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.

Thurday 13, the Strange and Stranger Edition

Challenge for today: find 13 things in my day that are strange or involve strangers. Mission possible, for sure.

1. Strange, indeed, to be posting the Thursday 13 on a Friday, but that's how things go around this place.
2. Strange technology- my phone will no longer accept calls from my dear friend. Only her. She's the only one it's discriminating against, but I swear, I can be holding it in my hand, and it won't ring when she calls- just goes straight to voicemail.
   
3. My Small came home with a hat today, when she did not wear one to school. When I asked her whose hat it was she said "Mine!". Obviously, I pressed further, reminding her that she does not own a hat like that. "It must belong to one of my friends, then!" Ahh, now we're getting somewhere! I checked the label, which read "Bartlett". I don't know any children named Bartlett, or even with the last name of Bartlett, but since so many of us shop consignment and share hand-me-downs, I didn't find it odd. I did say "Bartlett" out loud, though, to which Small One replied "Oh, yeah, it's Bartlett's hat!" Really? Bartlett's hat? Who is Bartlett, exactly? "My friend, Mommy! My friend named Bartlett, you silly guy!" Ahh...
4. From the "strangers are friends we haven't met" department: There's a new lady working at the bank- or, at least, new to the floor. She typically works in the offices downstairs. Small One is the belle of the bank, in case you're wondering, but she had never met the lady before yesterday. As we were leaving the bank yesterday, she gave her a hug and kiss goodbye, and today spent much of our visit deep in conversation with her.
   
5. More bank strangeness... when I went to make my deposit, one of Small's well-loved bank friends pulled her across the counter and let her work the drive-through for awhile. Anyone banking at our local bank today who was greeted by a 3 year old voice introducing herself... yeah, that was mine.
6. Pharmacy strange- called in a prescription ahead of time, and when I went to pick it up, it wasn't ready. It was an easy prescription, they filled it in 2 minutes, but the pharmacist told me, as she was filling it, that if I want it filled quickly, I should not call it in in advance, but just bring it to her. Come again?
   
7. Fun strange- listening to my 10 year old students (boys) relate their theories on science fiction. Sometimes I love teaching. Today, too, I taught them the word "speculate", and we discussed its various conjugations... by the end of class, they were trying to work the word into casual conversation. "So if we're speculating on what you want from the homework assignment..."
8. Texty strange- Trying to choose a deodorant for Middle Child, I texted her the following message: "Sure pain, or sure clean demenscou?" Yeah, these are the perils of not checking your t9 before you hit the send button.
9. Tiresome strange- my Small, who is an excellent sleeper, woke up at 11:00 tonight FREAKING out, and insisted she needed to come and lie on top of me until she fell asleep. Getting her back into her bed was a bizarre ordeal.
10. In the process of the above ordeal, we said "Did you have a nightmare?" and when she answered in the affirmative, we asked her what it was about, to which she sobbed "NOTHING!" Alrighty, then.
    
11. Good strange: when I finally got her down again, after much weeping and wailing (on her part) and gnashing of teeth (on my part), she said "I'm sorry! Goodnight!" I've never been apologized to before by a child who is upset about sleeping, so that was a peculiarly nice shift.
12. Sad strange: a ghost from my past keeps trying to friend me on facebook. Everyone we mutually know is EMPHATIC that I shall not allow this to come to pass, and the notes from the wannabe friender are growing increasingly sad. It's so strange for me, not caving.
13. Strange creature- this child, who gave up on getting her own clothes on at this stage of the game, with an air of resigning herself to her fate:

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.

Laughing is better than crying, right?

I will admit, I'm easily tickled. More embarrassingly, I crack myself up all the time. Something simple comes up, and my brain takes it in a direction that just makes me laugh, and there I am, an appreciative audience of one to my own stand-up act. Loser-y, but true.

