Monthly Archives: January 2012

~ So What? ~

So many of my previous posts have starred my son, Critter, and his many endearing antics. He is a handful and will most likely be the next Dick Van Dyke when he grows up. If we hear one of the cats cry out, or if there is the sound of breaking glass, or the thud of something heavy bouncing down the stairs, we generally look for him.

But I DO have another child. The beautiful and talented Varmint.

My dad used to call her his ‘Rosebud’ before he died. I call her ‘Varmint,’ ‘Peanut’, and sometimes, ‘Butthead’, but only on special occasions.  She is, without a doubt, one of the funniest, sharpest-witted 10.5 year olds I’ve ever met.

But Varmint is a worrier.

She worries about pleasing the teachers. She worries about pleasing her friends. She worries about pleasing the basketball coach. I’m pretty sure she’d worry about pleasing the mailman, given the chance.

(Oddly enough, by the looks of her room, she doesn’t worry too darn much about pleasing her Mama.)

This excessive worrying drives her to go above and beyond the call of duty on too many things. If anyone is ripe for an ulcer, its her. For example, at her school recently, each 4th and 5th grade child had to choose an historic figure in the Revolutionary war, and play the part of that person in a little “wax museum” for parents. Each kid had a lengthy report of facts about their character. And they read these facts. Well, MOST of them did.

Varmint memorized her page of facts, and acted it out as if she was Sarah Bernhardt.

“Why?” I asked?
“Because the teacher said she would like it if we had good eye contact while we were in character.”

I just stared at her. Lemme get this straight. The teacher mentioned eye contact is a good thing, so my daughter memorized a bizillion word essay to please her.  Understand that in preparation for this, we cried over this report.  We lamented over how much work it was.  We fought through each and every agonizing stressful moment of it.  ….and we didn’t have to??

I took a deep breath. “Alrighty Then.”

My goal now is to teach this child the meaning of “So What.”

It’s an important phrase that a wise woman once suggested that I, in my over-achiever, Type-A personality, adopt.  The point is that nothing any of us may fail at will result in end of the world. The universe will not implode if we screw up. (Probably.)

Not enough time to finish homework? So What?
Not straight A’s in class? So What?
Art Teacher doesn’t like your work? So What?
Hair a bit out of place? So what? Its not the end of the world!

Perspective is a hard thing to maintain. We are so tiny in this universe. Our biggest problems don’t amount to much at all. But in the day to day minutiae crap, we forget this! So I try to live with “So What” and not get wrapped around the axle about the small stuff if I can help it. And she so desperately needs to learn this, too. Soon. VERY SOON.

Now, Critter, on the other hand…..

Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

~ Bubble, Bubble, Toil, and Trouble ~

It all started innocently enough.

“Mom?”
“Yes, love?”
“Can I use your bathtub for my bath and put the jets on?”
(Chuckling) “Sure. Just remember I want you to be IN BED by 8:00pm, and try not to get so much water on the floor, ok?”
“Thanks!” (I hear water running.)

A full hour passes. I hear giggling. I hear laughing. I hear a concerning amount of splashing.

“Hey Mom! You gotta see this!”
“Wait a minute honey. I’m just checking my blog to see if anyone is at all interested in my blatherings.”
“But Mom! You’ve got to come NOW! Its important!”

(Hmmm. THAT can’t be good.)

And this is what I walked into:

Actually, it was much higher than this.

Now, SOME people might get angry. There was, after all, a considerable amount of water and bubbles on the floor. There was hardly any of my Pomegranite-Incredibly-Expensive-Guaranteed-to-Make-You-Look-and-Smell-Better-Than-You-Do-Naturally Soap left. The cat was wet. Not entirely, but enough to show he’d narrowly missed a bath himself. And, it was past 8:00…the IN BED deadline.

But to those people, I say…. STOP. Look at this picture again:

Do you remember at all what it felt like to be 8? I sure as hell don’t.

And I sure as hell wish I could.

Categories: Uncategorized | 3 Comments

~ Walk All Over Me, Please. ~

I have a fetish.

I’ve had it for years, and its slowly gotten worse. I know I probably need some kind of group therapy for it, but I am a horrible listener (which explains this blog,) and I imagine that rolling my eyes during a group therapy session would go over like a turd in a punchbowl.

And I’ve been known to roll my eyes. Its a bad habit I’ve learned from the masters ~ Gwen, Garrick, and sadly, Troy.

But when it comes right down to it, I really don’t WANT to change, so group therapy or any 12-step program would be wasted on me. (Its kind of like the idea of dieting is wasted on me. I really don’t want to. Counting points, counting carbs, counting calories….WHATEVER. I would rather count the minutes until my next meal.)

Ok, here it is, my big confession. Please don’t judge me.

I ADORE DOOR MATS.

Yes, I said it. Door Mats.

Have you ANY IDEA how difficult it is to be a closet Door Mat Adorer? It’s nearly impossible! Door Mats are right out front, not in some stinkin closet!

“Why?” you ask? “Why, Pam? Why Door Mats? Why not Salt and Pepper shakers, or Tea Cups, or Historic Coins or Irish Spoons? Who in the world collects Door Mats?”

