Yesterday I mentioned in another blog (yes, I’m cheating on you) that my daughter (10) was asked if she would be someones girlfriend.

She started the conversation saying that she wanted to talk to me about something that had really been bothering her, but she wanted to do it in private. My first thought? Shit. She heard us having sex. Damn the sexual theatrics of drunk people! :oP I probed to at least find out the gist of what she wanted to talk about. Phew, it wasn’t us. Okay. Fast Forward an hour or so and she tells me about a good friend of hers who wants to be more than just friends. I asked her what she said when he asked her and she said she shrugged her shoulders and walked away. She said she felt as though she wanted to stick her head in the sand to avoid dealing with it. Why? She’s not ready!
“I know that I’m going to start entering that phase in my life soon, but I’m just not ready to go there yet. Besides, I don’t look at boys in that way, yet.”

Oh I was proud. It seems that right and left we are being bombarded with images or stories of kids growing up too fast. Already in her 4th grade class there has been countless boy/girl dramas so she’s seen it. She’s also aware that some of the girls wear padded bras and clothing more becoming of a teenager than a 9 or 10 year old. I solely blame the parents for that and I explained why when we talked about the issue of padded bras. A kid can want something all they want. Tough shit. The bottom line is that it’s the parents decision and money that buys these things. Parents who are buying their 10 year olds padded bras are just sick. Anyway..sorry..tangent.

So she asked me what she should do about it and I gave her some suggestions. Later in the night she also spoke to the husband and he gave a boys perspective on the issue. She seemed to feel good about what she needed to do.

That brings us to today. When she got in the car I asked her if she spoke to the boy. She said she had. “Well…how did it go?” She said it went really good. I asked her what she told him exactly. She made the following points:
1. That she’s not really ready for relationships yet
2. But that she really likes him a lot because he’s so fun to hang out with
3. And besides, she would hate to lose him as a friend if they had a fight and broke up.

Solid. That girl rocks my world! I am so effing proud of her ability to stand her ground and not feel pressured to jumped into that scene. It took a lot of courage to maturely speak from her heart and I gave her all kinds of kudos and high fives.
Oh, and how did the boy take it? She said he was really nice about it and said that he understood. He then laughed and said, “Well, what about next year?” Ahhhh, spoken like a true man! lol He, too, displayed a great deal of maturity at having essentially been rejected. “I don’t know if I can fit that into my schedule yet”, is what she responded with about next years prospects.
:o)

So see world..it’s not all hell in a handbasket when it comes to our youth. There are parents out there who are hands on and talk to their kids about real issues. There are kids who are strong enough to be true to themselves. I swear, there is no greater feeling of pride than knowing I’ve taught my kids that. Yah, straight A’s rock..both of my kids being honors students rocks…having teachers compliment them all the time rocks…but what makes my heart swell most is knowing that they are absorbing crucial lessons and becoming very strong and secure little beings respectful of themselves and others. I couldn’t ask for more.

Actually I could. I could ask that it last through the teen years and beyond. I can sit here and gloat all I want, yes, but the truth is, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen….changes everything. Who knows. Maybe because we are so open and communicative (there are no taboo subjects) the kids will remain grounded and free from conforming to the pressures, but I’m not holding my breath.

ps. of course…I am aware that I am not the only parent with most awesomerific kids in the world..but I don’t know all the other kids of the world, so in my book, they’re the cream of the crop! Bias rules!

It’s really amazing the obstacles and hurdles one will put themselves through in pursuit of fitness.
Now I’m not talking about running a marathon despite having 4 broken toes or swimming 30 laps even though you have 102 degree fever or conquering testicular cancer and subsequent surgeries and extensive chemotherapy to go on and win the Tour de France an astonishing seven times. No, I’m talking about the simpleton, every day obstacles we overcome merely to stay slightly ahead of the obesity curve.
Today was one such day for me.

I am perhaps only slightly above average when it comes to my overall fitness ability. I do work out regularly and eat mostly decently, but I’m still a stout little thing with sag and bag dispersed throughout my body.

(I’d like to take a brief side step in my drivel to extend a big FU to the BMI creators and all proponents who use it as a gauge for health assessment. I’m no skinny-minny but at a petite 5′1″ and 129ish pounds I don’t consider myself necessarily heavy. The BMI does. In fact, it reads that I’m only 1 point away from being considered overweight. Wuh, wuh, whaaat? There’s no accounting for the fact that I can run a couple of miles without much strain or do 40 minutes of cardio while maintaining a high level of intensity or perform various weight training exercises with ease. Nope. I’m still a tubby based on the numbers. So yah…they can shove their BMI bullcrap malarkey right on up their tight tushies.)

