This makes my parents proud
Plenty of parents dream of their offspring becoming doctors, lawyers, superstars, and world-renowned scientists. We all have big dreams for our kids. I just hope that my parents always hoped that someday their darling daughter would grow up to talk about her boobs on the Internet. Because if so, dude, they TOTALLY scored.
Now that the students have flooded back into town I am reminded of one of the current fads I find puzzling, and—not coincidentally—one way in which I suspect I am a little bit strange. It seems to me that every young woman in this town has an entire closet full of strapless tops and dresses. I don’t know how or when or why this became The Thing, but there they all are, parading around with completely naked shoulders.
And me with the overwhelming urge to walk up behind them and yank down their shirts. read more…
Special needs, yes indeed
I think that any parent with more than one child struggles to make sure that things are fair, and that goes quadruple in the case of having a kid with special needs. No matter how many times I intone, “Fair doesn’t mean equal” to my kids—and I do believe that, by the way—there are always going to be cases where one feels they’re being slighted while the other is getting more. More attention, more privileges, more love, more WHATEVER; it doesn’t matter. What matters is that it’s a balancing act, giving them what they need, keeping my sanity, and keeping the peace.
It can be even more difficult now that they’re getting older and Chickadee can understand that Monkey gets certain accommodations at school and is oftentimes treated differently at home, too, as part and parcel of his “special needs.” And yes, the air quotes are required. Always.
Anyway, I thought it was time to shine a light on the whole “special needs” thing, as it applies to homework. Because some people may not understand what it means to have a special needs kid when it comes to something like this, and the process I go through 4-5 days/week with these kids. read more…
Made of awesome
Look; you already know that I’m basically sort of lazy. (At least when it comes to physical stuff. My mind is sort of like a hamster on crack on a giant wheel, running for broke. It doesn’t often GET anywhere, but at least it’s going.) So I preface this story with the acknowledgment that what I consider an incredibly productive weekend may, indeed, be your idea of an uneventful hour. I understand that. Still, FOR ME, it was something of a masterpiece of productivity, and you’ll just have to allow me a few moments of bragging about it.
Besides, we all know there’s a moment at the end where I got knocked down a couple of pegs, because that’s just how it goes. Success in my world can sometimes be fleeting; I accept this.
Usually. I mean, most of the time.
I mean… well, you’ll just have to see for yourself. read more…
Mystery! Suspense! Laundry!
I am on a quest to make my children more self-sufficient. Because I hope that someday they’ll move out. Part of my quest involves mastery-by-inches when it comes to the laundry.
Chickadee knows how to do her own laundry, and sometimes she even does. But for the most part I take care of the parts involving the washing machine and dryer. It used to be that laundry magically took care of itself, you know, and bit by bit I’m trying to factor myself out of the equation. First it was “nothing gets washed unless it’s in the hamper.” Then it was “nothing gets washed unless the hamper is placed in front of the washer.” And I’ve also gone from putting their stuff away for them to folding it all and letting them put away to simply handing them baskets of clothes to deal with with on their own.
I really thought I was on the right path. read more…
Born lazy
I often refer to myself as lazy because I am not terribly physically active. I sit at a desk all day long, and I’ve never been good at sports, and my idea of relaxing is… moving from the desk to the couch. I live on the edge, obviously.
Part of me bristles against this, because, obviously, I am not lazy in the overarching sense of the word. I mean, I’m as lazy as you can be while working 50-60 hours/week and cooking, cleaning, and otherwise tending to a family, I guess.
Still, my inability to develop a love for exercise aggravates me. Hence today’s post over at Five Full Plates, about me and my excuses. I’m curious to know if you think a love of fitness can be cultivated, because so far I’ve got nothin’.
Let me count the ways of love
There are times when I think that if the phrase “attitude of gratitude” was a person, I would be tempted to punch it square in the nose of its smug, righteous little face. It just sounds… smarmy. Holier-than-thou-ungrateful-and-possibly-unwashed-self. Fake and pious. That aspect of it I can do without.
