This Full House Archive

Category: Raising Teens, Tweens & Killer Dust Bunnies

Picture Perfect Thursday: Attack of the Smiley Fries

I am NOT a morning person and my husband is…well, let me just tell you…he’s like a fluffy little bird happily twittering about in the early morning sunshine – scary, I know – needless to say, we go to great lengths to stay out of each other’s way and try not to, you know, talk…too much.

"Coffee?"

He hands me a hot steaming mug filled with the sweet elixir of life, as I stumble off to the shower.

"Herumpfuh."

Then, feeds the animals. I mean, the pets. The kids are old enough to fend for themselves, thank you.

"Turkey, roast beef or peanut butter?"

Also, makes their lunches.

"Nope, uh-huh, I don’t think so and NO, because you just bought yesterday!"

And fields any (and all) of their questions – although, the children have not yet appreciated the fact that, in doing so, their father HAS saved them from encounters with the beast, that is their mother – bless his squishy heart.

By dinnertime, it’s a whole different story!

"Beer?"

So, he’s a morning person and I’m…well, let me just tell you…I’m like a night owl. All bug-eyed and barrel-chested, with nerves jumping and ready for bear.

"Himumpfuh"

Seriously, at the end of the day, the man is an absolute grump!

"Oh, no…look out!"

Especially, when I do something totally unexpected and scare the bees-juice out of him!

"WHAT!?!?!"

[eyes go wide]

"The…the…smiley fries!"

I grabbed his tie, pulled him closer and pointed toward the kitchen counter.

"They…are…ATTACKING!"

"They’re coming to get you, Daddy!"

[rolls eyes]

"Stop it, you’re being STUPID!"

"They’re coming for you, Daddy!"

[cracks a smile]

"Okay, now you’re JUST weird."

"They’re coming for YOU!"

[bites lower lip]

"Shhhh, the kids are watching!"

"Look, there comes one of them now!"

[frowning]

"Stop it, they’ll hear you!"

"Here he comes now…GAH…I’m getting OUTTA OF HERE!"

I was able to crack through that tough-Daddy shell of his and I ask you, how could he NOT smile!?!

"I…LOVE…yooooou!"

Honestly, with fries like these, what’s NOT to love?

"Now, where’s my beer?"

So, I guess what I’m saying is, contrary to popular opinion, opposites really DO attract – it’s what helps keep the spice in our marriage, anyways – unfortunately, I must have commanded a little too much of The Boy’s attention, for once.

"Daaaaaaady!"

Garth (not his real name) got up with him, last night – bless his squishy heart – because, The Boy very rarely calls out for, you know, me.

"Coming, Buddy!"

Go figure.

"Coffee?"

But, this time, it was ME who got up with the pets, made the lunches, etc…

"Himumpfuh."

So, you see, it all works out in the end.

"What’s for dinner, tonight?"

[giggle]

"Swedish meatballs!"

[eyes go wide]

"Oooooh, I can’t wait!"

What?

[shrugs shoulders]

Yes, there’s only 6 more sleeps until Christmas and it’s a stressful time for everyone.

"Momma, I don’t feel so…[gulp]…BLAAAAAH!"

Especially, when yet other one of your kids wakes up sick and pukes all over the breakfast table…AGAIN!

"Herumpfuh!"

What; you want fries with that?

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Submitted to:

Carnival of Family Life

December 20, 2007
Parenting Tip# 30,910,007: For every action, there is an equal and positive reaction, followed by total hesitation and a little bit of Charlie Daniels, too!

My children are in love with my SIL – you know, the one who DARED Garth (not his real name) to ask me out on a date – and I can’t say as I blame them. Wayne (not her real name, either) is a fun-loving and engaging adult that kids can totally relate to and…well…all the things I used to be, before children.

Seriously, I’ve got pictures to prove it – all decked out in gold lame, wickedly high hair and shoulder pads that would make even a line backer look, you know, pretty – and my 23-year-old niece (Wayne’s daughter) thought I was cool when she was…um…smaller.

"Yeah, but Aunt Wayne is really awesome and she DOES have a tattoo!"

Three of them, actually, and my favorite being the two lips on her rearend that reads kiss my…uh…well, just ask anyone in the family and they’ll tell you, my SIL is…um…well, there IS only one Wayne and it’s hard NOT to love her.

Even when she makes your 8-year-old son cry.

