We eat a lot of chicken at our house. Chicken noodle soup, chicken enchiladas, barbecue chicken.
I usually have chicken on hand because it's healthy and it's versatile.
And now I know that chicken is just plain fun.
Please watch this video and see if it doesn't leave you with a craving for a bucket of the stuff.
Oh, and I'd like to dedicate this to my boy.
Blake, this one's for you.
Friday, February 04, 2011
Monday, January 31, 2011
LETTER
Dear Fellow Menard's Shopper,
I get it. Menard's new grocery section is quite handy. They don't have a lot but it's nice to run in and get a gallon of milk, some butter and eggs. It's especially nice when you just need a few items before hunkering down at home to wait on the newest snow storm; and you don't want to fight the crowd at The Walmarts.
That is why I was at Menards today - to pick up a couple of necessities, namely pet food and kitty litter and ketchup.
Oh and - most important - Hershey's Kisses with Almonds.
Here's the thing, Fellow Shopper. When you are at the checkout with your last minute groceries, the idea is to bag your own groceries while the clerk is ringing you up. See, you really aren't supposed to stand there and watch while the clerk who is more than twice your age heaves a 25 pound bag of dog food off the bottom of your cart because you "can't get it." You really could help a little bit.
And if you don't want to help lift the heavy things, you could be bagging your other groceries while the clerk does the dirty work. It's just a teeeeeny tiny bit irritating for those of us in line behind you if you wait until all of your groceries are in a pile at the end of the conveyor belt before you even move down there to claim them.
And then, when you do get down there, it's really not very considerate for you to stand and read every item on your receipt, using your finger to guide your reading, in an effort to make sure you have not been cheated. If you'd like to check your receipt, great. But could you bag your groceries and move yourself out of the way first? I mean, that'd be great.
Because the rest of us? Well, we want to get out of that store too. We want to get home and eat our chocolate.
And none of us likes the grocery pile up that occurs when the clerk continues ringing up groceries while the shopper at the front of the line IS NOT BAGGING HER STUFF SO THE LINE CAN KEEP MOVING!!!!!!
I keep saying I am going to write a book on grocery store etiquette but I simply CANNOT DO EVERYTHING. I am only one woman, after all. *sigh*
So this letter is just my humble attempt at helping you, Fellow Menard's Shopper, to become more efficient and considerate when you leave your home.
That is what I am here for.
To make the world a better place one snarky letter at a time.
HW
I get it. Menard's new grocery section is quite handy. They don't have a lot but it's nice to run in and get a gallon of milk, some butter and eggs. It's especially nice when you just need a few items before hunkering down at home to wait on the newest snow storm; and you don't want to fight the crowd at The Walmarts.
That is why I was at Menards today - to pick up a couple of necessities, namely pet food and kitty litter and ketchup.
Oh and - most important - Hershey's Kisses with Almonds.
Here's the thing, Fellow Shopper. When you are at the checkout with your last minute groceries, the idea is to bag your own groceries while the clerk is ringing you up. See, you really aren't supposed to stand there and watch while the clerk who is more than twice your age heaves a 25 pound bag of dog food off the bottom of your cart because you "can't get it." You really could help a little bit.
And if you don't want to help lift the heavy things, you could be bagging your other groceries while the clerk does the dirty work. It's just a teeeeeny tiny bit irritating for those of us in line behind you if you wait until all of your groceries are in a pile at the end of the conveyor belt before you even move down there to claim them.
And then, when you do get down there, it's really not very considerate for you to stand and read every item on your receipt, using your finger to guide your reading, in an effort to make sure you have not been cheated. If you'd like to check your receipt, great. But could you bag your groceries and move yourself out of the way first? I mean, that'd be great.
Because the rest of us? Well, we want to get out of that store too. We want to get home and eat our chocolate.
And none of us likes the grocery pile up that occurs when the clerk continues ringing up groceries while the shopper at the front of the line IS NOT BAGGING HER STUFF SO THE LINE CAN KEEP MOVING!!!!!!
I keep saying I am going to write a book on grocery store etiquette but I simply CANNOT DO EVERYTHING. I am only one woman, after all. *sigh*
So this letter is just my humble attempt at helping you, Fellow Menard's Shopper, to become more efficient and considerate when you leave your home.
That is what I am here for.
To make the world a better place one snarky letter at a time.
HW
Saturday, January 29, 2011
PERFECT
Today was the ultimate girls day for KaylaBeth and me.
We went shopping for a prom dress.
After driving to my cousin's house to meet her and her daughter, we all piled in their van and headed out to start the hunt. We had three shops in mind, map quest directions in hand, prom magazines dog eared and bookmarked, gentle reminders of budgets peppering the conversation.
We walked into the first shop and I became almost giddy.
I will be 44 years old in a week and I wanted to put on a prom dress. Really I did. But today was not about me and that was totally okay.
Oh the colors! The sparkles! The ruffles and poofs!
Oh the twinkle in our girls' eyes as they told the clerk they'd like to try this dress. And this one. And this one. Oh, and could I please try this one too? Oh the fun of tip-toeing through the maze of dresses so as not to step on hems and trains. If only that was the only kind of mine field our world would ever know.
And the excitement of walking into the shop and finding a classmate of KaylaBeth's just finishing up her successful search. Two mother-daughter pairs had turned into three.
Color us happy!
This is just the kind of day I needed with my girl.
She tried on aqua and baby pink, lime green and bright pink. She tried on bright orange-red. She sparkled. She twirled. She laughed and preened. She let me take picture after picture.
She made me so happy to be her mama. Again.
She chose a dress at the first shop - a dress that was her size and needed no alterations. A dress that got to come home with us today in a big plastic bag that will be tucked away in the guest room where it will tease a certain teenage girl as she waits for prom night to arrive. And since the other girls also chose dresses at shop number 1, we had time for a wonderful sit down lunch before heading home to show Daddy the gown his princess had purchased.
Oh it's just a perfect day - such a perfect day.
Pictures will come soon but if you are curious about THE dress - think "Rainbow Sherbet."
We went shopping for a prom dress.
After driving to my cousin's house to meet her and her daughter, we all piled in their van and headed out to start the hunt. We had three shops in mind, map quest directions in hand, prom magazines dog eared and bookmarked, gentle reminders of budgets peppering the conversation.
We walked into the first shop and I became almost giddy.
I will be 44 years old in a week and I wanted to put on a prom dress. Really I did. But today was not about me and that was totally okay.
Oh the colors! The sparkles! The ruffles and poofs!
Oh the twinkle in our girls' eyes as they told the clerk they'd like to try this dress. And this one. And this one. Oh, and could I please try this one too? Oh the fun of tip-toeing through the maze of dresses so as not to step on hems and trains. If only that was the only kind of mine field our world would ever know.
And the excitement of walking into the shop and finding a classmate of KaylaBeth's just finishing up her successful search. Two mother-daughter pairs had turned into three.
Color us happy!
This is just the kind of day I needed with my girl.
She tried on aqua and baby pink, lime green and bright pink. She tried on bright orange-red. She sparkled. She twirled. She laughed and preened. She let me take picture after picture.
She made me so happy to be her mama. Again.
She chose a dress at the first shop - a dress that was her size and needed no alterations. A dress that got to come home with us today in a big plastic bag that will be tucked away in the guest room where it will tease a certain teenage girl as she waits for prom night to arrive. And since the other girls also chose dresses at shop number 1, we had time for a wonderful sit down lunch before heading home to show Daddy the gown his princess had purchased.
Oh it's just a perfect day - such a perfect day.
Pictures will come soon but if you are curious about THE dress - think "Rainbow Sherbet."
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
FAULTY INTEL
While Blake was in boot camp he got to call home twice (not counting his "I've arrived safely" call) and, thankfully, I was home for each call. Each time he was allowed to talk for about 2 minutes but I was thankful for any little crumb I could get during those days.
Yesterday was the first time I'd missed one of Blake's calls in the six months he's been in the Marine Corps.
Can you believe it's been six months since his ship date? Wow.
Just wow.
Anyway, I felt a little bad for missing his call but, in my defense, I had been given faulty intelligence.
I had been told that there would likely be radio silence during mid day chow so I silenced all communication devices and hit my rack to do a little gold bricking.
I took a nap.
Sadly, my marine found a moment to open communications after all and tried to call during that brief time.
*sigh* This is what you get when dealing with the government....
I did wake up to a nice text from him after my nap and was able to speak to him last night before bed which always allows me to put my head on my pillow with an extra peaceful feeling in my heart. *second sigh*
In other news.
Kayla and I had an impromptu girls night last night.
Guess where we went.
No really. Guess.
Would it surprise you to learn we ended up at the mall?
It totally wasn't our fault.
Paul was working late so as Kayla and I sat at the counter eating our spaghetti somehow the suggestion came up that we go out for a while.
Which led to the only natural destination - the mall. I mean what else are we going to do when it is 19 degrees outside. Play tennis?
I think not.
Especially since I don't play tennis when it's 75 degrees outside.
Anyway.
I try - really try - to change things up when it comes to time spent with my favorite teenage girl.
But I JUST. CAN'T. DO. IT. There was that time Paul suggested the library but I told him his cruelty knew no bounds. (Silly man. I buy my books at the mall....)
At the mall, we get to walk. We get to talk. We get to challenge ourselves to find the best bargains. And it is healthy for our brains to constantly challenge our reasoning skills. They say brain puzzles will help prevent Alzheimer's and I'm simply trying to preserve my own health however I can.
Plus, clearance racks are wonderful opportunities to work on math skills, and all of the things Kayla got last night were from the clearance rack (well, not the jeans) including her faux leather jacket and her THREE DOLLAR dress.
So she was presented with many opportunities to work on her math skills - namely percentages.
I am all about promoting education no matter where we are or what we are doing.
I am just that kind of mom.
Plus, when I go to the mall with my girl, as opposed to by myself, she carries the sacks, which does nothing if not promote physical fitness for her. She is, after all, a pitcher and she needs to keep her arm strong year round.
So to sum up: Shopping equals math skills, problem solving skills and exercise.
And THAT is not faulty intel.
But don't quote me on that.
Yesterday was the first time I'd missed one of Blake's calls in the six months he's been in the Marine Corps.
Can you believe it's been six months since his ship date? Wow.
Just wow.
Anyway, I felt a little bad for missing his call but, in my defense, I had been given faulty intelligence.
I had been told that there would likely be radio silence during mid day chow so I silenced all communication devices and hit my rack to do a little gold bricking.
I took a nap.
Sadly, my marine found a moment to open communications after all and tried to call during that brief time.
*sigh* This is what you get when dealing with the government....
