Whatever Wednesday- The cloak of invisibility

We told son #2 it was time for his bath. A short time later he was found trying to hide under an end table. Steve can be somewhat sympathetic, as his own sister followed the “I can’t see you, you can’t see me” philosophy well beyond a rational age. She would wander out of bed, with a blanket over head, certain that she was invisible. So Steve crouches down to the end table and calmly says: “Son! You are not four years old anymore. Your seven year old body does not fit under the table. You are quite visible under there.” And from under the table? (giggle) “No I’m not.” Sigh. I think it’s hereditary.

Whatever Wednesday rules: Answer the question left by the person before you and leave a question for the next person. Play as many times as you wish. Anything goes. And it doesn’t have to be Wednesday to play.

First Question: What super hero powers did you think you had as a child? Invisibility? Ability to fly? Olympic potential?

 

Do NOT eat the salt!

This week’s art lesson consisted of watercolor paintings and using salt for a cool textural effect. I poured the salt into nasty containers from the art room that have had all manner of disgusting things in them. As I passed out the containers I said “DO NOT eat the salt! These containers have had very yucky things in them that DO NOT go in your bodies.” I look over to see a child is already licking the salt. I said again “I DO NOT want anyone eating the salt from the containers. The salt is to sprinkle in your paint.” Again, I see another child licking his lips. Are ya’ kidding me?

I said “If you heard what I said about the salt, raise your hand.” Doooode. Only half the fricken’ attention deficit first graders raised their hands. So I started calling on each child without a hand raised, one by one, saying “What did I say about the salt?” And after every single one of them finally had their hands raised I said “I’m gonna be pretty upset if I see anyone else eating salt now that I know every single one of you heard me.” I saw a kid eyeing the salt. I caught him with the death glare. “DO NOT eat the salt.”

So today? In fifth grade? Same thing except a Ralph Wiggum-like voice pipes up and says “But I like salt!” Sigh.

 

Sick day. But not like you think.

Arggg. You know when you’ve come to a point where you’re just so emotionally fried it’s hard to function? Yeah. I’m there.

Yesterday after baseball practice, Steve and I finished loading the equipment into the car. I turned around and said “Where’s son #2?” We both turned in a wide circle and there was no son #2. We walked back to the field to check the field and playground. No son #2. I starting calling him. No answer. No son #2 as far as the eye can see. I have nightmares like this. Only this one was real. I started calling more frantically. There were some parents who know us who started helping us look. I. was. freaking. out. Steve started on a lap all the way around the school. I started digging in my pocket for my cell phone to call 911. A parent suddenly yells to look over on the hilltop that’s behind the school, where there is a grove of trees. I have forbidden both kids to ever go up there because unsavory characters hang out there AND they could easily be kidnapped unseen from there. And yet? As I started running that way, it did appear that son #2 was up there. When I finally got close enough to see it was him, I almost threw up. I totally lost it. This is my recurrent nightmare. I felt sick for hours afterward.

If that wasn’t bad enough, the phone rang late last night. You know when the phone rings late and you just know it’s nothing good? And you want to freeze that moment in between what you know and are now and the next moment when some sort of hell is going to let loose on you? You just want to run away from the phone and go hide in a hole and not come out. Because in the last few years, when the phone has rung late at night, it’s always been death on the other end. And so it was last night. Steve answered the phone “Hi, Mom!” then “WHAT?!?!?” And the last two times he had said ‘what’ that way, someone had died. My favorite relative on Steve’s side of the family was found dead yesterday. She’s young- early 50’s with four kids. OMFG. Now the sick feeling won’t go away.

I am spent. I can’t seem to get it together today. Sigh.

 

Baseball in a blizzard

We had our third baseball game of the season on Saturday. And just when I thought all the male managers in the league had gotten used to the idea of me managing a team? I run across a coach that clearly thought I should be home ironing. And barefoot. I watched the expression on his face change when part way through the game it dawned on him that *I* was the manager and the males were the coaches. He tried to tell me to go sit down and not worry about it when I was trying to clarify a rule with the other manager. I wanted to throw down right then and there. Because? I was right about the rule. And he was an arrogant ass.

Steve’s got a position on the little league board this year and it’s his responsibility to recruit coaches and managers, help form teams and schedule all the games. And while Steve goes to the board meetings, at home we’ve been sharing the duties of this job because it’s a massive job. Only a few weeks before the season started, the league was short more than half the managers they needed. They didn’t even have enough managers to start the season. I’ve met enough people in the last few years in this league to go on a recruiting campaign. I recruited most of the missing managers. So managing the team we played on Saturday was someone I had cajoled into managing. Rich didn’t come by it easily though. He even sent Steve a list of demands a few hours after my first conversation with him about it. He was serious about the demands, but he was good natured about it.

