life with WE

Mr. Memory and a memory - or twenty.

W: Mom, you know what?
Me: What?
W:  Moon sand isn't like ORDINARY sand.  It's mold-able.  And it never dries out.
Me: You don't say.

then later...

W: Mom, you have to be eight to have the rocket that flies over 3 feet.

later still...

W: Oh that's from SpongeBob.  The Best Day Ever episode. 

Enough weirdness, let's get to it.  It's

I'm flashing back today to a few random moments from my early teen years.  If you are wondering what has sparked this, it's due to one too many times of watching Lainey refuse to listen to me.  And watching Warren already think that clearly his mom doesn't know the answer, only his best fried Chris does.  All of that makes me afraid.  Deathly afraid.  Afraid of what's to come in the teen years.  And it makes me think back, to when I was thirteen, fourteen and fifteen.  I won't even address the sixteen and on years right now.

When I think back in general to those years, 1987-1989, some vivid moments come to mind:

• my mom smacking me across the face in the hallway when I told her she was stupid, I hated her and called her a bitch.  (Well deserved smack, eh?  It totally caught me by surprise.  I quickly learned after that to say those things under my breath in my room.  Duh.)
• my first "boyfriend" - Joe.  Or as my dad referred to him, "Joe sweetie". 
• the massive amount of hairspray film on our bathroom door caused by me, Aqua-net, and the need to make my thin stick straight hair poof as high as it could.
• getting zits.
• not having any boobs.  For real.  Late bloomer.
• braces - only for 9 months, but the retainers prior to that were for 2 years full time.
• "going out" and "being in love"  (today I say, PUH-LEASE.)
• busting out of the awkward phase just at 15.  Everything finally was coming together.  Still, no boobs, but they were getting ready.
• not really knowing my place.  Do I play with my sisters?  Or am I too old and cool for that?  Sit with the adults?
• babysitting jobs.
• age thirteen is when my anxiety really began to kick in.  Oy vey.
• talking to my friends all day at school, and then still all night on the telephone.  (What in the world were we talking about?)
• passing notes in class.
• writing a boy's name all over my folder.  Then when I no longer liked him, demanding that my mom purchase me a new one because oh how embarrassing.
• my first boy girl party for my birthday.  In my basement.  Complete with a cupcake fight that really ticked my mom off.

So today, I ask you to take a moment and think of when you were 13-15 years old.  Maybe if we remember ourselves then from time to time, it'll be easier to deal with our children?  I doubt it.  I'm likely to say the same things to them that my parents said to me, which did nothing but piss me off and further my belief that they had no clue what life was like for a teenager.  Oh how selfish.  Share some memories in the comments section would you?

(And on a side note - really, I am quite rambly and disorganized lately.  Sorry about that.  I think it is caused my this overwhelming desire to remove every trace of Christmas from my house because I am OH SO DONE with it, but I don't have the energy to tackle that task right now.  I'll be better in the new year.  Much better.  At least for a week or so.  See you in 2007!  Holy cow.  2007.  I have got to get my act together!)

Christmas detox. Day 2

Wednesday was MUCH better than Tuesday.  A little less fighting, a little less chaotic, still no sugar.  WOO HOO, we might be back in the groove.

Now I need to detox.  Last night Mike and I spent the evening with friends catching up.  And drinking.  And catching up.  Oh and the drinking. 

Nothing helps hurry along a hangover faster than two kids up at 7 AM rip roarin and ready to go.

Off to the grocery store.  I'll be the pretty one there with the pallid complexion, bags under the eyes, and freshly showered hair.

Christmas detox. Day 1

Yesterday, Tuesday, turned out to be day 1 of the post-Christmas detox program.  And people, it wasn't pretty. 

Sure, there was no vomiting involved.  No one had the shakes.  We didn't sweat while hallucinating.  But life here at Casa de la Rogers just wasn't as fun as it should have been.

I'm guessing this was due in some part (likely LARGE PART) to crazy schedules and new gifts the prior days had brought.  I spent Christmas evening putting all the new toys together and finding homes for them in the toyroom.  I moved several things to the basement, and at least one bag of stuff into that circular bin - the trash can.  I expected Tuesday to be a fun day - playing with the new toys, staying at home in our jammies etc.  Well, by 9 AM, my voice had reached that fevered pitch that I hadn't heard since my pre-zoloft days, back in 2003.  The fighting, the whining, the tears, the inability to listen to any instruction or reprimand out of my mouth...  I tried time outs.  I tried sending them to their rooms.  I put the Lincoln Logs and the Ariel earrings in timeout.

Nothing worked.  I couldn't take it, and I broke.  I screamed.  I yelled.  My voice rose to 'that pitch' - the one you instantly recognize and that causes you to cringe.

