5 Days In...

So, we're five days into what I am now deeming "The Best Punishment Eva". No DS, Wii, computer, game cube, and NO TV for two weeks. The idea behind this punishment is that they will appreciate all the things that their grandparents do with them while I have to go to work, and hopefully behave while they're there. Because if Grammie and Grampy can't watch the kids, I can't work, ergo (did I use that correctly)I can not afford such luxuries as gaming systems and cable TV. So far it's working beautifully. So here's what we've been doing in our techno-free zone.

My youngest...

is thinking up ways he can earn money to pay the bills so that he can watch TV again. (Kinda not the point, but A+ for effort)

is waging a ninja war on the office and all that inhabit it.

is finally finishing that book he brought home from the library entitled "The Meanest Doll In The World". Think it's not a boy type book? Think again.

The book in short is a cross between "Toy Story" and "Chuckie". Don't let the pencil sketch fool you, that "Mean Mimi" is a force to be reckoned with, in a purple tiara. Kinda like me. At 5am.


The oldest...

is still trying to think of ways he can lessen his punishment (OK still not the point, but loving all the extra help around the house.)

is doing his best to build a Lego droid army to protect us all from the ninja war provoked by the above mentioned holy terror.

is a great kitchen assistant. The rent-a-hubby, not so much. He's gonna stick to scrambled eggs.

suddenly noticed that the bird house he built with his grandfather last fall has two new residents. (Something he would have completely missed had he been in his usual DS fog.) Aren't they cute?

I am...

getting tons of sleep.

Which is ALWAYS a good thing.

Grounded...

I've grounded the kids.

The short story is that they disrespected their grandparents again, upsetting the balance of my Supermom Universe on a weekly basis. So, I thought it was time to bring out the big guns. No DS, no Wii, no Game Cube (yes, we still have one of those things), no computer, and No TV. In short, no screens of any kind. For two weeks. And so far, here's what we've learned.

The TV remotes will not work when you unplug the TV. No matter how hard you push the button.

My oldest son's fingers have finally stopped twitching from lack of DS time.

My youngest is in fact a superstar of tennis. On the Wii. In real life, not so much. Actually, he sucks. My oldest is not that great either, but at least he managed to not hit himself in the head with the racket.

The garage got cleaned in less than 1 hour with the help of my two mental midgets. Both, by the way, loved cleaning and organizing all the outside Christmas and Halloween decorations that were once a hopeless tangled mess of lights and pumpkins. Oh, and that pile of metal from the garage door installation last year finally got recycled. We were even able to dig out all the old oil paint from 20 years ago to bring to the landfill on hazardous waste day. Now I just need to remember when that is...

My children are playing with toys they forgot they had. I have actually forgotten how amazing their imaginations are.

GI Joe has died in my bathtub, along with several of his men, via water pistol.

Lastly, I am enjoying the silence. I really, really am. No screaming over the TV, no automatic "yes, as soon as I finish this level" answers, no fighting over turns on the computer. Yes folks, this silence, as they say, is golden. But, as the days pass if I find silence's golden color starts to tarnish, I've discovered that Duct tape now comes in all colors, and I'm not afraid to use it.

To Be Continued....

The Battle Of Good, Evil, And Random Flowers

There they are...the target. Aren't they pretty?

Too bad they're in front of a house that looks like this.

Yup. In the midst of brush and rubble grew these beautiful spring flowers. This is the first year I've seen them there, right alongside what once was the driveway. The tiny bit of beauty, in what is now the eye sore of the neighbor hood.

I live in a cottage area. Over the years many of the houses have been bought, renovated, and have established year round residents. But on every street, there is that house. The one, that for whatever reason, the family won't sell and it is left susceptible to all that nature has in store for it. As you can see, nature kicked this poor old house's butt. It has housed raccoons, snakes, and teenage wildlife of all kinds. We have signed petitions, offered buyouts, and secretly preformed random yard work for this old baby, but to no avail. Every winter the roof caves in a bit more from the heavy snow. Every summer the neighbors and I plot to run over in the dead of night, and push the chimney over to finally put the home out of it's misery. Perhaps the saddest part is that that home was once the pinnacle of the neighborhood, with never even a blade of grass out of place.

