Part Two

Okay. Where was I?

So, I dragged my little kids into the school way fricking early thirty minutes before school started to chat with Jacob's teacher. Trying to have a serious conversation while also trying to keep a two year old out of twenty little desks is harder than you might imagine, but it can be done. Barely.

The teacher, as suspected, had no idea of the events that transpired the day before. As much as I wanted to go bat shit crazy on her and demand an explanation and some sort of repercussion for the accused, I didn't. I was a teacher. I never really wanted to do much for the parents who went bat shit crazy on me so I kept it together. I think the teacher was pretty amazed that a fight had happened without her knowledge, but not too terribly surprised. In my heart I guess I wanted her to say she'd call all those rotten heathens kid's parents and tell them all they were no longer welcome at their wonderful Christian school because, DANG, it's a Christian school and their kids are just not exhibiting Christian behavior so, too bad, it's time for ya'll to go. But in my head, I knew she'd do just what she did. Discuss it with all involved. Document it. Go on with her day with maybe wider eye open. I mean, she wasn't even there. What could she really do about it? I've been on her end before. There's not much you can do without proof. Parents, you see, can get a little cranky where their kids are concerned. Go figure.

But she did give me the name of the recess teacher and told me to talk to her. And to go ahead and talk to the elementary principal. And the school principal if I had too. Which is what I did. Or, rather, tried to do.

I had to wait until after lunch to talk the recess teacher I was told since, well, recess is after lunch and that's when she comes in so that's what I did. At 12:45 I went back up to the school and out to the playground to find four recess teachers sitting in chairs that weren't there the day before in a deep discussion. Two of them with their backs to the actual playground. You know, the playground they were earning money to watch.

So I drag my little children to their pow-wow and ask them where I could find Mrs. K. Funny, but they had no idea where Mrs. K was. I'm not even sure they knew who she was, which is odd since that's exactly where the elementary principal said I could find her. Interesting.

So I go inside and tell the office that she wasn't out there and, of course, they are pretty confused and I ask if I can just wait on her to be done and, well, I could, but I'd be waiting there until 5:00 since she had all the other recesses as well as after school care but did I want to leave her a note? Oh, hell yeah I wanted to leave her a note! So I did. I left her a note. I asked her to call me after 5:00 so we could arrange a conference at her convenience.

You know she never called.

But when Jacob's teacher loaded him into the car at pick-up that afternoon she told me she'd talked to the other boys who told her they were just trying to play with Jacob. She figured then and there they were lying because at no point in the entire year did they ever try to play with Jacob so she punished them with no recess time and were informing their parents. She also said she had a long talk with Mrs. K before recess who backed up the "we-were-just-playing" story and let her know that she needed to keep a better eye on all the kids. I'm guessing that serious discussion they were all having on the playground was probably about me because if I've figured correctly, my posse and I came trotting up about ten minutes after the teacher gave her the smack-down.

And in the car on the way home I asked Jacob if the kids had bothered him and he seemed pretty happy and told me that he was able to play without having to worry about being pushed off the swings or pulled off the monkey bars so it was a good day, except, well, for the part when Mrs. K. took them out to the playground and stopped them before they went running off like a pack of wild dogs to tell the whole class:

"Don't play with Jacob! He'll just tattle on you and you'll get in trouble so stay away from him!" "Now, go play everybody. Have a good time!"

At least this is what my son relayed to me.

I'm kinda inclined to believe him since Mrs. K hid from me just a few minutes later.

But, you know, I'll give anyone the benefit of the doubt, although I doubt she'd tell me the truth, so the next day when I hadn't heard from her I went to the principal and asked to speak with her. Told her my son had an issue on the playground and I wanted her take on it. I was told it was her day off so I could leave a note to have her call me. I laughed.

But I left my note. And let the principal know that I was still waiting. And waiting.

No. She never did call.

I'd like to say I kept after her until I finally found her and went bat shit crazy on her ass, but I didn't.

I got busy. I got tired of trying. I forgot about her.

I like to think that maybe Jacob misunderstood what she was saying to the other kids that day, that surely she wouldn't be that childish, but how can I know? Even if she were to ever call me, certainly she wouldn't own up to that.

So the last week of school my mom took the little two and I was able to do all the last week of school crap stuff without having to drag the others around.

There was a swim party/field trip to a classmate's house.

This is Jacob flinching while Bully 1 and 2 throw food at him. I guess they figured I wouldn't see them behind the camera.



And this is Bully 3 thinking no one can see his attempts at kicking my kid while he's underwater.



So the next hour was spent with me walking around the pool giving all the bullies the evil eye while all their mommies just gabbed and laughed and had a grand old time!

And after they realized I was onto them, they stopped and Jacob was able to have a good time:



I had to do the same at field day.

My kid won't be doing field day next year. Not so much because of the kids, well they were pretty bad, but the parents were pretty awful too. It's just sad when a dad can't accept that it was his kid who dropped the baton and gives his kid a high five when he yells out to everyone that Jacob lost the race for them. And his kid did drop the baton. I have it on video. But it's just a fricking second grade race. Why the heck does it matter?

So, YEAH! Summer's here. We are bully-free and loving it!

Intermission

It's taking me a while to finish the rest of my story. Here's a little funny while you wait....

A couple days ago I realized I hadn't been to Target in FOREVER and started to get the shakes headed to Target to get some things that we couldn't live without. You know, toilet paper, laundry detergent, the last season of Seinfeld on DVD, the important things. So I'm driving down the road and then the traffic just stops in front of me. WTH? I think about turning around, but NO, we cannot live another minute without swim goggles and teeny hair bows. So I putt along for a bit wondering if there had been an accident when I get a quick glimpse of a big orange sign. Roadwork. Of course. As I get closer I see the sign says right lane ends. And end it did. Right smack there where the sign was. Thanks for the advanced warning TxDoT. I guess I should just be glad there was that sign. I was thinking I was lucky I was in the left lane and, man, those poor suckers in the right lane. What are they going to do? Geez.

