October 2011 Archives

I'm pretty sure this bag of chips is resting over, and covering up remnants of cake. It's a balance of guilt and guiltless, I think. Don't you?

Because most days are real effn funny around here, I thought I'd include the not-so-funny parts of mommydom.

This morning, I dropped off Lucy at school today with my finest silence and Mommy Dearest glare. I've never seen Lucy hustle out of the car so fast.

I dropped her off individually from Max because....well, let me back up.

Lucy has a consistent behavior of wanting the bigger piece and she has to have it first. Always. Now, I am fully aware, that I am usually the first in line at any party dinner. But I'm not grabbing the utensils out of people's hands (just one time, and it was cake, for goodness sake), or shoving them. Okay, again, just one time, and it was for cake. But Lucy has to have it first, and the most. "Max got more than me." Is her mantra. And half the time she says that, she's already inhaled a couple of spoonfuls in her quest to prove that indeed there is less on her plate.

What is fair to her, is what is to her soonest, and the most. Thankfully, this seems to only take effect at home. Quite frankly, I'm pretty sure she took up the most room in my womb. And she was Baby A - sighting loudly, I'm certain, "Me first!" She does not carry this trait over to her social skills at school, even making sure in her dance class to make sure everyone is happy and feels great about themselves. So, that's nice. However, that she can't do the same for her own twin brother infuriates me.

Last night, Lucy and Max wanted ice cream. They are fortunate that we have it, don't you think? So, we made the irrational suggestion that they fix their own ice cream. That was our first mistake - allowing independence and ice cream and all that. Because before we knew better, there was an all out verbal war about who got more ice cream.

We started in on them to stop arguing. Max couldn't drop it. And that's when we surveyed the offending disbursement of ice cream. Lucy got to it first, and served herself up all but one teaspoon of it. We continued to make the mistake of allowing them to right the situation. Verbal distress continued. And when Lucy wouldn't do it, she wouldn't relent and give some of her ice cream for the sake of fairness, we made her go to her room without the ice cream at all.

Max never even made the suggestion that since she'd gone to her room, maybe he could have her abandoned ice cream. Instead, after a respectable 20 minutes up in her room, and the ice cream had melted, he asked permission to go up and talk to Lucy and asked if she could be released from her room.

Lucy comes downstairs, all is well. And then it was bedtime.

This morning, we were getting them ready for school, and while Lucy was taking her 40 minute shower and using all the hot water, we explained to Max that once again, I got caught with being low on milk. I'll go to the store today and get more, but for this morning, be sure to only use enough for his cereal and leave enough for Lucy. We reinforced the sharing theme and went on our way.

Meanwhile it's Dress-Like-A-Cowboy Day or Western Day or something. The kids want bandanas. We have bandana's all over the house, in laundry, on the floor, in baskets, until of course, we're in need of them. And I venture into every drawer, every cabinet, every pile of towels all over the house to find only two bandanas. One is like a bandana rap, kind of the size of a tie. It's some kind of cooling mechanism my mom got for me for my birthday. It's that red western bandana print, so it works. The other one was an orange bandana. Lucy insists that the orange one is hers. Max makes do with the red tie bandana. Clearly, if they would just swap bandanas, the red one looks a bit more feminine. But Lucy would have nothing of it. Just like Veruca Salt "BUT I WANT THE ORANGE BANDANA! It's MINE!"

I made one last rally and cornered her in the bathroom, just the two of us as she brushed her teeth. I explained that the red one is cuter and would look better on her. I started explaining about all the recent talks on being selfish, and could she please help her brother out with this one. I saw the eyes glaze over as she mentally went to her best defendant's argument. And she said "I REALLY WANT THE ORANGE ONE!"
Perhaps since I'd only had one cup of coffee, I yelled "FINE! OFCOURSE YOU DO, LUCY" in my meanest mommy voice yet.

I stomped down the stairs and returned to an even better and older argument with Lucy: to dry or not to dry your hair. That is the question. I yelled up to her that she better dry her hair, that I would not be taking her to school if her hair was wet.

Then I went to clean the kitchen and noticed a few cheerios floating in a half full bowl of milk.

"Max did you have all the milk in your cereal?"

"No, that's Lucy's. I didn't have cereal because I knew Lucy would want cereal for breakfast."

I considered the paperwork for sainthood for Max, and then looked at the clock. It was time to go to school, and I still hadn't heard a hair dryer. Oh, this shit is on.

