There’s No Crying In Housework

Cast of Characters

Jane (aka Mom, Taskmaster, Evil Queen of the Jane Household)

#1son (helpful 9 year old, loves baseball, the Military Channel and picking on his younger brother)

#2son (cheerful, goofy youngest of the family who will do anything to get out of chores. Anything.)

Act 1, Scene 1

(A messy home. A very, very messy home.)

JANE

First, we need to pick up the clutter. Then, you can choose something from the Job Jar and get paid OR you can do what I tell you to do and not get paid. It’s your choice.

#1SON

O.K, Mom.

(#1son happily trots off to clean playroom, bedroom, family room, garage – wherever cleaning needs to be done, he cheerfully goes. God, I love this kid! #2son continues playing with Legos.)

JANE

#2son, you need to pick up your toys now.

(#2son ignores Jane)

I mean it. You need to clean up. And you can pick a chore or I can pick a chore. But if I pick it, you’re not getting paid.

(Ad lib arguing, pleading, bargaining, hiding, going to the bathroom, needing to put on a band-aid, looking for a lost Lego, hiding again, etc.)

I mean it, #2son. I’m not fooling around. You need to help. NOW!

#2SON

But I don’t want to! I want to play with my LEGOOOOOOOOOS!

JANE

Well, you have to. Are you a member of this family? Yes. Then you have to do your part.

#2SON

Well, I don’t want to be a member of this family. I’m going to run away!

JANE

That’s fine. But before you go you’re going to have to do some chores. You owe us for dinner last night, that comfy bed you slept in and breakfast this morning. Oh, and you still haven’t worked off what you owe for your swim team fees.

(#2son’s chin starts to quiver. Eyes begin welling up.)

Oh no, mister. That’s not going to work with me.

(Tears start flowing now and he falls to a heap on the floor, face down.)

Crying? Seriously? You’re crying over a little housework? I can’t believe this! All I need for you to do is pick up your toys and pick a couple chores from the job jar. It’ll take you 15 minutes. Tops. And you’re crying about it! I do this every day. Pick up after you all. Clean toilets. Scrub floors. Vacuum. Dust. Laundry. Do you see me crying about it?

THERE’S NO CRYING IN HOUSEWORK!

(And then, realizing what she said, Jane starts laughing hysterically.)

Nope. Not one of my better moments. But I still crack myself up.

My Budding Entrepreneurs

 

 

Yes, the economy is bad. And no, my kids aren't price gouging. The decimal for $.50 is barely visible. But it's there. Trust me.

 

Happy 4th y’all!

From The Mouths Of Babes

Grammy: When your mom gets back from her trip I can just hear it! You’re going to tell her all I did was feed you McDonald’s and that I yelled at you that one time.

#2son: No. You yelled at me two times.

Grammy: I only remember the one time.

(#2son places fingers on temples and closes his eyes.)

#2son: Ahhhh, yes. But I can see into the future!

One Mistersippi, Two Mistersippi, Three Mistersippi

“One Mistersippi, two Mistersippi, three Mistersippi….”

(I start giggling uncontrollably.)

“What, Mommy? What’s so funny?”

“Mistersippi?” I ask.

“Yeah. ‘Cause that state is a boy state.”

(I try to stifle back another giggle but I’m unsuccessful.)

“Sweetie, it’s Mississippi.”

“Ohhhhh, so it’s a girl state! Thanks, Mom!”

He runs off to continue playing with his brother and I hear, “One Missus-sippi, two Missus-sippi, three Missus-sippi…”

Yep. Must be a girl state.

Free Range, Cage Free Kids. But Not In My Backyard.

Part of my prayers every night include hopes for my children to be safe. Safe when I’m not around. Safe to make sound decisions. Safe from harm.

I don’t worry excessively – well, no more than the average mom. I’m aware of the dangers out there and just pray they don’t happen to my kids.

Switch gears.

I was coming home from dropping my kids off at school a little earlier than usual. And traffic was backed up. Once over the hill, I spot the culprit.

A school bus.

Stopping every few feet.

I kid you not.

I clocked it.

There were three stops in just a smidge over one tenth of a mile.

Back in my day (and yes, we had color TV and drive-thru McDonald’s) we walked to school.

Blocks. And lots of ’em. In fact, in my elementary school I only remember two school buses for the whole school. The rest of us?

