Tonight we were sitting on the couch, having family time, when The Boys began wrestling.
"The timeless battle for Dominance continues!" Jeremy said
"Yeah," I said, "When you're eighty..." I began.
"When I'm Eighty-One and he's Sixty, we'll still be fighting for dominance," Jeremy completed my sentence. Switching back and forth from his 'grandpa' to his 'Future Joshua' voice, he began surmising the future conversation "'Son! Son! My diaper needs changing' 'MUHAHAHA, Old man. I'm not going to wipe you as well so you'll ITCH for a WEEK!!!!"
Josh chimed in with his 'grandpa voice' "Son!?? Son!!!?? Get back here!! I'm chafing and I stink! SON!? I think I have a rash..."
Showing posts with label Joshua. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Joshua. Show all posts
Friday, January 27, 2012
Thursday, October 20, 2011
There's a reason we call him The Boy
Ruth has been obsessing over a reality show called "Say Yes To The Dress." I am embarrassed to admit, I have been caught wanting to watch the next episode on Netflix, even though every episode is the same. Someone goes over-budget. Someone else has the mom from you-know-where. Someone brings too many people. Someone else brings her fiance and then can't figure out why he could care less about the dress. And yet another someone also brings her fiance and he's too picky.
It doesn't matter what episode we're on, amazingly, I get sucked in. If nothing else, it gives us good girl bonding time, and I get to set her future expectations waaaay low. Sure, I have a quite a while yet before Ruth will become a bridezilla, but it doesn't hurt to start brainwashing her now.
"Don't think we'll be buying you a $12,000 dress," Jeremy told her as he passed through the living room one night while she and I were watching an episode.
"Yeah, I already told her that," I said, my eyes glazed over as we watched the next catastrophe cross the screen.
"So what kind of dress can I buy?" Ruth asked, looking up at him.
"Not a $12,000 one," he said. And he walked up the stairs without looking backward once.
Tonight on the ride to Joshua's drum lesson, Ruth asked Hannah, "So, when I go to buy my wedding dress, someday in the future..."
"The far future," I said.
"Yes, Mama, The Faaaar Future," she said. I didn't even know you could capitalize the spoken word, but apparently Ruth knows how. "As I was saying before I was interrupted, will you come with me?"
Hannah chirped "Of course!" as if it was a no-brainer. "And I'll give you loooootttssss of feedback." An ornery expression crossed her face as she rubbed her hands together in evil glee.
"I dunno, Ruth," I said, catching Hannah's expression in my rear-view mirror. "You won't get a lot of good feedback from Hannah. It won't be negative, but I can assure you it might not be positive either. I'm pretty sure you'll get some silly feedback." Hannah giggled, partly because I used her 'word of the day,' and partly because I had read her ornery little mind. Ruthie held her breath while she considered her sister for a moment, so I continued, "But I will tell you this, don't even bother dragging your brother along dress shopping to get the 'male perspective.'" I implied in so many words that he wouldn't be of much help.
Joshua, who was zoned out in the front seat throughout this whole conversation, suddenly tuned in. "Hey! Why wouldn't you want to take me?"
"Dress shopping? Wedding dress shopping?" I asked, incredulous. "Twenty seconds in you'd be fidgeting and saying 'I'm bored. They're all white. What does it matter? Just pick one, Ruth.' And then your little sister will be so upset with you."
"Yeah, well. That's true. But wait, I do have some opinion. You know. I don't like it when those dresses have...what's that called...you know, that frill thing. You know. It's long and sleek and then the frill?" He started gesturing in vain, moving his hands in a rounded motion near his mid-section, as if that was going to help us know what he was talking about. "It flares out, or balloons, or bubbles or something."
"Ruffles?" Ruthie asked.
"Lace?" Hannah guessed.
"What is the frill?" I asked.
"That thing. That thing that goes here. It goes here." He gestured again at his middle. "It's on all dresses. Only sometimes it's lower. Only I like it when it's here." he pointed at his middle again.
"You mean the Trumpet style or the Mermaid?" Ruth said reading her brother's mind.
"The WHAT?!" he said, twisting in his seat to look at her, his expression filled with amazement. "How do you KNOW these things?" he asked. It's a magical mystical power to Josh. He frequently alternates between seeing us females as nonsensical creatures who care too much about "silly" "pointless" "female" details, and being in awe that we have knowledge beyond his ken.
"The Trumpet or the Mermaid style dress. When the dress is sleek all the way down and then the skirt flares out below the butt," Ruth explained.
"EXACTLY." Joshua pointed at Ruth. "Exactly." He said with even more passionate emphasis. "I don't like those kind of dresses when the frill is below the butt."
"Frill?" I started to laugh. Ruth and Hannah joined in.
"He calls it a frill," Ruth leaned over and whispered to Hannah. Hannah nodded and looked smug in all her female wisdom.
A very put-out Joshua said, "Well, I don't know what it's called!" We were obviously ganging up on him, and he was obviously unhappy about being left out of some secret knowledge that we all seemed to share.
After a good laugh, I turned to him and said, "It's OK, Josh. We just might worry about you if you knew all about dresses, especially wedding dresses."
"Whatever," He said, crossing his arms across his chest. He turned to stare out the window. He was obviously done with the likes of us giggling females.
"And that," I said to Ruth, "Is why you don't take some men dress shopping with you."
It doesn't matter what episode we're on, amazingly, I get sucked in. If nothing else, it gives us good girl bonding time, and I get to set her future expectations waaaay low. Sure, I have a quite a while yet before Ruth will become a bridezilla, but it doesn't hurt to start brainwashing her now.
"Don't think we'll be buying you a $12,000 dress," Jeremy told her as he passed through the living room one night while she and I were watching an episode.
"Yeah, I already told her that," I said, my eyes glazed over as we watched the next catastrophe cross the screen.
"So what kind of dress can I buy?" Ruth asked, looking up at him.
"Not a $12,000 one," he said. And he walked up the stairs without looking backward once.
Tonight on the ride to Joshua's drum lesson, Ruth asked Hannah, "So, when I go to buy my wedding dress, someday in the future..."
"The far future," I said.
"Yes, Mama, The Faaaar Future," she said. I didn't even know you could capitalize the spoken word, but apparently Ruth knows how. "As I was saying before I was interrupted, will you come with me?"
Hannah chirped "Of course!" as if it was a no-brainer. "And I'll give you loooootttssss of feedback." An ornery expression crossed her face as she rubbed her hands together in evil glee.
"I dunno, Ruth," I said, catching Hannah's expression in my rear-view mirror. "You won't get a lot of good feedback from Hannah. It won't be negative, but I can assure you it might not be positive either. I'm pretty sure you'll get some silly feedback." Hannah giggled, partly because I used her 'word of the day,' and partly because I had read her ornery little mind. Ruthie held her breath while she considered her sister for a moment, so I continued, "But I will tell you this, don't even bother dragging your brother along dress shopping to get the 'male perspective.'" I implied in so many words that he wouldn't be of much help.
Joshua, who was zoned out in the front seat throughout this whole conversation, suddenly tuned in. "Hey! Why wouldn't you want to take me?"
"Dress shopping? Wedding dress shopping?" I asked, incredulous. "Twenty seconds in you'd be fidgeting and saying 'I'm bored. They're all white. What does it matter? Just pick one, Ruth.' And then your little sister will be so upset with you."
"Yeah, well. That's true. But wait, I do have some opinion. You know. I don't like it when those dresses have...what's that called...you know, that frill thing. You know. It's long and sleek and then the frill?" He started gesturing in vain, moving his hands in a rounded motion near his mid-section, as if that was going to help us know what he was talking about. "It flares out, or balloons, or bubbles or something."
"Ruffles?" Ruthie asked.
"Lace?" Hannah guessed.
"What is the frill?" I asked.
"That thing. That thing that goes here. It goes here." He gestured again at his middle. "It's on all dresses. Only sometimes it's lower. Only I like it when it's here." he pointed at his middle again.
"You mean the Trumpet style or the Mermaid?" Ruth said reading her brother's mind.
"The WHAT?!" he said, twisting in his seat to look at her, his expression filled with amazement. "How do you KNOW these things?" he asked. It's a magical mystical power to Josh. He frequently alternates between seeing us females as nonsensical creatures who care too much about "silly" "pointless" "female" details, and being in awe that we have knowledge beyond his ken.
"The Trumpet or the Mermaid style dress. When the dress is sleek all the way down and then the skirt flares out below the butt," Ruth explained.
"EXACTLY." Joshua pointed at Ruth. "Exactly." He said with even more passionate emphasis. "I don't like those kind of dresses when the frill is below the butt."
"Frill?" I started to laugh. Ruth and Hannah joined in.
"He calls it a frill," Ruth leaned over and whispered to Hannah. Hannah nodded and looked smug in all her female wisdom.
A very put-out Joshua said, "Well, I don't know what it's called!" We were obviously ganging up on him, and he was obviously unhappy about being left out of some secret knowledge that we all seemed to share.
After a good laugh, I turned to him and said, "It's OK, Josh. We just might worry about you if you knew all about dresses, especially wedding dresses."
"Whatever," He said, crossing his arms across his chest. He turned to stare out the window. He was obviously done with the likes of us giggling females.
"And that," I said to Ruth, "Is why you don't take some men dress shopping with you."
Friday, August 19, 2011
Wrong number?
Joshua's cell number used to belong to some low life named Melissa. I say low-life, because he is plagued by calls from loan and debt collectors who leave messages on his phone, disturb him during school hours, and in general, make pests of themselves. I've taken a few calls to ask them to remove his number from their database (bad idea, since I am a female, and they don't seem to believe I'm not Melissa). On our side, I keep offering to change his number, but he keeps insisting that I don't. "No. It's o.k. Everyone has my number, it'd be a hassle to change it." Sure I'm Mom, and I could just do it for him, but I also respect his desires to not go through the hassle. If it were more than a large annoyance, I'd change it in a heartbeat.
In reality, I really should have changed it when he got the phone two years ago, but at the time, I figured it would only last a month or two, and after that, they'd get the hint they have the wrong number. It usually works that way. But we recently figured out, the scum woman is still giving out the number! Just after the first round of calls had started dying down, Josh suddenly started getting new onslaught of collection calls from different companies.
Today, we were packing up for our last day to sit on the beach, when he answered his phone in a 'Scottish' accent. The rest of the family became really quiet, nosy even, as we stood looking at him for awhile while he talked to the person on the other side. "No. I have no idea who this Melissa person is," He said, completely in character. He listened for a few minutes while the person on the other side apologized, and told him she'd note the number was a bad one.
