Long, Long Ago in a Kitchen Far, Far Away...

My 12 year old son is laughing his butt of early this Tuesday morning.

Why?

Because he found out that that I am from 'olden times'.

What would qualify me for such an advanced age?

Well, I was telling him a story which involved the phrase "she was cutting carrots".

I got no further in the story because N suddenly howled with laughter "You had to actually cut carrots? Like you got a big carrot and had to actually cut it yourself? Man, you are from olden times!"

I realize that there are many modern conveniences utilized today that did not exist back when I was younger but I usually have considered these generational earmarks as technology based instead of vegetable based.

Like, I remember when we got our first TV with a remote. My family shared ONE PHONE LINE, and the phone was connected to the wall with a long cord. I listed to music on a boom box. I had to open the car door with a key instead of a button.

Now I must add the cutting of carrots to that list.

Because that is the way we did things long, long ago.

Good thing I bought some chocolate...

Woman carefully scrutinizes grocery add to find deals.

Woman carefully compares sale prices to coupons.

Woman organizes coupons by grocery department.

Woman drives to distant grocery store for 'double-coupon day'.

Once inside the store Woman is annoyed to discover she can not find her coupons.

After searching the car Woman drives home because Harris Teeter is to dang expensive without coupons.

Coupons are NOT on kitchen table where Woman expected them to be.

Woman looks through the car again and finds coupons which had fallen on side of dang passenger seat.

Woman drives back to distant grocery store - wishing that she did not drop her iphone in the Pacific Ocean because now she has a bottom of the line cheap-o phone which does not double as an ipod - and frankly, listening to some of her favorite tunes right now would be a really great way to alleviate some of the annoyance and stress over the whole coupon-athon.

Woman fills grocery cart based on carefully selected sale items which match coupons - for maximum savings.

At check-out Woman must fill out paperwork for new Harris Teeter card because she apparently lost her original and can not remember which dang phone number she originally used.

Woman was once a checker in a grocery store and HATED coupon shoppers because they were always a pain in the.....neck. But heck, woman now lives in one of the most expensive areas of the United States and has three kids so she will ignore the annoyance of the checker.

Woman has to split her order into two separate purchases because H.T. only allows 20 coupons per purchase.

Woman will ignore the increased annoyance of the checker because for crying-out-loud she waited until nearly 10:00 at night to go shopping so that there would not be any long lines behind her.

Woman takes groceries to car.

And.........................Woman's keys are not in her purse.

With elevated heart rate, Woman hauls loaded grocery cart back into store where Night Manager informs her that keys have NOT been turned in.

Woman retraces steps through grocery store and at last finds keys sitting on the counter of the bleep-bleepity-bleeping check stand.

Woman drives home thinking about blank-blankity-blanking iphone.

Woman puts groceries away and pours herself a tall glass of Diet. Dr. Pepper.

And she eats a bag of $4.00 Pretzel M&M's that she purchased for $1.25.....thank you very much.

*M&M's were shared with the three kids.

The Yin and Yang of Mr. Z

At 7 years old, Mr. Z is either sappy sweet or incredibly insensitive.

With me - he is usually the first. What can I say? The kid loves me - in a crazy way. He can't get enough of the hand holding, snuggling, hugging, etc. He is a bit territorial with my affection - when The Hub and I demonstrate a public display of affection, Mr. Z comes running and forcefully inserts himself in the middle of the parental embrace.

In fact, last night Mr. Z was around the corner from where we were snuggling on the sectional. Yelling "I hear hugging!" he ran around the corner and joined us as a third spoon.

Sometimes it is a bit over the top but 99% of the time it melts my heart. Tonight while I was tucking him into bed he gave me a big smooch on the lips and I asked:

"Are you ever going to be too old to kiss me goodnight?"

He gave me a tight squeeze while he answered.

"Well - maybe when I am 12...no 15...no 16, 17, 18 or 19 or 20.... Okay - how about 25??? But I am not going to worry about that now because it is a REALLY long time away."

