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.

Well, hello stranger!

I'm happy to report that spring is officially here! Yes, all over you can see new life sprouting about and old friends reemerging. The trees have little buds waiting to bloom, the birds are returning from their winter holiday and colorful flowers are beginning to peek through the barren ground. It's not just nature poking it's head out, my neighbors are beginning to show their faces as well.

Spring in Ohio means warmer weather and with that natives here venture out from indoor hibernation. Don't get me wrong, there are a few that brave the winter months, still going for daily walks, but not many. For the most part you only see your neighbors when they're battling ice pelting winds to the mailbox or digging out from a storm, and even then you just assume it's them. They are usually covered from head to to in winter gear. However, in spring you get to see their smiling faces and even get provoked into a conversation. In the winter, you only get a wave, and that's only if they have gloves on.

I always look forward to seeing my immediate neighbors. They are all wonderful. In fact, when we moved here we were bombarded with baked goods (it was fall). We thought we had moved to Leave it to Beaver Land. It's not just my street neighbors I get excited to see in the spring, it's also the colorful cast of characters that walk up and down the boulevard. I'd like to you to meet them.

Let me introduce you to Wave Lady. She stands at the front of the subdivision and, you guessed it, waves. She greets every car that comes and goes with a huge smile and a spastic wave. You can't help but grin as you pass.

Then there is Litter Patrol. Litter Patrol is a woman that collects the garbage that has blown about. She is serious, not as friendly as you go by, but then again she is on a mission. She's saving the planet after all.

Next meet The Sneak. Along the boulevard we have a nursing home as well as an assisted living community. The Sneak belongs to one. I see him walking along the side of the street, just out of sight of the living facilities, smoking like a chimney.

Lastly, my favorite, Fabio. Fabio is fabulous. Picture this, he has John Travolta's strut from Saturday Night Fever, Jerry Seinfeld's body and a head of long, luscious locks. He is the stuff. He struts everyday, up and down the boulevard.

I had an encounter with Fabio once. I had just arrived home from the store and to my surprise I could see Fabio walking down our street. I was shocked because I had never seen him anywhere but the boulevard. I couldn't wait to tell my husband that I saw Fabio on our street, it was kind of an honor. I needed to unload my car, but Fabio had a way about him, you just couldn't look away. His walk was mesmerizing and his hair always blew just so, almost like he was walking in slow motion. Suddenly I woke up from my hypnotic state, because Fabio was walking right towards me. I became weak in the knees as he approached me.

"Do you live here?" he asked, in what I swear was a french accent.

"Yes," I replied.

"Here."

I looked down as he placed a stack of papers in my hand. I was holding a pile of my financial documents. He explained that he had found the papers blowing around the boulevard and with that he was gone. I remember whispering thank you as he walked away, hair swaying in the breeze.

I later found out that my husband, before heading to our accountant, had placed the records on top of his car while he was getting ready to leave. He became distracted, got in the car and drove off, thus leaving our records scattered to the wind. That day Fabio became our hero.

Thank God that incident happened in the spring! Who knows what would have happened in the winter. Actually, the papers would had probably frozen to the ground and stayed there until Litter Patrol came to pick them up.

Sex Ed

It's that time of the year again when the prepubescent children in our district get to learn about the facts of life. Oh joy! Last year was my first experience with sexual education class. The school does and excellent job with preparing parents for this big step in their child's life. They invite everyone to preview the film they show, which I fully intended on going to, but failed to attend. Oops! I forgot to write it down, a mistake I would come to regret many times over.

Honestly, I wasn't too upset about missing the premiere. I figured it couldn't be so bad. After all, I had already had "the talk" with my son. Okay, I didn't have "the talk", my husband did. But I listened intently as I hid in the hallway outside his bedroom.

I didn't expect to be that parent that couldn't talk freely with my son, Pumpkin Head, about sex. I always thought I would be pretty good at "the talk". After all, I'm calm, cool and collected. I thought I would be so laid back that my son would feel comfortable coming to me with any questions or concerns. The truth is he doesn't have problems asking me anything, it's just I can't answer. I'm the one with the problem. What happened to calm, cool and collected? Well it flies out the window when it comes to "the talk". I swear, every time he asks me a question my tongue swells up the size of Texas and I can barely form words let alone make a sentence that makes any sense. Let me tell you something, if you haven't had "the talk" yet, it's not as easy as it seems.

So, in a way I was relieved that the school was going to be sharing with me this monumental experience in my parental existence. In other words I thought I was off the hook.