Typos really make me giggle. This takes me back to my high school typing class, in which I performed miserably, at least partly because Richard League was in my class, and that guy was FUNNY. I am absolutely no good at typing without glancing at my hands, and I was perpetually shifting over a key, which Richard dubbed "typing in Swedish". Today, though, I'm always giggling by myself at other people's typos, though I am pretty good about not pointing them out.

Tonight, though, I have to share. I'm a member of an online mother's group, and though I mostly go on there to hang out with other moms who have children the same age as my Small One, I have recently discovered a group for moms of teens as well, which I'm thinking I could really use, because dealing with teenaged kids pretty much REQUIRES a support group. Today, one of the topics was "How to keep your cool when they get so mouthy", which is, of course, pertinent. People were talking about all the same things I deal with on a weekly basis with Middle Child... the eye rolling, the door slamming, the yelling, the back talk, the fit throwing... I can't decide whether it's encouraging or depressing to know we're all in the same boat.

One post in particular, though, caught my eye. This mom states that her daughter throws fits that involve "screaming and whaling".

REALLY?!?!? Whaling? Now, that's interesting. Ingenious, even! What a creative way to burn off that negative energy!!! Where does the child get the whaling vessel and harpoons? And isn't that illegal most places? Surely the legality is an issue which needs attention. I am telling you, I elaborated on this and giggled at myself for hours. The mental image of that child dressed as a whaler was enough to keep me going for a long time. Call her Ishmael. (See, I'm still going with this!)

In her defense, the mom who wrote that is extremely intelligent and articulate, and I don't know that I've ever even caught her in a typo before, but somehow, that made it funnier.

Well, anyway, I guess laughter is my drug of choice. And red wine, but that's a topic for another day. Middle Child is back, as I've said, and she is back with a vengeance. Many days I'm actually physically tired from standing my ground. Boarding school, where art thou?

(I'm kidding, we can't afford boarding school, I've already checked.)

The other day, after suffering through a particularly ugly "mouthing off" incident at Target, I put M.C. out of the car. Yes, I did. It wasn't too far from home, it wasn't a busy street, but I was making a point. At first she tried to stare me down and refuse to get out of the car, but I won that one by offering her a chance to trade the walk home for two weeks of being grounded. She has enough sense to know that was a bad deal, so she reluctantly left the vehicle, but not without yelling at me, just before she slammed the door,

"You'd better HOPE I come HOME!!!"

Oh, I laughed so hard at that one! I'm still laughing, truth be told. I mean, seriously? What was her plan? And if you're going to threaten me, at LEAST pick something SCARY!

Someday, she'll look back on all this and laugh too, right?

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!

The More Things Change...

Tonight was the Homecoming dance. Oldest and his girlfriend are such ubercool seniors that they opted out, of course, but Middle Child was ALL OVER IT. She was on the planning committee. She was at the school at 10am today to decorate the gym. She cleaned her room.

She had three separate invitations from boys, and it was a bit of a dilemma for her, because while she liked all three boys, she didn't LIKE-like any of them, so whomever the pick might have been, they'd have been going "just as friends". This sort of arrangement, it is comforting to know, has not changed in the years since I was 14. Her two good friends, though, did not get invited, and were considering not going. In the end, the boy who was the front runner was grounded, and thus MC made up her mind that it would be WAY more fun to go as a group of girls, because if you're going to go as friends, you might as well go with your girlfriends, because that's who you'd be ditching your date to hang out with anyway. Wise choice, in my humble opinion.

It was decided that they would meet at one girl's house to get ready, and another girl's mom would drive every0ne home, so off we went, after I spent quite a while curling MC's hair.

The hair:
I have an odd situation going on with the parents of my children's peers. I'm typically about 10 years younger than the parents of my two older children's friends, and about 10 years older than the parents of the Small One's classmates. I guess my timing's always been off.

In any event, my "young mom" status got me ushered into the inner sanctum of MC's friend's room. It was funny to me. The music playing was Indigo Girls and Madonna, the girls were helping each other get ready, chatting and giggling and dancing, touching up make-up, trying out hairstyles and attitudes...

