"What else could I write?
I don't have the right.
What else should I be?
All Apologies." - Nirvana
I've noticed lately that most of my maternal encounters begin with an apology.
"Come on in, sorry about the mess."
"It's great to hear from you, sorry I didn't ever call you back that time I said I'd call you right back five years ago."
"I'm sorry we never got together for lunch this Summer. . .or last Summer."
"I'm sorry, she hasn't had her shots."
"Excuse the way I look, I've decided mascara and lipstick add six ounces to my weight."
"I'm sorry, they were raised better than this. . ."
Do you feel like, as a mother, you're constantly apologizing for EVERYTHING? Why do we do that? Surely other mothers lead similarly hectic lives and understand why we're late, absent or askew. Do we really have to justify ourselves to each other all the time?
Maybe I should just get a t-shirt that says, "Mea Culpa Momma!"
My goal in the next week is to stop this recompense roller coaster.
My emails will simply begin, "I'd forgotten all about you, but now I need a favor!"
I'll answer the door with a brazen lack of remorse, "Welcome to my home, enter at your own risk!"
And I'll just pretend that my kids belong to someone else when we're out in public. ("What kind of mother raised THAT bunch of monkeys?" I'll inquire of fellow incredulous bystanders.)
That's it, I'm done with living a life of constant atonement!
(And if I've forgotten my goal by this afternoon, well, I'm sorry. . .)
Friday, August 14, 2009
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Dishing it Out
How many teenagers does it take to empty a dishwasher?
Two. One to announce he's suddenly got to go to the bathroom and one to offer her little sister half a pack of Shock Tarts to do it for her.
Thanks for letting me unload on you. . .
Two. One to announce he's suddenly got to go to the bathroom and one to offer her little sister half a pack of Shock Tarts to do it for her.
Thanks for letting me unload on you. . .
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Dying To Grow Up!
"Some day I hope you get the chance
To live like you were dyin', like tomorrow was a gift. . ." - Tim McGraw
"Do you have anything on nine year olds who ACT like they are teens? Sometimes I think I could lose my mind!" One of the Moms at the Momslikeme website asked me this question.
So today, I'm devoting this blog to you, oh Mindless One. The only thing you need to have on a nine year old who acts like a teen is duct tape. . .and maybe a couple of staples. That's all I'm saying!
Seriously, it seems sometimes like our "little ones" are in a mad rush to grow up. They can't see the value in cherishing the days, and instead often wish away the years. No matter how hard you try to hang on, they just keep pulling away!
I was in Wally World with 7th Heaven today going through our usual routine: Can-I-have-it-NO! She picked up a mini Etch-A-Sketch at the checkout and informed me she was dying to have it.
"Dying? Really?"
"Okay, not really 'dying.' But I TOTALLY want one of these!"
"Well, next time, you should bring your money. Then you can buy it for yourself," I suggested.
"Oh, no. I'm saving my money!" She said.
"That's a great idea. Save your money then you can buy something you REALLY want."
"Yeah, I'm gettin' a cell phone! That's what I'm REALLY dying to have!"
The cashier looked at me sympathetically and said, "They grow up quick!"
Too quickly, if you ask me. I feel like I am leaving finger-nail tracks in the very fabric of time when it comes to my kids.
I looked at 7th Heaven, with her knobby knees and her crooked, freckled grin and had a momentary flashback to her older sister, who is now Seventeen and driving (me crazy!) and dying to get out on her own.
"Baby, you're Seven, let's just enjoy that for a while. . ."
"Yeah, but I'm ALMOST Eight!"
The truth is, you're not going to win in the game of Mom v. Time. Unfortunately, it isn't until we become parents ourselves that we really begin to understand how quickly the time goes by. All you can do is to catch a little moment here and there and make the most of it. I think I'll go grab her Seven-ness and challenge her to a game of Go-Fish.
I'm simply "dying" to play. . .
Have fun!
To live like you were dyin', like tomorrow was a gift. . ." - Tim McGraw
"Do you have anything on nine year olds who ACT like they are teens? Sometimes I think I could lose my mind!" One of the Moms at the Momslikeme website asked me this question.
