Footie Pajamas and Politics

Emily was ready for bed and sporting her fluorescent camo footie pajamas. At nearly eleven years old she has decided that she gives zero fucks most kids stopped wearing these half their life ago. She finds them comfortable and great fun to slide around our wood floors and I fully anticipate packing her off to college with footie pajamas. 

Anyhow, we as per usual, were discussing the election and her favorite candidate, Donald Trump. She thinks he is hilarious and cannot stop analyzing why on earth any adult person would actually think he should be in charge of anything. Pardon me while I have an "I'm obviously doing something right" parenting moment...

Mara observed: "you know mom, I legit know some four year-olds who would be better at president than Donald Trump."

"I believe you. YOU would be a better president than Donald Trump."

She looked at me with the kind patience you help and old, blind woman.

"Well obviously. Even if I showed up to a debate in my pajamas!"

"Especially then!"

"And it wouldn't even matter that I couldn't answer all the questions because at least I can use my nouns!"

#em2016

Definition of the Day

Box of Sadness, Isolation, and Despair:

(n). The place where my kids' electronics go when they don't clean their rooms.

Aspirations

I was having a serious discussion with the boy about his grades, which are below our expectation.  

"I just don't see why I should care more, Mom."

Damn.  That's a fair question.

"Well, everything in which you are interested for a career requires college.  Getting in to the college you want requires good grades in high school.  And good grades in high school are much easier if you practice getting good grades in middle school."

Ha!  Good answer, mom!

"Yeah, I've been thinking about that."

Son of a bitch.

"You know, mom, there are lots of ways to make money in the Internet.  I'm good at computers.  And I wouldn't have to get up and go to work.  Or, you know, get on pants."

What the...

My son and his friend created a board game.  It's called "Disease or Cheesecake".  Yep.  You can get Ebola or a delicious pecan cheesecake all in one convenient place.

Nice Try

Last night, I informed my youngest that since she had been allowed to go over to her friend Maddie's house without doing her chores yesterday, that today after school she was to come right home and clean her room.

This morning on thier way to school, The Husband told her that she should not go to Maddie's after school as she usually does on Tuesday, but instead come right home after school and clean her room.  

Ten minutes after school let out I had two missed calls and the following text from Maddie's mom:

Hey mum can I go to Maddies to work on homework I'm already there so plz respond and don't be mad I'm here.  _Emily

I'm sry that my righting is a bit offf.  My head hrt from banging on my desk at work.  But ifs better now.  Also, wine us OSM!!!!!!!'

Feet

Me to Declan:  You kind of smell like feet.  

Declan:  That's because I have feet.

Where's dad???

I came home and asked the boy where his dad was.  He muted the microphone on his headset and told me, "um, he's downstairs cursing at sports."

What the What

Overheard Dec playing an online game while Skyping with some friends:  "I got the bubble gum and I didn't even have to go near the volcano!!"

Smarter, not Harder

Isa was bragging about a grade.  This doesn't happen much, as she doesn't usually care much.  She had my attention.

"We were supposed to pick a building or monument that is recognized around the world.  Then, we had to build it out of Legos.  Our grade was only based on how accurately we made ours look like the real thing.  My friends were picking the Eiffel Tower, the Leaning Tower of Pisa, and other stuff.  Well, I thought about it and I built the Washington Monument.  I finished in three minutes!"

"What grade did you get?"

"An 'A'!  Mom, the Washington Monument is just straight..."

Ummm, yeah

At 12:45 am, Isa came into the room.  

"So.  It's 2015.  Now what?"

Yep.

The Sun Will Come Out...

With much frustration, Dec declared that nobody EVER listens to him.  Isa was less than reassuring.

"Well, we'll be certain to listen to you. Tomorrow."

That's disappointing

I was explaining to the girls what a gynecologist does.  I figured they would have to find out eventually, and that sort of appointment is the kind of thing you need to be prepared for mentally.

