8 year old fashion advice

Three, young, frosting-covered boys just went into my bathroom. Three, young, frosting-glazed boys came out. Then got sent back in. Then came out fairly clean. But then the smallest of the smalls told the tallest of the talls, "Hey! You have to dry your hands!" And the tall one told the small one, "That's why I wear pants."

I guess if he could figure out how to avoid washing his hands he wouldn't need pants at all.

Seems like a New Year's resolution worth working toward! Have a safe night, everyone!!

Field Notes

Species: Lumatode solsticia (largest of the Nematodes, surpassing the previously-thought largest 8 meter long Placentonema gigantisma found in the placenta of a sperm whale)

Range and Habitat: Originally they were unique to North America, but the past 2 decades have seen unprecedented growth in their population across the globe. Historically, growth rates had been thought to be concurrent with economic growth. But recent analysis indicates this is not the case. Adult L. solsticias are most common from November through January, attached to both the interior and exterior of human dwellings and vegetation. Though it is not uncommon to see them outside of these months.

Appearance: The nocturnal Lumatode solsticias may look like hundreds or even thousands of small lights ranging in size from 1cm to 4cm. Each strand can be a single color, or even multiple colors. These nodules produce a luminescence as a by-product of their parasitic digestive process. But these nodules are not individual beings, rather they are the reproductive egg cases of the larger organism. The average Lumatode is 3m in length though it is not uncommon to find them as long as 12m in length. The body (corporeal strand) is a thin, flexible, rubbery substance usually a shade of green but also found in black. Albino Lumatodes are less frequent with a mutation rate of approximately 1/24,500. These are not to be confused with the green-bodied white noduled variety. True albino mutations possess both white/clear nodules and a white corporeal strand.

Reproduction: All adult Lumatodes are hermaphroditic, having male reproductive organs at one end and female reproductive organs at the other end. They are not, however, self-fertilizing and must be plugged in to both a host and at least one other Lumatode in order to produce and combine mature sperm and ovum with another Lumatode. Interestingly, only the male end of the Lumatode can connect to a host organism. After the egg casings have been fertilized, they require 6 to 7 months of dormancy to fully mature into adult Lumatodes with reproductive capabilities. The ideal setting for this is in a cardboard box stashed away in a basement, attic, or warehouse space. If allowed to remain attached to the host organism year-round, the parasite can maintain its own health, but will not produce offspring. Fossil records indicate that past iterations of the Lumatodes had some distinct differences in their reproduction. The extinct L. americansis, for example, was particularly fragile. If one egg casing died, they all died. The modern L. solsticia has evolved an open-circuit system so the loss of one egg casing does not influence the rest of the corporeal strand. A useful mutation indeed!

Parasite/Moderator/Host Relationship: The most unique aspect of this 3-way symbiotic relationship is that the luminescent quality of the egg casings attracts the moderating species. The moderating species intentionally collects the Lumitodes and actively attaches them to the host organism. The necessary qualities of a host are fairly basic. As long as there is a source of electrical current and a corresponding female receptacle, the Lumitode will thrive.

Public Health Concerns: The effects of the Lumitode solsticia on Homo sapiens is indirect in nature. Mainly in the form of increased electrical bills and millions of wasted kilowatt hours. Negative global ramifications are clearly documented, and yet the humanoid continues to play moderating species in greater numbers every year. It is suggested that there may be a chemical component to this compulsion. Perhaps in the form of a pheromone given off by the Lumitode, or even the humans release of endorphins upon viewing the conglomerate of Lumatodes. It is theorized that the Lumatodes ability to blink and flash may have evolved to promote this relationship. But the scientifically agreed upon theory is the basic tendency of the human to compare and increase when assessing the possessions of their neighboring humans. Also a concern are the increase in auto accidents when drivers are distracted by the ostentatious mating displays.

Other notes: Other Species within the Lumitode Genus include: L. nuptulis, L. promic, L. photographica-oportunis, and L. hootenany-alcoholis. Current research is focusing on the development of a possible new Species in the past 10 years. DNA analysis is looking to see if the "icicle lights" are simply a variation within L. solsticia or if the mutation has become an entirely new species. If so, this rapid rate of evolving could be both caused by and contributing to Global Warming.

The things we learn when we listen

Little C was helping me make breakfast just now and this was his running commentary:

If our Substitute Gym Teacher was here making cheesy bagels we would have to line up tallest to shortest. Then we would have to get EVERYTHING out of the fridge, take the stuff we needed, and put the other stuff back before we could do anything. And she would be like, lounging over there somewhere. Sheesh.

I have clearly gone into the wrong line of work. Substitute Gym Teacher sounds like a perfect mix of lounging with a VonTrapp level of obedience I rarely see.

The gifts keep coming!

Guess what else I got for Christmas? Give up? How about some clues?

it involved needles...

a doctor or two...

lead aprons and bullet-proof shields...

it got rid of the pain in my ass...

it rhymes with hemorrhoids...

and is totally legal!

Now do you give up? Steroids! Specifically, Cortisone injections in my SI joint and surrounding tendons. Mama-likey. By the time I got home, the nerve block had gently leaked into my leg and guess what? Zero pain on my left side. Like NOTHING! And this time, when I cried, it was not because I hurt. It was relief. Unimaginable relief.

And I knew the local would wear off. And I did follow directions and take it easy. In fact, the doctor told Moose to carry me around on a pillow, get me anything I ask for, and hire a housekeeper. No joke. I love that woman.

If you are squeamish, you can stop right here. But because I kind of like gross medical things (ok, I love them) and I might not be the only one, I will share this with those of you like me: when the needle punctured the joint space it HISSED!! Like opening a bottle of root beer. There was negative pressure in there. Not anything you would find in a healthy joint.

While I am back to about 80% of my usual pain tonight I am not having any muscle spasm. I also have some hope that when the steroids take effect over the next few days I might actually feel that good again!

"A Three Hour Tour..."

There is a new little spot on my mapping widget (it tells me where you guys are, not who you are)....right in the ocean off the west coast of Africa. It is labelled "unknown."

At first I was very excited that one of the Professor's inventions might have worked without Gilligan messing it up....and maybe with his fermented coconut milk powered internet device he somehow, in some miraculous event, stumbled upon 4go4e.

But then I thought, "In this day and age, no place should be unknown." So if it was you visiting us here...let yourself be known! Stand up and be counted! I am dying to know where you are. Really.

Fridge Magnet Poem: for Sweet Lorraine

While not technically a Haiku...

...I thought you would appreciate the three extra syllables.

Confusion says....

I have had a fascination with Mah-Jongg since I was a little girl. My Hawaiian Aunt had a very beautiful set. And I have fond memories from the age of 12 nibbling her thin, homemade butter cookies and watching my beautiful baby cousin sleep to the sound of clicking tiles and chattering Aunties.

Yesterday morning there was a heavy box under the tree with my name on it. And when I unwrapped it, I was completely surprised to find a Mah-Jongg set. Good job, Moose! Nothing compares to the solidity and satin finish of a Bakelite tile. They smell like the keys on my Grandmother's Organ (she used to play music for silent movies!). And when no one is looking I love the coolness of the buttery plastic against my lips.

But I have never played an actual game of Mah-Jongg. Excited to finally learn, I dove into the instruction book this morning. Oh Dear. I think they skipped step one which should have been "drown yourself in gin if you want this to make any sense." And since it is a tad early in the day for that, I will console myself with building pyramids for now.

I Swear I am Not This Stupid

So.....(you knew this one had to start with a "so...") Moose is off work for a couple of weeks and today we went out for lunch with our charming nephew and his lovely wife. And since we had all been just sitting around in our pajamas 10 minutes earlier (they stayed over night) I did not put much thought into what I would be wearing to lunch. I mean, I brushed my hair AND my teeth. That seemed like enough.

Turned out it wasn't.

I threw on a J Crew t-shirt under a cardigan and went about my afternoon. Which included some incredible tortilla soup, the coffee shop, and then picking up kids from school. Only, when I got to the grade school I glanced down.

