Puppies for Sale

Oh, wait. Not puppies. Children.

So this is how my day went today:

7 am until 8 am: Typical morning insanity routine, as experienced by all mothers everywhere, during which time you try to dress and feed yourself, drag three uncooperative children out of bed, feed kids, make them get dressed, referee argument about who didn't really brush for two minutes, try to fix headband that was just purchased yesterday but which daughter says already won't stay in her hair, make water bottles for everyone, make sure you have cash for the concession stand, pack piano books in car, search for missing cleats how on God’s green earth can they be missing you just wore them yesterday for pete’s sake???

8:30 until noon: Sit in the blazing sun while all three kids are at soccer camp and try to explain to them why m&ms and Dr. Pepper from the concession stand during break time is perhaps not the healthiest choice. And yes, I understand that running for three hours makes your legs tired and your feet hurt but you are young and you will get over it. Leave soccer camp long enough to buy yourself a Diet Dr. Pepper from the nearby Sonic.

Drive kids to Chick-Fil-A for lunch. Specifically ask for one menu item for yourself, only to get half a mile down the road and discover *your* lunch item is incorrect, but the nugget order is perfect, which the children don’t even appreciate because they are too busy fighting over which box belongs to who. Diet Dr. Pepper is only thing that saves lunch for you and makes fighting in car bearable.

1pm until 3 pm: Take kids to see Kung Fu Panda. Misunderstand Kendrie when she asks for a “pack” (meaning kids snack pack) from the concession stand and think she says “Sack” so buy her a sack of popcorn then watch her puff up like a blowfish and pout when she realizes you have bought the wrong thing. Offer to pay for an empty kids pack so you can pour your kid’s popcorn into it (because Lord knows it tastes better in this cardboard bucket as opposed to that cardboard bucket) only for the pimply-faced teenager behind the counter to tell you that an empty kids pack is not available for sale.

3 pm until 4 pm: Drive kids to piano lessons, stopping at Sonic along the way for yet another Diet Dr. Pepper because if your kidneys haven’t begun to shut down yet then there’s still time to pour some Jack Daniels into the cup and just try to make it to the end of the day.

4 pm until 5 pm: Piano lessons, which I am required to sit and observe. (The teacher’s rules.)

5:30 until 8 pm: Attend nephew’s baseball game, allowing children to purchase hot dogs and ice pops for dinner. Then have cousins come over afterwards for brief playdate while Aunt Kelly picks up a few things for 6-yr old nephew who broke his leg last week in a pillow fight.

9 pm: Get into argument with both daughters who don’t want to return to soccer camp in the morning because “their feet hurt and their legs hurt and if they had known they were going to have to RUN so much they would never have agreed to go.” Who would have guessed there would be running involved in soccer camp??? Get into argument with son who announces he is not going to bed but is going to sleep in the recliner so he can watch more TV. When you tell him he *is* going to sleep in his closet bedroom, have him angrily comment about “how come he never gets to do anything HE wants to do?!?!?!”

Pour stiff drink. Inhale. Repeat.

Monday Morning

Child #1 announces pancakes are too cold.

Child #2 refuses to get out of bed.

Child #3 says shoes hurt her feet, and, no, despite appearances to the contrary which include a full shoe holder in her bedroom, she actually does NOT have any other single pair of shoes that can be worn to school this day. MUST wear painful shoes, complaining all the time about how they hurt her feet.

Child #2 announces pancakes are too hot.

Child #1 decides TODAY is the day she needs to take all the soda can tabs to school and gets angry when you won’t let her dig through the trash to retrieve them. Never mind she’s had all weekend to get this organized.

Child #3 cries when you can’t magically go to store and somehow purchase new pair of shoes before school.

Child #1 makes big production of re-heating pancakes, several times, including slamming of microwave door, and much huffing and puffing, to get them to the proper hot-enough temperature.

Child #3 announces she doesn’t want pancakes, but would prefer chocolate pudding for breakfast.

Fine. Whatever.

Child #3 cannot get peel-top off of chocolate pudding, but rather than calmly asking for help, throws a tantrum, flings pudding container on the breakfast table, throws down her spoon, and announces shrilly that “SHE’S NOT EATING BREAKFAST ANYWAY!!!”

Child #2 doesn’t understand why brushing his hair with his fingers isn’t good enough.

Child #1 confesses she only brushed teeth for a few seconds, then gets righteously indignant when you suggest she return to the bathroom for a re-brush.

Child #1 throws incredible tantrum when you have the audacity to ask if her hair is brushed, because WHEN she ignored your suggestion the night before, that she brush her hair after her bath, she ensured a total rat’s nest for herself this morning, but the parental announcement that you are “GOING TO CUT THAT SHIT OFF IF YOU CAN’T START BRUSHING IT” is met with much tears and drama.

