Bullet Point Wednesday

February 17, 2010

Because who has time for complete sentences these days.

- Spent almost an hour in the doctor’s office today where my 6 and 9yr olds were tested for strep and the flu. Both tests negative. They just have a virus. And I have $48 less in my wallet. $40 for the co-pay, $8 for the slushies from Sonic I promised to buy if they would JUST OPEN THEIR MOUTH already. Sheesh it is a long q-tip, not a dagger.

Better parenting through bribery I always say. (See also the parenting techniques called: empty threats, yelling, and counting to two repeatedly while saying, “Don’t make me say three.”)

- While waiting in the doctor’s office for all the tests to come back, we watched youtube videos on my iPhone. That alone justifies the cost. We watched the original Thriller video. My jaded children were nonplussed. I told them how when I was a kid it was so exciting and I stayed by my tv to watch the Thriller premiere.
Why didn’t you just tivo it, Mom?
The same reason I didn’t text my friends.
You didn’t have any?
Exactly

Though they were very interested in the fact that Michael Jackson used to be black. Then we watched vintage Sesame street videos. A fact that made me feel very old– or as they say now– vintage.

-I think my children eat socks for snacks. That is the only explanation I can come up with to explain the sock disappearance in my house. My oldest son accused me of “doing something” with all of his socks. Yes, son, I throw them away because I love listening to you whine and complain about your missing socks almost as much as spending my hard earned money replacing them!

- My children were feverish, yet compliant and quiet when I brought them into the doctor. She loaded them up on Motrin and now they won’t stop bitching and moaning about everything under the sun. They want to be entertained:

What are we doing today?
We are doing THIS. THIS is what we are doing.

Then I gesticulate at the nothingness that surrounds me.

They want to eat. French fries.

I make them while they whhhiiiiiiine about how hungry they are. Whhhhhhyyyyy is it taking so long. They will surely diiiiiiiiie.

When the fries are done cooking they eat three french fries. Total

- This is my new hairdo. I sense that this will be a running theme this year. I am embracing my inner 12 yr old. I never wear my hair in a ponytail. Ever. So this is as dramatic a new hairdo as the haircut from hell. I have been wearing all my big earrings to detract from the hair. Look, something shiny! Literally!

Ignore the claw that is my hand.

-I have given up sugar and alcohol for Lent. I have not, however, given up Nyquil. I bought several bottles in anticipation of the next 30 days.

Oh, I kid. Wine is way cheaper than Nyquil.

Scenes from the Weekend

February 16, 2010

I never celebrated valentine’s day until I had children. They love candy and/or presents for every holiday that comes around. (What do you mean we don’t get anything for Groundhog’s Day?)

Yes, it’s that time of year.

Baseball. Baseball. Baseball.

Or more accurately: baseball, baseball, baseball, baseball, baseball. Five different teams this year.

A photo of my Valentine’s Day date. (Again) He is the kid who goes and goes and goes and you have no idea that he is even sick until he finally sits still and you happen to notice the tell-tale glassy eyed look. He spent Sunday just lounging around watching tv and napping on the couch. Monday he was up running around like he had never even heard of being sick. I thought he was all better. Last night we were lying in my bed doing his reading, because yes we do like to wait until the last possible moment to do our homeowrk, when he mentioned he was cold. Except it wasn’t cold in the house. In fact we had a fire going in the fireplace so it was on the warm side. I took his temperature… 103. Just how you have a 103 degree temperature and not notice you are sick is beyond me.

Moody Miles going to his first practice. He is mad because he is not on the Yankees this year. I know, you can not tell this by the way he is dressed, but he is mad nonetheless.

Somehow, inexplicably, I volunteered myself to be the Team Mom of his team. So that should be “fun.”

The Hair Photos

February 13, 2010

This is the left side of my head. It is layered, but at least they are longer.

And this is the horror of the right side of my head. Yes, this is all the hair on the right side of my head if you drew a diagonal line from in front of my ear to the crown of my head. And because she used the razor scissors thingy it looks like side of my hair was singed.

I realized after I washed my hair this morning that she also made my bangs much thicker… on the right side. Even though my hair grows quickly, it is going to take forever to grow out.

So please no one say anymore that it isn’t that bad. It is that bad. And no I am not going to try and have it evened out because then I WOULD BE BALD!

On a brighter note, look at the handsome lunch date I had this afternoon:

He doesn’t care what my hair looks like. And I don’t care that he spent the afternoon sporting an orange soda mustache. Sadly, he fell ill shortly after this and is currently curled up on the couch next to me with a fever.

