Dare I Say It? Could it be?

The Oceangypsyhouse has come under a spell. A spell that is all-powerful, all-encompassing and downright scary! Dare I say it? Could it be true? Could it be young love? The smiling grin from ear to ear across Braveheart's face is a tell tale sign. The constant texting, another sign. The gagging aroma of perfume that one obviously must have bathed in, permeates throughout the house.
It is both amusing and downright terrifying at the same time. I so remember that "he really likes me" feeling. I remember my cheeks aching from all the smiling. I remember trying not to smile and not quite being able to achieve it. I remember the anticipation of the first kiss, the cloud 109 effect it had, the "I can't breathe without you near" intoxication and that's what scares me. I swear I can actually feel my hair turning gray at the roots!
What if this one is "The One?" What if he isn't? What if he breaks her heart? (It's okay if she breaks his.)
I'm trying to be nonchalant about it all. Trying to not crowd them but remain diligent. Why the hell did we buy a house with a basement? Why didn't we ever think about the future movie watching, hand holding, snuggling that would occur on that couch? I'm pretty sure that I could get rid of it under the guise of redecorating and replace it with a rod iron chair or two. In the meantime, I'm working under the keep your enemies close mentality. I've befriended him on Facebook and done all the digging I can there... didn't really find much but sappy love posts to my daughter! Not very comforting.
So, basically Braveheart's running around with a butterfly in the stomach feeling and the hubby and I are running around with the "I could puke any minute" feeling.

When Caffeine Isn't Enough

I'm drinking it, but it doesn't seem to be helping. Just what am I supposed to do now that caffeine doesn't even seem to be enough to keep my sleepy eyes from closing? I wonder just how long I really would sleep barring any barking dogs, phones ringing, TV's up too loud or such. Even with all those things, I could easily take in 11-12 hours at a time. In a perfect, Temperpedic, condensation levels within the air just right (too much heat in the winter time), quiet house, I might never wake up.
I think Songbird is right there with me. Poor girl, she comes home from school exhausted. She's fallen into a pattern of taking a nap right after school until dinner time, then she can't fall asleep before 11 or 11:30. School bus comes at 6:55, and her morning routine takes at least an hour, you do the math.
Hubby is also not sleeping well. His back hurts, it's too hot, or he's trying to catch up on the Olympics that he's DVR'd. All of the Olympics grant you. He watches all of it, wistfully dreaming of how he could have been an Olympian if only.....
The only two in the house that seem to run ninety-to nothing without any negative side effects are Braveheart and Prince Lawn Gnome, but I attribute that to their age. Stinking teenagers just get faster and faster as we get slower and slower. They are in and out of this house so fast it makes my head literally spin. I simply cannot keep up with where they are and when. I'm about to implant homing devices just to have a clue.

Now Serving Crazy

I'm sitting at the kitchen table. This will probably become my new perch. Why, you ask? Well, let's just say that in order to keep Prince Lawn Gnome and Braveheart from killing one another during homeschool, they need a little extra mommy supervision. All I wanted was a shower, just a shower and to blowdry my hair, because when I wait too long then it's done for for the remainder of the day. What do I hear three rooms away? "MMMMMOOOMMMM!" Settle the first dispute, lay down the law, remind children of their current responsibilities and return to hairdryer. What do I hear three rooms away? "MMMMMOOOMMMM! Prince Lawn Gnome stuck the calculator down his pants!" (I loath 15 year old boy humor.)

Prince Lawn Gnome appears with squirted water dripping from his forehead, no doubt from the spray bottle meant for Leo the cat to keep him out of the Christmas tree. Oh, yeah, you know Braveheart isn't all innocent in this one. But, since I also need to use said calculator from time to time, I must do something. "Would you like it if I stuck the calculator down my pants and then made you use it?, I ask." Obviously, I'm not above coming down to his level, but the shock value of even thinking about your mom's underwear and the pure gross out factor should work, right?

"You always take her side, you're just sexist!" Prince Lawn Gnome asserts. "It's sexist!" Now, let's review... I've had one cup of coffee this morning not my usual, required two. I've had an interrupted shower time, and guess what, no schoolwork is getting done. Now, I'm being called a sexist in MY OWN HOME, the one I allow Prince Lawn Gnome to dwell in! Seriously, are we serving crazy today? Because, I can serve crazy!

