Bad Boys, Bad Boys

Alternately titled: A Really Long Story about being a Private School Mom

For the last few weeks, I have been volunteering at the kids' school a lot. Frankly, it is part of my plan to get out and meet some new people and make some new friends before my husband deploys. But I also, ummm, do it for the kids. Yeah. That's it.

One of the things I've been doing is walking my son's class (that's 20 boys) from his classroom to the pool locker room, turning all of their clothes inside right (underwear and sweaty socks included) once they leave the locker room for the pool, and then offering to help tie shoes and the like when they get changed back into their school clothes.

My least favorite part of this process is walking the boys all the way across campus to the aquatic center.

Before we switched to this school, people kept warning us that we might not want to. "They march their kids in silent lines through the hallways like a military school," they said.

Little did they know that just made it sound even more appealing to us, the strictest, meanest parents in the whole wide world. This is how I look at it. Teaching the children to be respectful of the hard work going on all around them is a good thing. (Imagine that.)

But, then we actually went there and we learned that, yes, the kids are expected to walk quietly in line through the hallways, but they rarely do. Or certainly they don't always do that when accompanied by someone other than their classroom teachers.

So, as I lead the boys through the lower school, at least half the time, they are chastised by a staff member for being rowdy.

After enduring this torture--I MEAN--happily volunteering every day for two weeks, I was getting a little tired of this yesterday. And the boys were getting even more rambunctious. So as we passed a gymnasium, one of the P.E. teachers called out to them, "Gentlemen! Stop swinging your bags. Walk quietly!"

She used a no nonsense, but not yelling voice.

But as soon as we rounded the corner, the boys started hitting each other with their swim bags, yelling and rough housing again.

I picked the worst culprit, stopped, and focused my no nonsense voice on him, the voice that makes my own kids tear up and run to do what they are told. "Stop it. Now. You are making me look bad to your teachers. You are being very disrespectful. Stop it now."

He and the rest of the kids stared at me for half a second (except for my own son who probably thought oh, crap! they've done it now) and continued acting exactly the same way. As I turned back to deal with this, I found that they were laughing at me.

Oh, snap. Nope. Not cool. I didn't yell. I used my same no nonsense "coach's" voice. "And if you think it is funny, you can go sit with your teacher."

This was a pretty real threat because their teacher doesn't take any crap.

Unfortunately, their regular P.E. teacher just happened by as all this went down. He's my newest fan because of an unrelated incident at carpool, so he quickly stood up for me. He took over the boys, we all walked to the locker room and as the boys got changed, the P.E. teacher and the swim coach drilled me on what happened.

Ugh. I was a tattle tale. I wasn't sure what to say so I told them the truth. But I tried to downplay it. The last thing I wanted was for the boys to get in trouble and take it out on my son!

But the teachers were having none of that. The boys got a lecture. They lost pool time. They had to apologize to me.

It was all mortifying!

I was horribly embarrassed.

After, on my way past the refectory, I ran into their teacher.

"Did you have a tough time with them today?" she asked me. "We had a rough morning."

Now I really like this teacher. She loves my son. She is incredibly supportive. I wasn't sure what to say, but I know she was headed into the refectory to eat lunch with the swim coach, so I didn't want to say nothing!

So I told her. And she told me her story. They had lost their recess that morning for acting the exact same way. She was especially disappointed with them that morning because they were acting that way with parent volunteers in the classroom. So she was not happy.

You know, I went home and thought about it. Yes, I felt awkward and horrible, but there is a lesson here. Or a couple in fact.

People are always telling me how polite, well-behaved and wonderful my kids are. I mean, they really do. Like, people go on and on. And I've always taken it with a grain of salt. I'm thankful and flattered, but how much better behaved than your average kids could they really be?

One of them pouts. One of them is irresponsible. They both have crappy handwriting.

But they are polite. And, maybe 95% of kids are not. Politeness shocks people now-a-days. It is sad but true.

At my son's last parent teacher conference, his teacher actually said to me, "In the fifteen years I have been teaching, I have never met a more polite child." When I expressed doubt (although pleased and a little embarrassed) she went on to assure me that she meant it. That she doesn't make those kinds of comments ever. That he truly had one of the best characters she had ever encountered.

She said he is the kind of role model she wants for her own kids.

Well, hell.

What do you say to that? Thank you doesn't seem to suffice.

But enough bragging. (ahem!) What I learned is that my expectations for children's behavior are all out of whack. I am just not used to dealing with children who don't say, "Yes, ma'am" and "Thank you, ma'am."

But that doesn't keep me from being disappointed in these boys. I know their parents care about them. I know their parents want them to be respectful. I know their parents are paying a crap load of money to send their kids to a school where the Honor Code and Community Commitment really do come first.

I think parents just don't know how to teach their children anymore. (Not you parents, of course! I really do think my blog friends are all really great parents.) They have no guidelines. No parenting role models. Their expectations are all out of whack too. What is acceptable behavior today is different than what was acceptable behavior even thirty years ago.

Grandparents often live far away. Parenting books are a mess. We all have the kids and we love them so much and we want them to be happy, and very proper behavior usually takes a far back seat to all of our hopes and dreams for our kids.

So, I am an anomaly. Oh, don't get me wrong. I am a massive failure at a lot of parenting. Massive! You only have to look at my kids to know I failed in one of the most important parts of parenting. But I taught them to behave and to treat each other with love, by god. And in my value system, that is the most important thing.

But I am still embarrassed.

When I picked the kids up, I apologized to my son for possibly embarrassing him. He couldn't care a less. He doesn't get embarrassed. I also told them, "I know I don't tell you this enough, but I am very proud of you and your behavior. I know it isn't always easy and I really do appreciate how polite you are."

"Don't worry, Mom," my son said. "You have nineteen apologies."

I did. When my son opened up his homework folder there were nineteen neatly written letters of apology inside.

And I cried. And cried.

Now I'm too embarrassed to ever volunteer again.

eMatch dot Harmony

My husband wants to know what would happen if he and I put up profiles on one of the many dating sites purporting to match people based on character. Would we be matched?

I kind of doubt it. On paper, we don't really match. But it works. Pretty damn well if I do say so myself. Although, I guess our values really do match pretty well.

Now, if they asked about sexual preferences, I think we'd match up pretty quickly. And if not, I'd want to meet the girl who does.

"Let's do it for Johnny, man. Do it for Johnny!"

Part of my daughter's homework this week was to ask us about our favorite book back when we were her age. She is then supposed to read the book and we can all share in the literary goodness.

This poses more of a problem than you might think.

When I was in fifth grade, I read The Outsiders 19 times in a row. Then I read S. E. Hinton's other books (does anyone remember Rumble Fish, Tex, or That Was Then, This is Now?) Then I read Forever by Judy Bloom and learned all about sex. Which transitioned into me reading every historical romance I could get my hands on. And probably how I developed into the highly sexual creature I am today.

I do remember reading all of the Misty of Chincoteague books when I was in fourth grade (back in my innocence)(and I think it is totally cool that I live near the island now), but she read those back in second grade.

This really illustrates the vast difference in our educations. My daughter seeks out Newbery Award winning books. I read about sex and cute men, over and over and over again.

And my husband? Frankly, I don't think he had read a whole book back then.

In fact, when I couldn't think of a single appropriate answer for her, I gave her the best answer of all. "Ask Daddy."

His first guess was Lord of the Rings which I vetoed. I then suggested that he meant Lord of the Flies which I actually have sitting around somewhere. He interjected that maybe we were thinking of A Clockwork Orange and I practically choked in my rush to make sure she didn't write that down.

We settled on Lord of the Flies. But that didn't fly because they read that in class in a couple of years.

