A Knife and a Box of Bones

When I was younger I did some ridiculous things!

As a toddler I told my daycare driver that my mom did NOT want him to pick me up anymore. Not sure why he fell for it but he did. His name was Mr. Burns. Next day I sat in the window waved bye to my mom as she rushed to work and smiled. No daycare van! I frolicked to my grandma's room. She didn't drive then so...

My elementary years? What didn't I do. Wrapped my leg in toilet paper and sealed it with scotch tape. Walked out in view of the bus stop. When the bus came my friends yelled, "Come on! The bus is here!"
"I can't!" I yelled back, and pointed to my Charmin bandage, which was unraveling in the wind.

Wasn't allowed to eat in my room. I'd sneak. One day, as a teen, I got home before my parents. With my food box. I took it to my room to eat. Parents came home just as I finished my last wing. I did the commonsense thing... I put the box of bones in my dresser drawer.

I forgot about it. Few days later mom was putting clothes in my drawer- would be that very drawer- and discovered the box.

Not to be outdone, I told her it was for a science project. Needless to say she was offended.

So, when we found a knife under our daughter's bed and she nonchalantly told us why it was there, I wasn't so surprised. This was after we panicked and jumped to myriad conclusions: Was she still scared of "The Boogie Man"? Does she feel unsafe in her own home? Did she want to harm herself? and why? And yes we did take it serious nonetheless.

While Daddy talked I noticed the cardboard with jagged edges, on the floor near her bed. She's definitely an artist. I also saw a pair of MY socks too.

So when she confessed that she'd used the knife for something she was making...I believed her. Thought about my crazy days.
"I didn't feel like taking it back downstairs," she said.

As Daddy scratched his head, I told her to buy some good scissors or ask Daddy to cut it for her.

Should've shared my science project story.

Losing It

Okay. I've officially lost it.

In an effort to prepare our two for "the real world" I periodically give them tasks. Tasks that will show them how to be independent. And at times, I just do it because I don't feel like getting out of the car.

So I drove to our neighborhood grocery. Purposely gave them a certain amount of money and told them to get TWO things.
"Get a small pack of ground beef for tacos. Look for a pack that is about $6 or less and you can get that Cookies and Cream ice cream."

Again, I gave them a certain amount ($10) to get what I said. I was being nice, letting them get the ice cream. This would show them how to shop on a budget; put those math skills to use! I surely wasn't going to give them my credit card. If they went over the amount then they'd get embarrassed and learn a lesson. I worry about the youngest. Our son tries to count his chickens before they hatch when it comes to money and purchases. That's another post.

So, they come out with the bag! YES!

"Here you go Mama!" They were so proud and they even had money left over!

I started the car and we began driving out of the parking lot.

"Look Mama! We got these." They were showing me two small boxes of candy.

"These were only one dollar," the youngest informed me. "And we got you something too and it was only thirty-five cents."

They continued talking but I couldn't make out the words. I went off!

"WHAT? Are you kidding me?" I yelled. "I was nice enough to let you get ice cream but no- you had to get extra stuff without even asking
first!"

"But Mama we-"

One of them had the nerve to try to say something.

"There are little kids who don't get to get ice cream. There are kids who aren't even gonna eat tonight! But ya'll take it upon yourselves
to use money that's not yours and get extra junk food!" I couldn't believe this.

"Mama. We didn't get the ice cream. We got something cheaper and got you something because it was cheaper. It saved you money," our daughter said.

Still caught up in what I wanted to say I continued.

"Now do you think it was fair to just get extra stuff with MY money?" I asked them.

They were confused.
I stopped for a minute. Processed things.

"So ya'll didn't get the ice cream?" I asked.

"No. That's what we were trying to tell you."

But I was too cool to be embarrassed so I turned it down a notch but continued with my lecture.

"Oh. So ya'll were trying to save money?" I asked. "Well I appreciate that but you did not stick to the plan. I told ya'll ground beef and
ice cream. Ground beef and ice cream was the plan."

It was silent for a minute.

"Well, how much was the ground beef?" I yelled.

"It was only four dollars," they answered.

"Well good!" I replied.

No Swabs, No Sweat, No Service!

The more things change, the more they stay the same!

