GOALagoalagoalagoalagoal...

When Miss M was little, I used to kick soccer balls at her hoping they would stick.  Technically, I rolled them hoping she would kick.  Twirling away from me was her polite way to decline my offer.

But now...

Both my boys are starting soccer in a few weeks.  Since Big C is entering a league with kids who have a couple of years under their belts I thought a few practice session wouldn't hurt.  Also, a DVD or two from the library for exposure to the basics.  Plus we picked up a couple of books.  Nothing puts the fun in sports quite like research and studying I always say!

So today I took them to a field with a couple of balls and we ran drills and practiced skills and guess what?  I had SO much fun!  And they did too.  Know how I know?  When I checked the time, 2 1/2 hours had gone by and no one had asked to stop or play the DS even once!

I would be remiss in my parental obligation to brag if I didn't mention that those boys worked hard and hustled the whole time.  Even when it rained.  Even when I made them do push-ups for hand balls.  (Little C even did intentional hand balls just so he could do a push-up.  This one is our contrarian while the Big C is our rule-follower.  Miss M is the rule-adjuster and loop-hole-finder.)

Dear Gab Dancer

I am curious about who you are and why you follow 4goodor4evil.  Please enlighten.

Incompatible

I am finding the aesthetic arrangement of facebook non-compliant with my wagon-wheel understanding of the world around me.  Also problematic is the lack of linear chronology that a blog provides.

And now that I have peeked at pictures of everyone I have slept with (and really, since they are dying off in chronological order and I live with Moose, that list is awfully short) I am running out of things to do on there.  (Which reminds me: Charlie, please take care of yourself!)

Lunchtime Loop

As long as my kids are staring at the woman in line, perhaps they could politely remind the...

...Older Lady to pick up some calcium supplements if she insists on teetering around on those crazy platforms shoes.  It would be great if she could please ask the...

...Young lady in the next booth what the point is of pulling on shorts over her swimsuit when the shorts are smaller than the swimsuit bottoms.  And maybe she would then please remind...

...Noodles and Company, that their doors were sticky before my kids got there.  Then they could remind my kids it is impolite to stare at people and whisper.  And then...

...I could peacefully enjoy my lunch and stop worrying about the rest of you all!

Conversation

Little C: Mama, I have a secret drawer in my room.

Mama: Technically, it is a hidden drawer because it is no longer a secret.

Little C: What?

Mama: Well, since you told me about it I now possess the knowledge that you have a drawer in your room.  However, I do not know the location so it remains hidden from me.

Little C: Ok...but I have a drawer in my room that you do not know about.

Mama: Do you mean the one in your IKEA nightstand that I built?

Little C:  Yep!

Mama: So it is neither secret nor hidden.

Little C: ........oh.

Mama: Sorry about that.  Do you even have things that need to be hidden?  You see, your life at age 6 is almost completely revealed to me.  And why is that?

Little C: You're the mama.

Mama: Damn straight, baby!

The thing about a fever is...

So my brain temp is slightly elevated.  Just mildly.  For a few days now.  But it is making my brain work like it did before I had kids.  You know, before all the organizing and scheduling and parenting took up so much space.  (This is my way of rationalizing the rash of posts.)

You'd think I would use this spurt to finish one of those screenplays sitting in the Final Draft files on my Mac.  (I affectionately call it Final Daft.)  Nope.  It has also stirred up all of the constant thinking that used to plague me.  It is fun to revisit, but I wouldn't want to think all the time.

But on the upside I have figured out a way to make a clean, renewable, never ending, portable power source that works equally well on Earth and Mars.  Maybe even the Moon.  Seriously.  I am working on some sketches.

(Have you all seen the film Phenomenon?) 

For The Record

(In reference to my previous post and the fragility of the human ego...)

I would like to point out that Moose, evolutionarily speaking, is both a good provider and a good breeder.  We have managed to produce and care for two Jedi and a Seussian clover that carries a world on a speck of dust.  All three of them are beautiful and brilliant and their midi-chlorians are off the charts!

How's The Weather in Calgary?

