You Don't Have to Like Me

He's Decided to Be All That He Can Be

2011-12-28T22:26:00.000-07:00

You know how you get caught up in the craziness of life, to the point where you sometimes forget that not everyone is living it with you? Or how you make so many updates on Facebook, that you neglect the poor blog you started as the original update location? Well, that's how it's been here.

The biggest thing right now? The Teenager enlisted in the Army.

Yes, I know the original plan was the Navy. But after three attempts to get an ASVAB/AFQT score high enough for them to take him, he decided that maybe they weren't quite the right fit for him.

You will note, however, that he didn't give up altogether. Oh no. Not this boy. Man. Whatever. No, he just went shopping for the branch that WAS the right fit for him. He found that with the Army. And so he took the physical. Signed the paperwork. Swore the Oath. Chose a career. Received a deployment date for basic training. He made it completely official.

My starter baby is leaving me in just a few short months. He is leaving me, to go learn how to protect and defend all of you.

And I honestly believe I just may be more proud of him for this decision that I would have been if he had received a full-ride athletic scholarship to the college of his dreams. Well, if he'd ever dreamed of colleges and not the military. Apparently, he IS going to be living his dream. Or at least, setting forth on the path towards it. Regardless, I AM so ridiculously beyond proud of him.

This may sound silly, but it occurs to me that this is one more thing in his life that we get to do together: learn to be Army Strong. He as a soldier; me as a soldier's mom.

This is what he will be spending a very large chunk of his time in. Only, you know, a real tank that's not made out of Legos.

Someone Needs to Publish a Puberty For Parents Handbook

2011-12-09T12:03:00.001-07:00

Mom, we can have this conversation, but you can’t look at me. Just….look at the TV, ok?

And that was how Bug and I started the conversation about his very first kiss. Which hadn’t happened as of last night and that conversation we had where we weren’t looking at each other, but most likely has happened by the time this post is up and you’re reading it.

He informed me that he’s going to do it. He’s going to kiss his girlfriend today. He’s got a plan.

A plan?

Yes, Mom. A plan.

And really, it’s a brilliantly simple plan. After school, he’s going to take her around the building to somewhere there are no teachers (Because PDA will get me in trouble at school, Mom)….and kiss her. Simple. His brother agreed; it was a pretty good plan.

When asked if he was sure, was he really ready for this since he hadn’t been comfortable with the idea with previous girlfriends, he assured me he was. As long as he could get her around the corner where no one was at.

Because really, Mom…I just don’t want to do this with everyone watching.

So it was set. He had it all planned out. This first kiss thing should go off without a hitch. Until this morning….

Just one last question, Mom. How, exactly, do you kiss a girl?

::blink blink::

To my credit, I recovered quickly. I’m not even sure he was aware of just how big a loop he just threw me for. But all of those recovery brownie points go flying out the window in the face of what I told him. Because, really…I have no idea how to kiss a girl. And I don’t remember agonizing over how to kiss a boy, either. So I told him it would probably be a lot like kissing me, except on the lips; and that he could practice on his hand a couple of times. Oh, and don’t pucker up like a fish.

If I wasn’t so sure that once it’s started kissing becomes fairly natural, I’d really worry that I’d just completely doomed him to a kiss-less lifetime. As it is, I have to hope that it goes smoothly enough to not leave him distracted. He’s planning on doing this right before tryouts for the school baseball team today.

I’m still not sure what I was wishing him good luck on as I backed out of the driveway….the kiss, or tryouts.

Perspective Makes All The Difference

2011-10-18T16:49:00.000-07:00

Every year, it’s the same battle.

A battle with the school, to make sure his 504 Plan is reevaluated and updated. A battle with the teachers, to hold them accountable for following his 504 Plan. A battle with Bug, to actually do the homework we’ve gotten accommodations for.

Then compound all of that with sports.

Every year, it’s been a lot of the same thing. At the beginning of each season, I meet with his coaches and explain what makes Bug…Bug. I offer advice on what works best, and what doesn’t, in keeping him calm and upbeat. I give each coach a run-down on the physical signs to watch for, in order to better ward off the emotional breakdown that follows each one.

This year, though? This year is going to be different.

For starters, Bug told me at the beginning of the school year that he didn’t want to use his 504 Plan this year. And although he wasn’t able to convince me to give the thing up entirely, he did make some valid contributions to this year’s modifications. When pressed for why he didn’t want to use it? He’s just tired of being treated differently. He wants so badly to fit in, just the way he is.

Now, I would like to say that I’m such a fabulous mother that I instantly realized that I should apply that same logic to baseball. However, apparently I’m a little bit slower than instant.

Bug IS on a new baseball team. We’ve known the coach and a couple of the boys for some years now, and we’ve always been impressed. This coach is amazing, and has a definite affinity for working with young athletes. Plus, he lives and breathes baseball, so he knows what he’s talking about when he directs them. So when an opportunity came up for Bug to try out for this team, we jumped at it. And Bug made the team. (This is where my new found knowledge would have kicked in. You know, had I actually been able to claim it.) As I said, we already knew this coach. So there was no need for the “conversation”. We didn’t need to give him any pointers; he knows my kid well.

So I sat back, and watched. Watched how Bug interacted with the other boys on the team, and how they interacted back. Watched how he played, and how he handled himself when something in the game wasn’t going his way. And even though I could see how well he was doing, how much his self-esteem had improved, how much greater his self-control had gotten…well, it wasn’t until he made this comment to me that things started to click in my head.

Mom, you know why I like this team so much? I fit in. Just the way I am; I fit in. No one is pushing me to see how far they can go before I lose it, and they all just encourage me. I fit, Mom.

And yes, I cried at that.

But my true A-ha! moment came last night. Bug had been called by another team in our club, and asked to fill in for one game. The manager of this team has also known Bug for years. The difference, though, is that ALL of the other boys on the team have also known Bug for years. Which means they’ve all witnessed at least one very public meltdown during a game. The significance of that finally sunk in last night. Or, more accurately, the significance of the fact that almost NONE of the boys on his actual team had ever met him before August.

In a normal game, each of Bug’s teammates can be heard at various times in the game cheering him on or shouting some kind of encouragement; all based on that game’s performance and how awesome they all believe him to be. Last night was different. Oh, the boys on that team all encouraged him, it was just…not the same. Last night was more like how I used to encourage him when he was younger. “Keep your head up! Don’t let it get you down!”

It occurred to me last night that maybe one of the biggest reasons he’s doing so well on this new team and making such strides in mastering his self-control? Is that not one person on that field is waiting for him to fail.

They’re excited about watching him succeed.

Busy Isn't Busy Enough

2011-10-12T23:12:00.000-07:00

It's the nights that are the hardest, I think.

I talk to him several times throughout the day. I play Words With Friends on Facebook with him. I text him frequently. We send each other pictures of life in our separate parts of the country. But at night, after the chaos of dinner and homework, baseball and dishes; when the boys are in bed, and it's time for me to head that way....I find myself at a loss.

When Coach first took this job driving over the road, we were certain we knew what we were facing. Of course, we also thought we were looking at a schedule where he'd be on the road for a couple of weeks, maybe even three, and then he'd be home for three days. We soon realized that wasn't the schedule that would bring in the paycheck that we need after his long sojourn in the Land of the Unemployed. So we stretched his first couple of "away from home" stretches to a month. Then six weeks. Then eight weeks. After all, if the wheels aren't turnin' the driver ain't earnin'....

And I managed to keep busy. Work, baseball, trying to help the Teenager find his path. Liberally lacing my days with phone conversations with Coach. The boys would call him for advice. I'd call him and let him know stupid things, like the kitchen sink was clogged but I figured it out; or ask for advice on how to take care of something or other.

But then.......bedtime would roll around, and I would find myself starting some other activity closer and closer to the time I should be heading to bed. I'd pick up a new book, I'd start a game of Angry Birds. Before long, I'd simply be too tired to even keep my eyes open any longer, and then I'd fall into bed.

People, I'm averaging about four hours of sleep a night. And I think that might be a generous estimated average.

As much as I love not fighting for the covers, or feeling like I'm sleeping with my own personal full-body heater....I don't like going to bed without him. We've been married almost 19 years, and I suddenly find myself actively avoiding my bed. For goodness' sake, it's after eleven now; and I sit here, wondering how long I can type before there's just too many words for this to be even remotely worth reading.

The nights are definitely the hardest, and I hate feeling lost in my own bed.

The One I Forgot to Title Until Three Hours After I Posted It

2011-10-11T18:03:00.000-07:00

This little space here is almost always about my boys. About life with my boys. Rarely do I just talk about me. And because I don’t do that often here, when life is … well, life… and it seems to be focusing more on me than them? I have to work to justify writing about it here.

Because regardless of what some alternate opinions are, and even some circumstantial evidence to the contrary, I really….REALLY….work hard at not making it all about me.

But……

Sometimes, despite the overall situation being about me, I’m fortunate enough to be able to see something in there that shows my amazing offspring to advantage. And there you have it. My justification for writing what I’m going to write.

I’ve talked about the fact that Bug struggles with Bipolar Disorder. I’m one of those parents who believes in using every possible tool available at my disposal to help him along his journey, as he learns how to control this disorder and integrate it into how he lives his life. That includes medication for him, and I’m totally on board with that. We’ve been fortunate enough to have doctors who don’t over prescribe, and who actually listen to me when I talk to them about how it affects him. And really, Bug has been fairly successful in learning to recognize when he’s headed towards a downward spiral, and works on getting through that with minimal collateral damage.

So, why is it he’s so successful? Well, I’ll tell you. It’s because his mama is Bipolar, too.

The biggest difference between his struggles and mine is the medication. Oh, sure….I’ve had a lot more years to learn how to work with mine; but I’ve been slugging through mine without the benefit of medication. Not because I don’t believe in it, because I obviously do or I wouldn’t have my son on medication. But because at one point, the choice was literally “His medication or mine?” And naturally, his won. Now that we’re headed back to a point where I might be able to medicate us both, it’s absolutely something I’ll be talking to my doctor about. Especially after “that night” last week.

That night found me walking away from a pot of boiling water on my stove and sitting in my room in the dark, in tears, for no good reason that I could think of. That night heard me asking my sons to please not argue about one single thing, because mama was at the breaking point and I wasn’t able to recognize exactly what would be the shattering point. That night saw me explaining to Bug that I was feeling exactly how he does when his body feels itchy all over and like it’s going to break into a thousand different pieces if just one thing touches it. That night prompted my beautiful boy to come hug me anyway, and offer to make dinner so I wouldn’t have to. That night witnessed both of my boys to just come hug me anyway, trusting that I wouldn’t shatter into pieces so small that we’d never find them again. That night witnessed thoughts in my head going ‘round and ‘round, wondering what God possibly could have been thinking of, giving a mom like me to two amazing, wonderful boys like them?

I still don’t know what He was thinking, because I honestly don’t deserve them. But I’m more grateful than those boys will ever know.

Buy Me Some Peanuts and Crackerjacks

2011-09-22T23:45:00.000-07:00

I love baseball season. I love almost everything about baseball season. Almost.

(Do I even need to clarify that I'm talking about BUG's baseball seasons? Because as much as I love me some Colorado Rockies -- they hold a special place in my heart since their inaugural season was happening when the Teenager was born -- Major League Baseball just doesn't hold my attention in quite the same way.)

I love hearing the crack of the bat.

I love watching amazing, miraculous, no one's ever gonna believe it catches.

I love hearing the cheers when he throws a ball from deep in center field, and it lands perfectly in the catcher's mitt.

I love watching him fit in with boys who forgive him his quirks, because they see him as valuable and just an awesome kid.

I even love watching him as he watches his teammates, because it's showing me that he's learning to pay attention even when the focus is not on him.

What I don't love, though? Baseball dirt. I don't love how it takes beautifully white pants and makes them orange. And as amusing as it is, I'm not even overly fond of how it takes my handsome boy and turns him into an Oompa Loompa.

Very much like Pig Pen, actually, by the time the game is over.

But, mom.....baseball dirt makes everything taste BETTER.

Give up, mom. You're never gonna get it out of there. Besides, I don't want you to. I like it. Seeing all of that orange ground into the white? Really makes me feel like I'm doing my job out there, and doing it right.

*sigh*

Did I say I didn't love baseball dirt? How can I not, when it has the power to give my baby another piece of himself back, when he struggles so hard to hold onto all that he can?

Not My Best Day

2011-09-16T19:08:00.000-07:00

So I've been wondering a lot lately about what I could blog about. Between Facebook basically having a permanent vacuum tube firmly lodged in my brain, sucking out my thoughts and using them as status updates before they even have a chance to extend themselves into fully formed blog posts; and my boys growing up to the point that the rest of the world might possibly be seeing more of them than I am.....well, I haven't felt like I've had much to share. Or worse, I get a fabulous idea.... at one o'clock in the morning, when I'm laying in bed unable to fall asleep but too lazy to get up and make my way to the computer to get it all out and on here. I've even entertained thoughts about posting something about MYSELF.

Oh...the shame. *hanging my head*

However, when something happens that just spins itself out of control in my head? That's the story you get. You can thank me later.

Yesterday was ..... well, it sucked. It sucked great big fuzzy donkey balls. I know I don't really talk about my job here on this little blog, and I don't really intend to start now. But the Great Suckage that was yesterday can totally be laid at the feet of what I do for a living. I had to do something that isn't pleasant on the best of days, and yesterday wasn't the best of days. The situation ended with a Very Upset Person throwing an entirely full bottle of *what we're repeatedly saying in order to convince myself its true* water at me; dousing my hair, face and clothes. Followed up by being attacked by the same Upset Person's Evil Cat.

Who knew that being doused by an unidentified liquid and acquiring a scratch on the back of my hand when fending off an Evil Cat would necessitate being sent to the clinic for a "Work Related Injury"? And that said injury and subsequent clinic visit would result in a forced vacation, because company policy dictates that ALL work related injuries require a drug test be completed and the employee can NOT return to work until the test comes back clean?

On the positive side, I got to take my very first breathalyzer test, and I didn't even need to abandon my vehicle on the side of the road and sport some very attractive and shiny handcuffs to do it!

Internet Porn and Happy Blogiversary to Me!

2011-08-25T15:50:00.000-07:00

I'm sorry to tell you, at least one of those things will be ongoing until my boys move out and have their own computers to violate. And it most likely will not be my blog. Wait.... my blog will still be here. I talk too much to ever entirely shut this down.

Seriously, though, having boys...well, having boys that are captivated by the more interesting and visual aspects of human anatomy... the internet porn thing will be ongoing. BUT... here's how I address it with my boys. And it generally curbs the activity for some time.

First, I make Coach leave the room. There is a part of most dads, no matter how moral and upstanding they may be, that is always 17 years old. That part of them would rather high-5 their son and make their own google-eyes at the screen. That part? Is not a helpful parenting partner. It's very difficult for them to talk about responsible Internet surfing, when their testosterone-laden brains are sidetracked with the thought, "Oh wow.... who cares if they're real? They're SPECTACULAR!", or with "Huh. Wonder if my wife can put HER ankles behind her ears?". So yeah. He gets to leave. I hate to reward him that way, but it really makes things easier.

Then I remind the boys that as embarrassing as it is for them to be hearing their mother say anything at all about naked bodies on the computer, it is equally embarrassing for me to be saying it. But since they chose to use MY computer to look, they get to listen to ME. This produces enough eye rolls that they are usually relaxed enough to talk seriously. So I take that opportunity to reassure them that it IS normal to be curious, it IS normal to push the boundaries I've laid out, and it IS normal to already be planning how they can do it again.

But then I also remind them that it is EXPECTED that they RESPECT the fact that it is a FAMILY computer. I ask them how they think their grandmother, or young cousins, would react if they sat down at our computer screen to play a game or open an email, and instead got a pop up of someone popping open? I have found that putting my children in the position of reflecting on how their actions can spread out and affect someone not actually in our immediate family works well. Let's face it. They don't care how it affects each other, and they live to embarrass and shock their parents. But grandma or the 5 year old cousin? Suddenly things aren't quite as exciting.

And, being no dummy, I frequently and with no warning whatsoever, check the history and the cookies on my computer, and call them out on it if something IS found. :) And then I tell them that I don't care which one of them it was, EVERYONE loses computer privileges if it happens again. They police each other then, and I usually get between 2 weeks and 6 months of "clean" computer time.

Poor Bug, though, when the Teenager moves out. With him gone, and dad never really home, there will be no one else to blame.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And? Today is apparently my Blogiversary! I *think* I've been doing this for about 4 years now. Wow. I would ask "Gee, who knew I had so much to talk about?", but then everyone who knows me would start jumping up and down, saying "Me! Me! Me! I DID!!!!", and that would cause such a rumbling that people from California to New York would think it was some very odd, very troubling earthquake happening. So, since I do NOT want to be the cause of any sort of major mass hysteria, I'll keep that question to myself.

Besides.... it would be redundant, anyway. After all, I knew I had this much to talk about. It's why I talk about it, after all.

How I Spent My Summer Vacation....

2011-08-12T22:57:00.000-07:00

Okay, so school technically started about three weeks ago. And fine, I'm not even the one in school. Whatever. I'm still going to uphold the fine tradition of English teachers across the nation, and write about my summer vacation.

My starter baby, my fake-it-til-you-make-it introduction to parenting, graduated from high school. After a lot of late night anguish over homework, stomach aches over girlfriends, Snoopy happy dances because of football games and track meets, and more tears than can ever be counted. And all of that was on my part! But we got him there.

And then he had the nerve to turn 18. He's a big boy now, and able to make big boy choices. And apparently able to withstand big boy pain. After several years of talking about it, many design and design alterations; after getting my solemn pinkie promise to not only go along with him, but to get one of my own; I celebrated the 18th anniversary of 18 hours of hard labor-the worst pain imaginable (well, had I not been under the most awesome influence of a superb epidural!) by getting a tattoo with the Teenager.

My baby, my Bug, decided that this would be a perfect time to venture into his own teenage-hood. He turned 13 this year. I'm still not sure he's telling me the truth about his birthday. I mean, I was there for his birth. And I'm certain it happened only a few short years ago.

This was also the summer I got to remember being 18 again. My 20-year high school reunion. As corny as it sounds, it truly was like no time at all had passed. I walked into the room, squealed when I saw my favorite people on the planet from 20 years ago, ran into hugs that simply defined Best Hug Ever, and the last 20 years melted off of each of us. And in my case? 100 pounds went right along with it. I could pretend, for 72 hours, that I was just as I was then. Fortunately, my friends went right along with that alternate reality. There is a reason I love them.

And while that experience may be the highlight of my trip home this summer, it can possibly be topped by the journey there and back. Road trip with my boys!! We spent 14 hours, each direction, laughing and singing along in the car. We talked, about girls and life after high school. And we argued over who got to eat the last licorice rope. Had that stubborn Teenager not cheated by sticking them all in his mouth and sliding them back out again, covered in his slimy germs? I totally would have won that argument, too.

Back home again, and time was running out. We still had so much to do, and not a lot of time left. In true-to-myself fashion, Bug and I fulfilled one of my promises to him in the Go Big or Go Home style we try to embrace here. He had been begging me to dye his hair purple since before school even got out in the spring. Finally, as I was wandering the hair color aisle at the grocery store, fate smiled upon my boy. Fate in the form of the ONLY box of purple hair coloring left on the shelf. Only after I got it home and in his hair did I check to make sure it was a temporary dye, and is supposed to come out completely after about 24 shampoos. I'm not entirely sure he's using shampoo every morning in the shower, as there is still quite a bit of purple still in there.

And finally, we came to the end of our summer. School started in three days. Was there even time to fit anything else in? Honestly....who did they think they were dealing with?

Night Ranger. Foreigner. Journey. We saw them all in one night. No matter that the boys really had no idea who Night Ranger was. That portion of the concert was really more for me. But when Journey took the stage? Both my boys (and a couple of extra teenagers I'd picked up for the fun! Mouse and another friend of the Teenager's) were on their feet for the entire set, dancing and air-guitaring their way through song after song. In the rain, because is there a better way to enjoy lawn seats to an amazing concert?

I don't think I realized just how amazing my summer truly was, until just this moment. It was so .... full .... and I didn't even talk about Bug's last All Star baseball experience (beyond amazing!), or the soul-soothing visit with my own mama while I was home for my reunion.

Oh! And did I mention I got a fabulous new haircut?

Huh. Maybe all of those English teachers really do know what they're doing when they ask for these essays, after all.

They Pretty Much Have Me Wrapped Around Their Fingers.....And They Know It

2011-08-06T19:29:00.000-07:00

I had it all planned out. The Teenager was going to be out until late. Bug was spending the night at a friend's house. I was deciding between a few different things for dinner, and taking my time about it since it was just me. I was going to rent a movie; most likely one of the chick flicks that I've been wanting to see but never get to, living as I do in the House of Testosterone. It was going to be a fairly close to perfect night.

So, naturally, when I answered my phone the first question I heard was, "Hey, Mom... can (insert any random Friend in here...it's always the same question, only the names change) spend the night?"

Well, damn, I thought. There goes my night. Now I'll have to feed someone other than myself, and they will most likely take over my living room, playing some stupid StalkShootKill game, leaving me in the den with that stupid TV that I can't enjoy a movie on even if we did have a DVD player in there. I could just say no.....

And I was right. I *could* just say no. Any bets on what I actually did say? No? Yeah, that's cuz you all know I'm a big sucker. Of course I said yes.

Because while I might complain about being stuck in the den with the TV that turns all pictures a lovely shade of orangey-yellow, I can't help but remember one little fact about myself.

I'm a procrastinator. And what I'm putting off til tomorrow is Empty Nest Syndrome.

