Of Course...

I decide to take a break from Blogging and what happensular basis.  In the meantime, enjoy this break from the fasting of my Blog: Ten Things I Learned from 26 Years of Mothering.

Over at the Register

It's been a while, but here's a humor piece I did because sometimes, the world just needs a little lightness, a dessert if you will, in the midst of a desert of unpleasantness.   It's why I started writing humor in the first place. 

I hope you enjoy it. 

The Evil Parenting League of Evil Taking Applicants.

In other news, I tried my hand at Editorial Cartoons this week, and one was accepted. The other, at a different market, is still pending. 

If you're wondering, where in heck is Small Success Thursday, the answer is, I've taken a break for the time being, as there's just too much going on in our house to do it justice on a regular weekly basis.  (I've got five kids in a play after Thanksgiving).    It doesn't mean I'm not counting my blessings, just I'm not writing up a set up every week. 

I am still writing. I'm still reading. I'm still editing. I'm still working at a school, and yes, still trying to manage all these people's lives.  I'm just trying to streamline what I do and when I do it, so that I'm not quite as overwhelmed.   Trying to squeeze in some exercising, reading, practicing music, writing letters, and the ordinary stuff like making dinners, reading to my kids, cheering at their sports/activities, and getting an occasional night out.   

--Love to you all, thanks for stopping by. 

T-O-W-A-R-D-S My Ted Talk

I've reached my sell by date. It doesn't mean I'm dead, but it does mean all comments I make, whether about the planned dinner or the state of education as I see it based on the past two years in the classroom, get dismissed because they weren't verified by a TED talk.  They're out of date.

As you may have guessed, I live with many teenagers and college students. There isn't a profession, degree or level of experience one can have endured over the course of a lifetime sufficient to counter the opinions of those ranging in age from 13 to adulthood.

As a parent, I've come to terms with this reality. It's not an easy term, but it's knowable. I know, no matter what I say, no matter how benign the comment, I'm wrong.

In an effort to stem my wrongness, I stay away from controversial subjects but being always wrong means, there aren't any.

Take the weather...

"It's cold today."

"No it's not."
"It was colder yesterday."
"I checked the website. It's statistically three degrees warmer than it was 100 years ago."
"You just think it is."

Or matters of personal preference...

"Thank goodness for diet coke and chocolate."

"You should be drinking water."
"Those chemicals will destroy your body."
"Studies say, drinking that will also make you fat."
"Is it fair trade chocolate?
"Goodness had nothing to do with it."

Or statements of actual fact born of answering a question:

"How do you spell "Towards?"

"T-O-W-A-R-D-S."
"I don't think that's correct."

"I know how to spell it. You asked me."

"Are you sure?"
"Yes."

"I'm gonna google it."

Or when you figure out the answer before they do...they don't quite believe it.

"I can't figure out this math."
"Let me see...Okay hon, you just write it out and multiply each term to each term. (X-4)squared equals Xto the second power, minus 8 X plus sixteen."
"No. You don't understand."
"But I do understand. I just did it."
"No. You have a third term."
"I know, because..."
"No. It's been a long time since you did math. I think we do it differently."
"The rules haven't changed."
"I'm going to call a friend."

Fifteen minutes later. "Did you get the answer?"
"Yes."
"And..."
"I still don't think we need the -8X."

I know, saying "I was right!" would be in bad form but I can't say I'm not tempted. 

The problem is, our children no longer consider us reliable sources of information. We don't even get the benefit of "Trust but verify." We get...your parents told you? Fake news. Wikipedia is considered more reliable than me. Possibly Fox news as well.

All this stemmed from my informing my daughter that the dryer wasn't drying clothing. I'd taken everything out, wiped out the inner drum and placed a limited size load in the machine. Five minutes later, it said it was done. I tried again. In three minutes, it stopped. Having tested every setting and pushed every button I informed everyone, the dryer isn't working.

Three teenagers since then have done their own field testing of the dryer only to inform me what I already knew. I told them, "There are moments when a statement doesn't need a peer review. The dryer not working is one of them." They looked doubtful.

I'd love them to know most of my opinions and thoughts on things do not require independent verification or crowd sourcing. However, I'd be lying if I didn't admit it would be nice to have approval, or even a "like." It would be nice to have someone other than the GPS let me know, I've come to the correct conclusion of something but the only validation I'm getting these days is in the parking garage.

They didn't think that joke was funny. They said there were much funnier ones in Ted talks. They told me my humor is stale.

What do they expect? I'm expired.

A Day Without Sunshine*

by Guest Blogger, Marc Antonetti.

Today March 8, 2017 is "A Day without a Woman" day; and like a day without sunshine, your regular columnist--Sherry--is nowhere to be seen.  

The corporate big wigs at Chocolate for Your Brain however would not shut down the operation in solidarity with the movement and threatened to fire her if there was no column. So she asked for a ghostwriter (that male in her life who is rarely seen or heard from in public) today.

So how is our day without a woman going?  Well, we got up late and the kids had bratwurst and beans for breakfast. Immediately the chorus of "Where's Mom?" began. I answered with my typical straightforwardness, "Not here."  And "Somewhere else." and in homage to that great bedtime book, Owl Moon, "Maybe a fox got her."  

When they saw they were getting yesterday's left overs in their lunch boxes, a second round of "No really Dad, where is Mom?"  I replied, "Go brush your teeth, and your hair."  

I thought I was doing fine until I had to find socks and some sort of remotely matching outfit for each of the youngest two five minutes later. By then the yellow school buses had rolled past our house. It was now 9:10.  After dropping them off at school (itself operating on minimal efficiency) I headed home to telework.  