So I have a few things to confess.  I know you are not blogging (how's the hand? did you see the comments at Voodoo Lounge?) but I find myself still checking your blogs.  I do not think that qualifies as cyber stalking.  I have also peeked at your Facebook and Linkdin pages.  Hope that's not creepy.

I feel like I did the first time I commented on the blog of someone I didn't personally know.  It was Emi, actually.  And I felt like a degenerate so I sent her a real email telling her who I was.  This was before I knew about the whole "letters to marc jacobs" thing.  There's irony for you.  I felt like I had to introduce myself for commenting to a women who wrote hundreds and hundreds of unanswered letter to Marc Jacobs.  She must have though me rather simple.  She still might.

I just want to make sure if I am crossing your line you let me know.  See, one of my first comments was from a gentleman in Australia.  I was thrilled and then I clicked his profile and read his blog and I realized he was in an institution in Australia.  And when medicated he was a thoughtful person who produced some beautiful art.  But, schizophrenia being what it is, when he was "off" his posts were a tad paranoid.  Which made me, being what I am, a bit paranoid.  His art was still fascinating.  Thankfully, continental drift is a slow thing so I'm not too worried about bumping in to him.

The closer I get to 40...

The closer I get to 40...the further my stomach drops when I see a fit, young man outside doing fit, young man things.  

The closer I get to 40...the more laps I have to take around the block when the firefighters are outside the station doing firefighter things in shirts...or not in shirts.

The closer I get to 40...the more excuses I come up with for having coffee near the university campus so I can enjoy the college boys out for a late morning run.  (Try it sometime.  Trust me.)

The closer I get to 40...the quicker my head snaps around to my side mirror when I drive by a young man working outside wearing jeans and work boots with nothing under his orange safety vest.

What is wrong with me?

I am blaming evolution.  When I was young and cute and could afford to be choosy, it was always the "good provider" thing that turned my head and kept it turned.  The "good breeder" thing never held a lot of my attention.  But as I am moving closer and closer to those last few ova, my chemistry is doing funny things to my, um, chemistry.

Anyway, did you ever even suspect that such a thing exists as a fit, young Air Force firefighter in a jumpsuit with a shaved head, Ray-Bans, and a Southern accent?  I would tell you where to find him, but I am afraid that information is classified.  

Dress-up Day

Some days I dress up nicely.  Mostly it is because my dress down "uniforms" are all in the laundry.  Today I ended up in a nice skirt and t-shirt with fun, strappy J-41's.  It is a sassy red and pink printed skirt that I got for just 1/3 the normal price at a spendy boutique and I love it.  The skirt is full and flares out when you twirl.  (Who doesn't love that?  When I am 90, I am going to put just one booster rocket on the side of my wheelchair so I can still twirl!)

Anyway, I ended up wearing that skirt to the "graduation" event at my kids' aerospace engineering camp.  I would like to supply some information that may help you if you are ever in this situation.  You see, airport tarmacs are breezeways even without the planes taking off and landing.  So if you step out in your sheltered, suburban front yard and think that the skirt can handle the little bit of wind today you will be wrong.  In addition to the general windiness you will be climbing up into the C-130 for a tour and there will be a wind tunnel created inside of the fuselage when every door is opened and...well...you get the idea.

My apologies to Miss M for making her hold Little C's hand the entire time (that kid is a security breach waiting to happen).  But your mama was busy trying to hold down her dignity.  (When the clean laundry is so depleted that you have to wear that skirt, you don't even want to know what was left to choose from in the under-pinnings drawer.)

(sharp inhale)

With the biggins off at camp for half the day this week I was looking forward to having some Mama time with my little one but this flu has knocked me on my butt.  And then...Little C got out his red backpack and put it on today, saying he wished he could go back to school.  

Oh, sweet child, did you mean to break my heart just a bit?

diagnosis?

I usually handle all of my own medical diagnostics.  Sometimes I check with a vet.  But tonight I am asking you all:

Is it the flu when you walk out of the dark restaurant into the evening light and your eyeballs feel like they are on FIRE and you can't open them for anything and your eyelids suddenly seem transparent so you have to ride home with your hands over your face?

How To-sday

Welcome to the inaugural installment of my first regularly scheduled feature: How To-sday.

