It hasn’t been any surprise to me that I’ve been neglecting my blog. What is a surprise is that the last time I blogged anything was in June. I could have sworn it was way earlier in the year. Like February! So, needless to say, I’m already feeling pretty full of myself and like I suck only half as bad as I thought 5 minutes ago.

Now here I am, filled with all these ridiculous New Years resolutions that I come up with EVERY year (would have been so easy to just cut, paste & repost last years goals!). One of those resolutions is to make some kind of damn effort do a better job in keeping up with my blog. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not deluded enough to think that I possess some magical information and its my obligation to share my insight with the world. I know that most of what I have to say is shit. What is important is that I have an outlet to purge this shit from my soul. To infect the world, if you will. Because some of the stuff that happens in a girls life is just too twisted and bizarre for her to keep to herself.

So… a quick run-down of my year: went to a very, very dark place (kind of like a quick trip to hell only without the warmth), saw the light & went towards it, trained for and ran a 5k (a different and shorter trip to hell) with The Middle, welcomed two new victims into our extended family (a boy and a girl) who, I’m pretty sure are already checking their contracts for an escape clause, had a squatter stationed in my extra bedroom for a few months before he decided that free room & board isn’t such a great deal when said room seems to be located within a sanctuary for wild rabid monkeys.

After surviving 2011, what could 2012 possibly throw at me? Oh, well, yeah, there’s that whole end of the world theory, but that isn’t until December!

Lets do this….

I realized very early on that potty training was the single-most exasperating task when dealing with toddlers. With The Oldest I was relentless. “Do you need to use the potty?”, ”Did you use the potty?”, “Why won’t you use the fucking potty?” I seemed to believe that the only way I could prove my worth as a mother was to have this mammal potty trained at the earliest possible moment. It seems that, by societal standards, if your child isn’t potty trained before their off the breast you’ve failed as a mother and your child is viewed as an imbecile (maybe that’s why so many mothers breast feed until their child goes to Kindergarten?). With this child I was acutely in tune to every noise, action, or lack of either, that would signal that he was about to evacuate some orifice in his body. It got to the point that every time I called out, “what are you do-ing?” the poor child answered with, “I’m not poo-ping!”

The Middle was drastically easier. That child sees what his older brother is doing or has accomplished and instinctively sets out to best him. I kid you not, this child potty trained himself!

And now, with The Oldest, I’ve had a completely different experience. You see, I’m older, I tire more easily, and I just don’t have the drive for perfection that I started with. Once The Baby figured out how to pee in the pot (and its been pretty hit-or-miss about how consistently he actually uses it) I kind of took a less compelling route to total potty independence. He has underwear in his drawer, but let’s be honest, the Pull-Ups are so damned convenient and easier to deal with when I forget to make him potty. On top of that, this kid is a little more worldly than the others. When I asked him why he wouldn’t poop in the potty, he explained, very seriously, that “I’m just not ready.”   When I pressed him further, “Well, when are you going to start pooping in the potty?” he lovingly cupped my faced in his tiny little pudgy hands and very patiently said, “when I’m ready.” So, not needing to make any more work for myself, I let it go. When a kids not ready, a kids not ready, right? Why push the matter?

Today, apparently, he was ready. He rushed into the kitchen where I was putting away groceries and said, “Mama, I have to poop!” Now, I know he’s new at this, and it’ll take some time to develop his skill and figure out how everything works, but so far, that one turd, which I’m sure is just a regular sized turd, has required 8 trips to the bathroom, each of which produced a single pellet. Making this one poop an eight part series.

A few months ago some crazy, apocalyptic-type shit went down in my life. As a result of that, I was hesitant to speak, much less blog about anything.  The result of that is that I failed to blog about the birthday of my wonderful son, The Oldest.

Ten years ago a little creature showed up who rattled my world. Suddenly, I was somebody’s mother, and it actually felt different. I’d been sure that motherhood would never change me, and then I found that the very core of my existence had been flipped on its axis. I found that I could give completely, could think first of another and that I could survive with only 30 minutes of sleep at a time for weeks!