But remember - the boy can also be incredibly insensitive.

Yesterday was Father's Day. As we sat down to dinner I asked the kids to go around the table and tell The Hub their favorite thing about him.

Mr. Z took the lead:

"Ok - me first. The very best thing about Dad is that he is really good at grilling meat. And NOW I will tell you the worst thing about him...."

So there it is, the Yin and Yang of a complicated boy.

And in case anyone is wondering - the worst thing about The Hub - (according to Mr. Z) is that he sometimes yells.

And thank goodness for that because Heaven knows that I can not be the only one doing the yelling around here.

Modern Interpretation

Mr. Z just asked me to tell him the story of 'the little girl who sits on a stool eating her cottage cheese'.

At first I thought that I had failed in teaching my kids Nursery Rhymes but as it turns out a 'tuffet' is a short stool...and curds and whey actually is cottage cheese.

So - I give you an updated telling of 'Little Miss Muffet' (authored by Mr. Z)

A little girl sat on a stool eating some cottage cheese.
Then a spider came and scared her.

Less lyrical but more concise and less confusing.

I am not sure why this topic is worthy of a timeless poem know by most all children.

Except for mine.

Confusion

Miss A: Mom - where do we keep the whiskey?
Me: Well......assuming we had any whiskey why would you want to know?
Miss A: Because I really need it!
Me: I am pretty sure that you are confused about something.
Miss A: No - I just need the whiskey!
Me: What are you talking about?
Miss A: I am talking about that thing you use to mix stuff - I am making muffins!
Me: Do you mean a WHISK?
Miss A: Yes! A whisk! Where do we keep the whisk?

Side Note: Miss A has a thing for whiskey - it is to her credit that in place of the term 'skiwampus' we use the term 'whiskeywampus'.

Second Side Note: Due to our inherent and consistent confusion is probably a good thing that we don't drink.

The Daily Grind

Alarm clock rings.

Fists start beating the bed.

"I can't take it anymore! Every day I have to do the same thing over and over again! I am sick of this! Sick, sick, sick of this! I need a break from all of this!"

Yeah - first grade can be pretty rough.

But it is Friday and Mr. Z can have a break tomorrow.

In the mean time - I think a stiff glass of chocolate milk with his breakfast will help him make through the day.

Note to Self:

When wrapping gifts for a child's birthday be sure to purchase gift wrap so you don't have to use last years Christmas supplies.

Also, get some scotch tape so you won't have to rip of small pieces of packing tape to affix the wrap.

And - keep track of your scissors so you don't have to use dull kitchen shears.

That is all.

Apparently I need to keep my neurosis to myself

When Miss A started kindergarten (2003) she was a incredibly shy. I was ultra worried about her ability to mesh with the other kids and because she did not know anyone in her class I really wanted her to make some cute little friends. Every day after school I would quiz her on who she played with at recess and every day she would give the the exact same answer in her cute scratchy little voice:

"I played with just myself"

My most sweet and beautiful little baby was playing all by herself! I was broken-hearted and haunted by memories of middle school when I felt left out.

One day after school (after two weeks of asking her who she played with at recess and grilling her on social strategies) she burst into tears when I began my line of questioning.

I ached for her - poor little thing - brought to tears by her solitary play at recess...

I told her that it was okay because everyone feels lonely sometimes...

Which is when she said: "It's not lonely at school. Lonely is when you are ALL ALONE. There are lots of kids at recess all the time."

So why was she crying?

Apparently because she was so worried about making ME sad when I vicariously stressed out over the kindergarten social scene.

Lesson learned - and before long Miss A had a cute little friend who lived up the street (and we were 20-somethings living in California at the time so by 'street' I mean row of town houses).

Now that Miss A is 12 she is actually experiencing the real social drama of being in middle school. And guess what?

I am still powerless to do anything.

And all that post-traumatic-middle school-drama is back in full swing.