"We'll, in short, they are vagina doctors.  Their job is to make sure that all of the female reproductive system is working properly.  It's important to see them regularly because they can help catch all sorts of problems, including cancers."

My youngest had a question.  

"Where do they look to see that stuff?"

"We'll honey, they are vagina doctors.  They look in your vagina."

"Eewww!  I was afraid of that, but was really hoping for mouth or ear or something."

Get it???

So, mom.  As soon as I can gather the raw materials, I'm going to make a huge instrument.  Made mostly of PVC pipe.  Then I'm going to play 'Christmas Pipes' on it.  

<expectant pause>

Get it?!?!  'Christmas PIPES'

Truth

Em was telling me about the drama of the day in fourth grade.

"I'm one of only SEVEN people who turned in homework today!  Some students didn't even take it home so I don't know if you can even call it 'homework'.  AND some people didn't even try.  They were estimating problems and for example if the problem said 200567 plus 546890 they would write 17.  SEVENTEEN!!

Declan interjected.  "That's not estimating.  That's not even trying!"

He shook his head slowly with a stern look of disapproval.  "Teachers don't make nearly enough money..."

Best Teacher Ever

"Hey Mom, I've decided that Mr. Thoendal is my favorite teacher of all time."
"Yeah, why?"
"He heard Marcus and I singing Rock Lobster going in to school this morning, then he played it on the piano during orchestra.  That's pretty awesome.  Oh, and he also has his own YouTube channel."

I Used to be Pretty

I did.  Seriously.

I didn't think I was pretty then, but in retrospect I was. I could date who I wanted for the most part.  I got a really good job once because the boss was kind of pervy and liked how I looked.  I got used to appreciative glances from strange men.  I didn't have to buy drinks if I chose my outfit carefully before going to the bar. A Heisman trophy winner hit on me once. (He hadn't won yet, but still...) I was 29 before I learned that when you buy wipers at an auto parts store they don't come out to the parking lot and install them for everyone.  I almost never got a speeding ticket. I guess I just took the inherent advantages to being skinny with blond hair and big boobs for granted because I always had them.

Then came my youngest child.  I love her, but she ruined me. I snapped back pretty well after the first two, but the third pregnancy in four years broke me. It was a terrible nine months.  I developed a heart irregularity, high blood pressure and looked terrible.  I mean fucking terrible.  People would walk up to me at school (people I hardly knew), touch me on my shoulder and ask if I'd seen my doctor recently. 

After she was born, I didn't lose any weight.  In fact, I just kept right on gaining.  Nothing about my lifestyle changed, but I ballooned up with the subtlety of Violet Beauregarde.  My thyroid was shot - hypothyroidism.  Which means that I have no metabolism of which to speak.  At all.  So I have to do my best to exercise to only be 100 pounds overweight.

The bottom fell out of my iron levels.  So low that the hematologist I eventually saw was convinced that I was bleeding internally.  When that turned out to be not the case, he thought then I may have cancer.  That was awesome.  Nobody ever has diagnosed this.  The sum result for me is that I can't take enough iron supplements to normalize my levels.  Iron tends to make you constipated and the amount I would need would result in me never pooping again.  Which is a problem.  Anyway, a side effect of this aside from extreme fatigue is that there isn't enough iron in my blood to properly distribute oxygen when I exercise.  If I went for a run (which is impossible because of my asthma) I could come home and immediately sleep.  

Medications also affect me differently now.  I never know if the known side effects will actually be what I experience.  For example, acetaminophen is as good as a sleeping pill for me. Which sucks when I have a migraine.

Anyway, the girl who used to be a pretty blond is now a "morbidly obese" brunette mom in a minivan.  I went to a family event with my mom last summer and a cousin with whom I went to high school didn't even recognize me.  I really miss being pretty.

I always believed that I believed looks didn't matter. I thought I would be completely happy being evaluated for my character and smarts.  Turns out that isn't true at all.  I desperately want it be, but it isn't.  It was much easier to be comfortable with the concept of being ugly when I wasn't.