I put on a continuous loop for the "Hunt for Red October," "A Bridge Too Far" and "Crimson Tide." The day without women was looking up.  I could indulge in films without girls in them (and Gates McFadden and Liv Ulman have too few lines to count in the first two films).  I reprogrammed all the radio stations in the car from Mix 107.5 and the other pop music channels from the "80's, 90's and Today" to SportsTalk 980, the Sports Junkies, and the new AC/DC channel over on Sirius/XM.

Of course, this reverie lasted until I saw it was already 2:30 and time to make the first run out to pick one kid up from school, race home for the next four to arrive by bus and then out again to get the oldest two from after school activities.

By the time I got home, the chorus of "Where's Mom?" started up.

"Can you sign this?"
"I don't understand my homework!"
"I need something for the bake sale."
"My brother did this to me."  "She started it!"  "What's for dinner?"  "I'm hungry." 

The high of watching Sean Connery for the better part of the afternoon wore off, leaving me with the distinct desire to say "Calgon take me away!" or at the very least, "Where's Sherry?" 

On one more serious note, I will be continuing Sherry's prayer requests, so if I may, Can I pray for you?  I would also ask that we all give a prayer, of thanks for all the women in our lives without whom we wouldn't be where we are today, and for greater unity among all of us, no matter what the gender,

Sherry Green Antonetti will Return with Small Success Thursday tomorrow.  I hope.

Nerd Products You Won't Find in Stores, Which Parents Need or At Least, Think They Want

Item #1) The Screen Killer Destructo Button:  I want the equivalent of a tantalus field in my home, one push of the button, and all screens everywhere in the home shut down.  No TV, no telephones, no computers, no tablets, no kindles, nooks, xboxes, wiiU's, playstations, DS's, iphone watches, ipods, Ipads, any of it, works for the next 2-10 hours, depending upon the setting you use.

 (See StarTrek Mirror Mirror if you don't know the reference).   I also want an override, so that the children can attempt bribery if they have the will.   If I'm going to borrow technology from the evil universe, I might as well be a corruptable version of Mom in the bargain.

Item #2) A Tardis  Parenting would be infinitely easier if we could move teen A from point B back to home without making an adult do anything other than pull a switch.  We also could coordinate the schedules that approximate a question you'd find on the revised version of the S.A.T.   There's a dire need for this invention, since none of us show any signs in our parenting of the next generation of having sufficient grace to merit bi-location.  Moving through space and time is something we do all the time, it's just only in one direction.  Given the demands of modern life, we need a way to collapse the transitions.   We don't need watches that take a licking and keep on ticking, we need a way to avoid the licking altogether.

I'd be happy for the Tardis if only to create some sort of folded space so we could put all the winter clothing in it and only get out what we need when we need it. Otherwise, I've done the math without the benefit of a sonic screwdriver to check my calculations, and there are 56 things sitting on my living room floor every afternoon when all the kids get home from school.


Item #3) Whatever it is in the Star Wars Universe that gets things so clean.  You look at the Star Wars Universe, and even the grungy places, they don't have dust.  They don't have trash.  The sandmen don't leave sand everywhere.  The giant Jaba the Hut doesn't leave a snail trail of slime. The walls in the most dangerous of cafes on Tatooine don't have unsightly spots where the java burst through the door and left a door knob sized welt in the wall.  Even the blasters, (when they hit anything), do so neatly.  Light sabers cauterize the wounds they give.  Yes, even when there's a massive bar fight and Hans shot first, no one ever spills a blasted thing.   People say sorry about the mess, but I'm thinking...what mess?  You don't even know the meaning of the word.  Even the garbage center in the detention cell block, with all of its debris, didn't make Princess Leia's outfit look dingy for more than the necessary scene.

Midi-Chlorians, Now with Extra Cleaning Power!

I'm thinking maybe those midi-chlorians are the universe's equivalent of scrubbing bubbles, working hard so we won't have too.  In which case, I'd be only too happy to use the force.  

Item #4)  M.I.B.  Flashy Thing

We all have parenting moments we'd rather forget. Cleaning up throw up at two in the morning comes to mind.  So eliminating those sort of memories from my history, well, I wouldn't mind it.  My one issue, would be, how often did they find it and use it on me?  "Mom, you promised we'd go for pizza in the afternoon."  "I don't remember."  "We do!"

Maybe this is not something we should invent...with great power....comes great confusion.

Item #5) I need a catch phrase that gets everyone front and center.  Now I'm not a picky person.

I want this:

        Avengers, Assemble!

I get this:

I'm not saying I know what the product is, only that I need it. 

Item #6)  With apologizes to Saint Anthony who does a spectacular job interveining for me daily when I can't find whatever it is I forgot because of the flashy thingy, that I can't locate, I want a Harry Potter magic wand.  Not so I can go around inflicting unforgivable curses on anyone, but so I can say..."Accio mated socks." and be done with it.   If I saw that in a "As Seen on TV" store, I'd buy two even if I had to pay extra for shipping and handiling.

Magic has some practical uses which go underexplored in the Potter Universe. In addition to being able to instantly find things, who doesn't need a bag of holding which doesn't weigh you down.  I know, I have a purse, I also have a weight lifting limit.  My bigger bag of holding in real life is my car.  Most everything can be found on the floor in it, so maybe I just need to tell my kids, go to the car, say accio homework, accio lunch box, accio bookbag, scarf, left hand glove, so they can bring them into the house and drop them on the floor. 