I explained I was taking Max to school, but not Lucy. Lucy looking shocked at the fact that I wasn't letting her get away with ignoring my "No wet hair to school" policy.

"You better dry that hair."

I took Max to school. He was petrified for her. Too bad she wasn't at all. I came back, got Lucy, asked if her hair was dry. She said yes. And I yelled at her and lectured her the entire 5 minute ride to school. But before I let her out of the car, I thought to check her hair to see if it was dry. It was not. It was dry-er, but still damp. I considered pulling out of the drop-off line and taking her back home to dry it. That'll show her. No it won't. And so, today, my daughter got out of the car and ran, hustling faster than I've ever seen her move with my last words to her being: "YOU KNOW WHAT DRY HAIR IS! YOU KNOW! AND YOU KNOW THIS IS NOT DRY!"

I hate that I yelled at her on the way to school. I want to right that. But in doing that, I'm concerned it'll smoothe over two points: don't be selfish with your brother, and don't go to school with effn wet hair.

And so, for the rest of the day, I am bound to resist the urge to pick her up from school early just to hug her, to bring her lunch, or even just to call or email her teacher and explain. And then what. Wouldn't that be a fantastic email?

Dear Teacher,
I was a gigantic asshole to Lucy this morning. In my defense, she started it. Can you see what you can do to overcompensate for my jerkness? Thanks.

Lessons for the day:
Never go to bed angry.
Never scream at your kid and then send him/her off to school.
Never go to school with wet hair.
You'll get more ice cream if you share. Because I'll send you to your room if you don't share, and you'll not get any.

It has been suggested that perhaps I am harder on Lucy than on Max. Good point. If find that ironic, because I'm always concerned I'm spending more time and energy with her than Max. Or it could it be that perhaps she's harder on me? Sigh. Fine. I'm working on it.

That's how I roll: uneasy, unresolved.
What's your not so finest mommy moment?

Song of the Day: Ice Cream by Sarah McLachlan (too easy and poignantly perfect) it's from the Mirrorball album - best version ever.

***Follow-Up***
I went to pick up the kids at school today. But apparently, they opted to walk home instead. I can't imagine their conversation on how they arrived at that one. I pick them up every day. But I guess they didn't want to electively get in the car with me. I did squeal the wheels a few times for emphasis in my morning lecture. So, that they didn't want to get back in the car with me, I suppose is a good step. I wasn't mad that they walked home, but relieved to find out they were home safe.

Ricardo met me at the door and explained that when they got home Max had the orange bandana on, and Lucy had the red one on. As soon as Lucy got to school and then to Max, she gave him the revered orange bandana. I was overwhelmed with joy and purpose in my minivan freakout. It worked! It worked! But when I walked in the door, Lucy glared at me and went up to her room.

So, we worked all that out. Even the wet hair issue. All is right with the world. For now anyways.

***Follow up #2***
AND THENNNNN...I went to help Lucy clean her room in an effort to be fair (I picked up Max's earlier)...and low, tucked under a babydoll in a basket, was the OTHER ORANGE HANDKERCHIEF!

Okay, so the other day, we're cruisin in our minivan. Just me and the kids, talking about our feelings because they are trapped strapped in the moving vehicle, and one of the sliding doors doesn't even open with a button and they're so spoiled, they don't know how to manually open a frikkin door. So they can't really escape, and the kids start talking at the same time. It's like a heavy metal song, it's hurting my ears, and yet, I'm trying to decipher the words and the message, but I can't.

At some point Max and Lucy finish their sentences at the same time with the same word. And that's when the fun game of JINX! comes into play. I smile. They must have learned about it on the playground. I smile because they are learning this stuff instead of naughty words and where babies come from. Yet, atleast.

My smile ends short though, because I'm bracing for the arguing to ensue over who wins JINX and who will owe the coke. (They call it soda.)

Even further, Lucy likes to make up her own rules as she goes along - you know, to ensure her winning all the time. Even though they have never in the short history of their jinx ever bought either a coke, nor a soda. None of this will matter in a few seconds, this will turn ugly. I brace for it.

Max: "Jinx, double jinx! You owe me a soda!"
Lucy: "Nuh-uh"
Max: "Uh-huh!"
Lucy with her new rule that she'll never slide by Max: "Nooooooo, because I said it in a British accent."

She did say it in a British accent, by the way.

I brace for Max to go Jinxy on her.

And then.

Max: : "Yeah, I guess you did. Okay."

I sigh in relief and then,

Max: "That was a great British accent by the way."

