This Full House Archive

Category: Who’s Parenting Who?

30 Tiny Moments – Day 2: Times when I just can’t see the Doofus, for the trees.

There was a time – not so long ago, really – when I enjoyed sleep (I mean, actually slept) and it took every bit of strength – whatever I had left from the day before – just to get up in the morning. I mean, just the thought of having to stand, erect, was enough to make me want to jump right back into bed and pull the covers over my head.

Sounds good, yes?

Yet, one of the few things that helped see me through was that, one day – once all of my children were in school and I was home alone – perhaps, I would miss all the chaos .

Surprisingly enough, I don’t!

(more…)

February 20, 2008
Being at the wrong place at the right time and Mini-sleepovers!

The Boy (he’s 9) had a friend sleepover on Friday and, after his mom dropped him off, I asked for his backpack, pointed out where he and The Boy would sleep (I mean, the couch IS right next to the front door) and then I knelt down real low (I could hear the poor kid’s neck muscles straining) and went over our house rules.

"Basically, there aren’t any."

What?

He’s NOT my kid and it IS a sleepover – he WILL eventually go home and, you know, tell his mother – and it’s NOT like I expected them to actually sleep, or anything.

But, he still seemed a little weary – I recognized the confused sort of…WUH-HUH?…way he shook his head, right away – so, I continued.

(more…)

January 28, 2008
In which I remember 2007, sort of.

Thing One woke up with a wicked nose bleed.

ICK!

Wicked, meaning profuse and uncontrollable bleeding from BOTH nostrils (you’re welcome) and I mean, it would NOT stop. So, I had to rush her to the doctor…AGAIN!

GAH!

But, this time, Garth (not his real name) tagged along and we were BOTH relieved to learn that the medication seems to be working and it was just another result, in a series of pain-in-the-rump complications, of what we’ve come to call, "The bacterial infection that will not DIE."

Everything else is, you know, okay.

[knocking on wood until knuckles bleed]

Thankfully, Work At Home Mom To Five tagged me (dammit) and wants to pick my brain about 2007 – yes, she is very, very brave – and I’m more than happy to oblige in playing along with her meme. ANYTHING, that’ll take my mind off of all the…[gulp]…did I mention I’m not very good with, you know, cleaning up bloody messes?

ICK!

Of course, I mean if the killer dust bunnies haven’t gotten to it…first!

So, here it goes; in order:

Working from home has been an enjoyable (albeit, crazy busy) experience that has helped my family, tremendously – enabling me to focus more on the children and help keep my husband’s head above water – and my traveling to Disney and Chicago, twice (thank you, BlogHer and Family.com) has Garth (not his real name) believing that, YES…perhaps, he should become a mommyblogger…sort of. I have been an Imperfect Parent for the last 2 (or, is it 3?) years, started my review blog, proud to be a mom who’s learned to speak up and welcome Green Mom Finds to the insanity. BOOYAH and pass the broccoli; it’s really been a good year, after all!

My Oldest Daughter and I survived her first year as a teenager, and celebrated her 14th birthday, with great hopes for her future. She is a very talented artist and writer (no, really) and has applied to one of the high-tech schools in our county (they accept only 80 new freshman, each year) and is scheduled to take the exam for the Communications High School later this month. I am so proud of her — whether she makes it in, or not — and honored that she’s even mine, let alone, allow me to follow in her footsteps. Seriously, we wear the same size and the kid has some wickedly gorgeous shoes.

My Middle Girl graduated 5th grade, started middle school and joined just about every gosh-darned club they’ve got. SHEESH. Honestly, the girl is active. She hasn’t signed up for any sports, this year — thank you, Jesus — but, her mind is always working and full of really great ideas. Lord love a duck, I’m raising a liberal-thinker. Which is a good thing, because, it keeps her father on his toes (conservatively, speaking) and she never really did require a lot sleep (stupid colic!) it’s hard to believe that she’s turning 13, this year. Wait. That means Garth (not his real name) and I will have not one, but TWO teenagers living in the house…let us pray.