And, for the topper, today's lesson, poetry! Lord, please help me.

Update

It's 3:30 in the morning, in the oceangypsy house and I'm wide awake. Of course, I have company, Leo the cat. He is a little miffed that I've interrupted his playing with the Christmas tree and has since decided to retaliate by clawing my furniture. Oh, but Leo of little brain, you forgot we declawed you months ago for just such reasons. Proof that I am a higher life form!

Thanksgiving was amazing, great food and great visit with relatives. I was pretty good diet wise but the proof will be in the pudding at my weigh in this Thursday night. I'm dreading it slightly. My temptation was tempered a bit when on the day before Thanksgiving I went clothes shopping. I highly recommend this as a yearly ritual. I was ecstatic to get into a smaller size and didn't want to jeopardize that and conversely if you went up a size then perhaps the reality would also be a motivating factor.

Here's the crazy thing. I was actually glad when Thanksgiving was over so that I could get back on plan. It's like I stepped out into the big, bad, real world and just knew if I spent too much time there then I'd crack for good. I was actually thankful to be back in the safety net of point counting. Isn't that crazy?

I do miss my family though. It was so fun to spend time together, when you live far apart you forget all the quirkiness that goes on. Granny was true to form when she tried to convince me that you can get a bladder infection by walking barefoot on the concrete. My sister, always the chronic late one, inspired a pool for which we took bets on what time she'd roll into town. Her arrival has never been so closely anticipated. My mom and stepdad had the usual, yearly argument on how to correctly position and set the table. My brother and his girlfriend interacted like an old married couple, the dogs worked up over all the visitors. Ahhh, to be home.

So, now on to the next holiday season. The season for which I am feeling anxious and unprepared. So much so, that Braveheart and Songbird actually set the tree up for me. They did a pretty good job, and I'm pretty picky about the tree. But, alas, I'm learning that as a working mom, I'm just going to have to let some things go. It's not really necessary that I bring out all the ornaments that they forgot. After all, Leo the cat would probably just bat them around anyway! Do I really need to bring out the rest of the decorations for the house for just a couple of weeks? For the first time, I just don't want the hassle. It feels overwhelming.

And as an extra emotional bonus, Braveheart turns 17 this month! How is it possible that she has gotten so big? Wasn't it just yesterday that she was playing dress up and tea party? Wasn't it just yesterday when she crawled up in my lap for a story and her artwork covered the refrigerator door? Now, she spends her time trying to convince me to let her work the night shift (ain't no way), driving all over town and planning out her future as a rockstar. I am excited for her, and at the same time, a little sad that she's not little anymore.

4 am now. Still wide awake...even Leo the cat has given up and curled up into a ball on the couch going to go and try to follow his example.

Back to the Grindstone

Back from vacation and I'm exhausted. I need a vacation from my vacation. The fireworks tent was a great success and I'm very thankful that it is all said and done for another year. I thought I'd never get the gunpowder residue off me. Braveheart is unfortunately sporting a souvenir from the season. She has a burn on her arm from an artillery shell that fell over. She IS brave indeed. She has never even shed a tear! (For all Grandma's reading this entry... she is fine, really. We are taking good care of her.)

My stepdad, came up for the week to help with the tent. He was great and is running circles around me. Now that he's had his heart attack and new stints put in, he is so full of energy I can hardly believe it. He never stopped for a minute. On top of helping at the tent, he made five or six batches of homemade ice cream, fixed my dryer, did all the laundry (think mountainous), cleaned out the furnace filter, took out the trash, ran errands, etc... I may start referring to him as the Energizer Bunny.

My mom joined us after all the fireworks fun (she's no dummy). To her credit, she did not drive me crazy with advice or guilt over Braveheart's arm. Instead, she accompanied us to the doctor's office where we were held hostage in the waiting room for 45 minutes watching Michael Jackson's funeral. I have never seen a more glorified and celebrated pedophile in my life. Sorry MJ fans, but it's a sad day in America when we gloss over the truth and concentrate only on the image and the music; proof that we really are going to hell in a hand basket.

Now, I'm back to the grindstone. Back to work, back to trying to figure out all the home school stuff, back to running kids all over the place and did I mention that I need a vacation from my vacation?

