Holidaze

Remember last time I was telling you about how Alex wasn’t feeling well and had become clingy? Well, it’s back BIG time. He’s sick (four days until Christmas) and stuck to my side again complete with “I’m Sexy and I Know It” looping on the iPad. In fact, he just asked me to get his pants off the ceiling (apparently he flung his pants so high this time they got stuck on the ceiling fan). At least it knocked some of the dust bunnies off so I didn’t have to dust. There’s always a flipside to having an obsessive-compulsive miniature stripper…

This time he is joined by middle child Simon. Simon only has a little ear infection and cold but enough for him to also want mommy. So much so that the other night they invaded my room en masse. As some of you may have seen from the photo, not only did they invade, they claimed it as part of the Monkies Empire complete with a flag raising par to Iwo Jima. Long live the kings. Anyway, since they are both congested it sounded like a Darth Vader convention. Hubby Shelby is smart and hightailed it for the big comfy couch. No sleep for me for two nights, great photo for Facebook, two doctor’s visits, three prescriptions filled, and a partridge in a pear tree.

I also have to pause here to also reflect on my loser-parent-moment-of-the-day. While trying to corral my offspring, pay the bill, and get all the paperwork, a charming Asian couple came in with adorable twin daughters, about four years old, in matching party dresses. Not only are the girls polite and well-behaved, the parents are loaded down with a huge tray of gourmet pastries and a ginormous chocolate cake complete with ganache. If I searched hard enough, I might have had a piece of month-old gum in my purse but I don’t think that would have held up in the competition. Next, the violin playing darlings spring forth with “Happy Holidays!” in unison and them proceed to tell the good doctor “I love you!” What I failed to mention was that while they were saying it, they were also signing it. Apparently, sign language as well as violin are electives being taught at their preschool. The mother sees the miniature candy canes the doctor is giving out and asks if she can have two for the girls. The nurse asks if the girls like it to which the mom replies that they have been discussing candy canes are party of Christmas. Okay. Then is comes out that her girls don’t know how to eat candy because they are never given any because it causes cavities. This while I’m giving both my children their SECOND lollipop to keep them quiet. Let’s all say it together – EPIC FAIL!

And of course, we can’t leave my dear teenager out of the spotlight. You know that adage about cleanliness being close to G-dliness? If that statement is true, Christopher must be roommates with Beelzebub. He leaves a trail of food, packaging, clothing, books, etc. that rivals Hansel & Gretel. Not only is he a slob but has become the ring leader of the neighborhood pee-wee gang. While each of the members are relatively polite, moral, and ethical children; put them together and they collectively have the I.Q. of a butter dish. Prime example: at about 5:30 p.m. my neighbor, the mother of a few of the other members, appears at my door wanting “a word with me.” Oh crap! There are few words that strike fear in my hearts but those are at the top of my list – especially knowing my children like I do. Apparently, the lawn guy of another neighbor just finished spiffing up their yard before Christmas and three of the wee gangsters basically decimated the gravel driveway addition and he, rightly so, wanted them to fix it. I assured the good lady that they would be down tout de suite and walked her to the door. It took all I could to keep from wringing their necks ala Homer & Bart Simpson style. Instead I asked them in that whisper yell what in the hell they were thinking? Clearly, they weren’t!

As they scurried off to do the time for their crime, I tried to get Alex to sit tight in the warm house of which he wanted no part. Fine. We high off down to street to assess the damage. Let me just say an IED couldn’t have sprayed these little black granite rocks any further. They were all over the street, covering the concrete driveway, peppered throughout the lawn and flowerbeds – while I know it’s the season, I am truly convinced the miracle this year was that no windows were broken or eyes put out. Or that my two didn’t get potched till they couldn’t sit down! So the accused set out to right their wrong. With a little help from a couple of parental units, everything was righted. Even after their hard time and a good long, painful lecture, they are back at the video games in the comfort of their own living room. Little pishers!

If any of you out there are looking for the sentimental ending that I usually apply here, sorry – ain’t happenin’. There is nothing uplifting or endearing about the past few days. As I am writing this my two oldest miscreants are playing “Call of Duty: Black Ops.” The middle is acting as the strategist while the oldest is the implementing soldier and they are eerily on target and accurate. I don’t know if I should be afraid or apply camo face paint, find a strategic vantage point, and reload the Nerf gun. If I survive the invasion of the Monkies Empire over the next few days, I’ll keep you posted. Otherwise, send in the gendarmes and look for the next blog in exile…

Family OR The Ties That Bind

A few weeks ago, youngest Alex felt hot and complained of a sore throat – voila, 102° temperature and red tonsils. Since he was supposed to have his well-child check-up the next day, I decided to use it to see if the doctor thought it was a well-child or sick-child. Regardless, he couldn’t go to school. Fast forward 24 hours later and a diagnosis of a virus that must run its course, we wake up to oldest Christopher’s fever and a recurrence of Alex’s. Oh happy day! For the second day in a row, I go into work for an hour or two and return home to telecommute.

A side story must be injected here for anyone to clearly enjoy the irony in this story. Our babysitter’s first grandchild was born that Monday morning. Unfortunately, the baby was premature and had a few issues that, thankfully, the doctors think will right themselves over time. Of course I told Cecilia to spend the week with her daughter and granddaughter – seriously, what could we possibly need? Here is where I am kicking myself for saying these words. Before noon of the second day of self-imposed incarceration, I was ready to lock my “sick” children outside. While my pediatrician doesn’t even take a fever call until it hits 104, youngest Alex’s school takes this fever thing rather seriously. A fever of ANYTHING over 98.6 (aka 98.7) requires a troop of ubber-cadets like that in the movie “Monsters, Inc.” when there was the smallest exposure between a monster and a human child and they swoop in and decontaminate more than Mr. Clean could even fathom!

Fast forward and, thankfully, everyone is better. Pooh-pooh – not to jinx it, just sayin’. However, even with everyone well, there was a little too much together time for even the Waltons. Ever since his “illness,” Alex has yet to leave my side. He follows me EVERYWHERE! I know I should be thankful for this phase because all too soon he will come to consider me a Neanderthal and only expect food, money, and a ride from me. I haven’t even been able to take a shower without my faithful sidekick. That is until just the other day. We were actually in the shower when I bent over to pick up the dropped soap and I hear him exclaim, “WOW! That’s a big butt!” Lately, he’s been locked on the other side of the bathroom door and his only comment has been, “Mommy, are you coming out?”

So as I start my diet, the holiday season is upon us. Clearly there is irony in my sad state of affairs. While I’m trying to diminish my derriere, I decide it’s time to start decorating. This year for some reason I just want to get everything up so I can relax. Hubby brings down the five thousand tubs of décor and I start to promptly unpack to kick start this endeavor. The next day, Christopher is gone all day to a Bat Mitzvah, Shelby is at work, the younger two are occupied, so I decide to continue the process. Up and down the attic ladder hauling a few loads until I smell something foul. I grabbed the wreath bag and head down only to have the smell follow me. I then discovered that it was from the bag which had urine and small animal droppings. Shelby kept telling me he heard something in the attic at night but I regularly pepper the attic with mothballs to keep attic rodents (a.k.a. squirrels) at bay.

So I get my Clorox wipes and clean it off only to be repelled by an even more intense odor when I opened the bag. Apparently the urine went through the zipper and onto all the wreaths and garlands. For those hunter-gather types that douse themselves in deer urine before climbing into a hunting blind, you know how unique that smell is. Well that may be fine when you are hunting but not for my holiday décor. After taking the bag outside and washing everything down with a liberal application of soap, water, clean wipes, and Lysol, I went in to prepare for war. I grabbed my flashlight and mothballs and headed for the attic – I was going to show them who was queen of the attic.