As he hung up, and I said, "What was that all about?"
"The Scottish Accent?" he asked, tucking his phone into his pocket. "I thought I'd mix it up a bit."
In reality, I really should have changed it when he got the phone two years ago, but at the time, I figured it would only last a month or two, and after that, they'd get the hint they have the wrong number. It usually works that way. But we recently figured out, the scum woman is still giving out the number! Just after the first round of calls had started dying down, Josh suddenly started getting new onslaught of collection calls from different companies.
Today, we were packing up for our last day to sit on the beach, when he answered his phone in a 'Scottish' accent. The rest of the family became really quiet, nosy even, as we stood looking at him for awhile while he talked to the person on the other side. "No. I have no idea who this Melissa person is," He said, completely in character. He listened for a few minutes while the person on the other side apologized, and told him she'd note the number was a bad one.
As he hung up, and I said, "What was that all about?"
"The Scottish Accent?" he asked, tucking his phone into his pocket. "I thought I'd mix it up a bit."
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
"If I made a movie..."
We were strolling leisurely back to our vacation rental, ice cream in hand (or Italian ice in my case, thank you milk allergy) satisfied after a good competitive game of miniature golf.
"So, this was nice, wasn't it?" I asked the family.
"YEAH." Joshua said, emphatically, "It sure beats sitting at the condo listening to music or watching bad girl teen dramas on television."
"Or Animal Planet."
"Thank you, Joshua, " I said, "for wrestling the remote from your sisters this afternoon."
"I KNOW!" He said, "I couldn't take 'Victorious' one more second. I mean, all those shows are the same!"
"HEY!" piped up Ruth. "I LIKE Victorious."
"But the plot is always the same: 'I'll hook you up with one of my friends and then it will all go wrong and in the end we should have just talked about it anyway," Joshua said in his 'girly voice' impression.
"Soooo," Ruth said.
"Oh, and 'GUY' shows and movies don't have the same plot?!?" I asked. "Oh, let me chase the bad guy in a car, and then shoot everyone, but I'm the good guy so I won't get even a graze when the bad guys shoot at me with automatic weapons, and in the end something HUGE has to be blown-up: a skyscraper, a helicopter, a 747..."
"Actually," Jeremy interrupted, "It's more like, the bad guy tries to kill the good guy with some elaborate and overly complicated scheme and then says 'Well, since you're going to die anyway, let me tell you my nefarious plans,' and then he leaves allowing five or more hours for the good guy to escape when in reality a bullet to the head would have allowed him to continue on in his evil merry ways."
"This is true," I replied.
"And in fact," Jeremy continued, "It's been documented there are only so many plots in the world, and everything is a variation within."
"Really?" The kids asked.
"So they say," Jeremy said.
"But what if I came up with my own plot?" Ruth asked.
"It would still be a variation of one of those documented," I replied, "According to this theory."
"Not if I made a movie," Hannah chimed in. "If I made a movie, it would be totally random. It'd start with a picture of lard, and then there'd be a duck, and it might come and eat the lard. I'm not quite sure about that part just yet."
"Yup, That'd be totally random, Hannah," I said.
"Did she said Lard?!?" Ruth asked.
"Lard?" Joshua said.
"And a duck," Hannah said. "Don't forget the duck."
"So, this was nice, wasn't it?" I asked the family.
"YEAH." Joshua said, emphatically, "It sure beats sitting at the condo listening to music or watching bad girl teen dramas on television."
"Or Animal Planet."
"Thank you, Joshua, " I said, "for wrestling the remote from your sisters this afternoon."
"I KNOW!" He said, "I couldn't take 'Victorious' one more second. I mean, all those shows are the same!"
"HEY!" piped up Ruth. "I LIKE Victorious."
"But the plot is always the same: 'I'll hook you up with one of my friends and then it will all go wrong and in the end we should have just talked about it anyway," Joshua said in his 'girly voice' impression.
"Soooo," Ruth said.
"Oh, and 'GUY' shows and movies don't have the same plot?!?" I asked. "Oh, let me chase the bad guy in a car, and then shoot everyone, but I'm the good guy so I won't get even a graze when the bad guys shoot at me with automatic weapons, and in the end something HUGE has to be blown-up: a skyscraper, a helicopter, a 747..."
"Actually," Jeremy interrupted, "It's more like, the bad guy tries to kill the good guy with some elaborate and overly complicated scheme and then says 'Well, since you're going to die anyway, let me tell you my nefarious plans,' and then he leaves allowing five or more hours for the good guy to escape when in reality a bullet to the head would have allowed him to continue on in his evil merry ways."
"This is true," I replied.
"And in fact," Jeremy continued, "It's been documented there are only so many plots in the world, and everything is a variation within."
"Really?" The kids asked.
"So they say," Jeremy said.
"But what if I came up with my own plot?" Ruth asked.
"It would still be a variation of one of those documented," I replied, "According to this theory."
"Not if I made a movie," Hannah chimed in. "If I made a movie, it would be totally random. It'd start with a picture of lard, and then there'd be a duck, and it might come and eat the lard. I'm not quite sure about that part just yet."
"Yup, That'd be totally random, Hannah," I said.
"Did she said Lard?!?" Ruth asked.
"Lard?" Joshua said.
"And a duck," Hannah said. "Don't forget the duck."
Friday, August 12, 2011
A few moments of silence...
It was late, and we were driving home from the mega-monster-club-warehouse-store. The night was cool, the windows down, and the night sounds might have been floating into our car, for all we knew. The noise in the van was nearly over-powering. The children were wild and rambunctious, due to excitement over the up and coming vacation. We also knew the girls were over-tired. It was almost ten o'clock, and an hour past bed-time. But Jeremy and I let them burn off their energy, knowing the girls would crash the minute they got home. Josh, on the other hand, being the night-owl that he is, was just amping up.
"Dadddddddy! Mamaaaa! Joshua is poking me from behind and I DON'T like it!" Ruthie whined from the back of the van. "Tell him to STOP."
"Well, Ruth, did you ask him to stop?" Jeremy asked her.
"Yesssss." She drew out the word.
"Josh, did your sister ask you to stop?"
"Yeah," came the sheepish reply.
"Then Joshua, when we get home, I'm spanking you," Jeremy said sternly.
We heard crickets for about 30 seconds, the silence deafening.
"BWAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Jeremy and I started to laugh so hard we could hardly contain ourselves. The back of the van broke out in that nervous "hahaha we knew you were joking...hahaha" kind of laughter.
Jer wiped his eyes and said, "Oh man. I just couldn't hold it straight any longer than that. That was awesome. The silence. chirp chirp. chirp chirp. It was so quiet you really COULD hear the crickets outside. Hahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahaa"
A disgruntled Joshua called from the back, "I should have KNOWN you were joking. I was like "What the heck?!?' in my head. I can't believe I fell for that."
"Dadddddddy! Mamaaaa! Joshua is poking me from behind and I DON'T like it!" Ruthie whined from the back of the van. "Tell him to STOP."
"Well, Ruth, did you ask him to stop?" Jeremy asked her.
"Yesssss." She drew out the word.
"Josh, did your sister ask you to stop?"
"Yeah," came the sheepish reply.
"Then Joshua, when we get home, I'm spanking you," Jeremy said sternly.
We heard crickets for about 30 seconds, the silence deafening.
"BWAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Jeremy and I started to laugh so hard we could hardly contain ourselves. The back of the van broke out in that nervous "hahaha we knew you were joking...hahaha" kind of laughter.
Jer wiped his eyes and said, "Oh man. I just couldn't hold it straight any longer than that. That was awesome. The silence. chirp chirp. chirp chirp. It was so quiet you really COULD hear the crickets outside. Hahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahaa"
A disgruntled Joshua called from the back, "I should have KNOWN you were joking. I was like "What the heck?!?' in my head. I can't believe I fell for that."
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
It's that time of year...
...when I run around like I'm only wearing one half of the chicken suit, trying to get kids to this event, or that, finding out we don't have the right outfit, or the right shoes for the concert.
Last night was the girls' spring concert. Ruth did amazingly well for her last concert, despite the pre-concert hiccup. I wasn't sure how it would go, because she was distressed beforehand. Jeremy had to work, and there wasn't any way he could get out of it. One set of grandparents, my parents, weren't coming. An hour before showtime, Ruth's big brown eyes grew wide, and watered up.
"What's wrong baby?" I asked
"Nothing," she said, as a small tear tracked down her cheek
"No one is coming." she said quietly.
"Nana and P-pop might. I think they are. But you'll have Joshua, Hannah and I there, at least"
Another tear tracked down her cheek. Then a few more after that. Not more than five or six tears, but still, she cried and broke my heart. I bribed her back to good cheer with hot rollers and the ability to wear lip gloss and some light blush. Thankfully, Nana and P-pop did show up, and she smiled between songs throughout the whole concert. I recorded everything: band, chorus, and the third-grade recorder Karate.
What is Recorder Karate? It's a way to allow the students to progress through the recorder music at their own pace. Each song they pass, they get a new "belt" (a piece of embroidery floss in a different color tied to the bottom of their recorder). After a student gets through all their "belts' they can work on earning beads, which are tied onto the bottom of the 'belts." When Joshua was in third grade, he viewed the whole "Recorder Karate" as a competition. I saw and heard the recorder every single solitary night as he attempted to take down his fellow third graders by being the first and only one to complete all belts and beads and go on beyond. He even figured out how to play "The Bear Went Over the Mountain" without the music. In fact, for awhile there, the recorder took precedence over the drums. Scary thought.
Ruth approached the whole "Recorder Karate" program with more sensibility. She didn't obsess or compete, but she didn't slack either. I can't recall how far along she got, but it was pretty close to the end of the 'belts." Unfortunately, only a few years ago, did the music teacher invite the third graders to play their recorder karate selections at the spring concert. So I never did get to hear Ruthie play with her classmates.
Hannah on the other hand, well, lets just say, I never saw the recorder in her hot little hand until last night. If last night could even count. Oh sure, she had it in her hand, but playing it? That is the question at hand.
This morning, because Ruth's french horn was home, she took it out of the case and began playing it. Joshua, always in competition with the world, attempted to make a noise and couldn't. I heard Ruth's voice as she sang, taunting him, "You can't play it. You can't make a sound and I caa-aan. Ha ha ha ha ha ha." So she took the horn back, played some more notes, and sang "ha ha ha ha ha ha" again.
A few minutes later, as Joshua and I were bundled into the van, he pursed his lips and began buzzing them.
