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Every year I ship them off to enter a world of Nascar and mullets, Busch beer and go carts, to spend time with the other half of their DNA, and every year I wring my hands until I know they're safe. Well, as safe as they can be with a man who wears a mullet.
(Most famous last words of a redneck: "Y'all hold my beer...I'm gonna try sumthin'")
(Second most famous last words of a redneck: "Y'all watch this...I'm gonna try sumthin'")
I've heard so many mothers describe the worry that accompanies motherhood and how it doesn't go away as they get older, it just changes. Personally, I think it's our acceptance that changes because our power to do anything about their choices and safety becomes next to nothing as they become adults.
But these dear ones are not adults. Yet. True, they're well on their way. Technically speaking, the 16 yr old could make me a grandmother, except that he has far too much
Case in point: Apparently the young men at the high school think it is some kind of rite of passage to pick an upperclassman and try to rattle him by making a pass at him. Early in the year, a height-challenged freshman came up to my son and said,
"Hey there...you've got quite a nice butt. I bet it looks great in those underwear..what kind are you wearing, anyway?"
My darling son replied,
"Yeah, they're pretty hot. They're leopard print bikinis with a button on the back. When you press it, it goes RAAAWWWRRR." Smiling at the poor, shocked boy, he winked, lifted his hand like a kitty and scratched toward him, and in a husky tone repeated, "Rawr!".
We think we're raising another Dane Cook. Only time will tell.
But I'll tell you what, that won't make a bit of difference if the freaking plane crashes.
Jeez, can't I enjoy ANYTHING?
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I'm tired. Not in the sleep-deprived need-a-valium kind of way, but in the straw-that-broke-the-camel's-back manner. I've had it. Stick a fork in me...you get the idea.
I realize I'm not alone in this, and that this is how everyone probably feels. I'm even less special than I think I am (please...no Jerry's Kids quips). But it doesn't make it any less frustrating that I cannot control my environment. Not even if I own the damn place. It's getting worse, and Mt. Trac-uvious is about to blow and level Pompeii.
This all started because I had to pee. Simple thing, really, this peeing. You simply seat yourself (yes, boys, we like it if you do it, too!) and release your bladder. Heck, I think I mastered that before I ever cracked my first grin. But, you see, I have this habit of looking at the toilet before I sit down. I do live with a couple of boys, ya know. Caution is always a good idea.
As I peered down at the seat and began to pull my drawers down, I realized that, although I just
Then, my eyes caught the bathroom scale. Not that I have any interest in weighing myself, mind you. I simply couldn't see the dial due to the layer of some type of powder someone thought might be fun to dust across the glass and all over the floor around it. Of course, then I had to look at the floor. Apparently, when I installed the toilet all those months ago, I must have missed something, because a portion of the floor around the toilet is now displaying a slightly discolored ring as if water is gathering below it (and knowing my luck, it'll be my ass falling through the floor when it finally gives). The rest of the floor was covered in a similar substance as the back the of toilet, in case I wondered what was sticking to my bare feet.
With a heavy sigh, I turned to
If it were just my bathroom, internets, that's a 30 minute fix. And that would be scrubbing everything. I can handle that. Unfortunately, it's my entire house. It's my entire life. It's me. We're all dirty and grimey and in desperate need of a thorough cleansing.
I think I always feel this way when my two older kiddos get on a plane for the lone star state in November. Something about watching them fly away makes me want to clean up my life so when they come home, they love me more than when they left.
Now...if only I could arrange to leave myself for a week, I might be able to do that, too.
Or at least find a really good maid service. For free .
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I feel a need...a need for handly novelties that sport my company logo in stylish yet sophisticated manner. Promotional items to throw at my lipstick-waving inspiration-raving Independent Sales Directors to make them feel special. Because they are , darnit!
In my vast research, I have found several different companies that provide this service, but by far the one that really got me going was this site for promotional items . It seems that every other website I went to for this type of product (including the girlie-themed pink ones) either had too many products that were hard to sort through, or only had a couple of options that everyone else in my business would be wanting to use.
