Your Turn

Unfortunately for my readers in blog-land, my kids have been pretty well-behaved lately.


I'm just biding my time as I'm sure that the condition is temporary and subject to swift and devestating change. In the meantime, what are some issues that you're dealing with? What are some situations you'd like to see addressed? There aren't many areas of teen angst that we have not delved into over the last eight years of parenting our little darlings. . .you've heard about my controversies, now I'd like to hear about some of yours.


Erma Bombeck once said, " Somewhere it is written that parents who are critical of other people's children and publicly admit that they can do better are asking for it!" So you'll get no grief from me, to be sure. But perhaps I can offer you some free advice (always worth what you pay for it) that has worked for us, or at least the knowledge that you are not alone in your struggles.


Okay parents of teens, let's hear it. . .

Intervention

It was late, I was flipping the channels and I got sucked in by the show "Intervention."


I guess we all have a fascination with taking a peek into the lives of others (oh, Hello, dear reader!) Sometimes it is nice to see that we are not alone in our daily craziness. Other times, it makes us thank our lucky stars that our biggest problem with our kids is an occasional lapse in judgement rather than a consuming addiction.

It's hard to grasp how parents can get to the point where they allow their child to run the show. I know we all have baggage that we bring to our parenting gig - perhaps guilt over some real or imagined situation that leads us to "go lightly" when it comes to discipline. Maybe a desire to make things "better" for our kids than they were for us. Or perhaps, after awhile, you just get tired of fussing all the time. I've been there/done that on all counts.

I have yet to see a situation, though, where erasing the consequences for a young person has served them well. In last night's show, a young woman was addicted to pain killers and her family was so afraid that she would run off that they would actually take her to prostitue herself in order to get drugs. Her mother didn't want to tell her "No." It was tearing apart their entire family.

The other day I talked about the importance of keeping the lines of communication open with your kids - but that's a two-way street. As much as you need to be there to listen to them, to support them, you also have to step in and put your foot down when you feel that they are endangering themselves or others. And you have to pick and choose which situations you're going to help them with and allow them to suffer the consequences of their actions from time to time.

I thought it was tough to clean up after them all the time when they were little, but the hardest part of being a parent is knowing when to tell them that they have to clean it up themselves.


It's a balancing act, for sure. But I think that learning to dole out your "interventions" early-on, in small ways, can prevent the need for a big dramatic "intervention" down the road.

It's A Gift

I saw a commercial the other day where a cartoon Dad is feeling a little stressed by a screaming baby. Then his teenaged daughter walks in and and introduces her new friend, "Dad, meet 'Snake!'"


I have to be honest, everyone who comes home with one of my children gets the Eyeball. It's a little gift I picked up from my Dad. . .the simple closing of the left eye and harsh stare from the right sends the message: Don't make me hurt you. When it's coupled with a crooked grin it's doubly intimidating (according to my dear husband. . .and my brothers-in-law. . .)


Maybe it's because I realize that each of these "intruders" wields a certain amount of power over MY baby, who heretofore has been guided by MY suggestions and demands.


"Son, you need to shave that scraggly chin. . ."


"But Mom, she thinks it's sexy!"





I often "joke" with the friends who dare to cross the threshold of Chez McKnight. . .threatening their person with severe bodily harm and adding a little chuckle at the end constitutes a "joke," right? But now a few of them are beginning to get wise to my tactics. One brave soul now comes bearing food: chocolate pie and bagels! Others laugh heartily at my jokes, even the stupid ones! I think they're "on" to me.


And now, the Pièce de résistance - Black Jack's fiancée, a dang ALABAMA fan, crocheted me a beautiful purple and gold purse. (Excuse me, does anyone have a tissue??)


What am I supposed to do now?? Like these people??


I guess I'll just have to invite them to spend a good amount of time in my presence, regaling them with entertaining stories of those thrilling days of yesteryear, when I was the center of my childrens' world.


My kids love it when it do that. . .those fond memories are my little gift to them.


Have fun!

This is Our Time to Dance

"Ecclesiastes assures us... that there is a time for every purpose under heaven. A time to laugh... and a time to weep. A time to mourn... and there is a time to dance. And there was a time for this law, but not anymore. See, this is our time to dance. It is our way of celebrating life. It's the way it was in the beginning. It's the way it's always been. It's the way it should be now." - Kevin Bacon as Ren McCormack, Footloose





I still get a little verklempt when I envision a young Kevin delivering this line in the movie that taught us all as teenagers that real Heroes don't play Tractor Chicken. Sigh. . .



Tonight, Halfway Between (10 & 20) will attend his first high school dance.


He's had lots of practice over the years. From the time he was two-feet tall he was wowing crowds at the Scenic Hills Country Club's Annual Christmas Party with his rendition of "Play That Funky Music, White Boy!" During this Spring's "Wedding Season," he was a fixture on the dance floor pretending to have no prior knowledge of such "lame" dances as the "Electric Slide" and the "ChaCha." And he can frequently be spotted around Chez McKnight doing his version of the "Stanky Leg."


Although he'd never admit it, I think he's pretty excited. He's going with a nice young lady that he really likes, he's wearing the dreaded suit (no tuxedo t-shirt tonight!), he asked for a new razor blade AND he cut the grass yesterday without being reminded a dozen times. . .and didn't miss any spots!


I've been through two rounds of dancing teenagers already, but I can't help but feel a little heavy-hearted seeing my second "Last Child" move on into the real-world version of the High School Musical. There's a part of me that wishes that I could keep him with me forever, but I know that this is his time to dance.


I think I'm going to go wake him up early, so that I can show him how to do the "Footloose!" Oooh, maybe I'll get all dolled up and go with him tonight, just to make sure he does it right. After all, I wouldn't want him to be embarrassed. . .

Have fun. . .LET'S DANCE!!!!

Hello?

If you have teenagers, and have not given in to the pressure and bought them their own cell phones, then your home telephone may ring on occasion.


The rule around here is that, if you want a cell phone, you'll need to get a job and pay for it yourself. Otherwise, we have graciously provided a land-line for your convenience. Halfway Between (10 & 20) remains off the hook because he is unemployed, so his friends call the house.


"Is there?" They ask, sometimes clearly. . .


"Yes." I'll answer. Then I'll wait.


'Oh, um, can I speak to him?"


"Well, what's it worth to you?"


"Huh?"


"You've gone to the trouble to call him, so surely it must be worth something to you to talk to him. . .how about five bucks?"


"I don't have five dollars. . ."


"Well, that's too bad. I will take a credit card, do you have a credit card?"


"Um, I'll just call back. . ."


"Oh, hang on, he's right here waving some money at me. . .okay, well, nice talking with you. . .whoever you are!"


I've started working with my seven year-old already. "When I make a call, I say, 'Hello, this is Lara. May I please speak to so-and-so?'"


"Mooom, that sounds stupid!"


"No it doesn't, you are telling them who you are, and asking to speak to the person you want to talk to."


"Why can't I just say, 'Hello, is Mady there?'"


Because, dear, you're liable to get a parent like me, who is a stickler for good manners. . .and that's a scary proposition!


Have fun!

Truth In Advertising

"Hey Mom!" Halfway Between (10 & 20) called me in as he started his schoolwork this morning.


"Whatcha need, buddy?"


"So, yesterday, Jack and I went to Circle K. I was wearing a Mountain Dew shirt and he was wearing a Dr. Pepper shirt. . ."


"Okay. . ."


"So, I bought a Mountain Dew, and he bought a Dr. Pepper."


I gave him the "look."


For a full thirty seconds.


"Isn't that cool?" He asked.


"Well, it IS truth in advertising. . ."



I INTERRUPT THIS BLOG FOR A BREAKING BLOG ALERT UPDATE!!!


He just slid into the living room on his sock feet, sporting a black curly afro.

"See, Mom, you can write about this in your blog." He switched to his narrator voice. "'He entered the room wearing an enormous afro, my favorite son, who plays the guitar like Jimi Hendrix and may be the coolest kid ever. I am just so fortunate to have such an amazing son with such an amazing afro. . .'"

And now, he has retreated to his room to play something groovy to accompany the show.


Somebody help me. . .

Gray Thinking

This weekend, an article appeared in the PNJ that hit home with many of our Moms. The nineteen year-old who gave birth to a stillborn child and then buried him in the woods near her home has generated a good bit of talk at our Momslikeme website.


http://www.pnj.com/article/20091003/NEWS01/910030312


There are some who feel little sympathy for the young woman.

"Sorry but at her age she knew she could have gone to the hospital or done more then sit in the woods and have a baby and then leave it there for the dogs."

"I got pregnant when I was 21, only 2 years older than her... so that's no excuse."


Others use words like "heartbreaking" to describe the plight of the 19 year-old, and offer a more compassionate and empathetic viewpoint.

"We all panic ya know."


While some see "right and wrong" as being in very black and white terms, others view them in a variety of shades of gray. When it comes to opinions, everyone has them, and most people probably believe that theirs is the right one, so arguing the point either way won't make much difference. And, regardless of the opinions of a group of moms on a website, what is done is done.


However you choose to view the actions of a young mother giving birth alone outside of her parents home, I would hope that awareness of this situation would lead each of us to work harder to foster open lines of communication with our children. Teenagers need rules, they need black and white guidelines, but they also need an open door to come to us for guidance when they get into those gray areas.


"They KNOW they can come to me with anything. . ." you may think.


What if they think whatever kerfluffle they've gotten themselves into is too awful to share with their parents? Every teenager has secrets, things that they believe Mom and Dad "wouldn't understand." In the process of growing up and becoming an independent young adult that privacy is sometimes somewhat necessary. But there are also times when a teenager can get in over their head and feel they've nowhere to turn.


That's why I offer my children this out: "I hope that you feel that you can come to me with anything. I will do my best not to judge you, but it is also my job to guide you, so don't expect me to like what you have to tell me. If you ever feel like you are over your head, and can't bring yourself to talk to me about it, remember that you have grandparents, aunts and uncles, adult family friends who love you and will help you. You are never alone."


Lucky me, mine seem to feel free to come to me with all variety of craziness. We've already had to navigate a few hum-dingers around here as it is. . .but so far, we've managed to come through it all okay. It's not easy to let-go of your parental view of the way things "should" be, but it's a lot better to help guide them through an imperfect situation than to beat yourself up later with "if only I had known."


I don't know anything more about the mother of "Baby Milton" than I've read in the News Journal. But I DO know what it feels like to be pregnant at 19, scared, insecure, embarrassed. I was fortunate to have had a great deal of support and love from my family and my extended family. I knew that I had people I could go to who loved me unconditionally and would help me make good choices. I don't know that her family's support could have made any difference in the outcome of this situation, but I hope that I can make a difference when it comes to my own kids and their lives.



After all, the desired end here is NOT to raise a bunch of mini-mes. I'm just hoping to grow them up with enough guilt about all the gray they've given me (gray hairs, that is!) that they set me up nicely. So far, I figure I'm looking at a lovely condo on the beach. . .with my own cabana boy. . .and yes, I'll make room for my own parents, too.


Have fun!

Power Steering

Mom Lecture #457:


"Don't forget, you're responsible for the lives of every passenger in your vehicle. Don't expect other drivers to use courtesy or common sense - you have to remain on the defensive when you drive. Wear your seat-belts, drive the speed limit, stay off the cell phone, and keep the radio turned down. If you get a ticket, I will remove you from my policy and you'll have to locate your own - at about twice what it costs you now. Okay, well, have fun. I love you!"


A little harsh? Perhaps, but (knock on wood) so far, so good. If I make my expectations very clear, then there can never be any question.


This does not mean that accidents don't happen. We've already had one minor bumper-bump in a merge situation, and it wound up costing the Edge about $600 of her hard-earned money. A taught lesson is better than a bought lesson.


When it comes to extending the privilege of driving to your teenager, it's important to stress the weight of the responsibility that comes with it. Every day I see teens racing down my street, cell phones in hand, oblivious to the risk they are creating for themselves and their fellow drivers.


What is sad is that I see adults doing the same thing.


And that brings me to another lecture - to myself. I have to practice what I preach, otherwise, it's just a bunch of blather. So, no matter if I'm running late or need to get that call, I'm making it a point watch my speed and stay off the phone when I drive. It's not always easy, but if I expect it of my teenager, then certainly I can do it myself.


They may think that we're driving them crazy, but we know that we're steering them in the right direction.

Call Your Mother

"I'm just a girl, I'd rather not be
'Cause they won't let me drive late at night!" - No Doubt





The Edge (of 17) has been working late . . .yawn!. . .for the past few days.


So, why am I yawning? Well, I can't very well go to sleep until they're all tucked in safely, so I've been waiting up for her.


"Mom, you don't HAVE to wait for me. I am perfectly capable of making it home. . ." she said as she was leaving yesterday.


"Of course you are, Dear. Call me when you're on the way."


She sounds like I did at that age, before I had the "parental perspective" going on. As a young person, you tend to see reminders to check-in as another way that "THEY" are trying to control you. I knew exactly what Gwen was singing about when she lamented "Take this pink ribbon off my eyes!" It seemed like my parents, grandparents, even my husband saw me as "just a girl in the world. . ."


However, some seventeen or so years later, I completely get the reasoning behind what "they" see. It's not me, it's life.


Cognizance of both sides of the issue can be a curse sometimes and leave a parent confused on making a judgement call. On the one hand, I consider that she is a young, strong woman who is completely capable of kicking butt in this crazy world. On the other, she's pretty and petite and would be viewed by some crazy as an easy target. If I choose to err on the side of caution, does she interpret it as a lack of confidence or a lack of trust?


I was talking to my own Mom about this subject yesterday. She's been on her own for almost two years now, and is perfectly capable of taking care of herself. . .but I still call to check on her. "You know," she said, "Grandma used to call me and tell me she was going up on a ladder to clean her ceiling fan. It's not about 'control,' it's about 'common sense!' I think you're very smart to have her check-in with you."


"Well, we all know where I get it from. . ." I said, and we both laughed.


When it comes to "Because I said so!" I have been there, done that, and yes, I actually DO have a t-shirt. But I also feel that she is smart enough to understand that "checking-in" makes sense. So the next time I encounter the eye roll or allegations of being "all-up" in someone's life, I am prepared with my sensible comeback:


"Well, when I checked in with MY Mommy, she said it was okay!"


Have fun!

Move Along, There's Nothing to See Here

"When all you gotta keep is strong,
Move along, move along. . ." - All American Rejects






The Edge (of 17) gave us hasty smooches before bob-bob-bobbing out the door to work. "Loveyoubye!"


"When did that happen?" Hubbalicious asked.


I knew what he meant as I watched the young woman snatch up her car keys and swing her new hairdo. I've been asking myself that question a lot lately.


"Yep, they're heading up and soon they'll be moving out. . .Rawhide!" I walked over and sat next to him looking for consolation and he gave a gratuitous chuckle. Think what you like, but the true secret to a happy marriage is laughing at each other's jokes, even the stupid ones.


Between Black Jack (21) and his impending generational elevation, the Edge saving her money so that she can move out as soon as she graduates. . . even the heretofore nonchalant Halfway Between (10 & 20) is making plans for his "Sweet 16!" It is beginning to sink in that this "Hey MOM!" gig is a temporary thing.


"Hey MOM!" Halfway called on cue.


"We're out back, baby!"



"I'm heading out. . ." he announced, sticking his head out the door and blowing a few random kisses.


The Hubster put his arm around me and gave me a little squeeze, prompting Halfway to make a face and mutter, "EWWWWW! 'Old People Cuddling!' I'm outta here!"


You know, there are some we will miss less than others. . .


Have fun!

Feed 'Em. . .

"Fish head, fish heads.
Roly-poly fish heads. . .
Fish heads, fish heads,
Eat them up, Yum!" - Dr. Demento

Ah, the good old days. . .when we were young and skinny and could eat our weight in Mr. Gatti's Pizza and Hot Fries. . .

Why is it that a high metabolism is wasted on the young? They load up on Mountain Dew and Food Court offerings, hardly tasting the junk they're swallowing, then expostulate theirinability to squeeze into their Aeropostale size zeroes. . .

In the last year or so, I've lost a good bit of weight. This is not easy for a woman whose life revolves around people who constantly scream "Feed ME!" My first though in the morning (well, after COFFEE. . .and who put that glass in the sink!?) is what to fix for dinner that night. Not that MY tastes or cravings have much to do with it (A block of cheese and a Margarita. . .it's what's for dinner. . .) as I generally have a dime-sized portion of whatever they're having and a frisbee-sized salad.

I must plan a feast that can be smothered in Ranch to appease the ladies and yet meets the exacting freshness criteria of our resident food snob. (Is this fresh rosemary on these potatoes, Mother? Halfway Between and his sensitive palate. . .)

Yes, gone are the days when I could eat as many tacos as my Dad and brother combined while cheering for the 'Aints on a Sunday afternoon. Then later, I'd work it off by dancing around alone in my room and listening to the Dr. Demento show. . .

Boy, was I a nerd or what? Where was I??

Oh, yes, what's for dinner? The nagging question that troubles every mother at six-fifty-five in the a.m. and will continue to beleaguer my brain until about five-fifty-five in the p.m.

Sigh. . .

I wonder if they make a "Fish Head Helper?"

Have fun!

I Speak Teen

"So, Mom. . ." the Edge (of 17) began telling me about her friend's crisis.


"He's talking to his girlfriend on Skype, then he says he'll call her back in a few minutes. Somehow, she left her video on and he sees her scratching at her wrists. . ."


I raised my eyebrows.


"That's what IIIII was thinking, too!" she said.


Her powers of clairvoyance are simply amazing. . .


She took a breath, then continued, "I just don't know whether she's playing a game with him or if she really has a problem. If he tells her parents, then they may go crazy or something. . ."


"Well. . ." I began.


"I know, I know. But if there IS a problem, they probably need to get her some help. He really likes her a lot, and it's really bothering him. I told him he should probably just talk to you, you're the one with the good answers! Thanks, Mom. I love you."


And then she kissed me and went back into her room.


I'm just glad I could be of help. . .

No Pressure

I was in the produce section at Wally World when my cell phone rang.

It was "Home" calling.

"Hey!" I answered.

"Mom, I just wanted to tell you. . .good luck. We're all counting on you." Halfway Between didn't wait for my response before he hung up the phone.

I knew I never should have let him watch "Airplane!" Surely he has something better to do with his time.

Ah, probably not.

And don't call me "Shirley."

Splitting Hairs

What one subject remains a constant source of contention in the McKnight household?


A difference in political views? Varying tastes in music? Less filling versus tastes great?


Oh, no, it is nothing so significant as all that. . .


Nope, we don't argue over money or who does the chores or even whose turn it is to make the coffee.



Instead, we choose to split hairs over - hairs.



Specifically the ones that comprise the glorious mane sprouting atop Halfway Between's head.


"Why can't he just go down to the barber shop with me?" Hubbalicious demands to know. "He's too good for a ten-dollar buzz cut?!"


"But Dad, the chicks dig my flowing locks. . ."


So today, I took him to see my hairdresser in the hopes that we could reach a happy compromise between his rock n' roll do and looking like someone loves him.


When we got home, I called him in to show his Dad. He entered the room with the neck of his shirt pulled over his eyebrows, making a sort of t-shirt habit. "Yes, Mother?"


"Come on, show Dad your hair. . ." I coaxed him.


He lifted his arm, exposing his scraggly pit-hairs. "There you go, Dad. Stylish, isn't it?"


Uhhhhhh. . .I looked over at Hubbalicious in all his clean-cut grandeur. Considering that when we met, he was still sporting his "Flock of Seagulls" look, I'm thinking that the joke will be on hair-do boy in another twenty years anyway.


Hair today, gone tomorrow. . .


Have fun!

They Call it "Love" I Call it "Leverage"

I've learned a little secret to getting my teens to get things done - it's called "having a person of interest."

In the old days, when I needed some leverage, I used to threaten to take away the Playstation, ground them from TV or try to impose some other form of tortuous discomfort. It never seemed to have quite the desired effect.

But once they "like" someone, you know, THAT way. . .threaten to keep them from going to the big party this weekend, or tell them they can't talk to "them" on the phone and watch how quickly the room gets cleaned or the schoolwork is finished!!

It's amazing! If I'd have known this was the answer, I'd have let them start dating when they were six!!

Have fun!

Red Light, Green Light

When we received the notice last May that the Mombus had run a red-light in Gulf Breeze, there was no doubt as to who was going to pay the $100 fine.

Most of the family had been at my sis-in-law's wedding, with the exception of a certain prom attendee who had use of the aforementioned vehicle and had taken her friends to the beach for pictures.

Whatever my feelings are about the legality of red-light cameras (I understand the idea behind using them, but feel they are a little too "big brother" for my taste), after listening to the Edge's reasoning and explanation I suggested that she appeal the violation and ask for a hearing.

We scanned the city codes and found the basis of our appeal: "The permissible grounds for a motor vehicle owner to contest a notice of code violation are: (4) The motor vehicle driver was required to violate the steady red traffic control signal in order to reasonably protect the property or person of another. . ."

She and I prepared her statement and waited. . .and waited. . .and waited. She finally got her night in court on Tuesday.

The first two "offenders" received little compassion - one asking to be provided with maintenance and reliability records of the equipment only to be shot down by a smirky attorney, the second using the same appeal we were planning to use, but stating that he was doing about 40 mph and going with the flow of traffic. They were both sent off to the cashier's window.