Anyway, you’ll recall that the national weather service predicted 7 inches of snow over the weekend. The weekend consisted of totally bizarre weather. It was raining, snowing and hailing, usually all at the same time and sometimes with the sun shining. There’s no such thing as dry snow here.

When we got to the field on Saturday, the infield was mostly under water. The snow had melted from the night before and the field was a mess. I was attempting to cancel the game on the spot, when Steve noticed that the soccer field was relatively dry. Sigh. They wanted to play. It was snowing lightly. That hideous, sloppy, dripping kinda snow. My down jacket smelled of wet dog and I was already cold. I was completely outnumbered in wanting to go home to a warm fire. So we started warming up. And by warming up, I mean, trying to see the ball through the snow and hail. Steve sidles up to me and says “Huh. That’s a first. I never thought I’d hear myself say ‘I wish it was hailing’ because you know? The hail is a hell of a lot drier than the snow.”

After the second inning of playing baseball in the snow, I trotted out to the mound to confer with Rich over ending the game at that point. Our kids were freezing and losing interest. Rich scoops me up into a huge bear hug and says “Oh hell no! You got me into this! I am out here freezing my ass off because you had to go and recruit me for this job! We are totally playing another inning! Look! The sun is even shining!” (It shined for a whole 30 seconds, I’ll have you know!) Sigh. Double sigh.

So we started the next inning and halfway through the batting order, the snow really starts coming down. By the time we took the field for the second half of the inning, it was snowing and hailing so hard, I couldn’t see the kids’ faces. They had snow accumulating on the bills of their baseball caps and most of them were looking up at the sky trying to catch snowflakes on their tongues. Then? Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse? I shit you not, there was a blizzard. No one could see a thing with all the snow and hail. At that point I yelled to Rich “WE ARE TOTALLY EVEN NOW! EVEN STEVEN! YOU HEAR ME?!?! WE COULD HAVE BEEN IN THE WARM CAR ON OUR WAY HOME NOW! THERE’S NO SUN SHINING! YOU JUST HAD TO PLAY ANOTHER INNING!” And he’s standing on the pitcher’s mound laughing because the truth hurts.

So that was my Saturday, folks. Playing baseball in a blizzard, while smelling like wet dog and not being able to feel your extremities. Next time I will fight my way back to the car. That’s right, I will roundhouse kick and pummel anyone who disagrees and thinks that the game must go on….. 

Update: One of the parents just sent me this photo of when it first started coming down:

 

I feel like I’m newly born!

Son #1 (fresh from the shower after a day in the mud): Holy Cow! I didn’t realize how dirty I was. I feel like I’m newly born. All fresh and clean!
Steve: Just so you know? You were gross when you were born.
Son #1: I WAS?!?!
Steve: Yeah. You were disgusting as a matter of fact. All bluish and smeared with uterus stuff…. (shudder)
Son #1: Awwwww.

 

Yes, more pickles.

The “Yes, pickles.” continues. We had four boys in the back of the car last night cutting up. (Earplugs anyone?) Son #1 yells from the back “Dad, can you marshmellow watermelon weinerschnitzel?” I look at Steve “Marshmellow watermelon weinershcnitzel?” Steve rolls his eye at me and says “What, Son?” Son #1 yells “Can you marshmellow watermelon weinerschnitzel?” I yell back “Marshmellow watermelon weinerschnitzel?” He’s silent for a minute then yells back “Dad, is something wrong with Mom?” I yell back enthusiastically ”Yes, pickles!” More silence. “Dad?…. “ Again I call back ”Yes, pickles!” Steve gave me a sideways glance, shook his head at me, sighed and said “Nothing, Son. You mother is deaf.”

 

My name is MWAAAAAAAAA

 Today’s art lesson was Kandinsky’s untitled #629. I even managed to get through today’s lesson without screwing up too bad. I only called the color red, PURPLE once! As soon as the kids came in from recess, one of the girls ran up to me.

Girl: Mrs. Teixeira! Mrs. Teixeira! I’ve named myself something else. I want you to call me by my new name.
Me: Ok. What is it?
Girl: My name is…..(pause for dramatic effect) Mwaaaaaa.
Me: (With the straightest face I could muster) Mwaaaaa, huh?
Girl: (proudly) Yes. Mwaaaaaa.
Me: Ok Mwaaaaaa. Sit down so we can get started.
I had to refer to Mwaaaaa during the course of teaching and I’m praying that all the other children in the class have been notified that Mwaaaa has a new name. Not a single kid asked who Mwaaaa was or missed a beat. (Doooode. Is it really that easy? Cuz I wanna change my name to Mrs. Princess.)

When Mwaaaa finished her project she walked over and handed me her painting. I asked her if she put her name on it. She asked if she could put Mwaaaa on it and I agreed. “But Mrs. Teixeira? I don’t know how to spell Mwaaaa.” I told her MWA would suffice.

