Freedom Isn't Free

Yes, I know it is an old cliche', but it is very true. I am going to relax and enjoy this four day weekend complete with a crawfish boil and fireworks. But in doing so, I thought it best to make mention of something.


To our Troops: Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. May God keep you safe. You are in my prayers and I hope that you can return to your families safely and soon. I have such respect and admiration for you and your bravery. People, whether you agree with the war or not, please say a prayer for the men and women protecting us and risking their lives. They need our support and our prayers and so do the loved ones waiting at home for them to return unharmed.


Have a wonderful and safe Fourth of July.

God Bless America.

Truth Be Told....

Every evening, Small Pants curls up in my lap for about 15 minutes before bedtime. We snuggle and talk about the day and then I tuck him in for the night. As long as he has Mr. Fuzzles and his "Moon in my Room" book, he is happy as a clam. Some evenings, I am a bit busy, so I suggest that he snuggle with Pants instead of me. The answer is always a resounding "No, mama."

Last night, I asked him why and here is our conversation - unedited and verbatim....


Me: "Why don't you ever sit in Daddy's lap before bedtime?"

Sm P: "I don't know"

Me: "Don't you think it would be nice to try that sometimes? Daddy has a comfy lap" (yes, a snicker eminated from Pant's chair on that comment)

Sm P: "No, I don't want to."

Me: "Why not, sweetie?"

Sm P: "Because that lap poots, mama."



Well, I couldn't very well send him over there after that startling revelation, could I?

Basics for the Customer Service Industry

In light of my last post, I would like to list my top 10 things I think are basic necessities for those who work in the service industry. That would include McDonald's, Lowe's, Walmart, etc. - anywhere that it is your job to either serve or wait on people.


1) Breath mints

2) "Thank you" Really people, it's not that hard to say. After all, I just contributed to your paycheck.

3) No gum chewing - AT ALL. Even if you are able to chew it without smacking, I don't want to see it flopping around in your mouth.

4) Please stop flirting with the 16 year old checker and just sack my damn groceries. Oh, and hey Einstein, bread should go somewhere near the top, ya think?

5) If I have two baskets of groceries and two small kids, yes, you might want to push the cart to my car and load them. It's part of your job.

6) If I am still sitting at the drive thru window after you shut it (without saying Thank you) chances are you have either forgotten something or screwed up my order. Don't open the window and say "Huh?" or "What?"

7) "May I help you?" See #6 also.

8) If I ask you where the rat tail files are, and you don't know, ask someone who does. Do not just send me to "plumbing" because even I know they aren't in that department.

9) Smile occasionally - I want to be in your store even less than you do. I'm not getting paid for being there.

10) And for the grand finale...... Do not comment that someone has a weird name. I will accept "That's unusual" or even "That's a pretty name" but better yet, just shut your piehole. I know, trust me, I already know.


** I reserve the right to add to this list, especially after I venture out for lunch today.

The Twilight Zone - Redefined

There are a few things of which I am well-aware. Things that I know must be blatently obvious to everyone, but then perhaps I expect too much of people. I will list just three of them here:

1) No man looks good in a Speedo - It doesn't matter how hot or well-built you are.

2) Apparently, turn signals are sold as "optional equipment" on some car models.

3) I have an unusual name for a girl. And yes, I know it's a boy's name.


I deal with the lovely #3 everyday. On the phone, meeting new people, when writing a check, etc. Anytime someone needs to know my name, I get an odd look or a comment. Yeah, funny - I have never heard the "Your mama must have wanted a boy" or "You shoulda married a man with the last name of Time" jokes, really. Never. Originality is not some people's strong suit, is it?

I had to go to Walmart this weekend. I know, don't say it. I hate that freakin place too, but it takes 45 minutes to get to Target. Anyway, I didn't come here to talk about the crumbling of Western civilization. I had to go to Walmart. As I was checking out and writing my check, the pleasant girl with impeccable manners (that would be sarcasm there) asked to see my driver's license. I obliged. This woman, with hair that was so stiff and oddly styled, fake nails that were painted with designs and her one gold tooth, peered at my license. She would look at it then look at me then look at it again. She did this about three times.

