apples and trees

No one can convince me that the procrastination gene isn't dominant. Two of my kids have inherited it and it drives me absolutely out of my mind. It has made me crazy for twenty plus years, and I don't see it changing anytime in my future. For what it's worth, I'd like to go on record that they didn't get it from me. I'm anal. You can't be anal and a procrastinator at the same time. It's impossible.


We've spent the evening getting Gumby ready for an all-day school competition tomorrow. Until late afternoon I was under the impression that he was completely ready for it, but six hours, feverish running around and the decimation of a brand new $30 printer cartridge later, I stand corrected.


At one point I looked at him and said, "You do realize, don't you, that you don't have to leave everything until the last minute, right? You really can do things ahead of time. And it makes your life a lot easier. Honest."


I don't think he's convinced. Why am I not surprised?

giving thanks

Ah, yes. Thanksgiving. It's tomorrow, right?


Like I'd forget. For some reason Thanksgiving is a favorite holiday around here, and not just because we all eat like garbage scows. I'm honestly not sure what the big appeal is, but since it's so hard to get a majority on anything in this house, I'll take it no matter what. It may be my last one until next Thanksgiving.



The food will be what it always is - pretty traditional stuff. Surfer Dude and I will do a bunch of stuff ahead of time today - just like we always do. I did all of my shopping last week to avoid getting caught in horrendous grocery lines, so I've got a second wind for the cooking. We're brining the turkey this year for the first time - cross your fingers. And we've got some friends coming over for dinner - which will make the day especially nice.


The elephant in the room, of course, is that this is our first post-divorce holiday. But in the continuing amiability that is my divorce, we've invited the FX to come and eat with us. This was very important to Gumby and Surfer Dude, so it's what we're doing. I've said all along that if we could get the kids through this relatively unscathed, then it would be very possible to have a happy ending. I'm sure it'll get weird, but what the hell. It can't get much weirder than the rest of the year has been.


One thing I think we'll need to do differently is going around the table and having everyone say one thing they're thankful for. That will probably be better avoided this year, because it could get pretty sticky. I'll say mine mentally, though. Because I know exactly what I'm grateful for this Thanksgiving.


I just don't think it would go over too well.

my kid??

Gumby was trying to sell me on a new computer game.


"Come on, Mom," he pleaded. "You get to breed your own creatures and send them out into the world."


"I've already done that," I replied. "Three times. Why would I want to pay to do it again?"


"Because this time you could do it right," he shot back.


I couldn't help it. I cracked up laughing.


"Geez, Mom", he continued. "You think you're the only one in the family with comedic timing?"


Genetics are good, right?

locusts

My mother made a pot roast for dinner tonight. A four pound pot roast cooked in the dutch oven on top of the stove, surrounded by whole potatoes, carrot pieces and an ocean of beef gravy. I made a chicken and gnochi stew with shitake mushrooms, carrots and broccoli. For Gumby, I made the chicken stew with fake chicken, hold the mushrooms. The idea was that we would have food for lunches and dinner for the next couple of potential hell days. The reality was different.


Sasquatch and Surfer Dude polished off an entire four pound pot roast in about ten minutes. My mother, who claimed she wasn't hungry and wanted to wait a while, never had a chance. I hear a lot of complaints that I never make roasts for them to destroy, and this was why. My locusts had arrived. The two of them hoarded beef for lunches tomorrow, while at the same time pointing fingers as to who had eaten the most food for dinner. It was ugly.


As soon as I realized what happened, I made the boys pony up their lunch beef for their poor starved Nana. She declined, half incredulous and half gratified at the power of grandma food. I wasn't incredulous or gratified. I just kept walking around saying, "It was a four pound pot roast. Four pounds." This is why I put mushrooms in everything I want to eat. Locusts don't like mushrooms. At least my locusts don't. It doesn't taste so good when it's brownies I'm hoarding, but at least I know they'll be left alone.


My mom is now eating a bowl of my chicken and mushroom stew, and, fueled by a little pre-debate wine, looks up at me periodically and says, "They really ate the whole thing?"


I raise my own glass as I nod that yes, they did indeed eat the whole beefy thing.


Thank god for shitake mushrooms. I won't starve this week.

the results show: part one

Gumby's lab tests came back and they're all fine. The doctor wasn't in to "interpret" them for me, but I kind of leaned on the on-call nurse to give me the numbers anyway. I can interpret them pretty well on my own. He only had one test that was out of the "normal" range and it was just barely over the line. I asked one of our docs what that could mean and he said it could mean that I should forget about it, because it didn't mean anything. You've gotta love ER docs. They've got the whole bedside manner thing down. So tomorrow I'll chat with Gumby's doctor and take it from there. The stomach aches? Gone. The fear from my little guy regarding the stomach aches? Quite present, thank you. Is there a lab test for anxiety?



I had thought that switching my schedule was a done deal, but there was a snag and I'm off today after all. Of course, this means I have to work Friday and so will have to leave my dog at the vets overnight. I almost have myself convinced - since there's nothing I can do about it - that he'll be better off anyway. If he's in pain they can give him something for it. The FX (my new name for the Film Geek, please note the movie reference) volunteered to pick him up, but he'd still be at home alone for several hours. On the subject of the FX, I do have to say that when he heard about the surgery the first thing he did was get on the floor and hug the dog. And the second thing he did was say that he was paying for half of the surgery. Something about doggie support. I certainly didn't expect him to do that, but I sure will take him up on it.



There's not really much more news. Things are still kind of blah, although Gumby's test results lightened my mood enormously. There's a big storm moving in and I have all of my bedroom windows open and a big fuzzy chenille blanket to wrap up in while it pours. Surely we're too far north to be feeling any trace of Gustav, but our temperature is supposed to go from mid-80's today to low 60's Thursday, with lots of rain in the forecast. And boy, is the wind blowing. Something tells me I'm going to sleep well tonight. And I'm going to start right now.



As always...



Thanks for listening to me. And for sending all the good wishes our way. You all deserve medals.

sleepover central

All three of my boys are having sleepovers tonight. Sasquatch is somewhere else and the other two (and their friends) are here. I have to confess that I'm really ungodly tired of sleepovers. They're like a twelve hour long fight/bitch session/"I'm telling"/"why is my friend hanging out with him?"/"he knows I hate that game"/blah/ blah/ blah.


Somehow the message has been planted that a weekend without some sort of a sleepover isn't much of a weekend. (Something tells me that if I showed up with my own "sleepover friend", my kids wouldn't think it was necessary in the least. But I digress).


Gumby's friend is one who has been here many times and we all know well. Surfer Dude's friend, on the other hand, isn't. They've been in class together for a year, but haven't really socialized much before now. I couldn't pick the parents out of a line-up, and if they know me I'm not aware of it. And yet they let him come over and spend the night without any kind of parental connection being made. I kept waiting for them to call and give me the third degree - which I most certainly would have done, just as soon as I finished calling all the other parents I knew for references.


