Kellen, age 11 - August 2009

I know I'm probably a wee bit biased .... but damn, that kid is good looking. :)

Thanks a lot, Walt Disney

Wednesday afternoon saw me and my three children at a local shoe store, buying new back-to-school tennis shoes. Or should I say, *attempting* to buy back-to-school shoes. At least for two of them. One of them went into her normal "it takes half an hour to decide on anything and we've got to try on every pair in the store and then fuss about them all because these are too tight and these are too loose and none of them are exactly what I had in mind" and since the first two had already annoyed me with their complaining and eye rolling and smart mouths, I wasn't willing to wait on the third so I said we were leaving which elicited a whole 'nother tantrum because that's not fair they got new shoes and I didn't and I reminded her that she and I have an entire day of shopping planned for next week and we can just buy her shoes then but that's still not fair because probably the perfect shoes are right here in this store if I could just try on another eight thousand pair I'm sure I could find them and the other two are still complaining and whining and really, remind me again why I don't drink in the middle of the day?????

Regardless, we were in the car yesterday afternoon with Kellen, Kendrie, and their friends Chance and Emma. Kellen had worn older shoes that morning and left his new shoes, still in the shoe box, in the car the day prior. He was changing shoes ..... this is (I am not even kidding) the conversation that took place:

Chance: "Are those new shoes?"

Kellen: "Yeah, we bought them yesterday."

Kendrie: "Show Emma your new shoes."

Chance: "What kind are they?"

Kellen: "Pumbas."

Kendrie: "You mean Puma."

Kellen: "No, I mean Pumba. Just like the picture on the box." And he points to the puma logo on the box.

Chance: "That animal is called a puma."

Kellen: "No, it's called a pumba. Do you guys even see what I'm pointing to?"

At which point we were all sort of giggling and I said, "Kellen, honey, I think you're thinking of 'Timon and Pumba' from the Disney channel. Remember that show? That little one was named Pumba."

Kellen: "Yes, exactly! That's what they're called --- Pumbas!"

Kendrie: "It's Puma, not Pumba! PUMA!!"

Emma: "A pumba is that Disney creature. A puma is a leopard-like animal. The shoes are named after the animal .... P.U.M.A."

Kellen, hesitantly: "Mom, is it puma or pumba?"

Chance: "I'm telling you, it's puma."

Kellen: "I'm still pretty sure it's pumba."

Me: "No, actually it's puma. That animal right there (and I pointed to the logo) is called a puma."

Kellen: "Really? It's puma? There's no 'B'?"

Me: "No, it's just plain puma."

Kellen: "Oh. All this time I thought it was a pumba."

And everyone in the car laughed a little and we moved on.

Then, a few miles down the road, Kellen, who was sitting in the passenger seat, looked over at me and said under his breath, so no-one else could hear, "Are you sure the "b" isn't just silent???"

Bless his heart. That Disney show messed him up for life.

I'll just sit over here in the corner while my uterus weeps

Although he had been talking about doing it for a few weeks, and definitely wanted it done before school started, I still wasn't quite ready. After the first football practice Monday night, his only reply to my "Did you have fun?" inquiry was a desperate, "I couldn't see the ball to catch the passes! I've got to get it cut!"

And so we did.


I don't really care, though. I mean, it's just hair, right?




So what if he's been growing it out for an entire year? So what if he hasn't had a short, typical-little-boys cut since he was two years old? Hey, I know girls who wear their hair like this on their wedding day!




So what that our friend Jennifer had, at this point, been cutting for ten minutes already and had only gotten him to the "bob" stage .... it's just hair, right?




"Hey, Kellen, the 1990's called. Joey from "Friends" wants his hair back."




OH. MY. GOSH.




Where the HELL did my little boy go??!!??!??




I mean, sure, there's enough hair there to make a concert wig for Hannah Montana, but I had NO IDEA it would change his appearance so much!!! Make him look so ..... so ..... so ..... grown up! ::sob::




Don't get me wrong. I love it. LOVE it. And he loves it, and everyone who has seen it loves it. It's just that .... well .... when we walked in the salon, he was my shaggy-headed elementary boy. Now, he's ..... he's .... he's (gulp!) big and grown up and going into middle school like a YOUNG MAN!!!

Excuse me while I find the phone number for that doctor who does vasectomy reversals.

The beginning, middle and end. And by end, I mean END.

The beginning of summer, we spent our time sitting and watching this:







The middle of summer, we spent our time sitting and watching this:









And now, can you guess how we're going to spend our time the END of this summer?




