A Spoonful of Sugar

I just got home from a wonderful dose of birth control.

My family loves to go camping, and I find that if I go camping regularly I have no desire for another a baby. Nope. None. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Zero.

Let me give it to you by the numbers:

2—adults on the trip

2, 4, & 6—ages of the

3—boys staying in the camper

208—approximate square footage of the camper including the bathroom and storage space.

5—days camping

0—room left for anyone or anything else

It sounds like I am complaining, but I am not. I LOVE to pack up and head to the woods. Especially now that I have my awesome new phone with the Kindle app on it. My daily routine:

·         Wake up in my nice soft bed with the memory foam mattress topper were I snuggle with the hubby and the kids.

·         Get up, make the bed and throw on some jeans and a sweatshirt (a sweatshirt with a hood is often necessary because camping also means no makeup or hair-dos that require more than 30 seconds).

·         Pour coffee and read outside until midmorning activities (playground, hikes, bike rides, local attractions).

·         Lunch.

·         Naps or more reading.

·         Afternoon activities (more playground, hikes, bike rides, local attractions).

·         Light the fire and cook dinner (not necessarily on the fire).

·         S’mores.

·         Baths.

·         Pile on the above mentioned bed for a movie.

·         Lights out.  

This is very close to my idea of heaven. But with bug spray and a temperamental microwave. However, it is a very loud and cramped heaven.

And this time was the first time we were able to really give the kids some running room. They are all finally old enough for us to let them play without having to act as spotter on the slide or worry about them eating dirt.

So if I ever seem to be getting the baby fever again, please send me camping. If I still have it when I come home, I must be serious. Or seriously crazy.

Bad Moon Rising

I hate to see my children cry.

Even more, I hate it when they are screaming at each other, running, and generally being ridiculously annoying. Please don’t say something like, “Those sweet children could never be annoying!” Yes, they could. Quite well and quite loudly.

So today, I hated to see them cry, but it had to be done. Yup. And I did it. The full moon comin’ to Jesus. Can I get an amen?

I have no idea if it really has anything to do with the moon or if it just takes me 28 days to build up enough steam to really lose it. We had a great day up until it was time to make supper. (Please refer to my earlier posts if you need to know how supper goes.)

It was actually going fairly smoothly. The two oldest had been at each other all day, but nothing new. So I was getting the pizza ready, and I needed to make a phone call. I asked Thing 2 to bring me the phone. While he was gone to do this I realized I had a phone next to me, so I asked him to put the other one back. And chaos ensued.

Thing 1 decided that Thing 2 should not be allowed to hang up the phone since, “He shouldn’t have it anyway!” Thing 1 was screaming at the top of his lungs at his brother, and a fight broke out. Had I been Thing 2, I would have punched thing 1 in the mouth. Hard. Someone is going to do this to him one day, and he will have deserved it.

That said, I try very hard to avoid violence in our house because things are already pretty volatile with three boys. To quote The Secret Garden as portrayed in the Hallmark film I watched 849 times in elementary school, “Where you tend a rose, a thistle cannot grow.” I tried. I tried to tend roses. I really did. But the screaming and fighting was fertilizer to my thistles.

I came to Thing 2’s defense as fast as I could since he was acting on my directions. But Thing 1 was all in a lather. I finally had to bonk him (gently) on the head to make him realize he was screaming at me. ME! Hello?! That is not how you are gonna talk to your mother, son!

At this point, I was HOT! So I did what had to be done. I banished all children to their rooms before I started knocking heads together. The fact that Thing 3 had only been following me around asking to watch Shaggy (Scooby Doo) did not matter. Neither did it matter that Thing 2 was innocent of all wrongdoing. The full moon fire was lit.

As their mother, I would much rather they get out of the way than get burned, so I ensured their safety and took my  aggression out on the olives for the pizza. I also cried into them. I hate it when I lose it. I hate the example that it sets.

But I had to set the Things straight.

So tonight, my dinner conversation involved explaining to a six year old that he is not a parent to the four year old. I know that those two extra years have provided him a wealth of wisdom and experience that Thing 2’s meager 4 years cannot begin to provide.

While I was at it and had their attention and either their fear or respect (not really sure which), I also made sure to cover a few other things:

1. Scream in my house again tonight, and you might not have vocal chords in the morning.

2. I am in charge. Period. Not your brother, not your common sense. Me. Mommy. Mom. Mama. Daddy has the same authority and Nana holds sway, but only Jesus outranks me.

