Can Calgon Take Me Away?

Before I get into this, I have to make sure you all know something:  J is a good kid.  He's my nine-year old, and he is truly exceptional.  He's brilliant, he's affectionate and loving, and he's super funny.

There.

Yesterday was a rough day with my J.  He LOVES the computer and my iPad.  He plays this Minecraft game, he watches funny videos on YouTube, and on my iPad he loves to play all the different games we have.  But it is MY computer.  And MY iPad.  And we, as dutiful parents, limit the time he is on them.  It's a generous limit, mind you, but we control (supposedly) the amount of time he uses these things, for obvious reasons.  His main rule is simple:  ask before you use them.

He has had difficulty following that rule.  It is incredibly complex, after all.  (snort.)  I have had talks with him about it, I have cut him off for a day.  The other day I told him if I catch him going on without asking again, he is off the computer AND the iPad for a week.  Reasonable, in my opinion.

So yesterday I was outside with hubby for JUST A COUPLE MINUTES and when we came in I saw Jack hurrying to shut my iPad, which was sitting on the charger on the kitchen counter.  My blood boiled, but I just calmly looked at him.  Oooooh, he looked guilty!  Flashbacks of my own childhood were flying through my mind.

Me:  Would you like to tell me what you're doing?

J:  (silence.  Blank stare.)

Me:  Did you ask permission?

J:  Sorry.

Me:  You know what that means, right?

J:  Yes, a week.

Me:  Yep.

And then he trudged out of the room, defeated, but trying to act normal.  After all, it's not like he could argue.  But then I was in my office at the desk, and he came CRAWLING into the room, saying he felt so guilty that he said he could barely walk.  AUGH!  If I wasn't so supremely irritated I would have thought it was funny.  So I told him to go to bed if he feels that weak.  He just kept lying there waiting for some pity, and it was making me crazy.  So I said, "J, I'm a bit concerned.  I know you feel guilty, and you should.  So suck it up.  But I'm concerned because had I not walked in at that second and caught you, you would have finished what you were doing and shut down the iPad, and you would have gotten away with it.  Then you wouldn't have felt bad, and that bothers me so much.  You need to make the RIGHT decision.  Even if it doesn't fit in with what you would like to do in that second.  If you would have waited a few minutes, I would have come in, you could have asked permission, and we wouldn't be in this mess.  You made this CHOICE, and now you own the consequences.  So if you would like to be all whiny and dramatic, feel free to do it in your room, with the door shut."

And I left the room, patting myself on the back for not throwing my stapler at him.

So then that drama was over, and we continued on with our day.

Then it's late evening, and I'm working on a project at the dining room table, watching a Hoarding show on TV.  In my happy place, in other words.  A asks if he can watch TV, and I said they could downstairs in the family room.  I was using this TV.  He's got a bowl of Cheetos, and he's making himself some hot chocolate.  He asked if he could watch in my bedroom instead.  For "cozy time."  So I said they could, but NO food or drink in my bed.  Which they know.  They use these little lap desks as tables on the floor and have a snack ON MY FLOOR before they crawl in the bed.  He gets all excited because I don't always let them lounge around in my room (they can't be in a room without destroying it, after all), and he goes and changes into his p.j.'s and a robe.  Very cute.  So he and J start getting ready to go up there, and I happily settle into my project.

Until J comes downstairs freaking out that he SPILLED HOT CHOCOLATE IN MY BED.  WTF?????  And it's all over him.  So I trudge up there, and yep, it's spilled.  Lots of it.  It is on some of the pillows (soaked through the pillowcases to the pillows, mind you).  It is on the flat sheet.  It is on the fitted sheet (soaked through to the mattress pad, and then to the mattress, mind you).  It is on the duvet cover.  Soaked through to the down comforter.

Awesome.

So I start hollering random mom cliches, stripping the bed and making them put each piece down the chute.  They're looking at me like they're afraid I might throw them down the flight of stairs.  Don't think it didn't cross my mind.  I get the bed cleaned up and re-made, and then just go back downstairs, hoping not to see them anymore for the evening.  Right then is when hubby gets home from work and I told him the whole thing.  Then I got a beer and just started watching my Hoarding show again.

A few minutes passed, when a paper airplane flew into the room.  I picked it up, and it was a note from A telling me how much he loves me and how much he loves his family, and closing with, "so as you can see I'm so sorry about the hot choclit."  That kid.  So I of course gave him a hug and kiss and said thanks.