Well, I'll tell you what they did. They tried to squeeze in front of everybody in the left lane. Because, well, they had to. Because the right lane ended. Right then. Without any warning.

I did my part and let a white suburban cut me off. Did she thank me? Hell, no. But I had used my kind traffic deed for the day. So sorry to all you other losers right lane drivers. I must get to Target. My good deed, though, apparently inspired that dang lady in the white suburban because she proceeded to let them ALL in. All of them. So many in fact that when I looked in my rearview mirror I could see people moving out of the left lane to go around me in the right lane because she was letting every dang car on that road go BEFORE ME! Damn! That's what I fricking get for being nice.

So I wait a little bit thinking, My GAWD, what a crazy lunatic! surely she's going to stop this eventually until I could take it no longer and honked my horn and yelled, "Go, assh*le". And three cars later the assh*le did finally go.

I HATE being in traffic. HATE, HATE, HATE it!

You will all be thrilled to know that we made it to Target and back alive. I even have some stinky new lotion to prove it. I'd return it, but I don't want to go back there. Ever. Or at least until they quit laying that pipe or expanding the road or whatever they were doing wreaking such havoc on an otherwise pleasant day.

So while I was unloading our stuff I was listening to Elizabeth play at her little pink Princess table in the living room, jabbering on and pretending with her dolls and Little People as she enjoys doing these days. I thought to myself how cute she was and so smart to be so sweet with her babies when I heard....

"Brrrmmmm........GO ASSH*LE"

Of course.

She had lined up an ambulance, a dump truck, and some sort of 4-wheeler thing around the perimeter of those beautiful Disney Princesses. The Hot Wheels were cutting in front of the ambulance.

I tell myself that she is really, really smart to be able to replay the entire scenario and even use the words in their proper context. It makes me feel better.

So I'm going to quit swearing. Really. It's my New Year's Resolution. In June.

If Hope can give up smoking, I can give up swearing.

But then I may have to quit driving.

This May Take A While....

No more pencils, no more books, no more bullies dirty looks.

Or something like that.

Summer couldn't have come fast enough for us. I usually get pretty misty-eyed at the end of the school years anticipating my child climbing farther up the your-kid-won't-be-young-much-longer ladder, but this year, it was just, can we get this over already??

Jacob has always been a target for bullies. Even when he was Elizabeth's age the bigger kids would come over to make fun of his exuberance and try to steal his toys. I could handle that, though, pretty easily. We went inside and stayed away from the wretched little creatures, but now, well, as much as I'd like to, I just can't keep him inside.

This whole school year Jacob had his own personal bully. His teacher was the first to alert me to the situation way back in September and she assured me she was taking care of it. And she did. For the most part. Then bully boy got some friends, lackeys if you will, and things got a little worse. Not only did Jacob have to avoid Bully Boy 1, he was now trying to stay away from Bully Boy 2, Bully Boy 3, and Bully Boy 4. They'd corner him at recess and call him names, trip him, spit on him and then deny it whole-heartedly to the recess teacher whose stellar advice to Jacob was, "Don't play with those boys" before she'd turn around and continue gabbing with the other equally competent recess teachers.

So I'd write a note-send an email-make a phone call-arrive at butt-crack of dawn for a conference every couple of weeks to let the classroom teacher know what was going on when I went ape-shit crazy on those kid's parents. The teacher was as helpful as she could be, but really, she never witnessed the BIG things. Those little monsters were smart and saved their pure meanness for the lazy, minimum-wage making, I-don't-know-anything-about-children teachers.

But then a few weeks ago Jacob sat down to do homework and says to me, "C made me go behind the shed and fight him," all matter of fact because, well, it's a matter of fact that this damn kid is going to do something crappy to him every day.

And I was like, "Oh, no he di'nt"

WTF?!

This is SECOND GRADE? At a CHRISTIAN SCHOOL?

And after rehashing the facts over and over to make sure I was getting the real truth getting the rest of the story, it seemed Jacob told on Bully Boy 1 for walking up the slide (which here I just shake my head because, DUH, quit tattling unless you've been hurt! How many times do we have to tell you this?) and I guess the highly effective recess teacher told him, wait for it...wait for it...."Don't do that" and apparently just being told not to do something really ticked this kid off or, yeah, maybe the whole tattling thing, but still, he and his lackeys told Jacob to meet them behind the shed. Why he actually went is still unclear, but I'm thinking Jacob in all his immature innocence probably didn't know that was what was in store for him.

And it was at this point in the story my head started spinning around and green smoke started blowing from my ears.

"Did they actually touch you?" Yes.
"Did they hit you?" Yes.
"Did they punch you with fists?" No. But they all used their karate moves on me.

Uh. Okay.

And so after a brief demonstration I was able to determine that Jacob was karate chopped with hands and kicked in the gut by these self-proclaimed karate experts.

He had no obvious scarring from his first "fight", but what happened next is what really pissed me off:

"Did you tell the recess teacher?" Yes. I told her that C and G and K were fighting me and she called them over and told us all to just not play together anymore and not to tell Mrs. S because she'd just be mad at us so it would just be a secret. And then she made me sit out the rest of recess while the other boys went and played on the swings.

WTF??

And the next morning I was up at that school, DRESSED, at 7:30 waiting for his classroom teacher......

Blast Off!

Houston is the fourth largest city in America. Did you know that? I don't know what the actual population is, but I know it's a lot more than my previous hometown of 3,000 some. Houston. It is crowded.

For this I learned very early that if I wanted to go to ANYTHING, it had to be on a weekday as soon as the sun came up. I am not a morning person, but since I get up at dawn with the kids anyway, might as well take advantage of it.

