Date Night. Then and Now.

Tonight was one of those extremely rare nights where BOTH boys were invited to a sleepover. At the same house. Brave people. Anyway...

I throw some mismatched clothes in a beach bag, topped by some pj's that were probably more suited for winter than the 90º day we had today, and sprint quickly put the boys and some sleeping bags in the car. While pulling out of the driveway, I mumble aloud, "With you guys gone, maybe dad and I will have a date night." To which my oldest replied, "Don't you think you're getting a little old for that?"

We did have a date night. But we've been together for 10 years, and the original date night was 2 kids ago...things have changed.

THEN: Date night started at 9PM.
NOW: We're out the door at 10 to five to, 'beat the crowd.'

THEN: A good time meant finding a happy hour, a big crowd, and food that came in a basket. It didn't matter what it was as long as it was deep-fried.
NOW: We avoid the crowds, we have dinner AND appetizers...sometimes fried.

THEN: I spent at least an hour getting ready. I had to have the perfect outfit, hair had to look good, make-up just so, and a quick spray of perfume.
NOW: Jeans that allow some expansion, shoes that aren't too worn but are going on 5+ years old, and good luck finding a shirt that isn't a T-shirt and doesn't reveal the muffin top I have when in sitting position. (Imagine assuming a squatting position in front of a full-length mirror to see if my rolls show through the shirt I've chosen.)

THEN: Drinks consisted of cheap beer and shots.

NOW: Sprite for him, wine for me. And if I'm feeling a little wild, a margarita.

THEN: I picked at the fried food, watching my figure.
NOW: If I want steak, I order it. Medium rare. With mushrooms. And a baked potato.

THEN: Conversation was witty, and sometimes even suggestive.
NOW: We can debate for 15 minutes whether the fish on the wall is a northern or a muskie.

THEN: He refrained from burping.
NOW: He farts in the car, claiming to make room for the dessert we ordered to go and I don't bat an eye.

THEN: We ordered drinks for last call.
NOW: We're home in time for the 6 o'clock news.

THEN: When we got home, we poured more drinks.
NOW: We immediately change into our 'fat' clothes. I mean 'comfy' clothes.

THEN: We talked about world politics, the latest TV shows, and religion until the sun came up.
NOW: Conversation consists of what body part aches the most.

THEN: He hung on every word I said.
NOW: He actually admits that he had "tuned me out" for a minute and could I please repeat the last 10 minutes of conversation?

THEN: We enjoyed loud music and a game of darts.
NOW: We enjoy the peace and quiet of not being interrupted by children.

THEN: We slept in because we were hung-over.
NOW: We sleep in because we can!

THEN: We held hands.
NOW: Okay, we still hold hands.

THEN: Date night was every weekend.
NOW: Twice a year.

THEN: Spent money on me because he might get, 'lucky.'
NOW: Spends money because he IS lucky.

Back then, I was giddy to spend time with my husband on our dates. And now, I am still a little giddy, but for an entirely different reason, to have him to myself. I sometimes miss the "old days," but I actually relish these days. We laugh a lot, usually about something the kids have said or done. We love each other on a much deeper level than back then. And even if we don't talk as much as we used to, we understand each other without words.

We're not out to impress anyone, we're happy the way we are. We don't need alcohol to enjoy ourselves, we have life experiences. And even though we don't seem to have the time to "date" like we used to, it makes the dates we DO have that much more special.

Rant by Room

For over 700 days, my house has suffered. Neglect, abuse, and at times, abandonment. Because I just didn't have the time or energy to give it the care it deserved or needed. And I wasn't getting any help.

I begged, pleaded, threatened my boys to please, please help me. I even lowered myself to a level I didn't want to come to, "You just must not care about me." Worked for maybe 2 hours. I wasn't asking much, just that they all clean up their OWN things...

Anyway, now that I'm done with school. Here's my pent up rantings in blog form:

Lets start in the bathroom, because that's so easy:
I don't care how accessible, how fresh, or how cold the water is in the dog dish, they insist on drinking out of the toilet. For our larger dog, it doesn't matter if the seat is down, he manages to stick his beak-y nose beneath the seat, lift it, drink and then lets the seat slam down when he's done. Usually at 2 in the morning. The smaller dog has very large lips. He dribbles everywhere.

We call him "Rip-Alot-Of-Lips"

 And honestly, I think Kamrin gets in trouble more often than not for not aiming when it's actually Ripley leaving little puddles from the reservoir he calls lips. Bo will actually follow you into the bathroom and stare at the opposite wall, while you use 'his' water bowl! If he could hum and tap his paw, he would. The minute you're done, he rushes over like he's been stranded in the desert for a week!

There is a cup FULL of kid-sized toothbrushes. Each with bristles as hard as a pumice stone because each child refuses to rinse the brush after brushing.

We have an empty toilet paper holder, and 3 rolls of toilet paper sitting on the bathroom counter. But you only notice after you've started peeing that it's just far enough out of each that you have to lift you butt off the toilet and risk being a part of the Ripley statistic.

When you get out of the shower, the fogged mirror has each boy's name written on it along with several zombie faces (and hearts...go figure).

While in the shower, the towel you so carefully hung on the hook to use when you got out, is now lying on the edge of the counter...used to wipe up the millions of small beard hairs in the sink. And it wasn't replaced. And the towel closet is over two soggy steps away.

Along that same line...every time I give the bathroom I deep scrubbing, there is some sort of siren song that compels my husband to shave, or clip nose hair, or give himself a haircut. A small poodle ends up in the sink.

On to the bedroom:
My husband's dirty clothes always end up right. next. to the bed. I imagine my husband as some sort of Frankenstein, with arms outstretch grumbling, "urmmmm, bed..." and the shorts just end up right there. I've tried putting a laundry hamper in there. Doesn't work. I tried 3 laundry baskets, maybe thinking he was just a bad aim. Still, they end up draped over the fan, or become a fire hazard over our TV hook-up box on the dresser.

I'm one of those weird people who have to have their sheets straightened before I can climb into bed. Kind of a "princess and the pea" concept. We have a deep mattress and special sheets with pockets. Those have to be tugged all the way down or I will be awake all night.

I don't care how hot it is, I have to at least have a sheet on me. All of me. No feet poking out, no diagonal sheets, and enough that it goes over the edge of the mattress. My husband will be satisfied if 30% of his calf is covered and the top blanket is 3/4 on the floor. I have, several times, come in, retrieved the ball of sheet (haha) from underneath his right leg and completely remade the bed while he slept.

My husband feels the need to sleep with 4 pillows. There might as well be a 3rd person in our bed. Hate it.

Kitchen:
Oh kitchen, there is so much I could say here. I like my kitchen clean, but it's a never ending battle. Like the tiny top edge of the long freezie pop that was cut off and abandoned, and then left to melt and stain my counter. Not to mention the 5 sticky knives that are laying next to it, because lord forbid you use the same knife for each Popsicle!

Or when I'm sitting at the kitchen table, dislodging my elbow from a nearly invisible syrup stain, and my heart jumps to my throat because I saw something scurry across the floor out of the corner of my eye. Then I realize it's just a tumbleweed of dog hair caught in the breeze.