Female parent refuses to open chocolate pudding until Child #3 can ask for help properly and politely, instead of rolling around on the sofa, crying about how nobody loves her.

Male parent confirms chocolate pudding lid is indeed defective, opens said pudding, and then slinks off to work like the coward he is.

Child #1 highly offended by parental observation that piling personal belongings in a corner does NOT qualify as “cleaning bedroom”.

Child #3, after being told to pick her cleats and shin guards off the living room floor, moans aloud “Why do I have to do EVERYTHING around here?”

Child #1 is finally dressed, teeth and hair brushed, but refuses to pick out a snack.

Child #2 is finally dressed, teeth and hair brushed, sort of, but refuses to get a jacket.

Child #3 is finally dressed, teeth and hair brushed, but half way around the corner to school remembers something she forgot in her bedroom, necessitating a return trip to the house.

Children dropped off at school.

Female parent wonders if 8:35 am is too early to return to bed --- with a very large bottle of wine.

Back to School Blues

Who am I kidding? I’m not blue, and neither are my kids. They love school and were happy it was time to return. It actually felt late, since we normally start back the first Friday in August. And yes, we didn’t get out this year until June 1. Not quite as late as some of you, but later than a lot. So pretty much ten calendar months of school. My personal opinion is that they are slowly but surely migrating towards year-round school here. We seem to get more breaks than many of you during the school year --- an entire week in October, an entire week at Thanksgiving, two weeks at Christmas, an entire week in February and an entire week in April, not to mention the various holidays, long weekends, and teacher-inservice days.

Personally, I quite like it. After nine weeks of summer vacation, let’s be honest. My kids were done. They were sick of each other and sick of me. And occasionally the feeling was mutual, especially when they would start arguing and bickering, although I would never admit it out loud. I enjoy having the weeks off, scattered throughout the school year. It gives us a long-enough chance to actually go DO something and provides a nice break from the homework routine, but isn’t so long that we all get bored with one another. Although this summer, in between our Lighthouse Retreat, honors camp, soccer camp, and our three-week OK/AK vacation, there wasn’t a lot of down time, either. And of course the non-stop watching of Hannah Montana, Suite Life, Corey in the House, and my kids’ most recent discovery, Drake and Josh. Let’s not forget about THOSE fun-filled hours! ::she said sarcastically::

I thought I would share with you some of the more random, entertaining answers they gave during our annual first-day-of-school interview, and then I think I’ll log off for a while. The heat index today is supposed to be 114, and yesterday, unloading $406 worth of groceries from my car (the hell? How is it I can spend that much money and we’re not eating prime rib every night???) I felt my face melting off and my body pretty much spontaneously combusted, which makes it very difficult to type with tiny charred fingers.

Brayden:

What did you think of your teacher the first day? “She seemed nice to the people who treated her nice, but a little bit bossy to the other kids.”

If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would you go? “Asia sounds cool.”

What is your most embarrassing moment? “I don’t have one for right now, but sometimes Kellen and Kendrie in public are embarrassing.”

Kellen:

What was the funniest thing that happened today? “When Xavier saw me and Gabriella, and he said, ‘Hey! It’s the two tallest people I know!’”

The biggest problem I have in school is: “This new girl named Angela who talks a lot. I don’t want to be her partner. I’m afraid she might get me in trouble.”

When I grow up I want to be: “CIA Ninja”

What do you think of your bedroom? “Well, we *have* been living here a long time and I’m kind of tired of looking at all the same things.”

Kendrie:

When I grow up I want to be: “I have no idea. I have a ton of things -- a vet, a doctor, a policeman, and a Mom.”

What do you think of your class this year? “It’s infected with meanie boys.”

Something you think is important about our world: “Don’t throw trash on the ground, and don’t smoke weed. I don’t know what that means, but I saw it on a commercial.”

Do You Know What Today Is?

That's right, time for the annual Back to School tradition of Hallelujah Chorus on this site.











It's all about the shoes. And the new clothes, and school supply lists, and backpacks. And the fact mom got to run errands today for the first time in nine endless weeks without her three little helpers, something worthy of the Hallelujah Chorus all by itself, is all I'm saying.

Not the brightest crayon in the box.

So, my kids watched “Max Keeble’s Big Move” for like, the eight BILLIONTH time this afternoon on Disney channel. They figured out how to work the DVR and now I’m basically screwed. For those of you unfamiliar with the story, it’s about a young boy who has to stand up to bullies, both of the middle-school, and adult, variety. It’s a story about getting picked on, and getting even, etc.

This evening, my son, my nine-year old son, who, can I just add, was selected to be in his schools GIFTED program this fall, asked his ten-year old sister to give him a swirly.

For fun.

And so she did.

Because she could think of no good reason NOT to submerge her brother's head in the toilet and flush.

And they laughed hysterically.

(sigh)
What the hell is wrong with my children?

