Showing posts with label boys. Show all posts
Showing posts with label boys. Show all posts

Tuesday, May 7, 2013

Thank You, Teachers!



Dear Teachers,

Happy Teachers’ Appreciation Week!  Boy oh boy, do I appreciate you!!

There are countless reasons for my appreciation, and I couldn’t possibly list them all.  Having said that, here are just a few of the reasons why I appreciate you:

I appreciate the fact that when you see me in the local grocery store buying a case of wine on a Tuesday, you don’t mention it.  You don’t even blink an eye.  

I know my little chatterbox has unloaded volumes of family secrets.  There is nothing that child won’t share.  You’ve no doubt heard about her father’s flatulence and my inability to subtract double digits.  I appreciate you not mentioning this during school conferences.  

I appreciate that, although my son’s shockingly cluttered backpack is a direct reflection on the state of his bedroom and the entire house, you have yet to report our family to the Health Department.

I know I have high energy kids who could benefit from a military-style boarding school.  I appreciate you not yet recommending they be sent away.

You have kept me from a host of crimes and you are blissfully unaware of it.  If it weren’t for you and your fearless teacher friends, people like me would be forced to homeschool.  Can you even imagine me homeschooling?  My children would still be learning to spell their names, and I would be in rehab.

You’re underpaid, underappreciated, and often overworked.

This week and all weeks…I appreciate you!

Sincerely,
A well-meaning but nearly incompetent mother

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Darn 4th Grade Projects

As best as I can tell, 4th grade should be renamed "The Year of the Projects."

If it's not a diorama then it is some other project involving recyclables, glue, and countless hours heckling your 9 year old to "get organized."  I might as well be speaking Latin.

In our house, these school projects take on a life of there own.  You may not think a 4th grade project would involves 20 feet of rope, metal clips, lag screws, wood screws, eyeholes, garden ties, plywood, plumbing pipe, and part of an old toilet paper holder, but then you clearly don't have the same vision as my ten year old.

This most recent 4th grade project was to create a simple machine.
The directions were clear.  Create a simple machine (something with a lever, wheel and axle, pulley, inclined plane, wedge, or screw).  Draw the project on paper with clear labels.  The finished project must move a valentine card at least six inches. There must be something on the box that measures 12 inches long, 6 inches long, and 1 inch long.

After reading those instructions, something else became clear. I would be no use to to my son.  I hate projects. I stopped comprehending the instructions after the word "simple."

My creative son quickly got to work drawing a rough draft of his idea.  I saw the sketch.  I thought it was ambitious and would require assistance from a civil engineer.

My hubby, who is not a civil engineer, loves starting projects. He's not as big a fan about finishing them. He just loves starting them.  And he sure loved our son's idea!  I mean really...what's not to love about an excuse to bring out all of your dusty power tools while making multiple trips to the hardware store? Can you ever have too many screws?

At one point, my son referred to my hubby as Clark Griswold.  When I asked him why, he laughed saying, "Because Clark Griswold is always so optimistic, but it never works out for him."

After hearing this, my poor Clark hubby was hell-bent on getting an A on his son's 4th grade project.  Despite its size, I believe my hubby and son nailed it. No pun intended!

I am going out on a limb here by saying a more humongous 4th grade project does not exist.

You have no idea how "happy" this makes me since my son wants to, of course, keep this project for the rest of his life.  Finding a place to store this contraption may require building an addition onto our home.  I voiced this concern to my hubby, but he was too busy playing with his son's contraption to hear what I was saying.   

My fingers are crossed that the next 4th grade project (and I'm sure there will be another one!) will include instructions to keep it smaller than a breadbox.   Please?


Monday, January 21, 2013

Hoarders - The Next Generation

I'm doing my part to make sure the reality show "Hoarders" is enjoyed for decades to come.  

"How's that?" you ask?

Well, I am raising two hoarder-wanna-be's.
The only thing coming between them and lives as full-fledged hoarders is me.

Although I am a fan of my own crap clutter, I find my children's clutter grossly annoying. It's perfectly acceptable for ME to hoard items, but my children must stop hoarding.

