Blaine got an iPhone. If you were in my contacts list on my old (his new) iPhone you probably got a text from him before I transferred them. It probably was something along the lines of "my mom got a new iPhone and she gave me her old one and we can text each other all the time now isn't that great!" but with worse punctuation and spelling. And you may have been one of the people who texted back something like "Great! Who is this?" since the number had already been changed.
Sigh. I know, I know. An iPhone? For a 4th grader? In my defense, he is about to travel with his sister to a country far, far away. So far, in fact, that I don't think my apron strings will stretch the whole way. I was at the end of my cell phone contract and was upgrading my phone and I got the brilliant idea of giving Blaine my old phone. He wanted an iPod or iTouch for his birthday - well, he really wanted an iPad, but keep dreaming kiddo - and this way he gets a phone, a pod, and the iTouch games. The benefits of him having the phone is he will have access to email without having to ask to use a computer, the ability to text me when he wants or needs to and he and his sister can use it for entertainment on the long journey there and back.
It also gives me something else to take away from him when he acts like a butthead! WIN!
But the downside of Blaine and the iPhone is the text messaging. The constant text messaging. Thank God text messaging is free on our plan because holy crap, if I had to pay by the message, I would be looking for a second job or selling crack to cover the phone bill.
Blaine will text good morning to me even if I am in the same room. He will go through the pictures on his phone and text them to me one by one. He recently texted me a picture from the day we made donuts with the caption "ah, memrys!".
He texts and texts and texts me. He loves texting. Last Friday he texted me "MOM! Why arnt you texting back! I have texted you 4 times now!!!!" and I turned from the counter where I was packing his lunch and said "I'm busy, that's why". His answer was to text me again with his answer "I can wait".
Maybe the shine will wear off soon and he won't text me as much and maybe...oh wait, my phone is buzzing...I bet I have a text.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Thursday, May 26, 2011
The Secret Life of Queen Bees
I am raising a Queen Bee and it flummoxes me.
By my definition, a Queen Bee is a person who doesn't have a conversation with you, she makes pronouncements. She dislikes when you dare disagree with her, but she won't argue with you, instead she will shun you. She leads, not by example, but by fear. Fear of losing her favor, fear of losing her connections. Fear of not having someone to chat with while your kids do whatever extracurricular activity (or in a Queen Bee's case it would be more like activities) you have the precious offspring enrolled in.
There is a Queen Bee that I see a few times a week at one of my progeny's activities. She comes in wearing her mom jeans, hair and makeup looking like she just rolled out of 1989. She is the worst kind of Queen Bee because she doesn't look like what you would normally assume someone who wields such mom-power would. She looks like a dumpy, middle-aged house frau. But then you hear her buzz. It's louder and more assertive than the buzzing from the moms who flock to her. She has firm opinions on everything from where to get the best fruit (no grocery stores for her! You must - MUST - drive to this little farm about 30 miles outside of town. Oh, and tell them that you heard about it from her!) to how to get stains out of Jr. Bee's uniform (NO CLOROX! OMG!). I sit, a few chairs down from where she holds court, and I listen. I have no desire to join the gaggle of moms who swarm around her. I prefer to snicker quietly to myself when she makes one of her declarations while reading my book or, shockingly, actually watching my child participate in class!
I have strong opinions on certain things - but I also strongly believe that there are many different ways to buy fruit, get stains out, parent your children, make a ham sandwich, etc. You like Miracle Whip? I think that shit is vile, but I don't have to eat your sandwich. You formula fed? I breast fed and I believe that it was the right choice for my kids, but your kid doesn't look like he is going to be picking up a banjo and starring in a remake of Deliverance because he sucked down Similac. You like Clorox? Fine. It might yellow your whites, but I don't have to wear them! You want my opinion, I will share it with you if you ask, but I won't demand that you agree that I am right. I won't dislike you if you do it differently.
And then there is Kyra. At 5, she is already buzzing like a Queen Bee. She doesn't walk into preschool. She makes an entrance. She doesn't join in the games that the other kids are playing when we arrive, she announces that they will play a new game and she will decide what that game is. She will tell the assembled group, who swarm around her, that "you will be the daddy, you will be the baby and I'm the mommy, so I'm in charge". She even tries to Queen Bee me. She sighs and rolls her eyes when I don't comply with her demands. "Pick that up mommy" she demanded tonight after she deliberately dropped her jacket on the floor, then she sulks and shuns me when I laugh at her ridiculousness. I like that she is fierce and independent but she needs to learn to be kinder. To ask, not demand. To accept that not everything can be her way. That it's not fair that she believes everything must be shared with her, but that she has to share nothing.
Sometimes I wonder where this child came from. How a worker bee like me (though with some admitted diva qualities that I try to keep under control) gave birth to such Queen Bee. At this point, I just try to keep her buzzing to a minimum and to keep her from stinging anyone. But if she is like this at five, I can't imagine what she will be like at 15. I hope the hive is ready because it is going to be a wild ride.
