Sign on the Freckled Line

Evidence of my being a neglectful mother showed up today.  How, you ask?  Well, it showed up in the form of my kid's epidermis.  You see...the little guy is covered with writing.  All over his arms and his chest.  The boy looks like he's been tagged!


Me:  "Why do you have writing all over you?"

Little guy:  "It was yearbook signing day and I didn't get a yearbook, so everyone just signed me."

Me:  "Oh, now I feel bad.  Did you want a yearbook?"

Little guy:  "Not really.  And they're really expensive."

Me:  "So you're OK?"

Little guy:  "Yeah.  Take some pictures of me."


And, thus, I was off the hook for the lack of yearbook purchasing.  And, hey, this is an end of year he'll never forget.

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The Audition

The little kid and I just got back from auditioning for a commercial.  Yup, a T.V. commercial.  Our task?  Well, it was to "be ourselves".  Knowing that going in was totally awesome.  I mean, really, how on earth can we fail at just being us, right?  So, in we went.  Me?  I was bubbly, spazzy, and totally talking with my hands (it's a wonder I didn't put someone's eye out).  Check!  That's me.  My little guy?  He was sweet, brainy, and totally adorable.  Check!  That's him. 

If either of us get chosen, we both say, "Great!"

If neither of us do, we walked outa there knowing we totally rocked at being us.

...and being us is a blast!

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The Honesty of Children

Every once in a while I lose my grip on reality and start thinking a little too highly of myself.  Thankfully my kid is always there to knock me right back down to where I oughta be.


Me:  "Look how the veins pop out on my arms.  Do you think I might have low body fat and that's why?"

Little guy:  "No, you just have old skin."


Gee...little turkey.


But then, not more than an hour later...


Me:  "Should I get my hair cut short?"

Little guy:  "No, girls look better with long hair."


Um...dude..."girls" are not "old".  I'm gonna go ahead and pretend I'm a girl with low body fat.  Yeah, that's my plan.

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Things Bubble Up

Ruh-roh, Kali might have found a new art addiction.  You see, I spent many, many hours over the holiday weekend volunteering on a mosaic project.  It's all hearts, flowers, butterflies, and such...totally right up my alley.  But here's the problem.  We're in the process of redoing our counter tops and back splashes and I'm feeling the creative juices a burbling. 


Me:  "Let's do them all flowery and colorful!"

Dave:  "Let's do them in a way that will make someone want to buy this house someday."


Okay, okay...I suppose he has a point...and I already make him sleep in a purple bedroom every night.  But, gosh, the magic mosaic powers are bound to bubble up sooner than later.  Better watch out, Dave...you might find yourself lifting a ladybug covered toilet seat in the near future!

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Wackbirds

Sometimes you just happen to notice that there's something you do that is wackbirds compared to everyone else.  Happened to me the other night.  I was sitting at my little guy's last middle school band concert (ever!) and I was tapping my foot right along with the music.  I didn't even realize I was doing it until my wonderful mother-in-law pointed out that all the kids who were listening were also tapping their feet.  That was all well and good until I looked at my foot, looked at their feet, and then back to my own.  What the heck?  They were ALL tapping their right feet.  Me?  Well, my left foot was going up and down like crazy. 

I scanned around the room where their shoes met the floor looking for someone like me.  And, by golly, I found one!  And it was my kid!  At first I had all this genetic pride going...DANG...I've got some seriously strong genes.  And then I realized that it was likely just an instrument thing, you know, the bell of the french horn sits on the right thigh and all.  If we were to tap that right foot the mouthpiece would be jiggling all about.

My kid and I...just the same...it's good to be wackbirds.

A Statement Piece

Dave:  "Did you get any milk?"

Me:  "Nope, go get some milk."


So, off he went to the store.  And then he came back.


Me:  "Your shirt is on inside-out."

Dave:  (all indignant and stuff) "I was making a statement."

Me:  "What's the statement?"

Dave:  "Shhhhhhh!"

Me:  "No, really, what's the statement?"

Dave:  "The statement is 'Shhhhhhh!'"


That loveable guy is straight up goofy!

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Know what's awesome?

Know what's awesome?  I'll tell you what's awesome.  What's awesome is sitting in a vegetarian restaurant with my super cute husband, eating my delicious vegan meal, gazing out the window, and seeing a dude ride by on his horse.