Next, they called the Edge's case. I could see her knees shaking even though she held her head high while she explained that she was travelling the speed limit. When the light changed, she had to make a split-second decision to proceed or slam on her brakes and possibly stop the large vehicle the intersection, putting her passengers at risk. The officer indicated that the light had been red for 0.23 seconds when she crossed the line.

The judge asked her to look at the indicated speed in the corner of the shadowy photo of the Mombus. It said 44mph. She insisted that she was only travelling 35 as she began to tear up with anger. She wiped her watery eyes in frustration and stood her ground.

"Sir, with all due respect, I KNOW I was going 35. I go to the beach all the time, and I ALWAYS drive 35 through Gulf Breeze. I usually drive my little red car, but this time I was in my parents' vehicle, so I was being extra cautious." I wanted her to also explain to him that we would take her off our insurance if she got a speeding ticket, and she knows better.

Instead, he asked to see the video tape.

The quality of the tape was much clearer. It was not dark, and it was evident that, not only was she telling the truth about her speed, she had her brakes on as she went through the light, supporting her claim that she contemplated stopping, but chose to continue through.

He found that the city could not prove its case, and dismissed the violation.

She could have easily paid the hundred bucks and been done with it, but she chose to stand up for herself and what she felt was right. Instead of punishing her, we listened to what she had to say, and felt very comfortable in supporting her.

I hope that this lesson makes has taught her that, as far as her Dad and I are concerned, she has the green light to make her own judgment calls without us always seeing red.

Have fun!

Fifteen Seconds at my Dinner Table

I was minding my own business, eating my salad, when the Edge turned to her Dad and said, "Were you watching that disgusting show today?"

"You mean the one about the. . ." The Hubster mouthed something behind his baked beans.

"Yeah!" She nodded. "And they had the. . .well. . ." she looked at me. "I don't want to say it in front of Mom, she'll gag on her salad."

"Oh, yeah, the. . ."

I interrupted. "Y'all just wait, I'm almost done here. You people and your inappropriate dinner conversation!" I shoveled a few flurried fitful forkfulls.

"I'll tell you in a minute," the Edge leaned conspiratorally toward Hubbalicious and gave him a wink.

Halfway Between waved his hands and rolled his eyes, "I hate it when y'all do that!" He grabbed his sister by the arm, and pulled her close to him. "Just whisper it to me. . .and then I'll blurt it out in Amazement!"

And that's when I got up and made my way in here to the computer. You can't make this stuff up. . .

Have fun!

Auntie Social

We held hands and blessed our food, all the troops and their families, all the babies on the way, and the families who were struggling in the economic crisis.

Then everyone dug in, except for Halfway Between. "It's so weird that I'm going to be an uncle!"

"Where's your food, Son?" Hubbalicious asked, as the Teen Wonder gingerly sipped his tea.

"I'm not hungry."

"Not hungry? Your Mother slaved over that stove for ten whole minutes. . .you better get your butt up there and fix a plate."

"Ah, no thanks. . .." he leaned back in his chair.

"What, are you just feeling anti-social?"

"Maybe he's 'Uncle Social,'" I suggested.

"I'm just not real hungry!" he said again, but then he got up and prepared a sampling of dirty rice and a smattering of peas. He returned to the table with his meager portions.

"What, are you anorexic?" The Edge asked him.

"Maybe he's 'Uncle Rexic!'"

Don't forget to tip your bartender. I'll be here all week. . .

Mind Your Mayonnaise

What do Political Pundits, the Congressman from South Carolina, Serena Williams, online forum posters and Kanye West have in common?

They all need a bar of lava soap and a lesson in good manners.

Do you allow your child to make fun of you if he disagrees with you? Do you allow her to call you a liar when you're speaking to a group of people? If you tell them that they did something wrong, can they threaten to shove an "effin" tennis ball down your throat?

Of course not, and yet we tolerate and even celebrate bad behavior in our celebrities, politicians and sports figures. And what about our own behavior?

Despite the occasional crass body noise, I think my children have pretty good manners. They hold doors for people, speak to others (siblings excluded) with respect, and accept respectful criticism. They use "yes ma'am" as a sign of respect, say "please" and "thank you" and clean up after themselves at fast-food restaurants. (Well, I do remind them to "Mind your mayonnaise. . .")

But I must set the example. If they see me acting with a lack of class or dignity, it doesn't do me much good to insist that they hold themselves to a higher standard. I never post anything online that I wouldn't stand behind, I "agree to disagree" when I don't see eye-to-eye with others, and I try to afford common courtesy to everyone I encounter.

I'm not perfect, by any stretch of the imagination. . .but I have to walk the walk if I'm going to talk the talk.

So, what do you think? Have you had enough of bad manners?

Wait For It. . .

It was nice to have a majority of my kids at dinner last night.

The Edge invited her friend to fill out the seating - the girl brought chocolate pie, so we had to make a spot for her!

Halfway Between kept commenting on how good the pork roast was. I commended myself for having done such a good job.

He asked his sister, "Don't you just LOVE this roast??"

"Yeah, it's pretty good," she replied.

"But don't you find the seasoning to be delightful?" he prodded.

"Uh, yeah, it's. . .delightful."

"Don't you want to know what it's seasoned with?" he continued.

"Okay. . .what is it seasond with?"

"JERK!"

"You say you're a WHAT?" she backfired, and so did the joke.

Have fun!

Good Grief

"Summer has come and passed.
The innocent can never last.
Wake me up when September ends. . ." - Green Day



I had a charmed childhood. Although my grandfather Jake had passed away when I was very young, I did not have to deal with the understanding of what loss meant.



It wasn't until I was in my mid-twenties that my great-Grandparents passed away, within ten hours of each other. We took great comfort that they had gone together. They'd lived a full life in ninety years, held their children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and great-great grandchildren.



In recent years, I've lost three grandmothers. I knew those were coming and handled them with due dignity. It's normal for old people to pass away - it's going to happen to all of us, hopefully waaaaaay down the road.



When my beloved stepDad died in 2007, I felt like my whole world had fallen apart. But I watched my Mother and followed her example of strength, and I passed it on to my kids. I still miss him every day, especially on this one, when I could really really use his practical advice.



This morning, I woke the Edge (of 17) so that she would have time to get ready for the funeral. While she knew the 15 year-old, they were not close. She is, however, close to some of his friends. "They're too young to even drive themselves, Mom. I'm going to take a bunch of fifteen year-olds to a fifteen year -old's funeral. That sucks."



What words of comfort do I offer her? What can I say that can heal the wound caused by a young life cut way too short?



Muddling through, I could only tell her that it would make this young man's parents feel good to see all the people there, that she was a good person for being there for her friends. I asked her if she wanted me to go with her, and must admit that I was relieved that she said "no."

I reminded her of one of my Mom's favorite quotes: the deeper sorrow carves into one's being, the more joy it can contain.



"You know what I just realized, Mom. It's 9/11."



"Yep, it sure is. But you know what, Baby, we all got up on 9/12 and kept on going. . . " she walked over to me and I opened my arms.



Days like this can sure make a parent feel lame (teen word! I know, I'm so hip!) But even in our lame-ness, we can still offer the one thing that makes everyone feel better - a hug from Momma.

Just Dance

Our Labor Day Weekend Vacation was an exciting trip to Atlanta Motor Speedway for the Pep Boys 500.



So, we're crusing into Atlanta the other day when traffic on I-85 came to a complete standstill.

Unfortunately, the mouths of our backseat passengers did not.

"Look, that guy's eatin' a HONEYBUN! I wish I had a HONEYBUN!" Halfway Between served up in his Mr. Haney voice. (Think "Green Acres. . .")

"Hey Mom!" 7th Heaven called out for the hundreth time. "Hey Mom!"

"Yes?" I asked.

"Ooh, I forgot what I was going to say. . ."

The Edge was mumbling into her cell phone. "Mmm. . . muph womp foo. . .ha ha ha!"

We ooched up past Honeybun Boy. . .

"See!" Halfway squealed. "That Honeybun sure looks good! Hey! How's that Honeybun??"

"Y'all hush! Dad's getting anxious. . . " I said, trying to regain control of the situation.

"Oh, yeah, hey Mom. . ." Seventh Heaven began.

"Mom just said to be quiet!" The Edge offered in mock defense, then resumed her mumbling.

"Who farted?!" Seventh Heaven exclaimed.

"It smells like Honeybun!" Mr. Haney squealed again.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHH! Enough!" Our poor driver was teetering on the brink. "What am I gonna DO with y'all?!"

It got very quiet. And then I decided that I had the answer. . .

"Just DANCE, dance, dance!"

And then, on cue, the backup singers piped in from the back seat

"Da-da doo-doo, mmmm. . .Just d-d-dance!"

It was at this point that Hubbalicious went totally Ga-ga and exited the vehicle. . .in the middle of I-85. . .and began dancing.

Well, at least our road trips are never boring! Although I think that poor guy choked on his Honeybun. . .

Have fun!

Lazy Parenting

Last night, I was in bed reading when Halfway Between stuck his head in the door.

"'Night Mom, 'night Dad. . ."

"Love you, Son!" I replied.

"ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ. . ." my husband injected thoughtfully.

A chapter later, I realized that the Edge had yet to drop in for smoochage. I was all warm and comfortable, so I didn't really want to get up. Hubbalicious was snoozing blissfully, and I didn't want to wake him by hollering for her. I picked up my cell phone.

"Come tell me goodnight! XOXO" I texted, knowing that was the most direct route.

Her smiling face popped in the door seconds later. "Really, Mom?"

If only cell phones could wash clothes and cook dinner, Mothers would never have to leave their beds!

Have fun!

My Worst Nightmare

Another of the Edge's acquaintances has lost his life.


http://www.pnj.com/article/20090908/NEWS01/909080314&referrer=FRONTPAGECAROUSEL


This time the young man was spending the night with a friend, as my kids have done many times. According to his father, who posted in the comments following the story, TC attended a party without permission and was killed on the way back to his friend's house. He was riding in a car with a young adult his father did not know.

This family is living my worst nightmare.


Some of the other commenters have asked the question, "What was a 15 year old doing out so late?" The father cleared that up, too, with a familiar scenario: he had no idea that his son was even out.


A couple of my kids have been caught sneaking out at night when they were supposed to be sleeping in their beds. Black Jack (21) enjoys sharing stories of his exploits now that he thinks he's beyond suffering a good beating. Short of chaining them to my leg, there is only so much that a parent can do when young person gets it into their heads that they are going to break the rules.


Of course, they probably don't see it as breaking the rules - the teens I know usually justify their behavior with "My parents are too strict, they don't let me do anything!" "They just don't understand." "I can take care of myself!" It doesn't matter how many times you attempt to cover the "what ifs. . ." although stories like this one help to drive the point home.


There are no words I could offer to this family to convey the depth of my sympathy for them.


I'll continue to discuss this story with my own children. . .and hug them a little tighter. . .and just keep praying. . .

Wake Me Up!

"Wake me up, before you go-go!" - Wham

Okay, I'm no George Michael. . .or that other guy from Wham, either. Much to the delight of my children, it doesn't stop me from singing, though!!

We're heading to Atlanta Motor Speedway for the big race this weekend. 3/5 of the kids will be with us (see, I'm remembering to count her Fiancee-ness!) The "adult" children have school and work obligations, but the ones too small to run away are trapped in a travel-trailer for three nights.

We had such a great time on our last adventure to Daytona, I'm hoping that this will measure up. Halfway Between (10 & 20) has already baited his fishing pole with the dollar (he calls it "Fishing for Rednecks.) The Edge (of 17) has gathered all of her "88" National Guard t-shirts. And 7th Heaven purchased a pink hat with #9 on it. . .and can tell you who number nine is!

I'm wondering what celebrity we'll be able to stalk this go-around. Since we're camping outside of the track this time, I don't envision another McDreamy sighting. . .but you neva know!

I was up at four this morning, going over my "packed items" in my mind again. Don't want to forget anything important, like a kid or something. I really wish that Black Jack (21) was coming with us - that's the weirdest thing about daily life and even after all this time, I still feel "askew" without them having all within slapping distance.

I reckon I need to peel myself away from the computer and start final preparations. I've been doing housework all week with the hopes that we could come home to "clean" this time. I've gone over the list twelve times, the laundry is caught-up, the sunscreen, beans and kosher hot dogs are stowed safely in the camper. . .

Now I have to go wake up the kids before we go-go. Y'all stand back, you don't want to miss it when I hit that high (note!)

Have fun!

All Washed Up!

I have discovered the trick to getting teenagers to do their own laundry.


When I was doing the majority of sorting, washing, drying and folding, anything that I found that didn't pass muster would find its way to the trash can. That included holey t-shirts, ripped up shorts, questionable unmentionables, anything too small, too tight, or just too "too" - call it "editorial privilege" if you will.

Halfway Between (15 & 20) asked me a while back, "Hey Mom? Have you seen my favorite camo shorts?"

"You mean the ones with the big holes in them? I threw those out!"

"But I sewed them up!"

"I'm not having you running around in 'Frankenpants,' it makes you look like nobody loves you. . ."

Since then, he's been vigilant about washing his own things. He still makes it out the door in his Mt. Dew Peek-a-boo T on occasion, but at least I don't have to see it up close!

Have fun!

New World Mom

I'm a rebel and a runner. . .okay, well, more of a griper and a jogger. . .but hey, there's no Rush!


I dropped off 7th Heaven at the door of her second grade class and then went for my little bop and stop through the neighborhood. I was thinking that I should have gotten Halfway Between (10 & 20) up before I left - he's supposed to begin his first week of virtual school this week and he really needs to get on track.


I arrived home and checked my watch. "I'll let him have fifteen more minutes," I thought to myself. "I'll go ahead and get a quick blog in before he takes over the computer."

I grabbed a glass of ice water, threw a leg over the chair and hit "Enter." The screen flashed to life, displaying this message:

Mom, I went to WH - my favorite place to eat !



I'm not sure whether I was more surprised at the method he'd used to make sure I got the note, that my kitchen was not his favorite place to eat, or that he was up and awake of his own accord! It's a brave new world. . .

Have fun!

Six Feet From the Edge

"I'm six feet from the edge, and I'm thinkin'
Maybe six feet ain't so far down. . ." - Creed



A few months ago, the Edge (of 17) attended a memorial service for an elementary and middle school acquaintance who had committed suicide. This weekend, another aquaintance of her's took her own life.



My friend and I were talking about it this morning. "My son is really taking it hard. He's never had anyone close to him die before. They had several classes together." She said. "He keeps saying he wished he'd said something. . ."



What could he have said or done? He didn't know what she was thinking. Hindsight is always 20/20 in these situations. What I suggested was that it was a good time to get a dialog going.



"I tell my kids that suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem." I said, using one of my stepDad-isms.



I cannot imagine the pain of losing a child to suicide. I cannot imagine the pain that would drive a child to suicide. My heart is breaking for this girl, her family, her friends. . .



These horriffic circumstances have lead to several dinner-table discussions with my teens. I reminded them that they have a mile-long list of people that they can talk to if they feel overwhelmed. Starting with me.



I've had to hear some things and deal with some stuff that, frankly, I could have lived a whole lifetime without ever having to hear about! But it's made all the difference when it comes to keeping a hand in their lives and helping them navigate. It doesn't mean that I haven't injected my own opinions and values, but I've had to learn to be open-minded and choose my battles.



We've also discussed the "Huckleberry Finn" scenario that I think many teens have - as though they could pop back in to their own funerals and say, "See! I knew you'd miss me." It doesn't happen that way. That's where the concept of permanence needs to be reinforced.



One of the best "weapons" that we have in raising kids in an "us vs. the world" climate is talking. Spend time with your kids and get to know them for who they really are, not who you think they should be. Be honest about who you are, too. Talk to them about struggles you've had to overcome, times when you felt overwhelmed and ways that you learned to deal with your own circumstances.



One of the parental cliche`s is that of "the talk" - and it's usually relating to the context of sexuality. But "the talk" should start when you pop them out and should never end (at least it hasn't yet for me. . .Black Jack (21) and I are STILL talking. . .and I'm still talking with my own Mom. . .)



I don't know if there are any clear answers when it comes to suicide. I don't know anything about the circumstances of these two tragic souls or their families. What I DO know is that I do my best every day to keep my kids close and to listen to them let them know that I love them unconditionally.

I Want to Ride My Bicycle

"I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride my bike.
I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride it where I like. . ." - Queen



I've often wondered that four children who were raised by the same parents can be so different.



From the moment that my two oldest children turned fourteen, they were making preparations to get their driving permits on their fifteenth birthdays. They were not deterred by grades, grounding, employment - they met whatever criteria thier Dad and I laid out and had that piece of plastic in hand tout de suite! Sweet!



Halfway Between (10 & 20) finds himself in no rush. He's actually halfway between 15 & 16 nowadays, and is quite nonchalant about the whole issue of driving.



We've made suggestions: "Yep, it's about time you get a job so that you can start paying your car insurance. . ."



We've made observations: "Not much room for a date there on your skateboard. . ."



We've offered bribes: "The Mombus could be yours someday soon. . ."



He just shrugs, tossles his hippie hair and says, "Ahh, I don't need a license. I have a sister with a license. And I have a bike."



He actually has several. He saved up a few summers ago to purchase his $300 Hoffman Bike, which he still spit-shines every now and then. He also rescues bikes from junk piles and garage sales - leaving my garage floor looking like "Dr. Frankenbike's Mad Labratory."



I suppose someday he'll have to break down and enter the world of the gainfully employed and licensed to kill. In the meantime, he leaves me scratching my head and pondering whether he was switched at birth.



It's a good thing he's so good-looking, otherwise I'd really start to wonder. . .



Have fun!

Free Advice

Free advice is always worth what you pay for it. . .


That's one of my Mom's favorite things to say, just before she offers me some free advice.


My friend called me while I was having lunch in the school cafeteria with the second-graders. Her daughter was the Edge's best bud until a few days ago (see "It's Not You, It's Me. . .)

"Hello?"

"Mwa mwa mwa mwa, mfff fwula?" She said, as the kid across from me showed me how to suck blue jello through a straw.

"Hello! I'll have to call you back!




Thirty minutes later, we were fully-involved. My friend's daughter is lying to her parents, can't hold a job, hanging out with friends of ill repute, basically heading down the wrong path.

"Take her car, her phone, her computer. Make her earn them back. . ."

There were reasons that they couldn't take her to school. "Make her ride the bus."

There were reasons that they wanted her to have the cell phone. "Put restrictions on it so she can only call you."

What about the job? "Help her find one, and tell her if she loses it, then she loses the car!"

I spent the next hour offering suggestions, answering questions, and just listening.

"I feel like I'm losing my mind!" my friend began to cry. . .



I suddenly felt surprisingly competent, but I was humbled, too. The only reason I felt like I had so many of the answers was because there was a time when I didn't. I'd made similar mistakes, made similar excuses, had similar feelings of parental helplessness and hopelessness. I shared this with my friend.

"Smooth seas don't make skillful sailors. Whatever you're doing now isn't working, but don't beat yourself up over it. Learn from it and go on! You've got to take charge here - you're the parent, it's your job to guide your child, not give her everything she wants."

The table busser at Pirate's Cove once told me that raising teenagers is like trying to nail jello to a tree. (I don't get ALL my good sayings from my Mom. . .) Sometimes it can feel that way. But one thing that I believe has helped us is to recognize that , yes, we are preparing to turn them loose on the real world, but sometimes we have to reel them back in first.

My advice to my friend was to ground her daughter. "I don't mean that you should lock her in her room, either. Make her your constant companion. Spend time together and get to know each other again. Talk, talk and talk some more. Make your rules and expectations clear. Her actions need to have consistent consequences. It's not about being mean, it's about saving your child! Hey, it worked for us!"

I hung up and called the Edge, who had come through her own set of trials and tribulations. I told her what advice I'd offered. "Yep, " she said. "I told her the same things. . ."

I laughed. "So, now I guess you can see the other side of things, huh?"

"Uh, yeah. . ."

"Are you just saying that so I'll hang up the phone and let you get back to your Mallin'?"

"Yep!"

Well, at least we've got that honesty thing down.

Have fun!

It's Not You, It's Me!

The Edge (of 17) has this friend whom she celebrates on her MySpace as "the friend who, if I was in jail, would be sitting in the cell next to me."

Charming, ain't it?

When things are good, they are the best of buds. But when things are not. . .

Their tumultuous relationship began in middle school, and has survived other best-friends, boyfriends, dances, family outings, multiple groundings and numerous instances of proclaiming "I know I've said it before, but this is really it!"

According to the Edge, the latest fall-out involves excruciating self-centeredness on the part of said offending friend. I listened to her familiar rant, read the scathing letter she had written to her friend, and watched as she gathered what seemed like an entire wardrobe of her friend's clothing (which explains where all the clothes I bought must be!) I hugged her, and then told her something she didn't really want to hear:

"I can see by this letter that you're really hurt, and you've made your point, but it will most likely continue to fall on deaf ears. She is who she is. In fact, she hasn't changed a great deal since middle school. The problem here is not her, dear. . .YOU are the one who continues to put up with it!"

She gave me that, "whachewtalkinboutwillis?" look.

"How many times have we had this conversation over the last five years, Baby? Do you think that I would remain friends with an adult woman who was jealous of the time I spent with my husband? Who griped at me if I ran into another friend at the mall and invited them to join us? Who demanded to know where I was every second of the day? She treats you and your other friends this way because YOU allow her to."