So, yes. They can have their friends stay the night. They can play those stupid video games. They can even beg me NOT to make spaghetti, just because it sounds good to me. They can disrupt my quiet evening as much as they think they're able to. That's right. Bring on the noise!

Because I'm just not ready to face every weekend without it yet.

This is SOOO How I Feel Some Days

2011-07-30T22:02:00.000-07:00

Parental Fail

2011-07-11T00:14:00.000-07:00

"Mom, I gotta tell you something, and I'm calling you because you'll freak out less than Dad. I got in an accident."

"Are you SERIOUS?"

"Yeah. I backed into someone."

"You're not kidding? You really hit someone?!?"

"Yes, I did. And it's not helping that you're YELLING AT ME!!!"

*big, deep breath.....much calmer tone of voice.... because, drat it all, he was right...I was yelling, just a bit*

"You're right. I'm sorry. Are you ok? Is anyone hurt?"

From there, he proceeded to tell me exactly what happened, and I was able to walk him through exactly what to do. No one was hurt, the owner of the other vehicle seems to be a very nice young man, and we're hoping to get this taken care of with minimal fuss. A busted taillight and a dented bumper for each vehicle. As far as accidents go, this one's a cake walk. Heck, both...yes, that's right...BOTH of my brothers backed into MY car when they were both in high school. Or, perhaps more correctly, they each backed OVER my car when they were in high school.

Still, I can't help but feel like I totally hosed a defining parental moment.

His first fender bender, and I didn't react the way he needed me to. I didn't believe him at first, and wasn't calm until he reminded me that he needed me to be.

Do I at least get some bonus redemption points for asking about him first, rather than the car?

A Daughter Wouldn't Have Cared

2011-07-03T17:37:00.002-07:00

A three day weekend. Nothing to do but be lazy. Don't even need to get dressed if I don't want to. I was soooo looking forward to that. And then...the Teenager ruined it.

We've had a long standing agreement, he and I. He would warn me if he had friends walking in the door, and I'd make sure I was wearing a bra when they did. After all, I'm just a little too endowed, and gravity has taken too cruel of a toll, for me to run around in front of teenage boys with no bra on. I don't recall if it was started at his suggestion or mine, but it has worked very well for us. No embarrassment for anyone.

So here I sat, being lazy, and I hear him holler at me..."Mom! Put a bra on!"

Damn. Friends are coming over.

I know that at one point, what I wanted most out of being a mom was having the house everyone loved to come to. I wanted all of their friends to be so comfortable with me that they'd all call me "Mom" and just walk in my front door. And they do.

It is possible, though, that I didn't think this through very well. I didn't take into account that I would really, really, really want to spend a full few days with no restricting underclothes on.

Having daughters might have been easier, since I wouldn't have to worry so much about boobs and how they'd be worried about, but it would have been nowhere near as entertaining as having sons.

Do You Remember?

2011-07-02T17:12:00.000-07:00

It was like my yearbook came to life, and for three days I was 18 again.

My high school reunion was last weekend. Twenty years. How is that possible? Wasn't it yesterday that I was slamming my locker shut, running down the hall and ducking into the choir room because I decided at the last minute to ditch math class (again), and didn't want to get caught? Didn't I just walk out of the lunchroom, carrying the most fabulous breakfast burrito I can ever remember, and walk backstage for some performance or another? And I'm fairly certain that it was just last week that we were all hanging out in the Homecoming King's barn until the wee hours of the morning.

We've all changed. We've all grown up. We've all become responsible adults and contributing members of society. (Well, most of us.) And yet, for three days, we were all those 18 year old kids who didn't know how to worry about anything beyond tomorrow.

As we walked into the bar on Friday night (okay, so that may be one benefit to being older....) one by one, looking around for a familiar face, it was amazing. Someone would call out a name, everyone would look, there would be some squeals (yes, fine, that was me...), a lot of "How have you BEEN???", and some of the best hugs ever hugged in the history of hugging.

No one, and I mean NO ONE, hugs quite like an old friend.

Each time I'd look at one of these people that I had loved so much back then, I didn't see their faces or bodies as they are now. I saw them as they were then. Every new conversation started with "Do you remember me?" To which we would hear, "Of COURSE I remember you!! How could I NOT?"

Not a single conversation lagged. Not one awkward moment was experienced. Not even one minute of transition. It was like the last 20 years simply wasn't there. Friendships picked back up. Flirtations were continued. And we were all left wondering why we'd let it all slip by us.

Later that weekend, when Bug asked me if I'd been popular in high school, it got me to thinking. No, I don't think I was. At least, not by the typical definition. But looking back at my high school years, looking back at my reunion weekend, I have to say this. I may not have been "popular", but I was loved. And remembered.

In my eyes, that counts more than having been popular. Popularity fades. Love? Well, it picks right back up where it last saw you.

Even with twenty years in the middle.

Senior Year

20yr Reunion

The Sounds of Silence...Not What They're Cracked Up To Be

2011-06-12T21:22:00.000-07:00

As I sit here typing, from the next room I can hear the sounds of five teenage boys of various teenage years combined with the sounds of Call of Duty in various stages of gunfire. There is a lot of gunfire. There is a lot of shouting. There is a lot of trash talking going on.

There is a lot of camaraderie. There is a lot of laughter. There is a lot of memory making happening.

There is a lot of everything that makes my life perfect.

I wonder sometimes what life will be like after the Teenager leaves for the Navy. I know that my grocery bill will be less. Wayyyy less. I know that my electric bill will go down. Not as drastically as my grocery bill, but still. I know that I'll have more time and money to spend on Bug and his activities. And all of this is good. Really.

But it will be so .... quiet.

On the plus side, there will be a lot less arguments when I decide to play my 80's music. Loudly.

Very loudly.

I Must've Blinked Somewhere

2011-06-09T00:05:00.001-07:00

So. This is it. You're 18. Finally.

In your eyes, it's taken so incredibly long to get here. In mine, I can't seem to figure out how all the years sped by so quickly.

Eighteen years ago, my everything changed. Permanently. My life, my world, my body. Because let's face it, there is just no way to carry a baby for nine months, go through labor and delivery, and look the same. Ever. Even if you are one of the lucky ones, and manage to fit into your pre-pregnancy clothes, your body will still never be the same. It will be forever changed.

So it seems oddly fitting that today, on your 18th birthday; the day we are celebrating your move from child to man; that once again you are the cause of a major and forever sort of change to my body. Because today, I get to fulfill yet another promise made to you; a pact we made together. You design it....I'll do it. That was the whole of it.

Well, you upheld your end of the bargain. Now it's time for me to uphold mine. Today....we are getting our first tattoos together.

I am scared spitless. Needles and I? Have not ever been on good terms. So when you look back on your life, and you see all of the things we did together that created the memories you see? Give a little bit of extra brownie points to me for this one, okay? Apparently, there truly isn't anything I won't endure for you.

Happy 18th birthday to you, my oldest son; my starter baby.

We've grown up together, kiddo. And I don't think either of us has turned out too shabby.

I love you to the moon and back,

Mom

Where Do We Go From Here?

2011-05-30T18:08:00.000-07:00

I have no idea.

Sure, he's headed into the Navy later this fall. And sooner than that, he's headed into a job, God-willing. At least for the summer. (He's been warned....no more school + no more sports = no more of Mom blindly supporting his life.) But where does life really go from here?

I have suddenly become the mother of a son I don't get to lead into the decisions he should be making. (Yes, you can feel free to translate that into "control". I won't take offense. I can't...it's true.) Although, truth be told, he was never one for blindly following my suggestions, anyway.

We had a discussion last night (and by discussion, I really mean that I tried talking to him while he busily texted various friends, and made what I'm sure he deemed appropriate grunting responses in reply to my words), where I admitted to him that I knew he no longer had to actually ask for permission to do things and go places. And never one to waste an opportunity to further instruct my offspring in the ways of respect and courtesy, I also reminded him that this did not mean he could stay out til all hours of the night, going God only knows where and doing God only knew what with God only knows who. Because while God knew, I wouldn't, and he still lived with me in my house and not with God in His.

All the while, I was reminding myself in my head to be verrrryyyy careful not to utter this phrase: As long as you live in my house, you will..... (fill in the blank)

Because I remembered that the last time I heard that, I moved out of my parents' house and in with the Teenager's father. And while that may have eventually turned out well....it's been a rough eighteen + years. I do NOT want that for my child. So I will continue to be vigilant in not uttering that phrase in his hearing.

But what I'm really wondering is not so much where does HIS life go from here, but where does MINE go from here?

Before too long, it will be just me and Bug. And while most of the time he seems to enjoy my company more than his brother does, I'm not fool enough to believe that he'll willingly suffer my hovering for long. For so long, my life has been almost exclusively filled with my boys and their activities. With the Teenager no longer contributing to that, I'm feeling a little lost. I've only got Bug for another 5 years, and I discovered the hard way with the Teenager that that is a very short amount of time that goes by entirely too fast. With Coach now over the road and only home for a couple of days every few weeks, it's looking like it's time to figure out who I am underneath the Mom uniform. The only thing I know for sure that I like doing is reading, and I really do know that it would not be a good idea for me to retreat entirely into a world of books. I'm a little daunted by the prospect of finding new aspects of myself.

And if I'm being honest.... I'm a lot freaked out, too.

My Thursday Night Was Awesome....How Was Yours?

2011-05-27T13:16:00.000-07:00

Less Than A Week....

2011-05-21T16:39:00.000-07:00

Five days to go....

If I let myself think about it too much, I turn all weepy. Of course, that makes him roll his eyes and laugh at me, but that's normal.

I am so, so, so proud of this kid. Kid? No, this young man. This amazing person who has gone from adorable baby, to precocious little boy, to snarky teenager, to this mature adult in training.

We got through his first words, first tooth, first step, not knowing, really, where those steps would take him.

We got through elementary school with no worries, not a single thought about how close this day actually was.

We got through Jr. High without realizing how that was preparing him.

We got into High School, and thought this day was on the distant horizon. We pushed through English classes, math homework, football games, baseball games and track meets.

And now we're here. Well, almost here. Just five more days.....

I am so proud of you, and I love you so much. I can't wait to see where you head next.

It's True Because He Said So

2011-05-08T00:42:00.000-07:00

According to my youngest son.....

"Mom, being raised by you....well, I like some pretty cool music. Jimi Hendrix. Bon Jovi. The B-52's. You know, cool stuff."

He's also the son who will go out on a date night with me....to see a cartoon movie. And as we sit through the previews? Keeps saying "Next time, Mom, you and I will go see that one. Ooh...and that one! And THAT one!" Which is why he and I will be seeing the new Winnie the Pooh movie when it comes out, as well as the Smurfs Movie.

As we're sitting at dinner, he tells me "Mom, we should do this every other week. And I say every other week, so that we can make sure and go to awesome places like this each time, instead of not-so-awesome places in-between times."

And in the car on the way home, after our evening is finished, this is the son who tells me "Mom, I had fun tonight hanging out with you. It was epic!"

It's good to know that cartoon movies and the B-52's are still considered cool. Even better knowing that I'M still considered cool enough to enjoy them with.

Its All Part Of The Adoption Package

2011-04-29T16:18:00.000-07:00

Here's the way I see it. If, as a friend of my son, you are going to call me "Mom"...well then, you are giving me all rights and privileges associated with that title. Pride in your accomplishments. Disappointment in your poor choices. And when told that one of your classmates is suddenly an expectant parent, questions like this:

Seriously. How hard is it to use a condom every time? Tell me you use one, Every.Time.

And also, if you're calling me Mom, you really should be prepared for me to continue on with that lesson in responsibility for at least another ten minutes. And you should expect me to reference things like genital warts and herpes, and you should expect to hear statements like "This is your penis. This is your penis with warts." And you really, really, REALLY should expect me to say "Wear a condom EVERY SINGLE TIME!" a minimum of 2,358,903,884,954 times.

Because if you're old enough to be having sex, then you're old enough to be having sex responsibly. And if embarrassing conversations with me about condom use is what it takes for you to remember it? Well, you asked for it when you gave me pseudo-parental rights by calling me Mom.

Consider it my parental prerogative. So don't act surprised when you come home from college on break in a few months, run into me at the local Wal-Mart, and I ask you again if you're wearing a condom EVERY TIME.

Just know that you are loved enough for me to continue drilling that into your hormone-riddled brain for as long as you are a part of my son's life. And then some. Because parental love, even the love from pseudo-parents like myself, doesn't stop just because you've graduated from high school.

Borrowing Wisdom

2011-04-25T14:32:00.000-07:00

I try, I really do try, to make sure that every word written here is solely mine. Well, unless I'm quoting someone who is way beyond wiser than myself. But then, I make sure to give credit.

It's not often that a comic strip can be considered beyond wiser than myself. Beyond wiser than people in general, actually. Especially since the very premise of a comic strip is to make you laugh, not think and reflect.

There's always an exception, though, isn't there? For me, its Zits. Maybe it's where my life is right now; maybe it's where my kids are in my life right now; or maybe it's specifically where the Teenager is in my life right now. Whatever the reason, this one comic strip just....speaks to me. Constantly. Daily. With every frame illustrated. And more often than not, I end up weepy. *sigh* Happened again this morning.

Graduation? Is kicking my butt emotionally.

Ready or Not.....

2011-04-14T21:56:00.000-07:00

Here it comes.....

Five short weeks to go.

I look at this picture, and I see so many things. I see how ridiculously happy and excited he is. How proud of himself he is. I see him at five years old, at twelve, and now at *almost* eighteen. I see that little boy who crawled into my lap every night, for one more snuggle; and the teenager that lays his head in my lap almost every night still, asking for one more back rub. I see that brand new teenager, struggling to understand enough of the class to do his homework; and the young man who has learned how to push himself to succeed, giving up so much to better himself scholastically.

He is one of the most amazing things I have ever been a part of. He is beyond awesome. And in five short weeks, everyone who knows him will get the chance to celebrate just what a wonderful, amazing, awesome and just plain cool young man he really is.

Hey, Teenager? If I haven't told you lately? I am more proud of you than you will ever possibly realize, and more thankful to God for giving you into my care than I ever believed I could be. You are the epitome of strength of character, endurance of spirit, and beauty of soul.

Mama loves you, baby.

I Know Every Mama Says It, But In My Case...It's True

2011-04-07T16:21:00.000-07:00

I've always believed that I have awesome boys. A lot of that belief is just being a mama, because I'm sure at some point, someone else has NOT believed I have awesome boys. And although I try to be all that is nice and friendly on a near-constant basis (Shush! Yes, you...shush! That includes YOU...shush! I am nice.), I have to point out that those someone elses that don't believe I have awesome boys? Well, they're just wrong.

In the week since Coach has been gone (and I'm doing better than I think anyone gave me credit for, thankyouverymuch.....but check back with me next week. Could be a different story...), the amount of stepping up that my boys have done is just .... cool.

No more arguments about bedtime. (I just go when I want to... haha!)
Dishes just seem to get done, no procrastination witnessed.
Dogs get fed. Actual dog food, not just what they find left out on the coffee table.

I tell you, it's awe-inspiring.

The Teenager, though....now HE'S really impressive. With dad gone, we figured Bug would feel it the most. After all, much like I've been the constant in the Teenager's athletic life, dad's been Bug's. He's been coach and private instructor, cheerleader and feedback-giver. And he's been to EVERYTHING. Now, all of a sudden, he's not there. So yeah, we know he's going to feel that absence a little stronger than the Teenager will.

But.....

The Teenager is picking Bug up from track practice after school. He's taking him to baseball practice, and sticking around to watch and help out. He's at every game, cheering him on. He's the first one to reach him after the game, to congratulate or commiserate. He's making sure Bug eats before games and practices. And he's cut wayyyy back on deliberately picking arguments with his little brother. (Can't give up EVERYTHING fun, can he?)

As an added bonus to what I know to the depths of my soul is a great kid? He decided to make dinner the other night. He planned it, he made sure the main course was thawed the correct way. He even waited to tell me about it until he discovered he couldn't just surprise me, although he did plan on having it ready when I got home from work. And before you think it was just something easy like ramen or Shells-n-cheese, allow me to impress you. Grilled salmon, Parmesan pasta, and veggies.

We are going to gloss right over the debacle with the bad charcoal that would never light, necessitating informing me of his plans so that he could ask me for money to go to the store for good charcoal that would light; and we're going to ignore the part where he was playing with fire around that bad charcoal that would never light, which ended up in some asteroid sized sparks flying around with a smaller one landing on his favorite shorts, burning a little hole in them. We'll also turn a blind eye to the part where mom ended up texting dad with a picture of the grill, trying to make sure there was enough charcoal in there; there wasn't, so I added some. No, what we'll do is get straight to the end result. A fabulously tasty meal of grilled salmon.

Perfectly grilled, I might add.

Awesome. Just Awesome.

2011-04-05T08:41:00.001-07:00

Check in at the Greyhound satellite terminal located about 25 minutes from our house.
Find out that this trip includes a four hour layover. At a terminal located only an additional 20 minutes from our house.
Get on the stupid bus anyway, because that's how transportation was arranged and there was no way to just skip this step and catch up with the bus in four and a half hours.
Finally, after hanging out for hours at the second terminal, get started on the road!
Thirty minutes later, wouldn't you know it? The A/C on the bus pukes out. Can't be fixed quickly, so onward it rolls; no air. For the remaining seven hours of the trip.

And that, my friends? Is how Coach began this new adventure he's on. This adventure called A NEW JOB!!! Yes, after two years of being unemployed, my man is working again!!! This bus ride took him to three weeks of training, for a job that will have him gone wayyyy more than he's home. But....A JOB!! There are times and situations in life that you just have to deal with something sucky because it gets you to other things that aren't sucky. This is one of them. Coach not home=sucky. Being able to afford things like graduation (ugh--there's that word again!), gas for the car and air conditioning for the house in the hotter-than-the-fires-of-hell summer of Arizona=NOT sucky. So? We deal.

Big big BIG thank yous to everyone of you who prayed for us, kept your fingers crossed, sent positive energy our way, and danced naked under the moon. It paid off, and means more to us than you'll ever know.

I'd say let's all stop with the naked moon dancing now, except I've found it's rather enjoyable. I might, however, save it for those four nights a month Coach will actually be home.

This was taken ON the craptastic bus ride. Looks like fun, right?

A Peek Inside My Mind This Morning....

2011-03-21T10:58:00.001-07:00

How in the world do I go about planning a graduation *sob* party that the Teenager not only won't be embarrassed to attend himself, but would even invite people to?

And, um...how do I plan that graduation *sob* party on what amounts to a non-existent budget?

Oh.Gawd. Graduation. *sob* So not cool of him to do this to me.

I have a giant bag of giant lemons. What on Earth am I going to do with these? I don't cook anything fancy enough to call for real lemons.

Bug is the most awesomest compliment giver. They are always so immediate upon noticing something that there is no way he's not being truthful. Both my ego and my heart just loves that.

He's also the best hugger. When he's old enough, and I refuse to accept that he's old enough now at almost 13, those two traits are going to make him soooo popular with the girls. *groan* Ugh.

I am really wishing that carbonation didn't make me feel super bloaty. I'm almost totally against giving up my massive morning mug of Diet Dr. Pepper from the QT. But this bloaty thing? Ugh.

When Vanity SHOULD Outrank Laziness....But Doesn't

2011-03-07T16:17:00.000-07:00

It started with discovering that the water was just a tad bit too warm. Okay, fine. It scalded me when I stepped into the shower. It got worse from there.

I shampooed with conditioner, and conditioned with shampoo.

I missed an entire section of leg hair. After already slicing my leg when I went to adjust my foot on the tiny little shelf in the shower while I was actively shaving.

Missed a whole section on the other leg, too. *sigh*

Stepped on the dog when I got out. She blends in with the bathroom rug really well.

Had to lean so far over the vanity to see my face in the mirror that my upper lady parts were resting in the sink. Against the cold faucet.

Observed that having my nose pressed up against the mirror simply did not leave me enough room to apply any sort of cosmetics, and so rather confidently made the decision to step back to my normal spot for this activity. After all, how hard can it be to find my own face? I mean, it's always right there with me.

Well....

I stabbed myself in the eye. Twice. In each eye, actually.

I somehow managed to apply blush to my eyebrow line rather than my hairline.

And it looked like I was single-handedly (which may or may not be a word) trying to bring back that oh-so-attractive 80's style of applying eyeshadow clear out to your temples.

And then I stabbed myself in the eye again with the stupid mascara wand.

But! I wasn't done just yet.....

I missed the toothbrush with the toothpaste. Twice. And then when I wisely decided to bring that sucker up close enough to see, ended up with toothpaste on the tip of my nose. Don't ask.

I don't think my toothbrush made it under the water even one time.

I grabbed the wrong deodorant.

And I may have even been guilty of doing more to blow-dry the towel hanging up behind me than I was on my hair.

All of this so that I didn't have to actually put my contacts in yesterday just to go to the store. The Teenager was driving, so I reasoned I wouldn't really need them. After all, I can function just fine with only my glasses, is what I confidently told myself.

Turns out that I? Am a big, fat liar. Because apparently I can only function well enough with those suckers to avoid stubbing my toes as I walk around my house.

Maybe not even that, because I tripped over the dog as I walked out of my room. The dog that is a cross between a Great Dane and a German Shepard. You know, the big one you CAN'T MISS?

(And shush...everyone knows that you can't wear glasses in the shower or while you're putting anything on your face. So they were nice and comfy in their little case, sitting right there on the counter, laughing at me during this entire fiasco. Maybe. I'm not sure they could even see me. You know, cuz they completely missed the dog and all.)

Spread the Word to End the Word

2011-03-02T00:55:00.000-07:00

In my little world, this blog is really just a place I run to when I want to preserve some random memory of my boys, or put something down in writing that maybe they can look back on when they're grown and realize that Mom had some good ideas. In my little world, my boys not only get along with each other, but they get along with the rest of the world.