The Boy is turning 9, this month and growing (and eating) so much, he’s about a head taller than most of the kids in his 3rd grade class, this year. He’s made a lot of new friends, through soccer and baseball, for the first time, and looking forward to signing up for Little League, in the spring. I’ll be rooting for him. Again. On the cold, hard bleachers. OUCH! But, he’s worth it. It’s sort of fun, too. To watch. Especially, when my little man spit and grabs his crotch. Yes, boys ARE different. He’s graduating from the elementary school and moving into the school that houses all of our 4th and 5th graders in the district. Long story. So, stupid. Which means, I will have 4 kids, in 4 different schools, next year…send chocolate!

Mini-me is an enigma. One day, she’s a happy little 6-year-old in love with the boy, who shall NOT be named — but, happens to be sitting in the desk next to her — and…BAM…I’m checking for pods in our crawl space, the next. I guess, that’s what I get for giving birth to a Gemini. Not to mention, being one. And a twin. Myself. She is, however, a picture-perfect version of my younger self — seriously, it’s scary — and my parents delight in the fact that Mini-me is so, you know, like me. Except, I was NEVER a girl scout. Or, as funny. Dang, the girl makes me snort Coke through my nose. Wait. Not that I do drugs. Or, anything. Um. Did I mention that she’s got a really good sense of humor. And she hates that I call her Mini-me. So, hence forth, I’m changing her blog name and my youngest will be now known as, "My Little Brownie." Formerly known as, Mini-me.

Garth (not his real name) has had a tough year at work (stupid bank) and comes home to find, well, he DOES live here, you know? Still. I try to field a lot of the curve balls that life seems to be throwing us, lately. The kids and me, I mean. But, it’s hard. I mean, they ARE really, really hard. And it doesn’t stop. Ever. Especially, once they’re in kindergarten. I mean, your kids STILL need you. You know. More than ever, I think. And it never ceases to amaze me. How Garth (not his real name) steps up to the plate. Whenever I need him. Which is a lot, more. Lately. That’s okay, though. What, with my parents ill and his father’s surgery, this month — scheduled on The Boy’s birthday, actually — I’m hoping that the coming year is MUCH better. Than it started off, anyway. Either way. It’ll be fine. He can be my wingman, anytime!

There you go, Laura – it was the best of times, it was the worst of times and it was exactly what Charles Dickens would have probably envisioned, while snorting Coke through his nose – thank you for asking!

© 2008 This Full House – All Rights Reserved.

[Please, clean off a chair and stay a while – subscribe to email updates or the RSS feed or – if you really, really like me – then Digg This, I’ll love you forever!]

January 7, 2008
Flaunt It Friday: Dreams, lies and super improved parenting – Now, with MORE scotch tape!

I have no problem remembering my dreams and — not only do I dream in color — often times, I wake up
and can still recall tastes, smells, and even feel residual effects of embarrassing myself in front of a crowd of strangers.

But, let’s not talk about that post…m’kay.

In my dreams, I visit people, places and do things that perhaps
would be out of the ordinary or, at the very least, uncharacteristic.

This, I believe, is absolutely normal.

There are some dreams I have often and these are called "reoccurring dreams," which, interestingly enough, these ARE the dreams that tend
to be a little freaky…even for me.

There’s one in particular from my childhood that comes to mind.

[shiver]

Ugh, after all these years.

[crosses arms]

It’s hard to believe how the sucker STILL haunts me; wakes me in the middle of the night, shaking
and shivering in a cold sweat, and makes me feel as if I were going to
vomit all over my poor, unsuspecting, and terribly snoring husband.

[shoving elbow into his side]

Only, my dream is about a man who WAS real and a person that, I’m happy to say, is no longer in my life.

Still.

Whenever my children wake from a nightmare, I try to get them to
tell me (with as much detail as possible) about the dream.

"Once you talk about a bad dream, it loses its power and can’t
come back!"

Liar.

"Trust me, I know."