My son's favorite items to hoard appear to be legos and scraps of paper.  Not intact lego inventions or entire sheets of paper, but a megazillion little lego pieces and an equal number of scraps of paper.  These little legos and scraps are everywhere. Everywhere!

I passed by my son's room the other day and thought one of two things had happened. His room was either ransacked by an escaped zoo animal or there had been an explosion. When I didn't see any wildebeests or smell any smoke, I realized the mess was boy-made.

I asked the pint-sized hoarder to clean it immediately.
When that fell on deaf ears, I demanded the hoarder clean it immediately.

Ten minutes later the youngest hoarder in our house announced the miserable deed was done.
Ten minutes?
It seriously looked like a weekend project to me, but I'm not a 9 year old boy with 16 million Lego inventions waiting to be made.

Upon nearing the room, I was hoping to find my son's hoarding behavior had been magically cured.

That dream died when I opened the door and a shower of little papers flew from his closet like bats out of a cave in a Scooby Doo cartoon.  Ruh-roh!

His closet contained enough scraps of paper to make a redwood.

In looking down at the floor, I realized he had an arsenal of Legos littering his floor.

His response to this mess?

"Mom, my middle name is Organized.  Poorly is my first."

Tune in next time when "Hoarders-The Next Generation" explores the tween hoarder...

Thursday, January 10, 2013

"I Have Chlamydia" and Other Reasons I "Love" Jon Stewart 

I am a horrible less than perfect mediocre mother. 

I love my kids. I really, really, really do!  I love them more than air.  I love them to the moon and back.

You know what else I love?

Alone time. Gloriously peaceful, quiet, alone time.

I love to pour myself a glass of wine beverage and sneak into my bedroom to watch my television crush, Jon Stewart.  I DVR his show since I cannot possibly stay up past 10:07 P.M. to watch it in real time.

Over the years Jon and I have developed quite a relationship.  Jon expects nothing from me and makes me laugh at the absurdity around me.  He keeps me up to date on all the "news" I need for one day, and I can fast-forward him if he starts to annoy me. It's truly the perfect relationship.

The other night while squirreled away watching Jon, my sweet 9 year old son came into the room.  He snuggled up with me and I melted.  How many more years do I have with my sweet boy wanting to cuddle?  On the other hand, Jon was making some pretty pee your pants funny astute observations about the Mayan calendar and it's relationship with North Korea.

In a moment of parenting weakness, I decided I could cuddle with my son AND watch Jon.  Simultaneously.

Certainly this is a rookie mistake, and I should know better.  I should. I didn't.

Shortly after making this lazy parenting decision, Jon proclaimed jokingly, "I have chlamydia!"

The audience laughed, and my son asked, "What's chlamydia?"

I took a breath, and I simply told my son it is a disease.

In the next breath, my sweet son loudly blurts out, "I HAVE CHLAMYDIA!"
He then laughs hysterically a lot like Jon Stewart had just done.  

I immediately know this is an exclamation he will make on the playground, in the classroom, and most definitely in Sunday school all in an attempt to generate laughter from his equally clueless peers.

That's the night I got to talk with my son about sexually transmitted diseases.

Thanks, Jon. Thank you so much for providing me with that unscripted, awkward, parenting moment.

Jon, I don't want you hanging around my kids anymore, but in fairness, I don't think my son ever wants to watch your show again!

Friday, August 31, 2012

Sleep Overs


The person who coined the term "sleep over" was either an adult who never had children or they meant the expression as in "sleep is over and will never happen during the course of this evening."  I'm not sure which.

I'm blessed with children of two different genders. I have a daughter and a farting creature son.  Here's the thing I know with absolute certainty:  although both are absolutely capable of being disgusting in their own right, girls are marginally more civilized than boys.

A girl's idea of a sleep over is to eventually cuddle and giggle their way into the night. They whisper and talk in hushed tones fully believing the silly parent will believe they are sleeping.

