Suppose I Could Borrow Wonder Woman's Lasso?

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

Don't They Do Head Counts Anymore?

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

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

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

No Superglue or Duct Tape Needed

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

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

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

It's Always Been There

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

Your Mama Can't Dance....

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

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

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

There's Always A Smile On This Boy

This picture isn't recent. And the story isn't about this shot specifically. But every time I look at this picture of the top of Bug's head, I laugh and smile.

The fact that my boys are 5 years apart, with one in high school where Every. Single. Moment is driven by a hormone tsunami more powerful than anything he can possibly ever control, makes it hard sometimes for me to feel like I'm giving them equal time. Lately, the high school heartbreaks and homework have demanded more of my attention than is really fair to Bug. And maybe its because of the hero worship he has for his big brother, or maybe I blinked and he grew up enough to need me less, but I'm just not seeing the amount of bitterness and irritation over this lack of attention that one would expect. On the contrary, actually.

In a move that makes it look like he's lying in wait for me to walk into his line of sight, as soon as he sees me lately he asks how his brother's doing. He pounces on Jock the minute he peeks out of his teen-cave, asking how the homework's coming, and what's it about? And at bedtime, when he finally has me to himself for a few minutes, he starts making plans for when HE gets to spend time with me. And he always...ALWAYS...makes me laugh and smile in those few minutes we spend together getting him all tucked in.

This weekend? He's planning to teach me how to play poker and build a proper Lego tower.

And even if I already know any of those things, why would I spoil it for him? It occurs to me that just as I need to feel needed as their mother, maybe they need to show me that they still do need me. Even if it's only to see hard he can make me laugh before I snort or cry!




Hosted by Cecily and Sue

Penny For Your Thoughts

Take a good look at those pennies. They might look like two ordinary pennies, but really look at them. Look at the differences, at what each penny has been through.

The penny on the left has obviously been around for quite some time, right? It's helped to pay for ice cream and movies, manicures and prom dresses. It was the most necessary part of grocery store carousel rides and a cup of lemonade from the stand at the end of the driveway. That penny has been held tightly in someone's hand, and tossed high in the air only to be caught again. It's been used to decide who gets which side of the playing field, and to choose which toy to pick at the check out stand. That penny has made a difference between "just enough" and "not quite there".  That penny there on the left? Well, it's seen a lot of life. It's lived a lot of life.

The penny on the right.....now it's just getting started. It's shiny and  new, looking anxiously forward to helping out with breakfast on the way in some morning. That pretty new penny just can't wait to get out there and be counted!To make a difference! To be important! That shiny penny doesn't yet know that despite all outward appearances being almost the same, it just doesn't know as much as the penny on the left.

Oh sure, the faces on both pennies are the same. Mostly, at any rate. I will tell you, though, that you'll have to trust me that the backsides of those pennies are completely different! And the shiny new penny is a bit thinner, too.  But when all is said and done, those pennies are worth the exact same amount.  After all, a penny is just a penny.

That penny on the left? That penny was shiny and brand new the year I was born. The penny on the right? Minted fresh this year. Ol' Left Penny there has survived almost 37 years of life. It's only expected that some of the shine will have worn off.  And that thickness just proves that the older penny is made of something that is strong enough to stand through time. Knowing everything that penny knows now, having experienced everything that penny has experienced, and finally (mostly!) knowing the difference between "not quite there" and "just enough".....

Well, sometimes, a penny ISN'T just a penny. Sometimes its the thing you stumble across in your desk that makes you look back on your life and remember....all over again... just how much, and how richly, you have lived.




Hosted by Cecily and She's a moron and can't remember...

The Chapter of The Parenting Handbook They Left Out

Have you ever really, I mean REALLY thought about some of the movies and TV shows that you've always found the funniest? Not the ones that were necessarily approved by your parents when you were younger (although I could just about guarantee that when you weren't around they were laughing at least as hard as you were at them); but the ones that made you laugh the most.  There was always an element in them that you somehow recognized and identified with, right?  Something that made you think Yeah! My life is JUST like that!