All I can do is be there for her and give some oh-so-helpful social strategies which are met by theatrical eye-rolls and expressive sighs.

Let me just impart this bit of wisdom that my years of experience and knowledge have helped me to understand:

1. girls are mean
2. boys are dumb

Man, I miss kindergarten!

Apparently I will not have violent mood swings after school starts

This morning I was awakened by the sound of raucous fighting in the kitchen.

What was so important that Mr. N and Mr. Z were near blows?

Cereal Dust.

You know - The dusty remains in the bottom of the box? These powdered fragments of breakfast food are apparently a valuable commodity in this household - one for which both of my boys are willing to draw blood.

I was mildly annoyed (read: trying not to draw blood myself at being wakened over such a trivial thing) until Mr. N magically changed my mood by saying:

"Mom - my ear hurts. Can I have an asspill"?

I have never gone from anger to hilarity in a split second before but I was on the floor laughing with tears running out of my eyes while I choked out:

"You mean an asPIRIN"?

Yeah - that was what he meant.

And I will have a special name for aspirin for the rest of time.

Just like we have a special name for chapstick.

Because Mr. N used to call that.....asskick.

Note to Self:

You must label similarly sized/colored leftovers because if you are not observant in the morning your blueberry/peach smoothie will be a black bean/peach smoothie. And it will be disgusting.

Apparently I need to learn more about Udders

Last spring - the Kindergartners went on a field trip to a Farm. The day of the trip Mr. Z and I were waiting for the bus when.....

Me: Hey Z, are you excited to go to the farm?
Mr. Z: Yes - I am super excited. I have lots of questions for the farmers.
Me: Really? Like what.
Mr. Z: I have lots of questions about udders.
Me: What? Like on a cow? What questions about udders do you have?
Mr.Z: I want to know how come cows have so many tits.
Me: You mean TEATS? They are called TEATS, not tits....
Mr.Z: Oh. Well I am going to ask the farmers about those udders and ti...teats.

(the bus arrives and Mr. Z quickly hugs me and hastens towards the open door)

Me: (yelling) Remember...they are TEATS, like TREATS. Think about TREATS before you ask any questions. TREEEEATS!


I would be embarrassed but how else is the kid going to learn about TEATS? Certainly not by ignoring burning udder questions like the majority of the suburban population.

So the next time you are visiting a farm - try to expand your grasp of essential bovine trivia by asking the farmer about female cow parts.

Remember - there are no stupid questions. Just stupid Mom's (who lack basic udder knowledge) waiting anxiously at home to find out if their offspring will be kicked out of kindergarten for sporting an inappropriate vocabulary.

Apparently I should do a head count each time I get in the car...

Sometimes it is easy to forget things when you are a busy mom of 3.

Like you could forget about your 5th graders DARE graduation...your kids piano lessons...boy scouts...etc.

You could also forget to take your child home with you when you leave the gym.

You could take a shower at home, get dressed, and then - 45 minutes later - you could frantically drive back to the gym barefooted with a towel on your head to retrieve said child.

Now if your past is marred by such an event it is probably not a good idea to use the 'I am leaving now' tactic when trying to hurry a child when it is time to go home from the park.

You know when you say "Well - goodbye, I am leaving now" to an offspring who won't get off the swings? Your plan is not to actually leave the child but to make them THINK that they will be left behind if they don't hurry.

To terrify a child with the threat of abandonment is a perfectly acceptable form of eliciting cooperation - IF - you have not actually left that child somewhere in the first place.

Because if you did leave your child at the gym day care, and his six year old eyes watched you from the window as you climbed into your car and drove away it could cause a significant amount of emotional trauma.

Perhaps the traumatic effects of being abandoned will not manifest themselves at first. Then, several weeks later when you are trying to leave the park and you utter the ill-fated phrase: "Well - goodbye, I am leaving now" you will know the extreme extent of emotional damage that you created in the psyche of the small boy.