Boys, on the other hand, are too busy making farting and belching sounds.  They don't have the good sense to even try to fake out the responsible adult.  This eventually leads to the parent having to threaten their own son while dropping veiled threats and innuendoes about the likelihood of ever having another "sleep over."

"Sleep overs" loosely follow this schedule:

6 PM:  Son's friend arrives
6:01 PM:  Boys begin running throughout the house with high pitched squealing that reminds mother that she has wine in the refrigerator.
6:22 PM:  Boys begin loudly playing video games.  Mother takes 2 ibuprofen with water.
8:12 PM:  Mother asks boys to get a snack, brush teeth, put on PJs.
8: 22 pm:  Mother asks boys to get a snack, brush teeth, put on PJs.
8:30 pm:   Mother asks boys to get a snack, brush teeth, put on PJs.
8:37 pm:  Boys loudly eat snack and put on PJs.  Proper dental care is overrated.
8:45 pm:  Mother opens refrigerator and then closes it.  She's just comforted by knowing the wine is in there should she need it.
8:47 pm:  Boys decide to dump every Lego on the bedroom floor so they can "find them better."
8:52 pm: Loud fart sounds and hysterical laughter erupt from the room.
9:15 pm:  Loud fart sounds and hysterical laughter continue to erupt from the room.
9:16 pm:  Mother continues to ignore the loud farts and hysterical laughter.
9:30 pm:  Mother asks boys to clean up Legos to make room for sleeping bags
9:41 pm:  Mother asks boys to clean up Legos to make room for sleeping bags
9:52 pm:  Mother asks boys to clean up Legos to make room for sleeping bags
10:00 pm:  Mother enters room against her better judgement to find sleeping bags on the floor covering 2 million legos and another 2 million legos have been tossed into her son's underwear drawer.
10:01 pm:  Mother tells boys to whisper or read quietly.  "It's time to slow down," she says sweetly.
10:01 pm:  Mother leaves the room, closes the door, and promptly hears fart sounds and hysterical laughing.
10:01 pm:  Mother decides one glass of wine would not hurt anyone.
10:30 pm:  Mother goes back to son's room and tells the boys it's time for lights out.
10:30 pm:  Mother leaves the room, closes the door, and promptly hears fart sounds and hysterical laughing.
11:00 pm:  Mother develops an illogical belief.  If she clenches her teeth and speaks without moving her jaw (creating a very attractive facial expression), She believes only her child can hear her.
11:01 pm:  With clenched teeth she says, "If. You. Don't. Put. Your. Head. Down. Now. You. Will. Never. Have. Another. Sleep. Over. ... EEEVVVEEERRR."  She hisses that last word because she is already sleep deprived and she is morphing into something scary and unpredictable.
11:02 pm: Mother's hissing has absolutely no impact on her son.  The other child asks her son, "Hey, your mom is talking funny. Why she sound like that?"
11:03 pm:  Mother gives her son "the look" (I don't need to describe that, right?).
11:03 pm:  Mother leaves the room, closes the door, and promptly hears fart sounds and hysterical laughing.
11:05 pm:  Mother realizes first glass of wine has had absolutely no impact on anything.
11:15 pm:  Mother sips second glass of wine while listening to fart sounds echo down the hall.
11:37 pm:  Mother passes out falls asleep to the sound of boys farting and belching.
9:59 am:  Mother sweetly tells the other mother that the boys were "delightful" and "we should do this again at your house."

Monday, August 20, 2012

A New School Year Begins



"So long, suckers!" I thought after dropping the kids off on the first day of school.

Yes, I'm grossly immature and expressions like "So long, suckers" just naturally pop into my brain.  Not proud, just honest.

My baby girl is now officially in 6th grade.   This means animal prints are totally cool and go with everything including other animal prints regardless of the animal.  This also seems to be the year when one day showering is thought of as a poisonous activity and the next day getting ready requires hours of primping and an assortment of lotions and gels.  This child seems precariously balanced between childhood and adolescence. The wind could blow her any direction.  I am literally holding my breath.

