My Best Day EVER!

The boy's had a couple of bad days. As you know, he isn't really a fan of school. Desperate to help him have a good day at school, I decided I would go against everything I believe, and try a little positive thinking.

As he was putting his socks on and trying to convince me that he shouldn't have to go to school, I told him to say, "Today is going to be my best day EVER!" He grumbled it at first. "Say it like you mean it!" He said it a little louder. "NO! Say it like you REALLY mean it!" He yelled it and started laughing. "See!" I said, "You can make today your best day ever." He smiled, he stopped complaining, I'm a genius!

Madison looked at me. "Today is NOT going to be my best day ever." "Not with that attitude." I told her. She gave me the, "Your dumb and I'm embarrassed to be your daughter" look (it started a lot younger than I had expected) and said, "I have had a lot of good days. There has been Disneyland, sleepovers, and parties. Today I am going to go to school and then I will come home to do homework. Even if I could make this the best day ever, why would I want to?"

I always knew that positive thinking stuff was crap.

It seems really unfair that I have to have a kid who is not only smart, but also a smart ass.

I Have Flying Soap in My Inventory

I would like to explain why it is that I am awake at 7am on a Saturday.

It wasn't long ago that I was asleep. I was having one of those crazy mom dreams. You know where I go to put the kids in the car, but realize that I have left the baby's car seat in the place we came from. So I run back to get the car seat and am stopped my some girl who tells me that Chase did something gross that they want me to clean. She won't tell me what it is and just says that I have to see because it's just "so gross." I started to explaining to her that being a mom I don't say, "eeewww . . . " giggle, and run away when someone says the words "poop" and "pee" and "vomit" and would she please just tell me what he did so I can get what I need to properly clean it. I was in the middle of perfectly good lecture when (in real life now) my husband leans over and touches my hand and says, "Wait! Don't move, don't move, don't move!"

me: huh?
husband: You have flying soap in your inventory now.
me: Flying soap?
husband: Yes, in your inventory, you know, like on your belt.
me: What the Hell . . . are you awake?
husband: I know it sounds weird, but I am awake.
me: So why did you wake me up?
husband: Because it's your turn.
me: Oh. Is the baby fussing? (we take turns when he fusses at night-- and it is currently my turn)
husband: No.
me: Are you sure your awake?
husband: Um. Never mind.
me: No, and this point I would like to know why I was woken up.
husband: Ya, maybe I wasn't awake then. But I am now.
me: Okay so I am going to go back to sleep.
husband: . . . . (apparently he is back already asleep . . . though I'm not sure I believe he ever woke up)

At this point I tried to roll over and go back to sleep but unfortunately we forgot to turn the kids alarm clocks off last night. We have them set for 6:30am so they can get ready for school. I hear footsteps coming up the stairs and the boy growling while he says, "STOP FOLLOWING ME!"

I decided to just go ahead a get up. But I shut the bedroom door because I think the husband could use a little extra sleep. Just a hunch.

Sand Box

Some one took most of the dirt out of our house plants and drove their toy trucks in the mess. I'm not sure who it was, but I have my suspicions . . .

He is asleep in the middle of one of his dirt piles. Pretty damning evidence. However, I wouldn't put it past one of the other kids to create the mess around him while he slept. Still he is the one with the unhealthy fascination with trucks.

Regardless, its good to know that I picked the right color of tile and rug. It is hard to see dirt on it. Even large piles of dirt. Though, I forgot to check the couch and when my visiting teachers came they found a large pile of dirt under one of the decorative pillows. SURPRISE!

My Budding Leonardo

Yesterday the boy came walking up the stairs and down the hall when all of the the sudden he stopped. He stood there for a second, the he looked at me and said, "MOM! My brain just taught me a new way to write the letter E!" He got a piece of paper started at the bottom, instead of the top, and wrote this . . . .

I not sure what is worse. The fact that I have to tell him that his brain did his E backwards, or the fact that he refers to his brain in the third person.

I am also afraid that he is going to get a note from school saying they are very particular about the way they write the letter E, and would appreciate it if his brain would stop interfering.

A Child's Mind

When I was in kindergarten I remember Mr. Castleton finding a black widow in the blocks at school. But now I wonder if it was really a black widow or just a spider I romanticized as being a black widow.