So it was back to the drawing board tonight.

Apparently we weren't the only parents who struggled because her teacher sent an e-mail out to us suggesting that we just pick one of the Newbery Award winners from the year we were 12-years-old and play along.

She even sent a link.

Do you remember what you loved to read in fifth grade? Is it indicative of the adult you've become?

I wonder, because if it is, my daughter is likely to become that crazy cat lady at the end of the block. And me and my romance novels won't be any help to her.

UPDATE: We ended up choosing Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH by Robert C. O'Brien. She read it in one night and loved it. Now all of her friends want to read it, but I have first dibs before it goes back to the school library.

I Smell Tuna Up in Here

Last night I finally got around to watching Julie & Julia. That's right. I'm still living right on the edge, people!

I didn't really enjoy it. In fact, I found it quite boring. (Please, don't hate me.) But it did bring back both fond and pathetic memories of my early days of blogging.

I think that my writing here has become more sporadic, not because I don't have a lot to say, but because I don't feel the need to be at the center of something anymore. I don't feel the need to be witty or deep on a regular basis. I don't still enjoy shocking people by saying what no one expects me to say. These days I'm happy to just live, and if I'm still sometimes composing blog posts in my head, well, I really should be writing a damn book.

I did have fun in those early days of blogging though. And there's some pretty decent writing buried among the narcissism and angst.

And I still feel a deep need for connection with other people. But I'm trying to overcome my shyness in real life and make some real friends. I'm getting there. There are people I like.

But more than anything right now, I am dealing with my husband's upcoming deployment and all the uncertainty it brings. And I know for a fact that writing helps me deal with all of those feelings...one way or another.

Besides, he loves to read my blog while he's deployed. (If it's not blocked, that is.) I'd do it for that reason alone.

So I'll be back with some more writing here soon. And I'll be sure to start lots of sentences with conjunctions. (Don't you hate that?) And I'll be sure to throw in unnecessary parenthetical phrases as much as possible. (Don't you hate that too?)

But I won't be committing to cooking from a cookbook for 365 days in a row. Because that shit is nuts. And it doesn't make for good movies. Even if they star Amy Adams with a bad haircut.

Slowly...slowly...

This morning I laughed so hard I couldn't even breathe. I was snorting and wheezing. All because my son did a slow motion fall from the backseat of my car onto the driveway.

You should have seen the look on his face. With one butt cheek balanced precariously on the car's seat, he lost his balance and couldn't save himself, but his grasping hands and backpack made his fall slow and almost graceful.

From my spot in the front seat, I was the only one who could see him, but I couldn't possibly save him. So I just watched. And he narrated.

"Whoa...

I'm falling...

slowly...

slowly..."

And then from his ass on the pavement, "My slowness saved me."

I don't know why I find this so hilarious. But even now I can't think about it without cracking up.

Sometimes it is the little damn things.

"Slowly...

slowly..."

Crack my ass up!

Hot Boy

I think, every once in a while for parents it just hits you that your kids are growing up. And I love that. I love every second of it.

This weekend we went to a violin workshop. After the play in (an informal concert where anyone who can play the chosen song just gets up and plays) my daughter asked me if I had seen the boy on the end.

"He was so hot," she said.

Now there is a sentence I've never heard her utter before. She's liked boys before, but usually boys she's known for years and who are nice to her in some way. This was the first time she had signaled one out on looks alone.

But I was a bit worried. If I recalled correctly, the boy on the end was about 17 or 18, had a shaved head, goatee and tattoos. If her taste is swinging that way, I should probably put my husband in anger management classes now.

So at the last concert I asked her to point out this "hot" boy to me.

She pointed out the most angelic, baby-faced twelve-year-old ever to grace the Earth. He was actually very cute, almost pretty. And I breathed a huge sigh of relief!

You know, I was thinking about it. She's never gotten into actors or singers before. She scoffs at all things Jonas. But she has had what one might consider "celebrity crushes" on violinists she's seen perform live.

She's actually gotten to have master classes with a couple of those violinists. For her that would be like having a singing lesson with Justin B-whatever-his-name-is. Except these guys really can play the violin.

Ultimately, I'm glad she's comfortable enough with me to share her "hot" ratings. And I'm even more grateful she doesn't share my taste in men.

Careful What You Wish For

I have a kinda-sorta secret and it is driving me nutso. I'm not good at keeping secrets. I'm just too damn honest. Besides, it is a kinda-sorta secret that my husband and I share and want to talk about sometimes. And occasionally we blurt.

In fact, my mom figured out our kinda-sorta secret by overhearing something completely innocuous that I said when she was two rooms away.

My husband is deploying again.

We've been expecting it because he is long overdue. We were just hoping that we wouldn't get just a couple of weeks notice again like we did when he went to Iraq.

So now the opposite is happening. He is going to that other desert place next September. That's the longest lead time we have ever had before a deployment. Or a move, or anything!

And it's actually made things harder, I swear.

He still has a bunch of training he needs to do this summer, so he'll be gone half of June, half of July and some of August. But he doesn't know exactly when he's leaving yet so he doesn't want to tell the kids.

Plus, three (to six) months is a long time for them to be stressed about Daddy leaving. It just feels like it is too early to tell them. So we have to be careful what we say.

I hate that. They're smart enough to figure out that something is up anyway. They've been through this four times before. They know the signs. It feels like it is against our value system to withhold information from them. We're walking a line here.

But also, my husband doesn't want to tell his mother yet. He just doesn't want to deal with her worry. I think it is...funny, or maybe weird that he is more worried about telling her than he was about telling me.

So, I can't really tell anyone. (Except the blog-o-sphere) I'm not really worried or stressed yet. But occasionally I do think Oh man! Soon I'll be doing this all alone again.

If it is even possible, I am now even more grateful for the way our life has settled this year. And that I turned down that symphony job. And that I am slowly but surely making some friends here.

Ah, sigh. My warrior is heading back to be a warrior again. Sixth grade and third grade will forever be remembered as years when Daddy was gone. And I'll start sleeping diagonally across our bed again before too long.

Unplugged Six Years In

Given how little I have been writing lately, you'd be forgiven for thinking that I just don't have anything interesting going on. You'd be right, and you'd be forgiven.

I don't know. I've actually had plenty of things going on but I find myself drawing into myself more and more lately. I'm just not feeling the need to share.

I've been simplifying my life more and more. Which has been great. But it means that I talk to less and less people. And I'm okay with that. For now.

During the first week of March, my kids were on Spring Break. I'm not sure how it happened, but my father somehow used his impending blindness to guilt me into letting my parents take my kids for the week.

So my husband and I were going to maybe take a trip or spend the week at home remodeling the bathroom. But he ended up going TDY (and not inviting me along...pout) so I spent an entire week home alone doing absolutely nothing.

It was heaven.

Okay, actually I took a couple of days to Spring clean, but I spent the rest of the week reading and watching Bones and Spartacus, Blood and Sand.

I had intended to blog every day, since I was alone and all that, but I ended up barely going online at all.

I find myself being more and more resentful of technology and its ability to keep us absolutely connected and available all the damn time.

Sometimes I worry that I'm going to be one of those old widows who lives alone in a house filled with crap and never goes outside. I can envision it too easily. I'll never wash my hair and I'll re-read the same dozen books over and over and watch handsome men on television all day long.

I'm going to have to get a boyfriend in my old age.

And on that note, I just realized...today my blog turns six-years-old. If it was a kid it would be in Kindergarten. Holy heck!

Mighty Aphrodite

My kids are both obsessed with Greek mythology right now. My daughter is obsessed with the Percy Jackson books and my son just completed a really in depth and creative unit of study on ancient Greece at school.

It's almost scary how much they know.