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!

Tread Lightly

It's been over a week and hubby has had no nicotine!!! We are still treading lightly as not to disturb the sleeping giant. Every once in a while you can hear his roar and feel the trembling of the house, but if you throw a piece of candy in his direction, the roar quiets down to a mere grumble and we can live with that.

This week brought sunshine! And so, I planted flowers in the pots and marveled at their beauty. Then Rascal, dug up one, laid down on another and basically basked in the sunshine on top of my flowers! I replanted them and ordered him to another area of the yard (for Pete's sake he has the whole yard). Rascal would be well advised to tread lightly.

Braveheart is finished carting Prince Lawn Gnome around in the car. It's no longer fun. Today she left him in the dust and went off on a shopping spree all by herself. He tried to stand in front of the car to convince her that he really, really wanted to go. Braveheart simply revved the engine and lunged forward. Prince Lawn Gnome would be well advised to also tread lightly as Braveheart has not had her license for long and dear God, please don't let her run over her brother!

A close friend informed me that her son let her in on some very valuable information. He is all of 12 years old and his friend, a friend of Songbird's, has been know to play "three hours in heaven." We were reeling from the actual stabs of pain through the heart at the realization that such games are being played by kids we actually know. Please children tread lightly with these valuable pieces of info as your parents may not be able to take it.

I did find it amusing that it's now "three hours in heaven," it must be the effects of the Viagra generation.

The Three Little Pigs

I hate to refer to them as the Three Little Pigs, but they've certainly earned the title. I thought I'd give an update on all the children as I still have NO LIFE of my own.

Braveheart is killing me. Along with her new McDonald's career, she is convinced that she is going to be a rockstar. She spent the night with my sister and her hubby. I think they created a monster. You see, they also thought they would be part of the rockstar scene and they actually got pretty close. They interviewed with the manager for Nine Inch Nails and had the same agent as Jewel for a while. But, like most VH1 Where Are They Now? episodes, the band had a falling out and split up. Oh, what could have been is now turning into fuel for the fire in Braveheart's rockstar dream. She was sent home with Billboard magazines, Rolling Stone and a few books on the business side of music. Seriously, she probably will be famous someday because when this kid puts her mind to something there is no stopping her. It's extremely aggravating.

Prince Lawn Gnome and I are spending time on very, very thin ice lately. He is 15 and thinks he's 20. He also thinks that I am a complete idiot and that I am trying to control his life. I feel the need to remind him that if it weren't for me he wouldn't even have a life and if his tone doesn't change then I will certainly do the honor of extinquishing it for him. Oh, how I long for a son that speaks to me as if I am an actual person and not just an ATM. Intellectually, I know this is a phase that we must get through, but honestly, it is wearing me down. When will he be motivated to do something besides eat, play Halo and eat some more? I keep waiting for him to turn the corner and come out with some maturity under his belt, yep, I keep waiting and waiting... And, just what is with him only wearing shorts in the winter? Is there some body temperature thing I don't know about that goes along with puberty? Somebody clue me in here, please.

Songbird had volleyball tryouts today and was encouraged as she "almost made the competitive team." I find that hard to believe as she is as uncoordinated as they come, but maybe she is coming into her own. Now, she is completely obsessed with which team she'll be on because of who else might be on that team. She's all about the social aspect. And, once she knows which team, she'll be all about the glamorizing up of the uniform. I overheard talk of a Bedazzler.

She also tried out for choir. I hate to sound like one of THOSE mothers, but she'll be a shoe in. The kid was born to sing. But part of being in choir means that she will be in 7th grade next year. 7th grade? 7th grade is still part of me, I remember it vividly, 7th grade helped warp (I mean shape) me into who I am today. How is my baby old enough to be going into 7th grade? It's unreal. You know what comes along with 7th grade? Make-up, boys, the shaving of legs, usually a first heart break and so much else that I'm sick just thinking of it. Oh, Lord help me!

Do you want fries with that?