I did wake up to a nice text from him after my nap and was able to speak to him last night before bed which always allows me to put my head on my pillow with an extra peaceful feeling in my heart. *second sigh*
In other news.
Kayla and I had an impromptu girls night last night.
Guess where we went.
No really. Guess.
Would it surprise you to learn we ended up at the mall?
It totally wasn't our fault.
Paul was working late so as Kayla and I sat at the counter eating our spaghetti somehow the suggestion came up that we go out for a while.
Which led to the only natural destination - the mall. I mean what else are we going to do when it is 19 degrees outside. Play tennis?
I think not.
Especially since I don't play tennis when it's 75 degrees outside.
Anyway.
I try - really try - to change things up when it comes to time spent with my favorite teenage girl.
But I JUST. CAN'T. DO. IT. There was that time Paul suggested the library but I told him his cruelty knew no bounds. (Silly man. I buy my books at the mall....)
At the mall, we get to walk. We get to talk. We get to challenge ourselves to find the best bargains. And it is healthy for our brains to constantly challenge our reasoning skills. They say brain puzzles will help prevent Alzheimer's and I'm simply trying to preserve my own health however I can.
Plus, clearance racks are wonderful opportunities to work on math skills, and all of the things Kayla got last night were from the clearance rack (well, not the jeans) including her faux leather jacket and her THREE DOLLAR dress.
So she was presented with many opportunities to work on her math skills - namely percentages.
I am all about promoting education no matter where we are or what we are doing.
I am just that kind of mom.
Plus, when I go to the mall with my girl, as opposed to by myself, she carries the sacks, which does nothing if not promote physical fitness for her. She is, after all, a pitcher and she needs to keep her arm strong year round.
So to sum up: Shopping equals math skills, problem solving skills and exercise.
And THAT is not faulty intel.
But don't quote me on that.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
STUFF
Both of my kids have been asking me when the next blog post will appear.
Blake has reminded me that he finds most interesting those posts that are about him.
Kayla has not been so self centered.
The only thing going on in my life lately has been my being sick. Sick sick sick sick sick. I'm still kind of sick. But that is not a journey you want to go on with me as it is a whiney one, so I'm just going to record here on this blog, what is going on in our life right now.
*We get to start shopping for a prom dress soon. I don't know that my heart is going to hold up very well seeing my girl in a princess dress. I held myself together very well when I saw her brother in his Dress Blues for the first time (okay I had to do a little deep breathing because Marines don't handle tears well - not well AT ALL) but my girl in a ball gown? I'm expecting to lose my dignity a little bit. I am not ashamed.
*Our Marine will be buying his first car in April, as soon as he finishes his school. This, of course is assuming he gets a stateside duty station. *Fingers Crossed* that he gets his first choice of assignments.
*Our kids are lucky. They have a financial adviser built into their support system which is quite helpful when a young man is buying his first car; however, when a young woman gets to buy her first formal gown, we might choose to ignore the sage advice of our money man. I mean he doesn't need to be bothered with such frivolity, does he?
*Has anybody seen our John Adams DVD set? I've been wanting to watch it again through the winter and WE CAN'T FIND IT ANYWHERE....
*We are participating in a Trivia Night fundraiser this weekend to raise money for the post prom party. Well, Paul is participating in the Trivia Night fundraiser. I'm on snack detail. Paul has a useless head full of knowledge (or is it a head full of useless knowledge?) while I know a lot about snacking so we will both be serving in areas of strength.
*I wish I could think of something to say about Blake so he'll like this post.
*I wonder if he's aware that Kayla is my favorite...
*My kids need to learn to leave comments on my blog.
*Did I mention I've been sick? REALLY SICK. Like so sick I soon stopped fearing I'd die and began to fear I would NOT die.
*I'm starting to feel better. Thanks.
*Oh!! Blake got a tattoo. Um....yeah. Not a fan of tattoos but he's a grown up now. A gold star for the person who can tell me what he got and where. It's the one time in my mothering career I did not feel sorry for my baby boy when he told me something hurt really bad.
*Did I mention Kayla is my favorite?
*My kids love my sense of humor.
*I think I'm going to make pineapple muffins today. New recipe you know.
*Oh!! We offered to take Kayla to New York City for Spring Break. She said she'd get back to us.....
*I look forward to 3 each afternoon when I can see my girl after school. She usually pencils me in for about 32 minutes after school before other commitments call her away.
*I look forward to 2 each afternoon when my boy calls on his lunch break to tell me hey. Last week he told me he was willing to bring me onto his financial team if I'd make insurance calls for him. I told him I'd get back to him....
*I'm drinking a cup of coffee for the first time in ten days.
Did I tell you I've been sick?
Blake has reminded me that he finds most interesting those posts that are about him.
Kayla has not been so self centered.
The only thing going on in my life lately has been my being sick. Sick sick sick sick sick. I'm still kind of sick. But that is not a journey you want to go on with me as it is a whiney one, so I'm just going to record here on this blog, what is going on in our life right now.
*We get to start shopping for a prom dress soon. I don't know that my heart is going to hold up very well seeing my girl in a princess dress. I held myself together very well when I saw her brother in his Dress Blues for the first time (okay I had to do a little deep breathing because Marines don't handle tears well - not well AT ALL) but my girl in a ball gown? I'm expecting to lose my dignity a little bit. I am not ashamed.
*Our Marine will be buying his first car in April, as soon as he finishes his school. This, of course is assuming he gets a stateside duty station. *Fingers Crossed* that he gets his first choice of assignments.
*Our kids are lucky. They have a financial adviser built into their support system which is quite helpful when a young man is buying his first car; however, when a young woman gets to buy her first formal gown, we might choose to ignore the sage advice of our money man. I mean he doesn't need to be bothered with such frivolity, does he?
*Has anybody seen our John Adams DVD set? I've been wanting to watch it again through the winter and WE CAN'T FIND IT ANYWHERE....
*We are participating in a Trivia Night fundraiser this weekend to raise money for the post prom party. Well, Paul is participating in the Trivia Night fundraiser. I'm on snack detail. Paul has a useless head full of knowledge (or is it a head full of useless knowledge?) while I know a lot about snacking so we will both be serving in areas of strength.
*I wish I could think of something to say about Blake so he'll like this post.
*I wonder if he's aware that Kayla is my favorite...
*My kids need to learn to leave comments on my blog.
*Did I mention I've been sick? REALLY SICK. Like so sick I soon stopped fearing I'd die and began to fear I would NOT die.
*I'm starting to feel better. Thanks.
*Oh!! Blake got a tattoo. Um....yeah. Not a fan of tattoos but he's a grown up now. A gold star for the person who can tell me what he got and where. It's the one time in my mothering career I did not feel sorry for my baby boy when he told me something hurt really bad.
*Did I mention Kayla is my favorite?
*My kids love my sense of humor.
*I think I'm going to make pineapple muffins today. New recipe you know.
*Oh!! We offered to take Kayla to New York City for Spring Break. She said she'd get back to us.....
*I look forward to 3 each afternoon when I can see my girl after school. She usually pencils me in for about 32 minutes after school before other commitments call her away.
*I look forward to 2 each afternoon when my boy calls on his lunch break to tell me hey. Last week he told me he was willing to bring me onto his financial team if I'd make insurance calls for him. I told him I'd get back to him....
*I'm drinking a cup of coffee for the first time in ten days.
Did I tell you I've been sick?
Monday, December 20, 2010
HOME
When you become a military family, you get used to the fact that your service member likely will not be home for the holidays. Well, I guess you are SUPPOSED to get used to it, anyway.
And so it was for me this Christmas. I had resigned myself a long time ago to the fact that LAST Christmas was the last with both of my chicks in the nest for a while.
But on Saturday December 9th, we received word that Blake would indeed be coming home for 3 weeks. He arrived 36 hours later.
That's another thing you get used to with this military stuff - things happen quickly. Or slowly. Or not at all. You just learn to "hurry up and wait." I learned that with my Army sergeant brother a long time ago.
We are fortunate that Blake was assigned to work in the recruiting office here in town, meaning his time at home does not count against his leave time. We are also fortunate that he is great friends with his recruiter and we would hardly call what they are doing......um.....combat conditions. I daresay they are having a little bit of fun.
But if you ask me, they deserve it. Fresh out of boot camp and combat training, Blake deserves to kick back a little. A two time Iraq combat veteran who fought in Fallujah, his recruiter deserves an easy day here and there too. Anybody disagree?
Anybody?
And Me? Well, I don't know what I've done to deserve having both of my children home this Christmas. But I'm not going to question it.
My girl. My boy. Home this year. I don't know what next year will bring but for now our family of four is together for the holidays.
And as the sleet hits our windows right now, our house feels amazingly warm.
*Blake and his recruiter in their dress blues - heading out to work
the Toys for Tots campaign. Gotta love a man in uniform.*
And so it was for me this Christmas. I had resigned myself a long time ago to the fact that LAST Christmas was the last with both of my chicks in the nest for a while.
But on Saturday December 9th, we received word that Blake would indeed be coming home for 3 weeks. He arrived 36 hours later.
That's another thing you get used to with this military stuff - things happen quickly. Or slowly. Or not at all. You just learn to "hurry up and wait." I learned that with my Army sergeant brother a long time ago.
We are fortunate that Blake was assigned to work in the recruiting office here in town, meaning his time at home does not count against his leave time. We are also fortunate that he is great friends with his recruiter and we would hardly call what they are doing......um.....combat conditions. I daresay they are having a little bit of fun.
But if you ask me, they deserve it. Fresh out of boot camp and combat training, Blake deserves to kick back a little. A two time Iraq combat veteran who fought in Fallujah, his recruiter deserves an easy day here and there too. Anybody disagree?
Anybody?
And Me? Well, I don't know what I've done to deserve having both of my children home this Christmas. But I'm not going to question it.
My girl. My boy. Home this year. I don't know what next year will bring but for now our family of four is together for the holidays.
And as the sleet hits our windows right now, our house feels amazingly warm.
*Blake and his recruiter in their dress blues - heading out to workthe Toys for Tots campaign. Gotta love a man in uniform.*
Thursday, December 16, 2010
....SO SUE ME
So.
I am really tired of parents giving up responsibility for their own children.
That is why we have lots (and I mean LOTS) of young adults running around refusing to take responsibility for their own bad behavior.
www.eatocracy.com
If you go to this website, it will lead you to an article about a mother who is suing McDonald's for including toys in their Happy Meals. She claims you can only tell a child NO so many times before you have to give in and with McDonald's getting into her kids' heads, it's just too hard.
Wha....?
I don't....
It's just that.....
WHAT IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE THESE DAYS?
Here's what I'm sick of. I am sick of people who are afraid of their children. I am sick o f people who will not tell their children NO because they don't want to make them mad.