My t-shirt was...UNBUTTONED!! Like....a good three inches lower than I would ever EVER wear it. See, last time I wore it I had a nice citron tank under the navy blue with the small ruffle. Only, today, I did not wear another shirt under it. Nor did I re-button it.

So I squeal in the parking lot, duck behind a car, and try to reassemble my dignity. And Moose looks at me all "What? It was like that at the restaurant too."

And NO ONE told me!!! Well, that is not entirely true. Turns out the waiter might have been trying to tell me something. (And I just thought he had some Margarita salt in his eye.)

FYI

I get absolutely giddy when I see new visitors pop up on my mapping widget! Welcome to Cairo, Sydney, Surabaya, Allahabad, Tempe, Jakarta, Mesa, Woodland Hills, Tampa, River Falls, Inver Grove Heights, Karlsruhe, and Medole!!!

Here we go!

Darling Miss M....Middle School was not designed for one as wise as you. They are kind of counting on a little more insecurity and unsureness. You knock them on their ass, Dear. I love that!!!

Miss M: Mama....? A boy's social status is higher if he has a girlfriend. And a girl's social status is higher if boys like her. So...today....David was avoiding me. And on Friday he was trying to find the right words to ask me out.

Mama: What did you say to him on Friday?

Miss M: I ran the other way.

Mama: Hmmmmm.

Miss M: And today, I just carried all of my books from first and second hour around until after lunch when I know he is not by his locker.

Mama: Ok.

Miss M: And Louise thinks I should be his girlfriend.

Mama: She does, huh? What do you think, Baby?

Miss M: Well.....I want to tell him I will be his normal friend because I do not think I am old enough to be anybody's girlfriend.

Mama: Seems like the best answer.

Miss M: Cause like, HEY!!! I am ELEVEN! Maybe he should call me in three years.

Mama: Do you sort of like him?

Miss M: Just as a normal friend. It is ridiculous that a girl would like a boy just because he likes her.

Mama: Yes it is, Doll. Do you see why he would like you?

Miss M: Because I was nice to him when other kids were teasing him. And because I would talk to him when his other girlfriend broke up with him.

Mama: You are a good person, Miss M. That is what he sees in you.

Miss M: I know.

Mama: I am very proud that you are not willing to compromise yourself for a higher social status.

Miss M: Me too!

You ARE eleven! That is half-way to 22. And while I know there is a lot of adolescence coming our way, I am feeling like I just passed my midterms with all A's!

A humble observer...

Young Lady at the shoe store this morning at 10 am....I imagine this is how your morning played out:

The unusually small and saggy mattress shifted a bit and she realized she was not at home even before she opened her eyes. The grey light filtering in through the egress window gave no clue to the time of day. But over there, on a desk, were her True Religion jeans and the hot pink, sequined top she wore to the bar last night. Where were her UGGs? She was seriously going to be pissed if she lost her black Elseys.

She heard a shower start outside of the room so she figured she had time to sit up and look around. Brrr, it was cold in here! She climbed out of the bed and stepped into her jeans. And there, under her clothes was a nice surprise. At least her Dooney and Bourke East/West Tote was here.

Hmmm. Pottery Barn Kids curtains and bedding. A movie poster from Dragon Ball-Z. And a shelf full of figures from those stupid Japanese cartoons. Good God. Did she sleep with a Geek? Across the room was a second desk with a full-on hard core gaming console set up. Shit. She did.

A dog barked. At least he doesn't have cats. Nothing worse than a single gamer with cats. Unless it is.....

She heard a woman's voice talking to the dog. The door to the room was not closed all the way and she quickly ducked down beside the bed. Her heart was pounding. What did she get into last night? Oh hey! There were her Elsey boots.

The woman knocked on what she assumed was the bathroom door and shouted, "Good morning, Sweetie!" There was a muffled reply from in the shower. Foot steps on the stairs. Then the shower turned off.

She quickly jumped up and checked her hair and face in the surfboard shaped mirror. Dang! That hairspray really did hold. But she was missing one of her eyelashes. She quickly pulled the other one off, rubbed her front teeth with an index finger and waited.

He came in wrapped in a towel and pulled the door closed behind him. "Did my mom come in here?" he asked nervously.

"Nope," she replied with a smile. He was totally hot. What a relief! Also pleasing was the fact that the woman was his mom and not his wife.

She stood there awkwardly while watching him dress with his back to her. Nice ass. Lucky jeans. She might just be able to overlook the computer games.

He turned to her. "Um, can I give you a ride back to the bar? Is your, ah, car there?"

She put on her perkiest face: "Oh! Which bar did we meet at?" He mumbled the name of one of the places she and her friends had planned on going to last night. "Yeah. I don't think I drove last night."

His face fell. "I could, uh, give you a ride home I guess."

She grabbed her purse. "That would be great!"

"You have to be totally silent getting to the garage, ok?"

"Sure!" she smiled, adding a big-eyed blink and a nod so he would know she understood. Tipping her head slightly she asked, "Did I have a coat?"

"I didn't see one. Here," he said and tossed her a fleecy hoody. She caught it and put it on thinking how sweet he was to give her his sweater.

At the landing half-way up the stairs he opened the door and shooed her into the garage. "Mom?" he shouted, "I am going out for Starbucks!" and quickly pulled the door closed behind him. He grabbed his keys off a hook on the wall.

"Who keeps their car keys out on a wall in the garage?" she wondered to herself. When the garage opened she had her answer. The Suburbs. Good God. What did she get into last night?

She climbed into the passenger side of his compact SUV. "I love Starbuck's," she offered.

"Um, sure. We could grab coffee, I guess. Where do you live?"

"Near campus. On Third and Washington."

His attention perked up. "Oh! You go to the U?"

"Nope," she giggled. "My cousin does. I just live with her."

Did he just slump a bit in his seat?

Pulling out of the neighborhood she looked around. "Where are we?" she wondered aloud.

"Um. I live in Timberdale." At least it was an affluent suburb!

"Oohh!" she cooed. "Isn't there a DSW Shoe Store out here?"

"Yeah?" he cautiously answered.

"Can we stop there? I want to see if they carry the replacement liners for UGGs."

"I....guess," he said. What the hell did he get into last night?

On the job

Moose and I are off to wrap up the holiday shopping. The Cygnets are home cleaning their rooms. And once they feel ready to present their spaces, they will be subjected to a peer review process. Any areas of concern brought up during this evaluation will need to be remedied prior to watching any television.

And all of this, brought to you by Miss M. She makes parenting easy!

Daddy Likey: MEGA EXCITING CLOSET CONFIDENTIAL GIVEAWAY BONANZA

Send Nona a little love, would'ja?

Not only is she a fabulous person who deserves all of the accolades, her book is terrific, and the goodies in this giveaway are quite fantastic. (There are cookies!)

Daddy Likey: MEGA EXCITING CLOSET CONFIDENTIAL GIVEAWAY BONANZA

Helping Hand

When I got to school this afternoon to pick up the boys, Ms. Principal was standing with her keys in her hand and a scowl on her face. I assumed it was not a child she was irritated with because she was aimed outside. I, being on friendly terms with the lady, asked if she needed anything. Turns out, she wanted to use her remote start on her car but the buses had already pulled in and she couldn't get a signal through them. And I, being bundled still, offered to go start it for her. I think she cried a bit in her thankfulness.

But, you see, the thing with my OCD is that I don't remember I have an "issue" until I am in the middle of checking and re-checking something. So when I stood next to the bus and pushed the button I saw her headlights flash. But wait! Did that I mean I unlocked the doors? Or did I lock them? Or did I actually start the car? And if I push the button again to be sure will it set off the alarm?

So I went a little closer. I thought I could hear it running. But it is a parking lot. How could I be sure that was HER car I heard? So I went a little closer. I know that is exhaust coming out, but maybe it stared and then stopped. So I had to go and touch the back of her car. And then I had to touch the hood. And lean in and listen. And stand there looking like I was molesting the principal's convertible. Unsatisfactorily, I might add.