A couple of weeks ago I thought it'd be a good idea to take the little kids to Space Center Houston. We went last summer with Jacob and Adam's been asking to go ever since, so I logged onto their website, discovered the earliest time I could set foot in that place, and we were off.

It's really not that far from us, so I should've turned around the minute I pulled into the parking lot and saw THREE school buses. But I thought to myself, Eh, three buses, can't be THAT bad, and in we went.

Oh, it was fun at first. My little Star Wars fans were delighted to see their favorite droids:



But we couldn't see the rest of the cool exhibit because it wasn't there. Wasn't due to open until the next day. Adam wanted so badly to see the rest of it and when one of the employees heard me telling him that we'd return in June to see it all, he came over to inform me that they were "having trouble" putting up the other stuff and "just to be safe" to come back in JULY if we wanted to see the ultra cool tribute to George Lucas complete with Star Wars! Indiana Jones! and Howard the Duck? Okay. Whatever. Never mind that they keep advertising on television that it opened LAST WEEK.

So in the Space Center there is this huge ball pit/play area/like McDonalds only bigger playground that has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with space but appeals to my little ones because there are BALLS! and SLIDES! and that musty closed in plastic sweaty stink that is oh-so-enticing. So where do we head next? You guessed it. Because my kids are FOUR and TWO. What the hell do they know or care about space?

I'm thinking they may have had a lot of fun in it if they could've actually gone inside.

See, there were more than three school buses that day. There were HUNDREDS of school buses that day. The friendly guy who took our picture told me, aside from the exhibit not being unpacked, there would also be 3,000 school kids in that tiny place and, well, maybe we might want to rush through everything in the next hour and get the hell out before it was too late.

And by the time I turned around, it was too late.

Can you say, stampede?

OH. MY. GAWD. He was not exaggerating.

You could not MOVE in that place. It was packed wall to wall with children of all ages, adult "chaperones", and clueless teachers who had no idea where most of their students ended up.

If they could've gotten into the play pit, that's where they'd have found them.

Now, there's a height requirement to the playground. Basically, if you're tall enough to ride the roller coaster at the fair, you SHOULDN'T go in the tiny kiddie play zone. All the field trip kids apparently missed school on measurement lesson day. As did their parents. And teachers. And the two "guards" positioned out front.

It was rough, but I took my kids in. Just barely. We were lucky to make it out alive.




Can you see Elizabeth back there under that girl's feet? Oh, don't mind us. We're just playing here.

We stayed just that long because I was afraid Elizabeth would lose a kidney and Adam declared that to be the stinkiest place EVER and wondered loudly if those kids had ever had a bath because they smelled. Oh, man, did they smell!

So for sixty some bucks my kids got to play in the photo op and the tiny rip-off photo machine.....






And OUTSIDE with sticks. Just like they could've done at home for FREE.



And then we left. But not before filling out a complaint form and being belittled by the manager about how I was pretty much an idiot for EVER thinking FRIDAY would be a good day to frequent their shitty establishment. Because, DUH, that's when they schedule their field trips. And you know, on Monday too. That's not a good day. Or Tuesday. Or Wednesday. Or Thursday. And forget about Saturday because, Oh boy, is it crowded on Saturday. I really should've went on Sunday. Yeah, Sunday. From 10-11 because that. Is the best time. And if I look closely on their website and use my mind-reading tactics, I would know that if they open at 9, it's going to be a crowded day, but if they open at 10 it should be hunky dorey, and oh, yes, I do see where it says we are open at 10 on the web, but it shouldn't say that. Because this is a crowded day.

And at the entrance I paid the extra five bucks to get season passes.

Anybody want em?

Space Center Houston. It's over-rated. And pretty crappy.

To Blog or Not to Blog....

Alas, my poor little blog goes neglected another week.

Sometimes, I wonder, if my blog is like a sitcom. Have I run out of good material and need to bring it to a kind end? Was the birth of that baby my "jump-the-shark" moment? Maybe it was the move? Whatever it is, I'm in a slump. I fluctuate between wanting to come up with good material to keep the five readers I still have to throwing in the towel, printing it all out for the baby books and shutting it down.

I've been blogging almost four years now. Adam was 9 months old when I started. Jacob was in preschool. The thought of a third baby, much less a girl baby, would've sent me howling in hysterics. I lived in a crappy neighborhood surrounded by "neighbors" who just weren't. We stayed inside a lot, you know, to keep the neighbor kids from beating my littles up. I didn't know many people, I didn't care for Texas, and I was just plain lonely holed up in my house with a baby and a preschooler day in and day out.

I started my blog on a whim one evening after clicking over to other mommy blogs from an old pregnancy board I had been on. I thought, WOW, those moms are INSANE to just write every old thing about their lives for the entire internet to read! Aren't they afraid of someone finding them and killing them for no apparent reason? But it didn't stop me from reading them and it didn't stop me from starting my own complete with real names! Seriously, I don't think I thought I'd be here four years later. Or that I'd even follow through with it.

But here I am.

I just recently finished up being part of a product development community board. A certain company ran a message board in part of development for a new product for the past six weeks. They'd ask questions and you'd post what you thought of things. It was fine at first, but after a couple of weeks it got really tedious and a tad boring, but I didn't give up because I wanted my fifty bucks. Having that to deal with, along with my hourly daily jog through Facebook, took up most of my computer time. It was during this time that I was really thinking about throwing in the towel.

The last few days of Productgate, many of the women were making arrangements to join other groups together and starting threads about so many different subjects I just couldn't keep up, I mean, I HAD to beat Hope in Bejeweled keep my daughter out of everything she shouldn't be into, I just didn't have time for giving my input about my fave American Idol or what kind of diapers my kid was wearing.

Until one caught my eye.

The one that said, "Do you read blogs? Do you have one?"

Hmmm. Gotta take a look at that one.