Here's what I know. It's real easy to tell your kids NO and the more you do it, the easier it becomes. Here's what else I know. It make s kids mad when you tell them NO.
But they get over it. Really. They do. They have to get over it at least long enough to ask you for the next Happy Meal toy.
child: Can we go to McDonald's and get a Happy Meal? I want that new Shrek Toy.
parent: No. Now eat your carrots.
child: UH...why?
parent: I don't have to tell you why.
child: THAT'S NOT FAIR!!!
parent: go to your room. Now daddy gets your dessert.
Period. Done. That's all she wrote. Repeat scene the next day. And the next and the next.
2. I intend to sue all blue jean manufacturers because the new popular SKINNY jeans do not live up to their name. They do not make me skinny.
3. I intend to sue Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, Atkins, Nutrisystem and grapefruits. None of their diets work for me.
4. I intend to sue Coach brand purses and leather goods. My daughter wants a Coach purse and, although she doesn't whine and nag me about getting one, I shouldn't have to tell her NO. They should stop making purses.
5. Ditto with the iphone.
6. I intend to sue UGG boots. I went years without buying myself a pair because, frankly, they are not real cute. This year I bought some and they are the warmest, coziest thing to happen to my feet since the womb. UGG should somehow have let me know what I was missing. Three years of my life I will never get back. Three years of cold feet. They should pay.
7. And finally I think I'll sue daylight savings time. That whole "move the clock up and back" thing just bugs me.
Since it is evidently okay to give up self control, accountability and responsibility; who would you sue?
I am really tired of parents giving up responsibility for their own children.
That is why we have lots (and I mean LOTS) of young adults running around refusing to take responsibility for their own bad behavior.
www.eatocracy.com
If you go to this website, it will lead you to an article about a mother who is suing McDonald's for including toys in their Happy Meals. She claims you can only tell a child NO so many times before you have to give in and with McDonald's getting into her kids' heads, it's just too hard.
Wha....?
I don't....
It's just that.....
WHAT IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE THESE DAYS?
Here's what I'm sick of. I am sick of people who are afraid of their children. I am sick o f people who will not tell their children NO because they don't want to make them mad.
Here's what I know. It's real easy to tell your kids NO and the more you do it, the easier it becomes. Here's what else I know. It make s kids mad when you tell them NO.
But they get over it. Really. They do. They have to get over it at least long enough to ask you for the next Happy Meal toy.
child: Can we go to McDonald's and get a Happy Meal? I want that new Shrek Toy.
parent: No. Now eat your carrots.
child: UH...why?
parent: I don't have to tell you why.
child: THAT'S NOT FAIR!!!
parent: go to your room. Now daddy gets your dessert.
Period. Done. That's all she wrote. Repeat scene the next day. And the next and the next.
The only way I hope this lawsuit sees the inside of a court room is if it's in front of Judge Judy.
Do you think I'm Stupid? Because I'm not. You, Madam, are STOOO-PID. Now learn to tell your children NO. Ruling for the Golden Arches....
But since frivolous lawsuits tend to be the fad in our country I thought I might cash in on said fad:
2. I intend to sue all blue jean manufacturers because the new popular SKINNY jeans do not live up to their name. They do not make me skinny.
3. I intend to sue Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, Atkins, Nutrisystem and grapefruits. None of their diets work for me.
4. I intend to sue Coach brand purses and leather goods. My daughter wants a Coach purse and, although she doesn't whine and nag me about getting one, I shouldn't have to tell her NO. They should stop making purses.
5. Ditto with the iphone.
6. I intend to sue UGG boots. I went years without buying myself a pair because, frankly, they are not real cute. This year I bought some and they are the warmest, coziest thing to happen to my feet since the womb. UGG should somehow have let me know what I was missing. Three years of my life I will never get back. Three years of cold feet. They should pay.
7. And finally I think I'll sue daylight savings time. That whole "move the clock up and back" thing just bugs me.
Since it is evidently okay to give up self control, accountability and responsibility; who would you sue?
Thursday, December 09, 2010
BATTLE OF THE SEXES - CHRISTMAS STYLE
CHRISTMAS TO DO LIST FOR MOM
-make extensive shopping list for gifts: your parents, his parents, teachers, Sunday school teachers, coaches, neighbors, his secretaries, classmates...oh and your own kids
-shop for said gifts, wrap gifts, hide gifts....forget where you hid gifts. Buy more. Find first gifts in back of closet in March
- make extensive shopping list for food/parties/meals - family party #1, family party #2, Christmas dinner, classroom treats, office treats.....
-shop for perfect family photo clothing
-insist on final approval for husband's photo outfit...
-schedule family Christmas photo - plead, plead, plead with children to smile or at the very least IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY - STOP CRYING!!!
-mail Christmas cards and family photos
-decorate tree, set out all the little doo-dahs that make your children smile. Hang stockings.
- wrap presents
-send correct presents with appropriate family member to school, office, church....
-help with class parties.
-Take Tylenol (lots)
-make sure children see Santa Claus
-put 257 miles on car looking for whatever toy your child (and every other child) can't live without this year
- spend all evening before each party cooking, baking, preparing food that you won't get to eat
-bake cookies
-bake more cookies
-gain 7 pounds in 1 month
-lie awake at night wondering what gift you forgot to buy
-try, try, try to hang on to the Christmas spirit despite that fact that you are nearly in a coma
-promise yourself that next year you will make things easier on yourself.
*****************************************************************************
CHRISTMAS TO-DO LIST FOR DAD
-get approval from wife on photo outfit. Never argue.
-smile for photo
-enter mall at 4:00 pm on December 24th. Forget wife's size and favorite color. Buy gifts anyway.
-assemble toys until 2:00 am
-wake up on Christmas and play with children while telling wife how good all that cooking smells
-eat
-turn on football games
-unsnap pants and fall asleep on couch.
-tell yourself how relaxing the holidays are
-make extensive shopping list for gifts: your parents, his parents, teachers, Sunday school teachers, coaches, neighbors, his secretaries, classmates...oh and your own kids
-shop for said gifts, wrap gifts, hide gifts....forget where you hid gifts. Buy more. Find first gifts in back of closet in March
- make extensive shopping list for food/parties/meals - family party #1, family party #2, Christmas dinner, classroom treats, office treats.....
-shop for perfect family photo clothing
-insist on final approval for husband's photo outfit...
-schedule family Christmas photo - plead, plead, plead with children to smile or at the very least IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY - STOP CRYING!!!
-mail Christmas cards and family photos
-decorate tree, set out all the little doo-dahs that make your children smile. Hang stockings.
- wrap presents
-send correct presents with appropriate family member to school, office, church....
-help with class parties.
-Take Tylenol (lots)
-make sure children see Santa Claus
-put 257 miles on car looking for whatever toy your child (and every other child) can't live without this year
- spend all evening before each party cooking, baking, preparing food that you won't get to eat
-bake cookies
-bake more cookies
-gain 7 pounds in 1 month
-lie awake at night wondering what gift you forgot to buy
-try, try, try to hang on to the Christmas spirit despite that fact that you are nearly in a coma
-promise yourself that next year you will make things easier on yourself.
*****************************************************************************
CHRISTMAS TO-DO LIST FOR DAD
-get approval from wife on photo outfit. Never argue.
-smile for photo
-enter mall at 4:00 pm on December 24th. Forget wife's size and favorite color. Buy gifts anyway.
-assemble toys until 2:00 am
-wake up on Christmas and play with children while telling wife how good all that cooking smells
-eat
-turn on football games
-unsnap pants and fall asleep on couch.
-tell yourself how relaxing the holidays are
Thursday, November 25, 2010
ADOPT A MARINE
Somewhere out near Camp Pendleton California are families who took in some 300 Marines for Thanksgiving dinner today.
They drove to the base, subjected themselves to security checks and drove these servicemen to their homes for a holiday meal.
My son was hosted by a family who lived 15 minutes from the ocean and so he was treated to a nice tour of the amazing beach scenery he had so far only seen while running nearby carrying his 80-pound pack and learning to fight in a battle.
As a mother who just spent her first holiday with one of her children away from home, I am beyond grateful for the families who will take these young men in and give them a taste of home.
I am thankful that since my son could not be with HIS mom today, he was with SOMEBODY'S mom who simply decided to feed some young men and get them out of the monotony of barracks life for even a few hours. He was with a mom who has found a way to serve our country.
But then, who wouldn't want these handsome young men at their holiday table?
Last week, Blake was invited to join another buddy, Alex, for a night away from base. So they joined his buddy's mother for dinner, a movie and a night in a hotel. Alex's mother even treated Blake to his own hotel room. I am blown away by these blessings that people are bestowing on my son.
I wonder if they know. Do they know that when they do these things for my son, there is a mother half way across the country whose heart is so full of peace and contentment that it nearly bursts?
But of course they know. Because they are mothers too.
And so I am left not only with an overwhelming sense of gratitude but an endless question running through my mind:
How will I pay this forward?
They drove to the base, subjected themselves to security checks and drove these servicemen to their homes for a holiday meal.
My son was hosted by a family who lived 15 minutes from the ocean and so he was treated to a nice tour of the amazing beach scenery he had so far only seen while running nearby carrying his 80-pound pack and learning to fight in a battle.
As a mother who just spent her first holiday with one of her children away from home, I am beyond grateful for the families who will take these young men in and give them a taste of home.
I am thankful that since my son could not be with HIS mom today, he was with SOMEBODY'S mom who simply decided to feed some young men and get them out of the monotony of barracks life for even a few hours. He was with a mom who has found a way to serve our country.
But then, who wouldn't want these handsome young men at their holiday table?Last week, Blake was invited to join another buddy, Alex, for a night away from base. So they joined his buddy's mother for dinner, a movie and a night in a hotel. Alex's mother even treated Blake to his own hotel room. I am blown away by these blessings that people are bestowing on my son.
I wonder if they know. Do they know that when they do these things for my son, there is a mother half way across the country whose heart is so full of peace and contentment that it nearly bursts?
But of course they know. Because they are mothers too.
And so I am left not only with an overwhelming sense of gratitude but an endless question running through my mind:
How will I pay this forward?
Monday, November 22, 2010
WORLD CHOCOLATE CRISIS
A couple of days ago, Michele S over at www.fourtimesthefun.blogspot.com posted about the end of the world. And jelly. Evidently, Fox News had given a doomsday prediction of some kind that I missed.
*sigh* I miss all the important announcements.
Anyway, I think this article goes along well with Michele's story.
http://www.aolnews.com/surge-desk/article/global-chocolate-crisis-looms/19709231
If you don't want to click on it and read it - and I don't blame you if you don't because it is FRIGHTENING - it basically says that within 20 years we may not have chocolate available to us, which might as well be the end of the world, don't you think?