Yet, there they are. Taunting me.

Would anyone ever even notice if they suddenly started growing in my yard?

No definitely not.

No one notices when I cut hydrangeas from the hedge like bushes that grow along the side of the property. They make a beautiful centerpiece for my kitchen table all summer long. But these purple babies are different. If I dig them up it's stealing, isn't it? Even if the owners are long gone from this Earth, it's still stealing right?

It's so tempting though.

Damn this Catholic guilt.

Damn.

Resist the urge.

Don't go to the dark side.

Must. Resist.

Damn.

Not So Polaroid Moments

I need a moment. For what I'm not sure, because I fear that someone will fill it with yet another thing to do. I've been quite busy these last few weeks, so busy in fact I'm not sure what month I'm in anymore.



As you can see, for a while the inside of my home looked like a bomb went off. Literally. And, while the first cabinet neared completion, I decided to start the demo for the 6 foot medicine cabinet in the bathroom. As you can see, we had a bit of a privacy issue. I advised anyone visiting to use the potty before they leave home. By the end of the week, I had returned the privacy factor to the bathroom, as the Rental Hubby finished painting the living room curio cabinet. It was a ton of work, and took alot of patience that I don't normally posses, but the curio looks great if I do say so myself. There is still a gaping hole in the bathroom side, but on the plus side, the cat now has a new place to hide from the boys.

I am knee deep in creating a doll-sized bedroom set for my niece the Queen. This entails sewing sheets, (complete with contrasting trim), pillowcases, a dust ruffle, and a quilt all that will match the set on her "big girl" bed. This project would be so much easier to accomplish if I did not have to use the kitchen table. I feel I must disclose here that I'm not so sure that my kids did not eat a healthy amount of thread with their spaghetti for nightly dinner. Also, accompanying my miniature home decor project at the kitchen table are my oldest's two major reports due this week (Seriously he's only in 3rd grade) with projects that involved lots of glue. I fear I may never see a surface suitable for eating again. Honestly, right now I figure that I'm just lucky every one's got clean underwear on. Well, I think everyone does anyway.

The outside of my home however, no longer looks like a vacant lot. Not being too far into he Spring season has worked in my favor since the lawn mower's been broken for over a year now, and my weed whacking technique is proving un-effective. So, when my son asked me why we never used the lawn mower anymore, I decided to be pro-active and order the part to fix it. The Rent-A-Hubby took advantage of the nice weather and is cleaning up the yard. He and the boys spent hours cleaning up sticks, leaves, and remnants of toys (which is why the lawn mower's broken) that have been uncovered from their safe cover of snow all winter. He even cleaned the un-cleanable stair area down to the basement door. I don't think that's ever been cleaned out, ever. I felt had to take a picture to commemorate the moment. Secretly, I think he may be the best Rent-A-Hubby ever.



My queen of a niece turned six. The girls all dawned their Fancy Nancy dress up attire and well the boys, let's just say they found their own fun. While the girls did face painting, dawned feather boas, sparkly sunglasses, and had their nails done, the boys went on attack with toy chainsaws and night vision goggles. We even had an unexpected crasher at this party. My newest niece, arrived a mere 5 days fashionably late. At 8 lbs. 10oz, she can't take on the queen, but she can be the princess.

Why I Love Boys - Part Two

Back in March I posted a list of all the reasons I was so glad to have boys (and men who act like boys) in my life. The idea behind this list was so that when the emergency personnel came to talk me down from the garage roof, they would have a good working list relevant to my life. Here are some of my latest additions:

13.  Never having to launder a thong for someone other than myself.

14.  Boxers are sold in S, M, L, and XL. "Athletic supports" are also sold in a similar fashion. Therefore, I never need to know an actual size of my children's private areas. Because, there are just some things a Mom shouldn't know.

15. There is always a razor around for an emergency shave. It may be dull as a butter knife, but at least it's there in a pinch.

