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.

Young Men's Love Then Lies, Not Truly in Their Hearts but in Their Eyes.

Not only is my favorite Shakespeare quote beautiful, but true.

Declan came home the other day with a very well-guarded permission slip. It wasn't wrinkled or anything. He was really double super-secret serious about this one. He wanted to take orchestra. Yep. The violin to be exact. Really.

"I just want to find everything I'm good at."

I forgave the dangling preposition and took a look. Turns out, it wouldn't be as expensive as I thought - manageable for sure. His sisters were signed up for drama and ballet, so it was a reasonable request. We had a serious discussion about how it would take years to be good at it, how much practice it would require and the added inconvenience of hauling it to and from school on days they walk. He eagerly accepted all of the responsibility. He was determined.

So, we went to the music store and bought a violin. He is super excited. I thought it was an interesting direction for him to take, but it didn't all fall into place until a few days later.

"So, I haven't asked you yet - are there any kids in your class this year who were in your class lat year?"
"Yeah! There's a girl Mila."
"Mira?"
No, Mom. Mila. M-i-l-a. Mila"
"Oh! That's a pretty name. She was in your class last year?"
"Well, sort of. she was in TAG with me. I know her from that."
"That's great. Is she nice?"
He perked up immediately.
"Oh, yeah! She's really nice. She has blonde hair and she loves science just as much as I do. Basically, she's me but a girl."
"That's really great, Dec."
Then it all made sense.
"Are there any other kids in your class that are doing orchestra?"
"Yep. One."
"Who's that?"
"Mila."
Uh huh. I apparently do have an exceptionally smart boy.

On the Bright Side

The day has come. Despite The Husband willing it to never arrive, it has. Isa has a crush. We have been hearing for a couple weeks all of the wonderful attributes of the new boy, Rene, who moved here from Mexico. I have tried my best to give good advice and be as supportive as possible. Today, the inevitable happened.

"Mom, I got heartbreaking news today."
"Yeah? What happened?"
I knew exactly what had happened. Some little jerkface has hurt my little girl. No, it doesn't matter in the least that he had no idea any of it was going on. That is not the point.
"Well, it turns out that Rene has feelings for Leslie."
"I'm sorry, honey. That really sucks."
"It does. I knew this might happen, but... Leslie?!?! I didn't see that coming."
"Well, I know it doesn't help right now, but this happens to everyone. Try to make the best of it and move on."
"I will. On the bright side, Oscar is really cute!"
Holy shit. I'm obviously going to need to up the pars on the alcohol we keep in the house.

Worth it. Almost.

It's no secret to anyone who knows me that my time as a high school English teacher was, well, let's say trying. I really miss my students and the actual teaching part, but I just didn't have the constitution to shrug off the non-stop abuse from the parents. I just could never bring myself to accept that getting yelled at was a part of the job.

I was a tough teacher. I was tough because I cared very, very much about my students. I was there to do a job. Not be their friend, or their enabler, or their ego boost. My job was to teach them English. When they moved on to 10th grade, they would be better readers, better writers, better speakers, better testers and most importantly, better thinkers. And, I was good at my job.

This was not met with universal joy from the students, and even less from their parents. My basic attitude was that they could kiss my ass. If they wanted English to be easy, they should have not signed up for an honors class.

Well, long story short. Sticking to my principles and high academic standards was hard. After four years, my choices were to start handing out "A"s like candy at Halloween or to find a different job. At the end of the day, I felt I owed it to my students to try my best, so I quit. It took me 10 years to work my way through college to earn my teaching degree. It took the system four years to make me quit. I'm more than a little bitter, if that had been abundantly clear.

Well, the other day some of that bitterness abated.

I was in the public classroom at work preparing to cook for our Team Members. The room is separated from the cafe only by a glass wall. Very fishbowl-like. Well, a girl in her early 20s walked in. Customers do that sometimes, looking for condiments or the public class schedule. But she was there to see me. She had been in my English class in my second year.

She just wanted to tell me that she appreciated my effort in her education. She just graduated from college, and said that her writing was often complimented - and that she believes it is because of me. She still reads Shakespeare. For fun. Also something that she gives me credit for. Before she left to rejoin her family, she said that she just wanted to thank me for everything I did for her.

I wish I had words for how this warmed my heart, but I don't.

I do, however, have words for the sadness that came along with it. The fact is that too many teachers who have high standards aren't doing it anymore. Every parent who has mistreated a teacher can go fuck themselves.

