Archive | Haven’t been hit by lightning yet! RSS feed for this section

Gross or awesome? You decide!

Every now and then I do something where I catch myself and go, “… did I really just do that?” It’s usually because I can’t decide if I’m amazing or disgusting. (In my defense, there’s sometimes a really thin line between these states. Also, I’m not very bright.)

Before the Internet, I had to just wonder in silence, or call a friend. But now I have all of YOU! Ready to tell me the TRUTH, and scold me if necessary. So naturally just now I did this thing and was all, “Oh yes, I must tell the world about it immediately so that I can find out how to properly judge my own actions.” Woooooo!

So the best part here is that I just reread this intro and I’m now envisioning readers being all, “What? WHAT DID YOU DO? Did you bring home roadkill? Are you snacking on ants? HOW CRINGEWORTHY ARE YOU RIGHT NOW??” This is sort of like that letter that’s been going around for years where the college girl writes to her parents to let them know that she’s hooked on drugs, living with a convicted felon, knocked up, and a bunch of other stuff. And then at the end she’s all, “Just kidding! But I did get a C in a class. No biggie, right?” This is going to be sort of like that. I hope. (more…)

  • email
  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Kirtsy
  • StumbleUpon
Comments { 82 }

They refuse to stop growing

Last night at dinner, the following conversation occurred.
Otto: How was your day at school?
Chickadee: Terrible.
Otto: Really?
Chickadee: No. Just messing with you.
Otto: And how was YOUR day at school?
Monkey: It was good. How was YOUR day at school?
Otto: It went well. Thank you.
*here there was a pause, as everyone turned to look at me*
Otto: Do you feel left out?
Me: A little!

Of course, Monkey’s “day at school” yesterday was on the computer, but today, EVERYONE WENT TO SCHOOL. I’ve been alone all day and it’s rather glorious. (I’m hoping the new co-op goes well for Monkey, as I’ll be treasuring the one day each week where I don’t have to listen to Minecraft stories.)

This morning I packed lunches for my darling children, and then Chickadee put on her shoes to go wait for the bus, and because I was still barefoot, this made her taller than me. THIS WAS NOT OKAY. Shortly thereafter, Monkey put on his shoes, and that made him almost my height, and that was even WORSE. The saddest part about all of this is that I’m a dirty enabler, constantly FEEDING these kids and encouraging them to grow. I am ashamed. But not so ashamed that I won’t tell you how we do it, because misery loves company.

  • email
  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Kirtsy
  • StumbleUpon
Comments { 10 }

My own series of bumper stickers

As an added bonus to my usual case of return-from-flying-the-friendly-skies-in-a-giant-germ-filled-metal-tube plague, both kids appear to have… something… as well. As in, they were sick before I got home, so I didn’t give it to them. No one is deathly ill, we’re all just ill-ish (is that a thing? I feel like if I were cooler, ill-ish would actually be a compliment, no?) and grumpy and SUPER FUN TO BE AROUND. Also, shut up and stop looking at me.

Needless to say, this has made that whole getting-back-into-the-swing-of-things endeavor even more painful than anticipated. Because what now? We’re out of milk? And you can’t have cereal because there’s no milk? Why don’t YOU go to the store for more milk? The fact that you’re not old enough to drive is not an excuse. Wait, you ARE old enough to drive, but your meaniepants parents won’t let you get your learner’s permit? It’s probably because they want you to die alone, carless, and without any milk. Clearly.

A couple of days ago Monkey started the day by flinging himself down on the floor of my room while I was in the shower, and when I emerged he told me he felt “really sick.” I assumed he was dying, but it turns out he just has sniffles and was really sleepy. Still! Points for identifying feeling yucky! (more…)

  • email
  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Kirtsy
  • StumbleUpon
Comments { 19 }

I swear these aren’t all for me

I found myself babbling to the cashier at the grocery store today—not that this is unusual, really—about how you spend the early years of a kid’s life exhorting them to please, pleeeeeeease, EAT SOMETHING, and then they become teenagers and as you’re having your weekly heart attack in the checkout line, you wish they would eat just a little less. Today was worse, though, because we’re gearing up for a camping trip, so in addition to the usual cartload of stuff, I also had an obscene number of bags of chips and boxes of ice cream treats.

