an Open Letter to Derek Landy

Dear Mr. Landy,

I need to thank you.  Thank you for writing strong, intelligent, fierce, learning-as-they-go female characters.  Thank you for their mistakes as much as their glory, their losses next to their victories.  Thank you for throwing unbeatable obstacles in their way.  You know why?  Because this is exactly what the world throws at people every day.  And, for some reason, adolescent females get hit pretty hard.  So thank you for throwing in some do-or-die friends in as well.  Not perfect friends.  But the best kind.  The ones that tell you what you need to hear and love you more because of your flaws.  And when you show them that the world will pick up and move on and so must you...you give them a gift.  You are a Class Act Feminist, you are.  And around here we love you for it.

Oh...

...and we especially adore you for inspiring our daughter to rock a Valkyrie Cain vibe for her High School Homecoming dance.

She did not have to kick any ass but she could have.  She had the boots for it.

Much love and many thanks,

-Alpha

Do the rest f you know Derek Landy's Skullduggery Pleasant books?  If you reside on the westerly side of the Atlantic I would not be surprised.  But it would be worth your while to get your hands on a set.  
http://www.skulduggerypleasant.co.uk/

Pop Quiz:

Bit of a puzzle this one.  How many wrong things can you identify in the following:


I am wearing pink.  Going to a High School football game where everyone will be wearing pink.  Including my children.  Thousands of people in pink.

(Hint: I count 5...but more are sure to arise before halftime.)

Dear Tequila,

I could not feel worse about what I have done to you.  The salt.  The watermelon.  The ginger.  Could have worked out, you know?  I still believe it.  But then I went and dumped that San Pellegrino in there just to give it a little sparkle.  (For the photo op if I am honest with myself.)  And, sadly, all I taste is something that smells like the hair of an unwashed, sweaty 8 year old boy.  The color...kinda the torn, pinky edge of a zombie bite with those fleshy-looking melon bits floating in there.  No good.  No good for anyone.  Not even the zombies.

I wish I was shallow enough to blame it on Pinterest.  A pretty picture of a sweating Mason Jar in the sun has moved me to try other odd concoctions.  (Yes.  Gin is the lucky one.  She got rosemary and tonic and it was divine.  Yes, yes prosecco and the lemon sorbet too.)  But this one was all me.  Me and my desire to reinvent a thing that should not have been altered.  You were perfect the way you were.

What I am trying to say is...sorry.  Truly.  I'll stick to Mod Podge and glitter next time I get the urge to get creative.  Maybe the glue gun.  The taste of you straight from the bottle with a little lime and salt, the occasional Margarita, that will be enough for me from now on.  I promise.

Oh, and can I ask you one more thing?  Do you have the number for Vodka?  (I hear she'll mix with anything.)

-Mama

(flinch) reroofing

Little C (who, quite frankly, is not so little anymore) joined me downstairs this morning.  He leaned in and kissed my ear accidentally because I turned my head as another patch of my roof came sliding roughly down in front of my desk window.  I think he was going for my cheek but caught the ear.  Good thing he subscribes to the try, try again philosophy because the next one he landed perfectly on the squishy, chubby part of my face where he gave it a good push of a smooch.  Pretty great way to start the morning.  Except for the part where I am flinching every time another hunk of shingles drops through my periphery.

He proceeded to wave his giant, 9 year old hands in my face and asked me to put something on them because they were itching.  I leaned back a bit so I could focus (which is new for me and yes, yes I know, don't say it aloud).  And what I saw told me instantly why his hands were itchy:

     Mama:  "Interesting.  Before I put anything on them, why don't
     you try washing them."

     Little C:  "But they IIIIIiiiitch!!!"

     Mama:  "It might be because they are FFFFffffffiiiiilllllthy!
     Try removing the dirt and sticky stuff and see if the condition
     does not improve."

     Little C:  (shouted from the bathroom)  "HEY!!  It worked!"

Huh.  (flinch)  Imagine that.  Remedy the thing causing the problem instead of just slapping on another layer of lotion, or shingles, or whatever.  (flinch)

Some Things Never Change

Mama: "You are not wearing that fleece pajama top to school today. You will be too warm. Go brush your teeth and find something with short sleeves and then we are out the door."

(4 minutes pass)

Mama: "Kid, you are not wearing THAT pajama shirt to school today either. Change it."

Little C: "But this one haaaaaas short sleeves!"

Mama: "Are you counting on my stupidity or yours to pull off that argument?"

Little C: "Well can I at least wear pajamas all day tomorrow?"

Mama: "Yes, darling, tomorrow you may. Now change your shirt AND brush your teeth with an actual toothbrush AND toothpaste AND I am going to check how clean they are AND the shirt must be one of the folded ones from the third drawer down on the right."

Little C: "Arghghghghghg....!" (stomp, stomp, stomp)

Game Playing

Picture a sobbing 8 year old boy. Sick with strep and a fever. Head thrown back, wailing. Tonsils bulging. Reddened eyes watering. Reddened nose running.

Mama: "Baby, what's wrong?"

Little C: "Miss M cheated on me!!"

Mama: "Is she seeing another brother?"

Little C: "What? No. We were playing a guessing game and she cheated!"

Mama: "It's all a guessing game, baby."

might have Earned My Stripes with this one

So, this title thing I have given myself? Alpha? If you look back far enough on here you'll see it really is only about my familial rank and not about comparing myself to other mothers. That might change as of this week.

This week I have stumbled upon perhaps my most brilliant parenting maneuver of all time. It leaves the bald-spot incident in the dust. What? Didn't I tell you that one? Well...here it is. Little C purposefully stuck his gum in Big C's hair recently. It was so smashed in there I had to cut it out. THEN I cut a matching bald spot in Little C's hair just to make sure everything was "equal" which is what they were arguing about in the first place. Sharp, huh?

But this week? This week I have invented a move. Like gymnasts get flippy, twisty things named after them, I think this one should be named after me: The Alpha Monkey. Its brilliance rests on the fact that the only counter-maneuver would be to deny their inner desire to be the boss of other people. An ability few children possess.

It works like this. You need your child to do something, say...get ready for bed and the multiple step in involves. If you say, "Go get ready for bed," they will end up playing green army men under their bed. If you say, "Get your jammies on, go potty, brush teeth, and wash your face," they will end up playing green army men under their bed in their underpants.

BUT....

If you say, "You get to be the boss of all the kids, how would you tell them to get ready for bed?" I can almost guarantee they will give you a fairly thorough list. Then tell them to go do it. They clearly know what is expected. They can no longer say, "I know I have been brushing my teeth since I first got them, but I did not know you meant to brush them tonight as well." Or, one of my favorites, "I did brush them....(intervening tooth check)....no, not tonight. Did you mean tonight? I meant that, technically, I have brushed them many, many times in the past. You did use the past tense, mom."

It could apply to homework as well: "What homework did your teacher give to the other kids in class today?" Then there is her list for today as well.

"How much time should it take the average kid to eat two waffles?"

"If you were a detective how would you figure out who wrote your name, in your handwriting, all over your brother's bunk bed?"

"If your brother told a lie to your mother what should his punishment be?"

Try an Alpha Monkey this weekend. Let me know how it goes.