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.

The Talk, Well Sort Of...

The hubby is a total crack up. I actually caught him watching Dr. Oz yesterday. The topic? Oh, the gentle topic of having the sex talk with your kids. Now, mind you, Dr. Oz is not a show that the hubby would normally tune into. If it's not blowing up the Earth, the imminent demise of the Earth and all its inhabitants, the latest volcanic eruption, or the doom of the next asteroid to into our atmosphere, he usually doesn't watch it. So, why now? Could it be from our previous day's conversation?
Previous day, after church: "Where's Songbird?" I innocently ask.
Hubby: "At the movies."
Oceangypsymom: "With who?"
Hubby: "Friends."
Oceangypsymom: "What kind of friends? You don't know who she went to the movies with?"
Hubby: "Of course, I do. She went with ***** (name protection)."
Oceangypsymom: "Well, if she went with *****, then you can be sure that they are meeting some boys there."
Hubby: Dead Silence
Oceangypsymom: "Honey, you really have to be up on this kinda stuff. I mean, I'm counting on you here. You ALWAYS need to know the who, what, when, where, why and how of every situation."
Hubby: More Silence, then the subtle thud of a daddy's heart into the pit of his stomach.

Back to the sex talk and Dr. Oz. Not five minutes after the Dr. Oz episode, Songbird comes home from school. Poor girl, she is completely unaware that her father is teetering on the edge of the abyss, that he is clinging to the edge and desperately fighting not to fall off. In an attempt to be a good father, to not let an opportunity pass him by, and with complete and utter lack of planning or preparation he asks, "Songbird, can you name 5 STD's?" Great opening line, don't you think? Nothing like putting her at ease and making her feel completely comfortable.
One hour later, not much conversation has taken place due to Songbird's fingers in her ears and her curled up fetal position on the couch. She's yelling, "I'm only 12!"
Bless my hubby's heart, but my work here is never done. Now, I know why God hasn't called me home yet. These kids do still need me!

It's Not for the Faint at Heart

Today has been a thought provoking day. It all started when for the one-millionth time I rubbed/snagged my dry, crackling heel across my bed spread. I've tried to do the home pedicure in an attempt to be fiscally responsible, but in the end, it's not the same. I'd had it. I was going in for professional help. On the way there, I decided to treat Songbird to a pedicure as well because she thoroughly enjoys them. Then my thought process went further and I decided to also treat Prince Lawn Gnome to one as well. After all, the feet of a 15 year old boy can definitely use a little primping.

So, here we are, all seated in the massage chairs, soaking. We soaked and soaked and waited and waited, "oh, yes, it's Friday, I should know better than to just walk in," I tell myself. Finally, it was our time and that's when it hit, the guilt. I always feel completely guilty for these foreign women that speak with a heavy accent I can barely make out. They sit on these tiny stools in a position that would cripple me for life. I can't help but apologize, "I'm sorry. I know. I know, they're bad. I'm sorry." The woman just smiles a smile that means "I pity you" in any language. Then she comments on my feet to her friend. The friend looks, and comments back. More smiles. "Yes, yes, I know," I find myself saying, but really, I don't know. What the heck is she saying?

I'm sure I don't want to know. It's one thing to feel bad that someone else is scraping and sloughing because I'm too inept to do them myself. It's another thing to hear about it. All in all, I'm glad I couldn't make it out. Three pedicures... $70. Tip+guilt an additional $18. Smooth heels, and knowledge that Prince Lawn Gnomes feet have been cleaned at least once this season, priceless.

Mama Bird and Baby Bird

Some children come with an extra dose of imagination. They live in their own little worlds full of imaginary friends and wonders. To the untrained eye, these highly intelligent children may seem a little "off", especially if engaged in an argument of some sort with them self. But, to the parent in the know, these children often hold special places in our hearts. Not only can they entertain themselves for hours on end, but once in awhile they let you into their little world. My youngest, Songbird, is such a child.

Yes, I've been known to set an extra place at the table for the imaginary friend. For a full year, I watched every step in the yard as not to accidentally step on "sticky" and wreck his house. But, my favorite was momma bird and baby bird.

