Monday, October 29, 2007

Ooooooooookkkaaaaaaayyyyy....

I had the worst phone solicitor ever call me this morning. It was barely ten a.m. Just picture this...the phone rings. I look up from my contemplation of the morning paper, and answer.

My first impression was the person on the other end had just woken up, and was apparently confused as to whom had called whom.

"H'lo? Who ishthish?"

I blinked. "I have no idea. You tell me."

"Oh!" What little of her brain that had not been pickled in whatever she'd been drinking for breakfast kicked in. "Oh, uh... my namesh Alisha, an' I'm callin' fer Holiday Villish...Villifff... HOMES, an'... an'..."

"Who is this?" I asked at my most repressive.

"Um... I'm Alish... Alishes... Alish-sh-sh-shaaa, and I'm calling fer... fer..."

"Maybe you should read your little card," I said helpfully.

"Oh, can't read that, ish all blurry an' keeps moving..."

"Maybe you should move with it."

"Makes me shick..."

"Sounds painful."

Weak laughter. "I'm... I'm calling because...er... why'm I calling you?"

"Because you're drunk and you have no idea what you're doing?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm drunk. Heh. An'... who're you, again?"

Sigh. This is too easy. "Britney Spears. I want you to arrange my comeback."

"Oh. Bummer. Can't stand Britney Spears. She's all fat an' can't sshing worth a damn-fuck."

"Then perhaps you'd better hang up."

"OKAY!!" Click.

Like I said, too easy. Geez, I know a job as a phone solicitor can suck, but how bad does the job have to be that you have to get drunk before you start making your calls?

I know, I know, I could have played with her mind a whole lot more than I actually did, but you know, I was enjoying a peaceful morning, feeling kinda happyish, and not really in a snarky mood. Hey, I did the best I could with the materials I had to work with!! I admit, the reason Britney Spears popped into my head was because I was looking at an article about her mom writing a ...er... parenting book. I wonder if it's a reverse manual, as in, "if you want happy, well-adjusted kids... don't do this."

One can only hope...

Friday, October 19, 2007

The Job of Mom...

One of the toughest things for me to do, as a mom, is allow my children... to fail.

You have no idea how hard that is to do. I mean, here I am, Mom, a kid's biggest cheerleader, telling them that they can do anything they put their minds to, that they can achieve just about anything if they're willing to work at it...

But, they have to be willing to do it. And that's where allowing them to fail comes in.

I am not a nag. OMG, my mom was, and is, and the very idea makes me shudder. If I start to nag, my gods, I hope someone shoots me before I can do any damage!!! That being said, I do remind my children when they have homework, when they need to study, or to practice, etc, etc. But... I only do it three times. The first one is a gentle reminder. The second one is a bit more firm. The third one is, "Okay, now, you know you have to do X. Get busy, and get after it!" or some variant thereof, and usually works.

But sometimes it doesn't.

After three shots across the bow, so to speak, I figure they're on their own, and they can learn from the consequences. It's actually highly effective. You see, I've learned that experience is a pretty damn good teacher, and sometimes pounds those lessons in harder than I ever possibly could, so whenever possible, and within reason, I let experience do the teaching. They remember it better that way.

So, my daughter has learned, the hard way, that there is a reason I want her to do her homework pretty much right after she gets home. She figured out, when you do your homework right away, you remember it better, you get a snack with it, PLUS, your entire afternoon and evening is completely free to do whatever you want. You don't end up staying up way later than is good for you, with cranky parents grumbling about going to bed, wishing you'd told them you were having trouble with math, and then getting up exhausted and LATE the next morning because you overslept. Yeah. It all works out.

My son is going to learn today that when you do MOST of your homework, but you keep blowing your mom off when she tries to help you learn your vocabulary words... well, he's going to learn that you don't do well on your test. I know, it's not a big thing... but it is to him. He's done really well on his past vocabulary tests, because we take about five minutes every day to go over them, to spell them, to read them, etc. But this week, well, he was being Contrary Man. He did his regular homework under protest, but that third warning was most effective. However, it was powerless when it came to studying his words.

I recognize those days when studying is just going to go out the window. It happens. Sometimes, he's headachy, which I understand, or he's restless and just needs some fresh air. Fifteen minutes of racing around in the backyard, chasing squirrels, or dribbling his soccer ball, is usually enough to get him back on track. But, there are some days where he's just... well, I hope my supply of patience doesn't run out. So, I sent a note to his teacher this morning, explaining the situation, and my philosophy about it. He's going to be unhappy. He's going to hate it, because he's so proud of how well he does on those tests.

What am I going to say to him?