(this was that jumping-and-rolling-over-your-teammate exercise, which as far as I'm concerned, they all looked a little like Tuck and Roll from the Bug's Life movie, if you ask me. Kellen is in the red shirt, and I can't decide if he's getting the hang of diving over his friend, or if he's having a seizure.)

I'm not complaining, I'm really not. Kellen is fit and healthy and happy and loves it. And to be completely truthful, I was born and raised in Oklahoma, where football reigns, and there is no better Friday night past-time. It's the sport I love most ... its the one sport where I actually understand all the rules. Quite frankly, I'm GLAD he's finally playing on a team, even if it means we do have to take a break from his beloved soccer. Football feels right ..... it feels like home.

Of course, I'm also fairly certain after all these months of sitting and watching my son play sports, although HE will be in great shape, I will probably acquire a wretched case of permanent chair-butt, and my END will have to be explained on my headstone some day .... as in, "Here lies Big-Butt Kristie Escoe, who needed two spaces in the graveyard just to fit her rear end ..... but by golly, she never missed a game."

Although ... wait. What's that? Do you see?



Do you see the one thing that might get me through the rest of this summer and fall ???? Ahhhhhhhhh, that's why I love my hometown. At least it will be easy to get my DDP fix while he's at practice.

NOT all in the family

Thankfully, Kellen does not share my loathing, burning, hatred slight aversion to physical exercise. He enjoys playing sports, and doesn't mind sweating and running and jumping and all those other things that 11-yr old boys love to do.

He's been attending a wellness and conditioning program this summer sponsored by his school's phys. ed. department, and for the most part, loves it. They "warm up" by running a mile, in the heat. Seriously? That's a warm up?? For me, that would be "prelude to a heart attack" and I'd be done for the day, if not for the week. The kids, however, follow this with more running, and weight training, and calesthenics, calisthinics, push ups and sits up and other crap activities.

Kellen is tall, and he's fast, but he's not very strong. I mean, when you have so few muscles, and absolutely no fat, that your shadow puts off the image of a pencil at high noon, can you really expect to lift much weight?

But still, it bothered him that so many boys his age were stronger than him, so he came home and declared he wanted to start lifting weights. Before Blaine got sick, he worked out with weights almost every day, and loved it, so he was happy to help.

We provided Kellen with the ultimate in high-tech work out equipment. Nothing is too good for our son. Total pro work out clothing, and top of the line training gear. After all, we are NOTHING if not high class.

Try not to be too jealous.

Survey Says ...

Kellen and I were driving down the road today and I saw a survey crew working. You know, those guys that stand on the side of the road in their orange vests with big fancy tri-pod-y cameras, doing whatever survey-y things they do to measure property lines and commercial easements and what have you. My brother-in-law, currently a partner in a surveying firm, started out doing that exact job, years ago, while he was finishing his degree.

As a back story, when we lived in both Alabama and Georgia, it is a common practice for probationers, and sometimes prisoners, to do roadside clean up. Picking up trash near the highway, mowing, weeding, etc. They regularly did the clean-up and maintenance for the entrance to our housing addition, and it was a familiar sight for us to drive home past men in striped jumpsuits, wielding weed eaters and leaf blowers, bus parked nearby with a "Prisoners Working" sign attached, and a gun-wearing warden keeping watch. Although really, if these guys were any kind of high flight-risk, I doubt they would have been allowed out to do the job, right? I always assumed it was the white collar criminals who were allowed out on lawn duty ... the tax evaders, embezzlers, and telemarketing scammers. Surely they wouldn't let rapists and murderers and drug dealers work in my neighborhood, close to me and my children ..... would they????

Anyway, back to my story .....

So I guess it makes sense that when I passed the survey crew, and said to Kellen, "Look, that's what Uncle Cliff used to do" he would naturally reply, with shock and horror in his voice, "Uncle Cliff was IN PRISON?!?!?!"

Helicopter Parent

I do not, for the record, consider myself a helicopter parent. I keep close tabs on my kids, sure. I like to think of myself as attentive, involved, and caring. But I don't particularly hover, and I don't freak out when my kids aren't within immediate eyesight or earsight. I've gone away on overnight trips, on scrapbooking weekends with my girlfriends, and on a two-week cruise (sans kids) with Blaine. The kids, in the reverse, have all three spent time away from us on playdates and sleepovers at other kids houses. Give them roots, give them wings, yadda yadda yadda.