But no. When I got home from work they had all just gotten here. When I picked up my phone messages, there was a message from the new kid's mom saying that he had been supposed to call her when he got here and she wasn't even sure she had the right number. I called her back and said he was here, and was she sure she was okay with this and did she want to talk to him? And she just said oh, no, that's fine...and hung up.


Am I hopelessly anal retentive, or is this just not right?

worry blogs follow up

So Gumby had his blood drawn and we'll get the results on Tuesday. Coincidentally, he's felt great all day, with not a single complaint of stomach pain. He was a real trooper at the lab, although it was not without its drama. He and I had gone over the process in detail on the drive in, and he seemed relatively calm. But when we got there, the patient before us was an autistic teenage girl who screamed and howled and wept during her draw. It was awful to listen to, and Gumby leaned toward me with a wry smile to say, "Wow, Mom. This is encouraging." The lab tech and I both told him that that had been a pretty extreme reaction, but what really made his day was when they were done and she said, "You did really well. Your dad has to lie down every time we take his blood." Lord help his father. I think the kid is going to have a lot of fun with that.


My sweet dog also had his blood drawn and we'll get the results tomorrow. What's wrong with this picture? How can a vet get labs back faster than a family practice doc? Coincidentally, he's also felt great all day, even better after he ate the leftover meat loaf that Surfer Dude packed for him to have as a treat after the vet. He pointedly spit out the "cookie" the vet gave him, but he snarfed up the meatloaf with no hesitation.


The bottom line is that he'll be having surgery next Friday. She's just not sure what it is, and we went over the whole needle biopsy vs. just getting the SOB out choice and I went for the surgery. She took xrays and whatever it is is not involving the bone at all and it seems to be encapsulated. (It's on the joint on his front paw that would correspond with our wrist). She thinks it's very encouraging that it's not in the bone, but she still can't say with any certainty what it is (or isn't). So...it's gotta go. There will be a lot of ramen noodles eaten in my house this month.


And now...we wait....


Sigh.

worry blogs

Anyone who has been reading this blog for any length of time knows that I'm a worrier. World class, even. My grandmother, who had no room to talk, said that I was so bad that I'd worry even when there was nothing obvious to worry about, in the fleeting chance that I was missing something. I'd like to think that as I've gotten older, I've gotten better, but it's something I fight daily. It's a hell of a way to live, and I try as hard as I can to not let it get me down.


But today it's kind of getting to me. And rather than go to sleep and toss and turn, I thought I'd use this post as a kind of world wide web worry beads. You know, take each piece out, examine it...and hopefully let it rest. At least until there's something concrete to worry about.


Bead One: Gumby has been complaining about his stomach for weeks. As much as I honestly chalk it up to anxiety, I took him into the doctors today for a check-up. He, of course, ordered lab work to be done Thursday, in addition to trying him on a med to see if it helps. For someone who personally draws labs all day long, you'd think I wouldn't be so freaked out about this, but when it's my kids I just can't hang. I'm always amazed at people who stay calm and collected when something is going on with their kids, because, let me tell you...that's not me. Well, to their face I'm calm, but I'm like a big bowl of mush inside.

And because of the Labor Day holiday and the fact that this doctor has to send all of his labs out, it will be Tuesday before we get the results. If I was at work I'd have the results on my computer screen fifteen minutes after I drew the blood. I don't like it much when people come in because they're too impatient to wait to see their own primary doctor...but I sure do understand it.


Bead Two: Ninety minutes after I take Gumby for the blood test (across town), I have to be back in almost exactly the same spot to take Isaiah (The most perfect dog in the universe) to the vet to have the lump on his foot looked at. I had my hair cut even more today and when I was there my friend the hairdresser was telling me that her dog was just diagnosed with a seemingly harmless lump on his head, and it turned out to be cancer and there's nothing they can do. Our vet, who is normally scrupulously on top of things, has her own hands full with a pregnancy that went horribly wrong last month. Her twins died shortly after they were born, and she is understandably distracted. I love this woman, but I honestly think she should take a little time for herself, a little time to not have to be "on". So I'm worried both that something is wrong and also that if there is it might be missed. No matter what they tell me tomorrow - I'm going to worry.


Bead Three: I'm finally (for the first time since the separation) starting to worry about money. It's not that I'm short - yet - it's just that I feel like an ATM lately. One kid playing violin. Ka-ching. One kid playing baritone. Ka-ching. One kid taking photography. Ka-ching. Drama classes, soccer, choir, bus passes, lunch cards, fixing broken windows, heartguard for the dogs, a toilet that has water running constantly, the prospect of a cold (and expensive winter), the fear of large vet bills, and so on and so on. I'm being so careful about spending - and so quick to pick up overtime - that I should be okay. The child support payment is always on time - and a nice sum (soon to go up when the divorce is actually final). My ex is always willing to split kid fees, even on top of the child support. But still...


Bead Four: Closely related to Bead One. Sasquatch was about the same age as Gumby when he had a very bad year in terms of anxiety, misdiagnosed Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and just generalized psychological angst. I dragged the kid from one psychiatrist to another for a full year, and it was truly awful. I almost had to drop out of nursing school with eight weeks left to go. It was that bad. At the same age I had the same kind of OCD-like behavior - and it was really bad for about a year. I worry so much about Gumby along this same vein. He's just started Junior High, he is the closest of the three kids to his dad, his hormones are kicking in, he's starting to do little tiny OCD things...and he plays his cards very close to his chest. I don't want him to have to go through this. I know it's out of my hands, but I don't have to like it.


Okay. That feels a little better. I'm glad I got that out. I need to not borrow trouble and just wait and see what tomorrow brings. Maybe it will be good things instead of the awful things running through my head.


Maybe I will sleep tonight after all.

mindfulness

I plopped down on my bed, picked up my laptop, and got ready to pull a post out of my, uh, behind. This whole work twelve hours and then try to be creative thing has got to go. It just doesn't work so well, as much as I might want to think it does. My blogger dashboard had barely flickered on the screen when Gumby crawled in next to me and said,


"Can we snuggle?"


Well duh. Of course we can. My precious middlest kid, the boy who has had his finger on my heart since the day he was born, the one spot of calm in my existence...snuggle away. Name your time...I'll be there.



He laid down and I curled up around him. My mind was racing, as usual. What to post? Should I take those extra hours at work tomorrow? Did the dogs need to go outside? Is the bathroom floor sinking even more than usual? Have I gotten all the mice? Why am I not getting to the gym? Can you let out underwear? And so on and so on and so on....



It's never ending.


But then I thought about something I'm trying to work on. Mindfulness. Making sure that you appreciate and savor every moment of your life. Being in the "now" instead of the past or the later. Appreciating what you have and making the effort to wring every drop of joy out of the smallest things.