"What’s the matter, Buddy?"

Last weekend, The Boy asked to go home with Aunt Wayne – because, he likes her way more than me, remember? – and kept my SIL company on the way to a family Christmas party, way up in North Jersey.

"I have [sniff-sniff] something [snort-snort] to tell you."

My husband’s cousin lives about a little over an hours drive away – way up in Sopranos Land – and The Boy had a great time spending some private time with Aunt Wayne and rocking out to Charlie Daniels.

At least, that’s what my SIL told me.

"I did [sniff] something [snort] really, really bad in Aunt Wayne’s car!"

Uh-oh, judging that we ARE talking about my SIL and seeing as I’ve, you know, driven with her before, The Boy’s latest admission of bad behavior could range anywhere from flipping off an inconsiderate driver, to being allowed to say a word on the no-no list.

"I said a curse!"

See, I know.

"I’M SOOOOO SORRY!"

To tell you the truth, I was shocked and NOT by his actually saying a curse word – Holy Hannah Montana, I am his mother – but, The Boy buried his face into the crook of his arm and started to…um…well, let’s see. Okay, if I were to try to string together a couple of words and describe an accurate account of exactly how badly the kid must have felt, a full blown snot blowing brain numbing bawl, comes to mind.

"Come on, Buddy, it’s NOT that bad."

Seriously, I could think of worse things (shuddup, Wayne!) and we ARE talking about a woman, with a picture of an angel, fighting the devil, and the words, "The devil won!" tattooed on her shoulder.

"It’s not like you’re going around saying it in school, or anything, RIGHT?"

Judging by the vigorous way The Boy nearly shook his head right off his shoulders, h-e-double-hockey sticks, NO!

"So, why don’t you just tell me what you said."

It took him a couple of seconds and – only after he blew his nose, twice – I braced myself for the worst, as The Boy finally shouted out.

"Son of a Bitch!"

[eyes go wide]

"Oh, is THAT all…I mean…really?"

Honestly – if you have kids, then you know – The Boy hears filthier stuff walking around in the grocery store and it COULD have been worse.

"Well, now you told me and…"

He started BAWLING, again.

"What?"

Sniff-sniff.

"Aunt Wayne said that you wouldn’t be mad."

More bawling.

"Well, I’m still glad that you told me."

Cheese and rice, I couldn’t believe that The Boy was so upset – I mean, really, it’s NOT that bad – but, I was secretly taking pleasure in the idea that he seemed really worried what, you know, I thought about the whole thing.

"But, she told me that, she would NOT tell you, and she did NOT want you, to make me, NOT go with, you know, Aunt Wayne, anymore, unless, I wanted to."

Now, I ask you, how am I supposed to react and, seriously, does he really think that I would ever do that?

"That’s when I said, HELL NO!"

Needless to say, he’s NOT in trouble and neither is my SIL.

[eyes go wide]

Because, Wayne mom-napped me to Starbucks, last night, and we laughed a week’s worth of suckage off when I told her.

"No more Charlie Daniels, evuh!"

The Hubs, however, not so much.

"So, what’s the matter with you?"

Seriously, Garth (not his real name) WAS mad as a dog.

"I tried to get on the [censored] Internet, and you’re right, it’s STILL not {censored] working right, so I told [censored] Verizon that they can [censored] KISS MY ASS!"

Mini-me started with the croup and was STILL awake.

"Son-of-a-Bitch, now how am I supposed to get my letter to Santa?"

And, apparently, little ears really ARE listening.

[sound of crickets]

Well, never mind, she’s STILL young, there’s time and a whole shopping list of mad parenting skillz to rely on.

[shrugs shoulders]

Besides – judging by my total DISDAIN I feel for Verizon, at the moment – I’m STILL working on an answer for that one.

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December 14, 2007
She gets her looks, and some pretty bad advice, from me!

It’s unsettling, really. Like looking into a mirror. Mini-me has my eyes, my hair (poor thing) and my parents often times tell me that my youngest daughter (she’s 6) is a mini-version of her mother (hence, her blog name) and yet (judging by the look on her face, pictured above) I believe that she HAS to be the saddest looking kid in the blogosphere, right now.

Unlike her mother, the girl absolutely HATES to take a shower – although, walking in the cold wet rain, WITHOUT wearing her hood, IS apparently pure nirvana – and, sadly, Mini-me has also inherited her father’s penchant for…um…foot funk.