In ten years he has brought me some of my highest moments, as well as my most crushing defeats (why the hell is potty training such a nightmare?). There have been times when I’ve hurt so bad for him. It’s true, he doesn’t fit neatly into many molds and that doesn’t go unnoticed by other kids–and adults–who can be so mean and dismissive. And I want to scream at them, with pride and rage, “Don’t you see that’s what makes him so goddamn unique you single-dimensional fuck!”

He makes me laugh with his witty insight and goofy sense of humor. He challenges me  with his stubborn nature. He warms my heart when he cuddles me. And I love that boy.

The Oldest’s birthday falls near Memorial Day weekend (fittingly!). This year, school was still in session during his birthday for the first time. It was the last day of school, but it still counts!  The fourth grade field trip was also scheduled for the last day of school. I went with his class on a trip to Ouray, CO. The entire fourth grade class went on a tour of an old silver mine, had a picnic lunch, and then went swimming at the Ouray Hot Springs Pool.

Beautiful Ouray, CO…  

At the mine  

The Oldest with his mining hat   

Here is our charming tour guide on the mine tour (proof that some people really should work underground. Deep, deep underground) 

The birthday finished up two days later with an official birthday party, group viewing of Kung Fu Panda 2 with a few friends, and a sleep-over (if you look really close you might be able to see all nine bodies…) I think the thing that he most appreciated was the fact that the entire 4th grade class was able to share in his 10th birthday. “Well, son, I planned it that way just for you!” And if he doesn’t believe that, you can bet that this late post will someday be used against me. Along with all the others!

Every day of the year has historical significance. April 14 is no different. Both tragedies and joyous occasions share the date of April 14.
In the year 1828 a man named Noah Webster got the copyright for the first edition of a book we have all used: his dictionary.
On this day in 1860 the first Pony Express rider reached his destination in California. The Pony Express used men on horses to carry mail across the U.S. long before we had cars or phones.
There are some sad events that happened on April 14 as well. In 1865 President Abraham Lincoln was shot by John Wilkes Booth. In 1912, at 11:40 pm the Titanic hit an iceberg and began to sink.
Some popular people were born on April 14.  Two baseball players share the birthday. Pete Rose was born in 1941 and David Justice in 1966. In 1866 Annie Sullivan was born. Annie grew up to be a very popular teacher. She had only one student her whole life, Helen Keller, who couldn’t hear or see and didn’t know how to communicate with anyone else. Annie taught her  about the world she couldn’t see and taught her sign language so that she could “speak” to others.
Most importantly, on April 14, a tiny baby was born who would grow up to love sports, superheros, skateboarding–and cuddling!–and made his family very happy. That boy is now known as The Middle, and I love you very much. Happy Birthday, son. I hope this year is everything that you want it to be. This is for you…

Learning experiences come at every age. As a parent, I try to spare my kids the pain and embarrassment of having to learn some of the lessons I did. There are experiences that they’ve had before I could prepare them (i.e.-it may seem funny to laugh milk from your nose, but it doesn’t feel very good when it actually comes out) and lessons that they are still too young for (i.e.-don’t eat rice before going on a whiskey drinking binge, the rice hurts when you throw it up through your nose!). There are lessons that I wish I didn’t have to tell them (i.e.- don’t put your tongue on metal during the winter. Oh, yeah, I saw the movie. And, I tried it! It’s true) and things I never dreamed I had to tell them (i.e.- you’re not allowed to pee on your brothers). It’s exhausting to try and impart on my children all of the sage advise I’ve accumulated in my lifetime. Sometimes, I fear, important things sneak by. And then, I’m reminded…

Now, speaking of lessons–and noses– The Baby learned a very valuable lesson about his recently. That lesson is: Whatever you put into it, your going to have to get out!

Here’s how that went down:

“Mama, help me get the ball out.”

“What?”

