It happened. There I stood bare-footed looking slightly up at Pearce in his tennis shoes. Truthfully, I didn’t notice it. I was just talking to my kid. But Pearce; he noticed it. He noticed it out loud.
Puberty embarrasses him. The infancy of a mustache on his top lip causes him anxiety. His voice breaking amuses him. But realizing he was eye level to mom was a rite of passage. A moment he realized he could hold over me. Literally.
The funny thing is that I still worry that he’ll have trouble putting the dishes away in the high places when unloads the dishwasher. Maybe I’m in denial. I need to reflect on that.
Here’s the funny freebie for you. My 12-year-old is about to be the tallest person in my house.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
Waterworks
I have always prided myself on ‘keeping it together’ during times when other mothers shapeshift into blubbering heaps of maternal embarrassment. I don’t cry on the first day of school. I don’t cry at Pre-K graduations. Or K graduations. In fact, I die laughing every time I see the scene where Mr. Incredible gets lectured for missing his son’s 4th grade graduation:
Helen: I can't believe you don't want to go to your own son's graduation.
Bob: It's not a graduation. He is moving from the 4th grade to the 5th grade.
Helen: It's a ceremony!
Bob: It's psychotic!
In my never ending pursuit of full-disclosure with you, though, the real reason I relate to Bob (Mr. Incredible) and the reason I make fun of my maternal peers is that I’m secretly worried that there’s something WRONG with me. Why don’t I cry at these occasions? Why can’t I appreciate the momentousness of these milestones? What kind of monster mother am I??????
Thankfully, I now know that the timing in my blubbering engine is just a little off. A case in point is last week’s PTA meeting. It was the kind of meeting where they bribe you to come by tacking on a musical program at the end. You know; the musical program with your child in it. So we went, as we’ve done since Pearce was in Kindergarten. For six years I have sat in the audience and not cried while other parents misted up and even shed a few poignant, dramatic tears proving that they love their kids more than I love mine. But during the last PTA meeting, something in me broke. And I mean broke. I was admiring the absolute genius of Cole’s performance. I was swelling. And then, the show ended and the choir teacher stood up to say thanks for coming. I thought of how great she is and how much I’ve enjoyed her shows over the years. And it hit me. Because Stone and Cade will go to a different elementary, this was the last of these performances at this school. And as the kids went into their completely awesome school song, I felt the heat rise in my face and I knew something terrible was imminent. It surprised me as my eyes were filled with alien moisture. Then, my attention was directed to Pearce, who was standing with a group of ‘alumni’ – all singing and doing the hand motions to the school chant. And I did one better than cry, people. I broke down. I drew a mixture of horrified and sympathetic looks from the people seated nearest me as I sobbed semi-quietly.
I had a cathartic realization. I realized how proud I was of my kids. I realized how much I appreciated the school and how much I’d miss it after this year is over. I realized that both my older children were flagship kids at that school and that they’d broken in those hallways, those classrooms, and those school songs. And the realization of it all broke me in a way I had no defense against. I was not the mother who makes other mothers feel bad for not crying. I was the mother other mothers look at and say, “Thank goodness I’m not that lady (or her kids).” I had a chance to compose myself as the Art teacher made announcements and the kids were ushered into the cafeteria for pick-up. I managed to make it through telling Cole how proud I was of him without more waterworks. But on the way home, when I was alone in the car, I cried more. This time in earnest, without the stares of others to deter me.
I’m pretty sure I cried enough to cover every event in the past I missed out on. And I know I’m covered for the rest of the school year, if not next year, too. Who knows, I might have unleashed something inside. I’ll get back to you on that. Stone has a pre-K graduation coming up.
Helen: I can't believe you don't want to go to your own son's graduation.
Bob: It's not a graduation. He is moving from the 4th grade to the 5th grade.
Helen: It's a ceremony!
Bob: It's psychotic!
In my never ending pursuit of full-disclosure with you, though, the real reason I relate to Bob (Mr. Incredible) and the reason I make fun of my maternal peers is that I’m secretly worried that there’s something WRONG with me. Why don’t I cry at these occasions? Why can’t I appreciate the momentousness of these milestones? What kind of monster mother am I??????
Thankfully, I now know that the timing in my blubbering engine is just a little off. A case in point is last week’s PTA meeting. It was the kind of meeting where they bribe you to come by tacking on a musical program at the end. You know; the musical program with your child in it. So we went, as we’ve done since Pearce was in Kindergarten. For six years I have sat in the audience and not cried while other parents misted up and even shed a few poignant, dramatic tears proving that they love their kids more than I love mine. But during the last PTA meeting, something in me broke. And I mean broke. I was admiring the absolute genius of Cole’s performance. I was swelling. And then, the show ended and the choir teacher stood up to say thanks for coming. I thought of how great she is and how much I’ve enjoyed her shows over the years. And it hit me. Because Stone and Cade will go to a different elementary, this was the last of these performances at this school. And as the kids went into their completely awesome school song, I felt the heat rise in my face and I knew something terrible was imminent. It surprised me as my eyes were filled with alien moisture. Then, my attention was directed to Pearce, who was standing with a group of ‘alumni’ – all singing and doing the hand motions to the school chant. And I did one better than cry, people. I broke down. I drew a mixture of horrified and sympathetic looks from the people seated nearest me as I sobbed semi-quietly.
I had a cathartic realization. I realized how proud I was of my kids. I realized how much I appreciated the school and how much I’d miss it after this year is over. I realized that both my older children were flagship kids at that school and that they’d broken in those hallways, those classrooms, and those school songs. And the realization of it all broke me in a way I had no defense against. I was not the mother who makes other mothers feel bad for not crying. I was the mother other mothers look at and say, “Thank goodness I’m not that lady (or her kids).” I had a chance to compose myself as the Art teacher made announcements and the kids were ushered into the cafeteria for pick-up. I managed to make it through telling Cole how proud I was of him without more waterworks. But on the way home, when I was alone in the car, I cried more. This time in earnest, without the stares of others to deter me.