As I start slinging mothballs, I noticed a box right next to where the wreath bag had been. As I shined my flashlight into it, I found it was filled with torn plastic and paper. What in the hell was in there? Let me take you back a few years to Hurricane Ike. Remember when the National Guard was handing out ice and MREs? For those of you not familiar with the military and their need to create acronyms for everything, and I mean EVERYTHING (for instance instead of “car” we have a POV which stands for “privately owned vehicle” - see?), an MRE stands for “meals ready to eat” and consist of dehydrated shrink-wrapped courses complete with some type of warming system similar to those things you crack in half and put in your gloves when it’s cold only this version is on steroids. Well, when we were in the ice line, a nice soldier asked if we needed any of these meals to which my Army-obsessed Christopher shouts out a resounding, “Yes!” In goes a case and off we go. We ate a few of them for kicks and grins but after the electricity came back on we abandoned the case until sometime later. In a round of cleaning I was about to toss them, when darling Christopher begs me to put them with the camping gear because they would make such GREAT meals for his scouting excursions. So up in the attic they go. Until today. I can’t wait till he gets home because he gets to get the box out of the attic and clean the area. So if your child ever says “Please, these would be great for camping!” the translation of that phrase is “Mom this would make great attic rodent bait so they can pee and poop on your holiday decorations!” Loosely translated, of course.

Ahhh, the holidays. I’m sure this will be the first of many interesting events as the holiday season continues. However, as I’m going through the photos of the past year trying to put together the holiday card, I am reminded by all these types of incidents that at the time painful, frustrating, aggravating – you fill in the word, but we can later look back and laugh. They’re our memories. Family memories of times that go by way too fast and are often not appreciated until they are long gone. These are the ties that bind us and THIS is what I signed up for.

Happy Thanksgiving OR I live in a frat house!

So this is the last day of our four day Thanksgiving “holiday” and I have never been more thankful for my office. Don’t get me wrong – I am ever so thankful and grateful for my husband and children. Just not in these doses. Hubby Shelby has worked every day but Thanksgiving day. The children, of course, have been delightful. HAH!

Youngest Alexander has become obsessed with the song, “I’m Sexy and I Know It” to the point I walked into the living room while he’s watching the video only to see him throw his pajama bottoms on the floor and sing the chorus at the top of his lungs. To fully appreciate this scenario, I suggest you Google the video if you haven’t seen it already. The band is appropriately named LMFAO. Yes, yet another nomination for my “Mother of the Year” award.

Of course, all of them are sheer models of manners and social etiquette. Just last night Alex and Simon decided to share a bubble bath and fought over the bubbles. REALLY?!?! Bubbles? Sheesh! And just this morning, I learned that Jell-O is an acceptable hors des oeuvres to be eaten with your fingers. Who knew?

So I try to be the good mother and take Alex to see the Polar Express 4D Experience at the zoo. I figure it would be good “Mommy-Alex” time while the two oldest spent the night at the in-laws. That might have been true except for the pouring rain but we decided a little precipitation wouldn’t stop us. As we trod through the zoo in our yellow slickers, Alex found every lake-sized puddle to splash through so by the time we got to the theater, both of our lower extremities were soaked. Not only were we cold and wet but the entire experience freaked out Alex so much that all he wanted was to go home. Here’s that second nomination opportunity.

Let me go ahead and propose a third opportunity: when we got to the car, Alex was so soaked and cold that he really needed another change of clothes. My dearest hubby continually makes fun of my MMEB (Mommy Makeshift Emergency Bag) which contains everything from adult shirts to travel-sized board games to blankets and tissue. So what do we do? He strips down to his underwear and puts on a polo, hops in his car seat, and covers up with the blanket after strapping in and is as happy as a clam. HOWEVER, I desperately need to make a stop for certain female purchases. Alex doesn’t want to go home and leave again so I am forced to take him to the dollar store in his “dress” – yes, this is the third nomination. I’m sure you can form a visual image here

As I’m writing this, everyone under the age of majority is dressed in only their underwear while arguing over who can beat up the others. We have also seen a rather bizarre twist on who is bothering whom when middle child Simon informs oldest Christopher that if he wouldn’t bother him while he plays his video game, he wouldn’t “smack” him. A friend of mine recently reminded me that certain animals eat their young. I’m starting to think that I really need to watch more of the Animal Planet channel, take notes, and implement some strategic plans…

Don’t get me wrong, I am truly thankful for these three heathens. I have a couple of friends that are having a very difficult time trying to have children and another who is trying to cope with the difficulties that come with being a step-parent. While it TOTALLY sends me over the edge to constantly walk through the house picking up wrappers and dishes or to come to terms with the fact that I will never fully appreciate the fine art of burps or farts, I am thankful. I am blessed. While this isn’t what I ever envisioned it to be, it is so much for what I am thankful. I hope you all had a happy and healthy Thanksgiving!

Rain, rain, go away OR The Electronic Ties That Bind

Today, it is pouring down rain and I escaped to write – yeah for me! Honestly, that in and of itself says something – I haven’t written since it last rained in Houston, like, what, four months ago?!?! This fact, and a few more interesting/mundane things depending on how you look at it left me with a few epiphanies.

First, I, like most parents, really need to carve out more “me” time. I really do enjoy writing but I’m usually so exhausted at the end of the day I can’t get more than a few words out, let alone something witty. I also need to exercise more as clearly pointed out by my offspring. During this rain-enforced house arrest, I was telling the kiddos to do something for the umpteenth-thousand time. One of them made some wisecrack and I retorted something along the lines of “Yeah, my big fat touche!” Oldest Christopher, who is a little more savvy in the ways of making points, was quick to defend my derriere by saying that is was neither big nor fat. Middle Simon, on the other hand, jumped in with his opinion, “Mommy, it’s just small and chubby.” Thank you, I think…

Apparently, the solid day of rain has caused all parents and children to develop a case of cabin fever. When I was doing my best to corral my bunch into watching a movie, the doorbell rang. Apparently, some of our good neighbor friends had had enough and ordered everyone to do something. I’m sure the children asked what in the world were they supposed to do, after all, like all our children, they have what costs, way more terms of toys, games, videos, etc., than the GNP of any third world country. To which, the parents said, “I don’t know? Go play in the rain!” Which is exactly what they did and exactly how my darlings decided to follow suit. Fine, until the thunder and lightening. While most of you know I am an extremely laid back parent, bordering on what some would consider apathetic, thunder and lightening deems a calling home. Maybe it is from my days as a life-guard, but I don’t mess around with G-d’s light show. Soooo, warm bubble baths for everyone. At this point it is only a little after 2:00 p.m. Silly me, and I’d planned on a nap.

Then all hell broke loose. First, Simon apparently swallowed a rather great deal of bubbles and proceeded to gag and throw up IN the bath. Alex had to go pee and flushed the toilet which proceeded to overflow. While trying to get Simon out of the tub, we noticed that the water wasn’t draining. Meanwhile back at the ranch, I had to use the restroom and, upon flushing, the toilet in MY bathroom overflowed. At this point, I have to fill you in on the story-before-the-story. About a week ago, Youngest Alexander decided that he wasn’t getting enough attention and “pretended” to poop in his pants. Once we stopped whatever we were doing to acknowledge him, we found that he had actually stuck something in his underwear for the pretend poop. He then ran as fast as he could into my bathroom, threw whatever it was into the toilet and flushed it. Thus, the plumbing issues that ensued.

After removing the toilet from its place in the bathroom and rotor-routing from the hole in the floor AND the overflow outside in the pouring rain, whatever it was must have gotten flushed out to the sea. After all, as we learned in “Finding Nemo”, all drains lead to the ocean. While Hubby Shelby ran to Lowe’s to get the new seal to re-install the toilet, I came across a copy of my latest and greatest fav from the Border’s liquidation sale – “Sh*t My Kids Ruined” by Julie Haas Brophy. Not only did reading this book make me feel better about my natural inability to parent, I actually felt there was hope! This book has gained such notoriety that there is even a Facebook page were people can contribute their own stories. After reading some of these stories, even the marker on the new leather couch and the penciled-in “Chrisland” on the hallway door don’t make me cringe anymore!