She then said, in a way that can only be translated if you could hear me imitate her (but imagine my head swiveling back and forth as if it were no longer attached to my neck with anything but a coil) "You gots a weird name, you knows it?"

I nodded and said, "Yes, thank you." Then I looked at her nametag. I had to lean forward and sound it out. You will never in 40 million years guess it. It took me several attempts and I made a point to let her see me sounding it out to myself. Is the suspense killing you?


"Tylomeklia"


I'll give you a few moments to process that.......


Never one to "just let it go" I looked at her nametag then looked at her then her nametag again. I just smiled at her and said "Yes, it is an unusual name isn't it, Tylomeklia?" The man in line behind me, who had witnessed the entire sitcom just started laughing. Out loud, really loudly. Loud enough for people to turn and look.

Tylomeklia looked at him knowingly and said "She do have a weird name, don't she?"


Unfreakingbelievable.

That has never happened to me at Target, I'll have you know.

Yet Another Complaint About Sweltering Heat

I am home. Thank God. Scottsdale, Arizona. June. 113 degrees. And when people say "It's a dry heat." What the hell does that mean, exactly? It means they are completely full of horseshit. The only difference between heat there and here is that my hair looked good. No frizz. But other than that? Nothing - it was hot. As hot as I imagine it is in hell. I am sure I will know soon enough.

We stayed at some fancy resort that I could never afford if I had to pay the tab. You want to know how they afforded it? Because it is the "off season" in Scottsdale. Why? Because it is so freaking hot, that's why. So very hot that when I had very very little hot water in the shower Tuesday morning, I didn't even complain about it. I just thought, hmmm. This is pleasant actually. Usually, I take the hottest showers known to man. So hot, that if Pants is feeling amorous and wants to get in the shower with me, he winces and turns up the cold water when he thinks I am not looking. I will run you out I take them so hot. So it really must say something if I found a lukewarm (at best) shower refreshing.

We had meetings, fancy dinners, open bars, meetings, activities, open bars and more dinners with open bars. Before you get all riled up about the open bar issue, rest assured, I am no idiot. While I do like a cold beer and even a tasty drink concoction occasionally, I do not drink excessively on any business trips. Get this, I will in the comfort of my home when the kids are at the sitters for the night and even when we go out if Pants will take care of me, I am nothing if not a party viking. But not with people I conduct business with or when I am representing my employer. I had a few drinks here and there, but was always in control. Never ceases to amaze me how when the crap is free, people go buck wild. Classy.

The activity we selected was a rafting trip down the Salt River. Sweet Baby Jesus, no one warned me that our guide would be the most ridiculously cute boy EVER!! He was just the cutest thing, young enough to be my son, if I started at like 18 or something. But really cute. If I had a daughter his age, I would have been scheming, seriously. The other guide was like Erkel compared to ours, so we planned that well.

I am glad to be back, though. I missed my boys. It was weird being gone from them - it's so rare that I am gone for a few days. Plus I never sleep well without Pants beside me. I am astounded to say I missed his snoring even. He doesn't snore loudly, just a little bit. Nothing I have made him go to the couch for. An occasional jab to his ribs, perhaps, but nothing more. I have been awake many nights and been soothed by the sound of him breathing that deep sleepy breath. I talk in my sleep, so I'll bet I'm not so soothing. If you want to know how I truly feel about something though? Ask me while I am asleep, because I will tell you without mincing any words.

They were all fine when I got home and the house was still pretty clean. I was shocked. They did forget to water my ferns; however. I have two gigantic ferns in urns (heh heh) on the front porch. I have cherished, nurtured and babied those bastards for months now and they look fabulous. I told them all that if my precious and beloved ferns died while in their care, there would be severe consequences. Possibly even death. Good thing Pants did it when I reminded him about it the evening I was on my way home. I don't think I would look good as a widow. Or as a convict. Either way, they survived - meaning my ferns and my family. Seriously, someone would have been maimed if they had not made it. I love those damn ferns.