Phew.

Combined with a healthy dose of the creeping crud – an oxymoron, I know – her end of the day "funkiness," surpassed that of her brother, even.

Double-phew.

"Um…when was the last time you took a shower?"

The words were no sooner out of my mouth, when I realized…DUH…like, she’s really going to tell me, you know, the truth.

"Yesterday!"

Which would have made it – at the time of this conversation – Saturday night, once my parents left, after a pretty lousy dinner, one that I had prepared, while sick, and having scolded me for it.

"You look terrible and should have just stayed in bed!"

After, my SIL took The Boy over to my in-laws for a last-minute sleepover.

"Yes, I’m sure I want to go to Grandma’s and I do NOT want to sleep here, tonight!"

Before, Thing One called me from her overnight camping trip to tell me that I was wrong and she was right.

"See, it’s only 15 minutes away from our house and I am STILL alive."

Right before Thing Two and I got into it, over her insisting that she get some private time, with me.

"But, I haven’t even sat down, from cleaning up, yet!"

Still.

"Okey-dokey, if you say so."

I was too tired to argue and…well, there WAS a lot going on and it seemed reasonable at the time.

"Just remember to put on clean underwear!"

‘Cause, you never know.

"Oh, and don’t forget to wear your new pretty shoes, too."

[sniff]

Hang on.

"Come here, a minute."

[sniff-sniff]

"Ah, man…Sweetie, you stink!"

I know (I suck) but, there was no way I was going to take her to my cousin-in-law’s open house, yesterday – I mean, we don’t see them but once a year – smelling, you know, like a bad mother, or anything!

"Do you remember when Mini-me showered, last?"

[sound of crickets chirping]

"I don’t know; whenever YOU showered her, last, I guess?"

I know – with parents like us, it’s a wonder the child’s not running around, naked – but, she IS our 4th child, you know.

"Well, let’s see…it wasn’t yesterday…and we were BOTH sick Thursday and Friday…so, that means Wednesday…[shiver}…GO TAKE A SHOWER!"

Done.

"Well, that was quick."

[sniff]

"You do smell a whole lot better…hey…wait a minute."

I mean, who does this kid think she’s trying to kid – you won’t BELIEVE it – take a closer look and YOU tell me what I’m supposed to think?

Paying a little more attention to the dusting of white – and less on the mad cowlicks, going on – it was plain to see that Mini-me was trying to pull a fast one and, parenting gods forgive me, it was when her eyes went real WIDE, I started to laugh!

"But, Thing Two told me to just go into duh baf-room, use a lot of baby powder and that you pro-luh-bee would NOT even notice duh diff-wince!"

[wincing]

Niiiiiiice.

"Well I most definitely DID notice and she was wrong, then; wasn’t she!?!?"

That’s when she gave me the face (see picture at beginning of post) and her bad mother folded like a cheap tent.

"Oh, don’t worry…it’s okay and PLEASE, don’t cry!"

I mean, it’s NOT her fault, that I feel so burned out, that I can’t even remember the last time the poor kid was introduced to a bar of soap and that Thing Two gave her some really bad advice.

"I’ll come in and help you take a shower, ‘kay?"

You know where this going; don’t you?

"Okay, Momma and good thing…"

Wait for it.

"…’cause Thing Two thinks you STINK…"

Just, wait.

"…but, I don’t bee-weave her."

Wait…for…it.

"You don’t?"

Here it comes.

"Nope, ’cause you STILL smell good."

BAM!

"Even when you ARE all mean and nasty!"

Of course, I didn’t see it coming – I mean, my parents always DID say they were, you know, a lot smarter – and if I can’t be a good example, at least, let this be a terrible warning, to all.

[sniff-sniff]

Apparently, she’s right.

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December 10, 2007
If the shoe fits, then you’re right, I’m mean and it’s probably NOT my shoe, anyway.

Yesterday, was Mikulas Day – December 6th is when the Hungarian Santa, or St. Nicholas visits children and leaves his gifts – and the kids were excited to wake up and find their shoes filled with chocolates, candy and a new Christmas mug.

"Whoa, you guys ARE sooooo lucky!"

Even through the very nasal tone, I recognized it to be my son’s voice and waited, along with everyone else, for The Boy to explain, except Mini-me.

"Nuh-uh; I got the same stuff, YOU did!"