 At which point, I'll remind them to put everything in the Tardis.   When they say, it's too much, it won't fit, I can say, "It's bigger on the inside." and threaten to push the tantalus field if they don't.  If they complain, I'll tell them, "Resistance is futile."  Like I said, if I'm going to borrow from an evil universe...I'm going to do it like a boss.  Speaking of which...

Item#6) Nanites that initiate control over other beings.  Magic wasn't sufficient to get people with the program for a parent as formidable as Molly Weasley. No.  I need the ability to get kids to obey without that pesky free will business getting in the way.

Solution?  Love?  No. That leads to the kids using the flashy thingy on me so I don't notice they didn't clean their rooms or do their homework.  No, I want order.  I want discipline.  I've shown I'm willing to entertain the dark side, but maybe I didn't go far enough.  Injecting little nanites allowed the Borg to assimilate whole cultures for generations. I just want to get them all to go to bed and turn off the lights.  I'm only slightly evil.  One nanite per kid ought to do the trick. 

This Queen knew how to get folks to bed on time with their teeth brushed!

My only worry would be, the mito-chloridians might feel underappreciated if I used basic scrubbing spells, as would the nanites that cause children to behave. There might be a full scale rebellion if there's even one rogue.   In which case, things could get messy and my best advice would be, run!  In which case, maybe it's just for the best, I don't have access to any of these things...

Maybe I need to switch genres and get a house that cleans itself, or animals that assist with household chores, and a fairy godmother who makes sure I make it everywhere on time, and properly dressed.  She would have to be more flexible on that staying up past midnight thing though...

One of Those...

We've all had them, and as a society, we refused to speak of them.  Hence, there are no television specials or songs which remind us of the gory details of those Christmases.

I speak of the years when everybody gets sick.

We've eaten dinner, opened presents, phoned the parents and maybe dug into some of the pile of sweets left in the stockings when somebody says, "My stomach hurts."  Everyone pauses.  We all know what this could mean, but we all lie.  "It's probably because you ate too much."  "Or been up since four."  "And we stayed up late last night, don't forget that."  There are reassurances all around.  It's nothing.  Absolutely nothing.   Until the child in question throws up.  

After the scramble to clean up the mess and scrub down the bathroom, everyone knows, it's a matter of time and still, we repeat the fib for it's ever failing comfort.   "That was exciting." "Hope that doesn't happen again."  The next soul whose stomach doesn't feel great, doesn't feel they should mention it, and suggests everyone should shower up and get to bed.  

By two in the morning, three more people are down.  Everyone left knows the drill. Scrub your hands, wipe down everything and don't eat.  Whatever you do, DON'T EAT.    Alas, we've already eaten.   Doom approaches.  

In the dawn's early light, the body count now stands at seven, leaving one parent, one college student and three of the four youngest.  Even worse, Mom is down.  The victims park themselves with pots and blankets in the middle room, occasionally moaning or begging for ginger ale.  The surviving members of the family wipe everything down with clorox and try to hold off one bathroom for the well people.    The teen volunteers to go to the store ostensibly for cleaning supplies, saltines and ginger ale.   We all know, it's to get away.

The phone rings thirty minutes later, the teen needs a rescue.  In the meantime, two more of the littles have diarrhea.   Aparently, the bug begins with throw up and ends with...well, dehydration and weight loss.  The parent leaves the surviving eleven year old with the phone to hold vigil over her moaning older and younger siblings  and semi-conscious mother, and drives to the grocery store to provide rescue to the trapped sick teen.

Mom begins to show signs of life. She's been spotted helping with the youngest who just threw up. However the effort costs her, and she naps for the rest of the evening.   On the bright side, the day after Christmas, the house has never gleamed so clean.

My mom calls to see how things are going.  My husband manages a "Fine" before handing the phone to one of the teens and going to lie down.   Everyone who visits continues in the same vein, lying that Christmas was great, everyone is having a wonderful time, until we get to the five year old, who hasn't learned what we don't discuss.  

Grandmother had planned to come for New Years.   I think she's flying to Florida instead.

Over at Aleteia Today Too!

So today I take on the issue of how to teen whisper. It's similar to toddler whispering, but taller.   Please, go click, like, share, etc and enjoy.  Meanwhile, I'm going to pack up some kids for college...(Sniff), and maybe write about sending off my youngest to kindergarten.   (Sniff, sniff).

Uber Parenting Bar

Those parenting books fill your head with all sorts of helpful tips right up until the point when it gets hard.   Sure, they talk about teething, night terrors, bedtimes, temper tantrums, toilet training and dealing with discipline, with the unspoken promise, if you do all these things correctly, it's smooth sailing from here on in...It's not true.

I know why they don't talk about the fierce will of a tween to never go to bed before 11, or the struggle to discern which drives you crazier, the kid who cooks eggs for himself three times a day, or the teen who changes outfits on the hour.  It would be nice if there were more resources out there, not just books, but places to commiserate about how much we love these crazy people, and how much they seem to love driving us crazy.    We need a Parent Bar.  Drinks, sympathy and counsel or at the very least, a call in show that focuses exclusively on helping parents love their kiddos through the porcupine years.

I imagine if they did a show for parents of older kids, It would go something like this:

"This is Uber Mom, the Mom who goes everywhere, for everyone.  Why?  Because that's what an Uber Mom does...she shows up where she's needed, even when she's not wanted.  From Allentown, PA, we're on the line with Patty..."

"Hello Uber Mom?  I have five kids with phones.  I asked them to call for a pizza.  They wanted me to do the talking on the phone...why is that?"