When class was over she ran up to me and said “Mrs. Teixeira? The next time I see you I still want to be Mwaaaa.” (that last a is VERY drawn out.) Another girl walked up beside her and said “Yeah and next class I want to be Eeee- Mwaaaaaaa. You have to remember that ok?”

I’ll be needing a new roll sheet, please.

 

World Exclusive!

I saw this today: WORLD EXCLUSIVE: See J. Lo’s twins!

Then….I Kramered like so:

 

How to teach an art lesson on Van Gogh’s Starry Night….

First, talk about Van Gogh’s STARRY NIGHT, movement, color, strokes, etc. Then talk about the SUN. When done, open the floor to questions:

First Grade Student: “Uh, Mrs. Teixeira? Isn’t that the moon?”
Have Mrs. Teixeira turn and look at painting with surprise. Turn back to the student and say:
Me: “Why yes. That is a moon. That would be why the painting is called Starry NIGHT. Mrs. Teixeira needs A LOT MORE COFFEE.”

Sigh. It really happened.

 

Pet Peeve anyone?

I’m sure you’ll all find it highly shocking that I’m annoyed today. I’m pretty much annoyed that other people breathe. I go through phases like that.

It seems like every single jackass out on the road has decided to get in front of me today. You know those people that speed up and cut in front of you then slow down to below the speed limit while 10 cars back up behind them? Yeah, I got behind two of those jackasses today.

While I was stuck behind the jackass going 18 miles an hour down a 40 mph road, I thought of all the little pet peeves that I have. But now that I’m so ticked off about the driving? I can’t think of anything else. So tell me your pet peeves and then maybe I’ll remember that list I was making in my head while going 18 mph.

Oh WAIT! I just thought of another pet peeve while son #1 was sitting at the table chomping and slurping cereal! BAD TABLE MANNERS! I can not STAND to eat with people who chew with their mouth open, slurp or chomp, teeth hitting the silverware or have both arms on the table, hunched over their plate. Son #1 is currently doing all of those things. GAH! It’s like he was raised by chimpanzees. I have to say though? In an adult? Completely inexcusable! I’ve nearly died while eating with adults chewing with their mouths open and made excuses to get up from the table because I couldn’t stand to eat with them. (shudder)

HA! Thought of another one! BAD GRAMMAR! As in “I seen” and the use of “no” when it should be “any” and in writing when people write grate instead of great and their instead of they’re! Oh yeah. Bad Grammar is one too. Maybe by tonight they’ll all come back to me.

 

The Hillbilly Tooth Returns….

Oh yes, just as soon as I finally got that first one out, the second one wiggled loose and has now slid to the middle of his mouth. It’s like some cycloptic dental nightmare. And he’s back to wiggling it at me and sticking it out at me. And yesterday he gets off the bus and says “Mom, I showed all the girls in my class my tooth and they all said GROSS! But you’re the only one who won’t even look at it.” (shudder) Have I mentioned how fricken much I hate teeth? I never pulled any of my own teeth. I waited until they fell out. I don’t even know how to get those suckers out. I almost fainted when Steve started wiggling it around for him. I gagged and had to look away.

Yesterday I saw the Dad who I laughed at, and told him how I was paying so dearly for that. He laughed and said “Yeah, um, NEVER laugh at another parent’s trauma.” So, so right. Hold me.

 

Tournament Results

You’ve all been on pins and needles waiting for the results, haven’t you? ;) I have to say that the tournament was a great experience for everyone. It wasn’t what I expected, but we’re all ready to do it again. Having been a swimmer my whole life, for some reason I expected the tournament to go like a swim meet, with everything going on in a linear, serial order. As it turned out, there were 9 rings and at one point three Teixeiras were in three of those rings AT THE SAME TIME. Because of the confusion and everything going on at once, while Steve and son #1 were watching son #2’s fight, they completely missed me and my fights. I was jumping up and down waving in my ring trying to get their attention, but alas, they weren’t even looking in my direction.

There are two types of things you can do at the tournament. You can show Kata, which is a series of fight moves, sort of like a routine or there is Kumite which is fighting (sparring). In my style of martial arts, Hapkido, we don’t do Kata, but Steve and the kids do. So Steve and son #1 entered the Kata divisions for their ages and belt ranks. Son #2 is still in the little kids’ classes where they don’t even learn a full Kata yet, so he didn’t feel comfortable entering Kata. Our intention was that son #2 was going to watch this time. However, Saturday morning he woke up and first insisted, then demanded that we let him enter the Kumite division. Son #2 has never sparred. The little kids do not spar until they are older. The only sparring son #2 has done was in our living room, with us, about 3 months ago. After much insistence and howling, we finally agreed to let him spar and I prayed it would go well for him. Son #1’s sensei had already taken me aside and told me that she did not think son #1 should spar because he is still not 100% from his broken hip. Two other senseis that know son #1 well also said we should not let him spar in this tournament. Son #1 was MOST unhappy about this, let me tell you. As it turned out, that was really good advice. The kids fighting in son #1’s division were much more experienced fighters and I have no doubt there’s a good chance he could have gotten hurt.