Braveheart is ecstatic! She is ready to conquer the fast food world. This week she was offered her first real job at McDonald's. It is adorable how excited she is about minimum wage, just wait till she learns who FICA is. Funny how you never really want your child to grow up and say, "do you want fries with that?" And, yet, for a first stepping stone, it is entirely appropriate. Do you remember when you thought McDonald's was the best restaurant ever? Well, this child not only grew up with that mentality, but she is also a product of the Playland generation. Which mostly meant that we always ended up fighting some unknown virus 7-10 days later, but when you're desperate for grown-up conversation a McDonald's Playland will always offer up another mom in the same boat.

I want her to learn so many lessons from this experience: the value of GOOD customer service, how to stand up for herself and not be taken advantage of, how to SAVE a buck or two, how to organize yourself so that work doesn't become your entire life, how to balance school and work, how to stand on your own two feet and NOT fall for the completely sexy, wild and possible drug addict that works with you.

I suppose she would object if I tried to go to work with her. No doubt, she would be made fun of if her mom stepped in when customers were rude to her. I'm sure she would be completely annoyed with me if I tried to work out the best possible schedule ever with her manager. Maybe I can sneak in a good comment card on her behalf from time to time.

She is growing up and I am sipping the mixed cocktail of anxiety and pride served best, of course, with a side of piping hot fries.

Fear Factor

This week was one full of fears.... First Braveheart took and passed her driver's test. Talk about real, in your face fear. This is one of those stages when your imagination goes wild, when you realize all the dangers associated with driving. Your mind starts to recall every crazy newstory you've ever heard about teenage drivers. I was ever so thankful for an independent agency that gives the final passing grade. This is when your parenting really starts coming into question. Have we taught her enough over the years, raised a responsible teenage girl that can be trusted not to joyride all over town?

My fear was offset a little when Braveheart came home with a huge smile across her face, lit up like a Christmas tree. She had gone through the drive-thru at McDonald's all by herself! She was ecstatic! My fear was offset a little more when she offered to return the movies to Blockbuster on time! (Yes, there is a benefit to all this!)

One of the most fearful experiences of the week had to be when Prince Lawn Gnome, who received his learner's permit, drove from the license bureau home. It started to occur to me that this is the same child that drove a four wheeler off a cliff into a ditch a few years ago. The memory was jostled from the recesses of my brain when he took a corner like he was driving a go cart! Oh, why didn't I space these children further apart in age? Not to have any break between driving lessons is just a heart attack waiting to happen.

Sandwiched in the middle of all this chaos (life) was a planned Fear Factor experience with the youth. Finally, a little time to turn the tables around and be the perpetrator of the fear! A little redemption was just what the doctor ordered.

I'm glad that I enjoyed it while it lasted because the next onset of fear came when I cleaned out Songbird's bookbag and found my make-up remover at the bottom of the bag. Dear Lord, can I please catch a little break here?

The answer to that prayer: a resounding no.

The very next day, a new fear. My hubby is put on a one week of rest per the doctor to help his fubar, I mean, aching back. I'm thankful, so thankful for that. Even thankful for the massive amounts of drugs he's on. It is seriously funny. But, yes, there in again lies the fear. Fear that a man who has done nothing but physical labor for twenty some years is going to really rest. Fear that his employer will say, "nice knowin' you."

So, if you don't mind, shoot up a prayer for me. A prayer to deal with the fear, to keep it in check. And, if you live in the KC metro area, you've been duly warned.

The Dork Squad

I don't know how I got mixed up with this bunch; I was one of the cool kids. Of course, that was over 20 years ago and I'm not sure how much longer I can hang on to that reputation. Anyway, I'm beginning to feel a little like I'm in the land of misfit toys when it comes to my family.

Perhaps, a little explanation is in order. Over the summer we went to the lake with friends. Braveheart took one of the younger children aside when he needed to go pee. So, now they are forever know as "pee buddies." Which in and of itself is an endearing tale, but now, it's beginning to take on a life of it's own. For her 16th birthday, Braveheart has decided to order personalized license plates that say PBUDE. When I was 16, I would have sooner died then advertise this fact. I am further annoyed that I might actually drive this car with said license plates from time to time. And while having to go pee constantly after three children, or crossing my legs when I sneeze is a major part of my life now, I'm not ready for the PBUDE sign.

Secondly, I'm fairly certain that Prince Lawn Gnome has actually shaved part of his eyebrows. He vehemently denies doing such, but stubble is stubble. I'm not sure what he was thinking, but a monobrow is definitely growing in.