They were beautiful and young, insecure and giddy, gossipy and excited, protective and complimentary of one another. It could have been me in 9th grade, with April and Alisa, or a few years later with Dawn and Andrea, or a few years later still, with Abbi and Courtney. The music was the same, the conversation was eerily similar, there were fingerless gloves involved, for crying out loud! It was all somewhat comforting, actually, to see how little has changed since I was their age.

(Except the dresses! Wowie wow. How'd my little girl get so OLD all of a sudden?)

You Can't Stop the Music

So, no, the day didn't start out particularly different than any other day... I asked the Man to convey to our Middle Child that I did not wish for her to stay after school, and when I asked him about it later, he said she'd told him she HAD to, she had a student council meeting. This seemed odd to me, given that she'd stayed after for a student council meeting yesterday, so I called the school.

Two guesses. You're right! There was, indeed, no student council meeting. Hmm... so I called the OTHER part of the school, and asked them to send my daughter a note that read "No student council meeting, take school bus home". I mentioned to them that the word "school" was very important, because MC is big on semantics, and could easily interpret "bus" to mean "public transit" and then wander in God knows when, feigning innocence, and I just didn't want to have to hassle with it.

And then I was off...slightly delayed by all this dealing with the high school...to a meeting about a job. My dear friend Kim, (of "4 Chambers of My Heart" fame), had graciously agreed to watch my Small One, so I basically threw the child at her as I dashed back out the door, and she invited me to stay longer on the return trip, and have lunch. This is where the day took a few rather odd turns.

For one thing, I got a call from the high school. They'd tried to deliver the message, you see, but failed, because my child wasn't in class. What?!? The lady was pretty blase about it, considering it was basically their turn to watch the girl, and they weren't doing such a hot job. She assured me that she'd look into it further and call me back. I took a deep breath (or several), went to the meeting, returned to Kim's house to pick up Small One and have lunch.

Over lunch, Kim made reference to the fact that I seemed pretty unconcerned for a mom whose daughter was MIA, and I explained that I was going to wait for the school to call me, and then go to the school if she'd not been found. But as I was explaining this, my phone began to ring, and at the same time I noticed that TWO HOURS had passed since MC had not been in class, with no word from the school. I snatched up the phone and ran out the front door, to better hear the other party without 5 children in the same space.

It wasn't the school, it was my Oldest, and as I was wrapping up my conversation with him, I noticed a car pulling up to the curb. A bald African American man, probably in his late 50s, got out and approached me, just as I was dialing the school, and told me he was from Comcast, and I directed him inside, explaining that I didn't live there. Here's where it gets weird.

He said to me "Well, is the baby still crying?" and I conceded that it was possible a baby could still be crying, as there were two in the house. To which he replied "Well, I'm about to go in there and calm EVERYONE down", in a rather lilting tone, with an somewhat expansive hand gesture. Think "conversational jazz hands". (This should have clued me in that this was no ordinary Comcast cable guy.)

Kim came to the door, with a dvr and her Littlest in tow. "Hello, Little Man!" the Comcast guy called out, and her Littlest looked at him with suspicion. Small One, on the other hand, came right out onto the front porch and looked up at him, and he said...

"Hello! HellllO! Hello, Baby! Hello, it's me... I've thought about us for a long long time... Seeing you, or seeing anyone as much as I do you, I take for granted that you're always there..."

Yes, folks, YES, he sang his entire rendition of the old Todd Rundgren song "Hello It's Me." Did I say sang? Oh yes, sang! And in fact, right about the time he said "Hello Baby" he went into a little dance, complete with step-hip action and some side to side jazz hands. The other three children came to the door. Small One was fascinated.

All the children, in fact, were fascinated. I can really only describe it as "stupefied fascination", but Kim put it a little more aptly when she said "They were looking at him like he was Willy Wonka. Like they thought he MIGHT be nice, or he MIGHT be a little crazy, and they just needed to figure it out." Yep, that's exactly right.