So anyway, Steve was first showing Kata. Here’s Steve showing his stuff:

He won a fourth place medal. YAY STEVE! I actually thought Steve’s Kata was going to score him even higher, because I thought his was cleaner and better than the other guys. He thinks he may have made a technical error when he bowed to the judges that lost him some points. That’s the thing about us being so new to all this. We don’t even know all the rules yet.

Son #1 was up next with his Kata. He did a beautiful job. Probably the best I’ve ever seen him do it. There were a ton of kids in his division so I was worried about him placing. However he earned himself a fourth place medal as well! YAY SON #1!!!

Halfway through his Kata, I noticed that Steve was beating people up over there in ring #7 (all the way on the other side of the gym) and son #2 was getting ready to fight in the ring next to son #1. I was running back and forth between the three rings. Let’s say it together: THREE RING NIGHTMARE!

I did manage to catch a few shots of Steve’s first fight before I had to run back. He kicked ass and took names (look at the look on his face):

We had planned on video taping the fights and posting them for your perusal, however we have a semi-new video camera and I could not figure out how to get it to work and I couldn’t ask Steve because he was…well, busy. Steve lost his next fight. However, everyone who saw the fight, said Steve won the match. I had to watch bits and pieces of his second match from across the gym. I didn’t get to see most of the fight. We’re thinking there was some kind of conspiracy going on. That’s my theory anyway. We think there might have been a second kicker on the grassy knoll. Anyway, Steve did not place in sparring.

With Steve just finishing up and son #2 starting his division *I* got called for my fight. GAH! This was totally nerve wracking. There was no way I was leaving son #2 to fight in his first-ever sparring match alone. I found a mom I knew to keep an eye on him while I ran to other side of the gym and checked in. I spent the next 20 minutes running back and forth between my ring and son #2’s ring. I was truly terrified for him. There were a ton of kids in his division (7 and 8 year olds) and son #2 just turned 7. Although he is huge for his age, there were some ginormous kids about to turn 9 that must have outweighed him by 50 pounds. And many of these kids looked like they had done a good amount of sparring. It was enough to make me weak in the knees. I prayed he wouldn’t get hurt. He’s a really tough kid, but yikes! In the end, he did fantastic. It still brings tears to my eyes. Son #2 ended up winning a sixth place medal. Gutsy kid, eh? He’s a natural born fighter like his father.

So then it was my turn. Do you know what my biggest fear going into this tournament was? That I would get disqualified for power (hitting too hard.) Since most of my experience is sparring with men, I tend to hit a lot harder than most other women. Also under pressure, I hit hard. Sigh. So I spent most of the several days beforehand worrying about getting disqualified. Hapkido sparring has different rules. I didn’t even know all the rules for this style of fighting. I listened in on the rules in son #2’s ring. However, I later learned that each ring’s judge can amend or alter the rules. My ring judge never went over the rules. Turns out in his ring, the head and face aren’t targets. Which is unfortunate, because I really love to go head hunting. So I actually ended up losing one of my fights because after repeatedly getting called for power, he started deducting points. I wasn’t being defiant. The woman I was sparring against had been given some very poor advice before the match. They told her to charge. So every time the judge yelled go, she charged at me like a bull, outweighing me by probably 100 pounds yelling like a lunatic. And every single time, I first put a foot in her belly, then a right and a left to her head. Every time. She just kept charging me. Charging is extremely dangerous. If you’re fighting someone with poor control, you could be very seriously injured. And the judge was getting angrier and angrier at me for hitting her in the head but she was shorter than me and bent over charging so I really had no other targets. It was extremely frustrating to lose this match. I mean losing a fight because you hit too hard? Sigh. After the match she said “We could fight 999 more times and I’d never beat you again. That was a total fluke.” Sigh. My other fight was over in less than 2 minutes. I beat her 3-0. She never even got to touch me. In fact when the judge said go and she put both fists turned towards her body and in front of her face, I actually felt sorry for her. I almost said “Honey, you don’t want to fight me like that. I’m gonna knock one of those fists into your own face.” But I didn’t. I just kicked her until I won. And so? I WON A HUGE THIRD PLACE TROPHY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Unfortunately there are no photos since the whole family missed my fights. I don’t even have a decent picture of me with the trophy because Steve gave son #1 the camera and well….he’s not a good photographer.

Steve SAYS he has video of me getting my trophy, but it turns out we do not have a cable we need to download it to the computer. When/if he gets the cable, I’ll post it. If you’re wondering about the black gi (uniform) in a sea of white uniforms, it’s because 90% of the people at this tournament were Karate people who wear white gis. We wear black in Hapkido. It’s not a good vs. evil thing. ;D

So there it is, folks, our first karate tournament.