Being unattractive is much harder than I thought.  I hate how I look.  I haven't put on a swimsuit in 10 years.  I loathe shopping for clothes.  I still look at racks as if I'm skinny.  I find a piece that would have looked great before, just in a much bigger size.  Then I go try it on, cry in the dressing room and walk out with nothing. I won't wear shorts, anything sleeveless or fitted.  I know that wearing loose clothing makes a big person look even bigger, but I can't bear to see myself in windows or the bathroom mirror.  Nothing fits well.  Too many clothes in my size are just bigger, and when you get fat you don't get bigger, you change shape.  So, almost everything including undergarments are very, very uncomfortable.

I've done my best to avoid anyone I knew when I was pretty.  Especially high school friends.  You would have to haul my lifeless corpse back to my hometown to get me to a class reunion.  I know this is extremely petty.  I feel terrible about it, I do.  But, I just can't go.  Every time I run in to someone I used to know I get this look of pity.  I don't even think people know they do it, but I see it.  It kills me.  I don't get excitement that I have a job I love, kids that are amazing or a husband who treats me better than I deserve.  I get pity that I got fat. It just sucks, so I avoid it.

I wasn't prepared for strangers to assume that because I'm fat I'm stupid.  I have a professional job and I'm a little disappointed how often people are pleasantly surprised that I am intelligent and articulate.  It's hard to get equal attention and speaking time in meetings and at conferences as attractive people.  Negotiations are harder sometimes, especially with men. Things just don't come as easily as they did when a low-cut suit put me close to a result I wanted when I walked in the door.

I was prepared for everyone to assume that because I'm fat I'm lazy and it's my own fault.  And, it may be.  I could exercise more. I could eat more lettuce.  The truth is that I have a better diet than most people I know. And, I'll never be the mom who gives up 90 minutes of time with her kids to go to the gym.  So, perhaps I am making the choice.  I could power through how terrible exercise makes me feel to achieve a marginal result.  To get back to anything close to my previous shape, I would have to give up almost all of what precious little time I have with my kids.  That's time I'll never get back, and not a sacrifice I'm willing to make.  I feel good about that choice, so it's upsetting to me that I just can't get to a place where I feel good about myself.

I wish I could be comfortable in my now very ample amount of skin.  I wish I didn't cry so much about how I look.  I wish I was a better role model for my two daughters. 

If I am going to spend the rest of my life fat and ugly, I wish I had been so since the beginning.  I don't think then I would walk around with the oppressive guilt I feel now.  I feel as if I've failed myself, my husband and my kids.  I wish with all my heart I could end this with a message of hope; that I could be positive and perhaps even offer a story of triumph.  I can't. I guess not every story has a happy ending.

Man Things

The youngest children were talking amongst themselves in back of the van on the way home from my parents'.  Isa could not be bothered and had chosen to hide in her headphones almost immediately.

"You have to be careful, Declan.  If you loose your man card than you have do something really super manly to get it back."
"What, like wrestle a bear or take out the trash?"

Yeah, either/or.

So. Much. Hair.

Emily talks. A lot. All the time.  I believe she may physically fear silence.  She gets this from her father.

The other day they were talking to each other, as often happens in the evening when they have worn down the attention spans of the rest of the family to nubs.  I only catch part of their conversations, and usually wouldn't understand most of it if I did give it my entire attention.  This one, however amused me.

"I am very strong."
"That's right.  You are built like me."
"I look a lot like you.  In fact, if I got a bald spot I'd look just like you!  And chest hair.  With gray in it. And back hair. And lots of arm hair.  And armpit hair like Isa has.  And toe knuckle hair..."

Deny, Deny, Deny!

So I walk into the kitchen and cornstarch slurry is drizzled all over. All over the wood floor, the counters, down the front of the stove and dried drips all over our dark wood cabinets.

DECLAN!! 

