Strangest...Blockbuster Experience...EVER

In keeping with the theme of this strange month...

Middle Child wanted to go to a party tonight. She cleaned her room and did her homework, she looked fantastic, we got to the party and... no parents. I have a pretty strict "no parties without parents" rule, so obviously, I wasn't leaving her there. She was bummed, but surprisingly agreeable. She was unhappy to be missing the party, but understood my point.

Because she was so good natured about it, I offered to let her have a friend stay over. We picked up some snacks and stopped at the Blockbuster to let her pick out a movie. 30 minutes later, she'd made a decision, and we went to check out.

Do you realize Blockbuster charges $5 for a movie? I did not know this, as I rarely stop there, preferring online movies, Redbox, and Netflix. Guess what else I didn't know? Blockbuster does not accept checks. Yeah, I'm a check writing kind of girl, ever since Small One made off with my debit card. So, I had to leave the store and go home to borrow the man's debit card. Sort of a pain, but you know, not the worst thing in the world.

Checked Redbox online to see if they had the movie MC was going for, but no, they didn't. Back we went to Blockbuster, got the movie, and then drove to the other end of town to pick up her friend. I was getting tired, and a little bit cranky. I hadn't had dinner.

We got home, MC and friend went off to her room, semi-functional-laptop-that-serves-as-dvd-player in tow, and... no movie in the Blockbuster case. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?

Called the store, and spoke to the extremely apologetic clerk. He checked to see if they had another copy of the film. They did not. He recommended a similar film as a second choice. I asked the girls, they said that sounded great, I got back on the phone with the guy, and he told me they don't have that one. Really?!? BUT he had another recommendation at the ready. This time I didn't even run it by the girls, I just sent the Man off to fetch it. While he was gone, I went back to MC's room to break the news that we were going with a third option. As I was telling them this, the Man called from the video store.

You guessed it. They didn't have that one either. Seriously.

I think my biggest question of the evening (and you can probably guess there are many questions I'd like to ask) is WHY did the man keep making helpful suggestions and offering to hold movies for us without CHECKING to see if the movies were in his actual STORE?

Punchline of the night? Dvd player's not working either. Thank you, and goodnight.

Swimming in Quotable Quotes

Remember "Quotable Quotes"? From Reader's Digest? A page full of pithy and memorable quotations from famous people, to inspire, enlighten and amuse the reader. My girls are unbelievably quotable.

Small One keeps me giggling. Today at lunch, for instance, she said, while eating a BLT, "I like bacon. But I don't like monsters." This was good to know, but not so surprising- we've discussed monsters once already this week. That conversation went like this:

Small: Do bad guys eat people?

Me: Not typically. (hey, I try to be honest!)

Small:Do bad guys GET people? (makes grabbing motion with her hands)

Me: Yes, actually there are some bad guys who get little girls and take them away from their mamas, which is why you need to mind your Mama and stay with me. (I figure there's never a bad time to enforce this concept.)

Small: Ok. But monsters eat people, right? And dinosaurs do?

I guess it's a good idea to keep a running list of creatures that might eat you. Can't be too careful, right?

Sometimes her statements are inexplicable, like the time she asked where her Daddy was, and when I told her he was at work, she asked, in an exasperated tone, "But where's his face?"

I told her that I sincerely hoped his face was WITH him, or it might be off-putting to the other people at work.

Middle Child, though, is the Queen of the quotable. We've been having a tussle with her again, over her unwillingness to participate in anything that doesn't have to do with her friends, makeup, hair, clothing, facebook account, or ipod... including her schoolwork. Her grades are a good indicator of this unwilling attitude, and she's currently grounded, pending improvement. This situation, to her way of thinking, is entirely unjust, because (gear up now, quotable quote number one is coming)...

"Going to school is my gift to you."

Seriously? Going to school is her gift to ME? I hope she kept the receipt, because this is a crappy gift. If I were going to request someone's schooling as my particular present, I'd put on my request list at least ONE passing grade other than P.E., and possibly the added accessory of occasionally completed homework. But then again, she also said to me (quotable two!)...

"I don't really care about my grades- that's YOUR deal."

MY deal? Her grades are MY deal? Good grief, I wasn't a fan of highschool the first time around, I'm certainly not fascinated by it now, I just want her to get through it. (number three is coming, look out!)

"I brought my world history grade UP," she pointed out, with an injured air, "but I guess you just choose not to NOTICE that!"

Er... yes, I noticed, but to bring your grade up from abysmal to abysmal + 1 point does not really earn you accolades.

The Homecoming dance is the first major event she has missed because of the grade situation. I honestly don't think she believed I'd go through with it, as she presented me with roughly six million, three hundred thirty two thousand, eight hundred and twelve reasons that she should go, nay, verily, NEEDED to go, and when I still declined to allow it she said, (are you ready for number four?)

"I'm really losing respect for you, now that I see the lengths to which you will go to destroy a person."