"Well, hmmm... can you think of a reason that you didn't do so well on that test?"

Sometimes, you have to let your kids fail. It's how they learn. You make mistakes, and you learn not to do it again. What I WANT to do is force him to study, or to keep trying, or to stop climbing on that, or to make him put that down...

What I do is step back, and let him learn. I make sure he's safe, and I let him learn. I shove my hands in my pockets so no one can see me clenching them into fists, bite my lip to keep from crying, and watch. When it's over, I pick him up, brush him off, kiss the boo-boo better, snuggle him close, and we talk. And I let HIM tell me what went wrong, and what he could have done to prevent it/do it better/avoid it.

It's one of the hardest things I've ever done in my life.

It's my job. I'm a mom.

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

The Pong, Part Deaux

I had a very good reason for appealing for all of y'all's help the other day, and thank you, those who answered me. I've figured out what to do for the shoes... now to figure out how to deoderize the shin guards, which have reached degrees of awfulness that would boggle the human mind.

I had noticed this... odor... floating through the house. It was oddly familiar, and yet... I couldn't place it. It was driving me nuts though, and I kept looking and looking for the source, because it got stronger, and stronger, and worse and worse, until I began to dread that something had died under our house, something large like... an elephant. A large, semi-decayed elephant must have died under our house after being force-fed Limburger cheese... and sauerkraut. With onions. At high tide. On a manure pile. You get the picture.

The Husbandly One joined me in my quest, walking around the house, sniffing, frowning, lifting things, thinking maybe one of the kids (possibly the Impossible Son) had left a food bomb somewhere, even after all our lectures about throwing things in the garbage, etc. Or maybe one of the cats had killed a rat/mouse/rodent of unknown origin and it was rotting next to the elephant.

I pretty much stumbled over the answer. I was walking through the hall between my kids' rooms, and fell over the Impossible Son's shoes, shinguards, and socks, which he had let fall in a little pile against the wall. I started to walk past it when the central air came on, and I paused to look back at the little pile, frowning. Took a minute for it to click. They were all lying in a little pile RIGHT UNDER THE INTAKE VENT!!! In other words, there they sat in a reeking little pile, emitting nearly VISIBLE clouds of eau de PONG, and IT WAS BEING SUCKED INTO THE AIR CONDITIONER AND CIRCULATED THROUGH THE HOUSE!!!

*shriek*

You bet your BIPPY, I picked the pile up, dropped it in the laundry room, then went to open the windows and air out the house!!

I think I would have preferred the dead elephant!!

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

The Pong

All right, you lovely folks who live where soccer...er... excuse me, FOOTBALL is as ubiquitous as baseball is here... I need your help. I need your help with... the Pong.

Yes, that's right, that's what I said. The Pong.

It's the shin guards and the cleats. Oh my gods, they have like... a life of their own. I've tried Febreeze, and the Pong takes the Febreeze by the neck and beats the shit out of it. After a game, when my kids take off their socks, shin guards, and cleats, the Husbandly One and I frantically roll down the windows and hang our heads outside while our eyes water and our lungs try to escape our bodies. Dear Merlin in the Summerland, it's... it's... awful. Please, please, please tell me y'all have a solution that doesn't involve a bonfire?

Or a flamethrower? HazMat suits?

Can I just throw the shinguards in the washing machine? Alone? I mean, I don't want to pass the Funk along, if you know what I mean. But...their shoes, oh, geez.... it's just... horrifying.

I don't think there's enough deoderizer on the PLANET!!! The Pong is starting to take over. The cleats and shinguards are no longer welcome in the house.

*shudders*

Thursday, October 11, 2007

Little Man Boogie

My son's latest Dance of Joy is to a song by the Japanese group, GreeeeN. It's called "Unity" and I have to say, it's a good thing I like that song, too, or I would seriously lose my mind.

He loves dancing to it. He literally flails around in ecstasies of joy, arms flying, mouth open in a big ol' snaggle-toothed grin, until he falls, exhausted and panting, onto the floor or the nearest piece of furniture. The moment he can breathe again, he shouts, "AGAIN!!"

It's hilarious. And sometimes, he gets me in on the action, too, though I have to admit, my flailing isn't quite as abandoned or enthusiastic. It's exhausting, but fun!

He even got me to send it to a friend, saying, "I think he'll really like it. It'll make him happy, and want to dance every time he hears it! He'll put it on and think, 'yay, dance party' and he'll jump around, just like we are, right, Mama?"