By my definition, a Queen Bee is a person who doesn't have a conversation with you, she makes pronouncements. She dislikes when you dare disagree with her, but she won't argue with you, instead she will shun you. She leads, not by example, but by fear. Fear of losing her favor, fear of losing her connections. Fear of not having someone to chat with while your kids do whatever extracurricular activity (or in a Queen Bee's case it would be more like activities) you have the precious offspring enrolled in.
There is a Queen Bee that I see a few times a week at one of my progeny's activities. She comes in wearing her mom jeans, hair and makeup looking like she just rolled out of 1989. She is the worst kind of Queen Bee because she doesn't look like what you would normally assume someone who wields such mom-power would. She looks like a dumpy, middle-aged house frau. But then you hear her buzz. It's louder and more assertive than the buzzing from the moms who flock to her. She has firm opinions on everything from where to get the best fruit (no grocery stores for her! You must - MUST - drive to this little farm about 30 miles outside of town. Oh, and tell them that you heard about it from her!) to how to get stains out of Jr. Bee's uniform (NO CLOROX! OMG!). I sit, a few chairs down from where she holds court, and I listen. I have no desire to join the gaggle of moms who swarm around her. I prefer to snicker quietly to myself when she makes one of her declarations while reading my book or, shockingly, actually watching my child participate in class!
I have strong opinions on certain things - but I also strongly believe that there are many different ways to buy fruit, get stains out, parent your children, make a ham sandwich, etc. You like Miracle Whip? I think that shit is vile, but I don't have to eat your sandwich. You formula fed? I breast fed and I believe that it was the right choice for my kids, but your kid doesn't look like he is going to be picking up a banjo and starring in a remake of Deliverance because he sucked down Similac. You like Clorox? Fine. It might yellow your whites, but I don't have to wear them! You want my opinion, I will share it with you if you ask, but I won't demand that you agree that I am right. I won't dislike you if you do it differently.
And then there is Kyra. At 5, she is already buzzing like a Queen Bee. She doesn't walk into preschool. She makes an entrance. She doesn't join in the games that the other kids are playing when we arrive, she announces that they will play a new game and she will decide what that game is. She will tell the assembled group, who swarm around her, that "you will be the daddy, you will be the baby and I'm the mommy, so I'm in charge". She even tries to Queen Bee me. She sighs and rolls her eyes when I don't comply with her demands. "Pick that up mommy" she demanded tonight after she deliberately dropped her jacket on the floor, then she sulks and shuns me when I laugh at her ridiculousness. I like that she is fierce and independent but she needs to learn to be kinder. To ask, not demand. To accept that not everything can be her way. That it's not fair that she believes everything must be shared with her, but that she has to share nothing.
Sometimes I wonder where this child came from. How a worker bee like me (though with some admitted diva qualities that I try to keep under control) gave birth to such Queen Bee. At this point, I just try to keep her buzzing to a minimum and to keep her from stinging anyone. But if she is like this at five, I can't imagine what she will be like at 15. I hope the hive is ready because it is going to be a wild ride.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Mother of the Year awards accepted here
Parenting fails. I has them.
In honor of Mother's Day (yes, I know it was a week ago. Remember, this blog is Random Tales not timely tales) I thought I would list a few of my more spectacular parenting fails - you know, to keep myself humble. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't fail as a parent in the horrible ways. I don't beat my children, or duct tape them to their beds. I make sure they are fed, albeit it's not always a balanced organic meal, but I do my best. They are always dressed in clean clothes - or at least in Blaine's case, they are clean when he gets on the bus in the morning. They are always dressed appropriately for the weather - though in Kyra's case her spectacular dress sense is an eye opening experience. My fails are more of a head-slapping "duh" with the thumb and forefinger in the L shape on the forehead. So, without further ado, here are two of my recent favorite idiot mom stories! Enjoy!
I recently purchased a new car. I love my new car, it's sporty and clean and new new new (it only had 11 miles on it when I bought it. NEW!) One of the perks of the new car is that it came with satellite radio. Now, I've never had satellite radio before and I am loving it. I especially love the station 1st Wave, which is 80s alternative music. I think I must have known, at least subconsciously, that it is uncensored radio as they have a Howard Stern station or two. But for some reason I just didn't think about it. Until I was driving to preschool with Kyra the other morning and she and I were rocking out - I'm talking sound cranked, singing along, Kyra dancing in her car seat rocking out - to the Violent Femmes. To be specific, we were jamming to "Add it Up" by the Femmes. It's a sweet little ditty that starts out with "Why can't I get just one kiss" and works it way up to "Why can't I get just one fuck". It was at that moment, in that nanosecond before "FUCK" came blaring out of my speakers that I realized that this may not be censored so I started frantically trying to find the button to turn off the radio. Of course, too little to late. New car means new button positions and that plus total panic equals my daughter squealing in horror in the back seat "THAT MAN SAID A BAD WORD MOMMY!" Whoops. Parenting fail.