I think J is feeling pretty low now, because I really didn't see him again until I went up to bed.  The two were laying in A's bed, J was watching him play games on his iPod.  I said good night, and told them once again that I love them always.  Even when I'm super mad at them, I never stop loving them.  And I went to bed.

It's true--I never do stop loving them.  I just need to get the hell away from them sometimes.

Mid-Life Crisis?

I think I'm entering the early stages of a mid-life crisis.  Crisis is such a strong word.  I'm really not close to that yet, but there are things happening in my brain that make me feel like maybe I don't know myself that well.  I consider myself a fairly easy-to-understand person.  I think that once people hang out with me for a few minutes, they pretty much know what kind of person I am.  And if you read my blog, folks, you REALLY know me.  Which can be unsettling at times, since there are several people who read this that know me way better than I know them....  oh well.

Anyway, my crisis (since it's all about me, right?).  Once I describe my big issues, you will get a good look at how small my life is.  Because again, crisis is a strong word.

Two things have been floating around in my head, and the more they float there, the bigger they get, until I'm laying awake at night thinking about them.  I'll start with the smaller issue:

I am considering learning how to ride a motorcycle.  Drive, not just be a passenger behind the hubby.  I know!  No big deal.  But for some reason I'm obsessing over it.  I feel so old and silly to be even considering it.  And there's that safety issue--if you're not a fan of motorcycles you can find all kind of statistics about how unsafe they are, and if you are a fan you can find all kind of statistics about how safe they are (if you're not a dumbass).  But I'm a mom now (did you know that?) and my welfare means more to me now than it used to.  I don't even enjoy rides anymore!  I used to LOVE amusement park rides--the scarier the better.  Now all I see are my kids flying out of them to their death, or me dying in some horrible roller coaster accident and leaving my kids without a mom.  I went on the dang ferris wheel with the kids at the State Fair a few years ago and I was so petrified that one of them was going to jump out that I felt like I was going to puke the whole time.  I am that wonkers.  So becoming a licensed operator of a motorcycle seems a bit crazy to me, but I can't stop thinking about it.

We already have a motorcycle that I could use.  It's a perfect size for me, and hubby says it's very easy to drive and comfortable.  It was my dad's, and I think he'd be pretty happy about me using it.  No matter what my mom says.  She hates them!  But it's so impractical!  I can't put groceries on it.  I can't put both the kids on it.  In fact, I don't think I'd ever be brave enough to have a kid on it with me.  I can barely stand it when hubby does that, and he's a very experienced and safe motorcycle driver.

Plus, we live in Minnesota.  Which means half the year I couldn't ride it anyway.

But there is one thing it would be handy for, which brings me to part II of my mid-life crisis:

I'm thinking of going back to school.  At my advanced age, I am still an upperclassman at the University of Minnesota.  I attended school there for six years, off an on, and never graduated.  My life was INSANE back then.  That's a series of posts for a whole different time, folks.  But for reasons I can't possibly fit here, it was impossible for me to be a serious student back then.  I think I switched my major five times, and I was horribly broke the entire time, so I was just never able to reach that degree.  Once I stopped trying and settled into a very comfortable job as an executive-level secretary, and also settled into a very comfortable marriage, I gave up the whole school thing.  Happily.  I've actually never regretted anything, I LOVED the University, but I never really knew what I wanted to do with my future anyway, other than be a mom.  So I am that.  But now my kids are middle-aged, too, in a way.  Meaning that they're at that halfway point to the time when they're graduating and leaving me to live whatever kind of life I have left when they're out of the house.  And that's what makes me think there might be something out there I could be interested in other than laundry and grocery shopping.  (Not to belittle stay-at-home moms, mind you, I AM ONE.  And I KNOW how much work and heartache it takes, don't get offended.  I'm sarcastic about it simply because I have earned that right.)  Part of why I'm nervous about what my life will be when the kids are out of here is the simple fact of how much work they are.  I don't want to feel empty when they're off on their own, I want to be proud of my own life and have my own pursuits.

But holy cow is the idea scary.  I go walk around the campus with the hubby once in a while, and I feel OLD.  I am old!  I remember when I was a freshman there, and I'd see all the parents bring their kids to help them move into the dorms.  Or I'd see parents come watch their kids at events they were in.  These parents seemed old.  That's me now!  I'm almost that age, and the thought of being a student there with all those kids is bizarre.  I'm sure it would be different for me now.  It's not like I'll be living in a campus apartment and bar-hopping every weekend (or almost every night, ahem).  I'm an old lady.  I'll be there to attend my classes, and it will probably be just one or two a week, and in the evening, with several other old people there doing the exact same thing as me.  Right?