All that to say --- Kellen is gone to a three day, two night sleep-away camp at a university away from home, with no way to contact him except in the event of an extreme emergency ..... and I (sniff, sniff) miss him more than I ever thought I would.

I think the difference is that when he spends the night with friends, I know their mothers. I have the knowledge that I can get ahold of him any time I want. Not that I DO, just that I CAN.

At football camp, he is one of six hundred boys, and those counselors don't know him personally. They don't know his name; they don't know anything about him. They don't know that he's using an alarm clock to wake himself up for breakfast for the first time in his life. They don't know that he likes chocolate milk instead of white, they're not going to remind him that I left extra money in his suitcase in case he gets hungry, they're not going to remind him to lock the room behind him when he leaves, they don't know that he's too self-conscious to ask for help if he needs it, and they sure as heck don't care if he remembers to put on the sunscreen I left for him.

Do I think he'll be fine? Yes.

Do I think he'll manage to work the alarm clock and make it to breakfast on time? Yes.

Do I think he's having fun, learning tons about football, and enjoying himself with his friend Chance while they stay in the dorms? Yes, yes, and yes.

But it's breaking my heart just a little bit.

Conversation earlier today:

Me: "It feels weird without Kellen here. I wonder how he's doing. I wonder what he's doing RIGHT NOW. I wonder if he's having fun. I wonder how the practices are going. I wonder how the food in the cafeteria is. I wonder if he misses us, too."

Kendrie: "It does feel weird. Like part of our family is missing."

Brayden: "All I've noticed is how much quieter is it around here."

How on earth will he AND Brayden I survive FIVE DAYS of church camp later this summer??



A large number of the boys attending the camp are day campers, and their parents are responsible for getting the boys to and from practice, and they stay during the practices, also. I figured it couldn't hurt the first day if I stuck around, too, even if Kellen is an overnight camper and I didn't *technically* need to be there. I blended in with the hundreds of other parents ... and it gave me a chance to watch what they were doing .... and whisper goodbye one last time when Kellen ran past me on his way back to the dorms, happy as a clam .....

My 11-yr old genius

OK, so even though Kellen won't technically be eleven until tomorrow, I thought I would share the following conversation with you as proof that he's wise beyond his years and certainly the early-admissions department at Harvard will be calling any day now ...

Kristie: "OK, so you've got to make a paper doll and dress it up *creatively*, and write a report, is that correct?"

Kellen: "yes"

Kristie: "And who is your historical figure?"

Kellen: "George Washington"

Kristie: "Ok, so it says here that your report is supposed to include a few interesting facts .... so, what do you know about George Washington?"

Kellen: "That he was President of the United States?"

Kristie: "Right, what else?"

Kellen: "That he was in charge of the Revolutionary War?"

Kristie: "Uh-huh ... what else?"

Kellen: "That he was worried about global warming?"

Kristie: "Right, ok .......... wait, what? No, not global warming, what are you talking about?"

Kellen: "Then I don't know anything else."

Kristie: "What about the story about the cherry tree he supposedly cut down?"

Kellen: "Did he cut it down because he was worried about global warming?"

Kristie: "NO! He didn't cut it down at all --- the whole story is false is my point. It has nothing to do with global warming. What about the fact they say he wore wooden teeth?"

Kellen: "And the wood came from the cherry tree he chopped down and THAT'S why he was worried about global warming?"

Kristie: "Oh for goodness sake --- WOULD YOU FORGET ABOUT THE GLOBAL WARMING ALREADY??!!!"

Kellen: "Um, I can't really think of anything else about George Washington."

See? See why I'm sharpening my pencils now, to fill out that Ivy League application????

The boy who wouldn't stop popping

I mentioned a few weeks (months?) ago that at one point in our past, Kellen was almost diagnosed with Tourette's Syndrome. I'm not sure I mentioned it at the time it was happening ..... I've slept since then and am not sure of a lot of things. Like why I thought those Sally-Jesse-Raphael red-rimmed glasses I wore in the 80's were attractive ..... but I digress.

I got several private e-mails asking about this, and so I thought I would share the story with all of you now in the hopes it might help someone else who could possibly be going through the same thing with their child. Not because I'm a doctor (I don't even play one on TV!) or because I have anything profound to say, but because at the end of the day, if you're facing a problem or worry or concern, it's nice to know you have company.

Kellen's "issues" began near the end of second grade, although I would be hard pressed to say exactly when. It was simply like one day we looked up and realized he had developed a series of tics .... Blaine and I looked at one another, scratched our heads, and asked ourselves, "Just how long has he been doing that, and why haven't we noticed???"