Small One extended her arms, and he picked her up and finished the song, dancing with her. During this performance, I was on hold with the high school, waiting for them to locate MC, but when Small started looking a little nervous, I took her from him, smiling at him as if to say "No, no, I think you're nice crazy, not dangerous crazy, it's all good!"

When he finished his song, he turned his attention to Kim's Littlest. He said "What about you Little Man? Would you? Would yooooooou... WOULD you like to swing on a star?" And he was off again. All the children stared. Kim and I attempted not to look at each other, for fear we would burst into hysterical laughter. I walked a little way away to better hear the school administrator. (MC was found, she'd only missed part of one class, and was being duly written up for that infraction.)

By the time I was hanging up the phone, the man had moved on to a song about Jack coming back down the hill because he needed love he couldn't get from Jill. Not too sure I liked where that one was going, but it was broken up anyway, by the small children losing interest and fleeing the front stoop, and the not quite as small children retrieving them, against their will, to a chorus of howling nos.

Kim and I began to herd everyone back inside, saying our goodbyes to Theatrical Comcast Man, when he said to the children, "Wait, little girls! I've got something for you in my car!" We all froze in our tracks. Kim and I looked at each other. (She later told me my eyebrows went up almost to my hairline.) The man amended his statement. "I mean, if it's ok with your Mommies, I've got some candles I'd like to bring to you from my car, if you'll just wait here." Then he turned to us and said "I used to own a Dollar Store." (presumably as an explanation)

Then he was back, with a big bag full of candles. The bigger girls each picked a candle, as Kim and I wrangled the little ones away from the bag, and the man handed each of us a candle, despite our insistance that we didn't really need one.

I got a faux Heineken, Kim got a faux Budweiser.

As we walked in the door, and Comcast Man was headed down the front walk, I turned and looked at Kim. "DON'T!" she stage whispered, "THE WINDOWS ARE OPEN!"

I stage whispered back. "You KNOW I'm blogging about this!"

In about 20 years, we'll stage this picture again, with real beverages, and put both shots together in a double frame.

And you know, we have to keep those candles forever.

Kumbaya, my Lord, Kumbaya

Actual thing that happened in my house tonight:

Middle Child came into my room crying. "Oldest hit me because I said he's a good singer! He hates me for no reason! He hit me with a PIPE!"

(mind you, she'd been WILDLY unpleasant to the whole family all evening, so I wasn't too keen on taking her side)

Still, I went to Oldest's room and asked if he'd hit his sister. He said "Why? Does she have a mark?"

(Where is the raised eyebrow emoticon when I need it?)

I said "I don't know, did you hit her with a pipe?"

He said "She came to my door, I was singing while I was getting ready to work out, and she said 'Nice singing, Asshole'. So I poked her in the stomach with the piece of weather stripping I was holding."

(Don't ask why about the weather stripping, just back slowly away with me, back to the relative safety of my master bedroom)

Middle Child interjects "I was TRYING to give you a COMPLIMENT!" and then slams her door.

I say "Don't call your brother names, don't touch your sister. In fact, no more speaking tonight."

But I should have given Middle Child this helpful hint: when giving a compliment, remember it will be better received if you don't tack the word "asshole" on the end of it.

example: "I like those earrings" sounds a little better than "I like those earrings, Asshole!"

and "Nice place you've got here!" is almost certainly going to be taken with more grace than "Nice place you've got here, Asshole!"


(See, it's the teachable moments that make parenting so darned special!)

Doctor Doctor, Give me the News

Actual speech given to me and my 14 year old by her pediatrician:

Ok, she started off rational enough:

"She doesn't really need the hpv vaccine yet, since she's not sexually active."

(I nodded and smiled, 14yo confirmed that she is indeed not sexually active, I said I have issues with unnecessarily giving such a new vaccine, and she continued...)