Know what's even more awesome?  I'll tell you what's even more awesome.  What's even more awesome is seeing the dude on the horse stop, get his phone out, and start texting.  Yup, even cowboys know it's not safe to text while driving riding.

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Goin' for a Ride

I can't do roller coasters.  Actually I've only done one ever, and it was when I was about fourteen, and it was a mini-roller coaster, and it scared the living tar out of me.  As an adult my reaction to (phobia about?) such things has gotten increasingly worse.  These days just watching a child swing or seeing someone spin around in an office chair sends my sense of inner balance reeling.  No....can...do!

But, hey, a girl still likes a thrill every once in a while, right?  So, given the opportunity to go on a go-cart track (yes, my family makes fun of me because not only do I use the brake pedal, I'm also always at the back of the pack) I always say "yes".  And if I get that urge during any particular evening I can get my entertainment right here in my home.  All I have to do is just walk into my eighteen-year-old's room, hover over him and ask mundane questions...

"So, whatcha up to?"

"Is that The Office that you're watching again?"

"How are you feeling today?"

...and he rises from his chair, picks me up, and carries me out of his room to the living room where he deposits me on the couch.


"Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!"


P.S.  Dave takes rides from the kid a few times a week, too.  Please don't let my kid know we like it...he's likely to stop just to spite us.

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Tap Out

I've been on an emotional roller coaster.  OK, totally being a drama queen,  but here's how it's been going.


One day:  My kid declared he's quitting band...forever.  Wah!

Next day:  He declared he's taking up a new instrument.  Woo-hoo!

And then the next day:  My kid is obsessed with playing said new instrument...a lot!  Wah-hoo!  (Yup, that's a Wah!/Woo-hoo! hybrid.)

That night:  He discovered that he can play "Taps".  Woo-hoo!

Later that night:  He discovered that playing "Taps" whilst following his mom around is "fun".  Wah!

Next day:  He's considering staying in band for high school.  Woo-hoo!


P.S. If you have a teenager who is inclined to sleep in when he/she needs to get up, I'd be happy to loan you my "Taps" playing kid so he can get it out of his system....

My kid took on a new thing that required using a different hand to play...

figured I'd "play" with a different hand, too!

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Can I get a witness?

Dave and I up and revised our wills today.  It had been years and we were definitely due.  So...after getting them all in good shape I pursued a notary.  And, being me, of course I wanted one right here in the hood so I wouldn't have to go out of my little travel comfort zone.  My dad has lovingly told me I'm spoiled by my ability to avoid commuting anywhere...yes, I'm even employed right here in the ol' neighborhood.  I say I'm really lucky and I'm good at planning.

Anyway, I found a notary just mere blocks from our home.  It was the administrator of small assisted living facility.  Dave and I went right up to said facility, spent about five minutes looking for the front door (after coming upon two locked ones), and just yanked that door right on open.  AND THE ALARMS WENT OFF!!!!!!  There we were, covering our ears, surrounded by a sweet little group of elderly men and women, who if they hadn't already lost much of their hearing were currently in the process of doing so, while staff ran over and turned off the alarm.  Yup, Dave and I had totally missed the big sign saying that people must announce their arrival by ringing a bell.  Oops!  Ah well, we do love to make an entrance, that's for sure.

So, after a million apologies we were lead back to the administrator who was absolutely delightful and kind.  She went through our wills, page by page, bit by bit, filling out all the necessary filling out parts.  Came time for us to present our IDs and Dave tapped his pockets and found they were empty.  Did some wily older gent snag it whilst we were distracted by the deafening alarm?  Nope, the dude had left it at home.  He apologized a thousand more times (it was quite a day for apologies) and dashed home.  Yup, my little travel comfort zone pays off!!  And, serious bonus, I got to know this precious woman, who also turned out to be my neighbor, a bit during Dave's absence.  (Yes, she, too, believes in a little travel comfort zone...seriously, people, it's the thing!)

The wonderful notary administrator called in three equally wonderful staffers who now and forever will serve as our witnesses...and yes, the witnesses were called for on the P.A. "Will the witnesses please come to my office."  We left there so very happy, adding to the very small notary fee a rather large donation for all their wonderfulness...you know, to support their staff party fund and all (and to compensate for all of our errors).