Oh and a word to the wise....When you are trying to be all cool with some girl you meet at a business meeting, don't be a dumbass. Some poor schmuck tried to talk baseball with me. Looking at the nerd, you knew he had never played past t-ball. Consider this, when you tell me that Wow! You love the Red Sox too!!!! For forever, since you were a kid! How crazy is that?!?! you might want to atleast act like you know something about them. I have been a fan since I was little. I remember watching them play with my dad in elementary school. I despise Bandwagon Fans. So, if you say that you are a big longtime fan, it would be in your best interest not to stare at me so blankly when upon asking me who my favorite Bosox players are, I respond Ted Williams, Jim Rice and Carl Yastremski. If you have never heard of the Splendid Splinter, you, my friend, are no baseball fan. You don't have to like him, but you should know who he is.

I plan to begin a new concept in my entries. I will not mention unbearable, life threatening heat, suffocating humidity or baseball for the rest of the summer. I swear. It is going to be difficult, but I am willing to try. For you.

An Argument for Genetics

My two boys are pretty smart. Medium Pants was awarded the "Science Student of the Year" award this year for the highest science GPA in 4th grade. He was also on the president's honor roll. He gets all that science stuff from his father, not me. Small Pants can count, rattle off the Red Sox infield and tell you who wore #9, but he is all about sports. I am pretty sure where he gets that too.

Medium Pants wants to be either a judge or a vet when he grows up. Both excellent choices of which he is quite capable of doing well. Small Pants wants to be David Ortiz. Big Papi. I laugh every time he says it because he doesn't realize that he will never be able to be a black man. Michael Jackson became a white guy, but I don't think we could afford to support Small Pant's metomorphosis, so he's out of luck.

I think Medium Pants will do well in school. He is very smart and enjoys learning - wants to know more. Unlike his father and I, who skated through and kept our grades up enough just to play ball. I was an A & B student, but never made an effort. I am not a genius, I was just gifted with a great memory. It has since lost most of it's power - something about brain cells being killed or something. I don't know. Small Pants is just going to want to play sports. That is fine by me, but I will emphasize the importance of applying yourself to your schoolwork.

I worry about them both because how can you not in today's world. And I worry I am not doing everything I should for them. I know that no parent is perfect, but I try. Sometimes I wonder what they will remember as adults about how we were as parents. I hope they have good memories. I know they will always know that we love them.

I am going out of town for a few days on business, so no entries. Sorry, I should have put more effort into this one, I guess. I am not very excited about it - all my responsibilities are here and while a few days away would seem nice, I know I will miss all my Pants. They will be fine, I know. Their daddy will take good care of them. I will have to clean the house again when I get home, I'll bet. See? Yet another thing to look forward too.

I just keep praying that Small Pants will not be made fun of when he shows up in something that TOTALLY does not match. Medium Pants can dress himself, thank goodness. I just hope Pants makes sure they take baths. Swimming in the pool does not count as a bath, dear. There was no soap involved, remember?

So I'll be back later next week and after I clean my house and scrub my poor chlorined kids, I'll tell you about the trip. Or atleast try and write a slightly entertaining entry, since this one sucks.

What Goes Around Comes Around

We went to the zoo last week. It was lovely. Medium Pants loved the sea lion show and Small Pants loved the polar bear exhibit. The animals cooperated and put on a show. We even got to see the enormous boa constrictor eat a rabbit - sick, I know. Why do monkeys have such ugly butts? I have always wondered that.

As we were leaving the zoo, after a pleasant day of no whining, arguing, fits or name calling (unbelieveable, really) we headed toward the front gates. They have a beautiful fountain and "river walk" thing with small waterfalls complete with bridges and stepping stones. Well, who can resist the call of the stepping stone? Medium Pants crossed the water a few times on the stones as nimble as a gazelle. Impressed, I asked Small Pants if he wanted to cross on them. He said yes, but wanted me to do it with him. Pants commented a few times (he states it was four to be exact) that he didn't think it was a very good idea.