Movies like the American Pie series or Fast Times at Ridgemont High. Maybe you still sneak in a viewing of Risky Business or Ferris Bueller's Day Off from time to time?  Or just about any John Hughes movie from the 80's.  Or maybe you find yourself laughing at each rerun you catch of That 70's Show when it's on five times a night on various cable channels.  Perhaps part of the appeal to these shows and movies is that, for a time, you can remember what it was like to be a teenager. You can remember thinking about nothing but should I or shouldn't I? when it came to sex or certain drugs. You can think back and laugh at how easy it seemed to hide the fact that you were growing up and were no longer a little baby from your parents.

And you continued laughing. Right up until the day it dawned on you that YOU were now a parent of a teenager. A teenager who, along with his friends, stangely and very closely resembles the teenage characters on these shows and in these movies. A teenager who (cue the horror film music here) most likely is thinking near constantly about sex, certain drugs, and how easy it is to hide the fact that he's no longer a baby.

I am beyond thankful that when I ask him, he answers honestly. Do I sometimes get answers that, as his mother, I might rather not actually know? Sure. But I still ask. Does he look at me and tell me it's really kinda awkward to be telling his mother these things? Yeah. But he still tells me. So I tell him how glad I am that he trusts me enough to be honest with me, and he tells me how glad he is that I care enough to be nosy.

Even if I can't laugh at a scene in That 70's Show without a certain amount of queasiness these days.




Hosted by Cecily and Emily

Luck. Or Perhaps More Accurately....Superstition

Everyone's heard some story, somewhere, at some time in their lives about the athlete who wouldn't wash his socks or his underwear because the team was on a winning streak; or who wouldn't shave his beard so that he didn't slide into a slump. Or about the ones who have certain rituals before games. These athletes might be going to extremes sometimes, but all athletes will tell you if you ask them that they have something that they do or wear before each game. Its superstition at its finest. And everyone accepts this with a smile and a nod, just knowing that's the idiosyncrasy of an athlete.

But have you ever stopped to consider the superstitious quirks of these athletes' PARENTS?


If you've been around here for any length of time, you know by now that Jock plays on the high school football team. And you know that his team went undefeated his freshman year. And undefeated again his sophomore year. Well, we're at game 4 of his junior year tonight.*


There is a very simple reason for this win streak.


I wear the same shirt, the same socks, and even the same underwear (oh shush..... it's not like you didn't expect something like this! And I'm not going to show you THAT!) each week. And while my socks are just plain fun, the shirt and the underwear reflect the school colors. (Although, upon reflection, I'm not entirely sure why I needed to make sure my underwear was in school colors. Its really not like I EVER expect there to be an occasion where I need to flash those to show my school pride.)


There is simply no changing them now. Although I do actually launder them. I have to draw the line somewhere, you know?


*I'm writing this post before the game. As soon as I'm done, I'll be doing my Lucky Mascot Dance to do my part to ensure we continue on just like this. And no, there will be no video.







Hosted by Cecily and Sports Mama

To play PhotoStory Friday, check this. Then copy the code below into your post and sign the Our Blurbs Guest List.

<center><font size="-2"><a href="http://whatworksforus.blogspot.com/2007/06/iphone.html" target="_blank" alt="Photostory Friday"><img src="http://i212.photobucket.com/albums/cc50/whatworksforus/pfws.jpg" alt="PhotoStory Friday" border="0"></a><br/>Hosted by <a href="http://mychaosmybliss.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Cecily</a> and <a href="http://youdonthavetolikeme.blogspot.com/.com" target="_blank">Sports Mama</a><p/></font></center>

Click here to see our guest list and add your link.

Heaven Help Me, I Still Remember How To Peg My Jeans

Raise your hand if you remember the dances you went to in Junior High or Middle School. C'mon, don't be shy. I know I'm not the only one. The dark gymnasium. The tables in along the bleachers where there were snacks, drinks and the poor teachers who got suckered....er, volunteered as chaperones. The boys at one end, dressed in their coolest jean jackets with the collars popped up; the girls at the other, with those oh-so-cool mini-skirts and leggings. Billy Idol's "Mony Mony" playing so loud you couldn't hear a thing, except when everyone sang along with the chorus. (And added in those "extra" chorus within a chorus lines!) Ahh.... now you can see it all, right? It was 1980-something.

