty bucks in a heart-beat not to have to try to remember to show up for seven shifts while trying to watch my two kids compete and keeping my two toddlers out of the baby pool as per swim team regulations. But I'm on the hook for $100, I'm in deep doo-doo. Which rhymes with sue.
I'm the girl you hated in school, because I never studied and I always got an A. I'm the person that has a home where nothing has a place, yet I can tell you the exact location of any item you'd like to put your hands on. I'm the wife who taunts her husband because he can't remember at the end of the day that I told him every day for the last three days that there is a school play tonight at 6:00. Those days are long gone. I've got a prominent family calander. I have a marker board on the fridge. I've tried carrying an organizer. I've tried not switching purses so as not to misplace the organizer. I have a mother who comes halfway across Texas every couple of months and helps me declutter and organize.
Isn't there someone I can blame (except myself)? Isn't there a pill? What about all that hogwash about the more of your brain you use, the more you have? My mind feels like a rubber band that's been stretched beyond it's limitations and is loosing it's elasticity.
What about the..
the...
What were we talking about?
First it was hormone justification. I'd just had a baby, takes time to adjust, it'll work itself out and so on.
Second was kid justification. I've got four kids now, there's alot to remember. The baby has appts. every month. That will only last a year. Peaches is a toddler, she has alot of appts too. John's just going through an adjustment, he won't have these couseling sessions forever. It's going to get easier. It's just a matter of time.
Third was age justification. I'm forty now, a person just can't be expected to remember as much as they did when they were twenty, right?
I'm tired of people telling me it's because I have four kids. Let's think of something new.
Could it be the haircolor? I have been coloring my hair for some twenty years now. Hey, I can't help it if I inherited premature grey genes. I'm not the kind of person who would look stylish with "silver" hair. I'm already fighting the matronly look because I'm fat. I'm not giving up my haircolor. Maybe I'll sue.
Could it be the school system? Too much presure on kids to be involved in multiple activities and if you have a smart kid, they shovel them into some gifted class where the school can earn government dollars and have to justify themselves by loading the kids down with multiple projects which require four trips to the craft store, three trips to the library, and for my "add" kid, requires that I do all the physical work for him as he can't stay focused long enough to get it done. I think I'll sue.
Could it be Saturday morning cartoons and video games? I've been forced to sign up the boys for swim team because they need the excercise. The swim team committee, in turn have devised a brilliantly evil system in which I have to leave a deposit of $100 and sign up for seven "volunteer" shifts, so that if I don't show up, they get to keep my one hundred dollars. My neighbor said "It used to be only $40. I don't know why it's gone up so much." I do. I'd pay you forty bucks in a heart-beat not to have to try to remember to show up for seven shifts while trying to watch my two kids compete and keeping my two toddlers out of the baby pool as per swim team regulations. But I'm on the hook for $100, I'm in deep doo-doo. Which rhymes with sue.
I'm the girl you hated in school, because I never studied and I always got an A. I'm the person that has a home where nothing has a place, yet I can tell you the exact location of any item you'd like to put your hands on. I'm the wife who taunts her husband because he can't remember at the end of the day that I told him every day for the last three days that there is a school play tonight at 6:00. Those days are long gone. I've got a prominent family calander. I have a marker board on the fridge. I've tried carrying an organizer. I've tried not switching purses so as not to misplace the organizer. I have a mother who comes halfway across Texas every couple of months and helps me declutter and organize.
Isn't there someone I can blame (except myself)? Isn't there a pill? What about all that hogwash about the more of your brain you use, the more you have? My mind feels like a rubber band that's been stretched beyond it's limitations and is loosing it's elasticity.
What about the..
the...
What were we talking about?
Sunday, May 07, 2006
It's Raining, It's Pouring...
No camping for us after all.
Only rain. We got some hail on Thursday. It started raining right before #1 son was due to come home. I was looking out the upstairs window at all the rain when I thought I saw something move in Ms. Erica's yard. It looked like a big white baseball, and I thought, Melee' must have left that out in her yard. Then I no sooner finished my thought when I start seeing some smaller white balls falling. We mostly had marble size hail and it was funny because it was hard to see it falling, so it looked like little white marbles popping out of the grass like popcorn.
Instead we took the kids to Gatti-town and you would have thought they'd hit the lottery. Has it been that long since we went to Chuck E Cheese? I guess so. Someone in the sixth grade has been grounded almost all year long. And the streak continues. After looking through his notebook I found most of the things he was missing in the "interactive" notebook, he just didn't have it glued in the book. One of them was one of the best maps he's ever done. What a waste! That notebook drives me crazy, I just want to yank it away from him and do it myself. It would be so pretty if I did. How can he have half of my chromosomes and not be able to color coordinate, title, cut, and paste? I had to iron 3 of the papers before we could even pretend to glue them in. And I just want to go to the teacher and say "Look, this "interactive" notebook is breaking his spirit and my will to live. Isn't there another way? Can't he make an appointment with you and just talk to you for an hour and then you can see he's brilliant, he knows everything you want him to know and then you can give him an A instead of an F?"
