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.
Showing posts with label Oh My Freaking Heck. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Oh My Freaking Heck. Show all posts
Friday, December 9, 2011
Friday, September 16, 2011
Not My Best Day
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!
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!
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Internet Porn and Happy Blogiversary to Me!
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.
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.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Parental Fail
"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?
"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?
Thursday, June 9, 2011
I Must've Blinked Somewhere
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
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
Friday, May 27, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
Borrowing Wisdom
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.
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.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Ready or Not.....
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.
Monday, March 7, 2011
When Vanity SHOULD Outrank Laziness....But Doesn't
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.)
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.)
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Oh, The Irony
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.
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.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
If I Had Daughters, Boobs Wouldn't Be An Issue Around Here
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.
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.
Monday, August 2, 2010
At Least I Can Still Control My Dogs....I Think.
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.
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.
Monday, May 17, 2010
I'm Going to Buy Stock in Kleenex and Make Millions for Myself
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?
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?
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Prom is Going to Kill Me.....
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.*
(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.*
Monday, April 19, 2010
Boobs---An Easy Laugh at Your Mother's Expense
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 ofSkinemax 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.
The parent in me has never been much of a fan of
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.
Monday, March 15, 2010
He Really Needs Some Good Hero Theme Music, I Think
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Recently Heard In My House
"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.
"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.
Monday, January 25, 2010
TMI Index for Today is High....Proceed With Caution
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.
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.
Monday, January 11, 2010
There Really Should Be A Guidebook
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)