If one were to draw the caricature of a mom, I imagine it to look like a cross between Wonder Woman--constantly deflecting problems and challenges with her arm bands of gold. Lassooing people causing the family strife and sequestering them in an off-shore establishment---and Mary Poppins---providing giggles and fun while galloping on carousel horses and singing about the nonsense of the world while rooms magically clean themselves.
The following are the problems I deflected with my arm bands this week, while singing:
1. 10 year old spelling challenges: he now has to write out (grammatically correct) whatever he wants to tell or ask us. BAM!
2. Meals prepped in advance. BAM!
3. Vacuuming in the "igloo," while raising "Coco" our daughter's Arctic Fox alter ego. BAM!
4. Creating a Thing 1 Costume for school play. BAM!
5. Loads of laundry beyond comprehension due to an outbreak of diarreaha in our youngest child. BAM!
6. Invented a solution to curb constant poop laundry. BAM!
Which brings me to this...So, yes, your son is wearing a Maxi-Pad. He believes it is a specially designed strip of "diaper" for "Poop Splats." Unless you want to do laundry, don't crush the dream. BAM!
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
Friday, January 10, 2014
That just happened...
Wow. So December is done. Clearly a blur of crafts and Elves (with a capital E) and chocolate covered everything. On to 2014.
We've gone "even"--with 6, 8, and 10 heading into 2014.
This first week back at school has been a jolt back to reality and the next growing year of change.
Our 8 yr old came home the other day and announced that a child at school called her a "rubber penis."
"What?!?!" I said. "What do you mean?"
"He said I was a rubber penis."
Still looking totally perplexed I said, "Did he just walk up to you, slug you on the shoulder and say 'Hey rubber penis?' I, mean...huh?"
"No. He had a made up word for it, but then he told me what it was."
My face still totally scrunched as if looking at a science exam for a class I had never attended.
"He called it a 'gilbo' or 'gilgo'....I dunno...something like that."
"A DILDO!?!?" I inquired in horror and disbelief.
"Yea. A dildo."
"First of all nice vocab...and secondly did the teacher hear him!?"
"Yea. She talked to him for a little bit."
"What's a dildo?" asked our 6 and 10 year old entering the room.
I wanted to say "this kid is," but, my inner child sat down in the back of the 'office' and I replied, "It's a rubber penis."
"Oh....why?" They inquired. What's it for?"
Again, the inner child writhing to break free, longing to say----but I pushed her down and instead said, "It's just silliness. And totally inappropriate for kids your age to talk about. Let's go eat dinner."
After everyone had eaten, fortunately, our dog's butt exploded. Poor little pooch looked terrified and confused and, for the first time in his life, feeble. It was disgusting. It happened four times, and then we sought medical treatment. Seems okay now, but it sort of wrapped up this next year in a pretty little package...Geriatric dogs, and dildos. To 2014! Game on.
We've gone "even"--with 6, 8, and 10 heading into 2014.
This first week back at school has been a jolt back to reality and the next growing year of change.
Our 8 yr old came home the other day and announced that a child at school called her a "rubber penis."
"What?!?!" I said. "What do you mean?"
"He said I was a rubber penis."
Still looking totally perplexed I said, "Did he just walk up to you, slug you on the shoulder and say 'Hey rubber penis?' I, mean...huh?"
"No. He had a made up word for it, but then he told me what it was."
My face still totally scrunched as if looking at a science exam for a class I had never attended.
"He called it a 'gilbo' or 'gilgo'....I dunno...something like that."
"A DILDO!?!?" I inquired in horror and disbelief.
"Yea. A dildo."
"First of all nice vocab...and secondly did the teacher hear him!?"
"Yea. She talked to him for a little bit."
"What's a dildo?" asked our 6 and 10 year old entering the room.
I wanted to say "this kid is," but, my inner child sat down in the back of the 'office' and I replied, "It's a rubber penis."
"Oh....why?" They inquired. What's it for?"
Again, the inner child writhing to break free, longing to say----but I pushed her down and instead said, "It's just silliness. And totally inappropriate for kids your age to talk about. Let's go eat dinner."