We walked. Alone. Well, with friends, usually. Or siblings. But no mom hovering behind the bushes. At least, I didn’t see any. And I know my mom wasn’t hovering. She usually left for work before we did.

Kindergarten through 5th grade. Used those tiny legs of ours and…..walked!

The frustrating journey down our little two lane road this morning reminded me of a blog post I read recently by Gale at Ten Dollar Thoughts. She sends you to this NYT article here and then reminds you/me of a book I wanted to read that you can find here. Statistics can be your friend. Good sound statistics typically puts my mind at ease. And Gale pointed out that according to the NYT article you’d have to leave your child on a street corner for 750,000 hours to even prompt a kidnapping. And with my kid? He wouldn’t go without kicking and screaming, causing such a ruckus the kidnapper probably let go and need a Valium to settle down. I know. We’ve practiced.

Why in the world couldn’t middle-school-age students walk a few feet to meet in the middle? These were not tiny, helpless 5-year-olds boarding the bus. These were able-bodied teens.

We talk about our children’s health. We talk about our children’s safety. We worry. We plan. We strategize. And then we notice overweight kids. And socially stunted children. Anxiety ridden children taking prescription meds.

And we don’t point the finger back at ourselves and say, “Gee. Maybe I should concentrate on raising a more independent child. Maybe I should kick junior off the couch and send him outside to play. Maybe I should take her to the park more often so she can play with children other than her siblings.”

Now, I suppose you’re wondering, Jane, why is it you were driving your kids to school?

Well, I’ll tell you.

We choose a school that is located 15 miles away and doesn’t have bus service. And now I can just hear my friend laughing because when we moved here I told her we searched and searched for a home in a great school district, where our kids can go to school with kids from the same neighborhood. Our boys were 3 and 4 when we moved here and after our older daughter’s public school experience we researched a bit deeper and found a school more suited to our children’s needs and frankly, our values.

It’s a school that encourages independence. Compassion for others. Good health and nutrition. Organic living. Environmental awareness. Respect for other cultures. Embracing our individual, unique differences. A Montessori school.

I wish I lived within walking distance of our child’s school. I wish all the kids in the neighborhood walked together. But in our subdivision alone, I can think of eight different elementary schools used by the families that live here. And those are just the ones off the top of my head.

We are not a culture that values the neighborhood school. We have strayed so far off course in an effort to please everyone. To keep our kids safe. To offer a better education.

And 15 years down the road, I wonder how that decision will bite us in the butt?

Elevatin’ To Another Level – Not Higher, Just Different

I always wanted to be the party girl.

No. Scratch that.

I always wanted to be included.

But I wasn’t.

In high school, the guy I had a major crush on, and who I thought had a major crush on me, went to see Rush perform at the local university without me. I was disappointed and I asked him about it. He said, “I didn’t think you were the type.”

What type is that? Sure, I didn’t smoke pot. Yes, I was the one nursing a beer all night long, pouring sips down the sink when no one was looking so it would look like I was finishing my drink at an appropriate pace. I suppose he and his friends didn’t want me tagging along, judging their smoking and drinking and having a good time. But I didn’t judge. Not really. It just wasn’t for me. I still enjoyed their company. I still wanted to be included. And while we did a lot of things together, I still didn’t feel like I belonged.

That group I so desperately wanted to feel a part of was brilliant. I mean it. All were in Advanced Placement classes. One (my crush) went to MIT on full scholarship (but then got kicked out for dealing drugs.) One went to Berklee and his girlfriend went to Juilliard (she dropped out to become a psychologist.)  Another was in med school when he died of a brain aneurysm. His dad was a surgeon who demanded an explanation and rumor has it, a full autopsy revealed that it was from prior drug use. How they determined this, I don’t know – it is rumor, after all. Maybe it was to scare us straight. Maybe the family wanted to cling to something because Tony had been clean for years.

They were bright. They were funny. They were wild.

And I wasn’t.

Enter college, and I was married by the time I was 21. Still finishing college. But now I was an old married lady. Fellow students wanted to go out and celebrate after a big test but I had a husband to get home to. Pull an all-nighter with a co-ed study group? Too awkward with my husband at home who had work in the morning. With all the detours in my life – changing majors, schools, getting married – it took a little longer for me to finish college. My peers were only a little younger than me but they looked up to me, like some wise sage. Oh, the difference a few years makes when you’re young.