He had been a hair-twirler since birth (still does it -- he's ten -- I KNOW) so I think we just weren't paying much attention when he picked up what we assumed were a few more habits. But these were a little more distracting ...... opening his mouth quickly, as if trying to pop his jaw, jutting his jaw forward, and wiping his mouth. The interesting thing about the way he wiped his mouth was that he did it EXACTLY LIKE my dad used to do it. Take your two fingers and put them in a "V" for victory. Then turn them toward your face, and use those two fingers to wipe each side of your mouth. Kellen has the exact same hands as my dad did, the same fingers and fingernails, and honestly, it was uncanny to watch him perform the exact same behavior as my father .... except Kellen did it about ten bazillion times more each day.

As summer progressed, we noticed these behaviors more and more. Whether he was actually *doing* them more, or we were simply more observant, I'm not sure. But it was bad enough that when my mom came to visit at the end of that summer, she noticed and mentioned it to us. It was also much worse when he was under pressure of any kind, like on the soccer field. When school started, I asked his teacher if it was distracting to the other kids. She said no, no-one had complained, but that she had noticed it as well.

Naturally, I did what any self-respecting parent would do --- diagnosed him myself via the Internet. Because hello, who even needs medical school when Dr. Google is right there with all the information one could possibly need???

Of course my research of "tics" led to "Tourettes" which led to the certainty that even though the percentage is miniscually small, without a doubt Kellen would be in the teeny tiny fraction of the Tourettes population with uncontrollable vocal outbursts and violent jerking behavior which would eventually lead to alternative school and extreme sedative pharmacology. {No, I don't know why Brayden does well in drama, do you??}

I took him to see his pediatrician, who sent us to a neurologist. He explained to us that the tics were involuntary and could not be purposefully stopped for any length of time. He said it was like a sneeze ... maybe you could keep it from happening briefly, but if it's going to happen, it's going to happen, and sometimes trying to fight it can make it worse.

He said the first thing we needed to do was rule out any sort of head trauma, seizure activity, and/or epilepsy. Then, assuming those factors were negative, he assured me that a great number of children actually go through a "tic-ing" phase in their lives, and most outgrow it without any interference. Only after the tics have been in duration for one year, without stopping or if perhaps they are getting worse, would it be classified as "Tourettes". If at any point they became disruptive, there were medications that we could try, but that he recommended doing nothing (besides ignoring them, that is) unless it was disrupting Kellen's daily life.

To that end he scheduled Kellen for a sleep-deprivation study. What that means is we had to keep Kellen up all night, then take him to the sleep lab at the hospital the next morning. Let me just tell you that although most young kids *think* they want to stay up all night, in reality, it is very difficult to keep an 8-yr old awake for that long.

Once we arrived at the hospital and got checked in, they took him to a sleep-room and put all kinds of electrodes on his head to measure his brain activity, let him lie down and go to sleep, then proceeded to flash all kinds of blinding strobe lights in his face while he slept. (Hey! Just like a TSO concert!!)

I sat in a chair next to the bed and watched him sleep during the test, and thought about what it might mean to have a child with Tourettes. By this point I had researched more, and knew it wasn't the end of the world ... that in fact, many kids sniff, blink, clear their throat, and cough their way through adolescence. But truthfully, I didn't want to have to deal with any of it. I had just gotten one kid through cancer treatment, and I had a real good pity party for myself right there in my chair, thinking about how this might make life difficult for Kellen.

That afternoon, I went to the gym to walk on the treadmill. (I know, it was during one of my brief, crazy 'exercise' stages .....) Now remember, *I* had been up all night as well. Above the treadmills were televisions, and they were all set to CNN .... to the rapidly breaking news story about Charles Roberts and the Amish schoolhouse murders. I had gotten so upset watching the news story (and on a treadmill, with the screens right in front of your face, you are a pretty captive audience) that I left the gym. On the way home, my girlfriend Kim called to ask what I was doing. I told her I had been up all night, taken Kellen for a sleep study because the doctors thought he might have epilepsy .... and promptly burst into tears. (See? See what no sleep does to me??)

