The weirdest thing happened today: I asked my teenager to do something and he did it.
I'd asked him to take care of the garbage cans and at first he'd come up with his standby "No, you can't make me." And it's true, I can't make him. He's now 7 inches taller than me (though he only out weighs me by 6 pounds). But once I walked out of the room, he went and brought in the garbage cans.
It was like I was an authority figure or something.
But wait, it gets stranger: I told him to turn off the Xbox and find something else to do. He argued that he'd only actually been playing it for about 20 minutes, as it had been downloading updates before that. I told him it didn't matter and walked away.
Then he turned off the Xbox and the TV! AND THE HE CAME OUT AND TALKED TO ME.
I'm think he must want something. It's been at least 6 hours since this double phenomena and still nothing. No favors asked, no bad news broken. The suspense is killing me.
Or maybe he's just growing up.
Nah.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Ten Things You Should Know About Abbie
1. My husband had wanted to name her Emily, which means "industrious", but I liked Abigail, which means "my father rejoices." When I went into labor we realized we still hadn't agreed on a name, but since I was the one in pushing something the size of a football out of my body, I got to choose. It turns out she is a hard worker who has her daddy wrapped around her little finger, so I guess we were both on the right track.
2. Abbie was a girlie-girl when she was little. All of her favorite clothes were pink and she often wore several different shades of pink together. Princesses and magic fairies, castles and Prince Charming. Now she wouldn't wear a ruffle to save her life, dresses are out of the question and boys are "weird.."
3. She has long, crazy monkey toes.
4. Abbie is smart, Smart, SMART. She's not the child prodigy kind of smart, where she'd be graduating college at age 13 but have no friends. She asks a lot of questions (and I mean a LOT of questions), is a voracious reader, and works really hard in school. And she asks a LOT of questions.
5. She has the digestive system of a truck driver. My sweet, fragile flower can belch louder than any one I know and you don't want to enter the bathroom after Abbie's been "reading" in there.
6. Abbie loves all animals, especially dogs. Jack, our yellow lab, was her first true love. It was a difficult time when she decided she loved pigs, but she also loved bacon.
7. She wants to be a marine biologist. Or a dog groomer.
8. Abbie is a wonderful big sister (and a much picked upon little sister). She is still not too grown up to play Barbies every once in a while and is so kind to her little sister sometimes it makes me want to cry. And then she pulls out her preteen attitude and I have to give her the look.
9. She's Team Jacob.
10. Abbie is willing to try just about anything--food, sports, you name it. And if she doesn't like it the first time, she'll usually try a second or third time. She has no built in fear of failure, never assumes she can't do something until she tries. I am continually amazed by her courage.
I would like to think I'm partly responsible for all the things that makes up Abbie (except for the crazy toes and digestive issues), but Abbie is just going to be Abbie, with or without my intervention. I sometimes think she could do a fine job raising herself, but I'm glad she's letting me tag along.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Lessons I Learned From My Mother
It's Mother's Day and I've been trying to come up with a fitting tribute to my mom and motherhood in general. They say God could not be everywhere so He created mothers. My mother had 5 children in eight years so she really didn't have time to be everywhere. But she did teach me some very important lessons that I have taken with me in life (and occasionally imposed on my own children).
No singing at the dinner table. This may seem like an arbitrary rule, but in a family of seven, who had very different personalities and routinely got on each other's nerves, this was a sacred rule at our house. And it saved my mother from having to listen to "On Top of Spaghetti" for the 50th time while trying to eat. I first imposed this rule when my second child entered preschool and could only remember one line of any given song.
Dress up whenever possible. I often wondered why my mother put on her nice clothes whenever she got the chance to leave the house without us, but now I know: there were adults where she was going. People who would (presumably) not grab her skirt with sticky fingers or spit up on her blouse. That in itself was reason enough to celebrate with a nice pantsuit and a spritz of Emerude.
Read, read, and read. My mother was never without a book. If ever there was a woman who needed an escape, even if it was only for the five minutes before someone broke out in screaming fit, it was my mother. The one place she routinely took all of us kids together was the library. Not only could she stock up on her one "drug", but it made her look like a good parent to boot.
Let them be bored. I remember summers as a time of doing a lot of nothing. No trips to Disneyland, no drives across the country to visit the Grand Canyon. We had the swim lessons and camping trips (with all 5 kids in one tent and my parents in their own), but most of vacation was spent hanging out in the neighborhood or the backyard. Televisions were turned off by 10 am and then we were on our own. I've tried this with my own kids and they mope around complaining that they're bored. That's when I give them two choices: upstairs or outside.
