A Musing Mother 6

Once upon a time there was a lady of indeterminate age that was the mother of one little girl and pregnant with her second little girl.  Although not normal, she possessed a few organizational skills others lacked.  One great accomplishment was that she had finished her Christmas shopping by the time her second child was born on October 21st.  She also worked full time and somehow managed to take her daughters to the library for story time, organized play group and a cooperative pre-school with other mothers, and she made matching Easter dresses for them two years in a row.  This was momentous since she did not really sew. Thirteen years later that same woman is high strung and ready to snap.  She stopped sewing dresses after the second Easter with two daughters and found a store that had matching dresses and played that game for a few years.  Now they are teenagers.  She no longer does much of the twinsies thing.  For them.  Unfortunately fo...

This week I thought it would be nice to take part in Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop. With writer's prompts, I decided to just show you in pictures my response to #2.) Share a photo of what Thanksgiving looks like in your neck of the woods.   Oh, yeah.  These are pictures from last Thanksgiving at my house. What?!  It could happen. Really.  It could.  Especially if you picture the boy in stripes is not laughing but burping.  Yep.  That's my house.

Go ahead and throw confetti.  Okay.  We're done. Besides the kids being really excited about my birthday, it's a regular day.  I took my shower too late to enjoy warm water which left me with a non-steamy bathroom when I got out.  The mirror reflected my nakedness and, frankly, I thought I looked pretty darn good even for a woman of my age. I know, social faux pas to admit that publicly, but there it is. As per routine, the kids don't know that closed doors mean "Do Not Enter" and waltz right in.  The 13 year old is baking my cake and walked in (bedroom door then bathroom door) to ask me to get down the bundt cake pan.  I started to walk into the hall to get to the kitchen. "First get dressed!" she yelled. I turned and looked at her.  Her eyes were averted and her cheeks were red.  "It's my birthday and I am wearing my birthday suit."  Just then my 5 year old entered my sanctum. "Mom, you need to get dressed so people won't be scar...

Do you know who really bother me?  Victims.  People who just whine, whine, whine.  Pointing out all the rotten things that have happened to them.  I think they are getting some perverse pleasure out of identifying and categorizing themselves in such an important role.  Victims are always the star of the show, you know. So here's my show and I'm the star.  Just one of those days and I feel like whining.  I woke up tired but that's usual.  Did carpool for the junior high and got the kids to school on time.  This was paramount because I'd been kindly chewed out last week for getting the kids to school late by another mom.  Well deserved, mind you, but right on the heels of having a bad work day.  Came home, got ready for work, took the kindergartner to school and had 30 minutes before I had to leave.  The house was in shambles.  There were three loads of laundry to fold and more to wash and dry.  I climbed back into bed ...

The 9 year old came in from playing one night and asked, "Hey, Mom!  Did the smoke alarm go off?" "No," I replied, completely offended. He shrugged his shoulders.  "Well, it smells like it." Out of the mouths of babes, truths are told.

1. I’ve come to realize that my body. . . is not young but it's beautiful. 2. I’ve come to realize that my job. . . is a nice way to break up the day. 3. I’ve come to realize that when I drive. . . everybody going slower than me is an idiot. Everyone going faster than me is a maniac. 4. I’ve come to realize that I need. . . Wow. I can't narrow that one down. 5. I’ve come to realize that I have lost. . . my sanity. I don't remember when. 6. I’ve come to realize that I hate it when. . . I can't find something. Like the word I'm looking for. Sanity. That's it. 7. I’ve come to realize that if I’m drunk. . . I'm in a parallel universe and I'm somebody else. 8. I’ve come to realize that money… is nice to have. 9. I’ve come to realize that certain people. . . aren't worth my energy. 10. I’ve come to realize that I’ll always. . . read. 11. I’ve come to realize that my sibling(s). . . are comfortable. 12. I’ve come to realize that my mom…epitomizes home. ...

I would like to publicly pay tribute to Eileen Heisler & DeAnn Heline.  Never heard of them?  Neither had I.  In fact, I had to look them up on Wikipedia.  They are the creators of a television series called "The Middle."  If I were poetic, I'd write them an ode.  But I am not.  So I shan't.  The Middle is about a family in the middle of the continental U.S.  Working parents, neurotic mother, and quirky children.  These are not the perfect children from The Brady Bunch, the rich children from 90210, or the slimy children from Married With Children.  In fact, they are quite unremarkable if seen in a crowd.  Axl is a teenager who is put out every time someone asks him to do anything at all, Sue is completely forgettable but resilient.  And Brick is just socially awkward but brilliant.  Sound boring?  It's not.  It's validating. Axl enters the house and takes off his pants.  He's in his underwear watch...