That scene? Is not just something I experienced 20 plus years ago. No. It's also something Bug got to experience tonight. The boys were in jeans and shirts with popped up collars; the girls were wearing mini-skirts and leggings. And according to Bug, some of the girls were even wearing "those leg heater things".

When I was his age, it was just a dance. Tonight, it was an 80's Revival.

Revival, people. As one of my friends from high school asked, Is it sad that we're now old enough that our memories have become a Theme for our kids?

Although I suppose it's a good thing that it's not an actual comeback. Those leg heaters would be uncomfortable here in the desert.

Hosted by Cecily and Izzy 'N Emmy

The Measure of A Man

I was email chatting with a friend from way back when recently. I remarked to her that knowing the kind of girl I was in high school, I never would have expected to marry the kind of man that I did. See, when I was in high school, I was super active in anything that kept me center stage. School plays, drama club, vocal performance groups. Quite aside from the fact that these all had a spotlight in common, they also shared one other thing. A serious lack of anything resembling athleticism in the traditional sense. Was it physically demanding to stand under spotlights so hot you felt like you were sitting on a metal rack near the top of the oven, with it set to broil? Absolutely. But it was simply not on the scale of running a gauntlet of defensive linemen, with a combined weight of 1000 pounds.

At the time, I thought I tended to date boys who were like me. Looking back at any relationship that actually mattered to me then, those boys all had something in common. Every single one of them either played on the football team or the baseball team. So with hindsight being 20/20, it really shouldn't come as any great shock to me that I married a man who played on his own high school football team, and has a deep, intense, abiding passion for all things organized sports.


But I'll let you in on a little secret, okay? This man? This man who has been my partner in crime and parenting for the last 17 years? This man is so much more than just a jock. Being an athlete and a coach is not all that defines him, much as he might think it does sometimes.


This is a man who adopted two rescue dogs because they looked at his wife with eyes that spoke directly to her soul.


This is a man who will still eat two servings of any meal I ruin, simply to avoid reminding me that I can't cook.


This is a man who, just because I saw a black widow hanging out on our air conditioner, sprays for spider and other creepy crawlies outside. At ten o'clock at night.

This is a man who gives up Saturday night college football for a family movie night, and lets his sons pick the movie.

This is a man with a wife who adores him, and two sons who are striving to emulate him in all things that matter. A man who is teaching by example, good example, what a husband and father should be. A man who gives up so much of his own life so that his children can look back at their life and remember that he was there for all of it. He doesn't miss games, he doesn't miss parent/teacher conferences, he doesn't miss random school ceremonies.

This is man who is so much more than just an athlete or a coach. He is just so much more. I just wanted to remind him of that.







Hosted by Cecily and Chris

Still Playing Dress Up

I've never been one of those women who just like to shop. I mean, I enjoy browsing through racks of clothes and wandering sale aisles as much as the next woman (well, maybe not quite as much as the next woman, if a former sister-in-law is any indication of "the next woman"); but I have to have a reason for going to the store in the first place. And, no; shopping in and of itself is not a reason. At least, not to me.

On increasingly rare occasions, I can actually drag....er, convince one of my boys to join me on a trip to the store. While wandering the aisles, both boys will inevitably head to the hat racks. For reasons I can never quite fathom, they love trying on hats. They always have. Come to think of it, Coach does the same thing. Huh.

Is it a guy thing?

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Where Can We Go Today?

I'll drive!

It's funny, but I distinctly remember those words coming out of my own mouth about 20 years ago, all the time. Any excuse I could find to get behind the wheel of the car, with my newly minted learner's permit--and later my freshly laminated driver's license--clutched in my hand, was one I'd eagerly latch onto. Mom needed toilet paper? Off to the corner convenience store I'd go. Baby brother needed to be picked up from daycare? Hop in the car and take off. Dad needed a few minutes of peace from the bickering? I'd load my brothers in the car and we'd head off to grab Slurpees.