And so I did. I curled up against his back and held him for all I was worth. I spooned my own kid. He rested his head on my shoulder and I brushed his hair off of his face. I focused totally on the moment. The rise and fall of his chest. The fine dew of sweat on his lip. The sweet feeling of his face on my arm. The way his body, drunk with sleep, grew heavier and heavier against me, reminiscent of when he was a baby and would nurse until he would fall back in glutted delight. I held my boy, the one who has such a difficult position in the family - the middle - and thought once again of how much I absolutely adore this particular child. My middlest, my peacemaker. I remember clearly when he was born, and I held him and I said


You may not always have the biggest house on the block, or the biggest car, but we're going to give you the best life ever. It's all going to be okay. You're going to have a good life. Because we love you silly.


I spend a lot of time running in mental circles. My brain never seems to shut down, even when it clearly should. But as I lay there - in the moment - kissing my sleeping child, I was really grateful for...


the now.

slap fights

This past week won't be going on any Top Ten lists whenever I finally look back at my life and pick my favorite memories. My Saturday evening wine/chocolate/Hugh trifecta failed to deliver, much to my chagrin. Insult was added to injury when we ended up watching Michael Clayton instead and even George Clooney couldn't help. Now I'm the first to admit that they lit him very badly in this film but still. George and Hugh both? That's bad.


So on Sunday I shifted into Plan B - the fabulous bells and whistles bath. Lovely bath salts and oils, a moisturizing mask on my face, my favorite incense burning, a huge cup of tea - the works. This would relax me, damn it. I was going to insist on it. As the tub filled I took deep breaths and thought calming things. I was repeating my mantra - this too shall pass - when I heard a horrible thump from the living room. And again. I ran out of the bathroom, soothing carrot mask beginning to work its magic on my face, to see what the commotion was.


It didn't take long. As soon as I hit the dining room I took in the sight of Sasquatch and the Red Headed Step-Child rolling around on the floor, grunting and making inarticulate noises. The RHSC had a huge hunk of SQ's hair clutched in his hand and SQ was swinging blindly at the RHSC's head. Gumby and Surfer Dude were watching transfixed from the living room. This was a new one.


Channeling my inner mommy superhero, I grabbed them each by the collar and dragged them apart, shrieking at the top of my lungs the entire time. (I'm more used to dog fights and was wishing I had a water hose). Bear in mind that SQ is 6'1 and RHSC has a good three inches on him. No sooner did I start getting the story (a classic case of he said/she said) than SQ picked up a frickin' chair and swung it toward the RHSC's head. I deflected it with my arm (ouch) and proceeded to quietly go insane on him. Okay. Maybe not so quietly. The thumping I had heard was the two of them brawling on the stairs on the way down, knocking out spindles as they descended. I have a glass front door at the very bottom of the stairs. I was not amused.


I sent SQ to his room and drove the RHSC home. I wanted to call Laurie/Elly Mae on the way to give her a heads up on why I was bringing her son home in a battered state, but he was in the car so I couldn't. And even though we have a pact to treat each of these boys as if they are our very own, I somehow thought that looking like I had beaten him senseless was taking it a step too far.


I dropped him off and he ran upstairs in tears. I came home to find Sasquatch upstairs in tears. When I realized I still had the carrot mask on my face I wanted to hide upstairs in tears. And my bath water had gotten cold. Damn. The scent of soothing incense was in the air but I wasn't feeling the love at that point.


The reaction from people close to the boy brawlers was interesting. This was certainly a first. Our buddy Stacey, who knows them both far too well, said she imagined it would have been like a girlie-girl slap fight. (We might have taken this the wrong way, but we all knew that her son would have been the third girl in the ring). Paternal units were nonplussed. (And conveniently not home at the time).


But the exclamation point on the whole episode was provided by Gumby. As I walked back in the door from taking the RHSC home, Gumby stretched out on the sofa, grinned at me and said


Mom, you're a betting woman. If you hadn't pulled them apart who do you think would have won?


I took my bath later. Strike three.

kryptonite

My two younger kids take a lunch to school every day. It's not that they can't get a hot meal in the cafeteria, but they turn their noses up at the school food. To tell the truth I don't blame them a bit. The nutritional info is horrifying and all the food looks like it's been sitting under a heat lamp since the Fourth of July.


So every day we pack up their lunchboxes and send them on their way. I'm lucky in that all of my kids love leftovers, so what we normally do is fill a thermos with (planned) leftovers from dinner the night before. They get a hot lunch, I know they're getting decent food (that they'll actually eat) and everyone is happy.


Well, almost everyone.


Right before school started in the Fall I went to Target and bought them each a super duper thermos that cost a stinking fortune (for a thermos anyway). The neat trick of this thermos is that you nuke it for a minute when you put the food in and it keeps everything nice and hot until lunchtime. When I clean up after dinner at night I fill them up and pop them in the fridge. The next morning I take the lid off, toss it in the microwave and then pack it into a lunchbox.


We've had some problems with the kids being able to get the lids off when they go to eat. They've complained several times and I've always written it off as them giving me a hard time. It's not like I'm screwing the lid on that tight. I just want it to stay on and not drip food all over the place. I did kind of think that maybe the fact that the lid went on to food that was hot could have been the problem. But like I said, I didn't think there really was a problem - besides kids pulling my chain.


Today as we were walking out of school one of the teachers started laughing when she saw me and asked the boys if they'd told me about the day's events. Evidently it had been a dual thermal mishap day and neither one could get them open. They handed them off to teachers, who were also thwarted. In the end, the school janitor had to take both of them to his workroom and put each thermos into a vise to get it opened. When he entered the cafeteria - victorious - both kid's tables applauded.


As we walked to the car Surfer Dude told me that none of the kids in his class believed that his mom was so strong that she could shut the lid on an unopenable thermos. Gumby chimed in that I didn't even need a car to pick them up, and that his friends all assumed I could just leap over buildings to cross the couple of blocks to the school.


Maybe I let that Superwoman label go too soon.

the mock turtle

Saturday afternoon we did something we've never done before. We went and watched Gumby perform in his very first play - Alice in Wonderland - at our local Art Center. It was pretty cute and, even though he had a rough bout of stage fright beforehand, he did really well. It's almost enough to make me post pictures of it. Or, worse for all of you, video.


I'd be lying if I said I wasn't thrilled that one of my kids is following in both of his parent's drama geek footsteps. But I didn't push this on him. (Just like I didn't push the tennis lessons on him. Hmmm. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't thrilled that one of my kids is following in my tennis geek footsteps. Hmmm. He picked those on his own, too).


