So 'n So's Mom

Learning Html

noreply@blogger.com (So n So's Mom) — Fri, 26 Feb 2010 15:25:00 +0000

siting at Linda's doing html

I love html

Happy New Year!

noreply@blogger.com (So n So's Mom) — Mon, 04 Jan 2010 15:15:00 +0000

It's been a while. Huh?

2009 got rolling way too fast and before I knew it I was ringing in 2010. BTW do we say "twenty-ten" or "two thousand ten"?

However you say it, 2010 is looking pretty good so far.

I have 30 pounds to lose. Not so bad considering that last year at this time I had 55 pounds to lose. And no, I didn't change my goal but trust me I haven't taken that option off the table. This "move more and shovel in less" thing is getting old. But apparently it does work - who knew?

I'm grateful for my blessings and have vowed to stop and take stock more often - kids, marriage, health, family, friends, job, laughter, sunsets, a good night's sleep. In 2010 I will appreciate it all and more.

At this very moment, I am admiring the long shadows thrown by the trees in my backyard as the morning sun sparkles off fresh snow. I am at my kitchen table with a steaming cup of coffee. I can hear the ticking of the wall clock, see the shine on the freshly cleaned counters and just... be ...still.

Stopped is the insanity of the holiday season. The purchasing and wrapping and eating and drinking and movement and noise. Stopped is the seemingly endless - "Where's the...?" "What are we going to do now?" "She won't give it back." "He hit me!" "She pushed me!" "Can I have...?" "Why does he get to ...?"

The first bus of the new year left two hours ago after 11 days of vacation. And while I love them like the very air I breathe I must say this stillness is pure heaven.

By two this afternoon, I know that I'll be anxiously awaiting the bus to hear all about their respective days and get my afternoon hug from my cuddler (the fact that he hasn't yet outgrown this is another thing I'm thankful for). But right now I am enjoying nature's beauty, a little caffeine and some divine peace.

In the words of Ferris Beuhler, "Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it." Right now I am looking around; the laundry will have to wait. I do have all year after all.

Happy New Year!

He did it again...

noreply@blogger.com (So n So's Mom) — Sun, 03 Jan 2010 20:10:00 +0000

... ran the newspaper over with the snowblower. And I am blessed with the gift of shoveling in the new year.

Having learned from last year there was no call for a lighter. Because gasoline and flame don't mix too safely, do they? And if you were only going to take one lesson out of last year's "The Snow Blower and the Flame" then that would be the one to retain. Wouldn't it?

One might argue for the "look for a paper before tooling down the snow laden driveway with the snow blower" rule to take the top spot. But really, the gasoline and flame relationship can be applied so many other places. So he made the right choice don't you think?

Holy Crap He Just Rode a Bike

noreply@blogger.com (So n So's Mom) — Mon, 28 Sep 2009 19:09:00 +0000

OK he's seven so it isn't that remarkable in the greater scheme of "first time bike riders". But I kid you not that there is a tear in my eye right now and a relief that runs bone deep that only another parent of a bike-phobic kid can understand.

Night after night there were heatedly negotiated 10 minutes of "bike time". All of our neighbors were privy to the screams of terror as the bike rolled 1/2 inch without enough support. We took every one's how-to-teach-a-kid-to-ride-a-bike advice to no avail. As the bike toppled again and again to the ground amidst tears, my fears of "can my baby even do this?" constantly battled with my bad mommy thoughts of "man up, you baby!" It wasn't like this with his sister. A few falls and off she went.

He didn't want it. I did.

I mean it. He didn't care if he ever rode a bike or not. He was just terrified and that was enough to say "no bike, no way". But you can't give into your fears, can you? Can a parent let that happen? If he never rode a bike he might not ever rise to any challenge he meets in life. His whole future could hang on getting up on two wheels. Why couldn't he see this?

Bribery failed. Comparisons to friends and younger children failed. The following conversation/argument played out time and again. Like a CD set on continuous play.

"But whyyyyyy Mommy? Why do I have to ride a bike?!!" screamed through tears.

"Because you do."

"But why??"

A fair question met with an unfair answer. "Because I said so!"

It's for the best. Right? He'll learn and thank me one day. Right? When he's 35 and on his shrink's couch he'll understand why. He'll know it was in his best interest and not just to torture him. Won't he?

I met a girl once who was 17 years old and she couldn't ride a bike. Her mom said she tried when she was six. She fell off and said she wouldn't get back on. Now she was 17 and still couldn't ride a bike.

I judged that parent that day. How could any parent let a kid give into his fears? That of course was years before my kids were even out of diapers. At one point I had judged the parents of kids who kicked the back of airplane seats too. I had lived to regret those thoughts and become one of those parents.

I was wrong to judge the Bike Mom. Trust me I now understand how you can't stand to see the fear in their eyes anymore. How you begin to not see the blurry line between "best for them" and"something you want". Until you walk a mile in the shoes of a parent bent over holding the seat of their terrified kid learning to ride a bike you will never understand.