3. Nobody talks bad about my kids. Including my kids.

Now everyone is in the bed and quiet. The house is peaceful, and I have a moment to feel that feeling I first had when I found out I was pregnant with my first beautiful and amazing child: guilt that I might not do what's right.

I Am the Worst Valentine Ever

I am not in love with Valentine’s Day. I am not lonely. I have someone with whom to celebrate, and he is amazing. My problem is that I am utterly, completely and irrevocably unromantic.

I used to blame it on my husband, but I now see that it is entirely me.

First, I should present the evidence that he is, in fact, romantic:

1. Let me begin with my Valentine chocolate addiction. It has gotten bad enough that, on February 15, I will hit every chain drug store in the county to buy up the deeply discounted candy and store it in the freezer. My kids think this is great, because I am kind of picky about which pieces I eat so the boys get to eat all of the cherry and orange filled ones. Bleck. So this year Porkchop special ordered me my very own heart box full of only my top 3 favorites. This was sweet, thoughtful, and romantic.

2. When we were dating, there was a water crisis, and I am heavy drinker (water that is). The water had a bad case of the funk, and I griped about it one day. Next thing I knew, there was a water filter installed on the kitchen sink. Not glamorous, but sweet. Thoughtful. Dare I say romantic?

3. He supports me in my endeavors. Is there anything more romantic than a man who takes care of you? He brings me lunch every Monday because he worries that I will not take the time to get food on the days I volunteer at our son’s school. And when I freaked out because I was getting a 16^th student (who only spoke Chinese) in the three year old preschool class I teach, he texted me, “They know you are a great teacher! That is why your class is always full.” Sweet, thoughtful, romantic.

4. He dances in public because it makes me happy.

Evidence to my complete lack of romance:

1. All of my pajamas are made of cotton or fleece and are decidedly NOT going to inspire romantic thoughts. (Hubby tried to correct this at Christmas by giving me some new cotton PJs that are solid black—read: not covered in cartoon hearts or Husker logos.) Is this TMI? If so, ignore the next statement: I sleep with four pillows. Yes, FOUR! One under my head, one on each side, and one under my legs. It is like the Fort Knox of sweet dreams. No one is getting close without a massive effort.

2. The only candles in my house are on loan from…….. wait for it…… my MOM! How romantic is that?! Aside: these candles are a simple arrangement of eight pear-shaped candles. Our oldest son asked me if it was a pear menorah. I am not sure whether this observation makes me proud that my son recognizes major religious items or makes me giggle every time I look at the pears. It also makes me sing, “David Lee Roth lights the menorah…” in my head. Thank you Adam Sandler.

3. I have to ask my Facebook friends what to do for Porkchop for Valentine’s Day. So far the result is not good. I have made a few attempts to plan something, but they keep falling through. Besides, are motocross tickets really romantic?

4. I asked my husband to never send me flowers. I said that it was a waste of money to buy something that was useless and going to be dead in a week anyway. This also applies to potted plants, though they sometimes last as long as two or three weeks.

5. I actually gave him a nose- and ear-hair trimmer for Valentine’s Day one year.

So, while some people dread February 14 because they have no one to romance, I dread it because I have someone and no romance.

I guess that I will have to go with my usual: homemade Valentines with the boys, pink heart pancakes and lots of candy at breakfast followed by the craziness of school parties with 3 kids. I just hope that Porkchop knows that, after 11 years, I am still head-over-heels in love with him. Even if he ends up getting a box of Band-Aids or a nose hair trimmer on the most romantic day of the year.

Is that my phone? I didn't know it could ring!

I had started writing this post before I got my new cell phone, and I was fully expecting it to blow my mind. I never anticipated how much joy a simple blog editing could bring!

A week or two ago, I proudly posted a blog entry about my technological prowess. My new cell phone just arrived, and I am proud to say that I am NOT a total technological idiot. I am fully capable of putting on my big girl panties and admitting when I am in over my head, but this is not one of those times!

Just 2 phones ago, all I wanted was a simple phone. “I don’t even have to have a camera!” I said. “I’m never going to text, either!” Riiiiiiiight. And I am going to drop 50 lbs this year, save more money and keep my house as clean as my mom’s.

That was two phones ago. On my last phone, I missed the first call I received because I had had it for a month before it ever rang. But I could text blindfolded. I guess we evolve. I am just annoyed that my next evolutionary step has led to me 1. a touch screen and 2.  a phone that is smarter than I am.

