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The gang! A ~ 11 year old boy. A great big brother!
L ~ 9 year old girl. My little gymnast.
M ~7 year old boy. Such a goofball!
K ~ 5 year old girl. Such a drama queen!
O ~ 2 year old girl. She's a holy terror, I tell ya!
E ~ 13 month old darling girl and the caboose...for now.
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I’m standing in the middle of the formal dining room at my grandparents house. There’s a large picture window on one wall and the room is wide and opens into an adjacent room. There’s an old grandfather clock in the corner. I stand there, taking in my surroundings, sensing something wrong.
As I pan the room, I hear a hissing noise coming from under the grandfather clock. I am standing in the middle of the room and only dare to bend over slightly to see if I can find the source of the noise. I see a large box underneath and see what seems like a hundred writhing, hissing snakes. They start to escape the box and I’m paralyzed by fear.
I begin to realize that as the snakes slither out of the box, everything they come in contact with turns to stone. The entire grandfather clock is now stone and frozen permanently in time. I turn and begin running through the house, trying to warn everyone. But the snakes are so fast. I enter a room and see my family already turned to stone and I begin to cry.
I’m shaking as I back out of the room and I head for the front door. The snakes are gaining on me and I start to run in a panic. I feel hot tears streaming down my face and soon I’m running across an endless field of grass. Every time I look back, I see the snakes and the stone world they are leaving behind…
I’m not sure where this dream came from, but it was vivid and recurring for quite a long time in my youth. Needless to say, snakes are still not my favorite.
This post was part of Mama Kat’s weekly writing workshop. The writing prompt was “Childhood fears you’ve taken into your adult life”
1. Your toddler collapses in a heap of sobbing mess in the middle of Target and you leave her there and patiently wait for her to decide that it’s time to go because you know she’s just hungry.
2. You smile at other shoppers who look at you sideways because your toddler is a sobbing mess.
3. As you blissfully stroll through the grocery store alone late at night, you see a sale on Cap’n Crunch and think how much the kids are gonna LOVE you in the morning.
4. Looking through old pictures of your kids makes you cry and you wonder how they grew up so fast.
5. You have to color code your calendar to keep track of everybody’s after school activities.
6. You scream loudly through the house that you are insane and need a padded room and nobody objects. They just laugh at you.
7. You plan your day around preschool and Kindergarten schedules.
8. You know how to navigate the girl’s messy bedroom in the pitch black of the night.
9. You are not at all surprised that your son did NOT take his laundry to his room like he promised.
10. You are thankful to have survived the day that made you scream that you are insane and you pray fervently that the insanity has come to an end.
11. Your toddler following the cat through the house mewing back at him always makes you smile.
12. You wonder how this:
Turned into this so quickly:
1. An early morning rainstorm will inevitably fill children with visions of school closure, despite the need for several feet of rain in order for that to happen.
2. A hole in one’s favorite pair of shorts is a tragic, tragic loss.
3. The highlight of the weekend was going to the zoo and watching my son play football.
a. Zoo~ Watching the little girls ooh and aww over the animals was awesome. They were so excited by the animals and Miss E made monkey noises for the rest of the day.
b. Football~ I’m sorry, but my son is the best tight end EVER. He played better than I’ve ever seen him play and has improved so much since last year.
4. I have to dismantle many weekend forts.
5. Scum is the game of the day. My five year old often beats me.
6. The children cheer when Mom is Scum.
7. I have too many cucumbers to eat. I need to pawn some off on the neighbors.
8. 
9. My toddler is a pterodactyl in training. Good times
10. Happy Monday!
I grew up anyway.
When I close my eyes though, I can still picture it. I’m 17 and working the booth at the county fair. It’s the middle of the day and it’s a virtual desert. I lean my head back, feeling my hair against my neck and turn my face to the breeze of a fan. I’m leaning against the counter and all I can hear are flies buzzing and the occasional horse whinny.