You Think, and Then You Know

You *think* it’s time for summer to be over when you tell your children that you are going out to lunch with friends (your friends, not theirs) and they whine about how boring it will be.

You *think* it’s time for summer to be over when you haven’t been seated two minutes before they are fighting over who is kicking who under the table and who is stealing whose crayons and who is taking up more table space than the other ones.

You *think* it’s time for summer to be over when the whining and complaining reaches its peak and you look around the restaurant for gypsies to sell the kids to.

You strongly, strongly suspect it’s time for summer to be over when the words “Stop acting like an ass and embarrassing me in front of my friends!” hisses out of your mouth at the table.

You KNOW its time for summer to be over when you overhear one of your table-mates whisper to another table-mate, “That’s exactly why I didn’t bring MY kids.”

Google doesn't lie. Neither does Video.

I mentioned a few entries back that I had recently burned all our home movies to DVD. Because the tapes are each two hours long, but the DVDs are only one hour long, that meant I couldn’t just push the “record” button and walk off. I had to set a timer and keep checking back near the end of every hour to wait and shut the machine off at precisely the right time, heaven forbid I accidentally miss recording a single solitary moment of my kids dancing naked to the Wiggles in our living room.

Watching that many snippets (approximately 8,343 hours, if I was guessing) of old home movies was an interesting journey, and I thought I would share the thoughts that went through my brain throughout the process:

The Beginning:

“Ahhhh, look how cute the kids are! I just love those precious little babies!!”

“Oh, the way they run around naked is so funny and adorable!”

“Wow. I, uh, I don’t remember that much crying going on.”


The Middle:

“Huh, look at that. Still no clothes on. That’s ok, they’re still pretty cute.”

“Geez, my voice is even more strident and annoying than I realized.”

“I just don’t remember the kids fighting that much, that early.”

“I had no idea their melodramatic tendencies, not necessarily good ones, started so young.”

“Why is it that every time we got out the video camera, one of the kids felt compelled to run up and stick their face RIGHTINTHELENS so all we got was a close up of their nostrils?”

“Getting Kellen in speech therapy at age two was the best thing we ever did.”


Near the End:

“Oh for pete’s sake, do these kids do anything but fight??!?! All day, every day, every video, *somebody* is crying or whining or complaining about something one of their brothers or sisters did! How did I not lose my freaking mind?!?!?”

“Geez Louise, did we not own any clothes for our children?!?!?”


Final Conclusion:

Video doesn’t lie.

And apparently, we were running a nudist colony for whiners and tattletales.

"STAY AT HOME”, MY ASS. AND A LAZY ASS IT IS, APPARENTLY.

Today, in review:

6am: Alarm goes off, take shower, get dressed.

7am: Wake kids. Make breakfasts, help with clothes, help with hair, prepare snacks and lunches for school, continue helping with clothes and hair brushing because God forbid anyone do anything for themselves around here.

8 am: Drive kids to school, visit Book Fair with smallest child since allowance is burning a Junie B. Jones-sized hole in her pocket. Agree to help teacher with spelling project.

8:30 am: Return home. Start a load of laundry, fold a clean load of laundry. Clean bathroom, pick up living room. Put away remainder of fall decorations, pay bills.

10 am: Leave house. Make third visit in one week to newly opened Hobby Lobby store to begin shopping for Christmas presents (yes, I am that anal and begin shopping this far in advance.) Visit wellness center for first work out session complete with strength training and cardio (note to self: NO NEED to tell the internet about the geriatric who totally kicked my ass on the treadmills.) Stop by grocery store and pick up all the items our family simply cannot live without yet manage to run out of every three days: dog food, paper towels, and bananas; items which somehow manage to make mad passionate grocery-love and multiply into $94.00 worth of stuff in my cart. Make side trip to bank to wire money to title company in Oklahoma who just informed us today that they cannot accept personal checks, which is what I sent to close on a home Blaine and I are purchasing, and oh by the way we have until the close of business today to get them the money or the contract we spent an hour getting notarized and signed earlier this week will be null and void. Make quick trip to Sonic because all this running around is making me thirsty, naturally, and I can always justify my daily DDP.

1pm: Arrive back home, unload groceries and Christmas presents, put away. Fold another load of laundry. Eat dinner leftovers for lunch. Return two phone calls; pack small cooler with snacks and bottled water for kids.

2:30 pm: Leave to pick kids up from school. Make two more phone calls while waiting for them to be dismissed.

3:15 pm: Take Brayden to ceramics class across town. While driving, dispense drinks and snacks in car. During her class, while she is doing whatever it is creative types do, help Kellen and Kendrie with homework.

4:30 pm: Drive all three kids back across town for baseball practice (Kellen) and soccer practice (Kendrie) stopping for quick dinner on the way.

5:15 pm: Do the “kid-swap” with Blaine, so he can take Kellen to his practice and I can take Kendrie to hers.