He reports to the kitchen with a thin layer of cornstarch on his clothes.  Front and back.  Despite this, the most damning of circumstantial evidence, he threw his hands up and absolutely insisted he had no knowledge of the cause of the mess. Curiously though, he did immediately offer to clean it up.

When I am in the looney bin blathering about non-Newtonian liquid, I am relying on you, my friends, to smuggle me liquor...

What You Can Learn from a Crazy Person with a Gun

The Husband was reading to Dec and I from the internet.  Apparently, some young man in Canada had snapped and gone full-on Rambo.  He put on camos, put a black headband around his forehead, armed himself to the teeth and took to the forest.  He killed three mounties before they caught him in someone's backyard.

Dec pondered all of it for a little bit.

"You know, I bet you could really learn a lot of survival skills from that guy.  Not people skills, obviously."

Obviously.

On Girls and Hair

Declan informed me that in middle school, as opposed to elementary school, most of his classmates who disliked him were girls.  "But, they're just jealous because I have better hair than them."

The Joy of In-School Suspension

So the boy is serving day two of in-school suspension today. (Fun fact: it is called the "student success center" which I find absolutely hilarious) We were discussing it last night and his take on it is this: "I actually like it a lot better than regular school. Nobody bothers you and you have quiet so that you can really do your work and get everything done." He likes it because it allows him to do a better job on his school work?? Parenting is hard...

Lucky

"How's cleaning your room coming along, Isabella?"
"Okay. I've had to throw away several squirrel tails that the cats left in my room. Victoria also left me a foot she chewed off a rabbit. I'm not so sure that's lucky..."

Nerdish

We require the kids to participate in at least one active thing over the summer. I asked Declan what his choice would be & he said Wii Fit. I am raising Sheldon Cooper.

Winner

Overheard in the living room:

Em saw something on tv that showed a picture of Sarah Palin shooting something.  I know.  Weird, huh?  She asked who Sarah Palin was.  Dec answered, "a loud, stupid republican".

I win parenting.

Middle

"Oh hey, Mom! I had a long talk with Mr. Eubanks today. Not in a bad way (he's the principal), but I was in line and lunch and he complimented my shirt, and we started talking about pets and middle middle middle our cat Albert may be our school's new mascot!"

Love, actually

Text (in crayon) from a puzzle card from the youngest (unedited): 

Hi Mom and daddy. I hope you'r going to have a great Valentines Day! You'r the best parents ever. Thanks for everything you did for me in the past year! And I love you both very much! You raise me, Isabella, and Declan well. And I will always be your baby girl. And if I say I am going to run away, you know I don't mean it. I am so lucky to have such nice parents keep up the good work! love,Emily
 

Wait, what?

Declan came down the stairs, and made the following announcement.

"Celery!  Great snack, bad pizza topping!"
"That's great, son.  From what show did you steal that one?"
"Oh no, Mom.  That's not from a show, just my own personal experience."

What?

It's late September, so talk in our house has turned to Halloween costumes.  I asked Dec what he wanted to be this year.

"Oh, I don't know.  I have it narrowed down to either Michael Jackson or Gene Shalit."

My son is nuts.

Normal

I was sitting and talking to Dec the other day.  The Husband said something weird.  I would share it, but I honestly don't remember.  After all these years my brain just filters all of it out...

"We have an odd little family, don't we Mom?"
"Yeah."
"I mean, Emily's a little pixie, Isa is so good at art she could be a descendent of Claude Monet, dad is a walking wad of hair, I'm a sprinkler of hate and rage sometimes, and..."
He looked at me as if he were seeing me for the very first time.
"Wait.  Mom, you're just a normal person."
In our family, "normal" is a huge disappointment. I'll have to work on that.

Good Ideas

I was sitting on the couch talking to Dec the other night.  The Husband had gone to the basement (where our shower and bedroom are) a while before.  He texted me - yeah, I know - to say that a baseball game was on and I should come down and watch it. 

Dec asked who texted me, and laughed when I told him. 