My sweet son is a 4th grader. By "sweet" I mean highly energetic with a dose of narcism and a dash of uncontrollable ornery-ness.  He has exactly 15,000 questions in the course of one day (that's 105,000 questions in a week, but who's counting?).  Recess is his favorite subject at school followed by Physical Education.  I may need to give his teacher diamonds for Christmas.

As for me, I'm a professional now. I've been dropping kids off at this same elementary school since my daughter was in kindergarten.  That's 7 first day of school experiences.  Yes, I am a pro.

Once upon a time, I cried dropping the kids off at school.  This is, of course, laughable now.  No more tears from me on the first day of school.

There was a brief, almost tearful, nanosecond today when I realized this was the last first day of elementary school for my daughter (assuming she buckles down and doesn't need to repeat this year).  The nanosecond passed quickly and I gleefully dropped my "angels" off at school.  I now reserve tears for the last day of school before summer vacation.

I was once a helicopter mom. I counted the hours waiting to hear a minute by minute account of their days.  My kiddos ALWAYS disappointed me in their remarkable inability to recount much of anything from their day.

At dinner I would prompt them with never-ending unanswered questions.
Eventually, I would resort to, "Did you learn anything new today?"
They would look at each other, shrug, and respond in unison with, "Nah."

Sigh.

So this year I am turning over a new leaf.  I am selling my helicopter.
I.Will. Not. Be. A. Helicopter. Mom.
I.Will. Not. Be. A. Helicopter. Mom.
I.Will. Not. Be. A. Helicopter. Mom.
I.Will. Not. Be. A. Helicopter. Mom.

Yes, I have my homework cut out for me.


Sunday, August 12, 2012

Exercise with Children


My husband is a health nut.  Well, to be fair, he's really more of an exercise advocate. He has, and I am not kidding you, only missed 2 days of exercise in over 2 years.  2 years!

He frequently sends me links to articles in hopes of encouraging me to get off my fat ass and exercise more.   The latest article "Lack of Exercise asDeadly as Smoking, Study Finds" seems to suggest that instead of just feeling guilty about not exercising, I could have been chain smoking instead.  Is there no justice?

So recently, in an effort to get him off my back show him I value his every word, I started exercising with my children.  This was a hair brain idea and you should not attempt this at home.  Seriously.  Don't do this.

First, I convinced my 11 year old to go for a run with me.  I was hoping for a slow 2 mile jog where we would watch butterflies fly by us while talking about boys, puberty, and my love for her.

Yeah, I'm a numbskull. 

Instead my daughter viewed this leisurely trot as a sprint event.  From a distance I realized my daughter resembled a gazelle.  At least, that was my impression as sweat (or was it tears?) poured into my eyes creating a blurry vision of my little girl smoothly gliding away from me.  She was graceful, fast, and focused.  It was beautiful to watch until she was so far ahead, I could no longer see her.   

She was sweet enough to circle back around to me.  
At that point, she looked puzzled as she asked, "Mom, when did you get so slow?"
I would have responded but I couldn't breathe. 

Two days later my ego was nearly healed when I decided to take my 9 year old son to the bike path.  I thought he could ride his bike while I ran behind him.  Well, that's a total joke.  No way could I keep visuals on him.  I certainly tried but my legs were no match for my son's biking speed.  I did draw stares from other runners as they passed me.  I can only assume they were overcome by the smell of blood, sweat, and tears emitting from every pore of my body. 

My son waited patiently for me and then asked, "Geeez, mom, did you take a break or something?" 

Again, I couldn't form an adequate response since I was unable to breathe.

I can only assume exercise is contraindicated for my physical well-being.

To celebrate my renewed, albeit limited, interest in exercise, I took the kids out for ice cream.   

Shhhhhh.  Don't tell my exercise advocate!


Sunday, July 29, 2012

The Institute of Mothers



The other day I needed ten minutes of that elusive thing called "peace and quiet."
I told both children they could have ten more minutes of electronics which in our house means playing Wii or some other mind numbing handheld electronic device.

My son looked at me and proclaimed, "The Institute of Mothers would not approve of this, Mom, but I am very happy!"

The Institute of Mothers?

Crap, where did I put that membership card? Certainly, I am not worthy enough to be part of any sort of elite motherhood society.