And by the time I got back in the building Ms. Principal was back at the door with the same look on her face. And I know she was just starting to wonder if I maybe stole her Sebring. So I had to explain why the remote starter concept is sort of lost on me. (Sigh.)

The Reason For The Season

Little C is under the impression that the holiday lighting is part of his nightclub act. He keeps hauling my kitchen stool in next to the tree....

....and singing Queen's "I Want It All."

Oh, Sweet Baby!

Little C: Am I anything the same compared to what I was when I was little?

Mama: Oh. Yes. You are the same but bigger than when you were little.

Little C: No. I mean, is any part of my body the same as when I was little?

Mama: Oh. That. Just your eyes, Dear.

Little C: What about the rest of me?

Mama: All bigger.

Little C: (Twisted consternation across his face. Clearly, not enough of an answer.)

Mama: (Searching for satisfactory ending to discussion.) Do you feel different than when you were a baby?

Little C: How would I know? I forgot what I felt like as a baby.

Mama: Darling One, I will never, ever forget what you felt like as a baby. (SMOOCH)

Sane Advice

The thought process/action/lingering consequence that lead me to discover this truth was certainly an insane one. So I offer this little gift to you all:

Do not use your vacuum cleaner to tidy up after spilling a packet of Kraft's Cheesiest Cheese Powder. It might seem like the best way to get it out of every crevice in your bamboo floor. You may see no alternative to cleanse the knotty bits of your knotty alder cabinets. But do not do it! That smell will never, ever go away. Your house will smell like crappy convenience food every time you clean. And, should you be a super-smeller like me, one day you might just realize that your floors are a mess because you are avoiding that wave of nausea associated with the vacuum. (Damn you Pavlov!)

Plus, you will save yourself the hollow shame of having to put "new vacuum that does not smell of cheese powder" on your list for Santa on Line One which should be reserved exclusively for "little blue box with big white ribbon."

An Apple A Day...

"That poor piggy was in the orchard when they killed him."

(What Miss M said, very pitifully, when she was 3 and saw a suckling pig at a Hawaiian Luau.)

Dear Cygnets,

Remember all those times I tried to debunk the whole "step on a crack" nonsense? Sure you do. I would talk about how silly superstitions are. And that they are a tool used by the weak minded so they can pretend they have some control in an unpredictable world? Now do you remember?

Oh! Oh! And the funny part when we would stomp on every crack we could find and I'd laugh and say, "See! Not broken!" Remember that too?

Good. Because I take it back. Stop stepping on lines now, please.

-Alpha Mama

Data-Based Decision Making

Sometimes a good old bar graph can help put things in perspective. And sometimes, data collection only leads to more questions. Like: how can the smallest person, with the tiniest clothes, produce the most laundry?

Display of my Psychic Powers

The day will come when you will need to ask this question. And then you will think you need to call me. But know that I have already thought of you thinking it...and am providing the answer in advance. No. Not having any clean clothes is NOT an excusable absence at school. Turns out, it is most definitely inexcusable.

Lyrics Abuse--also known as "variation on a theme by Heisler and Goldrich"

I just woke up from an accidental nap. Now, I am generally in favor of all the napping I can get. It is rare for me to turn one away. But this one snuck right up on me. I think it was some combination of the following ambient noises:

children's audiobook read by Tim Curry

lego bricks clicking and unclicking

pokemon cards being sifted (Little C can't shuffle)

and the Beta Test Phase for the reinvention of the drumstick

Also contributing were this flu I can't quite shake, and the 50,000+ word novel I just finished for NaNoWriMo. (Like, just verified the win before I went upstairs to see what my sick little kids were doing.)

The strange thing is I might not have really been asleep at all. It is hard to tell. Everything sounded exactly the same when I decided to roll off the bed as it did when I decided to roll onto the bed. (Decided might be a little strong. It was more of a gravitational cooperation.) And the clocks upstairs are utterly unreliable, owing to frequent "adjustments" by small fingers so using them to actually gauge time is ill-advised. But the sun has definitely migrated. And no matter how hard they try, those little fingers have not managed to adjust that one yet. I think. So I have come to the conclusion that I did, in fact, have a nap.

In my confusion, I still managed to recognize the intense knocking of caffeine withdrawal inside my skull. So I went down to the local coffee shop to self-medicate. I was blissfully minding my own thoughts while waiting for my beverage. (Blissfully might be a little strong. It was more of a scattered drifting. Bordering on Zen.) And the nice barrista (barristo?) asked me if I wanted an extra shot of espresso as he happened to have made one extra. (Hear that? Choirs of Angels my friends.)

And I sang, "Yes my name is Alpha...and thank you for the extra.....shot-of-espresso-because-boy-I-really-need-it-today-is-it-that-obvious?-I-tried-to-smooth-the-pillow-creases-off-my-face-on-my-way-over-but-I-guess-it-didn't-work-so-welllllllllll."

Ok, so I only played "Taylor The Latte Boy" internally. But, boy, do I wish he'd softly answered "Hey." Because we all know that quadruple latte means that...well...that I might be able to stay awake long enough to make my cygnets some lunch.

stew-pendous!

I say, if your children are going to be watching television anyway, make them watch the Food Network. (Shhh. I am going to pretend I have sponsors for a minute. Humor me.) I want to be clear that Food Network does not sponsor this blog.

In fact, your children should start watching it while still in the womb. And here is why I say this absurd thing. Because some day your child may just surprise you with a made-up soup like this:

Miss M's Magnificent (mushroom-free!) Vegetarian Coconut and Green Curry Soup

1 big carrot, sliced the way you like it

1 clove garlic, chopped tiny

2 chopped scallions which are NOT the same as leeks but are the same as green onions

1 sweet red pepper cut the way you like it

olive oil to cover the bottom of the pan

cook those things a little to soften them up

1 can of coconut milk (the full-fat creamy kind, please)

4 cups of stock (use vegetable if your vegetarian is paying attention, but chicken is better)

1 tablespoon prepared green curry paste

1 teaspoon prepared ginger paste (it comes in a tube, but fresh would be better)

1/2 of a key lime, squeezed and dropped in the pot for extra flavor

salt and pepper to taste

warm that all up a bit and serve over rice

I am not exaggerating when I say that it is VERY, VERY yummy and simple to make. Moose and I added a little left over turkey to our bowls which was also very good. And mushrooms would be incredible in here, but you'll need to change the name. If you trust me even just a little bit and like coconut curry at all, you should try this soup.

Say it ain't so!

Oh. I just had one of those facebook moments. The one where you see someone you used to know in someone else's friend list. You know, that girl who was a few years older than you. She was kind of punk and super cute. She was funny and boys liked her but were intimidated by her at the same time. And so she was never really appreciated until she went to college. Anyway, she was super cool. She liked edgy music, spiked her short hair and went dancing in short skirts and boots.

And now?

Rocker/Smart Chick has a profile picture of herself in, gasp, a hideous Christmas sweater.

Is it wrong of me to hope that the sweater was for some kind of theme party? Like the kind where you have to wear the worst seasonal sweater you ever got as a gift and when the lights go out everyone strips them off and when the music stops you have to grab any sweater and put it on and then the lights come back on and you have to wear the new hideous sweater for the rest of the night.

I am not so sure I can handle the truth.

Happy Thanksgiving!

We had to cancel our Thanksgiving plans. We will seriously miss being with family and friends this year. But the desire to contain this nasty flu thing Moose and I are suffering won out in the end. And we are 2/3 of the way through pulling together a very nice meal.

Tawny Port, Mango Stilton, Aged Cheddar, and roasted Squash Seeds for an opener!

Bacon Wrapped Turkey Breast

Squash Soup

Mashed Potatoes

Spinach Salad

AND

3 pies!!

I know, it seems like overkill on the desert end, but yesterday was Pie Day with the neighbor ladies. We usually spend the morning together making enough pies to feed the neighborhood. But my seasonal-variety flu got in the way. I am as bummed about missing Pie Day this year as I am about missing our extended family. But the ladies brought us over our three pies anyway.

And as much as we wish we were with the tribe in Illinois (AARGH! We are missing our nephew and his wife that came home from Virginia!), it is kind of hard to be upset spending a quiet, stress-free, travel-free day at home with my little family.