P.S. While writing wills is no fun (I've done a few over the years), having them all wrapped up and finished is totally awesome.  Do it...it'll make ya feel good, make your friends beneficiaries like ya.

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That Twitchy Feeling

Reading in bed at night is something I have the hardest time managing.  No matter how captivating the plot and characters, I can scarcely make it through even a paragraph before I pass out.  Please don't think I'm complaining about it at all, I think it's pretty darn great!  I suppose you could even say that falling asleep quickly and easily is seriously one of my super powers. 

Lately, though, I've started putting off looking at facebook until right before bed.  I lie down, hold my phone about five inches from my face (I've got poor vision without glasses...and I'm quite sure this evening staring isn't helping any.) and scroll through some posts.  I find myself getting blurry-eyed, realizing my phone has fallen out of my hand, and accidentally twitching my fingers just as I join the world of the sleeping.  Actually, I twitch a lot as I'm falling asleep.  I hear it's very normal...please don't tell me different.

Well, as a consequence of my recent bedtime reading twitching routine, I've woken up to a number of product "likes" that I never intended to "like" and actually I decidedly don't "like".  Perhaps my other personalities have found a way to express themselves....

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Summer Job

As you likely already know, I'm a teacher.  As you also likely know, I absolutely love my job...the amazing children, the progress they make, the challenge, and the fun!!  But, I'm sure, you also likely know, or at least assume, that summer break is a part of why I absolutely love my job.  The thing is, every year I kind of wonder if I should get a job during the summer.  You know, to make a little extra money and such.  My personal rule is that I don't work with children over the summer so I'm sure to be still taking a break so I'm super ready for the fall.  Lucky for me, during nine years of teaching I've never actually been legitimately employed during the summer except for a bit of cat sitting and plant watering.  Really both zen types of activities...awesome.

Well, as summer is once again (happily!) approaching, I find myself wondering if I should get a job over the next two-and-a-half months.  So, I brought it up with Dave.


Me:  "I heard about a job I could do over the summer to make some extra money."

Little guy:  (who I didn't even know was there listening)  "What about being my driver?!?!"


OK, so there ya go.  Sounds like I already have a summer job.  The little dude better tip well.


P.S.  Dave and I did really discuss it and, hooray, my job this summer is stay-at-home-artist-mom of two very independent children (aside from a ride here and there).  Woot!!

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And this is why I love grocery shopping!

I was in the checkout line this morning at the grocery story and as I was putting a salmon fillet on the conveyor I heard, "How do you cook your fish?"  He was in his late 60s, wearing the cutest little yamaka, smiling a most sparkly smile...yup, he was totally adorable.


I replied, "I usually just bake it."

And then he said, "Put a little olive oil on it, a squeeze of lemon, and some pepper...and then I'll come over and taste it."

And, you know, because I'm nice and friendly and all, I said, "Sure!  You're invited!"


And then I walked off with my paid-for groceries thinking, "Yup, indeed!  This girl's still got it!"


...and then right behind my parked car I found a dollar on the pavement.  Woo hoo!  I officially LOVE shopping!

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Who you callin' chicken?

Being snarky and sarcastic makes me a better mom, I'm quite sure.  At least a funnier mom.  Well, to me, anyway.  After all, I'm ultimately responsible for entertaining myself, right?

So, the other day when my kid "ordered" food once again via text...seriously, dude, just come out and talk to me...my inner snark couldn't help herself.


Little guy:  "Text me hen the pizza is done."

Me:  A little while later, "hen".


And I've been calling him "my little chicken" ever since...especially when he chooses to text me instead of talk to me....

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Sometimes it's a good idea to open the car windows...

Take my advice, avoid traveling in a vehicle with three teenage boys.  Particularly when they're fourteen-year-old teenage boys.  Someday, I suspect, the topic of flatulence will no longer be the number one topic...but that day has not yet come.

The best line of the car ride?  Well, it came from my uber effervescent (as in bubbly, as in full of air) little guy...


Little guy:  "I'm like the Incredible Hulk of farting...you won't like me when I'm gassy."


And he was correct...at least five times.