So today L rode a shaky line down the middle of the rode. We have a way to go but we have gotten over the "will he/won't-he" hump and can just coast down the other side to the "when" conclusion. And I can breathe a sigh of brief relief. I am not confident anymore that "you must ride a bike to live a fulfilled life" but I am thankful L won't have to test the theory either. Whew!

Now as for shoe tying ... will the shrink judge me when my 35 year old son is lying on his couch in velcro z-straps?

The Most Stressful Day of the School Year

noreply@blogger.com (So n So's Mom) — Fri, 18 Sep 2009 12:29:00 +0000

No I'm not talking about standardized tests. I talking Picture Day.

Every year the night before Pictures I make sure the kids have chosen what they want to wear and have it all laid out. Granted it makes for a late night of fashion shows and "what do you mean I can't wear the [wrinkled, sweaty] shirt I wore to bed last night?" But for a peaceful ,easy morning it is worth it. Right????

Why, oh why, do we end up in a mad dash the next morning?

Because the Duncans can never actually be prepared. We must change our clothes at the last minute searching for that "you know the shirt from last spring with the thingies on it". No, I don't know!

We must insist on eating breakfast fully dressed only to smear cream cheese on the only shirt in the world that can be considered acceptable for Picture Day then cry when I insist on a change.

We must remember that "oops I did have math homework last night". A particular favorite of mine especially when combined with tears and "my teacher is going to kill me". She won't but I wouldn't count me out right now, Missy!

We must complain that "we hate our hair". Which BTW is G-O-R-G-E-O-U-S! Or worse yet go with the "its fine" when it is clearly a "rat's nest". Yes, I have one of each. Jealous?

We must spend precious "the-school-bus-is-coming" minutes deciding on the perfect pose for our Picture. And the perfect smile - teeth or no teeth?

One more last minute change. Another "God I hate my hair". Then as the bus rumbles up the road my cherubs dash to the bus as I chase them down with payment envelopes in hand. BTW I'm in my pj's and sporting my own rat's nest!

All for what? I don't scrap book. We don't even use school pictures on our walls. We're more partial to candid snapshots. We're talking hours of angst over a picture that will be thrown in a drawer.

Can't wait until next year!

We decided to Hold - Just Deal With It

noreply@blogger.com (So n So's Mom) — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 14:37:00 +0000

My youngest was born 7 years ago August 15. Hours after delivery my sister-in-law asked me "Are you going to send him to Kindergarten or hold him when he is five?' I looked at her like she was crazy and rolled my eyes. As the years passed in a blink though I began to grasp the enormity of the question.

L makes the school age cutoff by a mere 16 days. Depending on what we decided he would either be the oldest or youngest in his grade. Our decision "to send" or "not" and the repercussions of both could affect his self-esteem and school success for years, maybe for life. For a while it felt like L's whole life would be defined by what we decided. Total stress!

We finally decided to hold him and begin kindergarten late. At 7 and 2 weeks he just started first grade. Which BTW is the cause of an untold number of unsolicited opinions from friends, family and oddly enough complete strangers. It seems like everyone has a strongly held opinion on the subject of "to-hold-or-not-to-hold" and I apparently look like I want to hear it. I don't.

"We sent our daughter and she has done just fantastic. She is president of her class and is getting all straight A's....." - This comes from parents who decided to send their children even though they fall very close to the cutoff. Somehow our holding L is a challenge to their decision. If it worked for them then we should assume it would have worked for us and we are doing L a dis-service by holding him.

"So your kid is 1 year older than everyone?" - This typically comes from parents who have children in the later half of the year and feel we are giving our son some sort of unfair advantage thereby directly making their kid's journey through school more difficult.

"We didn't hold our son in kindergarten and now in middle school he is struggling socially. We're seeing behavior issues as he tries to keep up with an older crowd. You are totally doing the right thing." - This comes from parents who decided to send their children even though they fall very close to the cutoff and for whatever reason they think they made the wrong decision.

"He's so smart. He'll be bored." - This typically comes from grandparents, relatives and friends who think today's parents over-protect our children. Back in their day you played the hand you were dealt. We are therefore coddling L.

Right or wrong we held him. That was our decision. I know it seems crazy but your child did not come into our decision making process. We did research and based OUR decision on OUR child, OUR circumstances and OUR values.

Not that it matters but we're talking 16 days. I have no way of knowing where the other path would have taken us. I am tired of having to justify the path we're on. It has been three years can we just move on? I truly and sincerely wish you the best on your path but stay the hell off of ours.

Miss Me?

noreply@blogger.com (So n So's Mom) — Tue, 14 Jul 2009 00:25:00 +0000

A million apologies for not updating this site in FOREVER!

Here are my excuses:

It's summer and those short people are around 24x7. Apparently I didn't read the "Mommy Contract" fine print because "they're bored". And I guess I am supposed to do something about it or they have the right to whine until I go completely crazy. Let's just say I am in the market for a snazzy looking straight-jacket.

Hubby hasn't done anything completely and mind-numbingly "male". Apologies to 50.24% of the world's population but really I'm still trying to wrap my mind around the pie in the trunk.