There should be a "minute to win it" sort of contest that test how much garbage you can stuff in to a swing top garbage can before it will get thrown out. When the dogs are able to treat themselves to a trash buffet and I come home to licked-clean pot pie holders, ice cream sandwich wrappers, and chewed up dirty napkins...PLEASE, someone take out the damn garbage!

Why do I find empty pop cans, half-filled pudding cups with the spoon still in them, and a partially eaten rock-hard sandwich in the refrigerator? Why?! Just throw it away or eat the dang thing. Really? Do you think you're going to re-heat and eat ketchup covered fries?

My garbage disposal never smells right. I've used baking soda, ice cubes...and even reached my hand down in to those gloomy depths, even though every scary movie has told me not to, to find the source of the stench. Only to follow my nose to the sponge that was not rinsed of the salsa it was used to wipe up. I squeeze it into the overflowing garbage and hope the dogs don't eat it.

I have to soak the glass microwave tray for an entire day before melted cheese will scrape off of it. Use a freakin' plate people! Not to mention the Chef-Boy-Ardee splatter all over top, bottom and sides of the microwave (Are you getting an idea of our family's diet here?)

Dishes put in the dishwasher with half a meal on them? Why are you surprised when they're not clean after the dishwasher's run?

Living Room:
Why is it that the dogs feel the need to puke on the living room carpet? Even if the hardwood floors of the kitchen is 6 inches away? And why is the puke bright yellow or red? There is nothing that takes this out. And if it does, the carpet is 'rougher' than the rest of the room. Or green from whatever I used to spray on it.

There is a multitude of socks thrown in frustration everywhere. They end up over couch arms, across piano keys, and just lying in the middle of the floor because in our morning rush out the door, I must go through 6 pairs that are "lumpy" or "don't feel right." Thrown, because by the time I've told them 7 times to get their socks in on in the morning, we're all frustrated that I need to LEAVE NOW!

Weird that I need to vacuum at least 13 fly carcasses off of the floor, because no one knows how to shut the screen door!

Family room downstairs:
It stinks like pigs. Literally. Because my son promised me he would clean the guinea pig cage...and he doesn't. All they do is eat, pee and poop. I hate them. I fantasize about releasing them in our yard and letting them fend for themselves. Ungrateful pigs. I bought you a GLASS drinking bottle for Pete's sake!

When I clean, I have to deal with empty Xbox game holders laying open like an unread book and disks stacked in the middle of the floor. I pain-stakingly put them all in their rightful holders, and then am screamed at because the boys can't find them. (What's wrong with that picture?)

There is a pile of dad's socks to the left of his chair. He settles in to watch TV, and off the socks go, to be gently dropped in an ever rising pile of sock puppets.

The Boy's Room:
Scares the hell out of me. Enough said.

Of course all of this is coming from someone who vacuums backwards so that I can have the satisfaction of not leaving any footprints. I enjoy the vacuum streaks. It gives me a sense of accomplishment.

I like a clean house. Some day, I hope I know what that feels like.

I Hate Kindergarten!

The new school year is nearly upon us, and I admit, I'm feeling a bit more dread than the kids are.

Last year was Kamrin's first year at "real school." Around this area, kindergartners are rounded up, and placed in one building. Five hundred 5 year olds? What could possibly go wrong?

I was hopeful for Kam. He was very social, had no problems to talking to people, and he was excited to go. For about 2 weeks.

But I should've known when Kam and I met the teacher at open house, it wasn't going to be a good fit. We walked through the door and introduced ourselves, and that was it. She didn't talk to Kam, but rather looked toward the door for the next parent to greet. On our way out, she didn't remember his name. Now don't get me wrong, there are some AWESOME teachers out there, I had some myself, but she was young, and I didn't get the feeling that she loved what she was doing.

Kamrin is a special kid. I mean that in many ways. He started talking early and hasn't quit since. He can't sit still. There are few things that will keep him focused. And he's not for the faint of heart with all that energy he has pent up inside him.

Color charts suck. I hate them. This teacher had hers pinned to the board at the front of the room. For those of you who aren't familiar, a child starts out (in our case) on green. If you don't behave, you are "pinned down" to subsequent other colors...blue, purple, and the dreaded pink. If you do well, you "pin up" to yellow, orange and the coveted red. If you made it to red, you got special privileges. It's a form of public humiliation if you ask me. Oh sure. If you have that perfect kid, you'll argue that it's a good way to get kids to WANT to behave. But to Kam it was a label. He was constantly being asked to clip down. He tried so hard. I tried not to make a big deal about it. His first words to me when I picked him up after school usually involved what color he was on at the end of the day. I went as far as telling him that "it didn't matter to me what color he was on as long as he tried his best." A good day for us was when he managed to stay on the color he started on.

They had a calendar in their school folders that were brought home every day. In them, a circle was colored in with the color corresponding to where they were that day. The things that Kam gotten pinned down for were trivial. Humming in class (which he does when he knows he's not supposed to talk), not coming back from the bathroom on time (really? since when do 5 year olds know how long 10 minutes is?), not keeping his hands to himself (he likes to hug). Typical behavior of a hyper-active little boy. She would always write a note by the 'bad' colors, but once, when he reached yellow...there was nothing. So I wrote, "GOOD JOB KAM!" No positive feedback.

Unfortunately, this meant that ALL the teachers and the principal knew who he was. He was a behavior problem. And if something went wrong in the lunch line, they looked for Kam.

And the kids that made it to red? They were allowed to clip other kids down. Want to set kids up for being tyrants? That's the way to do it.

Since the clothes pins on the color chart had the kids' names on them, everyone in the class (and parents too!) would know who was constantly being "bad."

Don't get me wrong. Kamrin had a hard time adjusting. In his world, things are black and white. He knew what the rules were at school and he did his best to follow them. When he corrected a friend for getting out of line, and they pushed him, Kamrin got in trouble for trying to pull that kid back in line. He didn't understand why he was being punished for what he thought was doing the right thing, by a teacher who was the authority figure. He didn't handle it well. He would run and hide. 2 times, it wasn't in the classroom and an all out search was required. Didn't sit well with his teacher. She referred him to a counselor for 'anger management.'

Her solution? Tape a chart, on the TOP of his desk, giving him options to "cool down" instead of running. Another label. No other child had this taped to their desk. Singled out again.

One thing I noticed was that Kamrin's work that came home from school was sloppy. On the back of each page were elaborate pictures. Ones that he drew. Unfortunately, most consisted of zombies, or people with guns. More fodder for the counselor. By the way, the work was sloppy, but it was correct.

He once brought home a 12 page booklet, pages front and back consisted of pictures with 3 boxes under each picture. The home work was for the parent to cut letters out, then give them some to choose from, so the could write what the picture was. Parents were encouraged to give them a hint and provide the first letter. So I cut out all the letters, and tried to persuade Kam to participate in completing the home work. He absolutely refused. It wasn't due for a few weeks, so I told him no Sponge Bob until we did at least three. Well, that lit a fire. He sat down, pencil in hand, and looked at the first page. He completely ignored the pile of cut out letters, and started writing. He wrote the name of every. single. picture. On all 12 pages. In 10 minutes. He missed one, "yak." I don't think I know a 5 year old that knows what a yak is.