I’m pretty sure I cried enough to cover every event in the past I missed out on. And I know I’m covered for the rest of the school year, if not next year, too. Who knows, I might have unleashed something inside. I’ll get back to you on that. Stone has a pre-K graduation coming up.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
"Sthuck? Sthuck???"
I started work last week and a few of my friends have told me that they can tell because the funny Facebook statuses and blog posts have all but stopped. Lucky for you, my kids never take a break from...well, being my kids. Thanks to Pearce for giving me a story that should satisfy you for weeks.
I consider myself very lucky. I have four boys and only Pearce has had stitches. Four boys and only Pearce has fractured a bone. Four boys and not one of them has ever had to have the fire department called to rescue him from a school desk. Until yesterday.
I'm sitting in a coworker's cubicle and I get a call from the dreaded number. Pearce's school calling. Again. It most likely means he's forgotten important school supplies or was 'excessively social' during class. I answer and it's the nurse. My first mental reaction is 'Whew...he's not in trouble.' The nurse begins with, "Pearce is fine. Your son is Frank, right? Goes by Pearce? Hold on, I need to make sure I'm talking to the right parent." She yells to someone in the background and comes back to the phone. "Ok, Pearce got his finger stuck in a desk and we tried ice to get it out. We tried soap and oil and are still unable to get it out, so (there's a pause)...we've called the fire department to come and assist and we are wondering if you can come up here."
And there it is. The reason I shouldn't have been relieved that it was the school nurse on the phone. Note to self - just because it's the school nurse doesn't mean my child isn't in trouble.
I call Chad and he comes to my rescue by flying out of his work to the school. He calls to tell me that Pearce is still stuck and that his finger is cut and swollen and that the firemen are deciding what to do. They've moved Pearce and the desk to the nurse's office. I'll just stop so you can enjoy the visual of the vice-principal and Pearce carrying the desk through the halls to the nurses office with his finger stuck in it.
By the time I get through my training (fifth day on the job, just to remind you) and get in the car, they've rescued Pearce from the desk by drilling holes in it then using what they called 'tiny jaws of life' to cut from hole to hole until they can bend it back and remove Pearce's manacled finger.
Chad informs me that he has 'good circulation and can feel the tip of his finger' but that we need to have it looked at by a doctor.
Why did Pearce stick his finger into a hole that was too small for his finger? Because his friend hid popcorn in the desk. Of course. Why did he think he'd be able to retrieve popcorn through a hole that was smaller than the popcorn (and his finger)? Because he's a boy and he has brain damage.
And my husband, the one who heroically left work to fly to Pearce's aid, did not lose his sarcastic wits. He took these pictures for posterity. And for your benefit. Enjoy.
Here he is giving the 'ok' sign. This was what Chad sent me to let me know Pearce was in good spirits.
And here is the finger. The desk top has been removed and you can see that his finger is too swollen to remove. And it's cut at the base where he tried to twist it out of the hole before calling the teacher's attention to his predicament.
There is so much more to this story. How the first fire truck didn't have the right tools and they had to call a second one. How Pearce almost passed out at one point. How the doctor lectured Pearce for 10 minutes about the importance of studying and not messing around in class. So much more, but you got the best part of the story. My kid's the one who got his tongue frozen to the proverbial light pole.
I consider myself very lucky. I have four boys and only Pearce has had stitches. Four boys and only Pearce has fractured a bone. Four boys and not one of them has ever had to have the fire department called to rescue him from a school desk. Until yesterday.
I'm sitting in a coworker's cubicle and I get a call from the dreaded number. Pearce's school calling. Again. It most likely means he's forgotten important school supplies or was 'excessively social' during class. I answer and it's the nurse. My first mental reaction is 'Whew...he's not in trouble.' The nurse begins with, "Pearce is fine. Your son is Frank, right? Goes by Pearce? Hold on, I need to make sure I'm talking to the right parent." She yells to someone in the background and comes back to the phone. "Ok, Pearce got his finger stuck in a desk and we tried ice to get it out. We tried soap and oil and are still unable to get it out, so (there's a pause)...we've called the fire department to come and assist and we are wondering if you can come up here."
And there it is. The reason I shouldn't have been relieved that it was the school nurse on the phone. Note to self - just because it's the school nurse doesn't mean my child isn't in trouble.
I call Chad and he comes to my rescue by flying out of his work to the school. He calls to tell me that Pearce is still stuck and that his finger is cut and swollen and that the firemen are deciding what to do. They've moved Pearce and the desk to the nurse's office. I'll just stop so you can enjoy the visual of the vice-principal and Pearce carrying the desk through the halls to the nurses office with his finger stuck in it.
By the time I get through my training (fifth day on the job, just to remind you) and get in the car, they've rescued Pearce from the desk by drilling holes in it then using what they called 'tiny jaws of life' to cut from hole to hole until they can bend it back and remove Pearce's manacled finger.
Chad informs me that he has 'good circulation and can feel the tip of his finger' but that we need to have it looked at by a doctor.
Why did Pearce stick his finger into a hole that was too small for his finger? Because his friend hid popcorn in the desk. Of course. Why did he think he'd be able to retrieve popcorn through a hole that was smaller than the popcorn (and his finger)? Because he's a boy and he has brain damage.
And my husband, the one who heroically left work to fly to Pearce's aid, did not lose his sarcastic wits. He took these pictures for posterity. And for your benefit. Enjoy.
Here he is giving the 'ok' sign. This was what Chad sent me to let me know Pearce was in good spirits.