No Problem

Emily and I were watching the Olympics. She showed a great deal of interest in the gymnastics and the 100 meter hurdles. I know, a natural pairing right? Then, she saw her first medal ceremony.

"Mom! Is that what you get when you win the Olympics?"
"Yep."
"Is the gold medal really made of gold?!?"
"Yeah. It's gold-plated at least."
"What?!?!? You mean that the winner gets a real gold medal?"
"Yes."
"So, all I have to do is win the Olympics and I get one of those?"
"Sure."
"Oh My God!! Wait. Mom, is it okay if when I'm a little older I go play in the Olympics?"
"Yes. If you qualify for the Olympics you have my permission to attend."
"Yeeeeees!"

She spent the next, well I have no idea how long, running around the dining room doing a combination of attempted hurdling and floor gymnastics. It was totally gold-medal calibur in my book!

Anxiety

Apparently our cat is a bit of a slut. Two months ago, she clawed her way out of a basement screen and now we have six kittens. The kids, of course, can't get enough of them.

The other night, The Husband went upstairs and found Isa singing a strange little song, gyrating all over the place, with a kitten in each hand. I asked her about it the next night.

"Hey Isa, I heard that you were dancing with the kittens last night."
"Yes. It's true"
"Why?"
"Well, it appeared to me that two of them were a little anxious. Strangely, my singing and dancing didn't do anything to ease their anxiety."

Huh. Weird.

Space

Isa was spending the week at Girl Scout camp. Emily recovered from her sadness very quickly. She descended onto Isa's room, setting up a little dressing table with some decorations, fingernail polish and her hairbrush.

"Mom, you have a very rare opportunity! I'm renting out Isa's room for the week. It has added items to help make you beautiful. I even cleaned it a little." (She didn't actually do the cleaning part.)
"Um. Do you think you should be renting out your sister's room while she's not here?"
"That's what hotels do. It's a dollar a night. Do you want me to get you your purse?"
"I think perhaps you should respect Isa's space while she's gone."
"Mom! She's all the way at camp! How much space does one girl really need?!?"

Reason Number 632 Why I Love My Husband

The boy is attending an astronomy day camp at the local university's physics department. They have a shitload of kids attending about 10 different camps, all in the same building at the same time. It is clearly stating the obvious that retrieving your child at the end of the day is a bit of a clusterfuck. And, it is so because people are assholes.

The Husband signed the paper promising that he is Dec's father and not a deranged kidnapper, and was waiting in line for staff to bring the astronomy campers to the staging room. Of course, some overdressed woman who clearly can't move past her high school Saturday night slut make-up days pushed her way in.

"I'm looking for ..." I don't remember her kid's name. Which is no doubt how the poor little fucker prefers.

The husband didn't miss a beat.

"Yeah, well what you should be looking for is the back of the line!"

I love him, and I'm pretty sure some of the parents and staff and camp do now, too. 

My Friend Rick

"Mom, is it legal to own a dolphin?"
"Well, Dec, I'm not sure if it's illegal, but it would be difficult logistically. You'd need a heck of a big tank."
"Oh."
"Why?"
"Well, I've always dreamed of having a pet dolphin. Named Rick."
"Huh. Why 'Rick'"?
"Because that's an awesome name for a dolphin."
That it is.

Quote of the Day

"Mom! I've totally wasted my life!"
"Em. You are seven."
"Oh.  So I still have some time, then?"
"Yes."
"Whew! Well now that's sure a relief!"

Anger +1

Declan came downstairs, unaware that I had come home from work.
"Oh hey, Mom. You look angry. What happened?"
"Oh, I just had a very frustrating day."
"Oh. I thought maybe you had your period or something."
"What!?!?"
He quickly vacated my space, muttering to himself.
"And now she looks even angrier."

Fuck Participation

Declan decided to try cross country camp this summer. It's a four-day, free little clinic in the morning sponsored by our school district. Unfortunately, not only was he one of the youngest kids, he also was the only one who wasn't on about four track teams. Apparently, my kid was the only one in the district who thought cross country sounded like something fun to try...

Despite these obstacles, he very much enjoyed the experience. On the last day, they participated in a competitive run of a mile and a half. He came in last. By a whole, whole lot. He was bummed.

"Mom, I couldn't catch anyone."
"Well, what did your coach say?"
"He said that he was really proud of me and that it was good that I'd finished and that he really hoped he would see me again next summer."
"Well, that's very encouraging!"
"I guess. He gave me this stupid green ribbon. It says 'honorable mention'. What most kids don't know is that when you get something that says 'honorable mention' what it really means is 'do better next time'.