I really didn't force this on him. I don't operate that way. Honest. Every season when we get the class schedule, my kids pick something that looks good to them. Surfer Dude has been doing ceramics for a while and really enjoys it. They've each taken a film production class. (Irony there, I know. It's like a bakers kid taking a class on breadmaking). But this time Gumby said he wanted to take a drama class. I said that would be fine and then I went into the other room and did my happy dance (which does not look like I'm having a seizure, I don't care what my husband says).


He seemed to like the class a lot, but I knew that the performance was the test as far as if he wanted to continue. We'd rehearsed his lines over and over for the last few days, but when I drove him to his final dress rehearsal he was a little jittery. At the beginning of the play you could tell that he was not as comfortable as he could be, but as it went on he loosened up considerably. By the end he was actually enjoying himself.


When we met up with him after the play was over he had a huge smile on his face. When asked how he felt he said


I can't wait to do that again. It was awesome!


Is the drama geek gene dominant or recessive?

rock and roll

Eight years of apathy and missed chances are all catching up with me today in a big way. Ever since we've moved here my kids have periodically expressed an interest in going to the great big Six Flags type amusement park an hour away. Every summer I say we will and then about July when they ask when specifically I say it's too hot and we'll go in the Fall when it isn't a hundred percent humidity outside.

In the Fall when I'm finally ready to bite the bullet and go, I head to their website for info and do my very best Homer Simpson D'OH sound. Because we're not in California anymore and amusement parks aren't open year round and I suddenly realize that I've promised on my motherly honor (tarnished tho it is) to take my kids somewhere this weekend only to find out it's closed until April. In my continuing ineptitude I've extended this streak for eight years. It's ending today.

In an idea (mine) that I'd like to chalk up to drugs but can't, we're combining Halloween Haunted Houses with roller coasters at the great big Six Flags type amusement park. That's right folks, it's haunted amusement park time and we'll be there in all our glory. God help me. I'm picking the kids up as soon as they get out of school and we're heading out. The plan is to stay until they close at midnight.We're meeting up with some friends there (for parental moral support if nothing else). Last I heard the Film Geek, in all his vertigo prone glory is going too.

Speaking of vertigo, here is a video clip of one of the top attractions on my kid's list.




So for the sake of fun, lets take a closer look at all the participants, shall we? The Film Geek and his problem with spinning rides has been well documented. The man practically pukes at a picture of a merry go round. However, he's alright with heights. The Rotten Correspondent can be quite happily spun around like romaine in a salad spinner, but doesn't like to be any higher than the first step on a ladder. Surfer Dude is positive that the roller coaster hasn't been built that can faze him, but as he's never been on one before that's a matter for debate. He's refusing to go in the Haunted Houses on general principle. Gumby is positive that the Haunted House hasn't been built that can faze him, but as he's never been in one before that's a matter for debate. He's refusing to go on the roller coasters on general principle. And Sasquatch, who is pretty much afraid of everything, will be wandering the park with at least one and possibly two of his friends who will insist on doing everything, and rather than look like a wuss he'll go along until he cracks like an egg and calls me frantically on my cell to come and (discretely) rescue him.

Doesn't this sound like fun? How about if I add this - it's supposed to be in the low 50's with a strong chance for rain. Or this - it's the last weekend of the year they're open. Or even this - have I ever mentioned how claustrophobic I am and how much I hate crowds?

But it'll all be worth it when I don't have to listen to stories all winter that start like this - "Do you remember how mom forgot her promise again to take us to the amusement park..."

I can only imagine the stories they will be telling.

I hear you talking...

No
one
in
my
house
ever
listens
to
me.





Not the Film Geek...

RC: What do you want for dinner?
FG: What do we have?
RC: I have a pound of hamburger and it needs to be used. You can have burgers or tacos or meatloaf or spaghetti and meatballs. Your choice, I just have to use the hamburger.
FG: Chicken would be good.


Not Sasquatch...

SQ: Can I stay home from school the day Halo 3 comes out?
RC: No.
SQ: Please? A bunch of my friends might be.
RC: No.
SQ: I don't see why I can't. This is stupid. What's the problem with missing one day of school?
RC: No.
Irate phone call from my friend Stacey, mother of one of SQ's friends: Jules, what's this I hear about you letting Sasquatch stay home from school the day Halo 3 comes out?


Not Gumby...

RC: WHY is there a half eaten plate of food on your bookshelf?
Gumby: Uh....
RC: Have we not talked about that you aren't allowed to eat upstairs?
Gumby: Uh...
RC: How many times do I have to say it? No. Eating. Food. Upstairs.
Gumby: Well, it wasn't really food for us. We weren't eating it.We were just trying to see how many bugs we could catch.


Not Surfer Dude...

RC (watching him practice his "knife skills" on a basket of strawberries): Please don't use that entire basket of strawberries.
SD: Okay.
RC: And please don't load the whole bowl of strawberries up with the powdered sugar.
SD: Okay.
RC (on being presented with the whole basket of cut strawberries completely covered in sugar): Did I tell you not to do this?
SD (holding up a lone mushy uncut strawberry): I didn't use the whole basket, and besides that's brown sugar, not powdered.


Not the dogs...

RC (ready to go to sleep, walks in to find three dogs sprawled on bed)

RC: You all need to move.
Dogs: snore
RC: You all need to move now.
Dogs: snore louder. feign deafness.
RC: YOU ALL NEED TO MOVE.
Dogs (wounded, disbelieving, lazy): get up and move about three inches each before flopping back down again, exhausted from the effort.
RC (slides into six inch space between a dog butt and the edge of the bed, but still can't get the covers away from them): Damn.


And people wonder why I blog.

must love kids

I should have stuck with dogs.

Seriously. If my stupid husband hadn't thought he was allergic and if we hadn't been renting and not allowed to have animals and if my asinine biological clock hadn't started making crazy little alarm noises, I wouldn't be sitting here now in need of either a valium or a padded cell. Preferably both.

On paper it should be relatively calm around here. The Film Geek is on location for the next couple of weeks and his work environment has smoothed down considerably. I'm off work for a long stretch, which is always peaceful. Once I get the kids to school I get to come home and putter. Puttering is just about my favorite thing. Of course it would be better if I could do some productive puttering and get some projects in the house done, but it hasn't worked out that way. At the last Bunco someone asked me to switch my September for her November and I'm still not sure if or when my mother in law is coming, so my September deadline to get stuff done in the house has been extended. I seem to be a little deficient in the motivation department.


I might have more energy if it weren't for the kid drama. I am a limp dishrag from kid drama. It's like the Duracell bunny...it just keeps going and going and going...and I'm like Everready....takes a licking and keeps on ticking. (I'll stop advertising batteries now).


Wednesday night Sasquatch asked me where we might have some free weights. And turned down biscuits with his soup at dinner. I found him some weights out in the studio and casually asked why he'd passed on the biscuits, which are one of his favorite things. Oh, no reason, he said, just didn't feel like having them. A little while later he came to me and asked if I would help him try to lose a little weight. So we had a long discussion about ways to go about this and that I would be more than happy to do what I could. Again, I casually asked why. Oh, no reason, he said, just feel like doing it.