So that part's scary.  The other side of that coin, though, is sort of awesome.  I don't have the same insecurities as I did back then.  I would be taking the whole education side of it seriously, and have a goal this time.  Unlike when I was a kid there with a nightmare going on in my family that I was trying to ignore, and falling in love and breaking up and falling in love again were my main concerns, and I was DEAD BROKE.  I have a super stable home life.  I have money.  I don't have to worry about buying books or paying tuition.  I don't give a S--T what the other students think of me there.

Another big problem with this whole idea:  I have NO CLUE what I want to do.  None.  I have to figure out what kind of degree I want.  And I really don't want it to be in something that I can't do anything with, like general Sociology.  I don't want to graduate just to say I did.  I want a degree that I can use for something.  So that means I have to figure out what I want that something to be.  You would fall over laughing if you could get into my head and see all the craziness I have been considering.  Everything from being a teacher to a private investigator (thanks Miss N.S.!) to being a suit in an office.  I honestly have no clue.  And I'm hoping that the advisors there will help me find a path...  Poor folks.  Maybe there's a degree in buying and reselling antiques and flea market stuff.  Ha!

And there's another benefit to this big mess:  If I do this, I think I might be able to get season tickets to Gopher sporting events!  For student prices!  I wonder if I'd have to be in the student section with all the drunk kids with maroon and gold body paint...

Anyway, that's the junk that's keeping me up at night lately.  And summer's going by way too fast.  I need to make an appointment to go up to the campus and do some investigating.

Thanks for sitting with me while I pick my brain.

It's Hot Out There.

It may seem funny, but I think the reason I haven't been writing as much lately is this dang heat.  It is crazy hot these days.  As it if the fires from Colorado are brutal enough that they're heating us up way over here in Minnesota!  I have so much trouble motivating myself to do ANYTHING during heat like this.  I just want to sit in my air-conditioned house, on my couch, watching movies.  It's horrible.

Today A's baseball practice has already been cancelled for this evening due to the over-100˚ heat index.    Today I should mow, because our grass is getting tall faster and faster, and it's not getting any cooler for several days.  But I just cannot bear that heat right now.  I may mow this evening, if the temperature goes down.  But today, I need to clean this house.  And I will.  Right after I finish this post.

We are in the thick of summer, people.  It's July 2nd.  The Fourth of July is the day after tomorrow.  It is supposed to be even hotter than it is today.  Ugh.  Not the kind of weather you want to be barbecuing in, playing frisbee, sitting outside on a blanket waiting for fireworks, anything.  I'm not sure what we're going to do.  I'm thinking maybe eating picnic-style food, down in our chilly basement, while we watch some American movies to celebrate America.  Maybe The Patriot.  Or Captain America.  Or American Pie.  Who knows.  But I think I'm over-worried about the heat...

So how to motivate myself for the cleaning extravaganza?  I have a playlist on my iPod called "Sparkle and Shine".  It's filled with 80's music, club music, poppy dance stuff, and some cheerful sing-along stuff.  That's the first trick.  I think I might get serious today, and put on my uniform.  I have two uniforms:  one for mowing, which is a pair of ginormous overalls and a tank top.  The overalls allow me to put the iPod in the bib pocket, and they're loose enough so I'm sort of "air-conditioned".  My cleaning uniform is even more ridiculous.  It's grubby sweats, a t-shirt, and an apron.  The apron holds my rags and a bottle of cleaning stuff, maybe a brush, maybe a scraper (yes, sometimes I need a scraper for crud on my floor.  It's that bad).  I'm only writing all this down to help motivate myself, so thanks for bearing with me.

I usually start in the entryway, where our shoes are.  It's a SUPER irritating tiny room that is continuously covered in grass clippings and shoes.  And jackets.  And baseball hats.  And work gloves.  And keys.  And umbrellas.  And random outdoor things like baseball mitts, footballs, and other toys.  And "Hubby junk".  That's what I call the strange metal or wood things, chemicals, gadgets, or whirlygigs that I don't know what they are and so they end up in a pile on the counter or on top of the cabinet in the entryway because I can only assume they are something he brought in and are associated with some project or another that he is involved with.  It can be frustrating.  That ends up just being a pile to haul out to the shop or the garage.