 

 

 

Shut up Floozywhore!

Ok, so I admit I’m a slow talker. I spent the greater part of my childhood in Louisiana where the cadence of speech is much slower than these west coast folks. However, on rare occasions, I have been known to fast talk. While Steve was trying to eat soup last night, I was fast talking up a storm. The consequences were that Steve’s soup came through his nose a few times….

Me: OHMYGOD! You should have been at the dojo tonight. This FLOOZY came in and sat down right next to me! She was overweight and dressed in the tight clothes, with the rolls of fat hanging out and the cleavage spilling all over the place! She was wearing a ton of make up with so many hair products, I’m not sure her hair moves! And this huge, pus filled zit on her upper lip! OHMYGOD! So she sits down next to me and she REEKS of booze and onions and-

Steve: (soup through the nose)-desperation?

Me: YES! Booze and onions and desperation! So I’m sitting there minding my own business and she starts bragging about her son. Who is seven and she claims is so excellent at karate and he’s been doing it for two years! I asked her which child it was and when she pointed him out he was a yellow belt! (means he’s only been doing karate for 4-8 months) And so I said “If he’s been doing karate for two years, why is he still a yellow belt?” Then she proceeds to stutter and says how he took a month or two off, then the month or two grows to 8 months, but it had to be longer than that, I mean, do the math! But then she starts talking about how good he is and I almost said “SHUTUPFLOOZYWHORE!” (soup through the nose again) because ya know what? The kid wasn’t very good!!!!

After Steve stopped choking on his soup he kept laughing and saying “Booze and onions and desperation….SHUTUPFLOOZYWHORE!!!!” all night long….Seriously though….. Shut the hell up Floozywhore!

 

There’s a wocket in my pocket…

Get yer mind out the gutter! My sons are having to do a survey for school on what people’s favorite Dr. Seuss book is. It’s a really tough decision for me. I’m having trouble deciding between There’s a Wocket in my Pocket and Fox in Socks. But I also love Green Eggs and Ham, One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish, Hand, Hand, Fingers, Thumb, Old Hat New Hat, and The Cat and the Hat. I love Yertle the Turtle, Horton and the Sneeches! And of course, there’s always the Grinch. I just can’t make a decision! The kids still need a few more people for their survey. So what’s your favorite Dr. Seuss book?

 

The worst advice my parents ever gave me…

Steve and I were talking about the kids the other day and we were talking about colleges and how we didn’t have anything vested in where they went to college. We’ve also repeatedly told the kids that when they grow up, they should do whatever makes them happy. They should pick a major and career that they love. Because we both believe that the key to happiness in life is doing what you love. I’ve mentioned before that I’m back in school on Fridays taking art classes. My parents never felt “Art” was a worthy major and repeatedly told me that I would never make any money doing it. Because to my parents, being happy in life is equivalent to making lots of money. And unfortunately, I listened to this advice and changed my major. This is probably my greatest regret in life. I love art. There’s something magic that happens inside me when I put a brush to canvas or sink my hands into clay on a pottery wheel. It’s soul satisfying. So every Friday, I’m back at the pottery wheel and every Friday I am reminded how much I truly love art. I’m considering going back for my master’s degree in art, although I think I need to wait until the kids are a little older and self sufficient.

Terrible piece of advice #2: There’s nothing wrong with the kids, they’ll be fine/outgrow it/ you’re making him have something wrong. My oldest child has severe sensory integration. He has an ADHD diagnosis, hypotonia (low muscle tone throughout his body) and dysgraphia. On some level, I’ve known since he was an infant that “something was wrong” but every time I voiced my fears, my parents said he’ll be fine/ you’re going to make something wrong etc, etc. He wasn’t diagnosed until he was five. And for those first two to three years after diagnosis my parents fought me tooth and nail about getting him therapy and help. They insisted nothing was wrong with him. They insisted therapy was a waste of time. At 10, he has come a long way, but is still receiving special education assistance. I can not fathom what his life would be like had I listened to that terrible piece of advice. Son #2 would even be worse off. He had significant developmental delays in speech and social areas. I didn’t wait or listen with him. He started various therapies at 16 months old. At seven, he is still receiving private therapy, but he no longer needs special education assistance in school. I am grateful every single day that I didn’t listen to their advice to ignore what I knew was something wrong.

Perhaps the absolutely BEST piece of advice my parents gave me was to dump Steve. When we met, Steve had a major heart condition, called Wofle Parkinson White Syndrome. He nearly died from it one night early in our relationship. His heart went into atrial fibrillation. After hours, I finally convinced him to go to the hospital by telling him I was calling 911 AND the police if he didn’t go. Two minutes after we walked in the door of the hospital, Steve had a blood pressure of 86/84 (no blood pressure) and a heartbeat of 320 beats per minute. Every available nurse, doctor and paramedic was in the room trying to save him. At one point, I heard two nurses saying he wasn’t going to make it. Steve was finally properly diagnosed a few weeks later. He had surgery later that year to correct it and now has normal heart function. My mother constantly told me “You should NOT be involved with anyone with a medical condition.” What was truly behind my parents motivation was that Steve did not come from a wealthy family. And the real reason was that he wasn’t rich. He was from “the other side of the tracks.” I am so grateful Every. Single. Day. that I ignored this advice.