Talk about an opportunity to control a first impression! Door Mats ARE the quintessential first impression! I love to change them to fit my various Moods. I have some to reflect the season or Holiday. (WIPE YOUR FEET! This includes you, Santa!). I have some to reflect my philosophies. (Enjoy Life!) But my favorite is ridiculously simple, and leaves everyone who passes over it smiling. It reads simply,

“Hi, I’m Mat.”

It’s so silly, and it speaks to everyone.

That’s what people relate to, really. We humans love Silly. And not just any silly…we love Simple Silly. Arrogance tunes people out. Simple Silly endears. Like a Golden Retriever. Not the brightest bulb in the box of dog choices, but argueably one of the most loveable.

I wish I had more doorways so I could get more doormats. Is that wrong? Do I need an intervention?

Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

~ I’m Not Made of Money! ~

Today has been one of the most wonderful days! This blog went live, and the response was over the top more than I ever imagined it might be. To say I am elated is an understatement.

I am NOT going to admit to you that as I watched the number of visitors to my site climb well over 300 throughout the day, I kept dancing around and clapping. I’m NOT going to tell you I broke into tears reading some of the emails of encouragement. I won’t admit to any of those things, because I’m reserved like that.

BUT, I will tell you that I feel like Sally Fields when receiving a People’s Choice Award: “You like me! You really do like me!”

Naturally, my children wanted to know what their weirdo mother was up to this time. They like to be prepared and braced for any backlash that might happen at school…not that that would happen…again.

I was trying to explain to the kids what a blog is. The first questions they raised were basically “Yeah, but what’s in it for us?”. That’s normal, I guess. I told them (rather sarcastically) that if Mamaboe.com went viral, it could result in advertisers looking to partner with me. It could result in a book deal. It could result in all kinds of positive monetary flow! IT COULD RESULT IN A TRIP TO DISNEY WORLD!

Of course, Disney is what really spoke to them. I’ve always wanted to take them, but whenever we managed to save the money for it, something else has come up. My 9 and 10 year olds have never been to Disney! (I keep expecting Children’s Protective Services to call.)

Gwen immediately began brainstorming about how she could help the effort of growing Mamaboe.com. “I’ll make Flyers and hand them out at school!” She’s always been my go-getter, ultra-responsible, generous-hearted peanut.

Garrick’s mind works a little differently:
“Mom?” he asked, “Will you be a millionaire?”
“You never know!” I laughed.
“YES!” he shrieked! “That means you will finally stop saying that annoying ‘I’m not made of money!’ that you always say!

Well. If that isn’t motivation for me to work hard at making this blog a success, I don’t know what is.

(She claps her hands together and rubs them vigorously.)

I’d better get to work!

Categories: Uncategorized | 6 Comments

~ Busting A Gut ~

One of the many reasons I have not been riding on the Medic Unit with our local fire station lately is that I have a Ventral Hernia.  (collective “EWWWWWWWWW”)  Easy there, Kimosabes, it’s not that gross.  At least, not unless I make you touch it.

Then it’s fabulously disgusting.  (ask my daughter.)

I’m not going to regale you with nasty details and anatomical descriptions.  All it means is part of my intestines are coming though the scar in my belly from a previous surgery last spring.  Until we can go in and fix it surgically, in a month or so, I mustn’t lift enormously heavy things (like patients on medic unit cots), bear down too hard when I’m, er….YOU KNOW,  or do sit-ups.  (Oooooo.  Like that last one is a sacrifice.)

And I’m no hero.  I have been using this baby to get me out of as much as possible.  Did you know I can’t lift laundry baskets or large grocery bags or any other thing that might be remotely displeasing to me?  Whatever is inconvenient, I can’t lift.  Just ask my husband, Troy.

So its been this family joke for a little while as we wait for the surgery to happen.  “Mommy can’t, guys, she might bust a gut.”

And today, during one of the two basketball games I attended for my kids, I learned something else about Ventral Hernias.

You can’t scream maniacally, jump up and down, and do victory dances with one.  …or you actually WILL Bust a Gut.  Literally.

My son scored the only basket during his game today.  My son, the littlest one.  My son, the one most often treated with disdain and impatience and basically ostracized by his peers because of his crazy impulsivity, came into a moment of glory during his team’s crushing defeat.  I saw his little form steal the ball, zip in and out and under the other, bigger, more talented players, take a chance, shoot, and score and I LITERALLY turned inside out for him.   I mean, I was the quintessential embarrassment to my children.  The parent that makes everyone feel sorry for the kid.  That was me.

And then, I felt a pop, a burning, and I thought….either I just made my hernia worse, or I am gestating an Alien.  Or I need to ease up on the Taco Bell.

Needless to say, I spent the entire time during my daughter Gwendolyn’s game on the bleachers, with one hand holding my belly.   But I was prepared!  I knew that when and if Gwen had a moment of glory, I would be willing to blow out the rest of my intestines for her as I turned inside out again.

If that isn’t motherly love, I just don’t know what is.

Categories: Uncategorized | 10 Comments

Blog at WordPress.com.