Okay, back to my conquers of the morning.
I decided to forgo my usual round with Turbo Jam and opted for a morning run on the dam wall. It’s a beautiful day for it after all. Or…so I thought.
Sure the sun was shining and the birds were chirping, but there was an unaccounted for sabotager lurking, just waiting to do me in. It should have clued me in when I had to manwomanhandle my little bug to keep it on the road while driving out there. Or maybe the fact that I noticed a few birds suspended in mid flight.
Merciless wind.
Ahhhhh.
Holy guacamole. I hadn’t noticed how forceful it was while I ran the 1.5 miles out. Frankly, I liked it because it sort of propelled me forward with ease. However, on the run back, crimony. You know that burning feeling you get in your nose if you accidentally inhale water while swimming? Yah, I experienced that, but instead, from the winds ascending up my nostrils at alarming rates. Because the dam wall is situated a good 40 or more feet off ground level there are no trees or buildings to shield you from mother nature, so the wind (30+ MPH) had me all kinds of side stepping and hacking and cursing. God only knows what I inhaled. Despite increasing my light jog into a moderate one I felt as if I was merely crawling.
Several times I wanted to call it quits and just walk the damn thing so that I could cup my hand over my nose and mouth and actually breath with ease. But I didn’t. Nope. I mustered up the strength to forage on -partly out of the desire to get the fuck off there as opposed to sheer dedication to fitness…you know..if I’m being honest.

Breathing became extremely difficult, which is ironic considering that the unwavering gusts provided me with plenty of sustainable oxygen (and ragweed and dirt and deer feces particles and bugs and…).
The last 1/4 mile I had to literally force my body forward, head down, legs just a churning. When I knew I was getting close to my marker I decided to give it all I had (this time, for the fitness) and upped the jog into a full blown sprint. Try as I might, though, to get my little legs pounding hard and fast, I still looked like the circus freak fat lady trying to run in quick sand.
I had to laugh out loud at myself.

But I did it gosh darn it. The damn obese dog was of no help at all. I thought for sure she could pull me along, but she served only to chase bugs and get in my away. In the end, I was very proud of myself for hanging in there and laughing in the face of mother nature’s attempts to slow me down. That’s the first time I’ve actually run in some time - not because I can’t, but because I have bursitis in my hips and extremely bad knees so all that running is a no-no for me. Again…what we do in pursuit of fitness.

So now I think it’s a fine time to sit my ass on the couch, finish off what’s left of the cake and not move for the rest of the day.

The surprise cake I’ve made for the teachers

Tomorrow is National Teachers Appreciation Day. The whole week is sort of geared towards that, but apparently tomorrow’s the official day. Another mom and I decided to host a luncheon for the teachers. Honestly, she did all the work as far as collaborating and getting volunteers to make foods. I just offered to do the cake and told her it was a good idea. That’s pretty much the extent of my involvement. It’s weird, I’ve been pretty hands off with this school compared to the previous schools. I’ve volunteered here and there, but I used to be a staple parent in the PTA before this year. I started from the ground up with those schools though and felt more kinship I suppose. Still, both of my kids have remarkable teachers for which I am extremely grateful! So I made the staff a cake and then we made little potted flower candles for each of the kids teachers.

I really do admire teachers. Once upon a time it was my chosen career path. I suppose it still kind of is. I plan on finishing my degree in art with a secondary in teaching certification, but I’m not 100% convinced that my degree won’t be more utilized in my cake business instead of teaching art. But you never can tell. Especially with me.
It’s a special a gift I have for keeping everyone I know on their toes.
Never a dull moment, that’s for damn sure.

Anyway, speaking of dull…yes this is a lackluster post simply to show off my mad skills (although…seriously, I need some major improvements if I’m ever going to reach notoriety) and remind those of you with school age children to remember their teachers this week! They often spend more time with our children than we do and are responsible for helping shape them into awesome little beings. If you’ve got great ones on your side, definitely recognize them with a kind gesture.

I guess this is hers.

I almost can’t believe I’m posting about this subject, but as mommy to a tweenish young fan, Miley Cyrus has been in our home in some capacity (via t.v., radio or cd) for a couple of years now.
I’ve never disliked her. In fact, I have watched more than my fair share of Hannah Montana episodes.
But this little fiasco that she’s landed herself in has certainly tainted my image.
It’s an almost inevitable phenomenon though.