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Creatures of Habit

We are creatures of habit at my house.  And I do mean "creatures".  Our night time routine goes pretty much like this.  I go to bed...I'm always the first.  Then the dogs come into our bedroom and lie down.  Then the cat comes in and jumps on the bed.  Then Dave comes in and gets in bed.  And then I fall asleep.

...and then I wake up right away because I have to pee.  (This is not an aspect of my life that is improving with age, by the way.)  So I get up, stumble to the bathroom, carefully dodging eight long  legs and two very large furry bodies, do my business, and repeat the process on the way back to bed.


Dave:  "It's a dogstacle course."


The dude nailed it!

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Getting our Music On

Pure loveliness happened...

My big guy asked me to play Für Elise so he could learn it by ear...and he did!  The first bit, anyway.

My little guy dragged out my old trumpet and asked me to teach him the fingering and a few easy songs.  And he took to it right taway!

And then the icing on the cake, I found the sheet music to my favorite song, "The Rainbow Connection", and my little guy sang along as I played it...four times!

Having some musical mama bliss!!!

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Lead with the Big Issue

Yes, that's what my little guy learned today.  You see, he called me when he got off the school bus at his bus stop.


Little guy:  "Mom, will you come pick me up?"

Me:  "Why?"

Little guy:  "Because I'm tired."

Me:  "Nope, walk home.  I'll start making you something to eat."

Little guy:  "Put mom, I have to pee!!!!"

Me:  "No you don't.  If you did, you would've lead with that.  See you soon...love you...bye."


And then the spam texting began.

I have to pee

I have to pee

I have to pee

I have to pee

I have to pee

I have to pee

I have to pee

I have to pee

I'm not risking peeing in my pants

I'm not risking peeing in my pants

I'm not risking peeing in my pants

I'm not risking peeing in my pants

I'm not risking peeing in my pants

I'm not risking peeing in my pants 

Please come pick me up cause I'm not walking

And then I got in my car and headed off to pick him up...he did say "please" after all.

P.S.  The little dude did have to pee.

This is what he looked like when I picked him up.

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Travelin' Partner

So I met a little fella the other day. I was driving in my car, and all of a sudden he was there! And by "there" I mean dangling from a thread from my dome light, just a few inches from my right temple. Now, I'm 46 and am rockin' some awesome bifocals and this guy was too close for even me to see clearly. I did my old lady head dip, looked over the top of my glasses, and took in the most adorable little orange spider ever! So like this we cruised on, him bobbing up and down, me avoiding leaning at all so as not to encroach on his space thus causing him to take a lovely hike on my head. Upon arriving home I grasped his single-strand webbing, gave it a wee bit of a shake (did you know spiders act like yo-yos when you do that?), got out of the car, and looped his web on the top of our chain link fence. And off he went.

Nice travelin' with you, little dude!

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Easy like Sunday Morning

Sometimes it's absolutely wonderful to take it easy, to choose the slow route, to intentionally let things "get in your way".  I woke up first this morning, as always, and did my puttering and my version of working out, and then I headed out to do some grocery shopping...all before 8:00 AM.  I know it seems like I was getting a jump on things, working some sort of "get 'er done" routine, but quite the contrary.  I was in some major slow-mo, take 'er easy mood.  I drove there about ten miles an hour under the speed limit the whole way (yes, I am that lady Prius driver you tend to raise your fist at in traffic) and not one car felt the need to pass me...not once.  I parked way out in the parking lot and took a leisurely stroll in, got my cart and promptly found myself directly behind a sweet little old lady who took each and every step gingerly and with such care.  I had found my leader...and behind her I stayed, and loved every slow moment of it.

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Men and their pants...or lack thereof

During last night's storm when the dogs were all quivery cuddly and we all ran around unplugging anything we cared about, Dave was concocting his true plan for dealing with the slightly hectic circumstances.

"When all else fails, take your pants off."  (Note:  pants means pants...it does not mean underpants.)

I used to think this phenomenon quite odd and something that only occurred in my own home...until I talked with many friends whose husbands also have a seemingly spiritual belief in taking one's pants off to resolve a stressful situation.  Now I still think it's odd...oddly common, that is.

Really, men should just start wearing skirts.