Right now my 5 year old son is obsessed with farm animals.  He asks questions about them and I answer from first hand experience.  I have achieved celebrity status by having a childhood where I was a farm girl.  My dad is a demigod because, as my son puts it, "Your dad was the farmer?!"   Not A farmer the THE farmer.  Which brings me to the ironies of my childhood. My dad was not a farmer.  He was a psychologist.  He got up early every morning and put on his suit and drove to Salt Lake City where he saw clients in a private practice then came home late at night.  My parents were in the business of raising kids.  So they bought 7 acres in a little unincorporated town and thought it would be good for us.  The ground was too rocky for farming so we were tasked with hauling rocks off the property and dumping them.  I hate rocks.  Funny that I later paid for rocks to landscape my own yard.  My dad spent his summers working in t...

"Your van is making a new sound," my husband said the other day. "Hmmm," I answered.  I'm used to this conversation.  He mentions a new sound or quirk about my van a couple of times a month. "Have you noticed it?" he continues. "Nope." "It's kind of a clunk or a ping." "Yeah, the van and I don't have conversations anymore.  Not since she confided in my she might be having feelings for the Johnson's Suburban. Really.  TMI." "I think it might be time to replace the van." And so we have looked on the internet, visited dealerships, and test driven different modes for transporting families.  The result is always the same.  I can't justify spending so much money on something I just don't care about.  My dream car includes one where the engine turns over and has a working heating and air conditioning system. And so the discussion repeats itself.  He hears a new sound, takes it to the mechanic, the br...

I am sick.  Really and truly sick.  I even took a sick day and felt no guilt whatsoever that maybe I wasn't sick enough to have a "sick day."  Because I am.  My 5 year old was sick, too so I took him to the doctor.  I refuse to acknowledge that I'm sick because I don't get sick.  So with absolute glee, my little boy climbed up onto the table, stuck out his tongue and conversed with the doctor.  I heard something about cloudy ears and antibiotics and then I just turned it off. It hurts when sound reaches my eardrums. We drove back home, I turned on the television, brought in the dog, and let the babysitting begin.  I crawled back into bed and swam somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness.  The kids came home from school.  I might have acknowledged them.  I made chicken noodle soup from scratch.  I couldn't even think.  My husband caught me in a sway and asked what he could do.  I grunted some terse instructi...

Offer to drive her and friends someplace and listen to their conversation.  Become invisible. Clean out her backpack. Clean her room. Trust me. This is much, much MUCH cleaner. And I know her secrets.

Kitchen bar stools are used for everything at our house.  Throw a few quilts over them, you have a clubhouse.  Line them up, there's a spaceship or train.  Put a 3 year old on one, and it becomes just the right height for her to fall and break her collar bone.   It's a desk.  It's a table.  It's a museum.  It's a cage, although not effective for the dog. At least the dog can still crawl through. Think I can teach her to answer the door?

Make me stop!  Someone, please unplug it! Sister Wives.  As weird as the situation is, I feel like I know them.  They will be my new friends when I see them at Costco. Please.  Don't let this trend catch on.  I'm going to change to Modern Family.  Dorky, middle-age parents, grandpa with a trophy wife, and a gay couple with a minority child.  What is wrong with me?!

I'm glad Halloween is over.  I've never liked it.  Not even as a kid.  When I was young, there was no question what I would be dressing up as.  I'd be a witch.  We had two witch masks, one witch dress, and one cape.  My sister and I were always witches.  Somehow I always ended up with the cape and never the dress.  I really wanted the dress.  When it was my year for the dress, my sister would trick me out of it.  I look back on this and wonder how.  I'm smarter than she is.  By far.  Bless her heart. We moved when I was 6 years old from suburbia to Ruralville. Okay, that's not really the name but you get the gist.  Halloween was spent walking to houses a quarter mile apart, ringing the doorbell, and being rewarded with a bite size tootsie roll or smarties.  We'd come home after two hours of begging with 12 pieces of candy - none of them candy bars.  One year we went to a house and the guy yelled at us. ...