16. I will (hopefully) never have to dress my son in a playboy bunny type costume or hoochie mama fishnets for a dance recital.


17. Never having to figure out how to get a birthday cake like this home safely in the car.

Side note: This was a birthday cake for a six year old. Can you imagine what her wedding cake will look like? I think her mother and I have something in our genetics that causes us to go overboard on Birthday stuff but that's a different post altogether.

18. There's that whole aisle of the grocery store that you can skip. Unless, you want to use it as a punishment, at which time you can spend ample amounts of time in it wandering around debating all of your choices.

19. You can always tell when boys are mad since they are usually rolling around on the floor pummeling each other. When girls get mad, they plot plan and stalk, until at some really inappropriate point six months later, it all comes out in some evil maniacal plan to get you back.

20. I would add never having to kill or track down bugs, spiders, mice, bees and/or snakes, but who am I kidding? I'm the resident exterminator here who's also allergic to bees.

To be continued....

Signature Required... Clothing Optional

Today I think I may have seen hope that the economy is turning around. I thought I'd share my little story just to brighten your day.

Two years ago I went to a customer's door for a signature for a package. He answered the door completely naked. Left hand holding one package (I could say all kinds of wise-ass things here, but I won't) and right hand signing for the one I was delivering, he went on his way and I was left with therapy bills and the burned image of his naked-ness into the backs of my eyelids. This week, he had another box that needed to be signed for and to my surprise, he had bought himself boxers! Yes, "Signature Required Naked Man" has indeed started himself a wardrobe collection. Guess all that money he's saved buying cigarettes online that need a signature is finally going to good use. Move over People Of Walmart, maybe next year he'll purchase pants.

Parenthood, Boots, and White T-Shirts

I caught the premire episode of Parenthood a while back and while I was disappointed that it wasn't more of a comedy, I have come to really enjoy the show. Perhaps my favorite character is Max. I see so many similaries between his character and my youngest son. The tantrums, destruction of property (yeah, that fish tank thing, my son did that with a computer), obcessing about one thing over and over, it was if the writers had been in my home taking notes. And the best part? The Pirate costume. LOVE the pirate costume. Except for my son, it was boots.

Exhibit A:
Easter Sunday in Camo Boots

Rain boots. He wore them everywhere. To school, the beach, in the snow, in the bathtub, to bed. He'd wear them to the point where they'd get holes in them (Thank God for LL Beans lifetime warentee) I'd have to sneak the old ones off him in the middle of the night and put the new ones on. Yes, he noticed, and it was a big problem, but what else was a Mom to do? Then LL Bean stopped making their old standard yellow rain boots in his size. So we moved on to camoflauge, batman, fireman, and any boots we could find. We bought boots in every size, everywhere we could find them, Walmart, Amazon, Foxwoods Resort and Casino, etc. Sometimes, he would mix it up a bit and wear two different boots. Summer would come and occasionally we could get him to trade out one boot for a sandal. Now that was a sight. The day care ladies didn't know what to do with us.

This obcession lastest about a year and a half and then he was on to only soft clothes. Oddly enough, when you look through pictures, we've taken them all from the waist up. Subconciously, I think I didn't want to doccument this fashion tragedy. About a year later, I discovered that his ASD could be helped with a Gluten Free diet, and while he still obcesses over things, he can usually be reasoned with. (It took a whole year but he finally wears jeans now). But every once and a while it sneaks up on me. Like yesterday.

"Ma, I'm gonna wear this shirt everyday"
"Why"
"Because I am. I have to."
"Well we have three others just like it in the dresser, can you wear one of those?"
"Do they feel the same? Are they the same color?"
"Yes. They all came out of the same pack Buddy."
"Do they have the same stains?"
"Ahhh, No..."
"Then I'll wear this one for the next thirty days."

I know what you're thinking. It is actually easier to do laundry everynight then to recreate the stains on the other shirts. Besides, he'd know anyway. He always knows.