Here’s the thing, as a mother, I understand that it’s completely natural for children to expect that we, as parents, are automatically blessed with some sort of special powers, enabling us to protect them and make them feel better.

My parents didn’t know, or have the time to stop and think that perhaps they were the ones putting me in harms way. If only they were a little more honest with themselves.

[shrugs]

It’s okay, though.

Lord knows, I know, that parenting is not a skill; it’s an art — one that is never quite perfected, even by the best of people — and I believe that my parents’ mistakes have made me better mom and my children are pretty lucky, for it.

Heck, give me a roll of scotch tape, a couple of thumb tacks and some Crazy Glue — QUICKLY! — and I know how to fix almost anything.

"I’m sorry, but you’ll have to take her for some more tests."

So, when someone with a doctorate degree in, you know, making people feel better tells my 14-year-old daughter that she (the doctor) has no idea why she (my daughter) has been sick for the last two months and HAS to go and get poked, AGAIN, after I swore no more blood tests, evuh!

"You lied to me!"

QUICK…where’s my super suit?

"I hate you!"

Certainly didn’t see that one coming, either.

"I know."

Thing One buried her head in her hands and started to cry.

"I’m so sorry, baby, but it won’t be bad, I promise."

It was a real looooong drive to the lab and I think I may have spent the entire 20 minutes — seemed like an eternity, really — talking myself raw.

"Bullshit."

[eyes go wide]

"That’s right, you heard what I said, it is total BULLSHIT!"

She snapped her head around so fast, I swear, her neck cracked.

"Those blood sucking bastards are probably going to make you feel even shittier!"

And, for the first time, a hint of a smile.

"Probably won’t be the last time someone’s going to hurt you, or lie to you, either."

[blank stare]

"But, I am your mother and it’s my job to take care of you…even if it means hurting you..and well…it’s hard…especially, when it’s killing me a little, too."

Yes, it was only a blood test — like Garth (not his real name) pointed out and at perhaps one of the most inappropriate of moments…dammit — but, yesterday was perhaps one of the toughest days of my life, as a mother.

But, I lived through it and perhaps yet another exhausting example of what is to come.

"Yeah, it hurt."

The kids gathered around Thing One, and carefully examined her, like some sort of lab experiment from an alien abduction.

"Mommy was right."

[eyes go wide]

"But, it really wasn’t THAT bad."

Well, what do ya’ know.

"Even though they had to stick me, TWICE!"

[all eyes on mom]

Um…has anyone seen my super suit?

[Blogtip To: Taken With a Grain of Salt]

© 2008 This Full House – All Rights Reserved.

[Please, clean off a chair and stay a while – subscribe to email updates or the RSS feed or – if you really, really like me – then Digg This, I’ll love you forever!]

January 4, 2008
It’s your birthday, make a mess; it’s your birthday, wear a dress!

Excuse my children, please – yes, they LIVE in a barn – but, it’s been a whirlwind of celebrations, here at This Full House of horribly wrapped gifts and mis-matched socks, and they’ve been singing that stupid song for…um…how many days HAVE they been home, now?

Doesn’t matter.

All I know is, it’s like summer vacation…all over again…except, only a bit colder…not to mention, way wetter.

Oh, and DAYUM.

What’s up with all the cruddy weather? We DO live in Jersey, you know? Where’s all the flipping snow?

"CRAP!"

My husband, Garth (not his real name) was off from work ALL WEEK and – since, it is the first time that he’s been home for Christmas vacation in, like, WOW, 10 years – just a little winter-like romping would have been, you know, nice.

"You won’t believe this one?"

But, we did get a chance to visit with family – yes, AND managed to live through it, thank you very much – and FINALLY got up to Pittsgrove Farms.

"Would you mind watching the kids for a little while?"

Which happens to be home to two of my and Garth’s (not his real name) most favorite people in the world – Mr. and Mrs. Dirtdigger – who also happen to be Mini-me’s Godparents.

"You see, tomorrow’s Thing Two’s birthday."