After everyone had eaten, fortunately, our dog's butt exploded. Poor little pooch looked terrified and confused and, for the first time in his life, feeble. It was disgusting. It happened four times, and then we sought medical treatment. Seems okay now, but it sort of wrapped up this next year in a pretty little package...Geriatric dogs, and dildos. To 2014! Game on.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Making Dinner--A Play in One Act
Action takes place in a kitchen small kitchen. Mother starts on stage. To the right of the mother we find an oven range with flames on, and to the right of the flames...knives. On the counter there are several items that need to be chopped, heated and/or sauteed. The actor playing the mother will attempt to move quickly from the counter top, around to the refrigerator and back. This should not be made easy for her by the other actors. Occasionally she will be manipulated off stage.
(Set should be designed to include a circular traffic pattern which will allow two small children to race around--as if on a mini track--behind the mother, bumping her closer to the open flames as they pass by.
Set also requires a dishwasher that opens flat creating a low, but wide hurdle for said racing children).
Prop list:
Cups
Knives
Bottle of wine
Food to be prepared
Cutting board
Dog dish with MAX painted on the side
Cast:
Mom (30's-40's)
Occasionally there is reference to "Max" the dog. No dog is needed on stage.
Child 1 (10 yr old boy who is feeling fragile and passively concerned he might be terminal with all the "flu-like" symptoms he has been having)
Child 2 (8 yr old girl who is apt to be ecstatic or deeply depressed at any moment. These moods need to be able to switch on a dime---much like an insane adult)
Child 3 (6 yr old boy who thinks life is amazing and wonderful and full of loud energy. Actor should study Will Ferrell in Elf for direction)
Child actors are encouraged to talk over each other as if no one was talking at all. Frequently.
Lights up
Child 1: Mom, when I look at something for too long, I get really sick to my stomach.
Mom squeezes past child standing by dishwasher to get butter out of fridge.
M: Why don't you go lie down for a little bit, Buddy. You haven't had much to eat lately.
1: But when I lie down, I...
2: Mom! Watch my dance! (daughter runs offstage, cranks up "So What", by PINK and runs back in striking a pose)
1: Hey! I was talking...
2: Mom! Watch! ("So What, I am a Rockstar, I got my rock moves, and I don't need you..." she is dancing as if having taken Pole dancing lessons on the sly...)
1: Moooommmm...
M: I think it's best if you go lay down for a bit... (Butter has burned in the pan. Rinse and repeat)
Child one moves off stage...
2: Mom are you watching? (Danna na na na na naaaaaaa Danna na na na naaaaa....)
3: Mom! Guess What!
M: Where did you just come from? (squeezing past both children to get to the fridge) Can you guys stand somewhere else?
3: I was drawing outside in Daddy's office. And look! I have 4 papers!
1: (from offstage) Moooom...
M: What Buddy?
2: Mom! Are you even watching me?
1: I just got a really sharp pain in my chest.
M: Is it still there?
3: And on all the papers, I have drawn dragons! And we are all dragons! And we all have powers! Do you want to know what your power is?
M: I do. (And glancing over at child 2) I am.
1: No, but it felt really weird.
2: Mom! Watch!
3: Well, Max's power is that he has tornado legs! He doesn't get sucked up in them, but bad people do. And we all have wings! Even Max!
2: Mom! Did you see that?
(Butter has burned. Rinse and Repeat.)
M: (addressing all things) I did! That was awesome! Where did you learn that move?! I love the dragons, do you want to go work on them in the living room? Take your brother this ice pack. It might help.
3: But, do you want to know my power?----
M: I need you guys out of the kitchen.
3: My power is all the powers! That's why I have all the colors!
M: That's very clever. I keep burning the pan and dinner is not getting made. Please. Go someplace else for a bit.
3, 2: Okay.
1: Mom, can they not be in the living room? I'm trying to rest.
2: I have an idea...
(2 and 3 begin to chase each other around the kitchen like a wolf chasing a chicken. As dinner progresses, the dishwasher is lowered)
There is bumping, squealing and leaping.
