You can call me Shorty

It finally happened; after months of hovering just under my height—and countless mornings of not-so-subtly sidling up to me and comparing our stature—this morning Monkey came downstairs and I was struck speechless for a moment.

“Holy crap,” I finally managed. I turned to Otto. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing here? Isn’t he, like, an inch or maybe TWO taller than when he went to bed last night??”

Otto concurred as Monkey grinned and bounced by my side, using one hand to supposedly feel the plane from the top of his head to over the top of mine (though he was a bit slanted, and we had to point out that no, he’s not a foot taller than me… yet). Today was a long-awaited triumph for him, and reminder 749 to me that my darling boy is a late bloomer. He’s no longer the smallest kid in the class as he was for so long, but neither has he hit anywhere close to what I assume his eventual height will be. (People love to gently tell me that maybe he’s just going to be short. His dad is really tall; I think he’s just on his own growth curve right now, y’know?)

That brought me back to thinking about all of the joys of asynchronous development, so I wrote about it over at Alpha Mom, because the only thing more fun that trying to figure out a teenager is trying to figure out a teenager who is both ahead and behind.

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Our mom lost her mind and all we got were these tomatoes

Consider this my white flag of surrender for this week. I am done. DONE. I give up.

There’s a stomach bug being circulated around band camp, because of course there is. Both kids have had it. One of them had it twice. (Overachiever!) I may have also had it, but it’s hard to tell because this weekend I threw out my neck (making a bed, because I’m all gangster like that) and in a moment of extreme pain and poor judgment decided I could take some of these leftover painkillers here, I’m sure it’ll be FINE. Hey, not fine! Turns out that Tylenol and Advil do exactly fuck-all for a frozen neck, but no matter how hard to hope and pray that someday stronger painkillers will not make me barf, it’s not meant to be for me and the good drugs. (On the bright side, I’ll never be an addict, I guess.) So I might’ve had the stomach thing. Maybe. Or maybe I just had stupidity.

Otto has been working a million hours this week (whoever said that college professors have the summers off was a DIRTY LIAR) and I’m trying to keep up at work while I can barely move AND I haven’t been grocery shopping AND I GUESS kids marching around in the heat need decent nourishment, you know. As the only thing not pitiful right now is the garden, it’s sort of like “Have a good day at camp, here’s your lunch of some Gatorade and a heel of bread with the last slice of cheese and a big container of cherry tomatoes!” Chickadee reported this morning that during lunch break yesterday her brother was all, “Hey! Open your mouth and close your eyes! I’m going to throw this tomato into your mouth!” What could possibly go wrong with pelting your bandmates with fresh tomatoes, amirite?

But don’t worry, even at my most pathetic, I am still the absolute worst. I’m still having RULES and EXPECTATIONS and generally just making life miserable for those who possess half my DNA. It’s all part of my plan to… turn them into decent humans. (I AM A MONSTER.) I wrote about it over at Alpha Mom, because the only thing worse than having expectations for my children is telling the world about it. (Hey, at least it comes with some pretty good tomatoes.)

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*insert band geek gang symbol here*

Some people love the Christmas season, others twirl around with glee in the early spring when the flowers begin to bloom. Me, I think mid-summer is the most wonderful time of the year. Everyone else is all “It’s so hot! It’s so rainy! I can’t believe school’s starting soon!” And then I’m over here on cloud nine, all, “IT’S BAND CAMP SEASON, BITCHES!”

Band camp is a miracle, wrapped in jubilation, taking the covert form of teenagers who are happy and too tired to be difficult.

Sure, getting up early and packing lunches again isn’t really something any of us missed, but it’s worth it. Chickadee’s in her happy place. Monkey’s stretching himself and finding his way. The groundwork is being laid for an awesome return to school and busy, happy fall days. I like it. Nope, scratch that. I love it.

And hey! This one time, at band camp? I wrote about my continuing love for band camp and all things marching band at Alpha Mom. Long live marching band, man.