Online Shopping

My son just asked if I could buy him something online. I asked him what he needed. "Iron shavings and a neodymium magnet". 

ps - I know that I correctly spelled neodymium because he left me his periodic table so that I wouldn't get confused. He's a nice kid...

Quote of the Day

Conversation on the way home from a Sonic ice cream run between Isa and her dad.

"We were playing this trick on Ptara. It was so hilarious..."
"Wait. Who was there?"
"My girl scout troop. At Great Wolf Lodge."
"What's Ptara?"
"The girl we played the trick on."
"What's her name?"
"Ptara."
"What? Say it again. Slower."
"Pa Tar A"
"Her name is Ptara?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, Dad. Ptara."
"What does she look like?"
"Well she has blonde hair. And a very round head."
"A round head?"
"Yes. Very."
"Do I have a round head?"
"Well it's rounder now than when you were younger."
Indeed.

Quote of the Day

"Hey, Mom. What's that on facebook?"
"Oh, hey Dec. It's the Omaha Astronomical Society's picture of the day. It's the Andromeda galaxy."
Oh. that's the one that's going to slam in to our galaxy in 50 million years and probably destroy us."
Well, he certainly has the eternal optimism of a scientist.

Quote of the Day

Emily was helping me plant flowers.
"What are those pink ones named, Mom?"
"Impatiens."
"Does that mean that they take a reeeaaally long time to grow?"

The Bullshit Nobody Tells You

There are quite a few girls at my work right now who are expecting, or who very recently had babies. First and foremost, I'm super glad it's them and not me. But it did get me thinking about when I was having my little bundles of joy.

I was not one of those women who liked being pregnant. I like being a Mom, and love my kids beyond measure, but being pregnant sucked beyond words. And nobody told me it would. All I heard was how great it was. Your hair gets long and luxurious. You feel like more of a woman. You can eat whatever you want. The most dire warning was from my mother, who claimed things to get uncomfortable after about 10 centimeters.

First of all, my mother was hospitalized for weeks before she bore both of my brothers, which has to measure pretty darn high on the suck scale. Second, being the skeptic that I am, I found a damn ruler and looked at just how far 10 centimeters is. There is no way in fuck that is only "uncomfortable". I had no idea what I was in for.

I couldn't believe the bullshit that nobody tells you. While the result is undoubtedly the most wonderful, there is nothing about growing another human inside of you that doesn't suck. Nothing.

Yes, the prenatal vitamins do make your hair pretty great. Mostly what happens is that you stop losing your hair at the fairly rapid normal pace. Which, by the way, ceases the moment you give birth. Yes, that does mean that a bunch of your hair falls out. Sexy, huh? What's even better is that nobody tells you that all of your hair gets long and luxurious. All of it; leg hair, armpit hair... You even start growing hair where you didn't before, so you end up with long, beautiful belly hair. Nothing screams sexy like cornrows to cover your stretch marks.

I'm pretty sure my internal organs will never be the same. It's not as if there's a cavernous space in a woman's innards just waiting for occupancy from a little bundle of joy. Every little bit of room that the baby grows into displaces something. Your stomach can't hold much of anything without it coming back up in the form of heartburn. You can't breathe deeply anymore because your diaphragm can't get down very far. Your pelvis literally spreads out from the extra weight, which is every bit as uncomfortable as it sounds. And don't even get me started about the bladder.

Sleeping is a joke. You can't sleep on your back because your fetus will crush your kidneys. Seriously, that's what my doctor told me. Sleeping on your stomach is obviously out, unless channeling a high-centered turtle is relaxing to you. That leaves your side. But, you can't just roll over and doze off. Your fetus sticks out so much that the weight of it pulling down toward the mattress will actually strain your back muscles. And, don't forget that spread pelvis. So, what you end up having to do to avoid excruciating pain is to stuff pillows underneath your belly and in between your legs to support all of the extra weight. All of which must be repeated if you have to get up to pee, which you will about every two hours, or if you need to turn over, which you will. Then, right when you are drifting off, your little darling will start to kick you.