Note to Friend: You have to put it on, think "Yay, dance party!" and jump around your kitchen/bedroom/living room, whatever, and wave your arms over your head (just think, "what kind of dancing will embarrass me most and make me feel like a complete idiot if anyone sees me?" and you've got it down) and just be generally silly, while chanting, "Oh, oh, oh, o-o-oh, OH!!" with the chorus. There will be a test on Friday.

I had to listen to it four times on the way to school this morning. Not that I mind. I'm just glad I don't have to listen to, say... Britney Spears. Or gansta rap (oh, my pounding head!). We listen to a lot of different stuff on the way to school, thanks to our rather eclectic musical tastes. Miss Priss has taken to listening to a J-Pop boy group called "Arashi" and also conditionally likes the Jonas Brothers. I say conditionally, because she (1) doesn't want to admit to it, and (2) says she can only listen to them if she doesn't have to look at them, or think about what they look like.

*merry laughter*

Looks like my kids are going to have as wide a musical taste range as their parents do.

Little Man Boogie

My son's latest Dance of Joy is to a song by the Japanese group, GreeeeN. It's called "Unity" and I have to say, it's a good thing I like that song, too, or I would seriously lose my mind.

He loves dancing to it. He literally flails around in ecstasies of joy, arms flying, mouth open in a big ol' snaggle-toothed grin, until he falls, exhausted and panting, onto the floor or the nearest piece of furniture. The moment he can breathe again, he shouts, "AGAIN!!"

It's hilarious. And sometimes, he gets me in on the action, too, though I have to admit, my flailing isn't quite as abandoned or enthusiastic. It's exhausting, but fun!

He even got me to send it to a friend, saying, "I think he'll really like it. It'll make him happy, and want to dance every time he hears it! He'll put it on and think, 'yay, dance party' and he'll jump around, just like we are, right, Mama?"

Note to Friend: You have to put it on, think "Yay, dance party!" and jump around your kitchen/bedroom/living room, whatever, and wave your arms over your head (just think, "what kind of dancing will embarrass me most and make me feel like a complete idiot if anyone sees me?" and you've got it down) and just be generally silly, while chanting, "Oh, oh, oh, o-o-oh, OH!!" with the chorus. There will be a test on Friday.

I had to listen to it four times on the way to school this morning. Not that I mind. I'm just glad I don't have to listen to, say... Britney Spears. Or gansta rap (oh, my pounding head!). We listen to a lot of different stuff on the way to school, thanks to our rather eclectic musical tastes. Miss Priss has taken to listening to a J-Pop boy group called "Arashi" and also conditionally likes the Jonas Brothers. I say conditionally, because she (1) doesn't want to admit to it, and (2) says she can only listen to them if she doesn't have to look at them, or think about what they look like.

*merry laughter*

Looks like my kids are going to have as wide a musical taste range as their parents do.

Friday, October 5, 2007

DAMN BIRD!!!

Dear Practical Sister,


YOUR parakeet is an anti-social, semi-suicidal, psychopath.  She doesn't like people, she doesn't like other birds, and she has a thing about taunting predators ten times her size.  I do not like your bird.  In fact, my semi-tolerant dislike has now morphed into active hatred.

YOUR stupid bird taunted the cats most of the morning with her "Na-na-na-na-na, you can't GET me," chirp, shaking her tail feathers at them and just being generally... well... DUMB.  And I kept them off her.  But I had to take the kids to school, and in the rush to make sure they all remember their stuff, and to get them out the door AT THE SAME TIME, I wasn't going to stop and put her in the bathroom and close the door, though I may have to from now on.  Because when I got home, her cage was on the floor, and I was treated to a cooperative venture between three cats who were working industriously to open the top of the cage.

The moment she saw me, she flew OUT the open door of the cage (which the cats hadn't noticed) and STRAIGHT AT THE CATS (which they DID notice).

The Impertinent Daughter would have said I should have just stood back and told you later that she died of natural causes.  Because, of course, what is more natural than being killed by predators??

But I didn't.  I rushed in to save your stupid, brainless, VICIOUS bird, and what did I get?

Blood, Bets.  Lots and lots of blood.  MY blood.

I do not mind losing a little blood in a good cause.  This was not a good cause.  Your bird BIT ME!!!  She BROKE THE SKIN!!  And I might need stitches!!!  DAMN BIRD!!!!

I almost made a parakeet pancake.  But I didn't.  I won't squish YOUR bird.  And I won't let the cats have her, if I can help it.  But next time you have a pet you decide you can't keep?  Don't call me.  Really.  Don't be surprised if you wake up one morning with a bird cage on your front door step, because I drove all the way up to North Texas to abandon it on your doorstep.

And in case I didn't mention it before???

I HATE YOUR DAMN BIRD!!!

No love,

The Brat