They were bright. They were fun. They were free.

And I wasn’t.

I had my first child when I was 29. Two more when I turned 40. That ten-year span puts me at odds again. The parents of my daughter’s friends are exploring new hobbies, going on more vacations, spending more time out with friends, experiencing freedom again. But we still have two small boys at home. Having a blast with them (with less energy than their friend’s parents) we’re a little more tied to the home front, still acutely aware of how much raising children costs, getting to bed early even on the weekends. The parents of our boys’ friends are the ages of my former high school students. Not that there’s anything wrong with that – but there is something to be said for those 10 years of life experiences.

They’re still interesting. They share in parenting joys and frustrations. But every once in a while, a comment will reveal that they’re still green.

And I’m not.

The paths I have chosen have always kept me out of the loop. I’ve never quite felt as if I belonged anywhere, really. And those choices have kept me from being included in things. Parties. Concerts. Study sessions. Play groups.

The odd one out.

Most of the time, I’m OK with that. Most of the time.

But some days, it’s lonely.

I’d like to think that, all my life, I’ve just been on a different plane, a different level.

Not higher, just different.

And some days, it sure would be nice to be dancing with everyone else – at the same concert, at the same party, on the same level.

If It Can’t Go In The Dishwasher Or Washing Machine? I Don’t Want It!

Call me crazy but if it’s dry clean only? Pass.

If it can’t go in the dishwasher? Pass.

When I first became a mom, I was the Director of Development at a small private school. I worked with the movers and shakers and I had to dress the part. That meant suits, linen dresses, silk scarves.

After a set of sticky fingers and the first spit-up on my delicate clothes I came up with a new rule: No dry clean only clothes allowed in my closet or on my body. Ever. (Or at least until the kids are out of the house…which means when I’m 58 and who knows what will be fashionable then) Firm in my no-dry-clean rule, I thought I had it all covered.

Then today, I read an article online called 5 Things You Should Never Put in the Dishwasher. I was intrigued.

Wood – Seriously? The dishwasher is my friend. It sterilizes everything. Every. Little. Thing. My kid’s toys. Cups. Silverware. Including my wooden spoons. Of course I wouldn’t put my beautiful teak salad bowl in the dishwasher. Wait a minute. What teak salad bowl? Oh, that’s right. I have kids. I can’t afford a beautiful teak salad bowl. That bowl on the left? $124.99! For a salad bowl. My cheap all-purpose bowl will just have to do.

Knives – Apparently, knives in your dishwasher will get chipped and dull. Now, I know this. I just choose to ignore it. Who out there hand washes all of your knives? Raise your hands. Higher. I can’t see you. Oh, wait. There’s one knife washer, there in the back. With quite a few band aids on those fingers. See? You should be using the dishwasher like the rest of us.

Crystal/Hand Blown Glass – I purposely put the crystal from my first marriage in the dishwasher hoping something will happen to it. Apparently, having stuff from your first marriage in your second marriage is bad feng shui. But I can’t bear to toss out perfectly good crystal. So, I put it in the dishwasher. Darn it. Those suckers are here to stay.

Pots/Pans – Are you kidding me? The amount of pots and pans I can go through in a given day? And if the kids are “helping” me? My husband “helps,” too. As in, “cleaning” the kitchen when I cook. And his idea of  “cleaning” the kitchen is loading the dishwasher. (I’m using an awful lot of quotes in this paragraph. Sorry. But they’re totally necessary.) Everything that isn’t nailed down goes in the dishwasher. Including the pots and pans. And I’m not complaining or telling him any differently. If I did, then I’d have to wash pots and pans. By hand. All. By. Myself. After I put away the leftovers, wiped down the counter, stove, table and chairs, and swept the floor. Basically, cleaned (no quotes necessary) the kitchen. So, no. Thank you.

Gold Trim – ? ? ? Really? Gold? Real gold? Isn’t that for display only?

I’ll never forget when we bought our entertainment center and my husband was mortified that in one of the cute little cubby drawers I put wipes and about 5 disposable (clean, of course) diapers in there. It was hidden. And it was convenient. Quick change. No need to run upstairs. He thanked me after about a day.