I honestly don't know where he comes up with this stuff, but my son clearly believes there is a panel of mothers who are out to squelch all fun for all children. A group of mothers who force their children to eat green vegetables at every meal while denying their children any dessert or fun.

The IOM (Institute of Mothers) would not approve of a number of my parenting indiscretions. In fact, there are a host of things my kids could rat me out for so instead I'm going to out myself.

Here are just a few of my unapproved IOM practices:

- My son occasionally has the longest fingernails in the history of little boys. My daughter would, too, but she is a nail biter.

- My children's closet is the "go to" spot when I ask them to clean up their messy bedrooms, and I am OK with this! I hate messy floors, but closets have doors that I can shut. Out of sight, out of mind.

- My children get dessert nearly every day of their life. You try to deny them dessert and see how it goes.

- My son thinks "making your bed" means making sure all pillows and blankets are on the bed but not necessarily in any sort of organized, tidy way. His bed is made, if there are no pillows or blankets on the floor.

- My children do not bathe every day. On days they do bathe, they don't always use soap. I don't always make them re-shower. If they don't smell, I'm cool with it.

- I have served dinners that do not contain a vegetable or fruit product.

- I use mind-numbing electronic toys to bribe my son into doing an array of necessary tasks. If he can remember to put on clothes, for example, he may get electronics time later in the day. In our house, we discourage nudity.

- I use the brain cell sucking electronic toys to allow me time to do necessary things that I cannot always do if my children are around. You know, things like breathing and peeing. That's correct. I use electronic toys as a babysitter. This is something I vowed to never do. Of course, that was pre-kids. I didn't know any better.

- I sent invitations to my kids' birthday parties this year via text message. No cutesy invitations are ever generated in my home!

The Institute of Mothers will no doubt be contacting me.
I'm sure my membership will be revoked!

Wednesday, July 4, 2012

Sociology Experiment Gone Bad

The lack of electricity coupled with the heat makes me think we may be part of some secret sociology experiment. What happens when you take a typical middle class family and deprive them of electricity?

Here's what happens:

Days 1 & 2:
Family plays games together. They show each other love and respect. They give thanks for the things they do have... like family.

Day 3:

Family cleans out refrigerator and freezer. Large amounts of food are thrown away. Children remain cheerful as their mother forces them to eat 48 mini cream puffs that are thawing in the freezer. Cracks begin to show in the parents' cheerful attitudes. To compensate, they attempt to drink a bucket of frozen margarita that is thawing in the freezer. Everyone goes to bed sweaty, but drunk full.

Day 4:

Husband arrives at hardware store before 7 AM because store is getting a new shipment of generators. He spends all eternity waiting for the shipment to be unloaded from the truck and then spends the kids' college savings on a generator that will run the refrigerator, one lamp, and a fan.

Wife washes dishes by hand after heating water on the gas stove top. Because she is mentally a blond, she forgets boiling water is hot and nearly burns all ten fingers in an attempt to clean a pile of dirty dishes.

Tween unearths every battery operated toy she has ever been given. The battery operated microphone is the worst gift to ever give a child. She is so enchanted by new found toy that she loudly sings an unapproved version of our national anthem. It goes a little like this: "Oh say can you see...by the Don sir's delight..."

Son is scared of the dark so after dusk, he acts like a tick and attaches himself to the family member closest to him. He uses every glow stick and flashlight as a sword.

Husband attempts to hook-up the generator while excited children run around him singing and poking each other with glow sticks. He yells obscenities at the generator which the children will no doubt repeat in Sunday school.

In an effort to allow hubby to focus on hooking-up the generator, his supportive wife threatens the children with, "If you ever want to drink cold milk again, you'll leave your father alone!"

After threatening the children, she realizes she cannot find her glass of red wine. It's dark and she is thirsty damn it. Upon finally locating the glass, she drops it and listens (because it is too dark to actually see any of this happening) as it shatters into 65,000 tiny pieces. This is when she realizes how good a cold beer would taste.