Upon hearing your declaration of abandonment and seeing you retreat towards the family car the boy will probably utter a shrill scream and then slump to the ground sobbing.

When you roll your eyes, turn back to physically retrieve him and explain that you would never really leave him anywhere he will look at you with hurt, tear filled eyes and say:

"Maybe I would believe you if you didn't already leave me at the gym. (Sniff-sob). At least at the gym a grown-up was watching me. Nobody will take care of me when you leave me at the park."

And then on the drive home you will have to guiltily address tear-full issues such as:

"I don't think Mom's are supposed to leave kids places"...

"I don't think Drew's Mom ever left him anywhere"...

"I don't think Matthew's Mom ever left him anywhere"...

"I don't think Ben's Mom ever left him anywhere"...

"I don't think Jack's Mom ever left him anywhere"...

And so on...

So - in order to raise kids who will believe that 'Mom-Will-Always-Be-There-For-Me' you really should try your best not to leave them at the gym.

Yeah.

Apparently I have a Red Thumb

I have the opposite of a green thumb. Based the opposites of the color wheel this means that I have a red thumb - and it is red with the blood of every potted thing that I have killed. Plants need only to absorb my exhaled carbon dioxide and shortly thereafter they wither and die.

This is a well known fact among the members of my family which is why Mr.Z walked in the door holding a cup with a bean sprout which he had cultivated in Kindergarten and said: "Do you want me to just throw this away now? Or should we wait for it to die?"

He decided to keep it. It did not survive.

I can now add a bean sprout to my growing list of victims.

WA-HA-HA-HA-HA! (evil laughter)

Apparently some of us are getting older...

Of course I am still incredibly young and vibrant but my daughter is aging. She will be 12 next month and I have been mentally preparing myself to enter the phase of life where I have a child who is in the Young Women's Program at church.

Though I am still incredibly young and vibrant it seems weird that I have arrived at this stage. Because I have a tendency to freak-out I have tried to stave emotional imbalance by reminders and personal awareness of the impending Young Women's experience.

I am thrilled that Miss 'A' will be able to experience so many new things and have so many wonderful women influence her life.

I am less thrilled that this marks the beginning of my children having activities in the evening. I love spending time with them before bed and I know that as they are aging (though I am still incredibly young and vibrant) this type of family time will be less and less frequent.

I was thrown for a loop yesterday when we discovered that though Miss 'A' still has one more month till she is officially a part of this amazing program she needed to attend an activity to certify for Girls Camp this summer.

I drove her to the church right at the time we should have been sitting down to play a game or watch 'America's Funniest Home Videos'. She was nervous but excited but I was mentally unprepared for this momentous event.

On the first day of middle school (while all the kids in the neighborhood walked to the bus by themselves for the first time) my baby wanted me to walk with her. She even held my hand. When we were in view of the kids waiting for the bus I asked if she wanted me to stay with her or go home - she didn't answer but clung to my hand more tightly, pulling me to the bus stop where I waited with her friends. She didn't let go of my hand until it was her turn to get on the bus.

Last night, I tried to hold her hand while we were walking into the church. She sweetly smiled at me as she pulled her hand away. When we got inside I could tell that she was anxious so I asked if she wanted me to stay with her until she found someone that she knew. She told me that she was okay, and still smiling sweetly she walked off.

And so it begins. Though I am still young and vibrant I have entered the phase of life where my children will have evening activities. The phase of life where that time spent together before bed will come to an end. The phase of life where my kids will not need me quite so much anymore. Sniff.

They will be strong - and independent, which is what every young and vibrant Mother wants.

I would just like to make this one request: could someone (I don't care who) provide me with more than a few hours warning so that I can plan my young and vibrant freak-out accordingly?

Please and Thank You.

Apparently I am accident prone (part 2)...

Mom walks down steps.

Mom texts whilst walking down said steps.

Small object waits on bottom step.

Mom steps on small object.

Mom rolls ankle.