Lucy: "Thank you" (In British accent)

That's how we roll.

Song of the Day: Best for Last - Adele (she's British)

momandmemomandme
We're really excited about your upcoming visit. We're so excited in fact, you're officially booked solid.
So without further ado - here's your schedule:

So, pack for all that. And it's chilly - pack for that too.

That's how I roll.
Song of the Day: Sambou Ya Ya by Ali Farka Toure` & Toumani Diabate`

This is my book list right now. It's a running total of all the books I read from on a daily basis. Some is for fun, some is for interest, some are for classes I'm teaching, and one is for a class I'm about to teach. The ipod has a book on it, too. Okay, I snuck in last book club's book, AND the current book club's book, but that's because I'm in between them. One of the kids in my book club has already finished the current book. I guess I should probably start it.

One time I thought I should write a book. Staring at a blank screen for 3 hours and 57 little Jamaican vacationesque braids in my hair later, I thought, well maybe I should research how to write a book. That took me straight to my first and only Stephen King book: On Writing. My sister loves Stephen King. But after getting her synopsis about a few of his books, I stayed far away. He creeps me out. But a book on writing, from a very successful writer with all those creepy and wacky stories, could help. So, I read his book. Mr. King suggests to be a good writer, I should do two things: 1. write. 2. read. I used to read, but not a lot. I like to re-read books, because as it stands, I don't retain information too well. I forget how the book ends, or how the plot was designed, and go back and try to remember along the way. I also forget movies. So, I'm a re-reader. I've read Wuthering Heights probably 20 times. 11 of those re-readings was the summer before my Junior year in high school. I guess it was a slow summer. But it was long long ago, and you not quizzing me on Heathcliff and what's-her-name's romance is greatly appreciated.

Case and point on the not retaining information well - Stephen King's book, On Writing is as thick as the rest of his novels. And all I can remember is that I'm supposed to read and write. But Stephen King told me to do it, so I remembered that. Actually, I seem to remember how he got his main character for his book - Carrie. He created that character based on a troubled girl who went high school with him. Anyways....

Hey, aren't you a college professor or something? Isn't it your job to retain information!? NO! No, it's not. Down in the front, mister. My job is to judge others and if they are retaining the information. For the record, I review the texts right along with the students. I've probably read and re-read more text books far more thoroughly than I ever did as a student in college.

Tack on the fact that I am now hosting a book club at my kid's school. It's a long story, but I signed up this year noting that I'd like to help but not so much with the kids. A few weeks later, I must have really pissed off the teacher and instead of taking it out on my kids like a professional educator should, their teacher conned me into doing a book club. Hands on. All alone. WITH A MASS OF CHILDREN. Yeah, I know. Teacher wins.

It turns out though, that the book club is good for me. Oh sure, it's good for the kids too. But it's great for me. Reading along with a kid, or a group of kids, and discussing the preview of the book, preparing a post discussion and coming up with ways to entice kids to love reading - it's actually got me reading more than I ever thought possible. Which by the way, the best way to get a kid to love reading and being in my book club is the same way I lure my friends to like me: I bring snacks.

It took me a few years to read the On Writing book. And then a couple more years to actually write. And somewhere in there, I discovered that I was reading books that didn't particularly interest me. Along with that, I was trying to write stuff I didn't like either. I was trying to write what I thought I was supposed to write. Soon, I found my niche in writing and a new love for books and reading. The less time I have to read, the more I want to. Mr. King put his money where his mouth is: Reading does spark ideas to write, as it turns out.

Here's a book list of the books I've read in the last year. They are books I deem worthy of finding the time to read:
On Writing - Stephen King (I keep it close by for reference.)

Anne Lamott - Bird by Bird (I'm pretty sure I'll keep this one around for reference too, especially the chapter titled: Shitty First Drafts)

Wade Rouse - America's Boy, Atleast in the City Someone Would Hear Me Scream, It's All Relative: Two Families, Three Dogs, 34 Holidays, and 50 Boxes of Wine (A Memoir), and I'm Not The Biggest Bitch in This Relationship - I keep this guy around for reference and the need to lol all the time. And I might be going to one of his workshops in a couple of weeks. This guy is hilarious, raw, honest, and sincerely one of the coolest mentors. I think he just called me Xena in his latest book. I'll be addressing it with him when I see him.

Bill Scheft - I read this guy's blog. He's brilliant, insightful and helpful with the process of writing. He makes me want to go have dinner with him sometime and quiz him on so many things. But then I think I might come across as Kathy Bates-ish in Misery (I watch King's movies, just don't read the books) I wonder if I promise not to hobble him... Time Won't Let Me, The Ringer, Everything Hurts and The Show.