That one made me laugh. It still makes me giggle, every time I think about it. Destroy a person? Seriously? I will bet that many of you readers who are of a certain age... my peers and those a little older, will recall a time when bringing home a dismal report card was a terrifying experience, because we were pretty sure our parents would literally destroy us. (Think Merry Old England, with the tower, and the decapitation, and the drawing and quartering and the heads on stakes and all that. ) Yeah, missing a dance will not destroy you, I'm only hoping it does not actually make you stronger.

This week's challenge? Halloween. M.C. has to have all her schoolwork turned in or she won't be allowed out of the house. I'm thinking this may be the Halloween that I actually get to witness someone turning into a werewolf or similarly terrifying beast.

Wish me luck! And while you're wishing things for me, I'll leave you with another of Small One's quotables. The Man was giving her a bath, and I was out for a walk. When I came in, I went to wash my hands, and my precious little girl turned to me and said,

"You look like a __" (undecipherable word)

I asked her to repeat, as I hadn't understood.

"I think you look like a ehhh!" she repeated, a little more emphatically.

When I still didn't get it, she clarified.

"A EGG," she said, "like Humpty Dumpty. Do you remember Humpty Dumpty?"

Ahh, yes, an EGG. Yes, dear Small, I remember Humpty Dumpty, though it has never been my aim to resemble him.

{Sigh}. They say kids keep you young... I'd add that they also keep you humble. And, of course, supplied with endless quotes, and points to ponder, though that's another Reader's Digest section entirely.

Pursuit of Happiness

Small One was in a grouchy mood tonight, despite a fun day. Truth be told, it was probably because she had such a fun day, she was a bit tired and out of sorts by dinner time.


She had a delicious meal in front of her, lovingly prepared, featuring vegetables and brown rice, mixed berries in yogurt, and turkey meatballs, made by her own mama, with fresh herbs from our own garden. She ate all the fruit and demanded more, and when I suggested she eat the meatballs first, she sulkily picked at the aforementioned fresh herbs. "What's this green stuff?" she asked, scowling.


I was losing patience. I said, "As I already told you, it's the wonderful herbs we grew together in our garden. But should I just let you dip the meatballs in ketchup? Would that make you happy?"

Not too pleased about it, I squirted some ketchup on her plate. She looked up at me, with a huge, radiant, and genuine smile.

"Oh!" she said, "Ketchup! Now I'm happy! The ketchup made me happy!"

Ahhh... if only happiness were always so easily attained.

In Everything Give Thanks

I think of myself as a thankful person. I try to look on the positive side, and notice that, in the grand scheme of things, I'm a very blessed person. I strive to be a Christ follower, and to remember that, as such, I've been instructed to give thanks in every situation.

But some weeks... well, sometimes it's hard to do. Weeks, like this one, when our financial outlook seems bleak, the ongoing job hunt seems everlastingly unproductive, and the to-do list seems longer than my actual lifespan. On top of it all, this week my Small One is not feeling well. I won't burden you with the gory details, but it hasn't been fun for either of us.

On reflection, though, there's a lot of good here. We have very kind and understanding landlords. We are blessed with health and love and caring friends and family. The most surprising thing I've noticed today, though, is that sometimes even the bad stuff has something good to offer.

Small One is not so small as she was. I delight in her accomplishments, but I also think wistfully of her babyhood, especially when I have the opportunity, as I did last night, to hold a very new baby. In this case, he was 12 hours old:

My little tornado is not so quiet. She is, in fact, sometimes utterly ear-piercing. And independent! Wow, is she independent! She is what one might refer to as a "pistol", if one were being kind. She is constantly telling me what she needs to do next or, more to the point, what I "NOT needa" do... ie, put her in time out, get her to pick up her toys, put her in bed, etc. She's always been an intense little creature, always with a plan, a study in motion.

But not today. Today, she's a baby again, a snuggly lap girl, a "you needa hold me" girl, someone who wants nothing more than to put her head on my chest and let me pet her. I hate that she feels ill (though today I think she's just worn out from yesterday), but the hidden blessing is that I get to love up on her, and she gets to remember that Mommy is a safe and warm place. And I get to notice that as big as she seems sometimes, she's still very small and soft and snuggly.

Life, even with the bad, is good.

Why are there no songs about Nebraska?

Or maybe I just don't know any...yet.

So, I haven't blogged in a long time, mainly because difficulties with my Middle Child have rendered me virtually humorless and without creative spark. But in the middle of all of this chaos, my sister in law sent me an article concerning a rather poorly worded law in Nebraska that has brought some unexpected problems.

In case you don't feel like following the link, I'll try to sum up. Many states have "safe haven" laws, where people can drop babies off at hospitals and not face repercussions. These laws are, of course, designed to keep people from dropping infants in dumpsters or ravines or what have you... but Nebraska's law is imprecise, and does not indicate an upper age of children that can be dropped. Consequently, people have taken to dumping their bigger children, with one man dropping off NINE children, because he didn't know how to handle them after his wife died. Another man crossed state lines to dump his 14 year old daughter.

