Just a Little Freak Out

I'm up to my eyeballs in school planning and the older they get the more bittersweet it is. It's almost like, if I put it off maybe they'll quit growing up?

I think that's perfectly logical.

This year I have a sophomore, freshman, 5th grader and 2nd grader. One I'm helping build resumes and pass certification exams for his career path (computers) and another I'm still working on phonics with. And me, I just want to scream "STOP!" Stop letting the time pass! Stop getting older! Stop becoming adults!

And I'm all teary and poetic and nostalgic about the cute things they say and the daydreams they share and the snuggles they still give me. And I think, "WHAT THE HECK AM I GOING TO DO WHEN THEY MOVE OUT?" I mean, who's going to laugh at my stupid jokes or watch chick flicks on my bed with me when we are on our periods or hug my neck?

And there I go again...crying.

It could also be PMS...or menopause....Oh MY GOSH!

So husband, if you're reading this, you better start practicing your neck hugs and chick flick watching. Practice your belly laugh and every once in a while pretend you don't know how to spell a word so I can tell you. Maybe you could leave a few wrappers shoved in between the couch cushions and leave your towel on the floor after you take a shower. It just might make me feel better.

OR...piss me off.

But it's worth a try.

Bengay: The Perfume of the 40's

I've been on this exercise kick lately because frankly I've gotten a little too soft and mushy for my liking. And the fact that my 40th birthday is mere months away (oh my gosh that freaks me out just to see it in writing) provides plenty of motivation. But working out is gross. I mean the smells, the boob sweat-stains on my shirt....it's totally disgusting. And I have to block out the fact that things are jiggling that shouldn't be. I'm not talking about boobs and bingo wings I'm talking bellies and backs. I'm seriously considering working out in spanx because the jiggling is bad for my ego. And it's not like I have unrealistic expectations. I'm not trying to fit into a bikini or look like Jennifer Aniston. I just want to work with what I've been given and firm it up. I guess I just don't want to look 40. I'd be happy looking 39 for at least another few years.

See....completely realistic, right?

Now I'm off to rub Bengay all over my sore muscles. Bath and Body Works is SO over-rated.

Sister Love

Being the only girl in the house has sometimes been a challenge for my daughter but at nearly 15 she's weathered it fairly well. I've loved the bond we've shared, since we are both so outnumbered with varying degrees of testosterone. It's been fun to share our love of pedicures and bargain shopping when we are the only two that truly appreciate it. And when PMS hits, we cuddle up together with a good chick flick and soothe ourselves with goodies. The boys know it's best to give us a little more space than usual.

But you know what? A sister never outgrows her need of brotherly affection. I overheard this conversation today and it just warmed my heart.

"Psst. Gabe. Come here," Allegra says and then she whispers something in his ear.

"What did you tell him?" I asked.

With a big grin she says, "I told him he was my favorite brother because he's the one that still gives me kisses."

Papa

We've been watching a lot of reality TV on instant netflix lately. Things like American Pickers, Clean House, and Take Home Chef. Our latest is Nanny 911. Overall my kids are appalled at the naughty stuff those little TV terrors do to their parents and then we all cry at the end when everything is made right. But with Gabriel, the baby in the family...the kid I was a little lazier with...there are a few points that I can see resonate with him just a bit.

Gabriel barely sleeps in his bedroom now that he has his own room. He'll sleep in the hallway OUTSIDE his bedroom or he'll wind up on the love seat in my bedroom. It was cute for a while but now...not so much. And it drives me crazy but I'm OLD and TIRED now and too LAZY to push it. Hey, I can admit it. So after a few episodes last night....my resolve was strong....I decided I was going to insist that he sleep in his own bed that night.

And he did. No whining or complaining. He turned on some worship music, read a few books and was out like a light. Totally anti-climactic.

This morning I praised him up one side and down the other for what a good job he had done. He proudly grinned, showing his two big over sized grown-up teeth that I haven't quite got used to yet and said, "And you didn't have to all Nanny 911!"

"I don't need to call Nanny 911, I just call Jesus. He knows us better anyway."

And then that adorable little kid said something that took me so many years for me to truly understand myself.

"Yeah," he says, "He's my papa."

Just like that. I love that he gets it so easily.

Random Thoughts

Thought #1 - There are a few perks to having generally ignored this blog for a few years. I've lost most of my readers which means I can probably say just about anything I want without any backlash. Oooh the freedom!

Thought #2 - Two of my four children slowly trickled down to my bedroom last night to bunk out on my couch and my floor. At first I was a little miffed at this invasion into my little personal oasis but I'm in this new stage of parenting. As my oldest approaches his sophomore year in high school I'm starting to realize that these kids that I've spent years praying for, sweating over, crying about, and generally giving a giant portion of my heart too, are going to be leaving my home way sooner than I'm ready for. I'm thinking of having regular slumber parties now.

Kryptonite?

We've wondered lately if we have another lactose intolerant person in the house so we've been testing out different foods to see what we can come up with. After a long night of bellyaches and a very uncomfortable kid I'd say it's pretty much confirmed.

Poor Malachi.

This morning after he slept in to make up for his long night, he came upstairs to find me.

Sad and a little dejected at the fact that he was going to be joining his father on the no ice-cream, no cheese, no milk-after-your-brownie diet he said to me, "Well Mom, I guess my weakness is dairy."

To which I replied, "Well, every superhero has a weakness, sweetie."

The ear to ear smile and giant wordless hug from him assured me that I'd said the right thing.

Don't Ever Let This Kid in the Kitchen

We are just a little bit addicted to reality TV. Not the trashy stuff but things like American Pickers and Take Home Chef. When my little boys were gone for a week for the annual summer grandma-cation, all the teens and I did was watch HOURS of reality TV. I'm not even exaggerating. HOURS! Like don't shower for a few days, stay in your jammies, and eat every meal on the couch.

Not my finest moment.

So when little boys came back last night (Yahoo, I really missed them!) we were slowly detaching ourselves from the hunky Curtis Stone (Oh, shut up...he's adorable) and had just a few more episodes so we could wrap up our reality marathon. Curtis was getting ready to make homemade hot dogs when Gabe, all cuddly on my lap and still smelling of campfire even after I had just scrubbed him says,

"I know how to make hot dogs. All you need is Hotness and Dogs."

I'm so happy he's home but he's not allowed in the kitchen.

Signs of Maturity

You know, I think I've matured a lot. Because in the old days I would have posted a picture about yesterday's post. This time you just got words.

I'm not saying I didn't TAKE a picture. I'm just saying I didn't post it.

Or maybe it was because I was having camera issues.

Either way that's what we call growth around here.

Oh Ye Of Few Words

The highlight of my day? You'll regret asking.

The dog ate a blue crayon. Several hours later it came out green. The kids were thrilled.

There's no build up.

No dramatic conclusion.

I think that story speaks for itself.

Well That's One For The Books

About 5 in the morning Gabe came stumbling down the stairs into my bedroom. He looked like he was still asleep as he held up his finger (the middle one) and cried, "My finger is bleeding." I stumbled out of bed wrapped a bandaid around it and tucked him in between Chris and I, hoping I was still sleepy enough to grab a few more hours of shut eye.

The next morning, when I woke up enough to think clearly, I asked him how he hurt his finger....WHILE HE WAS ASLEEP.

He said, "Something was wrapped around my finger squeezing it tight so I bit it off and it made my finger bleed."

Come to find out his arm had fallen asleep in the middle of the night and it FELT like something was wrapped around his finger so the poor kid chomped down on his numb little hand so hard that it broke the skin.

Is that weird or what?