The faint ding of an alarm in my head was getting louder by the second. But they don't call me the Queen of Denial for nothing. I was doing an admirable job blocking it out entirely when the FG called to say goodnight. I told him what had happened. There was a moment of silence, a sharp intake of breath and then


"Oh. My. God. There's a girl."

And I said (hands over ears)

lalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalala


at the top of my lungs. It didn't work. I still heard him.


Later, I casually asked Sasquatch if he were starting to consider the whole girl thing. He casually asked me why I casually asked. I casually said oh no particular reason and he casually told me that this wasn't a subject he was comfortable talking about. I casually mentioned that if and when he felt like talking he should know that he could always talk to me about whatever he wanted to. He casually said he knew that and we both casually went on to our respective rooms.


I didn't hyperventilate until I closed my door. This is not going to be pretty. It almost makes me long for the Terrible Two's. (Note I said almost). This is not a kid who takes any kind of personal interaction well unless it always goes entirely his way. As I've said before, he makes cinder blocks look flexible. He can be a big exposed nerve ending at times, just waiting to erupt over a slight - real or imagined. He does not deal with rejection well. And he's sensitive as hell and takes everything personally even (or especially) when he shouldn't.


Oh. My. God. Is there a girl?


lalalalala...oh hell.


The next morning Surfer Dude took the baton for his leg of the relay. As he and Gumby were getting ready to go to school he decided, for reasons known only to himself, to teepee his brother. There was toilet paper everywhere. Then he gave him an atomic wedgie. So here comes Gumby, with toilet paper wrapped around his head and the waistband of his boxers up past his ribs, into the kitchen to show me what his brother had done. As he's pointing out various atrocities, Surfer Dude comes in to admire his handiwork. I'm not sure if this is common knowledge, but it's very hard to talk seriously to someone who has his underwear migrating that far north. I was trying very hard not to laugh, because at this point even though it was annoying it was still slightly amusing.


Then SD upped the stakes. When I told them both to knock it off, he developed an attitude as big as my laundry pile and said that I always blame him for everything. He went on, clearly itching for a battle. Evidently, I never blame Gumby for anything and only see what I want to see and always jump on people without having my facts straight and if I were any kind of a mother at all I would be able to see that things are not always what they seem. Gumby, toilet paper mummy mask and migrating boxer band still evident, stood listening.


I said that I'm quite aware that Gumby can be an instigator and that he certainly didn't need to stand still long enough for SD to teepee him and that I'm sure that there are two sides to every story, and that's why I told them both to knock it off. Not just one. Both. He claimed I never said that. Claimed I jumped in with both feet and laid all the blame at his feet. Stood there in all his Taurus bullishness and said that he was sick and tired of being blamed for everything that happens in this house and that I need to "stop talking and listen for a change."


The sound you might have heard Thursday morning was not, in fact, a sonic boom. It was me. Telling my youngest child in no uncertain terms that, in my mother's infamous words THIS WOULD NOT DO. At all. And then, so help me, the kid stuck his fingers in his ears while I was talking to him and I went ballistic. Before I knew it we were having a knock down drag out argument right there in the kitchen. And it was barely eight in the morning, for the love of god. He stomped off upstairs and refused to speak to me the rest of the morning.
It didn't bother me. I didn't much want to talk to him either.

On the way out to school I noticed he'd forgotten his planner on the kitchen counter. You know, the one that his rotten mother always reminds him to put in his backpack? Not today, buddy. You're on your own. And you'd better not even think about calling to see if I'll drop it off either.


Grrrrr.....


My dogs, on the other hand, were angelic during this entire exchange. I barely even noticed them sneaking the remains of the kid's breakfast off their plates while we went nine rounds in the kitchen. Great. Something tells me there's waffle puke in my future.


Feel better, laurie??

diary of a short order cook

This is your brain.


This is your brain in my kitchen.


Any questions?



Let's move on then.


Or not.




I'm pretty sure that you're all more than ready for me to move on topic-wise, but I'm going to have to stay on this one for one more day. The care of my family is not an issue at the moment but the feeding of my family is huge. And as much as I would like to say that it's on the right side of the course - it isn't. Far from it. Every day I slide a little further down the hill into a big puddle of...well, it isn't brown gravy. Not even close. I spend more of my waking days than I care to admit mulling over this whole food thing, so today I'll mull for the masses. Allow me to apologize in advance. I know that none of you signed up for this. The exit is to your right. And I do promise this will be the end of the food saga. For now anyway.


To set the record straight I'm having a hell of a time coming up with meals lately, but it really isn't because people are picky. Well, not unduly picky. All of my children will eat any vegetable you put in front of them with the exception of brussel sprouts and mushrooms, which I'm okay with because it's just more for me. They are adventurous in their eating and will eat Mexican, Chinese, Japanese, Thai, Middle Eastern and any form of Italian you can conjure up. They all like spicy, highly seasoned foods, which they get from both of their parents. I firmly hold that pain is a flavor and have been known to put enough red pepper flakes on pizza to kill the delivery man. And me about twelve hours later.


It isn't what they will eat. It's what they won't eat. Or can't eat. This is where all my problems start. Here is a little chart to help explain...


The Film Geek - is a joy to cook for because he will eat virtually anything you put in front of him. His mama raised him right. He doesn't turn his nose up at leftovers and is perfectly comfortable rustling up meals all on his own. Granted he has a repertoire of about four dishes, but still. The problem with him is what he shouldn't eat. Thanks to a genetic cholesterol level that is literally through the roof, he's supposed to follow a low-carb, low-fat, low glycemic index diet. Minimal pasta, minimal rice, mostly protein and veggies. Do I need to tell you that this is not how he wants to eat? He'll freely admit that he doesn't really want to figure it out so he just leaves it all to me. You could even say dumps it on me. Thanks...


Sasquatch - channels my father in his die-hard carnivorous ways. Every day after school when he asks what we're having for dinner his next question is always "Is there meat in it?"And is a bottomless pit of a teenager to boot. If he had his way he would eat triple Whoppers with cheese and extra mayo, king sized fries and a large coke every day of the week. The fact that I don't buy into the whole fast food thing ruins his life, to hear him tell it. He's slimmed down a lot as he's cracked six feet something, but he's not a twig. I was sure, based on his build, that he was going to lose the genetic cholesterol crapshoot, but he didn't. Thankfully. Because he feels so deprived in the meat stakes, whenever there is some he feels he has to inhale as much of it as possible to make up for his earlier deficit. Imagine starved lions tearing into a gazelle. It's an ugly sight, people. Don't try and picture it for too long.