Our entryway leads into the kitchen, which leads into the rest of our main floor.  That's the natural path to follow.  My goal today will be the main floor and the basement family room, and then I need to start the big, awful project:

The kids' clothes.

What is it with kids' clothes?  Do they expand by themselves?  Do they multiply on their own?  It's the WEIRDEST thing.  I don't shop that much.  I'm not buying them new clothes all the time.  They're boys.  At their ages, they care very little about their wardrobes.  So twice a year (ideally), I go through their clothes.  We stash the stuff that's really out of season, and make a giant donation pile and another pile for their cousin to see if he wants any of their better, outgrown stuff.

So then for a short time, they have nicely organized, half-empty drawers, with plenty of room to put away their clothes.  It's awesome.  For about a week.  Then all of a sudden I will go up to put more laundry away, and their drawers are overflowing, and I end up having to shove the clothes all in, and then pack it down, and then they won't even shut!  What the hell?

By this time in the cycle, they have stacks of folded clothes on top of their dressers and in their closets which won't fit in the drawers.  I also have laundry baskets with folded clothes in them that I dread putting away.  Because they won't fit, dangit.  And this time it's particularly bad, because I'm quite late in the cycle.  So all their school clothes are still lingering in their drawers.  And as these kids get bigger, their jeans get bigger.  So that's the other giant project awaiting me.  Awesome.  As you can see, it's one of my favorites.

Sweet Jesus, this is a boring post.  Sorry, people.  I guess that's just where my life is right now.  I shouldn't complain.  It's a good thing when there's not much drama, isn't it?  I think I'm just in a mood.  I feel a post brewing in me about the beauty of youth baseball, the joy of summer freedom, and the fun-in-the-sun pool time of the summer.  I also am planning on going to the zoo as soon as the weather gets less oppressive, so there might be a fun post about that.  But for now, this is all I've got.  I hope you endured it all right.  I have to go get my apron.  Stay cool!

Best. Date. Ever.

Hubby and I don't get out much.  You know, on dates.  When the kids were babies, we used to have a standing Tuesday night "date night", because his mom would take the babies for us.  It was so great, and I think I took it for granted.  Because these date nights started as soon as we had the babies, I didn't know how great they were.  Until they stopped.  And everything changed.  That was when we lost my sweet mom-in-law to cancer.  The kids were 4 and 5.

Since then, life has just trudged along, and we have become used to the fact that date nights can be hard to arrange.  We do have a large family around us, and I'm sure if we'd have put some work into it we could have found a way to get out more often, but truthfully, we quietly let it happen.  Sadly, I think it just kind of took a backseat to other priorities, like laundry.  I actually think we just had a very difficult time processing the loss of hubby's mom.

So anyway, it had been a while.  Now the kids are at an age where we can leave them home alone for short periods of time, but I'm still more comfortable doing that during daylight hours, and not for more than a couple hours.

This past Thursday night, we had a date night scheduled.  (Insert sunshine and gospel "Hallelujah!" here.)  Sister was in town, and she and my mom were going to take the kiddos OVERNIGHT to hang out with them at Grandma's and swim, and they would have them until dinnertime Friday.  So we made reservations at a restaurant we had been waiting a long time to try.  I was so excited!  I showered.  Shaved the legs and pits.  Freshened up my toenail polish.  Applied make up.  Not just mascara--I'm talking EYESHADOW, people.  I put on lots of shiny jewelry.  This was going to be an EVENT.  Dinner and a movie.

So we get to the restaurant.  Order a couple glasses of wine and our appetizer.  Yum.  Then we order our main course.  As she's setting our plates down on the table, my phone rings.

Ugh.  Of course.

It's my sister.  A has been "injured".  They took the boys to my nephew's soccer game, and there is a playground near the soccer fields.  A and J went over there to play.  A, in all his infinite wisdom, decided to jump off the top of one of those tube slides, and he rolled his ankle.  He was in a LOT of pain.

Now, this probably doesn't sound like a big deal.  And I knew in some part of my brain that it likely wasn't.  However, this is the kid with the Herculean pain tolerance.  So much so that when he was a small child I worried that he may have that disorder where he can't feel pain, and that would have been horrible.  This is the kid that fell on his arm last fall and walked around for a WEEK with a broken arm before I brought him to the doctor because of how he wouldn't stop "holding" his arm.  I was not about to make that mistake again.