I've started this other website for fun. www.one-stop-birthday-ideas.com And while I am having fun it is taking a lot of time.

So when will I be back?

Honestly on a regular basis probably not until September and the glorious return of the school bus.

However, if something insanely "me" happens I will find the time to blog this summer.

Short of that I'll see you in the Fall. Have a superb summer!!

Is it ok to swear in front of your kids?

noreply@blogger.com (So n So's Mom) — Sun, 14 Jun 2009 15:17:00 +0000

Have you ever been following someone on a highway to a place you have never been and lost them at a toll because you forgot to bring your speed pass? So you sit at that toll for 15 minutes jockeying for position in a sea of hundreds of cars funneling through three very slow toll booths. As the 15 minutes eek by you try to call the people you were following but they don't answer their phone.

You, BTW, have no clue how to get where you are going. Because you are the only people on the planet without a GPS and didn't think to Mapquest your destination before you left.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Time is creeping by. You will be late assuming you even get there.

Is that guy serious? Is he really going to try to cut me off? Is he f''n kidding me? Your sole goal in life is now whittled down to keeping that idiot from getting in front of you. Forgetting that just 5 minutes prior you sat there in the same wrong lane trying to cut off the poor sucker now behind you.

This is the scenario we found ourselves in yesterday. Hubby was driving, kids in the back seat and tempers rising. We were on our way to watch my nephew be the honorary captain for the New England Cannons, a professional lacrosse team, who play at Harvard University Stadium. Ooo la la!

The honor is all the more special because my nephew walks with great difficulty. He can't run or jump like his friends but he lets nothing hold him back. In his neighborhood he hangs with a group of boys who ride bikes as he whips along on a motorized scooter. He is just Noah to them. Just one of the guys. He'd kill me for saying so but he is adorable in that cool dude fourth grader way. Being honorary captain at the game on a night when most of his home town lacrosse players and their families would be in the audience was a big deal for him and our whole family.

And we are now late and lost. The Auntie of the Year Award is slipping through my fingers.

Through the tolls and back in phone contact with the group we were following things are looking better. Until....

"Do I go straight here or turn?? WELL..... DO I??" Hubby is asking. Print doesn't do justice to the tension and tone in his voice. Just trust me, pleasant it was not. I have no clue where to go and he is freaking out because the traffic is insane. We go straight. Guess what? We should have turned. No biggie. Right? Go down a block turn around and BAM! we are smack in dead stop traffic.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

We are now in and amongst Harvard University buildings. We can see the Charles River. The sun is splitting the rocks outside our car on a beautiful spring day. People are strolling hand-in-hand on a lovely Saturday afternoon. And inside our car all hell is breaking loose.

"He's touching me!"

"No! You're touching me!"

"Are we going to miss Noah?" Now tears and whining.

"We won't have any time to play!"

"Too frigging bad. Now shut the F up until we get out of this traffic." Yep, that is what we said. 'Frigging' , 'shut up' and 'f''. The whole package of no no's in parenthood and just outside the walls of Harvard.

Hubby hates driving in the city when he knows where he is going and has forever to get there; so being lost in dead stop traffic with the real premise of missing Noah's big moment and the kids annoying the crap out of him is not bringing out the Zen in him. Or in me either for that matter.

Eventually we get back to the road we need; but, go to the wrong parking lot.

Tick. Tick. TICK! TICK!!!!!!

Oh we get there. We even have some time to spare. However, being just out of traffic and a labyrinth of Cambridge roads, we are far from good company.

My pal, Laura, meets me at the tail gate with a vodka laden Cape Codder. What a girl!

Family, friends and neighbors cheer as Noah's name is announced and we see him on the jumbo tron. A great night. A stellar night for that matter! But...

...the question remains. Is it OK to swear in front of your kids?

Set a goal

noreply@blogger.com (So n So's Mom) — Thu, 04 Jun 2009 12:34:00 +0000

Setting a goal can be as simple as "I will not hit the snooze button this morning." Or as complex as "I will find a cure for cancer."

You can strive to exercise more or get a new job. Yell less at your kids. Call old friends more often. Run regularly. Stop swearing. Spend more time with your family. Spend less time on the phone. Eat healthy. Keep your house clean. Gossip less. Volunteer. Go green. Make a million dollars a year. Become famous. Or even win American Idol.

These are all great goals.

Experts say to start with small goals first then set day-to-day action steps to achieve your larger goals. Write it down. Check it off. Seeing your progress is what keeps you motivated.

I just found this totally cool site GoalTribe.com that helps you do your goal planning and action steps. It also has a social networking component that you can hook up with other people working toward similar goals. Look for me under "start to run regularly".

I tried to set a goal to keep the house cleaner but just couldn't seem to commit to it in writing. I physically couldn't press the enter key. Craziest thing. So I guess I'll get fit but live in squalor. Oh well.

What are your goals? Don't just think them in your head. See if you can commit them to writing. It is way more difficult than you think. Give it a try.