So today, I'm devoting this blog to you, oh Mindless One. The only thing you need to have on a nine year old who acts like a teen is duct tape. . .and maybe a couple of staples. That's all I'm saying!
Seriously, it seems sometimes like our "little ones" are in a mad rush to grow up. They can't see the value in cherishing the days, and instead often wish away the years. No matter how hard you try to hang on, they just keep pulling away!
I was in Wally World with 7th Heaven today going through our usual routine: Can-I-have-it-NO! She picked up a mini Etch-A-Sketch at the checkout and informed me she was dying to have it.
"Dying? Really?"
"Okay, not really 'dying.' But I TOTALLY want one of these!"
"Well, next time, you should bring your money. Then you can buy it for yourself," I suggested.
"Oh, no. I'm saving my money!" She said.
"That's a great idea. Save your money then you can buy something you REALLY want."
"Yeah, I'm gettin' a cell phone! That's what I'm REALLY dying to have!"
The cashier looked at me sympathetically and said, "They grow up quick!"
Too quickly, if you ask me. I feel like I am leaving finger-nail tracks in the very fabric of time when it comes to my kids.
I looked at 7th Heaven, with her knobby knees and her crooked, freckled grin and had a momentary flashback to her older sister, who is now Seventeen and driving (me crazy!) and dying to get out on her own.
"Baby, you're Seven, let's just enjoy that for a while. . ."
"Yeah, but I'm ALMOST Eight!"
The truth is, you're not going to win in the game of Mom v. Time. Unfortunately, it isn't until we become parents ourselves that we really begin to understand how quickly the time goes by. All you can do is to catch a little moment here and there and make the most of it. I think I'll go grab her Seven-ness and challenge her to a game of Go-Fish.
I'm simply "dying" to play. . .
Have fun!
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Lively Up Yourself
"Lively up yourself, and don't be no drag. . ." - Bob Marley
Okey dokey, the pity party is over.
When I find myself going down to funky town, it helps me to go for a walk. So I decided to alter my Saturday afternoon laundry gig and get out on the road.
I've been stepping up my usual walking routine by throwing in a little jogging. I don't go too fast. I know it's a little silly, but I find that keeping a reggae beat in my head helps me maintain a good pace. Six months ago, if someone had told me I'd be jogging any more than the distance from the couch to the fridge, I'd have given them a hearty chuckle. But yep, that was me, be-bopping down the road today. I made three miles in thirty-five minutes!
My walks (now almost-jogs) give me time alone where I can just think. I thought about how unhappy I'd been with myself when I was trying to squeeze my size 14 body into a size 12 bridesmaid dress, and how great it felt six months later to have to trade the 12 in for a 10 the week before my sister's wedding. And how, three months beyond that, my size 10's are all a little loose in the waist.
I thought about how good it felt for my legs to be moving me down the sidewalk, how great the breeze felt on my sweaty face, and how I felt like I was in control of what I did with my own body.
And it hit me. My friend laVender would call it a "life lesson," a realization about one facet of my life that spills over into other areas.
If I can get my act together enough to change my habits and lose and keep off over thirty pounds, why should I let a little writer's block freak me out? Second to taking care of my family, writing is my life's passion. It's not something that controls me, it's something I control. An hour, a day, a week of feeling discouraged shouldn't prevent me from picking myself up and moving forward.
I literally filled today's unforgiving minute with thirty-five worth of distance run. And that's what my blog is all about. We mothers tend to beat ourselves up with self-doubt about everything. If we're not careful, it can consume us and leave us feeling helpless or hopeless, and that's no fun!
Instead of looking at our struggles as being a drag, we just need to take control and lively up.
Okey dokey, the pity party is over.
When I find myself going down to funky town, it helps me to go for a walk. So I decided to alter my Saturday afternoon laundry gig and get out on the road.