M: GET OUT!!!! (Mom happens to be holding large knife from cutting vegetables)
(2,3 giggle and go upstairs)
For a few minutes, there is silence on stage, Mom pours glass of wine, flips fish...sips and calls upstairs.
M: WHOSE TURN IS IT TO SET THE TABLE?!
Footsteps are heard running down the stairs.
3: Oooh! Mine! I love setting the table!
2: Ugh. Not dinner. What are we having?
1: I don't think I can eat.
Scene
(Set should be designed to include a circular traffic pattern which will allow two small children to race around--as if on a mini track--behind the mother, bumping her closer to the open flames as they pass by.
Set also requires a dishwasher that opens flat creating a low, but wide hurdle for said racing children).
Prop list:
Cups
Knives
Bottle of wine
Food to be prepared
Cutting board
Dog dish with MAX painted on the side
Cast:
Mom (30's-40's)
Occasionally there is reference to "Max" the dog. No dog is needed on stage.
Child 1 (10 yr old boy who is feeling fragile and passively concerned he might be terminal with all the "flu-like" symptoms he has been having)
Child 2 (8 yr old girl who is apt to be ecstatic or deeply depressed at any moment. These moods need to be able to switch on a dime---much like an insane adult)
Child 3 (6 yr old boy who thinks life is amazing and wonderful and full of loud energy. Actor should study Will Ferrell in Elf for direction)
Child actors are encouraged to talk over each other as if no one was talking at all. Frequently.
Lights up
Child 1: Mom, when I look at something for too long, I get really sick to my stomach.
Mom squeezes past child standing by dishwasher to get butter out of fridge.
M: Why don't you go lie down for a little bit, Buddy. You haven't had much to eat lately.
1: But when I lie down, I...
2: Mom! Watch my dance! (daughter runs offstage, cranks up "So What", by PINK and runs back in striking a pose)
1: Hey! I was talking...
2: Mom! Watch! ("So What, I am a Rockstar, I got my rock moves, and I don't need you..." she is dancing as if having taken Pole dancing lessons on the sly...)
1: Moooommmm...
M: I think it's best if you go lay down for a bit... (Butter has burned in the pan. Rinse and repeat)
Child one moves off stage...
2: Mom are you watching? (Danna na na na na naaaaaaa Danna na na na naaaaa....)
3: Mom! Guess What!
M: Where did you just come from? (squeezing past both children to get to the fridge) Can you guys stand somewhere else?
3: I was drawing outside in Daddy's office. And look! I have 4 papers!
1: (from offstage) Moooom...
M: What Buddy?
2: Mom! Are you even watching me?
1: I just got a really sharp pain in my chest.
M: Is it still there?
3: And on all the papers, I have drawn dragons! And we are all dragons! And we all have powers! Do you want to know what your power is?
M: I do. (And glancing over at child 2) I am.
1: No, but it felt really weird.
2: Mom! Watch!
3: Well, Max's power is that he has tornado legs! He doesn't get sucked up in them, but bad people do. And we all have wings! Even Max!
2: Mom! Did you see that?
(Butter has burned. Rinse and Repeat.)
M: (addressing all things) I did! That was awesome! Where did you learn that move?! I love the dragons, do you want to go work on them in the living room? Take your brother this ice pack. It might help.
3: But, do you want to know my power?----
M: I need you guys out of the kitchen.
3: My power is all the powers! That's why I have all the colors!
M: That's very clever. I keep burning the pan and dinner is not getting made. Please. Go someplace else for a bit.
3, 2: Okay.
1: Mom, can they not be in the living room? I'm trying to rest.
2: I have an idea...
(2 and 3 begin to chase each other around the kitchen like a wolf chasing a chicken. As dinner progresses, the dishwasher is lowered)
There is bumping, squealing and leaping.
M: GET OUT!!!! (Mom happens to be holding large knife from cutting vegetables)
(2,3 giggle and go upstairs)
For a few minutes, there is silence on stage, Mom pours glass of wine, flips fish...sips and calls upstairs.
M: WHOSE TURN IS IT TO SET THE TABLE?!
Footsteps are heard running down the stairs.
3: Oooh! Mine! I love setting the table!