Whew! While I didn’t get a nap, I did get to spend some good quality time with my kids. Alex was on the computer in the boy’s room playing a Dora game, Simon was on his top bunk with the iPad, Christopher was stretched out with me on the bottom bunk with his iPod, and I typed away on the laptop. While I am not normally a fan of the electronic gadgets that pull my children into an alternative universe of which I am not a part, today we were all in the same room, together, enjoying the sound of the rain. Every now and then, someone would need help with their chosen activity to which one of us would good naturedly hop up and help before returning to our own little world. While I would have much rather had everyone together outside at the zoo or the park or whatever, this was good. THIS is what I signed up for!

Growing up OR Where has the time gone?

I’m baaack! Several of you have chided me for not writing sooner and I’m so sorry. Believe me there have been plenty of mommy moments I’ve wanted to share with my online friends. While the calendar is signaling to all that another school year is winding down, no one would know it from the string of activities scheduled during this month or by the sheer mileage I’ve put on my vehicle in the past few weeks. I’ve been scouring the law books at local, state, and national levels and I just can’t seem to find the law that says we have to cram every possible recital, game, presentation, carnival, appreciation dinner, birthday party, fun run, etc. into a four week period called “May” (See, from the date, I obviously started this two months ago!).

Little Alexander has chosen a new favorite word: butthole. While I admit that I am none too thrilled about his choice of verbage, I am glad it isn’t one of the other colorful words I’m sure he’s learned from his pre-teen older brother and friends. Not only that, but he has the ability to shout this at the top of his lungs in either the most inappropriate place i.e. the grocery store, in front of my matronly neighbor, a restaurant or when I am at my whits end. I had a particularly frustrating and busy day last week and was NOT in the mood. After refusing to let Alex eat a fifth popsicle, it started. Here is the basic transcript of the conversation:
“Mommy, you a butthole!”
I responded with, “No. YOU are the butthole!”
Alex retorted, “NO, YOU ARE THE BUTTHOLE!”
So I launched an offensive with, “Let’s see. I let you eat FOUR popsicles before, during, and after dinner. By most kids’ standards, that makes me a damn good mom. And since you are being greedy and arguing with me that makes YOU the butthole!”
His response: “Fine!” and off he walked. Score one for the mommy team!
Of course, my dear hubby is laughing his head off observing this exchange. His contribution, “Which one of you is the adult?” I agree that this was one of my less than stellar parenting moments and totally didn’t model the behavior I wanted, but deep down I felt much better. Look, I figure my kids will all end up in therapy. If I’m paying, I might as well give them something to talk about…

WOOHOOO! I have to take a moment to brag – we are FINALLY pooping in the potty! Yeah us! As someone whose first two kids really potty trained themselves, I was drawing a blank as to how to train youngest Alex. At three and a half, the little guy was wearing underwear all the time – during the day, at night, on trips – EXCEPT for when he needed to poop. At which point, he would announce his intentions and ask for a Pull-Up diaper in which to do the deed. He even got to the point where he would run to his room, get the Pull-Up, change himself (even putting his pants back on over the diaper), hide behind the treadmill, do his business, come back out and announce he needed to be cleaned. SERIOUSLY? I mean who does that? But as we learn, Junior has learned how to manage the scales of control at an early age. By golly, Alex was going to be in total charge of some part of his life. Regardless of the fact that he is often flung in the car to tag along with his older brothers or carted to the grocery store because he can’t be left alone, the baby needs attention and control – and he found it.

So the other day, I duck into the loo to use the facilities. No sooner had I shut the door did little fists start pounding on the door with the standard cry of “Let me in!” and “Open the door – I need to go poo-poo!”. My initial response was to merely tell him to go get his Pull-Up. But when he responded that he wanted to go poo-poo in MY potty, well, let’s just say I was up and out of there with more skill than a Mission Control launch at Cape Canaveral. So as soon as I opened the door, he ran in, threw the potty seat on the toilet, positioned the step stool to prime step location, and hopped on – and proceeded to tell me he to get out. Well, long story short, he did the deed and hasn’t looked back. We were in the grocery store the other day and went down the diaper aisle when he started with, “We need more Pull-ups,” and concluded with “Wait, I’m a big boy and don’t need Pull-ups!” WOOHOO! Mission accomplished!

But here’s the flip side to my baby’s developmental milestone: the kid has mastered the iPhone/iPad technology BEFORE he pooped in the potty. What the heck? Seriously, though, I even used the lure of “Angry Birds” on one of the devices as an incentive to poop in the potty and he outsmarted me! “Yes, I’ll poop in the potty if I can play ‘Angry Birds’ while I go potty.” What BS! He played me faster than that a blackjack dealer in Reno. He plays his game, hops off the potty, and announced he didn’t need to go. See, control. In fact, yesterday when the big boys ran out the front door to play with the neighbor kids, Alex made a bee-line for the door with them. He did stop only to look forlornly out of the window. I called out that he couldn’t go in the front yard without an adult to which he responded, “Yes, I can – it’s my destiny.” I know he’s little but when did he turn into Yoda?

Last week I went to New Orleans to meet Shelby who had just finished a conference. We went through the old neighborhood, stopped at some local food and drink joints and met up with old friends. After the past few months, it was nice to get away and just BE. No kids, no house, no chores – and aside from the insane amount of work e-mails (I was only away from Houston for 28 hours and that was because of traffic – doesn’t anyone know the definition of “vacation”? Just sayin’…) – it was relaxing. Something I haven’t done, and I bet most parents don’t do, often enough. But here’s the funny part: I had an epiphany while we were sitting in this great little deli/grocery/seafood shop on Andrew Higgins in the CBD. While we ate, I “thumbed” through the images on the camera that we had taken over the past year. During this sentimental journey, I couldn’t help but wonder where the year went.

There were pictures of the first day of school – oy vey! Number one on the leader board for most desirable need of anxiety disorder drugs was my oldest’s matriculation into middle school. He went from a graduating class of 27 at a religious-based independent school to a public school comprised of three separate programs/schools that wrangled a total of almost 1400 kids! All together now – HOLY SHIT! After I got over the initial shock, I enjoyed the year in pictures. First day of school, Boy Scouts, Cub Scouts, Mitzvah Days, Karate belt advancements, trips to the zoo, holidays, and the basic mundane moments I wanted to keep into perpetuity. I simply couldn’t believe the year had gone by so fast – and it wasn’t like I wasn’t part of it. I attended every presentation, chaperoned every field trip, cheered for poops but it just seemed to go all too fast.

While there are times that I really want to check my self into the psych ward or run away to the Bahamas (yes, I do occasionally yearn for a nurse or a cabana boy named Paco who will deliver my tea/boat drinks), all it takes is a bad day or trip away to know what is really important. Yes, the po-boys and mint juleps WITHOUT kids were great. But at the end of our trip or at the end of today’s frustrations that left me at a point that would either having me jumping off a bridge or going “9 to 5” and putting rat poison in someone’s coffee, the only thing that made me feel better was going home to my family. Granted, I drove into my driveway and sat in the car crying for 15 minutes. But I went in and when I saw my family – and flashed backed to how far we came together this year – I realized that there was, truly, no place like home. At the end of it all, THIS is what I signed up for!

Mother’s Day OR Just Another Day in Paradise

I have really got to stop multi-tasking. As usual, time slipped away again until I had the realization that, *gasp* holy crap!, Mother’s Day was a scant few days away. Aside from the constant barrage of reminders, a.k.a. nagging, for my husband to go get a card for his mother, I hadn’t even begun the search of what to get my mom. Now mind you, she lives in Oklahoma so not only do I have to figure out what to get her on a minuscule budget I also have to take into account the time it takes to ship it for appropriate arrival time. Trust me when I say failure to arrive on time is not an option here. One particular Mother’s Day comes to mind when, because the delivery person got lost and the flowers didn’t arrive until well after dark, I got a number of phone calls throughout the course of the day “thanking me” for “remembering” with the non-existent gift I sent. Love ya, Mom! These days I try to plan ahead. So much so that when she called to thank me for the TWO orders of flowers I sent, I nearly plotzed. I really thought I had placed multiple orders when I was comparison shopping and anxiously checked my bank account for what I was assured would amount to a house payment. Luckily, the flower company merely split the order in two for shipment purposes. By the way, Mom loved the flowers.