"What are you doing?" I asked, "Trying to figure out how to make the embouchure for the french horn?"
"What's that?" He asked
"The way you hold your mouth when you play an instrument. Each instrument has a different embouchure," I answered.
"Oh. Well you see. Ruth taunted me, she sang 'ha ha ha ha ha you can't make a sound and I caaaaannn' and now it's a competition. I MUST make a sound. so I MUST practice."
I confess, sometimes it's a little frightening to get glimpses into the minds of my children.
Last night was the girls' spring concert. Ruth did amazingly well for her last concert, despite the pre-concert hiccup. I wasn't sure how it would go, because she was distressed beforehand. Jeremy had to work, and there wasn't any way he could get out of it. One set of grandparents, my parents, weren't coming. An hour before showtime, Ruth's big brown eyes grew wide, and watered up.
"What's wrong baby?" I asked
"Nothing," she said, as a small tear tracked down her cheek
"No one is coming." she said quietly.
"Nana and P-pop might. I think they are. But you'll have Joshua, Hannah and I there, at least"
Another tear tracked down her cheek. Then a few more after that. Not more than five or six tears, but still, she cried and broke my heart. I bribed her back to good cheer with hot rollers and the ability to wear lip gloss and some light blush. Thankfully, Nana and P-pop did show up, and she smiled between songs throughout the whole concert. I recorded everything: band, chorus, and the third-grade recorder Karate.
What is Recorder Karate? It's a way to allow the students to progress through the recorder music at their own pace. Each song they pass, they get a new "belt" (a piece of embroidery floss in a different color tied to the bottom of their recorder). After a student gets through all their "belts' they can work on earning beads, which are tied onto the bottom of the 'belts." When Joshua was in third grade, he viewed the whole "Recorder Karate" as a competition. I saw and heard the recorder every single solitary night as he attempted to take down his fellow third graders by being the first and only one to complete all belts and beads and go on beyond. He even figured out how to play "The Bear Went Over the Mountain" without the music. In fact, for awhile there, the recorder took precedence over the drums. Scary thought.
Ruth approached the whole "Recorder Karate" program with more sensibility. She didn't obsess or compete, but she didn't slack either. I can't recall how far along she got, but it was pretty close to the end of the 'belts." Unfortunately, only a few years ago, did the music teacher invite the third graders to play their recorder karate selections at the spring concert. So I never did get to hear Ruthie play with her classmates.
Hannah on the other hand, well, lets just say, I never saw the recorder in her hot little hand until last night. If last night could even count. Oh sure, she had it in her hand, but playing it? That is the question at hand.
This morning, because Ruth's french horn was home, she took it out of the case and began playing it. Joshua, always in competition with the world, attempted to make a noise and couldn't. I heard Ruth's voice as she sang, taunting him, "You can't play it. You can't make a sound and I caa-aan. Ha ha ha ha ha ha." So she took the horn back, played some more notes, and sang "ha ha ha ha ha ha" again.
A few minutes later, as Joshua and I were bundled into the van, he pursed his lips and began buzzing them.
"What are you doing?" I asked, "Trying to figure out how to make the embouchure for the french horn?"
"What's that?" He asked
"The way you hold your mouth when you play an instrument. Each instrument has a different embouchure," I answered.
"Oh. Well you see. Ruth taunted me, she sang 'ha ha ha ha ha you can't make a sound and I caaaaannn' and now it's a competition. I MUST make a sound. so I MUST practice."
I confess, sometimes it's a little frightening to get glimpses into the minds of my children.
Friday, May 06, 2011
Thank you Mr. Sarcasm, I feel so much better now.
It's been such a busy week, preparing for our last Opening Reception of the season at some things looming. I had to drop the children off at home one evening while I returned back to the gallery to lay out the current show. They were only going to be alone for a short time before Jeremy would get home from work, but still, I'm a mom. I worry.
As they were climbing out of the van, I issued my standard "you're home alone" rules and instructions, finishing with the admonition, "Be smart. Be safe."
"Ok, Hannah," Joshua said with great enthusiasm, as he walked up the front steps, "Lets go turn on the hot stove and touch it with our bare hands!"
She joyfully replied, "OK!"
Ruth trailed behind shaking her head.
As they were climbing out of the van, I issued my standard "you're home alone" rules and instructions, finishing with the admonition, "Be smart. Be safe."
"Ok, Hannah," Joshua said with great enthusiasm, as he walked up the front steps, "Lets go turn on the hot stove and touch it with our bare hands!"
She joyfully replied, "OK!"
Ruth trailed behind shaking her head.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Some things never change.
When he was small, he knew how to wear me down to get what he wanted.
"Cookie?"
"No. No cookie."
"Cookie?"
"No. You're not getting a cookie."
"Cookie?"
"Nope. No cookie."
"Cookie? Cookie coookie coookie? Coooooooooooooooookie!!?? Cooookie?!?? Cookie cookie cookie?"
Three hours later, I'd hand him a cookie just to shut him up.
Recently, I realized he hasn't stopped employing the tactic that works so well for him. He's only become more subtle at it, even if his level of desperation determines his level of patience. A few weeks ago we drove past a Subway, a sandwich shop chain restaurant. "I haven't had a chicken bacon ranch in a long time."
"That's nice," I said.
The next day he said, "You know what I could go for? A chicken bacon ranch."
"And I could go for a million dollars." I said.
A few days later, "I am SO craving a chicken bacon ranch."
"And I am SO craving chocolate," I said.
After a bit he started chanting rhythmically, of course, "Chicken bacon ranch, chicken bacon ranch, chicken bacon ranch, ranch, chicken bacon ranch, bacon bacon, chicken. Chicken chicken bacon. Bacon chicken ranch. Chicken bacon ranch..."
On the way to musical practice, I bought him a chicken bacon ranch sandwich. Hey, the kid needed to eat dinner, right?
Having learned his lesson so well (mom is a huge softy), Joshua pushed his advantage yet again tonight. Because Joshua and my father have a drum lesson on Monday nights, the two of them usually go together. They also usually get a milkshake after their lesson at one of the many places near the music store. This week, however, I had to take The Boy to his lesson because my father is soaking in the sun in Florida. As expected the begging commenced the minute we stepped out onto the porch of the music store.
"You know," he said. "Pop and I always get a milkshake."
"That's nice," I said. I was fully anticipating I would stop somewhere for a milkshake. I knew there was no way I could really win against his charm, but I was not about to give the kid the satisfaction of knowing right away. I decided to play with him a little more. He decided the game was on.
"Yeah. We could stop for a milkshake."
"In case you haven't noticed? I'm not your grandfather."
"But you could still get me a milkshake."
"Notice how I do not have gray hair, yet. Nor do I sport a beard."
"So what you're trying to say is, you're not Pop."
"Exactly."
"What does that have to do with getting me a milkshake?"
"Everything. It has everything to do with getting a milkshake," I said as we happened to pass a Sheetz, a gas station/mini-mart/sandwich shop.
"I'd even settle for a milkshake from Sheetz," he said looking out the window.
"How about Carpet Mart. Would you settle for Carpet Mart?" I said as we passed the store.
"Sure. I'd settle for that..." he paused, "If they had milkshakes. Hey, where are we going anyway?"
"The Mega-Monster-Super-Duper-Craft-Store," I said. "Your sister has oil based paint all over her. I have to go pick up some non-toxic paint remover."
We pulled into the parking lot, jumped out of the car, while Joshua said, "Milkshake. I bet this store has something like a milkshake. Or candy. I'd settle for candy."
"You're not getting candy."
"Oh look," He said reading a sign on the front of the craft store, "Framing. That's one letter switch away from 'farming' and farms have cows. Cows make milk. You use milk to make a milkshake. Can I have a milkshake?"
"Interesting logic," I said chasing him into the store while attempting to give him a noogie. "I'll have to ponder that one for a moment.
We wandered to the art department to find the paint remover/thinner and thus commenced the milkshake chanting. "Milkshake. Milkshake. Milkshake...Hey, you could get a milkshake. I could get a milk shake. Look frames. Remember? frames are just a few letters away from farms...farms...milk? Milk...Milkshake? Remember?" I ignored the chatter all the way to the checkout counter.
Thirty seconds into standing in line to pay for my purchase, he realized he was holding the trump card all along. He whipped out his wallet and said, "Oh hey. I have my own money. I can get candy!"
"No. No. No. I'll buy you your milkshake. Put it back." Dang. I wanted the element of surprised as I pulled into the ice cream shop. However, he had forced my hand, rather cleverly, I might add, so I was forced to give it up.
"Yay!" he cheered.
"Brat," I said.
He beamed so bright, I'm pretty sure he blinded the clerk.
So call me a softy, a wimp, or a pushover. I can't deny that it's just so hard to resist those big brown eyes. I melt every. single. time. Just like that triple scoop of chocolate chip cookie dough he opted for, instead of his milkshake...
"Cookie?"
"No. No cookie."
"Cookie?"
"No. You're not getting a cookie."
"Cookie?"
"Nope. No cookie."
"Cookie? Cookie coookie coookie? Coooooooooooooooookie!!?? Cooookie?!?? Cookie cookie cookie?"
Three hours later, I'd hand him a cookie just to shut him up.
Recently, I realized he hasn't stopped employing the tactic that works so well for him. He's only become more subtle at it, even if his level of desperation determines his level of patience. A few weeks ago we drove past a Subway, a sandwich shop chain restaurant. "I haven't had a chicken bacon ranch in a long time."
"That's nice," I said.
The next day he said, "You know what I could go for? A chicken bacon ranch."
"And I could go for a million dollars." I said.
A few days later, "I am SO craving a chicken bacon ranch."
"And I am SO craving chocolate," I said.
After a bit he started chanting rhythmically, of course, "Chicken bacon ranch, chicken bacon ranch, chicken bacon ranch, ranch, chicken bacon ranch, bacon bacon, chicken. Chicken chicken bacon. Bacon chicken ranch. Chicken bacon ranch..."
On the way to musical practice, I bought him a chicken bacon ranch sandwich. Hey, the kid needed to eat dinner, right?
Having learned his lesson so well (mom is a huge softy), Joshua pushed his advantage yet again tonight. Because Joshua and my father have a drum lesson on Monday nights, the two of them usually go together. They also usually get a milkshake after their lesson at one of the many places near the music store. This week, however, I had to take The Boy to his lesson because my father is soaking in the sun in Florida. As expected the begging commenced the minute we stepped out onto the porch of the music store.
"You know," he said. "Pop and I always get a milkshake."