And now today, Songbird calls me at work with an "emergency." It seems that all three kids have locked themselves in the basement and cannot get out. Just how exactly do you lock yourself in the house? Long story short, they did. However, this still did not constitute an actual emergency in my book as they have a bathroom, two televisions, Internet access, every game system known to man, and a mini fridge fully stocked with pop, string cheese and an ample supply of Doritos. My response, "just wait till your Dad gets home."

I love these guys from the bottom of my heart, but truly sometimes I feel like the mom of the dork squad.

The Last to Know

Do you ever feel like you're the last to know? This feeling is becoming an increasing reality for me, speaking as a control freak, it's not working for me. I am aware that teenagers are supposed to grow up, they are supposed to spread their wings, and yes I know, that they don't let their moms in on every aspect of their lives. However, I come from a long line of mothers that made it their business to be in your business. I come by it naturally. So when I heard that my oldest, Braveheart, had a secret pact with her best friend ( a boy nonetheless) for the past four years, I was a bit put off. A pact that when she turned 16 and had a driver's license, that they would road trip off to Kentucky for pizza.

Now I ask you... when you think of Kentucky do you think of pizza? Not me. I think, the Bluegrass state, I think horse racing, but pizza? Immediately my mind started calling foul. There had to be something more... something not quite so random. Thank goodness for Google. I know it might seem irrational, neurotic or over-the-top but I had to. I had to google Kentucky Marriage Age.... Search. Hallelujah it's 18 and those applying for marriage in the state of Kentucky must also be residents.

Okay, okay, I now feel ridiculous. The two in question are just good friends and they probably just want pizza and a little adventure. I may seriously either become an alcoholic or have to be committed before these kids are grown.

What to do with an entrepreneur?

I'm not sure that every family has one, but ours sure does. My oldest, we'll call her Braveheart, has a unique mind that can bend and shape just about any circumstance into an opportunity to make money. I now know how Amway and pyramid schemes came into exsistence. It all started innocently enough with the all too familiar lemonaid stand. Thinking that this was a great teaching opportunity, I encouraged Braveheart to pay me back for all the CountryTime and styrofoam cups I purchased. "That's how it's done in the real world," I said. What I didn't count on is how cute and irrestible a little girl with a lemonaid stand can be in 100 degree weather. I didn't count on repeat customers or those that gave a tip. For a full afternoon's worth of work, Braveheart made $35.00. She was hooked.

A few years later I was suprised when a strange kid came knocking on the door demanding his pay. "Pay for what?" I asked. Apparently, Braveheart had hired him to deliver newspapers around the neighborhood for which she would pay him $5.00. Nevermind that the newspapers were old and set aside for recycling, nevermind that she didn't actually have $5.00 at the time, she had found a willing employee!

Fast forward another year and once again I find it necessary to have a talk with Braveheart about ethics. Afterall, it isn't ethical to loan out your lost tooth to other school children on the bus. It isn't ethical to trick parents into shelling out tooth fairy money under false pretenses. Visions of bailing this child out of jail for some white collar, corporate crime dance through my head.

Another year and now we have the bike shop. A place where all neighborhood children can come and have minor (sometimes turned major) repairs done. Where did the "good" parts come from? I was afraid to ask. Oh, and if you're thirsty while you're waiting, you can have a slushie from our new and improved lemonaid stand. All for a very good price of course.

Did I mention that I actually invested in duct tape? Yes, you too can own a custom made duct tape wallet for the bargain basement price of just $10. I was paid back within the week and made a $6.00 profit from additional sales.

It's hard not to encourage her. She's now nearly 16 years old and ready to take on her first real job. I know whoever hires her will be amazed at her work ethic. If they're smart they'll put her in charge of sales. She could sell glasses to a blind man.

She's not your typical teenage girl. She doesn't lose her head over silly crushes, instead she watches "The Big Idea with Donnie Deutch", Donald Trump is her hero and at the foot of her bed you'll find an issue of Fortune or Entrepreneur magazine. I'm quite certain that the day will come when she sits across the kitchen table and asks for a mere $40,000 to start up some whacky business that will revolutionize the way people think of dish soap and it probably will.