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Things I did this weekend

Alternately, Stuff I did while avoiding doing actual work.
Or even, I am super productive when I’m procrastinating.

* Missed seeing a friend on her birthday because I am so disorganized.
* Apologized to said friend and made plans for later this week.
* Realized I hadn’t seen another friend in far too long; made more plans.
* Talked with a third friend about future plans when she returns from a trip.
* Spent a full five minutes marveling at how far I’ve come since my cave-dwelling hermit days because THREE FRIENDS! PLANS! SOCIAL! WOOOOOO!
* Stripped all beds, washed sheets, made up all beds.
* Laid down on freshly made bed wondering if there is anything better in the whole world than fresh, clean sheets on an unrumpled bed.
* Was immediately joined by a dog with muddy paws. (You know in cartoons how there’s an audible *POP* when a character’s happy bubble is burst? It was like that.)
* Did more laundry.
* Stalked my husband’s social media to see how his trip was going.
* Talked to my husband on the phone and assured him that I wasn’t worried at all.
* Texted with my daughter during the car parts of their journey (Her: I’m boooored! Me: Try talking to Otto…?) and enjoyed the radio silence that signified having-too-much-fun-to-talk during the non-car parts. (more…)

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Yeah, we’re cheesy

So the Very Good News is that Duncan is now two weeks out from his surgery and got his stitches out and his inflatable collar off and never have you seen a dog so happy. He loves everyone and everything, and this is even in light of the Not So Good News that wearing that stupid collar (to keep him from eating his stitches, mind you) ended up giving him a whopper of an ear infection. (Apparently having your ears sort of pushed closed for a couple of weeks is bad.) By the time I discovered it, his ear was seriously grody and caked with… stuff. Ear cheese. Doesn’t everyone call it ear cheese? We call it ear cheese. Which then leads to a host of comments about how “He’s such a Gouda boy!” and “He’s just making some Mutt-zerella….”

(I know. We’re terrible.)

Anyway. I gave the vet what little money we had left and now everyone is healthy and good-smelling (Duncan finally got a post-surgical bath; Licorice took herself on an adventure thanks to an HVAC worker here leaving our gate open, and while I think she enjoyed the pond, she also needed a bath) and shhhhh, everyone act cool, because I think it’s all good.

In other news, longtime readers may remember that Something Terrible happened a looooong time ago, back before Otto and I got married, when I brought the kids down to Georgia to visit. At the time I was so upset I couldn’t even talk about it. Here we are, seven and a half years later, and I think we may have finally come full circle. You can go read about it over at Alpha Mom, if you like.

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It’s a little-known fact…

… that there are actually FIVE horsemen of the Apocalypse. No one really likes to talk about the fifth guy, though, because he doesn’t technically ride a horse. He rides an elliptical.

(He’s in killer shape, but has a hard time keeping up with the other four. You understand.)

I bring this up because I’ve apparently become one of those people who exercises. I’m not sure how it happened, but clearly it’s a sign of the Apocalypse. Before the world ends, I figured I would write about it for Alpha Mom. The end days are nigh! Thank goodness I’ll now have the stamina to run from the terror for a while.

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Gluten-free thug life

Someone asked me the other day how long I’ve been gluten-free, and I couldn’t remember. I ended up sounding like a complete moron, I’m sure (this would be different from the hundred other ways I normally sound like a complete moron…), with my response of, “Oh, you know, a bunch of years? Maybe 4 years? Wait, 5 years? 3 years? I MISS REAL PIZZA.” [I just looked it up. 5 years!! Whoa.]

It’s been a long time, is all. And I feel better and my skin isn’t falling off anymore and so that’s all great. I appreciate not being a giant wad of eczema.

In the beginning I tried my hand at various wheat-free substitutes, and spent a lot of money on the gluten-free versions of foods, but it became clear in very short order that:
1) Gluten-free imitations of normally gluten-free foods tend not to taste very good,
and
2) Specialty gluten-free products cost twice as much as their wheat-filled counterparts, either to buy pre-made or to make, myself.

