3-20-06

I don’t know anything. This is the phrase that is repeated to me between 2-100 times a day. My 14 year old is forever reminding me of this. I should have known this would happen; of course I uttered those words to my mother quite frequently (although I was right, child prodigy and all). I thought because of my sheer coolness as a mom that my child would never say that to me. I mean when did I turn into my mom she was always old and she really didn’t get anything. I’m knowledgeable, well-rounded, savvy, all those things my mom wasn’t. How could I be getting the eye roll from my teenager so often? And then I broke. I felt a chill go down my spine as I said to my teenager in slow motion … “just wait till you have your own children”… This is the exact dreadful statement my mother said to me, how could I repeat the words? Is this what my mother has waited for patiently all this years? A curse she put upon me after I did the eye roll and “you don’t know anything” comment. How many times had she heard it 5, 20, or 4325? She has waited by the sidelines knowing my day will come… oh sure I know she will hug me and tell this will pass, all the while she is doing a jig in the privacy of her own home! She cursed me with some sort of voodoo. My teenager is trying to break me and I have to be tougher than the women that came before. I have to stand down, laugh it off, and be the bigger person… Who am I kidding I need to get me some toadstools, batwings, Yahtzee dice, or what ever it takes to keep this tradition going! I mean one more eye roll and I’ll be homicidal (and I just don’t think I can kill anyone, think of the mess).

3-14-06

I have been known to keep a clean house, that’s what the people say. I, on the other hand, just see what I haven’t cleaned, like a bulimic sees fat, when a rich person doesn’t have enough, like Pamela Anderson sees a B cup (stop messing with them Pam), I see dirt. I do like to pick up and put away (I have stepped on enough Lego’s to know those little buggers will bring tears to your eyes.) Anyway, when my 14 year old brought home this questionnaire he had to fill out for school it had questions on it about when he gets older like, career wanted, ideal transportation, things you will do in your free time… this is where I was positive my 5’ 11’’ athletic son would answer exercise and sports, I was partially right he did say those things but his number one was … cleaning! This topped soccer and football! I have seen the signs that he maybe turning into a mini-me but I guess I was in denial. Since we moved six months ago his room has changed on a weekly basis, trying to get the furniture placement just so. He has gotten rid of so much stuff (because the clutter is driving him crazy) I’m sure he is headed for a room with a window and some carpet. The big thing about this I haven’t let his father know, it doesn’t matter that the boy plays football, or likes to be wounded (bloodier the better), that he has the mouth of a sailor, or that he would lift weights in his sleep( if that’s is possible), this cleaning business will be a girly thing. “You don’t know what it’s like to be a boy” is what I’ll hear…“he needs to be tough” (I always think am I supposed to punch him then see if he’d like dinner?) I remember when my son grinded down his front teeth while on a skateboard, immediately I’m kissing and hugging him, all the while I had my phone in my hand to get a dentist on the line to fix his teeth. My husband “he looks good, nothing wrong will some chipped teeth!”(If he is going to model there is, always a mother!) I really don’t know where I’m headed with this story. Am I horrified that he picked cleaning as something to do in his free time?... Yes!… But I’m also glad he is not a slob, right? No matter what he chooses to do in life he will always have to be somewhat organized and tidy if he is going to be successful at it. Boxer, lawyer, teacher, janitor, I mean think about it even if he turns into some serial killer (predominately male field, can’t be more masculine than that) DNA wont be his downfall, the kid will be bleaching like a madman to clean that stuff up (breathe easy I am not raising a serial killer… then again I’m pretty sure that’s what all serial killers moms say!)

3-9-06

Ok so the remote is still M.I.A. I know I am rambling but I just wanted to add that I have inherited this addiction. The addiction to the remote… and I know there are others of you out there! My father is the carrier of the affliction that has unfortunately passed it to me and my sister (luckily our symptoms have lessened and we aren’t as obsessed.) My father has been known to take the remote to the store, bathroom, and any other room in the house, just so it stays with him. The man can fall asleep with it on his person (resting on his belly with one hand covering it is the favorite spot) but once someone goes for it an internal ADT alarm goes off and he awakens defending his property. Not only must he constantly have it in his grasp at all times he must also use it. In one sitting, lets say an hour, he will have checked every channel (and we aren’t talking basic cable) 45 times. In conclusion I just wanted to say that I have never been shopping or to the bathroom with my remote (although I do love it and wished we had more time together before it disappeared.) I am not that consumed with it (again please reappear!) I will manage to go on (probably tormented, plagued, controlled, and just taken over with its vanishment) but I will survive for the children (I must put on a brave face or the sickness will pass on!) Maybe there is some sort of 12 step program….

3-8-06

When a two year old is tired, screaming is usually what is happening. So when you take them to their room to sleep one of two things happens, either they pass out before they make the crawl to the bed or they get that second wind. At first I will lie with my two year old until he is completely settled, this for me can be a painful process especially if they are in “baby wants to party” mode. Today we were in party form so as I lay down I prepped myself for the worst. First as I try to get comfortable I chose to lay with my back against the wall, as always he precedes to step over my neck (missing and falling on my head) to squeeze his 28 lb body in a space the size of a half dollar. In turn I begin to scoot over but that doesn’t appease him because in that moment he has changed his mind and wants to lay where I’ve ended up ( again falling and tripping over my neck and head.) Then we go into gymnastics. “My mom’s a balance beam”, where my bouncing (and I mean literally) boy starts at my feet and tries to walk up my body, falling continuously into my body causing muffled cries to seep from my mouth and bruising that any doctor would question. The balance beam is fun but it’s even funnier when we throw ourselves against mom at the end knocking heads (squeals of joy!) Side note: I really hope it is proven to lessen cellulite, all the pounding and bruising will be just part of what a woman must do to look her best. Now at some point with all the torture going on I start to doze (it is unbelievable but true), this is when objects are now shoved into my nasal passage, ears, or eyes (this, I believe, will not do anything to improve beauty, although again if it is proven to help wrinkles or skin texture all I would say is poke and prod away!) I have had it at this point and begin to restrain the boy (laying on top of him works, I am just joking so breathe people.) Also by now he has grown bored of the mutilation routine and begins to rub his eyes. Within minutes he has dozed off, at this point I start to shove things into his nasal passage….I’m joking! (Really, I just go take some- Motrin).