Mom's favorite flip flop is broken.

Mom limps to sofa.

Mom lays on sofa sweating profusely wondering if pain from rolled ankle is worse than child birth.

Mom's ankle looks like golf ball.

11 year old daughter mocks Mom for texting at inappropriate time.

Daughter mocks Mom for lack of grace.

Daughter should go play with barbies.

Apparently I will be calling Grandma if I need plumbing help...

Last week was a much anticipated spring break. It was chock full of hours spent on the road as my Mom and I took the kids to Williamsburg, the Hub and I went to Maryland's Eastern Shore, then the Hub and I took the kids back to Williamsburg for a second round of fun.

What does this have to do with dismembered insects and reptiles? (I will get to the Grandma with the pipe cutter later).

Well - last fall the fam-damily was on a night walk with flash lights. As we wound our way through the paved trails the kids kept a close watch for animal life. Mr.N who has a particularly keen eye was bringing up the tail end of our party when he let out a horrific scream. Running back to see what was wrong we found Mr.N kneeling on the ground shinning his light on a small, writhing, injured snake. It was nearly-headless, probably because one of us had unknowingly stepped on it as we walked by. Mr.N cried for the poor snake - for two days.

This brings us to the wingless fly. The kids were in the car - 'patiently' waiting for me and Mom to get our spring break behinds on the road. Through the opened back of our trusty Honda Pilot an unsuspecting fly entered the vehicle eliciting screams from Mr.Z who has a strong fear for all winged things that buzz. (Likely born from an incident involving thigh-high casts and the inability to escape a large bee). Trying to save his brother from the terrifying fly, Mr.N selflessly pulled the baseball hat from his head and gave the fly a mighty swat in the direction of an open door saving Mr.Z from said insect. Mr.N then got out of the car to inspect the fly which was squirming on the driveway.

Now - I understand Mr.N's grief over the nearly-headless snake. I can appreciate that to a 10 year old boy a snake is a lovable thing - but to shed tears over a wingless fly? Let's just say the boy has a strangely tender heart...and leave it at that.

The remainder of spring break was dismemberment-free. But with his knack for entertaining with unusual commentary, Mr.Z provided us with several memorable scenarios.

1. While at Colonial Williamsburg we paid a visit to Patrick Henry. As he answered a bevy of questions from curious and educated visitors Mr.Z raised a hand and asked: "When you said 'give me liberty or give me death - which one did they give you"?

2. While at Busch Gardens we visited the animal park and were listening to a ranger who - according to his name tag was called Gii. Gii was telling us about a smallish bird when Mr.Z again raised his hand and asked "If you were going to draw this bird, which part would you draw first"?

The answer according to Gii? The feet. Obviously.

Incidentally, Miss.A got a lot of practice in with her eye rolling at the antics of her brothers as all good nearly-12-year-old girls should.

As for Grandma and the pipe cutters: she usually brings a smallish bag when traveling to avoid having to wait at baggage claim. However, 0n this particular trip she had to check her bag because airport security would not let her bring a pipe cutter in her carry on.

How many Grandma's bring a pipe cutter when they come to visit their grandkids? I am going to venture a guess and say 'one'. And she truly is an awesome Grandma because without those pipe cutter we could not have made PVC marshmallow shooters or irrigation tube hula hoops.

Incidentally (again), I was going to make a few more marshmallow guns after Grandma left so I asked my neighbor (who is a plumber) if I could borrow his pipe cutter. He pulled one out of his ginormous tool box in his 'Mr. Plumber' truck for me to use. And guess what?

Grandma's pipe cutter kicked the plumber's pipe cutter's butt.

Which made me think:

If I were going to draw a Grandma with a truly awesome pipe cutter which part I would draw first?

Maybe I need to take a quick trip to Busch Gardens to ask Gii.

Apparently the Easter Bunny sparkles...