As a bonus: 3) Anything that should be wheaty which is now gluten-free and actually tastes good is generally laden with sugar and salt and fat (yum yum) and really bad for you.

So mostly I just skip the normally-wheat-containing foods. (more…)

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Pardon me while I distract myself

I actually had this whole funny little post planned about The Day Of The Mystery Puddle—it appeared in the middle of the kitchen and we started playing Dog, Garbage Bag Leak, or Oblivious Child Spill—but before I had a chance to write it, Duncan commenced peeing all over the place and generally behaving unwell. At that point the puddle seemed less amusing and more like something I should’ve been more alarmed by in the first place, y’know?

Anyway. Duncan is also kind of lumpy and bumpy (“Age!” said the vet, the first time I pointed it out. “Or maybe something else! Who knows!”) and checking him over revealed one of his bumps had significantly expanded. No bueno. Off to the vet he went, first thing Monday morning, and now he’s in surgery. We’re waiting to hear whether this is a small expensive annoyance or a big expensive heartbreak (or something in-between).

So! I’m working! And shopping! And not thinking about my smushy babykins having dubious lumps extracted! It seemed like a perfect time to share some shopping tips for hard-to-fit-teens over at Alpha Mom as a distraction. You could come read it, and then we could be distracted, together.

[Edited to add: Duncan came through the surgery just fine, and other than an abscess and couple of fatty deposits the vet found nothing we need to worry about. He (the dog, not the vet) spent the night fairly confused and this morning is mighty angry that we won't let him eat his stitches. We lucked out.]

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Ready, set, read

Perhaps my favorite yearly assignment in writing for Alpha Mom is the chance to do a summer reading round-up—nothing makes a bookworm happier than talking books, after all, except maybe talking books that are shaping the next generation of bookworms.

[Aside: I am so glad my kids love to read. I'm also glad they've developed such excellent taste in books that I find myself reading their picks more often than not. It's like having a couple of librarians in-house, albeit somewhat cranky and messy librarians.]

Without further ado, I’m pleased to offer up this year’s summer reading round-up for teens, with thanks to my kids for letting me borrow their books. Also, endless thanks to the Powers That Be that I don’t have to contend with anyone reading Twilight or anything else that would just make me sad.

Come on over and tell us what you and your kids are reading, too. We’re always happy to have more recommendations!

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Here, I brought you this snow. It melted.

I wanted to bring you back something awesome from our trip to Breckenridge, but I realized after we got home that I brought back… nothing, really. I mean, I remembered the kids, but to be fair, we’d brought them with us in the first place and I figured the people renting out the house we stayed in might be mad if we left them behind. I managed to buy my children 0 souvenirs from our super fun family vacation week. Zilch. Nada. I DID want to buy them a couple of I GOT HIGH IN BRECKENRIDGE t-shirts that we kept seeing everywhere (it’s nearly 10,000 feet, you know), but for SOME reason Otto kept vetoing that and giving me a funny look whenever I said it. I can’t imagine why.

Weeks before we left, my parents suggested to us that we look into getting some altitude sickness medication to bring with us. Apparently there’s something available by prescription, and I agreed that that was a good idea, meanwhile thinking to myself, “Medication? Does it bring you closer to sea level? How does that even work??” Also I then got distracted by all of the work I needed to finish before we left and the fact that (stewards of awesome timing that we are) we ended up purchasing Monkey some new bedroom furniture just days before we departed and that meant an evening spent assembling and moving things and selling his old bed and then the countless bewildering discussions between my youngest and me where he insisted that he loved his new furniture and wasn’t bothered by the change at all, but could I please just get him exactly the same bedding (y’know, the bedding that is only available in twin size) OR allow him to continue using the current twin sheets/blankets on his new full bed. Because that’s logical. (Autism! Motto: Progress ain’t linear, parents.) I got busy, is the point, and we never got a prescription, but I was sure that was no big deal.

Spoiler: We all got sick. (more…)

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