Sadly, the rest of the world doesn't live in MY little world.

In the rest of the world, my boys face things like prejudice and intolerance, ignorance and selfishness. When it's directed at them, my boys can usually stand up for themselves, or for each other, against that ugliness. But when faced with ugliness geared towards others in the world who are too trusting and deep-down-to-the-soul innocent to stand up for themselves? I'm hoping I've raised my boys to stand up for them, too.

My Bug, he's smart as a whip. But most people wouldn't know that if all they did was take a quick look at one brief snapshot of his life. If someone caught him off-guard in the middle of a massive meltdown caused simply by being too young and inexperienced to adequately cope with being Bipolar? A meltdown moment when all he is able to hold himself together enough to do is cry, pull his hair and try to curl into a ball small enough to be overlooked? What do you suppose would be said about him then? What names do you imagine people who didn't know any better would call him?

And that's just MY son. My son, who 98% of the time is fully able to communicate clearly and concisely with the general population. But for those who can't? Well, that's when the rest of us need to stand up, pull up our big-girl pants, and do it for them. We need to strongly, clearly and unflinchingly tell the world to do what's right.

We teach our children to "use their words" when they're frustrated, angry or impatient. But do you stop to make sure you're teaching them the RIGHT words?

Today, I'm asking a favor of anyone who reads this. Take a minute to go to www.r-word.org. Take the pledge. And then HONOR and LIVE that pledge.

Because a world full of people who use the right words? Who stand up for those who otherwise can't? Make it easier to let my boys leave MY world and head out into the REAL world. And know that they won't be alone in it.

That Was Never On MY Weekly Vocabulary Study List

2011-02-23T13:54:00.000-07:00

Bug, you're a dork!

Mom, I am NOT a whale's penis. And trust me, I have no desire to be.

Um, well....okay then. You're a goof. Is that better?

Oh, yeah. Much. I can live with that.

I no longer what we were laughing about at the start of the conversation, or what prompted me to call him a dork. But I'm sure as heck going to find my dictionary now. And possibly send an email to his teacher wondering just what in the world they've been studying.

Reminded of My Blessings Again

2011-02-20T15:13:00.000-07:00

I was reminded again this weekend how very, very blessed I've been in the children that God gave me to. Not that I ever really forget that fact, or even take it for granted very often. But sometimes, like this weekend, it just smacks me in the head again.

I've always believed that the Teenager and I have a good relationship. We talk about his life (which includes all sorts of personal things I never imagined I'd be talking about, and certainly didn't discuss with my own parents, when I was his age; things from jock itch to sex, grades to girlfriends), we hang out together, he gives me a hug and kiss each time he leaves the house, and tells me he loves me at least a couple of times a day. Good stuff, right? I don't realize until I talk to other parents of teenage boys the same age as mine that this behavior? Not the norm.

Are there things in his life that I don't know about? Sure. He's a kid who's almost a man. It stands to reason that there are things he will not share with me. And that's good. It means I've raised a son who can make his own decisions, and accept the consequences. But am I confident that when he tells me he doesn't drink or do drugs, and fully grasps and utilizes the "Condom Every Time" concept, that he is telling me the truth and practicing what I'm preaching? Yes. I am.

And Bug, between the ADHD and the Bipolar Disorder most people would assume would have created the most selfish little monster known to man, is in reality one of the most generous and giving souls I know. When most kids his age are thinking about growing up to be rich and famous, so that they buy the coolest cars and houses for themselves? My Bug tells me all the time that when he grows up, he's going to buy me a house near him and any car that I want; and a motorcycle for his dad. He's been making plans since he was 8 years old to take care of me in my old age. Plans that do NOT include packing me off to the most convenient old folks' home he can find. No, his plans are centered around his having a house large enough for me to live in with his family and being married to a woman who will love me as much as he does.

And yes, he's already decided that if his future wife can't accept that he's going to have me living with him when I'm old and feeble (which, apparently, will be somewhere in my 60's....we're still working on the definition of old and feeble), then she's not someone he wants to spend his future with.

So, yeah. I'm lucky and blessed beyond reason, and I know that. I'm still thankful for the reminders, though.

Just Because

2011-02-10T15:38:00.000-07:00

"Why doesn't HE get in trouble for that?"

"Why does HE get to do that and I didn't?"

"You NEVER let ME do that, but you ALWAYS let HIM do that!"

Grumble, grumble. Whine, whine. Stomp, stomp. Slam, slam.

At any given time, it could be either of my boys saying those sentences. And while they never like the answers I give them, it all comes down to one simple thing. I didn't know then what I know now.

The Teenager has been my Great Experiment. The ultimate science project. My no-shades-of-gray, pass-or-fail-only test of parenting. Everything I do or say to him, Every. Single. Thing., is a first. So naturally, I either learn from it and make the necessary changes with Bug, or I continue to convince myself that my way was right the first time and it must have been the kid who was to blame for the spectacular failure of epic proportions. Or I smile, clap my hands excitedly because I never expected it to work, and try it again. Maybe tweaking it just a bit, because, you know.... you can always do better.

Which is why Bug gets to tell me NO! more often than the Teenager ever did. I learned that telling me NO! isn't always being defiant, but sometimes the only way to get me to really open my eyes and see that there's a very good reason for him not to be doing something.

And why Bug got a cell phone when he turned 12, as opposed to the Teenager being forced to wait until he was 13. I learned that just because the world was more cooperative when I was younger, and all of my friends had house phones and parents that always knew where everyone was at, doesn't mean that my boys are blessed enough to live in the same sort of world. Sometimes, a mom's just gotta be able to have some sort of tracking device on her kids.

It might also be why I'm considering locking Bug in his room, nailing the windows shut, until he's 35. I let the Teenager grow up, and look where that's gotten me? Four months away from hearing him tell me he gets to make his own decisions, and accept the consequences.

It's also gotten me four months away from getting my first tattoo, since he and I have decided that for his 18th birthday we are getting tattooed together.

Um....I might need some help there. Because despite having learned that I can conquer broken bones, stitches and multiple injuries that happen to my children? I have yet to figure out a way to NOT freak the heck out about a needle piercing my skin.

On the other hand, it's a great metaphor for parenthood. Painful and messy, requiring you to remain in one place for longer than you originally wanted to. But oh! The results? Are always beautiful and worth showing off every chance you get.

Dear Teenager.....

2011-01-28T14:18:00.001-07:00

We're in the home stretch now, kiddo. Only four months left until you graduate. Add a few more days to that, and you'll (finally!) be 18. Where have the years gone?

You were my first personal miracle; given to me when science had said you never would be; given to me again when medical experts said you should have been taken in that fall from the window. You were my starter baby, my guinea pig, my "grow up quick" guide to adulthood. You were all that often kept me locked to reality when you were a baby; you still often are. You were the highlight of my existence in those early years. You helped me remember that what I did mattered to someone. That I mattered to someone.

When your brother came along, you might possibly have been more excited than I was. Well, after you accepted that we weren't going to exchange the baby for a puppy. You were my little helper, feeding him and keeping him happy. You used to love it when he trailed around after you, and even though you will never admit it now, I think you still secretly smile when he talks about how awesome he thinks you are.

You never really were one of those difficult children that so many parents get to experience. You've always been loving, generous and open with your affection. Remember that afternoon you proudly called out to me from the street where you were riding bikes with your friends "Love you, Mom!"; and how they teased you? Do you remember your response? "What? Don't you guys love YOUR moms?"

You have turned into one of the most amazing young men I've ever been blessed to know. You are honest beyond measure, trustworthy, reliable, and still so amazingly generous with your love and affection. If you care about someone, they know it without a shadow of a doubt. Your friends admire your dedication to making the right decisions, and your commitment to following through on your choices. Your little brother STILL knows he can count on you to steer him in the right direction, whether you want to--or even know you're doing it--or not. Adults seek you out, because they know that when you say you'll do something, you'll do it. Even your dad and I know that; even if the dishes are still done with a little bit of grumbling.

Son, you are, without a moment's doubt, one of the very best parts of my life; of me. You are the keeper of a very special section of my heart that has belonged only to you since the doctor told me you existed when everything else said you shouldn't have. You make me prouder than proud; more proud than I ever realized I could be. I am proud of who you were, more proud of who you've become, and I can't even fathom how proud I will be of who you will continue to grow into.

From singing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" when you were three, to our weekly "dates" after your football games in high school, you have given me more memories than anyone would have ever believed a heart could hold. I can only hope that I have given you just as many to take with you on your journey into adulthood.

I don't just love you, baby, I adore you.....

--Mama

WooHoo!

2011-01-21T09:11:00.000-07:00

As a parent, you face a lot of "firsts" as you go along. First words. First steps. First chin hair. (For your son; although it's totally realistic to count your own, too.) First girlfriend. First serious girlfriend. First, no-I-really-mean-it-this-time serious girlfriend. Have you ever stopped to think, just for a minute, that you really only focus on the firsts that come from your kids?

I didn't. Not until I heard that the daughter of a childhood friend of mine is now expecting a baby. That's when it hit me. I had managed to completely avoid a major parental first.

I am NOT the first of my friends to become a grandma.

That one thought made me smile for HOURS. Seriously. Hours.

Sometimes it truly is the little things in life, isn't it?

I Win!

2011-01-14T14:58:00.000-07:00

If ever there was one thing that my Bug is spectacular at, it's taking you off guard by saying the most random (randomest?) word or phrase, just when you're working up a really good mad.

One of the biggest pet peeves that Coach has is when he's watching something on TV, and someone talks. Feel free to converse during the commercials; he'll even respond. But talk once that show comes back on? And you get the *very* evil stink eye. So naturally, this is something the boys do regularly. Often as sort of a competition, to see who can get the steam to billow out of dad's ears the quickest. And if I'm being honest, I'm usually right in there with them. It's one of the best entertainment options available to us right now.

The other night the boys and I were going back and forth, taking our turns interrupting the show. To Coach's credit, he's generally fairly wise to us and just pauses the show until we get tired of the game. But this night, it seemed to be taking a lot longer for us to get tired of it. So we'd be waiting, pouncing with a comment or two just as soon as he un-paused the show. Eventually, though, it slowed down to the point where Coach felt safe attempting to watch TV again. We even let the program run for a minute or so. But the boys and I kept looking at each other, waiting patiently. The moment would come......

Just as Coach was good and engrossed, Bug simply said the word "Dad". I swear, that man's head turned completely around on his shoulders, exorcist-style, and he pinned Bug with The Look. He paused the show, without taking his evil stink eyes off Bug, and simply said, "What."

With a great big smile, and a truly contagious laugh, Bug looked at his dad and said, "I win!"

That man went down like a giant tree. There was just no staying mad after that.

Absolutely Positively

2010-12-27T17:55:00.000-07:00

There are some certainties in life that you can count on. The sun will rise tomorrow, the boys will argue over the right way to advance past any random obstacle in whatever the video game of the day is, Coach will fall asleep on Christmas Eve long before it's time to wrap the gifts and place them under the tree, and just when I'm convinced I'm going to give up on the lot of them, they will each do something that ~~saves their lives~~...um, endears them to me once again.

Things like shouting "HI MOM!" from across the room when his brother is on the phone with me. Or cutting himself off mid-whine to solve his own dilemma about baseball pants. Or searching high and low on the Internet to make sure he gets me exactly what I want, and the only thing I asked for, at a price even I won't make a fuss over. (Bill and Ted AND the B-52's, for less than $20 for BOTH! Santa loves me, yes he does!)

These things keep me coming back to this insanity night after night, when it would be so easy to just keep driving past my exit on the interstate. Well, these things and the fact that there simply isn't anyone else on the planet who hugs me just like these three guys do. Protected, loved and cherished; these hugs are as much a haven for me as they are for my boys. Which totally explains why I torture them night after night, day after day, in front of friends and girlfriends; demanding that they march themselves over and hug me.

There is, of course, one more certainty in life. That being the absolute certainty of my love of toe socks, and sharing that love with my recently-brainwashed-to-the-dark-side-with-me nieces.

I'm Really Not That Naive

2010-12-20T23:14:00.000-07:00

I've often been accused of walking around wearing blinders, and of being ridiculously naive, when it comes to raising my boys. People want to believe that I am absolutely clueless about what they may or may not be getting into, just because I choose to believe the best of them.

Does this mean that I'm not aware that my boys swear with a mouth that is just begging to be disinfected? Does it mean that I was completely blindsided when the Teenager made the decision to take up private modeling to an audience of one specific person? Does it mean that I have absolutely no idea what an obnoxious individual my Bug can be? Does it mean that I don't hear the many times they both have told me to take a running leap off the nearest cliff?

No. What it means is that I take a moment each time something happens (even if that moment is several moments later) to remind myself that they are only 12 and 17. To remind myself that I, too, was once only 12 and then 17. To remember that no matter how old they look, or how quickly they are being forced to grow up in a world that simply has no patience for children anymore, they are still just little boys.

Little boys who are stuck between building imaginary worlds with Legos and building actual lives they'll need to step into. Boys who are caught somewhere between a fear of catching cooties from a girl and the realization that cooties are not a bad thing if it means being close enough to breathe in her shampoo. Boys who go from thinking mom is their favorite girl in the world to forgetting that they're leaving their favorite girl at home in favor of the ones who suddenly make their hormones jump, shower and wear cologne.

No, I see all of these things. I know they're happening. I sit there, struggling to hold onto my little boys and feeling them pull away, leaving me grasping at fingertips. I hear the hateful words when they don't have the patience or the knowledge to use less hurtful ones to make their point in any discussion. And I watch them make choices I never would have made for them. I'm not naive, I'm not clueless, I'm not wearing blinders.

I'm choosing to look past it all, and see that my boys are doing the best that they can to grow into the best men they can grow into. I hear them tell me they hate me, but I feel them telling me that they love me enough to give me their heartache, anger and frustrations, and trust that I will believe in them anyway.

Because I do love them enough to believe in them anyway. Always.

I've Got A Confession

2010-12-11T17:16:00.000-07:00

I'll admit something here that I will NEVER admit anywhere else. Because you can all keep a secret, right?

There is a part of me that is not quite so sad to be facing the future without the Teenager around here all the time. That part of me is already making plans about different ways to spend the time that will be freed up by my no longer needing to go to track meets and help with high school projects. That part of me? Calls itself Bug's Mama.

When people plan a family with more than one child, there are a lot of things you just don't think about. Oh, you question whether you'll be able to love each additional child as much as you love the first. And you find out that was silly, because OF COURSE you can and do. But I don't think parents really give as much HONEST thought to being able to spend an equal amount of time with each child. You think you can. You even think that you DO. But I would be willing to bet if you asked your youngest child, they would tell you that you spend more time with your oldest. And you know what?

You. Have.

And here's why: You had that child first. That means, by default, they've had you longer; and had you to themselves. That is a claim that no other child you will ever have can make. But your youngest child; if they're patient and smart, will realize that there will come a day when they, too, will have you all to themselves. And if they're really smart, they'll realize that the time they get you to themselves is infinitely better than the time their oldest siblings had, simply because by the time they get you to themselves....you're able to do fun things with them that don't have to be interrupted by naps, bottles and diaper changes.

Things like only one game schedule to follow. Only one season of school and athletic awards. Only one round of dances. Only. One.

And you know what? The part of you that you reserve for each child, so that each child can claim their very own piece of your heart, looks forward to that time with anticipation and happiness. That part of you starts planning all the ways you are going to make enough memories fit into that time frame to completely overshadow any memory of a time when that child felt left out or not as important. (It will also begin planning ways to make taking over the older sibling's chores sound like the Most. Fun. Thing. EVER! But that's an entirely different post.) That part of you saves your sanity when you can't believe you are actually training that oldest child to leave you.

That part of me? Is totally looking forward to more random moments of fun with this kid.

And when its time to face training him to leave me? I'm going to follow in Angelina Jolie's footsteps and adopt an entire third world country, one child at a time.

His Teachers Might Want to Take a Self Defense Course or Two if They Keep This Up

2010-12-06T16:21:00.000-07:00

If one more teacher at that high school sends something to me via email that even references the sentence "Senior year is almost half over!"..... well, I won't be held responsible for my actions. Actions that could very well include things like wailing like a banshee, pulling someones hair out (not my own, though; I'm rather partial to it), breaking very important typing fingers or kicking them in the shins (which, let's face it, is what these teachers should expect for reminding mamas all over the school district that their babies are growing up and leaving them), followed by a rousing game of Hide and Seek, where eventually everyone will find me curled into a tight little ball with his baby pictures surrounding me. Or something like that.

In my saner (more sane? eh *shrug*) moments, I realize that despite my best efforts this boy is going to grow up. He is going to grow into a man that is not going to be living with his mother. With any sort of luck or careful thinking on his part, he will become a man who lives on his own first, so as to learn how to care for himself and not rely solely on batting his beautiful golden lion's eyes at someone to get them to cook for him.

And so I remind myself that he needs to learn to cook. I even force myself to make him do it on occasion, too. For example, last week he made the most amazing turkey-vegetable soup. We all had seconds! And there are no leftovers still in the fridge! Oh, bonus... he used the crock pot to perform this amazing feat! Woohoo....go me! I've ensured my boy can make more than just ramen noodles and scrambled eggs (although, he does that in the microwave; does it really count?)!

And we'll just keep quiet about the part of this story where I should 'fess up to the fact that the only reason he made dinner in the first place is that I forgot to put everything together and into the crock pot before I left for work that morning and called him when he got home from school to ask for his help. And walked him through every step. And laughed myself silly when I hung up the phone because he uttered this sentence:

Celery salt....Season salt... it's all the same thing. Salt's salt, right?

I'm actually hoping we get to have many more conversations like that when he does eventually move out; for two reasons. One, it will mean that even though he's grown he still wants to turn to me for advice.

Two? Well, maybe my cooking is *quite* as bad as I'm fairly certain it is......

If You Knew Him at all, You'd Have a Hard Time Believing Any of This....

2010-12-02T23:27:00.000-07:00

For all that this is MY blog, I don't think I've ever really talked about ME. Sure, in the beginning there were the cute little posts listing random facts about me, but not a lot about what actually makes me.... me. And mostly, that's okay. I mean, this blog is supposed to be the place where I get to brag about, or maybe even whine a little about, my boys without anyone interrupting me. Or contradicting me. Or sidetracking me. (Let's face it, I can get sidetracked easily enough on my own, thankyouverymuch.)

But here's a thought.....

Would my boys be the boys they are if I wasn't the me that I am? Which makes me wonder sometimes, how did I get to be the me that I am?

Don't worry. I'm not really going to give you a long, drawn out, boring backstory on myself. Most of any of it has no real bearing on the here and now. But..... I had a conversation tonight that made me take a really long look at just what parts of the me then went into the making of the me now.

A conversation with the one brother guaranteed to make me scream, cry, pull out my hair, roll my eyes, and set the phone down because I'm not getting a word in, anyway. All within the first three minutes of the conversation. *sigh* He may be a puke, but I love him.

I won't get into the whole thing. But I will tell you that as surprising as it is, this man (heh.... I typed "boy" first, then literally reminded myself--out loud--that he's 36. Which really means he's not a boy, doesn't it?) has some occasional flashes of observation, philosophy and insight that just blow you away. Tonight was really no different. Well, actually....it kind of was. If you call the fact that for the first time in...oh, I have no idea when but I suspect it's somewhere in the neighborhood of 36 years, he told me that he was proud of me. He believed in me. He was proud to be like me.

It started with him telling me that my boys were boys he was proud to claim as nephews. Well, duh. I could have told they would be. It morphed into him telling me how proud he was to claim me as his big sister. He told me that despite every single negative crud-bucket-y thing that had ever happened in my life since I acknowledged adulthood, I was not a failure.

I repeat.... I am NOT a failure.

And would you believe that despite having worked that logic out on my own, I have never actually believed it. I mean, look at the facts. Here I am, almost 38 years old, and I've never outright owned a single thing since I graduated high school. We are still renting a house, no clear ability to purchase anything anytime before my grandkids (may they not arrive for AT LEAST ten years) graduate high school. We only have one vehicle, while the other one sits -- useless and so unable to run that even the spiders won't touch it -- in my driveway. Oh yes, and we still owe money on it? We struggle from paycheck to paycheck, trying to remember which utility company sent which disconnect notice on what day; and was that date yesterday or today? We work hard to convince our boys that receiving gifts at Christmas, especially anything remotely resembling what the actually wanted, is a highly overrated custom? And yet....and yet....

My brother, who can't stand to be around me for longer than 15 minutes (and sad though it is, I really am not making that up), believes in me. Believes that my boys are who they are, which is basically astounding and amazing young men, because of who I am. And that who I am is someone who not only has done her best, but is someone that HASN'T FAILED.

I need to keep saying that in all caps. Otherwise, I'll let myself believe that it wasn't actually said.)

In life, all I have ever really wanted can be summed up in just a few bullet points:

I wanted kids that I would get phone calls and emails about from other parents, teachers and people in our community, telling me how polite, well-mannered and thoughtful they were.
I wanted a husband that would stick by me, no matter what hell we had to get through to at least pass on the fringes of heaven.
I wanted a career I could take pride in, and have longevity in.
I wanted to NOT live in an apartment forever.

Well, let's recap my life with these dreams.....