We were at a birthday party recently and somebody brought this up - how she'd seen a news report saying that cocoa beans were just too labor intensive and expensive to cultivate and so the African nations that most export it are likely to stop harvesting them.
Because the company my husband works for actually has a cocoa division, I put him on the research and sure enough he found the above article. The news is not good, people.
Chocolate may become as rare and expensive as caviar.
Interestingly enough we have two tins of caviar at our house right now. No, we didn't buy it. A Russian coworker of Paul's brought it to him after his last trip home and we're just sitting on it until we have an occasion worthy of caviar.
And until we learn how we are supposed to eat it.
Now I'm thinking we might need to save it to trade on the black market for a case of Hershey's kisses.
Ladies, we need to get on this. This is a time where we cannot, MUST NOT, depend on the men. They see no urgency in this situation. After all, they have not been warned that ESPN is about to go the way of the dodo bird. They have not been told that beer will soon be extinct.
They are not going to help us one bit.
So we must be on it.
It doesn't matter how smart you are. You can help. Wait until you are at your most hormonal and then the ideas will come to you.
It will be like the panicked mother who can lift a Buick off her child or fight a grizzly bear with a stick.
We must all channel our hormonal panics into this and find a way to efficiently harvest the cocoa bean.
We can do it. But until we find a way to avert this crisis, I will be stocking up. Our basement cupboards that usually hold extra soup, tuna and ketchup will now be filled with neatly arranged piles of Hershey bars, Dove chocolates and Snickers.
I suggest you do the same.
SAVE THE CHOCOLATE!! THE HUMAN RACE DEPENDS ON IT!!
*sigh* I miss all the important announcements.
Anyway, I think this article goes along well with Michele's story.
http://www.aolnews.com/surge-desk/article/global-chocolate-crisis-looms/19709231
If you don't want to click on it and read it - and I don't blame you if you don't because it is FRIGHTENING - it basically says that within 20 years we may not have chocolate available to us, which might as well be the end of the world, don't you think?
We were at a birthday party recently and somebody brought this up - how she'd seen a news report saying that cocoa beans were just too labor intensive and expensive to cultivate and so the African nations that most export it are likely to stop harvesting them.
Because the company my husband works for actually has a cocoa division, I put him on the research and sure enough he found the above article. The news is not good, people.
Chocolate may become as rare and expensive as caviar.
Interestingly enough we have two tins of caviar at our house right now. No, we didn't buy it. A Russian coworker of Paul's brought it to him after his last trip home and we're just sitting on it until we have an occasion worthy of caviar.
And until we learn how we are supposed to eat it.
Now I'm thinking we might need to save it to trade on the black market for a case of Hershey's kisses.
Ladies, we need to get on this. This is a time where we cannot, MUST NOT, depend on the men. They see no urgency in this situation. After all, they have not been warned that ESPN is about to go the way of the dodo bird. They have not been told that beer will soon be extinct.
They are not going to help us one bit.
So we must be on it.
It doesn't matter how smart you are. You can help. Wait until you are at your most hormonal and then the ideas will come to you.
It will be like the panicked mother who can lift a Buick off her child or fight a grizzly bear with a stick.
We must all channel our hormonal panics into this and find a way to efficiently harvest the cocoa bean.
We can do it. But until we find a way to avert this crisis, I will be stocking up. Our basement cupboards that usually hold extra soup, tuna and ketchup will now be filled with neatly arranged piles of Hershey bars, Dove chocolates and Snickers.
I suggest you do the same.
SAVE THE CHOCOLATE!! THE HUMAN RACE DEPENDS ON IT!!
Saturday, November 20, 2010
OPRAH'S FAVORITE THINGS
Kayla and I watched Oprah's Favorite Things Giveaway yesterday.
Before I go on, let me just say; I like Oprah. She went through her tabloid Jerry Springer-like period; she went through her New Age type phase - and I didn't care for either one of those styles. But all in all I like her because I think she's generous. Really generous.
And the neat thing about this episode was that the audience was filled with people who worked for charitable organizations, so obviously she likes to reward generosity. Go Oprah.
Anyway, we were watching the Favorite Things Giveaway and really admiring the gifts we saw her give away:
a fancy camera
cashmere sweater and throw
a cruise (YOU'RE. ALL. GOING. ON. A. CRUISE!!!)
the edge brownie pan (totally want that)
warm up clothes and Nikes
a really fancy television with 3D glasses
some diamond jewelry
Wow, really neat stuff.
But the best part of the whole show? The part that was even better than the presents?
The audience reactions.
I think it's safe to say that dignity and reserve are checked at the door when you enter the Oprah Favorite Things Giveaway dreamland.
I'm not saying I'd act any differently - but sweet mercy - these people were funny.
Oprah even had EMTs on hand in case someone needed medical treatment after receiving her new sweater.
There was hugging. There was kissing. And, no, I do not assume those doing the hugging and kissing knew each other - they were just overtaken by euphoria.
New Nikes!! OH MY GOSH!! I'm going to kiss this stranger.
I'm fairly certain I would just stand frozen to the floor doing the ugly cry if I was one of those lucky audience members, but you never know.
Perhaps I'd be like the woman who pounded herself in the forehead several times with both fists after seeing one of the gifts. She looked as though she was either having a stroke (thus the need for EMTs) or cramming for a chemistry final and could not remember the chemical formula for table salt.
Poor thing.
I do know that there were lots of Christians in the audience.
There must have been because I saw lots of hands reaching to Heaven and mouths that appeared to be saying "Thank You Jesus!!"
Because we all know that Jesus is never nearer than at that one moment when we receive a new brownie pan (WHERE ALL THE BROWNIES HAVE AN EDGE!!!)
It is my guess that these lucky audience members not only had all their material yearnings met during this episode; they also had a deep spiritual experience.
I think it is also safe to say that Kayla and I will be parked in front of the television again on Monday.
The Favorite Things Episode is two parts this year.
Call 911.
Before I go on, let me just say; I like Oprah. She went through her tabloid Jerry Springer-like period; she went through her New Age type phase - and I didn't care for either one of those styles. But all in all I like her because I think she's generous. Really generous.
And the neat thing about this episode was that the audience was filled with people who worked for charitable organizations, so obviously she likes to reward generosity. Go Oprah.
Anyway, we were watching the Favorite Things Giveaway and really admiring the gifts we saw her give away:
a fancy camera
cashmere sweater and throw
a cruise (YOU'RE. ALL. GOING. ON. A. CRUISE!!!)
the edge brownie pan (totally want that)
warm up clothes and Nikes
a really fancy television with 3D glasses
some diamond jewelry
Wow, really neat stuff.
But the best part of the whole show? The part that was even better than the presents?
The audience reactions.
I think it's safe to say that dignity and reserve are checked at the door when you enter the Oprah Favorite Things Giveaway dreamland.
I'm not saying I'd act any differently - but sweet mercy - these people were funny.
Oprah even had EMTs on hand in case someone needed medical treatment after receiving her new sweater.
There was hugging. There was kissing. And, no, I do not assume those doing the hugging and kissing knew each other - they were just overtaken by euphoria.
New Nikes!! OH MY GOSH!! I'm going to kiss this stranger.
I'm fairly certain I would just stand frozen to the floor doing the ugly cry if I was one of those lucky audience members, but you never know.
Perhaps I'd be like the woman who pounded herself in the forehead several times with both fists after seeing one of the gifts. She looked as though she was either having a stroke (thus the need for EMTs) or cramming for a chemistry final and could not remember the chemical formula for table salt.
Poor thing.
I do know that there were lots of Christians in the audience.
There must have been because I saw lots of hands reaching to Heaven and mouths that appeared to be saying "Thank You Jesus!!"
Because we all know that Jesus is never nearer than at that one moment when we receive a new brownie pan (WHERE ALL THE BROWNIES HAVE AN EDGE!!!)
It is my guess that these lucky audience members not only had all their material yearnings met during this episode; they also had a deep spiritual experience.
I think it is also safe to say that Kayla and I will be parked in front of the television again on Monday.
The Favorite Things Episode is two parts this year.
Call 911.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
MAD FACE
For the past year or so, my kids have been making fun of my mad face.
I don't know why it took them 15 and 18 years to notice my mad face; I've worn it a lot since they were born.
A. LOT. Poor kids.
Anyway, I think the mad face started when I started having problems with my computer.
Something would go wrong with my computer - it would freeze up or the page would suddenly shrink to 50% - and I'd hear Kayla say "She's doing the mad face..."
"Look, Blake. Mom's wearing her mad face..."
"Ehhhh! Dude - you should see mom's mad face right now."
Sometimes I get no respect.
*sigh*
Anyway, recently something happened that caused my mad face to appear big time.
MAD FACE SUPER SIZED!!
We were at a small party - the three W family members that still reside in our home. My daughter was sitting beside me at a table with people we had only met right there at the party - with the exception of one person.
She told me at the end of the party that the two ADULTS she was sitting by spent much of the luncheon talking about the kids from her school and how they are just a bunch of selfish, rich, lazy kids who smoke pot while their daddies work hard to give them everything they want. This, after having asked her (in their one moment of politeness I guess) where she attended high school.
OH. NO. THEY. DII-N'T. *z-snap*
Okay, here's the thing.
I know that there are lots of kids in any school who are selfish lazy pot smokers. But to sit next to a young friendly teenage girl and disparage her school mates in one feld swoop like that is just plain wrong.
Wrong, I say!
Here my daughter had chosen to spend her Saturday afternoon at a luncheon with a bunch of adults she barely knew. She was a hands on helper with the only baby there. She was poised, polite, and pleasant.
And they slam her school.
You don't slam a teenager's school!!! It is their identity. It is their social setting. It is where they are being molded. It is the birthplace of their friendships.
You just don't do it.
*mad face*
Super sized.
I don't know why it took them 15 and 18 years to notice my mad face; I've worn it a lot since they were born.
A. LOT. Poor kids.
Anyway, I think the mad face started when I started having problems with my computer.
Something would go wrong with my computer - it would freeze up or the page would suddenly shrink to 50% - and I'd hear Kayla say "She's doing the mad face..."
"Look, Blake. Mom's wearing her mad face..."
"Ehhhh! Dude - you should see mom's mad face right now."
Sometimes I get no respect.
*sigh*
Anyway, recently something happened that caused my mad face to appear big time.
MAD FACE SUPER SIZED!!
We were at a small party - the three W family members that still reside in our home. My daughter was sitting beside me at a table with people we had only met right there at the party - with the exception of one person.