Children race through the house in an effort to annoy each other. Their mother tells them to stop running because they might hurt themselves. At that moment the once sane woman steps on a shard of glass. Her son continues running, but her devoted tween assists in locating additional flashlights, tweezers, band aids, and, of course, the microphone.

Finally, the glass is swept up, a shard of glass is removed from the frenzied woman's heel, and more wine is poured. Husband enters and requests help moving the refrigerator so it can be hooked-up to the generator. Although it is pitch black, the couple cannot help but notice the yeti who has been living behind the refrigerator. Its large enough that they both think he may have assisted in pushing the refrigerator out. The couple is so grateful, they release him into the wild.

At last, the children fall asleep in the cool basement, the generator hums in the driveway, and the yeti runs free. Family survives another day without creature
comforts.

Day 5

The family huddles around the one oscillating fan as they plan their day. It may involve breaking and entering, but no one voices any moral objections. After all, prisons are typically air conditioned so that would be a step in the right direction. Friends are out of town and their house sits empty. The house has electricity. The house is air conditioned. The increasingly irritable family of four have a key to said house.

Operation Goldilocks is planned. The family will ask their sweaty, dirty clothes to walk themselves into the hamper. Family will take between 2 and 20 loads of laundry to friends' home. They will clean their clothes, shower, watch a movie and try to repair their damaged relationships in the coolness of the abandoned house.

This works wonders! For several glorious hours the family feels love and affection towards one another again. This feeling of love lasts right up until the blast of hot air hits them upon returning home. Easy come; easy go.

Day 6

Happy Fourth of July!
Family nearly forgets it's a holiday. Independence Day only reminds them of their total dependence on things like....ELECTRICITY!

They celebrate our Nation's birthday by sweating, taking cold showers, and sweating some more. No way is the family going to light any fireworks. Between the heat and their streak of bad luck, both parents are convinced fireworks could potentially burn down the entire neighborhood.

In an effort to lift everyone's spirits, they drive around in their air conditioned van. Suddenly living out of the van doesn't sound so bad. They talk about whether or not an air mattress could fit in the back with a mini fridge.

On the way back to their hot house, they convince their sweaty children that the lightening in the distance is actually fireworks. They would worry about going to hell for that, but alas, they are already there.

When will this little experiment end?
It is going to end, right?

Sunday, May 13, 2012

A Mother's Wish List

Years ago my sweet son created a beautiful Mother's Day card for me.

On the front of the card he created a picture of me made from various scraps of fabric and paper. My card self had shockingly yellow hair and a skirt that suggests I have absolutely no sense of style.

On the inside of the card my son had written the following message:

"Mom, happy mother's day. When can I play more Wii?"

Imagine if we could, for one day, request things WE want. My wish list is rather simple.

I want:

  • To sleep past 6:36 a.m.
  • Children to stop tormenting each other which forces me to use that voice my mother used when I tormented my sister. It's the same voice I swore I would never use with my children.
  • Children to be able to use the bathroom without being reminded to wipe, flush, and wash hands (in that exact order).
  • The opportunity to use the bathroom privately.
  • Children's eyes to be physically incapable of rolling around in their sockets while I am staring into them.
  • People in my house to learn how to use those two mysterious machines that wash and dry clothes. They can stop thinking we have a Laundry Fairy
  • To be left alone long enough so I can read Fifty Shades of Grey
  • To be left alone long enough to find a good hiding place for Fifty Shades of Grey
  • To raise children who will be able to recognize a good nursing home from a bad one and then decide NOT to send me to the bad one.
  • My children to realize that every time I make a suggestion, its because I love them more than air versus merely wanting to make their life miserable.
  • My children to truly understand how glorious motherhood is, and despite all the things I want from them, my day is already complete because of them.

On this Mother's Day, I am painfully aware that some only wish they had one more day with their child or one more day with their mom. I know Mother's Day is a happy day for some, bittersweet for others, and agonizing for those grieving.

Whether we are mothers to 1 or 12, whether we are single mothers, widowed mothers, young mothers, older mothers, we are mothers.