I have those kids. If ex-girlfriend's parents can corner me in the grocery store to ask if he'd take their daughter out again; and if every single teacher, despite being frustrated with the grades he squeaks by with, can gush about what a wonderful kid my Bug is, and how he's always the first one to make friends with the new kid or open the door for a teacher; well then, it looks like my boys are so totally living up to my expectations.
In just a little over two weeks, I will be celebrating 18 years of marriage to someone who stuck around when it would have been so much easier to walk away; someone who is still the first person I want to talk to when something is going wrong, when something is going right, or just when something isn't going anywhere at all and we need to liven it up a bit!
While I might have been in my current office only a little over a year, I HAVE been in this industry for over 16 years. See? Longevity.
And while we may only be renting, not working towards owning the thing, it is still a HOUSE, with a yard and a garage; and NOT an APARTMENT.

And most of all, we're all happy. And I didn't fail. I will not fail.

I am not failing.

And that? Is the absolute most wonderful thing ever said to me. Ever.

If You're Offended By Teenage Boys You Probably Should Skip Today's Post

2010-11-22T13:54:00.000-07:00

Before I get too far into this, I'm going to give you all fair warning.... there is every possibility that you could be offended by where this goes. Which totally means that I'm exposing the fact that my guys, all three of them, have very little in the way of knowing just what's appropriate conversation to have so that I can blog about it. It also means exposing the fact that I laugh myself silly over their inappropriateness. *sigh* Which I guess also means exposing the fact that, um, hello? My house is full of BOYS. Boys who use inappropriate language, even when they don't fully know what it means. Boys who think things like bodily air emissions and feminine hygiene products are more hilarious than the best stand-up comic. Boys.

So you know that means endlessly amusing times when I have to explain some GIRL thing, right?

Apparently, the word to use when you want to insult someone is "douche". I've heard that word come out of more teenage boy mouths that I can even count. And you have to admit, it's more fun to say that than "jerk" or "booger head". It has a certain grammatical...fun-ness...about it. None of which makes it even remotely appropriate to use around your mother or your younger brother. Especially when your younger brother doesn't have a clue what a douche actually is, putting your mother in the decidedly unenviable position of needing to explain just what, in fact, a douche actually is and does.

But, in the event you forget that rule and call one of your People in a Position of Authority at School (because it would be seriously unwise of me to even say if it was a teacher, administrator or coach) this while driving around one night with both parents and your younger brother in the car? Well, maybe relying on dad to sum it all up isn't the best thing to do.

It is, however, laugh-til-you-pee-yourself funny.

Teenager: This Person in a Position of Authority at School is just a total douche!
Bug: **laughing hysterically--totally a give-away that he has no clue what he's laughing at but wants to laugh at anything his brother says**
Me: Um, do you guys even really know just what a douche actually is?
Teenager: **laughing again**
Bug: No, what?
Me: **to my credit, I didn't pause uncomfortably at all, thankyouverymuch** Well, it's something that women use to wash the inside of their vaginas.
Teenager: **by now, choking on his laughter**
Bug: Oh. Um....just oh.
Coach: **in his best Beavis and Butthead voice** Ha ha.... Person in a Position of Authority at School is a vagina washer...ha ha

At which point I lost all control over any part of the conversation in the car. All three of those guys were laughing so hard they had to keep wiping their eyes, and I was even caught laughing.

Hey. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. Sometimes, in a house overloaded with testosterone, that is the only sanity saver you'll get.

Love, Routines and Stalking My Grown Children

2010-11-17T23:34:00.000-07:00

Everyone has a certain routine that you follow for at least one thing in your life. Getting up in the morning? Sure, you always use your left hand to throw back the covers; you swing your legs over the side of the bed first, then you slowly sit up; you sit there for a minute (or three), blinking the sleep from your eyes; you push yourself up and walk like a zombie to the restroom. Admit it. Your routine is eerily similar to that one. Which I will never admit to being my own. Unless maybe I'm tortured with the withholding of chocolate; then I might admit to something like that.

For a bipolar child, routine is not only helpful; it's critical to maintaining somewhat normal life functioning.

While Bug may be successfully outgrowing the need for an excessive amount of routines in his life, there are still some areas in which the following of routine is absolute. Before he leaves for school, he'll call me and we'll go over the list of last minute things to have accomplished: Did he eat breakfast? Did he brush his teeth? Did he take his medication? Yes, yes, yes, Mom. Then we exchange I love you's and Have a good day's, and we're set for the day. At bedtime, I have to spray his pillows and bedding with lavender scented Febreeze, get him tucked in, and then he closes his eyes while I spray the air above him. He likes feeling the mist as it falls softly on his face; breathing deeply of the relaxing lavender scent. We again exchange I love you's, Sleep well's, and I promise him that nothing bad is going to happen during the night. If I miss any part of that, he can't fall asleep. He'll get up and wander around, making up a multitude of reasons why he Just. Can't. Sleep; until we realize that we skipped a step. Go back into his room, complete everything in order, and he's out for the night.

I'm not sure how sleep is accomplished when he's at a friend's house, or on the nights he camps out in the living room. But I know that on nights I enforce sleeping in his own bed, these steps...this routine... Totally. Necessary.

I just can't say with any degree of certainty if it is more necessary for him....or for myself.

As my boys get older, I keep catching myself clinging more and more to the idea that there HAS to be something they still need me for. We've already well established that it's not my cooking. They admit to anyone who will listen that their mom is simply sucktastic in the kitchen. I readily admit that this is the reason I still do their laundry for them, rather than make them do it themselves. Oh, I made sure they CAN do it; I'm not quite THAT mom, the one who has crippled their child to the point that they'll never be able to take care of themselves. And I really do want my future daughters-in-law to not hate me because my boys need taking care of to that extent.

But I just can't seem to make myself start letting go of them yet, either.

Have you ever read "Love You Forever" by Robert Munsch? It makes me cry and smile, all at the same time. And because it does, I can ignore the slightly stalker-ish thing the mom does in the part of the story where her son is a grown man. I can ignore that, mostly because I am *almost* convinced that I would not do that.

Love You Forever

by Robert Munsch

A mother held her new baby and very slowly rocked him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. And while she held him, she sang:

I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always,
As long as I'm living
My baby you'll be.

The baby grew. He grew and he grew and he grew. He grew until he was two years old, and he ran all around the house. He pulled all the books off the shelves. He pulled all the food out of the refrigerator and he took his mother's watch and flushed it down the toilet. Sometimes his mother would say, "this kid is driving me CRAZY!"

But at night time, when that two-year-old was quiet, she opened the door to his room, crawled across the floor, looked up over the side of his bed; and if he was really asleep she picked him up and rocked him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. While she rocked him she sang:

I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always,
As long as I'm living
My baby you'll be.

The little boy grew. He grew and he grew and he grew. He grew until he was nine years old. And he never wanted to come in for dinner, he never wanted to take a bath, and when grandma visited he always said bad words. Sometimes his mother wanted to sell him to the zoo!

But at night time, when he was asleep, the mother quietly opened the door to his room, crawled across the floor and looked up over the side of the bed. If he was really asleep, she picked up that nine-year-old boy and rocked him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. And while she rocked him she sang:
I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always,
As long as I'm living
My baby you'll be.

The boy grew. He grew and he grew and he grew. He grew until he was a teenager. He had strange friends and he wore strange clothes and he listened to strange music. Sometimes the mother felt like she was in a zoo!

But at night time, when that teenager was asleep, the mother opened the door to his room, crawled across the floor and looked up over the side of the bed. If he was really asleep she picked up that great big boy and rocked him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. While she rocked him she sang:

I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always,
As long as I'm living
My baby you'll be.
That teenager grew. He grew and he grew and he grew. He grew until he was a grown-up man. He left home and got a house across town. But sometimes on dark nights the mother got into her car and drove across town. If all the lights in her son's house were out, she opened his bedroom window, crawled across the floor, and looked up over the side of his bed. If that great big man was really asleep she picked him up and rocked him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. And while she rocked him she sang:

I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always,
As long as I'm living
My baby you'll be. Well, that mother, she got older. She got older and older and older. One day she called up her son and said, "You'd better come see me because I'm very old and sick." So her son came to see her. When he came in the door she tried to sing the song. She sang: I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always...
But she couldn't finish because she was too old and sick. The son went to his mother. He picked her up and rocked her back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. And he sang this song:
I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always,
As long as I'm living
My Mommy you'll be.

When the son came home that night, he stood for a long time at the top of the stairs. Then he went into the room where his very new baby daughter was sleeping. He picked her up in his arms and very slowly rocked her back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. And while he rocked her he sang:

I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always,
As long as I'm living
My baby you'll be.

These boys? They will ALWAYS be my babies. And I will always like them, and forever love them.

And I'll probably do their laundry for a little while, yet, too.

*Sorry about the spacing. I tried and tried, and just couldn't get it to work right. Ugh.

Random Rocks...Like Music, Not Actual Stones.

2010-11-04T18:45:00.000-07:00

Since I began having children (listen to me, sounding like I'm trying to give the Duggars a run for their money...haha!), I've noticed a lot of randomness. Random items left around my house, random things to see in the world that were never noticed before, and random things both said and heard. I've decided that random is good. Random is funny. Random is.....well, it just is.

For instance, I notice an awful lot of random articles of clothing in my house. Or more accurately, clothing left in random places. T-shirts stuffed in the sofa cushions. Socks (non-matching, incidentally) under the coffee table. Baseball cleats in the bathroom. Shorts in the garage. Belts in my truck. (And while that may not technically be my house, we spend nearly enough time there to call it a vacation home and use it as a tax write off.) See? Random.

I also find great joy and amusement in the random verbal vomit that often spews out of my children. Take the other night. My loving children and doting husband had taken a quiet moment to find out what I would like for Christmas. (Read: I had to raise my voice to be heard over the football game and the clowning around to take an opportunity to make sure they knew that I did not really want another set of towels--lovely though they were--this year.) So when I said, "Okay guys, know what I really really want this year?" and Bug, with no warning whatsoever, looks up and shouts "CHICKEN!!!".... well, we all laughed until we cried and our bellies cramped up.

For the record, I do NOT want chicken this year for Christmas, either. Unless it comes disguised as a nice dinner out at a restaurant that doesn't shove what may or may not actually be chicken inside a soft flour tortilla, throw in a drink and chips and call it a "combo" meal. Oh, and it should include an after dinner treat of my very own copy of Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure and a B52's CD.

It Takes A Licking And Keeps On Ticking

2010-10-25T12:16:00.000-07:00

I've discovered that my heart can be broken, mended, and broken again many, many times by my children. Before my boys became teenagers, someone told me that they would turn into creatures from an alternate universe. Creatures that looked and sounded like my children, but could rotate their heads 360 degrees and shoot fire out of their eyes and venom from their mouths. I was led to believe that this transformation would happen fairly soon upon entering their teenage years. Whoever that someone was.....they lied to me. This doesn't happen right away; oh, no. It sneaks up on you, just as you're preparing to pat yourself on the back for having escaped fairly unscathed.

The Teenager, when he actually became a teenager, was very mellow and laid back. We did have our moments, but for the most part he was still very much the loving little boy he'd always been to me. Until now, his senior year, when he's preparing to head off into the great unknown called Adulthood. Now? I'm never quite sure who will be participating in the conversation we're having....the darling little boy who thought I hung the moon, or the ridiculously hostile hormonal mess that resents the very air I breathe if it happens to be air he's breathing at the same time. We've even seen both of these people in the same conversation. I never know at what point I've pushed the conversation too far. And lest you think the switch is caused by arguments, or just telling him no; his head has rotated on his shoulders, fire has come blasting out of his eyes and poisonous, hurtful venom has come spewing out of his mouth with no warning whatsoever in a conversation where we've been laughing and getting along perfectly.

There is no way to predict this. I'm currently in the market, though, for good, solid "Teenager Insurance". Or a flattering flak jacket. Either way, I'll be better protected. Maybe. Because I can't seem to stop myself from talking to him, and trying to hoard every last possible second of time with him before he grows up.

What really amazes me, though, is MY level of forgetfulness. I can be hurt beyond reason by something he says to me, literally brought to tears, and yet.....when he comes out of his cave and sits next to me on the sofa, laying his head on my shoulder and smiling up at me with his beautiful golden lion's eyes, it's like it never even happened. He couldn't possibly have told me that I was his current problem and that everything would be fine if I would just Go Away.

I'm betting that whoever designed the Timex watch was a mother of a teenager.

Is There A Class I Can Take?

2010-10-18T13:38:00.000-07:00

I'm the mom. I'm the one responsible for making sure everyone eats right (or just eats, for that matter), has clean clothing to wear, and showers every day. Or every other day. Okay, fine. At least weekly. They're boys. Until someone prettier than I am starts holding her nose around them, they aren't caring much about how they smell.

The Teenager? Showers as often as possible. Thank you, Mouse! Bug? Has discovered the benefits to daily showering. Gee, thanks Girls of Junior High. I think I could have waited just a bit longer for your influence to lend strength to my own.

But I digress....

Being the mom means you are the one who does all the Serious Stuff. The stuff that makes them frown and argue, stomp their feet and slam doors. The stuff that makes them look at you and roll their eyes, because how on Earth can they possibly share any genetic markers with you when you are so amazingly NOT cool? Being the mom also means you are the one responsible for making sure all the Important Stuff gets accomplished. Stuff like homework every night, birthday calls to Grandma or Uncle Bob, and picking up the week's worth of socks that have been left scattered from the living room...down the hall....in the bathroom...and finally, maybe, in their bedroom. Important Stuff like college and scholarship applications, or even just FINALLY DECIDING ONCE AND FOR ALL whether he is going to go to a college of some sort after graduation or join the military.

What being the mom usually does NOT mean is that you are the one who has the privilege of making them laugh until their tummies cramp and tears are rolling down their faces. Which makes moments like that all the more special, even if they do come at your expense.

Apparently, my attempts to whistle are just awesome for those moments.

A Walk Down Memory Lane

2010-10-10T18:17:00.000-07:00

Sundays are lazy days around here. Although I suppose Coach gets more exercise on Sundays than any other day of the week, what with all the jumping, fist pumping and/or sofa pillow throwing that gets done during football games. So maybe Sundays are just lazy days for me. Whatever.

And in the true spirit of laziness, I just can't quite bring my fingers to type a completely unique, never before read, post. And so you are going to get links. Links to some of my favorite posts from the last three years (ohmahgawd...can you believe I've been wandering aimlessly through this blogosphere for THREE YEARS??). I was trolling through them today, and thought I'd re-share them.

We are embarking on a spirit of recycling here in my house these days, after all.

Bug's first day of the last year of being a little boy.

What I suspect might be the secret to long lasting friendships.

The Teenager's strength and character.

Proof that even being married as long as we have, I can still drive him crazy.

Happy Lazy Sunday, everyone!

My Children SHOULD Be A Reflection of Me

2010-10-07T14:52:00.000-07:00

Excuse me...pardon me....'scuse me...

Woman with a soapbox coming through....

*Whew* Thanks. That thing was getting heavy. Now's your chance to run, though, before I get started on my rant. Go on. Go now, before I start. It's kind of rude to leave after I've gotten into the groove, ya know?

Still here? Well, you were warned....

I was listening to the radio on my way into the office this morning. Nothing new in that. One of the DJ's (or I suppose we're supposed to call them "radio personalities" now..??) was talking about something she had read in the news recently that talked about how studies have shown that people with daughters have a higher divorce rate, as well as higher numbers of single mothers with daughters as opposed to sons. The speculation was that women with daughters have a greater incentive to leave bad relationships so that they can set a good example of the "right" men to be in a relationship with. Certainly, that is something all mothers should aspire to teach their daughters.

But what about teaching our sons how to be the right kind of man?

Why is this something that only men can teach? Why shouldn't mothers be equally responsible for teaching their sons how to treat women in general, and their life partners specifically? For that matter, mothers....how about setting a good example for your sons about what makes the "right" woman?

I want my sons to not only know and accept, but to embrace as right, that women should be able and encouraged to stand up for themselves. I want my sons to actively seek out women who openly support them in their dreams and promote their goals. I want my sons to gravitate towards women who look beyond all the physical trappings (because as handsome as my boys are, that will only go so far) into the heart and soul of them. I want my sons to enter into relationships knowing that the strong ones, the good ones, can withstand some differences of opinion; and yes, even some arguing. I think my boys need to demonstrate their belief that it's okay to let your significant other have a personality that most likely will not mirror their own.

I want my sons to take this knowledge and these beliefs, and use them. I want my sons to show the important women in their lives that they are important as individual people as well as part of the relationship. I want the women in my sons' lives to know, deep into their souls, that they matter to my sons. And that because they matter, my boys will never be the kind of men that ever make a woman feel like less than she is or could be.

So tell me, mothers of daughters, why are you the only mothers held responsible for setting good examples for your children? Wouldn't you want your daughter to look for the kind of man my sons are going to grow into?

And shouldn't I be held just as accountable for those men as you will ultimately be for the woman your daughter grows into?

I think I should be.

Look! Something Shiny!

2010-09-24T09:15:00.000-07:00

Can you hear me squealing all the way from Arizona? And no, that is not a class ring that I'm squealing over.

That, my friends, is the STATE TRACK CHAMPIONSHIP RING that my teenaged baby earned in the spring!

I'd love to be full of words here, but I'm just not. I can't keep myself from scrolling back up every third word or so and looking at that ring all over again. Go ahead...YOU do it. It's addicting.

Of course, that might just be me. After all, I'm oozing "proud mama" right now.

Is that contagious?

Hosted by Cecily and Lolli

Oh, The Irony

2010-09-18T00:12:00.001-07:00

If you know me in real life or on Facebook, you've heard recently about the amazingly thoughtful thing that the Teenager did for me last week. Solely for me, so that I might not find myself missing football games so much. Uh huh. That expression you're wearing right now? The one that just screams "You are soooo full of crap, kid!"? Yeah. That was the same one I had.

Well, after I got done freaking out over the whole What do you mean, he hurt himself in weights class? You're taking him to the HOSPITAL? In an AMBULANCE? WITHOUT ME???

*sigh* The kid isn't even playing football this season, and he still manages to injure himself.

Long story short (because let's face it....I don't know how much you all know about weightlifting, and I don't really know diddly about weightlifting, so telling you what lifts he was doing just wouldn't make me sound like the super-intelligent woman you all know me to be), the Teenager got hurt in class, they called the paramedics, who made the decision that he would be better served at the local hospital. So they called us, basically telling us what they were doing, and let us know which hospital we could meet them at. Oh, and could they give him something for the pain?

Would you believe we beat the ambulance to the ER? Oh yes we did.

After several hours, many painful x-rays resulting in tears from his eyes that broke my heart into millions of tiny pieces, and multiple forms of pain-relieving narcotics (that incidentally? didn't do a thing for the pain, apparently); we were given the verdict.

Hyper-extended spinal column. Severe lower lumbar strain. Possible slight herniated disk. Wow....not a bad list for doing something he does every day, right? Sheesh. I will tell you that we've pretty much ruled out the herniated disk by now, though... his legs are working just fine.

And I can't even tell you how many times I thanked God that his legs were working at all. Spinal injuries cause things like paralysis. Which would seriously curtail his ability to run track again this year and go to State once again; AND his ability to get around in my kitchen to do the dishes. You know, the important things. 'Cuz I'm a selfless, thoughtful mama that way.

He DID enjoy the wheelchair ride out to the truck when we got to go home, though.

Also, we are going to all ignore the tiny little fact that he asked for Mouse to be kept informed about 523,687,469,841,642,359,895 times that afternoon. This is MY memory space, and I'm still coming to grips with the apparent development of someone more important than I am. Acknowledging that is acknowledging his pending adulthood.

And the hospital did not send home enough narcotics for me to face that one just yet.

I Wish I Knew What I Was Doing Right So I Could Keep Doing It

2010-09-16T00:03:00.001-07:00

Occasionally, I am presented with proof that my kids are turning out okay. In spite of the necessity of making decisions like ordering a pizza or suffering through one more night of tuna casserole. Despite the social-life-curtailing fact that we have been reduced to a single-car-but-three-driver family. Completely ignoring the rather obvious (because we live in Eternal Flip Flop Country) need for a pedicure that I'm once again turning my back on in exchange for half a tank more of gas for the week.

Yes, in spite of all of these things, I do believe that my boys just may be well on their way to becoming men to be proud of.

Last week, for many reasons, was just plain emotionally hard for me. It reached a point one day at work that I caught myself just sitting there, nearly in tears, staring off into the Great Nothingness; for no real reason I could discern apart from only having a can of Beefaroni for lunch and it just wasn't what I wanted. So, yeah. Last week kinda sucked great big rotten eggs. And just like the family dog knows when you're injured and unable to play with him so he just gives you love, my boys always seem to know when I just need them to give me love.

The Teenager, that almost-man who is apparently making up for lost time and trying my patience on a near constant basis, for no reason that I can remember at this time, looked at me one night at said Mom, I'm actually glad we don't have any money and I can't have everything I want.

::blink blink::

Um, what? Not that I'm not grateful you feel that way, but um....why?

Well, I know so many kids at school who always get what they want. If something isn't done the way they want it, they just call mommy and daddy, and they fix it for them and buy them everything they want. They're spoiled, and they don't get it. Me? I get it. I understand how important things are, because they're so much harder for us to get.

I stood there, with big tears in my eyes. Told him I loved him, and went about my night.

Later that evening, Bug and I were sitting in his room reading together when he looked up at me and said Mom, have I told you lately just how much I love you? And not because I want anything, just because I do and you should hear that a lot.

My kids? They are the best part of me. I'm so thankful to see that the best part of me? Isn't that bad, after all.

Our Friday Night Lights Have Gone Dark

2010-09-04T00:02:00.000-07:00

It's Friday night, and we didn't go anywhere. There was no rush after work to get changed and to the right place at the right time. No need to make sure I was wearing the perfect clothes, or seated in the perfect spot. And we won't be meeting any new people this year.

The Teenager? Isn't playing football this year.