Poor Kim, bless her heart, she had no idea any of that was going on. Then I blubbered for a while about those defenseless kids in that school and really, sort of had a mini-nervous breakdown right there in my car. Luckily, Kim stuck with me until the end of the story, and was able to tell me about some friends of hers whose daughter had been diagnosed with tics, who outgrew them after a year or so. Just hearing that .... just knowing that yes, some kids really do outgrow them without any problems, was exactly what I needed to hear. (So Kim, I don't know if I ever thanked you for pulling me away from the edge that day, but I really appreciated your level head amidst my personal crisis!)

Luckily, all of Kellen's tests came back negative. So the doctor said we wait, and we watch. And although I'm embarrassed to admit it, there were a few times during the next few months when I would look over at him, jerking and popping and opening and closing his mouth, and snap, "Can't you just STOP IT?!?!?" (not a proud moment, I know.) But for the most part, we ignored it.

It went on for a little over a year, total. But it never got markedly worse (again, except for when he played soccer ....) and after a while, the frequency slowed down. Then slowed some more. Until all of a sudden one day I looked up and realized ... "hey I can't remember the last time I saw Kellen doing any of his tics." And I asked Blaine, and he said he couldn't remember either. And then my mom came for another visit and said she didn't notice near as much either.

And then one day they were just gone. (Except for the hair-twirling .... STILL DOES IT!) We never used any kind of medication or therapy .... just waited it out, hoping it would go away on its own, like they assured us it most likely would ... and it did. End of story.

So while I speak with no authority whatsoever, I share our story in the hopes it might encourage someone else .... someone who simply hasn't reached the end of it yet. Because chances are good it will go away. And if it doesn't, it only took me one sleep deprived night to remember there are certainly much worse things in the world than a little throat-clearing and jaw popping. And if it's worse than that, well, thank goodness there are doctors in the world who know more about it than me and are willing to help.

He's so much smarter than me I am

Last night I was reviewing some of Kellen's homework. He had written a sentence for Language Arts, and although it's certainly not my policy to technically *DO* my kids' homework for them, I do look over their work and make any simple suggestions that I think they might have overlooked in error.

He and I had the following conversation:

Me: "Kel, take a look at this sentence. I think you have a mis-spelled word."

Kellen, looking: "What word? None of those words are wrong."

Me: "Look at the word "somthing". Does that look right to you?"

Kellen: "Yes. That's how you spell it."

Me: "Well ...... actually ..... there should be an "e" in the middle. It's s-o-m-E-t-h-i-n-g."

Kellen, looking again very closely: "No, there's no "e" in it."

Me, thinking that arguing with a 10-yr old is kind of silly: "Uh, yeah, there is."

At this point Kellen looks at me with all this disdain and contempt that his {obviously} superior intellect could muster, and says to me in a patronizing tone: "Mother, there is no "e" in "somthing". I should know, I've been spelling it this way my whole life!"

Ummmmm, remind me again how the boy got in the gifted program!??!

Summer School

I am a horrible, mean, evil mother, because I make my kids do academic worksheets in the summer. Every morning, before we leave the house to do anything fun like swimming or the movies, they have to complete about five worksheets apiece, from various workbooks that I buy over the Internet. I buy grade appropriate books for each kid, in subjects such as grammar, vocabulary, math, reading, and science. Then, after they do the worksheets I look over them, and try to help explain anything they’ve gotten wrong --- bearing in mind that I am NOT cut out to be a home-schooling mom, and really, I have the patience of a gnat. A gnat with ADHD.

Truly, I’m a summer fun-sucker if ever there was one.

Someday, when my kids are in Harvard, they’ll thank me.

Actually, I’ll just be happy if none of them drop out of high school.

(KIDDING)

Anyway, Kellen’s science worksheet on Friday was over Food Chains in the Sea, and featured a very nice circular drawing, showing the shark eating the tuna, and the tuna eating the herring, and the herring eating the copepod, and the copepod eating the phytoplankton. He had to read one paragraph of information, and then answer questions such as “What would happen if the tuna population became endangered?” and “Give an example of a land food chain.”

This was one of the questions: “What does it mean to say, ‘The death of one species in the food chain upsets the rest of the chain.’ ? “

I thought his answer was especially profound:

“Of course they would be upset and sad because they’re all a part of the same fish family.”

So, um, props for being sensitive, or should I have checked into real, live summer school???

No DNA Test Necessary

Kellen: “Mom, can I move my bedroom downstairs?”

Kristie: “No, why would you want to do that? I thought you liked having an upstairs bedroom.”

Kellen: “Well, I thought having stairs in our house would be cool. But it’s not. It’s too much work. First you go upstairs and realize you left something downstairs. Then you go downstairs and realize you left something upstairs. It’s tiring -- my legs are tired!”