What? It’s CAMPING. Calories don’t count while you’re camping. EVERYONE knows that.

There are many things about raising teens that I didn’t expect and/or don’t entirely fill me with joy, but camping with older kids is actually one of my favorite things. Don’t believe me? I wrote about our family camping rules today over at Alpha Mom. Unlike the rules here at home (so unfair! so MEAN!), the kids don’t seem to have a problem with the rules on the road.

  • email
  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Kirtsy
  • StumbleUpon
Comments { 12 }

Happy truths with unhappy (also true) addendums

The accusation that bloggers tend to give only the happy, shiny bits of their lives—or, conversely, only the tragedies—is a valid criticism. It’s easy to be all YAY FLOWERS AND SUNSHINE and equally easy to be all BOO WAH DRAMA DESPAIR. As for me, I feel like I’m… well, sort of like that in real life? Clearly my black-and-white, all-good-or-all-bad apples didn’t fall all that far from the emotional dysregulation tree, is all I’m saying. Also, stop looking at me like that.

I try to strike a balance, both online and off. I know that shades of gray are (generally speaking) more “true” than black and white (and not THOSE kinds of shades of gray, either, you pervert). I also know I have a tendency to either see something shiny or not quite know how to feel about a particular detail of a situation and then I kind of leave you hanging. I’m not doing it on purpose, I’ve just sort of wandered off or marinated in my own delicate feels and gone silent. Upon reflection I can see where this would make the average reader want to punch me in the face, sometimes. I apologize. Please don’t punch me, because I’m a delicate flower.

So, without further ado: Allow me to attempt to catch you up! (more…)

  • email
  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Kirtsy
  • StumbleUpon
Comments { 43 }

Sleepless preschoolers have nothing on this kid

One of my favorite parts of our visit with Kira—and please brace yourself for hysterical laughter from her when I say this—is that her 4-year-old doesn’t sleep. Mind you, Kira has nothing but my most heartfelt sympathy that she has been blessed with a child who has 1,001 excuses for why she cannot POSSIBLY go to sleep just yet, but it’s not MY kid who refuses to sleep, so for me, it’s kind of amazing to observe. Because Sophia is wee and lovely and delicate and she needs some water, no, some milk, and she needs her music, and her dolly, and she didn’t say goodnight to everyone yet, and she needs another hug, and did she say ALL her prayers, and what about the moths, did you get rid of all the moths?, and come to think of it she’s kind of hungry, and that shadow looks like something, and where is the kitty right now and WAIT she didn’t say goodnight to the dog yet, and and and AND AND.

The kid is a pro, is my point. (Also, it should go without saying that Kira and her husband are saints. Somehow Sophia ended up asleep, eventually, every night, and they never seemed particularly frustrated or bleary-eyed. I think one or both of them might be part unicorn.)

Anyway. As impressive as I found this nightly display, it turns out that Sophia was apparently something of an inspiration to MY child. You know, my FIFTEEN-YEAR-OLD? Who is FAR TOO GROWN-UP to engage in similar delay tactics? Yeah, that one. (more…)

  • email
  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Kirtsy
  • StumbleUpon
Comments { 22 }

Back from summer camp

Hey, we’re home again. And I almost feel normal. (“Normal” being relative when it comes to me, natch.) Know what is NOT a great way to overcome any potential jetlag when traveling back home to Eastern time after being on Mountain time? Planning to take the last flight home on Sunday evening. I mean, it’s probably not a great idea, anyway, but then if it’s truly the airline’s last flight of the night to Atlanta, chances are they’re going to delay the flight to catch all the folks who are making a connection, and then chances are that a ginormous storm cell is going to divert your flight path so that your long flight is even longer, and then to top that off, once you arrive in Atlanta at 1:00 in the morning they will insist that your luggage is arriving on carousel 2 but actually it is carousel 5 and once you figure that out and collect your things and make your way out to the parking shuttle and get in your car and find your way out and FINALLY white-knuckle it home through the pouring rain, just a few miles from your house a railroad crossing will insist there’s a train coming when there isn’t. And then you’ll watch several people slalom through the gates while you have palpitations and you will eventually turn around and go back and find the longest way home possible.