"That's nice," I said. I was fully anticipating I would stop somewhere for a milkshake. I knew there was no way I could really win against his charm, but I was not about to give the kid the satisfaction of knowing right away. I decided to play with him a little more. He decided the game was on.
"Yeah. We could stop for a milkshake."
"In case you haven't noticed? I'm not your grandfather."
"But you could still get me a milkshake."
"Notice how I do not have gray hair, yet. Nor do I sport a beard."
"So what you're trying to say is, you're not Pop."
"Exactly."
"What does that have to do with getting me a milkshake?"
"Everything. It has everything to do with getting a milkshake," I said as we happened to pass a Sheetz, a gas station/mini-mart/sandwich shop.
"I'd even settle for a milkshake from Sheetz," he said looking out the window.
"How about Carpet Mart. Would you settle for Carpet Mart?" I said as we passed the store.
"Sure. I'd settle for that..." he paused, "If they had milkshakes. Hey, where are we going anyway?"
"The Mega-Monster-Super-Duper-Craft-Store," I said. "Your sister has oil based paint all over her. I have to go pick up some non-toxic paint remover."
We pulled into the parking lot, jumped out of the car, while Joshua said, "Milkshake. I bet this store has something like a milkshake. Or candy. I'd settle for candy."
"You're not getting candy."
"Oh look," He said reading a sign on the front of the craft store, "Framing. That's one letter switch away from 'farming' and farms have cows. Cows make milk. You use milk to make a milkshake. Can I have a milkshake?"
"Interesting logic," I said chasing him into the store while attempting to give him a noogie. "I'll have to ponder that one for a moment.
We wandered to the art department to find the paint remover/thinner and thus commenced the milkshake chanting. "Milkshake. Milkshake. Milkshake...Hey, you could get a milkshake. I could get a milk shake. Look frames. Remember? frames are just a few letters away from farms...farms...milk? Milk...Milkshake? Remember?" I ignored the chatter all the way to the checkout counter.
Thirty seconds into standing in line to pay for my purchase, he realized he was holding the trump card all along. He whipped out his wallet and said, "Oh hey. I have my own money. I can get candy!"
"No. No. No. I'll buy you your milkshake. Put it back." Dang. I wanted the element of surprised as I pulled into the ice cream shop. However, he had forced my hand, rather cleverly, I might add, so I was forced to give it up.
"Yay!" he cheered.
"Brat," I said.
He beamed so bright, I'm pretty sure he blinded the clerk.
So call me a softy, a wimp, or a pushover. I can't deny that it's just so hard to resist those big brown eyes. I melt every. single. time. Just like that triple scoop of chocolate chip cookie dough he opted for, instead of his milkshake...
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Who spilled the beans?
Because I find it difficult to find things I like to pack for lunch, I always come home half-starved after work. So, the minute I walk in the door, I set my things down and look for the nearest snack at hand. Yesterday, it was the can of cashews still sitting out from breakfast. I figured Hannah probably had had a handful along with whatever else she had scrounged up to eat before school. Since she is the master of unique breakfast cuisine, it didn't strike me as unusual. If anything, I was annoyed that the cashews had been sitting out all day.
So I opened the can of generic cashews, and noticed these small red beans mixed in with the "nuts."
"What on earth are those?" I said to myself as I shook the can around to see if it was just on the top. "They look like dried kidney beans."
"I don't know," Hannah said. I noticed her expression shone bright with curiosity. "Let me see!" I was still holding the can when she pulled the can downward to get a better view.
"Yeah, Me too," said Ruth, coming over to us to have a peek at the mysterious cashews and beans.
We all looked into the can and dug around a bit. "Maybe the manufacturing lines got crossed? But what an odd thing to get mixed in. I would think they'd accidentally mix in peanuts or something. Not dried beans."
"Yeah, that's weird," Hannah said. I looked at her again, suspicious, but her face was still a picture of innocence.
"You didn't have anything to do with this, did you?" I asked
"I don't know how that could have happened," Hannah said. We played the staring game for a few seconds, while I looked for any signs of deception. Seeing none, not even her cute but ornery expression, I tucked my misgivings into the back of my mind, and picked around the beans to eat a few cashews.
Jeremy arrived home a few hours later and I showed him the can of cashews. "Weird," he said. "Maybe we should take a picture, and send it to the manufacturer."
"Nah. It's generic. It wasn't as if this was an expensive can of nuts." I said.
"True." He picked around the beans, digging around to see how thoroughly mixed they were, stopping every so often to pick up a nut and pop it into his mouth.
"I dunno. I ate a few, but wondering if I should have just tossed the can," I said, mildly worried.
"Eh, it's probably alright." Jeremy ate a few more nuts.
"I'm sure it's fine," Hannah added.
Putting the can aside both physically and mentally, we began our hectic evening routine, and didn't contemplate the kidney beans at all until later last night. We're in the last week of the school musical which means more hustle and bustle than usual. Joshua came home from dress rehearsal, walked in the door, and noticed his father holding the cashews. Inspecting the contents once more, Jeremy said, "Yanno, I really think someone tampered with this." He subtly gestured with his head at the jar of dried kidney beans sitting on the piano, completely out of place.
I glanced surreptitiously over at the piano. "You think?" I said, feigning stupidity. "I don't know. Where on earth would they have gotten the beans? I don't think we have any dried beans laying around here..."
Losing his composure, Joshua began howling with laughter.
"You just gave yourself away," Jeremy pointed out matter of fact.
"I know!" Josh said between spurts of laughter. "I'm the worst liar in the world. I cannot lie at all! Bwaaahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaa!!!!"
"What on earth possessed you to do that?" I asked.
"It wasn't just me!" Josh said, indignantly. "Hannah was there too!"
"Well, your little sister is a little bit scary how easily she can lie to us. She didn't give anything away at all this afternoon when you weren't here."
He laughed even harder.
This morning as we sat around the breakfast table, I made eye contact with Hannah. Picking up the cashews, I shook them a few times, looking at her expectantly. She countered with a confused expression. I shook them again, and she said, "What?"
"The gig is up," I said. "Your brother gave you away last night."
Joshua started laughing again, as Hannah glared at him. If looks could kill, he'd be dead. "I'm sorry!" he told her, "I couldn't help myself!"
"It wasn't really me," she protested. "Joshua is the one who put the beans into the can and shook it up."
"But you were his accomplice," I said. "Guilt by association. Oh, and here's a tip: I would highly recommend not getting into mischief with your brother. He'll always give you away."
So I opened the can of generic cashews, and noticed these small red beans mixed in with the "nuts."
"What on earth are those?" I said to myself as I shook the can around to see if it was just on the top. "They look like dried kidney beans."
"I don't know," Hannah said. I noticed her expression shone bright with curiosity. "Let me see!" I was still holding the can when she pulled the can downward to get a better view.
"Yeah, Me too," said Ruth, coming over to us to have a peek at the mysterious cashews and beans.
We all looked into the can and dug around a bit. "Maybe the manufacturing lines got crossed? But what an odd thing to get mixed in. I would think they'd accidentally mix in peanuts or something. Not dried beans."
"Yeah, that's weird," Hannah said. I looked at her again, suspicious, but her face was still a picture of innocence.
"You didn't have anything to do with this, did you?" I asked
"I don't know how that could have happened," Hannah said. We played the staring game for a few seconds, while I looked for any signs of deception. Seeing none, not even her cute but ornery expression, I tucked my misgivings into the back of my mind, and picked around the beans to eat a few cashews.
Jeremy arrived home a few hours later and I showed him the can of cashews. "Weird," he said. "Maybe we should take a picture, and send it to the manufacturer."
"Nah. It's generic. It wasn't as if this was an expensive can of nuts." I said.
"True." He picked around the beans, digging around to see how thoroughly mixed they were, stopping every so often to pick up a nut and pop it into his mouth.
"I dunno. I ate a few, but wondering if I should have just tossed the can," I said, mildly worried.
"Eh, it's probably alright." Jeremy ate a few more nuts.
"I'm sure it's fine," Hannah added.
Putting the can aside both physically and mentally, we began our hectic evening routine, and didn't contemplate the kidney beans at all until later last night. We're in the last week of the school musical which means more hustle and bustle than usual. Joshua came home from dress rehearsal, walked in the door, and noticed his father holding the cashews. Inspecting the contents once more, Jeremy said, "Yanno, I really think someone tampered with this." He subtly gestured with his head at the jar of dried kidney beans sitting on the piano, completely out of place.
I glanced surreptitiously over at the piano. "You think?" I said, feigning stupidity. "I don't know. Where on earth would they have gotten the beans? I don't think we have any dried beans laying around here..."
Losing his composure, Joshua began howling with laughter.
"You just gave yourself away," Jeremy pointed out matter of fact.
"I know!" Josh said between spurts of laughter. "I'm the worst liar in the world. I cannot lie at all! Bwaaahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaa!!!!"
"What on earth possessed you to do that?" I asked.
"It wasn't just me!" Josh said, indignantly. "Hannah was there too!"
"Well, your little sister is a little bit scary how easily she can lie to us. She didn't give anything away at all this afternoon when you weren't here."
He laughed even harder.
This morning as we sat around the breakfast table, I made eye contact with Hannah. Picking up the cashews, I shook them a few times, looking at her expectantly. She countered with a confused expression. I shook them again, and she said, "What?"
"The gig is up," I said. "Your brother gave you away last night."
Joshua started laughing again, as Hannah glared at him. If looks could kill, he'd be dead. "I'm sorry!" he told her, "I couldn't help myself!"
"It wasn't really me," she protested. "Joshua is the one who put the beans into the can and shook it up."
"But you were his accomplice," I said. "Guilt by association. Oh, and here's a tip: I would highly recommend not getting into mischief with your brother. He'll always give you away."
Friday, April 01, 2011
Dinner with the Mels
They say family dinners are important time to bond with your kids and spouse. I wouldn't argue the point, because when family dinner is summarily taken away, one begins to realize what one has missed. Last Wednesday I had minor surgery that became a much more major ordeal. Because of various factors, I've not been healing as fast as the doctor expected, or I would have liked, and pain management has been a real problem. In other words, I hurt. I hurt bad. And to combat that pain, I've been on gooood stuff. The kind of stuff that melts my brain, makes peach fuzz of my memory, and mince meat of my hand-eye coordination. Maybe someone else wouldn't blink to be put on a pain pill, but I'm a lightweight. It doesn't take much to turn me into a marshmallow.