Happy Mother's Day to all of us overwhelmed mothers who screw up parenting regularly, but remain well intentioned throughout.

For those mothers who can only hold their children in their hearts and not in their arms, you are the most courageous mothers of all.

Monday, April 9, 2012

Momma's Gonna Blow!

I have a laundry list of motherly incidents of which I am not particularly proud.
I'm sharing one so you can have a better day knowing you are a better person than I am. I am doing this as a favor to you. I want to increase your sense of self-righteousness. Happy?

Not so long ago I had to wear a Holter monitor for 24 hours because I believed I had a caged bird in my chest that occasionally attempted to take flight.

What's a mom with two kids and a Holter monitor suppose to do?
Here's a clue: Try to totally freak her kids out.

As bedtime neared, I realized I would not be able to keep all of the wires hidden from my inquisitive children. Ok, maybe I could have, but where is the fun in that?

As my children began their nighttime ritual of getting more and more wound up and energized, I called them over to me. I calmly showed them some of the wires and one of the leads connected to my chest near my collarbone.

As I revealed this strange contraption I said, "Kids, if you don't calm down, I will blow up."

Well, now I know how to get their attention.

They were actually silent for a solid 3 seconds.
Then they burst out laughing and asked when I was going to blow.

Where is the love? And who is responsible for raising these insensitive Neanderthals?

I need to make a programming note here. My otherwise sweet 11 year old has recently started to use and grasp the concept of sarcasm. I've complimented her on her increased and broadened sense of humor. She's becoming witty and sarcastic all at the same time. A day ago I thought this was charming. Now I'm not so sure.

As the night progressed and their energy level increased (why oh why do they rev up as the bedtime approaches?), I made a simple suggestion to my tween-ager. I believe I suggested she wash her hands or some other outrageous request.

My sweet daughter stopped, looked and me and in a deadpan manner, mouthed the words, "Blow up."

There is a moral to this story.
You can never joke with your children about explosives. It will blow up in your face.

Sunday, March 11, 2012

Bowling Alley Bliss

The idea was nice. Celebrate my son's 9th birthday at a bowling alley.

Here was the vision:
Have son invite 4-5 of his closest friends to the bowling alley so they can have fun bowling.

Here was the reality:
Have son invite 4-5 of his closest friends to the bowling alley even though not a single one of them knows the first thing about bowling. Feed these wild creatures pizza, cake, icing, more sugar and fill them with caffeinated beverages. Give them each a seven to ten pound ball and see what happens.

Yes, we live dangerously. No one was actually struck on the head with a bowling ball, but we came close a few times. No one actually lost a finger in the ball return, but we came close a few times. There was no blood loss during the party so I am calling it the longest two hours of my life a HUGE success!

Both of my children have birthdays in March. I am a lazy clever mother so my daughter had her birthday party at the bowling alley at the exact same time as her brother.

Here was the vision:
Have daughter invite 4-5 of her closest friends to the bowling alley so they can have fun bowling.

Here was the reality:
Have daughter invite 4-5 of her closest friends to the bowling alley so they can be greatly perturbed by the ridiculous 8 and 9 year old boys one alley away from them. They pick the brightest of bowling balls with total disregard for weight. They remain utterly annoyed if a silly boy even attempts to use one of their balls, and they fret incessantly that the boys may score more points during the game.

Their fear, of course, was totally irrational because the boys' balls managed to go any number of places other than down the alley. As a general rule, it is a bad idea to toss bowling balls into the air.

Two hours of bowling with two different sets of children taught me a few things:

Children's frontal lobes are not fully developed so never underestimate how stupidly they can behave.

8 and 9 year old boys love to talk about farts and wedgies while 10 and 11 year old girls like to bowl.

Caffeinated beverages are to 8 and 9 year old boys what crack cocaine is to the rest of us.

10 and 11 year old girls can get excited about bowling shoes. They also think its fun to spin, curtsey, and bow after each turn.

8 and 9 year old boys like to jump up and down while making farting sounds after each turn.

Birthdays come once a year.
(You can't see me, but I'm so happy about that fact that I'm jumping up and down while making fart sounds!)

