Riding Shotgun

Of the 4,872,561,789,264,520,673 reason kids will fuss, bicker, bitch, wrestle; the number one argument in our family is who gets to ride in the frontseat of the car. 

I was able to postpone the arguments for several years since the kids were restrained in child seats in the back.  Once they outgrew the babyseat (remember, this was before every car was equipped with airbags) the fight was on. 

It was a fight I anticipated.  To this day my brothers and I would have a standoff in the driveway, arguing longer legs, age, built-in navigator abilities, or "you always get to ride with mom, it's my turn dammit." 

SKREECH!  FLAW!

That last argument would actually be, "I ride with mom all the damn time, somebody else can sit next to her"  So maybe the fight has evolved as we fight over who DOESN'T get to sit in the front.  But there would be a fight, dirty looks and a mad dash to the car door.  You know, whoever reaches the door first gets to sit there?  Yep, because that is the LAW!

And here is my daughter, BREAKING THE LAW as she totally tries to overcome her bigger little brother.

So here is QandleQueen's solution to children arguing over the front seat - TAKE TURNS.  One gets the front going, the other gets the front riding home.  If you have multiple children vying for the front seat then you need to make enough stops along the way so they can each have a turn.  OR you can bring an adult with you.  Then the monsters are stuck with the backseat for the ENTIRE RIDE *gasp*.  Yeah, adults trump children every time.

And if they cannot resolve the matter among themselves in a peaceful, quiet and QUICK way, then you get in the car, turn it on, scream "I'm leaving" and put it in gear.  If they STILL cannot decide then everyone is stuck in the back.  Simple.  No whining or the front passenger seat is vacant for an entire week.

By the way, Keith kept his front seat claim in the above picture.  You do, though, have to admire the shock effect of sitting on the original seat squatter.

No Coat

It's COLD outside.  What is he wearing?  A hoodie.  Granted it's a thick, woolly hoody, but it's not a legitimate coat.  Yesterday he ran back into his room and put on a long-sleeve shirt.  Like that would make a difference?

He's also stopped carrying his bookbag.  Everything is crammed into his Trapper Keeper, breaking it down so that a new one will be necessary before the end of the schoolyear.

WHY?

So he can land a coveted seat at the back of the bus on the way home.   If he has to stop at his locker the odds drop, his advantage lost and he's relegated to the dreadful middle seats.

Basically I'm looking at a soon-to-be sick kid who is going to need a new Trapper Keeper.  At least his backpack should last another year.

More Playing In The Sand

I can't believe I had forgotten about this trip to the beach!  This was just us, a family trip to the west coast.

The boys had been busy digging a hole.

Eventually they asked to be buried as they pulled sand in on themselves.  Don't freak out, they aren't very deep and I kept asking if they could move limbs.  It only took a few seconds to burst out.

While my kids bicker and taunt each other, more often than not, they're getting along.  I like this shot as it shows the genuine companionship between my sons.  There was no, "this is my hole, go away squirty little brother and dig your own."  They easily took turns posing.

I always do a double take as the kid carrying the two buckets is Ian.  It looks like someone much older with a budding six pack.  Nope, just a scrawny eight yr old.

Notice the fifteen year old staring at the passing girls!  He may have been looking at something else, but I highly doubt it.

Playing In The Sand

On my other blog I posted some beach pictures.  One of them, a boy buried in the sand and given a mermaid body reminded me of the one I took of my own son.

We were vacationing with 3 other families, my closest friends and their kids.  These four have been partners in crime since they were babies.

While Keith was taking a break from the water and sunning himself, the girls started heaping sand on him and molding him into a mermaid.

I'm amazed he stayed so still for the ordeal and submitted to their whims.

The boobies and lopsided nipples (superball and a seashell) totally crack me up.

Sadly this was the end of the four kids hanging out.  After this summer they began high school, started driving and having separate social lives.  They used to be thrust together in a yard or basement while the adults would drink, now they were old enough to stay home by themselves or babysit younger siblings.  Or they had to work.  Or go to prom.  Or whatever it is that teenagers do to not be home.

*sigh*

The Car Conversation

WOE!

"Mom, what car can I have when I start driving?"
"Mom, can I drive?"
NO!  You're TWELVE!
"Mom, when I get a car it's going to be..." blah blah blah blah

There's something in the water that mandates seventh graders begin the car quest.  They fantasize about sitting behind the wheel of a sleek sports car, cruising down curving roads, wind mysteriously whisking through their hair.... yeah whatever.  Dream on baby.

I've been down this road before, twice to be exact.  I know that for the next four years conversations are going to pop up at random times about dream cars and the constant quest to take the car for a spin.  As passengers they will critique passing cars, outlining desirable qualities.  The car conversation is never complete.  It is a wishlist that drones on and on with rude interruptions from parents reminding to finish homework, eat dinner, take showers and go to sleep, only to start up the next day.  And the following day.  And the day after that.

While I won't let anyone drive until at least a driver's permit is earned, I will allow certain pesky children take the keys and start my car.  Little do they realize they're being used.  Who else but a car crazy child would be willing to venture out in the freezing cold morning just for the "glory" to start the car?  It's a quick way to kick a pacing kid out of the house while you're still getting ready. 

Besides starting the car, they can set the radio, pump it up to deafening tones and imagine for three minutes that they are, in fact, winding the car down a twisting road with the air rushing through their hair - swoosh swoosh - until I finally manage to haul my ass out of the house.  A quick scramble to turn down the radio, get out of the driver's seat and into the back, and the "driver" is a child again, left to critique passing cars.

Maybe it's that his feet are finally able to reach the pedals?  Hard to say.  But this is the age that the car conversation begins and it doesn't stop until the novelty of being a new driver finally wears off... oh somewhere around seventeen.

If you're good at math that means it's been three years since my last child finally quit yammering on about getting a car, driving a car, dreaming about a car.  Three years.  That is a short ass reprieve considering there are eight years between middle and youngest child.  Such is life.

Sleeping Upside Down

When I pulled out yesterday's picture of Ian sleeping in the box, I came across all of the other sleeping pictures.  These crack me up so much that I created a whole album in iPhoto dedicated to sleeping kids.

At first I thought this was Ian except the original title of it insist it was Keith in 1992.  Upon further inspection small details in the picture, mostly the fact that there is carpeting proves it was taken before Ian was even born.

It was during that "further inspection" that I noticed the full scope of the child's position - feet up in the chair. 

And yes, he is sound asleep.

Cardboard Box

A couple days ago I read someone's blog (sorry, forget which one) where they talked about kids playing with cardboard boxes.  Well, my kids are no different. 

There is something COOL about boxes.  They spark imagination in amazing ways.  I remember my dad bringing home boxes from work.  What he planned to do with them is beyond me.  It just dawned on me that he probably used them when he separated from my mom.  My brother and I were oblivious.  Those boxes were an incredible draw for our curious minds.  We pulled them out to the front porch stacking them up to make the best fort ever - complete with a window.

A large box would have been awesome as well.  Here Ian took up residence, literally, in a box. 

You can see he taped a steering wheel inside the box.  I also allowed him to color the outside of the box - he opted for a car theme.  It survived several days as his brother and sister pushed him around the livingroom  so he could drive.  He begged to eat dinner in it, "driving" by the kitchen as if it were a fast food restaurant.  He would push stuffed animals around in it and finally he tucked himself into the box to pretend sleep, only to really fall asleep.

Eventually it collapsed and was escorted to the trash.  Other boxes came to life under Ian's command, but I don't have pictures of those.

Yes, a cardboard box is the BEST TOY EVER!

Do You Live Here?

WOE!

Yesterday over on Dad's House, he was bemoaning that his teenagers are never home.  I chuckled to myself, "oh yeah, just wait buddy!"  I kept my reply to something along the lines of "they're just preparing you for college."  The biggest damn understatement of the world.

I've always contended that every stage of childhood, from pregnant mothers getting up to pee every night right up to teenagers missing from family meals, is simply preparation for the next stage in life.  Stepping stones is you will.

Jumping to my life scenario - when Keith graduated high school I moved across town, closer to work.  I knew with two kids in college that I no longer needed a five bed room house and could certainly reduce that half hour drive.  I sought a house that would accommodate all four of us if necessary.

Amanda had already flexed her muscle and had declared that she was in the market for an apartment.  Keith also made other arrangements.  I'll keep the details of that arrangement intentionally vague - OMG I'm not revealing all of my kids dirty laundry on the internets for once!  Suffice it to say that everyone was placing bets as to how long Keith's arrangement would last.  I warned him and I advised him that maybe it wasn't the best idea, but being the stubborn type that he is, my pleas fell on deaf ears.

It lasted a whopping two months.

He landed at his father's house, much closer to school and work and friends.  Keith has been at his dad's house for nearly three years.  This is a fine arrangement, but not what I had in mind at all.  I kept my door open, if ever it was needed.  Hell, Keith is still on my occupancy permit, although he has never technically lived here.

Earlier this week major drama unfolded at his dad's house - again the details not to be unloaded here.  Keith wasn't involved, but felt the need to vacate for a while until the dust settles.  This is actually unfortunate because it's a serious drain on Keith's resources.  He now has to commute a half hour to work every day and can only grab a few moments to see his girl friend who lives a further fifteen minutes away.  It's not easy on him.

Besides, I never see him.  After work and dropping by to see the girlfriend, he comes in after I've gone to bed and then he gets up after I've left for work.  Only extra shampoo bottles in my shower and a serious depletion of the milk in the fridge denote the additional person in my house.  As always, if I want to talk to him it's done over the telephone.  I saw Amanda longer yesterday than I've seen Keith in the three days he's been at my house.

The moral of the story:  if you have teenagers, enjoy your time "together" because it only gets less and less and less.  They turn into busy college students.  And college students turn into very busy 20 somethings.

Goodnight Kiss

WAH!

Ian still gets a kiss and a hug every night.  Last night I wondered how much longer this is going to last?  I don't remember exactly when Keith and Amanda stopped the hug and kiss routine.  I think it just sort of faded out, not really a conscious effort on anybody's part.  There wasn't any declaration from me that they are too big for the hug and kiss and neither one of them squawked in horror that I was still tucking them in bed.

Maybe it happened when they started staying up later than me?  But, no, all through high school they were to be in bed by 10pm.  I don't know!  When did it happen?  When did they stop being little kids needing that last expression of love before drifting off to sleep?  Was it when I didn't need to close scary closet doors for them any more?  Or when they were busy finishing the last lines of homework that exceeded my capacity to help?

Well, whatever it was it's just around the corner with my baby.  It's only a matter of time before he sulks off to bed without so much as a warning.  Of course teenagers don't SLEEP.  Oh no.  They lie in wait until the house is closed down, parents sound asleep, to flip on the TV, pop on the headphones and start playing video games (or as my daughter would do - read).  How do I know this is just around the corner?  Because he's already doing the fake-sleep-wait-til-house-is-closed-to-play-video-games-with-headphones.  The hug and kiss are soon to say farewell.

*sigh*

:(

The Last Of The Christmas Cash

Ian had spent all but one of his gift cards.  I didn't realize he still had cold hard cash yet to spend.  And oh my, was it burning a hole in his pocket!

Like with Flight Simulator, he spent countless hours on the computer searching for the perfect way to spend his cash.  Forget that I've been rather adamant that he should put something in the bank - THAT'S BORING.

Ugh!

"Can we go to Walmart?"
"When can we go to Walmart?"
"Can we go to Walmart TODAY?"
"WHY can't we go to Walmart today?"
"I want to go to Walmart"

walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart

AUUUUUUGGGHHHHHH!!!!!

I don't want to go to Walmart.  Got it?

walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart  walmart

And then The Husband asks if I could drop off his new prescription at Walmart on my way to meet some old friends.

REALLY?  What the hell is this need for MY body to be at Walmart?  There ain't shit at Walmart that I want or need.  Why don't the two boys who have this undying need to have ME go to Walmart combine their efforts and, oh maybe, GO TOGETHER?

I pushed Ian off onto his step-father and when I got out of the shower they were both hovering over the computer.  The Husband, king of comparison shopping, had taken up the twelve year old's cause.

I was still requested to drop off the prescription, but he was going to pick it up.  I think I can deal with the arrangement although I have no desire to step a foot in among the squalling masses.

The boys returned home after I did, lugging in a large box.  They did it.  They found the perfect way to blast through $100, the last of Ian's Christmas Cash - a stereo complete with MP3 connection, headphones, radio and CD player.  And HUGE speakers.

Can we FINALLY put Christmas to bed?