She told me at the end of the party that the two ADULTS she was sitting by spent much of the luncheon talking about the kids from her school and how they are just a bunch of selfish, rich, lazy kids who smoke pot while their daddies work hard to give them everything they want. This, after having asked her (in their one moment of politeness I guess) where she attended high school.
OH. NO. THEY. DII-N'T. *z-snap*
Okay, here's the thing.
I know that there are lots of kids in any school who are selfish lazy pot smokers. But to sit next to a young friendly teenage girl and disparage her school mates in one feld swoop like that is just plain wrong.
Wrong, I say!
Here my daughter had chosen to spend her Saturday afternoon at a luncheon with a bunch of adults she barely knew. She was a hands on helper with the only baby there. She was poised, polite, and pleasant.
And they slam her school.
You don't slam a teenager's school!!! It is their identity. It is their social setting. It is where they are being molded. It is the birthplace of their friendships.
You just don't do it.
*mad face*
Super sized.
Tuesday, November 09, 2010
Let Freedom Ring - Dennis Jernigan
November 10th is the birthday of the United States Marine Corps. To all those who serve or are training to serve as one of the Few and The Proud - thank you for your service.
And to my very own Marine - my son, my hero - thank you a thousand times over.
POST PROM
A little over two years ago, I received a phone call from somebody wanting to know if I'd be willing to serve on the Post Prom committee.
Since Blake was a junior at the time and junior parents were responsible for post prom and since I had not done a lot of work for Blake's class in a while, I readily agreed.
I was asked to be on the fundraising and decorating committees. Fundraising was a little outside my comfort zone but decorating was right up my alley so I agreed to serve on both.
I was in a bad mood for the next 8 months.
The first committee meeting was a real eye opener when the committee chair informed us that the previous year's committee had raised $21,000 and spent $18,000 on the post prom event - setting aside $3,000 for the following year as start up money.
*bump....bump....bump....*
I began banging my head on our host's lovely dining room table. Okay not really but....COME ON.....EIGHTEEN THOUSAND DOLLARS?
And then? THEN? At one meeting, a woman actually suggested that since she knew somebody who owned a car dealership, she was sure she could get them to donate a car to give away as the mother of all door prizes.
*THUMP*
I fell off my chair.
Okay. Again, not really, but that scenario was better than the one going through my head: the one where I leaped across the table and began solidly strangling this woman for such an asinine (yes I said asinine) suggestion.
WHAT WERE WE DOING HERE? WHAT WERE WE SAYING TO OUR CHILDREN WITH SUCH EXTRAVAGANCE?
So that bad mood I was in for eight months included my constant reminder to Kayla that I was NOT going to be on the post prom committee when she was a junior.
I do enough for your class since you're an officer.
I'm not doing that again.
No way.
I mean it.
Don't even ask.
Last night I hosted the post prom committee in my very own dining room.
*sigh* and *bigger sigh*
WHAT AM I DOING? WHY CAN'T I JUST STOP IT? JUST SAY NO? WHAT. IS. WRONG. WITH. MEEEEEE?
The good news is that, at the beginning of the whole post prom planning season, we all decided that we were going to scale back.
We have decided to plan the party around our budget - not set a budget around the party we think will impress the other parents.
If we raise $5,000 dollars than the party will cost $5,000 including insurance coverage, rental fees, and food. The kids can play Checkers all night for all we care.
And the door prizes? WAAAAAAAAY simpler.
Because as I have been saying for two years (because I am a really, really mean mom) "Um....why, exactly, are we giving our teenagers such elaborate prizes to come to a party that we've worked months to plan and spent thousands of dollars on?"
I mean shouldn't they be giving US gifts for all our hard work?
Look, I think post prom is important. It's a great way to keep our kids safe and allow the fun of prom night to continue without the temptation of drinking and driving and whatever other taboo activities they might want to explore on 'their' night.
We lock the kids in the high school with LOTS of adult supervision and keep them there all night. We keep them entertained every moment they are there - with inflatables, video games, movies, food, a casino room, stage entertainment (like a hypnotist).....they have fun. And might I just say that this year we have some REALLY good things in store for the kids?
So why? Somebody please tell me WHY we have to give them presents on top of all that? Especially since, from all my formal and scientific research (asking kids that come into our kitchen) the kids all say they don't care about the door prizes. It's the parents who seem to want it FOR their kids.
Thankfully post prom is on its way back down to a reasonable level of expense and expectation. Leave it to the 2012 parents to lower the bar. 2012 ROCKS!!!!!!!!
I truly think future committees are going to thank us.
In the mean time, let it he known: I AM NOT SERVING ON ONE MORE POST PROM COMMITTEE after this one.
NO MORE.
I'M DONE.
I MEAN IT.
DON'T EVEN ASK.
Since Blake was a junior at the time and junior parents were responsible for post prom and since I had not done a lot of work for Blake's class in a while, I readily agreed.
I was asked to be on the fundraising and decorating committees. Fundraising was a little outside my comfort zone but decorating was right up my alley so I agreed to serve on both.
I was in a bad mood for the next 8 months.
The first committee meeting was a real eye opener when the committee chair informed us that the previous year's committee had raised $21,000 and spent $18,000 on the post prom event - setting aside $3,000 for the following year as start up money.
*bump....bump....bump....*
I began banging my head on our host's lovely dining room table. Okay not really but....COME ON.....EIGHTEEN THOUSAND DOLLARS?
And then? THEN? At one meeting, a woman actually suggested that since she knew somebody who owned a car dealership, she was sure she could get them to donate a car to give away as the mother of all door prizes.
*THUMP*
I fell off my chair.
Okay. Again, not really, but that scenario was better than the one going through my head: the one where I leaped across the table and began solidly strangling this woman for such an asinine (yes I said asinine) suggestion.
WHAT WERE WE DOING HERE? WHAT WERE WE SAYING TO OUR CHILDREN WITH SUCH EXTRAVAGANCE?
So that bad mood I was in for eight months included my constant reminder to Kayla that I was NOT going to be on the post prom committee when she was a junior.
I do enough for your class since you're an officer.
I'm not doing that again.
No way.
I mean it.
Don't even ask.
Last night I hosted the post prom committee in my very own dining room.
*sigh* and *bigger sigh*
WHAT AM I DOING? WHY CAN'T I JUST STOP IT? JUST SAY NO? WHAT. IS. WRONG. WITH. MEEEEEE?
The good news is that, at the beginning of the whole post prom planning season, we all decided that we were going to scale back.
We have decided to plan the party around our budget - not set a budget around the party we think will impress the other parents.
If we raise $5,000 dollars than the party will cost $5,000 including insurance coverage, rental fees, and food. The kids can play Checkers all night for all we care.
And the door prizes? WAAAAAAAAY simpler.
Because as I have been saying for two years (because I am a really, really mean mom) "Um....why, exactly, are we giving our teenagers such elaborate prizes to come to a party that we've worked months to plan and spent thousands of dollars on?"
I mean shouldn't they be giving US gifts for all our hard work?
Look, I think post prom is important. It's a great way to keep our kids safe and allow the fun of prom night to continue without the temptation of drinking and driving and whatever other taboo activities they might want to explore on 'their' night.
We lock the kids in the high school with LOTS of adult supervision and keep them there all night. We keep them entertained every moment they are there - with inflatables, video games, movies, food, a casino room, stage entertainment (like a hypnotist).....they have fun. And might I just say that this year we have some REALLY good things in store for the kids?
So why? Somebody please tell me WHY we have to give them presents on top of all that? Especially since, from all my formal and scientific research (asking kids that come into our kitchen) the kids all say they don't care about the door prizes. It's the parents who seem to want it FOR their kids.
Thankfully post prom is on its way back down to a reasonable level of expense and expectation. Leave it to the 2012 parents to lower the bar. 2012 ROCKS!!!!!!!!
I truly think future committees are going to thank us.
In the mean time, let it he known: I AM NOT SERVING ON ONE MORE POST PROM COMMITTEE after this one.
NO MORE.
I'M DONE.
I MEAN IT.
DON'T EVEN ASK.
Monday, November 08, 2010
YOUR BABY CAN READ!!
My children are 19 and 16 years old.
I consider them to be pretty neat people.
Each of them has a path set before them that he or she seems determined to follow to meet a goal.
And yet, as successful and well rounded as they are, I can't help but wonder:
Would they be even better young adults if I had taught them to read while they sat in their high chairs eating cheerios and drinking apple juice from a sippy cup?
Oh the regrets we have....
You've seen it, haven't you? That info-mercial that convinces us our children can learn to read before they even have teeth?
That stuff fascinates me.
It fascinates me because I can't imagine spending my children's baby years holding flashcards in front of their faces so they could learn words by sight.
ball
dog
flashlight
platypus
drink
baby
It fascinates me because, for the life of me, I can't figure out WHY a baby needs to know how to read.
*thinking....thinking...thinking....*
Are we going to send a baby into the grocery store with mommy's weekly list so that we can sit in the car while baby does the shopping?
Perhaps.
Are we going to hand baby a menu when we go out to dinner so that he can read the night's specials and then order for himself:
"Um....yeth, thith, thalmon here? Can I get that gwilled inthead of pan theared?"
Uh....maybe....I gueth...I mean I guess.
I guess I could have tried to teach my kids to read instead of taking the lazy approach that I did. I actually read TO my kids instead of expecting them to read to me. I read and read and read books every day until my children had had enough.
Books for everyone!! All day long!!!
I also let them sit in front of the television and watch Sesame Street.
I know!!! Can you believe it?
I am the mother who freely admits her children learned their numbers from the remote control.
But you know what? By the end of kindergarten, each of them had begun reading simple books.
Actually, Kayla had begun reading simple words and writing her name when she was 3. Blake, at age 4, was not reading on his own but he was requesting "stories that were true" when we went to the library.
"Excuse me ma'am. Do you have any non-fiction books in your preschool section? He is particularly interested in stories about our presidents and the history of our country. No I am NOT kidding."
Anyway, if we are going to teach our babies to do things that are outside the realm of "normal" for babies, wouldn't we want to teach them things that will save us, their parents, some time - take some of the headache out of raising babies?
Like, changing their own diapers? I mean, we don't want to potty train them at 8 months - that would be unrealistic, after all - but why not teach them to change their own diapers?
Or at the very least to cry for Daddy when they were poopy.
Or how about teaching them to use that blue nasal bulb thing on their own noses?
Maybe we could teach them how to recognize the signs of impending vomit so they don't project the contents of their little tummies all over the living room until they are five.
But teaching them to read?
That's just silly.
I consider them to be pretty neat people.
Each of them has a path set before them that he or she seems determined to follow to meet a goal.
And yet, as successful and well rounded as they are, I can't help but wonder:
Would they be even better young adults if I had taught them to read while they sat in their high chairs eating cheerios and drinking apple juice from a sippy cup?