And there is the proof, if you ever doubted it, that the boy sprungeth forth from these loins.

Breaking My Heart

There reaches a time in every parent’s life when you realize your children have outgrown some of the traditions and beliefs of their youth. The Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, Santa --- they all bite the dust at some point.

Somehow, some way, my kids still believe. I didn’t *think* they did, because their oldest OKC cousin was quick to blab the truth to them a few years back. Perhaps they were still young enough at the time that they chose to believe us over him …. perhaps my kids are just extremely gullible, who knows? But every year since I hold my breath, thinking THIS will be the year they ask the hard questions and discover the truth.

Tonight, almost in passing, Kellen said to me: “Mom, Alexander says there’s no Santa Claus.”

Stalling for time, I couldn’t think of what to say. I mean, he’s NINE, for goodness sake, how much longer do I think I can pull the wool over his eyes? By the same token, I wasn’t about to blurt out the truth if there was any way I could salvage this. So I stalled with, “Um, Alexander who?”

Kellen: “The Alexander in my class”

Kristie: “Oh, um. That’s too bad that he doesn’t believe. {awkward pause} Sooooo, who does he say brings the presents on Christmas morning?”

Kellen: “The parents.”

Kristie: “Wow, that’s so not good. You know the rule, you don’t get presents if you don’t believe, so Alexander must not get much.”

{Stalling again ……. Shit, what do I say now????}

Kristie: “So, Kellen, what do you think about that? About what Alexander said?”

Kellen, “I think he’s got it all wrong. I mean, parents aren’t magical enough to make it to ALL the houses around the world in one night, even if they had their own jet. Only Santa can do that.”

And I just smiled inside and said, “Yep, you’re right. Too bad he doesn’t get it.”

And while part of me was thrilled to know he hadn’t talked himself out of believing, another part of my heart just broke for the innocence he’s destined to lose someday.

(weep)

Our Child Prodigy

So, Kellen came running in the living room tonight, animated, bursting to tell us about something … something obviously very “cool”, something obviously worth sharing ---

Kellen: Mom, Dad, listen to this, listen to how cool this is! {eyes glittery, big smiling face, clearly very excited}

Kristie: Ok, what?

Kellen: I just went in your bathroom ….

Kristie: Uh-huh ….

Kellen: And got on your bathroom scale ….

Kristie: Yes, I see …. {thinking to myself, woo-boy, this is fascinating stuff indeed}

Kellen: And I weighed 70.0 pounds!

Kristie: Wow, 70 pounds, that’s a lot {*that* is what this kid is excited about??? That he finally hit 70 pounds? Sheesh, he’s sure easily entertained}

Kellen: 70 pounds, Dad, did you hear that?!

Blaine: Um, yeah. 70 pounds. That’s a lot, huh?

Kellen: But this is the cool part --- are you listening? THEN, I pooped, then I weighed myself again, and I only weighed 69.5 pounds!!!! That means I was half a pound less!



Total silence.



Kristie: Wow, that’s um. Hmmmm. I don’t even know what to say to that. I guess, um….. good job?

Blaine: For what? His math skills, or the other?


So, in a nutshell, now you understand why Dancing With the Stars is the cultural highlight of our week, don’t you?

Po-

Go!!!!!

YET ANOTHER GLIMPSE ….

In keeping with our theme of “Kellen and his Bodily Functions”, I give you a glimpse into my life from yesterday afternoon, which explains why rock stars and celebrities and game show hosts weep in jealousy for the glamour that is my life:

I was on the phone with a friend when I heard Kellen calling from the other room, “Mom …. Mom …. MOM!!!! The toilet is fixing to overflow! MOM HURRY THERE’S WATER EVERYWHERE IT’S A FLOOD AAGGGGHHHHH!”

And I walked to the bathroom, expecting a clogged toilet, only to discover our own Trevi Fountain, with water pouring out and overflowing the bowl at a rapid rate. “I’ll call you back!” I said to my girlfriend and threw the phone down. As I stepped into the bathroom, I realized the rugs were soaked, the water was already standing an inch deep, and still coming. Straddling the toilet so my shoes wouldn’t get wet from the sheet of water raining down the sides of the bowl, I jerked the tank cover off the back of the toilet and pulled up on the round float-y thing that connects to the chain hanging from the metal arm hook-y thing. (Yes, I’m pretty sure that is the exact scientific descriptive term.)