And then I heard Lainey mimic my words, complete with her hand on her hip - and I wanted to cry.  "I am done with this.  You two are acting idiculous (ridiculous)!"   What was I doing?  Yelling wasn't helping, and now I felt like a total ass.  A jerk.  A horrid parent who's children should be taken away quickly to the nearest shelter.

So, I calmed down.  I berated myself, and then got over it.  I took a moment.  I took a LONG shower, and ignored any screaming that went on in my room while I showered.  I knew they wouldn't kill each other, and that they were just wound up.  I came out revitalized, and clean I might add.

The kids really didn't change their behavior, but I changed mine.  I think next year, I'll mark the two weeks before Christmas as the days to double up on zoloft.  That way, perhaps this won't happen again on 12/26/2007?

I'm re-releasing the Lincoln Logs and Ariel earrings today.  Let's hope for the best.

It's not Christmas Eve yet, it's just

I'm flashing back today to some first Christmases. 

The first Christmas Mike and I celebrated was in December of 1992.  We had been dating for maybe 3 1/2 months.  Christmas was a nerve-wracking time for me that year.  The thoughts that ran through my head - should I buy him a gift, how much to spend, what to get him, would he get me something, do I sign 'love' on the card?  I'm sure Mike didn't give it nearly as much thought!  Imagine that - me making a mountain out of a molehill.  Clearly, I wasn't on zoloft yet.  Should've been, but wasn't.  I digress.  I remember that I got him a sweater, and he got me perfume.  Escape to be exact.  I still love that smell.

Another first Christmas was in 1996.  The first year Mike and I were married.  The first year my parents were separated/divorced.  I can't remember what their legal status was at that point.  This began the worry of doing what with who on what day.  Ahh fun.  Anywho - back to me and Mike and our first married Christmas.  We were broke, the usual.  I made ornaments for our tree - presents - and hung them with paper clips swiped from work.  Sorry IFTC.  We decided on Christmas Eve to go to the mall together, spend like 50 bucks on each other, and then meet back up to drive home.  When we got home that evening, we wrapped our presents.  Oddly enough, we bought each other the same pair of slippers.  Seriously - his and hers.  Dorks.  And I think we both bought an "our first Christmas" ornament.

(On a side note, this "matching" present giving happened again.  I can't remember the year, but we bought each other watches.  His and hers Skagen watches - silver with a blue face.  Ahh dorky love.  We are the masters of it!)

Warren's first Christmas was in 2002.  We drove to Hilton Head, SC that year to celebrate with Mike's dad, stepmom, and his two brothers.  We caravaned with Wendy's family (Mike's sister), driving in shifts - the men then the women.  Wendy and I chatted over two-way radios as we drank HORRID gas station coffee while driving through the dark.  Warren was 9 months old and had no clue about Christmas, but he had a good time. (Look at that sweet face, and pay no attention to the bruise on his cheek.  Coffee tables - humph.)

Elaine's first Christmas was in 2004.  She was pulling up and attempting to stand at that point - only 7 months old.  She also did not care one bit about the presents, and as I recall was mostly happy about the wrapping paper and ribbons, which stuck to her drooly face because she was teething.  Poor baby.  (Check out her thighs - I miss those chubby little things!)

And now in 2006, my first blogging Christmas.  HA - I just made that up.  Really, I'm just looking for a way to end this post gracefully.  May you and yours have a wonderful holiday.  Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and Happy Kwanzaa!  I hope you celebrate with family and friends and are surrounded by love, good food, and good drink - not necessarily in that order!

I don't normally post two things in one day,

but this was one of the funniest things I have seen in a long time.  Driving to Target and QT today, I passed a small black pick up truck with the following label:

If that ain't the truth, I don't know what is.  A dry crack is a happy crack!  I don't need any foundation repair currently, but if I do, you can bet your crack I'm giving them a call!

Here's their website.

The undo button?

Elaine is a little goat.  She loves to run into you at top speeds, leading with her head.  I keep telling her to stop and that it hurts.  So, she's made an adjustment.

The minute after she rams me with her goat head, she'll kiss me and say, "mmm, I luf you mommy!"  And then, "it's the claw.  I gonna get you.  Tickle Tickle." 

Kisses and 'the claw' are not the undo button for being rammed, although I do appreciate the distraction!

Back to our regularly scheduled program.

I tried yesterday to have a "normal" low-key type day.  Although I have what seems like a million errands to do, I postponed them.  Why did I do this?  In an attempt to CALM MY CHILDREN DOWN.  They are like maniacs lately.  As Christmas creeps closer and the present giving begins, they turn into greedy little toy monsters; hungry for their next kill.  I thought a day in our pjs could be just what the doctor ordered.

Will I never learn?

The fighting began promptly at 7:30, and continued off and on all the doo da day.  I spent half the day punishing Warren for screaming as if his arm was being sawed off with a dull butter knife when in reality, he was just pissed that Lainey had touched one of his precious matchbox cars.  I spent the other half of the day keeping tabs on Elaine as she searched for things to destroy with markers, pen and pencils.  When they weren't fighting or in trouble, they were incahoots being wild, loud and did I mention WILD?  I went through my whole stay-at-home mom arsenal: play-doh, games, fun lunch in the toyroom, coloring, reading etc.  What did it get me?