Oh the regrets we have....
You've seen it, haven't you? That info-mercial that convinces us our children can learn to read before they even have teeth?
That stuff fascinates me.
It fascinates me because I can't imagine spending my children's baby years holding flashcards in front of their faces so they could learn words by sight.
ball
dog
flashlight
platypus
drink
baby
It fascinates me because, for the life of me, I can't figure out WHY a baby needs to know how to read.
*thinking....thinking...thinking....*
Are we going to send a baby into the grocery store with mommy's weekly list so that we can sit in the car while baby does the shopping?
Perhaps.
Are we going to hand baby a menu when we go out to dinner so that he can read the night's specials and then order for himself:
"Um....yeth, thith, thalmon here? Can I get that gwilled inthead of pan theared?"
Uh....maybe....I gueth...I mean I guess.
I guess I could have tried to teach my kids to read instead of taking the lazy approach that I did. I actually read TO my kids instead of expecting them to read to me. I read and read and read books every day until my children had had enough.
Books for everyone!! All day long!!!
I also let them sit in front of the television and watch Sesame Street.
I know!!! Can you believe it?
I am the mother who freely admits her children learned their numbers from the remote control.
But you know what? By the end of kindergarten, each of them had begun reading simple books.
Actually, Kayla had begun reading simple words and writing her name when she was 3. Blake, at age 4, was not reading on his own but he was requesting "stories that were true" when we went to the library.
"Excuse me ma'am. Do you have any non-fiction books in your preschool section? He is particularly interested in stories about our presidents and the history of our country. No I am NOT kidding."
Anyway, if we are going to teach our babies to do things that are outside the realm of "normal" for babies, wouldn't we want to teach them things that will save us, their parents, some time - take some of the headache out of raising babies?
Like, changing their own diapers? I mean, we don't want to potty train them at 8 months - that would be unrealistic, after all - but why not teach them to change their own diapers?
Or at the very least to cry for Daddy when they were poopy.
Or how about teaching them to use that blue nasal bulb thing on their own noses?
Maybe we could teach them how to recognize the signs of impending vomit so they don't project the contents of their little tummies all over the living room until they are five.
But teaching them to read?
That's just silly.
Wednesday, November 03, 2010
WHY?
As the parents of a new marine, Paul and I have realized we are going to have to get used to questions that parents of new college students simply are not asked.
It's puzzling really.
I'd finally recovered from the disapproving comments made by others when he first decided to enlist:
"How can you let him do that...?
"You should make him join the Air Force....."
"Marines? But they're the ones that kill...."
And the one that continues:
"What made him decide to choose THIS path?"
We really don't know how to answer that question.
We don't know how to answer it because we would never dream of asking it of any other parent.
"Why would he go to THAT college?"
"What made her decide to be a TEACHER?"
"What interests him so much in business that he would choose that path?"
You know. Questions that imply there is something not quite right with that choice.
Regardless of how the question is meant, we HEAR judgement in it. We hear a challenge in it - a challenge for us to justify our child's choice.
For quite a while, Paul had held on to an article from the Wall Street Journal - an article written by a man whose nephew was going to West Point. He was getting these same kind of questions and he had penned a response.
Basically, he wrote that people simply cannot comprehend that a young man with the world at his finger tips - a young man with countless options - would choose a life of military service.
Thankfully we live in an era where the military is a very revered institution; however, it is still one that carries stereotypes. Many people still believe that the military is a last resort.
They believe it is for kids who are in constant trouble and it is their last chance to straighten out their lives. They believe it is for kids who have no family life or loved ones and so they seek out the brotherhood of a military unit. They believe it is for kids who want to go to college but simply don't have the money - and for those kids they can't comprehend why one would not go the ROTC route.
Blake falls under none of those categories.
He simply loves his country and had a desire to serve.
He simply looked at the Marines as a huge challenge that he wanted to push himself to meet.
He simply has some interest in seeking political office one day and believes a military background is a plus for that route, should he choose to pursue it.
He simply decided that he is capable and healthy and there was no reason for his parents to pay for his college tuition when he had a way to work for it himself.
And still, we do not know how to answer the question "why did he choose the military?" in a polite and succinct manner. If we answer with the above options, we sound pompous and boastful.
But believe me, it is getting more and more tempting. It is getting more and more tempting to come back at these people with "why did your daughter choose the path she is on?" "Why is your adult child still at home, not working OR going to school?"
Or:
"Well, while your son is finding his future at the bottom of a beer can, my son is getting up at 4 a.m, pushing his body beyond its limits, taking occasional breaks for first aid and history classes, sleeping in the dirt, and preparing to fight in the mountains of Afghanistan so that you may keep your right to ask me stupid questions. Oh, and all the while he is earning a paycheck AND building up more than $80,000 in education funds. EIGHTY. THOUSAND. DOLLARS. for an education."
Something like that.
But so far, we've said none of that. We've simply stumbled on our words and wondered why people can't simply say something like "well, we wish him luck."
So. How should we answer that question?
Anybody?
It's puzzling really.
I'd finally recovered from the disapproving comments made by others when he first decided to enlist:
"How can you let him do that...?
"You should make him join the Air Force....."
"Marines? But they're the ones that kill...."
And the one that continues:
"What made him decide to choose THIS path?"
We really don't know how to answer that question.
We don't know how to answer it because we would never dream of asking it of any other parent.
"Why would he go to THAT college?"
"What made her decide to be a TEACHER?"
"What interests him so much in business that he would choose that path?"
You know. Questions that imply there is something not quite right with that choice.
Regardless of how the question is meant, we HEAR judgement in it. We hear a challenge in it - a challenge for us to justify our child's choice.
For quite a while, Paul had held on to an article from the Wall Street Journal - an article written by a man whose nephew was going to West Point. He was getting these same kind of questions and he had penned a response.
Basically, he wrote that people simply cannot comprehend that a young man with the world at his finger tips - a young man with countless options - would choose a life of military service.
Thankfully we live in an era where the military is a very revered institution; however, it is still one that carries stereotypes. Many people still believe that the military is a last resort.
They believe it is for kids who are in constant trouble and it is their last chance to straighten out their lives. They believe it is for kids who have no family life or loved ones and so they seek out the brotherhood of a military unit. They believe it is for kids who want to go to college but simply don't have the money - and for those kids they can't comprehend why one would not go the ROTC route.
Blake falls under none of those categories.
He simply loves his country and had a desire to serve.
He simply looked at the Marines as a huge challenge that he wanted to push himself to meet.
He simply has some interest in seeking political office one day and believes a military background is a plus for that route, should he choose to pursue it.
He simply decided that he is capable and healthy and there was no reason for his parents to pay for his college tuition when he had a way to work for it himself.
And still, we do not know how to answer the question "why did he choose the military?" in a polite and succinct manner. If we answer with the above options, we sound pompous and boastful.
But believe me, it is getting more and more tempting. It is getting more and more tempting to come back at these people with "why did your daughter choose the path she is on?" "Why is your adult child still at home, not working OR going to school?"
Or:
"Well, while your son is finding his future at the bottom of a beer can, my son is getting up at 4 a.m, pushing his body beyond its limits, taking occasional breaks for first aid and history classes, sleeping in the dirt, and preparing to fight in the mountains of Afghanistan so that you may keep your right to ask me stupid questions. Oh, and all the while he is earning a paycheck AND building up more than $80,000 in education funds. EIGHTY. THOUSAND. DOLLARS. for an education."
Something like that.
But so far, we've said none of that. We've simply stumbled on our words and wondered why people can't simply say something like "well, we wish him luck."
So. How should we answer that question?
Anybody?
Monday, November 01, 2010
PG-13
So I was a little melancholy last night as I told my husband "ya know...this is the first time since we became parents that we've had NEITHER of our children at home for at least part of Halloween."
*sigh*
Turns out the evening was quite nice even without our kids at home.
Mainly because two of Paul's young co-workers (and wives) stopped by with their tiny trick-or-treaters. We got to meet 16-month-old Jonah who made an adorable monkey and 2-month old Vihan who made the most precious little tiger, it nearly made my heart burst.
(Side note: Vihan (pronounced Vee-hawn) lives down the street and his parents are from India. His name means 'first ray of sunlight.' How beautiful is that?)
So anyway, we had a nice visit with the young parents and we enjoyed our little visitors and all of our sweet young trick-or-treaters.
We enjoyed the entire evening.
We enjoyed it so much that at one point, between taps on the door, my husband came up to me, pulled me into a sweet embrace and started kissing me.
It was only kissing. There was no groping. He didn't even get to second base.
It was just a nice sweet kiss between a man and a woman who are happily married and still in love.
However, it probably was the kind of kiss that would make an 8 year old boy want to vomit.
An 8-year-old boy like the one we noticed watching us through our front door - the one with really cute blond hair and adorable wire glasses. He was dressed as a pirate.
*ahem*
That's right. My husband embraced me and started making out with me right in front of the side window of our front door. (It's totally his fault)
So then.
I opened the door and said (with false cheerfulness and fake innocence) "Well, hello there!!"
*crickets*
"Here you go...Happy Halloween!!!" More fake innocence as I put candy into his bucket.
*plop. plop. plop....plop. plop. plop* (I figured he deserved extra...guilt will do that to you)
Here's where it gets a little creepy.
That little boy did not break eye contact with me for one second.
He did not say "Trick-or-treat."
He did not watch the candy go from my basket to his bucket like most children did.
He did not say "thank you."
He just stared at me with...dare I say it...total contempt.
And then he gave me one final glare and turned on his little heel and walked down the front walk to his dad.
I'm telling you; if I could have read his mind, I'm sure he'd have been telling me "YOU. PEOPLE. DISGUST. ME."
Which is fine, because I was totally disgusted with myself at the moment.
Here's the thing. If I'd known this little boy I would have laughed and followed him out to where his dad was standing. And I would have said "Hey, neighbor. Um...yeah...your little fella here saw us kissing through the front window. But rest assured; it was only kissing. That's it. Nothing else. And WE'RE MARRIED!!! So, yeah, no harm done, right? Okay, then. Happy Halloween."
But since I'd never seen the kid before I just shut the door and tried to crawl under our hardwood floors, while imagining what the poor child was telling his dad.
If we were to assign a good news/ bad news label to this I guess it would be as such:
Good news: We have been married 23 1/2 years and still enjoy kissing in the dining room.
Bad news: The village board has insisted we post a sign on our front porch:
THIS RESIDENCE HAS BEEN RATED PG-13. PARENTS STRONGLY CAUTIONED.
Oh, and we had not told our children about this incident so the fact that they are finding out about this on my blog could fall under the "bad news" part as well.
Yeah, sorry kids.