And here is the finger. The desk top has been removed and you can see that his finger is too swollen to remove. And it's cut at the base where he tried to twist it out of the hole before calling the teacher's attention to his predicament.
There is so much more to this story. How the first fire truck didn't have the right tools and they had to call a second one. How Pearce almost passed out at one point. How the doctor lectured Pearce for 10 minutes about the importance of studying and not messing around in class. So much more, but you got the best part of the story. My kid's the one who got his tongue frozen to the proverbial light pole.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Just For Fun Friday
Each Friday, I'm going to post a picture I took that week that makes me smile - or laugh - or say 'Hmmmmm.' These won't be the most amazing pictures, just a warning!
Stone in glow-in-the-dark face paint. Boys LOVE glow-in-the-dark stuff. On the 4th of July, it was a the glow sticks that held their attention, not the fireworks. And this face paint was a huge hit, too. SPOOKY!
Stone in glow-in-the-dark face paint. Boys LOVE glow-in-the-dark stuff. On the 4th of July, it was a the glow sticks that held their attention, not the fireworks. And this face paint was a huge hit, too. SPOOKY!
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Back to Work
I got the call today. An offer on a job I really wanted. At a location that is perfect. Working with people I know and care about. A really perfect job.
As I'm talking with Chad about the news, I look up and there are Stone and Cade, sitting together on the floor playing race cars. My throat constricted. Two years ago, I had the incredible luck of staying at home with them. I was pregnant with Cade, and Stone was only two. It's been an incredible two years of joy and learning - about myself and my children. And, although I'm incredibly grateful and excited about this position, I can't help but look back on the last two years with a hint of sadness that it's coming to a close.
The highlights:
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Stone is a patient older brother. But it wasn't always easy. This picture was taken right after Stone poked Cade's eyeball the day we came home from the hospital. Daddy said, "No!" a little too loudly and this was Stone's reaction. This picture reminds me how much he's grown in his role as big bro. These days, he's the one to get Cade up and he does it with this sweet little voice - I'm looking forward to that not changing.
I also loved the interesting places I found my kids when the house was WAY too quiet.
I also got a kick out of watching the interaction between my oldest kids and my youngest kids. You don't know how a wide age gap is going to affect your family until it happens. Luckily, I have amazingly awesome kids. Here's an example of weapons training. :)
One of the things I loved most of all was hanging out in the back yard with my kids and watching them run around. Mostly naked. Um...them, not me. One of Cade's favorite things to do was to go over and peep through our fence to the neighbor's yard.
I'm not going to lie to you. I'm excited about the job, but having a hard time looking at Stone and Cade without getting misty. We've been traveling this road together for two years. But, I'm excited to learn about their new friends and what they are learning each day.
And truthfully, I'm excited that someone else is in charge of daily diaper changings and potty training!
As I'm talking with Chad about the news, I look up and there are Stone and Cade, sitting together on the floor playing race cars. My throat constricted. Two years ago, I had the incredible luck of staying at home with them. I was pregnant with Cade, and Stone was only two. It's been an incredible two years of joy and learning - about myself and my children. And, although I'm incredibly grateful and excited about this position, I can't help but look back on the last two years with a hint of sadness that it's coming to a close.
The highlights:
.JPG)
Stone is a patient older brother. But it wasn't always easy. This picture was taken right after Stone poked Cade's eyeball the day we came home from the hospital. Daddy said, "No!" a little too loudly and this was Stone's reaction. This picture reminds me how much he's grown in his role as big bro. These days, he's the one to get Cade up and he does it with this sweet little voice - I'm looking forward to that not changing.
I also loved the interesting places I found my kids when the house was WAY too quiet.
I also got a kick out of watching the interaction between my oldest kids and my youngest kids. You don't know how a wide age gap is going to affect your family until it happens. Luckily, I have amazingly awesome kids. Here's an example of weapons training. :)
One of the things I loved most of all was hanging out in the back yard with my kids and watching them run around. Mostly naked. Um...them, not me. One of Cade's favorite things to do was to go over and peep through our fence to the neighbor's yard.
I'm not going to lie to you. I'm excited about the job, but having a hard time looking at Stone and Cade without getting misty. We've been traveling this road together for two years. But, I'm excited to learn about their new friends and what they are learning each day.
And truthfully, I'm excited that someone else is in charge of daily diaper changings and potty training!
Friday, October 15, 2010
Just For Fun Friday
Each Friday, I'm going to post a picture I took that week that makes me smile - or laugh - or say 'Hmmmmm.' These won't be the most amazing pictures, just a warning!
I love this time of year for so many reasons. Here's one. If I let me husband slack off on the mowing, our yard fills up with the little white flowers. And, sometimes there's a bunny laying in them. It makes me smile.
Enjoy, because I got super itchy lying in the grass to get this shot for you. :)
I love this time of year for so many reasons. Here's one. If I let me husband slack off on the mowing, our yard fills up with the little white flowers. And, sometimes there's a bunny laying in them. It makes me smile.
Enjoy, because I got super itchy lying in the grass to get this shot for you. :)
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Remember the Alamo!!!!!!
I'm just warning you. This is going to be a sappy one. The kind where I'll write it, post it, then realize that maybe not all of my inside thoughts belong outside. And the internet is as outside as you can get. At any rate, here I go. And really, I pick on Chad enough that he deserves ONE sappy post on my blog.
When we were in San Antonio together without our kids, we both realized that we still LIKE each other. Aside from loving each other, we really get along. Like chocolate and peanut butter. Ok, maybe more like ants and picnics; we aren't perfect, but we still go together (I'm the picnic in that scenario, just in case you wondered).