So, what happened here at the zoo? Trust me when I say it was blissfully calm and uneventful. Sorry to let you all down. There were no Legos in the microwave or snake in the gerbil cage. In fact, they didn’t even fight over the video games. I know what you’re all thinking, and, NO, I didn’t drug them. I swear – we’re out of Benadryl even if I had wanted to do it. Instead, my in-laws took the older two bowling and swimming on Saturday and hubby got tickets for me and youngest Alex to see “Thomas Saves the Day” on stage at Jones Hall.

Aside from the small ransom I paid for a Thomas hat, keychain, and an inflatable booster seat that looks like it was left over from a Budweiser Super Bowl party and was a pain to navigate with through the crowd, we had an amazing time. I can’t describe the feeling of watching the sheer joy light up his face every time a train came on the stage or he got to make a whistle sound with the audience. I’ve been fortunate enough to watch each child go through this at this age: Christopher saw “Blues Clues Live” and Simon had “A Day Out with Thomas.” It is such a surreal age between the time they move from that magical world of childhood to the concrete literal world in which they will reside for the rest of their lives. It’s the salad days, the ones we have to cherish because they are so fleeting. And I mean on the wings of an F-14. No sooner had we left the theatre and got in the car did Alex throw a screamin’ meme fit because the inflatable booster seat wouldn’t fit in the car seat for him to sit on for the ride home. In fact, he screamed his disagreement with me all the way from Jones Hall, down Texas Ave., through Memorial Park, and half way down 610. But then, magically the tears stopped and he asked if we could go to the beach. Go figure. Cybil has struck again.

I recently read an interview with Eve Branson, Sir Richard’s mother. When asked if he was naughty in school, she replied, “Let's say he was unusual at school. We didn't know whether he was 99 percent stupid and 1 percent rather exceptional. We hung on to that 1 percent. Not everybody would want a son like that, but I'm quite glad now, mind you.”
You know, when each of my children were in their early days of toddlerhood, I was convinced that I knew what kind of person they were going to be. Christopher, who basically walked out of my womb waving behind him has actually become the more reserved one who really is happiest if no one moves his cheese. He also carries the weight of the world on his shoulders and would give anyone the shirt off his back. Simon – I thought he would NEVER leave my side and would crawl back in if I turned my head. At one time, he was a student in my toddler class for a semester and I swear I thought he was going to put up bollards, barbed wire fencing, and a guard station around me so he was the only person who could get near me. Now? I barely get a kiss when he goes off to school and his newest form of entertainment is jumping off the roof. As for Alex, I haven’t got a clue. His teachers tell me he is a delightfully sweet child. I still don’t think they know which child in the class is mine.

But what I do know is that I am so blessed, everyday, to be their mom. They drive me nuts but out of the blue, Alex walks up to me, cups my face in his hands, and asks me if I’m happy. When I tell him that I am he smiles the smile of an angel while throwing his arms around me and professing “I love you, Mommy!” One minute Christopher is the pre-teen smart aleck that roles his eyes at every statement/request I make – clearly I have regressed to the Neanderthal state to which most parents of pre-teens and teens have been relegated. The next I hear, “Mommy, watch!” as I look up in time to see the soft pride radiating from his face that could light up the night sky as he perfects his latest skate board trick – he actually wants ME to watch and SHARE in his victory. During the day, Simon rushes in to school to be with his friends never looking behind him, but at night, all he wants to do is climb up next to me on the couch or in my bed and create his cocoon of warmth and safety that can only come from a Mommy and still being able to have his favorite blankies without outside judgment.

So as Mother’s Day winds down, I walk through the quiet house and breathe in the smell of family and am reminded of my special day. Shelby worked today and I literally spent the whole day in my pajamas with my only productive act being to warm up the chicken nuggets for lunch – in the microwave. We watched movies, took naps, tickled and laughed, played, and just existed in our little bubble. I know that there will be days in the somewhat near future that each child will be further and further away until there might not be anyone here with me on Mother’s Day. But until that time, I will cherish each argument and fight. I will remember with love the trips to the E.R. when I was the one they clung to during the ordeal. I will appreciate the opportunity to be the only adult in the family that actually knows the location of the orthodontist, which child takes what medicine and how much, and which one likes pepperoni and which one hates mushrooms. I will slow down and revel in the moment instead of hoping it rushes by more quickly. I am determined to see and appreciate the little things that are discovered during exploration – things I have forgotten like a snapdragon, a bird’s feather, and a doodlebug. When things get insane as they so often do, I will remind myself just how lucky I am and how thankful I am for my beautiful, amazing and definitely not average children.

Is this the boy I knew? OR Just when I thought I had succeeded...

I’m baaaaaaaccccckkkk! I know, I really do feel bad. I have had a number of mommy-moments that needed expressing but were pre-empted by my schoolwork. Thankfully, I have finished my two-month long thesis and only have one more month on this particular ring of Dante’s Inferno to go before exiting the halls of higher learning. My offsprings, on the other hand, are just getting started. Knowing what I know now, I quite frequently want to smack the bejeebers out of them for being so flippant and carefree. “Don’t you have to do the research for your dinosaur project?” “It’s already done.” OR “What’s going on with the “Tangerine” book project?” “Oh, it’s done – so now I don’t have any homework.” REALLY? Do they think I’m that stupid? Okay, fine, don’t answer that.

I have reached an epiphany – I am roommates with the cast and crew of the television and movie series “Jackass”. For those of you with teenage boys and/or immature spouses, you know to what I’m referring. For those of you that lack the subjugation to the “Y” chromosome, let me explain. This show features actor/stuntman Johnny Knoxville and his crew of miscreants and features the dreams of all adolescent boys/men. This motley crew pulls pranks on unsuspecting bystanders and juvenile stunts such as skiing down hill on a toilet. For those of you who are familiar with Jeff Foxworthy’s bit on stupid stunts that start with “Here, hold my beer and watch this!” well, let’s just say this takes it a step further.

During Spring Break, we had what pundits are calling a “staycation.” In other words, we were stuck at home because hubby had to work, I had homework, and neither one of us had any money. Anyway, one of our “fun” family projects was to rebuild the kids’ fort. This was no kit from Lowe’s. No sirree – this was Julie-designed and built. Surprisingly, it turned out just as planned and was actually safe and steady. Perhaps because it was built by a woman, but I digress. Anyway, first order of business was to impart the rules of the new fort. Most importantly was no jumping off or on to the trampoline from the fort which sits about five feet off the ground. After a rousing chorus of “Yes, ma’am!” I went in to start dinner.

No sooner had I put on the pasta, did I hear the cries, “Geronimo!” And what were the little darlings doing? “Getting down” from the fort by “lunging” or “stepping” onto the trampoline. Really? But technically, “lunging” and “stepping” by definition were NOT “jumping” were the arguments posed to me. So does “beating the snot out of them” theoretically constitute “discipline”? Just kidding – NOT…

But that wasn’t to be the only “special” thing they decided to try. We got the Slip-n-Slide out since the pool wasn’t open and beach water was still a tad too cool. Clearly, after a few slips and a few slides, this particular apparatus began to lack the thrill factor that it initially had. “What to do? What to do?” swirled through their little collective pea-brain as their eyes scanned the yard only coming to rest on the BMX/skateboard ramps. Let me just say that it is peculiar feeling one gets in the gut upon witnessing a three year old being sent rocketing off a tabletop, down a ramp and across the yard. And what was the response I received after flinging open the back door and screaming at the top of my lungs, “WHAT IN THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” The only thing they had to say was “That was AWESOME!” to which the three year old responds by laughing hysterically while chanting “I do it again!” repeatedly. See, JACKASS!!!