Our son may be getting older (11 now) but not wiser.

After complaining of sore throat, weakness and body aches, I took him in to see his pediatrician yesterday. It was quiet for the first half of the drive, and he did say his throat was sore, BUT-

"Are they gonna give me a shot?" he asked.

"Naw." I assured him. "They don't give shots for a cold."

It felt great to not lie to him.

"Are they gonna swish my throat?" he asked.

Again, I answered truthfully. "No. They can't swish your throat." I laughed.

"Mama. You know what I mean. Are they gonna take that thing like a Q-tip and poke the back of my throat?"

Here we go.

"I don't know if they will or not. Maybe they can just look down your throat if you open wide when they tell you to," I suggested.

He flared his nostrils.

"Can you tell them not to do that?"

"I can't tell the nurse and doctor what to do," I giggled.

We didn't have to wait long. I'm sure he didn't appreciate that but I certainly did after a long day at work.

So the nurse did the usual: checked his temperature (101), weighed him, then sat him down and went over his symptoms.

"What hurts?"

"My throat is sore," he told her.

She opened a drawer and pulled out the long, packaged cotton swab and placed it on the counter...next to him.

He looked around her and glared at me. She asked if anything else bothered him. He reluctantly told her about his body aches.

This time she pulled out a smaller package. I knew what it was. He asked.

"This is how we tell if you have the flu." she informed him.

"Can I see it," he asked as he stood up to confront check it out.

The questions continued to come just as fast as him getting sick in the past two days.

"It may burn just a little," the nurse told him after he asked about it.

I reminded him that he'd had his tonsils swabbed and he'd had the flu test before. Didn't need to remind him how crazy he got when they did it. (Check an earlier post on my blog, I wrote, "Walked in But Limped Out!".

"See!" the nurse rejoiced (briefly). "You'e done this before."

Nostrils flared, he told her, "I kicked the doctor."

Rolling back her sleeves, like she was telling him to bring it, she replied, "But you are gonna be a big boy today, right?"

She and I both laughed but I was thinking, "It's about to go down!"

He didn't answer.

So, finally she proceeds to swab his tonsils. I discreetly hit record on my phone. After all, telling it is one thing but a visual is always better. I can't make this stuff up!
After they played Slaps (is that a game?) she tried to get more serious. Trying to coerce him into sticking his tongue out and opening wide.
Like Hall & Oates said, "No can do!"

She finally stopped and said she thought she had enough.

Then it was time for the smaller yet deadly weapon. The one for his nose. Now that one is bad. I had to get that done once, years ago when our daughter was in the room with me. She laughed like Elmo was tickling her. I was hanging off the table with that white paper in my hand like a comfort object while she was laughing herself out of her seat. SHE WAS FIVE!

So I didn't know what to tell him to make it better. It didn't matter anyway. He wasn't listening to reason. It didn't help that she told him it would burn a little. I guess that's disclosure. Him in that chair cornered by the nurse trying to get up his nose was a sight. It looked like they were practicing choreography for an old karate movie.

After several rounds, she said she thought she had enough to do the test for the flu, and his nose was bleeding a bit.

"Mama!" he pointed to his nose and glared at her.

She now had bangs and was sweating. She looked like she'd been in a sauna to shed a few pounds to make weight before the fight.

Her back was to me but she said, "I will see if I got enough. It will take a few minutes for the results of the test."

I wanted to give her a hug and a towel. Not a minute later, Daddy walked in. I was laughing so hard, I was crying.

"What's wrong with the nurse?" he asked. "And what's up with your nose?" he added.


"

The youngest was bent out of shape over a birthday card.
We remembered to get his friend a gift card for his birthday but forgot to get an actual birthday card. While packing his things in preparation for a sleepover with the friend, he mentioned it.

"I don't have a card for him," he said.

We apologized but reminded him that the most important part was the actual gift (card).

After his un-oscar worthy reaction I remembered something. I'd purchased a box of birthday cards a few months prior.

"Yes! I have cards. Go look in the office," I told him.

Problem solved.

So I thought.

After shuffling through the cards he said, "I can't give him one of these cards."

"Why? What's wrong with those cards?" Daddy responded.