On Mother's Day this year the kids and I went to church together, a happy little family. Our church is a fabulous community and we have time during service where we can share life's milestones - joys, concerns and sorrows. If anyone has something to share, you go forward, light a candle from a communal flame, and share with the congregation. Our town was recently hit by a devastating tornado and many in our congregation were affected. During the Mother's Day service many of our congregation were getting up to share information about volunteering, to give thanks for help received, and to ask for more help. As we are sitting there listening, Blaine, who was sitting behind me, stands up to go get in line to light a candle. I turn to him and through gritted teeth tell him to "SIT DOWN". You see, I assumed that he was going to go up and tell everyone about his mom's new car and I just didn't think it was the time or place. Some people had just lost their homes and they didn't need an 8 year old sharing the joy of mom's new car with the speakers that light up. Blaine looked at me and said "Mom, I really have something I need to share". I glared at him over my shoulder and again told him to sit down. He again told me he needed to go up and share - he just had to! We went back and forth like this until I realized that we were making a little mini-scene in church. At that point I just grimaced and gritted out "FINE. JUST FINE. GO." Then I crossed my arms and prepared myself to be embarrassed by my son.
Blaine's turn comes and I am just hoping that he is done quickly so that I don't have much to apologize for at the end of service. He approaches the flame, lights his candle and says "My name is Blaine and I have a joy to share with everyone". Great. Here it comes. I'm cringing inside. Then "Today is one of my favorite days of the year, because it's Mother's Day and I have the best, most caring and loving and wonderful mother in the world and I'm glad I have this day to celebrate that". Everyone applauds him and I am so overwhelmed with emotion that I am crying. Crying not just because I love my son but because I realize that I need to have the faith in him that he has in me. Parenting fail times one million.
I'm sure there will be more parenting fails in my future. But my kids love me in spite of my failings. Lucky me.
In honor of Mother's Day (yes, I know it was a week ago. Remember, this blog is Random Tales not timely tales) I thought I would list a few of my more spectacular parenting fails - you know, to keep myself humble. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't fail as a parent in the horrible ways. I don't beat my children, or duct tape them to their beds. I make sure they are fed, albeit it's not always a balanced organic meal, but I do my best. They are always dressed in clean clothes - or at least in Blaine's case, they are clean when he gets on the bus in the morning. They are always dressed appropriately for the weather - though in Kyra's case her spectacular dress sense is an eye opening experience. My fails are more of a head-slapping "duh" with the thumb and forefinger in the L shape on the forehead. So, without further ado, here are two of my recent favorite idiot mom stories! Enjoy!
I recently purchased a new car. I love my new car, it's sporty and clean and new new new (it only had 11 miles on it when I bought it. NEW!) One of the perks of the new car is that it came with satellite radio. Now, I've never had satellite radio before and I am loving it. I especially love the station 1st Wave, which is 80s alternative music. I think I must have known, at least subconsciously, that it is uncensored radio as they have a Howard Stern station or two. But for some reason I just didn't think about it. Until I was driving to preschool with Kyra the other morning and she and I were rocking out - I'm talking sound cranked, singing along, Kyra dancing in her car seat rocking out - to the Violent Femmes. To be specific, we were jamming to "Add it Up" by the Femmes. It's a sweet little ditty that starts out with "Why can't I get just one kiss" and works it way up to "Why can't I get just one fuck". It was at that moment, in that nanosecond before "FUCK" came blaring out of my speakers that I realized that this may not be censored so I started frantically trying to find the button to turn off the radio. Of course, too little to late. New car means new button positions and that plus total panic equals my daughter squealing in horror in the back seat "THAT MAN SAID A BAD WORD MOMMY!" Whoops. Parenting fail.
On Mother's Day this year the kids and I went to church together, a happy little family. Our church is a fabulous community and we have time during service where we can share life's milestones - joys, concerns and sorrows. If anyone has something to share, you go forward, light a candle from a communal flame, and share with the congregation. Our town was recently hit by a devastating tornado and many in our congregation were affected. During the Mother's Day service many of our congregation were getting up to share information about volunteering, to give thanks for help received, and to ask for more help. As we are sitting there listening, Blaine, who was sitting behind me, stands up to go get in line to light a candle. I turn to him and through gritted teeth tell him to "SIT DOWN". You see, I assumed that he was going to go up and tell everyone about his mom's new car and I just didn't think it was the time or place. Some people had just lost their homes and they didn't need an 8 year old sharing the joy of mom's new car with the speakers that light up. Blaine looked at me and said "Mom, I really have something I need to share". I glared at him over my shoulder and again told him to sit down. He again told me he needed to go up and share - he just had to! We went back and forth like this until I realized that we were making a little mini-scene in church. At that point I just grimaced and gritted out "FINE. JUST FINE. GO." Then I crossed my arms and prepared myself to be embarrassed by my son.