So they like to talk about the gods. A lot.

Last night in the car they were trying to pick what god was most like each family member. After debated for a while I decided to try and make them laugh.

"Well, I think I'm most like Aphrodite!" I announced.

I got three vastly different yet simultaneous reactions.

My husband rolled his eyes at me. (He doesn't think I'm funny.)

My daughter yelled out, "No way! You're not self conscience about your looks. You don't care about appearances at all!" (I'm kind of glad she noticed.)

And my son said with much relief, "That's right! Because you're so beautiful."

Guess which one of them gets clean laundry, extra helpings of dessert and help cleaning his room.

When I Grow Up

If I had life to do all over again, I think I would become an orthodontist.

I had a consultation with my son's orthodontist this week and I found it absolutely fascinating. He's a very interesting guy anyway*, and I think he kind of likes me and the kids, so he took a long time to show me how they figure out all this ortho stuff. It was all angles and time lines and math and pretty pictures.

Fascinating.

Besides, what better job could there be than to help people smile and laugh and talk and eat without feeling pain or self-conscience?

(Okay, I'm sure there are more noble jobs, but they all sound hard.)

A friend of ours who was an ER doctor (who left the hospital to start a fat clinic, by the way) always tells his son, "Become an orthodontist, not a doctor. You'll make all of the money with half the work and stress."

That sounds good to me. Tuna Boy thinks it sounds good too. Now he's thinking he'll have something to fall back on if his Hollywood stardom should fall through.

*****

*Here are some other reasons I find the orthodontist "interesting":

1) He highly approves of my son's name. It is his own son's name and he likes to go on about what a great name it is. So, he has good taste.

2) He showed me charts of my child's perceived beauty. Apparently, his facial features are symmetrical and his profile is "classic" which equals a "very attractive" face. So, the orthodontist has quantified the superiority of our genes. That's always a good trait in a person.

3) I've never known an orthodontist who didn't own a yacht. Yachts are cool.

Planning Ahead

Last night my husband asked me, "What would you like...(long pause)...for Valentine's Day?"

I thought he might be asking about what I wanted for my birthday at first. For that I had a prepared answer. But for Valentine's Day?

"I don't know. Actually, flowers or candy would be nice."

See. I'm easy.

Then I asked him, "What would you like?"

What am I? Stupid?

What a pointless question to ask a man. I know what he wants.

Sex.

A blow job.

More sex.

Sex with accouterments.

A little more sex.

And sleep.

But, that sounds like a lot of work to me.

I'm baking him brownies.

He likes brownies.

Preventing Infection

You know when you have a small cut, or a bit of a scratch, like scraped knees or over-itched skin?

You know how it hurts, but not too bad? It's just an annoyance.

Until you decide that you should do the right thing, the smart thing, and clean that wound with soap?

And then it burns like a fucker?

That's what my life has been like this last month.

Most things are fine. Great even. But there have been, as there always are, a few small annoyances.

Until I tried to do the right thing, the smart thing, and deal with those annoyances in an adult, straight-forward manner.

And, man, has it burned.

It's interesting though, at least to me, how these burns have affected me. I am actually more grateful and thankful for my life than ever before.

I've had a hard time dealing with people lately. Because people are stupid, mean, or petty. And I'm not.

People bounce checks to me and I'm just glad that I don't have to worry about money like they do. People are rude and I'm just glad that I have a reputation of being polite. (In real life, anyway. I get all of my rudeness out here.) People are turning their children into little shit losers and I'm just glad that I'm not.

I've got love, security, loyalty, happiness and family. And I'm learning that most people don't. Who knew? But more, I'm learning that some people who have all of those things still somehow manage to rip the misery from the jaws of joy. They revel in nastiness.

I'm not going to let people infect me with their nastiness. Uh uh. Not me.

I'm getting some hurt-free Neosporin and a Band-aid, baby! I know where the good people are. And I'm sticking with them.

What I Learned in the Boys' Locker Room

Somewhere along the line, I left behind the Teddy Bear Relay races and preschool craft parties. Now when I volunteer at school, I do things like walk the kids to the pool for swimming and supervise the locker room as they change in and out of their swimsuits.

Have I mentioned that my sons' class is all boys? Our school separates the boys and girls in class until the fifth grade. I believe it is a leftover tradition from the year when the original boys' academy merged with the girls' day school.

(Don't worry for Tuna Boy, though. Girls still have crushes on him.)

I have learned a great deal about boys volunteering in this way.

Mostly I've learned that I know nothing about boys.

Nothing.

Would you believe that a handful of them go commando every day? Did you know that their private parts (and whether or not someone has hit them in their private parts) are their favorite topics of discussion? Did you know that it is really, really important to be the first one out of the locker room and the first one in line? Did you know that "cutting" is the ultimate evil?

And did you know that just one kid can get the others all riled up singing "Pants on the Ground" and make the entire class late for lunch?

I didn't know any of this. My son never talks about his private parts, unless he's having a real issue. He'll never be first in line because he's too damn slow (and doesn't care anyway). And he hasn't the slightest clue what this whole "Pants on the Ground" thing is about.

He does go commando sometimes, though. But only because he's too lazy to find clean underwear and too fastidious to wear dirty underwear.

I guess I should count my blessings.

Flat is Best

My son turned eight last month.

Eight.

I have a ten-year-old and an eight-year-old. I'm not quite sure how that happened. (Yet, 36 still sounds so young to me. I feel young, at least.)

I am finally starting to see my son as a boy, as opposed to a little boy. He is, very suddenly, a boy. I've sort of been waiting for it to happen--the change in my perception, I mean. I've been watching him grow taller and listening to his speech finally mature.

And I've been really hearing what he is saying. He is so damn funny. He's always had a sophisticated sense of humor for his age. Now I wonder if he really will become an actor or performer of some kind. He just has the best delivery.

His world has become very boy-centric lately. He's old enough now that his sports teams are made up of all boys. And his class at school is all boys.

There are still girls who like him though. He has always been popular with girls. I think it is because he's nice but not wimpy. And he makes them laugh. (Isn't that every girl's dream man?) His big, beautiful eyes might have something to do with it too. (After all, those same eyes helped me fall for his father.)

But he's thinking that he might not get married. Girls, in his opinion, are too much work. They like stuff like hair, clothes, Kids' Bop and Bumpits.

My son hates Bumpits with a passion. They represent all that is evil and wrong with the world. He implores his sister and I to never use Bumpits. I'm not sure he'd love me anymore if I did.

You know, he is the first person to tell me, his sister, grandmother or teachers that we look pretty. But he thinks "flat" hair is prettiest.

In fact, he finally decided, after much deliberation, that he might marry a girl, if she were nice and fun.

And didn't wear Bumpits.

This pleases me immensely. I think I might have a chance at having a daughter-in-law I can stand after all.

Sticking with the Bon Bons

I got the job.

I turned them down.

Don't hate me because I'm beautiful.

Or, well, you know...not so much beautiful as spoiled.

The whole experience really put things into perspective for me. My husband and I talked some big stuff out and made choices that are really the best for everyone. Including me.

As my husband put it, "We don't need the money so you should only do something you really want to do. As much as I complain about my job, and as much as it totally sucks sometimes, I love it. It is my calling. What's your calling, honey?"

I only have one simple answer to that.

Motherhood.

So, I'm happy and I feel like celebrating. I feel very liberated. Except, I really think I pissed off the girl who interviewed me and offered me the job. It was a very awkward conversation.

But it's done and over, and I remain free. Free to be at the kids' school for two meetings this week and every day for two weeks to help with swimming and for the Greek festival next week and the concert the week after that...

And you see where I'm going with this.