Teens these day have practically limitless access to voyeurism to the point of demoralizing desensitization. And since the dawn of time teens have been hormonally driven, as well as driven to presume a more mature persona (duh, because they know everything). So her little undie shots or the pics with her main boy aren’t completely shocking –inappropriate, definitely, but not shocking. I just thank God the internet wasn’t a staple in every home when I was growing up. I dare not think what I would have put out there. Granted, I don’t condone her choices in taking those pictures, but it’s easier to understand the lack of better judgment having once upon a time been a young sexually active teen “in love” with my boy.

What gets me, what really makes my image a tad smeared, is this one:

Forget the fact that she looks slightly goth-vampire-esque (chalky white face, dark hair, piercing red lips), the girl is topless. Even if she’s not really topless clearly it’s meant to be conveyed. Um…where the fuck was ol Billy Ray when his 15 year old daughter was parading around a photo set topless? FIFTEEN! Isn’t that illegal? I don’t know. But even if she remained under cover the entire time, the sexuality presented in this photo is both intentional and grossly disturbing. Once the Barbie dolls are put away it’s time for the big girl play. *eye rolls* This child cannot even drive yet. I do blame her partly, but I hold most of the responsibility on her parents and Annie Leibovitz (who I believe shot the photo for Vanity Fair). I mean…what entered all of their heads when they thought it completely acceptable to photograph a young girl with an air of coy sexuality?

If you ask me, more distasteful than the actual photo was the decision to do it in the first place.

Throughout the media you often hear about how (and why?) our girls are growing up too fast, how they’re having sex younger and younger, acting older, clamoring for a piece of the womanhood pie. And then something like this happens or the news of Jamie Lynn’s pregnancy or the countless other calamity’s involving young teens in Hollywood and the question of ‘why?’ sort of answers itself doesn’t it?
Because it sells.
Because it brings attention, ratings, mula.
And because the parents are too busy reaping the benefits of exploitation to stand up and do their fucking job.

For shame. Pretty soon nothing will be immune from Hollywood’s seedy attempts to push the envelope.
Maybe Dakota Fanning could rake in the Benjamin’s doing t.v. add spots for Smirnoff.
Oh oh oh…or Anna Sohpia Robb (Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and Bridge to Terabithia fame) could be doing lines of coke off of Charlie Sheen’s chest for a photo shoot entitled “Charlie and the Bridge to Rehab”.

It’s only a matter of time.

Little cupcake, little cupcake
joy to my senses, my sweetly prize
It’s such a damn ill-fated shame
That you find your home among my thighs

Cupcake love.
Because it’s Thursday (I think) and I can.
I really love baking, creating, stirring…but abhor the clean up. It’s probably 95% of the reason I don’t bake every day. My kitchen is already teensy as is and when you add in all those bowls and sugars and boxes and decorator tools, tips and bags, it’s just too damn much. It overwhelms me.
Bad perk of OCD.

Are there actually any good ones?
Probably not.

That has been my day.
.
.
.
And then just before posting, the phone rings.
Bad news just came and it makes my sweet cupcake love sort of fade way.

I am not a drop-to-your-knee’s praying kind of gal, but today it might be necessary -not in bargaining for some sort of miracle (like back in my high school days when I would pray and then barter my soul for a negative result on x number of pregnancy tests…for shame), but in unadulterated gratefulness at having realized a miracle bestowed.

My daughter, bless her, has stood up her date with Mr. Reaper on numerous occasions. You think he’d give up trying.
First and foremost the birth. I mean…taken from my womb two and half months early and nary a thing wrong with her.
Miracle 1.

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A black cat had the audacity to cross directly in front of me on my way to taking the heathens to school this morning. I’ve never been one to really consider myself to be greatly superstitious, although I do believe in the power of a fullmoon. I don’t link that to superstition though. I con myself into the belief that the moons gravitational pull, with its effect on our vast earthly waters, has just as much of a pull on our internal/emotional waves. I’m not even going to argue about it, so there. Superstitions of the other kind (black cats, umbrellas being opened indoors, walking under ladders, breaking mirrors, etc.), I don’t know, I just never paid much attention to them, yet as I saw the black cat approaching the road I said a tiny thought -a prayer if you will-, please don’t walk in front of me.