We've put in years of blood, sweat and tears. Literally; all three. Years to get to his Senior Year of Football. Yes, capitalization was needed. It was that important. This was going to be The Year. The year of greatness.

And it doesn't matter how well thought out his reasons are for choosing not to play this year, or how mature that particular thought process has shown him to have become. It doesn't even really matter that he made the best decision he could make for himself. A tiny piece of my heart still broke tonight.

No more after-game dates with my son. Going for that burger and ice cream each week had become such a necessary part of my life, and I was counting on one last year. One last year of creating enough memories for him to take with him when he leaves, so that he'll be able to pull them out when he finds himself stuck in that awkward time between childhood and adulthood.

One last year of creating enough memories for myself to hold close to my heart, so that when he leaves I won't miss him beyond reason.

"Mom, no worries. We'll still go out this year. Only this time, we won't even need a reason."

I will never know why God chose me to watch over this child; but I will always be grateful.

*Yes. I got a little "linky". I'm having a hard time letting football go, can you tell?*

If I Had Daughters, Boobs Wouldn't Be An Issue Around Here

2010-08-22T01:46:00.001-07:00

Apparently, my TV is not to be trusted to record anything late at night. Ever. And yes, I am totally blaming the television, since this has happened when people other than myself have been in charge of recording a movie.

Anyone remember the whole Who Needs to Look For Boobs at School When Mom is Just Going to Accidentally Record Them and Then Show Them to Us? incident a few months ago? *sigh* Go ahead. Read it again. Be sure to swallow anything you have in your mouth, first; or have something handy to clean off the monitor with. I'll wait.......

Are you done yet? Breathe slowly; the cramp you're suffering from laughing so hard will go away soon....

Mouse was over at our house tonight. (Side note? We love having her come over. One, it seriously motivates the Teenager to levels of housekeeping that he has never before been motivated much to. And two, she really is just an awesome girl. If I had to handpick someone for my absolutely adored son to fall in love with....it would have been her.) We had dinner (and can I just mention that I LOVE that this girl actually EATS?) and then decided to watch a movie that we had recorded some time ago and just not gotten around to watching yet. So we all sat down, got nice and comfy on the sofas, and Coach hit "Play".....

.... and then I freaked the heck out.

Because once again, THERE WERE BOOBS AND OTHER ASSORTED NAKED BODY PARTS FLASHING ACROSS MY TV SCREEN!!

I screeched. I might even have screeched some words I don't believe anyone thought I knew. I jumped off that sofa faster than I've moved in probably almost 25 years and planted myself in front of that screen. But let's be honest here. That screen is sitting at approximately 6 feet off the ground; while my head only tops 5'4". And as wide as my bathroom mirror might daily tell me I am, I just don't cover that screen. So of course, EVERYTHING can still be seen. And the Teenager, who conveniently has a memory like an elephant regarding certain things and so naturally remembered the last time this happened, was laughing so hard he was crying. Again. Coach was right there with him; although he DID find the remote and fast forward through to where we needed to be. And I couldn't tell which Mouse found more amusing; the laughter coming from the Teenager or my reaction to the FREAKIN' BOOBS THAT NEEDED TO GET OFF MY TV!!.

She is endlessly entertained at our house. But at least she's entertained in a recently vacuumed environment.

Suppose I Could Borrow Wonder Woman's Lasso?

2010-08-19T23:02:00.000-07:00

Maybe it's because he's thisclose to being an adult. Maybe it's because he's not that far from being a little boy. Maybe it's because of the pressures of daily life....work, marriage and being as good a mother as I can possibly manage on less than 5 hours of sleep a night. Or maybe it's just because darn it, every once in awhile I just need to sit there and cry big ol' alligator tears.

Whatever the reason, the essay the Teenager wrote tonight for his English class had me sitting on the sofa and sobbing.

"....but the one person I guess I would consider my true hero would be my mom."

"I love my mom very much and I honestly don’t know what I would do if I never was able to have her in my life."

"....She has been there when I needed her the most in my life. "

"....She has always made time for me ...."

Honestly? I didn't even really mind that every time I would reach over and pull that cute little head down for a hug...... his super-glue-inspired-gel-held hair spikes would stab me in the eye. And the neck. And even in my ear once.

I absolutely adore this kid.

Hosted by Cecily and Lolli

Wish I May, Wish I Might.....

2010-08-16T11:26:00.002-07:00

"Mom, can you stay up 'til midnight with me tonight?"

"Dude, you have an early baseball practice. I can't stay up late with you because YOU won't be staying up late."

"Oh." (And that "oh"? Sounded like the most dejected and heartbroken "oh" in the history of "ohs".)

And so I stopped for a second, and did what I should have done when he first asked me the question.

"Why do you want to stay up 'til midnight with me, anyway?"

"There's supposed to be a meteor shower tonight, and my teacher says it's gonna be at midnight."

"Is this a school assignment?"

"No. I just thought it would be cool, and wanted you to watch it with me."

And that was how I found myself sitting in a lawn chair at the end of my driveway a few nights ago, leaning as far back as I could to see as much of the night sky as I could. Enjoying the cloudless, star-filled night with my baby who's struggling to decide if he wants to grow up or stay my baby. We debated the brightest stars (were they planets or space stations?), we speculated on the blinking stars that seemed to be moving in odd patterns (UFOs, naturally), and we even saw a shooting star or two.

I'm not sure if we missed that meteor shower, or if Bug just misheard the teacher. But I am sure that I am thankful for the reminder that sometimes priorities and rules need to be adjusted.

Watching the stars at midnight with your growing-up-too-quickly son is one of those times.

I Really Need To Stop Blinking

2010-08-15T11:19:00.000-07:00

It occurs to me that at some point in the last few months, my baby has been growing up behind my back. Or right in front of my eyes and I've just not been nearly as observant as I've always given myself credit for being. It sounds much better to say that he's been doing this whole growing up thing in a very sneaky manner.

Bug had a girlfriend. A real one who made demands on his time and attention, not just someone he liked who maybe liked him back. No, this girl held enough sway over my baby that when she told him he wasn't paying enough attention to her, he started to question himself. Which prompted a super-secret conversation in his room one night, that I was sworn never to tell dad or his brother about. He needed to be reassured that it was okay to be his own person, hang out with his friends, and know that those actions did not make him a "bad boyfriend". Naturally, that is exactly what I told him. I also told him that at his age, there was no such thing as a bad boyfriend or girlfriend. Just that maybe someone was the WRONG boyfriend or girlfriend for someone else. Because the RIGHT one? Would have no double standard about hanging out with friends and the amount of attention given to anyone.

That little practice relationship lasted one more week. Apparently, she broke up with him yesterday. Which prompted this reaction from him:

I took it fine, but girls are difficult to understand. I'm not goin' to have a girlfriend 'til I'm in high school. But in my guts, I'm kinda sad.

Damn you, hormones. You were supposed to give me a little more time before you took over this child. You won the battle with me over the Teenager.....why couldn't you leave me my baby for just a little bit longer?

At Least I Can Still Control My Dogs....I Think.

2010-08-02T00:22:00.000-07:00

Most milestones and "firsts" in your child's life are moments to be celebrated with them. Moments to call Grandma and Grandpa over; moments you seriously consider whether or not it's going overboard to take out a full page ad in the local paper, just to let everyone know how awesome your child is. The first step. The first word. The first lost tooth. But there are some "firsts" that are more personal; more subdued.

Some things you just don't call Grandma and Grandpa about.

When your baby is still your baby, you're able to convince yourself that you will be The Coolest Parent Ever. You'll let them stay up late on a school night, eat candy and drink Mountain Dew after 8pm, let them date in the 7th grade, and you just know that you'll never insist on a mandatory 18 inches between them and their sweethearts.

Those ideas are great, really. And you truly believe you'll be able to do all of that. Right up until the first morning they miss the bus because you can't get them moving in the morning. Or the first night you're up until 4am wiping their faces and repeatedly flushing all of that recycled candy and Mountain Dew down the toilet. The first time you realize that hormones are involved, and there is no way that 18 inches is ever going to be far enough apart.

But.... they survive the sleepless nights and the tummy aches. They even survive your incredible evilness that forced them to wait until they were older to date. And yes, they survive the hormones. What you didn't realize before you had these children? Was that their survival meant that they would occasionally be sneaky and break promises.

You also didn't realize how much that would hurt, and how you would struggle not to get angry with them. After all, how can you get angry with them for doing the same things you did when you were their age? So you don't yell or discipline, and you dig deep down to react the way you wish your own parents had reacted when you were caught. And your child, your precious baby who is just no longer a baby, doesn't pull away from you. You have somehow managed to keep from alienating your child and avoided guaranteeing that they will never talk to you about anything important and life changing ever again; and maybe you've even grown a little closer.

You know, as ready as I had convinced myself I was for all of this.... I wasn't. This last year of the illusion of my being able to control his life? Is going to be so much harder than I thought it would be.

I Might Need to Practice My Breathing Exercises Again

2010-07-24T21:56:00.000-07:00

Today, I went from creating my son's first of many lasting Senior year memories, to reliving several of my own. Of course, this trip down memory lane was aided by two of my good friends from high school being in town here this weekend and taking time from their schedules to walk down that road with me. But as awesome as the company was, it was still .... odd, to find myself on opposite ends of this trip in a single 24-hour period. And while I didn't get ANY pictures of my friends (because I'm just awesome like that), I did get a plethora (yes, a plethora. That word is sadly under-used in this day and age, I think.) of shots of the Teenager. Oh, and Mouse. Who, incidentally, is a beautifully photogenic subject.

But, seeing as how she is not MY beautifully photogenic subject, and I haven't asked her mama if it's okay to post pictures of her here, you'll all just have to suffer through shots of the Teenager. Alone.

I am going to miss him so much when he actually realizes its time to leave home and live the life he's been growing into. I've got about 9 months left.

Wow. I've got just as much time to prepare for life WITHOUT him always here as I had to prepare for life WITH him always here.

Does that seem unfair to anyone else?

Where Did My Babies Go?

2010-07-21T14:31:00.000-07:00

Do you suppose it's possible to live life without blinking? Because it seems that every time I do that, one of my boys gets older. Or bigger. Or develops muscles or facial hair. Or...*sob*... gets a girlfriend.

Just when did I stop being the most important woman in their lives? The woman they loved above all others? The sunshine in their day?

Crap. When did I become so stinkin' melodramatic? Oh, wait. That's been there for some time; just needed some heart -tugging event to bring it back out.

I love that my boys are such good guys that girls can't help but love them. I love that my boys are concerned about their health, and so they work out and do other things to stay in shape. And since I'm a fan of a little bit of scruff along the jawline, I even love that they (well, at least one of them... the other hasn't started the transformation into Wolfman, yet!) have facial hair.

But I miss my babies. I miss them being small enough to toddle around the house, making up cute names for body parts...like knee-pit. I miss the chubby little fingers holding my hand. I miss them crawling into my lap to look seriously into my face and tell me that I'm "bee-yoo-tee-full" and the best mama ever. I even miss fingerprints on the bottom of the refrigerator door.

I just miss my babies.

But not enough to jinx things or tempt fate by being impatient for grandbabies.

The Final Countdown

2010-07-19T14:10:00.000-07:00

Dear Teenager...

I'm sure you haven't noticed it yet, and I'm equally convinced it will come as a total shock to you, but you start school in just nine days. In nine very short days, you will *officially* enter your very last year (Math-gods willing) of high school. In nine days, you will be looked upon by underclassmen as that most revered of all high school creatures. A Senior.

Let's ignore for the moment what an emotionally turbulent year this is going to be for me, the Mama Who Should Have Been Smart Enough To Invest In Kleenex and Hershey's When You Were Born. No, let's look instead at what this year means to you, The Boy Who Too Quickly Has Grown Into A Man.

This is going to be the last year you have someone to look at when you discover, an hour past when you wanted to go to bed, that your athletic uniform still needs to be washed for tomorrow and Please, Mom? Will you wash it for me?

This is going to be the last year you won't have to worry about what's for dinner, because it's already been planned for you. On the upside of that, though, this is also going to be the last year you have to do dishes for anyone other than yourself.

The last year you have to conform to anyone else's schedule; you'll get to make your own. The last year of mandatory room cleaning. And as exciting as all of this surely sounds to you, I hope you remember a few other things as well.

This is your last year of never being lonely, because there is always someone else around. The last year of knowing with absolute certainty that I will be at every important event in your life (because I somehow have my doubts that your future supervisor will not only hold a celebration when you get that promotion, he'll give me plenty of advance notice so that I can arrange my schedule to be there. Early, and with my ever-present camera.).

But honey, there's something else I want you to remember; especially when confronted with those unexpected moments of loneliness and dirty laundry. I will never have loved you more than I do at that precise moment. And I will always answer my phone to tell you just that.

Even if you still just text instead of call.

Love you always,

Mom

Who Defines Good Parenting?

2010-07-14T09:15:00.000-07:00

Do you ever wonder what makes someone a good parent? I know I wonder all the time, and then I worry about whether or not I'm doing those things. Am I reading the right books? Do I watch the right TV shows? Do I seek advice from the correct experts? Am I enforcing the right rules? Do I sing the right song and dance the right dance? Do I....Am I.....Can I....Should I....?

Grr. It's enough to make a mother's head explode. And while that might be highly entertaining the to the people I'm parenting, it probably wouldn't be the best way to be a good parent. After all, who needs a mother with a head that has exploded all over the place. Messy. Great science project material, but still messy. And I know my kids are not the kids who enjoy cleaning up messes. Especially messes created by someone else. And really....what mother wants to be forced to clean up her own head explosion?

Sorry. Went off on a tangent there.

I guess my whole point is that since each child is a different and unique person, parenting techniques should be different and unique to each child. Easier said than done, and yet....not. Think about it. If you don't have to follow set rules for how to work best with your child, doesn't it make it easier to tailor your approach to that temper tantrum or the first time they break curfew? Groundings, spankings, time outs, loss of privileges and playthings. The avid reader LOVES being grounded.... means no one is telling her to put down the book and get outside. The kid who doesn't really use his cell phone for much other than talking to YOU isn't going to be that upset when you take away the phone for a week. Or the household with only one car, making drive time almost non-existent for the teenage driver.....not a huge punishment to have the keys taken away.

I don't know if I'm a good parent. I don't think there is any real way to know for sure. I know people tell me THEY think I am. Heck, my boys even tell me they think I am, although that could just be their insurance against things like taking away the cell phones and the keys to the truck. I could just be really lucky that my kids aren't in jail, flunking out of school, and a general menace to society.

And that could be why I have never won a single thing in Vegas. I've used up all my luck raising awesome kids.

If You Say Yes, Turn to Page 4...If You Say No, Turn to Page 5

2010-07-03T16:17:00.000-07:00

Wouldn't it be nice if parenthood came with a handbook? Not one of the thousands of books written by people who are, in essence, just telling you what they've found to work best with children just like theirs, but an actual guide book developed just for you on how to raise your specific child? They have manuals for individual makes of vehicles, how-to booklets for every new cell phone to hit the market; there's even directions on the box of dishwasher detergent these days. So, wouldn't it be amazing if, when you were handed your sweet-smelling, all wrapped up and cuddly baby...you were also handed instructions that would take you from birth to adulthood? Maybe even beyond?

Of course, we probably wouldn't read it anyway. What with the sleep deprivation that comes with a newborn, the exhaustion that comes with trying to keep up with a toddler, the lack of free time that accompanies the elementary school years, and the knowledge that your teenager already knows everything that there ever was and ever will be to know....who has time for, or even needs, that handbook?

Me. I do. Right here. Please?

My baby is twelve now, and the oldest is seventeen. That means I no longer actually have a baby. And while there is a wealth of advice out there on babies, there ain't a whole heckuva lotta help for teenagers. Or beyond. And what there is, isn't as helpful as you'd think.

Think of it like this: When a recipe calls for adding salt and pepper "to taste", it is taking into account that each person's ability to handle seasoning is different. Well, hormones are a lot like salt and pepper. Without them, life is beyond bland. But each person is different when it comes to how many hormones they can hold at a time. There is absolutely no way to know how testosterone will affect every single boy, or estrogen will affect every single girl. All you know is that it WILL affect them. And while you have control over adjusting your food seasonings as you get older and are better able to tolerate spicier foods, you don't have the luxury of adjusting hormones. Which is where it would ever so helpful to have something handy to tell you how to handle things.

Things like pushing their boundaries of independence by repeatedly missing check-in times; telling you what they're going to be doing rather than asking for permission; looking you right in the eye and telling you No, I won't do that; or going toe-to-toe and nose-to-nose, muscles bunched and fists clenched, that first time they decide that they've finally had enough of the unreasonable rules and can take the old man on.......

*sigh*

Fortunately, things always stop there. My children, while secure enough in the knowledge that they are loved unconditionally and therefore supported through everything, are also bright enough to realize that maybe they still need to be the ones to back down first and go back to playing by the rules of the house. Silly rules, it's true; rules that tell them they have to clean up after themselves and be respectful to their mother; but still the rules they have to follow.

I still really want that handbook. Maybe it could be written like one of those Choose Your Own Adventure books were...... because sometimes, I'd really like the chance to change how our adventures play out.

A Dozen Blessings

2010-06-17T00:43:00.000-07:00

A dozen doesn't seem like a lot, when you think about it. A dozen donuts? Gone in less than an hour when you bring them into the office. A dozen roses? The petals start falling off almost before you have a chance to change the water in the vase even one time. A dozen years, though? How much can be packed into a dozen years?

There are celebrations over the little things...... sleeping through the night for the first time, the first bowl of that nasty as all heck rice cereal, the first smile, the first smile NOT caused by gas, first words, first steps, first hugs.

There are celebrations over the big things...... the first day of kindergarten, the first solo bike ride, the first night sleeping away from home, the first time sleeping away from home and not calling at midnight and again at 2am.

There's all those things that get lost somewhere in between celebrations...... homework, baseball games, braces, and musical tastes that mature from Veggie Tales to ....well, something clearly NOT Veggie Tales. There are goodnight hugs, See ya later! kisses, and I'll be back soon! waves as you walk out the door. The nightmares that push you to crawl into bed beside me, and the I'm too old for this now feelings that force you back to your bed after what seems like only a split second that I got to hold and comfort you.

There are the tears you come to me with, the hurt feelings when someone has been unkind. The outrage over some perceived injustice. The angst over yet another thing done unfairly only to you.

(There's also jock itch and puberty questions, but maybe sometimes we let Dad field those so he knows he's a part of our little team, too!)

Twelve years holds so very much, and yet it passes in less than a blink of an eye. Yesterday, you were my roly poly little blue-eyed baby boy. Today, you're my almost taller than me string bean blue-eyed young man. I miss that baby, but I am so looking forward to watching you become a man others seek out and gravitate to.

Twelve years ago today, I was given the most amazingly perfect gift. A gift that has taught me patience, tolerance, forgiveness, open mindedness and what true unconditional love is. A gift that brings a smile to my face and constant joy to my heart. I'm still not sure what God was thinking when He put you into my care.... but then again, I believe that He knew EXACTLY what He was thinking when He put ME into YOUR care.

Happy birthday, Bug. I love you so much.

A Little Bit of Absence....A Little Bit of Growth

2010-05-31T14:13:00.000-07:00

Yes, I know I haven't been around here much lately. In fact, I've been so absent that I'm fairly certain most of you, upon seeing a new post pop up in your reader, are finding yourselves wondering just who the heck this Sports Mama person is. And if you DO remember me, you're most likely saying to yourself Oh thank goodness! I was afraid she'd been kidnapped by aliens or joined a cult where she had to give up everything and everyone! What a relief to see her here again!

Or not. But whatever. I'm here again. At least for today.

But! But! But! It seems I've gone and surprised myself with a few things on these days I haven't been here. For instance, did any of you out there ever know what an amazingly awesome thing SLEEP is?? Or to be more specific, sleeping for more than 3-4 hours a night? Why didn't anyone ever tell me? Or perhaps more accurately, why didn't anyone ever shove a sleep aid down my throat and make a believer out of me before now?

I've also rediscovered what a great sitting-on-the-sofa-catching-up-on-all-our-favorite-shows-that-we-missed-during-baseball-season-and-cuddling sort of man my husband is. (Don't worry. I didn't expect any of you to have already known that one.)

And......I've also rediscovered what an amazingly forgetful person I can be. Because I know that many, many times I've emerged from a situation or conversation, and thought AH! I need to remember to blog about that when I get back to a computer!. And then..... forgotten. (It's okay. If you already know this truth about me, there really wasn't anything you could have done to help avoid it. Unless you followed me around all day with a laptop, typing everything I say. Any volunteers for that job? The pay is ridiculously low, and there are no health benefits; but you'd get to see the inner workings of my mind. Not enough of an incentive? *sigh* Okay then.)

There are also some things happening in our little household that will most certainly create a shift in our lives as we know them, at the least. Bug? Is going into 7th grade. Where there are girls. That like like him. Girls that have prompted the question Mom, how do I talk to them? No, really....what, exactly, am I supposed to say after I say hello??

Jock? Have mercy; this boy is going to be a Senior in high school this fall. And (and this might be possibly the most surprising life-shift happening).... he is fairly certain that he does NOT want to play football this year. That's okay, you can go back and read that again. It was strange to us, too. But as he and I sat on the track one night at about 11:30pm, between events at a decathlon he was participating in he looked at me and said Mom, I've fallen in love with track. With how good I am at it. With everything about it. With track, I can actually see myself going somewhere with it.

So that's where I've been. Sitting on my sofa, cuddling with my husband, trying to help one son figure out how to get where he wants to go, and praising the other for having enough character to not only recognize a new path in life, but the strength and confidence to take it.

