Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

I've been a tee ball mom, a softball mom, a baseball mom, a soccer mom, a karate mom, a basketball mom, a golf mom, football mom and now a volleyball mom. I hadn't realized the depth of my resume until just now, but I do believe that it uniquely qualifies me to comment with authority when it comes to the wide world of children's sports.

I also live in a small town that takes it's sporting teams seriously, very seriously. You don't have to look far to find the over-involved, overly opinionated parent. They're everywhere. Coaches must come with a thick skin as a prerequisite and a membership to the good ol' boys club. Having said all that, I would like to state a few observations that I've made over Songbird's volleyball season:

1. Girls just wanna have fun. They high five one another after EVERY point. Win the point, lose the point, you MUST high five. Boys don't do that.

2. Even the tiniest, scrawniest, chicken-legged little girls can wallop an overhand serve.

3. Volleyball (at least in the beginning levels) can be a level playing field for the athletically inclined as well as the couch potato inclined.

4. The team name and team cheer are VERY important followed by more high fives.

5. Time out is for tying shoes and fixing pony tails. Boys don't do this either, they stratigize and hunt for the first aid kit.

6. Sacrificing the body for a point is optional, but elicits a huge round of applause from the audience.

7. Beauty queen and Marla Hooch look alikes are treated with the same enthusiasm, love, appreciation, tenderness and high fives! (Adult women could learn a lot from these girls.)

I am loving this season!

Mum's the Word

I know it's been a week since my last entry. Sorry. I've been purposefully keeping my mouth shut. When I was a kid, a friend once told me, "never mail a letter until three days after you've written it." That was pretty good advice and so I decided that I could not be trusted to blog without regret this week. You see, every three or four years my hubby and I have a knock-down drag out over our schedules, the kids, our relationship, money, etc... Basically everything. It's never pretty, but always productive. This was the week.



I am proud to report that we have called a truce and decided that, yes, we are willing to still fight the good fight side by side. He's a pretty good guy and I think I'll keep him.

If I Only Had A Brain

I am dragging. There will be no witty post today as my brain is on autopilot. I'm physically, emotionally and spiritually tired. It's the overworked, under rested, too much housework, too many bills to pay, friendships that need tending, laundry that needs washing, garden that needs tending, children that need mothering thing. I know you know what I mean.

It's just for a season. It won't last forever. I'm lowering my standards as not to beat myself up and generally just doing the best that I can. Still, I would trade places with Rip Van Winkle in a New York minute. Was he the one that slept 100 years? Can't really remember right now... perfect example of minimal brain activity. Remember when Winnie the Pooh was called a bear of very little brain? I resemble that remark.

It's Mutiny I Tell You

I originally only joined Facebook to keep tabs on my children. Good thing I did. I've had one child that put out a picture of his knee that looked suspiciously like a butt crack and yesterday another child that posted she "got a cat today."

Apparently, while I was at work she went to a garage sale and purchased a kitten for the bargain basement price of $5.00. Now, Braveheart is 16 and she did drive to the garage sale, but she does not look 16 by any means. I ask you, what kind of person lets a child buy a kitten without an adult present? And what kind of kid purchases a kitten without permission from her parents... Ahhhem... one just like me. Yes, I did the same thing when I was 17 to my dad. I even moved out of state and left him with the cat come to think of it.

Which puts me in a quandry because the last thing I ever wanted to do again was smell another litter box. I'm a dog person now. Poor Rascal and Rufus they just looked through the sliding glass window all pitiful like with an expression that read, "don't you love us anymore?"

As much as I am upset with Braveheart, I am equally upset with my hubby. This is the man that in the past NEVER wanted cats. He has always been the heavy in these kinds of situations. I thought I could count on him, then I saw him with the kitten. "Isn't he cute? How can you say no to those blue eyes?" I'm like: "who are you and what have you done to my husband?" I knew it. I knew right then and there that there was no point in arguing or trying to assert any objections. I was too late. The cuteness factor had taken over. Then I witnessed a truly amazing sight, one that I'm positive marks a new chapter in our lives together. I actually saw and heard my hubby "baby talk" to the kitten. He's smitten. I had a glimpse of what he will be like with grandchildren someday. Mr. Jello, Mr. No Spine, Mr. Stay Puff Marshmallow Softy, yes, that will be him, the fun one. And, you know who that leaves me to be... the heavy, the disciplinarian, the no-fun Grandma. It's mutiny, down right mutiny!