Wrong! Nothing could have prepared me for the questions that followed the weeks after the program was shown. Okay, maybe the preview night could have prepared me, but like I said before, I didn't write it down. Anyway, the questions didn't come in the form of a flood like I expected, it was more like a trickle that lasted for months!

One day while doing his homework, Pumpkin Head turned to me and said, "Hey mom, did you know that I have testicles?"

Whoops. Guess we missed that one when we were going over body parts.

One time after baseball practice, as he was running up stairs to change, he stopped mid step, looked at me and said, "Mom, when am I going to wake up wet?"

Huh? It took me a minute, then it hit me! The only thought that popped into my mind was, what kind of movie did they show you?

I was on full alert. I didn't know when a question would hit, or in what form it would be in. Would we be at dinner? Or perhaps at church? No, maybe he would ask the next one while I was on the phone with my grandma. It's been a year now, and they're still coming at me. However, not so much are they questions, but statements. Last night Pumpkin Head told me he was a man. Apparently he discovered some body hair. A man? Really? What happened to my little baby boy?

This year it's going to be different. I've decided to take a different approach, and actually be prepared. Soon, Monkey will be taking his turn at finer education. Oh, and not just Monkey, Pumpkin Head gets to learn more! So I'm being pro-active. I'm going to see the movie, in fact I'm going to watch all the movies they show. After all, Queenie is coming up in the ranks and these sex ed films go on for another two years. I need to know what I'm up against. I'm hoping with preparation I won't fold like I have in the past. All I can say is thank God for my husband. Without him my kids would be terribly confused.

I need to grow some thick skin if I'm going to get through the next few years. I have to accept the fact that my children are growing up and with that comes puberty. I'm not an idiot, I knew they would grow to become a young woman and young men. Buddy did. He went through it, but I got out of that one. He lived with his mom then. My kids won't be going anywhere while they go through the change. Even though it would be cool if they did go into like a cocoon or something. Think about it, the mood swings would be contained.

I'm entering a new phase, one I'm not sure I'm ready to enter. For the past eleven years I've looked at my kids as being little and I think they're past that now. I'm scared. Not like scared I might screw up scared, but really truly scared. Teenagers frighten me! I wonder if I can take a class to prepare me for puberty? Oh, who am I kidding. I'd never go because I'd forget to write it down. I think I'm in trouble.

Consumerism at its Finest

A few mornings ago I heard my boys discussing which car insurance company they were going to go with when they start driving. Never mind the fact that they won't be driving for another five to six years, apparently this conversation was one of real importance for them. Pumpkin Head was going with All State, no question about it! However, he changed his mind once Monkey pointed out that All State totally ripped of Geico with a talking guy. This led Pumpkin Head to change his choice to Progressive. Monkey on the other hand felt that Geico was the best choice not only because of the cute British Gecko, but because they also used to have the Cavemen in their commercials.

Wow, what a way to start the morning, and without even a cup of coffee! It got me to thinking about the affect commercials have on young minds. When I was a kid I didn't have the options of viewing that my children have. I had either PBS, Saturday Morning Cartoons or Brady Bunch re-runs. PBS never had commercials, but I remember SMC being jammed packed with advertisements for toys (my personal faves were ones about Barbie). Overall, that's about it when it came to commercial exposure. My kids, however, have a huge selection of shows on channels designed specifically for them that run all day and all night. Their ad exposure is, well, it's obscene!

It's not that my kids are watching twenty four hours of television either. They really don't watch that much. They would rather be playing with each other or reading (I'm not making that up, really, they like to read). You see, the same commercials run over and over and over again. Honestly, I think if some catastrophe happened and all commercials, especially infomercials, were erased my kids could recite them word for word solving the advertisement crisis.

Over time, I really started to see the influence these 30 second spots had on my kids. Once, I was complaining about my back hurting and Pumpkin Head told me I should get a sleep by numbers bed. He told me his father and I could even have our own favorite numbers set at the same time. Not only that, I could try it for free for like a month! It wasn't just sleep by numbers. Queenie noticed the plants were droopy, she told me I should get an aqua globe. Monkey suggested I get a Snuggie after noticing that because I was reading a book, my arms weren't covered by the blanket (this advice I did follow). Boy, those ad execs are sure smart! They've got the kids marketing their products for them! Really, take a look yourself! Have you ever noticed the amount of infomercials on channels like Disney, Cartoon Network and Nickelodeon? Turn it on one day, in fact make a tally. You will be shocked!