I loved how this particular vendor of promotional items has everything all stupid-proof (for my benefit, yay!) in neat little categories so that even I can't get lost. Doood...right ON! So now, here I sit, trying to decide between ice picks and beanie hats. Or maybe a tiara.
Either way, if I order 1,000 over at promopeddler.com, I can get a hefty discount. Because who couldn't use an extra hundred tiaras every now and then?
I'll keep you posted...
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I swear, this boy of mine provides me with more resources for this blog than any other aspect of my life. Someday he'll read them all and promptly disown me.
Picture our dinner table. Not the table itself, because it's crappy and needs refinished. Rather, picture the scene at our table while we
Mike begins to laugh to himself, and then, as if aware we were all staring at him, he said, "One of my friends got a virus on his computer...from PORN. And I had to fix it for him
"How do you know he got it from porn?" Dad says.
"Oh, easy!" he replied, "it was called a TROJAN!"
...blink...(insert hysterical laughter here).
When the tears stopped flowing and I could breathe again, the only sentence I could muster was something about he and I talking about the birds and the bees, history and truth in advertising.
Sometimes I just lurve parenting!
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...it's like a fart in church. It happens, we know it happens, we can smell it coming, but we're really helpless to do anything about it. Besides, sometimes, it brings relief.
This is precisely one of the several changes we are in the midst of right now. Nothing as chaotic as buying a house, nothing as profound as going on a mission trip, nothing as miraculous as having another child
He is leaving the world of fast food management to re-join the ranks of retail sales management. Goodbye free food. Goodbye holidays and weekends. Goodbye day-after-Thanksgiving sales. Oh wait...he never froze his butt off at a large box-store at 4:00 a.m. to catch the sales. So that won't change much. What will be thankfully different is his sense of belonging. Because I'll tell you, if any man belongs in a store full of electronics for 12 hours a day, it would be the Mr. He might as well have circuitry for veins and a motherboard for a brain. And not to mention a HUGE hard drive. Wrapping my arms around him and nuzzling my face in his chest when he comes home will inspire a completely different kind of hunger from now on. And with the decreased stress (I hope!), he ought to be more readily available to
Plus he gets a discount. C'mon, daddy, mama needs her an ipod!
Other changes at the house of TSM include the merciless expansion of my ass, the addition of two abandoned kittens ("just until we find them homes" I said...psh...) and my least favorite of all the changes, the change in the Oregon weather.
What's so bad about weather? Besides those perky weather girls and weather men with bad toupees, the weather can make a simple day turn into a nightmare of pain and hopelessness. Much like parent-teacher conferences. And yoga classes.
The cold air has made its way into the Pacific Northwest, and headed straight for my body. Apparently, the Arctic air and Fibromyalgia spend the colder months of each year gettin' busy in my muscle fibers. And lemmejusttellya, they're like teenagers in their parents basement. So I have developed a special frienship with the phamacist and am crossing my fingers and toes that I don't come out of this in the spring with another nasty addiction to add to my collection. Here's hopin'!
Changes both good and not-so-good have arrived, but I find a special comfort in knowing that soon, the discomfort of these changes will be replaced by the chaos brought by changes of another kind alltogether.
They way I see it, as long as none of these changes call me "Grandma", I think we're good.
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As night falls, the sky turns a brilliant mixture of purples and blues. The birdsong is replaced by the sound of crickets chirping, and the nocturnal wildlife begins to stir. The light fades away, replaced by a warm glowing from the windows of our home, evidence of the lives inside continuing, despite the darkness outside.
Marvin the Moth approaches our house, and begins fluttering against the window, trying in vain to gain access to the flame that is our kitchen light. The noise draws my attention, and I study him briefly before heading outside to get a closer look.
He is beautiful in his own way with his wingspan and brown & tan coloring. He is active and strong, and I size him up for what will soon be a sight to behold.
I cup my hands around him and feel him struggle against my palms, trying to get free. Alas, it is too late for Marvin, for he has a date with destiny in the form of Gertie the Garden Spider.