So there went our date night.

We spent the rest of the evening in the urgent care with A, my mom and my sister.  I have to mention here yet again how AMAZING it is to have such a supportive family all around me.  Without hesitation, my brother and SIL1 took responsibility for J so he wouldn't need to go to the urgent care.  My sweet Nephew 1 (who just got his driver's license!  Yay!) took J back to their house to hang out and wait for us.

As it turns out, A did not have a break at all.  He seems to have pulled some tendons in his foot, and they did wrap his foot and give him crutches.  Sort of like a sprained foot, I guess.  He's already getting much better, and went for a while last night without his crutches.  So all is good.  But no movie.

Right here I have to warn you that this is going to be a really long post.  It goes into Part 2 here, so if you don't have time you might want to come back later to finish reading this if you're so inclined.  It's been a while since I posted (sorry) and so I feel particularly wordy today.  So go, and come back tomorrow if you want, otherwise, go get another cup of coffee and keep reading!

Part 2.

So at the urgent care A was super devastated that he couldn't stay at Grandma's and swim some more in the morning.  But since the injury was not all that serious, the doc gave him the go ahead to swim as much as he could tolerate, and Grandma gave him the choice.  So the kids went home with them!  (Insert more sunshine and music here.)

One of the main reasons we wanted to do this extended date "night" was for the next day.  Hubby has been riding his motorcycle more than usual this season.  Partly because of the beautiful spring/summer we've been enjoying, and partly because of my dad's motorcycle that he inherited, which I think is easier to ride than his other one.  He recently went on a long ride with one of his buddies and thought it was super cool so he wanted to take me on the same route.  So that was the plan for the next morning.

I was nervous.  When hubby and I were dating, we went all over the place on the motorcycle.  I loved it!  I was young and childless, madly in love, and had no worries or fear.  Then I got pregnant, and it all stopped.  I couldn't ride when I was pregnant, and once you have babies it just doesn't happen much.  You can't put a carseat on a motorcycle, and there was an added hesitation on my part, because all of a sudden my life was so much more important to me.  I was a mom, after all.  So over the past few years I have probably been on the back of hubby's motorcycle about five times.  For short rides.  I was nervous about this one.  We would be on the cycle (other than stopping to eat) all day.

We left at 7:45 in the morning.  We went southeast.  Breakfast in a town called Zumbrota.  Went across the river into Wisconsin and stopped in a town called Nelson to go to Nelson Creamery, where they specialize in wine, cheese, and ice cream (HELLO, HOME).  We went into Lacrosse, Wisconsin.  Crossed the river again into Winona, Minnesota, lunch in Wabesha,  and headed back home from there.  All in all, other than our brief stops, we were on the motorcycle for almost 8 hours.  My ass HURT when I got home.  My knees were killing me.  I am old now, and I have little to no muscle in my butt to cushion it.  My feet were on pegs the whole time, forcing my knees to stay in one position.

But I didn't feel the pain until the last hour or so.  And as soon as I got off the motorcycle, I wanted to go again the next day.

Now I might get a little weird.  But folks, I swear, it was almost a religious experience.  I TOTALLY get why people join motorcycle clubs.  I think I could be an "old lady."  There is something so amazing  about being on a motorcycle for that kind of trip.  It was beautiful outside.  We drove along these back roads that were so gorgeous they seemed fake.  The woods.  The hills.  You can smell everything.  The water in the air.  I swear there is a smell to the color green.  I saw more bald eagles than I can count.  Crossing the river, you just can't believe this is where you live.  And that you don't get out and thank God for this every single day.  I had the love of my life between my knees.  The sun never felt hot on my face because of the wind rushing by.  And I could feel the outside all over me.  I let myself just relax and take it all in, and it really was one of the most memorable days I have ever had.

Now I need to get the hubby to buy the new motorcycle he's been thinking about to accommodate my tender heinie, and we may just start our own M.C.

So thanks mom, sister, brother, SIL1, Nephew1, and of course the hubby for making it all happen.  My butt feels normal again now.  It's time for another trip!

Happy Father's Day!

Tomorrow is Father's Day.