Exhausted. Delirious. Spent.

And can I just mention how sick and tired I am of saying, "because I'm the mom and it's not open for discussion"?

So at 5pm, I jumped in the shower, and told the kids that by the time daddy got home, we needed to be dressed and presentable.  Then we were going to convince him to take us out to dinner.  Shweh.  It worked.  And they were pretty well-behaved at dinner.  For once.

I guess its back to crazy today.  What happened to these two relatively calm children?

Even back then, she worshiped him as her leader.  "Warrie, what kind of trouble should we start today?"  (June 2004)

Get with the program.

Last night was Warrie's preschool Christmas program.  What a hoot!  You know its going to be good when there are rows and rows of kids singing songs and doing actions.  They were dressed as different countries for this 'Christmas Around the World' spectacular.

Warren's class was Australia, which thankfully was easy.  Khaki pants, hiking boots, backpack etc.  Some of the other countries required kimonos, saris, and hockey gear (Canada).  My War was in row 4, and got to stand next to his best friend.  Warren, being the rule-follower that he is - followed his teacher's instructions to the t.  He sang loudly, did his actions, and paid attention.  It was a riot.  My favorite part might have been when they put their arms over their heads in the shape of a triangle, and then moved their heads side to side - Egyptian like.  I almost peed my pants at that part.

His best friend - did not sing or do one motion.  Hilarious.  Mike witnessed the kid picking his nose. 

There was a sweet girl in front who stole the show in my opinion.  Each move was flawless, she never lost her crown, and in-between numbers she shouted and waved, "hi Angie!  Hi Angie!"  Toward the end a kid in the front row took a spill, right into a poinsettia.  He avoided falling over the edge of the stage entirely though.  And of course, this was all shortly after our camcorder refused to record any more.  Bummer.

And at the very end of the show, they brought up a service man who recently returned from Iraq, after 16 months of deployment.  He was at the show to watch his niece as a surprise to her.  They brought him up front, he was carrying flowers for his niece, she got off the stage to give him a big hug, we were all clapping - you see where this is going.  Mmm hmm - tears welling up, and people about to cry.  I swear, if they would have started the national anthem at that point, I would have been sobbing.  Sweet.

All in all, a nice evening and a great program.  As Doug said, "that was better than Cats!"

Only one more day of school this week for the W.  Which means Christmas is almost here, and I'm SO NOT READY!

 

I'll let you in on a little secret...

the ' Naughty Santa' drink sucks.  It tastes just like cherry nyquil.  Mixed with a splash of club soda.  Booo.  I guess they all can't be as good as the pom-tini, can they?

But the beef tenderloin we made - c'est magnifique!

Now I've gotta run - I'll do a better blog tomorrow.  Tonight is Warren's preschool Christmas program.  Surely, there will be at least one blog-worthy moment.

Ho ho and ta ta!

You know what day it is people.

I'm not flashing back to a particular event, but more a time.  The time when I would fall asleep in the car and my dad would carry me into the house and put me to bed.  Ahhh, what a great time.

Until suddenly Jackie was born, and I was "too big" for dad to be carrying me.  Damnit.

Still, I'd pretend to be asleep, in the hopes that this time, just maybe, he'd try carrying me again.  After all, he was a young father.  Hell, when Jackie was born, he was only 25.  What strapping 25 year old can't carry in three girls and put them in their own beds?  I mean come on!  Here's how it'd usually go down.  Jackie and Jessie would already be asleep in the car.  I'd realize in only two minutes we'd be home, so I instantly closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep.  After parking the hoopty in the garage, my mom would get out, and my dad would carry Jackie in and put her in her crib.  Jessie and I remained "sleeping" in the car.  (Jessie was sleeping, I was faking it.)  My dad would return, and with a sigh, carry Jessie from the car to her bed in the room we shared.  Me, still pretending to sleep.  My mom would come out to the car and do her, "Jennifer, get up.  I know you are not asleep."  Sometimes, I would have to get up and walk my tired ass into the house, secretly jealous that my precious sisters got carried in by dad, and surely I was now losing my place as his favorite daughter.  Those selfish bitches! 

But sometimes, every so often, my dad would return to carry me.  I'm sure he knew I was faking sleep - it could have been that my eyes were squinched shut way too tightly to be sleeping.  Or that I would smile as he picked me up and throw my arms around his neck.  Come to think of it, I have no clue what could have given it away.  HA!  Regardless, he would come back and carry me.  The seven year old, who was too heavy and too old to be carried.  He'd do it though.  And on those nights, I was reassured that my status as favorite child was safe.

At least until the next morning when baby Jackie woke up!