“I can’t get the ball out.” (pointing to his nose)

“Did you put something up your nose?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Shit. Shit. Damn.” I didn’t have high hopes for my retrieval method but I grabbed a tissue and had him blow. Several times. That kid huffed, and he puffed and he blew out a …

Oh yeah, that’s right, my friends. That is a damn rock!

Now, just to give you an idea of the scale of the rock in comparison to the hole it both went into and then came out of….

It makes me shiver to imagine that thing up my nose, and I have twice the clearance!

The good news is, he has learned a very valuable lesson, and I don’t have to tell his brothers not to put things in their noses.

According to The Middle, people for years have been misunderstanding the story of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. His interpretation is as follows:

There are actually very few flying reindeer in the world. Only those that fly would be raised at the North Pole. When the song refers to “all of the other reindeer” it makes it sound as if there are a lot of them, which isn’t true. There was really just one other reindeer Rudolph’s age and that reindeer was Olive. Olive, the other reindeer. And it was Olive that used to laugh and call him names and wouldn’t let him join in any reindeer games.

So, there you have it. From the mouth of the boy who can twist any reality to fit his own.

I thought I might check in.

It has been a long time.

Sometimes life just sweeps you up and casts you out to sea for a while. For many months I have been adrift. Lost in an ocean of obligation. Treading the waters of exhaustion. And, yes, trying to out swim the sharks.

I have decided that I need to shed some of the objects that are weighing me down. Free myself of the weight of some things that I thought were so dear to me, until they threatened to pull me under.

I see land on the horizon and I am swimming for shore.

Just a few more strokes and I can once again baste in the heat of the sun warmed beach.

Just a few more strokes…

Last night I put my little cherubs down to bed and grabbed my laptop intent on getting some work done. Instead, I did what any responsible mom/home-based-employee would do: I spent 3 hours farting around on Facebook.

I have to preface this by saying that I’m not a dedicated Facebook user. I’ve had an account for a long time. At first, I would check my page every month or so, whether I needed to or not. Within the past two months I’ve been really dedicated, checking in like, weekly, at least! And now that I’m in an almost daily groove I realized, I’ve never really hunted around to find people that I used to know. And, isn’t that what Facebook is about? So, like any other hunter (albeit a hunter who wants the prize but without the inconvenience if getting up at four am, going out in the cold and actually hunting) I went poaching. That’s right, I went to the few friends I had and I checked their friends just to see if I knew anyone. And, if I could add them to my own list—because are we not judged by the friends we keep?

As I looked through the names of the people I had known at one time it dawned on me that I may need to be very selective in who I send friends requests to.  Do the social policies of adolescence still hold true all these years later? As an adult, do you remain on the same level of the teenage caste system that you occupied when you were actually in school? For me, this could be a problem.

The problem with school is that it is a constantly evolving thing. In elementary school you have a small group of “friends”. Almost everyone plays together and by the end of elementary school you may have been “best friends” with almost everyone in your grade at some point. Then you are placed into a junior high school/middle school with all of your friends and kids from one or two other schools. Suddenly, you’re networking. And maybe some of your former besties have become more like “acquaintances”. In some instances, those people may have suddenly become your archenemy. Then, just about the time you are working out all of your interpersonal relationships with these people, you are thrown into high school. Let the tailspin begin! Now, not only don’t you know half of the people you are in school with, you’re at a point when you don’t even really know who you are. Let’s just say that the struggle to assert independence and be unique didn’t work out for the best for everyone! Maybe I didn’t choose my friends well. Maybe I would have more friends now if I hadn’t been so flighty in my teenage social networking. A high percentage of my former friends now have very a very static group of friends, which I am not a part of. Of course, their friends have been largely determined by the Department of Corrections, and, I believe referred to as fellow inmates.

Now I’m faced with a dilemma. I’m looking at the Facebook pages of all of these nice, normal kids that I used to know. Will they remember me? Which me will they remember? The elementary, middle or (gulp) high school me? Am I one of the people that make you say, “Oh, Yeah! I remember her!” or the one that makes you say (with a cringe), “ Oh, yeah. I remember her.”?