I have to say, I love my damn life. And my future as a Lady Who Lunches is secure. Anyone want to meet me for martinis and bon bons?

Interview with Generation Y

Once I had an interview for a marketing internship position that didn't really exist. My professor got me in the door by insisting to the marketing director (a woman he barely knew) that I was the best marketing writer she'd ever see and she'd be crazy not to interview me.

No pressure though.

So I walked in, nervous but confident. She didn't even shake my hand. She looked up at me, narrowed her eyes, tossed a legal pad at me and said, "So I hear you can write. So write something." And left me alone.

Today was like that.

I'm not sure what I was expecting but it has been a long time since I had an interview. I didn't expect to be asked so many blind, "What are your strengths and weaknesses?" or, "Where do you see yourself in five years?" type questions.

The majority of interviews I've had, especially for jobs I actually got, mostly consisted of the interviewers trying to sell me on their organizations.

I think I did okay. But they surprised me at the end. They had a computer test for me to complete. I had to do a Word letter, an Excel spreadsheet, a Mail merge and a Word table all on a version of Office that probably came out back when I was working in the corporate world many moons ago. (Seriously. Was there an Office '95 version?)

It was much more of a corporate cubicle farm than I expected. And my potential boss is about six months pregnant. They want me to fit 20 hours a week between 9 and 5.

I'd be making about $300 a week which hardly seems worth it. But my biggest problem would be the summer schedule. The kids' school day camp would cost me about $500 a week. I'd be in the red.

I have a lot to think about. I guess if nothing else, this was a good chance to dress up and go speak to some adults (albeit adults much younger than me) in a professional manner. If I get the offer, at least I know I still have the ability to rock out a job interview.

And if not, well, then I'm off the damn hook.

I Told Myself So

Guess who has a job interview on Thursday.

Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck.

I don't have anything to wear!

I haven't had a boss or a dress code since the 90's!

I don't even know if I want to do this!

My husband thinks I'm nervous because I don't see that I'm perfect for the job and that they'd be lucky to have me. He mistakes me for someone without a huge ego.

My fear isn't that they won't like me. My fear is that they will! And then I'm really going to have to make a decision about what I want.

Scary.

Wrapping Up Another One

I'm sitting here in my living room this New Year's Eve doing something I haven't done since college. I'm typing on my own computer!

Since we first got married and pooled our money to pay for a "refurbished" piece of crap desktop computer, I have been sharing. With my husband, with my kids, briefly with my parents. Having my own computer seems absolutely decedent and...liberating!

My husband bought me a very cute HP Mini for Christmas. So far, I am loving it. It is so light and has as much (actually more) power and memory than my husband's laptop. He keeps finding more and more ways to get me to write my book.

Speaking of writing, I have done little of it of late. This last month has been, well, just weird. I'm not even sure how to describe it. I have been very withdrawn from the world, but in a very nice way. I'm not depressed or sad or anything. I've just been in my own little world, taking care of my little family, reading and thinking. A lot.

2010 has the potential to be a very dynamic year for us. Or it could be business as usual. I'm just not sure.

I have been looking for a job. Job searching sucks, by the way. I'm not just looking for something to make money or fill time. I want a writing job or a part time job that actually sparks my interest. Frankly, I don't want life to change for my kids in the least. If I can't do a job while they're in school, I won't do it. and since I don't want to pour coffee or sell anything, it's been a challenge.

Three months later I've found exactly one prospect.

I've applied for a part time job in the development office of our local symphony. I think I would be a perfect fit for this job, but now it is up to the symphony folks to realize it too. I'm hoping that the fact that we've been subscribers and donors since we've moved here will help my case.

If I get this job, 2010 will be vastly different, especially with a deployment looming in May.

If I don't get it, I think I'm going to stop looking for a while. I certainly have plenty of things to do that I won't get paid for.

So I am looking forward to the new year with hope and excitement. It's funny, it seems like so many of my friends have hated 2009. even my horoscope mentioned how awful my last two years have been. (So does my husband's and my son's.) But I found 2009 to be, well, perfectly fine. 2009 is the year I got my kids settled in an awesome school It doesn't take much else to make me happy.

This year I resolve only to bring more love to my house on a daily basis, no matter what it takes or how much I have to bite my lip.

I hope you have a love-filled 2010 too.

Chemical Imbalance

I am in an excessively bad mood today. Seriously, I am unreasonably angry and annoyed. At everything. And more to the point, everyone.

I know it is hormonal. And so I thought that the knowledge of the reason for my horrible mood would help me lessen its impact.

I even said it out loud to my empty house before I picked the kids up. "Knowing that your bad mood is just hormones, you can control it."

Bullshit.

Bullshit!

It doesn't help that most people are stupid or rude or mean or some combination of the three. It also doesn't help that the garage is such a freaking mess that I can't find what I need. It also doesn't help that my usually responsible child is trying to take shortcuts with his homework.

My husband should be very glad he's a bunch of states away today.

Not even the King-sized Snickers is helping. That's what I call a lost cause.

So, I've been thinking...

There are three little words that when spoken by my darling husband strike fear into the very core of my being.

"I've been thinking..."

I can only reply in one simple way.

"Uh, oh."

So, he has come up with some variations on the theme like...

"I have an idea."

The other day he hit me with a "So, I've been thinking and I have an idea."

That deserves more than an "uh, oh". That deserves an "Oh, shit!"

And what was his idea?

*shaking my head*

You know, I love that man. I love that even though in the twenty years that he's known me, I have never been successful at anything even remotely career related, he still thinks that I can do anything.

Sure, I've managed to keep two kids alive and plump (and not disturbingly messed up) for a number of years. And even I'll admit that I was a very good student once upon a time. But when it comes to jobs or work, I suck.

But he still believes that I can do anything. Anything! Really. Like...anything.

His brilliant idea is that I should start my own business. He thinks I should start a marketing firm. He even did a bunch of research to get me started.

Never mind that my fifteen year old degree in marketing is next to worthless now. I mean, think about it. The Internet hadn't even really gotten off the ground back then. But I don't even want to run a marketing firm.

Generating clients and pitching marketing plans is the very last thing in the world I want to do right now. That would involve actually talking to strangers.

That husband of mine has had a lot of "uh, oh" ideas over the years. He's thought of everything from planting a garden to having a baby. But his ideas--the things that he thinks I can do, and the things that he thinks we can do together--they're one of the reasons why I love him.

Light Dawns on Marble Head

My daughter wrote a letter to Santa with a wish list. It's all American Girl stuff, which she assures Santa is her favorite. She even starred the things she wants most.

Then she left her letter taped to my computer monitor.

Me thinks the child has finally figured something out.

At least I don't have to steal the letter from under her pillow anymore.

Cookies Fix Everything

Note to self:

Hey, crazy! There are people out there with real problems. Now quit your bitchin' and go shave your legs.

And make a dentist appointment.

And eat a cookie.

All the best,

Me

Just call me Nelly!

Like 99.9% of the people on the planet, I care too much about what others think of me.

I think that's why I'm so very shy. I know that first impressions are everything, and I dread having to make one at all. (We have talked about my fear of failure before, right?)

This fall I decided, shyness be damned, I was going to go out and do something I've been wanting to do for years. So I started taking piano lessons.

It's been going pretty well. I'm learning a great deal about myself, things I should have known a long, long time ago but that I've likely been ignoring in order to live with some illusion of coolness.

Lets' see. Like, for example, I'm a complete nut ball. I like to do things perfectly right from the beginning. I hate to not be the best at something. I think way too much. And...oh! My fingers like to stick out at odd angles like I'm forever clutching a tea cup before the queen.