Kind of a weird thing.  I lost my dad this past fall, and that makes it sort of bittersweet.  I have my hubby, who is an unbelievable dad, and I certainly think he's worth celebrating.  But he works tomorrow, so we are left to just having breakfast with him.  It's funny how Father's Day is.  You look at the cards in the Father's Day section, and they focus on (basically) four things:  golf, fishing, grilling, and beer.  I know that Mother's Day is a different kind of deal, but I can't help but notice this stuff.

On Mother's Day, most of the cards you see are either pretty flowery feminine ones, or else they are poking fun at how much we moms need a break.  But on Mother's Day, I don't know any moms who actually do get a break.  Father's Day, however, has not been driven to the same level in our society where we need to book brunch reservations two months in advance or help the kids make a breakfast for them to bring their dad in bed (which I think actually only happens on TV on Mother's Day--I've never known anyone that actually had this happen).

Fair or not, Father's Day passes by without much hurrah, other than the home improvement stores having huge sales.  Maybe the dads of the world are all right with that.  I suppose many men are uncomfortable with events where they are the center of attention, and let's be honest--I think a lot of dads that golf get plenty of golf time, dads that fish get fishing time, and dads that grill and drink beer get plenty of opportunities to do that as well.  We as a society don't pay enough attention to what these dads do that really does deserve celebration.

So I'm going to think about what my own hubby does that makes him exceptional.  Because I truly believe he is worthy of a Father's Day.

My husband is a fantastic Dad.  He is affectionate.  Aggressively affectionate.  He will squeeze them until it almost hurts.  If they are laying on the couch he will tell them how tired he is and then proceed to flop down over them and squish them while they giggle like crazy.  He tells them over and over, every day, that he loves them.  He still tucks them in at night, even though that has evolved to checking in on them, shutting their lights off, a quick chat and a wish for a good sleep.

He helps them with their homework.  When he is home in the evenings, it is usually him that sits with them to get through their homework.  He is the one that helped J come up with his science fair idea, and then helped him get it finished.  He has made multiplication flash cards for A, that A keeps in a special box in his room.  He tells them about what school was like for him, and truly understands when they are struggling in any way.

He jokes around with them.  He teases them, and teaches them to not take life too seriously.  He texts A things like, "you are a dork", and thinks it's hilarious when A sends back a similar dig.  He also teaches them to be kind, that bullying is one of the worst things a person can do, and gives them tips on how to be a good friend.

He is a coach.  He plays catch with them, both with a football and baseball.  He attends all their sporting events.  He gives them tips.  He watches sports with them.  He shows them videos of amazing plays.  He is proud of them, and they know he is.  He wrestles with them.  He throws the ball hard for them, teaching them to be unafraid.  He trusts them as they grow up, knows what they can handle and what they can't.

He is an unbelievably hard worker.  He works his full time job to support us, and he has made it possible for me to fulfill my dream of being a stay-at-home mom.  He bought this beautiful place for us to make our home, and has spent countless hours working on it, perfecting it, repairing it, restoring it, improving it.  He knows how to do everything.  I'm not joking.  Electrical projects, plumbing, landscaping, carpentry, concrete, working on machinery, auto maintenance, you name it.  I am endlessly impressed with him.

He is spiritual.  He has a strong faith in God and Heaven, and he is unashamed of his belief.  He feels a strong connection to loved ones we have lost.  He had a profound love for his mom, and it has made him the man he is.

He is crazy smart.  He reads newspapers from all over the world.  He is always aware of current events, politics, and economics.  He is extremely difficult to argue with because he is so well read.

He has endless patience for his kids and for me.  He has never, in the almost 19 years we have been together, spoken to me in anger.  And I can be irritating.  He is more patient with the boys than I am.  He is truly, truly kind and loving.

He is creative.  He writes.  He plays and creates music.  He has a twisted, story-telling mind.  He is funny.

He loves his wife.  No matter how chubby I feel.  He loves me.  He loves me even when I haven't showered in a couple days and I'm wearing grubby yoga pants.  He loves me when I haven't even thought about dinner and at 5:30 at night we're trying to figure out what to feed the kids.  He loves me even though I don't keep a perfect house and leave my bras on the floor.  He thinks I'm funny.  He thinks I'm creative.  He is proud of me when I can't bring myself to be proud of myself.  He makes me desperately wish I could see myself through his eyes.  He makes me feel like I'm a good mom.

I don't know what I'm going to give him tomorrow.  I got him a card.  I got him a DVD.  We're taking him to breakfast.  I can think of a couple other things, but I am not going to write them here....