"You're right, Mom." She grabbed a pen and paper and started writing again. Then she handed it to me for approval. "Here, how about this?"

Her girlie handwriting is even more difficult to decipher when it's hasty.

"You are a witch. You have always been a witch and you will always be a witch! I don't want to be your friend anymore. It's not you, though, it's me."

Sigh. Not necessarily what I had in mind, dear.

I give it two weeks, three at the most.

Have fun!

Haunted, I Scream

The ghosts of "first days" past are haunting me.

When I had three children in school, "first days" were always the culmination of a mad frenzy of shopping and haircuts and intense preparation. They always started with a few tears, and ended with ice cream. It's been a long-standing tradition.

This year, with Black Jack (21) in college, and The Edge (of 17) and Halfway Between (10 & 20) both homeschooled, the "frenzy" was relegated to a quick shopping trip with 7th Heaven for ten dollars' worth of school supplies and a new t-shirt for her first day. Her dad and I walked her to class yesterday, snapped a picture. . .and that was it.

The Edge had joined her friends at the K-Mart parking lot for the "Senior Parade." She came bopping in an hour later, her poor girl-car covered in shoe polish, and announced how great it was to be homeschooled. "I'm going to get to do all the fun stuff, without all the drama!"

Oh, really? We've come a long way from "You've ruined my life!"

A few moments later, Black Jack and his affianced showed up. "Why is it so quiet?"

"First day of school. . ."

"Ohhhhhhh!"

Then Halfway Between meandered in from his late sleep, "Ahhhhh, this is the best 'first day of school' ever. . ." he said. He starts his lessons in September.

I sat, surrounded by my young-adult children, and was struck by the weirdness of the moment. I tend to get very wrapped-up in the "Mommy" aspect of my life, and 7th Heaven is such a powerhouse in her singular kidness, that I still lump them all into the "kid" category. But I guess that's really not the case anymore.

I spent the next hour or so just listening to my "babies" discuss movies, funny commercials, work, plans, physics and two or three more references to how quiet it was. . .and then the Edge exclaimed, "Ice cream!"

"Oh, yeah. . .first day ice cream!" Her brother chimed in.

"We ALWAYS have ice cream on the first day. . .let's go!"

"That's it?" I asked. "Y'all are just going to leave me alone? Okay. . .well, don't you have anything to say to me?"

"Oh, yeah. . .Uh, Mom, can we have some money?"

Yep, I'm definitely haunted. . .pay no attention should you hear me as I scream (or is it ice cream . . .)

Have fun!

A Pill in Capsule Form

"If I could save time in a bottle, the first thing that I'd like to do
Is to save every day 'til eternity passes away, just to spend them with you. . ." - Jim Croce


Tonight we'll be attending the festivities at the celebration of Pensacola's 450th Anniversary. Of course the music and fireworks will be fun, but I am really looking forward to making a contribution to the time capsule, which will be opened in another 50 years.

I can only imagine what the future holds.

In the brief forty-one years that I've been alive, I've witnessed everything from people taking off to go to the moon to the mind-consumption of the internet, where we can do it all without ever leaving our living room. Our tvs have gotten bigger and flatter and our vehicles smaller and rounder. We've gone from living simple lives to having everything we desired and now back to the basics again.

Last night we stood in our back yard and looked at the stars. Halfway Between (10 & 20) and Hubbalicious debated which clump of heavenly bodies comprised the scorpion while 7th Heaven and I just stood and took in the beauty of the twinkling lights. . .the same lights that people have looked at and wondered about since there have been people. Maybe in fifty years, our grandchildren and great-grandchildren will be out there somewhere, seeing them close-up.

I've got to get to work on my time capsule entry. I like to imagine being at the opening in 2059. . .

"And our honored guest today is world-renowned author and humorist, 91-year-old Lara McKnight, who has beamed in from her Island Retreat with her twenty-seven obnoxious grandchildren to read her time-capsule submission. Doesn't she look stunning in that bikini? Let's give her a hand, folks. . ."

It could happen.

Hope to see you at the party tonight! Have fun.

Seems Like Ole' Times. . .

When you go fishing, it's important to use the right bait.

Last night, it was tacos.

Under threat of certain death, all four of my children (plus one, and a half) managed to make it for dinner. The seven of us crowded around the table which seems to keep getting smaller and smaller, and joined hands. We said our blessing, thankful for the moment, then the salsa commenced to flyin'!

I'd forgotten how nice (and noisy) it was to have the whole gang in one place at one time. It seems like one or the other is always working or otherwise occupied, and dinner time at our house is now usually a much quieter affair.

When you find yourself in the midst of your family fracas, wishing for a little peace and quiet. . .well, be careful what you wish for. It isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Have fun. . .ole'!

Really? Really!

"Pride makes us artificial and humility makes us real." - Thomas Merton


Okay, here's a little dose of "real" for today. . .

When Black Jack turned 21, I secretly gave myself a little pat on the back. There's ONE who made it all the way to adulthood. . .without getting pregnant!

He's a boy, but you know what I mean. I was pretty darn proud of myself for accomplishing this feat. I wore it like a little secret badge of honor - ha!

You also know what they say about pride going before a fall.

I was sitting at the dinner table one night when the phone rang. It was Black Jack calling. "Hey Mom. Guess what! I'm going to have a baby!"

"I'm eating dinner right now, Son. . .I'll have to call you back." I'm always known for my wisdom and grace under pressure. . .I thought I was going to fall out of my chair.

In the days that followed, all I could think about was where I had gone wrong. I'd worked so hard to "set him up" for life, trying to keep him between the navigational beacons when he began drifting out of the channel, jerking a knot or two in his little neck when called for.

I'd even gone and had that fourth kid - I figured that had cured ALL of them from ever wanting to have one of their own.

His teen years had left me punch-drunk, to say the least. Somehow (intensive praying) he'd graduated from High School with honors, moved out on his own, survived a brief "party phase," secured a scholarship, and had arrived at "almost finished with college." And now he's going to be a DAD!?


I turned to my friends for support. "I am NOT a Maw-maw!" I cried indignantly. They suggested a variety of "hip" Grandmother names that just did not fit.

I called my Dad. He laughed at me.

Soon, I began to feel like my impending generational elevation was the proverbial "elephant in the room." I'd run into old friends at Wally World and say, "Hey! Good-to-see-you-I'm-gonna-be-a-Grandma!"

I even joked with one friend about having a t-shirt made up: "Too Young to be a G-Maw!"

I've known for a couple of months, but haven't even been able to blog about it until now. After all, what is everyone going to think of me and my parenting abilities?


It has occurred to me, however, that this is NOT all about me and how it affects my life. I've done my job in preparing this young man, now it's up to him to use the tools he's been given and to make the most of it. He can plot his own course and follow it.

I'm just here to love him unconditionally. . .and maybe babysit occasionally.

As for my "wounded pride. . ." Well, he's certainly buckled down and handled himself like a man thus far. Although, that's nothing I've had to tell him to do, he's just done it. And while I am doing the "payback dance," I also believe he's going to be a wonderful father.

And THAT makes me very proud.

What Will the Neighbors Think?

"I don't give a damn 'bout my reputation!" - Joan Jett




Oh, but someday you will. . .that's what my parents and grandparents tried to tell me during those "what will the neighbors think?" speeches. I would roll my eyes and lament the absolute "fogey-ness" of their sentiments. I didn't care what the neighbors thought.

As time has passed, I've learned to appreciate what they were trying to tell me. It wasn't really about the peering eyes of the Venetian peekers that I needed to worry about. The manner in which I conducted myself in all things would become my "advertising" when it became necessary to "sell" myself in an important situation.

Those who know me are aware that I am far from perfect, but I do believe that my good points outweigh my bad ones in the big scheme of things. Halfway Between (10 & 20) and I were talking about this last night at dinner. We'd listened to one of the Town Hall meetings on the ride home yesterday, where an angry man was chastising Arlen Specter and telling him that he and his cronies on the Hill would face God's judgement.

"Do you think he was right to bring God into it?" Halfway asked.

"Well, in my opinion, he might have been more 'appropriate' in suggesting that the Senator look in the mirror and judge himself. I don't like make assumptions about anyone's religious convictions. . ."

The conversation continued about politicians' reputations, the choices we make and why it is important to try and do the right things. I pointed out to Halfway that he has established a trusting relationship with his father and me by following the rules and making wise choices. "Because you have a reputation for being honest and responsible, we extend you certain freedoms. But if you ever do anything to tarnish it. . ." I drew my finger across my neck.

His older brother and sister have been useful tools in teaching him that lesson. They've had to test the waters and learn their own lessons, in their own ways, about trust and the importance of conducting oneself with integrity. They've encountered some stormy seas, but I think the end result is that they've learned to become skillful sailors.

If you've been following along, you know that I've made some mistakes as a parent. I share them with you, dear reader, in the hopes that maybe we can all learn from them. I have a reputation for being a wee bit overprotective, marginally inconsistent, perhaps even a little crazy. But part of the process is to learn from my mistakes and to live with the knowledge that someone IS watching me, taking note of my behavior, ever-mindful of my reputation . . .and it's not the neighbors (actually, we're usually watching THEM!)

It's my children.

Poor guys. . .they've certainly gotten an eye-full! Maybe they'll turn out okay anyway.


Have fun!

Rollin' on the River. . .

"And we'll go rollin' on the river of love. . ." - George Strait






"Oh, great, Mom. Now I've got that song stuck in my head!" Halfway Between (10 & 20) commented on his way to the shower.


"It's a good song!" I replied.


"Pshhhhhh. . ." he said, and closed the door.


I was thinking about blog material this morning and it got stuck in mine, so I figured I'd share. We now resume our regular blog.







The other day the Edge (of 17) asked if she could go tubing on the river with her friends. I pulled out "Mom Speech #34."


"Who all's going?" She named the usual suspects.


"Where are you going tubing." The usual place.


"Who's driving?" She was.


"Are your friends planning on drinking?" No, she didn't think so.


"Are you planning on drinking?" Of course not.


"Well, just remember, if you're driving, you're responsible for the life of every person in that vehicle. Don't have your radio too loud, don't be carrying on and giggling, or talking on your cell phone. I know you've said there wouldn't be alcohol, but for God's sake, if there is, you have a list of people you can call who will come and pick you up, no questions asked."


She pulled out eye roll #15.


"Hey, I just want to make sure that we are absolutely clear. Now you don't have to give it much more thought. I love you."


"I love you, too."


About that time, Dad walked into the kitchen. "What's up?"


The Edge hugged him. "I'm going tubing at the river, Daddy!"


He looked at her, then commenced to deliver "Dad Speech #2."


"Who all's going. . ."


We may be redundant, but I think her Dad and I have got a good flow going.


Have fun!

I Know You're In There!

Unlike my other teens past and present, Halfway Between (10 & 20) is not prone to dramatic outbursts.


At first, that seems like a blessing. But it also leaves me at a loss to figure out what is going on in there. At least with the others, I know exactly where I stand, even if it is usually in their way.


The other morning, he SET HIS ALARM (I know!) and woke himself to go say goodbye to a friend who is moving to another state.


(This "alarming" development will not stop me from coming into his room and singing, "OH! What a beautiful morning!" But at least now I know he has an adult skill under his belt. When he wears a belt.)


He returned a few hours later with a monotone greeting, "Hey mom."


"You okay, Pal? Are you sad?"


"Ah, a little. But there's always MySpace. . .and me and the guys are going to chip him in and buy him a plane ticket back down."


"The 'Mean guys?'"


"Sorry, Mother. . .'The Neighborhood Gentlemen and IIIIIII. . .'" Why does his proper English always have to be delivered with an English accent?


"Well, that's a good idea."


"And his Mom said I was welcome to come up and visit them any time."


"That's sweet. Do you want a hug?"


He looked at me as if I'd offered him a pink bow for his hair. The disappointment must have shown on my face, because he smiled and stretched out his arms. "Okay, Mom, if YOU need a hug. . ."


The truth is, I DID need a hug.


He may be six-feet-tall, but I know my little man is still in there somewhere.

Jury Duty

Dun, dun, dun. . .This is the defendant, The Edge (of 17).


Dun, dun, dun, dun. . .She's accused of a bad merge, and has been offered a bailout. . .


In lieu of forking over $158.00, she has performed eight hours of community service, paid a small fine to the scholarship fund and has agreed to serve on a jury, in our courtroom, Teen Court!

(Cue dramatic crescendo. . .and cut to commercial.)


Hey, look, isn't that Judge Wapner??




The Edge called around 6:30 while she was on a break.


"So, what are y'all doing?" I asked.


"I can't tell you, Mom. . .I'm under oath!" She sounded so responsible. Who knew?


She arrived home an hour and a half later, and I cross-examined her. She gave me a brief overview of the evening. The cases she heard involved shoplifting.


"Some of the other jurors wanted to 'stick it' to the defendants like they'd had it 'stuck' to them," she said, her voice welling with compassion.


"Well, the idea is that it's supposed to be a deterrent. Do you think it helped?"


"I'd like to."


She said she'd questioned one young lady about why she made the choice to steal.


"A lot of my friends do it." The girl had responded.


"Well, maybe you need to get some new friends!" Was my daughter's response.


Hmmmmm, now why did that sound familiar?


I'm glad that she was offered this opportunity to resolve her fine, and hope that the experience reinforced some of the things her Dad and I have been pounding into her little rock head for the last seventeen years.


Yep, she MAY turn out okay. Of course, the jury's still out on that one. . .


Have fun!

Ticket to Ride

"Before she gets to saying goodbye,
She ought to think twice,
She ought to do right by me." - The Beatles

The Mombus, currently held together with duct tape and melted crayons, is having a tough time. Even with 210,000 miles, blown speakers from teen thumpers, intermittent a/c and carpeting in some shade of spilled soda, I still love to drive her - there's something about the way that ”paid for" handles that I just can't describe. I have resolved that she WILL last until the youngest teen passes the "learning to drive" phase. Then, I'm totally getting a two-seater.

The issue du jour is battery-related (last week it was the brakes), so while the man of the house tackles the problem, I am using the Edge's vehicle for quick grocery runs. I've noticed a different driving experience when I am at the wheel of the zippy little vehicle.

For one thing, people follow me a lot more closely. That may be due, in part, to their trying to read the shoe polish notes on the back window.

At the bank, the teller looks down on me, and addresses me by my first name. When I am perched proudly at the regal wheel of my Mombus, I am Mrs. McKnight.

Men check me out in the little zippy car. Until they get close enough to see the gray hair and wrinkles. Sorry, dude, but you shouldn't be looking at little girls in cars anyway!

There are lots of shiny trinkets and colorful geegaws hanging from the rearview mirror. They dance to the music and fly dangerously close to my eyes when I turn. I'd remove them, but the BFF chain is twisted into the rainbow lei, her nametag from work and the air freshener and I don't have time to unravel the mess.

So, if you see what appears at first glance to be a teenager's vehicle tooling around town at the posted speed limit while blaring 80's tunes, just give me a little room. I'm simply looking for the brake pedal amid the soda bottles and beach towels.

Have fun!

Lighten Up!

"I'm gonna tell everyone to lighten up. . ." - Cheryl Crow





The Edge (of 17) and I were talking about body image the other day.


"I've noticed that, lately, you kind of CARE how you look," she said.


"I've always cared how I look!"


"Annnnnnnnhhhhh. . .not really."


Well, I THOUGHT I HAD. I guess the "lifestyle changes" I've made over the last nine months really have changed me. She continued, "You've always cared how IIII looked!"


"What do you mean?"


"Remember when I was in eighth grade, and you and Dad were always fussing at me for getting a second helping after dinner. . ."


Oh, THAT again? My kids will probably hit me up for their therapists' bills . . ."Yeah. Parents aren't perfect. And I may have made a mistake in the way I approached that."




The school had sent home a note indicating that she was "at risk" for obesity. The pediatrician had mentioned she was on the high end of the "curve." And I, not being as smart as I am now, decided to obsess over her weight. We'd gone through the same thing with her brother, and made the same errors with him, too. Only, at the time, we honestly thought we were doing the right thing.


Looking back, though, I now realize that kids' bodies change a great deal between eleven and fifteen. Sometimes they have more "outus" than "uppus" - that is normal. The answer is not to criticize or nag, but to help guide them into making healthy choices and to keep them physically active. Turn off the computer and take them for a walk around the block.


And remember, you have to set the example. While I was busy fussing at them, I rarely exercised and was a regular at many local drive-thru eateries.


We all make mistakes. Today I take her little sister with me for walks and bike rides, we avoid fast-food (except for occasional treats) and purchase very little "junk" food. We drink lots of water and eat plenty of veggies. The difference between where I am now and other "diets" I've attempted in the past is that I've learned to control what I put in to my body and I have incorporated fitness into my life. I do some sort of physical activity every day, and I've cut back on the "whine" and cheese. The results have been good for all of us.


I can't go back and "undo" the baloney we all went through, but perhaps our experiences can help other parents and teens struggling with these same issues.


When it comes to worrying about childhood obesity, we could all "lighten up" a little.



Have fun!

A New Standard

http://www.pnj.com/article/20090721/NEWS01/90721018/-1/archives


The above tidbit was obscured between the murder headlines and mention of assorted vehicular catastrophes, however, I am surprised that more folks are not finding themselves in the midst of an "AH-HAH!" moment.


A few years back, I dragged my kids, my husband, and a family friend we call "Moochie" to Tallahassee to address the House Education Committee on the drawbacks of the current use of standardized testing as a sole measure of ability and accountablity for our students.


The partisan brick wall was difficult to breach, and I was left with "The Governor is Committed to His Education Plan" as though it were some sort of psychotic mantra reverberating in my head. Our own Representative Murzin offered me a sip of the magic Kool-aid while Rapheal Arza (of racist-remark fame) tried to statistic me into oblivion.


One of our Moms pointed out the following phrase: " Education officials are not sure why."


DUH!


And who is to blame?

Not the teachers, they're just doing their jobs. . .their livelihood depends on test scores. The mandates come from administrators nervous about funding who demand that our children acheive the desired numbers. And those demands come straight from THEIR bosses at the DOE.


Come on, DOE. . .POOF! You wanted "standard" students, POOF! You've got 'em.


Congratulations.


Welcome to the effects of No Child Left WIth Any Creative Initiative. . .

Electricity!

Teen Talk - Energize Me!
Posted 7/20/2009 11:21 AM EDT on pnj.com Prod

"E-lec-tri-cit-y! Energize me!" - Midnight Star







Halfway Between starts his secondary robotics camp at UWF today.



A friend arrived for carpooling, and I mentioned that I was glad that Halfway would have a dancing partner.



"Dancing?" He asked.



"Yeah. I never could do 'the robot' myself. Maybe you can teach it to me when you're done. . ."



His friend looked perplexed. . .then offered, "Mrs. McKnight, I think we're going to BUILD a robot."



"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"



I keep thinking about all those Disney movies where the kids develop a robot and antics ensue, then things go awry and the crazy parents come in and save the day.



Of course, Disney movies aren't "real life." We've never actually developed a robot.



However, the crazy parent thing is covered.



I escorted them to the classroom and checked them in. Before I left, I couldn't help but offer Halfway Between a discreet air kiss so as not to embarrass him. It's important to be aware of that kind of stuff.



I turned and walked to the door, and added, "You boys look so grown-up and collegiate!"



I'm sure they appreciated my thoughtfulness.



So, now that I'm thinking about doing the robot, I feel energized. . .anybody want to dance with me??



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LIWtjaz_8UA&eurl=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.last.fm%2Fmusic%2FMidnight%2BStar%2F_%2FElectricity&feature=player_embedded


Have fun!

Aren't You Missing a Year, Here??

When Pcolamoms.com changed to Pensacola.Momslikeme.com in March of 08, the technical guys said, "Eh, just start posting your stuff at the News Journal website."

They had no respect for my "body of work" - and the early contents of this blog hung in editing limbo for quite some time.

I have FINALLY figured out how to make these old posts magically reappear. It's amazing to me to see how many things have changed during the time between March of 08 and July of 09. . .and how many things are still the same (yes, L, I still hide out in the closet!)

If you're following along without a program, "Hey Nineteen" went "Double Decades" and is now "Black Jack" because he is 21. "Fifteen for a Moment" suffered her stint as "Sweet Sixteen" and now resides on "The Edge of Seventeen." "The Fourteener" rests "Halfway Between (10 & 20)". . .and that baby "Sixshooter" has elevated her status to "7th Heaven."



So, dear reader, if you happen to be looking for the stuff in-between, check out PNJ.com and locate me in the blog section under "Staff/Reader Blogs."

I realize there's a little jumping around involved to catch up, but it never stopped Paul Harvey from finding "the rest of the story. . ."

Have fun!

Perfect

"I want to have control.
I want a perfect body,
I want a perfect soul. . ." - Radiohead

In my mind, Fifteen for a Moment is physically perfect. Ah, perhaps a little bony of the hip and yappy of the lip, but still durn near. ANd yet, she still wants to look like someone else - tannner, curvier, trendier.

When I was her age, I was fifteen, too. And I was always worried about how I looked compared to the other girls. I look at pictures of myself now and wonder why I wasted all that time worrying. But I did.

Now that I am just days away from 20/20, I catch myself considering that I am not, nor will I ever be Perfect. Of course, who am I trying to please? My husband? My friends? My kids? They all love me just the way I am.