So, for now I’ve decided on the safest approach. I will only send a friend request to those people that I: 1) am certain that I never started a fight with, 2) may have supplied booze to at some point or consumed booze with, 3) only knew me in elementary or junior high.

Once, I get those three people, I should be on my way!

I’m back!

I decided it was finally time to put an end to my online “vacation”. The fact is, I’m no more well-rested, peaceful or pleasant to be around than I was several months ago, so why keep all this euphoria to myself?

What have I been up to for all these months? (OK, it’s only been 4 months, but in my mind it has seemed like an eternity to my two regular readers).  I’ve done some traveling, both for work and for pleasure. I’ve been to some awesome places and some that you can’t find on any formal map (as a matter of fact, the only maps some of these places are on are the hand-drawn napkin maps provided to me by the good folks at the middle of nowhere Conoco stations throughout the world!). Never in my life did I think that getting directions would include the words “turn at the big weed by the old fence post that’s still standing”, but you don’t know relief until you dodge that last mud-filled rut and almost run over that post!

I was also happy to go to some civilized locations. Phoenix (although I don’t recommend that in July–just sayin’!); Washington; Montana; Portland, OR; Sand Point, Idaho; Denver; and New Orleans (how the hell do you people live with that humidity??).

I spent some quality time with my kids, of course. The whole summer. Three entire months. All day, every day. Yep. Just me and the kids. As you can imagine, the sales for Sunshine Wheat had a dramatic increase during the summer. I think I also single-handedly financed grape harvesting for the next three years at Carlson Vineyards (gotta give a shout out for Laughing Cat Riesling!!).

I did suffer from one devastating event since I last posted.  I had another f***ing birthday. Good God, why don’t they ever stop? I was quite clear that I would NOT keep doing that shit past the age of 33 and yet they just keep coming. Like that girl who keeps knocking on my door every 3 weeks trying to share Bible passages with me and invite me to church. I keep saying, “No”, but they just keep coming. I stop answering the door, and they keep coming. I get all liquored up and pass out naked on the front lawn (with a shotgun!), and they keep coming. Eh! It’s so irritating. And I try my hardest to fight off aging. I exfolliate and moisturize and avoid smiling or showing any joy to avoid wrinkling my face (alright, and because I’m just completely incapable of expressing any joy!). Now, the one thing I want out of life, the one thing that will make me happy more pleasant is being denied to me by The Hubbin’. I mean, really, what does it matter if Botox freezes my face? I’m not gonna be smiling anyway, am I? I’m just going to continue looking at everyone with the same neutral expression I’ve been using for the past ten years, the one that doesn’t convey complete disgust with every person I come into contact with. It’s a little Botox. What else am I gonna ask for? A sewing machine? (LOL, oh, crap, I think I peed myself a little at the thought of that!)

So, yes. I’m still the same miserable, crabby, sarcastic, slacker mom I was 4 months ago. And I won’t be keeping my misery to myself any more!

  That’s right. 30 seconds. Because that is about all the time I have before my damn computer shuts down. It has been doing that randomly. I tried to be optimistic. “It’s just the power cord. It doesn’t seem to be connecting properly. If I just prop it up with a Snickers bar ,a remote control and some tape it’ll stay in place. See, it’s working just..what the f*@! kind of a piece of crap is this. I just hit the damn “Save” button right as this absolute piece of f*@!ing sh*@ shut down again. Oh, son. I didn’t see you standing there. Yes, Mommy was using her naughty words. Yes, I know I just grounded you for that.”

So, yes. I am a computer neuter. (Makes me regret what I did to that dog a month ago!)