We made a pact as we walked hand-in-hand down the Riverwalk that we were going to get through the child-rearing years come hell or high water. We both know that if we can just hold out another decade or so, we'll come out on the other end still liking each other.
And that's the catch. Getting through that decade or so with our kids. Parenting differences are effective relationship land mines. Agendas, conflicting communication styles, goals, expectations - all of these things are bad enough on their own, but when you throw in children, they become nuclear. There are times when I can't fathom why we got married. There are times when I feel like he's an alien because we can't agree on the best way to handle a parental conflict. There are times when I feel defeated and hopeless.
In the future, these are the times when I'm going to Remember the Alamo. It was there that Chad reminded me who he is as a husband. We went into the gift store to look for trinkets to take home to the boys (by the way, lollipops with scorpions in them are big hits in my house) and on the way out, I saw this awesome necklace. Just a silver chain with a pendant-sized silver Texas Rangers' badge. I admired and we walked out. Once we were in the courtyard, Chad asked, "Did you want that necklace?" And I replied with the usual, "Yes, but I don't need it." He told me I should go back and get it. He held out cash and asked me for a kiss. I kissed him and he said, "Even." And that's my husband. Who regards my affection so highly that a simple kiss is considered currency in an impromptu gift exchange.
I was embarrassed as I purchased the necklace fighting tears the entire time, thinking of Chad outside who thought he'd gotten a fair trade that day. He is amazing and I will fight for him, even if the battle is within me during those times when the stress of life gets us down. I will remember who he is. I will remember why I love him. I will Remember the Alamo!
When we were in San Antonio together without our kids, we both realized that we still LIKE each other. Aside from loving each other, we really get along. Like chocolate and peanut butter. Ok, maybe more like ants and picnics; we aren't perfect, but we still go together (I'm the picnic in that scenario, just in case you wondered).
We made a pact as we walked hand-in-hand down the Riverwalk that we were going to get through the child-rearing years come hell or high water. We both know that if we can just hold out another decade or so, we'll come out on the other end still liking each other.
And that's the catch. Getting through that decade or so with our kids. Parenting differences are effective relationship land mines. Agendas, conflicting communication styles, goals, expectations - all of these things are bad enough on their own, but when you throw in children, they become nuclear. There are times when I can't fathom why we got married. There are times when I feel like he's an alien because we can't agree on the best way to handle a parental conflict. There are times when I feel defeated and hopeless.
In the future, these are the times when I'm going to Remember the Alamo. It was there that Chad reminded me who he is as a husband. We went into the gift store to look for trinkets to take home to the boys (by the way, lollipops with scorpions in them are big hits in my house) and on the way out, I saw this awesome necklace. Just a silver chain with a pendant-sized silver Texas Rangers' badge. I admired and we walked out. Once we were in the courtyard, Chad asked, "Did you want that necklace?" And I replied with the usual, "Yes, but I don't need it." He told me I should go back and get it. He held out cash and asked me for a kiss. I kissed him and he said, "Even." And that's my husband. Who regards my affection so highly that a simple kiss is considered currency in an impromptu gift exchange.
I was embarrassed as I purchased the necklace fighting tears the entire time, thinking of Chad outside who thought he'd gotten a fair trade that day. He is amazing and I will fight for him, even if the battle is within me during those times when the stress of life gets us down. I will remember who he is. I will remember why I love him. I will Remember the Alamo!
Friday, October 8, 2010
Just For Fun Friday
Each Friday, I'm going to post a picture I took that week that makes me smile - or laugh - or say 'Hmmmmm.' These won't be the most amazing pictures, just a warning!
It's been so hard to wait to post this picture. Chad and I bought this turtle for Cade that projects stars in amber, green, and blue on the wall. I've wanted to take this particular shot since then. He finally fell asleep deep enough for me to go in with a tripod (and Chad's assistance placing the turtle just right). This picture just makes me smile.
It's been so hard to wait to post this picture. Chad and I bought this turtle for Cade that projects stars in amber, green, and blue on the wall. I've wanted to take this particular shot since then. He finally fell asleep deep enough for me to go in with a tripod (and Chad's assistance placing the turtle just right). This picture just makes me smile.
Monday, October 4, 2010
The most glorious day ever
**DISCLAIMER** I love my kids. I really do. I have many posts on this very blog that proclaim my love for said kids. I love them more than coffee. More than Star Wars. I even love them more than my camera (horror!). So, to sum up...Who loves her kids? That's right; I do. **DISCLAIMER**
Today I had the most glorious day ever. I don't even know how to describe it or what part of it made it so spectacular. But, to start, it was JUST ME. Alone. Singular.
Wait, I'm getting ahead of myself in my excitement to share with you.
Chad and I are in San Antonio. He's at a technical conference and I came with him to have a mini vacation. He went to class today and I grabbed Baxter and drove out to the San Antonio Missions National Park.
Ok, now we are caught up. Back to being alone. Several times today, I had the 'Oh no - where are the kids' panic moment followed by the blissful 'Dori, you are completely by yourself right now' moment. It's like being dipped into a pool of ice and then wrapped in a blanket fresh out of the dryer. There were times when I sat on benches and closed my eyes just to take in the awareness of 'being.'
I know that being a mom is rewarding and that my kids add endless entertainment to my life, but there's a sacrifice in parenting. You give up a certain amount of yourself to do it. Maybe not give it up, but definitely set it aside (where it becomes dusty and outdated). Today, I was free to remember something - I am me outside of my roles. In other words, I'm Dori. Not mom, wife, daughter, friend, crazy blogger, but Dori. Being alone with yourself on a beautiful October day surrounded by 300 year old Spanish missions is restorative. I feel filled back up with a sense that I'm not lost, I'm just traveling several roads at once.