What's in a label

noreply@blogger.com (So n So's Mom) — Tue, 02 Jun 2009 13:06:00 +0000

For whatever reason M, the 9 year old, has taken an interest in reading every inch of a label. Yesterday she freaked out when she read "Causes substantial but temporary eye injury" on the label of Buzz Away Citronella Insect Repellent.

So started the education on label warnings and litigation. Yes it can cause "substantial but temporary eye injury" IF sprayed directly in the eye.

Why would you do that?

Good question. It could be an accident. Like a toddler gets ahold of the can. Or you could just be an idiot. Either way the label tells you what to do in the event you do spray it in your eye.

I then reminded her of the time when she was five and she sprayed Loves Baby Soft directly in her brother's eye. The label came in handy that day.

Since the door was open. We moved on to the concept of litigation. Companies can get in trouble for not letting consumers know of potential hazards with their product if someone gets hurt then sues them. Common sense does not play into the equation so companies must really stretch their imaginations to cover all their bases.

Here are a few other labels she found with seemingly idiotic advice on them. But none-the-less you can't argue their validity.

Our hair dryer says "Do not use while bathing." Duh!

Our curling iron say "For external use only." Really??!

In stitches she now turned to the Internet to keep the good times rolling. Check out http://www.rinkworks.com/said/warnings.shtml for some great ones. My favorite on there is:

"Beware! To touch these wires is instant death. Anyone found doing so will be prosecuted." -- On a sign at a railroad station.

Something New Learned - Disney World

noreply@blogger.com (So n So's Mom) — Thu, 28 May 2009 11:06:00 +0000

You should learn something new every day then I guess you can go back to bed.

Percentage of Americans who have visited Disneyland/Disney World: 70%

See Molly we aren't the only ones.

Sweet Dreams!

noreply@blogger.com (So n So's Mom) — Tue, 26 May 2009 12:07:00 +0000

When my kids were little they'd play so hard they'd just drop. More times than I can count they'd lay their head down on the playroom rug amidst the blocks and trucks and Barbie dolls and just drift off to sleep.

Is it silly to miss that? Because I do.

I miss seeing my little emerging person fight off the inevitable pull of sleep. Watching the rubbing of eyelids and big yawns mingle in with the defiant "no nap!" calls. Even on the days I couldn't "mom-up" enough to pull them from their play, nature would always win. Heads would drop, eyes would close and sweet dreams would come.

Innocence is defined in a sleeping child's face.

My babies are older now - 9 and 6 3/4 (his count not mine). Naps are rare. Maybe after a sleepover when I pick up a werewolf instead of my child and only a rest can transform her back again.

Last night though I had a brief glimmer of the past as my son played before bed. From the first floor we heard action figure banging and car crashes slow then cease all together. We came upstairs to find this ...

All at once he is my little baby again. Sweet dreams!

And So Summer Begins

noreply@blogger.com (So n So's Mom) — Thu, 21 May 2009 12:46:00 +0000

Memorial Day. The official start to summer in my mind. At least back in the day before kids and their school schedules dictating the most beloved of seasons.

Back in the summer of 1993 my roommates and I piled into the car in CT. We drove through holiday traffic to Newport, RI to move into what would be our weekend retreat that summer. A beautiful Victorian right off of Thames Street - right in the mix of things. The house was in serious disrepair but had the bones of a grand home of yesteryear. We were minutes to the beach, downtown and of course the bar scene.

Did I mention there were seventeen of us "young professionals" (read underpaid lackeys) sharing this house for the summer. We'd sleep 5 or 6 to a room because everyone always had friends over. I think the bathrooms were cleaned like twice and the floors were always either sandy or sticky.

Nights were very uncomfortable especially if you got stuck on one of the blow up mattresses on the third floor. Plus no air conditioning meant that you'd lay sweltering in the dark waiting for the oscillating fan to toss a breeze or two your way.

Morning would bring an exodus from the house as we went in search of coffee and breakfast. Then off to the beach to fry in the sun and catch up on our zzz's. Back to the house for a crazed shower schedule. High math was required to follow the thing. Then a BBQ in the backyard and off to dance the night away with friends. Possibly imbibe a little too much.

One or more of the guys would inevitably bring back some clueless girl and beyond all reason sleep with her in a house filled to the brim with bodies. Those poor girls. Talk about a walk of shame. Before they even hit the street full of strangers - in that little black dress that looked so cute last night and so slutty this morning - they'd have to walk through all of us roommates. And we were awful. Superior looks from us girls and knowing smiles from the guys.

On Sunday there'd be brunch at Castle Hill and the dreaded commute back to CT. Only to do it all over again the following weekend. That summer we lived for Fridays like never before.

I can still hear the music and giggles as we four roommates made our way to RI that first Memorial Day weekend. God what a great summer! Fun, laughter, friends, sun, sand, and a feeling of great things to come.

This Memorial Day weekend we will spend two days cheering our brains out for Molly in a soccer tournament. Go to a BBQ with friends and spend some time at my parent's lake.

The packaging may be different from my crazy Memorial Day weekend of 1993 but the ingredients remain the same:

Fun, laughter, friends, sun, sand, and a feeling of great things to come!