3-3-06

Just a quick update… the controller is still lost, so basically the T.V. is useless.

3-2-06

I have to admit it I’m addicted to the remote control. I get shudders when I think of the days growing up arguing with my sister whose turn it was to get up of the couch and walk(crawl is what we did ) to change the channel 12 feet away. We would fight forever neither of us backing down (until physical contact was used.) Well now as a mom I know you’ve got a keep an eye on the remote because every (and I mean every) child knows that it is the coveted treasure. I don’t care how many toys you have, if a circus is going on the living room, Teletubbies are dancing around, or a M&M shower is happening that controller is grasped in that child’s hand. So as I went upstairs to lie down after a mentally draining day (aren’t they all I mean you can debate with your teenager so much but you will always be wrong, whining inevitably comes out of my six year old every other word, and the baby still poops his pants, enough said.) I just wanted to lie in bed and watch T.V. When I got in the room and noticed that it wasn’t visibly in sight, I had a slight palpation. As I realized it’s not in the normal spots, under the bed, under the covers, or on top of the T.V. that’s when the “why me” panicked stage began (I just want the remote I didn’t ask for a million dollars, at least not today, I’m not asking for an unreasonable request like a chiseled stomach, where’s the remote!) The room was torn apart, drawers open, bed pulled apart, closet contents scattered around, and everything turned over at least twice. At this point I am so irrationally searching I’m debating waking up my almost 2 year old with a spotlight, “where is it?”…”I know you saw it last”…“don’t play with me kid!”…“you think you’re tough, I’ll have you crying like a baby!” Now my teenager has walked in on my breakdown and is saying things like, “calm down”…”Its not lost”…”deep breaths…”its here somewhere” I look at him crazed what kind of psycho babble is he spewing at me. That’s when he takes another breath and said “mom this is the stuff you tell us.” Before I almost scream out “but it’s the REMOTE!” It is apparent to me that I’ve gone cuckoo behaving idiotically. Smacking my head, “I’ll just go lie down in your brothers room he has a remote!” Forgoing comfort but gaining the remote I head off to relax.

2-27-06

This week at school is a special week where every day you wear something fun. I knew that my unemotional completely calm spirited daughter (ha-ha I’m completely delusional) would like to participate immediately. First day is Red, White, and Blue Day which went very smoothly. Second day is Career Day (a little tougher). My 6 year old wants to be a fashion and jewelry designer, so we debated over wardrobe for a good while knowing that whatever we pick her pink Barbie cowboy boots must fit in to this plan (they are the must-have of every season.) Happy with our decisions (I mean not a lot of tears were shed), we moved on to hair made a compromise and came to a conclusion on that also (yeah!). We were cruising but then I had this idea about handing out business cards, have about 10 cards if people ask who you are you can hand them a card from your teeny sequined covered pink heart purse (which every up and comer in the 1st grade should own). She loved this idea and we would get to work right after school tomorrow. When she came home we measured her wee satchel to see what size her business cards need to be. I measured out about ten cards then cut them down to the size that would fit. I then had this brilliant idea to add ribbon to the top and maybe glue on some sequins. She was thrilled and ran to rummaged through her closet, which is filled to the tippy top with crafty stuff (of course I shuddered to myself I as picture her on the floor throwing items over her head searching for that perfect satin ribbon.) Let’s just say this little project turned quite large (as if you didn’t know where I was going). It seems that 10 cards aren’t enough and immediately after arriving back from the craft cave she whines only in that voice that she can do and says we need 26! Why? Why I ask, I know she will have a logical answer, “Well you know Gianna moved so that makes 24 in the class counting me, then the teacher, and I really need to give Sophia one at lunch time, also if someone doesn’t come in I can give one to the helper but I need 26!” Now I explain we are handwriting all the cards, cutting them, ribboning them, and sequining them. “It’s okay”. So we begin the task. Only 1 1/2 hours later each of us with sticky fingers and carpal tunneled wrists we finish the last card. I look at the clock realizing its dinner time I tell her she must clean up because I’ve got to make dinner, she agrees (to some of you, you may not realize the magnitude of this… this is big!) We have bonded she and I have worked together she knows she needs to help me… this is a gift, a miracle, a phenomenon. As soon as the whistles come from my mouth she saunters into the kitchen and asks if it’s ready. “Sweetheart I just got in here” Boom! To the floor, facial expressions of the wounded wildebeest after it has been impaled by a deadly sharpened highly sophisticated weapon are oozing from her face. At this moment I see that “she” is back! I back away slowly grab for the car keys and baby and stealthily sneak out the door to safety. (Actually I wish that was what I did but in all honesty I stayed hearing the piercing cries of hunger pains emit from my 6 year olds mouth, all the while trying to will the food to cook faster.) By the by after dinner was done she quickly turned into precious again eating and complementing my exquisite cooking. Wiping the sweat from my brow I sighed and thanked the stars that Wednesday is Crazy Sock Day…