As I touched those stones that had been there so much longer than me, that had been there before the roads, the 7-11 across the street, the power lines above them, the business of tourists, I had one of those zoomed-in moments. I was aware that, by touching it, I was a part of that building's 300 year old history, and yet I was separate from it (as it was from me). It's that way with my life. I'm part of a history I'm making in these roles I play, but I am separate from them, too. I'm me.
It was nice to spend a day apart from my roles. A day with just me. A most glorious day indeed.
Friday, October 1, 2010
It's My Dad's Fault
I play an online game called Rings of Orbis. In the forums, a person started a thread titled, "Why are you here?" Here's where we take another fun look into the thought process of a woman with serious adult ADD.
It's my Dad's fault that I play that online game. Stay with me.
You see, my Dad watches Westerns. Lots and lots of Westerns. And I was indoctrinated into the world of westerns at a very young age. I was quoting John Wayne at 3 and I'm pretty sure my dad used the War Wagon theme song as a lullaby. We spent many a weekend hanging out watching Jack Pallance 'get his' and Chuck Connors trying to redeem his name. Love of Westerns - check.
When I was in 2nd grade (8 years old, so you don't have to do the math), the trailer for The Shining came on TV and I was petrified. You can view the trailer here. My Dad took time to tell me how it was made of Cherry Koolaid (not at all true - Stanley Kubrick shot it numerous times because the texture and color 'didn't look like blood'). He did this for every scary movie question I had until I developed a strong love of horror films. Love of Horror - check.
That same year, The Empire Strikes Back came to our theater. Dad took me to see it. The theater had trouble with the film and the entire audience was offered refunds as we dejectedly left before the movie was finished. My disappointment was more than palpable, I'm sure. So my Dad, who had just bought himself a suh-weeeet red Nissan 280ZX, took me home Han Solo style. We swerved and shifted crazily pretending to outrun Imperial enemies. Love of Sci-Fi - check. Twice.
So, even though my Dad doesn't love scary movies or sci-fi, his coolness solidified my love of those genres. That's why, when a friend loaned me the already canceled Firefly Season 1 DVD set, I was a goner. A space western. With a scary twist. Once it was over, I was left in the same pool of people who fell in love with prematurely canceled Fox series. Wanting more. Jonesing for more. And like an addict who can't get the real stuff, I went to the next best thing - new series with the actors from Firefly. Chuck and Castle are both currently in my DVR favorites. I even 'follow' Nathan Fillion on Twitter. Leading to the answer, why do I play Rings of Orbis? Why, because Nathan Fillion endorsed it. And he was Captain Mal. Who reminded me of Han Solo. Who reminds me of my Dad. The coolest space cowboy of them all.
It's my Dad's fault that I play that online game. Stay with me.
You see, my Dad watches Westerns. Lots and lots of Westerns. And I was indoctrinated into the world of westerns at a very young age. I was quoting John Wayne at 3 and I'm pretty sure my dad used the War Wagon theme song as a lullaby. We spent many a weekend hanging out watching Jack Pallance 'get his' and Chuck Connors trying to redeem his name. Love of Westerns - check.
When I was in 2nd grade (8 years old, so you don't have to do the math), the trailer for The Shining came on TV and I was petrified. You can view the trailer here. My Dad took time to tell me how it was made of Cherry Koolaid (not at all true - Stanley Kubrick shot it numerous times because the texture and color 'didn't look like blood'). He did this for every scary movie question I had until I developed a strong love of horror films. Love of Horror - check.
That same year, The Empire Strikes Back came to our theater. Dad took me to see it. The theater had trouble with the film and the entire audience was offered refunds as we dejectedly left before the movie was finished. My disappointment was more than palpable, I'm sure. So my Dad, who had just bought himself a suh-weeeet red Nissan 280ZX, took me home Han Solo style. We swerved and shifted crazily pretending to outrun Imperial enemies. Love of Sci-Fi - check. Twice.
So, even though my Dad doesn't love scary movies or sci-fi, his coolness solidified my love of those genres. That's why, when a friend loaned me the already canceled Firefly Season 1 DVD set, I was a goner. A space western. With a scary twist. Once it was over, I was left in the same pool of people who fell in love with prematurely canceled Fox series. Wanting more. Jonesing for more. And like an addict who can't get the real stuff, I went to the next best thing - new series with the actors from Firefly. Chuck and Castle are both currently in my DVR favorites. I even 'follow' Nathan Fillion on Twitter. Leading to the answer, why do I play Rings of Orbis? Why, because Nathan Fillion endorsed it. And he was Captain Mal. Who reminded me of Han Solo. Who reminds me of my Dad. The coolest space cowboy of them all.
Just For Fun Friday
Each Friday, I'm going to post a picture I took that week that makes me smile - or laugh - or say 'Hmmmmm.' These won't be the most amazing pictures, just a warning!
The world around me is getting ready for Fall. Grocery stores are now filled with men buying chips and queso for football games. Some of my friends are already shopping for and even wrapping Christmas gifts. My church is preparing to transform itself into the Pumpkin Patch Church once more. And yet, there are rebels. There are the women still wearing white patent leather shoes. Spaghetti straps abound. And my oldest sons refuse to put away their shorts until January. But this flower stands out among the rebels. The other plants in the bed are going to sleep, putting away their blooms, and preparing to turn their nice oranges and reds, while this harlot brazenly screams, "What are YOU looking at?"
The world around me is getting ready for Fall. Grocery stores are now filled with men buying chips and queso for football games. Some of my friends are already shopping for and even wrapping Christmas gifts. My church is preparing to transform itself into the Pumpkin Patch Church once more. And yet, there are rebels. There are the women still wearing white patent leather shoes. Spaghetti straps abound. And my oldest sons refuse to put away their shorts until January. But this flower stands out among the rebels. The other plants in the bed are going to sleep, putting away their blooms, and preparing to turn their nice oranges and reds, while this harlot brazenly screams, "What are YOU looking at?"