And somewhere in there? I'm learning how to let go of each of them a little bit more. It's a good thing I've rediscovered cuddling with Coach. It's giving me something to hold onto when my arms are feeling emptier.

I'm Going to Buy Stock in Kleenex and Make Millions for Myself

2010-05-17T10:11:00.000-07:00

There comes a point in every mother's life when it smacks her right in the face that her baby isn't such a baby any longer. Actually, there are several of those points in a mother's life. However, there is always ONE moment when you really and truly acknowledge it and stop running in the opposite direction screaming "NO NO NO.... my baby is TOO still a baby!!"

I think I may have run straight into that moment this weekend. (Personally, I think that moment is a sneaky moment, and while you are busy running away from all of the other moments, it creeps along the alley right next to you....waiting for the perfect moment to plant itself in front of you when you're not looking. And then BAM! Knocks you flat on your backside.)

I may or may not have mentioned here at some point that Mouse is back. (You'll have to search my blog for her; there's just a couple too many times I've mentioned her for me to want to link them all.) The Teenager has been hung up on her All. Year. Long. Apparently, persistence and friendship have paid off for him. I've gotten used to the idea of him having girlfriends. I've accustomed myself to seeing him hold hands with someone, and give her a small kiss goodnight. I'm even able to stop myself from separating them on the sofa and sit myself between them when she's over at our house hanging out. But this time around? I think she's a bit more important.

He's asked me to take her along when I drop him off at the airport next week for his visit with his grandma. He's asked me to bring her when I pick him up. (Really....he'll only be gone for 4 days. Sheesh.) He brings her to Bug's baseball games. And they laid on the sofa together and he just held her, lightly stroking her arm, while they watched movies at my house this weekend. The really hard part, though, was when she curled into him and they fell asleep.

When did my baby, my beautiful little boy with big brown eyes who slept with stuffed animals and Mickey Mouse sheets, grow into this man? And how in the world am I supposed to let him go?

There's Just Not Enough Chocolate

2010-05-02T01:46:00.000-07:00

Don't They Do Head Counts Anymore?

2010-04-30T01:08:00.000-07:00

Can you believe that the coach let the bus leave the track meet tonight without this?

Oh, and without the four boys waiting for it who wouldn't take their hands off if it when it was placed there?

The relay team that helped to score enough points for the team to take 1st place overall at this track me; the relay team who ran the very last race of the night; the relay team who stayed to make sure that they received their medals and ended up making sure someone claimed the trophy that was being presented to the school...... this relay team contained my Teenager.

And so now, at least for the night, my house also contains this trophy.

Ain't it cool?

Hosted by Cecilyand Caitlin

Prom is Going to Kill Me.....

2010-04-27T23:46:00.000-07:00

I do not remember prom being this involved and detailed. I really don't. Of course, that might be because, being the girl and therefore the "ask-ee", I didn't have to worry about anything beyond my dress and my hair. However, the fact that the Teenager is a boy and therefore the "ask-er", I'm discovering that there is a lot more to this whole thing.

(And before I hear from anyone else wondering why the Teenager is not doing all of this himself.... the fact that I control the little plastic card attached to the place where the money lives is one of the biggest deciding factors. Plus, he asked me to. And you all should know by now that I have a realllllllllly hard time telling either of my boys no when they ask me to do something.)

And there is a lonnnggg list of things that have to be done for this dance, too! First, there is the whole "who do I ask" dilemma. Then there is the decision of HOW to ask her. Then the tux selection. The tux fitting. Mode of transportation. Reserving said transportation. Dinner reservations. Corsage ordering. Oh! Ticket buying. My-date-goes-to-another-school-and-needs-a-guest-pass procedure. After party planning. Or attempting to plan; turns out that's easier said than done when you and your limo-group aren't really into the whole "prom is for drinking, partying and getting laid" thing that the rest of the football team seems to be wholeheartedly throwing themselves into. (Thank You GOD for answering some very specific and life long prayers from this mama!)

Maybe some of this wouldn't have been so difficult if he'd been left to his own devices. After all, he didn't care that the pattern on the tuxedo vest was going to clash spectacularly with the pattern in his date's dress. He only cared that it was the right color. It didn't occur to him that I would need to call several different limo companies to find one that didn't require a ridiculously long amount of miminum hours or charge an astronomical fee per hour. He quite likely would have only called one, and either said yes or no depending on the initial amount quoted. He put only as much thought into where to eat dinner as it took to agree with the first suggestion I made, and is computer savvy enough to have made the reservation online just as easily as I did. He most likely would have accepted the first corsage suggested to him, because it wouldn't matter to him if it was one large rose or three smaller sweetheart roses, or if the flowers were pink or white, or if the ribbon were white or silver. Thankfully, it seems that ALL corsages are wrist creations these days so there wasn't a choice there. Which is probably a very good thing, as I can only imagine the production it would be if he had to figure out how to pin that sucker on her dress.

All of this planning, all of these details, and I'm fairly certain we haven't managed to remember the one thing that can make or break the entire evening.....

Last time I checked, he didn't know how to dance. Fortunately for him, I'm positive he's going to look freakin' amazing in that tux!

*I'll absolutely post pictures of it next week! The dance is this Saturday.*

Boobs---An Easy Laugh at Your Mother's Expense

2010-04-19T01:15:00.000-07:00

When you have a teenager, there are certain awkward moments and certain conversations you expect to have. You expect to field questions about the opposite sex, and you expect to witness curiosity about the various different and same-yet-different body parts on the opposite sex. What you don't expect is to put yourself into that situation.

The parent in me has never been much of a fan of ~~Skinemax~~ Cinemax (despite the fact that the wild, wanton married woman in me thinks the occasional nekkid body might be fun to stumble across late at night after the kids are fast asleep--or better yet, away at a friend's house--and I'm cuddled on the sofa with with the man who owns my favorite nekkid body), and that has only gotten more pronounced the older the boys have gotten. I didn't worry too much when they were little; after all, they were in bed before me. But now that I have a Teenager, one who is frequently up later than I am....well, there is much more to be worried about.

The boys and I sat down the other night to watch a movie we had recorded to watch together. But no sooner had I pressed the "play" button...... boobs were flashing themselves on my television screen. Boobs, butts and other various (obviously airbrushed and cinematically altered) body parts. After a noise that I'm fairly certain sounded like something out of a horror movie came screeching out of my mouth, I began frantically trying to get those images OFF. MY. SCREEN before they could become permanently etched on Bug's brain. Nothing worked. Apparently all I was capable of doing was pausing the stupid thing. So I repeatedly told Bug to keep his eyes closed, and told the hilariously laughing Teenager to shut up and help me. Finally, FINALLY, everyone's boobs were removed from my screen.

I'm surprised that Jock didn't wet himself, he was laughing at me so hard. Stupid teenage humor.

They're just boobs, Mom.
Dude, unless they're your own boobs, you don't need to be looking at them yet. Which, of course, set Bug to laughing from the other room.

This might be one of those moments that I end up wishing on them when they have children.

You're Gonna Like The Way You Look......

2010-04-15T23:57:00.000-07:00

As I stood next to my teenager tonight in "the" place to rent tuxedos this prom season, I caught myself watching how other moms were handling this milestone in their sons' lives. Each of the boys was clueless, that was a given. But it was the moms I found myself studying. You could almost guarantee which moms had done this before a time or two, which ones were walking this path with their final babies, and which ones were trying to wade through this quicksand for the first time.

Had anyone warned them? I wondered. Warned them about how amazingly difficult it was going to be to watch their babies morph into young men? Something happens to a boy when he puts a tuxedo on for the first time. Your son can wear all of the grown up clothes in the world, never shave his face at all so that he ends up looking like Wolverine if you catch sight of him out of the corner of your eye, date different girls and give out all the goodnight doorstep kisses ever imagined; but when he shrugs on that jacket......suddenly, he's gone from this:

To this:

And you find yourself standing in the middle of the tuxedo rental department, watching a trained salesperson measure your son's neck, chest and arms; helping him pick the perfect shade of silver vest to match the accents in her dress; with big 'ole crocodile tears in your eyes.

I miss my baby. But I adore the young man he's turned into.

Hosted by Cecily and Mamarazzi

These Are A Few Of My Favorite Things....

2010-04-14T23:29:00.000-07:00

A perfectly pitched ball by Bug that sails through for "Strike Three!"...
Those 23.3 seconds of time when the Teenager is speeding past everyone else....
Hearing Coach tell me I'm right... about anything.....

Getting an email from one of my favorite friends, just wondering how the heck I am....
Having someone tell me they envy how easy it is for me to lose myself in all the testosterone in my house....
Opening a fortune cookie with an actual fortune in it, not just some stupid meaningless drivel....

The smells of freshly mowed grass and the air after a rain storm....
The very first sip of a soda fresh from the fountain.....
Feeling Coach's fingers playing with my hair...

Finding just enough change in my purse or jacket pocket to stop for a chocolate donut on the way into work in the morning....
The first 30 seconds in the sun after leaving a too-cold air conditioned room....
Laying down to bed at night and feeling your head find just the right spot on the pillow as soon as it hits.....

Getting a phone call at bedtime and hearing "Mom, I miss you!", even though I'm only gone just one night....
Getting a text from the Teenager on the way to school in the morning, telling me he loves me.....
Coming home after being gone and walking into a hug from Coach that feels..... perfect.

Our Butterfly Effect

2010-04-05T17:14:00.000-07:00

It occurs to me that I do more thinking about life, and how choices and actions affect not just your own but those around you as my children get older.

I was sitting in the stands this weekend, talking to the Teenager’s best friend, Junior. We were watching Jock compete in a decathlon. (Side note: holy heck that is a grueling competition! The athletes were all jelly by the time things were done!) As Junior and I sat there, I could see that something was bothering him. He’s normally a pretty cheerful kid when he’s around us, but this time something was off. Being the nosy mom that I am, I asked.

Wanna know something pretty cool? He actually told me.

Anyway, turns out that Junior was fighting with his parents. And stressing over where his life is headed, what direction it should go, and the fact that he just doesn’t know WHAT he wants to do with it. He wants to make a difference, but he just doesn’t see how he ever can or will. Junior’s told me before how my Teenager has been a good influence on him, getting him to stop doing self-destructive things just by watching the choices Jock was making in his own life. Being the clever meddler that I am, I shamelessly used my boy as an example of how you can make a difference without being the center of the World’s attention.

I told him that although the Teenager might not have the most book smarts, he pushes himself to do the best he can do so that he can play sports. He has a goal in mind for his life, and knows there are certain things he has to do to get there. He is determined, he is focused, and he is stubborn. And then I asked Junior what he thought Bug thought of his big brother. He idolizes him, he told me. Wants to be just like him.

Now, take Bug’s book smarts and creativity, combined with Jock’s determination, focus and stubbornness. Do you see the possibilities for Bug? What if Bug goes on in life to invent something that changes the course of someone’s life? Do you realize that would be because he was trying to follow his brother’s example of making the right life choices? Junior, everyone – EVERYONE – touches someone else’s life. Everyone creates a ripple effect. Your choice is simply whether or not you want your ripples to be positive or negative.

Junior and I talked for just a bit longer, and I told him that when we dropped him off at his house after the meet he needed to go and make things right with his mother. Moms put up with a lot of crap from most of the world; we shouldn’t have to put up with it at home. He told Jock later that I had really gotten to him, and that the first thing he did when he walked in the door was to apologize to his mom and tell her he loved her.

I’ve talked before about my conviction that everyone influences people. I am so proud of my boys for the positive ripples they create on a daily basis.

Just Call Me Rudy

2010-03-28T12:39:00.000-07:00

Determination. Endurance. Conviction. Strength of will. The ability to look at the mountain and treat it like the molehill. Belief in yourself.

For the Teenager, these things have led him to go out for a sport he's NEVER tried before. And these things carried him onto the Varsity track team; into track meets where there are over 70 schools competing in each event; into races where the odds seem to be stacked against a kid who's never competed at this level before. And these things have brought him across the finish line with an amazingly fast time, to place no lower than third in his strongest event. In every meet he's competed in.

For Bug, these things have led him to face challenges daily that most kids his age don't ever have to face. And these things have carried him into a sport that constantly batters against his struggle to feel pride in himself and what he accomplishes, and forces comparisons against athletes that most likely aren't facing what he faces internally. But these things have brought him to a level in this sport that sees him keep a measure of pride in himself when he walks a batter rather than strike him out like he did the last one. And they keep showing him how to look for ways to improve rather than ways to tear himself down.

For Coach, these things have led him to holding onto a vehicle that would almost be better served by walking away from. And these things have pushed him into continuing to lift the hood to see why the engine once again isn't starting, or pulling off the inner door to find some way to fix the handle so he can actually get into the driver's side seat without opening the rear passenger door to open the front passenger door to climb over the front passenger seat just to be able to drive the blasted thing. And so these qualities have made it possible for him to hop on one of the boys' bikes so that he can ride the 10 miles to the auto parts store and the 10 miles back, with a bum knee, just to get the part he needs.

For me, these qualities have given me the push I need to keep going every day, knowing that it's not always enough. They have nudged me when I need the reminder, and they have allowed me to rejoice when I can finally see an outcome to something I haven't given up on--like finding out that the Teenager is planning on going to prom this year, instead of waiting until his senior year like he's kept threatening.

Determination. Endurance. Belief. Its just three things; three little things. They are so hard to practice, but the rewards are so unbelievably not little.

He Really Needs Some Good Hero Theme Music, I Think

2010-03-15T23:06:00.000-07:00

Thwap
Thwap. Thwap.
Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.
Thwapthwapthwapthwapthwapthwapthwap...... You get the picture, right?

Stupid flat tire.

I -- quite rightly, I figure -- decide to get off the highway where people are flying by at 75+ miles an hour, and find a nice, quiet side street. The problem with nice, quiet side streets is that there is NO ONE coming by, flying or crawling. No problem, I tell myself. I'll just get out and MAKE SURE the tire is flat. Because apparently there is something ELSE that can make that noise?!? Oddly, the tires all looked fully inflated. So what the heck had been making that noise? Hey! I knew someone who could tell me!

Me: Hi honey!
Coach: Um, hi? Aren't you on your way home?
Me: Well, my phone is dying and I thought I should call you now and tell you that I thought I had a flat, but the tires don't look flat.
Coach: *pause* Why did you think you had a flat?
Me: Thwapthwapthwapthwap.....that's what I heard, and that's what tires sound like when they're flat. (People, you really don't want to know how I know this so well.)
Coach: And so is your tire flat?
Me: That's the thing. No.
Coach: So what are you calling me for?
Me: Good question. I'm hanging up now in case I need to call you again.

At which point my phone.... died. Because apparently it was in league with the tire tonight. Which? Kept making that noise when I decided to keep driving home. Which was how I came to find myself under the lights at an out of the way gas station (because really....why wouldn't I take the long, roundabout way home when potentially facing a flat tire in total darkness?). With a very flat tire. And a dead cell phone.

On the plus side, the pay phone at this little hole in the wall gas station? VERY clean. Good thing, too, since I had to use it to call Coach and ask him to climb up on that white stallion and come charging to the rescue. Okay, fine. He had to climb into a beat up, barely running Ford Explorer and pray like the Dicken's he could even find me to rescue me. Tomato, tomahto.

My Philosophical Side Is Showing

2010-03-14T17:40:00.000-07:00

Strangely, I've been asked multiple times this week how I have managed to stay married for so long. I say strangely, because it's not my anniversary, nor are we having any particular problems or aguments that have prompted people to wonder how we've done it. Regardless, I've been asked. So I've had to think about what we may or may not have done. And I keep coming back to one thought.

It's not just MY marriage; it's HIS, too.

I think too often that partners forget that, if they even thought about it in the first place. How many new brides get caught up in the wedding they want, never giving their grooms a say in matters? How many times have you heard someone say I'm unhappy in MY marriage? Well, if you're that unhappy, don't you think that maybe your partner is unhappy in THEIR marriage, too?

And that's what I try to remember every time I think I might be unhappy with something or other in MY marriage. After all, if MY marriage isn't all that is perfect, doesn't it stand to reason that my HUSBAND'S marriage ain't all that grand, either? So I tell myself that if I put the effort into making sure HIS marriage is happy for HIM, then MY marriage will fall into place. And you know what? That philosophy has seemed to work pretty well for 17 years.

Of all the many, many things I want my boys to know when they are turned loose into the world, how to navigate unselfishly through a relationship ranks up near the top. Not just a romantic relationship, although that is important; but with co-workers and friends, too. I want them to realize how important it is to always remember that in any relationship there are not only two people, but two sets of emotions and two schools of thought. I want them to not only know, but practice, the art of being unselfish and putting themselves in someone else's shoes. I want them to discover the sense of rightness that comes when you make someone else more important than yourself. And just as significant, I want them to recognize that in doing this, they are important, too.

If nothing else, that attitude will get them through doing the dishes and sitting through "chick flicks" when they get married.

No Superglue or Duct Tape Needed

2010-03-12T00:57:00.000-07:00

I've always been a big fan of quotes that speak to my heart and soul. Sometimes they relate to parenthood, sometimes just to life. I saw one today that still, even hours after first seeing it, is rattling around and around in my brain:

It is easier to build strong children than it is to repair broken men. ~~ Frederick Douglass.

That has been my guiding principle for the last 17 years. That is the reason my dishes are allowed to sit in my sink; the reason my dogs are allowed to shed all over the place; the reason you'll find me at the ballpark every night from March through June; the reason I will set aside just enough money every week during football season--no matter what I need to sacrifice to do so-- for that post-game burger with my growing-up-too-quickly son.

I am determined NOT to send broken men into the world for someone else to fix.

Hosted by Cecily and Lolli

He Has Heart

2010-03-07T23:54:00.000-07:00

He might think he's getting too old to talk to me anymore. He might be thinking that he's getting too old to need me much anymore when he's had a spectacularly rotten day. He might even be thinking that there is no way I could ever know enough to know what to do to make him feel better.

Pshaw. Whatever. Even his dad knows he's wrong on all counts there, because Coach is always telling me that I'm the only one the Teenager will tell anything to.

Let me back up a couple of days for you......

Friday was the Invitational Track Meet. His first EVER. Twenty-six different schools, and you had to be on the Varsity to even be considered for participation, and then it was only select members of the Varsity team that were chosen to compete in events. So we were thrilled to find out that he was selected for even one event, the long jump. The first event of the day. His dad and I were there; we'd taken the entire day off from work to watch him. His jump was so awesome.....19 feet. Coach overheard one of the other athletes, after Jock's jump, comment: Damn. White man CAN jump! With that, we headed into the afternoon events feelin' pretty good.......

Turned out that he didn't make the finals; he placed 11th. Not bad for his first time competing in this event, and against multiple jumpers from each school. He was just as proud of himself as we were. So far, so good.....

The thing I'm discovering about high school track meets is that often, the decision on who will compete is made shortly before race time. Going into the day, he was only slotted to compete in the long jump. Somewhere mid-afternoon, he was told he'd be running in the 400 meter relay, too. Cool. Very cool. Even it it WAS the last event of the meet and scheduled for 8 o'clock that night.

We get to race time, and find out he's running the first leg of the relay. Despite the fact that he's always run the second leg in practices, and at the smaller meet a couple of days earlier, everyone was confident. At the crack of the gun, he was in third. By the time they had reached 100 meters, he was in front. By the time they reached 200 meters, he had a good lead. At 300 meters, he pulled up sharply like he had hurt himself; but he kept running until he handed off the baton, coming in third and having lost the lead. Then he walked to the field inside the track, and collapsed.

I don't know what you would have done, but every maternal cell in my body freaked the heck out. He didn't get up until well after the race had ended. No, his body wasn't hurt. Not really. His pride was. Apparently, having started out sprinting, his body simply quit on him before he could finish. The team didn't win the race; and to be honest, I wasn't really watching at that point so I don't know where they came in. Didn't matter to him, though. In his eyes, he'd screwed up. They lost the race because he didn't run better to start it.

And that's when he told me he wasn't going to talk about it anymore. Okay, fine. I could let it go.

Twenty minutes later as we're all walking to the truck; Coach, Bug and Jock's best friend Junior walking ahead and giving me a chance to talk to him again; I just asked him what the coach had said.

He said I had heart.
What did your teammates say?
That I did a really good job, and no one blamed me. Doesn't matter though; I know it was my fault.
Really? 'Cuz you weren't the only one running.

And I shut up again. I've learned a thing or two in nearly 17 years of parenting this boy. When I stop talking is when he starts. We went to dinner, and ran into a couple of his teammates; including one of the other boys on that relay team. Where they again told him how great they thought he had done, especially considering he's NEVER RUN TRACK BEFORE. I told him again how proud I was of what he HAD accomplished that day, and how he should be too. By the end of dinner, he was laughing again. Smiling again. Throwing peanuts at his best friend and joking around with his little brother.

And later that night, when it was just he and I sitting on the sofa not talking, he looked up at me and said
You want to know what my time was on that 400 meter lap? 53 seconds. Even with slowing down like that I had the best time of anyone on the team. And that's something to be proud of, Mom. Thanks for being there for me today.

He might think he doesn't need me anymore, or that I don't know what will make him feel better. Whatever.

Faster Than A Speeding Bullet

2010-03-05T00:19:00.000-07:00

The Teenager had his first track meet this week. It was cold, it was kind of long, and it definitely left me hungry. At ground level, it was a nice breeze. Sitting up in the shaded bleachers, it was a very cold and blustery wind. A 3:30 pm start time apparently just means that 3:30 pm is the time the announcer turns on the microphone. And I began to really worry when the concession stand worker informed me that because it was a short meet, there would be no hot food served. The meet was scheduled to end around 8:00pm; five and a half hours is a SHORT meet?