So apparently the board chairman wanted examples of any blogs you happen to read, why you read them, and why you blogged if you did and I was kinda getting the feel that she was wanting some of us to review her product, which BTW, I have products I need to review, someone remind me before people get mad. Anyway, I was a few days late catching that one, so I got to read a lot of posts before I got to the blank section at the bottom.

Apparently they are NOT blog lovers.

If the site were still up I'd cut and paste, but then we'd be here all day, so I'll just summarize.

Not one of the forty-some people who replied had a blog. Some didn't know what they were, but the ones who did had very strong opinions about bloggers, especially Mommy bloggers. One post in particular really struck a nerve with me. This woman went on and on about how bloggers were just out for attention, they made up crap, they bitched and moaned about everything, they just wanted everyone else to follow their own agenda, that only weirdos would throw their life out there for anyone to read, that people who blogged or read blogs were obviously losers with no life and too much time on their hands. To which a few others wrote after her their agreeing sentiments.

And then I got to that blank box at the bottom.

I don't remember exactly what I wrote, but I pretty much directed it to the woman asking the question (although I really want to call out the anti-blogger chick). I told her I had a blog. That I read blogs. That blogging was a part of my life and I enjoyed it. I told her about my blog friends that I've never met in real life (well, except for one) who mailed my newborn gifts and checked up on me after my mom got sick. About the same friends who'll email me if I'm MIA too long. The same ones who cheer for my kids when they do something great and commiserate with me when they don't. How one sent us a goody package just because I was feeling low and another shared her awesome coupons with me just because she knew I'd want them. How all my bloggy friends help me see the humor in a bathroom smeared with sunscreen and indirectly encourage me to snap a picture instead of snapping at them. Then I clicked post and left it.

No one posted after me.

I'm thinking they were all sitting back slack-jawed at my candor. That or they were praying I wasn't being killed by some internet blog stalker.

And then I realized I can't give up my blog. Not only does it serve as a record for the many things my kids do that don't make it into the baby books buried deep in the recesses of my closet hole, but it's a link to my friends. Why would I give that up?

I want to blog more. But I can't promise that I will. The weather's getting hotter so we may be stuck indoors more, so it's a possibility, but I've decided not to sweat it if I don't. So I've lost some readers. Eh. When I started this blog, I started it for me. ME. And my kids. And I know my friends are still reading. And if they aren't. Well, oh well. I'm sure they'll catch me on Facebook. And if you want to see me whip Hope on Bejeweled*, you're welcome to follow me there too.

Oh, and while we're on the subject, I'm trying to comment on everyone's blogs at least once a week, but just know that if you have a lot of sidebar content, especially videos and such, my computer won't load your blog AT ALL for me. I'm apparently low on memory and it just boots me off and shuts my computer down. I'm not telling you to fix your blog for me, just know that I'm reading you in Goo$le Reader until I can get this fixed.

But I don't have these problems with Facebook, well except for Mafia Wars, but I never liked that one anyone.

And just to see how far we've come....one of my first posts.

See!? I was trying to get a decent picture even then.



*Actually Hope is whipping the crap out of me on this game and I seriously think she has some ungodly fast internet connection or she's cheating somehow because there is just NO way. NO WAY to get a score that high.

Grrrr....

Eleven more days of school....eleven more days of school....only eleven. more. days.

The worst part about having a school age kid, for me, isn't getting the school kid out the door. I have a 6:45 riser, he's always ready before me. It isn't even waking the other two kids who would happily sleep until nine if they could. It isn't even listening to their pitiful, tired screams there and back. The worst part is actually taking that kid to school.

THREE years we've been driving back and forth to that school twice a day. I'm actually surprised we've survived. THREE years and NO accidents. It's amazing, really.

I am lucky, of course, that instead of the forty-five minute trip I was taking the last two years, I have a five minute trip. Depending on the stop lights. And the other drivers. Just like last year, the closer you get to the school, the worse it becomes. Only now, since I'm that much closer to the school, it's ALL BAD.

At the beginning of the year, the head mucky-mucks send home a detailed map showing which direction you pull into the driveways/lots, where to drop off your kid, how to get out of the driveways/lot, and where you can and, more importantly, cannot park. They even have a nifty system with two, count them, TWO driveways. One for the students coming from the west side of town and one for the students coming from the east side of town. As explained by the principal in a half hour mandatory presentation, it is to keep things friendly and eliminate confusion for people trying to pull out and into traffic. Last year we came from the west side. We turned left into the first driveway. To leave, we turned right. Simple. Oh, sometimes it backed up and every now and then you'd have some yahoo brush your front end when he defied the rules and turned left OUT of the driveway cutting all of us waiting in the huge line, but it wasn't too bad. This year, we're on the east side. We turn right INTO the driveway. Easy peasy. But that means, we turn LEFT out of the driveway. Have I ever told you how much I HATE, HATE, HATE turning left into traffic? Well, I hate it. And as if that alone weren't bad enough, seems all the west side parents can't read or follow simple directions. Instead of lining up on their side, they now line up on MY side preventing me, or anyone else for that matter, from getting out onto the highway.

Do you get what I'm saying? Because I could draw a map. But then I wouldn't be able to get into the locked study to use the scanner, so what good would it do then? Just imagine poor little Andria and her band of merry children meeting their brush with death every. single. day.

I bought a school sticker and slapped it on my back glass at the beginning of the year. After being basically abused traffically last year by people heading the same place as me, I thought if others saw that sticker they might be a little nicer knowing that, HEY, I know where your finger's going. But, really, it might have been the worst three dollars I've ever spent. Seems like once they know I'm going where they are going, they have to see who will win. Or they think that since we both have stickers that I'm suddenly okay with letting them cut me off so they can get to the door first.