I didn't remember what was on the cards. Just figured they'd be great generic cards to have on hand in times like these. Perfect!

"These have stuff about the Bible," he complained

"WHAT?" I yelled. "You are embarrassed about the Bible?" I asked even though I wasn't really looking for an answer. It was more of an, "I know good and well you aren't embarrassed about the Bible!"

He sat there for a minute reading the cards again.

"Well, I don't know if he's atheist or if he goes to church or what," he said.

Daddy and I both started talking at the same time. In the same tone.

"So you are ashamed of the Gospel?" I asked.

"I mean, he's just an eleven-year-old boy like me. We don't have birthday cards with scriptures like ya'll," he informed me.

At this point I went from shock to thinking how funny it was. The look and worry on his face. Classic.

So I did what any other mother, who finds humor in many things, would do.

I had my phone, so I secretly started recording his reaction.

"I really don't think it would be a big deal if you gave him one of those cards. It's either one of those or nothing because we aren't going back out tonight to get a birthday card." I told him.

He began reading the cards. "See! It has long verses from the Bible. Too many and too long."

Then he got an idea. He ran out and came back in with a stack of birthday cards he'd been given for his birthday.

"Maybe I can just cross out these names of people who gave me these," he said, while looking through a few of them.

I told him how ridiculous it was an how sloppy it would look to do that.

He found one from Evan. "Yes this would work because I have an E in my name and it's the only one with a short name on it."

We told him it was getting late and he needed to go on and hit the sack. "Just give him the gift card rather than do all that."

He packed up his stuff and went to his room. Five minutes later he came running to show us something.

"Look at this! This is a card from him that he gave me last year and it has something about having a blessed birthday!"

By Any Means Necessary! Oh-wee-oh-wee-oh!

If anyone reading this was out on I-40 West of Greensboro, NC around 5:30 this evening and saw, what looked like a crazy driver...it may have been me. I'm sure there are many drivers trying to get home after work on a Monday, in NC.

Let me explain before you call the police!

The past two weeks we have been spoiled. We were on winter break! So lots of staying up late, therefore sleeping late, so our schedules are all out of whack.

I was 10 minutes away from home, still doing the speed limit but trying to keep the two people under 14 awake.

"Don't go to sleep!" I told them. "If you go to sleep now then you won't be able to go to sleep at your regular time!" I shouted.

The youngest was out of my reach. Head slumped and mouth open.

So I started singing loudly.

Scanned the radio stations for something they weren't familiar with and blasted it! It was a good old school song, so it was on!

Morris Day and the Time!

They giggled and tried to sleep again.

I pressed the buttons for the two back windows to go down. Up and down. Up and down. It's was about 35 degrees outside.

I was desperate, so I started swerving a little. You know... to the beat of the song I was singing yelling.

I-40. Back windows going up-and-down. Morris Day and the Time playing loudly and I'm singing backup!

"Ten and two Mama. Ten and two!" our daughter said, looking at my hands on the steering wheel.

Well... ten minutes later I pulled into the garage on two wheels, it felt like and they didn't go to sleep in the car!

If you wanna report me... be my guest. My number is 777-9311.

My Pinky!

The more we try to change... the more we, sometimes, stay the same.

It's a new year and while I am making some modifications, I realize my work may be an uphill battle.

Maybe I can blame it on what I see and hear on television. Maybe it's worry from what I have seen and heard about at middle schools. And it could be rooted in what I saw growing up. A combination of all these things and simply a mom's concern, brought me to a place of...foolishness and defeat.

I posted a similar story back in September 10, 2007: "She just Isn't a Fighter...Right Now". I should have added, "And Neither Am I" to the title.

Not really sure what prompted it but we were hanging out in our favorite are of the house, the dining room, and our son, who is now 11, mistakenly mentioned that another student said something offensive to him.

Everything stopped. Daddy dropped his head and had the usual, "brace yourselves" look.

"So what did you say back to him?" I asked.

"I just ignored him," he replied.

Daddy shook his head in confirmation. "Good job buddy!" Then tried to keep me on track. Bringing up old stuff was his attempt to keep me subdued.

"Yes honey. Remember you've always told both of them, that they can't control people's mouths and to be the bigger person. Remember?" he smiled.