I've not left my perch on the couch for much more than transitioning from the bedroom in the morning to the living room, back to the bedroom at night. As a result, the house has been in a state of continuous chaos as Jeremy worked sixty hours or more over the last few weeks and at the same time attempted to take over all the chores I normally do. Meanwhile I laid on the couch in a drug induced state, covered in ice bags, or heating pads, and basically whined my little heart out. The children are resentful that they now have more chores (gasp) to help pick up the slack. And they have realized (smart children that they are) I'm in too bad of shape to really be of any threat. It's not as if I'm suddenly going to get up and chase them around the house with a wooden spoon, right? One easy dodge, the child goes right, I swerve left, and there I am, sprawled indecorously on the floor. I know this, and they know this, so I've been dealing with 'tude, and emotional meltdowns, and well, pretty much everything children do when Mom is out of commission. (And this is a joke to illustrate a point in an outrageous manner. One can never be too sure these days...always better to have a disclaimer).
Today was the first day in a week and a half, I was up, sort-of about, and off the heavy-duty pain pills. So I decided to go one step further and have a much needed family dinner to help instill a much needed sense of normalcy. Jeremy had prepared baked chicken the night before, so it was a simple matter of reheating, and cooking up some side dishes. Thank you birds-eye for your steam-in-bag veggies and potatoes. We might all die from cancer some day from microwaving our food in plastic bags, but it sure saved us some much needed time tonight.
We barely sat down to our food on our plates when the conversation started up.
"I'm eating chicken. You know what? I need my chicken suit to eat chicken," Hannah said.
"You'd be a cannibal," Jeremy replied.
"OH! Then, I really really need my suit!" She started to get out of her chair when her spoilsport father told her to sit back down.
In his usual non-sequitur manner, Joshua decided to add to the budding conversation, "Man my lips are chapped, and I have this crack in the corner of my..."
"Then you shouldn't be kissing your girlfriend," I interrupted without skipping a beat.
"WHAT?!? I...Not...I'M NOT...WHAT?!" He stuttered, indignantly.
"AW aw aw aw!! He's guiiiilty. He's been kissing his girlfriend," Ruth and Hannah sung.
"I have NOT," Joshua said, while crossing his arms over his chest and slumping down in his chair.
"Don't worry, Josh," Jeremy said. "When they get bigger you can embarrass them in front of their boyfriends."
"Yeah, I can tell him how Hannah..."
"I'd stop right there, Sir," I said. "Because you were worse than she was..." I left the sentence dangling and looked over at the girls whose expressions could only be described as containing gleeful sibling malice.
"Yeah Josh..." Ruth added, rubbing her hands together. "Go ahead and tell stories. See what we come up with for you. Muhahahahahaha."
Joshua turned his lips in towards his teeth as he always does when thwarted but considering other strategies. "Hmm," He said as he poked a green bean with his fork, "You're right. I don't think that would be so smart."
"You know," Jeremy said changing the subject. "We need to pop a huge batch of popcorn, and take videos of us while we see who can stick the most pieces of popcorn on our tongues." He laughed when he saw my expression.
"YEAH!" Joshua said enthusiastically. "Then we can run it on repeat on the dvd player and Mom will have to watch it over and over and over because SHE'S STUCK ON THE COUCH!!!"
If that isn't motivation to get better...I'm not sure what is.
Monday, January 17, 2011
The chick's first flight from the nest
When one raises a child who nearly sets the hedges on fire (age four), cuts the curtains, couch, and phone cord (age five), melts wax on the furnace (age 7 or 8), climbs out onto the roof and hangs by the satellite dish (age 10), one is hesitant to allow one's offspring to leave ones sight for very long. In fact, when one's child is the only child required to have a parent come along to most outtings, it does little to encourage the parent's confidence in said child's ability to cope outside of the family home.
And so, with mild trepidation, I threw my chick out of the nest for the weekend. Yes, he's a little old to have his first truly away (no mom and dad, no grandparents, aunts, or uncles) trip, but there have been reasons for that. I have always known the leaving us would be alright. Never having been a clingy child, he has always wanted to leave us behind. I was more, and always am more, concerned that he can manage himself without a keeper watching out for him. And I worry that he'll make too much work for whoever is chaperoning. After all, I needed to know he'd be wise enough to not climb a 30 foot tree and get stuck. I didn't want the camp director to have to call in the fire company for a emergency rescue.
So we've waited until we knew he had the skills to cope and a self-reserve of resourcefulness before sending him out on his first away-trip without one of us playing 'chaperon.' Despite this, it was suggested to us, perhaps, just maybe, Jeremy might want to consider going along for this trip. I put my foot down. One, Jeremy would have had to give up a Friday-night gig with his band, Seventh Corvus, Two, I knew the kid needed to go on this trip without us. It's the first step in many towards his independence.
Located up North in Pennsylvania, several groups of teenagers from all over were congregating in this one spot for the weekend, filling the campus with about 200+ rowdy kids aging from 13-18. The girls from our youth group rode in one vehicle, the boys in another. Apparently, after two and half hours of riding, a van of teenage boys will become rather resourceful. Among their more mild entertainments, they started making up and talking in foreign accents, or their impressions of them. The older guys decided Joshua had the best Scottish accent, and that he needed to pretend he was an exchange student from Scotland. They'd all have his back and make the story more believable. One them, even went so far as to "coach" him on some Scottish history. "Now if someone asks you about William Wallace..."
They let the girls from our group in on the joke, so they could lend credence to the story. Well into Friday night, and part of Saturday our teens had the ruse going pretty strong. Because some of our teens have been to this camp several times over the years, theirs were familiar faces. But this was Joshua's first time, and being that he was an 'unknown' element, their joke was made even better. The Boy was able to keep the accent going, never slipping out of character, and according to the seventeen and the eighteen year old who came up with the idea to pass Josh the Scot off to all the other campers, the girls flocked to my son's side. "It was the accent," Josh the Scot said, when telling the story to me later. "They thought I really was from another country, and so I was quite popular." The other boys told me Josh could and probably would have made most of the camp believe he truly was an exchange student if he hadn't forgotten his impromptu history lessons..."William Wallace? Never heard of him..."
Later last night, while he was leaning on his bedroom door, Joshua said to Jeremy and I, "I have a confession to make. I didn't think about you guys ONE bit the whole weekend. It was that great." He stretched, and sighed, then shut his door. Jeremy turned to me and smiled and said, "He did reaaally well this weekend. Really well."
Whew.
And so, with mild trepidation, I threw my chick out of the nest for the weekend. Yes, he's a little old to have his first truly away (no mom and dad, no grandparents, aunts, or uncles) trip, but there have been reasons for that. I have always known the leaving us would be alright. Never having been a clingy child, he has always wanted to leave us behind. I was more, and always am more, concerned that he can manage himself without a keeper watching out for him. And I worry that he'll make too much work for whoever is chaperoning. After all, I needed to know he'd be wise enough to not climb a 30 foot tree and get stuck. I didn't want the camp director to have to call in the fire company for a emergency rescue.
So we've waited until we knew he had the skills to cope and a self-reserve of resourcefulness before sending him out on his first away-trip without one of us playing 'chaperon.' Despite this, it was suggested to us, perhaps, just maybe, Jeremy might want to consider going along for this trip. I put my foot down. One, Jeremy would have had to give up a Friday-night gig with his band, Seventh Corvus, Two, I knew the kid needed to go on this trip without us. It's the first step in many towards his independence.
Located up North in Pennsylvania, several groups of teenagers from all over were congregating in this one spot for the weekend, filling the campus with about 200+ rowdy kids aging from 13-18. The girls from our youth group rode in one vehicle, the boys in another. Apparently, after two and half hours of riding, a van of teenage boys will become rather resourceful. Among their more mild entertainments, they started making up and talking in foreign accents, or their impressions of them. The older guys decided Joshua had the best Scottish accent, and that he needed to pretend he was an exchange student from Scotland. They'd all have his back and make the story more believable. One them, even went so far as to "coach" him on some Scottish history. "Now if someone asks you about William Wallace..."
They let the girls from our group in on the joke, so they could lend credence to the story. Well into Friday night, and part of Saturday our teens had the ruse going pretty strong. Because some of our teens have been to this camp several times over the years, theirs were familiar faces. But this was Joshua's first time, and being that he was an 'unknown' element, their joke was made even better. The Boy was able to keep the accent going, never slipping out of character, and according to the seventeen and the eighteen year old who came up with the idea to pass Josh the Scot off to all the other campers, the girls flocked to my son's side. "It was the accent," Josh the Scot said, when telling the story to me later. "They thought I really was from another country, and so I was quite popular." The other boys told me Josh could and probably would have made most of the camp believe he truly was an exchange student if he hadn't forgotten his impromptu history lessons..."William Wallace? Never heard of him..."
Later last night, while he was leaning on his bedroom door, Joshua said to Jeremy and I, "I have a confession to make. I didn't think about you guys ONE bit the whole weekend. It was that great." He stretched, and sighed, then shut his door. Jeremy turned to me and smiled and said, "He did reaaally well this weekend. Really well."
Whew.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
He Got His Hair Cut Today...
...and it's a little shorter than he wanted even though it will grow back out and be nice and shaggy again.
We got back into the van after leaving the salon. As Josh buckled himself in, he said, "My posse is going to be so unhappy with me that I got my hair cut."
I knew it was all about the hair...
We got back into the van after leaving the salon. As Josh buckled himself in, he said, "My posse is going to be so unhappy with me that I got my hair cut."
I knew it was all about the hair...
Friday, April 09, 2010
In Which I Discover It's All About "The Hair"
I think he's adorably and delightfully baffled. He has no clue of his appeal, apparently, as he's just starting to realize girls don't have cooties. The girls seem to be flocking around him and he can't quite figure out why. I don't know what stratosphere of the junior high social ladder these girls occupy, whether they are the kind a guy would desire the attentions of or not. But he certainly doesn't seem to mind.
I started noticing the changes in his demeanor when he decided to leave his hair long. Being busy with the studio, it took me a couple of months to get him a hair cut. He had always worn it really short, and was miserable about how long his hair was getting. Daily I would get the "When are you getting my hair cut?" question put to me. One day, he came home and said, "I don't know why you always get my hair cut so short. I like it this way." I wanted to smack him. I'd been trying to get him to grow it out for about a year, and he fought me all the time. But what does Mom know? So why the sudden change of heart? A girl told him she liked his hair better that way.
During the musical, he hung out with the other girls in the play. He would show off for them, and they would demand he repeat his antics over and over again. "Do your old man voice, Josh. Do your swagger walk, Josh. Do your crocodile hunter accent, Josh." Joshua, like his father, is full of 'stupid human tricks.' They come up with these crazy impressions and personalities that amuse and delight small impromptu audiences. Before I knew it, they were texting each other, and calling him on his cell phone, constantly. As I can tell, thus far, he texts his friend, Joshua, and about five different girls, at least. I've lost track of their names.