This is why you shouldn’t give a mouse a cookie, or maybe it’s why it’s not a great idea to go to bed around 3:30 and then get up and try to work the next day. (Needless to say, Monday was kind of a blur.) (more…)

  • email
  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Kirtsy
  • StumbleUpon
Comments { 27 }

What communication issues?

I think the most solid foundation for a healthy, mutually-fulfilling relationship is good communication. Fortunately, being a writer-type-person who likes to make many word-like squawkings with both my hands and my face-hole, PLUS given the importance I place on really listening to similar transmissions from the ones I love, I’ve got this one down pat. My family never has to feel like we don’t all understand each other.

I mean… uhhhh… unless one of us has been doing math for 10+ hours straight and another of us has been trying offer support for said unholy amount of time devoted to said math while wondering WHY IN THE WORLD we thought a summer class was a good idea.

Her: What are you making?
Me: Lentils.
Her: For?
Me: Eating…?
Her: No, I mean eating for…?
Me: … dinner??
Her: … FOR????
*we glare at each other, tension building, each sure the other is being deliberately obtuse*
Me: Oh! For TACOS!
Her: Oh! I love tacos.

I am trying to find a way to blame this on math. I may need a little more time, but I’m sure I’ll figure it out.

  • email
  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Kirtsy
  • StumbleUpon
Comments { 21 }

When inappropriate is a family affair

This Monday-on-Tuesday nonsense is kicking my butt, today, but I just had to share a brief glimpse of the lovely family hike we took yesterday while enjoying the holiday:

Monkey: Licorice keeps pulling me ahead.
Me: She is a small dog. You are a medium-sized boy. You should be winning.
Monkey: No, really, she pulls REALLY hard! She keeps dragging me.
Me: Dude, she weighs twelve pounds. Maybe it’s time for you to grow a pair.
Monkey: Of what?

Which prompted this simultaneous response of:
Chickadee: TESTICLES!
Otto: Boobs. Your mother is suggesting you grow boobs.

After the laughter died down, we then had:
Chickadee: You need them so you don’t have erectile dysfunction.
Monkey: What’s erectile dysfunction?
Chickadee: It’s when your erectile doesn’t work.
[She'll be here all week! Tip your waitress!]
Otto: Sometimes Licorice has reptile dysfunction.
Me: Yeah, it’s when the lizard she’s chasing refuses to get in her mouth.
Otto: Ba dum bum!

Also? That’s what she said.

  • email
  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Kirtsy
  • StumbleUpon
Comments { 23 }

How to gross out a teenager (or two)

I’m coming to a place where I believe the teenage brain may indeed be so hormone-addled that basic connections of common sense and cause-and-effect are suspended until further notice. MRI imagining would reveal that teen brains light up when shown caramel brownies, but those same brains can look at unfinished homework and angry teachers and ask what’s on television, and also, hey, are any of those brownies left?

You would think that having once BEEN a teenager would allow a parent to better understand this phase, but you would be wrong. I can’t follow their logic, no matter how hard I try. And for some odd reason, calmly asking one of them if maybe, just maybe, they’ve suffered brain damage since you last conversed is not seen as nurturing or helpful.

I’m not sure they even understand each other, unless “understanding how to piss each other off” is a manifestation of said understanding. And I used to think that was just a sibling thing, but now I’m hearing about it amongst supposed friends, so I don’t know. Basically they’re all playing from a secret rulebook that changes constantly, but we’re the stupid ones for not knowing the rules. (more…)

  • email
  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Kirtsy
  • StumbleUpon
Comments { 52 }
Design by LEAP