She is stunning and large, easily the size of a half-dollar. She makes her home in the Clematis bush outside our front door, and ha become accustomed to being offered winged creatures nightly by her human roommates.
As I hold Marvin's wings and wiggle him in the web, leaving him free to struggle in vain in Gertie's web, I hear what appears to be moths shrieking in the trees around me. "Oh the humanity!" and "Save him!". But it is too late. Gertie scurries down, sinking her fangs into Marvin as he utters his final words:
Death Resides Here...
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We're turnin up the heat for this one, folks!
I wanna know who makes you " hot and bothered"!
Where are the best blogs about sex? Preferably the married kind, of course. Who makes you laugh about your positioning? Nod your head about embarassing topics and go a little lust-blind thinking about the nasty?
Guess it's a hot topic for me lately, but I wanna know!
My favorite is listed above. I tell ya, those wimmins are the hotnessss!!
Post your favs!
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Here's something you don't want to overhear from the kitchen when you are eating at a restaurant:
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........."Five second rule!"
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The call came in, and I have a clean bill of health! As ecstatic as I was to hear it, I probably sobbed for a half hour releasing all the stress that had built up while I waited.
Why do we do this to ourselves? Worry for nothing? Even if it had been the worst case scenario, would worrying have helped? NO! Be anxious for nothing, says the Bible...a book I need to spend more time reading.
I'm not where I should be, folks. Methinks it might be time for some changes.
Like working out. Starting today. And quitting smoking. And drinking.
Maybe.
Thanks for all the support!
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"This might be a little uncomfortable..." she said.
Uncomfortable was an understatement. Uncomfortable is when you have to curl your toes for a minute while they finish the swab. This was painful.
When she suggested this procedure, I resisted. I asked if I really needed to have it done, and couldn't we just wait for another appointment. I was there for my annual, and the less poking and prodding, the better. She asked if I wanted it straight or if I wanted it sweetened a bit. Momentarily sidetracked by thoughts of coffee, I said, "Straight, please." That's when she dropped the C bomb.
"The last woman who came in with your syptoms had uterine cancer."
Of course, I agreed to the biopsy, though it was invasive and painful, it was necessary. I was quiet for a while, remembering my friend Bridgett who had been in my stirrups a few years ago. We lost her barely a year after her diagnosis. I was struck by how different this was than that cervical cancer I had seven years ago. Cervical cancer can be treated fairly easily. Rarely does it kill you. Endometrial cancer is a fight, at best. Almost always requiring surgery, treatment ranges from a D&C to a hysterectomy and on up to chemo and radiation. I learned this from the several searches I did when I got home.
I also learned that I am high-risk for this type of cancer because of my lack of menstruation. Funny, I used to think I was lucky. All my friends were complaining of cramps and heavy periods, while I just shrugged and said lightly, "I never get them. Maybe once a year."
I hope my luck isn't running out.
Now I wait, smoking like a chimney and watching my phone for missed calls while imagining the worst. How would I tell my children? My husband? My mother? This is such an inopportune time to go through this kind of treatment. Or surgery. Of course, when is it ever a good time? As new business owners with school about to start and sports and activities ready to kick into high gear, I can't afford to be out of commission any more than I already am.
With all these practical considerations, it's easy to ignore the basic emotion that has taken up residence in my heart: fear. The truth is, I'm terrified.
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Last night, the darling Mr. grilled up some dee-diddly-icious steaks (courtesy my good friends Lew & Cindy) and we enjoyed them thoroughly. Once we were stuffed and immobile, the Mr. thought it was time to give our puppy, Sasha, a bone. OH boy, time for a bone!
He held the juicy morsel up above the 4 month old poop machine, and told her to "sit". She sat, and looked, and sat...but then lost control of herself and...jumped up and swallowed the bone whole! This bone was a good 2.5 inches long and 1 inch wide!
Good news, though, the vet said just watch her for abdominal distress and lack of appetite. Apparently, there's a good chance the pup's stomach will take care of the problem. So we watch, and we wait!
After this joyous festivity, all I can say is...