Enough of my tirade. The boys also got to go to the Space Center. I don't know how we've lived here this long and not gone, but there it is. They were short on the details, but they had a really good time. Then we pitched a tent in the living room so the kids could campout inside. Number One son bailed before I had everyone tucked in. Peaches came to bed with us around 3:00 a.m.. Ace came to our bed around at 5:00. And when we got up this morning the tent was empty and M. was found in his own good bed. So much for camping.
Only rain. We got some hail on Thursday. It started raining right before #1 son was due to come home. I was looking out the upstairs window at all the rain when I thought I saw something move in Ms. Erica's yard. It looked like a big white baseball, and I thought, Melee' must have left that out in her yard. Then I no sooner finished my thought when I start seeing some smaller white balls falling. We mostly had marble size hail and it was funny because it was hard to see it falling, so it looked like little white marbles popping out of the grass like popcorn.
Instead we took the kids to Gatti-town and you would have thought they'd hit the lottery. Has it been that long since we went to Chuck E Cheese? I guess so. Someone in the sixth grade has been grounded almost all year long. And the streak continues. After looking through his notebook I found most of the things he was missing in the "interactive" notebook, he just didn't have it glued in the book. One of them was one of the best maps he's ever done. What a waste! That notebook drives me crazy, I just want to yank it away from him and do it myself. It would be so pretty if I did. How can he have half of my chromosomes and not be able to color coordinate, title, cut, and paste? I had to iron 3 of the papers before we could even pretend to glue them in. And I just want to go to the teacher and say "Look, this "interactive" notebook is breaking his spirit and my will to live. Isn't there another way? Can't he make an appointment with you and just talk to you for an hour and then you can see he's brilliant, he knows everything you want him to know and then you can give him an A instead of an F?"
Enough of my tirade. The boys also got to go to the Space Center. I don't know how we've lived here this long and not gone, but there it is. They were short on the details, but they had a really good time. Then we pitched a tent in the living room so the kids could campout inside. Number One son bailed before I had everyone tucked in. Peaches came to bed with us around 3:00 a.m.. Ace came to our bed around at 5:00. And when we got up this morning the tent was empty and M. was found in his own good bed. So much for camping.
Saturday, May 06, 2006
To Blog or Not to Blog...
I've been playing with a blog on yahoo that limits my viewers to friends and family but have decided after reading so many fun things out here in internet-space that I would be brave and start one here as well.
So many decisions...What are my boundaries? What to blog, what not to blog? Who would care? My husband, who is a terrible cynic, is afraid of me gaining the attention of a deranged maniac and being stalked and well you can guess the rest. And I keep thinking why? Why would some deranged maniac take the time to read about my boring life and decide I'm a good a target as any? Well, I am a good a target as any, but that's not the point....
So in the interest of remaining anonymous, I made my family choose their own alias'.
There's :
"Charlie" Husband. I'm not sure if that is as in "Good Time Charlie" or "Charlie Brown".
"John" - Number 1 son and technically not a rotten egg in so far as I was only twenty-eight when I had him. Doesn't know what the alias is for, as he would want editing rights for all blogs containing content related to him.
"Melee' " - Number 2 son with a flare for the dramatic and all things video game and sport related. He's never liked any nickname I ever gave him because evidently they were not tough enough. Currently plays baseball and likes to watch himself run.
"Peaches" - Daddy's little girl and rotten egg number 1, who's going by Daddy's nickname for her as she could only think of aliases that rhymed with real words. "Sater" rhymes with later, "Fillow" rhymes with pillow and so on.
"Ace" - The Terrible Two. Yes, he picked his own alias. He was probably talking about something else entirely, but he picked it and it's hilarious.
So many decisions...What are my boundaries? What to blog, what not to blog? Who would care? My husband, who is a terrible cynic, is afraid of me gaining the attention of a deranged maniac and being stalked and well you can guess the rest. And I keep thinking why? Why would some deranged maniac take the time to read about my boring life and decide I'm a good a target as any? Well, I am a good a target as any, but that's not the point....
So in the interest of remaining anonymous, I made my family choose their own alias'.
There's :
"Charlie" Husband. I'm not sure if that is as in "Good Time Charlie" or "Charlie Brown".
"John" - Number 1 son and technically not a rotten egg in so far as I was only twenty-eight when I had him. Doesn't know what the alias is for, as he would want editing rights for all blogs containing content related to him.
"Melee' " - Number 2 son with a flare for the dramatic and all things video game and sport related. He's never liked any nickname I ever gave him because evidently they were not tough enough. Currently plays baseball and likes to watch himself run.
"Peaches" - Daddy's little girl and rotten egg number 1, who's going by Daddy's nickname for her as she could only think of aliases that rhymed with real words. "Sater" rhymes with later, "Fillow" rhymes with pillow and so on.
"Ace" - The Terrible Two. Yes, he picked his own alias. He was probably talking about something else entirely, but he picked it and it's hilarious.
Then there's little ole me, I'll answer to almost anything. I've been called Geraldine, Josephine, Joleen, Christine, and I've been known to turn around if someone calls Steve outloud. But since I'm the one writing I don't have to worry about all that.
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