Uber Mom..."Patty, Patty, you must understand, the cell phone is a method of limiting exposure to others.  You're thinking of it as an old fashioned phone.  No one talks anymore.  Tell them to order the pizza online. They get the food and you don't have to talk either."

or  Susan and Mike from Deerborn, Michigan.  They tried to go toe to toe with their teens.

"Last week, we tried NOT doing the work to let them become more self sufficient.  Now we're buried to our hips in last week's laundry."

Uber Mom  "You have to commit to this for it to be effective.  Be strong.  Tread laundry for six more weeks and they'll begin to come around."

or this email question exposing the universal truth about parenting people ages 10 and up.

"Why is it, if they read an article on it somewhere, like say the internet, it's fact beyond contestation, but if I say based on experience, something shouldn't happen, it's always subject to debate?"  

Uber Mom   "Answer? This was true before the internet.  It will be true long after the internet.  It is the nature of things.  No worries, the cure for this is turning 30."  

I know why they don't write in those parenting books, What to Expect When Your Kid Hits Adolescence. Telling parents they have to slug it out for two more decades would lead to despair. Mankind can only bear so much reality.

Those newbies cutting their parent teeth on potty training would despair if we brought up not just driving lessons, but having to convince your child to take driving lessons; and knowing it might take longer to achieve than it did to get rid of the diapers?The human race would cease.

No, ignorance helps shield parents for the long haul of this game called life.  

Besides...we don't want this knowledge to be too public.
The only chance we have at schadenfreude requires patience and cunning on our part.   Waiting for them to grow up and endure the same struggle can only be achieved by maintaining this veil of ignorance.

So, until they all hit thirty, this is Uber Mom, signing off with the assurances, we love you enough to wait.   I'll be at the bar, commiserating.

Action Figures

For Christmas, Paul got the Adventures of Superman, which energized his siblings to find our old copies of the Adventures of Batman and Robin.  Binge watching, Paul went all out and dressed in his own Robin costume, or Iron Man, or Captain America or Batman, depending upon which of those costumes was not in the washer.  

Before February, he'd made the commitment to become a superhero.  Every night, he wore a costume over his pajamas.  Every morning, he grudgingly allowed me to put him in his civies.    He'd don the cape as soon as he got home.

We fished out the figurines and you could tell, his imagination flew higher than his vocabulary.

His brothers got into the act, tying the heroes to strings and dangling them from the upstairs to simulate flying.  However every superhero needs a villain.  

And so it was that eventually, his brothers and sisters formed the Legion of Doom and hid the DVD's that had become old news for all the olders.   The caped crusader, skilled in detective tactics, understood this was his family's darkest hour.  He ran downstairs. He rifled through the bookshelves. He even checked under his brother's beds.  Finally, in desperation, he enlisted the help of his younger sister, clad in her Supergirl suit.

She knew where, and more importantly, she knew who.

Five minutes later, they were back in Superhero binging business.

I'm not sure but I think the sixteen year old said, "Curses, foiled again."

Ten Tips for Parents of Teens and Future Teens

10) Video your children now.  You will need the nostalgia when they're upset with you.  As an added bonus, you can bring up the videos in front of their peers or just suggest you might as a credible threat.

9) Remember when potty training was a  pain?  Remember when you hoped for the day you'd be able to be free of diapers? (I can't say I remember because I'm still in it).   It's preparation for the day you start training drivers.   It will take longer than you hope, and you'll spend the next few years after they master it, worrying when they go out into the world.

8) Kiss them good night, tell them you love them as they walk out the door and sometimes, surprise them with a bedtime story.  They'll appreciate it more than you know.  It also ensures all your conversations aren't nags --study your algebra, did you do the dishes? Why did you shoot ping pongs at your sister?   Plus, you might even get the rarest of moments, a genuine smile.

7) Just as you had to recognize, you would not get sleep until they slept, (And this is true with them as toddlers and college students),  you must accept the reality, you will never have enough food in the house.

6) That being said, feed the teens.  It helps them stay more friendly.

5) They may have phones and computers, emails and unlimited text messaging; they still won't come when they're called.

4) Never try to be cool.  You never will be.  You're mom.  The only thing that will make you more uncool than you already are, is if you try to be cool.

3) Every once in a while, throw a brush back pitch.  Feel free to beat them in card games, chess, Mario Brawl or Magic, but do it with a smile so they know...you love them, but you could have crushed their egos if you'd wanted...just a reminder to stop crowding the plate. (It is the closest you will come to being cool).

2) Cheering for your kids at their sports meets is a fun way to prove to the world you really support your children in their activities, and at the same time, embarrass them for life. Again, if you're not going to ever be cool, might as well work that uncoolness in your favor.

1)  They won't be teens forever.   You'll actually miss this time the same way you did the time when they were toddlers.  

Okay...so I was cleaning my daughters' room and found this:

I'll let you know if I start wearing shades and listening to obscure recording artists before they're discovered.  Then again, if I'm cool, I won't have to tell you, you'll just know because....I'm cool.  

Anna-isms

Being four, she has her own way of understanding the world.  Sometimes, I worry.

10.  Her brother received a robot T-rex with glowing red eyes. It roars.  She petted its head and said, "There there. Easy boy. Easy."

9.  Walking back from the bus, "I can't wait until I'm twenty."   she said.
"Why?  What happens when you're twenty?" I asked. 

"I'll be older."  

8.  We went to Toy's R Us.  She saw the Halloween costumes.   I now have a 4 year old "Harley  Quinn."   

7.  Getting in the car.  "You're my best mom, my favorite mom because you give me food."

6.  "I don't have enough kitties."  (She's holding three stuffed kittens, with four more jammed into her backpack).  

