Overheard and Just Plain Disgusting

I heard my boys laughing hysterically. Naturally, I followed the delightful sound until I found them.

In my bathroom.

With their shirts off.

Putting on my deodorant.

"What are you guys doing?" I asked.

Still laughing they answered, "We don't know." And answer that for whatever reason threw them into total hysterics.

I had no idea that my deodorant could be so funny. I can't wait to see how they react once they discover my tampons.


...


I heard the Cheese politely say to his brother, "Do you mind if I sit there, please?"

And just as I was thinking, Wow! He's being so polite! and before he had given his little brother a chance to respond, I heard him say, "I said get out of my seat right this minute!"

Who knew that he could go from zero to yelling in 3 seconds flat? (I wonder who he learned that from???)


...


"Mom? (Because every sentence out of the Monkey's mouth currently starts with the word 'Mom?') Um, Mom? My butt is scratchy."

"Okay, bud. Why don't we put you in the tub." Because in our house the words scratchy butt are code for, "I didn't wipe very well and now my butt itches."

So just to make it extra fun, I agreed to put him in our over sized tub--a rare and exciting treat. I left him in the tub (my first mistake) to went to check on the Cheese's room clean-up progress.

In the minute--I'm not kidding--that I was gone I heard a faint, "Mom?" coming from my bathroom.

And when I arrived back in my bathroom, do you know what I found? I had made it through 8 years of motherhood and it finally happened: my son, my 5 year-old totally potty trained son, had actually pooped in the tub.

Hello, Monday. You suck.

The words "responsible adult" and "Vegas" just don't go together.

I've been married for almost 10 years. You wanna know how I know that it's been almost 10 years? Because my husband invited me to join him in Vegas yesterday and I didn't want to go.

The Golfer is in Vegas for a tournament and called last night to say, "Why don't you throw the boys in the car after school tomorrow and come to Vegas?" I love the fact that my husband misses us (me) and wants us (me) to be with him, but since I've become a mother and home owner, I'm not good at being spontaneous. I'm just not a "fly by the seat of your pants, moment to moment" kind of girl. That's just not me.

It's not that I didn't want to go. It's that getting there would take a lot of effort and I just don't have the energy. I'm boring and old and just don't feel like driving for 5 hours in the car with my kids for a mere 36 hours in Vegas to only get back in the car and drive another 5 hours home.

Just take me out and shoot me because the fun part of me has apparently died.

It wasn't always this way. There used to be a time when I was ready to go at a moments notice. In college I'd be waiting with car keys in hand for the Golfer would call after practice and ask me to come over. Am I ashamed to admit that I was so eager and anxious to spend time with him? Not really. I was in love--crazy college love--and all I wanted more than anything was to spend time with my Golfer.


:: Mama and the Golfer circa 1993. He had more hair, I had less. ::

It makes me a little sad that I'm not longer that girl, that girl in crazy college love. Now I'm in a deeper grown-up kind of love. But back then, I didn't have a house to worry about, 2 dogs to care for, and 2 kids to take with me and let's face it, along with being in a deeper grown-up kinda of love comes a whole lot of responsibility (i.e., kids, a house, etc., etc., etc.).

The Golfer was disappointed which made me disappointed, but he's come to understand and appreciate that he is married to a planner and planners don't take off for Vegas with 2 kids in the car on a random Friday afternoon. A planner needs to plan and I hadn't planned on going to Vegas this weekend. (Not to mention that I have nothing but dirt and trenches in my backyard, but that's another story for later.)

But...what if? What if I threw all reason and responsibility out the window and took off for the weekend?

What if...

Um, yeah, I love my husband, but it's just not going to happen. The moment has passed.

Sorry, Vegas. Maybe next time.

But I wouldn't count on it.

Monthly Column: Because you just never know

©Stephenie Freeman

It’s time once again for Parent/Teacher Conferences at our son’s elementary school. Time to hear about our son’s intellectual progress or lack thereof. The Cheese is cool as a cucumber about the whole thing, doesn’t seem to be sweating it one bit. Apparently, he feels that he has nothing to worry about.

His mama isn’t quite as confident.

Please understand. My sweet boy has given me no reason to be nervous. He’s a second grader who loves to learn and starts off each day by running into school—literally—with what I can see is an unmatched, unparalleled enthusiasm.

Nevertheless, I’m a little worried about what his teacher will say. You just never know what bomb a teacher might throw out there that you’re not expecting.

“Little Johnny is a bright boy who is reading well past his grade level. Unfortunately, he constantly picks his nose and, well, he also cusses a lot.”

Ka-blam! Never saw it coming.

Children aren’t perfect and parents know this better than anyone, but there’s nothing worse than having to be the one to deliver the news. There were several times when I, as a teacher, had to convey information about a child that was, let’s just say, less than positive.

Once I made a mother cry (not on purpose obviously), another time I had a parent threaten to sue me, and my all time favorite was when a mother pointed a long finger at me and said, “I’ll find you in the parking lot when you least expect it.” She never did, thank goodness, but surely you can see why these conferences make me a little skittish.

Now as a parent, my conferencing nervousness exists on multiple levels. At the lowest level, at the bottom of the pyramid, are the Nerves of Discovery. This involves finding out that your child sucks at math, needs a spelling tutor, or is getting an unsatisfactory grade in P.E. because he refuses to square dance. This is the kind of bad news that only adds to your already mile-long laundry list of parental responsibilities and that makes me nervous.

Above the Nerves of Discovery are the Nerves of Insomnia. This level involves getting news at a conference that is so embarrassing, so devastating to your motherly ego, that it causes you to lay awake at night wondering where you went wrong. I can think of nothing worse than sitting in a chair meant for a five-year-old and hearing the news that your child spends most of the school day with his hands down his pants. No wonder he was always so happy to go to school!

And lastly, at the top of the pyramid you will find the Nerves of the Unknown. This final level involves finding out something that is so out of left field, so unexpected, that you do stupid things like threaten to sue his teacher or beat her up in the parking lot. (For your information, the parent who threatened to sue me was upset because I didn’t make his son—who was didn’t speak a lick of English—take the state’s standardized tests, and the mother who wanted to beat me up was unhappy because I made her son stay inside during recess to finish his work. Yeah, you can’t make this stuff up, people.)

Hearing bad news can cause a parent to do and say crazy things. We’re parents! We are Mama Bears and Papa Bears protecting our cubs with a mean and angry growl when necessary! The trick with conferences is waiting to do your growling until you get home. Or better yet, do what I’m doing and pray that there won’t even be anything to growl about.

But that just makes me nervous.

The Cheese turns 8.

I took the easy way out this year when it came to the Cheese's birthday cake. These are supposed to be basketballs which have obviously seen better days, but it didn't seem to matter to the birthday boy. "It's okay, Mom," he told me.


Doesn't this just say it all when it comes to 8 year-old boys?


This birthday was about one of the easiest that I've ever done. The Cheese invited 2 of his best buddies to come over on Friday night for pizza, beat up basketball cupcakes, and presents before heading to a Lakers game at Staples Center. I highly recommend having a birthday party where after about an hour the birthday boy and party guests have to leave the house for the remainder of the party and you, the birthday Mama, get to stay at home and relax.


He's eight now. And he'll tell anyone who will listen. Some things just never change.


And off they went to cheer the Lakers to victory! And when they returned home I asked the birthday Daddy how it was to which he replied, "Other than the Cheese taking a dump during all of half-time, not bad!"