2010: The Year of the (Almost) Ponytail

February 12, 2010

My hair had grown rather long, Duggaresque. It grows really quickly, Thank GOD.

Last night I went and had my hair cut and colored.

I told the hairdresser I wanted my hair cut to about my armpit in the front. This is a pretty drastic amount of hair for me to have cut off at one time. After being traumatized by the pixie cut when I was five years old I have never liked getting my hair cut.

Just to be perfectly clear, I demonstrated the length by grabbing my wet hair and showing her exactly how much I wanted cut off. She laughed and said she never had anyone say that before. And I said that I hate talking in inches because 1″ to regular people means shave my neck to hairdressers.

She begins cutting and I think that’s slightly shorter than what I wanted, but its fine. Then she starts with the layering. She grabs the whole top section of my hair, holds it up over my head and CUTS IT IN HALF. The huge chunk of hair falls back down is is about chin length.

I screamed. As in literally screamed.

The people next to me went silent.

She assured me that once my hair was dry “it would all blend.”

Really? Is it somehow going to magically grow longer once it is dried?

I am not sure I can fully explain the horror of the haircut once it was dry. But I cried. I cried and held up the front choppy section of my hair and asked what this was supposed to be. It looks like I am growing out really thick bangs, you know the kind that people have when they have a MULLET. Oh God,that is exactly what it looks like. It looks like I am growing out a mullet.

The photos don’t really show how bad it looks in person. Though you can see how uneven it is. Why does it go to a point?? So many short choppy layers. My hair is not thick. It is straight. Choppy layers do nothing for it other than to point out, “Hey look at me I am a huge chunk of short hair laying on top of some longer hair!”

I have had several people tell me recently that I am a doormat. I scoffed and said that no, what I am is polite. Last night as I was trying to stop crying, I was also trying to make the hairdresser feel better. Because I didn’t want her to feel bad for giving me a crappy haircut? Then I paid and still gave her a tip. And then, as I was making ANOTHER appointment with her it suddenly occurred to me, I AM A DOORMAT. A doormat who doesn’t like to make a scene. A doormat with a really bad haircut.

*****

I left the hairdresser, twittering about how bad the haircut was. And yes, I get that it is only hair. And that yes, it will grow back. Eventually. And that there are people out there who wish they had my bad haircut. Because they are bald. I should just be thankful that I even HAVE A HEAD. Count my blessings, or hair follicles or something.

I had promised my kids that I would bring them home fast food for dinner so I stopped into Burger King. The place was empty. Completely empty. Probably because it was close to 8:00pm and pouring rain.

So I go in and I order:
8 bacon double cheeseburgers
2 double cheeseburgers, only cheese
2 spicy chicken sandwiches, no lettuce
2 whoppers
7 french fries
one 4 piece chicken nuggets

And the guy at the counter says, “For here or to go?”

I paused and looked around me. Yup, still the ONLY person in the store.

“Do you think I am going to sit here and eat all of this myself?”

We both started laughing. But then I started crying. And I think that scared him a little. Probably more than if I had taken a huge tray of food and sat in the corner eating it all.

It is still making me laugh. So thank you for that man with the neck tattoos who took my food order.

*****

You know how sometimes you get up in the morning and things seem better?
Well, if it is even possible, my hair looks worse.

I was going to call 2010 the Year of the Ponytail, but then I realized this morning that the front of my hair doesn’t reach into a ponytail.

2010, you promised me you were going to be a better year. So far you are just like that bitch 2009.

Love Thursday: Valentine’s Day

The kids had early dismissal from school yesterday. We made Valentine’s Day cards and decorated their (mail) boxes for school.

By the time evening rolled around there were craft supplies everywhere.

It was easily the best afternoon we had together in awhile.

Just When You Think You Are Getting a Hang of This Parenting Thing

February 11, 2010

I have been unpacking the last boxes in my garage. They seem to reproduce in the dark of night because as I go through them more boxes seem to take their place. Culling through junk that can be donated or thrown away. Getting honest with myself about what things I really need, or even want. It is a daunting task and I don’t even have much. I am a sort of the anti-hoarder, except when it comes to books. But that is a whole different post– my inability to get rid of books.

These are just some of the children’s books:

I need more bookcases. Or less books.

Last week I went through my closet. I easily got rid of half of my shoe collection. The fact that I am using the word collection should be a clue that I had too many. I got rid of pocketbooks, or purses as the rest of you kids under 85 yrs old call them. I was amazed at all the forgotten things that were left behind in those pocketbooks. I got rid of clothes that I like, but never wear. Evidently I don’t like them all that much.