5.  After hugging her brother when he fell, she came to me and asked, "I gave Paul a hug. Am I like God?"

4.  "Mom! The sun is burning me, save me from the sun!"  --she wanted to walk in my shadow.

3.  Me: "We're out of raisins." 

     Her:  (fighting the urge to be upset).  "The world is not perfect. It's not perfect because we're out of raisins.  But big girls don't get upset.  They never give up and they can wait until we go to the store." 

2.   She made "Have you seen me?" posters for her two beanie boo stuffed animals she can't find and hung them around the house.  She also called out for them and complained when they didn't answer.

1.   At mass,  "I'm blowing kisses to God."  

I know it's not 1000 words, but I'll get back to writing this afternoon.  Have an errand this morning. 

The Rule of Thumb

The rule of thumb with exercising is it doesn't matter how you feel, exercise.

The rule of thumb with writing is if you only write when you feel inspired, you aren't a writer, you're a hobbyist who keeps a diary or a journal.  
The rule of thumb with cleaning is don't procrastinate.

So this is an all thumbs day.  

Yesterday, I climbed back onto the exercise wagon, but writing still lagged, so I told myself, today, no matter what, you would be stuck with me for 1000 words.   Normally blog posts are 400 words, 800 if I get going.   You are doomed.   Why? Because I've climbed onto the computer version of a treadmill, set the timer, and I'm not getting off until it's done.  No cheesy clips. No links. No.  I need to get back to writing 1000 words a day, either in Penelope or here, or for submission.  To do that, I need to start.  

How many words is that?  181?  Nuts.  I’ve barely begun and feel winded.  I’ll put on some tunes to keep me going.   Googling “Unwritten.”  (My favorite song to get started with writing).   But I’ve got nothing. I’m staring at this stupid page and crawling for each word. 

Where did my muse go?  Answer, she’s lurking beneath the flab in my brain.  I’ve got to start exercising to tone her into shape, to make her more present.   Sigh. 

AHHHHHHH. I’m “staring at the blank page before me…” Maybe this wasn’t the best choice for a song as background.    Don’t look at the count. You’ll be disappointed.  Don’t look. Too late. I looked. Nuts, I’m only at 292.   Push. Push through the mental pain of having a block.  Write. Damn it Sherry! Write!  

Story.  What story will I tell you today? 

There’s the discovery my kids have a Wikipedia understanding of the world. 

Readers of this blog know my dryer has commitment issues.  Sometimes it works beautifully, other times, it needs more reminders to do its work than my children do to put their laundry away.  I’ve learned to give it smaller loads.  To keep up with our family though, I need more dry than the piece meal approach allows.   Sunday, I opted to string out a line and hang the towels and other things, so as to double our output.
  
My teen thought I’d lost my mind.  “The sun can’t dry those things.” He announced.  His sister agreed.  Pointing out clothes have dried since clothing began via the sun could not dissuade him from his opinion.  Googling proof didn’t help as a fellow blogger, the Frugal Momma, came up as the top post. “Why I no longer line dry my clothes.” Now she wasn’t saying it didn’t work, only that it wasn’t as time efficient as the modern method.  But the headline gave him the proof he needed.  “She doesn’t do it, so you shouldn’t either.”  Pointing out she had a different issue than I did, I wasn’t doing either method exclusively didn’t work.  “Just put them in the car and drive to the laundry place.”  He suggested.

I proposed a race, between the dryer and the sun.  Equal sized loads. Both got two towels.  We’d start them at the same time. The dryer would run until they were dry.  I bet the sun would win even though there were clouds.  “This is stupid.” He said, and told me the race was fine, but his clothes were going to the laundry mat, neither my dryer nor the sun would work.   While not as gripping as the race between the iron horse and the horse drawn carriage, or the tall tale of John Henry vs. the Steam Drill, (My kids have been watching Disney Short films), in this case, I bet against technology.  All I wanted was dry clothes, but now, I had to prove to my son, the capacity of the sun, and my own wisdom despite google headlines to the contrary.  

One cycle through, everything is still damp.  The toy house propping the line blew over from the wind resulting in a scramble to rehang all the laundry.  My son gave me one of those smug “SEE I KNOW BETTER” smiles.   Two cycles through.  Watching me flipping some of the laundry on the line, he gave me a thumbs down.

Some of the stuff in the machine and on the line feel dry to the touch but the rule is it has to all be dry to count, whether the dryer or the sun.   The laundry starts cycle three.   The sun wins. The dryer still needs another cycle for the towels.  My son has put his wet clothes in the car.  He explains, “Don’t put my clothes on the line. In fact, don’t wash my clothes. I’ll do my own laundry.”

It turns out, he doesn’t want me airing his dirty or for that matter, clean laundry.   So in addition to proving that I may actually know something and that the sun can be used to dry clothes, I’ve eliminated a chore for me…at the price of once a week dropping him off at the Wishy Wash place.  Is there a downside to this?  I’m thinking no.  

In fact, upon consideration, I’m wondering if I did the dishes outside in public view, if I could get out of kitchen detail as well.  Maybe if we made the home transparent, I could get the kids to clean.  

Am I done yet? 

905 words.   

Last push, cool down part of the exercise…before I have to also go and exercise. 
The music is back.  The procrastination is back.  I registered two girls for Girls on the Run, answered emails, watched an excellent video on Syrian crisis and moved the laundry along before recognizing, I was opting to do chores rather than write. SIT BACK DOWN.  Finish the damn thing.   971.  Man I’m out of practice.   Thanks for bearing with me  in this exercise, I hope you’ll come back tomorrow as I try to have my blog become the equivalent of my mental treadmill/trail run.  