Today's topic: How To Have Fun With an Emergent Reader 

1. Buy your little learner a joke book or pick one up at the local library.  The small, paperback kind works best so they can carry them everywhere.

2. Ask him or her to read them to you at various times during the day.  If there is a cooking section, have them read you the chef jokes while making lunch.  Perhaps they will perch on the potty and read you the bathroom jokes while you use the shower.  Chances are you won't have to ask.  They will probably just follow you to the loo while walking and reading.  Chances are, if there is a section of napping jokes they will find you with your feverish eyes tightly closed and poke you with the book until you acknowledge the joke and give up at least the hint of a laugh.

(Here comes the fun part.)

3. Being an "emergent" reader will present many opportunities for excitement and problem solving.  See, the little buggers will probably get some of the words wrong in either the joke, the punch line, or both.  I conservatively estimate that 1/3 of the jokes will make no sense because of incorrect phonetic decoding.  Try and guess what the joke was supposed to be. 

4.  Then go back to the text with the child and help them find their error(s).  You wouldn't believe how funny they find the actual jokes after having pretended to get the faulty jokes.  My little monkey was rolling on the floor!

5.  Go ahead and laugh at Junior.  The jokes provide the perfect cover!

(And if laughter really IS the best medicine, then I should be over this little bout of influenza in no time!)

Achtung!

So my biggins are taking Space Camp this week.  It is the real deal.  On a military installation and everything.  The focus is math, science, and engineering.  They get a computer for the week with headphones and a joystick for flight simulations.  They get to use a CAD program to design a part for a rocket which is then extruded from some machine according to their specs.  They get to test out other designs in a wind tunnel.  It promises to be an exciting week!  Forget sports camp.  This is the kind of thing that thrills my nerdlings.  

Miss M was chatting with a girlfriend on the phone this weekend and was overheard saying, "I think this camp could be good for my career."  ????!

Big C's imagination is spinning!  He can't decide if he is in pilot training with Rogue Squadron or if he has been shipped off to Battle School like Ender and Bean.  Either way he is SO excited.  

Being a Base, security is tight.  We were greeted by armed guards before we even got to the security checkpoint.  The kids were wondering, a little too loudly for my comfort, if my ID would clear or if I would be detained.  I curtly shushed them. 

At least they waited until we were driving again before talking about all of the security measures and structures.  Little C pointed out the curving spikes and the gate like a portcullis.  I pointed out each spring-loaded barrier we drove over.  The kids tried to imagine what would pop up if security was breached.  Miss M thought a concrete barrier.  Big C went with spikes.  Little C is sure they are rigged with explosives.

And, because they are my special little darlings, they also starting talking about all of the ways you could get around these protective measures.  Big C especially, because then he planned out counter measures and the appropriate evasive response.  

Needless to say, I dropped them off with a warm hearted, "Please don't let them hear you all plotting to circumvent the security."

To which Miss M said, "Yeh!  We better behave on base because did you see those guns?"

Punctuated by Big C's incredulous: "Come on...They're not gonna plug a kid!"

Dear Mrs. T,

It was so much fun to have your boys here this morning. It pleased my boys very much and they were all so well behaved. Your boys are very good eaters! We would love to have them back very soon.

And one more thing...

...when your little one asked me if that was a bottle of wine I was enjoying with my lunch I laughingly joked and said that it was. Then my filter kicked in and I realized that your 5 year old does not know me well and might actually think I WAS consuming a whole bottle of bubbly while looking after your children plus mine. It really was a bottle of San Pellegrino and I tried to tell him that but his knowledge of all things found in an Italian cucina seems to be lacking. You might want to see if there is a summer workbook for that.

Again: love your boys!

-Alpha Monkey

Bottom of The Barrel

A group of monkeys are usually called a Troop. Also used are: cartload, tribe, or barrel. I think barrel of monkeys will suffice.

Bottom of The Barrel is my new label for those things which reflect family life here in our Barrel/Troop that are less than flattering. So you know it will be a busy topic!