I've been a football mom for what often feels like decades. I've been a baseball mom for many, many years. But I've never been a track mom. I had no idea what to expect. No one forewarned me. No one prepared me. No one told me to bring a sandwhich and a jacket.

No one told me that frozen fingertips, never ending goosebumps, and a stomach that was talking to everyone within three rows of bleachers would totally be worth it to witness what winning his first two individual races would mean to a kid who's never run track a day in his life. And winning them as a member of the Varsity team, no less. He's always had a level of self-confidence. But after this meet?

He believes in himself.

And that is totally worth being hungry and cold. But I will definitely be bringing a cooler of food and drinks and a jacket to the next meet. And maybe a sleeping bag, since it's supposed to be a longer one.

Hosted by Cecily and Kelli

It's Like Stopping to Smell the Roses....Only They're Sweaty, Stinky Boys

2010-02-26T00:13:00.000-07:00

Laughing so hard there were tears and stomach cramps. Smiling so much that cheeks hurt. Silly faces, bunny ears, and hanging hair. This was how I spent my evening tonight, under the guise of taking random pictures of me and my boys.

There was even that scary moment when you realize your bladder is the same age you are, only bladder years are somewhat like dog years so it's actually much older and has the alarming potential to simply stop practicing any sort of control whatsoever.

I won't get many more of these night as my boys get older. Not with both of them at the same time, certainly.

Totally worth the bladder scare.

Hosted by Cecily and Amy

You Caption It

2010-02-22T00:27:00.000-07:00

Teenage Wit and Wisdom

2010-02-16T23:31:00.000-07:00

The Teenager often has moments where he says something so blatantly ..... goofball, that I have to just smile and wonder if he's ever really going to grow up. On Sunday, we had this conversation:

J: Hey, Mother-of-mine?
Me: Well, I'm HIS mother, too (pointing at Bug)
J: This is true. However, I was here first and you were my mother first. So technically, I'm just sharing you with him.

But then, this Teenager will have moments where he shows just how much he's grown up while I wasn't looking. This bit? I snagged off of an English paper he wrote tonight on how he defines the American Dream:

"....it can come true if you feel like taking the time to achieve it. To achieve the American Dream that you want, you have to put your foot out and take some risks. You have to be able to expect blockades in life. To be able to succeed in life, you first have to fail. Failing is not always a bad thing. It may not always be what you want, but failing and being able to move on is a whole lot better than succeeding and going nowhere in life."

And with those words, I know he gets it. He understands, at least on some level, what I have spent his whole life tryng to teach him. Better yet? He believes it. And he believes in himself.

Which completely makes me realize that MY definition of the American Dream? That definition that has me witnessing my children succeeding in life where I haven't? Is absolutely within my grasp.

I might do okay at this mom thing, yet.

*We are ignoring his grammar, and focusing on content. Making sure he has meaningful content is part of my job. Correcting grammar and overuse of some words? Totally his teacher's job. Do you see the brilliance of this kid? He is providing job security to different people on different levels. Well, he is if I say so. And I say so.

It's Not Just Texting While Driving That's A Bad Idea

2010-02-10T23:30:00.001-07:00

When I was in high school, the only way to talk to my friends during the day was to *gasp* actually TALK to them between classes or at lunch. Or, heaven forbid, after school. If I needed to talk to anyone I didn't go to school with, I had to use the payphone in the lobby.

The day I found out I got a fairly large role in the school play and wanted to call my parents? I used the payphone. At lunch.

If I wanted to talk to my boyfriend, who went to a different school, during the day? He called a specific payphone in our school lobby from a payphone in his school's lobby. At lunch.

When I got home from school, I actually called my mother at work. And once I was driving? I had to use the actual phone wherever I ended up to....and I know this will sound really strange.... call home and report in.

So I'm left wondering why it is so amazingly impossible for my household to contemplate just how we would function if we decided to punish Jock for a cell phone infraction by actually taking away his phone? This teenager, who generally is the kind of kid who does what he's supposed to and for the most part doesn't get in trouble? This kid that all of his teachers like? This kid got in trouble at school for cell phone usage in class. Twice. In a 7-day period. Which has resulted in a total of three days of in-school suspension.

My first thought was Take away the phone for a few days. That'll teach him. And immediately on the heels of that thought was Wait....I need to be able to reach him after track practice, and when he goes somewhere. And about that "going somewhere" thing....he'll need that phone in case of an emergency.

Umm..... at what point did disciplining my child become less about helping him learn a lesson and more about not inconviencing myself? After much discussion, Coach and I decided on a weekend of forced father-son bonding time by enlisting Jock to help clean out the garage. You know, the kind of helping where Coach directed and Jock did the work. And the rule was, he had to do it without grumbling.

Which, upon reflection, might actually have been more difficult for him than needing to use a payphone in the lobby at the school. Do they even still have payphones in high school lobbies these days?

I'm going to have to look into that in case he decides he needs to text during class again.

Recently Heard In My House

2010-02-10T00:03:00.000-07:00

"Mom, I am so done with anything at my school. Except for friends. And classes. And sports."
"So, basically you're just done with GIRLS at your school."
"Yeah. Done. Absolutely done."

You have no idea how glad I am to hear this, for however long it may last. After the stress-ball that his life became when he and Mouse didn't work out, I am beyond ecstatic to hear that he is done with girls he goes to school with. Teenagers are very much of an "out of sight, out of mind" state of being, and not being in the same daily environment as someone he has just broken up with is just not something I can see as a bad thing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Our larger dog has some sensitive digestive issues. Not generally a problem, but does sometimes generate some interesting household conversation. For example, the other night there was a mad rush to the patio door when everyone noticed that the dog had started sounding like a cat with a hairball. Once outside, after um... clearing his throat, my poor puppy headed over to the special potty place we set up for them outside. (Yes, my dogs are trained to only go in one area. The brilliant man I married actually designed a special potty kennel for them. It's awesome, and makes clean up a snap!) Where he proceeded to do his business.

When he came back inside, someone mentioned how much happier the dog looked. Which is when Bug piped up: Well, pooping always makes me happier, too.

He is definitely all boy. And all of his father's son. 100% honesty, with none of that pesky modesty to get in the way.

I'm Not Sure What I Would Have Done With The Husband I Already Have Anyway

2010-02-08T09:23:00.000-07:00

Recently, in a conversation with a friend of mine, I mentioned that neither of my boys had ever said that they wanted to grow up and marry me when they were little. (And when I went home and related that conversation to my boys, both of them looked at me and said "Um, eww, Mom. That's wrong. Just wrong.") I thought about that for quite a while, actually, as I've heard more than one mother of boys say that their son, when he was little, wanted to grow up and marry his mama. So what was different in my household? Why didn't my boys want to marry me?

Which led me to thinking about the relationships I've got with my boys. Pretty darn good relationships, actually. We don't fight all the time, I like them more often than I don't, I can trust them despite the hormones to do what they're supposed to do. All good things. On the flip side, they seem to like me more often than they don't and they can trust me to uphold my end of all bargains as well. And none of us avoid one another.

My Friday evening was spent with the Teenager, shopping for track shoes. (Side note: we totally scored! Between coupons, sale prices and gift cards, we walked out of there with a pair of running shoes and a pair of track cleats for just a little over the regular price of one pair of running shoes!) Despite feeling so yucky and wanting nothing more than to curl up in a blanket on the sofa and let people take care of me, I let myself be talked into agreeing that we just couldn't wait, and had to go right then. At eight o'clock at night. When apparently there was only one shoe salesman scheduled to work and every parent of a 6-year old soccer player with at least three younger siblings in the tri-city area also felt they had to go shoe shopping and couldn't wait any longer. And I did this because I love my son, and he asked. He asked.

Turns out, that asking? Proves a few things.

On the drive home, we talked about a variety of things. Including his circle of close friends. One friend in particular, as this friend was potentially facing a move because his new step-father had just recently experienced a job change. Jock very casually mentioned that it wasn't really going to affect his friend; he'd just live with another friend like he mostly has all through high school so far.

Me: You mean, because it will be his senior year?
J: No, I mean he hasn't really lived at home anyway. He and his mom can barely stand each other. He only talks to her when he has to. He's basically lived at JR's* for the last two or three years, anyway.
Me: Huh. I wouldn't have thought that, since she's at all of his football games.
J: Well, she's his mom. They don't have to be getting along for her to want to come watch him play. (Thereby proving to me that football is held completely separate from any other part of teenage boy-hood)
Me: Ohh-kay. Still sucks that they're not close. I'm glad that we are. *pause* Wait. Do YOU think we are????
J: Well, duh. Of course we are. Think about it, Mom. I talk to you. I even go shopping with you.

Well then. How could I ever question that? Of course we're close. The shopping proves it. Even if he didn't want to marry me when he was five.

My Mini-Rant

2010-02-01T00:15:00.000-07:00

As a parent, you often find yourself taking things and moments for granted. Or maybe it's just me? Either way, I know that I've been guilty of getting so caught up in life that I neglect to pay attention to it. I think that might happen more often with the teenager, especially since he's driving now and no longer needs to wait for me to cart him around. So when a little moment sneaks up on me, and I actually recognize it when it happens? Well, forgive me if I'm inclined to make a bigger deal out of it than some people think I should.

Little moments like the first few minutes after he gets home from having met a girl face-to-face for the first time after talking to her via email and text messages for a couple of months. When he walks in the door and comes right to me, just grinning and waiting for me to ask how it went so he can tell me everything about her. And if I don't look at him quickly enough? He stands there, practically buzzing with impatience and excitement, until I DO look at him.

So what if I choose to look at these moments through rose-colored glasses? If I choose to regard these moments as something special? Does that make them any less real? Who on earth got to decide that just because I choose to pay attention to the small moments, and share them with others, it means that I'm naive and oblivious to the fact that my boys are most likely out doing things they shouldn't be doing?

Which, just so we're clear here? I'm not clueless. I am very aware of some of the less than desireable things my teenager has done. Mostly because he TELLS ME. Do I think he tells me absolutely everything? No. He's a teenager. By their very nature, they keep secrets from their parents. But do I believe he answers me honestly when I ask him something? Yes.

I'm not a superhero. I don't live in a world of make-believe. But I do know that my boys? Enjoy sharing their lives, their small but oh-so-important moments, with me.

And really? That's what matters in the end.

TMI Index for Today is High....Proceed With Caution

2010-01-25T15:54:00.000-07:00

Ya'll know I've got a couple of kids, right? So it shouldn't really surprise you to find out that I also have a couple of ovaries. For the last eight years, it's been just the ovaries, thank the Good Lord, but yes, they are still floating around in there.

Did you read that? Those ovaries? Are FLOATING AROUND in there. Did you realize that those suckers aren't attached to A. Single. Thing?? Not one snap or button, zipper or even a paperclip in there making sure they stay put.

Do you also realize that this means your ovaries are free to take field trips whenever they feel like it? You know that uncomfortable-ness you thought was indigestion the other night? It was probably your ovaries partying and pole-dancing with your esophagus. That day you had to go to the bathroom at least 4,569,371 times? That was the day your ovaries had their step-aerobics class using your bladder as the step. That tightness in your chest you get sometimes when you've been too active? Its not your lungs refusing to work correctly; it's your lungs continuing to party on with your ovaries long after your brain has kicked 'em out of the club after last call.

One of the first questions I asked my doctor after my hysterectomy many years ago was What happens to my ovaries? The expression on my face when she explained that they just sort of ... float... there probably provided a good laugh or three at the next medical conference.

And I'm pretty positive that my reaction to what happens to the actual eggs after ovulation since they now have nowhere to go? Will be one of the favorite opening anecdotes in medical school for years to come.

At Least He Doesn't Say He Hates Me

2010-01-20T23:42:00.000-07:00

"I just want to move as far away from you two as I can!"

With those words, those fourteen words that when on their own are powerless but combined in just that way are one of the most powerful tools in a child's arsenal, I felt my world tilt and spin and my stomach cramp up. I felt my muscles tense up, my eyes started stinging and my heart just....broke.

It's not the first time I've heard them. I'm relatively certain it won't be the last time I hear them. But that doesn't make those words any less powerful. It also never changes my response.

Oh, honey. *sigh* Where are we going to go? 'Cuz you know that I have to go with you, right? You are one of the biggest and most important parts of my world, and I need you around to make my world happy. There's always more smiles than there are tears when you're around, you know. And how do you think my life would be if I didn't get my daily hugs and laughs? So yeah. Wherever you go, ya gotta make sure they've got room for both of us.

And that's usually the point when the words that tumble out through the sobs are all about how unfair it is that we make him do everything and yet never let him do anything. How he never gets to just play and he always has to do his chores first. How he doesn't always like us or his brother, and so why should he have to spend all of his time with us? And when I point out that I never get to play and I always have to work first, and I don't always like the attitudes of him and his brother or their father, so why do I have to spend all of my time with them? Without exception, I get the same answer back.

Well maybe YOU should run away, too, then! *sniffle, sniffle, sob, sob*

I've found that if I just sit there quietly at that point, he'll figure out on his own that running away just ain't gonna work. For either of us. And then he remembers that I love him. And that he loves me. The sobs start to calm into mere tears, until they eventually just stop. Before long, he's trying not to giggle over the mental image of running away from home with his mama tagging along behind him.

Doesn't stop me from shedding a few tears over the whole thing later, though.

It's Always Been There

2010-01-15T00:08:00.000-07:00

For as far back as I can remember, I have had a deep and intense love affair with the written word. I love to write it, and I love love love to read it.

I don't talk much about life before my mother married the dad who raised me, but perhaps the best thing that my biological father ever did was to read to me almost from the very beginning. That one act instilled in me a love of books that has lasted my entire life. Which has been awesome for me, and irritating for my husband.

I think he might be jealous they hold my attention longer than he can sometimes. Especially during a Redskins game.

Hosted by Cecily

No Practice Rounds or Do-Overs

2010-01-13T00:07:00.000-07:00

I have decided that "They", the elusive all-knowing "They", don't know diddly. Because if They did, I'd be better at this parenting gig.

I had another post in mind for tonight, and it's one that's still needing to be written. But a conversation I had with my teenager this evening changed my plans. Conversation? Who am I kidding? I suppose if you can consider it a conversation where I'm sitting there doing all the talking and he's sitting there doing all of the eye rolling and puffing up with righteous indignation, then we were having a conversation. Sure. Let's roll with that one.

But somewhere between Do you really think you're the only teenager in history to go through this? and the tear that he couldn't quite stop from rolling down his cheek, I stopped "conversing" with him. And started just talking to him.

We were discussing Jock and Mouse; more specifically, the non-relationship he has going with her right now. Make no mistake, I think Mouse is a sweet girl. BUT... she is still a 16 year old girl. With all the accompanying drama being a 16 year old girl entails. And quite frequently, that drama tangles up with Jock's little world in a way that just.... well, just bites. Somewhere in the conversation Jock and I were having, his ear-to-brain converter stopped working. What I was saying was not what he was hearing.

At 16, you expect your parents to have all the answers. One of those answers you expect your parents to have is the correct way to talk to you about teenage drama and heartbreak. So it kinda sucks great big rotten eggs when reality smacks you in the face and shows you that your parents? Well, they're pretty clueless. But unless you're told, you don't really understand why. After all, they were teenagers once. At least, they keep telling you they were. So what the heck, mom and dad?

And that tear that managed to escape? Broke my heart.

So I stopped in mid conversation. Asked him, for what felt like the 6,375,894,234,004 time, to look at me. And quite calmly asked him a question.

Do you have any older brothers or sisters?

He looked at me like I'd finally lost my grip on that last marble in my head when he reminded me that No, I'm the oldest.

Know what that means? It means we've never done this before. We have never been through this .... thing.... from this perspective. Ever. We lived it, but we've never parented through it. Cut us some slack, dude. We have no clue how to say the right thing, or do the right thing. We're wingin' it. And so we're gonna screw it up. Probably a lot more often than we'll ever realize. But here's the thing. We WANT to get it right. We WANT to be able to talk to you about it. We WANT you to be able to talk to us about it. Work with me. Don't just blow me off because I've said something that either totally irritates you, or hurts you. God knows I never want to hurt you with something I say. Everything I do with you, everything I say to you, is a first. I've never practiced, I've never read a manual, I've never had a chance to do it wrong on someone else so I could get it right with you. Neither one of us has been down this path before, so lets work together to get through it, okay?

I adore my son. And so I told him so. I am beyond proud of him, for being the kind of young man who actually sees people for who they are and not the front they present to everyone. And so I told him that, too. He loves generously and unconditionally, and that makes me proud. He cares less about what other people think of him, and more about the kind of friend he can be to other people; and that makes me proud. This ability to look beyond the facade and into the heart of someone is what makes him a good friend to guys and girls alike; and what makes him awesome boyfriend material. Even if no one consciously realizes that but his mother.

In all professional sports, professional speeches, musical concerts.... any arena where your performance could hurt, offend or damage someone else....you get time to practice and warm up. You get the opportunity to practice, practice, practice in the days, weeks and months leading up to the performance of your lifetime. And you still worry you won't get it right.

The real wonder is that we don't mess more things up, I suppose.

There Really Should Be A Guidebook

2010-01-11T00:11:00.000-07:00

There's a shockingly large amount of information that is never given to you as a parent. Things you just have to discover on your own, and then just....wing it. Turns out that I? Haven't quite figured out yet if I'm any good at winging it. It might be helpful if I figured that out soon, as I'm almost out of time with the teenager; and would like to confidently make some decisions with Bug.

For example, no one ever tells you how to handle your child dating. They (I'm still wondering just who the heck "they" are, and just how "they" got their credentials...) tell you allllll about puberty, and it's effects on your child's physical, mental and emotional states. But no one ever tells you just how YOU are supposed to cope with those effects. It's one thing to know your son has a girlfriend. It's quite another when he's dating.

Yes, I know that sounds strange and backwards. Try to stay with me, here.

When your teenage son has a girlfriend, you have the comfort of knowing that he's convinced himself that he cares for someone. There is a strange sort of mellowness you feel as a mother knowing that he's emotionally invested in someone. This way, if something of a physical nature should happen between them, at least they care about each other. Right?

But when your teenage son is dating, then you start to worry about whether or not you've somehow let loose into the world some testosterone driven, cleavage obsessed, one track minded man-whore in the making. And it doesn't matter how respectful and well mannered your son is normally. You just know, deep in your heart where all mama insecurities reside, that it could happen. And so naturally, you freak the heck out every time he says Mom, can I borrow the car tonight? I have a date.

You also find yourself saying things and asking questions that you NEVER expected to hear come out of your mouth. Things like Sweetheart, I think dating Mouse first this time around is a good idea. But until you both have been committed to each other for a while, like---a few month's worth of a while, just don't sleep with her. Unless it's too late for that request. It's not too late, right? You would tell me if it was, right?

All I can say is Thank GOD he looked me straight in the eye and told me it wasn't too late, and agreed that yes, he WOULD tell me. Because I have not quite figured out how I'm going to calmly accept when that changes. Not the telling me part. I'm fairly confident that he'll always tell me when I ask. It's the not too late part I'm freaking out about.

Some things? You just can't wing without a little preparation.

Your Mama Can't Dance....

2010-01-08T00:26:00.000-07:00

My boys. If you know anything at all about me by now, it should be that my life? Revolves around my boys. They are the reason I get up in the morning, the reason I can't sleep at night. My pride, my joy, my headaches and heartbreaks.

Between work and all the various sporting activities we are constantly shuttling back and forth to, I feel like I don't get to see them nearly as often as I'd like. Combine that with Mr. I Need To Drive To The Corner and It Will Take Me At LEAST An Hour teenager and Mr. Hey! Can I Go To This Friend's House Or That Friend's House pre-teen and you can begin to imagine exactly how much time I DON'T get to spend with my boys.

So when I get a chance to snag a shot of them, especially one of them together, I grab it. I coerce them into smiling by threatening to dance where everyone can see me the next time we're some place where it is more important than breathing that they look cooooollll. Because it won't be long before even that threat won't work and I'll find shot after shot of moody, unsmiling young men. And not long after that when I won't be able to even get them to stay in the same location as my camera.

But until that time, I will continue to refuse to learn how to dance properly. You know. Just in case.

Hosted by Cecily and Carrie

It's Not A Resolution, It's A Promise

2010-01-04T00:27:00.000-07:00

I'm sure that by this point in the new year, you've already seen a bajillion resolutions floating around from people you know and blogs you read. And I'm sure you've made a few of your own. So I could sit here and list my resolutions for you, too. You know, just to share.

But see, the reality? I don't really make resolutions. I don't really keep them. I seem to have a complete lack of willpower when it comes to denying myself something I've decided I like. So this year, I'm taking a different approach. I'm not making resolutions for myself. I'm making promises to other people.

I'm promising Coach three months of telling myself "no" at least twice a week when I want something I don't have to have. Like a $2.60 cup of hot chocolate every morning on the way to work.

I'm promising Jock three months of letting him drive without hearing "I think you need to....." come out of my mouth. He really is a good driver, and I want him to know that I believe in him.

I'm promising Bug three months of having my undivided attention for at least 15 minutes each day. I want there to be not a single doubt in his mind that he is undeniably essential to my life.

I'm promising my friends, both old and new, that I will no longer just sit back and wait for someone to call and include me in their lives. Its said that to have the friend you'd like to have, you need to be that friend. So my phone will be reintroduced to its dialing feature, and my email will see more outgoing mail than it has in the past.

I'm promising my parents and brothers the same thing. To each of them. So I will be calling my dad as well as my mom; and both of my brothers will hear from me even when I'm not reminding them it's someone's birthday.

And to myself? I'm promising myself less guilt over taking time for myself every once in a while and doing something that will benefit no one else but me.