Did I mention there were three pies involved? I am tempted to slice into them in my Grandmother's tradition. She would cut as many slices as there were people at the table. (It was kind of nice when my sister went to college and my portion went from 1/6 to 1/5.)

Hey, Stranger...

My kids got home from school today and spent a few minutes in the yard playing, discussing the passage of time. They were planning ahead for the snow yet to fall and the springtime after that. When, suddenly, Miss M yelled some code word followed by, "This is not a drill!"

One boy went into the playhouse to retrieve two pair of binoculars and a notebook with pencil. Then they scurried about, spying on some car delivering the local newspaper. They were whispering things and scurrying between bushes. And by the time the car left our cul-du-sac, they had a full report. I will share it with you.

Car: gas guzzling with duck tape

Driver: Man, older, not clean, clothes dirty, might smell

Activity: dropping papers in bags by mailboxes, not sure

Location: made a left turn out of court

Spotted by Miss M

Reporting by Miss M, Big C, Little C

On Tuesday

Consider this your only warning. We have some mad spying skills up the hill, and we are not afraid to use them.

So this Mom Walks into an Insult...

Our school is short on meeting space. So when I go in to run a Literature Group with first graders, we are at the mercy of everyone else's schedule. Today: LUCKY!! We had space in the gym. Extra lucky, because there was a pile of mats I could park on while the kids sit on the floor. The inequity was not missed by any of the kids.

D-Man: Hey! Why are you on the mat?

Ladybug: I call the corner!

Mama: Hold on! You all get the floor...so you can...spread out, yah, have lots of space. In fact we have the WHOLE gym today.

Reptile: (Raising his hand politely) Then why are you on the mat if we have all this space?

Mama: Well, I have old lady bones. And sitting on the ground is very uncomfortable for me.

Valentine: You have old lady arms too. Can I see that jiggly part?

Tangle: Wiggle your arms like this!

Kangaroo: (shy, quiet tittering)

Mama: et tu, Kangaroo?

It All Started With an Innocent Trip to The Drug Store

Much like The Great Chastity Belt Discussion of '09, tonight's topic was The Production and Sale of Illegal Drugs. When the kid's questions outnumbered my competent answers I tried to end it with, "Hey! Guys, not only do I not know how the raw materials are processed into their illegally usable form, I have neither used them nor would I even know where to find any!" And I took a deep breath. Thinking it was done. But Big C is always ready with one more...

"Jeez, Mom! If you could just figure out how to GET the drugs, the cops could just tail you and nab the dealers!" (And then there was some sort of noise from the boy which indicated his mother is a simpleton.)

(No one else will warn you about these pack-hunting attack sessions. But I will. If you have clever children, don't let them get you in a corner. EVER.)

Oxymoron in Action

(Also known as irony.)

Two things struck me as ironic this morning.

The second was the classic guy getting out of his car at the community center, sucking down the last of his cigarette and tossing his fast food wrappers on the ground before he goes in to work out. You know, for his health. But it's better than nothing, right?

The first episode, I will tell you in advance, ended well. By well I mean that the child involved was the only one crying and no one was hurt. I have to tell you that first because it involves a pre-schooler, a busy dad, and screeching breaks. It is set in the school parking lot. And walking into a story like that can make many people a little edgy from the get-go. I debated ruining the ending by eliminating the element of suspense. But since most of the people I know that read this are parents (or children), I thought it wise to forgo style for ease of mind. You're welcome.

There is a preschool program housed in our school. This morning I was walking back to my car as a dad was bringing his three year old to school via the approved cross-walk. He appeared hurried while his child was dawdling. And to teach his son a lesson he let go of his hand (see why I warned you?) and walked more quickly. This cross-walk divides the parking half of the lot from the drop-off lanes on one side and the thruway to the teachers lot on the other. (Don't even bother trying to figure that out. It is the WORST designed parking lot I have ever come across. And that's no hyperbole.) So the dad yells back over his shoulder for his son to hurry up. Now, I realize I have not introduced you to the protagonist yet. But I thought since I already gave away the ending I should hold something else back. But here you go: a bespectacled little guy who was trying very hard to ONLY step on the yellow parts and ALWAYS land four steps on each section. I know. I wanted to put him in my pocket. He is my kind of kid. So the dad again yells over his shoulder to hurry up so he doesn't get hit by a car. You know that scene in The Lion King Part One and a Half where Timon is on guard duty and he is doing his best Scurry, Sniff, Flinch!? Well, our google-eyed hero did a Sniff, Flinch, Scurry! And turned, in his parentally-induced panic, and scurried away from one car and right at the bumper of a moving car. (Again--you're welcome.) Brakes squealed. Mothers squealed. And his father grabbed him and yelled at the driver. Which is the ironic part. Because if he hadn't yelled at his child in the first place that kid would never have left the crosswalk. Trust me. It's an OCD thing.

Moose Lessons

Moose is not perfect. Lord, don't get me started on his imperfections. You don't have the time and I don't have the bandwidth. But there are days when he gets it so right.

Like the evening a couple of weeks ago when I was trying to get some writing done and he closed the door to the room and told me he would get the kids going on homework and put them to bed so I could work. Then he brought me tea. And Oreos. (Which made Lorraine swoon.)

And today, when he called me before leaving work. He said he had a plan. It involved the kids going to bed early, opening a bottle of port, some Stilton, and watching Glee and Project Runway. And yes, I asked him if maybe he was a little gay. Which is totally cool. No judging. But then he told me the rest of his plans and, let me assure you, that he most certainly is not!

I am a sucker!

I am. Let me just start with that.

How do school principals and teachers spot mamas like me? How do they know if I start in with one project it will turn into 3? And why can't I use my PTSD excuse outside of the PTSA meetings? (I really do start to panic at the thought of attending those meetings!) I must give off some funky mother hen pheromone. Maybe they smell it in my unwashed hair. I need to bathe more often. Maybe even daily.

But if I did I never would have met Zac today. Zac who should be in 6th grade but is not. Zac who is sweet and kind and funny and vulnerable and unfocused and distracted and sweet. It took us a good hour and a half to complete one assignment and correct two others. It should have taken 1/3 of that time, potty breaks and broken pencils included. And that principal KNEW I would fall for this kid and that is why she hooked us up. Because taking care of my own three plus the 23 first graders in my three literature groups wasn't enough. Now I have a soft spot for Zac too. The dear, little thing.

And Devin. How did his teacher know to send him into the hallway right where I was working? It is a conspiracy and that damn principal is behind it, that's how. I was not even scheduled to work with him but how do I NOT help when he is sitting there goofing off with his book closed? But the good news is Devin got his work done. I had to bribe him with stories about why the time is off on my watch and where I went on vacation and what I did there. But I learned that, properly motivated, that kid can divide words into syllables like a champ! And he learned he could do it too.

And those TEACHERS!! They are like vultures! All chatty and sweet and appreciative. Thanking me every time they turn the corner. Waiting until I am feeling so happy that Zac is getting it and he is smiling and focused and Devin was off getting more catch-up work to do with me...and then they pounce. I was carrion in cashmere. And now the third grade teachers could use some help with some writing remediation (which means "please come and work with them") for a few (lord help them but it had better only be a few!) students.

And I will do it. Because sometimes just having a Mama checking on you helps. Even if it is not your Mama. Sometimes laughing while you work and getting some individual attention helps. And sometimes, most of the time, this Mama is actually happy to spread her wings a little wider and make a little room for a few more.

That's what HE said...

While people watching during Scottsdale Fashion Week I was channeling a little Michael Kors: "short, tight and shiny says slutty, sluty, slutty."

A Fly on The Windshield

If you were in my minivan tonight driving home from the Mexican restaurant you would have heard this:

Little C: (terribly excited) Hey! There is that giant letter M that Ronald McDonald threw out of his pocket and they stuck it on that pole!! Right there!

Big C: Um, Little C, he didn't really do that, you know.

Little C: Yes he did! It was in his pocket and he threw it with magic.