6 pm: Sit through hour and a half soccer practice, working on sorting/flashcard/spelling project for Kellen’s teacher the entire time.

7:45 pm: Drive Brayden and Kendrie home from soccer practice, stopping at Burger King because Brayden has to use the restroom and swears she simply CANNOT make it home first.

8 pm: See teacher from their elementary school pull up in parking lot. Listen to numerous pleas and whining to go over and say hello to teacher. Wait a moment, notice teacher is not getting out of car. Tell children NO, that you are tired and you just want to go home.

8:03 pm: Overhear, with your little ear, your youngest child say in a petulant voice: “Yeah you’re tired, because you’re lazy and you don’t ever do anything.”

8:05 pm: Wonder how much reconstructive work I will need, after the way my head swiveled around and my eyes bugged out and the top of my head exploded like Mt. St. Helens.

THE GREAT NO-TV EXPERIMENT

I decided, at the end of last school year, that I was tired of fighting the fight with the kids about the TV on school nights. Occasionally they would come home from school and do their homework right away; other days (most days) they would come home, make a beeline for the tv, grab a snack, or go outside to play, and before I knew quite what had happened, it was 7pm, homework hadn’t been done, baths needed to be taken, rooms cleaned, and we were running out of time. Which meant I would start rushing the kids, and nagging them to hurry up, and they would respond by thanking me kindly for my loving guidance digging in their heels and moving even slower, until I would be screaming like the shrew that I am, that it was past bedtime and WHY WAS NO ONE READY FOR BED????? It had become a stupid battle that was not enjoyable and very stupid and stressful. Did I mention stupid? So I decided, that being the fabulous parent I am, it was time I did something about it.

I informed everyone that when school started this fall, we would begin a new routine, also. One that was comprised of coming home, eating a quick snack, and doing all homework immediately. Because I am a fabulous parent, and this will be good for my children. Then, once all homework and studying was completed, then and *only* then, could the kids go outside to play, or play in the house. But under no condition was the TV coming on Monday through Thursday. Because fabulous parents have wonderful systems like this, that work well. And I am nothing if not fabulous. At least that's what I keep telling myself.

Also, we live in the Eastern Time Zone, which means that infernal Disney station begins a movie every night thirty minutes before the kids’ bedtime, and I was sick and tired of listening to them moan and complain when I would turn the TV off in the middle of the movie each evening. No More!!! No More of them complaining and No More of me having to listen to it! Because I am too fabulous to deserve their whining!

You know what? It’s actually gone very well. A few token gripes, but overall, they don’t seem to have suffered any permanent damage. (Obviously, because I’m fabulous.) It’s a huge relief to look at the clock at 4 or 4:30 and know everyone already has their homework done for the evening and the rest of the night is “free time”. The kids are reading more, because their complaints of “I’m bored!” are met with “Then read a book!” (Or, “Clean the toilet!” and surprisingly, they always choose a book!)

So I was totally patting myself on the back for my fabulousness.

Then, yesterday, it was raining. And the last time I let them play outside in the rain, all I got for it was an extra load of laundry and a wet van interior. Therefore, I decreed, in my fabulousness, that the one exception to the no-tv-rule is the days it is raining. Then, they are allowed to turn on the TV after everyone has finished their homework. And even though my fabulous decree about no-tv has gone well, and I didn’t think they were really missing it, look at the positions they held pretty much without moving the rest of the day:



Hmmmm. Feeling a little TV deprived lately?

And then when I served dinner at 6:31 pm, and turned off the tv, and Kendrie started yelling at me because I had the audacity to turn off “The Suite Life of Zack and Cody” (never mind it was a repeat episode that she’s already seen a dozen times) and screaming that she didn’t want to eat dinner with the family, and how mean I am because she NEVER gets to watch TV anymore .....

I knew the next fabulous thing I do will be sell the damn thing on ebay.

Problem solved.

PS. I realize it’s very easy for me to be smug about the NO-TV rule with my kids because *I* don’t watch any TV. So I don’t think they’re missing much. However, if anyone tried to curtail my computer time ….. I would have to rip their arm off and beat them about the head with it.

So, you tell me: Fabulous? Or total hypocrite???? :)

THE FUN HOUSE

Kendrie -- Day 197 OT

Blaine -- Five weeks since radiation ended; nine more ‘til we find out if it worked. (But he has gone back to work, half days, which I think is good for everyone. Especially his co-workers, who are probably sick and tired of picking up his slack.)

OK, so, by the above title, “The Fun House”, I’m sure you are expecting some entertaining, amusing story about the wacky, madcap anecdotes of life in the Escoe house. You know, about how we’re all having fun, fun, fun, all the time. So much fun we can hardly stand it. So much fun I constantly say to myself, “Wow! I can’t wait to tell the Internet about THIS!”

You would be sadly mistaken.