I emailed his teacher on several occasions. She basically told me that she didn't have the time to give Kam "special attention." At conferences, when she pointed out his sloppy work, and told me that Kamrin will sit and draw until until she tells him that he has to get it done or risk being clipped down. At that point, he'll flip it over and blaze through it. Boredom? I think so. I pointed out to her, that it was all correctly done, even if it was sloppy.

It broke my heart to drop him off at school, shoulders slumped and feet dragging. He was a trooper though.

The last straw was when I received an email from the principal telling me that Kam had 'gauged' a fellow student in the arm with a pencil. What?! That wasn't my good-hearted Kam. I asked Kamrin what had happened. He told me that he was sharpening his pencil and the as he was finishing, the kid behind him pushed him, so when he turned around (sharpened pencil in hand) he 'scraped him' (his words). I went to the principal, fully expecting to have to meet with this kids' parents. I asked him if the kid was okay. He informed me that the child was fine. Didn't even need a band aid. So I said that I didn't consider that a gouge, more like an abrasion. I also found out that since they didn't actually SEE the other kid push Kamrin, they couldn't punish THAT kid. So apparently, until my child is pushed and suffers injury, he will not be believed.

I finally decided to have Kam tested. My mind was thinking everything, hyper-activity, autism, just something to explain why he couldn't relate to school. And then I found the school psychologist. I love her. Mostly because she loves Kam. It turns out that Kamrin can't focus because he takes in everything.

Here's how she explained it to me. When you or I are talking to someone, we are looking at them and hearing them. Kam does that too, but he's also very aware of how his butt is sitting on the chair, feels his arms on the table, ingests everything that goes on in the background of the person. He is bombarded with information and can't filter it out. This information overload causes him to become distracted. (I'm sure the humming sometimes acts as his filter.)

They decided to try 'sensory breaks.' Apparently Kamrin isn't the only one with problems. These breaks allow him to leave the classroom for 10 minutes a day, and spend some time with his counselor, just doing calming activities. Like filling jugs with sand, playing with texture oriented toys, or swinging. It seemed to help. The psychologist also suggested that Kamring be tested to see if he needs to have more advanced learning, as he seems to be bored in class.

This discovery came within the last 2 months of school, and it seemed to be working. But now we have the transition to 1st grade. He has to ride a bus. THAT could be interesting. I'm hoping his teacher will be able to 'tune in' to him more.

Now that this rant is incredibly huge, I also want to add that I find it sad that we herd our young students through the system. Can't slow down for some, can't speed up for others. This has become my slogan.



Get rid of these stupid charts. Or make them more private. Quit labeling my child, and making him believe he's a failure because he doesn't make it to "red." His best was yellow, and I'm proud of him. I'm color blind.

I'm Back...Finally!

I have to breathe a sigh of relief here. I've been absent from my writing for nearly a year now, but it's with good cause. So, I'm hoping that those of you who read me before will catch up where we left off.

Why the hiatus?

As some of you know, I went back to school...in my 40's. I'm not going to lie, I didn't think it would be as hard as it was. But let me tell you, this has been my biggest accomplishment. (I'd normally say my kids are my biggest accomplishment, but I'm not through with them yet!) So let me tell you what's been going on for the last couple of years, and then I'll get back to writing about the good stuff...my boys.

There were some major struggles with my deciding to go back to school:

1) The most significant one being, our family income was reduced by half. This meant my husband had to step up to pick up the slack. And he did. Without complaint...at least not to my face.

2) It also meant I had to go back to waiting tables...which meant working weekends and nights. Not so fun for my boys during school, when that's the only time I got to see them in the first place. Not fun for this old body either. I'd get home from work and could feel my heartbeat in my feet.

3) Smaller income meant being creative to keep our household within budget. I became a coupon queen! I'd get a small rush when I looked at our grocery bill and I had saved 25%. Unfortunately, hamburger helper and pasta became a staple and fresh produce a treat.

3) Trying to juggle family time, work, homework, and household chores. I didn't have a single free minute in my life, and I'm not exaggerating. When I got home from class, I picked up the boys, made supper, tried to do some housework, help the boys with their homework, and my homework started after 9PM and usually went until midnight. Then up at 5:30AM to get the boys to school before I had to go to school and then do it all over again that night.

4) We had no health insurance. I was able to get the boys on a program that at least covered some of the costs, but my husband and I became paranoid at walking on too icy of sidewalks during the winter. We just couldn't afford to fall and get hurt.

5) Problems 1-4 created a need for blood pressure medication.

6) Trying to multi-task, I'd take my kids to the park, but with the warning that swings were off limits because they required me to push them, and I was there to study and/or do homework on the bench.

7) My last quarter of school required a full-time internship position, which lead to an even greater reduction of income, because I couldn't physically create more hours in a week that allowed me to work AND do all of the above, even part-time.

8) My working in an actual clinic caused my dogs to sniff me like a package of raw meat and then shun me the rest of the night because I "cheated" on them.

And you were where, today? Yeah, right.

9) I also was not an active participant in supper-time conversations because my clinic work stories caused gagging and loss of appetite.

10) Going to school made me realize that the older I get, the harder I had to work at remember things. Hell, I can't remember what I ate last meal let alone whether a bacteria was gram-positive or gram-negative.

11) I lost the ability to relax. If I had free time, then I must be forgetting to do something.

But we all survived. My family was amazingly understanding (most of the time). And I now have a degree in veterinary technology. I graduated with honors and a GPA of 3.76, which isn't too bad for an old lady like me. And at the graduation ceremony, the loudest cheers came from my kids.

And best of all, the clinic I interned at, 'created' a job for me so I could stay there! Now I just have to pass my boards...

But enough...I can't wait to get back to writing. And I have SO much to write about, so much that I haven't had the time to put down in words. The kids have grown in the last 2 years, and still give me some amazing and humorous stories. So I hope you'll "stay tuned" as the saying goes, as I play catch-up in my next posts!

New Year...umm, Let's Just Call Them Toughts

New Year's. The guilt trip they've labeled as a holiday. Forcing a person to take a look at the past year and decide where some improvements can be made. I fail at this. Every year. I think because I tend to make resolutions that are beyond my reach. Losing 30 lbs, not yelling at the kids. Ever. (that one lasts about a day and a half), etc.

So this year, I've decided to set my standards a bit lower. This way I can at least feel like I haven't failed and will not feel the need to lock myself in my bedroom with the covers over my head until, oh...June.

1. I will wash my car more than twice a year.
Although this may be problematic when trying to find my car in the Wal-Mart parking lot. It was always so easy to identify it with its randomly written letters in the salt/slush solution that had adhered to my door. I always felt confident putting my key in the door that had the hand AND nose prints (go figure) on the windows.

2. I will dust my ceiling fans more often.
Preferably BEFORE the dust has had time to clump into balls suitable for knitting and BEFORE they are whipped off by centripetal force, hitting someone on the head and causing a concussion.