Gumby - decided about a year ago to stop eating meat. He will eat fish, so when we say he's a vegetarian we're being kind of loosey goosey with it. The kid is almost as tall as me and he's eleven. (I'm five ten). His ten year old brother, who is shorter, outweighs him by I don't even want to know how much. (And he's not heavy). Gumby's what we used to call a string bean. The kid is evidently as healthy as a very skinny horse, so I'm not complaining. I was built very much the same way as a kid and I clearly outgrew it. I'm betting he will too. If not, I'll just keep repeating the words "basketball scholarship" over and over again. Except he's a klutz. Anyhow...he's not a big eater at any one time, but he grazes all day. Other than meat he'll eat almost anything, but could live on cheese. Any kind of cheese. And beans. Any kind of beans. He's the pickiest of the three in terms of vegetables, but happily takes a salad to school every day in his lunch box. It's his lunch of choice.


Surfer Dude - my little foodie. He'll eat a good assortment of food, but for him it's all about the preparation and presentation. He once told me his dinner tasted fine but my plating needed work. Imagine a cross between Anthony Bourdain and Dennis the Menace. Without the cowlick or the heroin habit. No food is safe in my house, as he will empty the the contents of the fridge onto the island to "work on knife skills" for awhile. When I get all over him for wasting food, he mixes up these concoctions that are designed to use up whatever it is he's just diced or minced or chiffonaded but are not, often, designed to be edible. Then he plates it beautifully and sometimes even garnishes it. This is all very sweet until he presents it to me with the words I have come to dread. "Try some and tell me what you think." For some inexplicable reason he's decided to give up pork. Only pork. We're not observant Jews. We're not Jewish at all. We never ate much pork to start with due a pork trauma from my past. This has made my easiest last minute dinner - Bacon Lettuce and Tomato Sandwiches - way more problematic.



Let me walk you through why making any meal is such a pain in my house. BLT's are a perfect example. The easiest bacon is the already made in a box stuff that you just nuke, but Sasquatch doesn't like that kind and wants the kind you actually have to cook. Surfer Dude won't eat regular bacon because "it's pork, mom" so he has to have turkey bacon. Gumby gets a soy bacon that is actually quite good unless you overcook it by a second or two and then it resembles roofing tiles in the Sahara. The Film Geek shouldn't be having any part of this except for the lettuce and the tomato, but that's not really a balanced meal in my book. And I'm so disgusted by this point that I'm opening a bottle of Chardonnay.


Okay, let's try pasta. Everyone in my house loves pasta. Sasquatch wants meat in the sauce, but this of course means that Gumby won't eat it. I make meatballs and bake them separately so whoever wants them can have them, but I despise making meatballs and always have. Once again, my husband shouldn't be anywhere near this meal. Even though I do whole wheat pasta (which my kids will all eat) he still shouldn't eat it.


We do a lot of "bar" things for dinner. Taco bars are very popular, as are salad bars and stir fry bars. Everyone gets what they want and doesn't have to have whatever bothers them. I've turned into the stir fry queen, but even with people helping me chop stuff up it's still time consuming to make five separate stir fries. But virtually every other meal has some element that someone can't or shouldn't eat. It's not often "won't", interestingly enough. Except for Sasquatch with the whole meat issue, no one is trying to deliberately throw their weight around.


And where do I fit in this sick little equation? I'll eat almost anything, but I'm with Gumby on the meat front. It's not for any moral, health or humanitarian reasons, I just read something a few years ago that made me physically unable to put meat in my mouth. Gagging isn't an appetite enhancement device. I've never been a big meat eater anyway, due to the aforementioned pork trauma. I'm sure I passed this on to Gumby, although god knows I never intended anyone else to follow along. We do eat fish and we all love it, but how much fish can you eat?


I do a lot of meals where I'll bake chicken and make a couple of nice sides and people can eat what they want. My whole family loves soups and chilis, but the meat eaters start raising their hackles at some point if they're all veggie. Gumby and I have been talking because I'm about at the point of starting to eat chicken again just for the sake of the greater good. I'm pretty sure I could do that now. If we were all on the same page with just that one thing it would help enormously. He allows as to how he has thought the same thing. I guess we'll see. I certainly won't make him do anything he doesn't want to do.



My first comment on yesterday's post was from laurie, who said that in her family growing up you ate what you were served or didn't leave the table until you did. laurie (and others) wondered what happened to this approach and why it seems like so many kids are calling the shots these days. I don't have an answer for this, although I wish I did. I think a lot of children are still being raised with a firmer hand, just as I'm sure there are kids who run their parents ragged with demands. I myself never had to finish eating at the table when I was growing up, but the FG did and has the stories to prove it. His mother noticed a particularly foul stench in the dining room one day only to find last week's brussel sprouts ground into a mush and hidden under the throw rug. No one in the house would accept responsibility for this, but the kids all knew who did it, and much blackmailing ensued. (God, the things I've missed basically being an only child). But as an adult, my husband is way pickier than me and I'm way more adventurous than him, so what does this mean?

What do you think?

a wednesday outing

For today's reading enjoyment, everyone in my household will now be placed under harsh lights and outed to reveal a moment of their past week that they'd rather forget. I'll leave the Film Geek alone just this once. I've picked on him enough the last few days. (I reserve the right to change my mind if the mood strikes).




Sasquatch - Last night was Parent's Night at his brand new High School. I didn't really feel like going but I did. You have to bear in mind that all through his Junior High years I approached these things warily, never knowing which teacher was going to put a contract out on my life. Or send in my picture for the cover of "Loser Parent of the Year" magazine. (Although my money was on his AP Biology teacher). It's not that we don't try, it's that he has a head like a concrete bunker and is fortunate enough to always know better than us. I learned a lesson last night in inflection. Always before the teachers have said, "Oh, you're Sasquatch's mom." Last night, every one of them, with a genuinely pleasant smile said, "Oh, you're Sasquatch's mom." That little inflection changes everything, doesn't it? It tells me he's trying. It tells me he's finally ready to take this seriously. It tells me we're only nine days into the year.



Gumby - Has joined the Sixth Grade Orchestra and will be learning to play the violin. He has been practicing diligently at every opportunity, and makes up in volume and enthusiasm what he hasn't yet learned in technique. At the same time he's decided that our bathroom "ghost" has now moved into his bedroom and is watching him while he sleeps. Last night he told me very excitedly that he'd figured out how to scare the ghost away. He's decided to play his violin for his visitor, you see. To hear him tell it, ghosts don't like music. As he said to me,"I bet I can scare it away forever with my playing." I'll bet you can too, sweetie.



Surfer Dude - Got so carried away eating Farmer's Market pear shaped yellow cherry tomatoes that he told me if it were legal he'd marry one. (They were amazing, I'll give him that. He and I ate most of the pint on the seven minute drive home). This from the kid who said (after attending our last lesbian wedding), "Mom, just once can I go to a wedding where a girl marries a boy?"