It was not answered. As soon as it darted out and on to the other side I thought, Shit. Like I need more bad luck. There was nothing I could do about it, though, except maybe grow the hell up and realize that superstitions are just that:a belief or notion, not based on reason or knowledge, in or of the ominous significance of a particular thing, circumstance, occurrence, proceeding, or the like.
But that would mean gaining more than 3 ounces of sanity and truth be told, monkeys are more likely to come flying out of my butt. So on the way home I begin to contemplate the various ways the black cat’s decision to deviate into my path would interfere with my day.
Then a car cut me off.
Then I hit every mother fucking light on the way home. Every. Last. One.
I peered at my Buddha sticker strategically placed on my upper left windshield and took a few deep breaths. It’s okay. I’m in no rush. I’m looking forward to getting home and starting this beautiful day.
Peace, breath, blah, blah, blah, namaste.

I had my morning planned out: come home, enjoy my last cup of joe, partake in some yogurt with strawberries and then do a quick 20 minute cardio routine, shower and head out to run some errands.
HA!
Black cat had other plans.
I’m home all of 5 minutes when I hear the familiar beep of “you’ve got mail” on my cell. I find a message from the husband asking me if I could please bring him his hat because he forgot it and is in big trouble. The message was dated at 7:35am and I leave around 7:10. WTF. The kids school is just a hop skip and a jump away from the base. He arrived there this morning at 6am. He knew right away that he’d left his hat at home so why did he wait to text me after he knew I’d likely already gone all the way out there and returned home? Now granted, my phone has been acting jacked up so he could have sent the message earlier and I’d just received it at that time, but I’m feeling ornery and decide that he’s a numbnut who waited. And this pisses me off. I have to forego my morning plans and turn around and drive all the way back, which I do because that’s the kind of awesome wife I am.
I make my yummy yogurt and strawberries and consume it while driving. Tastes sort of bitter, unfortunately, when you’re trying not to drop yogurt or careen into on coming traffic.
Meanwhile, hitting all the lights. Again.
And encountered several idiot drivers. Again
And all the while I’m frickin’ fuming at that stupid black cat that I’m even in this situation.

I spent about an hour total in the car this morning (it’s a 15 minute trip out there and then back, twice), so when I got home I didn’t feel like exercising anymore. ::sigh:: But I did because my ass waved at me when I passed the mirror and that’s just rude.
But of course it doesn’t go smoothly. Noooooo. My tampon fell half way out. Yes, I know this is too much information and I realize I sort of sprang it on you without warning, but this is the kind of day I’m having and by golly I’m not going to sit here and candy coat one fucking bit of it.
So I have to stop mid workout, sweat stinging my eyes and deal with that little issue, which also serves to point out that I really don’t think the doc put that extra stitch in there for the hubby after all. (Baby makers will understand this.)

It’s 9:45am and this is where my day is now. This little venting session has made me feel better, though. It could be a lot worse, I know. But when you wake up nice and perky (which is beyond the Monday norm) and one false move begins to shift the day into something you’d not planned for, something far more shittastical than you bargained for, it sort of bums you out. I don’t know whether to strap a smile on my face and greet the world chin-up in spite of the impending misfortunes or whether I should play it safe, lock the doors, surround myself with pillows and sit on the floor. I suppose I’ll have to shoot for the happy facade because I’ve got to go barter with the school district. Ho hum.
And on that subject for just a second here, I think it’s really shitty that I have to go down in person to the administration to turn the paperwork in rather than just mail it. There’s no denying that it’s because they want to look at you to see your ethnicity. One of the check boxes for requesting a student transfer is due to being a minority. It’s the one I checked because the other options aren’t relevant. Of course there are other reasons not listed on their forms as to why we want the daughter to remain at the school and I attached a letter detailing them (it’s a far better school than our home campus, it’s the one her brother goes to and it’s her last year in elementary school and it would suck to be moved). Since she’s a transfer student we have to reapply and submit a request again. Last year we were denied at first and I suspect that’ll be the case again this year. Once they get the general in-campus students accounted for to make sure they’ll have room that’s when we’ll know for sure whether or not they’ll take her back. Her teacher told me that since she’s white (the minority) it shouldn’t be a problem. But there’s always that “what if” factor. I hate the race card, even if it’s in our favor. I just don’t like the fact that in the year 2008 we still address race as a deciding factor in anything. Blech.

So that’s your pointless life update for the day. I’m off to see how else the black cat can muck up my day. For shits and giggles I might just walk under a ladder to see if I can counteract the black cat’s bad juju. Two negatives make a positive right?

ps. just went potty. Not a scrap of tp in the entire house. Frick. Where’s the fucking ladder?