A Dog's Purpose - W. Bruce Cameron (This one wins the prize for the most gifted book. I've given a copy to atleast 10 pals, if not more.)

I hope my pile grows deeper, and so to my writing. Until then, I'll maintain a steady streamline of being overwhelmed by both - the pile of reading, and the determination to write. I'm starting to think my pile of books and my determination are making me way cool.

What have you been reading?

That's how I roll.
Song of the day: Storybook Love - The Princess Bride Soundtrack

I have a little secret that I've learned over the years, I should just keep to myself: I don't like baseball. I know that's unAmerican and all that. I don't like ice cream with my apple pie, either. I don't drink beer and I don't listen to country music.

As far as baseball goes, really, if I want to watch a bunch of hurry up and wait, I could probably go to Disney World during a holiday, wait in line for 2 hours for a ride (an actual play) that takes about 10 seconds. And then go back to the waiting while feasting on hot dogs and candy.

And another thing, baseball is America's pastime, not America's sport. It really does pass time. In my humble opinion, it's not really a sport at all. I mean, really, if you can scratch your balls and/or chew a wad of tobacco, bubble gum, or sunflower seeds, in the middle of a play. Then really, that's not a sport. Don't even get me started about golf.

I'm not a fan of baseball. If my secret boyfriend (so secret he doesn't even know about it) Bob Costas were to do a segment on a baseball gig, I'd probably watch. Or if I need to nap, then baseball really works for me.

My precious pals, though, are all up in Facebook status updates this week. Yallison is a Detroit fan, MyDaph is a Ranger's fan. I had no idea it was the playoffs until a few facebook statuses ago. I stated my claim that I am impartial. (ie - I don't care).

I still don't care, until I realize that the Cardinals are in this playoff thing too. And then it just got personal.

Long ago, I married into Ricardo's family. Ricardo has a big family, including two Uncles - Uncle Father Dale who passed away a few years ago, and Uncle Rich.

Uncle Father Dale would come to visit, and sit and hold my sweet babes as he rocked in the recliner. We'd talk about life and philosophy and recipes. He was my favorite guest, and I am grateful for that very precious time I had with him. But if he was visiting during a game, there was an understood rule, he only visits with one person, Uncle Rich. They would watch the game and discuss via their cell phones. After Uncle Father Dale passed away, I kind of forgot about that love of baseball and the Cardinals that he shared with Uncle Rich.

Uncle Rich is a 77-year-old really cool cat. He's also visited with us before, but I guess it wasn't during baseball season, because he let my kids read to him. And he didn't even murmur, "Quiet kid, the game is on..." Nothing of the sort. I don't get to see Uncle Rich much, but always look forward to it any chance we get.

In the meantime, Uncle Rich's son, I guess my cousin, he might have taken a job with the Rangers. Like, an executive position.***Disclaimer to all my Texas peeps getting a big fat idea: Although Uncle Rich knows and loves us, Cousin Ranger's Exec probably doesn't remember my name. So, don't go calling me up asking for tickets.

My point with this very awesome story is that Uncle Rich loves baseball and the Cardinals, and now has access to VIPishness at the Rangers' stadium.

And so, MyDaph and Yallison, and baseball god's THAT is why I'm hereby vested in the damned baseball playoffs. That, and this is a little bit over the charachter limits on Facebook status updates. I need the Rangers and the Cardinals to win this series so that my Uncle Rich, one of the greatest Cardinal fans of all times, who has been waiting 77 years for this - to be able to get to watch his Cardinals play in the world series. He needs to do this for Uncle Father Dale and himself, and humanity. If you have the power to pray for frivolous things, please by all means, say a prayer for my Uncle Rich to watch his Cardinals play in the World Series.

It's a Bob Costas moment just waiting to happen. I promise to love baseball for that tiny moment of pastime. If baseball can give that one moment for my Uncle Rich, then maybe, just maybe, I'll become a fan. But please, my kids are watching, no balls scratching. That's nasty.

That's how I roll
Song of the Day: Who's On First? by Abbot & Costello

I give blood pretty regularly. In part, I give because I've got the good stuff. I'm a universal giver. Which basically means: I'm pretty awesome. But I also give blood because of the snacks. Oh heck yes, there's snacks involved. I also give because of the coolest lounging chairs. I like to lounge and make all the blood sucking technicians take forcibly listen to AND LAUGH AT all my jokes. The number one reason I give blood is because it's an instant loss of a pound. But then I might overcompensate with all those snacks they promise me.