My two oldest girls are 14 and nearly 12 – they have done this before and understand how it works – and having dealt with "the creeping crud" this week, I still wasn’t feeling very well, so, I was happy to hear Thing One and Thing Two intervene on Mikulas’ behalf and just sort of, you know, listened from upstairs.

"Mini-me is right, nobody got anymore than anyone else."

Then, I heard someone stomp their foot.

"Noooo, I know THAT!"

Judging from the tone, I assumed it was The Boy.

"I mean, she hasn’t been very good, pretty bad, actually and she’s just lucky she didn’t get any coal!"

D’oh, and there went any thoughts of my sleeping in.

"Hey, KNOCK IT OFF down there!"

I know – yelling at the kids first thing in the morning on Mikulas Day, and all – but at least it shut them up and long enough, you know, for me to kick the dog off the bed, get some feeling back into my legs and crawl downstairs.

"That wasn’t a very nice thing to say, Sweetie."

Even though it’s, you know, true. Being 4th in line – not to mention, cute as she is – my youngest daughter, unfortunately, has learned a lot watching her older sisters and brother, which means she knows just how to get her way, by getting on everyone’s nerve, quicker and is way smarter than I am.

"Yah, kind of wude, too and you should take away his choc-wits and teach him a wesson!"

Mini-me has been a pill, lately.

"No, I don’t think what The Boy said was THAT bad, really!"

He stomped his foot – yep, I was right! – but, this time, The Boy’s voice was way louder, than mine.

"I WASN’T TALKING ABOUT THE GIRLS!"

Huh?

"I was talking about you, Mom!"

HUH, wait a minute…and…WHAT!?!?

"You haven’t been a very nice Mommy."

Yeah, well, are we ever? Besides, I didn’t fight Garth (not his real name) when he gave them ALL a mental day off, yesterday – a perk for bringing home very good report cards – but, I was sick and then he went to work…oh, and…SO!?!?

"But, Mikulas only cares about YOU kids!"

[eyes go wide]

"Yeah, but Thing One used one of YOUR shoes!"

[sound of crickets]

"I don’t think Mikulas know-dit!"

Oh, how the kids laughed and I just sort of, you know, went back to bed, but not before speaking up for all us, mean Moms.

"See, I guess even Mikulas knows that Mommy’s need a break and that even HE can make mistakes, sometimes!"

Besides, Thing One and I DO wear the same size and clearly, if he’d known the shoe fit, Mikulas would have left Vodka!

[blank stare]

TGIF, everyone – if anyone needs me, I’ll be upstairs, coughing up a lung and tending to a very sick little Mini-me.

Stupid shoes!

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December 7, 2007
Parenting Tip# 29,593,020 – Don’t pet the sweaty stuff.

My mother called me during the witching hour, last night – you know, it starts around the time you tell your kids to get ready for bed and suddenly realize that you have somehow become incapable of speaking in complete sentences, or without sounding like a raving shrew – and I think I even manage to end THAT conversation, badly.

"Honestly, I don’t know WHAT to tell you, just give them each a pair of matching socks and call it a day!"

Poor thing.

"Ooooookay, then….give everybody a hug for us….and….um…."

[click]

I don’t blame her for hanging up on me – I would, if I could, trust me – but, every gosh-darned holiday, it’s the same thing.

What do THEY want?

What do THEY need?

"GAH…I swear…I just don’t know, anymore!"

Yes, of course I think it’s a blessing that my children have such wonderfully thoughtful grandparents and both sets have been MORE than generous to Garth (not his real name) and me, ~~baling us out~~ helping to keep the Christmas spirit, over the years.

"You already got them….[censored in case one of them accidentally finds their way to reading my blog]….and they’ll love it, I’m sure."

But, they’re all growing up so fast.

"It is Christmas, you know?"

[blank stare]

Oooookay, then.

CLICK.

So, I let the Doofus-dog in out of the rain, turned off the television and ~~threatened~~ suggested that the kids, you know, go….now….to bed….RIGHT NOW….which, the dog apparently mistook for the command to…um…come on over here and give your momma a big old French kiss….you know she wants it….yes?

"YOU PINHEAD!"

Like a siren, I blasted out my last warning and the kids scattered every which way, leaving my husband, Garth (not his real name) alone to deal with….well….I can only imagine the creative way in which they were using their words to best describe what I must have sounded (and looked) like, at that moment.

