How to Win at a Real Life Pissing Contest.

This ongoing debacle with our neighbor kids has finally come to fruition. I knew that eventually I was going to say something to one of the moms, and I was really hoping I’d be able to restrain myself enough to not say things that were too demeaning to be retracted later (later, meaning when I decided I wasn’t mad anymore). Not that this has ever happened before or anything.......

But, I had a secret weapon. I’ll get to that later…

I let the dog out the other day, and as I turn to go back inside, I see a different neighbor outside, who loves to play with my dog. So I wave and we start chit-chatting. I notice that the “other kids” are outside playing a big game of softball as well. Almost rehearsed, Brandon and Logan come flying out the back door, yelling to the “other kids” as they leap across the backyard.

B & L: “Can we play?! Can we play?!”

“Other Kids”: No, we’ve been sick, so we can’t play.”

I’m just as confused as Brandon and Logan. Their moms are outside, sitting next to each other in lawn chairs, and it’s almost as if their laugh was cued perfectly to come right after one of the “other kids” made that comment.

Then, I blew up like a big zit on a teenager’s pimply face.

I walk over and say to the “other kid,” “Oh, you poor thing, you’re sick? You don’t look sick. What’s wrong?”

She looks at me like a deer in headlights. “Uh….. Mommy?” And she runs off.

I walk over to Mommy.

Me: “Wow, your 'other kid' looks pretty good for being so sick she can’t play with my boys.”

“Other Mom”: “She’s not sick.”

Me: “I know.”

[30 seconds of silence]

Me: “What’s the deal? Did my kids offend you in some way? You never let them come over and play with your 'other kids.'”

“Other Mom”: “Well, we just don’t think that Brandon is mature enough to play with my 'other kid,' and he needs to practice for his baseball tournament this weekend.”

Okay, TIMEOUT!

First, my son isn’t “mature enough”? What the bleepity bleeping bleep is THAT supposed to mean? Her son is 7. Mine is 6. And a half. They're kids!! They're supposed to be immature. Plus, he’s playing softball with plastic bats and 2 year olds as outfielders. How is that practicing and why wouldn’t my son fit in just like white on rice?

I could instantly feel adrenaline rushing to my head, and once again, it took all my energy not to body slam that woman to her wood deck.

Her all-star baseball player in question comes walking over.

“All Star Plastic Bat Baseball Playing Little Twit”: “Brandon’s mean. He bit me.”

Me: “Oh, really? Where? Let me see it.”

“All Star Plastic Bat Baseball Playing Little Twit”: “Uh… it was a long time ago.”

Me: “Well, I’m sure Brandon would tell you he is sorry if you would let him come over. And I promise it will never happen again. If it does, I’ll let you bite me.” [The only way I know how to make light of a situation is to crack stupid jokes. It usually works. USUALLY.]

“Other Mom”: “Well, my All Star Plastic Bat Baseball Playing Little Twit just doesn’t like to play the way your boys play, so we decided maybe it was best that he didn’t play at all.”

Me: “OOHHHH!! You mean because my boys don’t like to tattle and act like little babies and run around with flowers in their hair, prancing through meadows of daisies, singing songs whilst knitting?” [I didn’t really say that, but dangit, I wanted to.]

Instead, I whipped out MY SECRET WEAPON.

Me: “Yeah, you’re right. My kids should probably not play with your All Star Plastic Bat Baseball Playing Little Twit because he taught them how to pee on the side of the house. And for that, I’m eternally UN-grateful.” I grab my kids and we head inside.

You see, I caught the All Star Plastic Bat Baseball Playing Little Twit taking a whiz on the side of his house, cranking his neck around the corner, to make sure Other Mom wasn’t watching. When he turned around, as he zips his fly, he saw me standing there. I waved. He knew.

Needless to say, I’m fairly certain he was in trouble for the rest of the evening, as I saw Other Mom lead him into the house by his ear.

On being a mean and weird Mom.

I've had somewhat of a stroke of bad luck with disciplining the two big boys. Let me give you the details:

One evening last week, they were playing outside, and I was getting dinner ready. I can see them from my kitchen/dining room and the atrium windows very clearly, and they usually play on the swingset, in plain view.

Logan comes running in the house saying Brandon took off to his friend Joey's house. Joey's house is behind ours, across the street and down two more houses. Usually, we walk him down there, or at least walk him to the next street and watch him. It's not a busy street, but you know, caution is the... I don't know, something smart and fancy about being a good parent. So I start watching more intently, and I see Brandon strolling back home.

He got a nice talking-to (really, I was 100% calm, even though I know you don't believe me) and was promptly grounded to his room for the evening.