Blaine's turn comes and I am just hoping that he is done quickly so that I don't have much to apologize for at the end of service. He approaches the flame, lights his candle and says "My name is Blaine and I have a joy to share with everyone". Great. Here it comes. I'm cringing inside. Then "Today is one of my favorite days of the year, because it's Mother's Day and I have the best, most caring and loving and wonderful mother in the world and I'm glad I have this day to celebrate that". Everyone applauds him and I am so overwhelmed with emotion that I am crying. Crying not just because I love my son but because I realize that I need to have the faith in him that he has in me. Parenting fail times one million.
I'm sure there will be more parenting fails in my future. But my kids love me in spite of my failings. Lucky me.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
The War over War
I'm stupid.
Well, at least according to Blaine's 9 year old friend...a boy I shall call Turdface.
Why am I stupid? Because I won't let Blaine play Call of Duty.
We have entered the phase of life where Blaine is trying to push boundaries (see my previous post regarding Facebook and online chatting) and I knew this would be coming. I hear the kids talking about the "cool" games they play.
But for fuck's sake. Call of Duty? When you are 9?
I have always told Blaine that you shouldn't judge people. That other people may make decisions that we don't agree with, but that the decision and the consequences of the decision is theirs to bear. Regardless of what we thought of their decision, it didn't make it right or wrong, it just made it theirs. Or, to put it as my beloved grandmother used to say "it's their little red wagon, they can push it or pull it, we don't have to ride in it".
But, I came clean with Blaine the other day and told him that I am a big, fat hypocrite. Because I fully judge those parents. Judgey judgey judge judge judge. I have heard the excuses. "Oh, his older brother plays so he's seeing it anyway" or "his dad is a big kid and loves that game and they play together!"
If your husband surfed porn on the net would you be ok with your 8 or 9 year old son sitting next to him saying "check out the hooters on that one!" No? Then why is ok to let that child shoot, garrote, and otherwise maim or kill people on a video screen? Why is violence ok but nudity is not? How do you draw that line?
I explained to Blaine, when he informed me that Turdface said I was stupid, that the day I take parenting tips from an 8 year old is the day I hang up my parenting cape for good. That earned me a withering stare and the snarky comment of "Turdface isn't 8, he is niiiiiiiiine". Like that makes ALL the difference in the world. Yeah. No.
I explained my views on war to Blaine and how killing, in my mind, should never, ever be a game or something you do for fun. I explained how I feel that playing games like that can desensitize you to the reality of war and death. How taking someone's life, whether in war or in self-defense is something that will stay on your soul forever and is a heavy burden to bear. He didn't really get it. Or care. I was just the "mean mom" or, in his 9 year old friend's opinion the "stupid mom".
A few days after our debate about which was more stupid - playing war games or not allowing your son to play war games - a funny thing happened. Blaine, Kyra and I were getting ready for our regular Sunday night TV time - we love watching The Amazing Race together. I ran upstairs to grab a load of laundry and Blaine went to turn on the TV and find the right station. When I came down, Blaine was sitting on the couch, totally sucked into a TV program. It seems that the CBS schedule was running behind, probably due to some sports thing (basketball? I don't know as I am both stupid and non-sporty) and he was watching 60 minutes. The story he was watching was about The Global Medical Relief Fund and their work with a little boy in Iraq who was severely injured by an IED. He lost a leg, an eye and an arm and was severely scarred. The story was heartbreaking and uplifting and infuriating and, at the end, joyous. By the time it was over I was crying (yes, I am a bleeding heart liberal) and Blaine wanted to know why.
I did my best to explain that what he just saw is a consequence of war. That it is not only the bad guys who get hurt. Sometimes little boys, girls, moms, dads - innocents - all get hurt because of war. I told him that I was crying with that little boy's mother who was overcome with emotion after her boy was pieced back together. Because I'm a mother. And I have a little boy. And I would feel the same way if it happened to him. And I told him that this is why I don't want him to play war games for fun. War is not fun. Killing should never be a game. Blaine thought about it for minute and then said, very gravely, "I think I have just learned a very valuable lesson".
I guess the first battle in the war over war goes to me. But I have a feeling that there are more to come.
Well, at least according to Blaine's 9 year old friend...a boy I shall call Turdface.
Why am I stupid? Because I won't let Blaine play Call of Duty.
We have entered the phase of life where Blaine is trying to push boundaries (see my previous post regarding Facebook and online chatting) and I knew this would be coming. I hear the kids talking about the "cool" games they play.
But for fuck's sake. Call of Duty? When you are 9?