Yesterday at my lesson, I was feeling strangely nervous. I don't know why. Possibly with our Nor'Easter, my husband being off work, the kids being off school, and my cleaning frenzy to prepare for our home concert, I didn't feel prepared for my lesson.

Now, my teacher is a very nice guy. He's primarily a jazz pianist, but he's the music director at his church too. (He inadvertently made me admit that I don't go to church last week. I wonder if he hates me now.)

He's never been anything but positive and constructive, yet I worry.

When I flub the music all up, I don't want him to think I'm not practicing. I don't want him to think that I'm wasting his time. I don't want him to think I don't respect him as a teacher.

My husband tells me I'm nuts. He says that I pay for the time, it's mine to do with as I please. Cynic that he is, he says that my teacher really only wants to get paid. As long as my check clears, he doesn't care about anything else.

But I think my teacher likes me. We laugh a lot. He's got me playing music I have no business playing after only two months.

But yesterday, as I flexed my fingers to get ready to play, I had to stop and look at him.

"I'm nervous today" I told him. "I don't know why."

"I can tell," he told me. "I'm the most laid back guy around! You don't need to be nervous. But let's warm up with some scales."

So then halfway through the lesson, when I finished up a song I thought I had done pretty well on, he remarked, "Yeah. It's hard to play when you're nervous."

What the...? Do I suck that bad?

He went on to tell me that the first time he met me he could tell that I was a really nervous person.

"I made a note to myself to be as calming and encouraging as I could," he told me.

Seriously? I'm a person that people have to treat with kid gloves? Seriously!

I made a great first impression. And now I won't believe anything positive that comes out of that man's mouth.

Here I was thinking that I'm all strong and courageous, and shy for sure, but gregarious and confident for all that.

Apparently I was wrong.

I feel like I should have just stayed home and never tried something new. I'm embarrassed. And while I sat before my teacher and felt my face flame with a hot blush, I was mortified.

This has affected me more than I like to admit. Probably because I'm such a weak, nervous Nelly.

I won't quit because we all know how bad I am at that, but I am starting to fantasize about the day the kids get out of school when I can tell him that I won't be able to take lessons over the summer because I don't have a sitter.

I've decided to start my own practice challenge. I have next week off because of Thanksgiving, so I am challenging myself to practice every single exercise and song, every day for two weeks. My plan is to be so comfortable with my music that I couldn't possibly be nervous.

There is nothing worse than people who reflect our true selves back at us. Illusions are so very comfortable. They don't make me nervous at all.

Energy to Nest

Have you ever wanted to have sex really bad? I mean really bad. Bad enough that you kept thinking about it at inopportune times? But, you were so bone-deep weary and tired that you just couldn't make it happen?

Yeah. That's how I feel about blogging right now.

I've had tons of things to talk about and keep composing posts in my head, but I just haven't had the time or energy.

I have been in a major nesting mode lately. My husband took a few days off of work and we finally, finally, finally got this house decorated. Or at least the ground floor of it, anyway.

I can't tell you how happy this makes me!

It's about time. We got a new chandelier to replace the 1990's brass monstrosity that we've been pretending isn't actually hanging in our faces for a year and a half. We replaced kitchen cabinet knobs and door knobs. We hung pictures and curtains.

This all makes me unaccountably joyful!

I guess I just needed an impetus.

A few months ago I volunteered to host a home concert for our teacher's violin studio. I did it purposefully knowing that it would finally push me to make the house presentable. I guess it worked.

As it turned out, we had to host two back-to-back concerts because our teacher has so many students this year.

I was nervous about the whole thing, but it was a blast. I even had fun moving out our furniture to set up the stage and chairs. Oh, and my piano was extremely happy to be played by the professional accompanist we hired. She was awesome.

The design of our house does lend itself well to a concert setting. I have a feeling will be hosting a few more concerts in the years to come.

Now, there. I did it. I blogged something.

Now if I can just get myself to seduce my husband (when he gets home from D.C. this weekend) I'll really be getting somewhere.

In the meantime, enjoy some pictures.

Fill 'er Up!

Last year I was bored and miserable.

I didn't have anything in my life that I found interesting. I'd lost my (poorly) paying writing job when I moved. I'd lost my zero paying volunteer job when I moved. And I lost the friends I spent the rest of my free time with when I moved.

And so I wished I hadn't moved.

But, hello! I live in a beautiful place with a way better quality of life.

So once I met my most important goal and got the kids accepted at their new school, I decided to take definitive steps to fill the rest of my life with interesting things.

I looked for a steady writing job. (Ha! What a joke. People expect you to give your writing away for the honor of being published.) When that didn't work out I considered going back to school and making a major career change.

And then I remembered how much I hate work.

So I signed up for piano lessons. I started a parent group. I volunteered at the new school. I volunteered for the soccer program.

And now I'm so overscheduled and busy it is ridiculous.

And I don't have the time to enjoy my beautiful new city. But I'm not bored anymore. And I'm not miserable.

Mission accomplished.

"Rest if you must, but just don't quit."

I'm a bad quitter.

Once I start something, I hate, hate, hate to quit. I've always been that way.

Unfortunately, it means that I sometimes end up staying in situations that aren't good for me (like crappy jobs) just because I am too prideful to quit.

It also mean that I will sometimes take years to start something I'd really like to try. I'm afraid that if I don't like it or it doesn't work out, I'll be stuck.

Because god forbid a quit.

That goes for everything from piano lessons to writing a book to decorating my damn house!

What if it is too hard? What if I fail? In my fucked up brain, I won't be able to live with myself.

That's why it took me years to try NaNoWriMo. And why it is now almost impossible for me to admit that it was bad timing. That I bit off more than I could chew in an incredibly busy month.

For now I'm going to do what generations of parents have done.

I'm going to live vicariously through my kid. She's kept to her NaNoWriMo Youth Program word count goal. She's written with utter abandon. She's having fun.

Hey, my kids aren't ever going to be pro athletes. Believe me. I have to live my dreams though them somehow.

(At least my piano lessons are going okay.)

In Honor of The Demon Dog's Birthday

Dear Buffy the Wonder Puppy,

if only you didn't defecate
or urinate
you would be so great

The End

And it Begins

I came home from dropping the kids off at school Wednesday and found a piece of notebook paper on the floor. I figured my daughter the princess of disorganization had dropped a page of her homework.

Nope.

It was a MASH game.

My husband had no clue what I was talking about when I mentioned it to him. Please tell me that you all know what I'm talking about.

You know...

Mansion
Apartment
Shack
House

This kind of thing is extremely new for her. But she has a new best friend who has a sister who is in Middle School. So it begins.

I'm actually thinking...well...it's about time.

We had the kids' teacher conferences yesterday.

Side note: Both kids are doing really great at their new school. They are both a little behind in specific disciplines of language arts because of the crap schooling they got last year, but both of their teachers couldn't say enough good things about their personalities, work ethic, or manners and that's the most important thing. (Yeah!) Plus, both of their report cards were very good.

(Why does every fucking blog post devolve into me bragging about my kids? Remember when I blogged about other stuff? Yeah. Me either. Oooh! And remember when I hated parents who could do nothing but brag about their kids? Yeah. Me too.)

But anyway...

My daughter's teacher assures me that this is the best group of kids she's ever worked with. Not a Mean Girl in the bunch. And she sees my daughter in a way we never had. Outgoing. Gregarious. Theatrical (well okay, we see that one, but usually we're the only ones). Competitive.

She said, "You daughter is exactly the kind of student this school serves best."

Yeah, we know. Hence my desperate need to get her in the place.

She also said that she's never seen a new child adapt so quickly. And as happy as we are to be a part of this new school, they are just as happy to have her as a part of their community.

This is an incredible load off of my mind and soul.

