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

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.

My Philosophical Side Is Showing

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.

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

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.

The Sleepover Bra

If you are the mother to a male child, and if you are a mother who has fought a valiant battle with gravity only to realize that you are losing much faster than you dreamed you would, you absolutely understand the need for the sleepover bra. If, on the other hand, you only have daughters; or have been blessed with eternal perkiness and a bosom that does not remark to anyone who would care to listen anytime there is a chilly breeze passing through (or let's face it, just a stupid brush of a stupid t-shirt these days *sigh*), then you may not understand what, exactly, a sleepover bra is. Let me explain.

The sleepover bra is that one bra you keep in the drawer, with the elastic that maybe has stretched just a bit too much for this particular bra to be very useful in everyday life. That bra that is still supportive enough to give everyone at least a minor impression of your more youthful years, but yet relaxed enough to be comfortable to sleep in. It may or may not have underwires, but if it does, they have gone through enough washings to have lost just enough rigidity to not dig into your armpits when you lay down. This bra still conceals your "temperature detectors", but doesn't restrict your airflow by being too tight. In short, this bra is actually comfortable. Which is why you can't wear it to work anymore, but can wear it to bed if need be.

And when you have older sons, and said sons have friends that sleep over at your house; and if you have found yourself on the losing end of the battle with gravity and always announcing a drop in temperature..... well, you need a sleepover bra. (Always assuming, of course, that you really have no desire to embarrass your son; or that you don't have some really wrong fixation with inappropriate attention. If you fall into either of those categories, then a sleepover bra will not help you. Also? We all might be more comfortable if you didn't continue to read the blog of a mom with a teenage son, with said mom absolutely feeling the need to shield her son from older women seeking inappropriate attention from him. Thanks so much!)

I have a sleepover bra. And I find myself in the somewhat strange position of being thankful I actually need one. You see, needing a sleepover bra means that my boys have friends that they actually want to invite over. And that these friends are actually accepting those invitations. By wearing this sleepover bra, I am acknowledging that my boys are not ashamed of our house, the state of cleanliness it may or may not be in at any given time, or of Coach and myself. It also means that their friends like being here.

Needing this sleepover bra means I am moving ever closer to accomplishing the goal I set for myself before Jock graduated from high school. Which is a very good thing.

Also? I just think it's funny that I managed to write an entire post about a bra. Apparently, the creative center of my brain has not yet recognized that it just turned 36 last week, and therefore should stop being amused at certain things. I'm ok with that.

At Least Its Not His Underwear

*and yes, I know that title will most likely bring me some very strange traffic*

I'm sure at least most of you are familiar with the superstitious practices running rampant throughout the sporting world. Ask almost any athlete, professional or amateur, and they'll tell you they've got some sort of good luck charm. Lucky socks. Lucky gloves. Lucky underwear.

Well, Jock is no different. He's just as superstitious as the rest of them. His lucky "item" changes depending on the sport; and it changes each season. It can also change during the season if he's been in a slump; he changes something, and then comes out of that slump. We've had our fair share of lucky socks and lucky undershirts. Pre-game rituals that must not be changed lest the team suffer dire consequences.

This year, in all sports, all of his superstitions have centered around the same thing. His sideburns. It started during football season. He didn't shave them off all season long, and his team went undefeated and he led his position in touchdowns. BUT.... for baseball season, when he'd grow them out, he either wouldn't play or he'd play crappy. So, he got in the habit of shaving them off on game day mornings. And when he'd do that, not only would he get to play in the game that day, he'd get a spectacular hit. Then the freshman season was over, and he went down to play with the Little League. I'm not sure if he didn't take it as serious as he did the school team, or if he thought he'd try something different, but he stopped shaving his sideburns off. And promptly hit something of a slump. Ok, not precisely a slump.... but he certainly wasn't playing as well as he could have.

His final game of the regular season was tonight. And so, this morning? He shaved the sideburns off. And tonight? Phenomenal performance. The first thing he said to me when he left the dugout and we were walking to the car?

I TOLD you it was the chops!

Whatever. I know the truth; the real reason his performance was so much better tonight (oh... that beautiful ball he hit out right to the fence in center field... absolutely gorgeous hit! Brought in three runs and landed him a triple!). It had nothing to do with his sideburns, or lack of. Oh no. Wanna know why they won, and he did so well?

I was wearing the same jeans I've worn each time he's won a game this baseball season. That's right. It was all me.

I'm such a good mom.

I'm On A Mission

I want to be everyone's favorite mom by the time Jock graduates high school. Its my fondest dream. My greatest desire. The thing I want most in the world.