Frankly, perfect is an unattainable goal - even for those who, from the outside, would appear to us to be so. At one time, I know my daughter considered someone like Britney or Paris or Lindsay to be perfect. . .while I hate to celebrate someone's demise, at least they've let a few seekers of perfection off the hook!

Wouldn't it be a wonderful gift to give our daughters to release them from their need to be perfect? I guess we start with ourselves. Enjoy who you are, flaws and all!

Have fun!

Maybe I'm the One

"Maybe I'm the one. . .
Maybe I'm the one. . .
Maybe I'm the one who is
A schizophrenic psycho, yeah. . " - Puddle of Mudd

Is it just me?

Oh, knock it off, will you? There's no room for self-doubt in the melee of parenthood. Gotta hike up the britches, set the jaw and challenge them to bring it on. You can handle it. You are one mean mother, let me tell you!

Okay, okay. I'll leave the comfort of the back of the closet. Hang on, I have to stop here at the bathroom mirror for a sec, first.

Okay, Lara, you can DO this. You're good enough, you're smart enough, and doggonit, people like you. . .well, people who aren't your children. Hey, it's YOUR fault for thinking they are people in the first place. . .

Have fun.

(okay, I will. . .)

Word Up!

"Wave your hands in the air
Like you don’t care.
Glide by the people as they start to look and stare.
Do you dance, do your dance quick!
Mama, come on baby, tell me what’s the Word.
Ah – word up, everybody say. . .
When you hear the call you got to get it underway.
Word up, it’s the code word,
No matter where you say it,
You’ll know that you’ll be heard." - Cameo (or Korn)


The word of the day is "indolent." As in, "Get your indolent butt up out of the bed, Fred!"

Teenagers love to try that whole, "You can't make me!" thing out every now and again.

They're right. I can't MAKE you do anything. I never could. Oh, I could lift you and toss you about when you were smaller, but I never could really MAKE you do what I asked you to do.

However, I can PREVENT you from doing certain things. Like watching television, talking on the phone, heck, even OWNING a cell phone, etc. etc. Because I am and older and have the POWER. . .in my name.

I love the scene from "Fried Green Tomatoes" where Kathy Bates is waiting for the parking space. Two rude young women in a convertible zip in and holler, "Face it, we're younger and faster!"

Kathy waits while they go inside, then proceeds to smash the tar out of their zippy little vehicle with her own behemoth. The girls come running back out of the store screaming, "What are you doing??"

Kathy very calmly looks at them and says, "Face it, I'm older and I have better insurance."

Yep, I'm giving them the word this morning. Enough of your indolent attitudes. . .word up!

All My Children

"Good actions give strength to ourselves and inspire good actions in others." - Plato




I am not much on formal volunteerism and the accolades that accompany it. That's not why I do it. Instead, I prefer to do my thing in the background, and I teach my kids to do the same. Fourteen and I went up to the school to do a project with the kindergarten class. Once we finished, they broke out the play-dough.

The teacher, who has skooled a few McKnights in her time, commented that he was quite a popular fixture.

"Well," he said, "I COULD be at home watching t.v."

"Yeah," the teacher replied, "You're missing 'All My Children.'"

I joined in, "Instead, we're here with 'Half My Children!'" We giggled and the other two walked in the door. "NOW it's all of 'em!"

Kindergarteners are an easy group to please, and teenagers who take the time to do play-dough with them are always admired. I think it is nice that the older ones think enough of their little sis to spend time with her.

I worried about that (well, I worry about EVERYTHING!) often during the early years - that she'd have no relationship with her older sibs. But it's turned out okay.

I hope that our small gesture inspires these kids to do the same with the next gang to come along. . .it's all laid out in the philosophy of Play-dough. . .

I Love You All the Ritz

"Dressed up like a million dollar trouper -
Trying hard to look like Gary Cooper (super duper!)

. . .Puttin' on the Ritz." - Taco


When Double Decades was a baby, my husband would tell him, "I love you all there is!"

Then my little man would respond, "Daddy, I love YOU all the ritz!"

I frequently remind them of the sloppy affection that existed between them before they started locking horns. I guess it's a man-thing. . .I just hope all the boys return from their upcoming "guy's weekend." Turkey season or something - the laundry was full of camo this morning. Maybe they need some time in the woods to sort it out.

I get so used to seeing my kids in their "natural state" that I am taken aback when they put on their "Ritz." We had an important function to attend last night which required belts and pressed dress shirts and clean fingernails and all my teens, past and present, rose to the occasion. There was nary an AC/DC t-shirt nor a flip-flop in sight!

Of course I did not take a picture as we were in a frenzied rush.

For as much as I complain about their shortcomings, I feel as though I should take pause to celebrate their triumphs.

You guys are wonderful and I am so proud of you.

(Okay. . .now clean your rooms before you leave. . .)

Cut it Out!

"You walked into the party
Like you were walking onto a yacht -
Your hair strategically dipped below one eye,
Your scarf it was apricot. . ." - Carly Simon



Few things inspire pride in Fourteen like his hair.

His auburn locks cascade gracefully beyond his ears, over the top of his collar, where they end in a stunning flip. I can't decide if he looks like a supermodel or a character from a "Dickens" novel. "Alms for the poor, sir?"

Few things insprire the rest of the family to ridicule Fourteen like his hair.

Double Decades has been sporting his ROTC fade for six years now, never letting his crowning glory grow beyond a quarter inch. Fifteen for a Moment, her brain having been similarly washed in the military fashion, believes that running her fingers through a boy's hair should be no more than a short jog.

And what the heck happened to that guy I married? Twenty plus years ago, he was all I knew of the "Big Bang" theory! "A Flock of Seagulls" had nothing on his blow-dried, moussed do . . .now, if his scalp doesn't show, it's gotta go!

My husband tells a story about finding his detatched ponytail on the pillow one morning many years ago. As time has gone by, the perspective has changed: first told by a teenager and later by a father of teens, his own father's role in the story has gone from that of villian to hero.

I guess I am the odd one in the bunch. . .I figure it's his hair, he should wear it the way he wants (within reason, of course.) When they all start in on him, I tell them to cut it out.

"But Honey," Your Daddy Don't Rock and Roll pleads with me, "he looks like nobody loves him. He needs to do something with that hair. . ." So, being the "great compromiser" that I am, I took him to see my stylist, The Magic Man.

(I should add that my husband thinks the Magic Man is a "hair-genius" and has a great deal of respect for his work, but refuses to pay more than ten bucks for a cut or he'd use him too!)

The Magic Man did his thing, first listening to what we wanted, then achieving a balance between the long flowing mane and making my son look like the child of someone who cares. He even left the "flip" just beyond Fourteen's right eye.

I know there are more important things in the world - believe me, I am thankful that my child's worries are as minor as they are. Still, I'm glad I stood my ground on his behalf.

After all, you know what they say about kids - hair today, gone tomorrow.

Raiders of the Lost Art

Some day I will figure out how to add music to this blog. However, for those of you who are reading this on the sly, maybe that's not such a good idea. Let's just keep it in our heads, shall we?

Cue theme from "Raiders of the Lost Ark"

I've been taking Fifteen for a Moment up to take her FCAT. Yes, yes I have. Wait! There's a good reason. Well, a couple of them.

Now that she's homeschooled, she's not required by law to take it. BUT, if she is going to receive a real diploma, she'll have to have it (I think.) I've also heard rumor that we can use her ACT or SAT scores as a substitute. . .I'll have to do more research and get back to you. Why do they have to make it so dang confusing???

From my moderately educated position, I told her, "Hey, it doesn't matter how you do on it anyway!"

"Really? Cool!"

"Yep, this year, your FCAT is moot!"

"Mom, why do you always use those big words??" If I hadn't been driving, I'd have closed my eyes and shaken my head.

We've also been waiting for her classes at FLVS to activate - it can sometimes take a couple of weeks. Monday morning, I suggested to her that we read a book.

"Why would I read a book, Mom?" She talks to me while texting someone else.

"For information! For entertainment! It doesn't matter what book, let's go find something that you'll wind up reading anyway. Orwell, Fitzgerald, Austen. . ." The way her thumbs were moving looked unnatural.

"Ugh! That sounds sooooo exciting. . .NOT!" Well, sarcasm while thumbing. At least she can multi-task.

"PUT THAT PHONE DOWN!" Oh! Hello. Eye contact! I dragged her reluctant self to the bookstore where,after a good hour and a half, we chose a timeless classic from the "It Girl" series. (Yes, she comes by that sarcasm honestly.) Her criteria was "something thin, not old, with short words."

Smut will have to do in the interim. My plan is to get Miss "Switched at Birth" reading, then drop in something worthwhile when she's not looking.

Recently, we read the assigned works (someone send me a note and tell me how to underline on this thing, please!) "Anthem" and "Farenheit 451" - I wish I'd have insisted on going through "Julius Ceasar" with her, but she suffered through it with her English teacher and it came off as "stupid." If I don't stay on her about it, she'd never read anything more compelling than "Teen Vogue." Between the frenzy of school, work and the extra-curricular, reading has just gotten lost.

Oh, but "nutenymure." (In my best Pepe Le Pew.)

I figured it wouldn't hurt for her to get out of the house for a couple of mornings and fill in some bubbles. It will be interesting to see if this no-pressure angle improves her scores any. And being away from me for a few hours may save her life!

So here I go, the Raider of the Lost Art of Reading. Like Indy, I'm just making this up as I go! Throw me my whip. . .

Have fun.

Finding A Better Wetter

"Under the sea. . . under the sea. . .
Darling it's better
Down where it's wetter,
Take it from me. . ." - Sebastian the Crab, from "Little Mermaid"



I'll bet you expect me to write about the FCAT this morning, don't you?

Nope, instead I am going to tell you a story about swimming.

Yesterday, we took Six up to the Washington Aquatic Center - they'd advertised a swim team for kids. I called first, "What do we need to do?"

"Well, she'll need to come up and jump in. . .they just want to make sure she can dog paddle."

Before I'd even hung up the phone, she was digging out her bathing suit and giggling.


We arrived at the pool and filled out the appropriate paperwork. Fifteen met us there (she and her friend Lulu had just finished driver's ed class) to cheer her sister on.

"Can I get in, Mommy? Wait, I have to go to the bathroom!" My Six is writing a book entitled "Great Potties of America." We've got a lengthy list of them under our belts.

She came back and jumped in. "Okay, I'm going to see if you can pass the test," the young man said, "Now you need to swim to the end of the pool." We all turned and looked at him. No one had said anything about swimming to the end of the pool!

"Give her a minute," I said. "She's a good swimmer, but she hasn't been in the water since last summer." He waited patiently.

She looked fearful as she tried and tried again, each time sinking below the water in a panic.

"I'll get in with her, " Fifteen said. She took off her sweatshirt and jumped in, fully clothed. "Come on, Sweetie, you can do it." Lulu, not one to miss a wet t-shirt opportunity, jumped in too.

"Okay." Puff puff puff. "Okay." Paddle paddle paddle. "O-blub-kay." She just wasn't up to the challenge.

"You know what, we'll try later. . .come on out, pal."

"I couldn't do it, Mommy." She cried as I wrapped her in her towel. I felt so bad.

"You tried, baby. It's okay." I looked at Fifteen and friend, who stood beside us dripping defeatedly. "You're a good sister. Thanks guys."

I'd watched her swim like a fish last summer - jumping off the back of the boat, confidently bobbing along with her arms and legs paddling ninety to nothing. Doing tricks off the diving board and swimming from one end of the pool to the other. She is one joyful swimmer.

But I guess somehow all the pressure and feeling as though she were being put on the spot, the weirdness of two teens in wet jeans cheering her on and mom and a coach looking at her worriedly and expectantly were just too much.

Does it mean that we need to keep her out of the water? Of course not! It just means that she doesn't perform well as a swimmer when she's under the gun. Once we get her in the right environment, where she can just do her thing, we'll have to nail that girl's fins to the floor!

When you dump all that stress on a kid, you're just not going to get the same result.

And you thought I was going to write about the FCAT. . .

Spring Forward Gets You to Five Faster

"At a moment like this, I can't help but wonder,
What would Jimmy Buffet do?" - Alan Jackson




The Monday after "Spring Foward" is usually my least favorite day of the year.

Nobody wants to get up, everyone is grumbly and I feel like I am running behind all day! Oh snap, I'll have to come back and finish this in a few minutes. . .

So, it's what, like 8:15am?? No, it's 5:15pm. . .and here I am.

I HAVE learned something very important today that I would like to share. There is a reason that Teens do not see things the same way we do. Would you like to know what it is?

It's because they've all got their heads up their -

Note: this blog has been pre-empted by the author's afternoon cocktail. It's five o'clock somewhere, oh, here! (even if it only feels like four!)

Have fun - and remember, you are a human and it is illegal to eat your young.

What You Need

"Hey, here is the story:
Forget about your troubles in life.
Don't you know it's not easy
When you've gotta walk upon that line?

That's why -
You need
That's what - this is what you need.
I'll give you what you need.

Don't you get sad and lonely.
You need a change from what you do all day.
Ain't no sense in all your crying,
Just pick it up and throw it into shape.

That's why - you need.
That's what - this is what you need. . ." - INXS


Can you tell I was a teen in the eighties?


When I write my blog each day for you, dear reader, it serves a dual purpose. The first is theraputic. When I see my life in words on a screen with the pretty pink and green background, it doesn't seem so dark and crazy.

The second is that I have spent years getting to a point in my life where I feel comfortable with who I am as a Mom. When they hand you a squirmy pink human in the hospital for the first time, suddenly everything you thought you knew about your competence and place in the universe goes flying right out of your head. Recovering who you are can be a process!

I would love to save some other Mom from all the self-doubt and worry that I had to go through to get to my Happy Place. My Mom always says that free advice is worth what it is worth. When you're a Mom, free advice exists in abundance. I wish I'd have spent less time fretting over advice and more time following my heart. . .and learned earlier to let the water flow on under the bridge. There is no "Perfect." Learning to accept that and move on is the best gift a Mom can give herself.

That doesn't mean that I don't have my moments. But at least I can see them coming on and deal with them - before I start all my crying, I pick it up and throw it into shape. And rocking out to a little INXS helps, too. Sometimes that's all you need. . .

Have fun!

Zeroing In

When Fifteen for a Moment needs a new outfit, we can point at the one in the window, find her a size ZERO, put it on her and TAH-DAH! Sock it to me!

When your's truly, Twenty Nineteen, needs a new outfit, she looks at the ones in the store window and sighs, finds ZERO options that are appropriate, tries on something matronly in disgust and can't see past the sock prints on her ankles.

Mwa Mwa Mwa Mwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. . .

You Ain't No Friend of Mine

"You just call out my name
And you know, wherever I am,
I'll come running. . .

You've got a friend." - James Taylor



Billy Ray Cyrus, the Achy Breaky real-life dad of "Hannah Montana," is quoted as saying that he wants to be his daughter Miley's best friend.

My first reaction was to roll my eyes.

"You can't be a parent AND a friend." I thought to myself. Then I remebered one of my favorite Erma Bombeck quips - "Parents who are critical of other people's children and publicly admit they can do better are asking for it." So, uh, good luck, there, Billy Ray.

My daughter's Myspace profile is all about the people who matter the most to her in her life. . .her friends. I listened to her read it aloud. With passion in her voice, she celebrated the way her friends are "always there for her" and "never let her down."

I waited for the part where she celebrated the person she runs to when those great and wonderful friends decide that they are NOT her friends anymore because someone said that she said something about someone who said that what she supposedly said meant that they were no longer friends.

Certainly the words of devotion and admiration for that person were forthcoming. She got to the end of her homage and looked at me. "Well?"

"And?" I asked.

"And what? What do you think? Am I a good writer?"

"Well, yes... you did a great job of honoring your friends...but..."

"But what?"

"What about The Mom? I am always there for you. I never turn my back on you."

"Mom, people don't put 'I love my Mommy' on their Myspace page. . . that's dorky!"

"Oh, okay. Well, looks good, Baby."

I wondered to myself how many of her friends lay awake in the wee hours worrying about her. How many of those friends would have gone without food or new clothes or watched "The Lion King" five thousand times with her like I did? Which of those friends would have rubbed her leg cramps at three in the morning or held her while she was sick or given their life for her?

I guess it's my own fault. I've said to her, "I am NOT your friend, I am your Mother." And I don't really want to be her friend in the context of giggling over boys or slamming back a few sasparillas or listening to rap music while carrying on a phone conversation about how bored we are.

But I'd like for her to feel like I am there for her, like I have her best interest at heart all the time regardless of my own personal agenda. If only there were a way to convey to her the true depth of my love and concern for her. . .ahhh, one day she'll have kids and then she'll get it.

Hmmmm, maybe I WILL let her get that tattoo. . . on one condition - "I love my MOTHER" spelled out in big letters across her backside. After all, she already sees me as a pain there, so what the heck?

Have fun!

Happy Anniversary, Baby!

"A good marriage is my reward for not having committed murder in the early years." - me



Yesterday we quietly celebrated our anniversary.

It feels like we've always been "us" - I can't imagine my life without him. I reckon he feels that same way. . .after all, he has a fishin' buddy that he can not only smooch on, but who will fix his dinner and wash his socks! Does it get any better?

Of course, I hold my parent's marriage up as an example - my Mom and stepDad were married for 27 1/2 years when he died. They disagreed (often!), but never fought. There was never "his" or "hers" - we were all "theirs." And there was never any question as to where the affection belonged. . .through cancer, through kids (and grandkids), through illness and even death. They are the love of each other's lives.

What a wonderful gift they've given to us. . .to know that real love is not only a possibility, but can become a reality with a little work and a lot of knowing when to just smile and nod!!!

Another lesson I learned from my parents is that EVERY day is a cause for celebration, not just the "special occasions." Although, it was nice to get all dolled up and share a quiet dinner.

Hmmmm. . . maybe tonight I'll throw on a little lipstick with my pot roast, just for giggles.

Celebrate today. . .and have fun!

Ice Ice Baby

"Ice ice baby, too cold. . ." - Vanilla Ice

(okay, you can stop doing the little dance now. . .)


Last night we attended a fist fight and the Ice Pilots game broke out. We made it just in time for the "puck off." (I explained to my husband, football has a kick-of, basketball has a jump-off, hockey obviously has a puck-off. . .duh!)

There was a guy on the other team named "Czech" - he was good for a few laughs:

"Hey, Czech him out!"

"Ooops, he fell on the ice - looks like a bounced Czech!"

"You think he has a twin? Maybe we should Double Czech. . ."

"You know how he got to America? By parcel post, probably. Yeah, I heard the Czech was in the mail!"

We had a great time (thanks to our connections in the CIA who gave us the tix!) However, we were sans the two oldest of the gang.

It's always weird to go places with a "portion" of my children. I feel that they are a badge of honor, if not an explanation. "Oh, THAT's why that woman has the pained look on her face!"

The young ladies would not stop staring at Fourteen. And I don't just mean the YOUNG ladies, I mean tall girls with boobies. I was tempted a few times to holler at them - "Jailbait! Keep on moving." It's rather disconcerting as I still think of him as being about four.

Once we were all back home, Fifteen for a Moment shared that she met a guy at work who could be the illegitimate love child of Brad Pitt and Ben Affleck. "And we even have the same birthday, Mom, how cool is that???"

She repeated her birth day and month, lest I'd forgotten.

"Yeah, but his is in what year?" I asked.

"Um, 1988. . ."

"Oh no, don't EVEN go there!" We giggled. At least, I HOPE she was giggling out of silliness and not in an attempt to cover up the wheels that were spinning wildly in her pretty little head - that she might actually GO OUT with someone who was born in the eighties.

Meanwhile, Fourteen was chronicling his latest dilemma as he perused his MySpace messages. "I've got like FIVE girls who like me. . ."

"You know that you are capable of getting someone pregnant, right?"

"Ack, pffftht, ugh! Mom, YES, I know. . .do we have to go THERE? I just said they LIKED me, not that we were, you know, INTIMATE. . ." he waved his spirit fingers for emphasis.

"Just a friendly reminder from the poster woman for birth control."

It is extrememly difficult to navigate this stuff again, especially since Double Decades has made it over "wall" - his actions are no longer my responsibility (in theory, anyway.) I try to keep it light, but I don't believe that any of my children are ready to handle the overwhelming onus of parenthood, much less the complications of sex.

I tucked the baby in last night and kissed her. "I wish you could stay six forever."

"But Mommy, I want to grow up to be a mommy and have three thousand kids like you!"

Dang! The consequences that arise from being just too darn good at something. . .

"If there was a problem, Yo, I'll solve it
Check out the hook while my DJ revolves it. . .

Ice ice baby. . ."

Have fun!

Great Expectations

"It was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair." - Charles Dickens


Ah, spring is in the air.

And the pregnant women are all over Wally World.

They stand amidst the racks of tiny clothing, abesntmindedly stroking their melonous bellies with a peaceful contentedness.

Why should I take affront to their fronts? "Yes Ma'am, I do stroke my belly, Ma'am. But not at you, Ma'am."

After four children, I think I have done my part. My poor tummy has been stretched from hither to yon and bears the marks to prove it. It looks like a relief map of downtown Houston, for cryin out loud!

And there is no way in HELL I'd ever go through labor again. . . what is wrong with me???

I guess it is just a passing hormonal whim, like a star that has burned out long ago but who's light is still visible from earth. A ghostly craving. . .boom boom boom, let's go back to my womb.