Because the sub-title to this journal entry is: “The Never Ending Sleep-Over”

Now, to give you a little history, growing up, my parents were by no means wealthy. We didn’t have a swimming pool or tennis court in our backyard. We didn’t have a pinball machine (although I always wanted one) an X-box, or a PlayStation, or a Nintendo. If I wanted to play a rousing game of Pong or Pacman or Frogger (or my personal favorite, Galaga) I had to march myself to the local arcade. The closest we came to a video game at our house was the electronic memory game, Simon. Although I did love me some Simon.

And even though it perhaps wasn’t a carnival atmosphere at our house, with cotton candy and elephant rides, my parents worked very hard to make sure our friends felt welcome. There was always food in the fridge, something to drink, and we *did* have HBO, which seemed quite decadent at the time. Best of all, they didn’t hover when my sister and I had friends over. They would hang out in the living room and let us take over the den, doing whatever it is teenagers do. They weren’t dorks, and rarely embarrassed us, which is all that matters when you are dealing with friends. (Well, I do remember being embarrassed whenever my mom would dance … we’re Nazarenes, after all, and dancing wasn’t her forte …. Ms. Jan and Ms. SueEllen, you know what I mean?) :)

So I’ve said all along, when I grow up, I want to have the “fun house” …. the house that all my kids’ friends want to visit, and where they feel comfortable hanging out. Because as all parents know, you’d rather have your kids and their friends at YOUR house, where you can keep an eye on them, instead of doing Lord-only-knows-what someplace else. That plan worked pretty well for my parents, considering I never knocked over a 7-11 or got arrested or anything.

Sadly, I discovered this weekend that I do not have the fun house, nor am I the cool, fun parent. Rather, I am the grumpy old lady whose job in life is to squelch everyone’s fun. And I am apparently very good at it.

We had a brother-sister pair come over yesterday afternoon for a playdate, then the kids ambushed us with requests for a sleepover. I didn’t know the other mom very well, and felt embarrassed saying NO in front of her, although you can bet your sweet bippy I won’t make that mistake again. Because my “fun house” scenario involves much older children, that are capable of entertaining themselves, and have no need for discipline. A scenario where I am a fun, cool parent, one that exists peripherally, or in the background, without a lot of hands-on involvement, except for maybe forking over twenty bucks for the pizza delivery guy. And of course, hearing the whispered envy of friends: “Wow, I wish my mom was as awesome as yours!”

This weekend, however, was a harsh lesson for me in the difference between fantasy and reality. One where I discovered that I am way too lazy to have five kids between the ages of six and nine at my house for any 24-hour period. Because yes, that’s how long the sleepover lasted. Twenty-four tedious, mind-numbing, never-ending hours, filled with bickering and whining and fighting.

First, the other boy wanted his mom to go home and get his Playstation. He was horrified that we didn’t have some sort of video game system at our house. And that (gasp!) we only have one TV. I know! How archaic! And what made it worse was that he argued with her, in front of me, about how he NEEDED his Gameboy. Or whatever it was. Because otherwise he and Kellen would be stuck watching stupid movies with the rest of us. And that annoyed me, because I thought it was rude. Never mind if he thought it, or even believed it; I thought it was rude to say it out loud. So finally I squelched him by telling him *I* didn’t want his Gameboy here, that it wouldn't be much fun for the rest of us to sit around watching him and Kellen play video games all evening. Evidence #1 that I am a crabby, fun-sucking old lady.

Then we ordered pizza for dinner and when it arrived, he walked in the kitchen, stated, “I’m not hungry”, turned around and walked out. Although he did manage to help himself to at least five juice boxes (leaving those damn plastic straw wrappers everywhere!) from the fridge. Which annoyed me. Even though that’s why we keep the fridge in the garage stocked with extra juice boxes ….. it annoyed me that every time I turned around, he had a new one, and never asked if it was ok. Evidence #2 that I am a crabby, CHEAP old lady.

And my kids were by no means innocent cherubs, just standing on the sidelines. Having two sets of sibling dynamics was a constant balancing act. Either the girls were against the boys, or these three would gang up on these two, or these two would clique up and this one would get upset because they were left out; there were tears, yelling, pouting, fighting, name-calling …. You get the picture. If it had been just my three (and trust me, that scenario plays out pretty much daily around here) I would have put them on their beds for time out, and told them I didn’t want to hear it any more. But with two extra kids, and me not feeling completely comfortable disciplining them, things spun out of control.

All night long Blaine and I kept repeating ourselves: No slamming doors! No wrestling in the house! No fighting! Turn down the CD player! No jumping on the beds! No roller blades in the house! And at least three times: The rule at our house is you have to wear a helmet if you’re riding a bike!