2: Ugh. Not dinner. What are we having?
1: I don't think I can eat.
Scene
Thursday, November 21, 2013
Patience, young Jedi...
Humbled once again. Just when I throw my hands up, stomp my feet, and wish for a magic wand to solve all...the answer appears. I just needed to be patient. Time is an amazing thing, and if we can slow ourselves down long enough to move at "time's" pace, it will all be fine.
As documented in the previous "blog" I, was feeling particularly defeated by the sport of wrestling and our sons. Apparently, it takes all of us getting to that special level of frustration, mixed with undocumented hours of practice to generate one of the biggest "highs" in wrestling history (of our family) ever.
As the practice started, just like last weeks and the weeks before, the boys encircled their "head coach" looking clueless and defeated. The "head coach" (aka...you) said, in a loving, gentle and compassionate tone, "Get outta here! Go find someone to wrestle. I can't deal with this every time."
And minutes later, begat unto us, were two wrestlers. They were not only trying, but mauling, in fierce frustration, and succeeding with great glee!
While typing this, it feels very contradictory to their natural demeanor to applaud and celebrate such aggression, BUT this is not a celebration of "attacking" it is a celebration of determination, and perseverance. And the smile on their faces, after succeeding was priceless. Not only did they prove they could do it, but they proved to themselves that they really DO get less hurt if they try...which is incentive enough all on its own.
I have to admit, for the first time. Ever. I am actually looking forward to Saturday's tournament.
I may bring a sedative or something just in case though...
Proud of our boys.
As documented in the previous "blog" I, was feeling particularly defeated by the sport of wrestling and our sons. Apparently, it takes all of us getting to that special level of frustration, mixed with undocumented hours of practice to generate one of the biggest "highs" in wrestling history (of our family) ever.
As the practice started, just like last weeks and the weeks before, the boys encircled their "head coach" looking clueless and defeated. The "head coach" (aka...you) said, in a loving, gentle and compassionate tone, "Get outta here! Go find someone to wrestle. I can't deal with this every time."
And minutes later, begat unto us, were two wrestlers. They were not only trying, but mauling, in fierce frustration, and succeeding with great glee!
While typing this, it feels very contradictory to their natural demeanor to applaud and celebrate such aggression, BUT this is not a celebration of "attacking" it is a celebration of determination, and perseverance. And the smile on their faces, after succeeding was priceless. Not only did they prove they could do it, but they proved to themselves that they really DO get less hurt if they try...which is incentive enough all on its own.
I have to admit, for the first time. Ever. I am actually looking forward to Saturday's tournament.
I may bring a sedative or something just in case though...
Proud of our boys.
Sunday, November 17, 2013
The answer I have not...
Where's Yoda when you need him?
I don't know what to do. I don't. I just keep sitting here wishing for a magical parenting manual to appear in which I would thumb through the table of contents to "sports and children" and then quickly flip to the back of the book for the answer---just like I did in 6th grade math. Damn the later lesson taught of sixth grade math.
My hope is that at the back of said book there would simply be a very factual and precise answer that says "If this...'child hates it', 'weekends full of tears', than that...'quit'."
But it's not that black and white. And there is no book. And I think, like many in the workforce, that I need to go on furlough in order to return with a clear perspective.
Because what I need that book to address would involve way too many footnotes. But for the sake of seeking inner peace, I imagine it would look a little like this (Which by the way, is yes, truly all in my head on a regular basis):
If "THIS"
* Child said he wanted to do the sport.
** Child encouraged father to be head coach.
***Child wants credit for doing such a hard sport.
****Child does not feel like trying at practice nor tournaments.
*****Child swears he is trying.
******Child has been seen standing around with his finger in his mouth staring into space.
*******Child says he DOES like said sport.
********Child is getting hurt every weekend due to lack of effort.
LOTS OF CRYING
*********Parents don't want to support "quitting"...however...
**********Child swears he does not want to quit.
***********Child often says he wishes he didn't have said sport tomorrow.
************Child takes pride with friends that he is in said sport.
*************Father is watching own children of team he is coaching "puss out."
**************Mother is paying to watch Father watch own children of team he is coaching "puss out."
MORE CRYING
***************Mother is driving great distance and surrendering each Saturday until MARCH to watch Father watch own children of team he is coaching "puss out."