There were some redeeming moments that appeared this past weekend that came just as I was about to put them out on the curb with a “Free to good home” sign. The synagogue of the school where I work hosts an annual “Mitzvah Day” in which teams of people go out into the city and perform various community service projects. This is no small feat – it takes hours of preparation and throngs of volunteers. This year I captained a small but determined team of individuals that went to the VA Hospital to play bingo with the residents, serve refreshments, and visit. As the Service Project Coordinator for my oldest son’s Boy Scout Troop, I extended the invitation to the Troop since this activity was relegated to people 12 years old and up. While I must say I was rather disappointed in the Troops involvement (only three Scouts participated), I was overwhelmed by the maturity and compassion of those that did.

Not only did they look dashing in their uniforms, they were helpful and cheerful and polite, and, well, NICE. They sat down and talked to the vets, served cookies, called the bingo games, and even helped to clean up when the event was over. More than once a vet stopped me and ask if the tall red head belonged to me. Then he would always follow with, “He’s a good boy. You should be proud of him!”

Later in the week, a tragedy befell our school community with the unexpected and tragic death of our recently retired elementary principal. Since I knew he would find out about it sooner or later, I told Christopher and we talked about it on the ride home one day. He tried to stay stoic like the little man he thought he was but I could see the tears begin to well in his eyes. The only thing he could think of was wasn’t there someone that could have helped her? Could we have done something? Even in talking about her death, he wanted to take action, to take care of her, to make it better. He also wanted to make sure that I picked him up from school so he would have time to go home and change before the memorial service a few days later.

As we sat there in the sanctuary yesterday afternoon, the Rabbi described the despair the deceased had felt at the end. Memories of my brother’s funeral came rushing back to me in an almost blinding manner. Christopher leaned over and put his head on my shoulder to comfort me. Later, as we stood, he reached out to pat me on the back as I heard the clear, bright words of kaddish come from his mouth. He stood there professing his belief in G-d and mankind with a dignity and maturity that belied his age. Who was this young man next to me? At that moment, I saw before me the man who was the boy I once knew and held in my arms.

Later, we went in to the reception where he shook hands with former classmates who, a year earlier, he had run around with on the playground acting like a banshee. He greeted former teachers with manners and aplomb. I was amazed – maybe I had done okay. Maybe he did hear the lessons I thought I taught in vain. This is what I imagined it would be like one day. THIS is what I signed up for.

P.S. Okay, dry your eyes because this sooooo doesn’t last, at least not yet. No sooner had he done the requisite sip-see-and-handshake, did he eye the dessert table. After almost running over a few small people and taking out the punch bowl, he reached the table only to pile his plate as tall as Kilimanjaro with baked goods, grabbed a Sprite and made a bee-line for the door. Just as we climbed into the car, he wiped the crumbs from his face, burped, and asked, “What’s for dinner?”

Physical vs. Mental OR Who knew this would be so hard?

As I take the last few minutes of my 36-hour allotment of sick time, I’m really considering claiming additional ailments, cough, cough, so I can just crawl back under the covers. The second grade stomach bug has torn through my house faster than Seattle Slew at the Derby. But really, that is the easiest thing I’m facing as a parent. Okay, so having youngest Alex throw up on me not once but twice, while in MY bed was not so fun and he got my pillow – my PILLOW! I have a rather deep-seated affection for my pillow that has had me turn the car around and add an additional 50 miles onto an eight hour trip just to retrieve said pillow from the previous night’s hotel. I’m just sayin’ – some things are sacred and we mommies don’t get much so we cling to what we have.

No, a stomach bug comes and goes but the other things seem to ebb and flow like the tide. Within the past few days, I’ve received e-mails from two of the oldests’ teachers. Once again, middle Simon had a rough time controlling himself and his emotions on a field trip and oldest Christopher is failing math. Not because he doesn’t understand it, but because he doesn’t feel like doing it – it’s boring. I don’t know which to smack first!

Just for an update, Christopher’s MRI series came back clean; his spine is okay at this point. The prognosis? He’s okay for now but will need a spinal x-ray every six to nine months until he is finished growing with occasional MRI’s to check the condition of the spine. As for Simon, he has an appointment with both a psychiatrist and a psychologist. Hopefully, we can get some answers soon for him. With Christopher, it is a clear picture: an x-ray or an MRI and we see what needs to be done. Not so with Simon, his is so much harder to understand.

For anyone that has dealt with mental, emotional, or neurological issues; the answers are not so easy to find. Nor is the stigma easier to deal with for either parent or child. When children act out or don’t pay attention, people look to the parents and wonder what it is that they aren’t doing or, in some instances, what are they letting the kids get away with. What people don’t know is what goes on behind the scenes. What we have tried – namely everything – is something from taking things away to rewards, from grounding to spanking, from screaming to extra dessert. While that may be hard on us as parents, what is really hard is what we see in the eyes of other people judging us for what they think we should or shouldn’t do. If I could write a card to pass out to people when those of us with challenging children were acting out, it would say this: I’m trying. I love this child with all my heart and all my soul. I am doing the very best I can to make it day to day. You should feel so lucky not to have to deal with what I deal with. But know that I am lucky to be the parent to this amazing wonderful child.

It’s not just strangers either. It’s the people that seem to know our families fairly well – the teachers, the extended family members, the clergy, the neighbors. I can’t tell you what it feels like to get that e-mail from a teacher just “letting you know” that he or she is concerned and wants us to talk about the child and his or her behaviour. Really? Do they think that we haven’t a clue? While I would love to be able to be that checked out, I would probably have to seriously up my meds so that I couldn’t function. My favorite is when they ask what can they do to make the situation better. Again, really? If I had that answer, I guaran-damn-tee you that I wouldn’t be sittin’ here typing this blog in my little house in Meyerland. I would have this info mass published and turned into a major motion picture, self-help video, book on tape, and iPhone app. Wouldn’t that be great? Just type into your phone the behaviour you want to quelch and out pops the answer on what you need to do? Move over Dr. Spock!

I guess my greatest fear is that one or more of my children will turn out like my brother. While he was a kind, wonderful person with amazing talents; he was tormented by his own demons. I sometimes see my brother in their actions and reactions and wonder what happened in his life that caused the pain and suffering to become so great that he suicided. I guess I also look back and see the way my mother enabled my brother to become the helpless person that he ultimately was and I am so afraid of becoming that parent too. Perhaps I shouldn’t have let that appointment with the shrink go today… But I think there are so many more forces at play than just what we parents do – or at least I’m hoping!

I also think birth order plays a huge role in the development of an individual’s personality. The birth of each subsequent child also assists in the development of one’s parenting styles. This birth order thing clearly is at play at my house. Youngest Alex commandeered my diet Coke while I was making lunch the other day. First, I didn’t bother to spring up and grab it out of his hand but instead watched as he gulped down a big swallow – I was also cooking spaghetti to freeze for supper one night this week which happens to be extremely busy. Priorities here. Second, I actually argued with him over the notion of whose Coke it was. My precocious three year old informed me that, “Actually, this my diet Coke. I buy it with my money.” Really? Oh how things have changed… Oldest Christopher never even tasted Sprite until he was around five. He didn’t drink juice because, at the time, we didn’t think the nutritional value was equal to that of a serving of fresh fruit and now my three year old is slugging back diet Coke with Lime like a co-ed at a kegger? The times they are a changin’…

We’ve even become more laxed about the shows the kids watch or the games they play. When Christopher was little we wouldn’t let him have ANY type of play gun other than the brightly colored water guns found around the pool. My thought was a child can’t differentiate between a real gun and toy gun so if we avoided all guns we could keep him safe if he happened upon a real gun somewhere. I know, just stay with me here – I even come from a family that hunts! Now, we have an arsenal of toy weaponry that could be used to take over a small playground. I even own two Nerf guns that I use to relieve stress. While I’m not sure what my shrink would say about this, I have no qualms about shooting my husband and/or children with foam balls as a method of last resort when I really want to smack them. It at least gets their attention long enough for me to gain control of the Wii or television remote and take back some of the power. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

We even give in to things that would never have flown in the earlier days of parenting. I find myself bargaining for things like bites of food, using the potty, changing the sheets, etc. Seriously, who are these people that inhabit my house? Or more importantly, who have I become? I mean, really, this is the person who, during the height of my PR days traversed the coast at the bat of an eye, took no prisoners, and whose favorite coffee mug (that actually sat on my desk instead of being hidden away) was emblazoned with the words “Vicious power hungry bitch.”