I hope that I never give my children advice based on my own baggage or motivations. That my judgement is not clouded by my own aspirations for them, but by what is truly best for them. So how about you? What was the worst piece/pieces of advice your parents ever gave you?

 

The story of the hillbilly tooth and Karma….

My children have always been one of the last kids in their classes to lose their teeth. And for some reason, I have complete amnesia about son #1 losing his front teeth.

Son #2 is now at the age where all the kids are losing their front teeth. And all the parents are complaining about the disgusting, loose front teeth that hang there, then slowly migrate around in the mouth until it is sticking straight out like a buck tooth from hell, or overlapping the other front tooth.

A couple of months ago I heard a dad telling his son that the front tooth HAD to come out THAT DAY because it looked terrible. And I told the child to smile at me and he grins and his front tooth is all bucktooth and turned. I screamed with laughter. Dad muttered “Not funny. Hideous.” And I laughed for the next 10 minutes and every time I saw this child until that tooth finally came out weeks later. I laughed because I had no recollection of this happening with son #1 and was absolutely positive this sort of thing would not happen to me. Until……. son #2 developed what is heretofore known as THE HILLBILLY TOOTH. It’s horrible. And I have found myself saying repeatedly, “SON! That tooth HAS GOT to come out NOW!” And he has taken to just sticking the tooth out and smiling to torture me. And in case you think it can’t possibly be that bad, let me introduce you to the hillbilly tooth:

Ah yes, folks, this is the punishment one receives for laughing at another parent’s pain. It is also commonly known as KARMA. Oh yeah, keep laughing, you will get yours too….

Because Karma is a biotch.

 

A lesson on manners….

Son #2 is sitting in Steve’s lap when Steve suddenly shoves him off and says “THAT’S RUDE!!” Son #2 says innocently “What?” Steve sternly says ” We DO NOT fart on people!” To which son #2 innocently asks “You tell them first?”

 

Horizontal blogging, better than throwing up….

I’m trying something new today. It’s called horizontal blogging. I chose this new style of blogging because laying down is so much better than sitting  up. Also because every time I sit up, I get dizzy and want to throw up. I haven’t had the flu since the early 90’s when I was working in a high school and they made me get a flu shot. Which gave me the flu every flippen year.  They used the live virus back in those days. Consequently I’ve refused to get a flu shot ever since and I’ve done fine thankyouverymuch.

Until last Friday. I was feeling smug and triumphant because for 2 weeks I had managed to avoid the illness that had taken out the rest of the family. Then last Friday I started sneezing hard enough to blow off the top of my head. And then my hose nose started to run. OMYGAWD, did it run. By Saturday I woke up as a gargoyle. I had one eye partially swollen shut, a Rudolph red nose, and sinus pain so bad in my face and teeth, I could barely move. Moving my eyes was so painful. As soon as I stood up, I think the top of my head did explode, cuz Holy Shiites it hurt. Steve had also taken a turn for the worst. To illustrate how much pain I was in, I AGREED TO GO TO THE ER! ‘Member I said I wouldn’t go unless I was unconscious or dying? Well lemme tell you, the pain was so bad, death would have been welcome. Lemme just say though at this point? Had the ER docs actually done their jobs and tested us for the flu? I might be sitting upright right now and not wished I were dead all week. Steve and I just got sicker and sicker. And by Tuesday we had a doctor come out to the house because neither of us could sit upright. THIS doctor recognized the signs and tested us for flu. Well, she tested Steve while I looked on in horror as she shoved a giant Q tip 6 inches into his nose. I looked at her and told her I was going to throw up on her if she did that to me. He tested positive immediately. Excpet by this time it was too late for Tamaflu. Oh and if you were wondering? Steve had a flu shot this year. Which makes me giggle. Stupid, useless flu shots I HATE THEM!

So here I lay, laptop burning a hole in my lap, eyeballs moving painfully in their sockets, and feeling like I might throw up on you. Comments left unanswered, kleenex shoved into each nostil, and all I can do is hope that tomorrow might be the day I can sit up. I haven’t forgotten about you dear internetz, I’m just trying to keep from throwing up or passing out. Oh which reminds me, Steve has never passed out before so he didn’t recognize the signs, and when the world went black, he tried to stumble blindly around the kitchen and ran into cabinets like a bumper car until he fell down. Then he decided to lay there awhile hoping someone would find him. Son #2 eventually did, however did not find it odd to wake up and find Daddy on the kitchen floor. He stood over Steve’s carcass and proceeded to prattle on and on about dragons and swords, never wondering WHY Daddy was on the floor. lol. I have instructed him for future reference that it is NOT normal to find people on the kitchen floor and it would probably be a good idea to come get me next time.