3. I will reduce my road rage.
To inside my head. IF my kids are in the car with me. That's as good as it gets. If I'm alone in the car, drive at your own risk.

4. I will use lotion more often.
And I mean on my legs, elbows, heels and feet. Get your head out of the gutter, you perv!

5. I will try to relax more.
This one will require me to work at it. Seems like an oxymoron, doesn't it?

6. I will allow myself to accept compliments.
I'm horrible at this. I never know what to say when someone compliments me, my work, or whatever. Then my silence can seem like arrogance, which I'm sure defeats the purpose of the compliment.

7. I'm going to stop being so nice.
No really. This allows me to be walked all over by other people. It allows too many people to cut in front of me from the 'on' ramp. It also is not helping me in my education. Explanation: A lot of the Vet Tech program at this point is 'hands on.' By standing aside to let other people have a chance, I feel like I'm missing opportunities and experience. No more I say!

8. I'm going to vacuum under my couch cushions more often.
When you start find things like socks, half a sandwich and the plate and fork that came with it, beneath your couch cushions, it's time to re-evaluate your cleaning habits.

9. I will not skimp on light bulbs.
Even as I write this, my kitchen light (which takes 4 bulbs) is down to two, and the Hollywood lights in my bathroom are at about 30%. Several of our "less used" rooms require flashlights as we have already stolen the light bulbs from them.

10. I will not store anything in Tupperware for more than two weeks in the refrigerator. 
If I have to smell it, scrape something off it, don't remember when it was made, or can't even identify it, it should have been thrown a long time ago. I lose more Tupperware that way. At some point I have to decide whether I don gloves and a mask or just throw the whole damn thing away. Waste of precious time.

Well, that's about it. I think I can handle that. Definitely obtainable. Check with me next year.

15 Things Moms Need to Teach Their Sons (and then there's reality)

Ever since my sons were born, I have read numerous blogs on parenting. Particularly ones concerning life lessons that need to be taught, just in case I'm missing something. And while these blogs tend to be heartwarming, I am met with the reality of those lessons on a daily basis. So I've created my own list based on these wonderful blogs, and what REALLY happens in my household:

1. Teach him to express how he feels with words.

Unless these words include, "You big jerk!" or "Quit being a butt face!" I am failing miserably at this one. If I calmly interject and try to suggest other words, I am met with, "Leave me alone!" hands over ears, stomping to a bedroom and a slammed door.

2. Teach him to do laundry.

Riiiggghht. Dirty shirts, socks, pants and underwear are my breadcrumbs to the bathtub. Towels, barely used once, are dragged along my wood floors picking up every piece of dirt and strand of dog hair and deposited in the middle of the living room. Even CLEAN laundry that's been folded, sits on the dang chair until it's all considered dirty again...having never found its way to its proper drawer or hanger.

3. Read to him and read with him.

Every book they bring home from school contains zombies, world's grossest records, superheros who wear underpants and nearly every line contains a fart joke. Not to mention there's a fight over who can and can't see the page and where mom sits to read.

4. Encourage him to dance.

We do a lot of this at home. My oldest has "moves." They're something between break dancing and jitterbug. When we were invited to a wedding, he spent hours perfecting these 'moves'. He constantly asked me when we were going. The wedding took forever (roll eyes and drag arms), and the big moment came. He wouldn't budge from the sidelines. The bride grabbed him and he nearly crawled out of his skin to get away from her. For some reason, he didn't understand that there would be a crowd! I pulled him to the dance floor, got a couple of hip shakes and we were done. *sigh* I bought him dress clothes for this!

Dress clothes AND tie!

5.Make sure he has examples of men who are powerful because of their brains, integrity and determination.

In my kids minds, this includes the soldiers in Halo, any superhero whose name ends in "man," and James Bond. Hell, I only got my oldest interested in history and Abraham Lincoln when old Abe was seen wielding a silver axe and killing vampires.

6. Be their superhero.

I've cleaned house in a single bound, kissed away ouches, used x-ray vision to find the elusive blankie every. single. time., hurdled every obstacle from a dead sleep...in the dark...to rush a kid to the bathroom when I hear him about to throw up, am able to carry a 50 lb rag doll to bed under one arm and 3 stuffed animals in the other. I've used super sonic hearing to know that the kids are up to something even though they are in the backyard 'playing.' THAT'S the superhero I am.

7. Teach him manners.

Okay, my kids are pretty good at this one...until we're in public.

8. Teach him to be gentle.

I've rescued guinea pigs, dogs, precious electronic equipment and newborn babies from their 'gentle' on many, many occasions. 'Gentle' is about as familiar to them as 'quiet.'

One of our two guinea pigs...still breathing.

9. Teach him to be a good loser.

If "good" means how far you can throw the dice across the room, quitting when you're behind, or suddenly thinking this game is boring...I got this one.

10. Teach him to aim when he pees, someone has to clean this up.

Yeah, and it's usually me...because some of the places I have to clean, they can't even reach! I cringe when they walk into the bathroom in the early hours of the AM, eyes half open, blanket on their head and whip it out in the near vicinity of the toilet.

11. Teach them it's okay to ruin their clothes once in awhile.

Finally! I have this one down pat. And it's usually socks. Why do boys believe it's okay to wear socks outside...rain, shine or snow, without shoes?! I've had to ask their dad that same question more than 100 times.

That's about 1" of mud coating.

12. Teach them to hold the door for women.

They are also fairly good at this. Except that I stand at the entrance of a restaurant as they hold the door for EVERYONE. And at what point do you pull them away without being rude to the people still coming in?

13. Let their dad teach them things.

Does this include belching, farting, drinking out of the milk jug and slapping their mother on the butt every time she bends over?

Notice any similarities?

 14. Teach him that sometimes people will break their promises.

I'm pretty sure that kid on the bus isn't going to pay you $5 for the comic strip you drew. Just know, that if I promise you something, it won't be broken. (But I have to say the word "promise," pinky swear AND do the elaborate secret handshake, THEN it's a promise.)

15. Teach him to be independent.

As sweet as it is to hear that my youngest is going to, "grow up, get married and live with mom and dad," it's not going to happen. You WILL go to college, you WILL get a job, and you WILL move out. Not only for my sanity, but because if you're old enough to get married, you're old enough to provide for your family by whatever means it takes...nothing should be "beneath" you when it come to putting food on your table to feed your kids. But hopefully, with all these life lessons, you will be successful enough to not only take care of yourself, but also your elderly parents. 'Cause honey, I'm going to live with YOU.

I think these lists provide a rose-colored vision of everything we can pass down to our children. Sometimes, my life-lessons are shouted, or learned because I'm "mean," but my best way of teaching my children is going to be through example. People aren't perfect, I'm not perfect. But I try, I do my best, and if I'm not home enough, it's because I work hard to provide for you. I can only hope that as much as my kids may seem to take me for granted right now, they will look back and say, "You know, my mom always..." and hopefully that sentence will end with something that makes them a better person.

Garage Sale Personalities

We're moving in the next 3 to 6 months. I decided to have a garage sale...like 4 months ago.