Go. 

Exercise. 

Write. 

Pray.

Persevere.

And a big "Thumb's up" for persisting. 

Darn it all, I want Applause.

It is craven, self serving and proof sin (in this case the desire to be admired) makes you stupid, but there should be some sort of annual Mommy Awards.

Mommy Awards aren't for "best mom," because that spot's already taken by my own mother.   The Mommies are for doing what no one else will do, the unreasonable, the impossible, and the obnoxious.  We as moms, do not get the praise we deserve.  One day out of three hundred and sixty-five does not cut it.  Besides, that day we get flowers and breakfast in bed for BEING, not for what we've done.

These are MERIT based trophies, designed to call attention to the winner, for having the fortitude to endure the call of motherhood.   As with any award ceremony, there are many categories in which one might be nominated.

Sleep is for Losers Mommy Award:  As self explanatory as the name might seem, there's more to it than not getting the prescribed eight hours rest most adults need to function safely the other sixteen.   New Moms go sans sleep as a matter of initiation.  No.  Sleep is for Losers is given to the Mom who after doing the dishes after ten o'clock and crawling into bed by eleven, wakes fully when someone cries out at 2 a.m. because they've wet the bed, goes up the stairs, strips the bed, finds new sheets, cleans child, redresses and comforts child and then goes back down to bed.  Additional wake ups come at four by the teen who raided the refrigerator and left the lights on, five because another teen wants to take up early morning running and set an alarm she didn't wake up for, and again at 5:45 by the six year old who's hungry and wants breakfast.   Nominees must detail their schedule for a period of five days.  Voting will be done under the heavy influence of coffee and diet coke.  Award includes five minutes with a baseball bat and an alarm clock.

Schedule Goddess Award:  There are some moms out there who sign up for sports camp, back to school night and the Christmas pageant months in advance.  We think they might be robots or aliens or alien robots.   Schedule Goddess books everything at once and somehow gets all the kids assigned for whatever it is at the same place and at the same time even though they're at four different levels.   Schedule Goddess also books everyone's dentist for the same day.  A photo copy of one's calendar is required for nomination, to make sure you haven't booked things months in advance, proving yourself to be either a robot, or an alien, or an alien robot.   Your schedule will be put on a Pin-it under the heading Organized....immortalizing your moment of perfection.

On Time Award:  Mass, movies, hair cuts, they all have time slots.  But most moms view those times when things start as more like guidelines than actual rules.  I know the receptionist at my pediatrician nearly fainted when I showed up within five minutes of the actual scheduled appointment.   Nominees will be given a test (timed of course). Each contestant will be given a mini-van loaded with three children (without snacks) and a half gallon of gas. They must get from their homes to the dentist, the gas station and soccer practice within the hour. Closest to actual time for the two time stamped errands (while still keeping track of all three children) wins a NASCAR driver for the following week to do the trip instead.

ESP Award: This one seems like it's own reward but there should be public recognition of Moms out there who while going about the ordinary business of checking homework, paying the bills, managing their work emails, stop and register (a'la Madeline's Miss Clarvel) "Something is not right."

The number of trips to the emergency room averted by this seldom acknowledged matronly superpower cannot be overestimated.  Examples will be rated on a scale of 1-10 for level of severity, with bonus points added for property damage averted (say flooding the basement while filling water balloons) which would not be covered by insurance.  Reward: Whatever wasn't covered by insurance, gets covered.

And finally, the award everyone's been waiting for, The Mother Lode:  Submit your to-do list from the past month.  Whoever did the most wins! Winner will receive a trophy, and a day at the pool when it's closed to all but other nominees, and all food will be brought to you.   You cans spend it floating in absolute leisure, just be sure if you're also a nominee from the Sleep is For Losers category, you wear a life jacket while hanging out in the pool.

The reason for this post?   I scheduled ten physicals, ten dental appointments, two driving tests, 1 SAT Subject matter test and swimming lessons for five of them.   As I said, craven and self serving but darn it all, I wanted to mention it to someone.


Next Up:  Nominations for DAD Trophies are now open.

Ten Signs You're in the Process of Potty Training....

10) There are M&M's in the freezer for more than one day.  (I've made the error of preemptively consuming the prize when in the midst of potty training and boy does that conversation with the toddler go down hill fast).  This is chocolate I am not even VAGUELY tempted to eat.

9) Endzone dances after success are allowed, though I try to shorten them.  It's quite a treat to hear "I did it. I did it. Yeah Oh Yeah Oh Yeah!" through the bathroom door.

8) She says after one accident, "I want to quit." and you have to summon your inner "Nothing is over until we say it's over" motivational speech.

7) Every errand gets weighed based on how long you will be out, and whether there is an acceptable bathroom available for emergency needs. The answer is always no.  Stay home.

6) You offer the equivalent of The Price is Right Showcase Showdown for said child to be okay with going to a bathroom away from home.  The answer is always no.  And then a demand for payment.

5) Any dreams of reducing the budget by the cost of a case of diapers is drowned by the need to perpetually purchase new five packs of underoos for the weeks of training.

4) The scream, "I need to go." heard anywhere in the house leads to instant racing to get said child to the facilities. Anyone attempting to usurp the favored bathroom of the potty trainee, shall be evicted without mercy.

3) Diaper bags are back with a vengeance.  They include an entire new ensemble for the potty training child, and a spare set of pants for Mom just in case said potty training toddler was sitting on her lap at the time.