They were bickering so much in the house that I took them all outside, hoping they would burn off some energy. We have three sets of roller-blades, three bikes, and three scooters. Naturally, all five of them wanted to do the same thing at the same time, and stood around yelling at one another about how “You cutted! It’s not fair! It’s my turn on the bike/skates/scooter!” and then of course the inevitable whine “Moooooo-mmm! He’s not giving me a turn!” (stomp, stomp, pout, pout)

Is it wrong of me to think that when kids stay the night, they should adopt a “When in Rome” philosophy? Or do all rules go by the wayside whenever guests are over? My children seem to think so. Because all five of them were wound UP and out of control. It bothered me partly that a few of these issues were safety concerns, like the fact neither of these kids wanted to wear a bike helmet. It bothered me more that as guests, they were so blatantly disapproving. And then I wondered if my expectations were too high, considering they were only 7 and 8 years old.

At 11:30 I took a deep breath and made them all get in bed “and I don’t care if you’re tired or not, mister!” …. Then had to tell the boy three times during the next half hour to get back in bed. Finally, shortly after midnight, I went into Kellen’s room to find him bouncing a rubber ball, and told him to get back in bed and quit playing. His response? “I don’t have anything to do” MY response? “It’s after midnight! The only thing you SHOULD do is get in bed and go to sleep!” Evidence #3 that I am a grumpy, TIRED old lady.

So then this morning, worried that I had been a tad bit grouchy, and determined to come across as a more nurturing, positive mother figure, I told the kids I would make them chocolate-chip pancakes for breakfast. Naturally, we were out of Bisquick. So I made them from scratch. Only to discover we were also out of chocolate chips. (Can you tell I haven’t been to the store since we got back from vacation?) So I put fresh blueberries in, only to be told by the little girl, “I don’t want blueberries in my pancakes, but I do want blueberry syrup.” And then she just sat there, like she fully expected me to produce it for her. If it had been one of my kids, they would have gotten our standard response: “What? Are you waiting for me to pull it out of my butt?” But I felt that might be sliiiiiiiiiightly inappropriate to say to a 7-yr old guest, so I bit my tongue. And suggested good ole’ Mrs. Butterworth could possibly help her out. And my nurturing personality lasted all of about fifteen minutes.

All through the morning, the fighting and squabbling continued. The little girl, every time she got upset, would threaten the other kids with, “I want to go home!” until I called her bluff and handed her the phone and told her to call her mother so she could come get her. We didn’t hear that threat again.

Please don’t think that I’m saying these two kids were monsters, they weren’t. Or that my three were virtuous little saints, because that’s certainly not the case! But I would have been horrified if I thought any of my kids went on a sleep-over and brought a movie from home, handed it to the mom with instructions to put it in, and “you’re going to make us popcorn, right?” Or telling a child, in front of his mother, that “This game is stupid” or “I’m bored” or “There’s nothing fun to do”.

Growing up, I cannot imagine talking to an adult host that way. Acting like that in front of one of my friend’s parents …. I never would have had the nerve. And to be honest, my mom would have beaten me like a red-headed stepchild if I had. Because you KNOW back in the day, when our parents all knew one another, another mom would have told my mom if I was a complaining brat, or if *my* behavior turned her kid into a complaining brat. Or maybe the mom would have just nipped it in the bud herself, something I was too cowardly to do. So what **did** I do today when their mom showed up? At 2pm, nonetheless, after telling me she’d be here before lunch? (And yes, I finally called her at 1:30 to drop a hint about her coming to get them.) I smiled, thanked them for coming, and didn’t say a thing. Evidence #4 that I am a grumpy, crabby, tired, cheap, FAKE old lady!

But at least now I know my “fun house” scenario has a better chance of coming true, because the behavior of my children last night and today proved to me that they have no business having a sleep over for at least five more years. Maybe ten. Or until after they're married. The *next* time I brave that situation, they’ll all be a little older, and hopefully a little better at entertaining themselves, and I won’t wind up being so ill-tempered and peevish.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go holler at some kids to get off my lawn.

THEY ARE ACTUALLY VERY CUTE AND SWEET AND CLEVER AND FUNNY

(WHEN THEY’RE NOT DRIVING ME CRAZY, THAT IS)

Kendrie -- Day 140 OT
Blaine -- One radiation treatment down …. Many to go


As I am fond of telling my girlfriend Renee’, I have never in my life seen two children LESS equipped to be military brats than Kellen and Kendrie. Blaine left Monday for Seattle, and his final vision of our home was of our two youngest children trying to crawl under the garage door, in tears, arms outstretched, for one final hug. They sat at the kitchen window and cried the entire time he was pulling out of the driveway, and have, at some point, cried every day since he left. And they *know* he’s only going to be gone a little over a month. Heaven forbid Blaine is ever deployed for six months to Iraq, or tasked to serve a one-year remote assignment in Turkey or Kuwait ….. the two of them would simply melt into little puddles. How can THESE children be Air Force kids?????