I've been stepping up my usual walking routine by throwing in a little jogging. I don't go too fast. I know it's a little silly, but I find that keeping a reggae beat in my head helps me maintain a good pace. Six months ago, if someone had told me I'd be jogging any more than the distance from the couch to the fridge, I'd have given them a hearty chuckle. But yep, that was me, be-bopping down the road today. I made three miles in thirty-five minutes!
My walks (now almost-jogs) give me time alone where I can just think. I thought about how unhappy I'd been with myself when I was trying to squeeze my size 14 body into a size 12 bridesmaid dress, and how great it felt six months later to have to trade the 12 in for a 10 the week before my sister's wedding. And how, three months beyond that, my size 10's are all a little loose in the waist.
I thought about how good it felt for my legs to be moving me down the sidewalk, how great the breeze felt on my sweaty face, and how I felt like I was in control of what I did with my own body.
And it hit me. My friend laVender would call it a "life lesson," a realization about one facet of my life that spills over into other areas.
If I can get my act together enough to change my habits and lose and keep off over thirty pounds, why should I let a little writer's block freak me out? Second to taking care of my family, writing is my life's passion. It's not something that controls me, it's something I control. An hour, a day, a week of feeling discouraged shouldn't prevent me from picking myself up and moving forward.
I literally filled today's unforgiving minute with thirty-five worth of distance run. And that's what my blog is all about. We mothers tend to beat ourselves up with self-doubt about everything. If we're not careful, it can consume us and leave us feeling helpless or hopeless, and that's no fun!
Instead of looking at our struggles as being a drag, we just need to take control and lively up.
So Much to Say
"I find sometimes it's easy to be myself.
Sometimes I find it better to be somebody else.
So much to say. . ." - Dave Matthews Band
We interrupt our regular blog for this moment of brutal honesty.
I guess this happens to all writers at one time or another.
I've written the "Teen Talk" blog at the PNJ.com and Pensacola.momslikeme.com websites for well over two years now, considering it to be my therapy for dealing with my crazy kids. The minuscule stipend served as justification that I was being paid to write.
But here I am, almost six-hundred creations later - and I'm fizzled out, dried-up, blocked, stuck like Chuck. I just can't seem to do it anymore. The thrill is gone.
My Momsweb Mentor encouraged me to start another blog, independent of the constraints of "paid to write." And so, here we are. I've got the subject matter (four kids), I've got the readers (you & my Mom). . .but the motivation - where the heck did it go??
Seriously, I know I've just got to get into my groove and I'll be spewing all variety of entertaining anecdotes that will have you rolling on your keyboards. We're dragging through the waning lazy days of summer, about to resume our hectic fall schedules and activities - it's all there poised for the humorous re-telling.
So take heart, oh patient Mother, every blog has it's day. And I've got so much to say.
And now, back to the show. . .
Have fun!
Sometimes I find it better to be somebody else.
So much to say. . ." - Dave Matthews Band
We interrupt our regular blog for this moment of brutal honesty.
I guess this happens to all writers at one time or another.
I've written the "Teen Talk" blog at the PNJ.com and Pensacola.momslikeme.com websites for well over two years now, considering it to be my therapy for dealing with my crazy kids. The minuscule stipend served as justification that I was being paid to write.
But here I am, almost six-hundred creations later - and I'm fizzled out, dried-up, blocked, stuck like Chuck. I just can't seem to do it anymore. The thrill is gone.
My Momsweb Mentor encouraged me to start another blog, independent of the constraints of "paid to write." And so, here we are. I've got the subject matter (four kids), I've got the readers (you & my Mom). . .but the motivation - where the heck did it go??
Seriously, I know I've just got to get into my groove and I'll be spewing all variety of entertaining anecdotes that will have you rolling on your keyboards. We're dragging through the waning lazy days of summer, about to resume our hectic fall schedules and activities - it's all there poised for the humorous re-telling.
So take heart, oh patient Mother, every blog has it's day. And I've got so much to say.
And now, back to the show. . .
Have fun!
Friday, August 7, 2009
They Call Me "Mom"
"They call me Jane.
That's not my name.
That's not my name.
That's not my name.
