My husband, Garth (not his real name) and I recently bumped into friends of ours at the market, literally — the deli counter can be a very dangerous place, especially on a Sunday night — which, by the way, some folks consider to be a perfectly acceptable "date night" and typically a pretty good indication that these same folks also happen to be parents of older kids.
Parental Unit #1: I'm going to head out to the store and pick up a few things.
Parental Unit #2: WAIT, I'll go with you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Personally, we prefer to cruise the aisles at either Lowes or Home Depot.
Aaaaanyway, the wife and I started chatting.
I mean, our "friend's wife".
I don't have a wife.
Although, I feel it safe to say that we could ALL use an extra wife, or twenty, right about now, am I right?!?
Soooooooo, we were chatting about our kids (because, but of course!) when her husband comes up to me and says:
"So, you gonna blog this too?!?"
I still truly believe it as a moment of innocent teasing.
This is the same guy who honks his horn every time he drives past our house, several times a day and, no matter where I am or what I am doing, I holler:
"Heeeeeeeey, Wayne (not his real name, either!)"
Still, I can't help but wonder: in the age of Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest and Instagram, are people IRL (who also happen to be on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest and/or Instagram) still a little leary about my blogging?
Feel free to grab a beverage and visit with some of my favorite reads! Not for nuhthin, but g’head, I’ll wait and keep the porch light on for yuhs, just in case 🙂
KateSpot A fellow #dork from way back when blogging was still in diapers.
Life in the Bat Cave Also admits to being born and raised in Jersey, she’s super-awesome!
Life with Roozle Got a little girl crush going on for Casey, she rules.
Melisa (with one S!) We’ve slept together, quite a few times, fell down her stairs once and broke my toe, first time I’d ever broken a bone [knocking on wood until knuckles bleed].
Learning to walk his hard, learning to fall is even harder.
Please feel free to visit with me over at my Gone Shopping blog and read more about: why I can’t help but feel that life would be a little easier if Learning From Our Mistakes-101 were a requirement, rather than an elective…for parents, too…when you have time, of course.
I’ve been spring cleaning the garage (okay, for the last 15 years, but who’s counting?) and, as it turns out, I’m also a little behind on updating my kids’ baby books.
This is where you ask me, “So, how far behind are you?”
Seems, my last entry was in 2002, when my youngest daughter took her first steps at 10 months-old.
Hope is turning 10 years-old, in June.
However, I started blogging in 2003 and have been consistently posting my family’s milestones, since then, so, there’s that, right?
[sound of crickets chirping]
Like, yesterday was my husband, Garth’s (not his real name) birthday, just don’t ask me which one (I quit counting sometime around 2004) since, you know, in the end, it’s not the years that count, it’s the mileage, right?
[welcome to cricketcon'11]
So, while Garth (not his real name) and I were out trolling our favorite garden center, yesterday (stupid rain) Hope made this birthday card for her father — HAH!
Our 12-year-old son made him this one and not only does he have his father’s sense of humor (28 my left foot!) Glen also appreciates the value of money and its depreciating effects on one’s bank account…DAMMIT.
My 15-year-old, however, seems to have inherited her Hungarian grandmother’s affinity for making people cry…especially, on their birthday.
My 17-year-old daughter drew this brilliant caricature of her father (HAH!) and, now that I blogged about it, I can reflect back and remember what my husband looks like (stupid extended banking hours) also, after uploading the pic, I just noticed that she signs her name to look like a butterfly, too.
I just love that!
“Honey, do you remember when we bought the water heater?”
In fact, I recently found myself referring back to my blog’s archives for non-fluff and totally tax related purposes, only.
I love this time of year, here in on the Jersey coast, when my kids and I feel very lucky to have quick access to some of the prettiest beaches, like our favorite at the Gateway National Recreation Area in Sandy Hook, NJ.
The parking lot fills up pretty quick in the summer. Friday, however, was the perfect day to celebrate all the good things that living in a shore town has to offer.