Yours Truly - Was helping Sasquatch carry a dilapidated entertainment center out to the trash Saturday and lost my grip, causing it to slide down my shin with enough force to break it apart. The entertainment center, not my shin. However, it took a concave divot out of the Rotten Correspondent off and on from knee to ankle, causing me to hop around in my front yard with blood running down my leg and vile words spewing from my mouth. When the FG saw it he first looked nauseous and then said I should go straight to the ER, at which point I said..."On my day off? Are you out of your mind?" and went looking for clean cloths, hydrogen peroxide and Neosporin. Every time I hobble past him he bites his lip and keeps walking. Wise man.



On the good news front, I racked up my 5,000th visitor to this blog this past week. I can't remember exactly when I put the stat counter on, but it was very exciting to hit that number. So to celebrate I threw on the little country counter to your right to keep track of other fun stuff. It looks a little sparse now, but hopefully will bulk up soon. It could be quite interesting. Make sure to check it out.



And that's all I have for today, folks. Eat lots of cherry tomatoes, listen to some good lesbian wedding music and don't let ghosts carry entertainment centers out to the curb. You heard it here first. And I should know.

Tabloid Throwdown

Some of my best eavesdropping on my younger kids lately happens when they're in the shower. I guess I can thank our mythical bathroom ghost for this. See, neither one of them likes being in the bathroom alone, so they bribe the other one to go in and sit with them while they shower. The door is always left open for a quick exit in case the ghost shows up between the shampoo and the conditioner, so I can hear perfectly. The downstairs bath is right off the kitchen, and I've found that if I do kitchen chores during shower time I get all the gossip. It's always interesting, even if it does sometimes make me cringe.



Yesterday morning was a perfect example. Gumby was in the shower and Surfer Dude was lounging on the toilet, fully clothed, reading a Foxtrot book. Out of nowhere Gumby said, "Who do you think is the craziest person in the world?" As SD pondered this I stopped making cinnamon toast and tried to guess what he would say. We're a fairly well read family, and my kids are very interested in current events, so it could have been anyone. Politicians get defiled on a daily basis at casa de Correspondent so I was pretty sure that was the direction we were headed for. What I wasn't expecting was ...


"Britney Spears," said SD decisively.



"Do you really think so?", asked Gumby, "I think Lindsay Lohan is crazier."



"Well," reflected SD, "really it's a toss-up."



"I don't think either one of them could be any crazier than they are," offered Gumby, climbing out of the tub. "They're out of control."



"You know how you could make them crazier?" asked SD with a sadistic note in his voice. "Lock them each in a room with nothing to do except a book to read. They'd go nuts!!"


As they continued getting ready for school I had to wonder. What in the world do they even know about these two women? And how in the world did they hear it? And why in the world do they care? Why does anyone in the world care? Do they not know the difference between Hollywood crazy and real crazy? Surely people realize that there is a difference. Don't they?


Although I have to give Surfer Dude points for his plan. I think it's a sure fire winner.

Touchstones

There's one in every family and my family is no exception. One person is the emotional stabilizer, the one who pulls rabbits out of their hat and keeps everything going, the one who listens to everyone and solves everyone else's problems or goes down trying. This is the person who has their nervous breakdowns in private so no one else freaks out. The person who everyone else feels secure enough with to totally unload on. One person is always the touchstone.

That person is me.

And right about now I'm going down.

Maybe I need a good nights sleep. Maybe I need the weather to drop below 150 degrees. Possibly I need a bottle of Chardonnay, a bowl of pesto (and a spoon) and every Hugh Grant film I can dig up. I might try it, with a few exceptions. First off I have no wine, so I'll substitute lemonade. There' s not a drop of pesto in the house so I'll swap for some gorgeous farmer's market tomatoes with a hunk of fresh mozzarella. There is no substitute for Hugh Grant, so that part gets left alone. It's a crucial part in my recovery and I'm not taking any chances.

Maybe I just need to have a minute to myself to sort things out. There's a lot going on...

The Film Geek's shoot is not going well. This is unsurprising for several reasons, but still a problem. The shoot got pushed back several weeks to accomodate an actor and in the process inconvenienced absolutely everyone else. The new semester started today, so he's trying to work fourteen hour days (on an open prairie in the heat) and somehow get his students up to speed at the same time. One of the guys on his crew is trying to undermine his position just to be a shit. Their schedule keeps changing, thanks to the same actor. The in town and location shooting just got flip flopped, so all the days I arranged to work while he had days off are now moot and I am without child care while he is out of town. Sasquatch has done a good job for me lately, but I'm just not confident of the dynamics of leaving an older dictatorial brother in charge for a twelve hour shift.

FG's exhausted, hot, feeling underappreciated and overworked. Feeling like he's only giving half of himself to each of the two jobs he's now trying to juggle. He takes his students very seriously, but this feature is a big deal professionally. If this goes well an even bigger project will follow. And we could really use the money. We don't call this house The Money Pit for nothing. His stress level is palpable and we are two weeks into a six week shoot. He feels like he can't breath and he says his chest hurts. Yesterday he just snapped and told me he was walking away from the film. This is a first. In twenty years the man has not ever walked away from a job, even when he should have. For an hour in the car on the way to the set he examined all the angles, all the reasons he should throw in the towel. I was driving him basically to be a good wife and also to give him a chance to vent. He ranted and raged and for one awful moment I thought he was going to cry. And then, I knew this was coming, he said, "What do you think I should do?"

Now we all know there is no right answer for this, so I pointed out the pros, cons and possible repercussions of each side of the fence. I never mentioned the words money or heart attack. I told him that ultimately he was the one who would have to live with his choice, so it stood to reason it shoud be his decision. As I dropped him off I crossed my fingers that he could live with whatever he decided. It was all I could really do.

Next up is Sasquatch who is having a semi-stressful entrance to High School. Believe me when I say that it could be worse, but it's still tricky. He can't sleep at night so the mornings are pure hell. He's disorganized and defiant about it, so something as simple as carrying a backpack becomes a power struggle. He simply cannot understand why I want him to have all of his stuff together and contained. Because he's so tired he's particularly short tempered, especially with me. I'm his safety zone, you see, the person who gets to experience all of his teenage glory. The homework level has really been kicked up as well, so he's feeling some pressure himself.

I was preoccupied with the Film Geek and wondering what the final outcome would be when Sasquatch came into the room to tell me that he had just realized that he had left tonight's homework at school. When I asked how that happened he got furious and accused me of "attacking" him. This is his favorite spiel. When I ask him a question I'm "attacking" him. When he goes balllistic on me he's "explaining" himself. Evidently there's a difference somehow. He raged at me that I never listen to a word he says and that he's tired of me always being "the victim". Then he slammed into his room.