*sigh*
Turns out the evening was quite nice even without our kids at home.
Mainly because two of Paul's young co-workers (and wives) stopped by with their tiny trick-or-treaters. We got to meet 16-month-old Jonah who made an adorable monkey and 2-month old Vihan who made the most precious little tiger, it nearly made my heart burst.
(Side note: Vihan (pronounced Vee-hawn) lives down the street and his parents are from India. His name means 'first ray of sunlight.' How beautiful is that?)
So anyway, we had a nice visit with the young parents and we enjoyed our little visitors and all of our sweet young trick-or-treaters.
We enjoyed the entire evening.
We enjoyed it so much that at one point, between taps on the door, my husband came up to me, pulled me into a sweet embrace and started kissing me.
It was only kissing. There was no groping. He didn't even get to second base.
It was just a nice sweet kiss between a man and a woman who are happily married and still in love.
However, it probably was the kind of kiss that would make an 8 year old boy want to vomit.
An 8-year-old boy like the one we noticed watching us through our front door - the one with really cute blond hair and adorable wire glasses. He was dressed as a pirate.
*ahem*
That's right. My husband embraced me and started making out with me right in front of the side window of our front door. (It's totally his fault)
So then.
I opened the door and said (with false cheerfulness and fake innocence) "Well, hello there!!"
*crickets*
"Here you go...Happy Halloween!!!" More fake innocence as I put candy into his bucket.
*plop. plop. plop....plop. plop. plop* (I figured he deserved extra...guilt will do that to you)
Here's where it gets a little creepy.
That little boy did not break eye contact with me for one second.
He did not say "Trick-or-treat."
He did not watch the candy go from my basket to his bucket like most children did.
He did not say "thank you."
He just stared at me with...dare I say it...total contempt.
And then he gave me one final glare and turned on his little heel and walked down the front walk to his dad.
I'm telling you; if I could have read his mind, I'm sure he'd have been telling me "YOU. PEOPLE. DISGUST. ME."
Which is fine, because I was totally disgusted with myself at the moment.
Here's the thing. If I'd known this little boy I would have laughed and followed him out to where his dad was standing. And I would have said "Hey, neighbor. Um...yeah...your little fella here saw us kissing through the front window. But rest assured; it was only kissing. That's it. Nothing else. And WE'RE MARRIED!!! So, yeah, no harm done, right? Okay, then. Happy Halloween."
But since I'd never seen the kid before I just shut the door and tried to crawl under our hardwood floors, while imagining what the poor child was telling his dad.
If we were to assign a good news/ bad news label to this I guess it would be as such:
Good news: We have been married 23 1/2 years and still enjoy kissing in the dining room.
Bad news: The village board has insisted we post a sign on our front porch:
THIS RESIDENCE HAS BEEN RATED PG-13. PARENTS STRONGLY CAUTIONED.
Oh, and we had not told our children about this incident so the fact that they are finding out about this on my blog could fall under the "bad news" part as well.
Yeah, sorry kids.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
THE REUNION (MOTO RUN)
So then, after we saw Blake's platoon march past us we had some time to kill; so we headed over to the courtyard to explore the different buildings and await further instructions.
Most people entered the small Marine Corps museum and gift shop, which is why we did NOT enter the Marine Corps museum and gift shop. It was very crowded.
After that, I'm not sure what we did...to be totally honest.
I do remember that at one point we heard somebody make an announcement over the loud speaker - an announcement that asked us to please move into the courtyard so that we could hear further announcements.
So we headed into the courtyard where the drill instructor (who evidently spends his weekend working comedy clubs) told us he was not happy with the way we moved so we were to exit the courtyard and re-enter.
OH. NO. HE. DIDN'T.
This is when we were informed that we were about to get a taste of what our boys had been enduring for the previous 13 weeks.
So the DI continued making us repeat the same thing over and over again - louder and louder. And when I say "us" I mean all the other parents.
Because I didn't like this game.
I did not like it one bit.
And here's why. If I had just sent my son to college, I would have educated myself about the school he had chosen. Because I had sent my son to the Marine Corps, I had educated myself, as much as possible, about the Corps.
For instance I already knew that when the DI yelled "EARS!" recruits were to scream "OPEN, SIR!" And when the DI yelled "EYEBALLS!!" recruits were to scream "CLICK, SIR!!"
And I knew that when a DI started counting down from ten, recruits better be moving, and moving QUICKLY!
I surprised myself at my own reaction to this hazing because I think I have a pretty good sense of humor. I think I can take as well as I give. I can handle being verbally zapped and zinged.
But this? I didn't appreciate it at all.
(And on a side note: Blake later told us that he was in one of the buildings listening to all of this and he told his buddies "Dudes. My mom is not liking this at all." He's always been so astute)
Now where was I?
Oh, yeah - being treated like a new recruit simply was not for me. I had already sent the Marine Corps half of my best; therefore, I kind of expected to be treated with a little reverence.
And believe me, I was not the only mother who felt this way, there were some that were downright pouting. I was at least going through the motions and pretending to be excited.
Finally, we were dismissed to the parking lot and allowed to line up by platoon number so we could watch our sons run by on their final run through base. Of course, we didn't do this right either so we had to go back and do it all over again.
I AM NOT KIDDING.
I am also not kidding when I say I didn't go back. No sir, I did not. I stayed where I was. I mean what are they gonna do, fire my son? Draft me? Nope.
Besides I had found a spot right on the edge of the viewing area - right inside the cones - and I didn't want to lose it.
Turns out I lost it anyway.
Yeah, I turned around for one second to talk to somebody and when I returned to my original position - somebody had cut in front of me.
Uh - huh. Another mom had cut.
SHE CUT!! THERE'S NO CUTTING!! THERE'S NO CUTTING IN THE MARINE CORPS!!!
Not only had she cut but when one of the sergeants respectfully reminded us to please stay behind the cones - SHE MOVED THE CONE UP A FEW INCHES so she'd still be behind it.
SHE MOVED THE CONE!!
So I decided to take the high road and when she turned around and looked at me I gave her the stink eye. REAL BAD. After that she started talking to her husband who was behind us and motioning for him to come stand in front of me too. I have no idea exactly what she said as she was speaking Chinese, I think.
I do know that the stink eye is universal for "don't you dare," because when the husband looked at me and got the same stink eye, he stayed put.
Smart fellow.
So then, as another sergeant was walking in front of the crowd to make sure we were out of the running path, I desperately wanted to nudge the line cutter with my hip and knock her into the road IN FRONT OF THE CONES so she'd get smoked by the DI (see I know the lingo - you do NOT want to be smoked by a DI...)
But I didn't.
Because the Marine Corps is all about honor, courage and commitment.
I wanted to honor my son.
I had already worked up the courage to give her the stink eye.
And I was totally committed to making her sorry for cutting in front of me.
But I didn't do the nudge thing.
I just burned a hole in the back of her blouse with my stink eye.
Moving on.
The Marines started running into the parking lot where we were lined up. They came in by platoon - shouting cadences - running in perfect step with one another - greeted by cheers and banners and rally towels.
Then they stopped right in front of us and stood in formation.
And I saw my son again.
I cannot post pictures of him lined up after the moto run because he doesn't want pictures posted of him in his port holes (military glasses) but let me just say: Sweet merciful heavens! He looked amazing.
AND!! When he found us in the crowd - he gave us a quick wink.
Seriously. How's that for a sweet greeting?
After we got a good look at our marines they continued their run and we were moved to yet another location where we could watch them finish their run. The crowd was so large that we did not see anything at that point. When the marines were dismissed to shower and prepare for the Parade deck, we were invited into the theater building to meet the drill instructors.
We opted out of that due to the crowd again. Instead, we took that opportunity to walk through the Marine Corps museum and buy a couple of things at the gift shop. Then we found a Starbucks on base and had a coffee while we waited for Blake's dismissal for on-base liberty.
After they were dismissed, since the marines had been told to exit the parade deck ASAP, I had to search for a few (long) minutes to find my son. He had followed orders and left the parade deck.
Instead of going to the restaurant that had been designated for the family lunch, Blake asked if we could find a place less crowded and spend the 5 hours just visiting. No touring. No shopping at the PX. Just a simple lunch and visit.
That sounded like a fantastic idea to us.
We ended up in what could best be described as a rec center on base. It had a bowling alley, arcade, televisions....and served hamburgers and hot dogs.
Funny that was one of the best hamburgers I've ever eaten. I guess true bliss does that to ones taste buds.
This is also the point at which we ladies emptied our purses of the junk food Blake had requested we bring to him. So he ate a hamburger and french fries, about $20 worth of junk food and then another hamburger and french fries.
And he entertained us with stories of boot camp. It was amazing to hear this boy of mine - this man of few words - fill us in on the past 13 weeks of his life. The challenges. The triumphs. The humor. The frustration.
It's funny, I went there thinking I was going to come back with tons of USMC items to commemorate our trip and honor our son's career. I came back, instead with one sweatshirt and a Marine Mom lapel pin.
And precious precious memories of spending time with my son who simply wanted to sit and visit with his family for a few hours.
Most people entered the small Marine Corps museum and gift shop, which is why we did NOT enter the Marine Corps museum and gift shop. It was very crowded.
After that, I'm not sure what we did...to be totally honest.
I do remember that at one point we heard somebody make an announcement over the loud speaker - an announcement that asked us to please move into the courtyard so that we could hear further announcements.
So we headed into the courtyard where the drill instructor (who evidently spends his weekend working comedy clubs) told us he was not happy with the way we moved so we were to exit the courtyard and re-enter.
OH. NO. HE. DIDN'T.
This is when we were informed that we were about to get a taste of what our boys had been enduring for the previous 13 weeks.
So the DI continued making us repeat the same thing over and over again - louder and louder. And when I say "us" I mean all the other parents.
Because I didn't like this game.
I did not like it one bit.
And here's why. If I had just sent my son to college, I would have educated myself about the school he had chosen. Because I had sent my son to the Marine Corps, I had educated myself, as much as possible, about the Corps.
For instance I already knew that when the DI yelled "EARS!" recruits were to scream "OPEN, SIR!" And when the DI yelled "EYEBALLS!!" recruits were to scream "CLICK, SIR!!"
And I knew that when a DI started counting down from ten, recruits better be moving, and moving QUICKLY!
I surprised myself at my own reaction to this hazing because I think I have a pretty good sense of humor. I think I can take as well as I give. I can handle being verbally zapped and zinged.
But this? I didn't appreciate it at all.
(And on a side note: Blake later told us that he was in one of the buildings listening to all of this and he told his buddies "Dudes. My mom is not liking this at all." He's always been so astute)
Now where was I?