The first few times the baby kicks, it's magical. By the end, it's much less so. My doctor said that the reason they are much more likely to kick frequently at night is that during the day when mom is moving around, the walking motion rocks the baby to sleep. So, at night when you aren't moving around, it's soccer time for junior. If you are lucky, none of your organs will be close. Getting kicked in the bladder when you are trying to not get up for the sixth time that night to pee is awesome. By the end, it looks very much like one of the Alien movies. You can see a hand or foot move across your belly. Or walk around all day with a lopsided baby bump because the head is sticking out to one side. Not creepy at all.

Everything that you have come to know about your body is wrong. Your center of gravity is completely off. And it goes without saying, that you stick out further than you think. I was a classroom teacher during all three of my pregnancies, and I would occasionally misjudge my distance, take a corner a bit too sharply and whack a student with my fetus. There just isn't a good way to apologize for that, especially to a 14 year-old boy. Hopefully the therapy was limited.

Then there's the fun stuff unique to you. My oldest spent her entire time in my uterus with her feet cocked right near my sciatic nerve. So, every time she would kick it I would at best loose my balance and at worse pass out completely. Which happened twice in the bathroom at school. I also would puke at the taste of toothpaste. Think about that one for a second. I would get up, brush my teeth, puke, have to brush my teeth because I just puked, puke, and so on. Because starting your day pulling up your pants to the bottom of your boobs doesn't suck badly enough.

That was horrifying, when I learned how maternity pants worked. Yes, they actually go all the way over your belly. So does the underwear. It's hot. It is true that your boobs get big. But, between the belly hair, the complete loss of balance and the constant peeing it doesn't really matter. By that time you have come to the grim realization that your condition is completely the fault of the guy who is interested in your boobs, and you really aren't motivated to reward him at that point.

In fact, the only thing saving him is that you can't waddle fast enough to catch him to administer the beating he so clearly deserves. Sure honey, I don't mind if you have that beer with dinner. I don't miss it at all. In fact, I'd love to be the designated driver when you go out with your friends. 

Oh, and by the way, after you give birth your boobs point down for the rest of your natural life. Sad little balled up sweat socks. With stretch marks. Goodbye Victoria's Secret bras forever.

The really crazy ones are those who want to do "natural" childbirth. These are batshit crazy women who plan to turn down drugs. I'm totally down with the natural lifestyle thing. But, as I said, I have looked up 10 centimeters and if there exists something to make that hurt less you should take it. Since we have the technology that we don't have to crouch in a hut and chew cocoa leaves I don't see why the fuck we would do that to ourselves. Yes, we women have been successfully birthing babies for millennia, and I'm willing to bet that any woman even 100 years ago would cut off an arm for a decent epidural.   

As I said, it's all worth it. Really. But anyone who claims that being pregnant is a beautiful experience is on drugs. Literally very strong hallucinogens. And the bitch isn't telling any first-time moms why her world is really full of rainbows and unicorns.

Opposite

Emily was rattling on, immersed in some game about which we were all supposed to interested and actively involved. From what I could gather, she was describing various family members by saying the most opposite things possible, and we were to guess which one of us it was. It wasn't the most fun game she'd ever invented, but I was doing my best to be a good sport. I did not go unrewarded.

It was my turn to be described. I was a very small, two year-old black woman with blonde hair. Further, I was a terrible cook and married to a husband who was... wait for it...

blonde and rich. The Husband stopped playing. I didn't.

Priorities

"Hey Mom! Today is an awesome day!"
"That's an unusual sentiment for you this early in the morning. Why is it awesome today?"
"Because Mrs. Jackman is moving our seats around, and I'm sitting right behind Ronnie."
"Wait. Isn't that the kid that you don't like because he's mean to you and Jesus?"
"Yep!"
"But why..."
Declan interrupted me with a huge smile.
"Because if I'm right behind him I can throw stuff at his neck!"
"You know that if you do that you'll get in trouble, right?"
"Mom. Totally worth it!"
Sigh.

More glitter!

I was hanging out in my office with the daughter of one of my friends yesterday. She wanted to do some crafts on the floor, so I got out my bin of supplies. Googly eyes, pipe cleaners, puffy balls, markers... It's a pretty cool box. Much to her dismay, none of my glitter pens worked.

"That's another one! In the trash!  If none of your glitter pens work, what do you use instead?"
"Well, you know, I really don't use any glitter in my job."
She looked at me with a mix of disbelief and pity.
"You don't??"
She paused for a moment.
"You really should, you know."
She is totally right. I don't use nearly enough glitter at work. Think of how much more interesting a statistical training report would be if it were in purple glitter pen. I've decided. More glitter.

No. For reals.

My side of a conversation today with my son.