Songbird would come snuggle up to me in my bed and gather the blankets around her in an attempt to build a nest. She would then cheep, cheep like a baby bird. As the momma bird, I would wiggle my finger in her direction as if it were a worm and she would pretend slurp it down. This would continue until I tired of the game and then told her it was time for the baby bird to learn to fly. She would protest and not want to leave my bed. Inevitably, the momma bird would have to kick the baby bird out of the nest in an attempt to get on with the day.

Songbird is twelve now and it's been a long time since we've played momma bird and baby bird. But today, I was reminded of this, oh so, telling game. Today, Songbird flew on a plane for the first time, by herself. Today, Songbird faced her fear of flying and boarded a plane to the busiest airport in the continental United States... alone. Part of me just wanted to shelter her and keep her home and walk right out of that airport! But, taking a lesson from the momma bird, I knew that she HAD to face this fear. She needed to spread her little wings and learn what is out there past the neighborhood nests.

I used to feel sorry for the baby birds, now I feel sorry for the momma birds, they need just as much courage.

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!

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.

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!

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!

Cream O' Wheat for the Ages

There is a distinct advantage to raising independent children. Especially when it comes to being able to throw together a sandwich or a grilled cheese for oneself. Prince Lawn Gnome can make a mean fried egg. True, there was more than one casualty when he was learning to flip them in the pan. Thankfully, you can count on the dogs to be nearby to lick up the spillage.

Lately, Songbird has been trying her hand in the kitchen. Her latest, Cream O' Wheat. Which explains why we went through a gallon of milk in the blink of an eye this week. I don't know about you but I love Cream O' Wheat. It's a down-home kinda food. Low cost, good for you and reminds you of the kind grandma used to make. It also has some miraculous qualities. My favorite is its bonding capabilities. Move over SuperGlue 'cause you don't have nothing on the Wheat. This is an attribute that Songbird learned firsthand after over boiling it onto the glass-top stove. I didn't make the discovery until well after the cooling process and the adhering had officially taken place, as I had worked the night shift (occupational hazard).

I'm quite certain that in a pinch I could mortar a house with the stuff. It's just a rumor, but I heard it was used to build the Great Wall of China and the Pyramids.

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 Dance...

Oh, Lord, my cross is heavy! In the same week, Songbird announced that she is too old to wear Barbie underwear any longer and she needed $5.00 for a ticket to the school dance. School dance? There is a very distinctive sound (thud) when your heart hits the ground. There is a very distinctive jolt of pain when you realize that your "baby" is old enough to go to a dance.

It was time to go into immediate interrogation mode: "Who else is going? What boy are you hoping to dance with? You do know that boys are to keep their hands in appropriate places when you dance don't you? What are you planning to wear? Absolutely no hoochie-momma outfits. Absolutely no make-up. What do you say if a boy tries to put his hand in an inappropriate place?" To her credit, Songbird, just giggled and played along.

The scary thing is that she's the one I know I need to worry about. She is stealthy and usually flies under the radar, but I know beneath all that innocence and puppy- dog- eyes is a boy crazy preteen just looking for an adventure. It may be time to put her brother and sister on the payroll as informants. I'll admit it, I'm not above bribery.

Songbird

Just when the world seems overwhelming, the skies a little too gray, and the responsibilities of life a little too pressing I hear her. She is my own personal Songbird sent directly from heaven, my youngest daughter. I adore the fact that she is still my innocent child. She still calls me "mommy." Additionally, though, God gave her the greatest gift. Her voice is pure. She can sing; she can really sing. She's the reason our water bill is usually $140-$160 a month. Whenever, she's in the shower and she thinks no one is listening she belts it out. I love to hear her then. I love to hear her raise her voice without abandon. The water bill seems a small price to pay.

Songbird is eleven. She wants to be big and actually announced at dinner last week that she was an adult now. She has big dreams of being on Broadway and even though I secretly wish that she will never leave home, I know she will. I know she will go to New York and have a cracker-jack-box of an apartment that she shares with another Broadway hopeful. They won't own a stick of furniture, but their wardrobes will be killer.

Songbird is the one that I know will make the best mom. She has a heart of gold. Oh, and how I pray for a man worthy enough of her. But for now, it is enough to simply be her mommy and help her stay little as long as possible.