I started early, because there was clearly a lot of crap that I didn't want to move. I sorted, discarded and priced room by room. I came across a lot of stuff where I questioned my sanity as to why I chose to hang on to a particular item in the first place. (i.e. a fake feathered bird, a spider Christmas ornament...what the heck was I thinking?!)

There was stuff that I knew had to go, but couldn't part with...my electronic keyboard reminiscent of the 80s (hey, it's exactly like the one Van Halen used to play "Jump"!), tons of arts and craft stuff (I can always use beads shaped like dragonflies, right?) and stuff that I just knew I wouldn't get the price I wanted (like genuine lead crystal bowls, a model train from the 60s, still in the box).

Anyway, I worked my ass off for 3 months. I didn't have much spare time, so had to do it little by little. There were times I actually cried because of items that brought resounding memories...baby blankets that I swear I could still smell sour milk on (but not true because I washed EVERY piece of clothing and every toy...anal. I know.) I forced myself to get rid of anything in my closet that I hadn't worn in the last 3 years, no matter how much I tried to convince myself I could still fit in it if I just put in a little effort. And all that stealthy work I did behind the kids's back to price toys that they don't even remember they had, and to avoid the protest, "HEY! You can't sell this, I play with it ALL. THE. TIME."

Anyway, I gradually put everything in my basement, and when the day before the big day came, I put everything in the garage.

My husband FINALLY commented, "You did this all by yourself?!" Really? You didn't pick up on all the pot shots I took at you for NOT helping? Did you not see me popping Ibuprofin like they were Skittles?

We had 40 mph winds the first day, and every time a big gust blew through, I was racing after my perfectly folded clothes, and double checking that nothing fragile broke. I nearly cried when several boxes of puzzles went flying. What do you do then? Put together a 1000 piece puzzle to make sure all the pieces are there when the box top landed in your neighbor's yard...two doors down? Trash it. No other option.

My youngest was hilarious. He greeted everyone. Took them to every table to introduce them to items HE thought they should have. But the people watching? That made everything worth while. I have shoved them into categories:

The Early Birds. Usually couples that are 60+ and show up a half hour before we are open. I don't know if they assume my sale is going as popular as Best Buy on Black Friday, but they're there early to stake their claim. They usually don't buy anything, but they feel better that they were there first.

The Slummers. I don't mind them. They have money, but they're always looking for a bargain. They don't haggle you on the price if they find something they want, because they're used to paying twice that much without blinking. They are also the people who paid a $1 for my son's 50¢ glass of lemonade at his lemonade stand (who am I to stand in the way of entrepreneurship?), even though it was only 50º outside. Love them. And thank you.

The Drive By's. Do all their shopping from their car at 15 mph. But don't stop.

The Barginer's. It doesn't matter what price you have on that sticker, they're going to offer half. "Hey, you willing to take 15¢ on this?" and the sticker says 25¢. Hell, I made it a bargain in the first place...fine. You need to win? You win.

The Groupies. Usually women who shop in groups of three or more. They compliment each other on their "find" but are secretly jealous they didn't find it first.

The Unexpected. Like the guy who looked like a former member of ZZ Top band member or roadie and showed up on his Harley, yet bought my entire cat figurine collection without batting an eye.

The Double-Take. They show up, offer you a ridiculously low price on something. You refuse. They leave. They return the next day and if the item is still there, they pay the full price. No questions asked.

The OMG, I Can't Believe That Just Happened. A guy who shows up, looking like someone you'd search on sight at an airport. He tries on all of my husband's sweatshirts, right there on the driveway, exposing his pot belly and extra hairy back before buying. At that point dude, just take them! I'm not touching them any more.

The Ripley's Believe It Or Not. Won't buy anything until you run a 50 ft extension cord from the back of your house, through the garage, to the item he wants to buy, just to make sure it turns on.

The Wish I Knew You. People who wanted to buy items and told me stories about themselves and I felt like I could have sat and listened for hours. We had a guy show up, he knew what he wanted. Deer antlers, old ammo, or anything to do with hunting. He told me his wife died not too long ago. He seemed to just want to hang out and talk. Before he left, he gave each of my sons a $2 bill and a 50¢ piece. I loved him.

And last but not least, the Random Act of Kindness. I had a couple of brothers ride up on their bicycles. They were nice, polite (and without being racist) ethnic. They looked over the toys and asked if we had anything for free. At the same time, a petite woman examined my clothes, looking for her daughter. To be honest, I focused my attention on her. What size do you need? What type of clothing? Thy boys played in the background with some of the toys. Finally having her fill, the lady came up to my table and asked, "How much for the wrestling ring and action figures?" I told her $5 for all. She walked back, near where the boys were playing, plucked the items out of the box and laid them before me. She handed me a $5 bill and I thanked her for her business. As she left with the toys, she stopped by the boys. "Here guys." She said as she handed over the items to the two boys, "Have fun." And she left. The boys came up to me and said, "Did that lady pay for these?" I smiled. "Yes." I said. They grabbed their bikes and left.

Honestly, I felt humbled. I wish I would have said something to her. I wish I would have given them something "free." But I inwardly promised myself, I would pay it forward.

And I did. Everything I didn't sell, I donated to a group at school who were trying to raise money by having a garage sale. I borrowed a dear friend and her pick up. We boxed everything up, acquired more bruises. And felt entirely great about the whole thing.

A Short Prayer

Dear Lord,
It's me again. It's been a long day, and I'm tired. I hate getting up at 5 AM, but thank you for granting me another day.

I hate having to drive an hour every day to get my kids to school on time, but I thank you for having a vehicle to drive.

I had to take another test at school today, but thank you for giving me the courage to be back in school at my age, and thanks for the determination to get through it.

I've been so busy that I haven't had a chance to eat yet today and it's 1:30 in the afternoon. Thank you for the food that is in my refrigerator.

I'm stuck in traffic trying to pick up my kids from daycare. Thank you that I'm not the one in the accident that is causing the back-up.

My child is not moving fast enough because he hasn't finished his dinner at daycare. Thank you for the providers that feed him healthy meals and care for him when I can't be there.

The long drive to pick up my other son can be frustrating. Thank you for allowing me the time in the car to talk to my oldest child, to connect and know how his day was today.

It's a long walk inside the school to find my youngest child in the gym. Thank you for the opportunity of a good education and amazing teachers available for my him.

My kids are so loud in the car, I can hardly think. Thank you for the laughter that fills my car, even if it relates to pooping and farting.

It's a pain in the butt to have to go door-to-door selling coupon books to support Kaiden's 3rd grade mission to raise money for iPads for their classroom. Thank you for such kind, understanding and generous neighbors.

I have to take time out of my busy night to run my son to my brother-in-law's to try on a tiny tux for Kam. Thank you for family and being able to participate in their celebrations and special moments in their lives.

I need to take more time out of my nightly schedule to help my husband with an estimate for his work. Thank you for providing us with income and a job.

Can't my children just go to sleep when I ask them? Thank you for children who feel that can't sleep unless they get hugs, kisses, and secret handshakes from their parents.

I take one more hour out of my day to talk to my mom on the phone. Thank you for my parents who are still here to talk to.