These days, when I hear those words, they're coming from Jock. Coach remarks that he's down to just a couple of beers? I'll drive....you know you really want 'em tonight! I mention that a nice and cold carbonated beverage straight from the fountain sounds good? Hey mom.... I'll buy!

My kid has managed to one-up me, it appears. Where I was content just to take the reasons my parents handed me to drive, Jock apparently feels the need to bribe us to ensure success. Bribery? Well, until he figures out that we'll let him drive anyway? It's working for me.

Now, if only he'd stop telling me to put the camera away while he's driving......

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

I May Need Help Getting Out Of This Rut

See that boy over there? The cute little blond with the bright blue eyes? Yeah, that one.

You wouldn't think that boy would be even the slightest bit able to frustrate me, would you?

School started last week, and he's in middle school now. That means the work is....*gasp*.... harder. Really, it just means that he finally has to put in a little effort to get good grades. I really have no doubt he'll be fine, and that it will come easier to him that it does to his brother. At least for now.

Tonight we (Notice the "we"? If you've read me for any length of time--or are just discovering me and have decided to immerse yourself in my archives--you will have seen the pattern by now of how homework goes around here. They bring it home, I sit locked in the den with them until it gets done. I apparently like to include myself in my children's homework responsibilities. We've tried prying me away. Didn't work. If someone wants to stage an intervention, contact Coach, okay?) had a paper to write for English. Just the usual first English paper of the year stuff--Summer Vacation.

(I think I'll actually get his permission and post it here soon. It's pretty short, and perfectly showcases his natural sarcasm! Why yes, he takes after me! Why do you ask?)

So we get done writing the paper (again with the "we", although I can actually say with all honesty that he wrote this one on his own) and discover that the printer is out of ink. Won't print a single letter of the paper. Bug also quite conveniently didn't write down any notes on the assignment, so I have no way of knowing if it actually has to be turned in tomorrow or not.

"I'll email the teacher!" I thought. That would have been brilliant.... if I had the email address.

So after a brief, but extremely heartfelt, bit of grumbling back and forth between he and I, I decided to don my "Wally World Dress Clothes" (sweat pants and a t-shirt... it was still too early to go in my jammies) at 10:30 AT NIGHT, I headed out to buy printer ink. Then I came home to a house full of sleeping EVERYBODIES. Even the dogs. There was no one up to appreciate my sacrifice.

So, um.... about that intervention? Maybe you could schedule that kind of soon, mm'kay?

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Wilbur Got A Bad Rap

Have you ever heard anyone remark on the intelligence level of pigs (actual curly-q tailed, no preservatives, pre-processing pork)? If I have, I don't remember it. But I think they may be pretty darn smart.

My little corner of the desert, being hotter than the backyard of Hades this time of year, has an annual tradition called Monsoon Madness. The town takes over a local park and erects water slides and other water features to play in, mud volleyball pits, and a giant mudslide. There is so much mud that even if you are not on one of the volleyball teams or actually going down the mudslide, you STILL end up with mud on your clothes. There are children of all ages running around this park, literally covered from head to toe in slimy, oozy mud.

Slimy, oozy COOL mud. Which is spectacularly awesome on a day where you are once again facing temperatures above 110 degrees.

Last weekend it was time for Monsoon Madness; and Bug found himself swept up in the fever. So while Jock couldn't see any good reason to wallow in the mud and so stayed home, Bug and I headed off to the park. Where he, many many times, would go down that ginormous mud slide only to run to the other end of the park and clean off by sliding down the slip and slide. Only to go tearing back down to the other end of the park to go down that mud slide again.

So while I found myself a nice chair in the shade by the giant mister fans, talking to the mom of one of his friends (because really? What else is there for a mom to do after getting splashed with mud your first time standing anywhere close to the mudslide?), Bug had the time of his life.

