Thursday, December 19, 2013

20 Things That Happened Yesterday (Wednesday)

  1. I woke up thinking it was Thursday.  And proceeded to think it was Thursday all day long.  It wasn’t.
  2. I had to run two errands on opposite sides of town before going in to work.  Of course I was late.
  3. I got stuck in a traffic jam on the way home.
  4. Running late, but needing to change out of my dress and heels before before the bus came, I pulled on a pair of jeans that I wore a couple days ago only to find that they were tight.  What??
  5. Risking a popped seam in the leg (still don’t know how you gain weight in your leg in 2 days), I wore them anyway because I didn't want to miss the bus.
  6. After bus stop and hair appointment, get the boys started on homework.  The down side to letting them play first: getting them to settle down enough to do it.
  7. A slight temper tantrum over the fact that we have to go get MC from her field trip and then run a couple errands, including getting crickets for the tantrum-throwing kid’s toads.  Poisonous toads.  That eat live crickets.  Why the temper tantrum?  Because it means he won’t have time to play.  Which is what he just did for 2 hours.  What????
  8. The buses are late.  And we are early.  A lethal combo when both boys need to take care of business.  Much discussion rating how badly they have to go and assigning new numbers to bodily functions that will result if they don’t get to a bathroom soon.  And lots of farting.  Seriously.  Where does it all come from?  Hilarity ensues.
  9. The radio volume goes up and down.  The windows go up and down (see above).  All the jamming to AC/DC (Hell’s Bells and more hilarity that there’s a curse word in the title) and fumigating causes a strain on the battery of the car, which dies.  
  10. The bus still isn’t here.  
  11. The bus finally arrives, as does my neighbor’s dad to jump the car.  Love him.
  12. We can’t get the hood open, so I call my husband, who proceeds to ask me 1000 questions, when all I want to know is WHERE IS THE THINGY?  Because it is freezing and there are now several people helping me and I feel like an idiot and one of them (thank goodness) knows where the trunk popper is.
  13. The car is started, the neighbor follows me home, but if I turn off the car, will I be able to restart it and we still have to pick up 2 prescriptions and some crickets and the kids need meds more than the toads need crickets and so I have to make a choice and I choose my children.  Also, there is a drive through at the pharmacy and not at the pet store.  Poor toads.
  14. We hit the drive thru at Burger King while we’re driving through drive thrus and the speaker is malfunctioning so I cannot understand what the guy is saying and my children are screaming, individually and all together, at me to NOT forget their fries and somehow the guy can’t hear ME but he can hear MY KIDS and so suddenly I have 7 orders of fries in addition to the two fries that come with meals.  Sigh.
  15. MC has a math worksheet and a social studies quiz to study for.  Who assigns a quiz and homework the DAY AFTER A FIELD TRIP?  Ugh.  At this point her concentration level is below sea level, but somehow we manage.  The boys both head to the same bathroom, scream at each other for a few minutes, which makes me scream and then they scatter to different bathrooms.  One or more toilets will be clogged in 3...2…1…
  16. Having unclogged the toilet, eaten dinner and gotten through homework, I make 60 magnets to give as gifts to teachers.  I’m pretty sure Will’s PE teacher (a man) doesn’t want Christmas ball magnets, but whatever.
  17. Get the kids in bed, finally.
  18. Sit down with a glass of wine to watch a little TV, and the power goes out.  I sit in the dark for a while thinking it’s a momentary thing and will flicker back on.  It isn’t and doesn’t.  Fumble around for a flashlight, fumble around for batteries, fumble around for candles.  Grab my glass of wine and my flashlight and head upstairs.  Might as well read and go to bed.  But not without my relaxing much-deserved and highly anticipated glass of wine.
  19. Settle in, about to wrap things up, when the lights come back on.  Whew.  But every single light in the house is on and now I have to go back downstairs and turn them all off.  Sigh.
  20. Stephen walks through the door. He announces he is going to bed.  At this point, that sounds like a good idea.  I put my glass of wine back in the fridge (chugging it seems too desperate at this point although I really was looking forward to it but oh well) and head upstairs and thank the good lord this day is over.  And pray that I can face Thursday.  


Thursday, December 5, 2013

The Talk

For Will, the past year has been the year of “the talk.”

First, there was “THE talk.”  Conducted by his father, it was alarmingly short and sweet.  That was followed by “the talk” at school – family life class.

More “the talk” this year in middle school health.  Much more.  Enough to make a kid break down.  They covered some pretty disturbing (but important) stuff.

And now, it’s time for “the talk” again.  Although the subject matter is much less discomforting than puberty and hormones and body parts gone amuck.

It’s time for the Santa talk.

Truthfully, it’s been awhile in coming.  He’s 12.  Do I think he believes in Santa?  No.  Do I think he believes in the magic?  Yes.  Do I think he’s scared of admitting he doesn’t believe for fear he won’t get anything?  Yes.  I may or may not have convinced him of that when he questioned me at age 7.  In hindsight, maybe not my best move but I was never great at thinking on my feet.  And maybe, just maybe, he was ready to not believe anymore, but I wasn’t yet.  So yes, it was a little selfish.  But he would not have been able to keep that from his 5-year-old sister or 3-year-old brother.  This I know.

He probably hasn’t believed for some time.  I suspect that he wants to talk about it, but he hasn’t yet.  Lately, I’m discovering a sensitivity to this child that I didn’t know existed.  Maybe he just doesn’t want to definitively HEAR THE WORDS.  Discovering how he got here set his world on its ear (he wouldn’t even look at me for days), hearing for certain about Santa could be the final blow to his childhood.  OK, that’s a little dramatic.

Or is it?

Maybe it would be better for all of us to let him exist in this suspended state between pretend and reality.  Do I want to be the one who, once and for all, ends the charade?

You know, as I was tucking him in the other night (he still wants me to do this – smile), I noticed in the glow of the lamp a faint dusting of blonde hair on his upper lip.

It took my breath away.

It’s time.

I’m sad to see this time end, but strangely, I felt excited about this next phase with him.  I’m discovering so many new things about him lately (example above).  When one chapter ends, another begins.

Here’s to new beginnings.

Tuesday, December 3, 2013

The Dance

This weekend is the Holly Ball.

Let’s backtrack, shall we?  Will is being forced participating, against his will much to his chagrin, in Cotillion.  It’s what 6th graders around here do.  He’s learning, among other things, to dance.  They dress up once a month and meet at the Women’s Club, where hundreds of preteen boys and girls tolerate each other, flirt with each other, and generally grit their teeth to get through it for the sake of their mothers, enduring sweaty palms, watery lemonade and many left feet.  Last month, to his horror, he got pegged to demonstrate, on stage, how one does the Foxtrot.  Apparently he’s a Foxtrotting machine.  I was watching up in the balcony (that’s my little cutie pie!); I’m sure he wanted to die.

This next dance is the Holly Ball, a formal dance where the parents get to step in and dance with their sons/daughters.  I think it will be lovely and I am looking forward to dancing with my sweet, handsome son.

He couldn’t be dreading anything more.

The general consensus from a backseat of boys on the way home from last month’s dance: “yeah, Holly Ball is gonna suck.”

Will broke his thumb last week.  He gleefully announced to me that it will be impossible for him to dance with his cast, because you have to hold hands.  I’ve seen the hand holding going on and let me tell you, those kids are barely grazing fingertips.  He’ll be fine.  This is the kid who’s been outside playing football and riding his bike, went to (and participated in) basketball practice last night, and has no problems doing anything, except for homework.  And, apparently, dancing.  Then, he found out he has a basketball game on Saturday and now is overly concerned there will be a timing conflict.  Um, we’ll manage.  The reason-du-jour?  The cast's stench.  It would be impolite and inconsiderate to subject a poor girl to the horror.  

At least he's getting something out of this, Foxtrot notwithstanding.

(side note:  The fact that he’s so squirmy about this delights me to no end!)

Wish him luck.  I will be placing all of his clothes out early, so that “misplaced clothing item” won’t be the next excuse (trust me, I’ve seen him squirrel away a tie or two in the hopes it will magically disappear forever).

Wish me luck that I can Foxtrot my way through all the excuses to get to the actual event.  Do you know how hard it is going to be to keep a straight face through all of this?  I might even cry.  For real.  That would really throw him for a loop.

Monday, December 2, 2013


Seven is such a great age for children (and after having 3, I think I can authoritatively declare this).
They’re big but still little.  Mature but still babyish.  Independent yet still snuggly.  
Precious and darling and delicious.

I feel like 7 is that magical year they start to discover all their possibilities.  When they begin to truly formulate their own opinions, when they’re eager to try everything.  And learn about everything.  And do everything.  Seven's enthusiasm is unmatched.  
It is magic.  

It’s the year they start to understand and appreciate your humor.  The year they begin to develop their own style and their own way of doing things.  I feel like 7 is the year they truly begin to interact with you on a more advanced level, having more actual conversations and exchanging thoughts.  It's the year you start to truly "get" each other.

I love 7. 

I have 2 more months of 7.  

And I plan to enjoy every little second of it.