Really, by the time I made the checkout line, which was chock-full of screaming infants, I was completely over it. I should, at this point in my life, be bracing myself for impending grandparenthood.

Oh my gosh, I hope my teens will wait a while and let me catch my breath from the first round!

Have fun!

Weird Is All Relative

"Worry is like a rocking chair--it gives you something to do but it doesn't get you anywhere." - Anonymous



Sometimes seven days can make one weak.

And reflecting on the last week leaves me in Awwww of myself (yes, I know how I spelled it.)

I have a tendancy to "overthink" everything I do. I always want to look at the other side of things, consider all the angles. It's so easy to view things in black and white and ignore the subtle shades of gray. . .I just want to cover my generous behind, you know?

I live in a world of "what ifs" - what if I would have homeschooled Double Decades? What if I had listened to more classical music while they were in utero? What if Michael Jackson is just misunderstood??

Okay, you get my point. Second-guessing is often second-nature for a parent. But like I told my own Dad yesterday, we all just do the best we can. (Dad, I'm almost forty and I am not on crack. . .you are a fine parent!)

With my decision to "wreck" the life of Fifteen for a Moment, I am actually becoming more comfortable with it the more thinking I do. I've been surprised at the number of parents who have come to me this week asking me - yeah, ME - for advice, saying "You know, I've secretly been thinking about doing the same thing. . .but I couldn't get past the 'weirdness' of it."

Weird is all relative (and believe me, I have some weird relatives!) - you're not going to "mess your kids up" by homeschooling them, or by leaving them in the public schools. Your kids are going to be who they are - what homeschooling is offering me is a chance to do what I think is right for my children. I am not changing the education, I am changing the environment.

And if it does turn out that I've made all the wrong choices and flaked them all out. . .well, they can always make money on the talk-show circuit.

Have fun!

Whine, With a Little Cheese

"Go ahead. Make my day."



I have had the crazy day from hell today.

But just when I was very busy feeling sorry for myself, my whole outlook on things changed.

I didn't really have the time, but I had promised Fourteen that I would take him to the hospital to see his friend - the one who had been hit by a car over the weekend. I stopped by Wally World to pick up a Skateboard Magazine, some chapstick and a card. I brought it all home, took it inside, looked longingly at my lonely sofa and sighed. I had promised. I grudgingly got BACK in the car and drove him up there.

It's five o'clock. I'm tired. I just want to sit down for a minute. Wah wah wah. I felt sorry for myself the whole way.

I limped into the hospital (I'd pulled a muscle in my calf at Six's "Fitness Club" on Monday - what a dork!) and we made our way to the Pediatric ICU. My son talked with the nurse on the phone and they admitted him through the double doors.

While I waited in the hallway, a lovely, tiny, soft-spoken young woman walked past. "Are you K's Mom?"

"Yes. . ." It turns out she was the friend's sister.

"They just took out his ventillator and moved him to a bigger room. He's been waiting all day to see your son!"

Right then and there I realized that my "inconvenience" had meant the world to that young man. My son's visit had probably really lifted his spirits. And I had almost talked myself out of going.

But that's life, isn't it? Sometimes the stuff that seems like a chore turns out to be the thing that we need the most.

I know his family is going through a really tough time, and they remain in our prayers. But I think I also owe them MY gratitude today - for helping me keep it in perspective.

Thanks, you made my day.

Withdrawn

It's official, we're withdrawn.

In many ways.

Now, the fun stuff begins: contacting virtual school guidance, setting up our classes, following up with the homeschool office and PJC for extracurricular stuff, etc.

This is going to be fun. . .will someone please send Miss Withdrawn a Memo??

Gettin' Skooled

"If I go there will be trouble
But if I stay it could be double. . ." - The Clash


It is the instinct of the mother to protect her young. Some days, it's as simple as protecting them from eating too much candy, or from the horror of having a messy room.

But what do you do when you feel like you need to protect them from going to school?

Fifteen for a Moment is so distraught - her dad and I have decided that she's not going back to public school. "But what about my friends? What about ROTC? It's NOT FAIR!"

No, darling, it's not. I hope she understands that our decision has not come lightly, or without a great deal of thought.

We've just had enough.

Who's to blame? The school district, the government, society? I guess it doesn't matter. Because whoever is to blame, it's up to us to make our own choices.

Even if it stinks.

Turn Me Loose

"Turn me loose, turn me loose.
I've gotta do it my way. . .
Or no way at all!" - Loverboy



We've had a house-full all day!

A smashing princess party for Sweet Six, young teenage boys selflessly offering to serve "clean-up" on the food, a visit from Double Decades' friend "Moochie" before he heads off to the Marine Corps tomorrow, and some older teen girls in the mix for kicks. . .

As Double Decades was leaving with one of the girls, I asked the young lady if her parents minded her riding on the back of his motorcycle. After all, I don't let MY kids ride there. Heck, even HE's not "allowed" to ride that motorcycle! (Adulthood totally wrecks my parental control!)

"No, they don't care about me. . ." she replied.

"Well," I started, knowing perspective is all a matter of, well, perspective, "maybe they just feel like you're mature and responsible enough to make good choices."

They left for points unknown and I called the rest of the gang to the table.

"S'EAT!" The McKnight equivalent of the dinner bell.

Fourteen stopped us before we got to the "Amen" to ask us to say a prayer for a freind of his who'd been hit by a car.

"Was it the boy who was hit last night at 9th and Creighton. . .at 9:30 in the rain??" my husband asked. "What was he doing out that late at night?"

"Probably." Fourteen replied, "His parents just let him go wherever he wants to go. A lot of my friends are like that. You know R-? His mom lets him stay out all night and just says 'hey' when he walks in the next morning. . .no big deal."

Mr. McKnight and I exchanged a glance. He's only fourteen!

"Yeah," Fifteen joined in. "My friends get to do what they want. Their parents TRUST them. They're not strict like y'all." Everyone Else's Parents strike again!

"Well, dear, you got to ride around in a car today with your friends, go to Wal Mart and Taco Bell - we didn't ask for your itinerary or call you a hundred times. . .baby steps, okay?"

Later, my husband and I marveled at the way our kids view us. Sure, it would be a lot easier to just turn them loose and hope for the best! But that makes as much sense to me as not paying my power bill and assuming that the lights won't go out. I'm hoping the severe pain they provide in my posterior region will pay off...they need to live long enough to have kids of their own!

Yes, someday, I'll turn them loose - but I'm going to do it my way.

Hit the Road

"Well, it's allright
Yeah, I'll be fine.
Don't worry about this heart of mine. . .
Take your love and hit the road." - Wreckers



I don't care much for long goodbyes. I'd braced myself for the departure of Double Decades this Sunday, but it looks like he's here for another week or so until they get paperwork issues straight.

While I still hate to see him go. . .I think he is ready. And maybe I am ready, too.

I don't like my home being his 3 a.m. crash pad, if you know what I mean. It's weird when they move out then move back in (Uh, yeah, this is where I inject another one of those belated "sorry" messages to my parents - love y'all!!!)

Yep, we'll all be fine. . . and maybe I can get some sleep!

Date Night!

"I'm gonna stick like glue. . .
Stick, because I'm (bomp bomp) stuck on you!" - Elvis


There's a sticky note on the calendar. . .tonight is date night!!

Once a week, usually on Thursdays, that dude who sleeps with me takes me out for whatever we can afford - usually a cup a' joe - and we spend an hour or two enjoying our time alone.

That brief bonding in the middle of our busy week is the glue that holds us together. . .my husband agrees that it cements our relationship. I guess you could say the feeling is mucilage!

Eyeballs Deep

“Every man alone is sincere. At the entrance of a second person, hypocrisy begins.” - Ralph Waldo Emmerson



I deplore hypocrisy. . .and yet, I think parents of teens are hypocrites by definition.

I was certainly no saint as a teen. As an adult, I'm afraid to go to church lest I spontaneously combust upon entering. . .but do I expect my children to be perfect? I try to justify it by saying that my circumstances were different, harder - but, between you and me, that's really no excuse, is it?

Some days just deserve an expletive in my book, usually uttered as I slip below the water in my bathtub, "Flub me!". . .and yet, when Double Decades forgets that he's talking to his mother and drops a bomb, it really bothers me and I fuss at him.

Fifteen for a Moment broaches the subject of decorating (mutilating, I say!) her body with holes and jewelry and maybe a tattoo. . .all I can do is tell her, "Well, when you are eighteen, you can make that decision for yourself." I hope the fad will have passed by then.

Every day I encounter the "decorated" - their artful tattoos or trendy piercings - and I don't think to myself, "Oh, what an awful person!" Lately, I don't notice it so much as to even give it a thought.

(Although, sometimes it is a little distracting to order dinner while spittle dangles off of the server's lip ring. . .)

But do I want my lovely daughter to become a "work" of art - heck no!

Don't even get me started on sex. . .although it is convenient to say, "I did it, and look how well I turned out!" That's good for a scare!

So why does it feel like I am eyeballs deep in muddy water when it comes to my own children? Too much thinking for a Wednesday. . .

Have fun!

Dream-weaver

"Give me fuel,
Give me fire,
Give me that which I desire!"

I am standing on stage, holding the guitar. I realize two things: there is scrambled egg stuck to my guitar because I didn't run the dishwasher and I don't know how to play. My biggest concern, though, is not that I am mumbling the words because I can't remember them or the odd noise issuing defeatedly from my impotent instrument. I am, instead, terrified that my brastrap will show when I start headbanging.

Wow. I'm a-Freud to analyze THAT dream!

It's enough to make a chick want a second cup of coffee. . .

Today Five turns Six. That sure went by fast. Fourteen and I will join her for lunch. We'll enjoy a little Olive Garden Salad amidst the kindergartenters. They are an easy crowd to please. . .and they don't care if my brastrap shows.

Have fun!

In Charge

"Sometimes, I feel the fear of uncertainty stinging clear
And I can't help but ask myself how much I let the fear
Take the wheel and steer." - Incubus



Twenty is an age that is wasted on the twenty year old.

"Son, who is in charge of YOU?" I asked.

"Ummmm, you and dad?"

"NO! YOU! You're in charge of you!"

I give him this speech, then I spend the afternoon thinking too hard.

Lately, I don't feel "fine." I feel very far from "fine" actually.

I often compare parenthood to those guys at the circus who spin plates on sticks. Even if I were to get all those plates spinning in synch, I have to tap dance on gravel while doing my balancing act.

And the guy that I would call, the guy who would say to me, "Lollipop, who is in charge of YOU?" isn't there to call. My plates are wobbly. . .help! Boy, I miss him!

I was pretty proud of my little speech: "Son, we all have to make our own choices. Every day, every minute, you have to choose what you are going to do, how you are going to respond to the events in your life. You can choose to be a victim of your circumstances, or you can choose to deal with them. You are in the driver's seat."

It occurs to me that, even though he is not at the end of my phone line, my step-Dad is getting his message through - through me. I guess he's here after all.

So, technically, I need to take my own advice - but I'll hear it in my head as HIS voice.

Who's in charge of YOU?

Check!

And exhale. . .

Hot on the heels of a crazy Valentine's Day comes Fried-day. . .I've made my list, and checked it twice. Time to get out the door even though a nap would be nice. (But it's only 8:30. . .miles to go and all!!) I know there's another 8:30(PM!) looming in the distance, and by that time I won't even have any idea where that list is.

Sometimes, I put things on the list that I've already done, just so I can feel good about crossing something off. Sure, I'm goofy. . .but I'm running on giggles!

As an added bonus, I can't get my teens out of the bed. Perhaps a little inspirational singing will help. . .

"OH! What a beautiful MORNIN'!
OH! What a beautiful DAY!
Get your sad butt out of your bed
Or, you'll be sorry today!"

Snicker if you must, oh sleepy teenagers. But there will come a moment when you realize that you are becoming your mother. It happens to me with increasing frequency. . .

Write blog. . .check!
Instill fear in my children. . .check!

Oooh, a two-fer! Now, I have to go call my mom.

Have fun!!

My Endless Love

"And I (IIIIIIII), I want to share
All my loooove with you. . .
No one else will do. . . " - Lionel and Diana



There are a lot of people I love. I love the people who read this blog. After all, I am writing to you every day!

Some of the people I love drive me nuts.. I think I'll borrow something I found on the counter from Double Decades (speaking of a few right here). . .his five year-old sister loves to write love notes. She carefully spaced her words and wrote, "I love you becus you are my bst brother in the hole wide world!"

His penned response, "I love you because you are my sister and its kind of required."

I feel that way about some of the people I love some days, but I still love them.



Some of the people I love haven't heard from me in a while. Beginning around Thanksgiving, I always say, "This will be the year that the Christmas cards go out!!!" By Valentine's Day, I'm thinking about the plausibility of an Easter Card. . .then summer comes and goes and we're back to Thanksgiving again! My step-Mom ALWAYS sends a card for everything. . .I love her.




Some of the people I love don't even know that I love them. I have pictures stored precariously on my computer of neices and nephews and numerically removed cousins scattered here and there. . .if I am lucky we see them a few times a year. Some I haven't seen in years, some I may never see. But I love them all.



We hand-made Valentines for the kindergarten class, baked some heart-shaped cupcakes that look more like butts (I know. . .) and the kids and the husband will all get a little something. Besides, I show them I love them every day by doing everything for them and then thinking to myself that they never do anything for themselves. :)

And there are so many people in the world who I love who may not hear it from me as often as I think it.

And to those people, HEY! I love you!!!

Happy Valentine's Day!!!

Suspension of Disbelief!

"Tell the truth
Tell the truth
Well, you know what you done to me. . ." - Ray Charles


The dean and assistant principal are upholding the teacher's punishment for being "disrespectful" - a three day suspension.

I have reason to believe that something is amiss - something just doesn't sit right with me about the whole situation.

I visited with the assistant principal yesterday, and he has agreed to let me speak with the teacher before he imposes sentence.

Fifteen for a Moment is not generally characterized as being disrespectful - by anyone! And she maintains that she did not do anything to warrant such harsh consequences. The teacher says she falls asleep in class and doesn't do her work, but she has all her notes and good grades - even a comment on her last report card about her good study habits!

So, here I go, witholding final judgement until I get the whole story. It is not that I feel that my children are infallable, but this one is generally prone to saying, "Yeah, I did it" and taking her lumps. This time, that is not the case.

How far will I go with this? Well, three days suspension can foul up her grades and goes on her permanent record - it's not just about hanging out and baking cookies! So I guess I'll go as far as I need to.

And, there's always the chance that the teacher will produce some sort of irrefutable proof. . .in which case, I'll quietly say, "Oh. Okay. Well, then, keep up the good work!" (Thanks to my girlfriend for helping me prepare ahead with my "out.")

Have fun!



****Update - well, after speaking with the teacher, I understand the situation a little better. I am still left with many questions and still feel the punishment to be excessive. . .but my daughter was not completely disassociated from some other students who were disrespectful and therefore it is hard to argue with the "guilt by association" that was being maintained.

It sure would be nice if things were cut and dried - if she'd danced naked on the desktop or something, I could understand.

Just add it to the list of things that stink some days about being a parent. . .

Ugh. . .

"Teaching" vs. "Taking Notes"

"The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing." - Socrates



I received a call from a teacher.

"Your daughter is very disrespectful in my class."

MY daughter? I thought to myself. Have you called the right number??

"Well, that doesn't sound like her. We insist that our children conduct themselves accordingly. I will certainly talk to her."

So, here's the deal: Fifteen for a Moment had a wonderful and engaging teacher for World History. . .the nerve of the woman to move away! The new teacher is a "take the notes, take the test" sort-of girl. The students, well, don't care much for her. I guess it shows.

But hey, that's life, right? We all have to deal with people and circumstances that are less than ideal.

Still, when the purpose is to educate someone, why wouldn't we want to find a way that is not so gosh-awful boring? I've had those kinds of classes before. . .teachers who bragged about the low percentage of students who passed their class, pages upon pages of meaningless notes. If the medium you are using to impart your wisdom is not effective, wouldn't that mean you're not TEACHING?

I've always been supportive of the efforts of my children's teachers - I cannot begin to imagine how difficult their job is. I tell my children, when you are in that class, the teacher is the honcho and you, the student, are to sit there and do your job. Even if it bores you to sleep.

In "Perfect" all of the classes are interesting and all of the students are inspired to learn.

What IS the zip code for "Perfect" anyway? I think I am ready to make the move. . .

Hard to Handle

"Hey little thing, let me light your candle
'Cuz Momma, I'm sure hard to handle . . ." - The Black Crowes




What a busy weekend! From 6:30 a.m. Saturday until 6p.m. on Sunday, all I did was take kids to and from places. Don't remind me that I said this, but I'll be so glad when they can drive themselves. . .

And my poor husband, just when he thought he had a handle on things, the one on the front door fell off. We'd only had it about eight months, one of the screws on it was bad. It had a lifetime warranty, but the clerk at Lowe's said we'd have to return it to the manufacturer ourselves. I took the nice man aside and said, "He's pretty angry about this, we just bought it. We've spent thousands of dollars in this store, and will probably spend thousands more. Just give him a new doorknob and let us go home - keep your good cutomers happy." Bless his heart. . .he did just that. Kudos to Lowe's on Airport. . .

I am a pretty strong-minded person. I have some definite ideas about things. But when it comes to parenting, I find that sometimes I defer to my husband.

For instance, I have this habit of treating and speaking to my kids like they are adults. "Oh NO!! You can't do that. . ." he says, "You have to keep that distance. I don't like it when they talk to you the way they do."

So, when they start getting a little "smart," I remind them to be respectful. I understand what he means - and while I don't agree completely, it does more good to be on the same wave.

It is not that I "give up" who I am, but it is essential in cooperative parenting that sometimes, someone has the "final word." Sometimes I am the one who brings it down, but mostly, the buck stops with him. And, if we disagree, we wait until we're alone to have our disagreement - out of earshot of potential manipulators. Sure, we argue in front of the kids, but we keep it courteous and friendly - otherwise, they don't learn how to argue with a spouse! We don't, however, agrue ABOUT the kids in front of them.

It's been a hard-leaned lesson, but I believe its a valuable one. Parenting is sure a lot easier when we present a united front, and support each other's efforts.

Like the door, when you need to get a handle on things, sometimes all it takes is a little negotiation to resolve the problem. And, sooner or later, you'll get your turn. :)

Have fun.

Ear Today, Gone Tomorrow

"Take out the papers and the trash
Or you don't get no spendin' cash!
If you don't scrub that kitchen floor
You ain't gonna rock and roll no more!
Yakety yak (don't talk back!)" - The Coasters




I can hear the fourteener making his omelette du fromage in the kitchen.

Poor guy, he was up all night with a bad ear - we'll go see the doc today.

He feels well enough to make a fancy breakfast, but I'm willing to bet he'll feel too bad to take out the garbage. Let's see. . .

"Hey man, that garbage needs to go. . ."

"Uhhhh."

"What?"

"Uhhhhh."

"You okay?"

"It hurts to talk. . ."

Poor baby, how does he make his whole face turn upside down like that???? "Hey, I got it, man. . ."

"Uhhhhhh." I think that means "Thank You, oh beautiful Mother!"

I hope he remembers this when I am old :) The sacrifice of his garbage-toting mother.

Ready, Set, Don't GO!!!!

"I'm at the startin' line of the rest of my life,
As ready as I've ever been. . .

Baby, get ready, get set. . .don't go!" - Miley and Billy Ray Cyrus




Oh my gosh!

I am so hormonal today and I have heard that song on the radio five times and every time I hear it I cry. . .that's me, doing my Hannah Montana Blatherama. . .waaaaaaah!

Double Decades, College Student, Firefighter, Son, Baby. . .he's leaving for the Air Force Reserve at the end of this month. He's been so anxious and I've held on as long as I could - now it's really almost time for him to go.

I am excited for him and heartbroken for me. As much as he has driven me NUTS over the last few years, you'd think I'd leave my flip-flop print on his backside. But all I want to do is holler, "Wait!!!!!"

I'm secretly hoping that something else comes up, as it has in the past, to change his mind. But I guess what will be will be. Case of rum, case of rum.

In the meantime, I will have to stop listening to country music.

Does anyone have a tissue??

Another Brick in the Wall

"We don't need no education.
We don't need no thought control. . .

All in all you're just another brick in the wall." - Pink Floyd




I like to drive my daughter to school. It gives us ten uninterrupted minutes to talk to each other.

"Mom, my friends got suspended for three days for walking with their arms around each other!"

Wow. That seems a little harsh. I listened as she went on.

"And the principal came on the announcements and said 'Blah blah blah blah.'" She dropped her voice about eight octaves, "'Teachers, we're taking the school back!'"

Is it that bad? I thought about walking through the hallways on my way to guidance the other day. Kids shuffling six abreast, cursing like sailors, one throwing a shoulder into me when I said, "Excuse me." Yeah, I guess it is that bad.

"Well, honey, it's sad that kids who are there to do their thing have to suffer because of the ones who can't behave."

"Yeah, they've been arresting people for fighting. The police are there, like, every day."

I relayed my experience to her, including the shoulder. "Oh, Mom, you were lucky they didn't knock you down or tell you they were gonna cut you. I used to say 'excuse me,' now I just drop my shoulder and give it back."

It's certainly not the high school I remember. . .and I attended three different high schools! This one sounds more like a dang battle zone. Forget learning, try just surviving.

"Oh, and THEN he said to remember that we were there to get an education."