Big C: No, that is just the Mythology of McDonald's. Ronald is an advertisement.

(Then nothing but silence until we got home. Crushing imagination and spirits: all in a day's work for Literal Boy.)

Musical Haiku

Five dollar plastic

whistle. To me you sound like

three dollar plastic.

(Yawwwnn...)

Hey, Little C, I am thrilled you are making good use of your newly found morning time. Reading is always a good choice. I agree that the time change this weekend is a good thing. And I see that you are saddened that the rest of the household has chosen to use that time to sleep a bit longer. Please know, should you continue to bombard me with trivial questions while I am trying to pry open my eye to stick my contacts in, you will continue to be met with the same result:

disappointment.

I don't know if the Nymphs of the Wind work for Zephyr. I would assume so. So let's go with yes. And if you fail to achieve a perfect score on your SAT's because I possibly gave you the wrong answer to this question, my apologies, sweetie.

Mommy's Helper

A young girl returns from the mailbox on a crisp (it was bitter and cold) Fall day. She brings her mother the mail.

Mama: Anything good in the mail?

Girl: A few bills and a lying catalog.

Mama: Which catalog is lying?

Girl: This bra catalog.

Mama: What is it lying about?

Girl: It says that Push-Ups instantly add two cup sizes.

ADDENDUM: You do understand that when she thinks of push-ups she thinks of gym class, right?

Bring It!

All right trick-or-treaters, here's the deal: it's Alpha vs. All of You.

One giant bowl of candy stands between us.

Who's it gonna be?

Alas...

Shhh. Moose is playing hooky. We got all the kids to school, had a conversation with the principal about AYP and school-dependent learners, and went and swam laps. Now we are enjoying a little "dueling laptops" and coffee after a nice little lunch. It has been quite a treat.

Except (and you know by now that even during a lovely day like this there will be an exception...) the part where he was eating his baguette. Imagine the 1/4 loaf as viewed from the top. He started by tearing it in half left and right. He set one down. Then he pick up a half and split it lengthwise again. He set the top 1/4 (technically 1/16 of a full baguette at this point) down and started eating the bottom 1/4. He generously offered to share it with me. And I reached for the intact half so I could take the bottom portion. And then this happened:

Moose: Why are you taking that piece? Take the one I already ripped.

Alpha: You aren't saving that part because it is your favorite part?

Moose: No. Which part is it?

Alpha: What??!!? How do you not not know?

Moose: Um. I just tore and ate the piece in my...hang on...right hand.

Alpha: You don't look at a whole chunk of baguette and already have a plan for how you are going to eat it? You don't eat the tougher bottom part first on purpose?

Moose: Yah. No.

Alpha: You don't have a plan for how to eat everything you eat?

Moose: Yah. No.

Alpha: I eat things in a specific way in a specific order. Always. Even a glass of water.

Moose: So it is not confined to that thing you do with m&m's and lining up the lid just right on take out coffee?

Alpha: Yah. No.

Moose: Huh.

Alpha: I am still struggling with the fact that you seriously don't care HOW you eat your food.

Moose: Yah. Not so much. Like, not at all.

Alpha: I hardly know you.

ED or not ED...

Why, in those Erectile Dysfunction advERtisments, are the middle aged couples always outside? A Queen sized bed on a deck. Two bathtubs on platforms in the wild. Hello? These aren't plumbed! Who in the hell would feel like doing it after carrying buckets of cold water from the exterior faucet to the tub over and over. I mean, sure, he could carry three at a time, but that is very tiring work. The tubs would still have to sit in the sun all day just to get close to being lukewarm.

Now I'm thinking that malaria and giardia need to be added to the list of STD's that Viagra, Levitra and Cialis don't protect you from. And their bed with no mosquito netting!

...my baby beside me at the wheel.

Moose has been driving Miss M to Middle School every morning. It is kind of sweet that they both have been enjoying their uninterrupted time together. She is usually full of questions. But today she had the answer.

Moose gets in the car after dragging the garbage can to the end of the driveway in a cold rain, pulls the door closed, and wipes off his glasses. He makes what he thought was a comment about the weather...

Moose: What a miserable day!

Miss M: How do you know what kind of day it is going to be?

Moose: Huh?

Miss M: Didn't you just choose a miserable day by making that comment?

There's a Metaphor in Here Somewhere...

Geneva, our middle dog, has some odd habits. Most of which are easy to explain away. She is terrified of lightening and fireworks because she used to be homeless. Being stuck outside, starving and frightened during a storm is sufficient cause for neuroses. I've developed them for less!

But then there is the issue with the snuggly. And I don't really get it. She absolutely loves it when I buy her a sheepskin from IKEA to snuggle. She doesn't step away from it for days. And when she is not sleeping on it she carries it around like a baby. She will put it down where she wants to be and sleep right there. She does not share.

Her love and devotion lasts about a week.

Which is when Neve starts in with the plucking. She will sit and pull every hair out of the leather. When she starts to worry that someone will notice the bald hide ('cause the tufts of creamy wool all over the place didn't tip us off), she sits and waits for the door to open and runs outside to get rid of it. For another week or so she will occasionally visit it in whatever deep pit she has left it in. But eventually one of us finds it and throws it away.

And as soon as it is in the garbage she starts looking at me like, "Um...Alpha? Do you know how uncomfortable it is to sleep at your feet and adore you from this hardwood floor?"

Something in her Wolf Brain snaps. It goes from, "I love you, I love you, I love you...." to "I EAT YOU!"

And then, as if she doesn't even remember the eating part,

she misses the love.

one for the sages

"Hey, Mom? When I am being logical about fictional things...which side of my brain am I using?"

-Big C

Bridging the Generation Gap

Dear Old Gentleman biking on the non-motorized meandering path,

I think it is fair to say we startled each other. In my defense, I had my ear buds in while I was running so I did not hear you come up from behind. Which is also why I did not hear what you turned your head to shout at me. I suspect the singing and perhaps my booty slap had something to do with why you felt it necessary to glare and bark something at me though it was clear by my behavior that I wouldn't hear it.

But, you see, the song is called Push It. And when I listen to it I am transported back to sing-alongs on High School bus rides to soccer games. I am trying to think of a song from your youth to compare it to. The 50's were full of naughty innuendo. What about Great Balls of Fire? See! We have so much in common.

And to stay on this track of honesty, if you had kept your opinion to yourself you wouldn't have swerved and hit that branch. That part is hardly my fault.

-The Mama

HeheheheheheHA!

So there's a new distraction over on my blog roll. Let me offer my own bit of safety advice before you click and read on:

Be warned: it is highly advisable to empty one's bladder before reading about Safety Graphics. *

*Trust me.

In 6 Days Time

Originally posted October 22, 2008: It just occurred to me that I am closing in on a year with this blogging thing. Thought I would toss out a few of my favorite posts for you all. Jen, Lorraine, Moose, Fiona, JR, thanks for reading!

Who and Why?

Today was a tough morning. Neither Moose nor I set our alarm clocks last night. Thankfully, my bladder has a built in alarm of her own. But we all didn't get up until 20 minutes before the minivan needed to be motoring across school district lines. It was pretty close to a "Totally Chocolate Breakfast" for those of you who enjoy the obscure Rolie Polie Olie reference. Thanks to three kids who didn't care if they brushed their teeth or hair this morning, they made it to school on time. Of course, I was back there again 35 minutes later delivering the lunches and a box for a diorama project. But it was definitely a team effort. Yeah Team!

This frazzled morning (and all without coffee, I might add) had me wondering how this family would ever survive stranded in the wilderness. This is actually a secret personality test I give individuals. It comes from the idea that you don't see a person's true self until there is a crisis. I imagine them lost in the North Woods or on a tiny tropical island. It is pretty funny to picture a friend with fancy nails using them to dig for grubs. Would she try to save them, hoping to be rescued before she needs a fill, or find them a useful tool until they popped off, one by one? And once they were gone how would she eat? This is how I occupy my mind. Now you know.