Something New Learned - Snoring Law

noreply@blogger.com (So n So's Mom) — Fri, 15 May 2009 14:25:00 +0000

You should learn something new every day then I guess you can go back to bed.

In Massachusetts - Snoring is prohibited by law unless all bedroom windows are closed and securely locked.

So if I open a window Hubby has to stop snoring or face jail time.

Hmmmm...... What would you do for a good night's sleep?

1+1 equals who the hell knows... if Mars is calculating

noreply@blogger.com (So n So's Mom) — Mon, 11 May 2009 16:56:00 +0000

Yesterday the kids and Steve made me a spectacular breakfast burrito for Mother's Day. My absolute fav for a Sunday breakfast. Then after a lot of whispering in the other room as I read my book, I was whisked off to a hike in the woods and a cozy family picnic. After which I was asked how I'd like to spend the rest of 'My" day.

Not liking to have things hanging over my head I said that I'd like to paint the shutters we had taken down last weekend. Let me be clear. I don't have some love of painting nor do I dream constantly about the lone pursuit of home repair. We just needed to get it done and yesterday was a nice day to paint. So Steve and I started to clean and paint the 20 shutters.

Two and a half hours later we had only 6 remaining. Steve volunteered to take Molly to soccer practice and here is where things went off track. I thought he meant "drop her off" because really what else could he have meant?

We were in the middle of a project together and the 1 1/2 hour practice was 8 minutes away. Plus we were having a really nice time painting the shutters together. Lots of laughs and spilled paint as we whittled away this dreadful task as a team listening to classic rock.

Oh how I was wrong! I assume this must be one of those Mars vs. Venus things because he took Molly to practice (in the car we had been listening to the radio out of I must note) and stayed. To watch it!

According to the defendant it never entered his mind to come back and help finish. He said, and I quote, "We were almost done. Weren't we?" Call me crazy but isn't 6 out of 20 like one third.

Here's an elementary school math word problem for you:

It takes Moira and Steve 2 1/2 hours to wash 20 shutters and paint 14 of them as a team. The washing takes a total of 45 minutes. Six shutters remain to be painted when Steve leaves. Are Moira and Steve "almost done"?

Answer: Hell NO!

Mars has obviously slipped through the No Child Left Behind Law.

Happy Mothers Day Venus you married him!

The Fruit Salad Personality Test - Who Knew?

noreply@blogger.com (So n So's Mom) — Fri, 08 May 2009 11:36:00 +0000

M & L were eating breakfast this morning when they started the coolest conversation.

Do you eat the pineapple (most prized fruit in the fruit salad of Gala apple, Bartlett pear and pineapple) first or save it for last?

Liam ate his first which makes sense. He is a live in the moment, good time Charlie kind of kid. He sees the best in things and procrastinates with anything remotely tied to a "must-do" item. It can take a 20 minute conversation to get him up the stairs to brush his teeth for 2 minutes.

Molly saved her pineapple for last. She is the oldest and the most responsible. She is intelligent and observant and wanted to save the best for last. Molly does her chores first then savors the time she has left to play and goof around.

I never really thought about it before but this little stumbled upon test of theirs really does point to their varying approaches to life. Of course this doesn't bode well for Liam's future 401K. But he'll probably have some killer vacations!!

Happy Mothers Day: to those of us learning on the job

noreply@blogger.com (So n So's Mom) — Thu, 07 May 2009 16:43:00 +0000

My biggest secret in life is that I feel I have no clue what I am doing almost all the time. From my perspective it appears that all the other mommies in suburbia with the 1.9 kids and mini vans have a key that unlocks this mysterious world of mommyhood that I didn't get. Or more likely did get but lost in my overflowing "to be filed" pile.

Very early on in mommyhood I learned to just go with the flow, learn what you can from observation and punt if you have to.

At 2 1/2 years of age my daughter, M, informed me, while she was playing in the tub, that you can't put money in your 'gina. Immediately the following thoughts raced through my head:

Good point.
Did someone tell you this rule or was it discovered by trial and error?
Is this a rule that every good mommy already knows? And what other rules am I missing?
Holy crap. What should I say in response to that!!!

ME: "Well, you really shouldn't put anything in your vagina." Very proudly using the correct vernacular for the female body part. How modern parenting of me?! Keep in mind I was still six months away from M nearly killing an 83 year old lady in the grocery store from a heart attack by screaming in her face "My Vagina is Killing Me!" In M's defense she was wedged up against the safety bar in the front of the grocery cart with a package of diapers shoved in behind her.

Back in the tub my daughter thinks over my advice. I can see the wheels turning as she takes in this new knowledge. After a full minute of processing it she says. "Well you can put these two fingers in if you're cleaning it."

I assume most other mothers would be prepared for this conversation. I wasn't and hence started what would be my back up strategy for all future mind-freak conversations. I punted plus thankfully used a big word for a 2 year old.

ME: "You don't have to be so thorough in cleaning. Just do the outside."

M: "What's thorough?"

Good. A definition question. I can handle that. Whew! Back on solid ground.

Happy Mothers Day! Both to those who know what they are doing and also to those of us still learning on the job.