Pigs must be pretty darn smart. And I bet they have the most fantastically fun times!

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

I Still See Them At The Ballpark....Mostly

If you're a fan of Little League Baseball, or maybe just a fan of pretty green grass, you've got to agree that that field up there? Is beautiful. Right? I mean, that dirt is just the perfect shade of red, and the grass really couldn't be any greener. However, when you've spent (and I'm seriously not exaggerating, here) no fewer than 6 hours a night, every night for the last week, at that beautiful ballpark.....well, it starts to lose some of it's appeal.

This week has been All-Star Tournament Week for our Little League district, and OUR Little League has been the host again this year. Which is great, truly it is. It's a huge boon for our little town, and is tremendously exciting for our ball players. Especially those who have made the All-Star team for the age group that we are hosting. (Which, thank goodness, Bug did! Otherwise? I don't think I would have seen my kid at all this week.) Our concession stand is doing some serious business, and that's wonderful for next season's registration rates. The biggest downside to all of this? I'm the Tournament Director.

So, why is this a downside? Well, I get to coordinate all the volunteers to keep score, pitch count and to work in the concession stand. I get to coordinate the set up of the park and the fields being used (and you should know that for some amazingly odd reason, most of these teams seem to think they should arrive two hours before game time. For the love of chocolate....why?!?!). It might help here to remind you that our Board of Directors actually has 13 people on it. Wanna know how many of them followed through on any offers to help me coordinate volunteers, organize each age group's team and paperwork, and who show up each afternoon to help me with any of the field prep? Two. Everyone else seems to be okay with showing up at game time or at some point after, and taking as much credit as the visiting teams want to dish out. Which is a lot, because I'm not too shy to admit that our fields are GORGEOUS, our concession stand ROCKS, and everything is running BEYOND SMOOTHLY.

And I'm going to do it all again when we host the STATE tournament in a month. Because apparently, I am just not in my right mind.



Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

He Is His Father's Son

Remember this post? It's okay if you don't, I'll wait a minute while you catch up. And.....you're back. Good. Trust me, it will all tie in together here in a minute.

It occurs to me often that Coach is, oh... stubborn. And as I think more on that, it further occurs to me that our children inherited that stubbornness. Most of the time this is proven by the battle of wills that I'm constantly taking cover from. However, occasionally I get good, solid proof that they are all busy thinking they're right (See? There's your tie-in!). Or trying to prove something. Either way it's the same thing.

Several days ago, Coach decreed that as penance for not picking up the living room to his standards, Jock would now have to not only make sure the floor was clear of all trash, stray socks and various shoes--none of which belonged to anyone other than the teenager; he would also have to vacuum the floor. And he didn't mean just running the vacuum around the furniture. Oh no. All pieces of furniture had to be moved and vacuumed under, then put back. Not about to be accused of once again not doing what he was told, Jock made sure to leave evidence of the completed job. (Here would be where I really, really wished I had some "before" pictures. Which, naturally, being the stellar snapper-of-all-possible-photographic-evidence that I am, I do not have. So try to imagine that my sofa and love seat sat at a 90 degree angle to each other, with a small end table between them, looking like a big "L", with the coffee table in front. Got it? Well, sorry. I tried.)



The stubborn yet clever teenager decided to alter the way he put the furniture back. It is now in a straight line across my living room. Dad would HAVE to acknowledge the chore well done, now, right? *sigh* You'd think so, wouldn't you? Coach, however, feels that Jock arranged the furniture the way he did simply to see what would be said about it, and if he'd be made to do it again. Correctly, this time. So, OF COURSE, he is determined to NOT say a blessed thing.



It has been over a week. We have since vacuumed again, at least around the furniture. And everything is STILL in a straight line across the back of my living room. And apparently we are conducting an experiment to see just how many dishes and other assorted stuff can fit on that end table before we clear it off.

*Please, just kindly ignore the proof of my superior housekeeping skillz. And don't tell Coach I shared them with you, okay? Thankyousomuch!*

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek