Edward Scissorhands

There are times your children will show you just how much you DON'T pay attention.  I thought I kept on top of their activities and whoa, buddy, was I wrong.

I came home from the grocery store and started to lug the bags in through the backdoor, our typical entrance for that particular house, and I spotted a few clippings of hair.  It was the familiar color of my daughter's blonde hair.  Alarm bells went off in my head and I rushed inside.  An immediate look at her three year old head did not show any glaring snips missing from her head, but as I got closer, yes, there it was.  She had cut her bangs with a very lopsided left-hand whack, but it was hidden as she did not clip all of her bangs, a good portion fell over and hid her handiwork.

Upon questioning, she totally fessed up.  What makes it worse, the deed was done the day before.  Yes, I had been looking at my child a full twenty-four hours and never saw that she had cut her hair.  The only give-away was the fleeting locks already hiding among the leaves and cutter on my back porch.

When had she found scissors?  When did she slip outside?  How long did it take her? - all questions that remain unanswered.

But I did find out WHY.  Edward Scissorhands.  We had watched the movie just two days prior.  She was inspired.  That damn, Johnny Depp, the man she would years later claim is "not too bad looking for an old dude," had influenced my child.  I think maybe he owes me an apology - not that I hold any responsibility for not properly supervising my own child or securing sharp objects from my preschooler?

A more observant person would immediately see the handiwork.   We needed to fix it.  A friend took up the cause but it was a hard cut to repair.  We ended up giving her a perm.  With her quick growing hair, the perm soon grew out and was long enough to repair properly.

Curly Sue

Easter Wrestling Match

We had a splendid day, celebrating Easter this afternoon.  The kids dashed out the back door for an egg hunt then we settled down for grilled hot dogs, real holiday food, no?  Then a few Wii games of tennis and bowling - I suck by the way.  A few rounds of Scattergories - Garlic, unfortunately, does not qualify for seasonings that start with J. 

Keith, the usual wrestling instigator, had to leave for work, leaving Amanda and Ian to fill the void. 

He thought he could pick her up

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.

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.

Game Systems

WOE

For the better part of 2009 I've heard endless requests for a new game system - in particular the newest Xbox.  On and on and on.  Of course it made its way onto the Christmas list.  Then he discovered Flight Simulator and how perfect it would be for the now offline PC that he's basically take over since The Husband bought a shiny new iMac (yay me for converting the man to Apple!)  So now the PC is primarily a game center and that works quite well for Ian.

Let's review the current gaming systems available in the house, shall we?  Offline PC, shiny new iMac (with newest copy of SIMS - woot!), old Xbox, PSP (courtesy of his siblings for his birthday), forgotten Gameboy hiding somewhere under his bed, and an ancient Sega Genesis.

Does this child REALLY need another game system?  I think not.

But I kind of want Wii for the Fit thing.  And we found it on sale.  So we bought it and held it back for Christmas.  I subtly asked Ian his opinions on Wii as opposed to a new Xbox.  OH.MAH.GAWD!  Xbox is soooooo much better than Wii.  Wii is lame and only old people and little kids like Wii. 

Crap.

Well, it's already purchased and we're old people and he has plenty of other sources of electronic amusement, he's just going to have to cope.  Suck it up.

And then came Christmas and the unwrapping of the big box labeled for our house address from Santa.  And all of the smaller wrapped boxes inside the big wrapped box.  The fun of a new game system and the array of different games to accompany it, wooo what fun!

Ian has been chomping at the bit to get the Wii set up.  Just push all of that Christmas crap outside and make way for the Wii.  I held firm that the Christmas decorations need to be neatly put away otherwise I will go insane and having seen me go insane he knows this is a valid threat and one to be feared, he then pleaded to set up the very light and small and portable Wii in his room until we get the family room cleared out.  Okay, whatever.

Wii is set up.  The little snot created my Mii with a SCOWL.  And he's proud of it.  The past twentyfour hours he has played bowling and golf and declared Call of Duty too difficult and he wants to shop for MORE games. 

So you LIKE the Wii?  "Yeah, it's alright, but I still want an Xbox 360"

Shut up and go play 100 pin bowling.

I'm Gonna Tell MOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMM!!!!

WOE

They fight. It's a fact of life. Pretty much every damn day. Actually EVERY damn day, multiple times a day.

My kids don't fight like I did with my brothers - that was brutal. The kids brand of fighting is more of taunting and teasing. Well, except the whole nut sack punching between the boys, but since they both think it's funny no harm is intended. And that is probably the whole gist of it, no harm is intended.

With two of them no longer living together, family get-togethers become boxing rings. I shouldn't be too surprised. Whenever I'm around my brothers we exchange all sorts of niceties as well. I hadn't seen one brother for a several years and his first comment to me was "you got fat". Without missing a beat I came back with "you got ugly".

It's all fun and it's bonding. Amazingly my kids are quite close. It's hard to remember watching my kids rip into each other, toss insults back and forth, smack and trip each other in passing. Then I remind myself that they really do like each other.
(Don't you just LOVE the snow boots? Yeah, she wore those all year long until she couldn't squoosh her foot inside it any more.)

A Sense of Direction Is Hereditary

WOE

Waiting for daughter to arrive at a meeting I get a call from her in near panic. I know this sound. She's lost again.

Me? I'm descended from homing pigeons. I'm not above getting lost or a little turned around, but with a little diligence and a few choice words I manage to get to my destination albeit a little late. But those moments are rare. More often than not, I know exactly where I am geographically. I definitely got this trait from my mother, the AAA Queen. She will proudly tell you that she can whip up a trip-tik with the map laid out on the counter facing the customer, upside-down to her, and perfectly wiggle that orange highlighter across the entire US of A!

The geography trait was passed down to my youngest son. I recall him chirping up from the backseat, barely able to talk, pointing out familiar landmarks. His siblings staring at him awestruck because THEY had no idea where they were. When Amanda finally had her drivers license I would send her youngest brother along for the ride just to make sure she could find her way home. And no, I am not kidding.

Amanda inherited her lack of direction from her father. I used to joke that he would get turned around in a cardboard box. It never failed to amuse me how he would be completely lost in a shopping mall - me totally secure, willing to place money, which end was anchored by Sears.

Keith got a mix of the two. He needs solid directions, but has managed his way around town. Only once have I received a frantic call as he took a wrong exit off the highway and landed in downtown St. Louis. And to be honest, I've made that mistake and it's not an easy one to undo. Between Google Maps and him rattling off street signs I finally got him to terra firma.

Amanda read street signs to me and while the streets were familiar, they weren't so familiar that I knew their intersections and I certainly couldn't discern which direction she was headed. She was following MapQuest which had directed her some fucked up way into the neighborhood. Had she called me to begin with I would have had her there in a total of three turns. Finally I asked, "is the sun on your left?"

YES YES

"turn left." I told her major streets to look for and gave her right/left directions.

I really have NO clue where she was. It's too bad I've finished her Christmas Shopping because she really needs GPS.

Holiday Planning

Woe!

As I pant over the fact that October seems to have flown by, making September seem only days ago, I am now struck with the fact that it IS November. And since it is November it is time to thrust ourselves into planning the upcoming holiday season, schedule who goes where, and to think long and hard about traditions.

Personally, Holidays are about logistics. How to get all of the necessary people together at the necessary times. I had a tiny peek into the chaos when I was dating my first husband as he was pulled from mom's house to dad's house to grandma's house to some shindig at a hotel. He came from a big family. I did not. Holidays for me had, up until my marriage, been a private affair around the family dinner table. There was no shuffling from one meal to another. It was simple and it was easy. Since the day I said "I do" holidays have been nowhere near simple nor easy.

It was difficult when the kids were little as we had to pack up a diaper bag with multiple changes of clothing and any other implements of mass destruction like portable cribs and walkers. And of course bundle the kids in cumbersome snowsuits to keep them warm. None of the homes we visited were suited for large gatherings and bringing babies or toddlers and their assorted equipment was even more burdensome. Grandparents cooed that they didn't care - they were just happy everyone was together. So we tripped over each other and tolerated cranky baby cries as little ones couldn't keep their regular nap schedules.

Getting home was insane as we had to lug all of the loot (leftovers and shiny new toys) home in our tiny car.

Then I had to get divorced and further complicate the whole chess-game. Kids are picked up one night to be dropped off the following afternoon to be picked up another day later. Thanksgiving is a jumble of seven different meals spanning half the state over four days. Fortunately my two older children are able to drive, but they also have significant others further adding to the mayhem. Christmas is a delicate ballet crammed into 36 hours. By December 26th we are worn out and sick of looking at ham and turkey left overs, pie is a dirty word and life would be much quieter if batteries would instantly die.

Since my kids have grown up in this strange world of shuffling to and fro maybe they have fond memories of it. Me? I find it horribly stressful and vow not to make it any more difficult when they start their own families. I'm not quite sure, maybe I'll follow my former mother-in-law's lead by hosting Easter in August (we really did that one year). It's about being together - the specific dates don't matter at all. And I'm screwed up enough to actually pull it off.

So how is holiday planning in your world? Easy Schmezy? A well orchestrated ballet? Quiet and uneventful? Sheer chaos but you love every minute? Do you volunteer at soup kitchen or do you host a quiet affair for friends abandoning family chaos?