All I know is I am blessed.  I got the best of the best.  I don't know how I managed it, but I did.  And there isn't a tie or a set of golf clubs that could thank him enough.

Happy Father's Day!

Summer 2012: So Far So Good.

Summer Day 3.  All is so, so good.  Major news in SuburbanFarmland.  My 10-year old, A, completed his first (non-cousin) sleepover last night!  Yay!  Applause!  He has never been invited to one before, and it had been a source of anxiety for him, since he thinks every other 10-year old on the planet has done millions of sleepovers.  His brother has been invited to several (but never completed one), but not him.  And so yesterday he was invited to play over at his buddy "R"'s house, and that alone was thrilling for him, but then, oh moment of moments, he was invited to sleep over.  It was the clouds breaking and a ray of sun shining directly down on him, and when he called to ask if he could and if I could bring him clothes, I could HEAR the giant smile on his face.  So of course we brought him some stuff and wished him well, trying to act all calm and cool.

R and his mom brought him home this morning at 10, and they all looked happy.  He had been taken to Applebee's for dinner, and they played and watched movies.  Mom said he was good and they had fun, and I of course said I want to have R over for a sleepover as soon as he's ready.

It was so normal and nice.  And a HUGE accomplishment for us here.  I want to thank R's mom for hosting him in a moment that, whether she knows it or not, he will remember forever.  It meant so much more than they all know over there.

In other news, I had the jewelry party.  It was lovely.  VERY small, but lovely.  Most people that were invited did not attend, but it really wasn't that bad.  I was expecting relatively poor attendance, being that it is the first weekend after school lets out for summer.  Grad parties, vacations, all that stuff definitely interferes.  But people, aside from myself and the jewelry hostess, we had four ladies.  Four.  So sad!  I won't say it was a fail, because I had a great time.  Two of my SIL's were there, and two of my friends.  My little chihuahua buddy was there of course (because I would have dragged her here by her hair if she threatened to not come), and another mom friend of mine, who if you're reading this, we should get together minus kids sometime for a cocktail.  I sense that we were sisters in another life.  So it was a very comfy group.

After the party, though, as I was cleaning up (easy job since the party was so miniature), I decided I need to entertain again.  Soon.  I freaking love throwing a party, and I want to have one where people just come to hang.  Not to buy stuff.

One of the best things about living out here is the party potential.  Three of the four ladies that came to my party brought their kiddos.  So we had a 15-year old, a 12-year old, two 10-year olds, two 9-year olds, and a seven-year old here.  All boys.  And we really never saw them.  They were out shooting hoops or playing catch or driving the golf cart or playing nerf dart war or whatever the hell boys do the entire time. And when they were inside they went directly down to the basement for junk food and video games.  So we could just have our girlie party with no kids, even though they were there.

So I need to do this more often.  Give the parents a break.  Have people come out here, grill some meat and drink some beer, and relax while the kids run around like lunatics so they're so tired they fall asleep in the car on their way home.  Doesn't that sound LOVELY????  I think so.  Who's in?

Are You There God? My Kid is Learning About Puberty!

It's 11:45 on a Tuesday night and I'm still awake.  If you know me well enough you know that's not normal for me.  My hubby works overnight shifts once a week, and I don't sleep well when he's gone.  This is something I would not normally put out there in the blogosphere, but for those of you creepos who are thinking of sneaking up and robbing me in the middle of the night when hubby is at work earning our money, keep in mind that I have a dog who loves us and I'm a good shot with a shotgun.

Another reason I'm still awake is my OCD tendencies.  I should never play computer games.  I have this obsessive thing with them.  I don't play them that much, but I have a few on my iPad that call to me.  Words with Friends, and Drawing with Friends are fun, I play them.  But they don't obsess me.  I have a problem with Solitaire.  I don't play it often, but when I do, I can't stop until I win a round.  I just won a round, and it took me a long time.  So it's late, and I also watched two episodes of Parenthood on the computer.  I am currently in mad love with that show.  It so depicts all the ups and downs of parenting, as well as growing toward middle age, relationships with siblings, and the tangled relationships we have as adults with our parents.  I.  Love.  It.

So here I am, after a touch of wine, feeling my body shut down and get ready to sleep.

I had my WW meeting today.  I lost .6 pounds, so I am at a whopping total of 9.4 pounds.  It's pretty awesome how that scale keeps inching down, slowly but surely.  Not without a hiccup, but still.  Progress is progress.