"What does he want?"
"Me to come down and watch baseball."
"Are you going to?"
"Eh.  Maybe, I don't know..."
"If he really wanted you to go downstairs, he should have left a trail of Hershey's Kisses."

It's too bad he's sworn to "never get a wife".  He seems to have many of the basics figured out.

Gifted

So, Emily is very excited that she has been selected to attend a Talented and Gifted class at her school once a week.  More so than the other two, she is very aware of social status and "keeping score".  She is a very kind and compassionate kid, but winning is a very important part of her day. Being designated as gifted is perceived by her as a big "W". 

So she was explaining to me in great detail, and with great enthusiasm and emphatic hand gestures, all about the teacher, the classroom, the curriculum, who else had been selected, etc, etc, etc.  The process by which students are identified as "gifted" is apparently not perfect.  About five minutes into her soliloquy, I noticed that her fly was down.

And So it Begins

Today is Isa's birthday.  She is 12, so I did the only reasonable thing; I took her clothes shopping.  Two pairs of jeans, a couple t-shirts and a sparkle belt later, we were on our way home.  A pop song that I actually like came up as she was flipping around among channels. After almost an entire second of consideration, she moved on.

"What? What was wrong with that one? I like it."
"Oh, sorry Mom.  That's only one of my 'C' list songs.  If other stations that I like to listen to only are playing songs that really suck, then I'll come back to it."

Oh, boy...

Dinner with Friedrich Nietzsche

We are in full eat-from-the-garden mode.  Tonight I made a skillet dinner with sauteed zucchini, onions, sausage, potatoes and bell peppers.  It's delicious and much beloved by all except for Her Majesty,  my youngest.

"You know, Mom, I think tonight I'm going to try to eat the zucchini and peppers."
"That's great, Em.  I think you'll love them!"
"Yep! You know what they say - the stuff that doesn't kill you makes you stronger!  Well, not everything makes you stronger. Some stuff just almost kills you."

"They" also say that there's always a reason the youngest child is the last child.

You Gotta Think Things Through All the Way

So, Declan was recounting to me a cartoon he saw the other day.  He explained that the basic plot was a bunch of guys wanted a way to meet hot girls, and they thought a great way to do that would be to go out for the cheer leading squad.  However, the plan backfired when the plan got a bit too popular and the squad ended up being mostly comprised of boys.

"You know, Mom.  They really should have thought that through a little better.  They're not going to meet many girls, there's a whole bunch of competition for the ones who are left, and then there's the cheers.  They're going to have to do those pyramid things and that's going to be super awkward.  They'll be all like 'Cheer! Cheer! Crap - balls on my neck!'"

Yep. Super awkward.

Dear John

So The Husband and I have always forbidden the children to lie. We have also always known that it was futile.  I'm not sure why parents do this, insist upon something you know is never going to happen. Underage drinking also comes to mind. 

Declan's last semester killed any shred of delusion we may have harbored. Dishonesty, not the drinking.  Hopefully we have a few more years on that one.

Dec had been having some conflict with another boy in his class. One can never be sure how these sorts of things start.  The side we heard was that this kid picks on him for absolutely no reason.  The other kid's parents were probably also hearing a very similar story.  Anyway, one day in the lunch line it finally boiled over. Both boys ended up in the office and we got the call from the counselor one would expect.  The Husband was the lucky one this time and this is how he recounted the call.

"Mr. Prieto, this is Mr. Perez.  Declan got into a bit of an altercation today.  We'll talk about that a bit later.  What I really wanted to discuss was something that came up in my discussion with Declan about the reasons why he lost his temper."
"Oh, boy.  Go on."
"Well, he indicated that he hasn't been coping very well with what happened to his brother."
"His brother?"
"Yes.  He shared with me what happened and he said that he's been thinking about it a great deal and it's making it difficult for him to cope."
"I'm not sure I'm following you."
Mr. Perez seemed uncomfortable and unsure how to proceed.
"Um, Declan told me about his brother, John.  ...who committed suicide."
"Oh dear god. Mr. Perez, Declan isn't telling you the truth."
"Oh! So John didn't commit suicide?"
"No. Declan doesn't have a brother John.  Never did."
"Oh. I see.  Well, let's get back to the fight today, then."