I have tons of laundry to do and must stay up late until it's dry, or else my kids won't have anything to wear to school tomorrow. Thank you for the clothes on our backs.

I'm tired, Lord. But thank you for everything in my life that has exhausted me.

Amen.

What Every Waitress Wants You To Know

As you may or may not know, I have had to find some sort of employment that is part-time, is flexible enough to bend around my school schedule and random moments of childhood puke-fests that force me to stay home and kill bacteria with Lysol, and allows me to make some money. And when I say money, I mean at least more than panhandling the corner of I-94 and 32nd. If I owned a puppy, I might make more on the street corner.

Not me...but could be...

Anywho...there are some things, that as a waitress, I believe you should know before you decide to eat out. (Just because it turns out, that what I thought should be common public knowledge, obviously is not.)

1) We may be considered a "casual" restaurant, but that does NOT mean you show up in your pajama bottoms and flip-flops. For Pete's sake, if you're going to take the time to drive somewhere and actually pay to EAT...take a moment and at least slip some real pants on. Hell, we don't even serve breakfast.

2) If you're 23 years old, you have no right to be offended when I card you when you order an alcoholic drink. And if you're over 30 and I card you? You should be grateful. If I don't card you, serve you alcohol, I get fined...the restaurant gets fined...and they won't let me work for 2 weeks to make money to pay the fine. So naturally, I'm going to err on the side of caution.

3) If you're coming to sit in the bar to catch a buzz...leave the kids at home. We are not your babysitter. Just because we have a game room does not mean you can let your kids run wild, annoy the crap outta everyone else that's there for a quiet dinner, and potentially have your child suffer 2nd degree burns when the 20 lb. tray I'm holding on my shoulder with one hand (and tray jack in the other) comes crashing down because he's running in the aisles between tables. I have my own children, and it's parents like you who are forcing some restaurants to not allow children...and I can't say I blame them.

4) And since we're on the subjects of kids...(and remember...I have two...and this is what happens when WE go out...restaurant hell). There are certain behaviors that need to be corrected IMMEDIATELY...do NOT continue to let your kid scream. Do your best to calm them. I will help you if I can with crackers, or getting their food out first. (Helpful hint: if I suggest these options to you, I'm not only doing my job, I'm telling you your kid is TOO LOUD.) And if they are inconsolable, take them outside...or home. If you're sitting in a booth, it is inconsiderate for them to drop spaghetti onto the head of the person sitting behind you. Also, I will clean up the table and floors and high chair when you leave, but this doesn't mean that you can let your kid throw his crayons, pizza crusts, napkins and silverware on the floor. If you don't allow it at home, why is it okay in public???

5) It is UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES okay for you to change your baby's diaper on the table. (Seriously?!! I even have to tell you this?) We have changing tables in the bathroom. And after studying parasitology, I now have to bleach that table. Not to mention I will personally avoid ever touching it again, let alone eat off of it.

6) I will do everything within my power to cater to whatever food allergy you may have. But may I suggest that if you're allergic to garlic...you choose somewhere other than an Italian restaurant? Just a thought.

7) There are 30 in your party? Why in the hell do you think we will be able to seat you immediately? This is especially for those parents who travel with their children to various sporting events and cater to their every whim. First of all, call first and give us a heads up. If you say there are 15 of you in your party, I am NOT going to assume that 40+ will show up. We only have so many servers on that night even IF the banquet room is open. It doesn't help that all the parents sit at one table, you have one son waaayyy over there (jersey #14) and your daughter is somewhere in the middle of that table and your husband is at the end of the table with the guys. If this is you, you now have the following rights automatically taken from you....NO RIGHT to complain if the bill isn't correct, NO RIGHT to complain if we can't fit you all in the same area, and NO RIGHT to complain if your food take more than 20 minutes. (By the way...it takes every ounce of my strength not to slap your child silly when he says, "How much longer for my food?!" while not even bothering to look up from his iPAD). How long would it take you to prepare appetizers and entrees for 40+ people on a moment's notice? Not to mention the other 100 people in the restaurant...and you're allergic to garlic.)

8) When I ask the table, "Is there anything else I can get you?" I am speaking to everyone at the table. Each individual does not need a special trip.

9) If there's something wrong with your food, I will do everything within my power to remedy the situation...it's just harder for me to believe you are of pure intention when all that's left is two bites and you ask for a box. Also, it would have been nice for you to have mentioned that when I asked you how everything was tasting 3 minutes after you received your food.

10) The restaurant I work at has 110 beers on tap...forgive me if I haven't tasted them all (but believe me, I'm working on it!)

11) When I was just old enough to drink, we had maybe 2 kinds of shots...whiskey and Everclear..that's it. So if YOU don't know what's in a "Wonder Woman" or a "German Chocolate Cake" don't expect me to.

What the heck are these?!

12) I work for $4.86 and hour. No lie. The kitchen is 90º F, I'm on my feet for anywhere from 5 to 13 hours at a stretch and I'm pretty sure I could compete in the Olympics as a speed walker...carrying an extra 30 lbs on my shoulders. I don't get to sit down and I don't get to eat. I depend on tips to feed my children. If you can't afford to tip me when I give you the best possible service...you can't afford to eat out.

13) If you'd like to linger and talk after your meal...please feel free to do so. But take in to consideration that I only have so many tables in my section and if you and your friends are taking up two of them to drink water for 3 hours...remember that when you tip me.

14) If you're looking for a manager...it's going to take about 15 minutes, because he's probably 15 years younger than me and is hanging out in the bar talking to the "cute chicks."

15) Here's something totally truthful, and it's not really common knowledge...if you pay with a card...try to tip in cash. Here's why...the restaurant is charged a fee every time we swipe a card on our machines. That fee comes out of my tip at the end of the night. So if you mean to tip me $5, it's actually less after I run your card.

16) It should be required that before you are actually considered an adult, you have to wait tables for one week. Because that's all it would take.

I actually love being a waitress. I enjoy meeting new people, and I come from a generation who knows what customer service is. I generally make good money (and good tips) but I think it's because I enjoy what I do and it shows. Unfortunately, my body is not young any more and waiting tables is a cardio workout and weight lifting all in one. I can actually feel my heartbeat in my feet by the time I get to sit. And if I sit for more than 5 minutes at a time when I get home, I can barely stand back up. But just remember, this is a taxing job, a draining job, and entirely dependent on you for what kind of money I make. And believe me, I totally get the people who are pissed off when they don't get good service. I work with a lot of "kids" who come to work hung-over, are in a hurry to get you out of there so they can go party, or who may not show up at all. In a nutshell, if you have a good experience, let your waitress/waiter know...and even though the verbal compliment is always welcome, tip them too. You never know what their story is.

*All of these stories are true and witnessed by other waitstaff...just so you know.

Had a good or bad experience? I'd like to know...

Things My Kids Will Never Know

Since I'm an older than average waitress while going to school, I have a tendency to feel my age at certain moments...such as A) having a feeling of disgust when people come to work hung over and still sweating alcohol B) wanting to be done with their shift by 11 PM so they can still make a "party bus" and recently C) mentioning the song "Yellow Submarine" and someone looking at me with a complete blank stare. Wwwhaaa?!! How can ANYONE not know who the Beatles are?! Good Lord, has it been that long?