Like, exploring the jetty.
Or, playing chicken with the breakwater.
Getting lost, for hours, hunting for sea glass and mermaid toe nails.
Having the beach, all to ourselves, is a luxury and a perfect time for private contemplation.
Aaaand, much silliness.
Yes, Friday was a good day. In fact, seeing how this weekend is going, I'm still there…lalalalalalalalala!
I have trouble leaving voicemails….psssst, this is the part where you know, that I know, that you know, I'm a total dork, but act surprised, anyway….because, I'm always either losing my place, or start rambling in run-on sentences (shuddup!) insuring that the recipient will most likely never call me back and perhaps even unfriend me on Facebook, or worse, totally ignore me on Twitter.
[sound of crickets]
Social media can make some folks seem, I dunno, downright anti-social, sometimes, right?
Aaaaaaanyway, there I was, day 5 of hanging out on the couch with my 9 year-old, holding her hair back while she hocked up goobers of mass destruction (you're welcome!) when I heard my cell phone ringing, causing yet ANOTHER parenting dilemma.
Dooooooooooooooooooo I:
A) Answer my cell phone, because, you know, it could be HGTV calling about my new dream home, or the Queen (woman never fails to call at the WORST possible times) most likely, it's my dear friend Melisa (with one S) for whom I would most definitely drop a call from the Queen (herself!) oh, she makes me laugh so (I mean, Melisa, not the Queen, but you knew that already, right?)
B) Let it go to voicemail?
NOBRAINER! Besides, most every parent knows that hocking goobers of mass destruction is way different than fielding puke of projectile proportions…yes?
Who knew that sitting on the couch, for 5 days, with a feverish kid, would atrophy one's muscles to the point of total skeletal fail?
"Going down!"
Also, consuming unusual amounts of caffeine will cause some folks to flail their working limbs and holler stuff you'd hear in an elevator….or Charlie Sheen's hotel room….whatever….bet you didn't know that either, huh?
Turns out, it was Melisa (dangit!) so, I called her back and tried my best to leave a voicemail. Really, I did.
"[snort] Sorry [snort] but, you had to see me just now [snort] GOING DOWN! [uncontrollable laughter] then, she puked on the couch [snort] made her laugh so hard [choking back tears] gotta go [snort] it's Liz, by the way [deep breath] BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
As if she couldn't figure out it was me….or, Charlie Sheen's long lost twin sister….twice removed….whatever….Melisa did eventually call me back (silly woman) but, she hadn't listened to my voicemail, yet.
Soooooo, I repeated it, twice, and then she kindly suggested that perhaps it would be a good idea for me to, you know, lay off the coffee, for the remainder of the week.
Maybe so, maybe so, still, there's nothing like sharing a little laughter, between friends, aaaaand, yes, oh how we laughed and laughed.
Besides, the fact that we are perhaps the only family, with four kids, and the youngest nearly in double-digits, who has never been to Disney World (meanies that we are) a lot of people seem to be surprised when they learn that my kids can’t ride bikes, either.
Without training wheels, I mean.
I don’t know why, really, I guess my kids just never really got into them and then scooters were a big thing, so, there’s that.
“I want to learn how to ride a bike!”
My youngest, however, wants to learn how to do everything — especially, if she’s the first kid in our family to, you know, do it.
“Okay, maybe this summer.”
[hands on hips]
“That’s what you ALWAYS say!”
Unfortunately, she wants everything, like, RIGHT NOW, nevermind that there’s been snow on the ground for the last couple of, uh, what month is it, again?
“What do you mean?”
Because, you know, I’m quick like that.
“Like, about the ladies stuff?”
PSA: About to head into female territory and references to lady parts will probably come up, once or twice.
“Oh, that.”
Yes, I admit it, I’ve been putting off having “the talk,” and with good reason, too!