"Well, isn't that why you are there, dear?"

"Heck no! I'm there for ROTC and to see my friends. The education is just a bonus!"

Well, at least MY child has her priorities straight.

Keep your head low, low, low, low, low, low, low, low baby! (She's got the legs with no FUR, and the baggy sweat pants!)

201

Happy Mardi Gras!

This is my two hundred and FIRST blog entry.

Yeah, I realized I had hit a milestone back at two hundred. But I like the idea of celebrating here, at ole 201. Instead of reaching an end, I'm starting a new beginning. Ewwww, sometimes I can be so sappy. . .

I hope that all the craziness in my life has made you readers feel a little more "normal" (as if there is such a thing!)

And I hope that the concept of taking it easy on ourselves and our teens have been evident in the previous two hundred. None of us are perfect, we just do the best we can. The hardest thing to accept sometimes is that our children are PEOPLE, too. Not "Mini-Me's."

Perhaps the best advice for parenting (whether you are religious or not) would be the following, from 1 Corinthians -

"Love is patient, love is kind.

It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.

It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.

Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.

It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails. . ."


Have fun!

Monday Morning Mom Meltdown

"This is our last dance -
This is ourselves
Under pressure. . ." _ Queen



I am still recovering from a night of dancing and a four a.m. bedtime followed by an eight a.m. wakeup call (pop my tarts, Mommy!)

Sensing that my guard is down, the teen pounces. . .

"You have no idea of the pressure I am under!"

I believe I will have T-shirts made for the whole family.

You know, the truth is that I DO have some idea. . .I was a teenager myself, once. Only I had to walk five miles through the snow to do everything I ever did from the time I could crawl, so don't tell ME about pressure.

The fact is that I just don't care about pressure as it pertains to this topic. We're all under pressure, okay? So get yourself together and take care of business!

Oh, no, not the tears. . .I think we're both too emotional to talk right now. Let's save this discussion for later, shall we?

Maybe I am too harsh. . .I should never have asked such a tortured soul to make her bed. What was I thinking?

I'm Lara, the Teen Talk Mom, covering the big issues and important topics facing today's teens. . .

Have fun!

Done

It's official. . .we have raised one teenager to completion.

Okay. . .

Well, I guess that was that.

(sigh)

Reason to rhyme. . .

Today. . .

Payroll, bank and PEO,
Then off to Wal Mart I will go
To pick up squeezies and king cake
(It's a good thing I don't bake!)
To the school to make the masks,
Then back to my appointed tasks:
Find lipgloss to match my gown
Get prepared to head downtown
Do some schooling, make some calls,
A boutonniere for the ball,
Pick up some kids for their party. . .
(And better eat, lest I get farty!)
I really need to clean my house -
Hey, anybody seen my spouse?
Holy cow, I need to get goin'!
No time to even finish my poem. . .

Have fun!

It's a smile, not a grimace!

"Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened." - Dr. Seuss



Old mothers always tell new mothers, "Enjoy it. It goes by fast."

It begins to register as they approach teenness. You don't notice it at first. . .one day, you just wake up and they're going to high school. Wait a minute, weren't WE in high school not too long ago? Then come the dances and the cars and dating and jobs and sometimes, sadly, "I don't NEED YOU!"

A couple of moms are stressing with me as our adolescents and young teens begin the long, drawn-out and often painful process of flying the coop. I've been a mother of a teenager for seven years now (and counting) and with every "milestone" you realize that it doesn't get any easier. . .you just become more accepting of the unavoidable.

My oldest child will no longer be a teenager as of 8:24a.m. on Saturday. The memory of holding him for the first time is so fresh in my mind. . .wondering what he'd look like when he grew up. Well, now I know. My baby boy is such a cutie. ..mwa. . .oh, sorry. . .

I can't believe two decades have flown by like they have. Sometimes, I wish that I could go back and do it all over. But, I reckon things have turned out pretty well -I don't know I'd want to mess with changing anything. As parents, we need all that learning and growing. By the time we get really good at BEING parents, we'll be grandparents. I'll remind myself to keep the laughter to a minimum once they have kids of their own - or at least save any maniacle cackling for a private moment, as do my own parents. (Thanks, guys!)

Wow, I gotta tell you, I'm typing this all teary-eyed and verklempt. For twenty years I've been totally focused on "raising" this person. . .okay, he's raised. NOW what? No, on second thought, don't answer that. We'll just play it by ear and see where it goes. . .more fun that way. . .

For those of you on the starting end of this process, with your twelve, thirteen, fourteen year-olds - don't fret too much. They'll still need you to wipe their bottoms (metaphorically speaking) - only the messes will be bigger and harder to clean up.

More old mom advice - the "letting go" should be in baby steps, not too much too soon. It's a hard thing to balance, and personally I find it best to err on the side of caution - hence frequent accusations by my kids of "not fair" or "too strict." Hey, they can make parental choices for their own children and be as fair and free as they want to someday. (Oh, happy day!)

But looking at Double Decades (the firefighter formerly known as Hey Nineteen!) now as I do, I am really proud of the man that he has become. I won't take too much credit - he's made his own choices and learned from his own mistakes (hopefully!!) But I like to think that I had some small part in leading him to be who he is.

And that makes me smile.

Have fun!

Cheers and Tears

"Sometimes you want to go
Where everybody knows your name. . . " - Theme song from Cheers!


When the Fourteener started Kindergarten many years ago, everyone at the school already knew him. He'd been there volunteering in classrooms and at carnivals and in the car where the principal greeted his older brother and sister every day. Plus, he wore a 3-piece suit and tie with loafers (no socks) and carried a brief case. He was hard to miss.

(I'll save the Blue Angel jumpsuit and black rain boots for another story.)

He's just a really likeable guy. And he enjoys socializing with his friends.
That was one big reason that I was so apprehensive about homeschooling at first. (The other reason was that I figured I would turn him into an axe murderer!)


Once we started using Virtual School, it seemed like everything just fell right into place. I've enjoyed learning WITH him. It's so easy to fit discussions about his work into other parts of the day. And I've loved the way his confidence has grown - which has ultimately affected the quality of his work.

Working with him one-on-one has given me insight into the way that he learns best - with pictures and stories and discussions instead of just statistics - and we've found ways around and over and between the things that were holding him back. He's learned to manage his time and often flies through math in a day - which gives him the extra time he needs for Language Arts and History during the rest of the week. He finds Science to be fun and interesting, so he sometimes saves it for last.

Many of us have had teachers in the past who bragged about the high percentage of failures in their class. And that challenge may be what some kids need. But if the purpose is to educate someone, then why wouldn't we find a way to reach each child? Labeling someone a "failure" accomplishes nothing. (Does someone smell an f-CAT?)

OW! I think my head just left a dent on my desk.


So, anyway, he wants to go to high school next year and I want to hang on to him just a little longer. He's going to have to work really hard to keep up. But I think he can do it.

And what if it's the worst idea ever? Well, then we try something else, or maybe we'll go back to Virtual School. That's the advice I would give a new parent - learn to swim! Just when you think you've got it all neat and tidy, the dam breaks.

So I am making phone calls and doing researching and planning so that he can go hang out where everybody knows his name. What am I gonna do with myself when he's gone?? Hmmm. . . Cheers!

Have fun!

Textual Revolution

"To read between the lines was easier than to follow the text.” - Henry James




I dragged my sick daughter out for approval on my ball gown (ha! my ball gown!) She managed to keep the conversation going with me while casting her eyes at the text messages she was receiving.

Yeah, she's rude. It's a good thing she is cute.

"What's it say? Share with me!" I'd have tried to just covertly peek, but my eyesight isn't what it used to be.

"Oh, my friend is mad at me." She explained a lot of what sounded like, "Nyah, nyah."

I felt a Mother/Daughter talk coming on. . . I explained how I'd had "friendships" where I felt as though I was always apologizing or explaining myself. What a drag! A friendship should be uplifting for both parties, not a constant game of imagined slights and clipped remarks. A friend should like you as you are. . .not pick you apart for what you aren't. And, while a friend should be honest with you up front, that friend shouldn't talk badly about you behind your back!

"But all my friends are like that!" she argued.

I gave her "the look."

"Then maybe you need to get some new friends. . ."

"Mom!"

"No? Okay, I guess that understanding comes with maturity. You could always just ignore them when that crap starts. Eventually, you'll grow out of playing the games. You just have to hope that they do too."

"Yeah, I know."

She returned her attention to the texting.

Wouldn't it be nice if you could just impart your motherly wisdom intravenously? I thought. Ah, but then it wouldn't be as much fun.

Maybe I should just send her a text message with everything she needs to know. Perhaps a little Kipling this morning?? It would kill my thumbs to text this, let's just hope she reads the blog today!

"If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise. . .

If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it. . ."

Go get 'em, girl. I love you!

Life's a Ball!

"I've got two tickets to paradise. . ." - Eddie Money




Life is short. I don't know how I am going to do this, but I am going to do this.

Next Saturday, Groundhog's Day, we have Fifteen for a Moment's ROTC meet at Pine Forest, then the Mardi Gras Parade and the Marching Moms, followed by dinner with my family as Hey Nineteen goes Twenty (ack!) and then. . .I am going to a ball in Mobile.

Yep, me. Going to the ball. I have to get my hair done and go find a dress and rent a white tie and tails for my husband. . .I feel like Cinderella and my husband's buddy is our "Fairly Odd Brother" (he gave us the tickets.)

I'll need a little luck to find a dress, a bit of spackle and a lot of coffee, but I think I can pull this off. If only I had some little mice to help me out. . . Bippity Boppity Boo!!!

Weirdos

"You're so very special.
I wish I was special. . .

But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo.
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here.
I don't belong here." - Radiohead



“If we will be quiet and ready enough, we shall find compensation in every disappointment.” - Henry David Thoreau



January is usually the time when I start making appointments. But alas, amidst the doctor's appointments, the dentist's appointments, the hair appointments - there exist disappointments.

My young Thespian has answered THE question. . .a spot on the Spring Improv Troupe is not to be. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, some have greatness thrust upon them and some just say, "Well, I had a great time trying," and move on to the next thing. There was no, "It's not fair!" or "Those people suck!" (well, not from him. . .my baby is too good for their dumb production, anyway. . .don't tell him I said that, just my mommy reflex!!!)

The Dater has discovered that sometimes just being really cute is not enough. If there is no chemistry between the datees, it's probably best for all parties to begin a Journey on their Seperate Ways ("Some day, love will find you. . ." does anyone have a lighter I can hold in the air??)

I believe she is handling the situation with kindness and compassion. I reminded her that, no matter how nice she was, there was bound to be hurt. She said she'd accept any angry words for what they were, but she ran through her delivery of the news with me and I can't imagine there would be any ugliness.

I'm often told by others that it is nice that my teens are courteous and genuinely concerned about the feelings of others. I think that characteristic in them is more important to me than any of their achievments or awards or affiliations. It seems that being aware helps them recognize and forgive their own disappointments - and inspires them to look beyond to the windows that open when doors close.

So, between dis-appointment and dat-appointment, we recognize that, just because you don't belong somewhere, it doesn't mean you're a weirdo. Or, maybe it does. Maybe being a weirdo isn't such a bad thing. . .

Have fun!

My Family is Bananas, But They Have a Strange Appeal

"So, he asked me if I wanted a frozen banana and I said,'No. . .but later, I might want a regular banana. . .so. . .yeah. . .'"

My sons and my husband were trying to out-"Mitch Hedberg" each other at dinner last night.

"With a stop light, green means 'go' and yellow means 'slow down.' With a banana, however, it is quite the opposite. Yellow means 'go,' green means 'whoa, slow down,' and red means 'where the heck did you get that banana?' "

A few people turned to look at us as if to say, "We are trying to EAT here." I'm afraid my kids have had their dinner training at home. And, there ARE six of us (well, seven if you count the moochie friend.) It was a birthday celebration, too, so we celebrated.

I look forward to dinner time. I always enjoy it when the kids help in the preparation. . .lately, the teens have been noticeably absent from this portion of the ritual with their "impooooortant social schedules" and all - but, with the exception of "Hey Nineteen," we're all at the table on most evenings.

Having a daily family ritual helps to keep us in the know with who's going where when and why and what they were thinking when they did what. Even if it's over grilled cheese and tomato soup (which sounds kinda good, actually.) We dine together between four and seven nights a week.

Yeah, last night's dinner out left me all warm and fuzzy. . .and broke. How can two old people, four teenagers and a five-year-old eat so much?? And why didn't "Hey Nineteen" pick up the tab??

He offers another "Mitchism": "If I'm out to dinner with a group of friends, and somebody offers to pay for the check, I immediately reach for my wallet. Inside is a note that says, 'Say thanks!'. . .So, uh, thanks Mom."

Have fun!

Velcro

"Hey, look at the hooks
On your pants - makes you wanna dance.
I say yeah yeah,
I say yeah yeah.
There ain't never a catch, all you got to do is snatch,
Do the velcro fly,
Do the velcro fly." - ZZ Top



Today is my husband's birthday, so I guess I will go shave my legs.

It's not much of a gift, but it will have to do.

You see, he wears these flannel pajamas. . .so. . .when his leg touches mine it's like velcro. . .and now his pants legs are all fuzzy from the contact.

Okay. FIRST, I'll shave my legs. THEN, I'll go shopping for a gift.

Maybe some new flannel pajamas?

Have fun!

An Evening At the Improv

"Indubitably. Indubitably. Dub. Dub. Weeeeeeowwwwwww. Indubitably."

I looked at my passenger out of the corner of my eye.

"Bubbles, bubbles. Indubitable bubbles. Yes, hmmmmm. . .I say, old chap! Kewl. Kewl. Kewl."

"You know, son, I don't know whether to feel flattered that you are comfortable enough to do that around me. . .or frightened."

He grinned. "You should probably be both, Mom. I am just warming up my mouth."

Tryouts for the Lab Rats, Pensacola Little Theater's Junior Improv Troupe, are in full-swing. My son, who claims that acting is his life, is hoping that he is chosen.

While he made the troupe in their first season, he didn't make the cut for the Fall. He was a little disappointed, but he shrugged it off and set his focus on trying again.

He has a good grasp of "win some, lose some." Maybe its a third-kid-in-the-birth-order thing. He's just learned to roll with the punches. Still, I really hope he makes it this time.

Regardless, he's already a Star in my book. Indubitably.

Gone

"Gone like a freight train.
Gone like yesterday. . .

Like all the good things that ain't never comin' back,
She's gone!" - Montgomery Gentry


If you blink, you'll miss it - the moment where everything changes.

One minute, you're fussing at her for being on the phone too much or watching "The Cheetah Girls" for the fifteenth time, the next - hey, didn't we have a teenage girl around here somewhere?

First, it was school. And the friends. Then came the activities. Then the job. And more activities. And then the boyfriend.

Now, the only indication she was ever here is the empty lavender bedroom and the pile of dirty clothing next to her computer desk.

If I didn't have to drive her to school and work, I would never see her! Dang, she's fairly well-behaved, too, so I can't even ground her.

Oh, well, it was nice while it lasted. . .

Gone.

Shooting From the Hypocrisy

"Good God, you’re comin’ up with reasons.
Good God, you’re draggin’ it out.
Good God, it’s the changin’ of the seasons.
I feel so raped man,
Follow me down. . .

And just fake it, if you’re out of direction.
Fake it, if you don’t belong here.
Fake it, if you feel like infection.
Whoa, you’re such a (Bleepin') hypocrite!" - Seether





Public figures have tough time saying 'I'm sorry'

http://www.pnj.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20080120/NEWS01/801200323/1006


The above link is to Troy Moon's spin on the latest in a string of public officials gone wild. . .or rather, Mr. Moon's spin on the spin.

It bothers me that anyone drives drunk. . .especially knowing that my Teens are out driving amongst the impaired. And it bothers me that the Superintendent was caught DUI. But it's not a surprise - someone commented in the PNJ forums that people who drink could wind up behind the wheel deciding they are "okay" to drive. Hey, it happens.

I don't envision Jim Paul as being some sort of irresponsible letch, he made a mistake and was lucky it turned out as well as it did. One mistake, where no harm was done, shouldn't cause irreparable damage to your life, should it? Give a guy a break, right? But I think Mr. Paul wants something he's not willing to give of himself.

I've watched my own kids suffer what I thought were stupid consequences under the auspices of ZERO TOLERANCE. I find it hard to reconcile Mr. Paul asking for mercy in the public's judgement. I think it strenghtens the drive of those who are on a witch hunt, calling for a boot in the seat for the hard-nosed buck-stopper, that his own Zero Tolerance stance has also employed Zero Common Sense.

I don't know that the guy should resign or be terminated, but I do believe he should recognize that the black and white world he lives in would have him on the losing end in this scenario. Maybe this will lead to some changes in the way our schools dole out their brand of justice. In the end, I hope Mr. Paul realizes that it is better to be known as a sinner than a hypocrite.

Deep Conversations. . .

"Mom, what happens when you get a monogram?" Fifteen for a Moment asked earnestly.

"Ummmmmmm. . .you get initialed????"

"Oh, no, I meant. . .

"You meant a Mammogram??"

"Yeah." She giggled.

"They smash your boob and take a picture of it."

"Ew! I think I'd rather get initialed!"

Which reminds me. . the time to have one done is abreast. Boy, getting older can be so confusing, but it sure beats the alternative.

Have fun!!!

That's Entertainment

"Six o'clock - TV hour. Don't get caught in foreign towers.
Slash and burn, return, listen to yourself churn.
Locking in, uniforming, book burning, blood letting.
Every motive escalate. Automotive incinerate.
Light a candle, light a votive. Step down, step down.
Watch your heel crush, crushed. Uh-oh, this means no fear cavalier.
Renegade steer clear! A tournament, a tournament, a tournament of lies.
Offer me solutions, offer me alternatives and I decline.

It's the end of the world as we know it
And I feel fine. . ." - R.E.M.


A moment of realization came to me as I sat watching "American Idol" with my family last night: the world as we know it is coming to an end.

For entertainment, we sit around and watch Randy, Simon and Paula make fun of people's talent (or lack thereof.) The commercial breaks were even more enticing. Soon, we'll be able to enjoy our fellow man (or woman) as they squirm under interrogation while hooked to a lie detector - for money.

Then came the news promo about how our community is mourning over the "Tragedy on the Bridge. . . " complete with fancy graphic and pictures of the children's heartbroken mother sobbing, rescue workers sobbing, little kids sobbing. . .

Yes, it is an horriffic situation - but do we need to see the poor woman's reaction plastered all over the media? Certainly, we have all been touched by this terrible murder and disgusted by the whack who killed his own children, but are we so hungry for a "good story" that we are overdoing it a little?

Then again, consider what constitutes "entertainment" these days - shows about murder (SVU, CSI, etc.), "reality" shows about spoiled people with few morals and fewer bouts of conscience, "news" shows with their special graphics and in-depth coverage.

I don't know. . .maybe "American Idol" isn't so bad in comparison. Offer me alternatives and I decline. . .

Instant Karma

"Okay!" Fourteeny throws open the door. "I go out into the garage to get some pizza rolls and dad sees me and now I gotta help him work on the car!"

He he he. . .I snickered, that's a good one. I gotta put that in the blog. He slammed the door. And now it is opening again. . .

"Mom, Dad needs your help, now!"

Ooops, gotta go. Dang!

Rock On!

"Our love is like a ship on the ocean -
We've been sailing with a cargo full of love and devotion. . .

Don't rock the boat, baby!" - Hues Corporation


I remember days last summer when the Gulf looked like a swimming pool - completely flat, brilliant blue. And others, when its waters churned gray-green and the white-capped waves crashed angrily on the shore.

Same Gulf, different days.

Does that mean that I'll never skim across at the behest of my little Johnson again? Nope. It just means that some days are better than others.

Such is the way with teenagers. Today's tempest is tomorrow's smooth ride. Just remember that when you are feeling the tickle of the fringe at the end of your rope.

And, just in case, always keep your flotation device handy. Even when it appears to be smooth sailing ahead, there's always a chance that someone's gonna rock the boat!

C'mon summer! Have fun!

Lumpy

"Lump sat alone in a boggy marsh,
Totally motionless except for her heart.
Mud flowed up into Lump's pajamas.
She totally confused all the passing piranhas

She's lump, she's lump.
She's in my head. . .

Lump lingered last in line for brains
and the one she got was sorta rotten and insane!
Small thing's so sad that birds could land. . .
Is Lump fast asleep or rockin' out with the band?" - Presidents of the United States of America


I am such a lump.

I took Fifteen for a Moment to Saturday school today. The offense - smoking in the boys room? Hanging the Prinicpal's boxers from the flagpole? Nope, it was. . .I'm so ashamed. . .crying in the library. (note: author drips with sarcasm.)

During the friend-with-the-too-old-boyfriend saga (which has since resolved itself and all is right with the world again), which played out smack-dab in the aftermath of her grandfather's passing, she broke into tears one day in Spanish class. The teacher sent her to the guidance office. She sat waiting for twenty minutes before someone informed her that the counselor she was waiting for wasn't in.

Her English class had begun, but she was still quite distraught. She made her way to the library, where she sat crying for a while. She dried her eyes, regained her composure and waited for the bell to ring.

Her English teacher had notified the dean of her absence. I got the call in the middle of a funk of my own. "This is the dean and I have your daughter in my office. She skipped a class and will have to serve Saturday detention. If she'd left campus, we could expel her." While close, it's not verbatim, but I do remember noting the disappointment in her voice. I didn't argue. I talked to my daughter, decided she was okay, and wrote it on my calendar.