*****************Parents are encouraging the concept of "trying" through a delicate, scientifically precise method called "shaming."
******************Mother is emphasizing the importance of "trying" lest her babies get beat on.
*******************Mother has seen them be successful and wonders where those kids went.
MORE CRYING
********************Children SWEAR they want to do said sport.
*********************Children SWEAR they are trying, as they move up a level on Plants vs Zombies while waiting for next match in the bleachers.
**********************Mother and Father start to doubt every choice they ever made starting 10 years ago as they drive thru Carl's Jr. on the way home every Sat.
Than "THIS"
*Drink whenever you can. And smile and nod. It's their path. Not yours. Viva "detachment parenting!"
I don't know what to do. I don't. I just keep sitting here wishing for a magical parenting manual to appear in which I would thumb through the table of contents to "sports and children" and then quickly flip to the back of the book for the answer---just like I did in 6th grade math. Damn the later lesson taught of sixth grade math.
My hope is that at the back of said book there would simply be a very factual and precise answer that says "If this...'child hates it', 'weekends full of tears', than that...'quit'."
But it's not that black and white. And there is no book. And I think, like many in the workforce, that I need to go on furlough in order to return with a clear perspective.
Because what I need that book to address would involve way too many footnotes. But for the sake of seeking inner peace, I imagine it would look a little like this (Which by the way, is yes, truly all in my head on a regular basis):
If "THIS"
* Child said he wanted to do the sport.
** Child encouraged father to be head coach.
***Child wants credit for doing such a hard sport.
****Child does not feel like trying at practice nor tournaments.
*****Child swears he is trying.
******Child has been seen standing around with his finger in his mouth staring into space.
*******Child says he DOES like said sport.
********Child is getting hurt every weekend due to lack of effort.
LOTS OF CRYING
*********Parents don't want to support "quitting"...however...
**********Child swears he does not want to quit.
***********Child often says he wishes he didn't have said sport tomorrow.
************Child takes pride with friends that he is in said sport.
*************Father is watching own children of team he is coaching "puss out."
**************Mother is paying to watch Father watch own children of team he is coaching "puss out."
MORE CRYING
***************Mother is driving great distance and surrendering each Saturday until MARCH to watch Father watch own children of team he is coaching "puss out."
*****************Parents are encouraging the concept of "trying" through a delicate, scientifically precise method called "shaming."
******************Mother is emphasizing the importance of "trying" lest her babies get beat on.
*******************Mother has seen them be successful and wonders where those kids went.
MORE CRYING
********************Children SWEAR they want to do said sport.
*********************Children SWEAR they are trying, as they move up a level on Plants vs Zombies while waiting for next match in the bleachers.
**********************Mother and Father start to doubt every choice they ever made starting 10 years ago as they drive thru Carl's Jr. on the way home every Sat.
Than "THIS"
*Drink whenever you can. And smile and nod. It's their path. Not yours. Viva "detachment parenting!"
**Or not...you should be their guide. Teach them right from wrong.
***But, you can only do so much...you can't do it for them.
****But what if they are doing it "to please" not because they want to?
****That is not up to you, they need to figure that out for themselves.
*****But at what price?
******I give up too. Perhaps pop a valium before a tournament...
Friday, November 15, 2013
Yer a Nus...
Last night, before you got upstairs to tuck the kids into bed, this happened...
"THAT IS SO INAPPROPRIATE!" Came the shrill reprimand of our 8yr old, scolding our six year old for something...anything.
"Bring it down a level. What is going on?" I said as I entered the room with stacks of folded laundry for each kid to put away in the morning (which is code for never).
"He keeps saying 'anus'!" Our 8yr old explained, disgusted while pointing her finger in outrage at the tiny culprit standing on his bed in his Star Wars Lego briefs.
I can only guess that given the level of outrage, and the tiny six year old's fingers firmly grasping the band of said Lego briefs, that he had been providing physical evidence to accompany the word.