Imagine a sitcom where when one character exits from one door another enters from the other side. Exit Sasquatch, enter Gumby, who has just realized that one of his pet rats has a lump on it's back. As I was walking into the room to look, I pointed out that this rat is over two years old and that we might need to keep that in mind. At that point he collapsed in tears and hysterically started making lists of all the things we needed to do to keep the rat alive. This list thing is evidently genetic.He had heard Sasquatch yelling at me, so he pulled himself together quickly so as not to upset me. This, of course, upset me more. Just because your brother is a teenage drama queen doesn't mean that your feelings aren't legitimate. I held him and he cried and then we plotted out Operation Rat Rescue. He went back into his room to try to go to sleep.

Cue sitcom timing. The phone rang and it was my husband telling me that he and the director had had a come to jesus talk and he was staying on the film. They basically told him to do whatever he needed to do about teaching and they would work around him. They told him they had his back. The guy giving him so much grief will be looking for a new job very shortly unless things change fast. He sounded calm. He sounded relieved. He sounded tired. Nothing hurt. He was on his way home for the night. And tomorrow he'd go back.

Every unpleasant day in my life has some surreal element in it, just a little drop kick to keep you awake. Mine was supplied by Surfer Dude, who had to appear in our little soap opera somehow. He's all fired up for this next Kid's Top Chef competition he's planning and keeps fiddling with things in the kitchen as he prepares. (This event is weeks away, BTW). Whenever I walked into my kitchen there was a pile of all different kinds of peppers and jars of spices artistically stacked up. Except the position kept changing. First it was on the table. Then it was piled on the counter. It made its final appearance on the island before I said if he didn't put the peppers away I would feed him nothing but Pop Tarts until he went away to college. Foodies evidently don't eat Pop Tarts, even ten year old foodies, because the pepper pastiche went away.

So I sat on the computer (writing this) and felt absolutely drained. I could really use just one day where people take their problems elsewhere. Let someone else be the touchstone for a change.Usually I call a friend and vent. Last night it was just me and the keyboard, practicing the ancient art of internet venting. Some might even call it whining. Hell, I might even call it whining. Still...

I'm feeling better. Maybe I don't need Hugh after all.

But why take chances?

Second Day of School

After getting my kids off to the second day of school I feel qualified to judge the start of the academic year. The first day was smooth, fueled in part by the anticipation (largely unspoken) they were feeling about seeing their friends after a long summer. We had also been very careful about getting prep done the night before, which calmed the morning down a bit. Back packs were at the ready and school supplies labelled. After a summer of going to bed and getting up at obscene hours everyone made the effort to get to sleep at a decent time. Lunches were packed with hand picked goodies, new clothes were on freshly showered bodies...life was good.

Sasquatch, an incoming High School sophomore (the first year of HS here), was the most nervous of the three, but happy that the first day was only an orientation day for the newbies, and a short one to boot. I was happy (understatement alert) that he was keeping it together, because the dividing lines for the schools here meant that one of his very best friends was going to the other High School, and the drama levels over this have been acute this summer. My buddy Laurie, mother of one of his other best friends, the Red Headed Step Child, offered to drive them so they could arrive together and we could ensure they'd be on time. The two of them even stood still and grimaced against my porch railing so she could take pictures of The First Day of High School. Two tall long haired boys, one skinny (one not), one red headed (one not), dressed in cargo pants (or shorts) and dark t-shirts, climbed into the car (on time) and off they went.

Gumby and Surfer Dude got ready early and even had time for a round of Animal Planet before we had to leave. No drama whatsoever. I took them to school and went in with them to find their classrooms. Surfer Dude is in a one section class and has been since First Grade, so he's been with the same group of kids for four years. I always pity their teacher, whoever they may be. Twenty to one is not good odds. Gumby got a brand new to the school teacher this year and a MAN, no less. He doesn't look a day over fifteen, but he sure knew how to work this crowd. When I picked them up he raved about how much he liked his new teacher and that he couldn't wait for school today to see what he had in store for them. Wow. Fresh out of college and full of enthusiasm, you've gotta love it. Give him a year. Less if he helps in Surfer Dude's class.

The two younger ones came home and hung out. Sasquatch went to a friend's house and hung out. We had a calm dinner and a peaceful night, with only one piece of (fun) homework to be done. Nobody got sent home on Top Chef. Everyone went to sleep at reasonable times again. As I walked through my still house before bed, I sent a silent prayer of thanks to the patron saint of melodramatic children for the quiet of the day. I should have known better.

It started early with Sasquatch having to be physically parted from his bed by yours truly, Amazon Mom (superhero motto: Boys of sloth, Muscles of steel). Then when he came downstairs he couldn't find his glasses case. These are new glasses ( and expensive as hell, BTW) and he doesn't want to wear them any longer than he absolutely has to, so he needs the case to take them off and put them on per whim. On reflection, he reckoned he had left the case at his friend's house the day before. And, with Sasquatchian logic, he refused to take the glasses to school since a) he wasn't going to be wearing them for the entire day and b) they would break in his pocket without the case. (Ya think??) We were still hashing this out when I tried to give him his lunch account check to take with him and give to the lunch ladies. He was positive he knew what I was going to say, so every three words he interrupted me to say " I know, mom" in the most pathetically resigned voice he could muster. He didn't, in fact, know what I was going to say, so every time he interrupted me I, out of pure spite, started all over again at the beginning. Some time was chewed up here, trust me. Chewed up and spit out.

When we left the house (I was driving this time), Gumby was getting in the shower and Surfer Dude was making his lunch. A glitch or two under our belts, but still running smoothly. We pull up to get TRHSC and he doesn't come out. We go in to see what's keeping him, and find him running around looking for the paper which proves he's had his tetanus shot, a requirement for incoming sophomores. I would think a distemper shot would be more appropriate for the little darlings, but nobody asked me. Laurie, in pajamas and getting her other kids fed, was trying to help him narrow down where it could be. To every one of her suggestions he said "It's not there, mom" in the most pathetically resigned voice he could muster. Finally he reckoned he could have left it in her van and took her keys to go look. No dice. With us about to leave without him he took one last look around his room and found it...on the windowsill, where, he suddenly remembered, he had put it so he would remember where it was. As we pulled out of the driveway I told them, in the most pathetically resigned voice I could muster that I reckoned there was a reason the two of them were friends. They beamed proudly at their own ineptitude and off we went toward unsuspecting high school teachers.

When I got home Gumby hadn't gotten in the shower because SD wouldn't go and sit in the bathroom with him, and due to the "ghost" in our bathroom he won't go in alone. Drama ensued, but it was short lived and everything went smoothly from there on. Until...

As we were leaving to get them to school, my phone rang. It was Laurie, on her way to her first day on a new job. And she said...

"Please tell me you have my keys. Please tell me he laid them down in your car."

He didn't. I reckon they're in his pocket.