I have always told Blaine that you shouldn't judge people. That other people may make decisions that we don't agree with, but that the decision and the consequences of the decision is theirs to bear. Regardless of what we thought of their decision, it didn't make it right or wrong, it just made it theirs. Or, to put it as my beloved grandmother used to say "it's their little red wagon, they can push it or pull it, we don't have to ride in it".
But, I came clean with Blaine the other day and told him that I am a big, fat hypocrite. Because I fully judge those parents. Judgey judgey judge judge judge. I have heard the excuses. "Oh, his older brother plays so he's seeing it anyway" or "his dad is a big kid and loves that game and they play together!"
If your husband surfed porn on the net would you be ok with your 8 or 9 year old son sitting next to him saying "check out the hooters on that one!" No? Then why is ok to let that child shoot, garrote, and otherwise maim or kill people on a video screen? Why is violence ok but nudity is not? How do you draw that line?
I explained to Blaine, when he informed me that Turdface said I was stupid, that the day I take parenting tips from an 8 year old is the day I hang up my parenting cape for good. That earned me a withering stare and the snarky comment of "Turdface isn't 8, he is niiiiiiiiine". Like that makes ALL the difference in the world. Yeah. No.
I explained my views on war to Blaine and how killing, in my mind, should never, ever be a game or something you do for fun. I explained how I feel that playing games like that can desensitize you to the reality of war and death. How taking someone's life, whether in war or in self-defense is something that will stay on your soul forever and is a heavy burden to bear. He didn't really get it. Or care. I was just the "mean mom" or, in his 9 year old friend's opinion the "stupid mom".
A few days after our debate about which was more stupid - playing war games or not allowing your son to play war games - a funny thing happened. Blaine, Kyra and I were getting ready for our regular Sunday night TV time - we love watching The Amazing Race together. I ran upstairs to grab a load of laundry and Blaine went to turn on the TV and find the right station. When I came down, Blaine was sitting on the couch, totally sucked into a TV program. It seems that the CBS schedule was running behind, probably due to some sports thing (basketball? I don't know as I am both stupid and non-sporty) and he was watching 60 minutes. The story he was watching was about The Global Medical Relief Fund and their work with a little boy in Iraq who was severely injured by an IED. He lost a leg, an eye and an arm and was severely scarred. The story was heartbreaking and uplifting and infuriating and, at the end, joyous. By the time it was over I was crying (yes, I am a bleeding heart liberal) and Blaine wanted to know why.
I did my best to explain that what he just saw is a consequence of war. That it is not only the bad guys who get hurt. Sometimes little boys, girls, moms, dads - innocents - all get hurt because of war. I told him that I was crying with that little boy's mother who was overcome with emotion after her boy was pieced back together. Because I'm a mother. And I have a little boy. And I would feel the same way if it happened to him. And I told him that this is why I don't want him to play war games for fun. War is not fun. Killing should never be a game. Blaine thought about it for minute and then said, very gravely, "I think I have just learned a very valuable lesson".
I guess the first battle in the war over war goes to me. But I have a feeling that there are more to come.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Like Running My Fingers Through God's Beard
I have found that one of the best things about having kids is the way they make you stop and think with the things they say. I have also found that one of the worst things about having kids is the way they embarrass you with the things they say.
Kids tend not to filter their thoughts...or maybe it's just my kids that don't filter their thoughts. Blaine, by virtue of being older and more verbose is particularly touching with his comments as well as particularly mortifying. If he thinks of something, he is going to say it. If I try to explain something in detail, he is going to continue dissecting it and discussing it. Kyra is following in her brother's footsteps and is randomly inspiring/horrifying me at turns as well.
You want to know how much money I make? Blaine could probably tell you.
You want to know what we had for breakfast? Kyra could probably tell you.
You want to know the color of my underwear? Kyra.
You want to know details of my personal life - even if you are a complete stranger? Blaine.
But I'm trying to focus on the positive, and since I'm complete crap at scrapbooking (I've tried. I still have all the stuff. Blaine's birth still hasn't been duly matted, embellished, and preserved for all eternity. Don't even get me started on Kyra's photos...most of which are still on memory cards, external hard drives and the like. Prints? HA!) and I am also complete crap at updating baby books past the first few weeks of their precious lives, I am going to take this space to note some of the better things that have come out of Blaine and Kyra's brains recently.
In no particular order:
1. Driving home from my parent's house one evening, we had the windows down and the sunroof open. When we got home Blaine told me that when he was sure no other car was coming, he would stick his arm straight out the window. He told me that the wind pushing on his arm made him feel like he was running his fingers through God's beard. Kyra then responded "You don't know that. You don't know God. God might not have a beard. God might be a girl!"
2. Kyra stayed at my parent's house last week. While "helping" her Grandma clean out the front garden so they can plow and get ready for Spring planting, she saw the bamboo poles that my parents use for the beans. Kyra looked at my mom and demanded to know "Hey! Why do you have panda food in your garden?" When my mom explained it to her, Kyra scoffed "they aren't real bamboo. You don't have pandas".