As I drove her in today, I kept thinking, "Why didn't I stand up for her?" And not because I took issue with driving her in on a Saturday, but because it was handled in such a cold and efficient manner, without regard for the fact that my daughter is a person. Zero tolerance and all (well, unless you're the Superintendent!)

I beat myself up over my personal shortcomings all the way home: I should have taken issue with the dean. I never did call my sister yesterday, it was her birthday. I wish I'd been in Houston to get my mom's cat out of the tree for her. I am such a lump!

Maybe, like a lump of silly putty, I'm just stretched a little thin lately. In the middle of yesterday's cat-in-the-tree saga, and while I was in Wal Mart for the second time in one day, Hey Nineteen called. "I called the dispatcher for the fire department near Grandma. Did they get there yet?"

"No. . .but thank you, son. Hey, is something wrong??"

"I can't talk about it. I am just a total screw-up." Click.

What was it now?? I wanted to call him back, but my phone was dead. The Kindergartner was looking for ways to spend her gift card and I had to pick up Fifteen from the mall and get home so she could get ready for a date and Fourteen needed help with an essay. By the time I got to call back, he'd left for class. I'd dropped the Mom-ball again.

I lay awake all night wondering what IT was. . .he'd gotten someone pregnant. . .he'd wrecked his motorcycle. . .he'd messed up his scholarship. . .with teenagers, the possibilities are endless. Short of his killing someone, I figured we'd work it out.

I called him this morning when I got in.

"The kitty has landed!"

"Oh, good."

"Okay, I was awake all night worrying about you. . .what is it? It's okay, you can tell me anything, I am braced."

"Mom, it wasn't anything. I just got yelled at. Don't worry about it."





Some days, being a mom makes me feel like my lumpy butt is being chewed by tiny teethy fish. And yet, with all of that mental activity, I still feel like a bit of a lump. Not really making much of a difference except in my own mind, confusing all of the passing piranhas. At least I can spell piranha. Piranha, piranha, piranha. . .ha ha ha!

Have fun!

A Little Testy. . .

"Oh, you got so much goin' for you,
Goin' right,
But I know at 17
It's hard to see past Friday night.
Tonight's the bonfire rally,
But you're staying home instead,
Because if you fail algebra,
Mom and Dad'll kill you dead!
Trust me, you'll squeak by and get a C -
And you're still around to write this letter to me." - Brad Paisley


Today we take our Algebra 2 test. Having found math to be a little too, well, mathematical myself, I can certainly identify with my daughter's anxiety.

We've studied, prepared a sanctioned "cheat sheet," prayed. . . now it's all up to her. This is her make or break moment, an event that could change her entire life, the determining factor in whether she's a CEO or a bagger forever. . .

I can't write a letter to me like Brad did, but I can pass a little wisdom on to my lovely daughter. No, it's just another test. And life is full of them. Go get 'em on this one and move on to the next, girl! I am proud of you.

My Oh My

"Memories are just where you laid them.
Drag the waters ’till the depths give up their dead.
What did you expect to find?
Was there something you left behind?
Don’t you remember anything I said when I said

Don’t fall away, and leave me to myself. . ." - Fuel


I rolled home on the return from dropping Fifteen for a Moment at the High School of Doom this morning, loudly singing the dismal tune to the dismal fog, ". . .And leave love bleeding in my hands again!" It inspired Pcola Lola, my border collie, to leave her spot at shotgun and jump into the back seat.

My headlights reflected in the soup and I eased into the driveway. "Uhhh, " I said to the dog, and threw it in park. The porch lights gave my front door a golden, almost unearthly glow. I literally walked out of my fog and into another world.

The kindergartener was at the table, gnawing on a pop tart. "I'm soooooooo excited, it's a PE day!!!!! What's for lunch, Mommy?"

"Well, let's check the menu. . ." I pirouetted to the fridge. "Girl, you are high cotton today! Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, mixed greens and cornbread. . .yum, yum! So, trayer or lunch boxer??"

"Oh, man, can it get any better? Trayer for sure!" She giggled. Five year olds are definitely funk-killers.

We took a couple of whacks at her hair, brushed her teeth, gathered the accesories and headed off for school. "Number nine, MOM!" she announced as she buckled her seatbelt.

Being the Wonder-Mom that I am, I had the CD cued for her, "Zippity doo dah, zippity - A !" We sang loudly and badly for four blocks.

Sometimes, when you repeat "My oh my, what a wonderful day!" enough, you start to believe it.

Have fun!

Old School

"I'm never going back to my old school. . ." - Steely Dan



In mountaineering terminology, a fourteener is a mountain that exceeds 14,000 feet above sea level. In motherhood terminology, a fourteener only has two feet, but they don't smell so nice.

We're into our third year of homeschooling, and the excitement has waned. While there are days when we lament the toil of those lost in a sea of FCAT prep and celebrate virtual school's adage of "Any time, any place, any path, any pace," it does not go unnoticed that a crucial element is missing: chicks.

We'll keep you posted as we explore our options. . .

We also have semester exams this week for Fifteen for a Moment. . .nothing like coming back from two weeks' vacation and taking a bunch of crucial tests. My less-than-sympathetic "You either know it or you don't, right?" was met with excessive eye-rolling and puffing, so I guess it's a little stressful. Pile it on, we can handle it!

It is a matter of perspective - the kindergartener was bummed that they didn't get a "bonus P.E." yesterday. Even Hey Nineteen found himself in some mandatory fireman education meeting last night when he just wanted to watch t.v.

Oh, yeah, hey, did anyone watch that football game last night? (Hee hee hee!) Since I don't have a NEW "NATIONAL CHAMPION" shirt, I had to wear my old one. . .

Have fun!

Necessity is the Mother of Teenagers

From the woman who brought you "Five Minutes Alone"




"If you'd like to ask Mom a question, please wait for the flush!"


comes the "Teen Ticker."



Simply plug the "Teen Ticker" cord into any Ipod, use the convenient velcro apparatus to attach to your child's forehead, and VOILA!

Yes, with the "Teen Ticker" you can read your teen's mind, picking up on even the subliminal messages that you SHOULD have gotten with all the ease of reading the Menu at McDonald's.

"So, sweetie, how was your day?"

"Fine."

Tick, tick, tick: I set fire to the neighbor's cat and sold my little brother to the circus.

*************************

"Honey, is something wrong?"

"No."

Tick, tick, tick: I have a whole list of things that are wrong, but I am going to make you wait four days and possibly secure a "feel better" shopping trip out of you before I divulge them in a tearful meltdown.

**************************

"Mom, I'm hungry!"

Tick, tick, tick: Mom, I'm hungry.




Order in the next five minutes and you'll also receive the "Bed of Nails Alarm Clock." Put an end to those irritating late mornings. . .forever!

Your Momma Doesn't Work Here!

The phone rang this morning - where was the employee?

"I didn't know I was scheduled!" She said. "I just told them I wasn't coming in."

"Did you call yesterday to check the schedule?" I asked.

"No."

"Well, then you need to go in. They are counting on you to be there."

She grudgingly called them back, then grudgingly started to get ready.

"It's not like they need me anyway. . ."

"Well, if they didn't 'need' you, then they wouldn't pay you to work there. . .think about it. They don't exist for your benefit. . ."

Being a teenager, poised on the brink of adulthood but still dangling a toe in childhood, is a tough transition. We talked about how, in the adult world, you can't continue to look at things from a child's perspective.

"If you approach your job with the same attitude, whether you are the CEO or the Bagger, your reputation will be that of a go-getter. Sure, you're probably not going to work here forever, but your reputaion IS yours forever."

I was proud of her eye-roll control. I had also bought her breakfast, so that probably helped.

Having dealt with the modern-day workforce from the perspective of a customer as well as an employer, I see the need for all of us to say these things to our teens as they enter the working world:

If you're going to do a job, do a good job, no matter what your job is.

Be on time. Be courteous. Leave your personal business at home.

The customer is the most important part of a retail business.

Learn to count change.

Notice as you hit the grocery store, the mall, the gas station how many "employees" lack such basics as actually SPEAKING to you or making eye contact. It is up to us to teach the next generation that employment is NOT an entitlement, it is up to them to earn the position then work hard to keep it.

Now, can someone lend me a hand as I step-down from my soapbox?

Have fun.

Bed-Head

"I was dreamin' when I wrote this,
Forgive me if it goes astray. . ." - Prince



Uhhhhhhhhhnnnnnnn. Is there any more depressing time of year than the post-holiday doldrums?

Do you think anyone would notice if I just stayed in bed with my head under the covers?

Oh, no, not me. . . the kids have practices and parties and an irritating habit of wanting to eat, so I guess I have to keep going.

I get these far-down funky blues every now and then - often enough to recognize them when they come. That makes it a little easier to navigate. And the world doesn't stop just because I would like for it to do so - bah!

Soon I will be my old perky self (although I am NOT old!) Being depressed is not a crime. . .it's only when you let it control you that you start to lose. I think I'll just dance it off. . .

Wow, I feel better already. . .Everybody say "Paaar-tay!"

Have fun!

My Gump, My Gump, My Gump

"Run, Forest. Run!" - Jenny, "Forest Gump"


Fifteen for a Moment has been pulling the 8-2 carts for several days. My suggestion that she just run to work was met with the dead stare.

"It's only two miles, honey. You're on the weight-lifting team. . .it will be good for you!"

"MOOOOOM, you can't be serious."

Oh, that's the weight LIFTING team, not the weight MOVING team.

Remember the last scene in Forest Gump? Tom Hanks puts his son on the bus then sits on a stump to await his return. My kids believe that I must be either driving them or waiting to drive them.

Yesterday, I picked the mad bagger up at two. I was thinking about how fun it was going to be for us to cook dinner together when she asked, "Can you take me to Lu-lu's house?"

I sniffed my pits in search of the offense! "Fer cryin' out loud! I just picked you up!"

She let me off the hook, "No offense, Mom. I just wanted to hang out with my friend for a while. And please stop sniffing, you're embarassing me!"

What kind of fifteen year old girl would rather hang out with her friends than prepare a nutritious meal for her family with her Mommy at her side?? Tell me, will you, because I just do not know.

I have begun 2008 the way I finished 2007, conveying kids to and from their appointed destinations, trying to maintain my low profile lest they begin to see me as anything more than a Gump on a log.


And that's all I have to say about that.

Have Fun!

I Feel So Dang Auld!

"We drank a toast to innocence,
We drank a toast to now.
And tried to reach beyond the emptiness,
But neither one knew how.
We drank a toast to innocence,
We drank a toast to time.
Reliving in our eloquence,
Another 'auld lang syne'..." - Dan Fogelberg


"And its been a long December and there's reason to believe
Maybe this year will be better than the last.
I can't remember all the times I tried to tell my myself
To hold on to these moments as they pass. . ." -Counting Crowes



I'll be spending the waning hours of 2007 surrounded by two-thirds of my adoring children. . . well, the five year old still thinks I'm the stuff.

We were able to secure the presence of the younger teens by bribing them with twenty bucks-worth of firecrackers, but the oldest is going to be working (or so he claims.) As much as I love to have all four in one place at one time, it is becoming harder to do so. I am the "auld-acquaintance" they're talking about. . .the mom of a teenager, never brought to mind. Have a drink for me, will ya?

I am not one for reflection or resolutions. . .I try to take each day as it comes (it hurts less that way.) It is exciting and frightening to be alive in 2007 and I am sure that things will keep moving along thusly in 2008 (although boring and uneventful would be a nice break for a while.)

Ah, it's not that bad. 2007 has been 365 ordinary days, with a smattering of festivity, a joyful reunion and a heartbreaking loss and a lot of "keep on moving" in-between. No use in worrying about the days that are past, or the days that are coming. . .they'll come and go anyway.

Tonight, I will simply enjoy the moment (with MOST of my children): the smell of gunpowder, the taste of cheap champagne, the sound of laughter. . .same auld lang syne. . .

So, here's a toast to innocence. Have fun. See you next year!

Alone

"I never said, 'I want to be alone.' I only said, 'I want to be left alone.' There is all the difference." - Greta Garbo




In the early years, we were blessed with a cool/cheap triplex in an old house on Reed Ave. in Mobile - located in the up-and-coming historic district. It was choc-full of young families with kids - and I would allow my four-year-old to play outside all day, knowing the mothers up and down the street were keeping moderate supervision.

Times have changed. The current five-year-old is not allowed to sit on the front porch unsupervised. I have to schedule a "play date" or hover over her at the park. I walk her to class each day and pick her up at the corner every afternoon.

I don't even want my teenagers going to someone's house if I don't know the parents - FORGET about riding in a car with some newbie driving (that's the big grievance lately - Everyone Else's Parents strike again!) And the oldest living on his own provides plenty of anxiety in the wee-hours.

When I was a child, I would spend hours alone walking through the woods, running around the neighborhood with friends, riding my bike through the golf course near my grandparents' home. . . no one could have known where I was, but I showed up for meals and at dark, so it was okay. When I was fourteen, I rode all over Central Louisiana in cars with my friends and no one gave me a second thought!

I wonder what the long-term effects are of our kids having constant supervision. Perhaps, "Here we are. Now, entertain us!" is not so much an entitlement issue as a cultivated consequence.

And as for being alone, I haven't been "alone" in twenty years. . .but I think I remember that it was kinda nice every now and then. . .

Making Plans

Jeff Foxworthy proclaimed his hunting experience to be "More fun'n runnin' nekkid through a state park!"

As we enjoyed our "date" over coffee and the VS outdoor shows, my husband and I pondered our plans for New Year's Eve.

"So, " he asked, "whatcha wanna do?"

"Running nekkid through a state park sounds good to me!"

Since the kids have grown into teenagers, our ability to just pack up and run off to the woods has steadily diminished. Now we have to negotiate work and school schedules, extracurricular activities and that most powerful deterrent to good ole' family time - friends.

"We can do that." He said, excitedly.

"No, we can't. Two have to work, one has lessons to finish, one THINKS she is going to a party, another has plans with his friends. . .dude, we're suffering from 'Nudus precludus.' "


The days of chunking stuff into the pop-up camper and heading to Krul Lake or Big Lagoon or points beyond have fallen victim to the teenage commitment. I can hear them now, "MOM! I don't want to spend New Year's Eve in the middle of NOWHERE! With my PARENTS!" The horror.

I can remember the days when they were 6,2 and new, times when I commented aloud, "I just wish they weren't always ON me!" As I type this, my five y/o is happily hanging on to my arm and doing some sort of floppy dance. . .but she's awfully warm. . .and I DO have a backspace button and spell-check. . .

I guess wisdom comes with age and experience. And my computer comes with a backspace button and spell-check. And chiggers come with running nekkid through the woods.

Have fun!

I Could Have Been an Actor, But I Wound Up Here

"Kick 'em when they're up,
Kick 'em when they're down. . .

We all know that crap is king!
Give us dirty laundry!" - Don Henley



When I was a little girl, I wanted to be the next Lois Lane. My Dad's Mother tells stories of her days as a reporter for the Arkansas Democrat. . .how she told my grandfather, the young up-and-coming catcher for the Travellers, to "Get over there and let me take your picture!" the day she met him. It sounded so romantical and all. . .what girl doesn't want a Superman to sweep her off her feet. . .I need a hero! I'm holding out for a Hero. . . oh, sorry, lost my train for a sec. . .

I was a reporter for the "Galaxy Gazette" in the early years, finding print media my preferred outlet. A hodge-podge of school publications followed as I moved from school to school, seeking out the newspaper and yearbook types as "my" types, consistently "on my wave" in my ever-changing surroundings.

By the time I hit high-school, my focus and figure had shifted. I created my character, "Lara Balters" and performed my one-woman show on stage. I interviewed myself as an elf. . .okay, well, it came off better than it sounds! It got me the "Miss Landmark" crown, also better than it sounds. Following that, a three-night run as Patty the Cheerleader from Grease sealed the deal and I was going to be a star.

Yes, I could have been an actor, but I wound up here, sitting in my furry pink bathrobe sipping a cuppa joe and watching the morning news. Every channel had the parents of a young man who had been killed by a tiger, the morning anchors firing the "tough" questions at them: "How did you find out?" click "Did you hear someone may have let the tiger out intentionally?" click "What do you want to say to America about your son?"

Bah! Enough! Click, click, click. . .(ten minutes and eight hundred channels later) click. . .Ah, the eighties station. . .a little Don Henley to get your motor going. . .


Is my own life not full enough that I have to feed on the sensationalized grief of others? Have we really become the kind of people who love it when others lose? Are we creating this over-dose of reality through our own need for dirty laundry?

Am I going to have to stop watching "American Idol?"

I can't think about it right now. I think I'll go wash some clothes. Nothing like a little dirty laundry to get your morning going. Hey, this load is mine - go get your own!

Have fun!

An A-1 Christmas!

If I haven't gotten it, they're not going to get it.

That is the final word on how I will spend my Christmas Eve.

I have to make a quick trip to Apple Market to pick up some nice ribeyes for our Christmas Dinner (we're a little sick of turkey and ham. . . although yesterday's Holiday Tacos were a winner, per usual!) Then I am going to come home and. . .

WRAP PRESENTS! (Yo, yo, yo!) Yep, that's me, Mom the Wrapper. . .

"Let me see you grill (the steaks!)"

Hope that your Holiday is full of laughter (and that this laughter stays merry and not maniacal. . .) Have fun!

At LEAST Sixteen Candles. . .

"Sixteen candles in my heart will glow
For ever and ever. . ." - The Crests



"One is the lonliest number that you'll ever dooooooooo!" I sang to the soapy "1" merrily. But, as I was washing the chocolate from the crook of the wax "4," a whiff of a realization tickled my brain.

"Four score and seven years ago. . .oh my gosh! I've got DDD!"

Delayed Dumpster Disorder.

You see, I get these "things" that I absolutely can't stand to throw away. . .piles of papers, bits and pieces of sentimental attachments, a spoonful of chicken noodle soup, used birthday candles.

The evidence is everywhere. . .hidden in baskets, drawers, closets. Sometimes it's out in plain sight. The plant-stand on my front porch: a trash-pile rocking chair.

Yes, it's really bad. I can't even stand to see OTHER people throw stuff away!

("Mom! Please! Don't slow down for the garbage pile! MOM! Okay, guys, she's driving away. It's going to be okay. . .")

Some stuff waits for years until I get one of my intermittent fits of organizing frenzy and toss it. But hey, I MIGHT wear that black linen size four dress that my husband bought me twenty years ago. . .I guess maybe I'll start to shrink again when, my eighties?? That strapless back will look HOT!

You never know when one of the kids is going to open the fridge craving a half-serving of soggy stir-fry vegetables or the last sip of their milk from breakfast on Monday. . .

And I KNOW that I buy fresh candles every year, but someday, someone may NEED a half-melted five and by golly, I am going to have it!

Occasionaly, my husband will call an intervention. I'll come home to a "clean" garage and some "good junk" will be poking its mocking extemities from the edges of the garbage can. Sometimes, its a pile of tupperware drying neatly on the counter as the disposal grinds hungrily. We'll make eye-contact, the unspoken truth hanging in the air between us, and then go on about our days as if one of us doesn't have a "problem."

Of course, the hardest time of year is the holidays, where the giving and receiving of "stuff" is not only accepted but encouraged. It's a struggle.

Speaking of, I have to get off the computer and on with my day - we're looking forward to visiting with family and having holiday company. . .which means, I hope they don't open my closets!! I think I'll have something to eat first, though.

I am suddenly craving a single chicken wing in a ziplock . . .

Have fun!

White Rabbit

"When logic and proportion
Have fallen sloppy dead.
And the White Knight is talking backwards
And the Red Queen's 'off with her head!'
Remember what the doormouse said:
'Feed your head!'" - Jefferson Airplane



I've had enough reality to last me a lifetime, I think I'll stop watching the news. I'll bet I could go a week and pick up right where I left off. Next Friday all the things that are going to kill me, all the bad things that are going to happen to my kids, all the evil people in the world are still going to be there. Well, there's always the weather. Oh, goodie, damaging winds and hail! Whooptie doo!

But I know I won't stop watching. I might miss the biggest story of the year. What if I didn't know about what the POPULAR teenagers are doing? (Is it just me, or is Real Life like high school lately?) Besides, last night I saw the first pregame hype for the BCS Championship Game, January 7th. Geaux Tigers. Woo-hoo!

I have come to LOATHE that tinkling piano in the jewelry commercials. If you REALLY love your wife, you'll hock your right arm to get her a diamond. Dinkety, dinkety, doo doo. . .

Maybe THEY just want us to THINK that life is like high school. We watched some fix-my-restaurant show last night with the cursing blonde chef. . .how does he keep his hair that way without doing the "Roxbury Nod?" If you aren't sure what that is, walk around the mall and note the teenage hairdo "refresh" jerk that all the layered kids are doing. Dobba dobba doop, dee doo dee doo. . .

So, anyhow, I was watching that show and thinking to myself. . .how boring is reality so that they have to edit it and snip it and paste it into must-see t.v.? Reality is the reason for the remote. I've noticed that a good cure for what ails you is a little "Andy Griffith" or "I Love Lucy." That feels more "real" to me. Bobaloo!

I gotta get off this computer and on with the day. . . procrastinator extraordinairre, that's me. White Rabbit syndrome. . .