You have kids, your life changes. Completely. In every aspect.

So, say no to dry-clean and hand-wash only. We need all the help we can get.

!!! (Without the cute little !!! tags)

It’s been quite a week. Wait, make that month. Soccer camp. Dreaded trip to Michigan. Little league baseball games. A teen without a car. Committee meetings (I’m a serial volunteer.)

Kids underfoot. All. The. Time.

And me? Designated driver (or car provider) for the activities of three children. Designated entertainer for all moments in-between.

I love this !!! project. I need this !!! project. But I’m so intimidated by the cute little !!! tags others use for their pics that I just left them off this week. I need to work on crafting my own. Until then, plain pictures must suffice.

My !!! moments this week include:

Hydrangea. They just say summer to me. We have three bushes in our landscape and I’m always finagling to make room for more.

My youngest son’s photo skills…on THIS pic. The one he took just before this one? Of my cleavage. No, you can’t see it. It was deleted immediately.

My youngest son’s self-portrait. Oh, he cracks me up!

 

My daughter and her best friend, with all their laughter and silliness and fun! Pure !!!

!!! to you all! If I had a group pic of my dear readers, you’d be in this collage, too! Thanks for everything this week. Your love was felt and treasured.

There you have it. My !!! for this week. For more !!! visit Momalom or Bad Mommy Moments.

SMH and LOL at Internet Speak

There is a whole world out there, a whole language in which I feel woefully inadequate.

That would be internet-land and its language.

My daughter is always laughing at my ineptitude.

“GBH & K!” she yells to me, running out the door. (Great big hugs and kisses)

I stand there, looking mystified, as I try to figure out the latest abbreviation.

“Oh! H&K, too!” I shout. But she’s already out of sight.

My daughter is so good at KPC. (Keeping parents clueless) Just when I think I’ve got it she throws a new one at me.

KWIM was her favorite for a long time. And she’d pronounce it, like it was a word. “Kwim?” she’d ask. (Know what I mean?)

Or “ADK!” she’d roll her eyes, exasperated with her little brother putting on his shoes. (Any day now)

I never really worried about her on the internet. I should have. I know the dangers. I used to teach at one of the first laptop high schools in our state. I felt more comfortable when I was teaching. My students would share with me things they’d never tell their parents.

But  now, my daughter is old enough (almost 18) and savvy enough (everything is password protected) that I have very little control over what she is doing. Oh sure, I could use spyware, and in my defense, we’ve only recently cut the majority of the apron strings. But she’s going to be in college classes this fall. (dual enrollment with her high school and the local college) And out of the house next year. You’ve got to start somewhere.

It’s too late for me. And my daughter thinks chatrooms are “lame.” But texting is ripe with abbreviations. Some are funny. Some not so funny.

Funny

ROFLAPMP = Rolling on floor laughing and peed my pants

HMS = Home made smiley

BUDWEISER = Because you deserve what every individual should ever receive

100 = Nature calls/Pitstop

FAAK = Falling asleep at keyboard

Not So Funny

PAW = Parents are watching

TAW = Teachers are watching

MOS = Mom over shoulder

LMIRL = Let’s meet in real life

NIFOC = Naked in front of computer

The internet is an amazing, wonderful and scary tool. In my day, we passed notes in class with the frightening chance that a teacher (or the boy we’re mooning over) might find it. Today? There’s text, chat, email – instantaneous communication that can be intercepted, sent to the wrong person, or allow you to come in contact with very scary people two states away without your parents ever having a clue.

SMH over here. (Shaking my head)

I’m not LOL anymore.

(Update: Ok. Things just got scarier. After reading some of your comments I decided to add a few reference lists so you, too, could educate yourself on internet abbreviations every parent should know. Down right frightening! But so important that we try to keep up! Check out: Top 50 Internet Acronyms Parents Need to Know and 99 texting acronyms you (and every other parent) should know)

Kid Logic Or Why I Was Pulling My Hair Out During Spring Break

“Mommy! My foot is cold,” whined #2son.

Uh, maybe that’s because you only have one sock on.

“Yeah. I guess so,” he mused, “Hmmm. I know what I can do!”

Put on your other sock?

“No!” he was sent into a fit of giggles.

“Take OFF my sock! Now BOTH of my feet are cold!”