...we need to kick the dogs out of the bedroom at night, because clearly she's been watching Mom too much.
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I take great pride in offering you my interpretation of the faces I saw sticking out of car windows for three straight weekends whilst they drove by my yard sale, deciding whether or not to stop.
Enjoy!
And my absolute favorite....
Be wary, oh yard-salers! Someone is watching you! Next time, I shall have my camera at the ready!
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Good news: Mike does not have mono. Apparently it was just a virus. He is feeling better and back to his usual self.
Bad news: Mike is back to his usual self.
Good news: We decided to buy the web design business I have been working for in the last year, and are now, like, BUSINESS OWNERS!
Bad news: We decided to buy the web design business I have been working for in the last year, and are now, like, BUSINESS OWNERS!
Good news: Tomorrow is the 4th and WE R GUNNA PARTAY!!
Bad news: My mother is coming the next day after a very large party at my house. And it is THRASHED!
Good news: It's no different than any other day!
Happy 4th everyone!
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Or, at least has something like a second head sticking out the side of his neck.
Turns out it's a lymph node. Swollen like, HUGE. And now he's really sick. REALLY sick. He couldn't walk to his bedroom. His throat hurts, he has as high fever and is sick, sick, SICK! So off to the doctor's office we trotted (I trotted, he shuffled). Then the doc spoke those words that ease the minds of parents everywhere-"Well, I'm not saying it's not cancer...but I feel quite comfortable that it's probably mono."
...*blink*
Well, I suppose that's definitely the preferable of the two. Heaven knows when I saw that mass on his neck I thought the worst. Is anyone else this neurotic? I had visions of diagnoses for Lymphoma and Hodgkins, chemo treatments and losing my only son. Do you suppose it's all the internet's fault? I mean, now we can research symptoms 24 hrs a day! I know all the bad stuff that causes swollen lymph nodes! Yay!
Folks, lemmejusttellya that mono is a nasty virus. It seriously sucks, and when you just turned 16 and have a summer ahead of you, it's like a death sentence. My poor son's summer is not looking too good.
I'm going to try to sleep now, hoping he doesn't call my cell phone unless he really needs me. I gave him the house phone and am sleeping with my cell in case he needs me. Because he's too weak to walk across the house.
C'mon, all you mommies...are you getting that "awwww!!!" feeling yet?
I'll keep you posted.
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Yes...I am particularly gifted at this little solo-act. I can bait a hook and cast it out in 5 seconds flat, leaving all on the banks of the lake in awe and wonder, wanting desperately to see more.
Sadly, this doesn't help me catch many fish.
Summer is here, and I'm at the lake as often as possible (after all my work is done! Right, Alaena?) to cast a line and hope something bites. What usually bites, however, is coming home to children whose summer vacation is in full swing. God help me .
It's not so much that the kids are home and the house is a mess. It's the Lord of the Flies mentality that ensues when I pull out of the driveway, the frantic phone messages with full on battles going on in the background and the children meeting me at the door dressed in loincloths and spouting phrases like, "Me leader-you go now!".
Even catching a prize trout can't fix the sinking feeling I get in my gut as the distance between me and Hellhouse becomes less. It is in these times of crisis...these moments of fear and loathing...these moments of fleeting thoughts of turning around and never returning, that I ask myself this question: What would June Cleaver do?
If she saw my family? Probably high-tail her pump-clad feet far, far away. And fast.
Me? First I'll try it the "right" way...I'll separate the kids and talk to them about "what was YOUR role in all of this? How could you have changed it?" Then when they leave my room screaming "I HATE YOU!!" and I make the rest of them cry because I ask them to clean up their FIVE (5!!) drink cups with straws sticking out of them, the empty pudding cup and spoon and shredded fruit snack wrappers that are littering the floor and for heaven's sake, CLEAN UP the soda that spilled on one of the kitchen chairs! Once they're all a sobbing, angry mess, I can head to the lake for the rest of the day, knowing I have done my job and ruined their precious lives forever.
And I am SO not paying for their therapy.
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