So, we’re more than happy to take whatever time we happen to have open on our very busy calendars and drove up to "the farm" on the day before Thing Two’s birthday.

"And…um…well…I sort of…you know…FORGOT!"

[blank stare]

"I never got her a birthday present."

I mean – with all the shopping, wrapping, gifting, and then, you know, more shopping – you think I’d remember to get my daughter’s birthday present.

[bites lower lip]

"How can I forget my OWN daughter’s birthday?"

She’s had one for the last 12 years, for goodness sake.

"What kind of mother am I?"

Honestly, I felt even more sorry for Mrs. Dirtdigger.

"You poor thing."

She grabbed me and hugged me…hard…as I really tried my best NOT to cry.

"Man, I suck!"

Yep, cried like a baby.

"Don’t worry, I know just what to get her, and we’ll only be an hour…I swear!"

Nope, that didn’t work out very well either.

"I’m sorry, Ma’am, but, we don’t have any left and they seem to be all out of stock, everywhere."

Of course – seeing as it was, like, two days after Christmas, and all – and it’s NOT like she’s the ONLY 12 year-old who does NOT have an mp3, or anything.

"Well, how much is that one?"

[eyes go wide]

"HOW MUCH?"

I’m sure the hubs didn’t mean to holler so loud – I would have, after regaining my powers of speech, eventually – and it was way more than what Garth (not his real name) and I usually spend on, you know, one gift.

"I know, it’s a lot."

Did I mention, we just finished Christmas?

"But, she’s a good kid and NEVER asks for anything."

And she’s got me, you know, as a mother.

Having to celebrate your birthday, 3 days after Christmas – not to mention, taking a back seat to 3 other kids – even though she seemed to like her gift.

"No, I don’t like it…I love…love…love…LOVE IT!"

I couldn’t really blame her, if she wished for just a little more.

"Wow, it’s even way better than an iPod!"

Wouldn’t you?

But, Thing Two has always been resilient – even as a baby, suffering with a severe case of colic and having to spend the first 8 months of her life, awake – and I can’t think of another person who deserves, well, whatever the heck she wants, really.

I mean, who else would settle for an ice cream cake…in the winter?

[blank stare]

Did I mention, I forgot it was her birthday?

But, Mini-me was gracious enough to make me a "special" Christmas cookie and remind me that her birthday isn’t until June.

"Don’t worry, Momma, you have pwenty of time…to forget my birfday, too!"

It’s your birthday…make a mess…it’s your birthday…

Lord, love a duck – 2 kids born in November and December, I’m really beginning to HATE that song – but, I am SO glad that The Boy’s birthday isn’t until the end of January!

Happy birthday, baby – I love, that you STILL love me, too – and I can’t believe another year has gone by…oh, and just think…NEXT YEAR…you’re a teenager!

Just like Thing One.

[shudder]

No sweat.

With a big sister, like her – I mean, the girl is 14 and STILL, you know, likes me, sort of – I’m not worried…too much…I think.

[shrugs shoulders]

Just be happy that you look like your grandmother, m’kay!?!?

December 31, 2007
The Christmas House: More than just a box with pretty lights.

I’ve been thinking, lately – a dangerous habit, I know – about how my husband Garth (not his real name) and I have started to downsize our family celebrations.

Not that they were HUGE, to begin with – if you have kids, then you know – but, our children enjoy spending time with both sets of their grandparents and have looked forward to their birthday dinners out, wherever they choose.

Christmastime, however, is a bear.

Besides the typical preparations that go along with celebrating a holiday supposedly meant as a time for family and friends – after finding out who is going to be around and wherever that will be, at the time – it always turns out to be a balancing act.

As you know, I am NOT very graceful.

This year, the grandparents are dealing with some pretty serious health and family issues.

Which ones?

Both; my parents and in-laws are going through some serious suckage at the moment and, not only does it totally SUCK that my brother’s unit is being deployed, AGAIN, it’s causing severe damage on my Christmas Mojo.

I’m just not feeling it, ya’ll.