You know, I really try to be a good parent but I just can’t seem to close the gap between the parent I want to be and the parent I am. As I alluded to in an earlier post, I just finished “The Blessing of a B Minus” by Wendy Mogul. I wake up each day and promise myself that I am going to let my children have logical consequences to their actions. But by the end of the day, I’m too tired to be logical much less follow through with any action other than collapsing into bed with a glass of wine and NCIS reruns. Yes, I live an exotic life, I know. As for getting the kids to clean, Custard had better odds during his last stand than I do of getting my children to pick up after themselves. But then again, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. After getting out of the shower, my dear hubby wandered through the kitchen to get something to drink. I turned around to find a pile of dirty clothes on the bar stool. Of course, when asked whose they were, I got the standard chorus of “Not mine!” until Shelby sheepishly swiped them off the stool en route to the laundry room. Hhhmmm, answers a number of questions about genetics, don’t you think?

Wow – this is hard work! I guess I know why no one ever tells people about this – the human race would disappear. I mean, seriously, who would drag there psyche through this emotional upheaval on purpose, if they knew what pain was endured? But, after I feel beaten up and broken down, I simply need to look around me or watch the evening news. A friend of mine recently underwent the scare of her life – a heart irregularity was discovered in her child. Thankfully, after a procedure, it was corrected. The television news is covered with the uncertainty of governments around the world and we face economic instability at every turn. However, I am certain of the three children down the hall sleeping soundly. While things may not be what I imagined lo so many years ago, they are so much more. They are mine and I am their parent. And no matter how hard it gets, I am still so blessed to be their parent. That IS what I signed up for.

P.S. For those of you that might be interested, a friend of mine and I captain a walk team for the NAMI Walks for the Mind of America each year. This walk raises funds to help in the research for cures for mental illnesses as well as erasing the stigma that is sometimes attached to the diseases. This year, the walk will be on Saturday, May 14th at 8:00 a.m. starting in Sam Houston Park. For more information on joining or supporting our team, The Open Minds, please visit the website at http://www.nami.org/walkTemplate.cfm?section=NAMIWALKS&template=/customsource/namiwalks/teampage.cfm&teamID=24157 for more information.

Life isn’t fair OR I had no idea how hard parenting would be!

I don’t know what it is. PMS or the fact that I’m just plain old exhausted with the recent school gala of last weekend, but I have to say that I’m feeling a little down right now. I know many of you tune in here to be uplifted or, at least, entertained; so this introduction must be a little off-putting. But as many average moms (and Dads – kudos to you CG) have experienced, things don’t always turn out the way we plan…

For those of you that don’t know me, my oldest Chris has ADHD. This was apparent when he was two. After almost being kicked out of a couple of preschool classes, we had him diagnosed and began treatment. Let me just say that trying to figure out medications for children is much like playing darts in the dark – you just don’t know the outcome until you try it. Fine, fast forward through the years and an array of psychotropic drugs that could put Walgreen’s out of business (I’m only referring to Chris’ meds and not mine which could put a whole new spin on things here, but I digress…), and we have arrived at something that is manageable. Whew, problems over. But wait, there’s more…

Middle child Simon is beginning to have problems. Initially, we though he might have been dyslexic but now are not so sure. We can’t seem to figure out if his behaviour issues are rooted in academic problems or vice versa. He has anger management issues that need to be addressed. His suggestion is getting rid of baby brother Alex and all things will be fine. We think this might not be the answer. I just keep wondering why they can’t just vote ME off the island!
Anyway, in the midst of a search for a therapist for Simon I get a note from the nurse at Chris’ school. She has determined that he has a curvature of the spine that needs to be looked at tout suite. I took him to our usual pediatric orthopedist where they did x-rays and examined him. When the doctor came in he kept asking if Christopher had any heart or kidney problems. When I said no he seemed surprised. He explained that Christopher has congenital scoliosis. In his x-ray, it shows what is called a hemivertebrate – it looks like a triangle instead of a rectangle. In most cases, this type of curvature is seen with congenital heart and/or kidney problems. The doctor seems to think that if that would have been the case, it would have manifested by now. There is also something called syrinx, which are nodules on the spine that can cause damage. The doctor ordered an extensive series of MRI screenings that where originally scheduled for tomorrow but I’m trying to reschedule for Friday when Shelby will be back in Houston – typical, things only happen on my watch. If they find any syrinx, a neurosurgeon will be brought in to surgically remove them. If not, Christopher will need x-rays every six to nine months until he stops growing in order to monitor the curve. It is at 27 degrees right now which they really wouldn’t do anything for surgically. It would have to reach 40 degrees or begin a rapid change before surgery is viable. The curve, which is located between his shoulder blades, is too high to brace. Bracing uses the rib cage to help realign so this would not apply to him. He is able to have a full range of activities – the doctor said he could even join the army if he wanted. They don’t really know what causes this. Unlike idiopathic scoliosis, which starts in adolescence, congenital scoliosis is not hereditary. We really have no answers as to our next steps or what the future holds until we get the MRI results back.

After the tears from a myriad of emotions, two things hit me: 1) is this more important that Simon’s issue? I mean, can we do both at once? and 2) how much money is this going to cost? And more importantly, is there a payment plan? Don’t get me wrong, both issues are important and we WILL take care of everything. But what about that adage regarding how G-d never gives you more than you can bear? Somehow, someone has seriously misinterpreted my anal-retentive attention to detail and my obsessive-compulsive tendencies to mean that I can handle more than most. Perhaps I should reread my job description for the position of mom. There must be fine print somewhere that I didn’t read. Does anyone remember those hazy days after childbirth when you are trying to check out of the hospital and they are hitting you with a barrage of paperwork? I can just image the scene that I can’t somehow seem to remember.
“Mrs. Jerden, here is the title to the new expenditure. Please read paragraph 2 subsection A…”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, just bring me my baby so we can go home.”
“Okay, well just sign here. We’ll give you a copy you can read later.”
“That’s great.”
Fast forward 12 years later…
“Hey, honey, did you read paragraph 2 subsection A when we were checking out of the hospital?”
“Uhm, I think so. I don’t remember.”
“It’s the clause about how you will forever turn yourself inside-out for your child for every reason under the sun and forgo ever being carefree again.”
“What? That wasn’t there. I would have noticed it.”
“Well, apparently you signed it.”
You know that’s why they make them so cute and smell so good – to get around the legalese. Fine, I can live with that but the fact that you might have to deal with issues for more than one of them at a time is a tad bit unfair. Did I mention that Alex still only poops in a pull-up…

Not to sound materialistic here, but how are we supposed to, well, pay for all of this without taking out a second mortgage, selling a kidney, and having a massive yard sale? While it may sound like I’m complaining about spending the money, that isn’t the issue at all. I’m appalled at the cost of health care. Shelby and I make a modest income that is better than some and less than others. Thankfully, we have insurance to at least help with the insane prices that all of these “services” cost. My thought here is what about all those people that have really serious medical conditions and don’t have insurance? I mean, just this week, an x-ray, exam, and MRI will cost us almost a $1000.00 – and, yes, that is our portion and not what the insurance will cover with their “negotiated rate”. By the way, could someone explain that to me? I mean seriously, the doctor/center/hospital/etc. negotiates a rate with the insurance company? Do they all sit around a big table with Danishes and bagels and debate the worth of a life-saving procedure? Do they then decide that the poor shmucks who don’t have insurance have to pay top dollar since they don’t have representation at the table? It’s kind of like committee work – if you don’t show up to the meetings, you get the crappiest jobs. Just sayin’…

So now what? I sent an e-mail to my mom, mother-in-law, father-in-law, and stepmother-in-law describing what I laid out in paragraph four about Christopher’s condition. Ironically enough, I ended the e-mail with the statements, “I’m just letting you all know so you can keep the poor kid in your prayers. I don’t really want to talk about this until I find out more. I hope you understand.” Well, that was all it took. My mother promptly called me at work three times today along with a peppy reply e-mail, my husband’s step-father called the house twice, and my mother-in-law called once and e-mailed once. Even my father-in-law called hubby Shelby. Nothing like saying I don’t want to talk to incite a rapid fire succession of phone/e-mail contacts. Shheeesh. Maybe I should try reverse psychology here – please do not contact us to babysit, we will not entertain any requests. Regardless of the day, date, or time, you absolutely, positively, CAN NOT babysit your grandchildren. Just a thought.