"Um….I’m going to….I mean….uh….I’d better go check on the kids."

What do they NEED, indeed.

"Fumumbleshigrumble!"

No, I was NOT in a festive mood and, as I….[carefully]….climbed over several piles of laundry (they were folded) I noticed that Doofus-dog managed to muddy the front of my sweater.

"PINHEAD!"

So, I tore it off – no, I did NOT care that I was standing in front of the living room window and that the drapes were WIDE open – and reached for the nearest "clean" thing I could find and put it on.

"Hey, that’s my favorite shirt!"

Yes, Thing Two HAS always been very brave!

"Actually, it’s Daddy’s."

I mean, was.

"Yes, but that’s the sweatshirt, where I remember you best."

Okay, she lost me.

"Don’t you remember?"

I looked down and suddenly felt a rush of warm.

"When I was little, I remember how we used to do a lot of fun things and that’s the sweatshirt you would always wear."

Funny, what kids remember.

"Where did you find it?"

It’s sad, what we parents sometimes forget.

"Right here, with you."

I hugged Thing Two, allowed the warmth to spread over me and giggled, thinking how I must have been quite fright – think I even surprised myself, a little – but, she held on and sort of just, you know, patted me on the head.

"Um….I’m going to….I mean….uh….well, G’NIGHT!"

So, I called my mother back….told her that I finally remembered….and how Garth (not his real name) NEEDED a new sweatshirt, probably!

Good luck and g’night.

[Next week: Merry mommy musings on the creative use of mistletoe.]

December 4, 2007
TGIBF: Stop, look and listen to how I really DO sound like Julie McCoy!

Well, another Thanksgiving has come and gone and it’s funny, you know – not like ha-ha funny, but a weird sort of aha – it just hit me that, even though I’m glad that the week is finally over, it’s been really, really quiet.

Shhh, just listen for a minute.

This is The Boy – after finding the courage to "volunteer" to dance in front of a whole bunch of, you know, people – this is what a sigh of relief, looks like.

This is Mini-me – after admitting that I was indeed her mom, REALLY – this is what accepting independence, looks like.

These are my girls – each very different from the other – this is what feeling a genuine sense of pride, looks like.

But, I was thinking.

[shudder]

A dangerous habit for someone with a limited amount of usable cerebral space available, already, I know.

[shrugs shoulders]

It’s about time I admitted to myself (as well as the rest of the Internets) that, even though I may grumble at the calendar and growl about how crazy-busy our lives can, you know, get.

[bites lower lip]

I really do enjoy playing the role of…um…well, there’s so many to choose from, really, but I guess the best way to describe my current position with the family, at the moment, is…uh…wait…okay, I got it…a plucky cruise director.

Especially, when it seems that there isn’t a day that something does NOT go
wrong and I’m just trying to make believe that it’s, you know, all right.

A motherly version of Love Boat’s Julie McCoy, if you will, except – instead of regaling romantic and funny adventures – we’re dealing with episodes and story lines that…well, if you’re a parent…then, you know.

[shudder]

One minute, life is sweet and then…BOOM…the pipes break and a person can’t even flush a toilet without having a backup plan, literally.

[cue: Julie McCoy]

"Your table is ready, captain and there will be 13 joining you for dinner, tomorrow."

I was filling my husband in about our Thanksgiving plans and – after 17 years of marriage – he IS very well aware of the fact that, you know, I’m the one in charge.

"Okay, just remember to tell me what to do, what to wear and what NOT to say."

I know how it sounds – though, both my father and father-in-law happily admit having freely given up their manhood a long time ago – honestly, I don’t believe that these men have ever really learned how to deal with all the noise.

I am so done with running back and forth – between this house, and that house – that I’ve decided to have Thanksgiving here.

All the time.

[collective sigh of…UGH!]

It’s just easier, you know?

"Don’t worry, nothing new to report at the moment, just sit back and listen."

As most families (I hope!) we all have our little issues and interacting during the holidays can get a little, you know, sticky.

"Well, I’m sorry to hear you feel that way…but…um…HEY!…did I mention that my water broke and that The Boy got up and danced?"

Well, that got the room quiet.

"Yes, I even kept the two oldest girls home from school to watch!"

Funny – yes, like in haha – how FAR people’s mind can wonder.

"Yes…hahahah…really and they even took pictures."