Didn't work.

I went on to tell him how he had to stand up for himself and not let people push him around. "You gotta pick and choose your battles," I went on.

"That's what I did Mamma."

I was at the point of no return foolishness.

"What if someone puts their hands on you? That's what I am worried about," I told him.

"You gotta stand your ground. Not telling you to start a fight but you gotta be prepared to protect yourself."

I went on to tell him how I had to defend myself when I was younger. All exaggerated but I was doing what I was trying to inspire him.

And I did. Maybe.

So I commenced to showing him how to protect himself!

I started circling him. Then went further and bumped him.
"Now what are you gonna do?" I asked, almost out of breath now. YES FROM JUST WALKING AROUND HIM!
He didn't move.
"See. You don't want to just stand there and let someone push you around," I said as I got closer to him.

His sister pulled up a chair and solemnly sat down. I thought her look said, "Oh no! Come on little brother." But later I realized her look was more like, "Oh my God! Help my Mama."

"Now see if I walk up on you what should you do to protect yourself?" This was a question!!!

All of a sudden all of the Takekwondo lessons sprung up! He got in a stance and kicked. He actually had the nerve to kick.

"Okay! Okay! That is what you do. Keep the person back!" I said.

"Mama. Your breathing..." Daddy walked toward me to try to get me to settle down. I think he was worried that I would hurt our little one.

I winked at him and continued on. "Now see if you kick like that I would just-"

The plan was to block his kick. I did but my pinky got in the way and I found myself cringing near the dining room table holding my pinky.

"Come on Mama. Let me see it," Daddy offered. He came over, bent down and whispered, "What in the world are you doin'? Look at you!" he said while trying to look at my pinky. "Now you get it together and don't let him see that he whooped you!" he added as he helped me stand up.

I wouldn't say he "whooped" me. Not an appropriate word to describe it. Taking it a little far.

Resolutions, Modifications, Attitudes and Denial. Oh My!

Happy New Year! While many are thinking of resolutions for 2015, I am not. Being the curious one that I am, I looked up the history of this thing we do each year and found some interesting information, BUT that is not what this post is about so if you are interested... http://www.history.com/topics/holidays/new-years

Even though I ultimately, know what what word means, I got the definition of the word "resolutions". The first definition: a firm decision to do or not to do something and the second: the action of solving a problem, dispute, or contentious matter

Another word I like and use a lot at work as an English as a Second Language teacher is MODIFY/MODIFICATION: make partial or minor changes to (something), typically so as to improve it or to make it less extreme.

So, I am going to modify or make partial changes to some decisions! I am also going to take partial action to solving some problems.

I want to apologize to our oldest, our 13-year-old daughter. While gathering together the night before Christmas, watching movies, we began discussing when she and her brother discovered there wasn't really a Santa. While our 11-year-old son did tell us when he realized it, part of me questions his story. I think the little dude still believes in him. Next time he does anything I don't like, I just might sneak and put that on his Instagram page.

"Well I knew there wasn't a Santa when I was five!" our daughter told us. With an attitude. Her arms were crossed; legs crossed almost to the point of being twisted and she wasn't smiling.

This was bad. The people in the movie stopped and looked at us.

Daddy really blew this one. I just shook my head and rolled my eyes.

"Who told you?" I asked while peering at Dude.

"Remember Mama. You and Daddy picked me up from school early and we drove to Greenville (NC) to shop at Toys R Us?"

We lived in a smaller city and many residents drove about 45 minutes to shop at the bigger stores like Toys R Us.

I cut in and said what any Mama in denial would say, "First of all, YOU didn't drive anywhere if you were five and why did you say YOU and Daddy? Why did you put me first?"

As if what I'd just said wasn't important, she continued with her whining.

"You told me to pick out toys I liked and Daddy picked out toys for Myles while he was at daycare."

There she was with the "YOU" again.

"You told me that you were helping Santa because he was tied up. It was the same toys we opened on Christmas."

"But technically, I never told you that there wasn't a Santa," I came back. "And Dude- I mean Daddy- was in on it too, right?"

Couldn't go down alone.

So I resolve to fix that by not doing it again.

Working out and eating healthier will definitely be modified and that will be a later post.