"Oh, and they don't know how long the antibodies last, either. The protection may just wear off after a certain number of years, and then there she'll be, and maybe she'll have a husband who goes all WOO HOO on her, and brings her home something! Because that's what these men DO! They reach a certain age, and who KNOWS what even goes on in their minds? It's like they have a brain fart or something and they go out there all WOOWOOWOO and then God only knows what they're bringing home."

(Yes, the large and bold indicates high pitch and high volume)

As you can imagine, I had no response to that. Unless you count stunned silence as a response.

In the car, my child said to me, "Did my dr just say that when I grow up, my husband is going to have a brain fart that will cause him to cheat on me and give me an std?"

Yes, my darling, I believe she did.

Frenzied Friday

Such a day!

First, the good news. The Small One slept in her own bed ALL NIGHT! Well, ok, from 9:30 until 5:30, but that counts as all night, right? There was one moment, after midnight, when the man and I were watching a movie (silently, reading subtitles, so as not to wake her), when she thrashed about, woke herself up, and stood up. My dear husband stage whispered at me through his teeth, "DON'T LOOK AT HER!"

I didn't look at her. Then she put her head back down, and I peeked, and she popped back up, and the Man hissed at me! "WOMAN!"

It made me giggle. And then she lay her little self back down and that was that. Until 5:30.

Sadly, I did NOT sleep all night. I was not feeling well, and spent a great deal of time awake, and actually had JUST begun to doze when Small One woke up and joined us in our bed. Thankfully, she went back to sleep and slept until 7:45. (I would've preferred 9:15, but what can you do?)

Middle Child was home with a stomach flu, so of course there was much moaning and declining to do any chores, which made me tired again before I was even fully awake.

My sister in law had to have a procedure done today, and I was to drive her and then pick her back up, since she needed to be under general anesthesia. I was trying to be all organized (not my strong suit), and I had this great plan to get up this morning and be all perky and clever and put dinner into the crockpot before I left, and maybe even leave early. Uhh... no. Didn't happen.

I don't know if I've ever mentioned it here before, but I really think running a household full of kids is pretty much like giving a pig a pancake. And in case you don't know what I mean, I'm referring to the charming series of children's books (If You Give a Pig a Pancake, If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, If You Give a Moose a Muffin, etc) that urge children to consider the consequences of their actions through the weaving of cautionary tales wherein one thing leads to another and soon you're building a tree house with a pig in your backyard, and your house is a wreck.

Anyhoo, if you want to make dinner before you leave to take your sister in law to the dr, first you'll have to force your Small Child to eat breakfast. She'll probably be in a clingy, whiny mood, and buck and squirm and resist, and refuse to eat anything but grapes, so you'll have to wash the grapes, and when you go to wash the grapes you'll remember that you were supposed to be washing a chicken in order to put it in the crockpot. In order to wash the chicken, you'll have to clear the Big Kids' breakfast dishes out of the sink so they don't get contaminated by chicken nasties, and when you do that, it'll cause the dishwasher to be full, so you'll need to run it. Turning on the dishwasher will remind you that your Oldest asked you to wash a particular shirt, so you'll go into the laundry room to start the washer. The howls of protest from your Small One will remind you that she is still not pleased with the idea of eating a waffle, so you'll go back in to wash the grapes, and come face to face with that chicken, still waiting to be washed and put in the crock pot. You'll wash it and get it started, but then you'll have to bleach the sink before you can wash the grapes...

Yeah, so you get the idea. I was NOT early. But I got there just in time, whisked her off to her appt, and since the Small One had by this time fallen asleep, we obtained permission from the nurse for me to drop the sister in law off and leave. The nurse was to call me on my cell when it was time to pick her up. Because I did not feel like driving all the way home, I went to a nearby mall and parked under a tree, intending to read while Small One napped. I kept turning the fan on and then back off, because it was hot out, and I ended up chatting with my mother on my cell for a while.