Candlebox is playing quietly on the stereo in the background. It’s a little heavier than what I usually listen to, but the boy listens to them and now, so do I. I turn my attention back to my book. If anybody asks, I’m not reading, just acting bored and cool. But on the sly, I’m really intrigued by the book.
I look up to see him walking towards the booth. I shove my book haphazardly under a bag of bread, but I don’t notice that half of the book is still sticking out. The boy is a fine specimen of maleness. Plus he’s in college and he has a really great car. And that smile. That smile melts me every time. What more can a 17 year old girl ask for? And today he’s hanging out with his friends so he’s not in our ugly green work uniforms. He takes my breath away.
I recover as he draws near and try to regain my coolness. I’m sure he knows I have nerd status at school, but he doesn’t seem to take it to heart.
“Hey beautiful. How’s it going out here today?” I feel the butterflies.
Act casual, I think. “Boring and slow. You workin’ later?” I lean slightly forward, teasingly.
“Yeah, I’m on at 6.”
I already knew that, of course, but I act surprised. “Oh, I’ll just miss you then. That’s when I’m off.”
“Maybe I’ll see you before you leave then.”
“Maybe.”
He turns to go, then something catches his eye. “Whatcha readin’?”
I look down at my half concealed book and blush. I’ve been caught.
“Anything good?”
“Not really. I’m just behind on a book we are supposed to read for school.” I lie. I’m never behind on reading and it’s not a book for school, but I’m acting cool, remember.
He winks at me and walks back to his group of friends. I’m sure he knows my secret.
If I hadn’t seen him act like this with piles of girls, I might be even more tingly than I already am. My interest in him is solely physical. He’s damaged goods. He’s been around the block once or twice or twenty times. But that doesn’t mean a girl can’t lust a little. I’ll flirt my little heart out, just for the thrill of it with that one.
I sigh as I recount all the time we spend flirting with each other, and I’m suddenly anxious for 6 o’clock to arrive. But I have hours. And once again all I hear are the flies buzzing in the background.
“Moooom! I need help wiping!” I’m wrenched back into the present. I’m no longer 17 and single, but married and 33 with six kids in tow.
“I’m coming,” is my reply as I whistle some nearly forgotten tune.
This post is part of Mama Kat’s writing workshop. Fact or fiction…you decide.
You know you’re a mom when…you find yourself scrubbing a football helmet and you don’t even mind.
You know you’re a mom when…you are wrapping electric tape around your football player’s waist of his pants before practice so they stay on his skinny little body, but you aren’t entirely sure it helps as you watch him constantly adjust and hike up his pants all through practice.
You know you’re a mom when…the only after school snacks left in the house are nutritious and your children declare that there’s nothing to eat.
You know you’ve been a mom for a while when…you look up high into a tree and see your child happily perched and you don’t even care.
You know you’re a mom when…your children view cleansing their bodies as some sort of parental torture.
You know you’re a mom of many when…you look at the calendar and are relieved you only have one after school activity to worry about that day.
You know you’re a mom who just sent her Kindergartner to the first day of school when…you find Mom leaping with joy through the quiet house at nap time. Such bliss. Such joy.
You know you’re a mom when…you find yourself yelling at your child that the baby is still sleeping so be quiet, dang it!
You know you’re a weird mom when…your response to your one-year-old telling you things is “bloosh blash” because that’s what it sounds like she said. Oh, and you make it her new nickname. I love my bloosh blash baby!
This post was brought to you by the inspiration of Arizona Mamma
Dear Son,
I know when you asked me this that you didn’t really expect a response. Tears streaming down your face, your head hung, you went into the bathroom and slammed the door. I know you think I’m mean and I’m actually ok with that. Please let me explain.
My job as your mother is to be mean sometimes. I’m here to teach you that your actions have consequences before the consequences are too great.