I thought I would be fine. I could just use the Hubbin’s computer. Here’s the problem with that philosophy: His computer bites ass is a bit on the obsolete side. It literally takes 17 minutes from the time I hit the Power button until it’s fully operational. Every time I click on a link, it takes a minimum of 53 seconds for the page to load. That thing has been debugged and defrag’ed so many times it barely remembers that it’s a computer and capable of being a highly advanced method of information sharing and retrieval. At this point, I could send the dog after the proper encyclopedic volume and have the information within a comparable time frame. And, while the computer itself doesn’t randomly shut down (it takes 4 minutes and 49 seconds for it to take that leap!) I have found that the word processing program does and so, before I lose my rant, and am forced to polish off that bottle of Vanilla Absolut (well, I say forced, but we all know I’m looking for an excuse, and it is the first Thursday of the only month that ends with the letter “l”, which is a perfectly good reason to have a cocktail!), I will bid you all, adieu!

The Oldest is home sick. I got that dreaded call from the school yesterday afternoon; “The Oldest has a fever and you need to come pick him up”.

Now, the really selfish, crappy (and dominant) part of my mothering personality kicked in initially. The thought that almost jumped out of my mouth to take its rightful place in the world of That-Which-Must-Not-Be-Verbalized-But-Suddenly-Has was, “what the hell do you mean come and get him? He’s been ok to be there for the past 6 hours, but now with one hour left, he’s too sick to be at school?” Luckily I just shut my mouth and went to pick him up.

The recessive mothering impulse came out and I did make an appointment. He is now on antibiotics but the physician’s assistant said he has to stay home from school for one or two days.

You should know that this is the child that this is the child who caused the untimely death of Rule #178. The child who talks…and talks….and talks…you get my point. He talks ALOT! And now I am at home with him. My blessed hours of quiet relief from the incessent babbling all the delightful conversation are gone.  By 7:40 am I was contemplating my first drink. At this rate I’ll be drunk by noon.  The Middle has half-day kindergarten, I don’t think it’ll go over well if show up for afternoon pick-up with a cocktail in my hand. Those first kid in school, over-achieving, PTA converts in the pick-up line wouldn’t be impressed. But, my YCS is still alive and thriving in this well-nourished, slightly wrinkling body and she doesn’t give a shit what those bitches think, so…maybe just a single shot of malt whiskey?

Actually, I’ll be ok without the drink. Today, anyway. I’m still flying high from the power of having neutered a male yesterday. It was the dog, but still…there is one fewer set of testicles in my house today because of the actions I took yesterday. Ahhh, I feel centered again.

The second grade is a time in which—I am finding out—children really expand their vocabulary base. They learn new s-words like “satiate” and “sentiment”. New p-words like “perceive” and “pachyderm”. And, now, with the guidance of my dear 7-year-old, The Oldest, the entire second grade has apparently learned a new f-word.  That’s right, my son dropped the f-bomb, right there in the morning recess line.
He flat-out told a classmate to keep his f*@%ing hands to himself. I swear I don’t know where he gets the language. True, my first thought when I heard what he said was, “what the fuck was he thinking?” But, in all honesty, I rarely say the word out loud.  I actually gave up the f-word for a while (a little nod to Lent one year, and my first effort—albeit a weak one—to prove that I could make the necessary changes to be a good mother). It was several years before I used the word again. Of course, it was inevitable that someone would eventually piss me off enough that the word would come spewing from my mouth like the green vomit from Regan’s in The Exorcist.
Right now, I’m definitely blaming The Hubbin’. If it wasn’t for the fact that his head would explode, leaving me widowed to single-handedly raise three male children, I would love to sing, “I told you so, I told you so, I told you that you wouldn’t be so happy when those words came out of your children’s mouths” (cue the exploding cranium).
Now I find myself thinking back to all the times I heard one of “those” words uttered by my children. There was the time The Oldest called my husband a f***ing jackass (he was 2; I laughed). The time my very religious mother-in-law asked The Middle why he thought a wasp had stung him and he responded, “Because he was pissed off!” (again, I laughed). I’m also recalling my indecision about how to react when The Middle started using the word “damn” at two years of age. True, it was an inappropriate word for a two-year-old to be using, but he was using it appropriately within the context of the sentence.
So, now we are dealing with the results of our shortcomings as parents.  Well, a few of our shortcomings. Who could deal with the results of all of them at one time, right?