I started leaving fifteen minutes earlier and for a while I avoided a lot of it, but either my clocks are off or the crazy drivers decided to do the same thing because it's gotten worse. There used to be signs, lots of very colorful signs, with arrows and gentle reminders that you "might" be going the wrong way. Jesus loves you, you know. We're praying for all of you. I hope you make it out alive. Better you, than me. Bwhahahaha. Something like that anyway. The signs are gone now. Been gone at least a month. Did some traffic crazy Hummer driver steal them or did the powers that be just give up? Does this mean we don't have to sit through the presentation next year?

I want the signs back. At least then, some people followed them. Now, it's a free for all.

Today I attempted to take a right into the driveway and was completely cut off, almost hit by, a white Ford Explorer who turning left. As I drove into the building area, I almost hit five teenage girls who just walked right out in front of me. Tapped my hood even. Then they stopped and had a conversation with a boy in the middle of road while I waited. And waited. I would say WTF? but this happens daily. Never mind that they don't have to be at school for another hour. Who forgot to teach their kids not to walk into traffic? Ford Explorer lady? When I finally got around the flirtatious quintet, a powder blue Mercedes came from the other direction, realized, I guess, that he was going in the wrong direction, and did a u-turn RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME. I'm wondering at this point if my car camouflages to it's environment, but surely he heard my brakes squeal stopping for him. WTF? So I think I can, I think I can, I think I can make it the few hundred feet to the orange cones where I am, by decree of his holiness upstairs in his office, to stop and let my kid off when a rusty white Miata blew past me, yes passed me, and screeched to a halt about ten feet from where I ended up. All that hurry and my kid still got to the door first. WTF?

The kid. Got to school. Alive. In tact. Another miracle.

You'd think it'd be over by then, mission accomplished, but no. I am instructed to circle through the small parking lot across from the doors and turn right to head back to the driveway. I would do that too if there weren't so many cars parallel parked along the one-car-size piece of curb blocking that entrance into the parking lot. So I do my own u-turn. I have to. I am forbidden to go out the other driveway. That. Would be wrong. And discourteous to all those west end drivers. But, of course, that makes a man in a black Hummer very angry. Angry enough to shoot me the bird. In the Christian school parking lot. But I made it to the east side driveway. We're almost home kids! Well, when maroon mini-van moves out of the turning lane so we can actually GET to the highway.

But wait. What's this? Is maroon mini-van backing up in the turning lane? Did she even see that blue mini-van behind her? Wait, there's a spot, this dude is turning right and there's nothing on the other side, I'm going for it!

I would've made it too, if I didn't have to back up myself to avoid the cell-phone gabbing teenager tearing through the 35 MPH school zone at 60. WTF?

But I did make it into traffic and had an uneventful two minute drive home.

Made it just in time for the Dora to cease the squalling.

But, oh, how I wish the school had a bus.

My Mother's Day Post

With Mother's Day upon us, I should write a sappy post about the joys of motherhood, the undying love, the thrill upon hearing your baby laugh for the first time, seeing your child sing a solo in front of hundreds of people (we'll just pretend).

Maybe next year. Yes. I say that every year.

I'm too tired. I might have swine flu. You know, if I had a fever and couldn't get up and clean up after these little boogers and prepare their every meal and such.

My throat, though. It really hurts.

And that's about it. But it really, really hurts.

Adam is taking care of me, feeling my forehead and declaring me devoid of swine flu every half hour or when each Noggin show ends, whichever comes first.

And singing poop songs like they're going out of style. And yes, I think they're going out of style. I'm sure this isn't what his speech teacher had in mind when she told me to encourage singing.

Anyway, not one to keep my germs to myself, I figured I'd throw together a casserole for our dinner and asked Jacob to keep an eye on Elizabeth while I did so.

I figured it would be pretty easy for him since we now keep all bathrooms, all bedrooms except hers, and the pantry locked to prevent her from getting into something in any of them. Because, let's see, she's eaten cayenne pepper, emptied entire Sam's size bottles of baby soap into the toilet, hidden my engagement ring, ripped pages out of beloved books, and colored every wall, door, and floor with some sort of marker/crayon/pen/pencil. And that's just the past week.

It apparently wasn't that easy.

Me: So Jacob, where's Elizabeth?
Jacob: I don't know.
Me: Weren't you watching her?
Jacob: Yes.
Me: So where is she?
Jacob: (Eyes never leaving the riveting episode of Little Bear that he was SOOOO totally not watching) I don't know.

Yes. That's what I get for expecting an EIGHT year old to watch a TWO year old. But my throat hurts and I'm not thinking clearly, so sue me.

But, YAY! I found her:






Elizabeth: "So pitty"
Me: "OMG"
Elizabeth: "kiss" (because she so knows how to work it, I'm thinking it's a girl thing)
Me: "OMG"
Elizabeth: "I pitty"
Me: "JACOB!!!! Bring me my camera right now! Ow, my throat hurts"

Guess who forgot to lock her bedroom door?

My throat hurts. I forget things.

I would say something funny about how the terrible twos are upon us, but her vandalism and thieving has been going on since she could pull up so I think it's just an Elizabeth thing. I'd say she's the worst of the bunch, but I vaguely remember another little monkey doing almost the same thing at almost the same age.

For Mother's Day I'd like some Goo Gone to clean my tub. Some more sunscreen. Some kind of sore throat spray. And maybe a Valium.

Gold Star

Ninety-six verses. Nine scriptures. Fifteen minutes standing in front of the class reciting from memory. Completed eight days ahead of schedule.

Yay Jacob!

And what a relief for Mommy to have it over and done with. Whew.

Monkey See....

When Adam saw that Jacob was singing on the blog, he wanted to do it too....

He's a character, that's for sure.

So Sweet It Made My Eyes Water

We're busy cramming for Gold Star this week, but until I can sit down and give you the lowdown.....


This was the rehearsal. Imagine him dressed as a cowboy. Didn't get any video of the real thing because it was apparently too hard to wrestle the little kids and tape at the same time. Hmmmm, go figure.