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Happy Birthday to my Big Guy

I've been floating in and out of the realization that my big guy turns eighteen today.  A "man" now, I suppose.  My brain won't quite let me get there, though.  I look at him and behind that HUGE frame and ever-present whiskers is still that little bitty boy who insisted that "containers" were, in fact, "batainers".  That performed magic on something by loudly stating, "Abby Kadabby, Hokey, Pokey".  That once asked with the biggest, most beautiful inquiring blue eyes, "Daddy, is the moon the biggest thing in the whole University of Texas?"

I wish my big guy many fabulous adventures on his path, all the lessons to be learned, and all the love to be found.

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Going Bananas...confessions of an OCDish chick

I am by no means organized.  You can tell by my art desk, my work desk, my bedside table, my closet, and on and on.  What saves me is that I'm pretty darn good at getting rid of stuff on a regular basis, so at least the areas rarely overflow with junk falling to the ground.  Funny thing is there are two things that I really, really do seem to like organized...things, it turns out, that don't matter at all to my family. 

The first thing is this.  I have an obsession with loading the dishwasher.  Getting the absolute most in the machine while still allowing it to be cleaned.  AND making sure that the silverware tray is organized by type.  Seriously this all just makes good sense.  Right?

The other thing is not so much of a make sense thing and likely crosses over to the OCD side of the equation.  You see, when I'm folding the kitchen towels they have to be folded in a certain way, in a certain direction, in a certain order.  They have to be!  It's when we're folding the laundry as a family and I find myself diving into the pile trying to get all of the towels so I can have control over how they end up that I realize I might just have a problem.

So, next time you stop by my house, check out the pile of towels that reside on a sweet little shelf in my kitchen.  If I didn't do it, it's chaos, and you can count on it driving me bananas on the inside.  If they're in a perfect pile, all folded the same way, laying in the same direction, and no towel of one color is directly on top of or below a towel of the same color, then you can assume that I did, indeed, manage to get all the towels that load.  You can also assume that I'm not going bananas.

...or maybe you can.

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Wipe Out

Countless times this year I've put on a skirt in the morning only to change my mind at the last second before heading off to work.  Today was going to be different.  I felt good, thought I actually sort of looked good, and was good to go, until all of that changed.  As I was walking toward the door to head out this morning I stepped upon something moist on the kitchen floor (I hate moisture, by the way) and full on wiped out.  My arms and legs all went in different directions as I went up and then, splat, I landed on the floor...hard!  Pictured from above I absolutely, positively represented classic a ska position.

I got to my feet, pulled my skirt back down to its proper position, and trudged back to my bedroom.  Once again discouraged about my lower half clothing choice, I pulled out a dependable pair of jeans and sneaks, and headed off to work.

I'm ever so thankful that life doles out these little episodes in the privacy of my own home...mostly anyway.

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Feeling Sentimental

It seems to have rushed upon me.  I've known the end of the school year was coming, but with the realization that I only have 20 more school days with my students, I'm feeling a bit sentimental, I suppose.  I've said tons of times that I absolutely LOVE my job...seriously, it's the coolest gig out there, for me at least.

One of my favorite things I do with my students is create HUGE bulletin board murals with their work.  Recently my students did a farm one and I couldn't help but make my own version of it.  Course it pales in comparison to theirs...all bursting with their personalities, and many more critters wandering about...I can only dream of being as amazing an artist as they are.

Gonna miss hangin' with these little ones!

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Eavesdropping Randomness

I like randomness...I really do.  And I was rewarded with some just this afternoon!  As I waited in a parking lot for my kid to be done with band sectionals, a guy pulled up beside me.  His windows were open.  So were mine.  His kid sat in the back seat.  Mine, well, didn't.

Anyway, after sitting side-by-side for about ten minutes he loudly burst out, "I just received an email about dog farts being stinky!" and before I could hear the rest of his bound-to-be-fascinating report a very loud group of middle school girls walked by.  Gosh, so much volume for such a small group, impressive really.

Sadly, the moment had passed and I was to hear no more about the email.

Course I could've just asked the guy to tell me what I missed.  After all, it would've certainly added a moment of randomness to his day.  My loss...and his....

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It's all a Matter of Placement

I hear a lot of people say they "hate" shopping.  OK, so I'm no big fan of bikini shopping or anything like that, but just plain old regular shopping for necessities...well, I rather like it.