I think you should know I give blood also, because I LOVE NEEDLES! Just kidding. But I think that whole, "I don't give because I'm afraid of needles" is a bunch of bunk. I mean really, when you need blood, are you going to tell the doctors...."No, no, I'm afraid of needles..."? No you're not. Because you'll probably be unconscious, with a needle in your arm, living, because someone took one for the proverbial team (uh, the UNIVERSE) got stuck with a needle, and GAVE YOU THEIR EFFN BLOOD. And they filter all the druggie questions, so the fact that you're getting clean blood from a candidate who likely did not like the needle either, should probably go noted.

Mostly I give because the blood bank people are so grateful I'm there. It's not like when I walk in my house and the kids only bother to note my existence when they want the password to download an app on their ipods or they want dinner. Nope, I'm practically up to Sainthood when I walk through the doors to give blood.

I lay there and they ask "How are you doing?" "You doing okay now?" "Would you like another pillow? A waxing? A donut?"

They are so grateful, to me. For my blood. Come on people, this is ridiculous. When they're offering me a donut - they are desperate, y'all.

Today I got my reminder call. As a former marketing geek who appreciates a good follow up - as much as a the blood center can follow up with their "marketing" they sure do. They tell you how many lives you saved and/or just helped feel better. The guy was so happy I didn't hang up on him. And he got all my information and set up an appointment for me. I give DOUBLES, bitches. I told you, I'm awesome.

Right before we ended our call, the guy says to me, "Do you have any friends, relatives or neighbors you could bring with you?" The desperation in his voice kind of freaked me out a little bit. So, he explained, due to the river flooding and the recent storms and tornadoes in the Midwest, the Red Cross has had to cancel several blood drives and is actually extremely low on blood. Think Edward when he was all up in hanging out with Bella... and lost track of his "hunting". Remember that? And then Bella freaked out and was all, "OMG Eddie, go hunt! I will wait for you." It's kind of like that.

So, I tell the guy, "You know what, I have a blog, I'll see what I can do."

And so, it is my blogging duty of Doubles and awesomeness that I ask you - please go give blood. I hope you never need to receive my blood (however awesome it may be). But I'd rather you receive the gift that you've given before. Don't you think?

Giving blood is easy. It's free. You're providing a gift to your community. Yes, it's actually fun (the way I do it is, anyways). You can lose up to a pound. You can lay there, and lose a pound. When's the last time you just laid down for a few minutes and helped a stranger while being treated like the saint that you know you are? And there's snacks. Plus, those curved lounge chairs are the best.

GIVE BLOOD NOW. PLEASE.

That's how I roll.
Song of the Day: Blood Brothers by Bruce

Isn't she so inspiring? She's tired from learning so much from these kids.

I think I've established that I relish in the moments I have with my kids in the car. Oh sure, I've had to pull it over a few times and uh, not relish. But most days, it is the only moment, away from the television, or the computer, or other pals, when they are trapped strapped in and we talk. Lately, I've been enjoying them talking to each other.

Even better in our minivan adventures is that we've been taking Maybee everywhere we go. Maybee has proved to be a bit of a terror, but more of a gift to Max and Lucy. They talk to her and play with her. They feed her. They cry when she nips their butts or rips their clothing. And they love her.

But on our car ride, she sits, perched in the passenger seat of the minivan, and keeps watch for her kids. On the way to school last week, it was drizzling a bit. Maybee was curious and concerned about getting spat on with the window cracked open. The kids caught on that they needed to explain rain to Maybee.

Lucy - who's usually my imaginative (makes stuff up and presents it as fact) kid - explains to Maybee -"The air pressure is pushing the moisture down and that's why its raining..."

My jaw dropped. What the heck was that? And school works, that's nice.

Max who's more of a factual guy (kid remembers every detail and we ask him to verify birthdays, names, and ages for us) intervenes in his man voice - "Or it could be God sweating, Maybee. He's working so hard for us up there he sweats a lot."

I almost had to pull over from the witness to such brilliance. All in my minivan. I'm still in awe. I made it to the drop off, and watched as Max let the door close on Lucy as she lugged her cello into the building. I'll be sure to remind him to hold the door for her since he just did all that summing up of rain and all.

Listen to your kids.

That's how I roll.
Song of the day: Singin in the Rain/Umbrella - The Cast of Glee