May 1

May 1, 2009.

Remember this day.

It will be the day my son recalls to his future therapists.

Tonight my son will sing his solos in front of the entire first and second grade, their parents and family, the teachers and staff, his grandparents, his dad, and his siblings.

But not his mom.

Because his mom will be rocking out with The Dave Matthews Band at the exact same time of the first/second grade musical.

I guess this takes me out of the running for Mother of the Year.

The teacher was very sympathetic when I told her I wouldn't be there and arranged for DMB fan friends and me to attend the big rehearsal this afternoon when we really should be on the road to beat the traffic so we can tailgate and get our drink on, but you should've seen her face when I truthfully told her where I'd be instead of front row center on musical night. It's a Christian school. How could I lie?

So in the end, I get to see both.

And I'm guaranteed a front row seat this way.

But I still feel guilty.

I mean, what mom would CHOOSE to miss her kid's independent musical debut?

I do. What does that say about me? Do I not care about my kid? What is wrong with me?

Seeing May 1 on the calendar for the past three months has haunted me. That little square filled to capacity with too many activities. I've wanted to forget about it. It was too far away. Gotta do Easter first. Then vacation. But here it is. It's May 1 today. And I need it to hurry up and be over. Quit mocking me, May 1. So I'm not Mother of the Year. Maybe my kid WILL end up in therapy. Maybe he will be sad I'm not there. Maybe most likely the snooty mamas will have something to talk about next week at their coffee counter. Maybe I will spend the rest of my Christmas money on Star Wars Legos to make myself feel better, but it's done. It's planned. My friend's are coming. And they're bringing beer.

Shove off May 1.

There's No Place Like Home

One of the reasons we chose Arkansas as our first full-family vacation destination was because we thought it would cheaper than the mousy alternative. And it was. Four days and three nights of the Natural State bliss for less than five hundred bucks. Yes, five hundred bucks. We also went there to introduce our little two to family they've never met and teach Jacob a little about his heritage.

The last time I was there was almost five years ago, the summer of 2004. I was just barely pregnant with Adam and we drove up to celebrate my aunt and uncle's 60th wedding anniversary. We didn't stay long, something we've long forgotten was so urgent we even missed my aunt's famous fresh corn, chicken fried steak, and homemade peach cobbler. I promised I'd come back for more at Thanksgiving. She died November 10 of that year. I miss my aunt. And I miss her corn.

Every year I'd send my uncle a card on his birthday with a note stating we'd try to come visit this year. And five years later, we finally did it. We all enjoyed visiting with my mom's side of the family, although Jacob is a tad bummed that marrying his third cousin would be frowned upon, but I'll write more (and post pictures) of that later.

Sixty miles away from them is my father's side of the family. Meet my grandparents:



Oh, how I wish my kids could've met them. You know, for real and in person.

But this was the best I could do. This and a quick swing through their old home. The home they lived in for sixty some years. The house my grandfather built with his own two hands. The house they left on March 4, 1998 when my dad took my grandpa to the hospital after he'd called with slurred speech knowing he was having a stroke never realizing they'd never see it again. The house we vacationed at two weeks every summer. The one house no one moved away from.



Hurricane Ike blew down the hundred year old oak tree blocking the path. Poison Ivy lined what used to be the sidewalk. But Mamaw's white irises and azalea bushes were blooming all around like a little bit of her spirit was still there caring for them.

I ambled my way to the porch with Jacob on my heels to get a glimpse through the window figuring that was the best I could get. Sure enough, the door was locked, but the window was wide open. So of course, I climbed right in.

I am kinda wishing I hadn't now.

My dad's sister and her kids own that house now. Apparently they've been looking for something.

I could barely move in that house for the holes in the floor. There was no longer a ceiling, just exposed rafters. The fireplace was missing. My mamaw's unde*gar*ents were in a pile on the overturned couch. A cat had peed on them. Their favorite picture of J*sus was moldy and thrown upside down near one of the floor holes. The 1938 refrigerator that was still running the day they left was still there though. With all kinds of food in it. 1998 food. Really.

I took no pictures of the inside because I didn't want anyone ever seeing it. Now, though, I'm wishing I had at least one just so you, my internetz, could see just how horrific it was. Is. Mamaw lived three months after Grandpa died. She lived with my parents because he took care of her; she couldn't live alone and my parents couldn't live in Arkansas. Every. Single. Day. All she asked was to go home. She wanted to take care of her flowers, her squirrels, her birds, her kitchen. She never did get to do it again. We had no idea how long she'd live, but if we'd known it would've only been three months, someone would've cared for her there. Shoot,I would've cared for her there. I hope, though, she has no idea up in heaven how bad her earthly home has become.

The neighbor said my cousins were "renovating" the house but one of them got a new job and couldn't make it out as much. Like, at all in the past three years. He, himself, had to hire someone to cut a portion of that Ike tree down just so he could get to his house. I don't think they ever had any intention of doing anything admirable with that house. They all thought my grandparents were made of money and would hit them up for car payments and vacation money. They didn't have much, but if they came asking, they gave what they could. I figure my cousins were looking for money, mining for their fortune. If they found anything, I don't know. I do know that the $2,000 that was left after paying for Mamaw's funeral was packed in the little black purse she carried everywhere. And that purse was buried with her. Maybe I should delete that in case my cousin's ever read this. I wouldn't put it past them to do a little grave-robbing.

When we'd go visit, Grandpa would always have a piece of quartz for my sister and me. A big pretty piece he'd dug out near the lake or in the mountain behind their house. We always looked forward to our new "diamonds".

My cousins left all the last quartz Grandpa dug those last months of his life right out on the front porch. Walked right past it. Left it for anyone to take.

Those were the only things I wanted. And now I have them. I hope my kids will love them and appreciate how hard their great-grandpa worked for them one day.