3. Another Kyra one - she has learned to spell her last name. It's a long name and Blaine didn't really master it until about 1st grade. Kyra is bored by just spelling her last name. So the other day she spelled it backwards for me. She has her Kindergarten pre-screen tomorrow. I can't wait to see her do her times tables (Blaine taught her the zero and one times tables) or to see their faces when they ask her if she can spell her name and she does it backwards for kicks. She's deliciously evil like that.
4. At church one Sunday a member of the congregation was talking to all of the kids - ranging in age from 3 to 13 - during the service about race. She asked them what race meant to them. One girl, about 12 years old piped up and answered that she thought of race as black or white. A younger girl thought race was about actual racing and winning. Blaine raised his hand and said "To me race is the human race. All the people everywhere are a part of the human race". It stunned me and the congregation and everyone burst into spontaneous applause. I'll never forget that moment. I remember thinking that Blaine is the person I want to be like when I grow up. I wish I could be that simple and that complex and that genuine all at the same time.
It all balances out. Kyra might tell you that I have on pink underwear, but then she'll amaze you with her skeptical intellect. Blaine might tell you that his mom makes 80 billion dollars** a year but then he will stun you with his compassionate insights. I am willing to put up with the embarrassing because part of the excitement of having kids are those moments when they say something that makes you laugh, reflect, or think. It's so worth it.
**Actual dollar figure inflated for dramatic purposes. Also, don't I wish.
Kids tend not to filter their thoughts...or maybe it's just my kids that don't filter their thoughts. Blaine, by virtue of being older and more verbose is particularly touching with his comments as well as particularly mortifying. If he thinks of something, he is going to say it. If I try to explain something in detail, he is going to continue dissecting it and discussing it. Kyra is following in her brother's footsteps and is randomly inspiring/horrifying me at turns as well.
You want to know how much money I make? Blaine could probably tell you.
You want to know what we had for breakfast? Kyra could probably tell you.
You want to know the color of my underwear? Kyra.
You want to know details of my personal life - even if you are a complete stranger? Blaine.
But I'm trying to focus on the positive, and since I'm complete crap at scrapbooking (I've tried. I still have all the stuff. Blaine's birth still hasn't been duly matted, embellished, and preserved for all eternity. Don't even get me started on Kyra's photos...most of which are still on memory cards, external hard drives and the like. Prints? HA!) and I am also complete crap at updating baby books past the first few weeks of their precious lives, I am going to take this space to note some of the better things that have come out of Blaine and Kyra's brains recently.
In no particular order:
1. Driving home from my parent's house one evening, we had the windows down and the sunroof open. When we got home Blaine told me that when he was sure no other car was coming, he would stick his arm straight out the window. He told me that the wind pushing on his arm made him feel like he was running his fingers through God's beard. Kyra then responded "You don't know that. You don't know God. God might not have a beard. God might be a girl!"
2. Kyra stayed at my parent's house last week. While "helping" her Grandma clean out the front garden so they can plow and get ready for Spring planting, she saw the bamboo poles that my parents use for the beans. Kyra looked at my mom and demanded to know "Hey! Why do you have panda food in your garden?" When my mom explained it to her, Kyra scoffed "they aren't real bamboo. You don't have pandas".
3. Another Kyra one - she has learned to spell her last name. It's a long name and Blaine didn't really master it until about 1st grade. Kyra is bored by just spelling her last name. So the other day she spelled it backwards for me. She has her Kindergarten pre-screen tomorrow. I can't wait to see her do her times tables (Blaine taught her the zero and one times tables) or to see their faces when they ask her if she can spell her name and she does it backwards for kicks. She's deliciously evil like that.
4. At church one Sunday a member of the congregation was talking to all of the kids - ranging in age from 3 to 13 - during the service about race. She asked them what race meant to them. One girl, about 12 years old piped up and answered that she thought of race as black or white. A younger girl thought race was about actual racing and winning. Blaine raised his hand and said "To me race is the human race. All the people everywhere are a part of the human race". It stunned me and the congregation and everyone burst into spontaneous applause. I'll never forget that moment. I remember thinking that Blaine is the person I want to be like when I grow up. I wish I could be that simple and that complex and that genuine all at the same time.
It all balances out. Kyra might tell you that I have on pink underwear, but then she'll amaze you with her skeptical intellect. Blaine might tell you that his mom makes 80 billion dollars** a year but then he will stun you with his compassionate insights. I am willing to put up with the embarrassing because part of the excitement of having kids are those moments when they say something that makes you laugh, reflect, or think. It's so worth it.
**Actual dollar figure inflated for dramatic purposes. Also, don't I wish.
Monday, February 28, 2011
I am old. Send Metamucil and Life Alert necklace please.
Blaine.
Blaine.
Oh, how I love thee Blaine. BUT. Really?