That's not my name." - The Ting Tings
When you have toddlers screaming "Mooooooom!" all day long, you dream of the day when they will all be out of the house and you'll be free of the oft-screamed moniker.
I'm sorry to report that it doesn't quite go down that way.
Yesterday afternoon, the phone rang. "Hey, Mom. . ." Black Jack (21) was discount shopping with his fiancee. Did I need an HDMI cable?
"No, thank you son. I've got one already. . ."
"Loveyoubye!"
Five minutes later, the phone rang. "Hey, Mom. . ." It was Halfway Between (10&20) checking in from his friend's house. I asked him if he was coming home for dinner.
"What are we having?" I advised him it would be fend-for-yourself since Dad just gotten home from his root canal. "Nah. . .loveyoubye!"
Five minutes later, the phone rang. "Hey, Mom. . ." Black Jack wanted to know what we were having for dinner.
"It's fend-for-yourself tonight. . ." I replayed the root canal story.
"Oh, okay. Loveyoubye!"
Five minutes later, the phone rang. "Hey, Mom. . ." The Edge (of 17) was on break at work. What time was she going to be home?
"I'm closing. Ten-thirty. . .ish? Gotta go! Loveyoubye!"
Five minutes later, the phone rang. "Hey, Mom. . ." Black Jack had found Margarita Mix for only three bucks.
"Thanks, Sweetie, but hang on to your money. . .I'm fine, really. So, what are you doing?"
"I gotta go!"
"Why do you have to go?"
"I just hate it when you do that to me!"
"Do WHAT?"
"Nothing. . .I know what I mean." Well, that's good, at least one of us does! "Loveyoubye!"
Five minutes later, the phone rang. "Hey, Mom. . ." Halfway was leaving his friend's house and heading to the park. "Loveyoubye!"
I decided I was just going to turn my phone off. Five minutes later, 7th Heaven hollered from her room, "Hey, Moooooooom!"
I couldn't resist. I danced in and sang to her, "That's not my name. That's not my name. . ."
Have fun!
That's not my name.
That's not my name.
That's not my name.
That's not my name." - The Ting Tings
When you have toddlers screaming "Mooooooom!" all day long, you dream of the day when they will all be out of the house and you'll be free of the oft-screamed moniker.
I'm sorry to report that it doesn't quite go down that way.
Yesterday afternoon, the phone rang. "Hey, Mom. . ." Black Jack (21) was discount shopping with his fiancee. Did I need an HDMI cable?
"No, thank you son. I've got one already. . ."
"Loveyoubye!"
Five minutes later, the phone rang. "Hey, Mom. . ." It was Halfway Between (10&20) checking in from his friend's house. I asked him if he was coming home for dinner.
"What are we having?" I advised him it would be fend-for-yourself since Dad just gotten home from his root canal. "Nah. . .loveyoubye!"
Five minutes later, the phone rang. "Hey, Mom. . ." Black Jack wanted to know what we were having for dinner.
"It's fend-for-yourself tonight. . ." I replayed the root canal story.
"Oh, okay. Loveyoubye!"
Five minutes later, the phone rang. "Hey, Mom. . ." The Edge (of 17) was on break at work. What time was she going to be home?
"I'm closing. Ten-thirty. . .ish? Gotta go! Loveyoubye!"
Five minutes later, the phone rang. "Hey, Mom. . ." Black Jack had found Margarita Mix for only three bucks.
"Thanks, Sweetie, but hang on to your money. . .I'm fine, really. So, what are you doing?"
"I gotta go!"
"Why do you have to go?"
"I just hate it when you do that to me!"
"Do WHAT?"
"Nothing. . .I know what I mean." Well, that's good, at least one of us does! "Loveyoubye!"
Five minutes later, the phone rang. "Hey, Mom. . ." Halfway was leaving his friend's house and heading to the park. "Loveyoubye!"
I decided I was just going to turn my phone off. Five minutes later, 7th Heaven hollered from her room, "Hey, Moooooooom!"
I couldn't resist. I danced in and sang to her, "That's not my name. That's not my name. . ."
Have fun!
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
It Happens!
"Life don't go quite like you planned it.