Being extroverted, Joshua naturally enjoys all of the attention; however, up until recently, his crowd of followers have all been male. It's clear, he's not too sure what to do with all of these sudden female followers. As his mother, I'm almost shocked at how aggressive they are in gaining his attention.
The other night, as I wrote before, three of them showed up in my back yard after spring play auditions to find out why Joshua wasn't there. Like a backwards version of Romeo and Juliet, they flirted with him from down below, while he stuck his head out the second floor window. Eventually, I made him go downstairs, so as not to disturb the neighbors with their giggling and tittering, which was becoming quite loud the more Joshua flirted back with them. When he wants to, he can be all charm.
So, today he climbed in the car, and seemed a little disgruntled and mildly exasperated. "Now I have a different group of girls asking me to do stuff." He said, as if he can't figure out why he's being the focus of so much unasked for female attention, and uncertain as to whether or not he still liked it.
"Stuff?"
"You know, like, 'Do you're old-man voice, Josh' They keep asking me to do my old man voice."
"Who is it this time?"
"Oh Hannah...and just other girls. Just not the same girls."
I started to ask which Hannah, as there are two in his class. Instead I chose to say, "Oh, I see." I dropped it, as he seemed disinclined to say anymore, thinking, I'd just bet there's a bunch of other guys wishing they had his problem.
I've heard of Dad's threatening to buy a shot gun, or a big baseball bat to discourage unworthy suitors for their daughters. What weapon of choice does a mom have to fend off all the girls from her son?
I started noticing the changes in his demeanor when he decided to leave his hair long. Being busy with the studio, it took me a couple of months to get him a hair cut. He had always worn it really short, and was miserable about how long his hair was getting. Daily I would get the "When are you getting my hair cut?" question put to me. One day, he came home and said, "I don't know why you always get my hair cut so short. I like it this way." I wanted to smack him. I'd been trying to get him to grow it out for about a year, and he fought me all the time. But what does Mom know? So why the sudden change of heart? A girl told him she liked his hair better that way.
During the musical, he hung out with the other girls in the play. He would show off for them, and they would demand he repeat his antics over and over again. "Do your old man voice, Josh. Do your swagger walk, Josh. Do your crocodile hunter accent, Josh." Joshua, like his father, is full of 'stupid human tricks.' They come up with these crazy impressions and personalities that amuse and delight small impromptu audiences. Before I knew it, they were texting each other, and calling him on his cell phone, constantly. As I can tell, thus far, he texts his friend, Joshua, and about five different girls, at least. I've lost track of their names.
Being extroverted, Joshua naturally enjoys all of the attention; however, up until recently, his crowd of followers have all been male. It's clear, he's not too sure what to do with all of these sudden female followers. As his mother, I'm almost shocked at how aggressive they are in gaining his attention.
The other night, as I wrote before, three of them showed up in my back yard after spring play auditions to find out why Joshua wasn't there. Like a backwards version of Romeo and Juliet, they flirted with him from down below, while he stuck his head out the second floor window. Eventually, I made him go downstairs, so as not to disturb the neighbors with their giggling and tittering, which was becoming quite loud the more Joshua flirted back with them. When he wants to, he can be all charm.
So, today he climbed in the car, and seemed a little disgruntled and mildly exasperated. "Now I have a different group of girls asking me to do stuff." He said, as if he can't figure out why he's being the focus of so much unasked for female attention, and uncertain as to whether or not he still liked it.
"Stuff?"
"You know, like, 'Do you're old-man voice, Josh' They keep asking me to do my old man voice."
"Who is it this time?"
"Oh Hannah...and just other girls. Just not the same girls."
I started to ask which Hannah, as there are two in his class. Instead I chose to say, "Oh, I see." I dropped it, as he seemed disinclined to say anymore, thinking, I'd just bet there's a bunch of other guys wishing they had his problem.
I've heard of Dad's threatening to buy a shot gun, or a big baseball bat to discourage unworthy suitors for their daughters. What weapon of choice does a mom have to fend off all the girls from her son?
Saturday, April 03, 2010
He Might Like Girls, But Not Enough To Have His Video Game Interrupted
Joshua has a flock of admirers. Daily, several girls from his class text him, call him, surround him, and flirt with him, constantly vying for his attention. Of course he eats up the attention, showing off, and strutting around like male members of the species do, when impressing females. But he has his standards. No one, but no one, can compete with Lord of the Rings Online.
Today, his cell phone rang and rang and rang. Finally he answered it, "What?! Marilyn...I'm in the middle of something really important. I'm playing this game, and I'm dying. I can't pause to talk to you."
A few minutes later, it rang again.
And again.
And again.
Finally, realizing she was getting no where talking to Joshua's voice mail, Marilyn, decided to call the land line. Jeremy answered. Trying to keep the laughter and mockery out of his voice, he repeated Josh's words, "I'm sorry, Marilyn, Joshua is REALLY busy. He's playing a game and he's dying. He just can't pause."
Later this evening, Jeremy, unable to contain his laughter any longer told me this story.
"Man, he is SO hosing his future chances at dating some of these girls," I said. "He might as well stamp a huge sign on his forehead "NERD!" or "GEEK!" now and get it over with. I might need to instruct him on the whole 'Girls are more important than Video Games" just in case. Because when he finally does figure that out...it might be too late by then."
Today, his cell phone rang and rang and rang. Finally he answered it, "What?! Marilyn...I'm in the middle of something really important. I'm playing this game, and I'm dying. I can't pause to talk to you."
A few minutes later, it rang again.
And again.
And again.
Finally, realizing she was getting no where talking to Joshua's voice mail, Marilyn, decided to call the land line. Jeremy answered. Trying to keep the laughter and mockery out of his voice, he repeated Josh's words, "I'm sorry, Marilyn, Joshua is REALLY busy. He's playing a game and he's dying. He just can't pause."
Later this evening, Jeremy, unable to contain his laughter any longer told me this story.
"Man, he is SO hosing his future chances at dating some of these girls," I said. "He might as well stamp a huge sign on his forehead "NERD!" or "GEEK!" now and get it over with. I might need to instruct him on the whole 'Girls are more important than Video Games" just in case. Because when he finally does figure that out...it might be too late by then."
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
It's such a rare sight! It only occurs once every 10 years!
The Boy has two modes: On and Off. In order to be put into the "off" mode, a large amount of energy is expended nightly. Endless drinks, forgotten medicine, itchy skin...the excuses are endless. And if he's not looking for reasons to be awake, he'll sing, talk, or whistle to himself, until one of us threatens to muffle him with his pillow...permanently.
When he was very small, he used to pound his head into the mattress as he wound down for the night. We'd hear "pomf pomf pomf pomf pomf pomf" until all of a sudden it would be completely silent. "He doesn't fall asleep," Jeremy said to me, "He knocks himself out." I have never seen Joshua quietly drift off to dream land. It's always an arduous journey.
So anytime we'd catch Joshua voluntarily asleep during the day, the camera came out to capture the momentous occasion. Actually, it's only happened twice in his entire span of life.
I have the pictures to prove it.
Joshua, age 3:
Joshua, age 13:
Take a look folks, because we won't see this again until he's twenty-three. And hopefully, it won't be because he's passed out at some frat party...
When he was very small, he used to pound his head into the mattress as he wound down for the night. We'd hear "pomf pomf pomf pomf pomf pomf" until all of a sudden it would be completely silent. "He doesn't fall asleep," Jeremy said to me, "He knocks himself out." I have never seen Joshua quietly drift off to dream land. It's always an arduous journey.
So anytime we'd catch Joshua voluntarily asleep during the day, the camera came out to capture the momentous occasion. Actually, it's only happened twice in his entire span of life.
I have the pictures to prove it.
Joshua, age 3:
Joshua, age 13:
Take a look folks, because we won't see this again until he's twenty-three. And hopefully, it won't be because he's passed out at some frat party...
Wednesday, March 03, 2010
"Mel, Did You Buy Something On Joshua's Account?"
Jeremy called to me from the kitchen. He had his laptop set up on the table, and was perusing his email while eating dinner. He worked late, and we had already eaten without him.
"What?" I called from the living room, too tired and sore to get up from my cozy spot on the couch.
"You know how all of Joshua's purchases go to my email? Well, did you accidentally buy something from his account?"
I have an iPod touch, and I use the kindle reader to buy books through Amazon.com, so I was puzzling how on earth The Boy had an Amazon account. "Amazon? Or iTunes?" I hollered back.
Ignoring my question he said, "It says here someone bought, 'Voyage to Temptation' and 'Duchess of Mandalore' are these books of yours? They sound like romance novels."
"Um I don't think so," I said. "I can't imagine ever buying a book called 'Voyage to Temptation'." Now my mind was reeling. Was someone using our account to buy smut? "How much did those cost?"
"$2.00 a piece."
Two dollars, two dollars. I didn't know any books that cost two dollars, even on kindle. Oh there are a few, to be sure, and some that are even free, but I found out quickly that those were not only poorly written but often along the lines of what we were imagining 'Voyage to Temptation' was all about. "And you said they're on Joshua's account? Amazon?"
"No, iTunes."
Light dawning, I remembered The Boy saying something about watching some episodes on his laptop this afternoon. Now I was wondering what on earth he was watching. "Well, Josh was saying he was watching something on his laptop this afternoon through iTunes, but what on earth could he be watching?" Visions of our son caught up in some soap-opera like drama were floating through my mind.
"OOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhh!" Jeremy said and started to laugh, "I just googled it. Bwaaaaaaaaaahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaa! They're hahahahah gasp They're episodes for that hahahahahahaha cartoon he likes to watch...Star Wars Clone Wars."
"WHAT!?"
Pushing the chair back from the table, he came around the corner and looked at me. "They're episodes from Star Wars Clone Wars. What on earth are they thinking naming their episodes things like 'Voyage to Temptation'? I swear, they sounded like bad romance novels." We laughed again, mildly relieved, mostly because a conundrum had been solved.
He came home later, and Jeremy told The Boy what we thought. He looked incredulous. "What?!?!? They're episodes from Star Wars Clone Wars!" He protested, feeling his manhood in question.
"We know. We know. We were just a little worried there, kid."
Josh started to laugh. "How could you have thought that?"
"Well, we weren't sure what to think," I added. "But sure made for an interesting puzzle for the night."
"What?" I called from the living room, too tired and sore to get up from my cozy spot on the couch.