“I mean, I know what the pads are used for, already!”
She is the youngest. She also shares a bedroom (and bathroom) with her two oldest sisters. The girl sees stuff, hears things, even when she’s not supposed to and, well, at this point, I’m kind of worn out and really was hoping that maybe she’d sort of just, you know, figure it out.
“It’s so you could catch the pee you missed and sort of drips off, right?”
[sound of crickets]
Aaaaaand, so, Hope and I had a really nice chat, last night, and, I am happy to report that pee was not even mentioned.
“Remember when I was little and you used to give me a bath?”
[heavy sigh]
“Aaaand, you pulled my pants off and I made you scream?”
[eyes go wide]
“Because, I wanted to be like Holly and Heather, so I put a pad on!”
[bites lower lip]
“Except, I put it on…sticky side up.”
Oh, yeah. I forgot about that.
“Aaaaand, you laughed so hard, you fell backwards and hit your head!”
True story (it hurt!) and I’m sure it won’t be the last time she tells it, either.
My youngest loves to make lists; this one from the day after New Year’s, when my husband came down with another mancold.
Living in a houseful of girls, who insist that shoving stuff into corners and hiding dirty clothes under the bed is, you know, cleaning, I sometimes forget that we have a son.
I don’t mean, like, I forget to pick him up from school (which is a good thing, seeing as my kids go to four different schools) or, that he’s not listed on our tax forms, or anything.
It’s just that, you know, boys are different.
Although, I really DO have trouble remembering which is which.
Whose idea was it to pick girls names, all starting in the same letter, anyway? Oh, wait. that was me, never mind.
Aaaaanyway, what was I saying?
[watches dust bunnies dancing in the sunlight]
Oh, yeah. The boy’s room is almost always clean and WTH is it with Ladies Rooms, anyway, RIGHT?
[sound of crickets, chirping]
So, raising 2 teens and 2 tweens, I seem to have also picked up the annoying habit of, you know, SPEAKING LOUDLY!
“What’s for dinner?”
“Pork chops and apple sauce.”
[5 mins later]
“What’s for dinner?”
[sigh]
“Pork chops.”
[10 mins later]
“What’s for dinner?”
[heavy sigh]
“Pork.”
[one beat, two beats]
“What’s for…”
“I DON’T KNOW!”
[covers ears]
“Ooooookay. Why you hollerin’?”
See, no wonder kids think parents are weird, or, maybe it’s just me (shuddup!) but, I’m happy to say, that I have recently happened upon a brand new parenting tactic.
Long story, short (I know, too late, thanks for reading and has anyone ever told you how pretty you really, are?) bribery was not involved.
“What’s wrong with Heather?”
“She’s sick.”
Then, my 17 year-old woke up with a migraine.
“What’s wrong with Holly?”
“Sick.”
Then, my 12 year-old son got down on his knees and began to beg.
“Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeze, I’ve only had one sick day!”
To save time, I didn’t even bother waking up the 9 year-old (you know, what’s her name, kinda short, sort of looks like me, likes to make lists?) and instituted a “mental health day,” at the beginning of this week, with one proviso:
“You will have to clean your room and I mean holiday clean!”
Aaaand, I didn’t even have to use UPPERCASE!
[cough, cough]
“What’s the matter with Glen?”
The kids have a 4-day weekend.
“He’s sick.”
And, were all supposed to sleepover my parent’s house.
“But, we still get to sleep over, right?”
To save time, I didn’t even bother to get dressed.
“Where’s Glen.”
“Oh, he’s home, watching pay-per-view, waiting for me, some chocolate donuts and a medium-sized coolata, DAMMIT!”
My parents didn’t even bother to ask why I was still wearing my pajamas.
Morale of Story: Why, yes, I am totally full of pork chops…AND APPLESAUCE!
My husband, Garth (not his real name) and I were thrilled to learn that our son joined the middle school wrestling team for a couple of reasons:
He’s got 3 sisters
It gets him out of the house and away from me and his 3 sisters (okay, mostly me!)
