Meet Socks December 30, 2009

Sure, he looks all cute, sorrowful and snuggly laying there on my (oops!) unmade bed, but don’t be deceived– he was sent by Al Qaeda to terrorize my home. He has earned the nickname “Osocksma bin Beagle” for his efforts.

He belongs to my ex, but spends an extended amount of time here since an apartment is too confining for his nefarious activities. At this point I should mention that the doctor said it would be great for my ex to have a dog– it would get him out walking and getting exercise. He has gained 8 lbs and cracked 2 ribs while chasing the runaway beagle boy.

In the time Socks has spent here he has managed to chew up 2 of my Christmas Santas and a tree ornament. He has destroyed countless wrappers, containers, a sturdy plastic bowl,  and several treat bags the kids got from school– including the pencils! On my dining room table was a box of peanut crunch awaiting gift wrapping. Socks looked at it as an afternoon snack, pulled it off of the table and enjoyed it, box and all.

Unfortunately for Socks, he isn’t the brightest light in the harbor. (But he is a shining beacon in the bay of stupidity.) He pulled a glass baking dish off the stovetop and proceeded to try and eat the meatloaf off the broken glass. He has eaten numerous things that would have done a lesser dog in, including a large bag of Splenda. This was a meal after his previous week’s appetizer of a partial bag of Splenda brown sugar substitute. We have learned now to put these things back in the cabinet immediately, or at least push them far enough back on the counter that he can’t reach them.

Socks did show a moment of brilliance on Monday morning. He managed to escape through the garage door and head out for a neighborhood adventure. I was willing to let him go, but I had a very upset little boy, so we headed out to look for him. When we finally caught up with him, he was following the barking of some fenced dogs. Z11 hopped out to get him and he started to run, but wait, there was a standard poodle that had to be at least 4 foot off the ground, staring him down. Socks contemplated this marvel with the big, fluffy ball on his tail, then looked at Z, looked back at the Amazon-sized dog and practically leapt into Z’s arms. Good going Socks!

Resolution vs. Realization December 28, 2009

Should I make a resolution to blog more often? to lose weight? to make some other resolution I won’t keep? No, I’m not going to do that. In my experience, resolving to do something just makes it that much less likely to happen.

Instead I’m going to make realizations.

I realize that 20 blog posts over 365 days isn’t much. I also realize that each blog post does not have to be a great work of literature, nor does it have to be deep and profound. It can just be what it is.

I realize that my life is what I make it. If I am unhappy then I should do something about making myself happier. Alas, it is not reasonable to kill those around you who are making you miserable, so eating chocolate will continue to be my happy-maker.

I realize that my children are who they are. All I can do is help them to become the best “them” they can be. (did that make sense?) I can still yell at them randomly, but I should quit hoping that it’s going to turn them into saints.

I realize that my parents are getting older. I realize that “getting older” is code for “my parents are over 70 and are going to drive me to drinking hard liquor before my 42nd birthday.” I also realize I can’t send them to “the home” until they are actually ready to go.

I realize that you can’t make someone love you if they don’t. (with a nod to Bonnie Raitt there) Of course, you can always restrain them in a chair until they tell you what you want to hear.

Ah 2010! What glorious adventures do you hold? Judging from what I have written above, perhaps anger management classes? Nah. I’m a pretty happy girl.

Dreams September 13, 2009

Last night I dreamed he held me. Doesn’t that sound really romantic? Except that I have no idea who “he” was. It was nice to be held. It’s been awhile, you know? Just as I was about to look up into my dreamy studmuffin’s eyes and discover his identity– and this is important because what if he is the produce guy at WalMart or something and I’ve been overlooking him during my grocery shopping excursions? Anyway, just I was about to identify the tall guy with the solid chest invading my dreams, Z11 starts shaking my foot, telling me to wake up. Why? Is the house on fire? No, she just appointed herself the alarm fairy and it is now her personal mission to make sure we are all awake at the hour she deems appropriate.

Isn’t having a tween great? I think I might have really enjoyed the rest of that dream. I was already feeling like I had eaten a large bag of M&M’s though, so maybe it couldn’t have gotten much better.

Baby Talk September 6, 2009

Z11 and I have been doing a little scrapbooking recently and looking at her baby pictures. I was discussing with her how children go through phases where their looks change. It was hard for her to understand my meaning when I said there were days she was precious and days where… well, not so much. So, I whipped out the picture of her in which she bears a striking resemblance to Edward G. Robinson looking as if he has just smelled something pretty rank. She was not amused.

‘Fess up moms! There were times when you looked down at your baby and thought, “Dear Lord, I’ve given birth to Buddy Ebsen.” That’s because most babies look like old men.

I was at a store when a woman came up and said to me, “what a cute little boy! What’s his name?” Well, lady, I realize my baby looks like a short, fat man from a 1930’s gangster flick, (and oh how I have cried over that!) but HER name is Z and I would think you might have been tipped off to that fact that SHE is a GIRL by the pink overalls and the bow on her head. Sheesh!