On a side note, there is not much I have done lately to enhance whatever intelligence I have. I have mostly been reading vampire brain candy and watching the Disney Channel. And Wipeout. Dude. Why would anyone go on that show? I am glad that they do so that my kids and I can laugh at them, though.

To digress further about honing one’s intelligence, I simply MUST make fun of my mom for a moment. We were getting ready to go on a trip to the beach with the whole family a few years ago, and we were picking out our entertainment material (movies, books, etc.). Mom says, “I think I will take my old calculus book and brush up some.” Because everyone knows that you are supposed to take 40 year old text books to the beach to brush up on your calculus. When I asked her why on God’s Green Earth she wanted to brush up on calculus, she said so that she could help her grandchildren when they needed it. Her oldest grandchild was not quite 4 at the time.

Back to the phone. Within an hour or two, I mastered the following:

1. Facebook—This has become essential to the very fiber of my being. It is not a good day until I have posted it in my status.

2. Kindle—Seriously. I can now get my Sookie Stackhouse fix wherever, whenever!

3. Weather—Because a girl needs to know if she needs a jacket, and who wants to actually go outside to see?

4. Ring tone downloads—Because “There Is No Place Like Nebraska!”

All in all, I am happy with my new phone. But at this point, I think I should call it something like my portable e-life.

Karate Kid and the Evil Genius

Thank you, country singer Chris Young, for adding to my parental guilt and inner conflict this week.

I am extremely gifted in the art of arguing. What makes me so gifted? I have the ability to see both sides of just about everything. On the one hand, I am excellent in arguments. On the other hand, I can be completely indecisive. Or maybe I’m not. But maybe I am indecisive. Let me think about that one.

So the one I am currently struggling with is this: Is it okay to let my oldest son quit taking karate? We took the 4yo and the 6yo to try out karate after Daddy took them to see The Karate Kid. Both loved it, so we signed them up for a year. That was 7 months ago. And no, I still do not have a karate kid.

I do, however, have two very different little boys. I actually have three, but we are only discussing two right now. So let me tell you a little about each of them:

The 6yo—Loves all things learning. He loves school, books, movies, science and art. When I force him to play outside, he asks if he can take a book. He refuses to ride a bicycle. When he was four, he wanted me to do the entire Harry Potter series as a read-aloud. On his first trip to the library, all of his friends were checking out Rainbow Fish. He brought home the Old Testament. The OLD TESTAMENT! What kid does that?!

The 4yo—Loves all things with wheels. For Christmas he asked for a dirt bike, a drum kit and a half-pipe. Thank heavens our homeowners association will not allow the half-pipe! He rode his bike on 2 wheels at three years old. He has a skateboard, rollerblades, a scooter and a bike. He is as gentle-hearted as they come. He enjoys running and jumping and yelling and playing. His favorite part of school is recess.

Back to karate. Around Christmas, the 6yo said that he really did not want to go to karate anymore. After the first month or so, he was never really into it, but I thought we should just let him ride out the year. The 4yo, on the other hand, begged me to promise to let him go long enough to get his black belt. I am pretty sure he thinks he will be a ninja before he is in first grade.

Then I began to notice something. My super-athlete was being slack! I mean REALLY slack. I could be wrong, but I am pretty sure black belts don’t cheat on their push-ups. I watched a little more closely, and I realized the culprit in all of this. I have mad detective skills. I watched, and the big brother was setting a bad example! Heaven of heavens! Who has ever heard of such a thing!

Porkchop (a.k.a. hubby) and I sat down and discussed the situation. The karate situation, not the Jersey Shore Situation, though that would probably be pretty funny. Big Brother had decided adamantly that he would not be pursuing further training in karate after his sentence was up. Little Brother was watching every move he made. We needed to review our options.

Now Chris Young’s song “I hear Voices” says, “Quit that team and you’ll be a quitter for the rest of your life.” Those were the exact concerns I was having. Well that and the fact that in 3 months I was going to have to shell out $280 for sparring equipment for 2 kids.

All said and done, Porkchop and I decided that, since he gave it a go for seven full months (and it would save us $140), Big Brother could throw in the towel. Maybe we are bad parents for giving him early release. But I am pretty sure that it will be better in the end. He may not be my karate kid, but he will probably be my evil genius.