"There aren't any signs saying not to. And look, everyone else is doing it." I replied. Now, let me stop for a moment to acknowledge the parental error of my - everybody else is doing it - comment. I know, OK? Shut it. And no, I wouldn't jump off a bridge if everyone else did.

So off we go. Holding hands, I step on the first stone and then the second. Small Pants steps on the first and just keeps on coming. I get to the third one and, oops, it's a little wobbly. Small Pants just keeps on coming. I think that I can just step into the water, regain my balance and continue. I just have on flip flops, so it wouldn't hurt my shoes. I step back into the water.... and my foot just keeps going down and down and down even further. It appears the zoo engineers thought that a drainage hole would be perfect at the base of the stepping stones. So down my foot goes until I finally hit bottom. The water is up to my knee and I totally lose the rest of my balance.

I end up sitting in the waterfall, with the water up to my ribs, pulling my poor child in with me. I do manage to hold him up out of the deepest part of the water and grab my flip flop as it floats downstream. Pants thought I had broken my ankle and sweet Medium Pants had this odd look on his face. He really really wanted to laugh, but was unsure if he was allowed to. Well, what can you do? You are sitting in the center of the entrance to the zoo, people are coming in and out - entire families - seeing you sitting in the middle of this water display.

I was laughing my ass off. I mean, how funny could that have possibly looked? I would have laughed if it had happened to someone else. I couldn't stop laughing and Small Pants was just looking at me. He was angry because "Mama pulled me in the water and now I am all wet, Daddy!" Poor lad was a touch indignant, plus he had on nylon soccer shorts, so he proceeded to walk like he had taken a humongous poop in his pants - his legs were spread apart and his arms outstretched. As soon as I started laughing, so did Pants and Medium Pants. Small Pants? Not so much.

Pants pulled my big ass out of the water and asked if I was ok. I had a big scratch on the back of my leg and my foot was burning. I took off my shoe and my entire foot was covered with blood - it was dripping onto the ground. Scary at first, but after I rinsed it off, I just ripped a big chunk out of the bottom of my big toe. I am nothing if not graceful, people!

Anyway, as soon as it was ascertained that I would survive, we went to the car. Small Pants had to ride home in just his Spiderman underwear because his clothes were soaked. He wouldn't let Daddy turn on the air conditioner because it was too cold. He and I were perfectly comfortable after our swim. The other two were sweating profusely. It's hot here, remember? But we finally got home, and when we did Pants set about telling everyone he knew about how damn funny it was and occasionally imitating my whole backward armwaving fall. He would not stop. The mileage he thought he was going to get from this! After all he did tell me (4 times, remember?) not to do it.

After ridiculing me for entirely too long, he worked in the yard a little bit, cleaning up shrubs around the trees and getting some brush cleared. Every so often, he would stop to get a cold drink and laugh at me some more. Even going so far occasionally to demonstrate how my comic sideshow looked from his angle. For my benefit, how kind.

He gets up the next morning and appears to have a lovely outbreak of poison ivy all across his forehead and arms. As he is standing there looking in the mirror at it and I am standing next to him at my sink putting on makeup, he says:

"What the hell is that?"

My response?

"Karma, baby."

Why I Like Men

I prefer the company, usually, of men to that of women. Men are more laid back, less critical and less bitchy (unless they are sick). Women, for the most part - not all of them, are way too busy worrying about what the other women think and being jealous of them. Silly and a complete waste of time.

Now, I get along well with women who are comfortable in their skin, who know who they are and are not concerned about what anyone thinks. It annoys me to no end when you see a group of women at lunch, for example, and a pretty woman walks by. The group immediately begins to tear apart her clothes, her hair, her make-up, etc. It is ridiculous and shows nothing but their insecurities. How hard is it to simply acknowledge that there will always be someone prettier, thinner, smarter and richer than you - big hairy deal. I would love to be thinner and richer - who wouldn't - but I am not going to make rude comments about some thinner and wealthier girl I might see at some restaurant that I don't even know! What a waste of time - who has the energy for that much negativity?