If your brother is bothering you , stay away from him! By the time I came into the picture, my mother had had enough of bickering siblings. If I complained about my brother picking on me, I rarely received much sympathy. The only time I remember her stepping in and mediating one of these conflicts is when my brother called me a name that had to do with some one's nether region. It was a term I didn't know (though I suspected it wasn't good) so I asked my mom, who then asked me where I'd heard such a word. Revenge is best served by a little sister. And really, how much of world conflict could be prevented if one warring faction just stayed out of the living room?
So Happy Belated Mother's Day--now my mom knows I really was listening (once or twice). Perhaps my kids will learn a lesson or two from me, but I hope it's something good and not "Never shove stuff under your bed when your mother-in-law comes to stay."
No singing at the dinner table. This may seem like an arbitrary rule, but in a family of seven, who had very different personalities and routinely got on each other's nerves, this was a sacred rule at our house. And it saved my mother from having to listen to "On Top of Spaghetti" for the 50th time while trying to eat. I first imposed this rule when my second child entered preschool and could only remember one line of any given song.
Dress up whenever possible. I often wondered why my mother put on her nice clothes whenever she got the chance to leave the house without us, but now I know: there were adults where she was going. People who would (presumably) not grab her skirt with sticky fingers or spit up on her blouse. That in itself was reason enough to celebrate with a nice pantsuit and a spritz of Emerude.
Read, read, and read. My mother was never without a book. If ever there was a woman who needed an escape, even if it was only for the five minutes before someone broke out in screaming fit, it was my mother. The one place she routinely took all of us kids together was the library. Not only could she stock up on her one "drug", but it made her look like a good parent to boot.
Let them be bored. I remember summers as a time of doing a lot of nothing. No trips to Disneyland, no drives across the country to visit the Grand Canyon. We had the swim lessons and camping trips (with all 5 kids in one tent and my parents in their own), but most of vacation was spent hanging out in the neighborhood or the backyard. Televisions were turned off by 10 am and then we were on our own. I've tried this with my own kids and they mope around complaining that they're bored. That's when I give them two choices: upstairs or outside.
If your brother is bothering you , stay away from him! By the time I came into the picture, my mother had had enough of bickering siblings. If I complained about my brother picking on me, I rarely received much sympathy. The only time I remember her stepping in and mediating one of these conflicts is when my brother called me a name that had to do with some one's nether region. It was a term I didn't know (though I suspected it wasn't good) so I asked my mom, who then asked me where I'd heard such a word. Revenge is best served by a little sister. And really, how much of world conflict could be prevented if one warring faction just stayed out of the living room?
So Happy Belated Mother's Day--now my mom knows I really was listening (once or twice). Perhaps my kids will learn a lesson or two from me, but I hope it's something good and not "Never shove stuff under your bed when your mother-in-law comes to stay."
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Happy Birthday, Sam I Am
His teenage-ness started when he was 11 and I was no longer allowed to talk to him in public. Oh, how I miss those days. Whenever I tell someone about what a difficult time we've been having with him, they ask his age and say "Oh, that's a tough age." It's been four years now and they're still saying it.
Sometimes I think it's going to have to be military school for Sam or AA for me in order for us both to survive his adolescence.
But then, every once in a while, there's a little glimmer of the sweet boy he used to be that makes me think I might not have failed utterly as a parent. Sometimes he forgets he hates me and tells me something funny that happened at school or gives me a flash of the dimples when I joke around with him. Then he slinks away and yells at his sister, but not before I recognize my son in there.
A couple of weeks ago I was waiting to pick Sam up from soccer practice (in the car of course--teenage handbook clearly states all parents must wait in the car) when I noticed one of the kids talking to the coach. This boy was returning some borrowed gear, talking and smiling, all the while looking the coach in the eye. Wow, I thought, wouldn't it be great to have a son like that? Friendly, responsible, and respectful of authority figures. Then I realized it was my son! Apparently his mother did teach him some manners, he just chooses not to use them at home.
So Happy Birthday to my baby boy. You taught me how to be a mother and a lot about patience. I'm hoping one day we'll look back on this and it will all seem funny. Sometimes it's even funny now, but only after a good glass of wine.
Monday, April 18, 2011
How I Spent My Facebook Vacation
I wish I could say giving up Facebook for Lent made me a better person. I should be coming out of these 40 days having spent my time in quiet reflection and worthwhile pursuits. Sigh. Instead, this is how I spent Lent:
1. I started blogging, which some may say is a worthwhile pursuit, but really it's just an extended FB update. With spellcheck. ;)
2. I was unkind to a door-to-door missionary. I let my dogs frighten her and I had unkind thoughts about her fashion sense. Three Hail Mary's and an overnight stay in Purgatory (without FB).