Let’s face it, no one looks good after they’ve been in a womb for 9 months. But, for a new mother who is riddled with hormones, anxiety and depression there is a special hell in wondering if your child is forever going to look like they’ve just been claimed from the uterus. You don’t voice your fears to everyone because they’re all telling you how gorgeous the baby is, even though you know they are wondering the same thing.

And, of course, the babies plump up, lose the red tint, grow some hair and become so darn cute you just want to eat ‘em up. When my daughter was a baby, I remember reading an article that said that children’s facial structure sets sometime between 6 and 7 years. I just kept praying she would be in one of her cute phases when it did.

Give me a moment, please?!? July 20, 2009

I love being with my kids. They are funny and cute, serious and wise– and yes, sometimes annoying. Nothing sets my teeth on edge faster than the shrill screams of , “he’s touching me,” or “she scratched me.” (There is no justice for the little brother whose big sister has fingernails.) All in all they are good kids, even when Z9 gets a little yakkity-yak. I figure he’s just making up for the first 4 years of his life when he kept silent and let Z11 do all his talking for him.

Still, I long for a trip to the bathroom that does not feature someone screaming my name and tracking me down, then knocking on the door and asking, “what are you doing in there?” I’m in the bathroom with the door closed. What do they think I am doing in there– underwater basket weaving in the tub?

Usually in the evenings I retire to my boudoir where I work on the laptop, maybe watch a little TV, or read a book. Do I do this alone? God forbid! They troop in behind me carrying their hobbies, Nintendos, books or whatever else they can find (which is also why my bedroom looks like a receptacle for abandoned toys) and we spend “quality” time together. This often consists of them either fighting over what they are going to watch on TV or telling me they don’t like what I’m watching. It has apparently completely escaped their notice that there are two other, fully-functional, cable televisions less than 100 feet from this room.

Generally,  the quality time is fine. I don’t watch much TV, so they are free to spend the evening with “Phineas & Ferb” if they like, and we can visit with each other throughout the evening. However, just let me try to watch something on TV I really want to see and all hell breaks loose. Suddenly Z9 has a mosquito bite that needs treatment. “Can you fix it at the next commercial, mom?” “Son, I’m watching PBS, there are no commercials. Just come here and I will take care of it.” He then feels compelled to tell me the names, ages, birthdates and character traits of every person in the computer game he is playing. Z11 is wanting help navigating through something else on a different computer. My mother calls– twice.

At this point, all I want to  know is “whodunit?” It wouldn’t be so bad if I hadn’t already seen the crime committed, but no, they let me get interested in it before they try to drag me away from it. “Okay guys, just let me see the end of this and find out who did it.” “It’s Miss Marple, mom, you already said you’ve read all the books.” Oh thank you 11-year-old fount of wisdom. But this is a film production I’ve never seen before and it’s been 14 years since I read the books. I’ve given birth since then, and God help me, I’ve left brain cells scattered all over southwest Oklahoma and north Texas.

Further Adventures in Dating July 6, 2009

Honestly, you can’t make this stuff up.

I cancelled my subscription to the online dating site several months ago, yet I continue to get emails from them with the “blank silhouette photo” and enticing words like “meet Joe- is he the one you’re looking for?” Of course, this is all an attempt to get me to sign back up and pay some ridiculously astronomical membership fee. I think not.

So, whilst sifting through my email this morning I find that I am, once again, being wooed by a faceless man. “Meet John*- he could be that someone special.” I glance down and see that John* is 43, lives in the OKC area, is 5′10″ (here comes the part you can’t make up) and a maintenance man at a pig farm. Uh huh.

I am all for honesty when filling out your online profiles, but I believe if that was my job I would lie, at least until I got the girl to go on a few dates with me. If it seemed like she liked me and wanted to see more of me, then I would drop the bomb on her. “Honey, I  like you, so I want to tell you what I really do for a living. I am the janitor over at Bill’s Pig Farm.” If she doesn’t run screaming into the night, it’s true love. But, I’m going to be up front with you John*, I don’t think I’ve ever heard a woman say her dream man worked down on the pig farm.

Hey, the guy has a job, and it sounds like an honest living (if not a particularly clean one), but maybe he could fancy up that description a bit.  “Chief Engineer of Swine Habitation” makes the job sound a bit more palatable. Not to mention sounding a lot less like he’s got 3 teeth in his head and reeks of pig poo at the end of the day.

Have you noticed the ads that say things like “Meet Catholic Singles,” “Meet Single Dads,” “Meet Christian Singles,” etc. ? And have you noticed how all the men in those ads are particularly good looking? Women look at them and think “Hot Damn! I could snag me a good-looking, rich (Catholic, Christian, single dad) guy if I join this website. Ha, ha and double ha!

Don’t be fooled ladies. When you get to the website and sign up and of course pay to be able to see pictures, you are going to be sorely disappointed. Why? Because there are no single, good-looking men trying to find true love on these sites. It’s the same guy with a plug of chaw in his cheek and a job as a pig farmer that is on every other dating site you’ve visited.