Given my penchant for sarcasm, I know that is difficult for some of you to grasp. I; however, rarely waste my gift of sarcasm on people I don't know - they can't appreciate it. I prefer to blast my loved ones and friends with it occasionally, just to keep them in line.

Now, back to why I like men. I can sit and drink a cold beer and talk sports with men. They understand the inner drive to compete and even play hurt. They get it. I have a friend, bless her heart, she lives in a bubble. The boys had "Wear your favorite college team" shirt to school one day. She called "Are the Cleveland Browns a college team?" Now her son is playing t-ball - she calls the innings "quarters." I have so very much to teach her.

I like men bacause they don't hold grudges - they don't get pissy. I like men who don't put up with any bullshit. I like men who wear the pants in the family (like my dear Pants does). I like men that run the show, protect their wives and children and will tell someone to watch their mouth when their kids are with them. I like men who are not afraid of showing a little weakness here and there and I like men who can cry without being ashamed. If you can watch Ole Yeller or The Lou Gehrig Story with a guy and he doesn't cry - he has no soul.

I guess because I earned the moniker of being a tomboy at a very young age, I was always accepted by the guys. I was the cool chick. I wasn't trying to play dumb and flirt with them (atleast they didn't know I was flirting) - I was their friend. While sometimes in high school that made for boring Friday nights, I could never be the ditzy cutesy type. I would much rather just sit and discuss when and if Ralph Sampson was ever going to bring the NCAA Champ title home to UVA. FYI - nope, he never did. Choked, bigtime.

I think that with all my casual friendships and conversations with men, it allowed me to see how they work much more clearly. They are pretty simple, really. They like to be appreciated. They can't read our minds - if you want something from your spouse, you have to specifically ask for it. Leave the ad on the table with a big circle around what it is you want. Hints do not work.

Men are just easier to be around - there is no agenda, no shuffling for power and no sizing up the "competition." I absolutely love it when Pants has a game and I go to watch him play. I adore all his teammates - they are all great guys who would do anything for you. I like to watch him in his element and the fact that he is a great ball player doesn't hurt either. Best first baseman in the city - I swear. Men are easy to be around - get them a cold beer, talk about their interests, throw in a good joke and relax.

Maybe that's the whole thing - I can relax around men. I don't feel like I am being critiqued and compared. Plus, I can cuss and even burp around some of them - they do not care. There is totally something positive about being one of the guys. You can just be yourself. I guess it could be a drawback if Pants wasn't so secure in our relationship. He is not threatened by the fact that I get along well with men. He knows that I think the sun rose and set in him - I am not going anywhere. Pants is the only one for me without a doubt and he knows that I can joke with his friends and that is all it is.

God knew what he was doing - despite my protests - when he gave me two sons. I wouldn't have known what to do with a girl - other than teach her how to play ball.

Still Just As Sweet

I am fortunate to have been able to conceive and bear two beautiful and healthy children. I suppose as a young girl, you think about your future husband and children - planning your wedding and home in your head for years before you ever even meet the man you marry. During all this childish dreaming and planning (most of which is pure nonsense anyway) it is just taken for granted that you will have babies - that everything will function as it is supposed to and no wrenches will be thrown into the works and it will all be easy as pie.

I have several friends who are unable to have children. When we all found this out in our early to mid-twenties, many evenings were filled with us girls all sitting around discussing at length the situation. Such discussions usually involved alcohol, tears, more alcohol, more tears and some laughter. I felt so terribly sorry for my friends that they could NEVER have babies - I mean, how could God be so cruel? These were the most loving and nurturing girls I knew. They would be the best moms in the world. They were the ones who held our girlie group together, remembered birthdays, planned parties and were always thinking of how to make everyone feel better. Damn - they were so nice, sometimes we tried to pull them over to the dark side. A snide remark would be made and you would see a faint glimmer of a smile before the "That's not nice" was said. We evil ones would just shake our heads in disgust and say "Crap, I thought we had her in our clutches."