"You know how all of Joshua's purchases go to my email? Well, did you accidentally buy something from his account?"
I have an iPod touch, and I use the kindle reader to buy books through Amazon.com, so I was puzzling how on earth The Boy had an Amazon account. "Amazon? Or iTunes?" I hollered back.
Ignoring my question he said, "It says here someone bought, 'Voyage to Temptation' and 'Duchess of Mandalore' are these books of yours? They sound like romance novels."
"Um I don't think so," I said. "I can't imagine ever buying a book called 'Voyage to Temptation'." Now my mind was reeling. Was someone using our account to buy smut? "How much did those cost?"
"$2.00 a piece."
Two dollars, two dollars. I didn't know any books that cost two dollars, even on kindle. Oh there are a few, to be sure, and some that are even free, but I found out quickly that those were not only poorly written but often along the lines of what we were imagining 'Voyage to Temptation' was all about. "And you said they're on Joshua's account? Amazon?"
"No, iTunes."
Light dawning, I remembered The Boy saying something about watching some episodes on his laptop this afternoon. Now I was wondering what on earth he was watching. "Well, Josh was saying he was watching something on his laptop this afternoon through iTunes, but what on earth could he be watching?" Visions of our son caught up in some soap-opera like drama were floating through my mind.
"OOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhh!" Jeremy said and started to laugh, "I just googled it. Bwaaaaaaaaaahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaa! They're hahahahah gasp They're episodes for that hahahahahahaha cartoon he likes to watch...Star Wars Clone Wars."
"WHAT!?"
Pushing the chair back from the table, he came around the corner and looked at me. "They're episodes from Star Wars Clone Wars. What on earth are they thinking naming their episodes things like 'Voyage to Temptation'? I swear, they sounded like bad romance novels." We laughed again, mildly relieved, mostly because a conundrum had been solved.
He came home later, and Jeremy told The Boy what we thought. He looked incredulous. "What?!?!? They're episodes from Star Wars Clone Wars!" He protested, feeling his manhood in question.
"We know. We know. We were just a little worried there, kid."
Josh started to laugh. "How could you have thought that?"
"Well, we weren't sure what to think," I added. "But sure made for an interesting puzzle for the night."
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Cabin Fever struck the Mel House
The snow has been blowing since last last night, adding to Saturday's accumulation of about a foot. We cannot even see out our window. Sometime after lunch, the power went out, leaving us feeling mighty stranded. This is the first home I've ever lived in, where there wasn't at least one gas-powered heat source, be it the stove, the hot water heater, or the furnace, or all three.
"We need a generator," I told Jeremy.
"Yup."
"What are we gonna do?"
"Huddle under a blanket. Pretend we're pioneers?" He said.
"How about we try and find all the lanterns, candles, and batteries in the meantime while there's some daylight?" Usually our outages last a long time when the weather is decent. Like the summer when we went without power for several days because of a transformer on the lines that went bad. It was possible we could be with out power well into Friday. I was not feeling too optimistic.
"We could probably make an oil lamp."
"Maybe"
The lights flickered hopefully a few times and then died again.
"If we get desperate, we're gonna try it."
"Ok."
About an hour later, power returned, and we quickly decided to get as much done as possible. We looked up how to make a home-made oil lamp (yay Google) gathered those supplies in the event we lose power again. And we decided to wash the dishes from lunch that sat in the sink, since we had hot water again. Rather, we informed the kids they needed to wash the dishes before we made dinner.
It was only a matter of moments before we heard the familiar arguments, feet stompings, and catty noises emanating from Ruth and Hannah. Hannah, in typical fashion, was refusing to help. Ruth in her frustration decided to solve the problem in her own way.
She duct taped Hannah's mouth.
It might be important to mention at this point, Jeremy rarely raises his voice. I have seen him control the kids with a single look. I believe it is the implied "I-brought-you-into-this-world-I-can-take-you-out" glint in his eyes that keeps them in check. I can count on one hand the few times he's lost his temper, and yelled, usually at Joshua, and usually deserved.
The screeching sounds resulting from said duct taping brought the WRATH OF DAD pounding down the stairs like a thundercloud in all its mighty splendor, interrupting the beginnings of a true cat-fight. It is perhaps the first, and hopefully the last, time the girls have ever incurred the WRATH OF DAD. Ruth tried to tattle and get Jeremy in trouble with me. Big mistake. All she succeded in gaining was another lecture, this time from me.
"You duct taped your sister's mouth. You never duct tape your sister's mouth. Anyone's mouth. Be glad it was him and not me. I have half a mind to tie you two together like a three-legged race until you get along with one another."
All I can say is, I'm glad he was home to be judge and jury for a change. Here's hoping we survive the next 24 hours in close confinement with one another.
"We need a generator," I told Jeremy.
"Yup."
"What are we gonna do?"
"Huddle under a blanket. Pretend we're pioneers?" He said.
"How about we try and find all the lanterns, candles, and batteries in the meantime while there's some daylight?" Usually our outages last a long time when the weather is decent. Like the summer when we went without power for several days because of a transformer on the lines that went bad. It was possible we could be with out power well into Friday. I was not feeling too optimistic.
"We could probably make an oil lamp."
"Maybe"
The lights flickered hopefully a few times and then died again.
"If we get desperate, we're gonna try it."
"Ok."
About an hour later, power returned, and we quickly decided to get as much done as possible. We looked up how to make a home-made oil lamp (yay Google) gathered those supplies in the event we lose power again. And we decided to wash the dishes from lunch that sat in the sink, since we had hot water again. Rather, we informed the kids they needed to wash the dishes before we made dinner.
It was only a matter of moments before we heard the familiar arguments, feet stompings, and catty noises emanating from Ruth and Hannah. Hannah, in typical fashion, was refusing to help. Ruth in her frustration decided to solve the problem in her own way.
She duct taped Hannah's mouth.
It might be important to mention at this point, Jeremy rarely raises his voice. I have seen him control the kids with a single look. I believe it is the implied "I-brought-you-into-this-world-I-can-take-you-out" glint in his eyes that keeps them in check. I can count on one hand the few times he's lost his temper, and yelled, usually at Joshua, and usually deserved.
The screeching sounds resulting from said duct taping brought the WRATH OF DAD pounding down the stairs like a thundercloud in all its mighty splendor, interrupting the beginnings of a true cat-fight. It is perhaps the first, and hopefully the last, time the girls have ever incurred the WRATH OF DAD. Ruth tried to tattle and get Jeremy in trouble with me. Big mistake. All she succeded in gaining was another lecture, this time from me.
"You duct taped your sister's mouth. You never duct tape your sister's mouth. Anyone's mouth. Be glad it was him and not me. I have half a mind to tie you two together like a three-legged race until you get along with one another."
All I can say is, I'm glad he was home to be judge and jury for a change. Here's hoping we survive the next 24 hours in close confinement with one another.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Caution!
"For Christmas, I want a sword. A nerf sword. They have these two-handed swords at Target," The Boy told me and anyone who would listen.
Later I asked Jeremy, "So, uh, when do boys outgrow things like nerf swords."
"Oh, we never outgrow swords," he told me. "But we do outgrow nerf. You know, like my machete." Oh yes, the machete he had when he was fourteen. Um, I think I'll just be grateful Josh is still in the Nerf stage of sword collecting.
Christmas morning came, and much to his delight, he opened his most coveted gift:
The reaction was more than we could have hoped for, until he noticed the text written on the sword
and started to read to us, out loud,
"Caution: do not poke or jab at people or animals. Use away from breakable objects," he paused. "Really? It's a sword. A SWORD PEOPLE! What else are you gonna do with a sword?"
Last night, the sword in question just happened to be in the car. We were giving Julia, a ninth grader from a near-by school district, a ride home from a youth event. She was sitting in the third seat when Joshua handed back to her his Christmas present. "Now read the warning," he commanded. Julia started laughing. "It's a SWORD! What else are you gonna do with a sword? Oh I know, I'm gonna pet Joshua with the sword. Here Joshua. Pet Josh with the sword. Nice Joshua," she crooned, as she reached around Josh's seat to pat him on the head with the sword.
"Hmm. I dunno," Josh said, "Seems an awful lot like 'poking or jabbing at a person' to me." He made quote marks with his fingers.
"No this is poking," she said, jabbing him in the arm.
"True. True." Josh said.
"I mean, what fun is a sword if you can't jab at people?" Julia asked, incredulously.
"My point, exactly." He sighed.
Here's your sign.
Later I asked Jeremy, "So, uh, when do boys outgrow things like nerf swords."
"Oh, we never outgrow swords," he told me. "But we do outgrow nerf. You know, like my machete." Oh yes, the machete he had when he was fourteen. Um, I think I'll just be grateful Josh is still in the Nerf stage of sword collecting.
Christmas morning came, and much to his delight, he opened his most coveted gift:
The reaction was more than we could have hoped for, until he noticed the text written on the sword
and started to read to us, out loud,"Caution: do not poke or jab at people or animals. Use away from breakable objects," he paused. "Really? It's a sword. A SWORD PEOPLE! What else are you gonna do with a sword?"Last night, the sword in question just happened to be in the car. We were giving Julia, a ninth grader from a near-by school district, a ride home from a youth event. She was sitting in the third seat when Joshua handed back to her his Christmas present. "Now read the warning," he commanded. Julia started laughing. "It's a SWORD! What else are you gonna do with a sword? Oh I know, I'm gonna pet Joshua with the sword. Here Joshua. Pet Josh with the sword. Nice Joshua," she crooned, as she reached around Josh's seat to pat him on the head with the sword.
"Hmm. I dunno," Josh said, "Seems an awful lot like 'poking or jabbing at a person' to me." He made quote marks with his fingers.
"No this is poking," she said, jabbing him in the arm.
"True. True." Josh said.
"I mean, what fun is a sword if you can't jab at people?" Julia asked, incredulously.
"My point, exactly." He sighed.
Here's your sign.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Who needs Satellite TV when you have a ..
For years we didn't even have any kind of television. Oh sure, we owned a set, and a VCR, which gave way to a DVD player, so we could watch movies, but we just couldn't afford TV. Plus, we couldn't get any kind of reception on an antennae where we live. So we did without. About three years ago I begged and pleaded with Jeremy to let me have TV.
"I neeeeeeeeeeed real television," I said.
"I'm tired of watching the same movies," I said.
"I work better with the TV on," I said.
"Besides we can watch the Food Network," I said.
It was probably the last thing that got his attention. We watch A LOT of Food Network programs.