Whoopsie! Cell phone starts chirping out its sad little battery death song. I decide that a trip home must be made after all, to retrieve the charger. I turn the key in the ignition, only to hear the very disappointing ratatatatatat sound of a run down battery. Whoopsie part two! Seriously dumb move, all the fan turning on business. I call the Man, frantic. "I'm at the mall," I say, "at the corner of Bloomingdale's, behind the Container Store. I hate to say it, but I need you to grab my phone charger, bring it up to me, and jumpstart the car, because the car is dead and the phone could go at any second." He groans, but agrees.

Ten minutes pass. I turn the key again, and the engine roars to life. Hooray! Well, ok, but not really, because the Man is on his way here unnecessarily. I call to tell him I'll meet him halfway. He does not pick up. What?!?!? Did I mention I'm stranded with a dying phone? And a toddler? I try him again, and my phone dies. Argh.

About this time, Small One wakes, and says "Drive car, Mommy!" I explain her we're waiting for Daddy, but when ten more minutes pass, with no sign of Daddy, and Small One growing increasingly insistent, even throwing in some sign language in case I didn't understand what she meant by "drive car", I start circling the parking lot. When forty-five minutes have passed, I'm absolutely beside myself. It occurs to me that the gas station across from the mall might have a pay phone, so I head over there. I call the man, and he says "I'm here at Macy's and I don't see you." Argh again.

I'm twenty minutes late retrieving my sister in law, which obviously means I am not in the running for Sister In Law of the Year. She was quite good natured about it, to her credit. I dropped her off at home, and decided to stop at a local produce stand with the Small One, who'd at this point been in the car for about five hours, with very little respite. When I released her, she immediately started running laps around the support pole of the little shed, which, strangely enough, did NOTHING to quell the cries of "AREN'T YOU PRECIOUS?!?!?!" from the very enthusiastic produce lady.

In fairness, Small One was wearing this outfit, which does make her pretty hard to resist:
But! What I found very interesting is that the lady kept saying "Oh, you're a KEEPER! Your parents should KEEP you! You're a KEEPER!" What a weird way to compliment a child, by planting the question in her head as to whether her parents were planning on letting her stay. Besides which, does that woman ever start crowing "Oh, you're NOT WORTH KEEPING! Your parents should SELL you!" to any other children that come by? Makes you wonder, doesn't it?

Got home, raced around making dinner. Roast chicken, fresh butter beans, fresh cucumber and tomato salad, cornbread... quite an undertaking. As I'm putting the finishing touches on the dinner, Oldest breezes through the kitchen. "Hey, Mom, don't know if I told you, but I'm not eating here tonight- Dad's taking me to the football game, and then out to dinner!"

No, you didn't tell me. So I cooked this beautiful chicken for me, a toddler on a hunger strike, a teenager with a stomach flu, and my vegetarian husband. FanTAStic.

Will anyone blame me if I refuse to leave my bed tomorrow? I feel about like this:

My Friday, the Old and the Small of it

So Thursday was hectic, to put it mildly, and I didn't fall into bed until 3:30am. When I had to get up at 6:30 to make sure the big kids were up, well...that was pretty darned early. And were they up? Not so much. Oldest was in the shower, but Middle Child was still firmly tucked into her bed, and when Oldest emerged as I was coming out of M.C.'s room, he snarled at me that he DID wake her up, she just didn't listen to him. (Which may have been true.)

I would've stayed up to help them get out the door, but they were basically surly, snarling, vicious creatures, and I was not too interested in losing a finger to one of them. I retreated back to my room, where the Small One was calling for molebats. (Or something.) I did stick around long enough to be chastised for not waking them up earlier, as now M.C. wouldn't get a shower and Oldest wouldn't finish his lab.

Tried in vain to get the Small One to sleep in, but alas and alack, off we went into our day. Midway through the morning, I got a phone call from the high school, that went something like this:

Man: Mrs. Momtype? This is Dean Importantguy at the high school, and I have your Oldest here in my office.

Me: Mmm hmm?

Man: Yes, well, we are WELL into second period, and he has not been in class, and a teacher found him in the bathroom working on something.