Apparently, "grounding" to him means that he can poke his head out of his door at six-minute intervals and say, "I'm ready to listen." or "I'm sorry I was bad." or "I promise to play nice." (None of these actually pertaining to his real reason for punishment.) I start to go from calm to a little irritated, and the last time I sent him to his room, it was followed by a slamming of the door and him yelling "I DON'T LOVE YOU ANYMORE!"

I was totally caught off-guard for a number of reasons: one being that I was hoping I didn't have to deal with this emotional roller coaster, since I have no girls; and two, I thought I was at least five years away from hearing this from their little, innocent mouths.

Long story short, let's just say that Brandon is very, very, VERY sorry he ever said that in the first place.

Moving on... Two days later, and Brandon and Logan are playing outside again together. I look outside the window - they are playing happily - check! Look outside the window - having a swordfight - check! Look outside the wind -- er, where are they? Not on the swingset... Not in the cul-de-sac... I start circling the house. There's only one other place they could be.

I know you're thinking Joey's right? Me too. Wrong there. They were THREE more houses down from Joey's, at their friend Dylan's house.

They see me, and even though they are reluctant, we head home. We all do happy dances through the yards, on our way to our house, they are singing sweet songs and telling me about how much fun they had, and I'm the super-tastic mom that's all, "Oh, honey, that's wooooonnnnnderful! Tell me more..." They are little red-faced cherubs, gleefully telling me the games they played, the things they did, and the adventure they went on.

We all head inside the house.

Door shuts.

Yelling begins!

I couldn't believe that they had forgotten a mere two days before of the punishment and hullabaloo I had made about leaving the house without telling a parent. Brandon says something about how he goes to sleep and when he wakes up, he forgets things. So, I ask him if he forgets his name every morning when he wakes up... He looks at me like "Der, mom, NO!" Okay, point proven.

I was so furious. And I made sure they understood the reason why. How they could have been kidnapped or hurt or hit by a car and left for dead, and I would have no idea! I wouldn't be able to help them.

Brandon takes the lectures like a champ. He listens to me, stares at me with his big blue eyes (makes me feel all guilty), and he responds with "Yes, ma'am" and "No, ma'am" at every question.

Logan, however. Logan. Oh boy. He stares at me with his eyebrows all crunched together, and every answer is a stern "YES!" or "NO!" I've tried vehemently to discourage this reaction, and it's getting better, although still a work in progress. You see, he also likes to say things that are way out of context, unthoughtful, rude, hurtful and quite frankly, he has no idea what they really mean.

After their lecture, while we are eating dinner, I'm still contemplating a proper punishment and Logan has the gall asks if he can play outside after he's done eating. Obviously, my answer is no.

Here's the kicker... The bad part... My sweet, innocent Logan says to me... "When I get big, I'm going to get a gun and shoot you because you're mean and weird."

Mkay.

My first thought is "I don't think someone being WEIRD warrants them to get shot, but whatever!" But then I realize the words that have just spilled out of my four-year-old son's mouth, and I'm beside myself with a flood of emotions/reactions/thoughts. I can't make sense of what is swirling around in my head. I don't even know how to begin formulating all those thoughts into coherent words. I am speechless.

I'm overcome with emotion, overwhelmed with the responsibility of parenting altogether, and I break down and start crying (and I know crying always works on them. teehee).

When Mike came home and I told him what happened, it turns out that Logan has no idea what "shooting someone" really means. He showed his dad the "gun" that he would use, and it was nothing more than a stick in a twisted shape of a sort of gun. The action was just a "bang, bang" verbiage that Logan would say when he was "shooting" me. And then, after he was done "shooting," I wouldn't be weird and mean anymore, and Logan could play outside all day and night long and eat candy for breakfast.

As it turns out, I think I might like being shot with a gun. Who knew?

Next we'll cover the specifics of reproduction.

I love these worksheets where the kids have to fill in the blanks. This is my most recent favorite.


So, to sum up -- Brandon wants to be a Dad. He does not want to get married, and he does not want to have kids. He wants to live in Misery-er, Missouri, and he wants to drive a "Toho" (a/k/a Tahoe). He wants to be 70 tall (about 5 feet, 8 inches) and weigh 15. Or weigh IS, we're not sure.

And in case you weren't sure, that special thing Brandon is going to do when he gets older? Watch TV.

Guess all the TV-grounding is really getting to him.

Real toys are for the girls.

I'm teaching my boys good old fashioned chivalry.

Which includes being a cheap and easily entertained date.

The most recent object of desire among these boys is a pair of old work goggles. I have no idea where they came from (my husband says they are Crappa's).


Logan especially loves them, and even like to wear them when he "works out," as he is obviously displaying above.

And even Owen gets his hands on them every once in a while and begs to wear them.

Since there is only one pair, thoughful Dad got two more pairs so they could all share. The new pairs are nice and clean, no brown plastic surface and worn out, non-stretchy elastic headband.

Think they fight over the new ones?