Of course there aren't just infomercials. There are other ads too, like for car insurance. I love how these people think ahead. Oh and let's not forget the fast food commercials. My kids are all about collecting everyone of the crappy little toys from every joint in town. Of course this never happens because that is one ad that mom doesn't buy into!

I'm not in denial. I know that is what our society is all about. Consumerism. As adults we buy into it all the time, literally. It just makes me a little sad that my kids are doing it way ahead of schedule. Thinking about products they need for their future adult selves. Nothing like starting them off young. All I can say is thank God for DVR! I think from now on I'll be taping all the programs my children love. That way I can stick it to the man! I can fast forward through all the junk!

The F-Bomb

Last year I received a letter from my children's school addressed the parents of Monkey. It was one of two things, and informational letter or a discipline slip. I have to say my children have always demonstrated good behavior so I opened the letter with complete confidence that it was just the results of another test score. Possibly this was the one telling me that my son was a genius and that I was up for the Best Parent of the Year Award because he clearly learned his genius from me. Well, the note did reveal that he had learned something from me. He learned how to use the f-bomb.

According to the letter Monkey had yelled f'n a-hole to another child on the bus. Mind you by the time I got the letter disciplinary action had already been taken. Monkey had yelled the obscenity on Monday and on Tuesday had visited the principal, who by the way was my boss at the time. I was home sick from work on Tuesday, so I missed all the fireworks. Of course I was furious. Furious that my son would say something so mean to another child, furious at him for not breathing a word of this for two days and furious that now my boss thought I was raising a foul-mouthed sailor.

Luckily for Monkey he was at school when the letter was delivered, so I had a few hours to cool off before he would have to face my wrath. During that time I couldn't help but contemplate where my sweet boy would learn such words. At first I turned the guns on my husband. Oh, yes he was the one to blame. Swear words rolled of his tongue like butter off a hot roll. But he wasn't entirely to blame. There were also those older kids on the bus. Yeah, I've heard their little mouth rattle off some doozies. Yes, my husband and the little brats on the bus. That was where he learned the words. They would take the fall. However, being that I'm human, I have a conscience and it was telling me otherwise.

I'll admit it, I have a potty mouth. I try not to let the words slip out, but sometimes I just can't help it. It's completely out of my control! Like for instance, say I'm running late and in my rushed state I hit my toe on the leg of the table. The first word that flies is usually the f-bomb. I don't want to say it, but it just comes out and somehow it makes me feel better. Being a writer, I believe in the power of words and sometimes that power includes dulling the pain of a throbbing toe. I'm not proud of it, but I can except the fact that I too am responsible for teaching my children profanity.

By the time Monkey arrived home I was calm. He had no clue that only hours before steam had been seeping from my ears and fire from my nose. I sat him down and did something I thoroughly enjoy doing with my kids.

Me: "Monkey, do you have anything you would like to tell me?"

I always like to open the door for a confession. I find that asking an open ended question like this not only can get your children to admit to the things you know about, but it can often get them to admit to the things you didn't know.

Monkey: "Um, I got a C on my science test."

Me: "Yes, but is there anything else you want to tell me?"

Monkey: "I took Queenie's picture and ripped it up."

Queenie: "WHAT? MOM HE RIPPED MY PICTURE!"

Me: "Nope, not what I'm talking about. Would you like to tell me what happened on the bus?"

Monkey: "No."

Me: "You want to answer that question again?"

Monkey: "I called Pumpkin Head a bad word, but he started it mom."

The pieces were starting to come together. After a short interrogation period I learned that my two boys were arguing over Pokemon on the bus. My little Monkey has a short fuse (I don't know where he gets this from), and in the heat of passion the word vomit just shot out of his mouth. I could sympathize. After all, I suffered from the same debilitating disease. Then there was a twist in the story that even I couldn't see coming. Turns out the person who told the bus driver about the word crime was none other than his own brother. Honestly, I don't know what upset me more, Monkey calling Pumpkin Head bad words or Pumpkin Head telling a school authority on his brother. Come on man! There's a code when it comes to family and I'm sure that not ratting out a brother is one of them!

I spent the night discussing the need to watch our words, to think about other people's feelings , controlling our tempers and not tattling on siblings. Things were all good at home, the next thing I had to do was face my boss. All I could do was state the facts. I looked at him and said, "I don't know where the f*** he gets it."