I’m not here to be your best friend. I was given to you to teach you, guide you, direct you and help you grow up. And sometimes I suck at it. Sometimes I may be unnecessarily mean, and I’m sorry for those times. When you are grown you’ll learn that parents are just imperfect people trying to do what they think is best. And it’s really hard.
But mostly I’m mean because I love you so much. I’m mean because you need boundaries. I’m mean because I hope to give you the tools you’ll need in the world. I’m mean because there is so much for you to learn and such a short time for you to learn it. I’m mean because you are one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met and if someone has to be mean, I guess I would prefer that it’s me. Because after I’m mean, I’ll hug you and love you and make sure you are ok. I’m mean because I’m your Mom and that’s my job.
There will be many more times before you are grown that you will think I am the meanest person on the planet. You will think my sole purpose in life is to make you miserable. While I’m prepared for that, I still know it will be hard for both of us.
I love you, my son, and yes, I am mean.
Love,
Your mother
(For rules, click here)
Yesterday, I was sitting in an open area of the gym next to one of the classrooms stretching after my run. I hear odd tinkling type music and glance over to see what in the world they were doing. Then it dawns on me. This must be a belly dancing class. My first thought was, “What the…? There is not enough money in the world to convince me to ever step foot in there.”
Now, this is not to insult anyone who likes these types of classes. I say, you go girl. But for me personally, I avoid any dance, aerobic or coordination based classes like the plague. I was tormented and tortured plenty as a child and as an adult I say, “No Thank-you!”
It can’t possibly be that bad, you think. But I promise, it really is. Allow me to demonstrate.
Example #1
As a child I would Jazzercise with my mom. I loved watching her and it looked so fun and dancy. Enter my little sister. She teased me mercilessly and effortlessly showed me up. Don’t feel bad. She was right. I am tragically uncoordinated. I stand in awe of those people on So You Think You Can Dance who are capable of mastering complicated routines in a matter of a week. It would take me a year and I’d still look terrible.
Example #2
When my husband and I were dating, he wanted to have a fun date and invited me to go play some sand volleyball and then we would grill some hot dogs. I informed him that I don’t play volleyball. He thought I meant, “I’m shy and I don’t want to get sweaty.” No, sadly I meant, “I duck when the ball gets too close and I bruise like a peach on the chance that I make contact with the dang thing.”
He quickly learned that when I say I can’t do something, I’m not joking. I’m happy to say that’s the last time he ever suggested we play volleyball.
Example #3
I had to learn to run right. You heard me. Running is as simple as putting one foot in front of the other, right? Well, some of us apparently don’t inherit that gene. I had to be shown how to run properly. I think I was in the ninth grade. But I did learn and I now run a lot.
A few months ago, my sister-in-law tried to convince me to join her in a weight training class. I told her no because I had witnessed what happens in that class. They don’t just pick up weights. They pick up weights and step on one of those stair stepper thingies. I would surely fall on my face. And I decided long ago that I refuse to do anything as an adult that I know will cause me embarrassment and humiliation.
To my credit, I am willing to do the following things: running, bike riding, swimming, and yoga. Yeah, I don’t know why yoga works. I think it’s because it’s incredibly SLOW coordination. Anything with speed baffles me. So to all you belly dancers out there…I simply scratch my head and wonder, “What the…?”
If you have a What the…? moment this week, link up and play along!
Cook’s Racing Pigs
On your Mark
Get Set
Go!!
More random fun at the county fair!
For more Wordless Wednesdays, visit 5 minutes for mom, Live and Love Out Loud, and Seven Clown Circus!
Lucky for me, the children wanted to end their summer vacation with a bang. Or rather, with the stomach flu. That’s much more fun. The stomach flu is a pain, but what a mother never counts on is contracting it herself. Because Mom NEVER gets sick. Right? Wrong. This Mom spent part of the weekend feeling less than stellar and of course chasing children anyway. Thankfully, all lucky recipients were better by Saturday evening.