The other day my incredible son comes to me holding his coin jar. The coin jar is our random reward/punishment system. My kid doesn't get an allowance, he gets random change or dollars for being caught doing good. He also gets money removed when he's a shmuck. The randomness of it all works for us, because it eliminates the pretending to be good to earn an allowance. He's allowed to spend the money on anything he wants (within reason, I draw the line at hookers and blow). We love the coin jar.
So, he walks into the living room with the coin jar and I'm expecting him to tell me that he's got enough money for a new DS game or some other thing he likes (Bakugan? WTF is Bakugan and why didn't I come up with this money-making bullshit?). Instead, Blaine tells me that he would like to know how much money he needs to start his own bank account! Be still my heart! My 8 year old boy is fiscally responsible! I am awesome mom! I have taught my 3rd grader the power of money and savings and planning and...no.
Blaine then explains to me that he wants to get his own bank account so that he can get his own credit card so that he can buy his own membership on National Geographic's Animal Jam because I refuse to do that for him.
Stupid f'ing Animal Jam. I've had to make up rules about Animal Jam. Like "no talking about Animal Jam while we are in the car" and "no talking about Animal Jam while we are in the house" and "no talking about Animal Jam while we are in a restaurant". Basically, no talking about Animal Jam at all. Ever. I HATE Animal Jam. HATE HATE HATE. Did you know that alligators and bears can get married on Animal Jam? Did you know that you can shop at the store if you collect enough crap on Animal Jam? Did you know you can "chat" with your friends on Animal Jam? I DON'T CARE ABOUT ANIMAL JAM. ANIMAL JAM IS THE DEBIL!
He's 8. And he wants a credit card to chat with friends on the computer. Oh, and he wants a Facebook page so he can post status updates. What would he have to update? "finished homework. Am going to pick nose now" or "Farted and blamed it on Kyra. She hit me". A friend of mine told me this weekend that his son, who is in 4th grade, has a Facebook page. The friend logged on to his son's page to check it out and died laughing when he saw that his son was "in a relationship" and then changed it to "it's complicated". What's complicated about a relationship in 4th grade? Did the recess bell ring before you got a chance to punch her in the arm and give her cooties?
I have decided that I am just old. OLD. Fuddy.Duddy. But I'm still the mom. So there will be no 8 year old with a credit card in my house. Or Facebook pages for Elementary schoolers. I will be crapping in my Depends adult diapers before my 3rd grader can be "an alligator in a complicated relationship with a bear on Facebook Jam."
Blaine.
Oh, how I love thee Blaine. BUT. Really?
The other day my incredible son comes to me holding his coin jar. The coin jar is our random reward/punishment system. My kid doesn't get an allowance, he gets random change or dollars for being caught doing good. He also gets money removed when he's a shmuck. The randomness of it all works for us, because it eliminates the pretending to be good to earn an allowance. He's allowed to spend the money on anything he wants (within reason, I draw the line at hookers and blow). We love the coin jar.
So, he walks into the living room with the coin jar and I'm expecting him to tell me that he's got enough money for a new DS game or some other thing he likes (Bakugan? WTF is Bakugan and why didn't I come up with this money-making bullshit?). Instead, Blaine tells me that he would like to know how much money he needs to start his own bank account! Be still my heart! My 8 year old boy is fiscally responsible! I am awesome mom! I have taught my 3rd grader the power of money and savings and planning and...no.
Blaine then explains to me that he wants to get his own bank account so that he can get his own credit card so that he can buy his own membership on National Geographic's Animal Jam because I refuse to do that for him.
Stupid f'ing Animal Jam. I've had to make up rules about Animal Jam. Like "no talking about Animal Jam while we are in the car" and "no talking about Animal Jam while we are in the house" and "no talking about Animal Jam while we are in a restaurant". Basically, no talking about Animal Jam at all. Ever. I HATE Animal Jam. HATE HATE HATE. Did you know that alligators and bears can get married on Animal Jam? Did you know that you can shop at the store if you collect enough crap on Animal Jam? Did you know you can "chat" with your friends on Animal Jam? I DON'T CARE ABOUT ANIMAL JAM. ANIMAL JAM IS THE DEBIL!
He's 8. And he wants a credit card to chat with friends on the computer. Oh, and he wants a Facebook page so he can post status updates. What would he have to update? "finished homework. Am going to pick nose now" or "Farted and blamed it on Kyra. She hit me". A friend of mine told me this weekend that his son, who is in 4th grade, has a Facebook page. The friend logged on to his son's page to check it out and died laughing when he saw that his son was "in a relationship" and then changed it to "it's complicated". What's complicated about a relationship in 4th grade? Did the recess bell ring before you got a chance to punch her in the arm and give her cooties?