There wasn’t much else I could do from this position because if I let go of the float-y thing, the water would begin pouring out again and there was already a lake in the bathroom. So I turned to Kellen, “Quick! Go grab a towel! Hurry, hurry!” He ran out of the room, with me shouting, “Hurry! Bring me a towel!” after him the entire time. I could see the huge puddle of water ebbing closer and closer to the hardwood floor in the hallway and the rugs couldn’t soak up any more. … “Run, Kellen! Get a towel! Faster!”

And the child, I swear I am not making this up, ran back into the bathroom, full of support and resourcefulness, and threw a Single. Paper. Towel. into the lake.

Because he is nothing if not helpful.

That boy, he’s not right in the head.

RETHINKING THAT X-BOX 360

So, while I doubt we are the ONLY house in America without a gaming system, I do know that our kids are in the minority, not owning a Gameboy or Playstation of X-Box or any of those things. Kellen has a Gameboy Advance (hand held electronic thingy) that he bought with his own money last year, but he really doesn’t play it too much. Combine our lack of a gaming system with my recent No-TV-During-The-Week-Decree, and to hear my kids tell it, we might as well haul our own water from the river and make lye soap and sew our own clothes from burlap flour sacks.

But Blaine and I have held firm. We believe the studies that say kids who don’t watch as much tv or spend as much time on the computer or video games do better in school and are more creative. While we’re certainly not opposed to any of those things, we simply think moderation is key. Plus, to be perfectly honest, sitting in front of the tv doesn’t wear them out like bike-riding or roller-blading, and parents everywhere know **THAT** is the ultimate goal in life so they go to bed without any complaint each night, tired to their very core. Right?

So every time I see my kids spend an hour drawing pictures, or reading, or building massive forts for their stuffed animals, or playing baseball in the front yard or whatever, I pat myself on the back. Kellen recently turned his bedroom into a “camp” for his sisters, complete with a list of activities they can do “during camp” …. the activities list is posted on his bedroom door, along with the amount of time each activity should take.

It’s actually very clever and creative and I was feeling quite smug about my imaginative children and how resourceful they are. Kids can find very ingenious ways to entertain themselves when they have to. Then, Kellen came to me and made the following comment:

“Hey, guess what. Brayden and Kendrie and I all just weighed ourselves to see who was heaviest.”

And I’m thinking, Oh, good. A little math and creativity at the same time. Sort of like their own personal health experiment.

Then he said: “I weighed 73 pounds. 73! That’s a lot! Then I pooped. Then I only weighed 72.”

Um, ok. THIS is how he’s filling up his free time? Maybe I should get him that Playstation after all.

DREAM A LITTLE DREAM

Kellen: “Mom, I had a dream. Want to hear what it was about?”

Kristie: “Um, sure.”

Kellen: “Well, it started out in this one place, but I’m not sure where it was, but then it moved to another place. A place I had never seen. And you were there, but I didn’t see you. And then you weren’t there, but I’m not sure. And there was a giant scary thing, sort of like a monster, but not really. But it was scary, except I wasn’t scared. And I wasn’t sure who else was there, but I know they were people that I knew but I didn’t know who they were. And they were scared of the monster thing but not me because I couldn’t even see it, so it wasn’t very scary …… {voice trailing off} ….. have you ever had a dream like that?”

Kristie: “No, son, my dreams are much more succinct. Brad Pitt, suntan lotion, and a pitcher of margaritas. The end.”

THE BOY HAS NO SHAME. OR SHOES.

Kendrie -- Day 222 OT

Blaine, still meh ---- {A random word when people either don't know what to say, don't care, can't answer a question or are too drunk to form a coherent English phrase….basically, the verbal equivalent of a shrug of the shoulders. Although I think I would prefer the drinking thing. On a chaise lounge. With a little paper umbrella in the glass.}

I received a bulk e-mail the other day, sent to all the parents who’ve registered their children for fall soccer this year. The host organization was looking for a few volunteers to go around town and place signs at various intersections, letting the public at large know that registration is now open for everyone. This will be our family’s fifth soccer season and I figured it’s about time I supported the organization in a manner more substantial than simply buying hot dogs and soda at each game.

So I e-mailed back, said yes, picked up my posters yesterday afternoon, and promptly did NOT set them out last night because we had a big ole’ rainstorm come through. I’m all about the volunteerism, until it involves wetness and humidity, then you can count me out.