We, being as awesome as we are, have never taken our children to the county fair. That doesn’t sound too tragic, does it? No. But the travesty is that the county fair is held every year just. down. the. road. Literally. Every year, we drive past and our children BEG us to take them. And every year, we say maybe next year. Because that’s just how awesome we are.
But this year, I decided we should go and we bought tickets to the demolition derby. If you’ve never gone, you should. It’s a riot! Before it started, they made an announcement that any kids ages 9-11 that wanted to participate in the greasy pig contest, should come sign up. Did my son jump up and declare his desire to participate? Nope. He didn’t want to get dirty. Did my nicely dressed daughter? Yup. She did.
Unsuspecting children
Unsuspecting pig
What, pray tell, is the pig unsuspecting of? Why, a multitude of children chasing and attempting to catch him, of course.
We were ridiculously proud of Miss L who was one of three girls willing to participate. She didn’t catch the pig, but it was a riot. (I seem to like that word today.)
And then, the demolition derby. I laughed and hooted an hollered. It was hilarious. I’ve seen them on TV, but you have to go in person to truly appreciate the carnage.
Today marked the first day of school for these people:
I went to the school to meet teachers and as we were standing in Mr. A’s classroom, he looked at me and said, “Hey Mom! I didn’t hurt myself today!” We high-fived.
You see, last year, he got stitches in his pinky before school on the first day and broke a toe on the third to the last day. Good times. Hopefully the lack of injury is evidence of more good things to come.
I’ll never forget that summer. I was never a “wild child”, even in my craziest moments. I was far too serious most of the time. But you brought something out in me. A careless, youthful freedom.
We were 20 and took a week off of work. We drove to California, the “Sunshine State”, and spent a week being young and girly. You introduced me to the love of my life, Mr. Rob Thomas. My new-found honey. We drove with the windows down, singing along to Matchbox 20. (I still do that sometimes.) We talked about a boy that we discovered had played us neatly and we plotted our revenge.
We got stuck in traffic, but it was just another adventure. We sat in the window, straining to see what was up ahead. I never would have done that on my own. I would have just sat inside my car, windows up and wondered what was taking so long.
I met your family and friends. We learned a lot about each other. We went to San Diego and hung out on the pier. We watched the seals lolligag. We had no money, but it didn’t seem to matter.
You convinced me to buy my first, and also my last, bikini. It was purple. And of course I had to have a pair of daisy dukes to truly be a California girl. We ran through the waves. It was so cold, but felt so right and free. We laughed and giggled and I got a sunburn on my pale white belly. I met your crazy friends and ate at In and Out for the first time ever.
The week was over much too quickly. We postponed leaving until the last possible moment. I think we knew somehow that what we had could never be the same once we returned home. We raced back home, driving through the night, trying to beat the clock, or rather, the punch clock at work. We very nearly missed clocking in and both of us worked with our eyes half open that day.
Then life happened. I got married. I think you hated me for that. Then I got pregnant. But you got pregnant too and then got married as well. And then we were all grown up.
Our friendship would never be the same, though I tried desperately to hang on. There was a trip to Vegas and an occasional Matchbox 20 concert. There were some girls night’s out. But it seemed more and more that the effort was all mine. You see, I don’t have close friends very often. I suppose you could say I’m a bit of a loner when it comes to the “best friend” department. But I told you nearly everything. For a long time.
Until I realized that our friendship meant much more to me than it did to you. It hurt me to let you go, but I knew it was time. I mourned my loss. You’ll never know how I mourned.
But I will always and forever have that summer. That purple bikini. The waves. The sunshine. Those daisy dukes. Thank you for being my friend.
I so enjoyed participating in Mama Kat’s writing workshop last week, that I thought I’d give it a go again this week! The writing prompt was I miss the friend you used to be. (The Myth Of You And Me)
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Out of the Mouths of Babes M comes running in: Mom, I need a pencil.
A few minutes later.
M: Mom, I need scissors. We are A's little opinions!
I think he meant minions!
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