The Mini Fridge

The way to a man's heart is through his stomach, yes, I definately believe that when it comes to my son. Prince Lawn Gnome has always cared deeply about food. He was born picky. At two, I discovered that time-out and taking toys away was completely ineffective where he was concerned. He didn't care about anything but the food. And, you can't take away food! I tried to send him to bed without dinner once and I think it really did hurt me more.

As a growing teenage boy, Prince Lawn Gnome, along with his friends strongly resemble locusts. They travel around from neighborhood house to neighborhood house devouring everything in sight. No frozen pizza is safe.

So, it came as no surprise when Prince Lawn Gnome spent his birthday money on a mini fridge. He stocked it to the hilt, buying more pop than any teenager should be allowed to buy. The mini fridge quickly became a status symbol among his peers. I was seriously concerned. Not just about the possible caffeine intake but about the pyramid of pop cans growing in his room. I was not cleaning a second fridge!

Fast forward three months.... City Wide Garage Sale Day. Prince Lawn Gnome is strapped for cash. He sold the mini fridge for $25! I happen to know he paid $80. That is one fast deprectiation. I CANNOT understand for the life of me why he would sell the fridge. One day he loves the fridge... the next day he wants cash... no matter how stupid the deal. When, oh, when will he look more than 10 minutes into the future?

I didn't advise him. I didn't say a word, even though I am screaming about it on the inside. I'm trying to let him learn from natural consequences, but it's excruciating to watch.

An Intimate Conversation

Today I braved the Intimates department at Kohl's, during a sale. My loving family had purchased a gift certificate for me for Mother's Day. Hubby explained later that it was for replacement of "grandma" bras only. Confession time: yes, the bras were definitely "grandma" as I hate shopping for them and put it off as long as humanly possible. I've been known to rip out a piece of underwire in a bathroom stall due to puncture torture (way more effective than waterboarding by the way), only to wear said bra in the future... for an undetermined length of time. I'm ashamed to admit it. Victoria's Secret is a long ago faded memory. Now it's more like Victor Victoria, well, maybe not all that bad. Okay, yes, yes it is.

So, with a swallowing of pride I forged ahead. I searched and searched for fit, for comfort, for sexy, for utilitarian, support, separate and supported, and everything in between. After submitting to the almighty dressing room mirror of horrors, I made a startling discovery. Now, you must remember that I had lost one size last summer after hours and hours of slave-like labor in the garden, and apparently part of that weight was in cup size. I'm okay with that. I can live with a one cup size reduction. It's not that. It's the fact that it emphasizes all my boobs have gone through. Breastfeeding has turned that which was previously perky to small grapefruit in pantyhose likeness. And one hard to please child, who shall remain nameless, played favorites leaving me permanently lopsided, not by a lot, but enough that the mirror of horrors saw it, in plain sight. Anyone know of a store that sells separate cup sizes in one bra? It was depressing!

Nearly as depressing as the fact that every cute design, sexy or desirable style stopped short one size before my size. Seriously, people the full figured would like to appear somewhat more attractive than an old Sears catalog model. Sexy was out... utilitarian was in. I had no choice but to resign to the fact.

Trying to lift my spirits, I ventured over to the Clearance sale items. I needed pants for work. After waiting, actually waiting in line for a dressing room, I tried on a million pants. Again, I was subjecting myself to the mirror of horrors and once again it revealed an ugly little secret. All the pants were too long. I have shrunk! Literally shrunk! I made myself try on a petite pair just for verification... it fit. Damn, I've shrunk. What the hell?

I am a lopsided, deflated, short and now depressed woman. And, my hubby wonders why I hate shopping.

Membership Has Its Privledges

Welcome to the I've Become My Parent Club...

Membership is available to all who have children and have recently been known to utter any one of the following phrases:

"Just wait till your father gets home."
"If it's worth doing, it's worth doing right."
"Is it a want or a need?"
"Less talk, more eat."
"Don't you know there are children starving in _______ (insert country of choice)"
"I don't care if Sally Jo's parents let her do it. Sally Jo is not my child."
"Nothing good happens after 11 PM anyway."

All members receive a complimentary prescription for Valium once your children reach 13 years of age. Members may bring special cases for consideration to the board if particularly mouthy children are in the household.

Workshops are available to all members free of charge. They include such topics as:

Getting over guilt: How to spend money on yourself
Creating a retreat: How to booby trap your bathroom drawers so that teenage daughters will not successfully raid your make-up
Today's slang: Appropriate use of
Texting as a Foreign language (college credit is available)


But wait... there's more

The I've Become My Parent Club also offers tech support, 24 hours a day. You will no longer be held captive by your teenagers lack of helpfulness. Specialty services include:

How to reset my ringtone
Resetting the TV back to normal TV viewing
Easy DVR usage

As a club member, you will also be privy to our most popular service, Parental Discipline Support.