I also remember when the little girl who's desk was next to mine earned the strawberry scented notebook. She had one more "good behavior token" than I did. I would have won except I kept my eyes open during the prayer, and had some tokens taken away. I felt this was very unjust because I was only keeping my eyes open so I could tattle on other kids keeping their eyes open so their tokens would be taken away, thus securing my position and winning the notebook. My plan obviously backfired.

Once I dreamed that a robber, dressed in black and white stripes, climbed in my window during the night and stole my chap stick out of the toy box. I thought it really happened. I remember my mom being frustrated because she couldn't convince me that I had just lost my chap stick. She pointed out that the windows in my room didn't open. I didn't budge. In fact I'm still a little skeptical, it was pretty cool chap stick.

I remember tricking my mom into buying me a sticker book I really wanted. I told her that my friend Jon's sister was having a birthday party and I needed to get her a present. Jon didn't really exist and neither did his sister. I hid the sticker book in the closet in my room. I also had to play with it in the closet because I didn't want to risk my mom finding it. But as it turns out, she knew Jon and his sister didn't exist. I probably could have just said, "Hey mom, can I have that sticker book?" And avoided the self induced time in the closet.

I was reminded of all these things and how different kids look at the world yesterday while chaperoning my daughters field trip. We were visiting the world fest. We got to walk from booth to booth and learn about various countries and cultures. At one point we were told to gather near the stage because a Chinese dragon would be making an appearance. After a 20 minute wait the dragon finally came through the doors and the kid next to me exasperates, "oh . . . it isn't a real dragon."

The Blood Pressure Game

Yesterday I went to the arthritis doctor. I know, I know, I'm too young! Tell me about it. I am the only person under 70 in the waiting room.

A normal visit goes something like this

1. Check in
2. Sit and wait
3. Get put in a room
4. Sit and wait
5. A nurse comes and checks your blood pressure
6. Sit and wait
7. Talk to the doctor

Yesterday they decided to switch it up a bit. I think they wanted to add a little spice to the old people's day. They decided to play the blood pressure game. An old person party classic!

Here is how it works. Instead of taking the patients blood pressure in the privacy of a room, you take it in the waiting room and announce it.

Most of the patients blood pressure was around 120 over 75-- not bad for old people. Mine was 111 over 69-- far and away better than anyone else there at the time! However, everyone in the office was shocked when nurse announced the woman after me. Her blood pressure was 220 over 78! You could litterally hear the other patients gasp! Then her husband very enthusiastically said, "Wow! Thats great!"

I suspect he thinks they won the blood pressure game. I don't know, maybe they did. I've always been shooting for low, but I recognize that high can be an accomplishment too. I like to think that I'm very fair and open minded. It's one of the many ways I keep my blood pressure down.

Teenage Mom Meets Dirty Old Man

When I was a kid my dad used to tell us that my mom was older than he was. I believed him. My mom told me that Gilbert dies at the end of Anne of Green Gables, or is it Anne of Avonlea? I don't remember. The point is, she told me he dies and I believed her.

So it really shouldn't be a surprise that a few years ago I told the boy that I was 25 and I was going to be 25 forever. At the time he was 3, Maddie was 5 and Michael was 29 so it really wasn't so bad. But he still believes me and I'm not about to correct him.

The only problem is that he likes to tell everyone our ages. The grocery store clerk, the doctor, the stranger in the parking lot, the nurse giving him his flu shot . . . no one is exempt.

"Hey guess what! I'm 5, and Maddie is 7, and Chase is 2 and Davis is 4 months, and my dad is 31 and my mom is 25."

As you can see, I have now become a teenage mom and Michael is toying with the idea of being a dirty old man. Everyone else keeps aging, so it gets worse every year.

I was just going through the boy's school folder and found this picture. It's a partial family portrait. He has gone the extra mile to write our ages on the pictures. Maddie is 7, Michael is 31, and I'm 25. See Michael's big nose? That is probably because he is getting so old. As I understand it, your nose and ears don't stop growing. I'm not sure who that is looking over Michael's shoulder. Maybe its the grim reaper.

Mental note: take out life insurance . . . .