Thanks Cindy. ♥

The Gratitude Campaign:
“For the past several years as I’ve been traveling around the country, I’ve been approaching soldiers in the airports and thanking them for serving for us. On several occasions I have noticed that it felt a little awkward for both of us. There are several reasons, some of which I am even just now learning as I produce this film and talk to more soldiers. But they have always appreciated being thanked, and I have always felt better having expressed my gratitude.
I started to think that it would be nice if civilians had a gesture or sign that they could use to say “thank you” quickly and easily without even having to approach. I did some research and found the sign that we are now using.
Is this limited to the military? Not at all. If you look around you I’m sure that you’ll find lots of people who are serving their communities, from local to global. If you appreciate their service, give them a sign. Say “thank you.”

As a personal request, I’d like to remind people to thank every service member you encounter, not just the ones who have or are serving in combat. They all make a sacrifice and they all sign the same dotted line willing to defend a sometimes very ungrateful politically charged nation.
Every job is a part of the whole.
In all our years of living in a military town I’ve only known of once when a stranger thanked my husband - a woman at Domino’s Pizza. Maybe he’s encountered more that I’m not aware of, but that’s the only one I was around for. On Veterans Day or Memorial Day the schools will usually do something that offers thanks or the city will host a parade and everyone finds their patriotic feel-good moment, but as far as individual gratitude in our day to day lives, it just doesn’t happen as often as it should.
It’s one of the most under valued, under paid and under appreciated jobs in this nation. So next time you see a man or woman in uniform, whether they’re at an airport coming back from conflict or simply standing in line at the store buying bread, thank them.
You have no idea how much it means to them, and to us, as family members.

I’ve always found it a bit peculiar that making a decision such as where to eat for dinner or what to eat for dinner once we get there can be like pulling teeth for me, but deciding to get up one day, chop all my hair off and dye it pink and black comes so easily.
Impulse control.
I have virtually none.

“Mom, is today Wednesday or Thursday?”
“Wednesday.”
“Oh. So I have two more days of prison?”
“Yep, you sure do kiddo.”

My poor boy. He is facing his first ever prison term grounding at the ripe young age of 7. For most of his life he’s been a pretty stellar kid. He’s had the occasional bout of orneriness, but nothing that ever warranted severe punishment. But Monday night he finally tested the waters and he lost. Big time. He had an impulse and went for it. He lied about taking a shower, which in itself isn’t too big of a deal if at first accusation he would have fessed up. But he didn’t. He lied 3 or 4 times about it, repeatedly, after we gave him opportunity after opportunity to fess up. He even had the audacity to get defensive.
Little shit.
He finally owned up to it when daddy’s mammoth size and booming voice gave him “one more chance to tell the truth”.
He’s never been a fibber. EVER. But I do remember that it was around this age when Saydra began her hand at politics, so maybe it’s the age.
(liked that play on words didn’t ya?)

There’s something about the baby of the family that really does set them apart from any other kids. When he left the room after Charlie got on to him and Adrian apologized, succumbing to river of tears he’d been trying so hard to fight back, Charlie looked at me and said, “That was hard.”
Boy was it. I couldn’t even look at the boy. On one hand I was completely shocked and angry that my sweetness lied right to my face, but on the other, he’s my baby and I don’t like to see my baby cry. He rarely does and maybe that’s why. He’s so sensitive, though, and I know it was harder for him to hear that he’d disappointed us than to hear he’d been grounded for 3 days. There was an immediate since of wanting to comfort the little criminal. WTF is that about? The kid lied. Repeatedly. Oh and he attempted to con us by throwing a little water from the sink on to his hair. Frickin’ deviant.
Much as I wanted to undo the grounding and convince myself that the good talking to was enough, I didn’t. I did knock it down to 3 days instead of the original week Charlie wanted to give him. That’s a long time for any kid, especially for his first offense.

Oh and we’re those really mean type of parents: when we say grounded, we really mean it. No caving. He goes into his room after school and stays there until dinner and then takes a shower and goes right back in. No t.v. No video games. No DS. No playing with sissy. For a techie/t.v. junkie like him, yesterday was torture. He played with some toys for a little bit, but ended up falling asleep on his floor before 5pm. :o(
My poor little wounded sparrow.
Damn. There I go again.

His sister of course, is in frickin’ love with it all. She’s been grounded at least once every two weeks for the past 4 years of her life it seems. Usually it’s because Charlie gets pissed at her for something like talking back or not moving quick enough in doing whatever task he’s demanded her to do. At any rate, she’s the Queen of Sheba for the time being and basking in the glory that her brother, is in fact, not the perfect little golden child.

He’s like silver now.