You may request a "meaner" parent to visit at any given time
Policemen or Military personnel are on stand by for extreme intervention
You will have access to our 101 Ways to Grounding that Doesn't Ground You website

Here at I've Become My Parent Club we believe that Time Out is for the grown ups! A monthly spa treatment and night on the town with your significant other is required. "Meaner" parents are available for babysitting upon request.

Keep Your Enemies Close

We've been spoiled. Our oldest daughter, Braveheart, and our middle child (son), Prince Lawn Gnome have fallen into the "Late Bloomer" category. They are vying for independence some days and others they still act like little kids in an imaginary land. I'm thankful, very thankful, especially when I see them next to other teenagers. We aren't into make-up and hairspray, we aren't all about cell phones and texting. Their favorite stores of choice are GameStop and Guitar Center. They don't just go hang at the mall. So far, there have been no instances of smoking, drinking, sex, or drugs... only rock-n-roll.

Our days of relatively peaceful teenage angst are numbered. Songbird has a boyfriend, one that she admits to. There have been others, but none that lasted more than a week or two and none that have been introduced to her parents deliberately. I've always known that she would be the one to put us through the (wringer) more typical teenage experience. She loves make-up, begs for a cell phone, lives for the mall, her friends are her life, fashion is of ultra importance, in short, she's normal.

My poor hubby, he's like "I quit smoking and now this?"

When I left for work Songbird was on the phone with said boyfriend, we'll call him, Skater Boy. That's right, he's a skater, with long blond hair. ***Sigh*** My heart has plummeted to the bottom of my stomach. I feel sick.

Note to self: Pray harder for Songbird. Must initiate deeper and more deliberate conversations with her. Need to schedule a time for a Birds and Bees talk. Also, must remain calm, cool and collected as to appear nonchalant when rooting for details about Skater Boy.

Car Share

It's the gift that just keeps giving. When Braveheart turned sweet 16, we presented her with her own keys to the car. The car that I would share with her until further notice. It seemed like a good idea. It felt like the responsible action to take as a parent. This way we could still yank the car if Braveheart acted like some of the new found drivers we know.

It's been five months, five long-suffering months. I've encountered a McDonald's cluttered car (the smell of fries is undeniable), the seat is always up way too far, the mirrors all wrong, the radio stations have been changed and are blaring, the gas tank has been empty, one key lost, two new keys made, and today a flat tire as I was leaving to go to work.

I need my own space. I'm trying to be patient. I know that these are learning experiences and valuable to keeping family communication going. And yet, I cannot pass a For Sale sign on any vehicle without drooling. I refuse to have another car payment ever again, so any ol' car will do. Just something to have as my own or at least my own until Prince Lawn Gnome wants to practice driving.

I Missed It sniffle sniffle

I consider myself a person that is fairly good with directions. I can read a map. I know North, East, West and South directionally. So, it is with great sadness that I missed it. I missed Songbird singing to the congregation this evening. Cursed MapQuest! You know that feeling when you know that you must be close, but you can't seem to find the right street? That's me.

I'm driving in circles then backtracking, finally I had to give up. I had to go to work.

And, then the working mom guilt set in. You know the little voice that says, "You know, you ARE a mom first. How can you miss your daughter's performance? A better organized mother would have previously driven the route. You really can't be a good mom and be at work on time."

I hate that little voice. It lies to you and it never remembers all the good things that you do do. I've been a mom for 16 years now, and I know that things happen and sometimes the best laid plans fail, but I never seem to be able to squelch that little voice entirely. Maybe, you never get rid of that nagging little voice. Maybe, it stays with you forever?

*****update**** Apparently, Songbird did a good job and didn't even notice my absence (whew). Additionally, she will sing again in upcoming weeks at our own campus! Take that little voice!

Suey!

When I was a kid we used to have great fun playing Pig Mania. The game entailed throwing two pig figurines like dice, depending on how they landed, you scored points. We loved this game. We particularly snickered when the pigs would land touching, we'd shout "makin' bacon!"
I recently saw this game at Target under another name. I almost bought it for ol' times sake. Now, I'm thinking of buying it as a stress buster.

I work in a hospital. I am so sick of Swine flu and it hasn't even been that long. I think we are particularly upset by this because we already told ourselves that we had survived flu season. Every winter is hard to get through, but by spring the numbers are supposed to go down. We're tired.

Yes, a little Pig Mania is in order.