I have decided that this family would do alright. In part, because the kids watch any wilderness survival show on TV. Alone In The Wilderness is the best--a classic PBS special on a man who dropped it all and went to Alaska and built his cabin by hand and lived there. He filmed and documented it himself. I think I could carve a hinge like that if Moose will come up with the door.

I definitely want Big C along. That boy shines in a crisis. I will give you an example: two summers ago, Litttle C walked into a wasps nest and was swarmed by the nasty stingers. Big C heard him screaming and took control. He sent Miss M to get me. He yelled loud enough to get Little C's attention and called him away from the nest where, understandably, the little one just froze. Then he calmly talked to his little brother and pulled off the last few, clinging wasps. When the crisis was over, he hugged Little C and cried with him out of love and concern. Wow. He was 7 at the time. I want him with me. Always. Oh, and he is the one who will figure out how to make the bicycle operated fan to keep me cool on the island. Our own little "Professor" from Gilligan's Island.

I can't imagine being lost without Little C around either. For one thing, he likes to run and retrieve and that is very handy, even in the suburbs. For another, he is the kid who can take the best parts of everyone's ideas and combine them into a great solution. Must come from being the Third. And much like Ender Wiggins, he combines the best bits of all of us in one cute little bundle. Little C has a killer sense of humor and I believe very strongly in the restorative powers of funny. Also, the babe is cuddly warm and that will be useful if the nights are cold.

None of us would make it without Miss M. In addition to being brilliant, she is our "Wilson." She brings empathy and humanity and beauty to our dinner conversations. Her mind is always asking questions, looking for more, and fully immersing herself in a situation. She is also our go-to-girl if we need to communicate with any wildlife or fairies. Miss M is willing to taste anything once. Now don't go thinking that I would test strange fungi as a food source on my first born. But that ability to look at something totally foreign and think she will give it a try is terrific. Plus, if she'll eat it the boys will at least try it too.

Really, with these three along, Moose and I won't have much to do. Scraps will have been scavenged and assembled into a shelter before I have the sand out of my shoes. Big C and Little C will have a roaring campfire going. Miss M will have woven flower crowns for all. And somehow, this desperate situation will suddenly feel like a party.

Feel free to try my test on people you know. They will never even know you are doing it and it is good exercise for seeing people in new ways. Take, for example, a certain kid in a certain classroom a couple of years ago. Tough kid. Tough situation. He drove everyone around him crazy. But, dang, I want that kid with me too. Maybe not at the Science Museum again (craziest field trip EVER), but in life. He has found a way to protect himself and project himself in a world that is working against him. And that is a life skill that can change the world if he finds the inspiration to make this a better place.

So who would you want with you and why? Or maybe what surprised you about someone when you put them to the test?

Tough-Management Decision

I was running some numbers today. Did you know I am up to 69 friends on facebook? Which, if you know what a 12 year old boy I am in the humor department, never fails to make me giggle. It also seems to be just about the number of people I am willing to keep track of. Somewhere around 57 I passed the "immediate friends" and "new friends" and "long lost but well missed friends." Everything after that has turned into "guy who played trumpet next to me in Junior High Band." Now, I always thought Doug was a hoot (pun--sorry) but now that I have seen that his daughter looks exactly like someone put Doug's beautiful wife in the dryer and shrunk her, and that his infant son looks more like the Doug I remember than even Doug does...I think I am at a comfortable threshold. I know my limits.

So here's the deal. All future requests will have to be presented with a good reason why you should make the cut. Because someone else will have to be let go to make room. Best of luck to you!

With a little imagination...

Have you all read the Woolen Thong story over at Pioneer Woman (Oct. 9th with a link to it today as well)? Let me summarize it: a young girl wants to be done with little girl undies and asks for a thong. Mother says, "no way." Resourceful child goes home and knits a pair. 100% wool. HEheheheh! I have, in no way, ruined the story by giving you the ending. It is titled "Wool Thong" so you know where it is going. But it is still worth reading!

But the story had me laughing, again today, and remembering when Miss M was 7 and she was into taking everything apart. I use "was" like this phenomenon is something in our past. Truth be told, it is very much our reality. I cannot count the times I have said, "NO REVERSE ENGINEERING!" to my children. You'd think they didn't have a multitude of options of things to build with (have I shown you the dog treat catapult they made?) but they do. They just can't help themselves. I even bought them those 10 colored pens that had a clear housing so they could see how it worked while keeping it all together. Ah, the best laid plans! They decided to make 10 new pens out of the innards. Anyway...Miss M took apart the rivets holding her new Crocs together. They were Mary Janes and in no possible way would they stay on her feet without the rivets and the parts attached by them. So I told her I would not buy her another pair of shoes until she MADE herself one pair of shoes sturdy enough to get her to the mailbox and back in the rain. The mail and the shoes had to make it back to the house intact. She still thinks it was her favorite "punishment" ever! So she went to work and she succeeded. The bottoms were 1" thick corrugated cardboard with duct tape soles. The uppers, 100% acrylic felt. The style, flip flop with a heel cup. The mail: bills, bills, bills. I could have left that part out.

And she never took apart another shoe. Ball point pens, on the other hand...

Turn Up the Heat

Oh, my Dear Cygnets,

You know I love you, right? Good.

Please be advised that approximately 33.3% of my tirade this morning is due to the fact that I just spent an hour of my day yesterday (not to mention about 33.3% of my checking account) to outfit you all with appropriate, new winter gear.

A second 33.3% can be attributed to the fact that I spent another considerable amount of time just this past Saturday morning finding enough snowpants and hats and mittens around the house to hold you over until the new stuff arrives in the mail. Yes, Little C, you are wearing raspberry colored mittens. But you are like the coolest kid and class and can totally pull it off. And, yes, Big C, you are wearing a safety-orange hat. I haven't a clue where it came from. But I washed it. And your head will be warm and dry and those were my priorities.

The last third of my temper is a hold-over from the past, I'm guessing 11, years of my life! Keeping track of you all and all of your things is generally a smooth process. But when you casually meander around in the morning wasting time I kinda lose it. When I say, "Guys, it is snowing, go up and put on warm clothes and brush your teeth," I am actually expecting you to put on the warm clothes and brush your teeth. In no way does a pair of shorts and a t-shirt qualify just because you thought enough to pull on wool socks. (That is kind of like praying instead of using a condom, but I'll save that lecture until you are a little older.) Plus, yesterday when you were done playing outside would have been the right time to bring your mittens in the house. Instead, I sent you to school with cold, wet, raspberry mittens that I had to dig around in the snow by the tree house to find.

Big C, underneath your pile of 3 hoodies, 1 lunchbox, 1 raincoat, 1 backpack, 1 pair snowpants, 4 books, 3 pulleys, and 1 winter coat, is a set of empty drawers. Just to review: bag goes in the bottom. Hats and mits and library books go in the top. Lunchbox in the kitchen. Coats on hooks. Clothes in laundry or room. Wet things on the rack by the furnace. These are requirements, not suggestions.

It is neither my job nor my pleasure to remind you of these things repeatedly every step of the way. What you are teaching me, by ignoring these directives, is that my little notes and drawings and reminders and clear instructions do not work. You are teaching me that yelling at you is the only way you will listen to me prior to 9 am. And since I am not interested in yelling at you at all (let alone prior to 9 am) I am going to teach you something new. I recommend paying attention because you will be held responsible for the following:

Since it IS my job to teach you to be prepared and organized and responsible, this is the strategy I have come up with. I will be taking $25 from each of you. I will use this money to replace any winter gear you lose this season. I will also compensate myself for time and energy wasted helping you look for your things in the morning. (Helpful TIP: before bed every night when I remind you to get your stuff ready for school the next day I recommend doing just that.) There is a system already in place that will allow you meet these goals and recover your full $25 dollars come Spring if you choose to utilize it. If not, you will lose the cash. It is called a security deposit and, trust me, learning that lesson now will save you time and money in the future. And your mother's sanity in the present.

Love, the Mama

The Best Intentions

What started out as "Go Get Dressed for Soccer" took a wrong turn somewhere and landed on "Mostly Naked Monopoly" involving little more than shin guards and athletic support.

Know what lifeguards hate?