"No, Declan. You may not have the laser you found online that will light things on fire."

"Yes, it would be convenient to light the grill from your room. Still no."

"I'm pretty confident that you are NOT the only kid on the entire earth whose Mom would say no."

"My suspicion is that even if I say no, you will ask me again tomorrow anyway."

Something tells me that I will be having this conversation many, many times in the near future...

On Building a Successful Business Model

Perhaps because we are a bit nuts, our family often talks about starting our own diner-type food establishment. We think it would be fun, and frequently discuss the details. The Husband, Declan and I were discussing menu the other day.

"Oh! Mom! We should have ice cream! And... what do you call those things that beer comes in?"
"Pints?"
"No, no... Kegs! That's it! We should have ice cream and kegs of beer!"
That we should, son. I think we are off to an excellent start for our business plan.

My Sister Ron

Emily was attempting to have a detailed discussion with her older sister about middle names. Isabella was less interested, so Em was making up the gap by bombarding her with questions.

"Well Isa, what's your middle name?"
"Guess." Isa said without even breaking her gaze at the tv.
"What does it start with?"
"R"
"Is it Rachel?"
"No."
"Is it Ron?"
Em got her sister's attention.
"Ron?!?! Why the hell would my middle name be Ron?"
Emily beamed. She had achieved the engagement she wanted from her sister.
"Why wouldn't it be Ron? Do you have a problem with the name Ron?"
Isa looked at me.
"Why is she so weird, Mom?"
"Probably because she takes after her older sister."
After Isa eye rolled and huffed off, Em and I snuggled up and shared a giggle. Maybe I should change Isa's middle name to Ron...

What???

Emily has found a new online game. It's basically a sim game, and the point is to run a disco. You can decorate it, play music, etc. She was bubbling on about it this morning, when I caught that she was excited because she had condomized her disco.

"I'm sorry, what? You condomized your disco?"
"Yep!"
"How exactly does one 'condomize' a disco?"
"Oh, you know, you can add decorations, and change the outfit of the DJ, and.."
"Oh!! You mean you customized your disco!"
"Yeah. that's what I said."
I decided to agree and save the "how one would condomize a disco" discussion for another day. A very distant day.

You're Welcome!

So the other night Emily rolled up on The Husband with an empty plastic bottle and her best teacher voice.

"So. Dad.  I heard you last night asking Mom about recycling. I can help you! It's really easy. See this triangle of arrows right here on the bottle? Well, if it has that, it can go in the recycling. And look. The very same arrow is on the recycling bin. It's just like the match game!"

She paused for a moment, but received no response from her stunned father. She was unfazed.

Right before she turned on her heel and sauntered off, she cheerfully responded to what she was convinced her dad was thinking.

"And, you're welcome!"

Quote of the Day

Emily was trying to get me to hang out in the basement. She mistook my having other stuff to do as an aversion to the basement itself.
"Come on, Mom, it's great down here! There's not an alligator problem or anything!"
Good to know.

Nuts and Penises

Shortly after the kids went back to public school, we had to sign a permission slip for Isabella to take health class. You know, the "health"class. We signed it, and explained to her a bit about what she could expect.

Today, I called her from work to ask about her day.
"Oh, it was pretty good. I had my first health class."
"Oh yeah? How did that go?"
"Well, I was expecting it to be all about gross stuff, like balls and penises and stuff, but all we talked about were genes. So, I dodged that bullet today."
Immediately, I could hear Em start chanting in the background conga-style.
"Penis, penis, pe-NIS! Penis, penis, pe-NIS!"
Isa sighed.
"Mom, I really hope she doesn't behave this way when she takes health class."
Me, either. I don't need the phone call about my daughter adding to health class with a penis chorus.

Arks and the Elderly

Declan and I were out running errands and I insisted that he report on his first few days back at public school.
"Well, I had music for the first time Thursday. The teacher is pretty nice, but I didn't know the words to any of the songs so I didn't really sing. Oh, and one of the songs was about that Christian story. You know, the one where a senior citizen builds an ark and has two of everything? Which totally isn't even possible. The song was okay, though."

Moon Disposal

"Mom!!!"
"Yes, Em?"
"Our new calendar says there's a new moon on January 23!"
"Yes."
She rolled her eyes in the back of her head, and held her hands out in front of her as if she were ready to catch an anvil.
"Well, what are they going to do with the old moon?!?!?"