Oh, yeah - being treated like a new recruit simply was not for me. I had already sent the Marine Corps half of my best; therefore, I kind of expected to be treated with a little reverence.
And believe me, I was not the only mother who felt this way, there were some that were downright pouting. I was at least going through the motions and pretending to be excited.
Finally, we were dismissed to the parking lot and allowed to line up by platoon number so we could watch our sons run by on their final run through base. Of course, we didn't do this right either so we had to go back and do it all over again.
I AM NOT KIDDING.
I am also not kidding when I say I didn't go back. No sir, I did not. I stayed where I was. I mean what are they gonna do, fire my son? Draft me? Nope.
Besides I had found a spot right on the edge of the viewing area - right inside the cones - and I didn't want to lose it.
Turns out I lost it anyway.
Yeah, I turned around for one second to talk to somebody and when I returned to my original position - somebody had cut in front of me.
Uh - huh. Another mom had cut.
SHE CUT!! THERE'S NO CUTTING!! THERE'S NO CUTTING IN THE MARINE CORPS!!!
Not only had she cut but when one of the sergeants respectfully reminded us to please stay behind the cones - SHE MOVED THE CONE UP A FEW INCHES so she'd still be behind it.
SHE MOVED THE CONE!!
So I decided to take the high road and when she turned around and looked at me I gave her the stink eye. REAL BAD. After that she started talking to her husband who was behind us and motioning for him to come stand in front of me too. I have no idea exactly what she said as she was speaking Chinese, I think.
I do know that the stink eye is universal for "don't you dare," because when the husband looked at me and got the same stink eye, he stayed put.
Smart fellow.
So then, as another sergeant was walking in front of the crowd to make sure we were out of the running path, I desperately wanted to nudge the line cutter with my hip and knock her into the road IN FRONT OF THE CONES so she'd get smoked by the DI (see I know the lingo - you do NOT want to be smoked by a DI...)
But I didn't.
Because the Marine Corps is all about honor, courage and commitment.
I wanted to honor my son.
I had already worked up the courage to give her the stink eye.
And I was totally committed to making her sorry for cutting in front of me.
But I didn't do the nudge thing.
I just burned a hole in the back of her blouse with my stink eye.
Moving on.
The Marines started running into the parking lot where we were lined up. They came in by platoon - shouting cadences - running in perfect step with one another - greeted by cheers and banners and rally towels.
Then they stopped right in front of us and stood in formation.
And I saw my son again.
I cannot post pictures of him lined up after the moto run because he doesn't want pictures posted of him in his port holes (military glasses) but let me just say: Sweet merciful heavens! He looked amazing.
AND!! When he found us in the crowd - he gave us a quick wink.
Seriously. How's that for a sweet greeting?
After we got a good look at our marines they continued their run and we were moved to yet another location where we could watch them finish their run. The crowd was so large that we did not see anything at that point. When the marines were dismissed to shower and prepare for the Parade deck, we were invited into the theater building to meet the drill instructors.
We opted out of that due to the crowd again. Instead, we took that opportunity to walk through the Marine Corps museum and buy a couple of things at the gift shop. Then we found a Starbucks on base and had a coffee while we waited for Blake's dismissal for on-base liberty.
After they were dismissed, since the marines had been told to exit the parade deck ASAP, I had to search for a few (long) minutes to find my son. He had followed orders and left the parade deck.
Instead of going to the restaurant that had been designated for the family lunch, Blake asked if we could find a place less crowded and spend the 5 hours just visiting. No touring. No shopping at the PX. Just a simple lunch and visit.
That sounded like a fantastic idea to us.
We ended up in what could best be described as a rec center on base. It had a bowling alley, arcade, televisions....and served hamburgers and hot dogs.
Funny that was one of the best hamburgers I've ever eaten. I guess true bliss does that to ones taste buds.
This is also the point at which we ladies emptied our purses of the junk food Blake had requested we bring to him. So he ate a hamburger and french fries, about $20 worth of junk food and then another hamburger and french fries.
And he entertained us with stories of boot camp. It was amazing to hear this boy of mine - this man of few words - fill us in on the past 13 weeks of his life. The challenges. The triumphs. The humor. The frustration.
It's funny, I went there thinking I was going to come back with tons of USMC items to commemorate our trip and honor our son's career. I came back, instead with one sweatshirt and a Marine Mom lapel pin.
And precious precious memories of spending time with my son who simply wanted to sit and visit with his family for a few hours.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
A LITTLE NERVOUS
As you may or may not remember, I did not get to watch my son graduate from High School.
He did graduate. I mean, he got all his credits, completed his classes and received a diploma. But he didn't walk in the ceremony because he was supposed to be at boot camp but then he got sent home due to a paper work error and we had no cap and gown, no announcements, no cake, no party planned.
Nothing.
Nada.
Nil.
Zilch.
So, much to Blake's delight, his completion of high school went virtually unnoticed.
Not so with his completion of boot camp.
And therein lies the problem.
Blake does not like parties at which he is the guest of honor.
HE. DOES. NOT. LIKE. THEM. ONE. BIT.
He told me this week they make him feel like a zoo animal on display.
Now as much as I respect his reserved nature, IT'S NOT ALL ABOUT HIM.
IS IT?
That is why today I am having a Welcome Home From Boot Camp Party for him.
And he is so disappointed.
Not only is there that discomfort of being the center of attention, but he found out that he could be going on a poolee function with his recruiter. A really good poolee function where he was going to get to wear his cammies, carry his pack and hike all day while potential recruits learn what's in store for them. He was going to get to be a real Marine.
And I'm making him stay home to greet family and friends, eat some cake and a few snacks and miss all the real fun.
*sigh*
I keep telling myself that I should not be frightened by the fact that in the last week I've heard hi say things like "Bam! Elbow to the temple!" and "I got to box twice in the crucible because I won my first round!" I keep trying to wipe from my memory the letter in which he wrote that he now knows how to sever limbs with a knife. I am trying to ignore the fact that he spent a day or two playing with telephone poles like he used to play with Lincoln logs. And the bulging biceps and forearms? I'm trying not to focus on those.
For surely, SURELY he would use none of these against his mother simply because I wouldn't let him go play in the mud today. SURELY he knows that motherhood is an American institution that is to be honored - like baseball, hot dogs and apple pie. SURELY the two peanut butter crunch cakes he's inhaled since he's been home count for something - and the daily letters I wrote him through boot camp as well.
SURELY I have enough going for me that this one little, itty bitty, slight will protect me from my one big bad Marine who wants to go out and play war games but is being made to sit in clean clothes and visit friends and relatives.
Right? RIIIIGHT?
And if all that counts for nothing, I think my stink eye is still quite effective, even on him.
He did graduate. I mean, he got all his credits, completed his classes and received a diploma. But he didn't walk in the ceremony because he was supposed to be at boot camp but then he got sent home due to a paper work error and we had no cap and gown, no announcements, no cake, no party planned.
Nothing.
Nada.
Nil.
Zilch.
So, much to Blake's delight, his completion of high school went virtually unnoticed.
Not so with his completion of boot camp.
And therein lies the problem.
Blake does not like parties at which he is the guest of honor.
HE. DOES. NOT. LIKE. THEM. ONE. BIT.
He told me this week they make him feel like a zoo animal on display.
Now as much as I respect his reserved nature, IT'S NOT ALL ABOUT HIM.
IS IT?
That is why today I am having a Welcome Home From Boot Camp Party for him.
And he is so disappointed.
Not only is there that discomfort of being the center of attention, but he found out that he could be going on a poolee function with his recruiter. A really good poolee function where he was going to get to wear his cammies, carry his pack and hike all day while potential recruits learn what's in store for them. He was going to get to be a real Marine.
And I'm making him stay home to greet family and friends, eat some cake and a few snacks and miss all the real fun.
*sigh*
I keep telling myself that I should not be frightened by the fact that in the last week I've heard hi say things like "Bam! Elbow to the temple!" and "I got to box twice in the crucible because I won my first round!" I keep trying to wipe from my memory the letter in which he wrote that he now knows how to sever limbs with a knife. I am trying to ignore the fact that he spent a day or two playing with telephone poles like he used to play with Lincoln logs. And the bulging biceps and forearms? I'm trying not to focus on those.
For surely, SURELY he would use none of these against his mother simply because I wouldn't let him go play in the mud today. SURELY he knows that motherhood is an American institution that is to be honored - like baseball, hot dogs and apple pie. SURELY the two peanut butter crunch cakes he's inhaled since he's been home count for something - and the daily letters I wrote him through boot camp as well.
SURELY I have enough going for me that this one little, itty bitty, slight will protect me from my one big bad Marine who wants to go out and play war games but is being made to sit in clean clothes and visit friends and relatives.
Right? RIIIIGHT?
And if all that counts for nothing, I think my stink eye is still quite effective, even on him.
Friday, October 22, 2010
JUST A FEW FAVORITES.....
I had found a website on which I could buy t-shirts for Blake's graduation - t-shirts specific to his battalion; however, I didn't order them soon enough and therefore was unable to get our sizes. Failure number 1.
I was, however, able to order rally towels for the moto run.
So I took the rally towels to our local sporting goods store and asked them to copy that emblem onto t-shirts for us.
They did an amazing job.
Blake's biggest cheerleaders - Echo Company Platoon 2108
And the front view - as we wait for the bus. This is about an hour before we were to see him for the first time. The neat thing about this is that Blake liked them so much he asked for one and suggested we have a family snapshot taken in them. I felt like a Terrible Marine Mom (TMM) for not having one made for him. That mistake has been corrected and we will get that snapshot taken this weekend.
There were lots of photos taken that weekend - photos of dress blues, parade formation, Old Glory, pomp and circumstance of all kinds.
But nothing - NOTHING - warms my heart like this photo below.
I was, however, able to order rally towels for the moto run.
So I took the rally towels to our local sporting goods store and asked them to copy that emblem onto t-shirts for us.
They did an amazing job.
Blake's biggest cheerleaders - Echo Company Platoon 2108
And the front view - as we wait for the bus. This is about an hour before we were to see him for the first time. The neat thing about this is that Blake liked them so much he asked for one and suggested we have a family snapshot taken in them. I felt like a Terrible Marine Mom (TMM) for not having one made for him. That mistake has been corrected and we will get that snapshot taken this weekend.
There were lots of photos taken that weekend - photos of dress blues, parade formation, Old Glory, pomp and circumstance of all kinds.
But nothing - NOTHING - warms my heart like this photo below.
My marine and his dad. I absolutely loved watching them together all weekend. One man sharing his journey with another.
It is such a simple photo - poorly shot and not at all contest worthy, I know. But oh how it speaks to me.
I'd say each of them was walking a little taller that weekend.
I am in love.
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