But it got me to thinking, what is it that I feel should be common knowledge, but my kids will have no clue?

So here's my list:

1) A rotary phone with a cord. And so many things that go along with that. They will never know the limitation of having a phone call ONLY when you're home, and then only 10 ft of cord length. Privacy? You had to shut yourself in a nearby closet, and your parents only had to trace the length of the cord to find you. AND they would always know who you were talking to, because you are RIGHT THERE. Not like you could disguise your conversation. AND I was from a Pierre, SD, so at one point, I didn't even have to dial the prefix. Only the last 4 numbers. I had to wait for that stupid phone to rotate all the way around, (7...tick, tick tick tick, tick) and if you had a lot of zeros in your number, you had to be a good friend, or you just weren't worth the effort.

Along with this, add an answering machine. They will only know voice mail.

2) Microwavable anything. NOTHING could be cooked in less than 10 minutes. Even now, when I cook a potpie for 4 minutes and it ends up still frozen in the center and I have to put it back in for 45 seconds...the kids complain!! Are you kidding me?? If I wanted a hot dog, it didn't take 20 seconds...first, I had to boil the water, then put the hot dog in and wait for at least 3 more minutes. Popcorn. Worse. Heat oil, put in 2 seeds, wait until they pop, add more popcorn wait an ungodly amount of like 6 minutes for it to finish popping. AND you had to stand there or you would start a fire. Which I did. Several times.

3) Television without the ability to fast forward through commercials, record your favorite program...or hell, even a remote! If you didn't set time aside to watch your favorite show, you were SOL. You had to pee? You waited for the commercial...and sat through them all. You missed something? Well too bad. Gone. You had to actually get off your fat bum to go turn a dial. You were considered rich if you had more than 5 channels. I remember the birth of HBO, and MTV. And MTV played music videos (gasp!) of bands in front of a psychedelic background. You adjusted antennas. Your TV was a huge box, not "flat." Your favorite program was on? You made time to all view it together, it was almost as important as the family dinner. If your favorite cartoon character farted, you couldn't rewind and play it over and over. (But, wait, farting and burping and vomiting weren't a part of our cartoons...)

4) We washed our dishes by hand, and you divided the chore into "wash," "dry" and "put away" and there were marvelous conversations held over hot water and bubbles.

5) We couldn't "Google" anything. You went to the library or you were lucky to own a set of encyclopedias.

6) We had "typing" class in Jr. High. With real life typewriters that didn't have a backspace or delete. Just "white out."

7) We played outside, made-up games. We knew our neighbors and we came home when it was dark. No worries. I remember a time when my parents had a camper parked in our driveway, and a friend and I spent the whole day drawing, coloring, and cutting out paper food for our "restaurant" in there. We sold lemonade, and painted rocks at the end of our driveway.

8) Parents (and Teachers) were allowed to "spank" us without fear of a 9-1-1 call or some sort of civil suit filed.

9) We behaved in public places without the aid of a "tablet" a "a Kindle" or any other electronic device. We behaved or we were spanked. End or story.

10) If you were a bully, you did it in person...not on Facebook, or via email. It's so amazing how brave certain people are when they don't have to confront someone face-to-face.

11) Obesity was not an issue.

12) Everyone suffered from chicken pox at least once.

13) Birthday parties were simple. You played pin the tail on the donkey, or pop the balloon by sitting on it and you blew out your candles on a lopsided cake.  It wasn't a competition of which parent could outdo which parent by rental blow up games, or rental of facilities or entertainment.

14) Roller skates that involved a key and a sturdy tennis shoe.

15) You had limited brand names...Wrangler, Levi's and that was about it.

16) College was affordable.

17) Video games were Pong, Donkey Kong, Centipede, and pinball. And they cost 25¢ to play.

18) Gasoline cost less than a dollar a gallon.

19) If you were lucky enough to own a video camera, it had a huge battery pack you strapped around your waist large enough to make Rambo proud.

And once you got older (18 was legal), choice of liquor shots consisted of whiskey, Everclear, Jack Daniels. Not a Chuck Norris, not anything involving Red Bull, or anything tasting like cake. Beer was American and was limited to brands such as Olympia, Pabst, Miller High Life, and Schlitz. We didn't care how many calories it had.

20) Barbie didn't have several Kens to choose from, or a mansion, or a car, or a Pet Shop. Most of mine had homemade clothes.

Ahhh, the simple life. Makes me wonder what my grandparents thought of as evolutionary....

My youngest is turning 6. He wants to play laser tag. He hasn't been to kindergarten yet, so I have to invite MY friends to be bait. Just so he has something to shoot at. Sad.

We look at everything wrong in the world today...drugs, shooting sprees in schools and public places, sexual and physical abuse, a disconnect with parents and children, violence, puberty happening sooner than 13....I think sometimes our world has allowed us to be more 'disonnected' in an all too connected world.

Family suppers have disappeared, holidays like "May Day," are gone, kids growing up too fast and exposed to so much too soon, families gathered around the TV instead of enjoying one-on-one interaction with one another...

*sigh*

Too many distractions, not enough interactions.

Life should be simple. It seems to have a greater impact.

And Now on the Lighter Side

I thought that as my boys grew older, the cute things they say would diminish. But as it turns out, they just have an understanding of a wider range of subjects. For example:

One early morning, I was having a private conversation with my husband about a woman's...um...monthly "friend" for lack of a better word. I didn't realize that my oldest was within earshot and suddenly, he had all kinds of questions. If you tell him, "Never mind Kaiden." It only fuels the fire, and he will pepper you with questions until you are brow beaten and worn down. So I handled it the best way I saw fit, I left the room. In my absence, my husband explained in gentle 8-year-old terminology what it was. It causes pain, makes mommy tired (and Lord knows what else!) After the short lecture, my son found me and sat next to me. He put his arm around me, and with genuine concern, looked me straight in the eye and said, "Mom. I'm really sorry about your spin cycle."

Well, that's one way to look at it.

My youngest was an early talker and hasn't quit since. He starts conversations with complete strangers. He usually will introduce himself and then add a little tidbit about him that he thinks you'd like to know.

"Hi, I'm Kamrin Schweitzer, and I can whistle!" or "Hi, I'm Kamrin Schweitzer and I like guns." (Which goes over great with authorities and concerned parents.)

Look for this picture on the news someday.

He has a slight lisp where "s" sounds like "th" and "th" sounds are pronounced as "d's". So when he's talking a mile a minute, you can see everyone just nicely nod their head.

He IS obsessed with any sort of weapon of destruction. We visited the museum in Pierre while at Grammie's and Papa's. After having lengthy conversations with both the greeter AND the gift shop lady, he was all over the place. He didn't seem to be listening to anything. But when we got home, he was able to tell his dad that he saw an "AK47, a REAL grenade and a purple heart medal from WWII." That's what's amazing about him, he doesn't seem to be paying attention at all, but he is actually absorbing everything you say.