3. I made it to the gym more often, yet I didn't lose any weight. Could be those brownies I ate to fill my empty FB soul.
4. I also started doing Jillian Michaels' yoga DVD. I still can't do the camel pose, but have come to the conclusion that her belly button resembles the navel of an un-ripe orange. (While my belly button is past it's expiration date.)
5. I came up with new and inventive ways to harass my kids. Without my face pressed to FB, I realized I have some pretty funny kids--who are even funnier when I annoy them.
6. Soccer practice, soccer game, volleyball practice, band concert, volleyball game, school volunteer day...Laundry. Phew! It's a wonder I had time for FB.
7. I freaked out about my kids' grades. I spent sleepless nights imagining them working as telephone solicitors and living in our basement. And we don't even have a basement. Then I had a margarita and figured D was really the new C, and, hey, they were passing weren't they?
8. I thought un-kind thoughts about my husband as he checked his FB account while sitting next to me. And I came up with new and inventive ways to harass him.
9. I finally got around to a couple projects I'd been putting off. I spray painted the wood chair I got from Goodwill pink to match Olivia's room. In the process I might have accidentally painted the driveway pink (well, fuchsia). Right after my husband had spent an entire day pressure washing it. He isn't as funny when he's annoyed.
10. I shopped for our upcoming Vegas trip. I shopped and shopped. I think we may have to extend our trip a day our 12 so I can wear all my new clothes. (And you are welcome, local Marysville retailers. You'll be seeing a blip on your economic indicators for the 40 days leading up to Easter.)
So you see, while giving up Facebook for Lent was definitely an exercise in will power, it did not bring me any closer to God. If you think about it, though, God created the people who created Facebook, so really it's kind of a holy time-suck, instead of your run of the mill time-suck. God wants me to be on Facebook.
Amen.
1. I started blogging, which some may say is a worthwhile pursuit, but really it's just an extended FB update. With spellcheck. ;)
2. I was unkind to a door-to-door missionary. I let my dogs frighten her and I had unkind thoughts about her fashion sense. Three Hail Mary's and an overnight stay in Purgatory (without FB).
3. I made it to the gym more often, yet I didn't lose any weight. Could be those brownies I ate to fill my empty FB soul.
4. I also started doing Jillian Michaels' yoga DVD. I still can't do the camel pose, but have come to the conclusion that her belly button resembles the navel of an un-ripe orange. (While my belly button is past it's expiration date.)
5. I came up with new and inventive ways to harass my kids. Without my face pressed to FB, I realized I have some pretty funny kids--who are even funnier when I annoy them.
6. Soccer practice, soccer game, volleyball practice, band concert, volleyball game, school volunteer day...Laundry. Phew! It's a wonder I had time for FB.
7. I freaked out about my kids' grades. I spent sleepless nights imagining them working as telephone solicitors and living in our basement. And we don't even have a basement. Then I had a margarita and figured D was really the new C, and, hey, they were passing weren't they?
8. I thought un-kind thoughts about my husband as he checked his FB account while sitting next to me. And I came up with new and inventive ways to harass him.
9. I finally got around to a couple projects I'd been putting off. I spray painted the wood chair I got from Goodwill pink to match Olivia's room. In the process I might have accidentally painted the driveway pink (well, fuchsia). Right after my husband had spent an entire day pressure washing it. He isn't as funny when he's annoyed.
10. I shopped for our upcoming Vegas trip. I shopped and shopped. I think we may have to extend our trip a day our 12 so I can wear all my new clothes. (And you are welcome, local Marysville retailers. You'll be seeing a blip on your economic indicators for the 40 days leading up to Easter.)
So you see, while giving up Facebook for Lent was definitely an exercise in will power, it did not bring me any closer to God. If you think about it, though, God created the people who created Facebook, so really it's kind of a holy time-suck, instead of your run of the mill time-suck. God wants me to be on Facebook.
Amen.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Selling Jesus Door To Door
A missionary showed up at my door the other day, complete with brochures and homely outfit. I think she was a Jehovah's Witness, maybe a Seventh Day Adventist. (Someone really needs to come up with a field guide for missionaries.)
Let me just state for the record I'm not overly fond of missionaries. I get the idea behind it: go forth and spread the good news, go tell it on the mountain, if we have to dress in these dowdy outfits everyone else should, too. It's not the religious fervor I object too, it's them telling me I'm wrong I have a problem with. Not only that I'm wrong, but I'm too stupid to know it.