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Commando
I'm reevaluating my favorite potty training method. With all three older boys, I decided that just letting them run around bare-bottomed would be the best means to self-awareness. In all actuality, it worked out pretty well. My floor might disagree, but I had quick results with minor, messy set backs.
You might be thinking that this is going to be a Cade post. And that it will revolve around yet another horrific mess story that makes you glad your kids are grown. Or that you have no kids. Or that your kids aren't my kids. But this isn't a Cade posting.
You see, I think my potty training method messed Stone up. Because right now as I'm typing this, he's playing his Daddy's X-box with no pants on. And I mean NO pants. He's got a shirt (one that I'll need to bribe off of him later in order to wash) and his bright green Crocs on and that's it. Commando. Completely.
This isn't his preferred state. He prefers to have shorts on with no underwear. But for whatever reason, this morning he deemed his shorts from yesterday unworthy. And he refuses to wear long pants, which are all he has in his dresser (he's already lectured me on this point).
And here's another dilemma. He doesn't want to go to church anymore. Totally unrelated rant? No. He doesn't want to go because I make him wear underwear. Not because it isn't fun. Not because he doesn't love his teachers. Not because he doesn't want to see his friends. But because Church = Mandatory Underwear.
Scarily, he's become quite a liar to the question, "Did you put your underwear on?" At first he answered truthfully. Then, once he figured out that the truth only led to underwear, he answered by telling me that he had put them on. I (being a very clever mom) asked him what color they were and he grinned. Busted. The next time he answered yes, and when queried about the color popped off, "They're blue" with such panache that I believed him and we went to church. Underwearless. I discovered this while he was sitting cross-legged. So now, no matter how fervently he answers that he applied his undergarments, I double check them before leaving the house.
Who knew a potty training technique could create a pantsless, fibbing, church-avoiding 4-year-old. You see now why I'm reevaluating my method for the Cadester??
You might be thinking that this is going to be a Cade post. And that it will revolve around yet another horrific mess story that makes you glad your kids are grown. Or that you have no kids. Or that your kids aren't my kids. But this isn't a Cade posting.
You see, I think my potty training method messed Stone up. Because right now as I'm typing this, he's playing his Daddy's X-box with no pants on. And I mean NO pants. He's got a shirt (one that I'll need to bribe off of him later in order to wash) and his bright green Crocs on and that's it. Commando. Completely.
This isn't his preferred state. He prefers to have shorts on with no underwear. But for whatever reason, this morning he deemed his shorts from yesterday unworthy. And he refuses to wear long pants, which are all he has in his dresser (he's already lectured me on this point).
And here's another dilemma. He doesn't want to go to church anymore. Totally unrelated rant? No. He doesn't want to go because I make him wear underwear. Not because it isn't fun. Not because he doesn't love his teachers. Not because he doesn't want to see his friends. But because Church = Mandatory Underwear.
Scarily, he's become quite a liar to the question, "Did you put your underwear on?" At first he answered truthfully. Then, once he figured out that the truth only led to underwear, he answered by telling me that he had put them on. I (being a very clever mom) asked him what color they were and he grinned. Busted. The next time he answered yes, and when queried about the color popped off, "They're blue" with such panache that I believed him and we went to church. Underwearless. I discovered this while he was sitting cross-legged. So now, no matter how fervently he answers that he applied his undergarments, I double check them before leaving the house.
Who knew a potty training technique could create a pantsless, fibbing, church-avoiding 4-year-old. You see now why I'm reevaluating my method for the Cadester??
Friday, September 17, 2010
Just For Fun Friday
Each Friday, I'm going to post a picture I took that week that makes me smile - or laugh - or say 'Hmmmmm.' These won't be the most amazing pictures, just a warning!
We found this fun project online. The bottom layer is water with blue food coloring. The yellow stuff is vegetable oil. It's pretty difficult to describe molecular attributes and density to a 4-year-old, but he can understand that oil and water don't mix.
We found this fun project online. The bottom layer is water with blue food coloring. The yellow stuff is vegetable oil. It's pretty difficult to describe molecular attributes and density to a 4-year-old, but he can understand that oil and water don't mix.
Happy Birthday?????
12 is a difficult age. At least it is for me as a parent. I can't really get into celebrating 12. The I-know-more-than-you attitude. The hormonal tumult. The girl-craziness (oh the horror!!!!!). 12 makes me less 'Happy Birthday!' and more 'Happy Birthday?' It's said with that facial expression that is part trepidation, part fear, part humor.
However, I can celebrate this. He's my kid. And he knows it. And he loves it. We get each other and there are fewer and fewer melt downs between us. We have a language together - a non-verbal, conversational secret decoder ring. And he's funny. A bit on the sarcastic side, but funny.
So, here's Happy Birthday to my arrogant but self-deprecating; my cocky but self-conscious; my awesome but explosive man-child. The kid who loved his Lego birthday cake even though the Lego guys were drooping off the back of it. Who told me he wasn't disappointed in waiting a few more days on his present (procrastination, thou art the bane of my existence). Who acted excited about the book I bought him. Man, I love this kid.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Just For Fun Friday
Each Friday, I'm going to post a picture I took that week that makes me smile - or laugh - or say 'Hmmmmm.' These won't be the most amazing pictures, just a warning!
All parents know the fear of suddenly realizing your house is TOO quiet. Usually, this is when you discover your children filling your bathtub with unrolled toilet paper. Or, you find the cat is wearing your most expensive makeup and you're pretty sure he didn't apply it himself. Or, you find your best fishing lures (exposed hooks and all) dangling from your toddlers overalls.**
In this case, Chad went to check on the eerie silence and came back to get me and Baxter (I named my new camera).