I called my dad last night to let him know what was going on in my crazy family. Of course, I ended up crying with “what if’s” and doomsday predictions for all of my children. Out of all of the people with whom I discussed this, he probably had the best advice – the sage wisdom of “don’t go borrowing trouble.” I know he’s right – there’s no use conjuring up all these dark situations, but I can’t help but think how unfair it is to be put in this situation. Not just me, but the kids, too. I don’t think any of us enter parenthood with the notion that things are going to go wrong or be hard. Why would we do it? But we do have to take things day-to-day – one day at a time. I know, I know, it sounds like a twelve step program. But really, isn’t that what this parenting thing is – we have a problem: we are enamored with our children, we want the best, and will fight to the death for them almost like an addiction. With dedication, perseverance, and practice, we learn to redefine our lives and let go. While none of us stands up in a group of our peers and announces our addiction, there are so many more of us that are dealing with our children’s problems than we let on to the world. I am here to tell you with all my “official” presence that you are forgiven – let it go – you are doing the best that you can do – and you are loved. Things are not easy when you are a parent, nor are they fair. But at the end of the day, we are so blessed to have this position because there are so many that can’t fill the shoes we wear every day. And that is a banner role for which we signed up!

New Year’s Resolutions OR “Love & Logic” is an Oxymoron

So here we are in the new year – decorations for Thanksgiving, Chanukah, and Christmas are boxed and ready to go back to the attic. Right after we took down the Christmas tree, we put up the Mardi Gras tree. When finished I asked hubby Shelby if there were any holidays we didn’t celebrate. His replied “Maybe – but I’m thinkin’ no.” With our wide experiences and backgrounds, we celebrate quite a few things, but they all revolve around one thing: food. Yes, I am proud to admit that if it involves food, we probably celebrate it.

While Shelby had a much more conservative, single-strand upbringing, my family was all over the place. My grandmother made oyster stew every Christmas Eve for some reason and absolutely no one mentioned the word “reveillon”. There was never a New Year’s without black-eyed peas, greens, and cornbread and the Easter Bunny brought colorful eggs that reappeared a time or two with a bowl of saltwater and, later, as egg salad. We’re talking the New York Marathon of eggs here! I honestly think one of the main reasons Shelby married me was because he found out about the culinary backgrounds of my grandmothers, particularly my maternal grandmother from Louisiana. I really think the closing deal was the one he made with her for her recipes for biscuits, gumbo, and coconut cake. Anyway, I digress…

Another tradition that our families taught us, like many others, was the “New Year’s resolution”. This is one that hits across the time-space-religious continuum. Aside from all the regular resolutions of losing weight, reduce spending, clean out the closets, sell the kids, etc.; Shelby and I decided to regain control of the household from our offsprings. Let me just say that Custard had better odds at his last stand. I was recently loaned a great book from my good friend Nancy called, “The Blessings of B-“ – yes, this is the sequel to “The Blessings of A Skinned Knee”. This book picks up where the other left off and addresses the adolescent period. Ms. Mogul still uses her “logical consequences” to get the behaviour we desire in our offsprings. It is here that I must concede that both my psychiatrist and Ms. Mogul are in co-hoots with the devil. There is absolutely no way that the words “logical” and “consequences” can be used in the same context.

Let me just say, I totally agree with their ideas. The teachers of two of my darlings have requested conferences with me during the past week. Did I mention that Alex’s teachers thought he was just adorable when he and fellow classmates decided to paint each other at the art station – can you figure out the children in question yet? Here is the difference: the one that is the smartest, could care less about school while the one that has the most problems academically, is a perfectionist to the point of driving himself over the edge. I think Alanis Morrisette said it best – isn’t it ironic?

While complaining for the umpteenth million time about the status of the household, my shrink keep wondering why I was getting upset. The boys like those little beef sausages for breakfast and, apparently, one morning little Alex climbed up on our bed to look out our window, like he is known to do, and left a sausage there – for a week and a half. I left it there on purpose to see if anyone but me would notice. After bringing it to Shelby’s attention he looked at me with the wonderment of a child seeing a deer for the first time. Another example I brought to Dr. G. was the entire household’s inability to take a dish/cup/wrapper to the kitchen. While I seem to think this is not rocket science, she informs me that while it might not be, it seems that no one else in my house has my brain and knows what I want. To which I immediately asked if there was an option to have it replicated and installed in each of my beloveds. Another mark in the debate column that G-d is NOT a woman. Anyway, it seems I have “pseudo-agreements” with the people in my household (and most likely everywhere else). Since I have never formally made known my expectations, how can anyone be held accountable? Fine. So I have become the list queen. I should have bought stock in 3-M before I started this endeavor. There are sticky notes covering my entire house. One in the kitchen notating the afterschool homework & chores session. One on the bathroom mirror reminding the older children the order of business for getting ready for bed. One on the television for reminding everyone the steps needed for getting dressed in the morning. I’m thinking of putting one on everyone’s shirt reminding them to breathe, however, they would probably lose it. The goal here is to reduce my amount of nagging a.k.a. screeching like a banshee and increase the level of responsibility in my children. It provides them with “logical consequences”. If I wasn’t personally going through this ridiculous charade, I might actually find this amusing in a dark and sadistic manner - especially since I haven’t tried this new plan of action on the hubby! Oy vey – that’s another whole episode!

I now know why children don’t come with instruction manuals. Seriously, I’ve been known to skip ahead a few chapters in a book to see where it’s going. Can you imagine what would have happen if I had found out about this in the hospital after giving birth? I would have would up in the psych ward repeating the mantra “What have I done?” rocking back and forth while sucking my thumb. And friends of mine with adult children don’t help. “Oh, honey, just wait!” they say. Thanks. Who needs friends…

While they don’t practice what I preach at home, I am often told that they are polite and helpful when in the presence of other adults. They are kind to younger children. I also have the opportunity to see other children in action. I can’t count how often I’ve been in line at the store, watching the family in front of me and heard the adolescent’s call to arms, “But mom, I NEED it!” complete with the accompanying eye roll and foot stomp. As I catch the other mom’s eye, we exchange the secret “handshake” of the motherhood club by rolling our eyes, shaking our heads, and chuckling. It’s even better when we’re with close friends because we moms might actually have the advantage for once. See, children are free game. Regardless of who birthed the child, the nearest adult gets the honor of calling out the cheeky little monkey. Hey, it takes a village to raise a child and we know that most of the Y-chromosomed members of the tribe are not in tune to this skill set.