This backstory is important to how the rest of the story unfolds.

*****
Mom, what’s BJ?

a BJ? What is that?

In my head in ten seconds:

Why is he asking me that?
Oh, God, do I have to answer that?
Where is that lightening bolt when you need it?
Can I just ignore him?
Maybe I can change the subject.
Isn’t he doing anything wrong that I can start yelling at him for? thereby changing the subject without him noticing?
Should I lie?
Should I tell the truth?
Sometimes when two grown-ups like each other a lot…
Oh, no.
No, no, no, no.
NO.
WHERE IS THAT BOLT OF LIGHTENING?
I feel sick.
Why is he still looking at me?
Oh, I know. I’ll ask more questions…

Well, what do you think a BJ is?

If I knew that I wouldn’t ask you.

Damn. That didn’t work.
Also, he is such a smart ass.
GAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH
Why can’t I will my phone to ring?
Why? Why?
I will ask more questions!

Where did you hear this BJ thing?

I read it.

WTF is he reading these days?
Frog and Toad are REALLY GOOD Friends?
Kneel Down, Amelia Bedilia?
If You Give a Mouse …

Stop. Stop.

He whips something out from behind his back.

Ahahahahahahahahaha. I can not catch my breath.

It is a store. Remember it? Like Costco. Or WalMart.

Ooooh. I wondered what a BJ Club was. I thought a BJ was something you bought.

Ahahahahahahahahaha.

Hopefully not. I think that is only legal in some parts of Nevada.

What? Why is it funny?

Note to self: SHUT UP!

Hey, is that lightening I hear?

*****

(I forget sometimes that I update things on twitter (@chrisjordan) and never write them here. YES, my oldest son made the highschool baseball team. Thank you for all the crossed fingers. Hope they aren’t too cramped up after all this time.)

There is a Reason a Tie is Like a Noose

February 6, 2010

Last night my 9yr old son has his third grade recital. An event which required dressing up in “fancy” clothes.

My 9 yr old, like most of his kind, hates dressing up. We have been having ongoing negotiations over what constitutes “fancy” clothes. Even though he told his music teacher that he owns no “fancy” clothes and that his family doesn’t believe in wearing “fancy” clothes, I told him that he was in fact going to be “fancy.”

I agreed to the dark jeans and sneakers in exchange for the button down shirt and blazer.

Then last night I snuck a tie into the mix. And it was then that the APOCALYPSE happened. A tie? A red tie? Clearly it was sent from Satan himself! And once it was on my son, why he turned into one of Satan’s fire spitting evil minions.

Duuude, it’s a tie. Not a live rattlesnake around your neck. said one of his brothers.

You just want to make me look stupid.

IT LOOKS LIKE THIS! LIKE THIS!

And Internet, I know I shouldn’t admit this. But I laughed. And his brothers laughed too.

Before anyone gets on me for the words “gay” and “retard,” know that I didn’t teach him those words. Nor are they permissable in my house. But I think we have all had the experience of being so angry or so frustrated that we literally can not think of any words to use to appropriately express our feelings. And “gay” and “retard” are the insults hurled around the schoolyard.

What he really wanted to say was “fucking douchebag” but he doesn’t know those words yet. Not to worry I am sure he will pick them up in the next year or so.

Don’t be fooled by his cool, collected appearance. Or his Fabio hair.

And here he is about to bang his drum. From the amount that he had spoken of the drumming I thought he was going to have a five minute long drum solo. Instead I think he banged the drum a handfull of times during a song. I captured it on video, but do not fear I will not share it. There are some things that only a parent can love. A third grade recital is one of them.

After the concert I commented on how cute all the girls looked dressed up. Most of the girls seemed to take the dressing up very seriously.

Girls are so weird, Mom.

You know what else was weird, Mom? The girls with straight hair made their hair all curly and the girls with curly hair made their hair all straight. Girls are so strange.

And a boy losing his mind over the prospect of wearing a tie is not strange. Not one little bit.

Coed Sleepovers Part Two

February 4, 2010

Wow, you people have opinions about the coed sleepover party!

I am not a huge fan of the sleepover party to begin with.

I find it interesting that the people who say they would allow it have a very narrow set of circumstances under which they would allow it. If they knew the family well. If the kids were very best friends. If they were under 12 (is that the magic age now? Have you seen what many 11 yr olds look like nowadays?)

I want to point out that I do not know this family AT ALL. My son barely knows this girl. She is not even in his class at school. And the party girl is turning 11.