None of that last "dark side" part is true, really, but they were and still are lovely women with huge hearts. And so it always struck me as ridiculously unfair - these girls, who were the first to cuddle all the new babies and soothe the new moms of the group's nerves, would never hold one of their very own. They were naturals - the kind you see and wish you could be. Poised and calm, even as Little Susie barfed all down the front of their brand spankin' new Ann Taylor sweater, they smiled and laughed and said " I bet you feel better now, don't you, sweetheart?" They would mention adoption and I always though to myself "Yeah, but it won't really be your baby...." And I would wonder how you could bond with a baby that you didn't have a part in making. I mean, babies are cute and you might love one, but for 18 years? When it's not even yours? I couldn't fathom it.

As time wore on I softened on that stance some. I still couldn't understand how you could truly bond with one, especially after having my first. The whole pregnancy is a bonding experience and the first time you feel that little booger kick? Wow, it's a combination of awe, fear and inexplicable love. Amazing. I could see maybe how you would grow to love them and become protective of them - I mean, if this is your only shot at it, sure. I guess.

And then it happened, our dear friend Melissa and her equally dear husband Ben found out they were getting a baby girl. They hadn't really told us they were trying to adopt because apparently it is a lengthy process with no absolutes. And as I said, she is ridiculously sweet and didn't want to get everyone else's hopes up. We had a big party for them and a new baby shower. It was so much fun - although all of us who had given birth were a little pissed. There, opening presents, sat Melissa in her size 4 jeans - looking agonizingly perfect - where we had all sat months before in our lovely size efuckingnormous maternity clothes.

We had a wonderful time and she racked up some really great shit. C'mon, you know that's what it's all about - quit being so pious. Anyway - I was still skeptical about the whole bonding/not really yours issue. Hoping for the best but just not knowing. Until the day Audra came home from the hospital.

The way Melissa cradled that precious baby with the tears streaming down her face and her smile lighting up the room made us all cry. Up from the depths of the baby blanket came a tiny hand reaching out for Melissa's face. Fingers spread wide like she wanted to hold all of Melissa's beautiful face in her one hand. She kissed that tiny hand and the look in her eyes told me that I had been wrong all along. So very wrong, and so glad that I had been.

I saw in that one simple moment between a mother and her child that that baby was hers and Ben's and no one else's. They loved this gift with the same depth that I loved mine. It made no difference in how the babies got into our arms, just that they made it there safely. This little baby and it's smell were still just as sweet. Just as perfect. Just as you had always dreamed.

And we all drank a toast to the beautiful Audra - who had come to prove me wrong and to complete a family.

Searching For A Cure.......

They say in the old Eddie Cochran hit "Summertime Blues" that there ain't no cure for them. I beg to differ. I believe that a seat right on the beach and a big ass marguerita usually cures those blues, even if said cure is temporary. But alas, we are unable to make it to the beach this summer as a family. I get to go briefly on a business trip, but I would rather go with Pants and the two smaller size pants.

Summer is always a time of mixed emotion at our house. While I love the excitement of summer vacation, the weather and the boys excitement at moving up a grade, I also dread summertime. Camps and activities overflow every day almost to the point of being too much. Also, we have issues with heat and attitudes.

Medium Pants alternates between camp and my mom's so that he doesn't get bored with either too quickly. The camp he goes to is at his school and the try to schedule field trips and special activities, so he tries to go there on those days, but the days where they are just hanging out at the gym, he tries to spend the day at his grandmother's for something a little different.

Small Pants is in pre-school and during the summer the schedule is fun, fun, fun!!! Every day is something different - bubble day, water day, fun day with moon bounces and water slides, trips to the park, visits from the fire department (those are planned and not due to smoke or an alarm being sounded) and so on. So usually, I am halfway to work and struck with "Oh God, did I send his bubbles with him? Does he have his Spongebob swimtrunks and a towel?" It can be stressful sometimes because our house is a little nutty in the morning with us all running around like chickens trying to make sure we have everything we need for the day.