Lifeguards hate working at the office during posted "No Lifeguard On Duty" hours. They hate it because things like this happen:

Dear Diary,

Finally opened the new crate of pool noodles. My manager had me label both ends of them "MHCC" with a Sharpie. BOTH ENDS!! Seriously. Only, the fat Sharpie is dead (which she totally knew) so I had to use a skinny one. It took forever. Then, when I went to go put them in the toy bin (which I had cleaned out earlier--by myself--thank you) you will NEVER guess what I saw!? Get this, some lady floating FACE DOWN in the diving well!!!

It was that moment. The one you practice for but hope to never have to respond to. So I dropped all the noodles, hurdled them IN my flip-flops no less, and got to the edge of the pool just as she came up to take a breath. I asked her if she was ok. And she was like, totally unaffected! Can you believe it! She said she was just fine, explaining that the sun had broke through the clouds and was shining through the water.

WHAT THE HELL?

She had been "observing" her shadow on the bottom of the pool. I was not amused and politely (though it was super hard not to just smack her with a noodle) asked her to float on her back next time no lifeguards were on duty to be "observing" her. Face down. No shit.

I never want to get THAT old.

Luv U Lots!!<3>

(It didn't help when I asked the lifeguard if she had ever read any Kate Chopin.)

Fatal Flaw

I was waiting in the car line the other day outside of the middle school. I know Miss M didn't mind my singing show tunes in elementary school but I was trying to be thoughtful and not go too crazy at the new school. But then this song came on the radio. And I was totally loving it. My head was nodding along. My hips were moving too.

And I was thinking that this song could be great. One of those coming of age anthems. Like At Seventeen only perky. And without the depth. Or depression. I loved the idea that here was this young girl, ready to step into the world, catching a song she loved in a moment of trepidation. And then she rocked it.

Until...

...abruptly and from nowhere she sang, "Party in the USA!"

What?

It is like someone wrote this song and then Walmart stepped in and said, "Hey, Miley, Baby! You know that song? And you know your clothing line we carry? Well, if you sing about not caring what shoes you are wearing and then about not caring about fitting in and just being all happy and stuff with yourself...the way you already are...? Do you see where we are going with this? And your contract clearly states that you will support sales of your line. Do you need me to translate the legalese? No? Good. So what what we are thinking over on this side of the table is that if you add something to the refrain about the USA. You know we always like to push that. Oh, and maybe tweak it a bit to make it sound like she is going to a party. Because 'going to a party' ranks 4th in the tween target market's reasons to go buy a whole new outfit."

Miley sits in silence for a moment. "Um. Well. I could like totally sing 'Party in the USA' in there somewhere."

"We knew you would get it! Now if you could change the title from "I'm Gonna Be OK..."

Questions for Ms. Flu:

Didn't I just give you three hours of quality time today? How is that not enough nap for you? What more do you want from me?

I'll just take my eyes rolling back as my lids involuntarily close as your answer.

Library Rules

Aren't they just 1) Don't be loud and 2) Don't leave a mess?

Turns out, these basic rules are not enough. I am sitting at a library near Moose's office and the first rule listed is: "Physical, sexual, or verbal abuse of other library users or library staff is prohibited."

It is followed by 17 other rules that I am having trouble believing need to be posted on every door, computer, and table ANYWHERE let alone a public library. They range from "no open beverages" and "no skateboarding inside building" to "no carrying weapons of any type unless authorized by law" and "no interfering with the free passage of others." Here is my favorite: "No interfering with others' use of the library through poor personal hygiene."

I guess the signs outside posted at EVERY parking space should have tipped me off that this is no ordinary library: "DO NOT LEAVE ANY VALUABLES IN CAR."

Nice Neighbors

To my nice neighbor lady who thought it was so cute that Moose and I were gardening together one morning this summer:

I'll bet you thought the two of us scouting the yard together for dog shit tonight and picking it up together was downright adorable!

Help me out here

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

EXTRA! EXTRA! READ ALL ABOUT IT!

WOMAN HAS 19 POUND BABY!!

Stop. Right. There.

There are many reasons why this should not be shouted from every street corner. For starters, pregnant women might hear you! Do you have ANY IDEA what this might do to them?

As if you even need another reason here are two words: Nadya Suleman. Oh, don't think some unmarried woman on welfare won't try to top it now that it is all over the news. [shudder!] Do we really need to be promoting poor pre-natal care? "But Doctor. I want gestational diabetes, a c-section, and 15 minutes of fame tooooo!"

And it is all because there is some marketing person somewhere in the US just drooling over the international opportunities awaiting his/her company if they could only tap the "freakishly large baby" market in Indonesia. They are stuffing the care packages full of free baby stuff right now. You know they are.

My Penchant for Little Old Men has Met its Match

Dear Sir,

You almost had me with the slow driving Lincoln Town Car. Your hands at 10 and 2. Leaning closer to the wheel as you strained to see if the light was red or green. The sun-bleached box of tissues on the back ledge. I'll bet you are wearing loafers today. You are, aren't you? I knew it!

But even I have my limits.

Your haircut looks tidy and well groomed but I think it might be time for you to find a new barber. One with depth perception. Because the handlebar EYEBROWS have got to go. At the red light I could see them both from BEHIND you!! They are wider than your face! And when I passed you in the right turn lane, they stuck out as far as your nose! And that's saying something.

That paranoid feeling you've been having? The one where you feel like you have bugs on your face? It's not Sundowners Syndrome. IT'S YOUR FREAKIN' EYEBROWS!!

Tweeze and trim, Man. Tweeze and trim.

"Masculine he spins a spell...

...I think he'd wear me well.

Amy, Amy, Amy,

Where's my moral parallel?"

Amy Winehouse

I have noticed three things about Amy Butler fabrics:

1) When I see them I automatically sing Amy, Amy, Amy from Ms. Winehouse.

2) When I see them I automatically smile.

3) When I spot someone out in public sporting a little AB fashion sense, I have to say hello. And they are ALWAYS lovely people!

Today it was a super chub baby in a mother-made Amy Butler baby sling. Her mother was lovely too!

Business Idea

What do you think of this one as an alternative, or perhaps a partner to, Dooce's approach to Hate-Comments?

I will track down (not hard to do with the right software) the Trolls and start an incessant insult campaign back against them. My basic package would include comments on their pages calling them every horrid name they have flung around. Add-ons could include: being rude to their friends, threatening their families, and contacting business associates to let them all know just what kind of person they are dealing with. I think multiple messages to employers are in order. I will offer harping on physical flaws they have no control over for free to the first 100 orders. The hunter becomes the hunted.

The beauty of my plan is that I wouldn't have to write a single original thought. I'll just use their own words back against them. Whose boss wouldn't want to read the things being posted during company time? And wouldn't their mothers or children be proud to read the writings of someone so inspired?

Or, imagine this one, people actually engage the part of their brain that reminds them to use the remote control to change channels when something comes on they don't enjoy. Silently. Without harassing anyone. And then go watch/read programming that actually appeals to them. I think this one could, in a Pay It Forward kind of way, bring us all a little closer to World Peace.

Strange Brew

Note to Self: Next time you spill espresso grounds down your sports bra please make a better effort to clean them up. (Yes. I made espresso while half-dressed this morning.) That little shimmy thing over the sink was a pretty half-assed effort. Consider the Lint Roller. A Dustbuster, even, if needed.

The thing is, you KNOW you are a sweaty lady. No getting around it. And the pool of sweat and heat that accumulates inside said sports bra is apparently enough to brew a second cup of coffee.

Hey, Buck-o...

I am ok with you coming up in our yard to eat the crab apples. Truly. And it is a very impressive sight to drive home and see you standing there, all majestic, on my hill with your massive antlers. But the rutting part? Can you take that across the street to the empty lot, please? You see...how do I put this delicately...whatever the hell you spray in the holes you are scratching makes me retch. And my dogs are rolling in your muskiness which means my house has a faint odor of Randy White Tailed Deer this week. (Insert retching noises.) I find this unacceptable. In an effort to work with you on the matter, I am raking up all of the crab apples today and putting them in the empty lot. Your compliance would be appreciated. Shall we review your progress, say...a week after the Autumnal Equinox? It's on my calendar.