Boys!!?

noreply@blogger.com (So n So's Mom) — Wed, 06 May 2009 23:05:00 +0000

The 6 year old comes down from his 20 minute shower all changed into pj's and ready for his promised 30 minutes of TV. A deal is a deal after all.

ME: "Did you use soap and shampoo?"

You may wonder why I asked such an obviously silly question.

HIM: "Awww! Mom! I'll do it next time I promise. PLEEEEASE!!"

Are you still wondering?

ME: "No. I fell for that last night. Back up you go."

Boys!!?

Do you remember ankle high white boots and black eyeliner?

noreply@blogger.com (So n So's Mom) — Thu, 30 Apr 2009 14:32:00 +0000

So my mom took Molly on her annual birthday shopping trip to the mall the other day. Back they came giddy as school girls about their fab day together with bags of what I am told is the latest in preteen fashion.

Oh, have the tables turned since I was a preteen!

The old lady standing there all smiles as my nine year old prances into the living room to model her new bra strap tank and shorts with some word plastered across the buttocks is not the woman who raised me. "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" springs to mind.

ME: "Do you really think that is appropriate for a nine year old?"

Molly: "Everyone wears this."

(I didn't say, "Would you jump off a bridge if everyone else was doing it?" But heaven help me it did go through my mind. I know that the old lady would have loved to hear her old phrase being bandied about.)

ME: "I think it looks a little ... too ... ummm ... hookerish."

Gram to the rescue: "I think she looks cute. She is right, this is the style."

ME: "Do you remember the ankle high white boots and black eyeliner I wanted to wear to middle school? That was the 'style' in the 1980's."

Gram: "That was just trashy, dear. This is so cute and all the fashion."

She's paying me back. She must be or she has lost her mind. I'm sure I deserve it for countless boundary testing things I did in my teen years. I vaguely recollect Mom saying, "Just you wait. One day you'll have a daughter of your own."

I never imagined that she was planning to team up with her against me in this future world. Yet here we are in a fashion versus good taste stand-off. THEM vs ME. The line has been drawn.

BTW the shorts are going back and the bra strap tank will only be worn as a bottom layer to another top. Take that you alien rendition of my Mom.

Happy Birthday Morgie - 84 in dog years

noreply@blogger.com (So n So's Mom) — Mon, 27 Apr 2009 19:21:00 +0000

Morgie is our adorable yet devilish foxhound. Today she is 84 dog years old or so I am told by my 3rd grade daughter.

We adopted Morgie from the ASPC in Connecticut 11 1/2 years ago when she was 6 months old. It was immediate love. She came with the name Daisy but as she playfully pranced around our house the first day we just started calling her Morgan and it stuck - now shortened to Morgie.

For Steve and I Morgie was our first baby. She was spoiled and pampered and worried over as any first born is. I remember coming home late from a business meeting only to find Morgie and Steve curled up on the couch together watching a football game - he with a pepperoni pizza and she with a few Pupperoni sticks. Later in the night when she made a midnight run outside Steve came clean about letting her have the last piece of pepperoni pizza. Probably not the best thing for her belly.

I'm not sure if the pepperoni pizza started the trend of eating anything not nailed down or if it is just in her nature. But over the years she has consumed just about anything she can get her paws on.

15 or so remote controls in Connecticut - For some reason the remote controls in MA haven't held the same appeal.
2 lbs container of candy corn
a fairly good gobble of rat poison followed by an expensive trip to the vet and two weeks of vitamin K
Countless pacifiers and baby bottle nipples
Dirty diapers by the dozen. If left unattended with opportunity she'd pull out a string of them from the Diaper Genie and go to town. Just another reason I don't miss the diaper days.
An economy size jar of peanut butter - impressive when you think she had to maneuver the lid off first - this resulted in a week's stay at the vet for pancreatitis.
A full bottle of my sister's dog's $600 allergy medicine.
A kitchen sponge - which impressively came out the other end still intact. No, we didn't keep the sponge.
A bottle of Pedia-cure.
A bottle of Motrin.
Multiple loaves of bread - Each Tuesday when the milk and bread is delivered she tries to get out the door before we remember to bring the milk in and she is batting about a 200 for her efforts.
A raw 18 lbs turkey one Thanksgiving. We had been brining it overnight in the garage in a cooler. She pulled the whole cooler out and into the front yard then preceded to naw away. Happy Thanksgiving neighbors!
A tray of cheese and crackers left out from a totally fun BBQ. Followed by another bout of pancreatitis.

And the piece de resistance:

After baby #2 we decided two would be our limit. Having been the responsible party in family planning for the entirety of our relationship I decided I was done and Hubby should get the snip. For whatever reason he didn't agree. I made it clear that I was off FP duties and the rules were that this holster was off-limits to his gun unless there were blanks in the chamber or the safety was on. His decision was to go back to high school for a solution and off he went to the pharmacy for condoms. So it was one afternoon when I was taking the kids to a birthday party - and popped back in the house like 10 seconds after I had left to get the present I had forgotten. Only to find hubby growling, "What the F**k!" as he stared out the window. Always one to follow a rant in progress I looked out the window to find poor Morgie squatting in obvious strain trying to squeeze out a long and getting longer rubber that was hanging from her butt.