Suffice it to say, my family has grown accustomed to my…um…funny ways and everyone pretty much forgot about…well…everything else.

Mini-me and The Boy got a chance to decorate the tree.

Putting on all the pretties they collected, or made in school, over the years.

Sharing a quiet moment with the captain and then, they were invited over to my parent’s house for a sleep-over for a couple of days….SWEET!

Of course, I never DID get a chance to show the relatives the other pictures – you know, sharing in those quiet little moments – and I guess they figure we could probably use some downtime and that pretty much explains why the older girls and I don’t have any plans…at the moment.

[phone rings]

Until now.

"Attention everyone, there’s been a slight change of plans…since, the captain has left for work early this morning and is no longer on board…all remaining passengers are invited to prepare for lunch on the Lido Deck!"

Time to put it in neutral – on the ONE day I really didn’t plan on getting dressed, in the first place – ’cause I told my family that we will be home for the holidays and now EVERYBODY knows it!

Black Friday, indeed – you guys ain’t got nothing on me – so, if you’re not doing anything constructive, want to come over and help hide the laundry?

November 23, 2007
It’s not clothes that make the man, it’s totally about the tie Charlie Brown!

My husband Garth (not his real name) works at a bank. I can’t say which one. Actually, I could. If I wanted to. But, I won’t.

Because, I’m not very happy with them at the moment and may say something that I will regret, later.

But, I don’t work for them; he does.

Right now, he…no, wait…we need him to have this job, more than the satisfaction it would give me to tell them just what exactly I thought of their new and improved way of making sure that Garth (not his real name) spends more time on the road, away from us, selling stuff for them.

Still.

He comes home to me and there’s very little else I can do. But, be here. Waiting. Listening. Hoping. Looking for ways in which I…no, wait…we can make it a little, you know, better.

Unfortunately, they don’t leave me much to work with.

"How was your day?"

He’ll loosen his tie, shrug his shoulders, ask about mine, instead and I can’t help but hesitate, before answering, wondering if I should really tell him, while I try NOT to notice just how gray his hair has gone.

"I see you’re wearing one of my favorite ties."

For the last…um…lots of years, every birthday and gift-giving holiday, the kids and I give Garth (not his real name) a new "fun" necktie.

"I felt a little Charlie Brownish, today"

Sympathetic to the fact that Garth (not his real name) HAS to get dressed and all the negative connotations that go along with having to spend the better part of everyday in "a suit."

"Wait until you see what the kids and I are cooking up for Christmas!"

Garth (not his real name) have already agreed that gifts are just for kids – stupid unattainable and totally unreasonable budget quotas, and all – I was trying to come up with something that would help remind him of what…no, wait…who he’s really, you know, working for.

"Swell."

Okay, I guess he’s thinking of the one we got him last year, with The Grinch, that lights up and plays, "Have A Holly, Jolly Christmas."

"Just wait, you’ll love it."

Do you want to know what it is?

Since, he’s not allowed to hang pictures on his wall, or keep pictures of us family on his desk, either – nor, does he have the time to read my blog – I thought it would be safe to show you this cool tie I ordered and designed over at Zazzle.com with the words "Got Revenue?"

I think it’s fun AND totally business appropriate, especially for today’s quintessential family guy – who just needs to be reminded, every now and again – GET A LIFE, CHARLIE BROWN!

What, ya’ think it’s a bit too LOUD?

November 9, 2007
Soccer/mom bloggers with helicopter parent tendencies, UNITE.

As defined by Wikipedia:

A helicopter parent is a term for a person who pays extremely
close attention to his or her child or children, particularly at
educational institutions.

Oh, the humanity…I mean, the nerve of some people…expecting to know and control everything their child eats, drinks, learns and watches…hovering over their children, so.

That’s what I thought, too – until I had children – and then everything I ever thought I knew about being a good mother sort of, you know, was ripped to shreds on Oprah Winfrey and Dr. Phil.

Having at least one parent home and available for your kids is good…staying home with them is bad…supporting your children and teaching them to be self-sufficient is good…working outside the home is bad…alpha moms suck…beta moms suck poodle…being a good mom is bad…being a bad mom is good…I mean, wait.

Spring forward, jump back two spaces…which is it?…I forget.

So, I was thinking – a dangerous concept for a professional Dork, I know – how about if we (moms AND dads) STOP with all the name calling and goofy monikers (momikers, they call it) and just accept the fact that – when it comes to raising children – we are ALL a bunch of Dorks!