On the other hand, there’s something about that phrase that I love. It’s short and simple and to the point. It’s a great reminder to myself even as I’m grappling with raising complicated no-longer-so-small people who can sometimes bear a striking resemblance to Veruca Salt. So, yes, it can sound a little trite, but the idea behind it rings true to me.
It’s about acknowledging the good and being appreciative as a default position. I can’t find anything wrong with that, rhyming words aside. I liked doing a quick inventory so much, the last time I did it, I’m going to do it again today. read more…
Happy birthday to her, she’s covered in fur
The remainder of my birthday yesterday was very nice; in the true party spirit, I took some Nyquil and fell asleep on the couch before 9:00. Wooooo! Do I know how to live on the edge or WHAT? Too bad Otto felt the need to give me his cold as a pre-birthday gift. (But guilt is a handy thing, because to make it up to me he gave me a spa certificate for my actual birthday. As soon as I stop leaking snot everywhere, it’s massage time, baybee.)
You’d think that today everything would be back to normal, but NO, because today is Licorice’s birthday! Well, sort of. The truth is that no one knows when her birthday is, of course, because rescue dogs rarely get picked up with a little note pinned to their fur. (“Please take good care of my baby. Her name is Foofybottom and her birthday is on ________. She enjoys rodent entrails and long walks on the beach.”) But the rescue that nursed Licorice back to health assigned her birthday as August 18th, and their vet estimated her age at three, so although it may not ACTUALLY be her 4th birthday today, we’re acting like it is.
You know, for the kids. Stop looking at me like that. read more…
It says so, right here
There are crumbs on the table and dust bunnies on the floor and there’s something sticky on the back corner of that one shelf in the fridge that I’m afraid to investigate.
I’m tired and I’m getting a cold and my desk is a mess and the laundry’s piling up and it’s rainy and disgusting outside.
I am profoundly grateful for all of it. This life, my life, is sweeter and more blessed than I deserve. Every year I dread my birthday—vestiges of ghosts long since past—and every year it arrives and I look around and realize, “Life is good and I am lucky.”
Because it is, and I am. Even if this IS the last birthday I’m planning to have. Ahem. (39 is the new black, or something, right? Right.)
And if for some reason I didn’t realize my good fortune, magical forces are hard at work to remind me. read more…
He really deserves a medal
I know I’ve told you before about how really, the biggest adjustment for me in moving south was the seriousness of the bugs around here. The insects in Georgia are just not screwing around, man, they are here to REPRESENT. As such, having a Bug Guy is—to my mind, anyway, and those of any sane people with whom I’ve spoken—just not optional ’round here. Having a maid is optional. Having curbside trash pick-up is optional (if you don’t mind driving to the dump). Having a company that will keep creepy germ-encrusted twitchy exoskeletons filled with SQUICK out of your house is NOT OPTIONAL.
Bug Guys typically come and treat the house once a quarter. Then, if you have some sort of problem, they’ll come back and retreat as many time as is necessary, but once a quarter pretty well keeps things under control. EXCEPT. I learned early on that the week after the Bug Guy comes, it’s inevitable that a few bug sightings are going to happen—the poison drives ’em out of the crevices and sometimes IN rather than OUT.
But that doesn’t make it any less disgusting. read more…
Just wondering
In general, I believe in parenting with a firm but benevolent hand. I believe in choosing your battles, allowing them room to make their own mistakes, and a lot of prayer. I believe you can’t take it personally, but you can’t just give up, either. I believe it’s our job to mold these kids into human beings who will benefit society, and that said molding can be messy, thankless work a lot of the time, but that the benefits in the end far, far outweigh the drawbacks.
That said, if I had to club my daughter to within an inch of her life with, say, this, y’all would totally understand, right? You’d still like me?
Because I am telling you this: There is not a jury in the world that would convict me.