I have decided that I am just old. OLD. Fuddy.Duddy. But I'm still the mom. So there will be no 8 year old with a credit card in my house. Or Facebook pages for Elementary schoolers. I will be crapping in my Depends adult diapers before my 3rd grader can be "an alligator in a complicated relationship with a bear on Facebook Jam."
Sunday, February 6, 2011
I am invincible. Sometimes.
In the past 18 months:
1. I learned that I can connect wirey/wireless/electrical things like internets and TVs and Wiis and they work! Reading directions (and when all else fails, calling tech support) really pays off! All of those things I never thought I could do? I did.
2. I rebuilt an entertainment center that had been completely dismantled and shipped from my home in Oman. I did not have the directions and bolts had gone missing during the packing/shipping process so I went to the hardware store and bought replacements ALL BY MYSELF.
3. I taught myself how to refinish furniture and did a dresser and a bed for my daughter's room.
4. I bought a tent and went camping. Twice. Once just with Blaine and the second time with Blaine and Kyra (the deepwoods diva!). It went well enough that I think we can keep doing it. (Damn you Cub Scouts!) My idea of roughing it is staying at a Holiday Inn. I hope my kids appreciate my sacrifice.
I also kill and dispose of bugs, fish hairbrushes out of toilets, take out garbage, check the air pressure in my tires, get my oil changed on a regular basis and a thousand other small, seemingly insignificant tasks. All things that I never cared to do and never really had to do because there was always someone else to do it for me. But now I do these things for myself and for my kids and I have found that I really don't mind. Sure sometimes it's a real drag (really kids how did the hairbrush end up in the toilet???) and sometimes it is frustrating, but overall what I end up with each time I attempt something new is a sense of pride and accomplishment. Each time something works (Hello wireless internet! I never knew how you worked before!) I gain a little confidence.
However, there are some things that I will not do. For example, taxes. Taxes are the reason God invented accountants. I also cannot figure out how to build a pinewood derby car (again, damn you Cub Scouts!). How am I supposed to turn a block of wood into a race car? Power tools? What? Wheels and axles and graphite and weight ratios and calibration...whoops, my head just exploded.
I'm now thinking about buying or possibly building a home. My mom is a realist and keeps informing me of all the negatives/realities of home ownership. Like stuff breaking. Water leaking. Lawn mowers. But I really feel like I can handle it. Sure, it's nice to be able to make a call and have maintenance come out and fix stuff for free, but the trade off is not feeling like this place is mine and if I want to paint the walls red and tear out the carpet and put down tile I can. I want that. I want the ownership. I want to be able to say "This is mine. I made this happen. Me."
Blaine just wants me to buy a house so he can have a dog. Hey, we all have our priorities.
1. I learned that I can connect wirey/wireless/electrical things like internets and TVs and Wiis and they work! Reading directions (and when all else fails, calling tech support) really pays off! All of those things I never thought I could do? I did.
2. I rebuilt an entertainment center that had been completely dismantled and shipped from my home in Oman. I did not have the directions and bolts had gone missing during the packing/shipping process so I went to the hardware store and bought replacements ALL BY MYSELF.
3. I taught myself how to refinish furniture and did a dresser and a bed for my daughter's room.
4. I bought a tent and went camping. Twice. Once just with Blaine and the second time with Blaine and Kyra (the deepwoods diva!). It went well enough that I think we can keep doing it. (Damn you Cub Scouts!) My idea of roughing it is staying at a Holiday Inn. I hope my kids appreciate my sacrifice.
I also kill and dispose of bugs, fish hairbrushes out of toilets, take out garbage, check the air pressure in my tires, get my oil changed on a regular basis and a thousand other small, seemingly insignificant tasks. All things that I never cared to do and never really had to do because there was always someone else to do it for me. But now I do these things for myself and for my kids and I have found that I really don't mind. Sure sometimes it's a real drag (really kids how did the hairbrush end up in the toilet???) and sometimes it is frustrating, but overall what I end up with each time I attempt something new is a sense of pride and accomplishment. Each time something works (Hello wireless internet! I never knew how you worked before!) I gain a little confidence.
However, there are some things that I will not do. For example, taxes. Taxes are the reason God invented accountants. I also cannot figure out how to build a pinewood derby car (again, damn you Cub Scouts!). How am I supposed to turn a block of wood into a race car? Power tools? What? Wheels and axles and graphite and weight ratios and calibration...whoops, my head just exploded.
I'm now thinking about buying or possibly building a home. My mom is a realist and keeps informing me of all the negatives/realities of home ownership. Like stuff breaking. Water leaking. Lawn mowers. But I really feel like I can handle it. Sure, it's nice to be able to make a call and have maintenance come out and fix stuff for free, but the trade off is not feeling like this place is mine and if I want to paint the walls red and tear out the carpet and put down tile I can. I want that. I want the ownership. I want to be able to say "This is mine. I made this happen. Me."
Blaine just wants me to buy a house so he can have a dog. Hey, we all have our priorities.
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