So this morning when the kids woke up, knowing the temperature today would reach a bazillion degrees, I told them to hurry and get dressed so we could place the signs out first thing, while it was still relatively cool outside. Brayden and Kendrie complied, but Kellen, well, we’re having a bit of an attitude problem with Kellen. Mainly, that his stinks.

After emphatically refusing to get out of his pajamas, despite my logical argument that if we have an accident, he’s not going to want to go with the police or in the ambulance in his pajamas, for heaven’s sake, he still didn’t want to change. Finally, exasperated, I said fine, just stay in your pajamas! (Insert deep, aggravated sigh on my part. How many more days until school starts???)

Obviously, the soccer organization wants the signs to be placed at well-traveled intersections, and they assigned me the three busiest intersections near where I live. The square mile or so around our house is still fairly rural, so I was able to simply pull the van over at the first intersection, put on my hazards, and hop out of the van. Kendrie wanted to help, so I told the other two to stay in the van, and then she and I put the first sign out. The grass was nice and soft from the rain last night, but I let her pound on the sign with a hammer, just so she could feel useful. Then, at the second intersection, Brayden wanted to help, and then at the third, Kellen said he wanted to help. This is how the conversation played out:

“Kellen, you can’t get out and help, you’re still in your pajamas”

“So?”

“So…. Well, you’re still in your pajamas!”

“So? I don’t care”

“You don’t? You wouldn’t be embarrassed to get out of the van in your pjs? With all these cars driving by?”

“No, I want my turn to bang the metal stick in the ground with a hammer.”

“Seriously? But you don’t have any shoes on”

And as you might have already guessed, the conversation ended with Kellen hopping out of the van and helping me pound the sign into the ground. In his pajamas. Not only his pajamas, but his bright, loud, CHRISTMAS pajamas. And? Wearing his sister’s pink sandals.

When the truckload of migrant constructions workers drove past and whistled and honked, I wasn’t quite sure whether they meant me or Kellen. Sadly, it was probably him.

So if you’re local, and you’re driving down Rt. 41 and see the CGSA signs, that’s the work of one grumpy lady and three kids, one of whom looked like he escaped an insane asylum.

Kristie

PS. Is there anybody out there????? My site hit counter is going up at the same rate as normal, but in the past two days, the guestbook has only been signed six times. And two of those were from the same person! Hello? Hello?? (echo …. Echo …. Echo…..) Are you there???

CONVERSATIONS WITH THE MIDDLE ONE

(I was going to type “Conversations with my middle” but I didn’t want you to think I walked around all day talking to my belly button.)

(We have a lot of conversations in our family, in case you couldn’t tell.)

Scene: Driving in van

Location: A few blocks from our house, where men from the prison (probationers? Not sure) were doing lawn maintenance detail, mowing and weed-eating the public areas near our neighborhood. They’re noticeable, because they wear jumpsuits with “Prisoner” or “Probationer” across their back, they drive a big white van with PRISON DETAIL down the side, and there’s always an armed guard with them. We see them all the time, seems like they’re always *somewhere* in town, but this was the first time it sparked a conversation.

Kellen: Mom, are those bad guys? From jail?

Kristie: Well, I don’t know if they’re bad PEOPLE, but they probably did a bad thing and had to go to jail.

Kellen: Do good guys ever go to jail?

Kristie: What do you mean? Like the guard? Does he go to the jail? Or do good guys ever go IN jail?

Kellen: Do good guys ever do bad things and go to jail?

Kristie: Sure. Sometimes policemen, or firemen, or teachers, or whoever, do stupid things and they have to go to jail. Like stealing something, or hurting someone. Anyone who breaks the law has to go to jail, no matter who they are. That’s why it's so important to make good decisions in life (patting myself on the back for this High Quality Parenting Answer.)

Kellen: I think it would be cool to be a policeman and be in jail, because then you would still get to be the boss.

Kristie: (not wanting to delve into a conversation about why policeman probably have it WORSE in jail, what with the prisoners wanting retribution and the whole shower-revenge-scenario description) Oh, no, no matter who you are you don’t want to be in jail. Jail is a terrible place.

Kellen: Why?

Kristie: Well, just think about it. You have no freedom. You’ve got somebody telling you what to do, all the time. Telling you what time to get up, what you’re going to eat for breakfast, what you can do for fun, what you can’t do for fun, when you’ll eat lunch, and dinner, and what you’ll eat, what clothes you’ll wear, when you’ll go to bed ………………………… (And at this point my voice trailed off weakly, as I realized I just described the lifestyle of my very own children!) Um, never mind, Kellen. Just don’t ever go to jail.