Brayden, on the other hand, is so independent she could be living in her own apartment right now. Blaine calls every afternoon and evening, and if she’s not “too busy”, she’ll agree to talk to him for a moment or two, but only if a commercial is on. That’s not to say she doesn’t miss him, because I know she does. She just doesn’t fall apart on a daily basis like her two younger siblings. Although, she does use it to full advantage whenever she is angry with me …. Tossing out the “Dad is so much nicer than you --- I wish HE were here!” comments when I make her do some despicable chore like brush her teeth or put on clean underwear. Of course, Blaine assures me that she does the same thing, in reverse, when *I* am the one who is gone, so I don’t take it too personally.

However, when Kellen and Kendrie aren’t busy weeping about how much they miss their father, they do have some pretty clever ideas for dealing with his absence. Apparently the first night he was gone, they decided we needed some added protection around the house. I guess they didn’t feel as safe with their dad not here. Out of courtesy, I elected not to tell them that *I* am the one who wakes during the night and comes to check on them …. their father sleeping the sleep of the dead, oblivious to all the bumps and noises in the night.

Kristie: “Blaine, wake up! What was that noise?”
Blaine, mumbling: “It’s the ice maker dropping a load of ice. Roll over and go back to sleep”
Kristie, more urgently: “No, I don’t think that was it! I really think I heard something!”
Blaine: “What you heard are the voices in your head. Now for the love of Pete, shut up and go back to sleep”

And who gets up and walks through the house, double-checking the locks and windows, risking death and dismemberment at the hands of the roving band of axe-murderers who have just broken into our home? ME.

Like I said, although I have no idea where the younger two get this crazy paranoia, they apparently felt we needed some added protection, so they devised a fool-proof anti-burglary system in our hallway:





Stuffed animals, army trucks, and motorcycles, ready to spring to life and defend our home from invasion. When I asked exactly “how” these things would protect us, Kellen simply replied, “They’ll protect us if strangers try to come in the house.” Um, ok. I especially like the Camp Sunshine mascot cow tucked into the tank and am confident that a thief would also find it terrifying and flee in the night.

Something else I should point out to the kids is that there is no way anyone would break into our home because:

a) We don’t have anything worth stealing, and

b) Better than our motion sensor lights, our alarm system, our prickly bushes under the windows, our locked doors, and a mother who sleeps with the cordless phone next to her bed, 911 on speed dial, we have this: the Mount Everest of home protection, the safety and security that comes only with top of the line defense systems …. The fortification of the canine world:



Lager. Our deaf, old, arthritic dog, who stays in this position ninety percent of the day and night, getting up only long enough to eat and move to another spot on the carpet. Really … who *wouldn’t* feel perfectly safe and secure with this ferocious beast around, safeguarding your family?

On second thought, maybe the cow in the tank is a better bet.

PS. A MOST sincere Thank YOU to the people who responded to my request in the last post for hook ups with people who have radiation experience. I was pleased to receive several responses and have been able to ask questions of quite a few people. Also, I’m a little embarrassed to admit there was an online support group (right in front of my FACE!) that I overlooked, which someone was kind enough to direct me to. So hopefully between the people who have been nice enough to e-mail me personally, and the people on the support list, we’ll be getting a better idea of what Blaine is in for with these radiation treatments.

He started this week and things seem to be going ok so far, although he admitted yesterday that having his head bolted to the table in the Jason-mask is a little disconcerting. (His actual words were, “I had no idea I was claustrophobic, but this sucks!”) I reminded him of all the young cancer patients who have the same thing done and have to be sedated because they are only children …. And gave him a gentle reminder that perhaps he should be grateful that although it sucks, he *is* an adult and at least in better control of the situation. He agreed, and thanked me for always being right and wise and smarter and all-knowing.

(OK, so that last part isn’t true, but you know what I mean. He SHOULD have thanked me for all that, because I totally AM!)

YET ANOTHER WAY……

Day 35 OT

Yet another way my children differ from me, in the same vein as athletic ambition, is their bizarre-o desire to exercise. They think it’s fun. What’s up with that????

Anyway, we were watching my girlfriend Renee’s two sons the other night while she and her husband were at the Bon Jovi concert (yeah, see? Standing on my chair, waving a cigarette lighter in the air, and ogling Ritchie Sambora, that’s my kind of exercise!) and the kids decided they wanted to have an “Exercise Contest”. As long as they didn’t expect ME to take part, I agreed to humor them and serve as the Exercise Judge. I’m still not exactly sure what my duties were, since basically they just jumped around the living room, screaming “Watch me! Watch me!” before colliding with one another and then falling down and laughing hysterically. (Confirms my personal suspicion that endorphins are actually NOT good for you!) But they seemed to have a good time, and anything that has the potential to burn off a little energy before bed is A-ok in my book.



Always remember to stretch out and warm up those muscles, right?