This morning when I was a grocery store I wandered my way to the health food aisle and found myself scanning the shelves for my beloved chia seeds.  My eyes swept side to side, upward, upward, and then to the very tippy top.  Aha!  There they were!  I reached up and there was no way, not a chance, that I could get a hold of it.  I stood there, perplexed, contemplating the strength of the lower shelves and the possibility that they'd support me climbing them. 

I lowered my head, momentarily defeated, but decidedly not beaten.  And then I noticed that across the bottom few rows of shelves there was container after container of muscle building formulas.  Now why, oh, why do they put he-man muscle products on the bottom shelf and sweet little hippie chick products on the tippy top?  Sigh....

And then this tall, bean pole of a man turned down my aisle.


Me:  "Will you please be tall for me and get that?"

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He was, like, totally annoying!

Went out for barbeque with some of the family today.  Ya, me...little old "no way will I eat that" me.


Me:  "I'd like the veggie plate, please."

Helpful guy:  "Which sides would you like?"

Me:  "The broccoli salad and the green salad."

Helpful guy:  "What kind of dressing?"

Me:  "Oh, um, like vinaigrette."

Helpful Annoying guy:  "You want vinaigrette or 'like' vinaigrette?"

Me:  "Vinaigrette."

Annoying guy:  "Do you want a drink with that or a 'like" drink with that."

Me:  "I brought my own water.  You're really annoying."  (It was safe to say, my food had already been plated up.)

Guy standing next to annoying guy:  "He is."

Me:  "Well, it had to be said...like totally!"


What can I say, my friends, I'm, like, a product of the 80s and 90s.  I was, like, in California when "Valley Girl" came out.  It was, like, totally unavoidable!


Moral of this story?  Even vegetarians can't avoid a ribbing when they go to a barbecue joint.

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My Eyes...They Burn!

I try to always keep my cool.  When frustrated...when overwhelmingly excited...when embarrassed.  I'm not necessarily all that great at it, but I do try.  So, tonight when Dave and I were getting ice cream at a cute little shop tonight, and he started dancing to the music, pulling out all his "groovy" moves...well, I stood there, looking forward (not at him), and contemplated my flavor choices.  Hey, I was impressed with my self, I was doing great, calm, cool, and collected. 

Until...he pulled out his "best" moves.  I got all twitchy (not in a good way), lurched around just a bit, and found myself reflecting on what my little guy had said just the very night before when Dave was busting out some moves to the tunes of some TV commercial music.


Little guy:  "Aaaaaaa, my eyes!!!  They burn!!!!  This is why I have terrible vision!!!!"


And then Dave stopped.  As did my palpitations.  And all was well.  And, by golly, I held it together better than a teenager.  That gives me bragging rights, yes?

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Charged Up

I'm often plagued with a bit of guilt about just how much screen time my kids have in their lives.  And I'm almost used to the meaningless "Just a minute!" they throw out when they're staring at their monitor or phone when something is requested of them...almost.

But today, oh my gosh, today!  When I went in my little guy's room to wake him up and he, deep in his stupor, said, "I'm not done charging yet," I knew the time for limits had come...he's officially become part machine.  Oy!

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Salty Surprise

Met the funniest little critter tonight.  He kind of rather made my day!  So, a little about before I met this little fella.  I came home and set to diving into an avocado...yum!  I cut it in half, salted it a bit, and blissed out on every delicious bite.  Time passed and passed, Dave and I talked and talked, and then I began tidying up the kitchen, moving things here and there, really more of a shuffling than an actual cleaning, I suppose.  Well, I picked up the salt shaker and noticed something in it.  Something brown.  Something decidedly not one of the pieces of rice I'd put in there a while back.  Something with...eight legs!

Now, it got me to wondering what the heck that little guy was doing in my salt shaker.  What drew him in?  How did he even squeeze through those tiny holes in the top?  Was he terribly hungry or thirsty?

So after talking him into saying "cheese" for the camera, I took him to the back yard, convinced him to crawl on a butter knife, and set him free in the grass.  Wondering what I did with the salt?  I threw it out of course.  I'm apt to be paranoid and I know there was some spider poo in there for sure!

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