I was just cutting the Cinna Stix for dessert with the uber sharp pizza wheel I got at the restaurant supply store. It is well-honed and more of a revolving blade than your standard circular cutter. Which is why when I passed through the dough and then my finger it hurt. And I gasped. And I ran out of the room followed by a chewing Moose. I returned to a table full of frightened looking monkeys.

Miss M: Whhhat happened?

Little C: I didn't do it!

What does this say about my kids that they are conditioned to deny something every time I gasp?

Oh, Gail...

I wish you would leave your phone number next time you leave a drunken, sobbing message on our phone.  I do not have caller ID at the house, sorry about that.  The series of degenerating messages on Mother's Day chronicled your self-medicating in real time for us.  And I agree that Heidi should have called you on that of all days.  It was a rather touching call out for help.  

And the message today, what can I say?  I do appreciate your not giving our number to the lawyer that called you.  It is most unfortunate that Artie is being sued for $5000.  I feel your grief when you mention that Heidi has STILL not called you.  It is all very dramatic, but...

...the thing is...

...please know how hard it is for me to tell you this...

...but you have the wrong number.  Really.

And you have a very common first and last name combination and I am simply not going to call every one with that name looking for you.  I can't even call and order a pizza without some degree of anxiety.

I agree that Heidi needs to know that you are trying to reach out to her even if it technically qualifies as drunken dialing (11 am might be a touch early, dear).  At least this way your daughter could make an informed choice to reciprocate...or not.  I am wondering if there might be a chance that she made that clear at the last intervention.

Best of luck to you.

Dear Merck,

Why are you only marketing the Gardasil vaccine to females?  

Stick with me for a minute: 

-->Gardasil is targeted at 4 strains of HPV

-->2 of which cause 70% of cervical cancer diagnoses

-->the other two cause unpleasant and contagious symptoms

-->If we assume the 10% rule...then 60% of the cases of cervical cancer are contracted FROM boys/men

-->As are 90% of ALL cases of ALL strains of HPV 

One of your slogans is "One Less."  You have commercials where mothers hug their daughters and look into the cameras and say "My daughter will be One Less."  If the Mamas in your adds also hugged their sons you could change your slogan to "Two Less."  Hey, I DOUBLED your target market just like that.  

Since I also care about my sons' health, and the health of any future partners they may have, we'll take three.  Thanks.

Well, what would you say?

(The following snippet from my life is rated PG. But only because the young man involved is 5, not 25. A 25 year old would have earned this an NC17, especially if he was cleaning my pool.)

Last night as Big C's baseball game was wrapping up I was standing with two other Moms as the younger children drifted back from the playground. The players were all jumping around congratulating themselves on a really great win. The coaches and dads were all in a huddle trying to figure out what they did that worked so well.

And then it happened. The scene you only ever see in mediocre movies. The one you can't suspend your disbelief for but it makes you laugh nonetheless. The kind of thing only Diane Lane can manage with some appearance of grace while quietly dying inside.

A young boy walks right in to the middle of the mamas, reaches out his hand and...plunks it down on my right breast while saying, "Hey, nice Boob." I do have to add, for the sake of my own vanity, that his tone was not sarcastic but utterly sincere. The sweet child was being complimentary. And it is nice. Especially the right one. I smiled right back at the boy and replied, "Thank you." Because that is what you say when someone says something nice to you. And also when you don't want to embarrass the child or mother any further.

Did I mention his mother also happened to be in the middle of the muddle? Ah yes, and now let us all share a communal cringe for that poor mama who pulled her smiling child aside while doing her best Diane Lane impression.

This is one of those images of my kids that I will always hold in my heart. Sort of like the dusky evening when Miss M was 3 and wearing a white linen sun dress. She was flitting about in her grandfather's front yard surrounded by about a thousand fireflies. Or Big C sitting in a tree at a friend's farm reading Harry Potter when he was 7. And Little C climbing in my blooming magnolia tree when he was three with his wild blond hair.

But there is something about this picture that perfectly captures each of their personalities. Miss M with the bucket because she has a plan, her head turned slightly to keep an eye on her boys as she forges ahead. Big C, probably counting something as he walks in a straight line. Little C taking big steps to keep up and never letting them out of his sight.