Plus, the girl hasn't cried at school once this year. Not once! Last year I was looking for a good therapist to diagnose what I thought might be an anxiety disorder. And this year I never even have to look over the kid's homework. Or drill her about what went down at school. Or beg her (and yell at her) to please, for the love of god, tell me why she is crying AGAIN!

She's found a place where she's comfortable enough to play MASH and hang with a whole gaggle of nice girls who tell her they like her clothes and can't wait to see her in the play.

All is right with the world. Even if we do start having to worry about boys calling.

Sometimes "normal" is the most beautiful word of all.

If this is wrong, I don't want to be right.

I feel really, really wrong and sick for checking out the president's ass.

But not wrong enough not to do it.

Keep on keeping on, Big B.

p.s. Are those shorts from Target?

p.p.s The picture is blatantly stolen from darling Nicky.

A Star Isn't Born

My son very seriously wants to be a movie star when he grows up. He doesn't understand why people laugh every time he mentions it.

He was just telling us the other day that he wants to live in New York after college because he thinks there are lots of acting jobs there. My brilliant husband told him that if he wants to be a movie star he really needs to move to Hollywood. So, now that's what he wants.

Thus far our declarations that our kids can do whatever they like, as long as they go to college first have been completely accepted. But my son had a sudden realization today.

"Hey," he said out of the blue. "There are kid movie stars too. Why can't I be an actor now?"

Oh, man. Here it comes.

My daughter is enthusiastically involved in the Young People's Theater Program at school and she absolutely loves it. She was cast as "woman" in The Pied Piper. This cracks me up. She is actually playing the comic relief townsperson but she tells everyone she is playing "woman".

I'm pretty proud of her. Her teacher says that it takes someone special to play comedy. It takes timing, of course, but also a complete disregard for looking stupid.

She has no problem looking stupid.

But it is my son who has the highly developed sense of humor. So far it is the kind of sense of humor that teachers and adults enjoy and occasionally goes over other kids' heads. I'm very okay with that.

So I think I have him convinced. Wait until third grade when he can participate in the theater program at school. Wait until he graduates from speech therapy (for god's sake). And then we'll talk about acting professionally.

I don't have it in me to be a stage mother. (Has anyone read Hell is Other Parents?) I'm hoping he'll forget it by then and decide to be a doctor or something.

What? A mother can dream.

Too Bad, So Sad

So, last May 38 kids tried out for the super fancy travel soccer program. 36 kids made it. My kid wasn't one of them.

Now, their goalkeeper broke her arm, and all of a sudden they want my kid.

Ha. We might say no just out of spite. *Harumph*

Well, hello there!

Well, hello, October! Don't you look smashing.

The last couple of posts I wrote here on the ole' blog were so negative, I've been meaning to write something, just to move them down a bit.

I was down for a little bit. But I'm fine now. Well, I'm cranky and moody and sleepy and nuts, but, you know...fine.

I've decided I won't worry about the future and just live in the moment. It's how I made it through the last twenty years. Why change now?

In the meantime, I have been busier than I've been in years. I've been volunteering at the kids' new school. I've founded a parent group for violin moms and dads. I'm learning to play the piano. And I'm shuttling the kids around to a ridiculous number of activities.

Those damn kids keep getting better and better at their stuff, and so their stuff keeps getting more and more demanding.

This weekend I'm taking my daughter to the Shenandoah Valley for a fiddle camp and violin performance. I was supposed to take my son too, but I decided that he and daddy just needed a weekend to chill. They'll be chilling at the hockey rink being all manly man together.

Now I'm off to come up with an art project for the second grade boys to auction off at the school's big gala. Because I'm good at that. Yeah. *ahem*

Picture Day

Yesterday was picture day at school.

Crappy

Resentment is a crappy, crappy thing.

My husband has been home from a TDY less than a half hour and we already had a fight.

I felt like he was yelling for no good reason. But it all ended when I said, "Don't worry, I'll take care of everything. Just like I always do."

What a crappy thing to say.

He went upstairs without a word.

Sometimes I feel like a failure as a military wife.

This sucks.

Give Me Strength

I drove my husband to work this morning so that I could pick him up after work and not leave his car stranded. He had his promotion party this afternoon.

So, as we were driving across the bridge this morning, my dear, dear husband said, (and I quote, for the record!) "I can't wait to retire."

It was his plan when we moved here to do whatever it takes to stay put and retire here. He says things like, "My family is more important than my career." And, "I love it here." Jesus, just last week he was wondering how everyone would react if he kissed the kids' new headmaster on the mouth. That's how much he loves the kids' new school. (We all do.)

But around lunchtime I got an e-mail from him saying, "We need to talk!"

When a military husband e-mails home those four words, it is never good.

But we never connected before his party. And by the time the kids and I got to his party he was slurring drunk. Slurring and happy drunk.

Once we got home and got the kids to bed, and had ice cream, he wanted to talk. He got a few e-mails today. They were asking him to come work deputy positions in North Florida. Which would hopefully lead to commanding positions, most likely in glorious places like Alabama, North Dakota or Louisiana. He also found out he is eligible to put in for a command position.

So he went from, "I can't wait to retire," this morning to "I want to be a commander," this afternoon.

Oh, oh oh! Never mind that just this morning I asked him why he didn't get selected for a certain something and he told me that he chose to spend his time with us before a deployment over studying for the required tests. He insisted it was a good choice that he had freely made.

We can't stay here if he really wants to push his career. If he pushes to be a commander, we'll move a lot. A lot.

He wants to know what I think.

I don't know what to tell him.

I want him to be happy. Faced with the reality of fulfilling the dream he's had since he was...oh...about 19, he can't pass it up. He's too proud to tell people he just wants to quietly play out the last few years of his career for his family's sake. The allure of finally having the chance to be in charge, run things his own way, and probably get promoted to colonel is just too irresistible to resist.

I don't want him to regret not going for it.

But I am extremely happy here. The kids are extremely happy here. We are incredibly lucky to have them accepted at one of the best schools in the country. And we are even luckier to be able to afford to send them there.

I don't want to move to a place where I'd have to put the kids in public or church school. Where I can't even find a violin teacher. Where we've lived before and know we don't love.

He asked me, "What would you do if you were me?"

I can't answer that.

I am a woman who gave up a very promising career to marry a military man. I've sacrificed a lot to give my children everything I thought they needed. I love being "just a housewife" and a stay-at-home-mom, but it has come at a personal price.

When it comes right down to it, at the very core of me is the instinct to sacrifice myself for the sake of those I love. That's not good or bad. It just is.

I can't ask him to make the same sacrifice of personal fulfillment that I would. He doesn't know what it is to give everything up for his family. And I don't know what it is to have to provide for that family.

Without him there would be no violin lessons, private school or stay-at-home mom, because we wouldn't be able to afford it.

When it comes right down to it, I just want him to be happy. And he just wants me to be happy. And for the first time, those two things just can't line up.

So he joked, "Maybe I'll be divorced by then and I can just go on my own."

And I told him, "We shouldn't talk about this while you're drunk."

But he insisted he was sober. And he went on to suggest that maybe we could just live apart for a few years.

I maintain that no school can trump having a loving father in your life. He maintains that a great education is more important than anything he can give them.

I just don't know. Two years ago when he was in Iraq he was ready to get out of the service. I think is his excitement over advancement he has forgotten just how miserable he was. We'd be moving to the armpit of America again only to be separated from him for six months out of every eighteen.

I have no answers for him. I don't know what to say. He knew this decision was coming, I just don't think he thought enough about how he was going to feel about it.

I've always taken the same stand when these kinds of decision come up. I tell him, "Do what you need to do. We'll be fine. I'll make it work."