I contend I'm a happier, more productive, not to mention, more sane person with real television. But apparently, my family is more easily entertained than I am. Apparently, there was never a need to upgrade from DVD's to actual commercial laden programming.
We are now the proud parents of a, gasp, teenager, as of yesterday evening, 6:55pm to be exact. Having his birthday in the middle of the week, we decided to throw him a party on Saturday. When he was smaller, Joshua never quite understood why he couldn't have the world over to our house midweek to celebrate the momentous occasion of his birth. He felt he had to "fight for the right to paaaaaaaaarty" any time December 9th hit the weekly schedule. Monday? No problem. Thursday, No problem. Saturday, no problem. Explaining the logistics has been a complicated and lengthy ordeal in years past, so we've learned to have a very small cake and a very small $15 or under gift for him on THE DAY and reserve the main gift for the family party. Now that he's thirteen, I'm pretty certain he 'gets' the why we push off his party until the closest weekend. I'm also pretty certain that he now 'milks' the tradition of two cakes, two presents for all it's worth. Frankly, I don't mind eating all that birthday cake. It's always been a small sacrifice for household peace.
So, Tuesday evening, Jeremy called me from Wal-mart looking for a 'small' gift. "How 'bout a lava lamp?" He asked me.
"I think he'd like that."
I was wrong. He LOVED it. I got the minute by minute "Lava Lamp Report" last night. After an hour, I wanted to scream.
"It's still not warmed up yet."
"Oh wait, I think i see something. Nope. I was wrong."
"Maybe it's upside down. Do you think the wax is upside down?"
"What's this coil there? I bet that heats up and then melts the wax."
"It's still not bubbling yet. When will it do that?'
"Oh, I see a lump? See that lump? It's starting to melt"
Since it was the first lava lamp usage, it took almost two hours to really warm up. Joshua had plugged the lamp on the floor in the living room, and was attempting to do his homework. But the distraction proved too great, so Jeremy and I sent him up to his room. That only made matters worse, because his sisters felt obliged to give the "Lava Lamp Report" at the top of their lungs, from the bottom of the steps.
"Josh! JOSH! IT'S MAKING A MOUND!"
"JOSH! JOSH! THE MOUND LOOKS LIKE A FINGER! ACTUALLY, IT LOOKS LIKE IT'S GIVING THE FINGER!"
"JOSH! JOSH! OOOH OOH! THE FIRST BUBBLE PULLED AWAY FROM THE FINGER!"
Running up and down the stairs with each new "Lava Lamp Report," Joshua came to check out the news himself. It took him approximately two hours to do ten math problems, thanks to the Lava Lamp. Eventually, the lamp got on a roll, and Jeremy joined in the "Lava Lamp Report." Laying on his belly in front of the lava lamp, he called to Joshua, "JOSH! COM'MERE!" The girls shrieked "OOH! Is it working?! Is it working?!" And they proceeded to lay on their bellies with him. Flopping down on his belly, Joshua joined the trio.
I've spent way too much money in the last three years on television.
"I neeeeeeeeeeed real television," I said.
"I'm tired of watching the same movies," I said.
"I work better with the TV on," I said.
"Besides we can watch the Food Network," I said.
It was probably the last thing that got his attention. We watch A LOT of Food Network programs.
I contend I'm a happier, more productive, not to mention, more sane person with real television. But apparently, my family is more easily entertained than I am. Apparently, there was never a need to upgrade from DVD's to actual commercial laden programming.
We are now the proud parents of a, gasp, teenager, as of yesterday evening, 6:55pm to be exact. Having his birthday in the middle of the week, we decided to throw him a party on Saturday. When he was smaller, Joshua never quite understood why he couldn't have the world over to our house midweek to celebrate the momentous occasion of his birth. He felt he had to "fight for the right to paaaaaaaaarty" any time December 9th hit the weekly schedule. Monday? No problem. Thursday, No problem. Saturday, no problem. Explaining the logistics has been a complicated and lengthy ordeal in years past, so we've learned to have a very small cake and a very small $15 or under gift for him on THE DAY and reserve the main gift for the family party. Now that he's thirteen, I'm pretty certain he 'gets' the why we push off his party until the closest weekend. I'm also pretty certain that he now 'milks' the tradition of two cakes, two presents for all it's worth. Frankly, I don't mind eating all that birthday cake. It's always been a small sacrifice for household peace.
So, Tuesday evening, Jeremy called me from Wal-mart looking for a 'small' gift. "How 'bout a lava lamp?" He asked me.
"I think he'd like that."
I was wrong. He LOVED it. I got the minute by minute "Lava Lamp Report" last night. After an hour, I wanted to scream.
"It's still not warmed up yet."
"Oh wait, I think i see something. Nope. I was wrong."
"Maybe it's upside down. Do you think the wax is upside down?"
"What's this coil there? I bet that heats up and then melts the wax."
"It's still not bubbling yet. When will it do that?'
"Oh, I see a lump? See that lump? It's starting to melt"
Since it was the first lava lamp usage, it took almost two hours to really warm up. Joshua had plugged the lamp on the floor in the living room, and was attempting to do his homework. But the distraction proved too great, so Jeremy and I sent him up to his room. That only made matters worse, because his sisters felt obliged to give the "Lava Lamp Report" at the top of their lungs, from the bottom of the steps.
"Josh! JOSH! IT'S MAKING A MOUND!"
"JOSH! JOSH! THE MOUND LOOKS LIKE A FINGER! ACTUALLY, IT LOOKS LIKE IT'S GIVING THE FINGER!"
"JOSH! JOSH! OOOH OOH! THE FIRST BUBBLE PULLED AWAY FROM THE FINGER!"
Running up and down the stairs with each new "Lava Lamp Report," Joshua came to check out the news himself. It took him approximately two hours to do ten math problems, thanks to the Lava Lamp. Eventually, the lamp got on a roll, and Jeremy joined in the "Lava Lamp Report." Laying on his belly in front of the lava lamp, he called to Joshua, "JOSH! COM'MERE!" The girls shrieked "OOH! Is it working?! Is it working?!" And they proceeded to lay on their bellies with him. Flopping down on his belly, Joshua joined the trio.
I've spent way too much money in the last three years on television.
Saturday, December 05, 2009
She's such a strange child..
Sitting at the table, a lunch of fried chicken sitting in front of her, she paused mid-bite, picked up a post-it note from the table and put it dead center on her chest, and continued to eat. Jeremy and Joshua had been playing 3D tic-tac-toe on the post-it pad, and the crosses on the yellow sheet looked even more out of place amongst the 101 Dalmatians cavorting all over the turtle neck she wore. Singing to herself while she ate, Hannah was a picture of pure contentment, her imaginary world more than enough to keep her happy.
Meanwhile, Ruthie, opening the cabinet doors, made a disappointing discovery. "OH NOOOO!" She wailed. 'The syrup spilled EVERYWHERE!" During the clean-up, Jeremy and Ruth discovered some left over Hershey's miniatures that had escaped the bag a few days ago. He noticed Hannah had finished lunch, and said, "Hey Hannah, wanna Krackle?"
"Yeaaaaaaaaaaah," Hannah said
Jeremy unwrapped the candy bar so Hannah couldn't read the wrapper. She took a bite and started to MMMmm, when suddenly her expression turned into one of disgust. Her father started howling with laughter.
"This isn't a Krackle!" she said, indignant. "This is that peanut one...Mr..."
"Bad Bar!" Jeremy finished. No one in this house likes the Mr. Goodbars, except for me. Hannah started making gagging noises and rushed for the trashcan.
"I guess that makes us even for 1-2-3 Nipples!"
"What's 1-2-3 Nipples?" I was afraid to ask, but curiosity overcame trepidation.
"The other week, Hannah kept trying to grab at my nipples. And I told her to knock it off. So she said," Jeremy switched his voice to a higher pitch in imitation, " 'Can I count your chest hairs then?' So I told her Ok." (I should probably mention, that my husband is about as hairless as a guy can get. You really can count his chest hairs with ease). Jeremy continued as my eyes grew wider, "So, she started to count...1-2-3 and then grabbed and yelled "NIPPLES!" " He shuddered, as we all started laughing really hard.
Our laughter quickly became out of proportion to the story. Josh, Ruth, Hannah, Jeremy and I were wiping tears out of our eyes, and gasping for breath when Hannah piped up at the end, "Well," she paused for dramatic impact. "We all just had a great chuckle there. Didn't we?"
That set off another peal of laughter from all of us, except Hannah who stood there bewildered for once, because normally she's very deliberate with her humor.
"Chuckle?" Joshua said shaking his head as he walked into the other room talking to himself "Who says chuckle?"
Meanwhile, Ruthie, opening the cabinet doors, made a disappointing discovery. "OH NOOOO!" She wailed. 'The syrup spilled EVERYWHERE!" During the clean-up, Jeremy and Ruth discovered some left over Hershey's miniatures that had escaped the bag a few days ago. He noticed Hannah had finished lunch, and said, "Hey Hannah, wanna Krackle?"
"Yeaaaaaaaaaaah," Hannah said
Jeremy unwrapped the candy bar so Hannah couldn't read the wrapper. She took a bite and started to MMMmm, when suddenly her expression turned into one of disgust. Her father started howling with laughter.
"This isn't a Krackle!" she said, indignant. "This is that peanut one...Mr..."
"Bad Bar!" Jeremy finished. No one in this house likes the Mr. Goodbars, except for me. Hannah started making gagging noises and rushed for the trashcan.
"I guess that makes us even for 1-2-3 Nipples!"
"What's 1-2-3 Nipples?" I was afraid to ask, but curiosity overcame trepidation.
"The other week, Hannah kept trying to grab at my nipples. And I told her to knock it off. So she said," Jeremy switched his voice to a higher pitch in imitation, " 'Can I count your chest hairs then?' So I told her Ok." (I should probably mention, that my husband is about as hairless as a guy can get. You really can count his chest hairs with ease). Jeremy continued as my eyes grew wider, "So, she started to count...1-2-3 and then grabbed and yelled "NIPPLES!" " He shuddered, as we all started laughing really hard.
Our laughter quickly became out of proportion to the story. Josh, Ruth, Hannah, Jeremy and I were wiping tears out of our eyes, and gasping for breath when Hannah piped up at the end, "Well," she paused for dramatic impact. "We all just had a great chuckle there. Didn't we?"
That set off another peal of laughter from all of us, except Hannah who stood there bewildered for once, because normally she's very deliberate with her humor.
"Chuckle?" Joshua said shaking his head as he walked into the other room talking to himself "Who says chuckle?"
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