Now before you go rushing to judgment on these parents, I urge you, spend a week with a 14 year old girl and THEN tell me you're not up for a Nebraska road trip. Or if you don't have a handy 14 year old girl, consider this anecdote, regarding a friend of a friend:

This lady I know has an absolutely beautiful, previously quite sweet 14 year old daughter. Lately, though, the girl has been belligerent and hostile, defiant and angry. She's currently grounded for bad behavior and bad grades, but the other night when she couldn't reach her mother on the phone as quickly as she liked to ask about an exception to the restriction, she just took it upon herself to decide she was off the hook and could sleep over at a friend's house. When her mother interfered with her plans, she became hysterical, crying and screaming and threatening her mother physically, saying she'd stab her in her sleep. Yikes!

The mother is divorced, but her ex lives quite nearby for the sake of helping with the kids, (although this is not really his strong suit, and she has to be pretty desperate to ask for his help), became really upset and frightened, and called her ex to come help. When the dad arrived, the girl became even MORE irrational, and took off running down a busy road, late at night, weaving in and out of traffic, with her father in hot pursuit. When he finally caught up to her, she was curled in a ball in a a ditch, sobbing. Drama much?

The mother picked her daughter up from school today, and took her out for coffee, to discuss what happened. (I'm pretty sure she was following the theory that teens are much less likely to cause a gigantic scene in public.) When she got to the part about her daughter threatening to kill her while she slept, the girl stopped her. "I never said that!" she said. Her mother assured her that yes, she did indeed say that, and the girl was all innocence, claiming no memory of it, but then started laughing, as though it was the funniest thing she'd heard all day, that her mother had gotten it SO WRONG.

"No," she patiently explained, "I said I would STAB you in your sleep."

Ahhh! Yes, of course, now it's all ok.

This story made me smile, I'm embarrassed to admit, but I promise the smile was one of empathy and understanding, with only a small dash of "Whew! Someone else's kid was worse than my kid today! Hooray!" thrown in for good measure.

Maybe I should give that mom a call, offer her a listening ear. Maybe she'd like to split the cost of a drive to Nebraska.

I had to come back and edit to add... I DID find a song called Nebraska!

Pants on Fire

Some time ago, I spent a few years giving birth to these creatures:

Aren't they cute? Cuddly, even. I have some very fond memories of those creatures. Sadly, they grew up to be these creatures:Look how MAD they look! On EASTER, for crying out loud! How does that even happen? How do sweet babies become angry teens? Actually, I have a theory- I think God makes babies cute and sweet so you don't throw them out when they wake you in the middle of the night, and then he causes teenagers to be surly and difficult so it will be easier to let them go off and have lives of their own. And the reward for not killing them is that they complete the cycle and bring you cute and cuddly grandchildren. See? Not a bad plan, actually.

My Middle Child is a beautiful, brilliant girl who has recently reached the stage my aunt and uncle lovingly call "Mean-ager". A fitting moniker, I think. Anyway, the Man and I have made a decision to confiscate an article of clothing every time this child is disrespectful, and make her earn the clothes back via some mundane task she'll hate. (I think the hatred of the task is an important part of this plan!)

Yesterday was the first time we implemented this new punishment. She mouthed off to her stepdad, he went into her room and removed her new black jeans from her closet, and we informed her that she could get them back by writing an essay on what it means to respect your parents. Her response? How shall I explain it? Remember that part of the story "Rumpelstiltskin", where he finds out the queen knows his name, and he throws such a big fit he ends up stomping through the floor and never being seen or heard from again? It was sort of like that, but with a less satisfactory result, because I can still see her.

I'll spare you most of the gory details, but I will say that by the time it was time to go to bed, she had not written the essay. She had voiced her opinions on people who take other people's clothes rather loudly, and she'd even written a delightful poem entitled "Ode to My Pants", which ended with the line "I WILL avenge you!", but she was still maintaining that an essay on respect was too harsh a task. She came back to my room and we had the following conversation:

Middle Child- I'm going to need those pants for church in the morning.

Me- Well, then, you should hurry up and do your essay.

MC- I'll do it tomorrow. I need my pants NOW.

Me- Well, then, you should hurry up and do your essay.

MC- That's really stupid. (here she begins explaining it to me as though I'm not bright enough to understand her position, and that's the problem) I'm SUPPOSED to wear black pants for our dance troupe performance tomorrow morning. Do YOU have any black pants you can loan me? No you do not. So you need to give me back my pants.

Me- Well, then, you should hurry up and do your essay. (Remember that scene in Dangerous Liaisons? Where John Malkovich kept repeating the same thing over and over, and Michelle Pfeiffer went nuts? That's what I was going for.)

MC- It's IMPOSSIBLE! I CAN'T WRITE IT! IT'S TOO HARD! I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO WRITE IT!

Me- I guess you're never getting your pants back, then. In fact, one more word out of your mouth and I think I may set fire to those pants.

MC- This isn't FAIR! Those are MY PANTS!

At this point... can you guess? Yes, I picked up the pants, went into the bathroom, threw them in the sink, and got out the matches. Lit a match and held it dangerously close to the fabric, at which point she became a LOT more cooperative.

She wrote a lovely essay, by the way. And no pants were actually harmed in the writing of this blog.