It's the stoic answer. The strong one.

I'm not sure how much strength I have left.

Pay Raise, Baby!

Today my husband found out that he's getting promoted to Lt Col.

Woot! Woot!

It's a pay raise, baby!

I'm really proud of him. But it is hard for me to imagine anyone referring to him as Colonel. We're not old enough for that! Wasn't it just last week that we were pegging our jeans and bagging groceries for four bucks an hour?

He brought me home roses and congratulated me on "our" promotion. How sweet is that?

Doesn't seem very Lt Col-like to me.

The Mouthes of Babes

A friend and I were expounding on and on about money and the haves vs. the have-nots when I spouted off, "Money makes the world go 'round!"

Overhearing this, my son felt the need to object. "Money doesn't make the world go 'round."

"What does make the world go 'round, buddy?" I asked him.

And he answered simply and matter-of-factly, "Love."

My friend and I then fell into the black hole of his sweetness.

No Yarn in This House

"You homeschool, right?"

A new friend asked me this quite casually the other day.

Assuming that she was asking because she is a homeschooling proponent, I curbed my instinct to cry out, "Oh, dear GOD NO!!!"

I've always known a lot of homeschooling families because so many of them are involved with Suzuki violin. I don't think it is fair to categorize them all in one fell swoop (although I'm probably guilty of doing exactly that). I've known a couple of really great homeschooled kids. And I've known a couple of nutso ones. But like any group of people, most of them have at least something in common, or they wouldn't be a group.

Homeschool kids all have one thing in common. Homeschool moms.

I am so not a homeschool mom.

And as I talked to my new friend about her plan to try homeschooling her five-year-old, I pretty much said just that.

"I think there are probably a lot of great things about homeschooling, but I know that I couldn't handle it."

There is no way in hell I could handle it.

I think homeschool moms tend to be more "supermoms" than most others. And that is neither positive or negative. It just is.

I am so not a supermom.

The list of supermom things that I don't do could line the dog's pee place for a year!

I don't knit.
I don't quilt.
I don't cook.
I certainly don't cook organic or vegetarian.
I don't craft.
I don't like kids.
I don't like pets.
I don't laugh at children's antics.
I don't think my kids hung the moon.
I don't moon over my kids.
I don't go to swap meets.
I don't collect anything.
I don't have patience.
I don't comparison shop.
I don't even clean.
I don't do any of the things people think of when they think of good moms.

Seriously.

Plus, I do do a lot of things that a supermom would never do. (Like write "do do"!)

I swear (but not in front of the kids).
I write about sex and masturbation for the world to see.
I yell.
I use sarcasm. With my kids.
Mostly...I yell.

About the only supermom-type thing that I do is insist that my kids use good manners.

That's it.

So, I have to wonder, why would my new friend mistake me for a homeschool mom?

And is that a good thing or a bad thing?

I do have to admit though, that I often wish I could be more supermom. Oh, not the vegan, crafting, moony kind. But the patient kind. The kind who does "projects" and doesn't send the kids out to play so she can watch an old CSI:NY on TiVo.

I need to show my kids more love. Without getting all moony about it. Because that is just not my style.

Old Men and Their Toys

In all of the fervor of Back to School (my most favorite holiday of the year!) I forgot to mention my dear husband's birthday.

The old man turned 37 yesterday. Damn, how did I end up married to someone so old?

Buying gifts for my husband is one of the fucking hardest things in the world to do. Why is it so hard to buy gifts for men? Oh, that's right. Because they're all incommunicative bastards who won't answer a simple question like, "What would you like for your birthday?"

As he put it, "It is more fun and meaningful to see what you come up with on your own."

This makes me feel like he’s just setting me up to fail.

Considering that what he really wants is new rims for his car, I didn't have a snowball's chance in hell.

So I did what I always do when I have no idea what to buy him. I throw a bunch of shit on the wall and see what sticks. If I buy him six or seven gifts, at least one of them will be acceptable, right?

For our anniversary I got him a small wine fridge and a pretty decent bottle of wine. For his birthday I got him Swedish Fish, two different clip boards (for coaching), two books on goalkeeping, a humor book on coaching soccer (yes, I know he's not a big reader but he's almost finished with the second Harry Potter book and I want him to keep at it), brownies, a barbecue set with LED lights, and at the very last minute, Guitar Hero.

Guess which gift was a hit.

The good news is that while he struggles at Guitar Hero I get a sudden compulsion to practice the piano.

The next gift I'm buying him is a set of headphones.

Honestly, I am ecstatic to have this man in my life and (bonus!) home for his birthday. Happy birthday, Tuna Man! I love you.

First Day of School!

My, how time flies! The kids are so excited to start 5th and 2nd grade at their new academy. And that makes me deliriously happy.

Where, oh where has Tuna Girl gone?

For what seems like the first time in a long time, I have tons of stories to share. I have things I'd like to write, memories I'd like to preserve before they fade away. But I'm busy. So, so busy. Too busy to write. And that sucks.

But here is what is up with me...in a condensed CliffsNotes version.

1. We went on the Nickelodeon Family Cruise and Royal Caribbean's Freedom of the Seas. It was a blast and really a celebration for the kids. But we probably won't ever go on a cruise again. This was definitely a once in a lifetime thing. We're just not cruising people. I'd rather go to a destination and spend lots of time exploring.

Besides, by about midweek, most of the other parents caught in Nick-hell-odeon had lost their fucking minds. I mean, people seriously lost their shit.

It was all smooth sailing for the Tuna Clan though. Everything worked out really well. Oh, and we got slimed! And swam with dolphins, which was amazing. My son said it was "better than Disney World" and he might be right.

2. I started taking piano lessons. I'm so excited. And a little anxious. Even after only one lesson I can really understand my kids a little better now. That shit is hard.

But apparently, I rock! I was really nervous about my first lesson but my teacher was psyched by how much I already knew. And I didn't even know I knew it. He even asked me if I was really a beginner. Toot, toot! (That's me tooting my own horn.) Toot, toot.

It's all good. Once I get past Ode to Joy and the same variation of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star my kids learned on the violin when they were four...well...we'll just see how much I rock then.

3. Speaking of...Our anniversary is next Thursday (14 years!) and my husband bought me a piano. It is my new baby! I love it and am so excited. I can't keep my fingers off of it.

4. I'm going to have a full house this next week. My parents are bringing all three of my nephews (twin nine-year-olds and a five-year-old) for a week long visit. The good news is that this inspired me to finally Spring clean my house. I still call it Spring cleaning as long as it isn't fall yet, right? The bad news is that...well...my parents and nephews will be here for a week. I'm not good with children, or guests, or my parents. Whenever they visit I both look forward to it and dread it. I probably need therapy.

5. The kids school starts August 31. I am beside myself with happiness. This next year looks very bright.

6. And last but not least, all those little mouth breathers on the cruise got us sick. Luckily we didn't start feeling it until after we got home. But, ugh. Now we get to pass it on to my nephews and have them bring it home to my sister-in-law. Happy Back to School to her. *cue evil laugh*

What a Difference a Year Makes

We celebrate one year with our "new" violin teacher!

Great News!

My husband got a call at 4 o'clock this afternoon.

They canceled his trip. The whole thing is called off!

We are ecstatic! It's funny because this is the best news we've gotten in a long time and we want to shout it to the rooftops. But nobody knows that he was supposed to be leaving. Except you guys and the kids' violin teacher.

As far as everyone is concerned things are pretty status quo for us, but we feel like celebrating!

I keep thinking of all the things he'll be able to do with us these next six months.

We are so lucky. I am so happy!

Good News, Bad News

The good news:

They're pushing back my husband's TDY report date until after our cruise. Yay! He can go with us.