Nope. Doesn't take much to please me.

However, my children aren't helping me realize this dream. They would much rather go OUT and play, or meet their friends at the school events than have them come over or have me drive everyone everywhere. I ask you, how are all of their friends supposed to fall in love with me (as a replacement mom, not as one of those crazy-stupid-land-my-butt-in-jail sort of ways!) if these friends never even know who I am? I happened to mention this to Jock the other day. Suddenly, I'm being swamped with requests to have his friends over or to drive him and his friends places.

The trick, as I see it, is going to be how to achieve this dream without being trampled under their cleats and taken advantage of. Now, I'm not entirely sure how I'm going to do this. See, I really, really, really want to be the one everyone calls "Mom". I want his friends and girlfriends to all talk about how wonderful I am. There is not much more that would make me happier. Oh, sure.... I'd be thrilled if he got good grades, was a super-success at any and all sports he goes out for, was polite and respectful to his teachers. But none of those things are things that I can claim as my own accomplishments. BUT.... if everyone loved me, well then we'd all know it was because I'm just wonderful. :) Ok. I know that those other accomplishments would be due to his fabulous upbringing, and could be traced directly back to how wonderful a mother I am. But work with me here. I want the recognition.

Alright. In all seriousness, I really am not this insecure about my parenting skills. I know that I'm doing some things right with these boys. They DO have manners outside the house. They DO call people "Sir" and "Ma'am", and Mr. and Mrs. So-and-so when they meet them. They ARE respectful to their teachers. They DO have decent grades, and they ARE spectacular athletes. (Ok... I can't really take much credit for that last one. That ability is solely due to Coach's genetics and a benevolent God.) But as long as my kids think I'm doing this solely for selfish reasons, I can stay actively involved in their lives for a longer time. Since they'll all be hanging out at my house, or since I'll have been the taxi for the evening, I'll have firsthand knowledge about their activities and the people involved. There will be less opportunity for sneaking around and getting into trouble. They wouldn't be quite as accommodating if they thought I wanted to know everyone just so that I could nose around in their lives. This way, they think they're helping dear old mom. So see? There really is a method to my madness.

Now. If only it works.

Well this sucks.....

Apparently I'm not going to live as long as I thought I was. Although maybe that's not such a bad thing.

Maybe since I'm going out so young, I won't have to worry about what kind of nursing home my kids will put me in.

Or if their future spouses would *love* it if I came and lived with them.

Or what kind of trophy wife Coach plans on trading me in for.

Or adult diapers. **shudder**

Or worse....have you ever given thought to how awful it would be to have someone else shaving your legs???

Huh. So ok. Maybe it doesn't TOTALLY suck.

Does It Get Any Better......

........ than Funyuns and Diet Pepsi? I would have a hard time believing any of you that tried to convince me it did. It even appears that there is some nutritional value in a Funyun!

Check this out: In a one (1) ounce serving, which is approximately 13 Funyuns (hey.... I don't do the figuring here, folks, I just do the reporting!), there are only 7 grams of fat, and none of that is the crappy trans fat that everyone is so obsessed with! There is also ZERO cholesterol, and only 18 grams of carbs! And... get this... there is even PROTEIN in these wonderful little miracle treats! Yep yep! Two whole grams! And vitamins and minerals! Sounds like a fairly (ok, so that's maybe a bit of a stretchy artistic license, but work with me here!) balanced snack/meal!

So I ask you again.... does it get any better than Funyuns and Diet Pepsi?

I think not.

Calories Don't Count When.....

~~ Birthdays. There is something just not right about penalizing a person as they age. :) So whether you're celebrating your own or someone else's birthday.... go ahead! Live it up! That cake, ice cream, seven course fancy-schmancy dinner.... none of it counts!

~~When someone else has bought the food. If you aren't directly responsible for providing it, you can not be held responsible for the caloric intake.

~~Easter, Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas. Again, since these holidays are celebrations (well, mostly. Halloween is just there for the candy!) any calories consumed don't really exist outside of that day.

~~When you're alone. Its kinda like that "tree falling in the forest does it make a sound" conundrum. If no one is there to witness it, it didn't really happen.

~~Pajama Parties/Girls Night Out. These are just a given, folks. There should be no explanation needed.

~~When you're on vacation. Its VACATION. 'Nuff said.

~~When its M&M's. C'mon..... that should be a gimme. :)

Any other creative situations where calories don't count? Let me know... I'm always looking for more ways to fudge a calorie or two... or several!