On the Good of Goblets

Isabella was telling me how much she liked living in Omaha, while enjoying a refreshing drink of water from one of our new glasses.
 "I mean, seriously Mom. We're much closer to the art museum and the zoo. The house is beautiful. I mean, I'm drinking out of a freaking goblet here!"

Takes One to Know One

Declan and Emily were arguing. Declan was insisting that Em was lying about something. I don't even know what about, mostly because I wasn't paying attention.

"I'm NOT!"
"You are. You are totally lying. I should know; I lie all the time."
What? I started listening a bit more closely.
"I'm TOTALLY NOT lying, Declan! I SWEAR!"
"And there you go. That's what I say every time I lie."

Great. Just great.

Parental Controls

This morning I found my son going back and forth between the computer and the Wii. He would watch a little bit of You Tube video, then click a few times in the settings section of the game console. I asked him what he was doing.

"Oh, I'm getting rid of the parental controls on the Wii."
We bought our Wii used, and so many of the settings we didn't put in place. We wouldn't have put them on in the first place, but hadn't gotten around to taking them off. So, I wasn't upset at all with him, but curious.
"Yeah? Why are you doing that? Is there something it won't let you do?"
"No, not at all. I'm doing it for Dad."
"Really?? How so?"
"The parental controls were annoying him, so I'm fixing it for him."
The eight year-old fixing the parental controls for the adult. Probably not exactly what the good folks at Nintendo had in mind...

The Simple Life

Declan informed me (as he has done before) that his pretty sure when he gets older, he's not going to get a wife or kids.
"Yeah? Why not?"
"Well, they are very expensive. If I have kids I have to buy them stuff, like beds and stuff, and if I don't have any kids then I can spend that money on stuff I want. Like motorcycles. ...I just want to live an uncomplicated life."

Change is good!

Whew! Whoever thought that moving over Thanksgiving weekend was a good idea is an idiot! Wait. That was me. I'm still looking at boxes, can't find the hardware to two of the kids' beds and the one that doesn't need hardware broke in the move. The weird thing is that I couldn't be more thrilled.

Change is tough. So is admitting when you went down the wrong path. However, if you don't you can't right yourself. I don't regret that we tried living in a small town. Had things been a bit different, I think it just might have worked out great. But, they weren't and it didn't. There were a few wonderful people there, but it just turns out we're city people. We just didn't fit in. Fitting in, as it turns out, is very important to small town social success. Diversity and uniqueness just aren't welcome. Feared a little, even.

It was very clear (in that people actually said this) that the fact that we didn't go to church made them suspicious. No matter that some who did regularly attend were not exactly models of grace and love. What would Jesus do? Apparently vandalize cars and prank call in the middle of the night. And those are the adults. Weird we didn't want to join up, huh?

The fact that The Husband doesn't hunt was also apparently cause for alarm, at least among the menfolk. Because it's the guy who is uncomfortable killing stuff for fun that you should not want your kid around. The sheriff who shot an unarmed man in front of his kid - totally fine. The peacenick who gardens and doesn't own a gun is exactly who you should try to run out of town.

The strangest to me, though is the stuff we never saw coming. It was very disturbing to people that The Husband walked to the store. Really. It was the topic of much discussion in the gas station and other local hot spots. It was concluded by everyone that this was obviously due to him being unemployed and having lost his license because of drunk driving. Obviously there is no other reasonable conclusion.

Even considering all of this, I was concerned that moving would scar my kids forever. For the youngest two, the small town is all they knew; it's where they grew up. Home. As it turns out, all three couldn't get out fast enough. As we were leaving in the van for the very last time and shouting goodbye to everything (very Walton's goodnight-style), my son remained quiet. "Don't you want to say good bye to Casey's?" I asked. "Nope. I never want to think about this shithole town again." Well, there you have it. So much for his anxiety over leaving.

I don't blame him. He had it the worst. His last year in school his was getting into fights and just having trouble sorting everything out in his head. An older group of boys picked on him on the bus, calling him gay. His classmates made fun of our last name because it is Hispanic. His friends constantly reminded him that he was going to hell because he didn't go to church. I don't think things were going to get better for him. Just a side note - the school in our new neighborhood prints everything in both English and Spanish. Not only do I doubt he'll be mocked for our last name, I bet people will finally be able to pronounce it!

We are now close to all of the stuff we really like to do - the zoo, children's museum, theater, and the art museum. We have a great house in a neighborhood we love. Not to mention that I shaved 48 minutes off my drive to work. Each way.

Yep, change is good. Check that. Change es bueno!