2) Every other kid who hoped to cash in on training the child to use the bathroom steps forward to claim credit.

1)  You haven't left the house in 8 days and may be suffering from a Vitamin D deficiency in addition to a loss of sanity, as you say to your daughter with a straight face, "Do you want your Frozen (TM) underwear?" and only afterwards think about what that could mean.

Taking on Bedtime

I'm trying to get back to writing at least three humor pieces a week, and Eat Sleep Write is publishing them.  I've got the eating and the writing down, but this piece is about the challenge of getting everyone else to grab some zzzzzzzz's.

Theory of Relative Time Management

Parenting magazines give top ten tips to help your toddler with bedtime. I read the advice, but none of it has ever worked for me, for any of my children.

Advice tip #1 Have a routine. We have a routine. I put them to bed. They get up. I put them back to bed. They get up. I put them to bed and threaten to revoke breakfast. Quiet ensues until they think I've been sufficiently distracted....Read the rest at Eat Sleep Write!

Awards We All Win That Nobody Gives

As a bench warming member of an actual b-team from the days when b-teams were peppered with those not blessed with athletic genes, my kids have it easy.  They get awards in team sports for showing up, for eating snack, for coming to practice and kicking the ball, even if it goes into the goal of the other team. 

If such praise had been piled upon me in my youth, I might have drowned from the sheer volume of pseudo marble and brass trophies, medals and ribbons garnered for futile attempts to be proficient at any sport.   Indeed, as a teen, I lobbied the powers that be to grant some acknowledgement to the perpetually physically hopeless athletically wrong headed who still pursued sports, so as to obtain a school letter from my elementary alma mater; something I never ever wore once earned.  

It taught me that getting the acknowledgment from the world, isn't all that I dreamed it would be.

But reaching adulthood, I find, we could all do with a few more bells and whistles for our accomplishments, awards we don't receive but which surely merit praise more than anything we ever did as youths riding the bench.

Thus I present the AWAWTNG AWARDS.  (Pronounced Awaiting...as in, we're still waiting to get them). Please read the requirements for being considered a candidate for these honorific acknowledgements and submit your candidacy for consideration.  The committee will get back to you soon. 

Not actual trophy to be awarded but close enough!

Award of Dubious to be Recognized but Unmistakable Merit #1:  The Dr. What, When, Where, How and Why Award.

We've all been there.  It's after dinner and dishes, the day is winding down and you make the grave error of walking through the house.  As such, you spy the shoes, the purse, the cell phone, the book, the kindle, the socks, the crucial thing that if you don't pick up right now, you will immediately forget what it was and where it was.  But because you're you and you're the responsible one, you force yourself to 1) pick said item up and 2) transport it to a central location where it will be immediately claimed but with no questioning as to how said object got to be so convenient.  The only one who knows the disaster that has been averted, is you.  You're like a time lord who stopped a great calamity by moving the Earth a fraction of an inch.  Time goes one for everyone else, but you know, you saved the world.  

Certificate of Absolute Distinction Never Quite Noticed #2  :That is Not a Great Song Award

On the opposite end of the time spectrum is the morning.  No one gets up to alarms. No one hears them.  They all go off.  You, selfless human being that you are, get up and turn those clamoring bells off and yes, you even wake those slumbering beings who need to rise without resorting to physical violence when they are the ones who opted to set up said alarm clocks to get up before sunrise for a new running regimen they don't follow.   As an added feature, the paper received can be wadded up and stuffed into one's ears to possibly avoid winning the certificate several days in a row.   There is a bonus for not using a hammer, potted plant, the complete works of Shakespeare or a mini-Louisville Slugger baseball bat that may be close at hand to turn off said alarm.

Babe...I've Got You Babe...



Highly Coveted Ribbon for Bravery No One Notices: Haircare Awareness

Every parent has a dreaded chore they wind up doing for a child who despises them for doing it.  For me, it is my 3 year old daughter, who does not believe her hair can be cut without causing her to lose physical, emotional and psychological strength.  It takes three days of preparation plus a well executed ambush to get the job done.  At which point I need to recover my physical, emotional and psychological strength.

Her shunning of the cutting of her locks has led to "creative" methods for regular grooming including trimming bangs while she sleeps, bribing her with her weight in lollipops, and holding her in a towel while she watches Team Umi Zoomie, the hair cut episode while trying to get a few inches off the top.   Her sister hit upon the brilliant idea of putting her remaining hair in a pony tail once we finished.  The end result, we could see her face and she is pleased but I got no props for getting rid of the cousin it look.   When we go to cast a ballot in the primaries, we get a sticker saying "I Voted."  Cutting a resistant child's bangs ought to at least merit a sash of some sort for the rest of the day.  

Note to recipients, you may wear this if you have to comb a child's hair or remove gum, in recognition of having put yourself in harms way.

 

 



AWAWTNG awards may also be given for Extreme Ambition: Taking all children out to a restaurant where they use plates that require washing, Exceptional Courage: letting your child drive the car and discovering those trees that can't move on the side of the road look a bit nervous; and Extraordinary Patience: Ignoring the complaints by offspring about how much work they have to do (I asked them to unload the dish washer) during the summer and how tired they are after getting up at 11:25 am.   Please notify the committee if you have an AWAWTNG award you feel you've justly earned.    

 

 

 

 



 

 

How to Get a Baby to Come (Not Really)

*Inspired by a cousin and his wife, who are expecting a baby any day now.  Please do not start rumors about me.  

