Duh, I'm courtesy!

The other day Queenie busted through the door waving a white piece of paper like a flag. She had a huge smile that encompassed her face as she panted out the reason for her exasperating excitement. She was student of the month!

This was a big, no strike that, huge deal in our household. It had been years, five to be exact, since one of the kids had held the title of student of the month! This was Queenie's first time and she was overwhelmed with pride. She had been on a mission since kindergarten for her shining moment, and her day had finally come.

Every month the children's school honors students that exhibit the outstanding characteristic chosen for the month. This month was courtesy.

I was so proud of Queenie. Together we told everyone who would listen! Grandparents, Aunts, Uncles, people I went to grade school with that are my Facebook friends...everyone! What can I say, an event like this only happens once every five years.

Queenie took the honor of telling the neighborhood. Every time she would travel to a new neighbor's house she would pop her head in to tell me where she was going. I thanked her for doing such a good job at letting me know where she was, something she is excellent at doing! She just looked at me and said, "Duh, I'm courtesy!"

What could I say to that? I'm just so darn proud!

Pants on Fire

I will never forget the first parent teacher conference I had for Pumpkin Head. He was three and in pre-school. His teachers adored him, after all he was one cute (and still is) kid. The one thing they kept commenting on was in creative imagination. Like for example, on the first day of school he told the class that he had an indoor sand box in his room. Oh, the teachers just thought he was so darn inventive and I really didn't think much of it, that is until I went to the following year's conference.

The first time you hear your child tells creative stories, you go along with it, you agree with the teachers. However, by the third and fourth time you hear it, from different teachers you begin to call it what it is-lies!

Over the years Pumpkin Head told tall tales to anyone that would listen. Once he told his class that his dad was a police officer, lie. Another time he told his teacher we were moving to another country, lie. The stories went on and on. It took a long time, but eventually we broke him of his story telling habit, just in time for Queenie to start spinning her web of deceit.

Queenie always took it a step farther. In first grade she brought my cell phone to school and told the class it was hers, lie. Let me tell you, the other six year old children were impressed, the teacher not so much. Just this past year she told her classmates that she was adopted, lie.

Okay, yes, Queenie and Pumpkin Head do have great imaginations. In fact, Pumpkin Head writes stories constantly and Queenie is always coming up with some great game to play or adventure to pretend. Although, I can't help but wonder if those "creative imaginations" are being used for good or evil!

I can't complain too much. They come by it honestly, pun intended. I too had a creative imagination as a child. In fact my mother has a second grade journal to prove it. Apparently I was supposed to document what I did over the weekend every Monday. When my mom received the journal at the end of the year she was floored to learn about all the places I went. I had some real adventures, lie. I also used to tell people my name was Susie, lie. The worst thing I did was hold a lemonade sale and tell customers that I was going to give the money to the poor (the poor being my seven year old self), lie. Bad, bad, bad.

I'm sure your thinking, well at least you have Monkey. Oh no! He has a creative imagination too, it's just he's terrible at expressing it. That kid couldn't tell a lie to save his life. His eyes tell the truth even when his lips don't.

So I live in a house full of story tellers. Maybe it's not all bad. Maybe one day they will grow up to write the next American classic. Until then they can keep convincing their teachers that they are allergic to paper.

Mother of the Year

Well, I did it! I know for sure that this time I have done the one thing that will secure me the title of Mother of the Year. For all you other mothers out there, it's over. There's nothing you can do that can top me. I've been working my entire parenthood for this honor and I am pleased to say that today I accomplished that goal! Yes, today I did the one thing that every mother only dreams of doing. Okay, maybe dreams isn't the appropriate word. It's more along the line of a nightmare, but I did it! I forgot my son's birthday.

Now it's not like I completely forgot Monkey's birthday. We had a weekend long celebration commemorating it, complete with a nerf gun war, slumber party and a cake that resembled a soccer ball. All was well in our household that was until today at 10:29 when I realized I had shuffled my child out to school with out breathing a word about the significance of the day.

In my defense, I first must point out that it is Monday. Everyone whose anyone knows that Monday's are rough. Especially coming off a two day sugar bender (that soccer ball cake had like three inches of frosting on it). I was tired. We all woke up late and the kids had fifteen minutes to get dressed, eat breakfast, pack bookbags and complain about the contents of their lunch. The only thing on my mind this morning was crawling back into bed, which of course was just a fantasy.

After my darlings left I began to do my Monday morning ritual, which is basically what I call play on Facebook until I'm motivated enough to start catching up from the weekend. After I had tended to my crops on Farmville I decided it was time to make some coffee. It happened while I was filling the coffee pot with water. As I listened to the water flow from the facet I looked over and noticed the remnants of the weekends celebratory cake. I thought to myself, "Hmmm, should I have a slice?" That's when it hit me! Holy moly! Today is Monkey's birthday.

Immediately I jumped into action. In my negligence as a parent I not only forgot to send him off with a "Happy Birthday" goodbye, but I also forgot the covenanted birthday snack. It never took me so long to get to Kroger. Store bought cookies would have to do.

By the time I reached the school most of my tears were dry. I could only imagine what my poor Monkey was thinking. I could envision him sitting in the corner of his classroom with a blank stare wondering what he must have done to deserve such a terrible mother. This is the type of moment that can define a kid for the rest of their life. I wrecked my son.

I had the school office call him down, I wanted to hand deliver these cookies. I was too anxious to wait for him to make his way down the hallway, so I met him halfway. He was surprised to see me.

"Hi Monkey!" I squealed, embracing him in my arms, guilt seeping from my skin. "I forgot to give you your birthday snack. Happy birthday."

He looked at me confused. At that moment I realized that he had forgotten too!

"Oh, thanks mom," he said. "Phew, I thought I was in trouble when they called me down to the office. See you later."

And that was it. Thank God! I didn't damage my son. All I can say is that tonight I will make the best spaghetti dinner ever followed by several hours of smothering.

I can say one good thing did come out of the crisis this morning..I remembered that it was my husband's birthday as well. In my frantic trip to the store I was able to pick up the makings for a Key Lime Pie, his favorite. Fortunately for me he was asleep during all of this and will never be the wiser!

Happy birthday to my lovely ten year old boy and my wonderful husband. I must now go write my acceptance speach for Mother of the Year.