Sorry folks, I have no closing bit of wisdom to share here although I do endorse the martini method of getting through the rough spots. I saw this mother’s day card one time that had a picture of 1950 style kitchen with a mother in an apron pouring herself a glass of wine. Her child was standing in the doorway and she called out to him that mommy was just getting a glass of special mommy juice to finish playing the 100th round of the “Itsy Bitsy Spider.” This is a rough time for me as a parent but I have to remember it is a rough time for my oldest as well. He is trying to find out who he is and where he is going. I was walking down the hall the other night and he called out from his “new” room (one without a bunk bed and a sibling). I went in and he asked me if Santa was real. Of course I asked why and he said that one of his teachers posted a writing assignment with the prompt, “Would you rather live knowing that Santa is your parents or would you rather live believing a lie?” I crawled in to bed with him and we had a good discussion. We actually talked, dialogued, a give-and-take of ideas and thoughts. There in the dark I found that my sweet, vulnerable child was still there inside of that sometimes rough exterior. He still needed me for more than a chauffeur or Sherpa. He needed me to help him figure out the big scary things and hold his hand. Instead of being smelly and sweaty, at that moment he smelled fresh and clean like he did so long ago when I used to hold him in the dark of the wee hours of the morning. I had, for a brief moment, reclaimed the past when my only new year’s resolution was not to drop him and know that I would love and protect him forever. Now this is what I signed up for.

An Army of One versus a Battalion of “It’s-All-About-Me”

Happy New Year everyone!

Okay, get ready for some all out, Grade A, prime kvetching. I’m on strike – for real. Wait, for legal reasons or at least the incessant guilt trips I’m sure I would hear, let me place the disclaimer. While this is in fact MY blog, I have always refrained from listing names to protect the innocent. HOWEVER, these are true stories so if the reader finds some eerie similarities to current events then either stop reading this thing or take it to the shrink and not me. I obviously wouldn’t be blogging about it if it didn’t bug me, and believe me, my shrink has heard it from me already. Share the wealth – keep a mental health professional in business. So here we go…

My first gripe is the person I’ll call the “One Upper.” You never have a conversation with a One Upper without him reporting on the better deal he got at the car dealership, or how much more busy she is, or in this case how much more pain he is suffering from ailments. For those of you that don’t know me well, let me explain a little bit here. When I am sick or injured, I’m kind of like an old dog. I just want to disappear under the front porch and not reappear until I’m better. I’m a private person and I just don’t complain about my ailments. Herein lies the problem. Talking to a particular One Upper about my back pain versus his knee pain always end ups up with this person in the throws of pain while mine is dismissed as a mere bump in which might warrant a band-aid. Of course my favorite part of the conversation came with the person informing me that she (I’m purposely changing gender pronouns to hide the identity – see? I’m fair.) was actually feeling okay and that the pain came-and-went but when informed that my pain had come to the point it was ever present, he immediately decided that his pain, too, was ever present and began to moan about how much pain she was in at the moment. Apparently that “come-and-go” pain is faster than Mario Andretti…

Neeext. This little portrayal is about the “Situation to Perspective Ratio Radar Challenged.” These people truly have no sense of gauging a situation by putting it into perspective. For this, I have two examples. The first happened a number of years ago and I can actually laugh about it now. The day after my brother died, I went to take oldest Christopher to preschool so I could go about taking care of necessary details. A co-worker came up to offer condolences but he took a turn into the annals of “It’s all about me”ness. After saying how sorry she was for my lost, he informed me that when he went out to get in the car to come to work, he noticed someone had keyed her car. After that and when he heard about my brother, “I new it was going to be a bad day,” he said. Actual quote, folks. The second was during my back surgery last week. I had to be there so early that someone (my caretaker as the hospital calls it) had to drop me off at the hospital, take the kids to school, and come back to spring me from the hospital. The surgery got a later start time than was anticipated and I was in more pain after the surgery requiring additional doses of morphine. Apparently, the time between the surgeon telling my caretaker the surgery was a success and the time in which the caretaker was called to get me was longer that the caretaker thought it should have taken and no one informed said caretaker. Also it was getting close to lunch and this particular caretaker becomes fussy and grouchy when hungry. Now here is where I have to jump in as the receiver of the surgery. If the caretaker was really worried about the patient, why wait and not inquire of the patient’s health and status? Mental note – go through the express surgery line – 10 or less procedures - so as not to take up so much of your caretaker’s precious time. Also when I actually got to be checked out, the caretaker had a plate of food that she had just received but hadn’t gotten to eat yet. Thus the caretaker was so grouchy all he wanted to do was leave and made it know by not really listen to the instructions the nurse was providing. Next mental note - bring food for caretaker because eating and having to wait are far more important that any surgery near the spine. I implore everyone reading this – make note, caretakers need to be handled with care. Their needs are FAR more important than any silly ol’ surgery you might be facing. Bring a lunchable!

The next foe we will be outlining here today is the “Ungrateful Whiner.” These people rely on you for EVERYTHING – food, shelter, clothing, entertainment, you name it – but have no sense of appreciation for what it entails to provide the above listed items. The majority of this group are comprised of readers’ off-springs, spouses, or other deadbeat relatives. For instance, no matter how many times you’ve told the ungrateful whiner of the plans you’ve made or the help you need around the house, the whiner is oblivious. The whiner will sit during the most chaotic of time or ignore any previous calendar events and forge ahead with her plans with the blinders similar to those worn by Secretariat in the Triple Crown. Regardless of what these creatures received for the most recent religious-based holiday, the moment they see something shiny that catches the eye, they just HAVE to have it. They NEED it. They will just DIE without it! It is actually amazing at the life span longevity of said whiner after that “I’ll just DIE without it!” moment. In fact, much like the cat with the mouse pinned under a paw, I like to remind them of their prolonged existence – “Oh sweetie, look –you’ve survived for FIVE more days than you anticipated after not getting _____! Mazel tov!

There’s a few others, the “Guilt Shifters” – the ones who feel guilty about some circumstance and feel the need to shift the blame in order to feel better about what they’ve missed. And we can’t forget the “Fakers” – the ones that pretend they are interested in you and your well-being until something really big comes up say, a medical emergency, and then all bets are off because they are spending the weekend at the lake with their boy/girl friend.

When I started this I was so angry by the barrage of the plethora of these personalities. Since then, I’ve mellowed. I’ve had back surgery, worked during my vacation, and dealt with non-medicated children. But as the holiday season comes to a lull (the season of Mardi Gras starts in 3 days!!!), I find that the new year is time for a change. I also saw my shrink today so that must have something to do with this diminishing anger, but I digress… You know, I have always been the “I am woman hear me roar” type, but as I have gotten older (I turned 40 this year – woohoo!), I’m starting to realize that priorities, whether mine or someone else’s, are not the be-all-end-all of life. My dear and wonderful mother, great mother-in-law Gayle, and friends have blessed me with a number of books on motherhood, love, and life. There are several quotes that resonate with me:
- To handle yourself, use your head. To handle your children, use your heart.
- A child may not inherit his parents’ talents, but he will absorb their values.
- As we get older, it’s amazing how wise our own parents become. AND, there’s nothing wrong with the younger generation that twenty years won’t cure.
- Never raise your hands to your kids. It leaves your groin unprotected!

I guess what I’ve found is the characters described here are all too common in our lives. After discussing this with several co-workers and friends, I’ve found that we all experience people that aren’t, well, nice. But it IS our job to be the better person, teach our children and those within our influence what it means to be sympathetic, empathetic, and kind. It is our job in the new year to make one of our resolutions be to teach a child what it means to care about another person and not just his or herself. After all, as humans that is not only what we signed up for but is expected of us. Happy New Year!

Alright, I apologize for this being such a long, drawn-out grousing session especially right after the holiday season, so I will leave you with a great joke that was sent to me today at work. Regardless of your political affiliation, this is just too funny not to pass along!

Subject: No Christmas in DC This Year

There will be no Nativity Scene in Washington this year! The Supreme Court has ruled that there cannot be a Nativity Scene in the United States' Capital this Christmas season. This isn't for any religious reason. They simply have not been able to find Three Wise Men in the Nation's Capitol. A search for a Virgin continues. There was no problem, however, finding enough asses to fill the stable.

...and that's the way it is....