But here is the real reason I am no fan of summer. It's too damn hot. The humidity here is ungodly and you cannot escape it. The heat index is usually a good 10 degrees higher than the actual temperature and that is due to the humidity. You step outside and it is like a old stale sheet has been thrown in boiling rancid water for 15 minutes then thrown on your body as soon as you leave the air conditioned safety of your home. So not only are you hot and wet, but you are smelly too.

And poor Pants usually has to work out in this crap every day. In jeans. Welding. Which involves producing even more heat. And wearing long sleeves. I'll let that sink in for a second...... Welding. Outside. In 100 degree weather. In jeans.

So, as you can imagine, he is a ridiculously pleasant person when he arrives home from work. Yes, that was sarcasm. We suffer through this every summer. EVERY summer. We will not even address the odor issue, because, dear Lord, bless his heart, he can't help that. You would smell bad too if you were out all day in that heat. Welding. In jeans. Outside. Did I mention that before? Anyway, he comes home and he is really, really crabby. He is hot and tired and totally drained. All he wants to do is change clothes, because his are usually still soaked, and sit in the a/c and perhaps drink a nice cold cold beer. And then just sit in the a/c for a while longer.

OK, I get this. I know how shitty it must be to work out in the heat the whole day - I could not do it. There is no way I could - I would be crying like a sissy after just an hour or probably less. So it is not that I do not have sympathy for him because I do. I respect my husband not just for what a good & honest man he is but for how hard he works every day. You could never call him a slacker - unless you were talking about picking up dirty socks, but again, I am getting off topic.

But picture my afternoon - early evening. I pick up both boys from their respective zoos. My mind is already racing about what I need to prepare for them for whatever field trip/activity they have the next day. They are begging on the ride home to go swimming/go to Tyler, Conner, Nicholas, Zach or Colby's house/have one of them come to our house/watch Power Rangers/have a coke/have some m&m's/play baseball/play kickball/play video games/ride bikes/ride scooters/etc.

So, as soon as I get them home, I have to change clothes and go outside with them to play. Which is fine - I am not complaining about playing with my kids. I actually enjoy being out there with them, except for the damned heat. And I know that winter will be here soon enough and they will get sick of staying inside. Pants is inside cooling off still and looks miserable and a bit pale. I try to get the kids out of his way so he can just relax for a bit. After a little while he comes out, mainly because I think he feels obligated to do so.

Here's the thing. He is short-tempered with the boys and me and a gem to everyone else. And I know it is because the sun has sapped every ounce of energy he had. He gets onto the boys for the slightest infraction and is short with me, probably because I am sticking up for them, but is cheerful and pleasant with the neighbors. I guess I am a little bit more patient with them because I know they have just been hyped up all day and they are still running on that excitement. Besides, it's summer - who can forget how you felt when you were in elementary school and you finally understood what "summer vacation" meant? So they are running around the yard yelling and sweating (and you know how sweaty little boys smell), I am standing there watching and sweating and Pants is standing there yelling and sweating.

We make a lovely picture, I am certain - me, the two stinky polecats and Grumplestiltskin.

Maybe our summers would go more smoothly if he just stayed in the a/c. And I don't mean that in a bitchy way. I can handle the kids outside and I am not working in the heat all day. If it will put you in a better mood, stay inside and cool off. Suits me just fine. We'll be in later. If it will make you less of a grump I am all for it!

I must state that Pants is not usually a grumpy person and always leaves his work issues at work. It is truly the heat and being so drained that makes his such a crab. This always happens every summer. It is exhausting for him and I try to be sympathetic. It's hard sometimes though, when he can be nice to everyone else but no so much to us. I guess he expects us to be more understanding and maybe we should be. Now I feel guily for complaining because this is the only time Pants is a crab. Oh, and when he is sick he's a big turd too.

I told him if we moved to Maine, our summers would be nicer. He just looked at me. So I guess we are staying here. Mr. & Mrs. Grumplestiltskin.

It's All About Reading Comprehension, Isn't It?