Having weathered ten successful pregnancies, I can tell anyone who asks with absolute certainty, there is no way to make those people get a move on absent a petocin drip, and sometimes, even that doesn't work.  Nope.  Best to understand now before the kiddo shows up, these little people, despite their small size, have minds of their own and schedules that do not consult you.  

But when I was expecting, I got all kinds of kindly advice about how to make the babies arrive ahead of schedule, most of them about as useful as hiccup cures, and being based on about as much scientific evidence. 

5) Eat something.  Usually, around 8 months, I'd begin getting suggestions from local establishments about how if I ate #14 on the a'la carte menu, I'd be pushing the latest kid out before the dinner rush.  These testimonies often included vivid descriptions of flooding said restaurant, or deliveries I could take out and take home.  They also often resulted in sad faces on said owners of establishments when I'd deliberately opt not to eat whatever it was, if only to be able to return again some other day and not die of embarrassment.  

4) Whatever you do, you're doing it wrong.  I found if I was exercising, the general consensus was rest.  If I was resting, "You should exercise." The bottom line, everything not causing a contraction must be preventing it.  

3) Smells.  There is something about having a belly the size of a basketball that makes strangers want you to sniff things.  Note to eager perfume hawkers, cigar experts and other fans of aroma based therapy, it doesn't work.   It does however make the pregnant woman nauseated, which one might suspect is a bad idea. 

2) Lucky hats, socks, coats, maternity sweaters...if they were lucky, you used it up. But they are probably just hats, socks, coats and maternity sweaters you happened to be wearing when the little timer in your kiddo finally popped up and said, time to get going!

1)  The only thing I know works is this: Go about making plans. Make them fun. Make them big.  Get to work on making them happen. Eventually, the baby will disrupt plans.

Kitchen Crusade

In the kitchen war, the budget, planned menu and my sanity are the first casualties.

It's not that I'm not vigilant,  I shop, I plan a week of meals, I try to teach nutrition and good choices. But there are 9 people under 18 going about this house with full belief in their skills, real and otherwise, who can at any moment decide they're feeling peckish and thus the galley ought to be open.  I find teens eating cereal at midnight and chili at ten in the morning, I've even found the six year old up washing an apple because she wanted breakfast, it was Saturday and no one was up. In fairness, it was 5:30 am and she had the courtesy to get an apple, wash it and sit at the table eating while reading a book.   She knows how to snow me, she was reading and at the table.  How could I possibly object?

As a kid, I remember feeling as if the kitchen was somehow off limits.  At least I knew after that French toast episode, the day my parents taught me how to make coffee, that I had at best, restricted access.   But with ten children, I've promoted/encouraged some level of independence and as such, every child in my house seems to have gained fully authorized clearance.  The end result, at all hours, soup's on. 

To cope with the needs of this battalion's constant need to operate on its stomach, I've developed a couple of strategies.  First, I purchased specialty items for those older ones, foods no one else likes, that serve as the equivalent of MRE's.  They include such things as microwavable soups, frozen pizzas, protein shakes and oranges.  None of them are easy to open or eat and thus they enjoy a level of security apples, juice boxes, cheese sticks and crackers lack.  

It gives me a layer of defense, but not necessarily against the ones where I need it.  The older ones can delay gratification. They don't often, but they can.  It is the younger ones who view all apples as made to be eaten, who run across the refrigerator like a pack of locust wolves, devouring everything I thought I had for the week. 

So I'd taken to hiding the food, the cookies, the cheese sticks, the yogurts, in short, anything tasty, under the vegetables. No one looks under the salad or the carrots. I also stashed the juice boxes behind my boring diet coke.  All this would have worked perfectly except I have two children who of their own free will, eat healthy things. 

As such, my perfect disguise was outed when they went into the drawers where the green things are, thus disclosing the whereabouts of said snacks.  Once discovered, the child solidarity call went out and all the children descended upon the treasures, resulting in an empty drawer.  

I'm going to have to have a new strategy. 

Hey Mom....what do you do when I'm at school?

We've spent the past five days together owing to snow and the weekend and while I've loved every moment including when I got schooled in Mario Go Cart this morning, the weather indicates they'll be back in school tomorrow.  But the kids wondered, what do I do while they're learning reading, writing and arithmetic?  What do I do with those 6 and 3/4 hours they're away five days a week?  

10) See any crime in our neighborhood?  No?  That's because I'm secretly Batgirl.  Except I patrol during daylight hours.  

9) I practice Mario Go-Cart, but I don't want you to know I am a master gamer so I just pretend to be incompetent and put the remote in the steering wheel backwards and come in 12th every time by trying to drive the track in reverse.   

8) I write the next blockbuster best seller, and then fantasize about what I will do when I finish writing the next blockbuster best seller.  I then conduct interviews with the famous me and give my replies until I wake up and realize, I haven't updated the blog in over a week.

7)  I clean the house from top to bottom with the radio on the station I want on every floor and then I chug a diet coke before grabbing my coat and racing down the driveway to meet the bus.

6) I binge watch Sherlock, Dr. Who and Top Gear when they nap, and Team Umizoomie and Bubble Guppies when they don't. 

5) Think about exercising, then make a list of all the things I need to do that will get in the way of actually doing it.  

4) Play the piano and wonder if I'll ever get past page 4 of the Moonlight Sonata.

3) Engage in a made up cooking show with Paul and Anna when it's lunch time, complete with a British, Italian, French or Southern accent depending upon what I'm serving.

2) Pedicures, bonbons, bubble baths, naps. 

1) Wish it had snowed another few inches so we could have one more day.