The thing about resolutions? Those are just ideas that you try to accomplish, and shrug off if you don't. But a promise? Those are binding, and you're held accountable for keeping it. I've always been a person who strives to keep any promise I've ever made, so I'm fairly certain I'll have better luck keeping a promise than following a resolution. And the bit about only promising for three months? Once I hit that point, it's a habit and regular part of my life routine.

Besides, in three months? It's going to be too hot to drink hot chocolate in Arizona, anyway.

Wonder If I'll Have Grandkids First?

2009-12-28T17:17:00.000-07:00

I've always been one of those people who plan ahead. Fine, so not always consistently; it's more like I plan ahead on random things, and then just let other things.... happen. For example, early in my married parenting years, I would have family pictures taken of just me and the boys. No Coach. Remember hearing somewhere in here that the early years of my marriage were not always sunshine and rainbows? Well, I had those family pictures taken that way specifically so I wouldn't have to cut him out of any of them. And yes, I know how spectacularly fatalistic that sounds. But hey! We've been married for 17 years now, so apparently I got past thinking he wouldn't be around for future family pictures.

Except.

Except for the small fact that we haven't had a family picture taken since Bug was 6 months old. For those of you counting, that would be 11 years ago. What I need, in order to make up for this fabulous lack of memory preserving, is to have someone take a wonderously spectacular picture of my little family. Not in a portrait studio, where we look staged. We just aren't a "staged" sort of family. Combine that with the small fact that the only one of us who owns any sort of dressy-type clothing is me (and even then it's work clothes), and well..... we need someone who can do awesome outdoor shots. Of my family in jeans and t-shirts. It would be nice if this photographer was someone who could make Coach and I look like the type of people who, upon admitting that they have a teenager and oh! rarely exercise and love to eat, hear other people exclaim how Fabulous! and Young! and Wonderful! they look. But, we'd settle for a photographer who would be awesome at making us look like the best us that clothes, make-up, hair product and lighting can make us. For as little as possible expected to come out of our bank account in return for such fabulousity. (Weird....Blogger spell check seems to like that word. Does that mean it really is one? Huh.)

The problem? We know of no such photographer. Looks like this is going to fall under the heading of Just Letting Things Happen.

Even Tom Tom or GPS Can't Teach How to Follow Directions

2009-12-24T11:23:00.001-07:00

This was a very big week for me. Monumental. Quite possibly for my oldest son, too. He got his actual, official driver's license this week. He was excited, I was emotional; all of which is pretty much par for the course when it comes to our family meeting these milestones and moments in life.

So today, I was sitting at my desk, quietly worrying and checking the clock every two seconds, wondering what was taking him so long to get home from dropping me off at work this morning. Not yet in panic mode, but beginning to think it might not take me as long to get there as I had hoped it would. At the precise moment when I looked at the time on my computer for the eleventy-billionth time, my phone buzzed with a new text message. From The Teenager.

J: Mom, you said Long East/West Street to Main North/South Street, right? (Obviously, I've changed the street names. I'm just not clever enough to give them decent names.)
Me: Yes, why?
J: Well, I haven't seen Main North/South Street, and I'm at the END of Long East/West Street.

Um, what? That is an incredibly LOOONNNGGG street, dude. If he was at the end of it, he was almost to Mexico. Okay, okay. That might be a bit of an exaggeration, but it truly is a long road that would find you quite a bit farther than where you need to be if you're at the end of it. And really, dude. You missed a fairly major street.

Me: Are you pulled over? (Because people? This boy has very strict instructions and a driving contract that state quite firmly that there is to be NO, absolutely NO, texting or phone usage while driving. Period.)
J: Yeah.

So I called him, and gave him directions back to where he could find his way home. To where his father has been waiting all morning after having spent ten minutes giving him advice (read: borderline lecture; pre-emptive, of course!) on just how to avoid getting lost.

Me: You didn't call your dad, did you? (This was more confirming a fact that asking a question. I knew he hadn't call dad!)
J: Oh no. Nope.
Me: We're not gonna tell him you got lost, are we? (Again, confirmation. I know this kid!)
J: Nope. (And you could literally hear the grin on his face when he said that!) He really doesn't need to know. No point in that.

*pause*

J: Besides...he said he figured he'd get a call from me at 9:10 telling him I was lost and asking for directions. It's 9:30. Why make him feel bad for being wrong?

Why, indeed, son? Merry Christmas, Dad.

Doesn't he look happy? This was 5 minutes after he got the license!

Hosted by Cecily

He Knows I Can't Cook, But He Stuck Around Anyway

2009-12-20T15:30:00.000-07:00

There are many things I've learned over the last seventeen years. Things about myself, things about those closest to me, and things about life in general. For example, did you know that despite it being one of the most annoying things on the planet, you won't actually die if you have to fix the toothpaste tube because someone squeezed from the middle rather than from the end like rational people do? Even if you have to fix it Every. Stinkin'. Morning for seventeen years? That would be 6,205 mornings. That is a lot of mornings, yes. But you still won't die from doing it.

I've also learned that there are people out there who find an enormous amount of humor and enjoyment in doing things like changing the way the toilet paper will come off the roll (God really does want it to come off the top, not from the bottom. Trust me.), purposely reaching over and snagging your pillow for the sole purpose of heating it up knowing you prefer it nice and cool when you lay on it for the first time each night, and not adjusting the driver's seat of your vehicle back to your preferred settings after they've driven it.

I've also learned that no matter how many children you have, or how good you might be at parenting them, being a good parent does not equate with being a good spouse. So I've learned to never stop working at either job. I've learned that it's okay to hide in the bathroom with a book for thirty minutes, and that it's also okay to tell everyone else that they need to go be by themselves for thirty minutes.

I have learned that there is a lot of changes that can happen to a body in seventeen years, but that looking at someone through a love-covered lens enables you to see nothing but someone's heart. And that in seventeen years, those hearts are always evolving and growing with you.

In the past seventeen years, I've learned that his squeezing the tube of toothpaste wrong, warming up my pillow for me, switching the toilet paper direction and leaving my seat at his settings are things that won't change. And that's okay. Because I've learned that he's figured out that my hairspray overspray, unshaven legs for a week (and if we're being honest here? Sometimes a *bit* longer), my habit of leaving my recently finished books wherever I was sitting when I finished them and my apparent inability to cook anything that is not pasta very well are things that in all probability will never change about me.

We've learned that in seventeen years together, we're just where we most want to be. With the person we most want to be there with. We have learned that we're in this marriage together. We've learned that we're able to grow together into the people we want to be.

Seventeen years is a long time to be married. It's a long time to be committed to someone, confident beyond all doubt that you have spent the last seventeen years with exactly the RIGHT someone. But if we haven't learned any single other thing, we HAVE learned that we are EXACTLY the right someone for each other.

Happy 17th Anniversary, Coach. I adored you then, I've grown with you in the years since, and I love you absolutely, deeply and completely now.

It Would Be So Nice If The Lobby Chairs Were Well Padded, Don't You Agree?

2009-12-17T23:18:00.000-07:00

One of the few nice things about the current economic situation at our house is that since Coach is home more frequently than I am, he gets to be the one to coordinate and arrange those pesky little parenting details like doctor and dentist appointments. If nothing else good comes out of his not working full time for the last year, it was still good for him to do these things, and for the boys to learn that he could, as well.

So Coach got to take Bug to the dentist yesterday for a routine cleaning. Honestly? We expected two or three cavities. Lack of dental insurance for quite some time, coupled with a child who equates frequent tooth brushing with cruel and unusual punishment; well, let's just repeat that we expected to need some fillings. What I didn't expect was to be sitting at my desk yesterday morning, going about my business, when this text message came through from Coach:

Root Canal.

That was it. Two stinkin' little words. Two stinkin' little words that had the power to have me promptly and dramatically freak the heck out.

Turns out, the dentist wasn't just recommending a root canal....eventually. Nope. He was insisting, demanding and ordering an emergency root canal. Right that minute, if his next appointment failed to show up in 30 seconds. Thank you, Anonymous Next Appointment; your timely arrival ensured that Bug's mama could be present for that stinkin' root canal. Which was conveniently scheduled for today.

(Side note here. I have the world's most AWESOME boss! Without hesitation or question, she let me take this afternoon off, telling me that for some things? Mom just has to be there. Period. Can I just tell you all how beyond amazing it is to work for someone who just ... gets it?)

I have never had a root canal. I've never seen one performed. So naturally, I'm imagining a drill the size of something Warner Brother's Acme Products would create diving into my baby's mouth. He was a bit apprehensive, having had it explained that they'd have to drill out the center of his tooth, scrape and scoop out every last bit of that nasty cavity, and fill it with metal goo. But he didn't ask me to go back with him when it was time. Which turned out to be a good thing, since the dentist told me I wasn't allowed to be back there. (Stupid AZ patient privacy laws. Only allowing the patient to be back in the treatment room. What if he was 4 instead of 11? What then, huh? Stupid rules.)

I am so proud of my boy. When the dentist dragged me kicking and screaming back to my lobby seat (okay, okay, fine..... he just looked over his shoulder at me and politely told me that I couldn't stay back there), Bug just grinned at me (albeit a little shakily) and assured me he'd be fine. And so I went back out and sat down. And waited.

That? Was long wait. A very long, 2.5 hour wait. Which was longer for me than it was for him, as he'd been fortunate enough to have been given the nitrous gas at the beginning while I sat there convinced I could hear that evil monster drill the entire time. So when he walked out to Coach and I, we had to laugh a little. His eyes were big and wide. He was slightly unsteady on his feet. And he was grinning like a loon.

That was the coolest thing ever!

Later he told me that he's pretty sure he used up the entire canister. And he thinks he might have told the dental personnel that his older brother (who was in the chair in the next room having his dental bubble burst, as well; which is a story for another time) had the same middle name as one of the hygienist's children, who had the same name as the other hygienist's boyfriend. Except Jock's middle name isn't even remotely close to that other name. But he does remember hearing someone say that, and in hindsight thinks it could have been him. (And yes, it was him. Jock heard the entire conversation from the next room.)

While the procedure was nowhere near as simple as all of this sounds, and definitely involved a bit of Gee, the drill tapped into that abscess and the dentist can't get the bleeding to stop, so you'll have to bring him back at another time to finish this up, overall it went well. I'm thinking, though, that when we go back to actually have that big hole in his tooth filled in.....I'm going to have to insist on some of that gas to get me through the wait.

Hosted by Cecily and Honey Mommy

More Miraculous Than Snow In Arizona!

2009-12-16T00:52:00.000-07:00

I? Am awesome. I am also just getting finished washing egg drippings off my fingers, wiping flour off my face, and will probably still be finding chocolate spatters in odd, random places in my kitchen for days. But I'm still awesome.

I have made no secret of my inability to use that big boxy thing in my kitchen that heats up both on top and behind the magic door. I have frequently poked fun at myself and my complete lack of desire to ever learn more than the rudimentary basics required to feed my husband and children. I'm both amazed and maybe a little bit worried that my youngest son has developed such an intense interest in all things cooking related. After all, how can I possibly teach what I don't really know?

But tonight? Tonight (drum roll, please) I.... baked! Yes! Baked! Not only did I bake, but I SUCCESSFULLY baked! And it gets better! I successfully baked FROM SCRATCH. Oh yes I did.

Chocolate cookies with white chocolate chips and macadamia nuts.

And they? Are FANTASTIC. Yes; FANTASTIC.

If I didn't need all 90 of them for a cookie exchange I'm going to tomorrow night, I'd eat every last one of them before I go to bed, they're that good. They're so good that I might just be calling the cookie exchange hostess tomorrow to confirm I really do need to bring that many cookies. Maybe someone backed out at the last minute? Yes! Six more cookies for me!

Of course, we should also consider the fact that it's almost 1 o'clock in the morning and I've been sniffing chocolate fumes for the past 3 hours. I'm a little loopy.

But I'm still tempted to lick that last chocolate spatter off of my cell phone.....or maybe the one on the fridge door? But I draw the line at standing on the kitchen counter to reach that one on the ceiling.

Maybe....

I Really Need to Channel Emeril. Or Paula Dean. Or Someone.....

2009-12-10T23:28:00.000-07:00

So I've got this friend that is just one of the most awesome people I know. She's a single mom of four beautiful and amazing boys, and despite the fact that she is younger than me and her kids are younger than mine....I want to be as wonderful a mother as she is. I want to be just like her when I grow up! She's just that fantastic.

So it was absolutely no surprise that, upon finding myself in something of a dilemma this evening, she was the first person I thought to call.

Me: Hey! Okay... so you're the Queen of All Things Mom, and if anyone can help me here, you can.
Her: Ummm.... sure. Why not?
Me: Okay. It's almost 7pm, I won't be home until about 7:30, and I have to make dinner. I've got chicken in the sink, sitting in cold water, and it's ready to cook. The problem is that all I know how to do with it is bake it. And that takes 35-45 minutes. If I want anyone to get to bed, that's just not gonna work. So... what can I do to cook the stupid chicken faster?
Her: Where's your husband?
Me: Sick. And I don't want his germs.
Her: Huh. Okay then.... the teenager?
Me: Oh no. We actually want a chance to EAT this chicken. And you can shush. I know I haven't taught him to actually cook with real meat products. And yes, I admit, there is some serious suckage to my parenting skills. Just move on and help me with the stupid chicken!
Her: Hon, it would help if you could at least tell me what you have in your pantry.

So, being MacGuyver, based on what I tell her is currently in my less than stellar larder, she gives me a recipe that actually sounds easy and yummy. And would only take 25 minutes or so. Bonus! And so I'll love her forever and ever and ever.

Or maybe just a couple of "evers"..... See, at the end of that conversation, she drops this one on me:

You DO realize that is actually a recipe YOU gave ME a few years ago, right?

So apparently I actually have it in me to cook on the fly. Who knew?

Awkward Teenage Moments....

2009-12-05T22:06:00.000-07:00

When you parent a teenager, you discover that life is full of awkward moments. The first time you realize that you really need to start knocking on their door before you open it. The first time you go searching under the bed for stray socks and find a pillowcase or hand towel. Or how about the moment when your teenager tells you about their first more-physical-than-a-small-no-tongues-used-kiss experience?

At least all of those are awkward moments just for you and the teenager that belongs to you. Don't forget about the awkward moments that happen with your teenager's friends.

Jock ~~was forced to endure~~ enjoyed an afternoon at the grocery store with me today. Along our route to the shampoo aisle, where I would be forced to take out a loan just to pay for the particular brand of shampoo he insists he has to have, we passed the family planning aisle. And standing right in front of the main attraction on the family aisle was one of Jock's friends from the football team. This friend was debating the merits of one particular brand versus another with yet another teenage boy. Jock walked up behind them and greeted them in the universal teenage boy way; a slap on the shoulder and a loud "Dude!"

The boys looked up, glanced over at me, and proceeded to ignore me. Which I was totally okay with, because hello? Acknowledging what they were shopping for would have mortified them, and reminded ME that my son is plenty old enough to have been standing right beside them shopping for the same thing. So I walked myself over to the next aisle and pretended to look for the perfect shampoo while waiting for my son to join me.

But I AM giving those boys HUGE points for being responsible enough to use those family planning aids. And for having the ~~guts~~ confidence to be in the middle of Wally World on a Saturday afternoon three weeks before Christmas, when every last family in the community is there and word is absolutely guaranteed to get back to their mothers about what they were buying.

Where Did All The Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice Disappear To??

2009-11-28T15:47:00.000-07:00

There are certain aspects to your personality that you lose when you are a mother to just boys. I'm not sure it's the same thing for fathers who parent just girls, either. You lose some of your innate "girl-ness". Think about this:

If you only have sons, when was the last time you saw a musical or other stereotypical "chick flick" when it first came out in the theater? Or did you have to wait until months after it finally appeared on cable, and even then it wasn't a premium movie channel, just TBS or something?

If you have only sons, when was the last time you were able to take your time shopping for a bra and panties that were more pretty than functional? Or the last time you were able to at least take enough time to make sure you bought some in your size, not just grab the closest thing to the aisle you were speed walking past so that the boys weren't scarred for life by the mental picture of their mother owning undergarments with lace and leopard prints on them?

If you have only sons, when was the last time you were able to actually go and get your hair "done", including color and styling if you wanted it? Or have you found you just have to settle for quickly getting it cut?

I finally saw Mama Mia for the FIRST TIME about two weeks ago. And if I hadn't found it on some random station after the boys had gone to bed and I was trying to avoid giving in to Coach's insane obsession with ESPN Sports Center at all freakin' hours, I'm fairly certain I STILL wouldn't have seen it. Another of my all time favorite movies (and yes, I know it has no real cinematic value, and I don't care. I love it anyway!), Grease 2, was on recently. And again, if I hadn't lucked into running across it late one night I would have missed it. None of my guys, Coach included, will watch those movies with me. Not at the theater; will not let me grab them at Blockbuster; and will run and hide if they come on at home.

I won't give you entirely too much information about the state of my underwear, but just know that I haven't worn lace and leopard print since Jock was looking at puberty. I haven't been able to get enough time to myself to go someplace besides Wally World to look, and I usually have the boys with me when I'm there. Some things they just don't need to know, I think.

But as God is my witness, I WILL get my hair done again some day! I will once again have two or three colors weaved into it, with a cut so professional it will naturally look like I just didn't do a thing with it. And I will be wearing lace when it happens. And then I might even bring home a copy of Pirates of Penzance to watch afterwards. At 11:00 in the morning. On a Saturday.

And I will remember to put ID bracelets on all of my menfolk, so that when I have to track them down after they run screaming out of the house I can find them easily.

After the movie, of course.

The Feast of My Life

2009-11-25T17:50:00.000-07:00

For the last several years, Coach and I have had two turkeys at our table every Thanksgiving. These turkeys keep getting bigger and bigger, to accommodate our lives. The bigger they get, the more full of flavor they seem to become, too.

Each year, in addition to the bigger turkeys, there seems to always be more and more stuffing, potatoes and other assorted side dishes. As with the turkeys, these become more flavorful and exciting. We've rotated some dishes in, and some dishes out; but we still keep adding to the table.

The gravy gets thicker every year, and yet still manages to be the perfect consistency. It covers everything that needs covering, adding just the right amount of "extra" to whatever it needs to. We've learned that no matter what, we know that we can count on that gravy to be there, doing what needs to be done to enhance those turkeys and side dishes. Making everything so good you often can't pinpoint that it was the gravy that pushed it into awesomeness.

And we seem to always be blessed with an abundance of desserts, as well. Plates of things so sweet you can't help closing your eyes in bliss, and smiling until your dimples hurt. Dishes that seem so rich and decadent, you don't even realize how good for you they actually are!

Two growing turkeys, constantly changing and adding to the never-ending table of side dishes, enhanced by the gravy to always be better than they could be without it, with the sweet parts afterward savored and enjoyed; this is how life should be.

This is life at my house. Every day, not just at Thanksgiving. My turkeys are the joys of my life, and I would be lost if we didn't have all those side dishes to enjoy. The gravy I love so much might be thicker every year, but without it we'd all be less than what we could be since that gravy enhances our life without even realizing it. And the sweetness after all is said and done? Well, I couldn't live without seeing those dimples and feeling something so rich in my life.

I'm so thankful that God chose to bless me with this feast. I may not deserve it, I may often unknowingly try to sabotage it. I may, on occasion, burn something that has to be tossed and started over again. But I am always so, so, so grateful He has given it to me.

It's a Darn Good Thing I Only Have Two

2009-11-24T23:12:00.000-07:00

I had planned to write something witty tonight about the things I'm thankful for right now. Okay, fine. I had planned to ATTEMPT to write something witty tonight about the things I'm thankful for right now. Some kind of profound play on the latest "new" idea to be thankful for one thing a day. Something like "30 Things I'm Thankful For". Or something like that. But then I spent 30 minutes holding my baby while he cried tears he didn't want to be crying, sobbing about how he's torn between the part of him that doesn't want to grow up and the part of him that does. And telling me that he's missed me "sooo much" lately, and feeling ignored and unimportant to me because I've been spending so much of my attention on his older brother. It occurred to me then that I hadn't spent a great deal of time with my Bug since before football season started. Okay, okay. It didn't just occur to me. It walked right up to me, looked me square in the eye, and whomped me upside my thick skull.

I am such a craptastic mother sometimes. How could I ignore one child and lavish so much time and attention on the other? How had it completely escaped my notice that the reason my son has been such a royal puke for the last several weeks was because it was the only way he could get my undivided attention? (And in the spirit of thankfulness, I did take a moment to thank God that He had only given me two children. How much more damage to the future of our nation would it be possible for me to inflict if I had been gifted with the original six children I had started asking Him for when I was younger?)

And then I stopped beating myself up. (Mostly stopped, at any rate. I think it's normal for a mother to regularly flog herself over her perception of how she sucks at the whole motherhood thing.) I squeezed my boy a little tighter, and told him how sorry I was that I hadn't been paying close enough attention. Both to him, and to everything else. I told him that I loved him, but even bigger than that....he was super important to me. I told him that he was not just one of my favorite kids, but one of my favorite people in the whole world. And that I had missed him, too.

We talked about how growing up is hard, and I reminded him that sometimes? It's okay to still do the things you did when you were little. Lego cities and watching cartoons, sleeping with stuffed animals and having mom sing to you at night. It didn't mean you weren't growing up just because you did one of those things sometimes. He told me that right now, the part of him that wants to grow up fast is still mostly small; but that it's getting bigger all the time and it's really making it hard for him to just be fine. All I could say to that was that I understood. I'm not sure he believed me, though.

In the end, after we had found our way through the tears and back to the giggles, Bug and I made a date. We're going on a Mother-Son date this weekend, and he gets to decide what we're going to do. I'm thinking movies and food, but he could surprise me. I hear there's a truck pull in town this weekend.