Torn May 11, 2009

As far back as  can remember I wanted to be a mother. Second only to that wish was my desire to write.  As most writers and other creative types will attest, making a living doing something you love isn’t a likely prospect. What I need is one amazingly fabulous article to get picked up by a national publication.

Alas, I’m writing about affordable family vacations. *yawn* I firmly believe vacations should be expensive  and you should spend as much as you want because you are probably someplace you will never go again. Why not enjoy it to the fullest?

I digress.

I find myself faced with the possibility of taking a job with more tradtional hours, something I haven’t done since 1994, and hadn’t really planned on doing until my kids were several years older. Of course, I also hadn’t planned on being a single mother with a limited income.

I don’t want to spend more time away from my children since (most of the time) I actually enjoy their company (except when Zoe is in full mood mode, like now), but the need for food and shelter seems to outweigh the necessity of  being at home with them all summer. Especially since their grandmother will be able to care for them and take them to camps and enrichment programs.

I worry that if I’m not as easily accessible to them as usual that they might hang out with the wrong kids or forget to tell me something important about their day, or that they might not talk to me about the little things. I don’t want to miss out on a minute of Zac’s quirky humor or one of Zoe’s malaprops. I worry that they will start to share these things with my mom. She’s good, but she’s not me.

Only time can tell what kind of change this will bring into our lives. I just hope we can weather it like we have so many other storms and come out on the other side relatively unscathed.

Pondering Plague, Pestilence and Famine April 30, 2009

We’ve had torrential rain here over the past few days, resulting in a total rainfall of around 5 inches. (with more thunderstorms expected tonight) There are 5 probable cases of swine flu here in Lawton. That covers flood and plague. I commented on my Facebook page that I am now just waiting for pestilence and famine to come-a-knocking at the door.

Not that my gut couldn’t use a little famine. C.S.S. commented that her butt could as well. I don’t worry too much about famine since we have a seemingly endless supply of food in the U.S., however, I do worry someone might tell me not to leave my house to get those Chick-Fil-A nuggets I’ve been jonesing for because the ebola virus is running rampant in the streets.

I’m not panicky, which is strange for someone with  OCD tendancies, but I want to be cautious. How do I ensure the kids are religiously keeping their hands washed and sanitized in that germ factory we call a “school?” They aren’t that dedicated in the best of times. Their concept of a flu pandemic is seriously limited except when I tell them someone has died from it and I don’t want to scare the hell out of them, just make sure they understand the importance of good hygiene.

If I see a swarm of locusts descending on the house I will seriously start to ponder the “end times.” Not to worry though, I’m pretty sure I’m good with God and I do have flood insurance, so it’s all good unless Noah shows up on my front porch!

Conversation With A 9-Year-Old April 16, 2009

Z9 (playing on computer while chatting with me): So, let me get this straight, you’re the Easter Bunny?

Me: Yes, that’s right.

Z9: And you are also the Tooth Fairy?

Me: That’s right.

Z9: Are you also Santa Clause?

Me: Absolutely not. Santa is the real deal.

He goes back to playing on computer, then turns and looks up at me again completely serious

Z9: Are you Jesus?

Me: No son, not even close.

I was worried that somehow after all my careful teaching that he had somehow equated Jesus with these mythical characters, but after some discussion he assured me that he knew Jesus had been a real person who now lives in Heaven with God, but he just wanted to “make sure.”

In Which I Get Really Random April 3, 2009

I am feeling better today, so no more flaming blog posts for the moment.

First of all, I found a bath mat thanks to Martha and KMart. I know you are all heaving a collective sigh of relief because you were worried that my quest for the perfect bath mat would be fruitless. It is a lovely shade of turquoise that really makes the browns in the bathroom pop. There were towels to match, so yeah, I’m blissed out.

This week I have been trying to participate in my friend Jessica’s “photo frenzy,” in a quest to inspire my inner creative genius. I’ve taken lots of pictures, but have only come up with one that had me really feeling it.

So, of course, they are mine and I am biased, but they’re good looking kids and I think the picture came out great. I’m having it printed for framing. Perhaps I should entitle it “Peace on Earth,” since it is one of the rare times that they aren’t at each other’s throats. I think it really captures them because Z10 looks sullen, (think pre-teen angst), and Z9 looks just a little sly, like he’s planning something– maybe pinching his sister– and in fact, he probably was.

I just saw a study on TV that says at age 40 fertility declines to about 40%. Not that I was planning on having any more, but it is just another one of those things that growing older takes from you. It starts with the ability to reproduce and pretty soon you are going from the earth mother phase to dried up old crone. After that it’s a downhill slide. Your body will betray you and you’ll end up wearing divided denim skirts, appliqued t-shirts that profess your love of cats, and SAS shoes. I try to stay as hip and fashionable as possible, but if I am being honest, my boots hurt my feet.

Today’s photo frenzy subject is “love,” which elminates me taking pictures of the kids, obviously. I would like to catch Blossom asleep with her ball in her mouth because that is true love if ever I saw it.