Me: (silence in which you can hear crickets chirping, because I'm not sure I WANT to know what he was working on in the bathroom)

Man: Er... I think it was some kind of homework. (speaks to my child, away from phone) What was it, son? Uh huh. And when was it due? Uh huh. (back to me) It was a lab, and he says he left his book at school and couldn't finish it, and it was due second period. And that's THIS period. But we're WELL into the period and he hasn't been to class.

(And yes, he did mention to me SEVERAL times about which period it was and the fact that he hadn't been to class.)

Me: Mmm hmm, well, I know he was concerned about. So what happens now?

Man: Well, I'm going to have to give him a detention. Because (say it with me, folks) it's well into second period and he hasn't been to class.

Me: So... what does that mean? I have to pick him up late from school?

Man: No, no, it'll be Tuesday, and you'll have to pick him up an hour and a 1/2 late.

Now, at this point I got tickled. Because while I do appreciate being kept in the loop, my son most assuredly would have come home and told me what was going on, because he would've needed a ride on Tuesday. So really, not that important to call me right now, and anyway... what a HORRIBLE offense, right? Doing homework in the bathroom at school- what's next? You know, that's how it starts, and pretty soon they're doing schoolwork at home, and science projects on the bus, and where does it all end, I ask you? Hooligans! So I giggled.

Me: Well, I guess there's really not much chance of getting through high school without ever receiving a detention, huh?

Man: (taken slightly aback) Erm, well, actually, I was surprised to learn he was a senior, because I've never seen him before, and so I thought he might be a transfer student, but he tells me he's been here all four years. (said a bit incredulously, as if the kid had probably just transferred in and was trying to pull one over on the dean)

Me: Yeah, I guess that's because he's usually a pretty good kid. But thanks for keeping me informed.

I hung up, and got a text message from my Oldest about five minutes later that read:

"Yeah, so that pretty much sucked."

Meanwhile, back in toddlerville, my sister-in-law had invited me to come paint handprint tiles with them at a local pottery place. Though I typically think that taking a toddler into a pottery place is about as much fun as taking a fork to my eyeballs, I agreed, because a)it was for the in-laws,b) Small One loves her cousins, and c)I had some things I needed to bring to my sister-in-law, and the pottery place is closer than her house. It was determined that we would meet in the afternoon, after Small's nap.

Only napping was not in the plan for my youngest child. I got her to sleep, and five minutes later she was running through the house, yelling at me in a loud voice. After about an hour of trying to get her back to sleep, I stuck her in her crib (aka "baby cage") so that I might shower, and after 45 minutes of her calling to me from her crib, I took her back out and stayed with her on my bed until she finally dozed off. Of course, this meant that once again I had to break the rules and wake a sleeping baby, but I waited until the last possible moment (and actually beyond the last possible, as I was 30 minutes late) and then fed her lunch in the car.

The pottery adventure? Bit of a nightmare. Have you ever heard the expression "bull in a china shop"? "Toddler in a pottery shop" is, in my opinion, at least that stressful. And not because she's not a good girl, because really, she is, but she did want to take all the breakable things off the shelf, and she didn't want to put her painted hand on the tile in a flat way, but insisted on making it into more of a squid shape, so that it was VERY tricky to get more than her fingertips on the tile. By the time we left that place, I was wiped out. So of course, afterward, we went to a toy store. With two 2 year olds and a 4 year old. Because we are gluttons for punishment.

On the upside, she did demonstrate her rather remarkable intellect in ways that tickled me, both on the drive over, and in the toy store. On the way over, she was playing with various toys, and doing what I call "toddler conjugation". She'd pick something up and say, for instance, "Zebra. Baby's zebra. MY zebra!" and then nod and smile, and move onto the next item. In the toy store, she picked up a cow puppet and said "Oh, wow- a COW! Moooooo, cow! Mommy, cow." and at that last "cow", she did the sign for cow. LOVE her. And when it was time to go, I anticipated a fight, but no, I just suggested that she tell the toys goodbye and she did... individually.