I was thrilled to see another mom friend today at my meeting.  Sweetie, you know who you are, and don't think I was kidding about stalking you with Words with Friends once you get that shiny new iPhone.  It was great to see her pretty face there and sit next to her, with the added instant bond of trying to shed some extra baggage.  Her kid and my kid are in the same grade, at the same school, and are buddies.  He was actually one of the first kids my A actually considered a "friend", so he (and his wonderful mom who is raising him) will always hold a place in my heart.  For those of you who are new to my little blog, you can read about my A here.

We have two days left of this school year.  And today was a pretty exciting day.  J got to go to the Science Museum for an all-day field trip, and A had his "puberty video".

Yup.  The Puberty Video.

If you have a second, check out this awesome old sex ed video.

I remember when I was in fifth grade, I had the Menstruation Video.  A is in fourth grade, but I guess that seems appropriate, since things are happening faster these days with the young whippersnappers.

Seriously. Check this out.

Holy Cow this is the
actual booklet I had!

My menstruation video was super awesome.  It was ancient, even in the 80's.  It was a filmstrip.  Parents were invited to attend, and horror of horrors, my mother actually did.  Sheesh.  We learned that we would be entering that beautiful time soon, when our bodies would start to grow and turn into woman bodies instead of girl bodies.  We would grow breasts, and have that beautiful, wonderful thing called menstruation.  Where we would wear a super comfy plastic belt with hooks on it that would be attached to a giant maxi pad to collect all of whatever it was that would happen during this "menstruation", and that yes, we could swim during our "period"!  And participate in gym class!  And it would be beautiful and natural, and we would feel so great about it.

I had read "Dear God, It's Me, Margaret", by Judy Blume.  And all the rest of the Judy Blume books.  They were a much better education for me about all that junk that the stupid film strip.  However, unlike Margaret, I was NOT looking forward to getting my period, and my girlfriends and I did NOT sit around wishing for it and doing exercises to make our boobs grow.  (Not that I didn't try in the privacy of my own room, mind you.)  I did not get info from my mom.  I think she was avoiding that subject very carefully and just hoping that the school would give me the information I needed, and she just put a box of pads in the bathroom closet for me to find if I needed them.  Great.  I had inspected them and discovered that they did not have that belt (the filmstrip was made in the 60's, for God's sake), and that I could probably figure it out when I needed to.

That was the sum total of my sex ed.  I then discovered on my own that "menstruation" is a giant pain in the ass.  It is not beautiful, and I did not feel like a lady.  I felt grossed out by my own body, and to this day I resent that I have to get it, and can't wait to get an ablasion so I don't have to have it anymore.  The ONLY time I have been happy about it is a few times during college, and a few times after we had J.  Ahem.

And although I learned in fifth grade that I would be growing boobs, I was not fortunate enough to see them until after 9th grade.  I was flat as a board at the end of junior high, and magically blossomed during the summer to enter high school with a relatively good rack.  Sweet.  They were late, but I was happy with them.

This morning at the bus stop (yes, we have a lot of our important family discussions out there), A told me he was going to watch his "Puberty Video!" today.  So matter of fact.  I love that kid.  J asked what puberty was, and I told him that it was the time in your life when your body decides to take you from being a little kid to being a teenager, and that it takes a couple years.  I told them that they'd be starting to grow some hair in some new places eventually, like in their armpits and their privates, and once they started getting fuzzy faces they'd have to start shaving.  And that all sorts of new things start happening with their bodies, but that it's all normal, everybody goes through it, and we're here if they want to ask us anything.  I said that my body is different from theirs, so they can ask their dad if they're more comfortable, but I'll help them as much as I can if they want me to.  And they can certainly ask me about the whole girl side of things.

So A says, "we don't get to watch the girl video because they get to see how boobs grow.  But I wish I could watch that one too."  Again, refreshing honesty.

All I know is that I hope I can maintain an open line of communication through all this.  I grew up with parents who did NOT know how to talk about all this with us.  It was a generation thing, I know, but I hope I can start a new tradition of open dialog.  It's going to be tricky because of how far it is out of my comfort zone, but I think I'm doing all right so far.  I just hope I can keep my composure when the trickier questions start coming my way.

I have heard from buddies that this video introduces topics like masturbation.  Deep breath.  I can handle that, right???  Sure I can.  It's all good.