We are pathetically sick over here. So send some well vibes our way, people. I desperately want to feel better!

 

I see your bad day and raise you mine…

Steve called me on the way home to complain about the tough day he’d had. I said “Look Buddy, it wasn’t all kittens and roses here!” To which he said “You don’t even know. You don’t have to hire and fire people and interview them and go to meetings…… It was an exhausting day.” I made a face at him through the phone and hung up shortly after.

Twenty minutes after getting home I find him in the kitchen, with a panicked look on his face and he says “I wanna go back to work! I’d rather be hiring and firing….Can I go back to work?” I angrily snapped at him “No you can’t. Now get them some milk and shut the hell up before I kill you. Ten hours of this, Baby! Just. Shut. The. Hell. Up.”

 

An open letter to the kids…

Dear Children,

Can I say how glad I am that you’re both feeling better today? Because now that you’re both upright and vocal, I am just SO pleased. Son #2, I really appreciate the fact that you can now walk over and sneeze and cough on me as opposed to only when I came near you. And your brother and I both really appreciate your attempts to wipe snot on us. Son #1, I want to thank you for walking over to my lunch, saying “What’s this?” and then coughing into it. Because I needed to lose a few pounds anyway. I love that you two are now able to scream and fight too. Because I was really worried about that. I was worried you might never be able to argue, bicker, or complain about each other again. What a relief. And high pitched shrieks followed by a long, drawn out, MOOOOOOMMMMMM always makes me grateful for having given birth.

I want to thank you both for making sure that every single time I’ve tried to sit down for the last 9 hours, you two have had some sort of demand: I want more water/ I want medicine/ I’m going to barf/ Take this/ I need a blanket/ I want food/ I want ice cream/ change the channel/ hand me whatever is three inches from where I’m sitting/ I need kleenex/ I’m bored.

I appreciate that you, son #2, are demanding I walk into the other room and hand you something that’s 12 inches away from you on the table. Son #1, I’m really grateful for your stopped-up nose that is making you chew noisely with your mouth open. 

I am grateful for the opportunity to serve as the household butler. I remember always wanting to be one of those when I grew up. I also like that you cry if I won’t jump to attention within 15 seconds for lack of having four sets of hands.

Kids, this has been a real pleasure today. I can’t WAIT to get up and do it all again tomorrow. Glad to see you’re feeling better and you two haven’t let a silly thing like pneumonia get in the way.

Love,

Mom

 

Boys….Sigh……

Ok, remember the barf bag with the squished bug? I’m driving along yesterday and son #2 says “Here, Mom” all casual and all, and just so you know, if you’re a mother to boys, DO NOT stick out your hand. It’s NEVER good. You don’t even want to know the hideous things these children have handed me over the years. So of course, I stick out my hand and it closes over the empty ziploc bag and as I look down, I see the massive, disgusting squished bug. I almost wrecked the damn car! HE GAVE IT BACK TO ME! Oh no he di’nt! I yell “What the….I DON’T WANT YOUR SQUISHED BUG!” And then son #1 shouts “LEMME SEE! I WANNA SEE! PASS IT BACK HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!  MMOOOOOMMMM LEMMMEEE SEEEEEEEEE” Sigh.

 

It was NOT “like that”

I’ve spent most of the last twenty years saying that. I’ve been around since my brother in law was 9. This kid has been a handful since the day he was born. By a year old he would regularly paint his bedroom walls with poop. By the time he was 5, he was cutting kindergarten. By the time I came along, this kid had trouble down pat. And when he got caught? He always said “It was like that.” Through the years I’ve noticed that Steve and his sister use “it was like that” and now, my own son regularly responds with “it was like that!” Which causes a full body spasm, arms waving, eyes rolling into the back of the head, teeth clenched while I yell “IT WAS NOT ‘LIKE THAT’ !!!!!!!!!!!”

Over Christmas Steve’s sister broke his mom’s computer and so he got her on the phone and said “What the hell did you do to mom’s computer?!” Her answer? “It was like that.” Staci, IT WAS NOT “LIKE THAT”!!!!!!!!!

The kitchen sink was completely stopped up the other morning and I had to call a plumber AGAIN. I’m staring into the sink all annoyed and said to Steve “You put coffee grounds and egg shells down the disposal again, didn’t you?!” And do you know what he had the nerve to say?! “It was like that when I woke up.”