We try so hard to understand it.
The irrefutable, indisputable fact is. . .
Pssssh - it happens!" - Sugarland
Yep, some days it's just that way.
I woke up with a song in my heart and a smile on my face, ready to greet the day. I was a little late, but I figured I'd squeeze in a quick jog. However, first, I received some bad news, then some more bad news, but I was determined to deal with it accordingly and move on. By the time I got off the phone, I knew I needed to skip the walk and just get dressed.
I had to cancel a lunch meeting I'd looked forward to with a friend over a change in plans because hubbalicious had need of my help, and I was feeling so competent. Even the Edge (of 17) and her grumpy "you woke me up too early" attitude was not going to get to me.
The Mombus, with it's new brakes (two weeks ago) and it's new battery (last week) now apparently needs a new starter. So I set out in the "Teen Mobile" with it's rear-view mirror gee-gaws and rear-window surf stickers with plans of dropping 7th Heaven at art camp for four hours of moderate freedom.
We were sidetracked by an either drunk or medically troubled driver whom I passed, then I noted his violent swerving from lane to lane in the rearview. My civic responsibility got the better of me, so I called 911 and followed him at 25 MPH for twenty minutes until the Sheriff's deputies showed up.
The roads were once again safe, and we were once again on our way to art camp. However, when we arrived, no one was there. I later discovered (once I checked my stupid email!) that it had been canceled. Yes, yes, "Prior planning prevents pi$$ poor performance." - thank you.
Well, I'm not one to mope. Besides, I had "work to do." I arrived home, smeared on some lipgloss and asked his hubness where I was needed. "Thanks, sweetheart, but I'm not going to need anything. I've got it all taken care of."
So, here I am, halfway through my day and I've managed to. . .well. . .I made my bed. And folded a little laundry. And re-visited the quadratic formula with Algebra boy. I'm sure there are other household tasks awaiting my attention. Sigh.
I'm not complaining. After all, nobody was hurt in the making of this blog. We all have days like this. . .pssssh, it happens!
Have fun!!
We try so hard to understand it.
The irrefutable, indisputable fact is. . .
Pssssh - it happens!" - Sugarland
Yep, some days it's just that way.
I woke up with a song in my heart and a smile on my face, ready to greet the day. I was a little late, but I figured I'd squeeze in a quick jog. However, first, I received some bad news, then some more bad news, but I was determined to deal with it accordingly and move on. By the time I got off the phone, I knew I needed to skip the walk and just get dressed.
I had to cancel a lunch meeting I'd looked forward to with a friend over a change in plans because hubbalicious had need of my help, and I was feeling so competent. Even the Edge (of 17) and her grumpy "you woke me up too early" attitude was not going to get to me.
The Mombus, with it's new brakes (two weeks ago) and it's new battery (last week) now apparently needs a new starter. So I set out in the "Teen Mobile" with it's rear-view mirror gee-gaws and rear-window surf stickers with plans of dropping 7th Heaven at art camp for four hours of moderate freedom.
We were sidetracked by an either drunk or medically troubled driver whom I passed, then I noted his violent swerving from lane to lane in the rearview. My civic responsibility got the better of me, so I called 911 and followed him at 25 MPH for twenty minutes until the Sheriff's deputies showed up.
The roads were once again safe, and we were once again on our way to art camp. However, when we arrived, no one was there. I later discovered (once I checked my stupid email!) that it had been canceled. Yes, yes, "Prior planning prevents pi$$ poor performance." - thank you.
Well, I'm not one to mope. Besides, I had "work to do." I arrived home, smeared on some lipgloss and asked his hubness where I was needed. "Thanks, sweetheart, but I'm not going to need anything. I've got it all taken care of."
So, here I am, halfway through my day and I've managed to. . .well. . .I made my bed. And folded a little laundry. And re-visited the quadratic formula with Algebra boy. I'm sure there are other household tasks awaiting my attention. Sigh.
I'm not complaining. After all, nobody was hurt in the making of this blog. We all have days like this. . .pssssh, it happens!
Have fun!!
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