And the pamphlets. I hate the sad pamphlets. Do these people know nothing about marketing?
When My Missionary came to the door, perhaps the dogs might have accidentally got out. Now, if you know anything about our dogs (two good natured if slightly spastic labs), you'd know this is no big deal. Unless you don't like to be slobbered on or covered in dog hair. White dog hair. And you're wearing a long black skirt, black tights, and a black coat. And you're a timid missionary who doesn't know our dogs would sooner learn to play the violin than bite anyone. So they accidentally got out. And in the confusion of getting them back in the house, I just didn't get a chance to discuss if I was wrong or stupid or going to hell with My Friendly Missionary.
But then she played the pamphlet card. Now I ask you, when in all the history of missionary-hood, as a poorly illustrated pamphlet sealed the deal? I, however, went to Catholic school and I know a false prophet when I see one. Now, if she'd invited me to a Sausage Fest with a Beer Garden, that would have been a different story.
Let me just state for the record I'm not overly fond of missionaries. I get the idea behind it: go forth and spread the good news, go tell it on the mountain, if we have to dress in these dowdy outfits everyone else should, too. It's not the religious fervor I object too, it's them telling me I'm wrong I have a problem with. Not only that I'm wrong, but I'm too stupid to know it.
And the pamphlets. I hate the sad pamphlets. Do these people know nothing about marketing?
When My Missionary came to the door, perhaps the dogs might have accidentally got out. Now, if you know anything about our dogs (two good natured if slightly spastic labs), you'd know this is no big deal. Unless you don't like to be slobbered on or covered in dog hair. White dog hair. And you're wearing a long black skirt, black tights, and a black coat. And you're a timid missionary who doesn't know our dogs would sooner learn to play the violin than bite anyone. So they accidentally got out. And in the confusion of getting them back in the house, I just didn't get a chance to discuss if I was wrong or stupid or going to hell with My Friendly Missionary.
But then she played the pamphlet card. Now I ask you, when in all the history of missionary-hood, as a poorly illustrated pamphlet sealed the deal? I, however, went to Catholic school and I know a false prophet when I see one. Now, if she'd invited me to a Sausage Fest with a Beer Garden, that would have been a different story.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Report Card Blues
Having internet access to your kids' grades isn't always a good thing. Remember back in the good old days when parents could be lied to and strung along until the day the actual report card came out? Those lucky moms could spend months at a time, happy in their ignorance, not needing to anguish over what to do about about Tommy's poor grades.
I suppose if your kid is an overachiever, the daily access to their GPA would be great. Oh look, Suzy got an A on her math test and an A+ on her book report! But not my kids. My formerly intelligent children have decided to forgo the traditional path of studying and good grades and have instead devised a way to use their brain power to torment me. Turn in homework? Boring! Be aware of assignments and due dates? How predictable! You know what will make Mom absolutely crazy? If we complete a project and then forget to turn it in! ROTFL!!
I've begun to wonder if all the time I spent playing educational games with them and the countless hours spent reading bedtime stories were just wasted time. Apparently I could have just plopped them in front of the TV! Hey, maybe I should have had that margarita when I was pregnant.
In all honesty, I have great kids. They are smart (thanks in part to my superior parenting) and funny and easy going. Maybe not excelling at math does not doom one of them to a future working at McDonalds. And if one forgets to turn in homework, perhaps it is not an indicator of intelligence, but that she just has so much going on in that smart little head of hers she can't keep track of details. Perhaps it would just be easier on all of us if I lost my password to the online grade book.
I suppose if your kid is an overachiever, the daily access to their GPA would be great. Oh look, Suzy got an A on her math test and an A+ on her book report! But not my kids. My formerly intelligent children have decided to forgo the traditional path of studying and good grades and have instead devised a way to use their brain power to torment me. Turn in homework? Boring! Be aware of assignments and due dates? How predictable! You know what will make Mom absolutely crazy? If we complete a project and then forget to turn it in! ROTFL!!
I've begun to wonder if all the time I spent playing educational games with them and the countless hours spent reading bedtime stories were just wasted time. Apparently I could have just plopped them in front of the TV! Hey, maybe I should have had that margarita when I was pregnant.
In all honesty, I have great kids. They are smart (thanks in part to my superior parenting) and funny and easy going. Maybe not excelling at math does not doom one of them to a future working at McDonalds. And if one forgets to turn in homework, perhaps it is not an indicator of intelligence, but that she just has so much going on in that smart little head of hers she can't keep track of details. Perhaps it would just be easier on all of us if I lost my password to the online grade book.
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