This year, Mr. Perez is at a different school.  I'm sure it's a complete coincidence. 

No Pressure

Isa was filling out a get-to-know you sheet yesterday for sixth grade language arts. There was the usual: favorite class: art, favorite sport: I don't like sports. I never have, school last year, nicknames, that sort of thing.  A couple answers to be aback, though.

This year in school, I want to: inspire other students
When I grow up, I want to: change the world

My job for the next seven years is not to let any assholes get in her way.

Excellent Question

Em: Why when someone finds oil do they say "We're rich"?
Me: Because oil is very expensive, and if you find it, you can sell it and make a lot of money.
Em: Oh, so oil is hard to find and get?
Me: Yes.
Em: Then why does so much stuff run on it?
Indeed, young one. Indeed.

The Thankless Job of Raising a Scientist

I picked up a Mason jar full of blue liquid, an empty lemonade jug with a little bit of said blue liquid and the two connected by a wet (and slightly blue) paper towel off Emily's floor. It had the boy written all over it. "Declan! What's this blue thing in Em's room?" "Oh, Mom... sorry. I was experimenting with capillary attraction."

Rapers and Drug Addicts

The Husband and I had walked the kids home from school all year, and decided they should probably get used to doing it by themselves to make the start of next year a little less stressful for them. We carefully explained the rules of walking home from school alone to the kids. Don't talk to anyone you don't know. Never go in anyone's car - ever. Always use the crosswalk. Perhaps we overshot the whole this-is-serious-shit approach. "Why is it important for you to all walk together?" Declan piped right up. "So that I can protect my sisters from rapers and drug addicts?" Let's go with yes.

Apparently I'm too Old for this Shit

After I was restructured out of my job in January, I took about a month off. It was great. However, realizing that the children would probably expect to continue to be fed I went back to the high school at which I used to teach as a long-term sub for a teacher who had been walked out by security.

The classes were a mess. The guy had never expected them to be quiet, sit in any particular seat, or according to his pristine gradebook, do any work. I expected all of these things, which apparently make me a bitch.  It took the little angels a few swipes before they learned that you just can't win a war of words with an actual English teacher.  These are some of my favorite moments:

May 9: I started showing my freshman the Count of Monte Cristo movie today. They were very upset (mostly because they had to fill out a study guide with it - the nerve of me to ask them to look away from their phones). This is me well past the point of nurturing those who no longer deserve it:
"This SUCKS! I don't want to watch this! I don't understand what this has to do with English class, anyway. This is stupid."
"Well, what language is the movie in?"
"What?"
"What language are they speaking in this movie?"
"English"
I did not respond further.

April 19: Grading grammar tests. Halfway through one class. So far, three kids have answered the question "What kind of verb is the underlined word in sentence 6" with "adverb". I'm going to buy some liquor before I finish these. Peace out.

April 18: This is me losing that nurturing instinct today with some of my students:
Me: We are going to finish up parts of speech today, so if you will all go grab your grammar books, we'll get right in to conjunctions and interjections.
Student not that into grammar: You know that nobody likes you anymore, right?
Me: You know that the opinion of 15 year-olds doesn't exactly keep me up nights, right? 

April 17: Reason 237 why I will never sign another teaching contract. I am currently answering a flurry of emails from a parent (WHO IS A TEACHER) upset about her son's grade. He scored 4 of 18 on an open note quiz. Yep. Open fucking note. He received the failing grade of zero on a 0-4 scale. She says a zero is only for missing work and he deserves a passing grade of 1. What I think he really deserves is a mother who is not a coddling idiot. 

April 3: My class that's horrible to me (not to imply they are the only - just the absolute fucking worst) complained loudly today that my class is depressing. Yeah? I'll see you your rude comments and raise you opiate-fueled fantasies of murder. Edgar Allen Poe tomorrow, bitches. The English teacher always wins, grasshoppers. Always.