You remember Mr.Z? The kid who had trouble believing in Santa this past December because the red clad, jolly, rotund man at the mall had gold zippers on his boots? Well - it seems that the Easter Bunny is subject to no such scrutiny.

Me: Hey - Mr. Z?

Z: What?

Me: Do you believe in the Easter Bunny?

Z: (thoughtful) Hmmmm. A giant bunny who lays plastic eggs filled with candy? Hmmmm................(with strong conviction) Yep! I believe in him! You know when he hops he leaves sparkly stuff on the ground! That sure is cool!

I don't know who decided that a candy bearing rabbit was a good way to celebrate the birth of Christ, but I would like to thank them. My kids are getting too old too fast and all too soon our holidays will lack the sweet innocence of childhood.

Here is to the Easter Bunny in all of his plastic egg laying, sugar-ific, sparkly glory.

Deep thoughts about Olympic Ice Dancing.

Mr. Z:

I bet they have lots of bandages at practice.
Maybe that girl is friends with swans.

Mr. N:
Boy - in skating you see a lot of girls underwear

Apparently the mall Santa needs to Up his Game...

Mr. Z is a thinker. He possesses wisdom and understanding far beyond his six years that is humorous at times and alarming at others.

For the past few months he has been trying to rationalize the existence of Santa. He has a strong opinion that magic is not real - which has caused him to doubt - but wanting so badly to believe he came to the dubious conclusion that "the Christmas kind of magic is real but all the other magic stuff is made up by grown-up's who are trying to trick kids."

It kind of reminds me of the time a certain cousin told Miss 'A' that the Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy and Santa were not real. Later, my daughter told me "I kind figured that it was true about the Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy but why would Jessica lie about Santa"?

Today at the Mall Mr. Z begged me to stop and see Santa. He had changed his mind from wanting a crayon maker to "wanting 2 pet frogs more than anything in the world". (Incidentally I already have the frogs because I knew he would want them - they have been living in my closet since Thanksgiving due to a shipping miscalculation on my part).

While standing in line Mr. Z evaluated the man in the red suit.

He started with the beard - which passed scrutiny because it looked quite real. Unfortunately this Santa did not look plump enough to satisfy my son. Plus, this Santa had gold zippers on his boots which Mr. 'Z' told me was entirely innacurate. (Apparently there are no zippers on authentic Santa boots - just in case you want perform an inspection at your local mall).

But - willing to give him a chance - my boy told me that he was just going to ask 'that guy' if he was the real Santa.

When we got to the front of the line Mr. Z climbed onto Santa's lap.

Santa: Hello - what is your name?
Mr. Z: (rolls eyes) That's it. Mom - this guy doesn't even know my name I told you he wasn't fat enough.

He hopped of the surprised Santa's lap grabbed a sucker from a big bin (without waiting for it to be offered) and kind of shook it at me.

Mr. Z: See - he doesn't even have candy canes. Sheesh! Let's go!

And so we did.

Good thing I didn't pay for an overpriced picture of my suspicious, attitudinal, grabby six year old rolling his eyes at a sucker-bearing, gaunt Santa with gold zippers on his boots.

Sheesh!

Apparently I need to do the laundry...

An ingenuitive boy will substitue swimwear for underwear when Mom has been to sick to keep up on the laundry.

And indeed, Mr. Z is ingenuitive.

I seem to have kicked the Killer Cold From XXXX -but October -the WHOLE feverish month of October- was another story.

I think that Mom's should be automatically immune to any illness but ESPECIALLY to a killer cold that lasts for FOUR weeks! One morning, when I was feeling particularly crappy, Mr. N gave me a quick hug on his way out the door to catch the bus and said:

"I hope you don't have the swine flu and die! Bye"!

If that is not love, I don't know what is.

Miss A was very diligent for the whole month to keep a careful distance from me to avoid over- exposure to any of my persistent germs. I have no idea how much antibacterial hand gel she used but I did notice that my rather large supply (I stocked up when there was a bunch on sale) has been depleted.