"I run, and then I hop, hop, hop. . .
I wish that I could fly.
There's danger if I dare to stop,
and here's the reason why:
You see, I'm overdue!
I'm in a Rabbit Stew. . ."


It's your day. . .what are YOU gonna do???? Toodle-loo!

I can't stop! No more Dr. Seuss for you!!!!!

There But for a Few Million Bucks Go I. . .

"No one is to blame. . ." - Howard Jones


Jamie Lynn Spears is PREGNANT! (She is the 16-year-old sister to the troubled Brittany Spears.)

The headlines are screaming at us this morning.

"And. . ?" I asked myself.

One mom posted the comment: "Their mother must be so proud." Obviously, her children are not teenagers, yet.

Years ago, I learned an important lesson on the McDonald's playground.

A small voice hollered from the ball pit, "Stop it, ash-shole!" I leaped to my feet thinking, "What KIND of mother lets her child talk that way? Not in front of MY son!" I stuck my head into the pit, "Come here, sweetie, it's time to go."

My darling toddler turned around and in the same small voice I'd heard earlier said, "Bye, ash-sole!"

Oh. That's what Kind of mother.

Just remember, the mothers you look down on today may be the ones you turn to for support when your own little darling has an "oops." Kids are going to make mistakes. We parents, despite our best efforts, can not always prevent them.

What we CAN do is to be there, to offer advice and support, but to allow them to learn to deal with the consequences. Easier said than done, of course, but in the meantime. . . lighten up on the mistakes that other peoples' kids are making now. . .perhaps they can serve as a good teaching opportunity!

Have fun!

Road to Nowhere

"Well we know where were goin',
But we don't know where we've been.
And we know what were knowin',
But we can't say what we've seen.
And we're not little children -
And we know what we want.
And the future is certain,
Give us time to work it out. . .

We're on a road to nowhere." - Talking Heads


"I can't believe she's doing this. She's my friend!" Fifteen for a Moment is distraught.

The promise of "friends forever" has fallen by the wayside. The catalyst: a 21-year-old boyfriend. My daughter let her friend know that something wasn't kosher. Now the friend has axed her.

Our ride to school this morning was a two-minute synopsis of my high-school psych class. We talked about men who date young girls needing to have control, and how one of the components of control is to start whacking away at the other people who inhibit that control. . .namely friends and family.

And we also talked about her friend's need for attention. In this case, it seems that any attention is better than none at all.

And finally, we discussed options. Sometimes being a good friend means knowing when to back off.

She can see where it's going, but what can she really do to stop it? Sometimes, you just have to wait around to help pick up the pieces. And sometimes, you have to recognize that you're moving down a different road.

Bring it On!

"The silicon chip inside her head
Gets switched to overload.
And nobody’s gonna go to school today,
She’s gonna make them stay at home.
And daddy doesn’t understand it -
He always said she was good as gold.
And he can see no reasons,
'Cos there are no reasons.
What reason do you need to be show-ow-ow-ow-own?


Tell me why
I don’t like Mondays.
I wanna shoo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oot the whole day down. . ." - Boomtown Rats



Ususally I wake up on Monday thinking. . . uhhhhn!

But not today! For some reason, this Monday is feeling like one of those "Bring it On!" days. It's that fight or flight reflex, I guess. . .and today I feel like I have a little fight left in me.

I am no longer the mother of a thirteen year old, by the way. . . no, I didn't sell him. It's his birthday. Another cause for perkiness.

No matter what looms or what's hanging on, we still have to be moms - know where the matching hat and gloves are, know who has what event when, remember their birthdays. . .when you start to think that being a Mom is driving you nuts, remember that it is instead our salvation. It is our reason for hanging on to the fight.

And we can save the flight for later. . . and if we're very good and keep it all together, maybe it will land in the Bahamas!

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip

"But somewhere in the rush I felt,
We're losing ourselves...

And days go by...
I can feel 'em flyin'
Like a hand out the window in the wind." - Keith Urban



That ripping sound you hear is only my fingernails losing their grip on the fabric of time. . .

My husband survived the date. In the interest of privacy, I won't give details, but I will say this - the young man's parents should be proud. And I am proud of my husband for not leaving his bow case out.

I have an impossible to-do list today and I can't seem to motivate myself to do much but breathe.

I have not even purchased my Christmas cards yet, heck, I don't have any idea where my address book is! I don't even quite know what day it is! And the "senders" are piling up in a tower or guilt. . .

Notes from aunts and uncles and friends -

"Haven't heard from you in a while."

"We'd love to see you sometime!"

"I'll bet the kids are so big!"

Instead of being stressed by the holidays, (because frankly, I'll get it all together just like I do every year!) I am going to do my best to savor the time with my family this year. I am so blessed to have the love of so many people - and believe me, it is not my intention to take any of you for granted.

Oh, yeah, and the most repeated phrase from my loved ones lately has been, "Oh, that's okay, I keep up with y'all through the blog." So, thanks for reading. . .I love you. And you do know, I am not REALLY as crazy as I sound, right???

Have fun!

Will I Survive This First Date?

My family history is full of funny stories. A standard is the one about my aunt being so excited about a date - and my Grandfather hollering at her, "Susan! Your date is here. . .and his feet aren't THAT big!"

I believe I have talked my husband out of cleaning any weaponry this evening. The animal carcass that serves as our Christmas lawn ornamentation should be unnerving enough.

I've wondered at the prospect of following them in the Mombus, as it is relatively nodescript. Except for the signs on the doors that say "MC KNIGHT."

While I feel a little tingle of nervous excitement for her, I also hate the idea that my little girl is leaving the house with a dude and a car. As much as I am loath to admit it, things ARE different with boys and girls. I take comfort in the fact that I have seen her go mad-cat on both of her brothers and know that she can hold her own.

Okay, deep breath, be cool. . .you can do this. . .but, just in case: "Hey, Pal, where IS your thirty-ought-six???"

Have fun!

Cleansing of the Soul

We all handle grief differently.

Of course, writing about it helps. But I also feel like I need to DO something with my hands.

I clean.

Like, a lot. . .

I have organized the peg-boards in the garage and laundry room, all my pseudo-tupperware, the pantry, my closet, the baby's room. . .oh! I forgot about the area below my bathroom cabinet. Joy! Rapture!

And the best news, I have a whole army of folks just waiting to mess it up again and again.

Clean away, oh stressful Mother! We love you and are doing our part!

Thank Heaven for kids!

Have fun!

I Want Candy

"Summer has come and passed.
The innocent can never last.
Wake me up when September ends. . ." - Green Day




My Step-Dad always talks about the FIVE P's. . .Prior Planning Prevents Piss-poor Performance.

From his purchasing this computer for me a few years ago so that I could stay in touch with my Mom and work on my writing, to his suggestion that Mom adopt the two kittens who are now giving her comfort in his absence, he had his ducks in a row in so many ways.

So I imagine he's been rolling his eyes as I have worried myself to pieces over telling the five year-old what happened to her Grandpa. "Just get it over with, Lollipop. . ." I can almost hear his exasperation.

Today was the day. I took her to the park. Before we got out of the car, I said, "Hey, I need to talk to you about something."

"Ohhhhhhh! Can't you just tell me later, Mom?"

No, because I am too much of a wuss and we need to do it now.

"Just give me a minute. Okay, Grandpa talked to God and he had this deal with Him that, when his body stopped working, that he would leave it behind and go to Heaven."

"Well, it IS working okay. They fixed it at the hospital, right?" She asked.

"It was working okay for a while, but then it stopped working. And so, when it quit working, Grandpa left it here and went to Heaven."

"You mean he died?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Can I go play now?"

Relieved, I followed her to the swings, then back to where the other kids were playing. After a spirited game of hide-and-go-seek, which evolved into a simpler "You can't get me!" we headed for refreshment at the Circle K.

"Hey Mom, what about the present I was going to get him. . .Grandpa?"

"Well, you can still get a present for Grandma. She is very sad right now."

"I'm sad, too, Mommy. . .he is my Grandpa and I love him."

"I love him, too, baby."

"Can I get some candy?"

"No."

And that may be the way the dialog continues for a while. When it comes to your kids, honesty is the best policy. They understand, but they also have the advantage of innocence as a cushion.

And let's be honest, being sad makes me want to eat my weight in candy. So, does anyone have a Skittle????

Covering the Spread. . .

"I could have danced all night!
And still have begged for more.
I could have spread my wings
And done a thousand things I've never done before." - My Fair Lady


We have the dress.

We have the date.

Today, the nails.

Tomorrow, the tickets.

Saturday, the hair, the butterflies and the event.

You know, once they spread their wings, flight is not far behind. (sigh)

Have fun!

Will Work for Laughs

"The busy have no time for tears." - Lord Byron



Having denied myself the luxury of a meltdown, I find my life to be a cure for itself.

This weekend promises to be a mad frenzy of teenage birthday parties, the Military Ball (unfortunately hair-do's and acrylic nails are not government issue!), and getting the five year-old to see a short-lined Santa before she busts.

When I spoke with Mom earlier today, she said she'd been taking care of business. My sister and I discussed the wisdom in staying busy a few minutes ago. She's going back to work tomorrow. I am up to my eyeballs in laundry and Christmas - and I had a lovely high-priority lunch with the kindergarten class today. Laying around crying doesn't do anyone any good, at least that's what we keep telling ourselves. . .actually it's more like our Dad's voice in our heads keeps telling us!

Speaking of hard workers, I have to give a big "way-to-go" to Hey Nineteen. Not only did he step up to the plate this past weekend between fixing his Grandma's garden, supporting his Aunt and entertaining his nephew, but he received a call from his chief telling him he was his Volunteer Fire Station's "Rookie of the Year." A subesequent text message jokingly advised him of a second award, "Pain in the A- of the Year."

I think that one makes me the most proud. . .We strive for perfection in this household. If you're going to be something, always be the best at it!


Stay busy. . .and have fun!

Reincarnation

"Oh, I feel it coming back again,
Like a roll of thunder, chasing the wind. . ." - Live

We've gathered for a rememberance celebration today. Andy doesn't do funerals. I have come back here in my Mommy's room to get away for a minute.

When all this started, twenty-eight years ago, he was just, "That Man who married my mother." Somewhere along the way, between the throes of teen angst and the realization that my mother and father would never get back together and finally having kids of my own, he became my Dad.

And now that he is gone, I can't hug him, can't call him. He always answered the phone, "Yes, baby!" - so glad to hear from me, ready to help me sort out my inane crisis of the moment. Helping me with his practical advice as I struggled to be a better wife, a better daughter, a better mother, a better person. . .

"What's it gonna matter in six months?"

"A taught lesson is better than a bought lesson."

"Just let it roll off your back."

"It's just window dressing."

But you know, THAT MAN who married my mother is a part of me - I have the privelege of having two Dads who I love very much, and who love me very much. Neither is a replacement for the other, but both are a part of who I am.

Yeah, his physical presence is gone. And that is awful beyond words. But he'll always be with me, reminding me to be patient with my kids, reminding me to put my husband first, and reminding me that we all have an amazing capacity for love - whether we're relatives by blood or by choice.

My sister just found me hiding out in here. . .great minds think alike. She's feeling so many of the same things I am. I'm her big sister and I can't make this one better.

But he's been training us since he met us for today, for the day he wouldn't be here. Teaching us to laugh and enjoy and live right now. The best tribute that we can offer to him is to be half as good a parent to our own children that he has been to us, whether we were his blood or not. And in the end, when we run into each other again somewhere beyond the stars, I hope I can hug him again and he'll whisper in my ear,

"You did good, Lollipop."

Sad

You never see "those" calls coming. . . and yet, as my son handed me the phone and said, "It's Grandma. . ." I knew. I just knew.

Such a good man, such a sweet man . . . a wonderful husband to my mother, a Dad to me, always loves his kids and grandkids just the way they are, he's always been the one I went to when I needed advice or just a hug. He loves to call me Lollipop because he knows it irritates me. And now he's gone.

I expected a loss like this to be some violent awful thing, but I guess I just haven't wrapped my mind around it yet. Instead it's like a slow emotion just leaking out a little at a time.

Damn, when I need to write something brilliant for him I can't get it out. . .just a bunch of words.

When we took him to the hospital the other day, he looked at me and said, "Take care of her, " meaning my Mom. "I don't wanna take care of her, that is YOUR job!" I joked.

And then he insisted that Mom get the title to the car out so that he could sign it over for his granddaughter.

He took care of us all. And we will miss him so.

Godspeed, Andy. I love you.

I Have a Lot

"They paved paradise and put up a parking lot. . ." - Joni Mitchell (or Counting Crows for the younger set)




A birthday party goodie-bag staple is the sliding plastic puzzle, where you move one piece and slide another down. It lost its magic once I discovered you could just pop out the pieces and re-assemble them.

The purpose of this game is to train us for having teenage drivers in the house.

As much as I hate (hate hate hate hate!) Hey Nineteen's motorcycle, at least it doesn't block the driveway while he is here. Now that we've added a vehicle for Fifteen for a Moment, it should heretofore take a fair amount of negotiation to exit the thirty foot expanse of driveway.

And to think, I used to joke that we had the Redneck Yard of the Week. . .now I believe we're actually a front-runner for the title. I don't need a bigger house, just a bigger driveway. Hmmmmm. . . pop-up camper, boat, truck, mombus, girlcar and utility trailer. . .come see our HUGE selection! I want to sell YOU a car!

Have fun!

Meat-ing of the Minds

And since blogging is an artistic form of procrastination, and I am most definitely a "PRO" crastinator, we'll throw in a bonus today. . .



"Why didn't someone eat this ham?" I asked.

"Weeeeeeell. . ." Thirteen began, sounding like the actor, Frank Nelson ("I Love Lucy" or "Sanford & Son" - the guy who goes, "Yeeeeeeeeeeeees?")

"If I HAAAAAD eaten all the ham, then yooooou or Daaaaaaad would come in and be all, like, 'OOOHHHHHH! I was going to have some HAAAAAAM! But SOOOOOOOOOMEBODY ate it all!' and then I'd be all, like, 'But MOOOOOOOOM (or DAAAAD), if I don't eat it then you'll come in and be all, like, "Why didn't soooooooomebody eat the haaaaaaaam?" ' "

I just looked at him.

"It's really quite the conundrum, Mother. . . "

Smartass.

Have fun.

Sing-A-Long

Come back with us to a simpler time, when life was good and lovin' was easy. Join this irritating blog-o-mercial with Lara as she re-visits those blasts from the past.

Who can forget that stirring tune by Debbie Boone????


So many days
I sit in my bedroom
Thinking your deer head
Might look good with lights. . .

And you. . .light up my rack. . .


Yes, you'll love the way Lara addresses a variety of genres in her own unique style - remember the musical about the little red-haired orphan girl who offered to do the PTA newsletter???


The news won't come out - Tomorrow!
Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow
It won't be done. . .

Why did I sign up - Last August?
I should have said "Not no, but HELL NO!"
I'm so dumb!


But wait! That's not all! If you order in the next five seconds, you'll also get Lara's Holiday collection. . .



"Do you hear bells
Ting-ting-a-ling?"
"I hear the bell.
It's saying something."

"It. . .says. . .I've left the lights on.
It. . .says. . .keys in the ignition.
I am so glad to have a car!"
"You cannot drive yet, but six months isn't far."

"Did Grand. . .pa. . .really sign the title
As Grand. . .ma's. . .car sat and idled?
Waiting to take him to
The emergency room??"


Ah, yes, there's no heartbreak greater than your teenager getting her first car. . . and yes, he really DID sign over the title before he left to go to the hospital.

You'll get all the favorites, including this timeless classic. . .


Silent night.
Holy night.
What's that noise?
Stupid phone. . .

uh-hem. . .

Silent night.
Ho-o - oh, what is it now?
I'm just trying to type my blog.
Okay! What is so important?
Oh. . .
Um, excuse me -


Gosh, it's been at least three years since I last picked up the phone and heard those words of doom. . ."Lara, it's Cyd. . ." The elementary school nurse. But now, the baby is in the bed, bucket at her side, Little Bear on the tube - our first sick day!

It makes me want to sing. . .


When your tummy's feelin' bad
You must sip it!
Don't believe me. Ask your dad -
You must sip it!

Sip that Sprite!
It'll make you feel alright. . .
Lie down in the bed.
Let me feel your head.

Now, sip it. . .Sip it! Good!

And, of course, the homeschooler's anthem:

I'm poetry in motion
When I come slinking in
I'll study about the oceans
And all of the stuff in them

She's blinding me with science
(She blinded me with Science!)
And then there's US History. . .


We now resume our regularly scheduled Virtual School. Thanks for watching Lara's Funky Favorites. Look for the boxed-set coming to a blog near you. . .

Have fun!

The Middle

"Clowns to the left of me,
Jokers to the right. . .
Here I am, stuck in the middle with you. . ." - Stealers Wheel



It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. It was a tale of two families.

I have heard friends talk about being "in the middle," feeling responsible not only for the family they created, but for the one that created them. Being a mom and a kid all at the same time is not always a comfortable feeling, no matter what age you are!

It hit me in a moment on the back porch of my parents' home in Houston. My mom had just taken my step-dad to the hospital after he collapsed on the kitchen floor. I was left without a plan. Will I stay? Will I go home? What should I do? Where does my responsibility lie? Why can't I fix this????

I'd left Hey Nineteen and Fifteen for a Moment at home this time as they had work and schedules, the husband and I took 13 & 5 with us. He could leave me there, he said, if I needed to stay. In my best Scarlett O'Hara, I told my wonderful husband that I'd think about it tomorrow. We got to work taking down the tree - the original intent of our visit. (There's nothing better for grief than hard physical labor. . .now I am not only sad, but I also cannot move!!!)

Needless to say, I eventually made it home again. But not without a good bit of guilt - for leaving the burden on the shoulders of my mother and my sister, while I go on about my la-la-life. . .waiting for a phone call, an email, the roller-coaster of good news/bad news that continues to wax and wane. (Wane drops keep falling on my head????)

"Hey Mom!" My five year-old piped up from the back seat somewhere around Hammond, La., "Wouldn't it be cool if you had twenty-four arms? Then you could take me to school and cook and clean and wash clothes and hug Grandma and drive everybody around all at the same time!"

"So, what you're saying is that I could have twenty-four arms and STILL not have any time for myself?"

"Yep!"

And it is true. . .there is always one more responsibility, one more thing that needs to be done. Today I just take it as it comes. A tale of two families. . .

And now, it's time to get on with the business at hand. Today begins the spring of hope. . .I simply don't have time for the winter of despair! Now, I just need my Dad to get well and get home so that we can move on to the next disaster!!!

Have fun!

Fall-Out

My life is too crazy to even talk about it today.

Oh, well, I guess I just DID talk about it.

So now you know it all.

I swear, the lengths some people will go to to get rid of houseguests. . .dropping dead in the kitchen. . .I guess he will just stay in the hospital until we leave. You could've just told us to go home!

Life is short. Have fun.

Because. . .

"I can't tell you why. . ." - The Eagles


Kids start out and go on asking, "Why?"

"Why do I have to go to bed?"

"Why can't I drive your car?"

"Why couldn't I have been an only child???"

Sometimes, the answers are easy. "Just look at your Dad, he's irresistable!" (That's good for an "EEEEEEW!")

And if they are not, simply use the default. "Because I said so!"

Is it any wonder that we need to find someone to blame as we become adults?? "Look what they did to me!"

Now, certainly, there are people who had terrible things happen to them as children. For many, that strengthens their resolve to persevere. And yet, I notice that some people have such a need to dwell on the past that it controls them, it defines them, even.

I can remember a time when it was easy for me to blame my parents for everything. . .I had to wear a snowsuit to Jr. High, they got a divorce, they spanked me, they put coca-cola in my baby bottle. . .and that was why I couldn't pass trig, why I didn't have the same Nike's that Valerie Ford had, why I'd never be Miss America. . .

But an amazing and beautiful thing started to happen as my own children grew and began to ask me "why?" I realized that I am doing the best I can as a person and it ain't none of their damn business why!!!!

When you get a job and a mortgage and a couple of kids, you come asking again and I'll TELL you why, THAT's WHY!

Sorry, got a little carried away there. . .

Each of us must make our own choices. It is easy to get so caught up in finding out "why?" that you spend precious time wrapped up in playing the blame game. There's a reason we hear that forgiveness is Divine. . .could it be that the secret is as simple as "don't worry, be happy!"?

No more than I could blame my Mom for wanting to keep me warm or my dad for sharing a coke and a smile, do I want my kids to blame me for my parental faux pas.

One of my favorite movies is "Parenthood."



"Student 1 at College: Someone's gone to the roof of the bell tower with a rifle!
Dean at College: It's Kevin Buckman! His father totally screwed him up!
Student 2 at College: What's he yelling?
Kevin Buckman Age 21: YOU MADE ME PLAY SECOND BASE!
Gil: [Yelling through a megaphone] Son, I'm sorry. I did all the best I could.
[Kevin shoots the megaphone from his hands]
Gil: Nice shot son! It's important to be supportive. Come on lets sing one of the old tunes. 'When you're sliding into home and your pants are full of foam, Diarrhea -' " (courtesy IMDB)


Don't worry. Be happy!

Work It, Girl!

"Divide each difficulty into as many parts as is feasible and necessary to resolve it." - Rene Descartes


Or perhaps, more appropriately:

"I think, therefore I am." So please put up Descartes in des-cart return!

Th