Easter Ambush

Ah Springtime. The birds singing, bullfrogs croaking, baby flowers peeking out from every crack and crevice in my backyard. After three days of monsoon style rain, the sunshine is much needed by every living thing around. But, with the blazing sun comes the pollen, and lots of it. Combine that with the renegade mold spores from all the stagnant water and I start talking like a deep sea sailor. Eyes swollen, throat itchy, and tissues in hand, it's allergy season.

But am I stopped? No, I soldier on. While everyone else is out playing, riding bikes, cleaning up the yard, I am at work. Working a double shift actually. Eyes swollen, coughing and sneezing, I roll on. Mailbox, after mailbox, after mailbox. My rhythm interrupted only by the occasional postal customer who informs me of what a nice day it is, (duh) and how it's so terrible that I have to be working. (Yes, well I also like to eat so, the paycheck is necessary.)

Finally, I arrive to pick up my children who have been terrorizing my parents the majority of the afternoon, and I start the 40 minute ride home. Both kids, clearly exhausted by the beauty of the day, are asleep by the time we get to the end of the driveway, and I am left to sniffle and sneeze my way home in peace and quiet, and traffic. Lots of traffic.

Arriving home, I am surprised to find that my Rent-A-Husband has cleaned the whole house and somehow convinced my youngest to clean the windows. Sunlight beaming through them as if Jesus is being resurrected in my front yard, I plop down in the Lazy-Boy and it happens. I fall asleep. Oh, here and there, I feel a kid tugging at me and I hear voices saying "Ma can I...." but I'm pretty much down for the count. So I had no idea the cat had curled up on top of my chest, attempting to steal my prime napping space. And then I felt it. The searing pain of cat claws in my chest as the kids ambushed him. Eyes still closed, I start yelling something about enlisting them both in the witness protection program. But, alas, I am too tired to hunt them down, since they are now no where to be found, so I carefully detach the cat, and despite the warm burn of cat claws in my muffin top belly, I fall back asleep. Dreaming about happier things. Warm snugly things. That absolutely beautiful man at the grocery store. And then it hits me. Literally.




Right in the forehead. I was ambushed by the Easter Bunny's assistants.

Damn.

Mommy needs sleep.

Kung-Fu Prom Queen Dreams

I admit it. I live vicariously through my sons. When I was young, I wanted to study martial arts. Yes, something in my little 5'4" 120 lb. pre-teen girl body that wanted to kick some one's booty from here to Kansas. Preferably, some male booty. And there still is, except now I'm a wee bit bigger than 120 lbs. But alas, we could never afford the classes and my dream of being an butt-kicking prom queen were forever dashed. And then, I had kids.

Suddenly my hopes were renewed, and here I was rolling change so that my son could experience the esteem boost from belt ranking, and the adrenaline rush of scoring his first points. I sit quietly in the back of class watching him work through his routines, wishing it will pass through me by some magical osmosis, transforming this chubby Mom body into a Kung-Fu warrior. It's all I can do to keep from jumping up and working his Katas with him, but I fear that I would surely poke myself in the eye or take out an innocent bystander with my flailing fists of fury. So I watch, quietly. For three to five hours a week.

My oldest son has little interest other than when the adults are sparing and things go flying across the room. (By things I mean kicking boards, blocks, and the occasional toe nail. Nothing like blood to keep the boy interested.) Ironically, his brother's sport choice has etched out the perfect amount of homework time for him. He often brings his DS in case he finishes his work early. He's become quite a video gaming celebrity among the other siblings in the class, and a great baby sitter. Sadly, the only fury he'll be unleashing in the Dojo will be on his Pokemon. But, his thumbs will be properly stetched and toned from the workout I'm sure.

Someday, I hope that it will be me up there, sporting those comfy clothes, color coordinating my pony elastic with my belt color. Kicking booty. But until I can do a proper push up and I can convince my children that eating three meals a day is highly overrated, the funding is just not there. So I will watch, and keep my warrior princess dreams to myself. I promise only to unleash my vicariously honed mad skills only on the occasional tomato sauce jar that gives me trouble.