Dear Miss Whats-yer-name

My apologies, Victoria, but I don't recall catching your last name.

Why are you tempting me with free panties? I sort of like a couple of your bras but not enough to pay full price for them. But then you go and toss a pair of panties at me like I'm Tom Jones and I'm all, "Oh, it's ok if the wire pinches and my fleshiness pours out of the top of the largest cup size you make. It is worth it for a free matching panty."

Who am I kidding? One round through the laundry around this place and that matching bra and panty will never, ever see each other again. In fact, if your daughter is dating a guy you dislike, send them to my laundry room. In the unlikely event that they ever find each other again one of them will have gotten all stretched out and saggy while the other one will have mildewed under the towels from the pool. Problem solved.

A Letter From Her Younger Self

I ran across something Miss M wrote when she was 9.

I think some toys should be eliminated, then replaced. All vidio games need to be ridded of, along with guns (toy and real). If nobody likes fighting, war will stop!! No offence to anyone out there, but I don't understand fasion models. Girl clubs, or boy clubs, there only point is to leave others out. Couple of questines, Why do I care if I am dressed in fasion? Can I not decide myself? The answer is this: the most popiler person sets the trend. Everyone else copys her. The End.

As if we weren't already in love with that kid!

Super Freak!

In the category of "things you may not want to know about me but I am going to tell you anyway" I am a Super Smeller. After years of sinus treatment and two surgeries my olfactory system not only functions well, it functions too well.

About a month ago, I rounded up all of the shoes on our property, made matches, sorted out the ill-fitting or ill-looking for donations, and doused the ill-smelling remains with an organic odor eliminator and lined them up in the sun to bake. Henceforth our shoes have not been so smelly. But there has been a lingering odor in my house that I could neither identify nor eliminate. It smells like old insoles and wet cardboard simmering on the stove. No amount of candle burning, dusting, vacuuming, or spritzing has gotten rid of it. The curtains have been washed. I have replaced dog beds and scrubbed wood floors. I have vacuumed the underside of my rugs. I have dismantled furniture and cleaned pieces from the inside out. Still smelly.

Only, I am the only one who smells it so no one else has the same sense of urgency I do to solve this mystery. In fact, I think some of them are wondering a little bit about maybe some sort of olfactory tumor that is also pushing against the sane-reasoning-center of my brain.

Abandoning my quest temporarily, I thought I would clean out the storage unit under the south facing picture window.

This space is intended to function as storage for book bags and hats and mittens. It has evolved into a mass catch-all as well. But we each have our own unit that doubles as a window seat and, for the most part, everyone is responsible for his or her contents. I say "for the most part" because, as with all tidying and cleaning around here, nothing happens without some prompting.

Turns out I have been neglecting my prompting duties as of late. So that smell? It actually WAS moldy wet cardboard and several liners intentionally removed from old boots and squirreled away. I am not naming names but, GROSS GIRL, that needs to STOP!! The subtle note I was missing in the odor? 11 dirty socks.

Ahhh, Sunday morning.

Moose is out golfing. I am cleaning the living room. Enough about the boring people in the house. What are those kids doing, you ask? Well, I'm here to tell you.

They are playing Iron Chef with their stuffed animals.

The set up went something like this:

Alton Brown: a parrot (which made me crack up! but you should know my kids adore him).

The Chairman: a green and black furry spider that is hanging over the stadium. (aren't they clever!)

Mario Batali: a penguin that sings "Honey YOU, are my Shining Star...don't you go away."

Kat Cora: a cat. Really, what can you do with that one? At least it is one of the cats Miss M and I sewed wings on while playing Catwings one day. (If you haven't read those books by Ursula K. LeGuin you really must.)

Bobby Flay: a horse because it was the most Southwestern thing they could find in the drawer.

Masahara Morimoto: (my personal fave) is a rabbit that they made pipe cleaner glasses for.

Michael Symon: is a porcupine in some funny sense of irony.

The judges include another winged cat (totally impartial) and a tiger. "Jeffery" is the only judge they know by name and he is a big, blue monster thing with a mouth that opens wide and deep so you can shove your pajamas inside his body. This also cracked me up.

I left them to play a bit and came down to refill my coffee and to keep moving with my own version of Life-Imitating-TV (take your pick of any of those shows where the crew steps into the lives of chronically cluttery people and organizes their entire lives in 30 minutes). I went back upstairs to drop off things that belong up there and to see how the battle was raging. Here is what I was told (please keep in mind that most of this sounded like Miss M and Big C finishing each other's sentences):

Mom! You can't just go challenge an Iron Chef like that. First we are setting up our own restaurant so we can become well-known chefs. The idea at our restaurant is you get a piece of paper with a list of main ingredients and you have to pick just one. And then the chef makes you a surprise dish with that ingredient. (Here, Little C interjects.) But you can also write down things you DON'T like and the chef won't use those. We thought people that like the show would want to eat there and it would be good practice to be on Iron Chef.

And I, being in a clutter-buster kind of mood and buzzed on caffeine, looked around. Two bedrooms and the hallway are all covered in make-shift tables, pretend food, and stuffed animals. Almost everything in me wanted to tell them to contain the mess in one room and sternly remind them that they will have to clean up the mess before bedtime. But, like that little bit of Hope left in Pandora's box, the wiser part of myself forced out a smile and simply asked if they needed anything from the kitchen. "Do we have any fat netting?" one asked. "I'll see what I can find," I answered.

She's gonna need a bigger hill

Is it just me, or does this mother look like she is trying to get away from that child?

It looks like more than just a runny-nose situation. Like maybe rabies. Her only chance is a quick release on the bucket. Think that comes standard?

They're with me.

I have groupies! Nothing along the lines of Heather or Ree. No where even near Winona's crowd. Emi leaves me in the dust. But it is only because my groupies don't know how to type, do not have computer access during the day, and have to go to bed by 9:00.

That's right.

I am the shiz among the 8-10 year old soccer playing nerd boys in our suburb! I have been helping coach Big C's soccer team. And a few times during the season the league has these mass practices (not where they pretend to be priests with Holy Wheat Thins, the kind where there are 48 small boys on one field) and I help there as well. I don't run anything. I don't plan the drills. But I have sort of made "colorful examples" and "thorough explanations" my niche.

And it turns out that the way the male soccer coaches in our league explain things only hits home for boys with a certain learning style. But then there is that subset of players that try to think through everything and want to know why. You know the ones. The ones who tell the team that the trajectory of the ball in the air is a parabola. The same ones who try to explain to the goalie how to utilize sin, cosine, and tangent to best cut off the shot.

This group of boys not only likes to hear how they should approach a goal kick like an upside-down catapult, they kick the ball better when they do. Once they understood vectors and inertia and kinetic energy they really gave those jocks a run for their money. It does help at this age that my little guys know their right from their left and if you tell them the job of the right defender happens in a certain zone they actually stay there, by golly!

If I am explaining anything to another boy there is a good chance that one of my mighty mathematicians will run over and listen. At the start of practice tonight I had (not counting my kid and my adorable neighbor boy) three other kids just standing and looking up at me (they're short, remember) waiting to be told to do something. One of the player's grandmother told me that her grandson didn't want to go to practice until they pulled up in the car and saw I was there.

And after practice, Big C likes to keep playing after everyone goes home. He really prefers if just the two of us practice shots or he goes in goal. But we haven't really had that chance because my groupies want to stay and play too. I love my (loosely defined part time volunteer) job!

Atta girl!

Miss M is completely in love with MIddle School. In an "Up With People" kind of way. It is super cute. One of her assignments last night was to think of three things to tell the class that would teach them something about who she is.

Thing 1: She can build a great campfire and cook lunch over it.

This says she is a self-reliant young lady who is also a caregiver.

Thing 2: She taught herself how to read when she was two.

It's true. Freaky, but true. This tells people that she is a problem solver and isn't afraid of a big project.

Thing 3: She would really like to learn how to hotwire a car.

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