That house probably won't stand much longer, but I hope they'll be able to take their kids to see the flowers. I have a feeling they'll last.

And We're Off....

Well, after a lot of rescheduling, we finally got organized and will be heading out on our fancy Arkansas vacation tonight. Yee-haw! There's a diamond out there with my name on it. The weather's supposed to be beautiful so hopefully no tornadoes this time. So, Jacob will miss three days of school and it'll take eight hours to get there. We'll have fun if it kills us!

But until next week, some pictures to show what we've been doing with ourselves....






This awesome neighborhood is really throwing a wrench into my blogging.

Happy Birthday Elizabeth!

How can it be you are TWO today?

How did I live so long without you?

MWAH!

I love you, Goose.

Don't grow up too fast.

Mysterious Indeed

When I was growing up, there was a pretty stained glass piece hanging in our kitchen. It said, "The Lord Works in Mysterious Ways". Since my five year old mind determined mysterious to mean creepy and scary thanks to Scooby and his Mystery Machine, this could probably explain my fear of church at that age.

Now, of course, I understand the meaning behind it and that bright and sunny glass was the first thing that came to my mind when I read this.

Maybe it's a good thing those tests were last week after all, since we would've been right about there, right about then.

Of course, that also meant some other dude found our diamond, but at least we're safe, right?

Beautiful Holiday Photos

This Wouldn't Have Happened When I Was Organized

When Jacob was still a wee baby, we began having a bit of money moved from the husband's paycheck and into a vacation fund. Since our families deprived us both of quality family fun, we wanted to be sure our own kids didn't suffer the same fate and decided we'd take a cool vacation every year to far off places teaching our kids the cultural diversities of our world while hopefully basking in the sun and sand on a tropical isle at some point.

So far we've been to Pensacola. You know, where my sister lives. They have an awesome Krispy Kreme. And Chuck E. Cheese. Oh, and their white sand beaches are beautiful. At least they were that split second we got to see them before three year old Jacob ran screaming into the street.

Although my husband earns six weeks of vacation time a year, he never uses it because they never let him. There's always some meeting, some disaster, somebody quit and he has to cover for them, and he's got to be there. Fourteen hours a day, almost every day. When the year changed and he saw another three weeks of time slip from his hands, he decided THIS was the year for our big family vacation. So on New Year's Day we went googling for our vacation. Disney? Hawaii? Colorado? The Champs Elysee in Paris? NO. I mean, why would we go to those places when we are so. close. to Arkansas. Seriously. We're going to Arkansas for our vacation. And it was my idea. I figured we'd start small since we've never tried to take all three of them any farther than the zoo and that required some alcohol upon our return home. Plus, there's a diamond mine so what better place to take three dirt diggers? And maybe we'll get lucky and find our fortune. Or we can just hang out with my uncle and cousins for a few days.

It took some rearranging but we finally found a time we could go where the kid wouldn't miss too many days of school, the weather wouldn't be oppressingly hot, and someone would be around to watch our animals. And then the husband put in his dates. April 8, 9, and 10. My family even planned a mini little reunion for us. What fun!

Imagine my surprise when I checked my kids backpack Friday evening and found a note from the principal reminding everyone about the achievement tests on April 7, 8, and 9. Everyone was required to be there and would only be excused with a doctor's note. In other words, your kid better be dying if he doesn't show up to school.

WTF?

I checked the kid's school calendar. Twice. There were no squares or brackets on any of those dates indicating something. Only a circle on Good Friday because it's a holiday meaning to me, great time for a vacation! I did not check the fine print at the bottom of the page that said when the achievement tests would be. In fact, I pretty much forgot there were achievement tests.

So today, the first day of our vacation, I'm watching Dora and Diego like every other day of my life. No IHOP on the drive over. No tasty BBQ for lunch. No dirty kids digging for treasure. No Easter Egg hunt with cousins I haven't seen since our own Easter egg hunts. But Dora found Boots' trusty old shoes. So Yay!

And if that didn't assure you I am a complete idiot....

I decided to go see Dave Matthews with a couple of friends on May 1. We've already reserved our fancy hotel room and purchased our tickets. Everyone's really excited about it. And I was too, until a note came home reminding us about the second grade musical. On May 1. Really? But there was NO. SQUARE! Because, yes, it was in the fine print at the bottom of the calendar. Just like the testing. Then I got to thinking about the last two musicals and how my kid just kinda stood there. Oh, sometimes he'd sing, but way in the back with some tall kid standing in front of him. And then I remembered how my husband missed one and the kid survived, so surely he would again. Game on!

And then a couple of weeks ago I got another note that let me know my kid has a solo in the musical. And then a couple days after that, another note stating he now has TWO solos. Of course, he does. My kid who hates music class just suddenly auditions for a part. A huge part. What happened to hiding in the back? Man.

So far, I'm still going to the concert. I paid a lot of money for the tickets and my friends don't know each other so that would be awkward to just let them go by themselves. My kid swears he doesn't care if I'm not there, but I do. Will I even be able to have a good time at my own concert knowing my kid is at his without me? What mother misses her kid's musical???

The one time I try to get away by myself. Maybe it's a sign.

Sure could use a vacation about now.

My Living Doll

When I was a little girl, I had tons of baby dolls and I loved them all. My favorite ones, though, were the ones with hair. Long, soft, luxurious hair. I even had, not one, but three whose hair could be pulled out of a hole in her head for even more hair.

I made sure my babies were changed and dressed beautifully every day in the tiny, bitty doll clothes my mother sewed for me. Each doll had it's own wardrobe. There were many days I'd come home from school to find my mom had made a new one. Or two. Did I ever really appreciate it then? I sure do now because, bwahahaha, I can't even sew for my own daughter, much less her dolls. My mom. She rocked.

Anywho, I really liked dressing my dolls. But what I loved was fixing their hair.