In Which I Exhibit Some SERIOUS Self-Control.

Can you believe that I've been hoarding these photos from you for a full three weeks now? Yeah, what is wrong with me?

I'm sorry I've been holding out. I'll shut up so you can enjoy my nephew's beautiful eyelashes...


Is it wrong to be envious of a five-month old? Who doesn't even know he has eyelashes?


Look at that sweet face! This boy will never ever be punished. Mark my words right here, right now.










Note to self: Need to get rid of that eye boogie in Photoshop before printing.


He's trying to wave to you here. We're practicing.


Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Here's Where I Get Serious.

As a parent, there is no way you can shield your children from all potentiall harmful material 100 percent of the time. I guess you could lock them up in a concrete room with no windows and never let them speak to or listen to any other person, radio, television, movie, whatever. But, really? Why would you do that?

A few months ago, we heard Brandon singing a song (rather quietly) at random times. We couldn't figure out what song it was, so I pretty much left him alone about it. He's a kid; they sing songs all the time. He began singing this mystery song more often, and the words became clearer and clearer. I had an epiphany one day when I realized he was singing Sir Mix-a-Lot's "Baby Got Back." I nearly died of a coronary right then and there.

If I make a big deal about how inappropriate it is for a 6-year old to sing a song of that nature, then that would be an open invitation for him to sing it more often and louder. Instead, I just simply told him that it wasn't a nice song, and I didn't want him to sing it anymore.

But now, his sponge of a little brother has begun singing it. Instead, he doesn't know the words, so what he is singing is totally unidentifiable by anyone else other than our family. Fine. I'll pick my battles and let this one fly.

So, who knows where Brandon picked up this song, it could have been anywhere, no matter how hard I try to keep his little ears covered.

But now, I apparently need to filter the Toon Network. Yes, an entire channel devoted strictly to cartoons. Who watches cartoons? Kids, duh. So what better place to play an age-appropriate commercial such as this one:



I would really like to meet the marketing "genius" that thought it was a good idea to use this degrading song to appeal to little kids. Not only that, but Burger King is basically dragging the names of Spongebob Squarepants and the Nickelodeon empire through the mud by agreeing to go along with the advertising nightmare.

I think this is totally out of line and, quite frankly, I'm a little P.O.'ed about it.

I love Spongebob and all, but teaching my kid that it's cool to sing songs about butts and obesity just doesn't sit well with me.

If I wrote a book on discipline, would you buy it?

I don't think I can legitimately charge anyone for a parenting book that would only have one page in it, but I suppose I can offer my stellar advice to you here, FOR FREE, instead. See, I'm learning as I go with these little humans, and I certainly don't have all the answers (contrary to popular belief). If I did, my kids would have halos on their heads and CLEARLY THEY DON'T.

This is, hands down, the best punishment advice I can give to anyone with multiple children.

We call it the "Hug It Out" lesson. When one brother is being mean to the other, they have to hug continuously until I decide they are truly sorry for what they have done and are sure to not repeat the act ever again.

At first glance, you might think that loving big brother Brandon is whispering sweet nothings into the ear of his treasured little brother, Logan. But no, he is not.


More like NO WAY JOSE, NOT IN A MILLION YEARS WOULD HE EVER DO THAT!


Obviously, this is torture for them and a great activity for you, the parent. You are equally entertained by their disdain for having to be so close to their brother, and you can sharpen your photography skills at the same time.

Be constructive.

SOOC: 1/60 f/5.6 ISO 1600 42mm No flash

Since I've been "furthering" my hobby in photography, I've ventured into photographing faces more than innate objects. I found it was easier to position, focus and shoot things that weren't moving, but now I think I've got my technique down pretty well with the Manual setting on my D-SLR. I'm so proud of the progress I've made, but I definitely think there is still much more to learn and definitely room for improvement.

Think you know what I should be doing? Tell me about it here. I'd love to hear your feedback. This is my favorite photo of recent. It is my sweet 5-month-old nephew, Marek, and my oldest son, Brandon. Brandon turns into a melty mess when he's with his cousin, and I just love to see the connection between them. I think this shot really captures their doting relationship.

I touched it up a little bit with Photoshop (I have version 7), but I didn't do much because I thought the exposure and focus were pretty dead-on. Natural light is wonderful like that! Here is the after-edit version...


Okay, I've got my bullet-proof vest on, start shooting away!

Please be nice. Pretty please.

Another Candle, Another Finger... Another Year.

Dearest Logie Bear,

Every birthday that comes around seems to be a hundred times better than the last. And I can remember celebrating your first birthday like it was only yesterday. Logan, today as you turn four, mommy and daddy see a little baby that is rapidly turning into a little boy.


You are formulating your own unique personality, which is so amazing to watch. It is hard for me to believe that you are so different than your brothers, yet you come from the same two people.