"What do you think we should do about that?" says the man afraid of a little out-patient procedure.

Since I was officially off family planning duty and this loosely related, I said, "If I were you I'd wear a glove." To which I then gleefully walked back out the door with the present.

Back 3 hours later I found Hubby and Morgie sitting watching some baseball game. Curious I asked what had happened and he replied, "All you need to know is I took care of it. And Morgie and I decided never to discuss it again."

I always get all teary-eyed walking down Memory Lane on birthdays. Don't you?

Happy 84th Birthday, Morgie!

Something New Learned - Baseball and the Moon

noreply@blogger.com (So n So's Mom) — Thu, 23 Apr 2009 12:40:00 +0000

You should learn something new everyday then I guess you can go back to bed.

The power of words is amazing.

In 1963, baseball pitcher Gaylord Perry remarked, "They'll put a man on the moon before I hit a home run." On July 20, 1969, a few hours after Neil Armstrong set foot on the moon, Gaylord Perry hit his first, and only, home run.

So watch what you say and say what you mean because once it is out there - there is no taking it back.

Did your butt just call me?

noreply@blogger.com (So n So's Mom) — Mon, 20 Apr 2009 00:42:00 +0000

Ever get an @$$ call or worse yet make one? You know the ones when someone's cell phone is in their pocket and their butt accidentally activates the phone to dial out.

The phone rings and you pick up only to hear muffled conversation having nothing to do with you - or maybe a person singing off key to the radio - or god forbid squeaks and squishy sounds as the caller makes a sitting adjustment with your ear wedged between his butt and the seat. You have just received the dreaded @$$ call.

Just last night I called home to pick up our messages and listened to 5 minutes of wind whipping over someone's phone. Very Zen! Turns out it was Hubby's phone as he watched M's soccer practice. Steve proudly owned up to the call by saying, "Yep that's an @$$ call and I guess I'm the @$$."

The Couch That Just Loves Me

noreply@blogger.com (So n So's Mom) — Fri, 17 Apr 2009 12:48:00 +0000

We have this diminutive yet unfathomably heavy pull-out couch that just can't seem to say goodbye. Let's call her Bertha. We originally got Bertha from my aunt and had her reupholstered in what I thought at the time was a beautiful floral pattern. Today I wonder, as you often do 12 years later, "What the heck was I thinking?" At the time it went perfect in our house in Connecticut - its dainty proportions fit the living room and the pull out was great for slumbering Massachusetts relatives. When we moved to Massachusetts almost nine years ago, Bertha started her slide into the dreaded "how-the-heck-can-I-unload-it" status and she was having none of it.

First the moving men made the usual Bertha type remarks.

"Shit. This is heavy."

"No man, I mean really f'ing heavy."

"I never seen a couch this heavy."

"Lady, you better know exactly where you want it 'cuz we ain't moving it again."

So it was that Bertha found her new home in the totally unused living room of our current house. No, she didn't fit. She was puny in the high ceilings. No, she didn't match. The walls and the rest of the house are warmer tones and her burgundy is more of a wine color with a floral pattern of blues and pinks with some grayish-pink-taupe color popping through. But no biggie. We had just moved in and it was just temporary until I decided what color to paint the living room.

Nine years later...

I am embarrassed to say that I still have not decided what what color to paint this little used living room. Mostly because it would involve buying a whole new set of furniture and truth be told I just didn't care enough about this space to put the effort into the whole decorating thing.

I still hate poor neglected Bertha. For nine years Bertha has sat unloved in a big room with other unloved pieces. Except for when the kids went through their fort building years and used her cushions for all manner of wall, ceiling and bridges; Bertha got almost no attention at all. Only at Christmas does she have anything to look forward to - the annual visit of Chrissy, our Christmas tree. They are great friends but she pales in his shadow.

Chrissy visits once a year for a month or so. The whole family makes a special trip to pick him up. As he arrives the air fills with festivity. We fawn over him with decorations and worry daily about his health - he has a hydration issue. After New Years though he is off to bigger and better things. He gives one last wave to Bertha from the curb as he hops in the back of a truck toward his next adventure. Bertha never moves. Never gets decorated. And never is the center of festivity.

But today it is finally time for Bertha's adventure. On Tuesday my sister and brother-in-law dropped off a new couch and chair that will be Bertha's replacement. As the new younger, more hip furniture sat in the driveway we moved Bertha to the very spot on the curb that Chrissy sits and waits for his ride every year. My brother-in-law was the first out with, "Holy crap. This couch weighs a ton!"

The three of us huffed and puffed as we lugged the diminutive load out the door. I must admit I was relieved as we placed her down on the curb. Friday is trash day and she'd be out of my hair was all I could think. Poor Bertha. Could she read my mind?

She sat motionless as we moved the new furniture into her old room and took out the paint chips talking excitedly about which colors would best match these youngsters. Night fell and the wind kicked up. Bertha was alone and waiting for her adventure to begin.