In my experience, there’s always someone ready to prove YOU wrong – and then make up a name for your sorry butt – so, why fight it.

Most likely, it’ll probably be one of YOUR…I mean, MY…d’oh…OUR kids are going to think we sucked at it, anyway!

[stepping off of soapbox]

Okay, I admit it.

[pours another cup of coffee]

I am a soccer/mom blogger with helicopter parent tendencies – I drive a 7-passenger car and want to know exactly where my kids are and what they are doing, most of the time – but, the whole reason I started this here blog…in the first place…was to be able to hear myself think…since my kids don’t listen to a word I say, anyway!

I’m not perfect and my kids seem to be okay, anyway.

"Um…do you know that Mini-Me’s wearing two different cleats?"

[eyes go wide]

"Well, at least THIS TIME she’s wearing the right shirt."

Like, a few Saturdays ago, when I mistakenly pulled a green shirt out of the laundry basket (after successfully completing the smell test, of course) and learned that it was actually…um…The Boy’s shirt from two years ago!?!?

"Her team’s color is green this year, right?"

Her coach nodded his head and thought it was sort of, you know, funny – he’s GOT kids, after all – but, ask me a few years ago and I would have probably totally wigged-out!

"Mini-me, stand still so Mommy can take a picture!"

And died of total embarrassment!

"You’re going to blog about this, arent’ you?!?"

You betcha!

[shrugs shoulders]

Don’t worry, she knows – mommy bwogs ’cause it makes her feel better – but, to some people I will always be just another DORK!

November 5, 2007
Picture Perfect Thursday: Growing up sucks, it’s all MY fault and how I know!

I was going through my Flickr photos, yesterday, and adding watermarks (stupid photo stealing trolls) when I came upon one of my favorite pictures of Thing One and me. It was taken in the park towards the end of last summer and I think it says a lot about our relationship, at the moment.

Being elegant, gentle, soft-spoken and a bit shy, by nature (no, not ME!) Thing One was born with a wonderful sense of being able to recognize, understand and empathize with what other people are feeling. She would make a terrific teacher – not to mention, mother – some day.

Me?

Not unlike the picture, my judgment of character pales in comparison and I constantly find myself conflicted on whether or not I’m being accepting, fair, and open-minded enough with my children, or just Jonesing for someone’s approval.

Growing up in a houseful of crazy Hungarians – I swear, we are an emotionally gifted lot – it was just easier to agree to be a good girl, rather than risk the thought of provoking disapproval and, quite possibly, some sort of physical shame.

But, this post is NOT about me – or, is it?

"Where’s Thing One?"

I’ve already expressed my concern over how I’m having trouble with keeping up on all the changes my kids are going through – more specifically, how they’re growing up so fast and holidays just don’t seem the same anymore – but, decided to split-up and allow the older girls to go trick-or-treating with their friends, this year.

My friend is a teacher in the high school and seemed to understand.

"She’s decided to stay home and give out the candy, this year."

Although, Thing One told her 8th grade friends different.

"Daddy told me, that once you turn 13, I’m too old to dress up and go out trick-or-treating."

doG, I was tired, in more ways than I want to go into (you’re welcome) but, we were on our way to pick-up Thing Two, still hadn’t eaten dinner – unless, you count a bag of chips, some pretzels and couple of candy bars raided from the haul brought in by Mini-me and The Boy – and already way late to their grandparents’ house, of course.

"NO, that’s NOT what he said!"

Cheese and rice, if anything, we have gone out of our way (read: said yes, when we really meant "NO freakin’ way would I have been allowed to go to the movies, with a boy!) and I was sick (and tired) of being labeled the "bad parent" who always says "NO!"

Still, we ARE talking about Thing One – remembering that each kid IS different – so, I tried to soften my tone.

"Besides, you told me that you didn’t feel like it."

Knowing, that it quite possibly meant that…you know…no one had asked her, yet.

"I didn’t want to go."

Okay, she lost me.

"I just didn’t want to hurt their feelings and blaming you guys was…um…well…I’m sorry, but… it just seemed…uh…"

I know.

"Easier."

She smiled and nodded her head.

"I understand."