Which, of course, means that I have been desperately trying to NOT have my children pick up on the fact that I, obviously, put the desperate into housewife…since, like, 1993.

"Are you coming on Sunday?"

Shhhh.

[balancing act in progress]

"No, actually, I’m taking the kids out and hoping to let your daughter try to, you know, catch up with herself."

I love Garth (not his real name) – bless his squishy heart – but, it’s times like this when I wonder.

"How long do you need?"

Will it ever be enough and, you know, WHEN?

"About three weeks should do it, thanks!"

Actually, all I need is to wrap, cook, bake and…um…shop…no, that’s not it…I finished yesterday with my SIL…uh…there’s something I’m forgetting, I know…give me a minute and perhaps it’ll come to me.

"Can we go to the Christmas House?"

I was trying to download some music into my SIL’s new Mp3 player and somehow was trying to pretend that I didn’t know, that she knows, I’m NOT technical, like that – bless her squishy heart – and, YES, we were having problems that were terribly technical-like.

"Tonight; are you kidding me?"

I was so NOT in the mood to go anywhere else.

"But, you promised we would take Aunt Waynicerthanmommy!"

[Wayne, for short]

"I dunno, go ask Daddy."

I mean, it can be tiring, being such a bad guy…mommy…whatever…and all!

"Sure, as soon as Mommy’s ready."

Bless his squishy heart.

"Besides, it’s not too far, Sis, and it’ll be worth the ride, you’ll see."

As you can see, the Griswold’s have NOTHING on this place.

According to this article, there are 8.4 miles of lights on the property and
79 Christmas trees outside the house; 16 Christmas trees adorn the
inside of the house and that the electricity bill is about $3,500 for the seven
weeks the lights are on.

"How did you guys ever find this place?"

Driving home from my parents house, I think, go figure.

"WICKED!"

Some may perhaps argue, that the use of so many brightly colored lights – not to mention, the energy used to fire them up – and the owner’s efforts at spreading holiday cheer isn’t very, you know, green.

"Can I have some money?!?!"

I kept staring up at all the pretty lights and tried not to add to my growing impatience with Mini-me, this past week.

"There is absolutely NOTHING you need to buy here, Sweetie."

She pointed at the box at the end of the walk – which asks for donations for St. Jude Children’s Hospital and the Children’s Diabetes Fund – and this message:

"It’s not a Christmas well – it’s a magical Christmas box. Drop in some
love and hope. Lets make the children well."

My eyes fogged up.

"No, I want to drop it in there!"

No, it’s not easy being happy – especially, when the world is surrounded in such misery – but, I didn’t have to dig very deep to find my Christmas mojo and all it took was simple drop in the well.

I mean, box.

Thank you, Mr. Steinke – the owner of the Christmas House – for interrupting your Christmas party, to come out and greet us, and wish total strangers well.

"We’re looking forward to playing Harmonies For Christmas!"

Not just for the cool CD – everyone got one for an $8.00 donation into the box – you’ve given me (and my family) more than you’ll ever know.

"I do it for my kids, your kids and making some people a little happier is what Christmas is all about; don’t ya’ think?"

You know, I guess, maybe you do.

Merry Christmas to all – especially, YOU my blogging friends – and to all a good night.

[shrugs shoulders]

Oh, just look at ALL the pretty lights!

[YAWN]

If anyone needs me, I’ll be upstairs counting my blessings – 4 of whom are probably STILL awake – praying for peace and hugging Garth (not his real name) bless his squishy heart!

[Did you enjoy this post? Why not subscribe to email updates or the RSS feed.]

December 23, 2007
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?

[Did you enjoy this post? Why not subscribe to email updates or the RSS feed.]

[Edited to add: Please remember to leave a comment on Bloggers Unite – if you haven’t already, won’t you consider visiting my post and Delurking for a cause, or for even a DORK, like me!?!?]

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.

[Did you enjoy this post? Why not subscribe to email updates or the RSS feed.]

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.

[Did you enjoy this post? Why not subscribe to email updates or the RSS feed.]

December 10, 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