Well…

That’s right.  It’s January…wait…what the hell is the date?

Eh-hem…It’s January 28 of the year 2009.  It has taken me 28 days to fully embrace, and then abandon, my new years resolutions.  The bad news is that I will still be a chunky, grumpy drunk by the end of the year.  The good news is that I now have more time to share my misery with all of you!

So as a late update on my holidays, because even though I know nobody gives a damn, they are my kids and they sat still for 3 photos so I am going to share them with the world!  (In all fairness, the Baby was strapped into a stroller and confronted with a large animal so there was no way he was going to move).

I have to preface this little slideshow by saying that, in general I am opposed to putting animals on display in environments that aren’t natural to them and exposing them to imposing crowds of unsympathetic gawking crowds.  But, for some reason, I still felt compelled to drag my kids to the straw littered linoleum floor of a local store to watch as the holiday creatures attempted to shield their eyes from the harsh flourescent lighting while enduring the excited screams of the human spawn.

Why doesn't he just fly away?

Don't stare into his eyes! He may think your challenging him.

I think it was only a matter of time before this peaceful creature got pissed and spit at someone

Now this picture was taken at one of the most exciting moments of the entire reindeer display.  While you’ll see my kids crouched down at the fence getting a good look, right up close and personal, you can’t see all the other kids that crowded around the periphery with their camera’s getting a REALLY good picture of the action!  I may have to add this to the potty pics!

That's right...the reindeer took a crap and the crowd gathered 'round to behold the magic of the holiday season

Yes, I have a negative attitude.  Yes, I reject anything that I am “expected” to do.  Yes, I avoid traditional mother/wife activities.  I take great pride in being a little different, a little edgier.  My kids may not know how to bake (and if it’s based on what they learn from me, they may never even understand the concept) but they are learning how to Ollie a skateboard and they have a healthy appreciation for the music of AC/DC.

That said, there are moments when I realize how my mothering style affects my children in subtle, imperceptible ways, but in ways that might inhibit their ability to exist in harmony with the rest of the world.  I realize that they are missing some fundamental knowledge about the world, and everday skills that their peers are privy to.

Case in point:  I was helping the Oldest with his homework sheet.  The lesson was in reading comprehension.  Each problem presented a riddle about an object that is held in your hand and can be helpful.  Each problem was paired with a partial picture as a hint.  The Oldest easily answered most of the problems: a toothbrush, a hairbrush, a fork, etc.  He called for help because he had one problem that he just couldn’t figure out.  The riddle was “when your shirt has a rip or a tear/my friend thread and I/can do the repair”.  Now, if you know anything about me, it’s that I. Don’t. Sew.  I actually blogged about some issues I had with my slacker mentality while making Halloween costumes this year.  I have long admired the beauty of the iron-on bonding agent for seams and hems but that is where my clothing repair expertise ends.  But, I am aware of the concept of sewing.  So, the answer was pretty evident (needle!) and I sat down to try and guide the Oldest to that answer.  I posed to him several different ways of thinking about it.  This was, essentially, how that conversation went:

Me: Do you know when you get a hole or a rip in your clothes?

The Oldest: Yes

Me: Sometimes it can be fixed, right?

The Oldest: (with a skeptical look on his face) Yes

Me: So, to fix the rip you need something to help close up the hole, right.

The Oldest: Oh, yeah

Me: (head nodding in excitement as I see the wheels of comprehension turning) So, to fix the hole, you get out an….?

The Oldest: An iron!!!

Me: (Stunned silent with the awful, horrible truth of the moment and the realization that I caused this blistering lack of awareness as to how things actually work in the world).  Or, (gulp!) you, know how Grandma uses thread and a needle?

Crap!  So, there you go.  My kids don’t even know that if you wind a needle and thread around and around, you can actually mend clothing.  Aren’t I so proud of my nontraditional viewpoints now?