This is not a best friend type of situation, which I might feel differntly about, though I honestly don’t know if I would.

I am not hypersexualizing the children, I think our culture has already done that.

No, I do not think that there will be some huge orgy going on in their rec room. Excuse me, I just threw up a little.

But I do think that it is my job as a parent to not put my child into a situation that they are not prepared to handle. I just do not see any good at all coming out of this big coed sleepover party and conversely I see the potential for a lot of bad. Why even go there?

And the people whho commented that I am thinking purely in a heterosexual mindset. Well, I think that even if there were a non-straight child attending they would be pressured to behave in a straight manner while playing Spin-the-Bottle, or 5 minutes in the closet (or whatever that game is called). Again, why even go there?

It’s my line in the sand. I think it is also telling that when my other sons heard about the invite they all laughed as if it were the most ridiculous thing ever. Not one of them thought I was being overly strict or uptight about it. They all thought it was inappropriate.

Oddly I do not have the same HELL NO gut reaction to the idea of 17 yr olds having after prom sleepovers/bonfires– if it were a small group, if I knew the parents, if…if…if.

While you are pondering all of this, go on over and make this spicy chicken soup. So delicious. And easy.

Just When I Think I Have Seen It All…

February 3, 2010

Yesterday my 10yr old son got a birthday party invitation in the mail. From a girl. That is somewhat odd for this age group, all things they do seem to be gender specific for a few years– you know those years when you can’t have a girl as a friend because then everyone will say it is your girlfriend, but she isn’t your girlfriend. And you don’t like girls anyway. Because ewwwwww cooties. Furthermore if you did like a girl you would show it by a)completely ignoring her, and b) being kind of rude to her.

Anyway, my son gets the invitation in the mail and asks if he can attend the party. I take a closer look at the party notice the time. 4pm - 10am. Awwww, she wrote am by mistake. Hahahaha.

Um, wait a minute. It says feb 20-21. Could it be? Nooooo. Yes? What?

Hey, is this party a sleepover party?

Yes, you do. But I am just confused. Maybe the girls are sleeping over and the boys are going home earlier and you got the wrong invitation by mistake?

And honestly I was confused. In what world is a boy-girl sleepover party a good idea?

So I called to RSVP.

Hi. This is Chris. I am calling to RSVP about the party… Uh, is it a sleepover party?

A CO-ED sleepover party?

The mother started laughing uncontrollably. Which is turn made me laugh.

I am glad you are laughing, because I thought something had to be wrong… I asked my son if maybe you thought he was a girl.

The boys are going to sleep in a different room.

More laughing. I am begining to think she is high, because the laughter and the co-ed sleepover party?

We didn’t want the boys to feel left out.

More laughter.

Yeah. This just isn’t a precedent I want to start. I have teenage boys who will want to know why they can’t sleepover their girlfriends’ houses.

I was worried that my son was going to be mad, but he actually thought that it was weird too. And so far everyone I have mentioned it to thinks that a co-ed sleepover party is a bad idea.

What do you all think? Would you allow your son to sleepover at a co-ed birthday party? What about your daughter? What if you dropped your daughter off to this party and then found out the next day that boys had spent the night also, would you be mad?

It’s That Time of Year

February 2, 2010

Last night the boys had baseball try-outs. Not the sort where they send you home and say too bad you can’t play, this is just to evaluate the kids and place them on teams.

On the other hand, my oldest son has spent the week trying out for the high school baseball team. It is a highly competitive team. Lots of boys trying out. Lots of boys who play baseball really well. He won’t know anything until tomorrow. Every night when he came home exhausted I would ask him how it went. I reminded him that he is not competing against all of those other boys, he is competing with himself. That his mindset isn’t supposed to be that he has to be better than all of those other kids, rather that he has to be the best that he can be. A subtle, but important distinction I think.

Every day he answered that he performed his best. So now we all just cross our fingers and wait. Feel free to cross your fingers along with us.

I write the kids little notes and stick them in their lunchbags when they have special things going on, big tests, whatever. The majority of the time the little notes go unmentioned. Sometimes I wonder if they really care about the notes or if they just roll their eyes and toss them out. Not that it matters, I think I write the notes for myself as much as for them.

This morning I was gathering the dirty laundry from my sons’ bedrooms (the laundry room is apparently a secret, invisible room because none of them can find it) and I saw this:

the note I had written him earlier in the week sitting on his bedside table, a little slice of his teenage life. Even though he would probably protest, I think he likes the notes.