Friday morning broke and Bertha still sat patiently waiting. But before the trash men came, a pickup truck stopped. The driver, a nice middle age woman, asked directions to myself and two neighbors who stood gabbing rudely at Bertha's side since the school bus had departed some ten minutes prior. Within minutes the driver had returned. We thought she was still lost but instead she sheepishly looked at Bertha.

"Are you getting rid of that gorgeous couch?"

"She's all yours if you want her."

"Really?!"

The driver had a bad back so my neighbors and I hoisted Bertha onto the bed of this pickup. Bertha smirked knowing my back would hurt for a day or two thanks to this final goodbye lift. She was a good couch who served us well and only looked for a little love in return. Love I just couldn't give in this new place with this new life. May the driver's niece, who is graduating college this spring, appreciate Bertha for the beautiful and useful couch she is at heart.

Bon voyage! Bertha. Enjoy your new life. I will probably not think of you nor even miss you. But my scrap books are filled with your pictures from every Christmas morning. And you do look pretty underneath all that spent wrapping paper sitting next to your old pal Chrissy.

You have a complaint for everything

noreply@blogger.com (So n So's Mom) — Tue, 14 Apr 2009 19:20:00 +0000

It's 10:35am on Easter Sunday. We are due at my parents house at 10:30. Yep, we're late. No surprise there. I wish it were but apparently I lost 15 minutes of my life years ago and I can't get it back no matter how hard I try. By the way we're running around crazy you'd never know we only need to get two kids and a just-out-of-the-oven pie into the car. As I search the endless shoe pile for my missing left shoe in he comes. He, being my beloved. "I dropped the pie. I'm really sorry."

Instantly I want to scream but even I understand that it is only a stupid pie, not the end of the world. I'm just mad because we are late and I have nothing else to replace it with and no time to find an open store. Plus where the hell is my other shoe? But really we're talking about a pie here. Internally I beam with pride at my self control as I say, "No biggie. It could have happened to anyone." But could it?? You be the judge.

Upon getting outside to help with the mess. I am startled to find no pie splattered across the driveway. Holy crap, it must be in my car all over the seat. We are really going to be late now! I check the seat. No pie there. OK you've got me. Where is this dropped pie?

Out he comes with his chosen "pie-clean-up" implements - two spatulas (hello?? but whatever) and heads toward the trunk of all places. The trunk of the car, hmm? Now I'm intrigued.

Treading lightly so as not to shift the calmness-in-the-height-of-chaos-mood we got going on here, I find myself asking. "So what happened?"

"I was trying to put the pie in the trunk."

"Yeah?..." says I, trying for that interested though not judgmental tone. Come on, a pie in the trunk?? I still don't get it. In a million years would you ever think to put a pie in the trunk of a car. Wouldn't it slide all over the place? Wouldn't the soccer ball, mud-caked folding chairs, emergency roadside kit, dog leash and other assorted crap get in the pie? The ride is like 10 minutes. Why wouldn't you just hold it? As my eyes settle on the chocolate blob that used to be a pie, my head hurts from the overload of unasked curiosity questions.

I think he senses that I'm not fully on board with the first premise - "a pie in the trunk" - since I can hear an edge of defensiveness creep into his voice as the explanation continues. "I was doing EVERYTHING by myself, holding the pie in one hand and trying to empty the trunk into the garage with the other when the pie just slid out of the pie plate and right into the trunk. There was nothing I could do."

A mature adult would have just let that sit there with not another word said. Who cares what happened or why? So what if you wouldn't have put a pie in the trunk of a car ever. So what if running 15 minutes late already you wouldn't have decided to clean out the trunk of the car for a 9 inch pie; even if putting it in the trunk was a remotely logical choice in the first place. So what? We're just different people. OK now go have a happy Easter with your family and don't waste another minute on this trivia.

Who cares? I'll tell you who cares. I do. I don't know why but I care. I am obviously NOT a mature adult. Therefore out of my mouth slides, "Why would you put a pie in the trunk to begin with?" Come on people who does this?

To which I receive a snappish, "You have a complaint for everything. Don't you?"

In my defense I wasn't really complaining. Think of it more as a scientific inquiry. Will I ever fully comprehend how this black box - the male mind - that came standard on my model works?

Now ponder this: If a pie falls in the trunk of a car and there is no wife around to see it, does it still make a mess?

Something New Learned - Eating Spiders in Your Sleep

noreply@blogger.com (So n So's Mom) — Mon, 13 Apr 2009 13:20:00 +0000

You should learn something new everyday then I guess you can go back to bed.

MYTH: You swallow an average of 5 spiders every year as you sleep.

This tasty little myth came up at Easter dinner yesterday. Yum! After a little research it appears that it is possible to swallow a spider in your sleep but not probable. Spiders, while not ranked among the most intelligent of animals, are apparently thought by spider experts to be smart enough not to take refuge in the dark, humid and breathing hole we call a mouth. Though no one can totally discount the possibility it does appear to not be as pervasive a problem as 5 spiders eaten per year per person. I guess that makes me feel somewhat better.