My dolls were excellently coiffed. Some had braids, some had ponytails, some just had long, brushed, shiny locks, and some had crazy, wild, done-up-in-some-weird way hair because they were dolls. They didn't care.

They were also very, very still.

My daughter. Not so much.

And her hair. I wouldn't really use long and luxurious to describe it. Soft works though.

When I took my first born son at twelve months for his first haircut I was bummed. Oh sure, he turned into a toddler with that haircut and that was sad, but I was bummed because I had no hair to play with. There was no chance of allowing his hair to grow and style if I wanted others to be sure he was a boy. Ditto second born son. I keep their hair combed, but that's just it. That's all there is to do with them. A quick swipe with the comb, maybe some spray to make the cowlicks lie down and that's that. No. Fun. At all.

But then I had the girl. She wasn't a full five minutes old before my nurse was giving me the short version of Girly-girl Hair-dos for Dummies and I was dreaming of bows and barrettes and I even think I may have told my husband in my morphine-induced euphoria to go RIGHT. THEN to buy some pretty pink bows, but not the big huge bows you strap around the baby's head like some sort of elastic vise because no daughter of mine would wear one of those horrible things.

We all know how that turned out.

Anyway.

I looked forward to girly hair fun since my daughter exited the womb. Pretty much.

But I wasn't expecting this.

My daughter's hair is not thick and lustrous. There's no way in the world a fish tail braid is ever going to stay her thin, barely-there hair. Shoot, I can barely keep a barrette in it.

But when I noticed it was getting long enough to pull through my hands, I found some tiny elastics and figured I'd be all up in the ponytail do. Easy-peasy.

Some say my daughter is quite a doll. I would have to disagree. She moves. And turns her head. And screams. And protests. And what should've been a twenty second job turned into two minute torture. My dolls never behaved this way.

But I did it. And even through the sweat and gritted teeth, I loved it.

The girl. Not quite.




Turns out she can remove tightly wound bands as well as she can bows.

But each day after I dress her in something beautiful from her well-stocked closet, I brush her hair and try it again. And it is fun. Much more challenging than I remembered, but tons of fun. More fun than I ever imagined because not once did any of those lovely-haired dollies turn around and give me a big kiss when I was done.

The Bluebonnets are Beautiful, but They Give Me Such a Headache

It's March. In Texas. You know what that means.

It's bluebonnet season.

Yeah. Every family in the state now has new wonderful photos of their children amongst the beauty that is the Texas state flower.

Except us.

Now everybody just sit right here and look at the camera. I am holding the camera. It's not in the ground. Sit down Elizabeth. SIT. DOWN.



SIT. DOWN. COME. BACK. Can somebody get the girl?



What I meant was just plop her right on down there and make her stay there. I really just wanted a picture of the children but whatever. Another picture where it appears they have no mama. Or personality.



Okay. Forget the girl. Go ahead and frolic girl. We'll get good pictures of your brothers. That's right. We don't need you.



What's with you people? I. Am holding the camera. You. Are to look at me. These are the bluebonnets! You are Texans. You are required by law to love them and look good in them!



*Sigh*

Okay, okay. I'll take just one of each of you. How hard can that be? This will work. Yeah. Sure.



Seriously?



Wait! Elizabeth is loving the flowers. Listen to her talking about the pitty powers. Move out of my way boys!



No, Sister! Stay. Pitty Powers. Grrrrr....



Here. Just take my picture. I need a new Facebook profile. Wait. Maybe my lovely daughter will sit with me. Here, baby, baby. Really? You only took one and it's a good one? I can't wait to see it.

That? Is a good one? We are so not on the same page with this dude.



Okay. I've figured out how to finally get a good picture.



It'll look wonderful on my mantle.

Spring Break in Pictures

HAHAHA! April Fools! Early.

There aren't any pictures because I forgot my camera. Both cameras. And of course my kids posed and smiled and frolicked in the flowers because I had. no. camera. All three of my kids sitting by a campfire with little marshmallow sticks in their hands with their arms around each other grinning ear to ear. No picture. My boys walking down the street swinging their little sister between them with all the uproarious laughter. No video. Of course.

Man, spring break flew by in a flash.

It's Wednesday and I'm still trying to ease us back into our regularly scheduled programming.

The littles would sleep until nine each morning if we didn't have to drive the big kid to school and last week they did just that. They so enjoyed their extra couple of hours of sugar-plum slumber last week (and their mommy did too). They were pleasant (mostly) all day and getting them to sleep at night was never a problem. Now that we're back to the old, early morning grind, I have to wake them at 7:30. They scream all the way to the car. They are grumpy almost all morning. And then they fall asleep in the car as soon as I pull out of the driveway to pick their brother up at school. Oh, they are pretty pleasant then, after that short snooze, but their second wind keeps them running like the Energizer bunny until well after ten each night. It's enough to make me consider homeschooling.

Jacob hadn't gotten a demerit for almost a month and now has had at least one each day since he's been back. He was pushed out of a swing by his usual bully boy this week and instead of slinking away, he faced him and told him to stop. When the kid said no, Jacob raised his hand to smack him. Of course the teacher only saw that part. Jacob missed the rest of recess while bully boy played the rest of the time mocking him as he'd run by. I don't condone violence and am appalled that my child would try to strike another, but at the same time, I am glad he stood up for himself. I mean, if no one else is going to help him, he has to help himself. We're having a teacher conference on Friday. I'll let you know how that goes.

It may take me all week to get settled back in from our little vacation. I have tons of things I want to blog about, but I can't put coherent thoughts together at the moment. I feel like I'm developing ADD myself.....oh, is that Olivia? Cute little pig in clothes. Snort. I love Olivia, but I miss Blue. What happened to Blue? Or Bob the Builder? Or the Rubberdubbers? I'd take any of those over Yo Gabba Gabba and that creepy Wubbzy any day.

See.

Maybe next week, I'll be able to think straight.