He’s been a big WWE fan since the 4th grade (I think!)
No tryouts (i.e. everyone makes the team!)
Refer to first two bullets, above
Watching some other kid try and kick the living Axe out of my son, not so much.
“Isn’t that your son?“
[cringe]
“I’m not sure.”
Because, I was too busy covering my eyes and, well, cheese and rice, but I thought soccer was bad.
Until, the other team gets a point.
“Yep, that’s him.”
The boy tries really hard and I tend to wonder if maybe I should be a little more aggressive in cheering him on, like soccer?
“OUCH, you see how that kid’s head bounced off the mat!”
Wrestling, however, is much different.
“Throw him down!”
I’m not saying that wrestling parents are any better, or worse, than other sports families.
“Throw him down…HARD!”
It’s just not the same, you know?
“OUCH, that must of hurt!”
So, I unlaced my fingers, pulled my hands away from my face, waited the few seconds for my eyes to adjust and realized…yep…it was indeed my son’s head they were all waiting for to, you know, explode.
“Get outta there!”
I had my youngest on my lap and felt her startle a bit at, you know, my finally finding my voice (me, too!)
“Like a wiggle worm, bud!”
[eyes go wide]
And, my friend, sitting next to me, punched me in my arm…HARD…and, you know, it hurt.
“Are you trying to get your son beat up?”
Aaaaand, only when my oldest, sitting on the other side of me, started laughing, did I finally realize that, you know, maybe soccer isn’t so bad, after all.
“….like a bad-assed, rabid, wiggle worm, bud!”
Or, maybe, next time, I should just stay home and send my husband, instead?
So, I did.
“So, how’d it go?”
Aaaaand, only when my son’s frown, turned upside down (whoops, sorry!) I mean, gave the biggest mofo grin, did I realize that, you know, I was totally being faked out.
“I WON!”
[eyes go wide]
Really? After all these months of my, giving “That’s okay,” and “Maybe next time,” late night, pep talks, driving home from yet another defeat?!?
“DAMNIT!”
[cringe]
“I mean, I’m sorry I wasn’t there to see it!”
This is the last week of wrestling season and I can’t say that I’m not a little thrilled to, you know, see it end.
[cell phone rings]
Yesterday was their last “home” meet and my friend called to tell me that it ended early (DAMMIT!) and if I wanted her to bring my son home.
“Did we win?”
[pause]
“Uh, no.”
[one beat, two beats]
“Yes, please!”
What? It’s not like I forgot to pick my son up, on purpose, or anything, right…oh, and I guess soccer and wrestling are more alike…than I thought…huh?
My 15 yo ripped into this piece of bread, right after the following conversation, and, well, it’s a sign, I tell ya’!
Soup. Bread. Growing up, these were the staples in my mother’s pantry. Today, at our house, they remain at the top of the food pyramid (yes, soup is a food group, dangit!) as a meal I am absolutely confident ALL four of my kids will eat, on purpose.
“What’s for dinner?”
[heavy sigh]
“I DON’T KNOW!!!”
Yes, I know, I’m using uppercase (AGAIN!) understand, that I’ve probably answered the question, three times, already and, well, judging by my middle girl’s not skipping a beat, I really wasn’t hollering, that loud.
“Do we have any soup?”
Of course.
“Is it Mama’s soup?”
My mother’s homemade chicken soup? On a weekday? SACRILEGE!
“Mama makes some kick-butt soup!”
Some days are better than others, to be sure (especially, with aging parents) and, truth be told, sometimes, conversations do tend to become tiresome (most especially, when being scolded, by your aging parents, at 40-something-or-another) but, it just wouldn’t be Sunday, without it.
“Yes, yes she does.”
On the other hand, swallowing one’s pride, every now and again, can be sort of healthy for you, too, right?