Kendrie and her boyfriend Nicholas have apparently been arm-wrestling at recess (ah, young love) and she is trying to bulk up so she doesn’t lose to him anymore. Obviously, doing reps with your tongue sticking out of your mouth is better for you, so she's well on her way to arm-wrestling glory.



Jumping jacks, now, everyone together!



OK, could my son look any dorkier? Is it even possible? Don’t worry Renee, “total dorkdom” isn’t contagious.



Er, at least I don’t think so.


Well, it’s good to know SOMEONE is making good on my New Years Resolution to exercise more!

*****************************************************
PROOF THAT LIVING WITH CANCER HAS WARPED MY FAMILY:

Brayden was reading her library book to Blaine last night and I was in the same room (cutting out laminated papers for a teacher, imagine that!) while she regaled him with the life story of Babe Ruth. She got to the part about “Babe held the home run record for many years with 60 home runs until Mark McGuire and Sammy Sosa broke it...” and I looked over at Blaine, crooked my eyebrow and said, “And hey, Babe Ruth did it without taking steroids.”

The next page of the book stated, “Babe Ruth died in 1948 of cancer…..”

Brayden paused, and then looked at me and said, “Well no wonder he died of cancer, if he wouldn’t take his steroids!”

8-YR OLD PERSPECTIVE

31 Days to Go

You know how depending on your perspective, some things can be seen as a positive, or as a negative? Well, I have recently come to the conclusion that my children are either budding literary geniuses, or total scam artists. I’m not sure which.

Last week, Kellen started writing stories at home. Not homework, or school assignments, but stories out of his imagination, for fun. And quite a project it became. He got special paper with no lines, folded and stapled it so it would look like a book, entered a table of contents, chapter headings, and even had Brayden do illustrations. He slaved over the spelling and punctuation; really, I couldn’t have been prouder, watching him work so hard on his creation.

Then he sold it to me for a dollar. PLUS a quarter for the artist-fee.

His first story was entitled “Brayden and Kendrie and the Big Fight” (who only knows where he comes up with these wild, crazy, unbelievable, tall tales???) It was a very detailed narrative involving sisters who get on each other's nerves. They start out with name-calling and making faces at one another, progress to pinching and hitting, and then the story culminates in a public de-pantsing. Needless to say, Kendrie cried when he read the book aloud, so you can guess which character became pants-less. Brayden’s drawings were a bit biased, as well, as most of the time the character of Kendrie was portrayed laying on the ground, crying. All told, it was a very mean-spirited little tale.

The second story, entitled “The Big Happy Family” was much more to my liking. Peace, harmony, hand-holding; the whole nine yards. When I told Kellen how much more I liked that story, and how I felt it was a better depiction of our family, he replied “Oh, that’s not OUR family! Our family’s not like that!”

Well that’s the last dollar the little troll got out of me, that’s for sure.

I decided to try and steer this budding talent in a more positive direction, and perhaps more experience-based, so I asked both of them to write a story about a family whose youngest daughter gets cancer, and what happens to the family. (It doesn’t take much more than Psychology 101 to know I wanted to see what’s going on in those little pointed heads of theirs.) Kellen refused once I told him I wasn’t paying him another dollar, but Brayden agreed. I thought I would share her story with all of you:

“A Tough Time”

One day when Kendrie was diagnosed with cancer it was October 2003 and it was her 4th Halloween. But she was only 4 years old. So it was a tough time. And she was nervous so much. But years gone by but she does hate getting her port accessed. And my dad remembers that he was going to the hospital in Macon, saying a prayer, talking to his parents and talking to Dr. B. And my mom remembers that Grandma flying out here to take care of me and Kellen. And now she is 6 years old and she has gotten braver than she was before. And today she went to the clinic to get her port accessed. But she always cries when she gets her port accessed. And she gets to go to the treasure box but she does not want to stop going to the treasure box so she is a little disappointed. But on the other hand she is almost done on December the 15th year of 2005. And so she only got one month to go and after she is done with cancer she will get her port out. Then we will give Kendrie a party for her cancer being over but she will have to go to Dr. B for check ups.

PS. Kendrie went to lunch with Catie and she has cancer, too. And Catie is done with cancer and we are so excited for Catie to get hair because she has never gotten her hair, ever.”

So, I don’t know if it’s particularly profound or wise, but I do think she got the gist of the story, even if we do need to work quite a bit on her grammar. All told, though, I think her 8-yr old perspective is a good one.

Take care,
Kristie
**************************************************
PS. Quote of the day:

Kellen, placing his hands over his breasts: “Mom, did you know these are your pet turtles?”

Kristie: “What are you talking about? Pet turtles? PET TURTLES??? What dorky kid at school taught you that stupid name for breasts? Just call them breasts!”

Kellen: “I didn’t say pet turtles. I said Pec-torals! We’re learning about them in gym class.

Kristie: “Oh, well. Of course you are.”