The picture above is evidence that my life sometimes throws me a cosmic bone. You can't tell because I used a flash, but they were watching a movie in the complete darkness of their room. Stone had tucked Cade into that blanket, turned the movie on, turned out the light, and hopped into the bed. The coup de grâce to my already unstable heart was Cade rubbing Stone's hair. Can you see it? Kill shot. As Pearce would say, "Mom got some MAJOR mascara in her eyes on that one."
**Please don't call the authorities on me. I exaggerate for comedic effect. I promise.
All parents know the fear of suddenly realizing your house is TOO quiet. Usually, this is when you discover your children filling your bathtub with unrolled toilet paper. Or, you find the cat is wearing your most expensive makeup and you're pretty sure he didn't apply it himself. Or, you find your best fishing lures (exposed hooks and all) dangling from your toddlers overalls.**
In this case, Chad went to check on the eerie silence and came back to get me and Baxter (I named my new camera).
The picture above is evidence that my life sometimes throws me a cosmic bone. You can't tell because I used a flash, but they were watching a movie in the complete darkness of their room. Stone had tucked Cade into that blanket, turned the movie on, turned out the light, and hopped into the bed. The coup de grâce to my already unstable heart was Cade rubbing Stone's hair. Can you see it? Kill shot. As Pearce would say, "Mom got some MAJOR mascara in her eyes on that one."
**Please don't call the authorities on me. I exaggerate for comedic effect. I promise.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
How do you know you are succeeding as a parent?
It's Pink's birthday. Kids were watching the news this morning before school and the local Fox station was playing the "how old is this celebrity" game. The picture of Pink came up and Cole blurts, "Why does Pink look like Elvis?"
Score!
Score!
This Kid...
You know, it's hard to post about just one of your kids. You run the risk of playing favorites or being overly sarcastic about one. That doesn't apply to children under two. Children under two are under a different rule structure.
It's probably been awhile since I posted about Cole. Just Cole. And I muse to myself why that is. So, here's my external though process.
Cole is mysterious to me. I can't really explain this. Hence the word mysterious.
Cole is totally random. I posted on this a LONG time ago and not much has changed in the way of randomness. The subjects have shifted. There are more random questions and discussions about Camaros and Harry Potter now. Cole lives in a 'what if' universe. Like "Mom, do you think a dragon could go faster than a Camaro?" and "Mom, what if you had an owl?" How do you answer these questions? Mostly like this: "Cole, dragons are fast, but notoriously bad in the corners, so that would be a great race to watch." and "Well, if I had an owl, I'd send it to keep an eye on you at school."
Cole is always evolving. Two years ago, Cole was like watching Snoopy caught in a never-ending happy dance loop. Now, at almost 10, there's much more introspection. More reading, thinking, quiet reflection. Not that he isn't still completely hyper - it's his home base. But he ventures into the quiet, brooding realm more often. Also, when Cole was 5, we were begging him to try out his bicycle (with training wheels and all), but he wasn't interested. Now, he's known as the more fearless kid in the neighborhood. It's an evolution that confounds and amazes me.
Cole is built over a highly active fault. No, not a flaw - a fault. Think San Andreas. He's calm on the surface, but underneath there's dangerously tumultuous activity. Getting Cole to talk about the way he feels is sometimes hard. He doesn't want to hurt feelings or admit that a situation is negative in any way. He prefers to wear his rose-colored glasses (even though the prescription in them is WAY off at times). But, push his buttons too far (ask Pearce how) and you have a 9.0 on the Richter scale. Devastating.
Cole is beautiful. There are times when I look at Cole and his warmth overcomes me. He has a beauty that I can't explain. It's from the inside. It's all that mystery and optimism and turbulence causing something like a radioactive glow that emanates from his eyes. You might have to be his mom to see it. But it's there.
This kid...he's beyond wonderful. Beyond my understanding. Beyond lovable. Beyond explanation.
Monday, September 6, 2010
The real reason I love Facebook
I'm going to try (key word) to keep this post short, but just like a really good plot, sometimes you need an unabridged version to satisfy.
I have a crazy family. I know, you're thinking who doesn't? But the special brand of crazy in my family is spectacular. I love it. I always have. As a little girl, I always felt like a movie viewer to my own life at family gatherings. My uncles were the hilarious leading male roles and my aunts were the beguiling, if not long-suffering and ever eye-rolling leading ladies. To put it in terms of 80's pop culture; my uncles were the Jack Trippers and my aunts the Janets of my life.
I have the fondest memories of watching their sibling rivalry manifest itself into things like an indoor hand-stand contest, or a singing-Christmas-carols-over-the-other contest. And the one-upsmanship in joke telling was almost mind bending at times for me.
But it wasn't always fun and games. I learned valuable life lessons from my uncles. I learned that you don't EVER outgrow parental scoldings. And that a hand-stand contest in your 40's leads to days of soreness. I learned that ANY word can be used as the basis of a joke (even if you have to stretch it beyond its recognizable origins).
I so wanted to interact with these beloved characters, but much like your favorite TV show, they were untouchable. Separated by the distance of a generation and my ignorance in spinning tall tales at such a young age (oh, and that one incident where I wrote a curse word on paper and blamed it on my most innocent cousin). Separated by my obnoxious pre-teen years and then my absolute disrespect for all adults in my teen years. Finally, separated by my inevitable, but exploding adult life and family.
Then, Facebook happened. My uncles slowly joined one by one. And now I have access to their hilarity on an ongoing basis; not just at Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. My uncles might be the real reason I love Facebook so much.
I have a few uncles who might be embarrassed by this post. And a few who will take complete credit for it. But they are all part of the ensemble cast that made up my favorite sitcom. My childhood.