Even though it has been a short week, what with the holiday, it seems like it has taken an eternity for Friday to finally get here! I was so busy last weekend - a ball tournament, painted our bathroom (looks great, thanks!), cookout and the whole neighbor issue that it just flew by.

On the neighbor issue, things seem to be going well. They are spending more time with him and I think that is really all he wanted. He seems much happier and calmer and we have gotten more one on one time with our boys, so pluses all around. Speaking of pluses......

One of the pluses to having a blog - or blob - is that it can be quite cathartic. You can get things out and in the open that might otherwise be difficult to say. Whether about my father's death, my friend's cancer or this situation with my friend/neighbor. I know we are not the first people in a subdivision to encounter this, so I know we will reach a resolution. It was troubling; however, because no one wants to struggle with having to say something that they know will hurt someone's feelings, no matter how gently or nicely they do it.

One of the minuses to having one - people tend to read just the top entry or just parts of it and then twist it. Again, I got several e-mails saying I was picking on this kid or that I should confront his mother and discuss it with her. OK, no, I was not picking on him, and if you had read the PREVIOUS entry, it was all about my conversation with his mother. And yes, he has been officially diagnosed with ADHD by a real Dr./Therapist - his mother told me so. I was very polite to her and explained that I adored her son, but felt that he was always at my house - every afternoon until being sent home at my children's dinnertime and all weekend long. His parents never come check on him or look out to make sure he is ok. All I asked for was the occasional evening with my kids in my yard alone.

If you e-mailer's who are critiquing my blog and ridiculing it's contents would like to read EVERY entry in order, you would see that I continually point out that I am not nor have ever claimed to be a perfect parent. My boys have their issues just like every child. Here they are in case you have missed them:

Medium Pants - 1) Quite possibly the bossiest child on Earth. His Challenge teacher (Gene Wilder for those of you who are selective in your reading) calls it "leadership abilities." Yeah, I call it "Things you might get spanked for." 2) Sometimes gets frustrated with stupidity and gets snotty. For the record, I do not know where he gets this.

Small Pants - 1) Still at the stage where farting in public is thought to be uproariously funny. 2) Announced loudly at the Mexican restaurant the other night that he was no longer to be called Spiderman. He was now to be referred to only as "Burper Boy" followed by a burp that made even me proud.

So see, I do realize that we are all different and have different opinions. Maybe not all adults find earsplitting belches humorous. Ok, that's fine. We can still coexist here.


My only request - read the ENTIRE entry and if it references the one directly preceeding it, READ THAT ONE TOO before firing off an e-mail to me about what a bitch, horrible neighbor, ball-less idiot, drug pushing maniac, princess or queen of perfection (yeah, I laughed my ass off at that one too) I am.

C'mon....Let Me Explain!

I have received several, ok, quite a few, e-mails from "concerned readers" (whatever!) who thought that my last post was an attack on kids with ADHD or spastic behavior, most directly the one who lives two doors down, affectionately called Spazwad.

I assure you, it was not. I do not know all the ins and out of diagnosing ADHD and I am no Tom Cruise - some issues may be better served with medications. I feel, and I may be incorrect here, admittedly, that this child would be better served with some sort of medication. He is unable to exhibit self control and it is affecting not only his education, but his relationships with his peers.

I am certainly not going to win any parent of the year awards. Never claimed that I would. I do; however, feel that there is not one single child on this Earth that would NOT benefit from more positive attention from his parents. You can't just open the door and tell your 6 year old to go play and expect him to stimulate himself all day every day. You are just setting yourself up for trouble and I believe that if that is the way you choose to parent, you cannot be surprised when the knock at your door one afternoon is the police.

All the child wants is someone to play with, some attention and to have some fun. I never said I didn't want him to never set foot in my yard again. I would just like to have some time to devote my attention entirely to MY children and I think they as parents should do the same.

If you think that is unreasonable, you can kiss my ass.

I'm betting I'll be seeing you on the news years from now. Through a stream of tears with police cars in the background, you will be saying "But he was always such a good boy........."