Saturday, February 11, 2012

My Son is Sort of Bilingual

I don't like to brag.

Well, actually, maybe I do. I just never have bragging rights to anything.
However, my son is sort of bilingual so I feel I've earned the right to sort of brag.

He is fluent in English and something I refer to as Gamingspeak.
He is entirely self-taught. He has had no formal training, but he has devoted an exorbitant amount of time towards learning this new and strange language.
He is a natural!

He has friends who are also fluent in Gamingspeak. This gives him an avenue to practice this mysterious language since clearly I have no idea what he is saying.

Gamingspeak is similar to English but it includes a mix of words that are totally foreign.

The other day he very animatedly said, "I must get to the eight worlds in mushroom kingdom without seeing cheep-cheeps blooper by air or I power up to avoid lakitu. I usually use yoshi. The last time I lost levels because of goomba koopa troopas and koopa paratroopa. Gotta avoid giant ice bros and giant goombas. Wet dry world and shallows and skies world has a giant bomb. Phew!"

Or something like that.  I was confused as soon as he mentioned a mushroom kingdom.
I think somebody was enjoying entirely too much mushroom kingdom when he developed these games.  Of course, that man is no doubt loaded since these games are so darn expensive!

The fact that we are somehow supporting a rich person's mushroom kingdom habit does not seem to weigh heavily on my son. Just let him play as looooooooooooooooooong as possible.  I believe blood pouring from his corneas would not deter his determination to fight goomba koopa troopas. (My spell check is lighting up this page!)

I'm trying to convince my son that when he is older he could design and develop these games. Of course this would require turning the game off and doing something in its place like...hmm...what's the word I'm thinking of? Oh, right...studying (gasp)!

When our country is taken over by the fierce, cartoonish goomba koopa troopas, I will be confident that at least one member of our family will be able to communicate with those evil creatures.

When this invasion occurs, I just hope my son is not 35, living in my basement, growing his own mushroom kingdom.

Friday, January 6, 2012

The Ultimate Fart Joke

Nothing makes my 8 year old son happier than a fart joke.

Don't know any fart jokes? Simple fart sounds will do.
Can't make fart sounds? No problem! Just say words associated with fart.
Examples include, but are not limited to, the following: butt cheeks, poop, poopy, stinker, bum, butt, cut the cheese, stinky poo, fartso, farty, fart-o-rama, do-do, poo-tinker. (I'm running out of examples, but my son could fill a page with fart-related words. It's just one of his many talents. Makes me so proud!)

When telling a good fart joke (and is there any such thing as a bad one?), he can laugh so hard he cries. He's not alone. I've seen his friends as well as grown men (including his father) nearly double over in laughter upon hearing, discussing, or smelling a fart.

Certainly, he does have other interests besides farts and fart jokes. He also happens to be a big fan of Mad Libs. Remember Mad Libs? Mad Libs have short stories filled with blanks. The person is asked to fill in the blanks with a type of word.  For example, the participant is directed to select a verb, adjective, noun, or plural noun. The end result is a goofy paragraph.

Do you see where I'm going with this?

The word "fart" is an amazingly versatile word.

It is a verb as in, "That boy farts a lot."
It is an adjective as in, "The farty boy ate too many beans."
It is a noun as in, "His fart cleared the room."
It is a plural noun as in, "His farts continued even after the room was vacated by all living creatures."

We don't have a Mad Libs in this house that isn't heavily punctuated with fart words.

"I'm looking forward to my farty vacation. I cannot wait to see the ocean and the poop. I hope to fart in the surf. I also want to make a stinky castle. If I find any butt cheeks I will bring them home and display them on my butt crack. My butts and I just love the do-do!"

Mad Libs can provide hours of entertainment. Although half the fun is to play it with another person who does not know the intended topic, my son is quite content to fill in the blanks all by his lonesome. He then enjoys reading his masterpiece to his enchanted father 2, 4, 6, maybe a dozen times before moving on to the next farty page.

So what is the ultimate fart joke?

I have no idea. Go ask the nearest 8 year old boy!