March (I've repressed the day): I met the building principal today. She seemed to be a lovely woman. Unfortunately, she came to my classroom with the Athletic Director and two security guards to search my students, one by one, to find which one stole my book of hall passes. Son of a bitch. 

There is No Excuse to Look Anything Less Than Your Best

Emily signed up for wrestling in June. I gave her a long talk about how she may be the only girl and that the boys may not used to a girl wrestling and that because she's a girl she's going to have to work harder than anyone else in the room and be tougher than the boys and never cry even if she's hurt.
"Do you still want to go to camp?"
"Yep! I'm going to wrestle them so hard they have to cry to their moms. Oh! And can I wear my new sparkly pink Justice shorts?"
 
She did go to camp. She did wrestle boys. The day she wore the sparkly pink shorts she defeated a boy in sumo and he fled the mat in tears. True story.

The Vitamin Nobody Talks About

Emily was being particularly horrible to Declan on the way home from school the other day. Declan's response: "Well, it looks like someone's body is producing an excess of vitamin bitch!" 

 I kept the appropriate stern, disapproving mom response, and then totally lol'ed when they weren't around.

Best Blackmail Story Ever

Overheard upstairs very near the bathroom: 
Look, Isa! I found a firecracker.
Declan, that is SO not a firecracker.
It is! See? It has a fuse and everything!
To save his future mental health, she just walked away...

I'll let you ponder that one for a sec.

If you don't want to know...

Rhetorical questions are a risky endeavor at our house.

Dec: "OH MY GOD!!!! Just, never mind.  Why do I even talk to you???"
Em, brightly: "Because I'm awesome."

How Was Your Day?

My son, bless his little heart, struck up a conversation with me while I was making dinner. Well, it wasn't quite as June Cleaver as all that. I'll try again.

Dec was trying to distract me from the fact that he wasn't cleaning his room or doing his homework with a clever use of flattery. Which was easy to do because the damn frozen egg rolls weren't coming out of those annoying plastic wrappers.

"Sooo, how was your day, Mom? I'm really interested in what you did."
"Well, I taught some classes."
"Oh! That sounds great! About what?"
"Well, one was about tips to try to stay healthy during the holidays."
"Oh, I know that! Don't stuff yourself or get drunk on eggnog!"

*sigh*
If I had talked to him earlier, I could have saved myself a great deal of time not messing with bullshit about portion size and exercise. Where's my eggnog...

Levels of Catastrophic

Declan came home the other day really fired up to place a book order. I remember really loving book orders when I was a kid, and it gives me great joy that my kids do, too.
I looked at what he'd marked. One is literally called "Potentially Catastrophic Science Experiments for Brave, Young Scientists". 

My warm, fuzzy feeling waned. A great deal. He had apparently anticipated the reaction that was clearly written all over my face.

"No, Mom, it's not like blow-up-the-house catastrophic. It's on a much smaller scale. Don't worry!"

I am not greatly comforted, and better get a mention in the Nobel acceptance speech. If I'm not blown to pieces before then, of course. Wait, I mean especially if I'm blown to pieces. And if he doesn't I'll haunt his little ass.

What He Said

"Hey Mom, can I be Ke$ha for Halloween? "

For those of you who are unaware, Ke$ha is Emily's favorite singer. Which makes me very sad. She wears glitter with as light of a hand as I applied Aqua Net in the 80s.

"Uh, that would be a no."

"Whyyyyyyy?"

Declan (without looking away from the computer screen) responded.

"Because Ke$ha drinks too much and writes VERY inappropriate music for girls your age. Duh."

Word.

Can't Buy Me Love

Emily was chattering on about stuff she wanted. New bobbles for her hair, new clothes, remodel for her room - you know the basics in life. I wasn't really listening.

But, Declan took it upon himself to try to mold her character.

"Emily, money can't buy happiness. Even if you buy a puppy."

Indeed.