Now, I would like to think that it was the late hour at the end of a long day that provoked the following, but it may have just been that I needed a timeout...or that we were out of wine...
In a loud and clear voice I began my finest speech to date as a mother...
"STOP SAYING ANUS! I'm tired of hearing 'I see your ANUS!' "That's his ANUS!' 'She's showing her ANUS!' 'What if you could see his ANUS?' ANUS ANUS ANUS ANUS!"
This worked marvelously as everybody started giggling at the crazy woman yelling "anus" in the doorway.
The six year old said, "But it's a planet." Trying to find a legal loophole.
I explained that the planet is "Uranus." Pronounced "Yeranus."
To which he replied, "Yer A Nus." And giggled.
I think that's when you came up...
"THAT IS SO INAPPROPRIATE!" Came the shrill reprimand of our 8yr old, scolding our six year old for something...anything.
"Bring it down a level. What is going on?" I said as I entered the room with stacks of folded laundry for each kid to put away in the morning (which is code for never).
"He keeps saying 'anus'!" Our 8yr old explained, disgusted while pointing her finger in outrage at the tiny culprit standing on his bed in his Star Wars Lego briefs.
I can only guess that given the level of outrage, and the tiny six year old's fingers firmly grasping the band of said Lego briefs, that he had been providing physical evidence to accompany the word.
Now, I would like to think that it was the late hour at the end of a long day that provoked the following, but it may have just been that I needed a timeout...or that we were out of wine...
In a loud and clear voice I began my finest speech to date as a mother...
"STOP SAYING ANUS! I'm tired of hearing 'I see your ANUS!' "That's his ANUS!' 'She's showing her ANUS!' 'What if you could see his ANUS?' ANUS ANUS ANUS ANUS!"
This worked marvelously as everybody started giggling at the crazy woman yelling "anus" in the doorway.
The six year old said, "But it's a planet." Trying to find a legal loophole.
I explained that the planet is "Uranus." Pronounced "Yeranus."
To which he replied, "Yer A Nus." And giggled.
I think that's when you came up...
Friday, November 8, 2013
Sea Monkeys Do...Sea Monkeys...
Because you are allergic to cats, and we have a dog, and all our daughter wanted for her birthday was a live pet---preferably a cat, I made the executive decision (because in my microcosm of a world I am a CEO and COO and sometimes a CFO) that we should all live out our childhood dreams and get Sea Monkeys! Yes, the bizarre little creatures that used to be on the back of comic books that took 6-8 weeks to arrive! Now with Amazon they are here in a matter of days---look how far we've come.
SO...the Sea Monkeys were a hit. They even made it to school for Show and Tell in their earliest days of "hatchery." However, had we waited a few more weeks, we could have had an entirely different Show and Tell.
Take for instance the other morning...
"Mom! The Sea Monkeys are fighting!"
"Hmmm...I don't think they are fighting..."
"But they are hooked on each other!"
"Yup." And at this time, I want to be more mature, but I...we gotta get breakfast and...well...Sea Monkey Sex Talk just is not on the menu this morning.
"But they are attached?!"
"I think they might be trying to have a baby."
"Oh you and daddy don't do that anymore..."
I started to get defensive...and was about to say, "well not as much as we..."
..."because you don't want any more babies..."
"Yes," I said thankful for the pause for reflection, "that is true."
SO...the Sea Monkeys were a hit. They even made it to school for Show and Tell in their earliest days of "hatchery." However, had we waited a few more weeks, we could have had an entirely different Show and Tell.
Take for instance the other morning...
"Mom! The Sea Monkeys are fighting!"
"Hmmm...I don't think they are fighting..."
"But they are hooked on each other!"
"Yup." And at this time, I want to be more mature, but I...we gotta get breakfast and...well...Sea Monkey Sex Talk just is not on the menu this morning.
"But they are attached?!"
"I think they might be trying to have a baby."
"Oh you and daddy don't do that anymore..."
I started to get defensive...and was about to say, "well not as much as we..."
..."because you don't want any more babies..."
"Yes," I said thankful for the pause for reflection, "that is true."
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