My husband, however, has no freakin’ clue what’s going on with what’s going on, or how to handle Thing One, or Thing Two and their raging hormones – yes, there are days when growing up sucks and being a girl…well…sucks wet poodle – so, Garth (not his real name) has been sort of…you know…letting me deal with it…them…whatever.

"But, do me a favor…your father’s been going through a rough time, too…so, next time…to make it easier on ME…just blame your mother….I mean, me…d’oh…WHATEVER?"

Finally, we got to my in-laws and Garth (not his real name) took probably one of the ONLY pictures I have of them, together.

"I thought you’d be here, earlier and I sort of gave up on you guys."

If she only knew.

"It was all mom’s fault!"

Oh, wait – my MIL had 5 kids – she knows!

[FYI: I tried a cool new tool at MacroPhotos.NET because it automatically replaces the original photos with the watermarked copy – also, don’t forget about my Bloggy Giveaway. I have decided to include comments on all posts, this week. Giving more of my blog friends a chance. Because, you’re busy. I know.]

[11/5: Comments are closed – a winner has been picked and will be announced, soon!]

November 1, 2007
This Mom Speaks Up: Or, is it better to just walk away?

Work It, Mom – one of my favorite blogging communities – linked to a New York Times article about suppressing your emotions when arguing with your husband and how this may NOT be a good idea:

“In men, keeping quiet during a fight didn’t have
any measurable effect on health. But women who didn’t speak their minds
in those fights were four times as likely to die during the 10-year
study period as women who always told their husbands how they felt.”

Talk about timing – I just blogged about this same thing
– a quick synopsis: stupid argument over money and rather than talk-out
our anger, we didn’t speak and even slept in separate rooms, Thursday
night.

Color me another disappointing statistic – let’s see, how many rules
of engagement…er…work-out your marital spats did I break on that one,
huh?!?
Unfortunately, my post had nothing to do with research.

It happened to me. In real time. In front of the kids. In contrary
to everything that I’ve ever taught my children and, at the cost of
sounding like an absolute simpleton, I left my comments here and still stick to my decision.

“Where’s Daddy?”

The kids were ready to celebrate the weekend, it was nearly 8:00
o’clock in the evening – Friday night pizza and movie night, you know –
and Garth (not his real name) usually gets home about now.

“I dunno…but, we can’t wait any longer…EVERYONE IN THE CAR!”

My oldest daughter invited a friend to sleepover – yes, she asked
first and I thought…feh…WHY NOT, what’s one more!?!? – and I was
waiting for Garth (not his real name) to get home, so I could, you
know, leave.

“Do we all get to pick a movie?”

Suuuuure!

“Wow, good thing we got room in the car!”

Riiiiight!

“Are you sleeping with Daddy, or us, tonight?”

WHY NOT!?!?

“Now, what would make you think that?”

Duh.

“Well…Daddy slept in the living room, last night…and he said it was because he was more comfortable on the couch.”

Oh.

“Nope, you guys get the couch!”

Oh, the things I could have said…or, at least can think to say…but,
don’t…NOT out loud…or, in front of the kids, anyway…because, I am
supposed to be, you know, the grown-up!

“Daddy can sleep in the shed!”

In theory, anyway.

“Look, Daddy’s home!”

Swell.

“Let’s surprise him and tell him that he gets to feed FIVE kids, tonight!”

Yes, kids can say the funniest things – don’t look at me, they get
their sarcasm from their mother – and I have no illusions about hiding
our emotions from children…they see…hear…and do, in fact, know exactly
what’s going on.

I, however, had no idea about Garth (not his real name) or, what he
was thinking, coming home so late – it was nearly 9:00 p.m., I think –
and leaving me with the children. Having to explain myself, again. One
of them wasn’t even his, for goodness sake! I was soooo tired of
talking, already.

“Mommy rented us a bunch of stuff!”

We’ve punished each other enough, yes – I mean, he couldn’t even
look at me – so, I just walked into the kitchen and felt…well, I really
don’t know how to explain it…just sort of numb, I guess.

I asked him what the flowers were for and when he explained that they were, indeed, for me, I couldn’t help, but wonder…HUH?

“I read your blog, today.”

Suddenly, I wasn’t so angry…anymore – not that I agree with makeup
presents, much – and we’ve managed to get passed another rough patch
and, yet again, perhaps leave a whole new group of self-proclaimed
experts, dumbfounded – or, not!

.
This time, it was better to just walk away….and blog it.

October 8, 2007