I have a crazy family. I know, you're thinking who doesn't? But the special brand of crazy in my family is spectacular. I love it. I always have. As a little girl, I always felt like a movie viewer to my own life at family gatherings. My uncles were the hilarious leading male roles and my aunts were the beguiling, if not long-suffering and ever eye-rolling leading ladies. To put it in terms of 80's pop culture; my uncles were the Jack Trippers and my aunts the Janets of my life.
I have the fondest memories of watching their sibling rivalry manifest itself into things like an indoor hand-stand contest, or a singing-Christmas-carols-over-the-other contest. And the one-upsmanship in joke telling was almost mind bending at times for me.
But it wasn't always fun and games. I learned valuable life lessons from my uncles. I learned that you don't EVER outgrow parental scoldings. And that a hand-stand contest in your 40's leads to days of soreness. I learned that ANY word can be used as the basis of a joke (even if you have to stretch it beyond its recognizable origins).
I so wanted to interact with these beloved characters, but much like your favorite TV show, they were untouchable. Separated by the distance of a generation and my ignorance in spinning tall tales at such a young age (oh, and that one incident where I wrote a curse word on paper and blamed it on my most innocent cousin). Separated by my obnoxious pre-teen years and then my absolute disrespect for all adults in my teen years. Finally, separated by my inevitable, but exploding adult life and family.
Then, Facebook happened. My uncles slowly joined one by one. And now I have access to their hilarity on an ongoing basis; not just at Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. My uncles might be the real reason I love Facebook so much.
I have a few uncles who might be embarrassed by this post. And a few who will take complete credit for it. But they are all part of the ensemble cast that made up my favorite sitcom. My childhood.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
The saddest game of Hide-And-Seek. Ever.
Yesterday, Stone suggested that we play Hide-And-Seek. (Cute aside: I counted first and he hid by crouching in the hallway with his arms over his head.)
When it was his turn to count, he decided that since he was little he only needed to count to three. So, I made a mad dash for his room and threw myself behind a large kitchen/grill toy. As I was dropping to the floor behind it, my leg caught on this thing sticking out of the toy. I saw white stars in my eyes. My vision blurred a little from the pain. But I pressed on and grimaced silently behind the toy in order to continue the game. If you can take a moment to visualize me writhing in pain like a mime. Or better yet, over-dramatic, silent movie style...yes, that's it.
I hear Stone go past his bedroom door calling, "Where are you? I'm going to fiiiiind you!!!" The pain becomes a little more tolerable and I notice that he's gone far enough away that I can barely hear his voice. So, I make a teasing hoot to get him to come back my way. Now I can't hear him at all. I make another teasing hoot. Nothing. I call out, "Stone?" And he walks past his doorway saying, "Mom, I'm not playing Hide-And-Go-Seek anymore. Cade and I are going to play with cars."
Here I am, crouched behind his kitchen toy, leg throbbing - and he decides he's not playing anymore. After 27 seconds of looking for me. Next time, we are going to talk ahead of time about finding your playmate before deciding on a new activity.
My mommy merit badge for today (8 inch ruler):
When it was his turn to count, he decided that since he was little he only needed to count to three. So, I made a mad dash for his room and threw myself behind a large kitchen/grill toy. As I was dropping to the floor behind it, my leg caught on this thing sticking out of the toy. I saw white stars in my eyes. My vision blurred a little from the pain. But I pressed on and grimaced silently behind the toy in order to continue the game. If you can take a moment to visualize me writhing in pain like a mime. Or better yet, over-dramatic, silent movie style...yes, that's it.
I hear Stone go past his bedroom door calling, "Where are you? I'm going to fiiiiind you!!!" The pain becomes a little more tolerable and I notice that he's gone far enough away that I can barely hear his voice. So, I make a teasing hoot to get him to come back my way. Now I can't hear him at all. I make another teasing hoot. Nothing. I call out, "Stone?" And he walks past his doorway saying, "Mom, I'm not playing Hide-And-Go-Seek anymore. Cade and I are going to play with cars."
Here I am, crouched behind his kitchen toy, leg throbbing - and he decides he's not playing anymore. After 27 seconds of looking for me. Next time, we are going to talk ahead of time about finding your playmate before deciding on a new activity.
My mommy merit badge for today (8 inch ruler):
Friday, September 3, 2010
Family Walk
We started a new family thing that I'm really enjoying. After dinner is over and everything is cleaned up, we go for a walk/ride around the block. It's the most amazing change in our life. It's quite possible that no one in my family gets as much out of it as I do, but it's fun enough that we even hooked Chad. You probably already know this, but walking around the block is a great science and social studies activity for almost everyone. We pick up old, brown magnolia leaves and check them out. Then, we crunch them up in our hands. Cade loves it. We stop to observe ants carrying huge chunks of food down the seams in the concrete sidewalk. We talk about the danger of 'The Street' and the safety of 'The Sidewalk.' Amazingly, we've discovered that we have neighbors. Prior to this activity, we assumed that the houses in our neighborhood were owned by phantoms. It turns out that we were the phantoms. Neighbors exclaim to us, "Oh! I know that house, we always wondered who lived there!"
Mostly, though, I love watching my family walk together - no arguing, no worries (save those related to The Street), no electronics, no canned lighting. Just the sun, the breeze, the neighbors, and God all around us.
**contented sigh**
Last night, I ventured out with one piece of electronics and shot a few pictures.
Mostly, though, I love watching my family walk together - no arguing, no worries (save those related to The Street), no electronics, no canned lighting. Just the sun, the breeze, the neighbors, and God all around us.
**contented sigh**
Last night, I ventured out with one piece of electronics and shot a few pictures.
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