"Bye bye cow! Bye bye, kitty cat! Bye bye monkey! Bye bye, cars! Night night, balls!" (Why the balls got a "night night" instead of a goodbye is anyone's guess.)

And since I mentioned the signing, I'll leave this rather long narrative with the video of my Small One signing, in case anyone on the planet earth has not yet seen it.

Mole Bats and Advice

My previously discussed Middle Child has only in the past 2 years or so become a rather difficult person; prior to that she was basically the human incarnation of Disney's Tigger. Bounding through life with unbridled natural exuberance, more or less oblivious to any destruction she might be leaving in her wake... wait, I think maybe she's still Tigger, just the dark version. Darth Tigger, if you will. But for the first twelve or so years of her life, she pretty much looked like this:

Man, I miss that kid! Hopefully, she'll be back in a few years.

My Oldest, though, my one and only boy child, has always been more of an Eeyore. A good guy, hilariously funny, actually, and sensitive and kind, but always a worrier. Hiding behind his hair from the moment he had a say in the matter, fretting over things in a way to which it's difficult for me to relate. (I'm more of a cockeyed optimist, I think.) This is him, with the little sister he adores, on his mom's birthday:

See what I mean?

I'm not sure how the Small One will turn out, of course, but I do know she is a girl with a purpose. Always with an agenda, that one, and pretty insistent upon it's execution. A funny thing about her lately, though- she's gotten lazy with some pronunciation. I mean, she's not quite two, so she requires a bit of translation anyway, but there are a few things she used to say VERY clearly, clearly enough for complete strangers to understand, that she's starting to slur a little, just because she knows we know what she means. The biggest example of this is the way she asks to nurse. We're still breastfeeding, but typically we prefer to nurse on the bed, because I'm not one for nursing a toddler in front of people. (Well- with a few exceptions.) When she wants milk, she does the sign for milk and says, usually very loudly, "MILK BED MOMMY, PLEASE!!!!!" But recently, she shortened this to "MILK BED PLEASE" and now she's begun to say "MILKBED!" as one word, but she's started slurring it, so it sounds more like "MOLEBAT!" than anything else.

We pretend not to understand her. We say "Molebats? Where? We don't want any molebats around here!" And then she slows down and pronounces it, but it makes her mad, I can tell. What is a molebat, anyway? I don't think I want to meet one!

But I digress, because I wanted to talk about my eldest. He has a new favorite phrase, which he tosses at me any time I attempt to make a suggestion about his life. The phrase? "ARE YOU CRAZY?!?!?" As in "Hey, maybe you should go jogging!" "ARE YOU CRAZY? It's too hot." "I think you should take Spanish over the summer." "ARE YOU CRAZY? I don't want to spend my summer doing school!" (And yes, he took the class, and made a high A, so perhaps I am not as crazy as previously suggested, eh?)

Over the weekend, we had a bit of a falling out. He signed up for football, went to one practice, wants to quit. I think that's not the best of plans, and maybe he should try to tough it out for a little while longer and see if he can do it. "ARE YOU CRAZY? If I stay in football I'll either have to quit my night job or fail my classes!" So I suggest he quit his night job (because he has a seasonal weekend job as well) and he, of course, asks if I am crazy, because if he quits his night job, then when the seasonal job ends he'll have NO job.

So I did what any self respecting mom would do. I gave one final piece of advice: "Call your father." Because really, what do I care about football? I don't even LIKE football. But his dad just put $200 into football equipment, so he may wish to have a say.

Today, Oldest Child comes in after school and says "What should I do about school and work and football?" Not being in the mood today to have my sanity questioned, I say "I don't know, Honey." He gets this really hurt look on his face and says "You always do that! You refuse to give me advice!"

I was rather stunned by this particular criticism, and looked at him askance. He said "It's TRUE! You either tell me to do whatever I want, or you tell me what I'm doing is the wrong thing, or you tell me you don't know!?!?!?"

Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that called "giving advice"?

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.