Nothing makes me snap like those four little words. Son #1 threw a bunch of little army men all over the floor of son #2’s room this morning. Upon being confronted, he said “It was like that!” GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IT WAS NOT “LIKE THAT”!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

After twenty years, Steve’s brother can’t even look me in the eye and say “it was like that” without starting to laugh. Because immediately my face goes all purple, eyes start rolling back and my mouth opens to scream. And just for the record IT WAS NOT LIKE THAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

There’s a bug in my barf….

I think I’ve told you before how son #2 has had reflux since birth. He’s been on daily meds his whole life. I’m sure it’s obvious that since he takes medicine twice a day, sometimes we forget a dose. I pay dearly for that. It means that in the next 48 hours, sometime, somewhere, he will barf. Sometimes it’s predictable, sometimes not. I keep a handful of ziploc bags in my car because he frequently decides that vomiting is the best way to travel by car. Sigh. Last week he threw up twice. So on Friday, I handed him back a ziploc bag, because “I don’t feel good” is always followed by BRAAAAPPPPP! and then more vomiting and gagging sounds. After 7 years, it still makes me jump. So Friday after I passed the bag to the back seat the following conversation took place:

Son #2: EWWWW! I squished a bug on my barf bag……Gross……
Me: Mmmm. Ew.
Son #2: It has orange guts! Ok! I need a new barf bag.
Me: EW! Why do you need a new barf bag?
Son #2: BECAAAAUUUUUSSSEEEE! There’s orange bug guts on it!
Me: SO?!? Are you afraid of getting bug in your barf?
Son #2: MOOOOMMM!
Me: Oh! You’re afraid of getting barf on your bug?
Son #2: MOOOOMMMM!!! NOOOOOOO!!!!! The bug is GROSSSSSSSSS….
Me: WHAT?!?! I’m not getting how a squished bug is any grosser than your barf and why they can’t be mixed.
(silence)
Son #2: Mom?
Me: What?
Son #2: I need a new barf bag.
Me: Why?

lather. rinse. repeat.

 

I’m a fighter not a lover…

Uh, ya’ll? You should see my face today. I’ve got dark shadows under each eye, the bridge of my nose hurts and my eyes are all swollen. Apparently in sparring class, I WAS NOT PROTECTING MY HEAD! Son #1 was cleared to return to contact sports on Friday so he attended the sparring class. He’s responsible for the left eye. As soon as he started sparring, he was throwing full force punches and kicks and charging in at me. I know from last week, when I hit a twelve year old black belt squarely in the face when he charged me, that this is what I do under pressure. What happens is that once you get hit pretty hard and your heart rate and adrenaline shoot up, you lose the ability to think and can only react. Good fighters want you in that position. Inexperienced fighters do it but without knowing they’re doing it. I was terrified that I was going to seriously hurt my own child, so I was not hitting back. I was losing my cool with him because he was reckless and throwing wild haymakers. Ergo, I was taking a beating, while not making contact with him. By the third round sparring with him, I’d had it. So every time he came charging in, I put him on the ground. I figured that was probably the safest place for him. Plus, it made me laugh when he was all sprawled out on the ground and I hadn’t even hit him. Martial arts are cool. lol.

You’ll be happy to know that Steve did not cause any of the damage to my face yesterday. We were both pretty tired by the time we got to spar each other. It was hard to even lift our arms. My feet felt like they were glued to the ground. Whew. People see us walking out of sparring class and say “Wow, all of you come here? Things must get pretty interesting in your house!” To which I always reply “Ever seen the movie Mr. and Mrs. Smith? It’s like that.”

I’m a fighter, not a lover anyway. ;D

 

I’m sorry, you must be mistaking me for someone else. I’ve already finished elementary school.

Ok, ya’ll. I have HAD IT! HAD. IT. Son #1 and I are doing the “I don’t have homework” battle again. Actually he came home, sat at the table and after 30 seconds, yelled DONE! And picked up son #2’s iPod and starting playing games on it. OMFG ya’ll. GAHHHHHHHH! And for two God-Blessed hours I have been trying to get son #2 to do his homework packets. And ya’ll? Nada. Abso-fricken-lutely NADA.

Their teachers are leaving this battle, this fricken’ NIGHTMARE to me. And as of today? I wash my hands of it. All of it. I am not going to spend every damn afternoon fighting with my kids to do homework that there are no consequences for if they don’t do it! Forget it! Son #1 had a HUGE project due in November that I just found out last week that he never turned in. Were there consequences? No. Was there communication to me that he never turned it in? No. Ergo I am DONE.

Son #2 has missed more than a month of school total due to illness. As a first grader, my feeling is that if he missed it, they should toss the work. Instead his teacher wants him to do it all at home. Consequently, he has more homework weekly than my fifth grader. And I’m tired of trying to force a seven year old to spend hours every night doing homework. It’s not happening anymore. Done. Done. Done. DONNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEE!!!!! I ALREADY COMPLETED ELEMENTARY SCHOOL!!!!!!!!!

Just quietly back away. There’s no helping me at this point…. ;D