He has his own language. A doorbell is a "ring bell." So he will tell you to, "ring the ring bell."

If you sneezed, you "bless you-ed". So he may tell me, "Mom I bless you-ed 3 times!"

Along the same lines, if he 'accidently' did something, he oopsied. As in, "Momma, I oopsied peed the bed."

He looks for his swimming 'gobbles.'

He asked me if he dressed up as Santa Claus on Halloween, could he get presents AND candy?

When dad takes him fishing, he brings his "fishing hooker." (Umm, is there something I should know about?)

Anyone who waves to him is an instant "best friend." Which I find disturbing and endearing at the same time.

He is concerned about Kaiden's 'love life.' He told Kaiden that he should be ready for a girlfriend, because he will have 45 of them when he turns 10.

He randomly visits our neighbors and chats with them until we discover him missing and have to go look for him. (That earns us a 'parent of the year' award.)

The dynamics between the two is, for the most part, sweet. Yeah, Kaiden will hip-check him into a wall and then immediately ask if he's okay like he had NO IDEA how that happened!

Kaiden mothers him. Holds his hand at the dentist, even if they're just showing him how to floss. He holds him back at the curb when crossing the street to make sure he's safe. Reads to him.

A quiet moment.

But he manipulates him as well. There have been several occasions when I've told Kaiden, "No. He can't do (something)" and it won't be 2 minutes later that Kamrin is there asking again.

They have common interests, usually concerning the size, shape and smell of poop, which they feel the need to discuss in the bathroom at the same time. They care about their hygiene, especially the way they smell, "for the ladies" (Kaiden's term), which involves a cloud of dad's Axe body spray. And they are constantly perfecting their dance moves.

No matter how trying the day has been between the two of them, how many verbal and physical injuries have occurred, or one is considered a "butt cheek" by the other, they absolutely CANNOT be separated at bedtime. I love that time. I often check on them to find them sleeping soundly, but snuggling one another.

I swear those are NOT the only PJs Kam owns.

They're a perfect match. A yin for one's yang. I hope someday when they are older and they read this or are reminiscing together, they are still this humorous, this connected, and still best friends.

Peace out.

Insight On Moving...According to My Kids

Without trying to incite a pity party, I have wanted to write this post for a long time. I held off, hoping not to embarrass my parents or to classify myself as a "failure." I've battled this a long time, and feel if I write about it, I may somehow, relieve myself of some of the guilt I've been feeling.

About 3 years ago, when my husband lost his job, I decided the best thing we could do was to consolidate our debt. I went to Wells Fargo, a bank who considered me a VIP for nearly 20 years. They referred me to Wells Fargo FINANCIAL, who, using a salesman pitch so slick they could sell ice to an Eskimo, convinced me take a loan which would allow us one payment a month, rather than several payments to credit cards, car loans, etc. I was under the assumption that they needed to appraise my house as collateral. What they were really doing was giving me a home equity loan. I didn't understand that, and I have no one to blame but myself. They told me that they would start me out at 9+% interest, and every year that I made my payment on time, they would re-evaluate me and lower the interest rate. Sounds good, right? Except they went out of business 2 months later, and I was stuck at the high interest rate.

We sacrificed as much as we could to make those payments. We robbed Peter to pay Paul, we gave up Netflix, went to basic cable, bought our kids' clothes at second hand stores, gave our kids haircuts at home (bad idea), had to forgo fresh fruits and vegetable for frozen (they suck), didn't take any vacations, clipped coupons, and gave up our health insurance (not the kids), and worried ourselves to ulcers. But we did it.

I called every person I knew to try and help, the mortgage company (who informed me that I was making "empty threats" when I genuinely asked them if they wouldn't want payments vs. a foreclosure) I called the head of their complaint department, other banks, everyone I could think of. I said "no" so many times to my kids because "we didn't have money" that every sentence they asked me, started with, "someday...when we have money...can we..." I'm worried I've warped them.

Then I lost my job. I went back to school and worked part time. We had to file bankruptcy. I was ashamed. Humiliated. Degraded. And after cautiously telling my closest friends we had to do that, found it was more common than I had thought. Two weeks after we filed, we had to transport my husband to the hospital by ambulance for vertigo. Where he stayed for 2 days. Without health insurance...well you get the idea.

After consulting a lawyer, she said we would be better off giving up our house. I can see why Kleenex boxes are common in their offices.

Long story short, after 8 years of on-time-payments and more than 20 years of VIP status, we have to move.

Now to tell my kids. Thank God for my kids...they put it in perspective...

I told them, "We have to find a new place to live."


They say, "We need a new house, ours is old."

I told them, "You might not have your own rooms."

They say, "Yea! Can we get bunk beds?"


I say, "We need to go through everything because we might not have room for everything."

They say, "I think other kids would like this toy."


I say, "I'm going to miss our fantastic neighbors" (And, Oh Lord, I so will.)

They say, "Can we be somewhere with more kids?"

I say, "I can't imagine packing!"

They say, "We have so much junk."

I say, "We have to have a garage sale."

They say, "Can we have a lemonade stand?"

I say, "It might be a longer drive to daycare."

They say, "Can we be close to a place where we can go for bike rides?"

I say, "Our new place will be so small."

They say, "You won't have to clean so much, mom."

They are so excited to move. I hate it. There's not a day that goes by that I don't look around and miss a part of my house. Kamrin may not even remember this house. I'll miss the height marker in the garage.

A patio that my husband and I worked on in 90+ degree heat to create. My faux painting that I have received so many compliments on. My Sponge Bob mural in the kids' playroom I painstakingly painted. An extra bedroom for my parents to stay in. The piano I've had since I was 8.

The faucet my husband installed for me, the bathroom remodel that happened because my kids chipped a tile...my very soul in each and every space. A place I can navigate in the dark. Every ding, every scratch, every stain, every memory. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't have a part of me die because I have to give something up.

My oldest once asked me if we could move somewhere where they had a pool. I said it would be very hard to find a place like that with our two dogs. He replied, "I'm sure going to miss Bo and Ripley."

I see it as a mountain, a chore, a devastating life experience. They see it as an adventure. A new start.

I'm trying so hard to see it that way. But I LOVE this house. I LOVE the people around me. I'm mad at me, I'm mad at the economy...we tried SO hard. We didn't live off the government! We struggled to not be "those" people.

And we don't know WHEN we have to move. That sucks the most. I can't even plan on what to keep and what not to keep, because I don't know where we are going.

And you assholes on Craig's List, who advertise an affordable house for rent, only to find out you are "missionaries in Africa, have a sick wife," may you rot in hell. I hate you people. Because you give me hope and then rip it away.

I made this house. It's mine. I know every crevice, every nick, everything I had hoped to improve...and Wells Fargo, I'm not even going to tell you what I think of you. So glad you covered YOUR ass.

Oh I know, things could be worse. And my parents have been supportive beyond belief, but I hate this. I hate letting go. I hate having to prioritize my belongings into keep and not keep.

*sigh*

God isn't suppose to give you more than you can handle...but sometimes...I wish He didn't have so much confidence in me.