God has blessed you with the kindest heart that any mommy would want for their child. You’re loving and affectionate; your kind and thoughtful. And although your volume is always stuck on high, you are still a great joy and pleasure to be around.


Your bright blond hair sets you apart from the rest of the family, but there’s no mistake that you belong to us. I can see myself in your young facial attributes, and you have definitely inherited all the noble qualities of your dad (Mom still has all of hers).


You make friends with strangers, even against mom and dad’s instructions to not talk to them. You hold a dear spot in your heart for ice cream and your two favorite blankies. Your carefree spirit and energy are inspiring to everyone around you. You really are a masterpiece of God’s creation. Mommy and Daddy never cease to feel so blessed to call you our own.


As I type, you are enjoying a healthy and nutritious breakfast at Krispy Kreme with your dad and your big brother. You made sure to bring along your favorite (new) friends to enjoy your special day with, including a dinosaur, a turtle and a frog. I’ll see you later for lunch, after you’ve been gallivanting all around the zoo and possibly the Science Center.


I have many hopes for you, on this special day in your life… I hope you never forget this day, as you get older and birthdays fly past you like airplanes in the sky.


I hope you never forget how many people around the world love and cherish you.


I hope you can appreciate all the lives you have touched with your caring nature and your friendly personality.


I hope that you have the best day a four-year-old boy could ever ask for.


Lots of love and hugs and Eskimo kisses,
Mama and Daddy

Blogger Confessional

Actually, this post serves a dual purpose, really. I'm here to reveal the truth to you on a very important matter, and I'm also here to air out my dirty laundry on another topic. And I know everyone loves to hear about other people's dirty laundry; heck, otherwise we wouldn't have celebrities!

A short while ago, I dreaded having to come to grips with the fact that my youngest son was due for his first haircut. I knew this was going to be my last first haircut. So I put it off. Plus, seriously, how cute was he with clips in his hair, come on, people!

Well, his hair was quickly turning into a mullet (not unlike the one I had), so I caved. I cried. I bawled. I kissed his hair as it fell to the floor.

Okay, not really. But I did cave. And, I'm sorry. I had to.


But it looks so cute that I'm not even the last bit sorry. Not at all! So maybe that's another confession... that I am not sorry! Ha!


And now for part two of my blog confessional...

Remember when I vowed to you and to anyone within earshot of me that I was going to resolve to a better person about one specific downfall that I had?

Remember when I so valiantly asserted an annoying mistake that I make on an almost-daily basis?

And I told you all that I was going to try to make it for one year, three hundred sixty-five days without performing this one, lowly, annoying incident ever again?

Well, I want to trade in those 365 days for um... 90. Yes, I'm sorry, my dear readers, I made it 90 days without messing up my New Year's resolution.

I think next year I'm going to resolve to actually keep my New Year's Resolution.

Let's Play a Game...

Remember the Mothball Minivan? Well, keeping that situation in mind, I have a “quiz” for you, and who doesn’t love multiple choice questions, right? I mean, there’s always an obvious answer and any dummy can get them correct. So, here we go.

Question: What’s worse than the Mothball Minivan?

(a) Shoving bamboo shoots under my fingernails.
(b) Trying to teach Helen Keller how to julienne carrot sticks.
(c) Being trapped in the mouth of an erupting volcano.
(d) Driving a super tiny Ford Edge that smells like peanuts, all while *still* trying to rectify automobile repairs after one year, two months, and thirteen days after the accident that was not my fault.

Give up? Great! I’ll give you a hint. I love hints. So do my kids.

Hint: I’m getting a little frustrated with a certain insurance company and the certain body repair company that they think is “the best in the area.” I am also a little weary of my kids’ telepathic request for unusual snacks.

Hmm... Can’t imagine why they all of a sudden want peanuts for dinner every day…

In all seriousness, this situation really makes me laugh. I always wonder what crazy rental vehicle they’ll try to stick me in this time. And this poor Edge would be an otherwise cute little car, if I didn’t have to shove three car seats in the back. I guess they don’t understand the meaning of a “comparable” vehicle. So, listen up, Mr. Insurance Company Representative Person - COMPARABLE DOES NOT MEAN A FORD EDGE (or a Fusion, for that matter)!

I’ve become quite rental-car savvy these days, and I must say that although I don’t treat a rental car as if it’s my own, (Hey, I don’t have to change the brake pads if I wear them out by stopping too fast, and I’m not responsible for the unusual wear and tear when I drive in that bumpy lane on the highway at fast speeds.), but I have never stored nor transported mothballs in a rental car, nor have I eaten and discarded peanuts in a rental car, not mention any other weird and quirky habits one might think would be okay to do in a borrowed car, but not their own.

Which begs the question, what wild and crazy thing have YOU done in a rental car that you would not otherwise do in your own car? And keep it clean, people.