The bad news:

They're extending the TDY from four months to six months. So he'll be away until February.

The good news:

He's not going overseas! He's going back to our old base. (But it's a TDY not a PCS so they won't pay for us to go with him.)

The bad news:

So this six-month-long TDY doesn't count toward his AEF (too hard to explain) so he's still due to leave for Afghanistan in May for four to six months.

This is killing me. Six months ago I would have killed for him to be sent back to our old base. If we were still at that school I hated I would have gone with him whether they paid for it or not. But we can't duck out for six months right now.

He's mostly upset because he was all set to coach my son's soccer team and assistant coach my daughter's team. It's funny the things he worries about the most. He's also worried about telling his mother. Funny. (It would have been nice to have him coach again though. It helps my scheduling conflicts.)

Oh, I know that it could be a lot worse. He could be going to Afghanistan for a year. But honestly, I think we'd both prefer that. As he put it, "I'd rather be doing something that really needs to be done. I'd rather be making a difference!"

What will he be doing? Well, as he put it, "...sharpening pencils."

Yes, it could be a lot worse, but this sucks too.

At least I'll be getting back to our old base and visiting my old friends. That will be fun. Hell, we'll be spending Thanksgiving and Christmas with them.

If you don't have anything nice to say...

I have absolutely nothing good to say about our branch of the military today. So I'm trying really hard not to say anything at all.

We got crappy news this weekend. Looks like I'll be starting another school year at another new school without my husband around. I can't say more until it all actually happens (which is supposed to be by Monday).

Damn it.

This is complicated and it sucks.

I've always said that I really love being a military wife. And once upon a time, I did. But lately, I'm starting to wonder just how much damage this is doing to my kids. Is it worth it?

My husband is wondering the same thing. But when he started muttering the "s" word (i.e. "separating") at work, the guys all jumped up and told him to cool off and not make any hasty decisions.

It's not like my husband hasn't done his duty. He's done his fair share for fourteen years. Like, I said, it's complicated.

Just when I was starting to feel settled and happy. Damn it.

Better than my Colin Quin Autograph

Today my daughter got a letter from Michelle Obama. It's pretty cool.

Back when the first family was trying to pick a dog, my daughter wrote a letter to Sasha and Malia telling them why she thought they should choose a daschund.

It's nice that she got a reply back. Although it was a form letter that was probably sent to every kid in America who wrote the family about dogs, it is still signed by Michelle Obama.

My daughter thinks it is totally awesome.

Speaking of Magic Wands

My daughter currently has about $1200 worth of violin bows sitting in her room.

I once heard a bow described as the magic wand of the violin. I didn't realize how true that was. Most instrument companies will send you a few bows to try and choose from. There are so many variables in a player, a violin and a bow that getting the perfect fit between the three is a lot like magic.

So my daughter's bedroom currently looks like a scene out of Ollivander's Wand Shop.

The artist does not pick the bow. The bow picks the artist.

It's time this young artist picked her bow so I can send the others back. I keep threatening her, "You take care of those bows or you'll be getting a job to pay for them!"

A little bit of magic is damned expensive.

Read the Book

We have a rule in my house. You can't see a movie until you read the book first.

I mean, let's face it, there has never been a movie that was better than the book it was based on. Never.

This rule, however, generally only applies to my daughter and me as my son is just starting to read chapter book and my husband doesn't read at all.

Seriously. He has never read a book for pleasure. Ever. (How I married a man who doesn't read, I'll never know. Maybe it was fate's way of making sure our family didn't go poor from buying books.)

However, after seeing the Harry Potter movie last weekend, and listening to my daughter and I go on and on about how the book was different, and listening to me go on and on about how books are better than movies he asked me if I still had the first Harry Potter book in the house.

Of course I do!

But I had been planning to start rereading the series over again from the beginning (maybe with my son). Still, there was no way I was going to tell him that and keep that book out of his hands.

So he got it out and put it on his nightstand. And there it has sat for four days. I've actually reread it while he was asleep and have started on The Chamber of Secrets.

God, I hope he reads it. I can't even tell you how much. As the only one on our family who doesn't love to read, he has always been a bit of an outsider. I want to bring him into the book-loving fold.

Good Fences

Before I write anything else, I should first say that I have spent the last six months of my life, changing my life outlook. I am all about being positive. I've been slowly but surely eliminating the negative people in my life and slowly but surely tuning into the happier side of myself.

That being said...

*sigh*

*ahem*

Good fences really do make good neighbors.

Some people moved into the house next door. The one that used to be occupied by, and is still owned by a lovely German family. My kids were devastated when the German family went back to Germany as their kids were great to play with.

They never came over uninvited or unannounced. They were polite. Their parents were on top of everything they did.

Now, well, there are three boys "staying" in the house next door. The puzzle of ex-wives, girlfriends, and parentage is impossible to figure out.

The "dad" seems nice enough but he was really over eager to get our kids to come play with his assortment of future criminals. (Do I judge a book by its cover, or a kid by his mohawk? Apparently I do.) Now I know why. He needs distractions.

I stupidly allowed my kids to play with the juvenile delinquents. They've been waiting for kids to move in since Christmas. How could I deny them? But it has turned into a total cluster. ("Cluster" being fly boy short speak for "cluster fuck" which is slightly worse than "goat fuck"!)

They come over all the time. They bang and bang and bang on my door if I do not answer it right away. They are constantly pushing over the threshold. They fight and wrestle and hit each other with sticks (All of which may be cool with lots of families, but not with me!) They fucking argue with me. A kid! A fucking eight-year-old kid. A fucking kid who isn't mine!

Today I had to use my mean voice. I am so over it.

I find myself hiding from them. I won't let the kids swim in the pool if I know the boys are home, because they'll be over faster than flies on shit. I take the kids out to eat, just so our meals won't get interrupted.

I'm home alone on a fucking Tuesday morning and I can't even fucking masturbate because a fucking eight-year-old kid is literally kicking my door.

I'm done. They are on a two day probation from knocking on our door which will turn into a permanent probation.

*ahem*

Like I was saying, I'm really looking for the positive in people lately. Sometimes I just have to look really fucking hard.

Oh, and I'm positive I can talk my husband into installing a new privacy fence.

RICE, RICE, Baby!

You know what's not very smart? Wearing sandals when you have a badly sprained ankle.

Last weekend I met up with local bloggers Misty and Dena...

Okay, wait. Major side note here. When I was moving here, Misty gave me tons of help. We e-mailed and talked on the phone. It was always my intention to meet up with her within a few weeks of arriving, but it just never happened. I don't know why I get so nervous meeting bloggers. It always turns out fine and every blogger I've met has been really great. Misty and Dena were no exceptions!

Anyway...

Last weekend the kids and I finally met up with local bloggers Misty and Dena and their kids at the beach. We had a very nice time, but as we were walking back to our car, I missed a step on the little walkway and wrenched my ankle pretty bad. Again.

I hurt my ankle last Fall and again in New York in November. This time I really messed it up. It's all RICE for me for a while.

Except, like I said, I stupidly wore sandals to run errands this morning (dropping the kids off at soccer camp and running to the doctor's office). And I even more stupidly went to a water park on Saturday!

Every year we give the kids the choice of having a party or going on a day trip for their birthdays. We always secretly hope they'll choose the day trip. This year my daughter asked to go to Water Country USA and bring a friend. So we did.

But man! All that walking killed my ankle. I'm so glad we rented the cabana. It was totally worth it.

Another side note. Taking care of three kids is exponentially harder than taking care of two. I don't know how other people do it. Although, taking care of someone else's kid is much more nerve wracking. If something happens to your own kid, you can say, "Eh, oh well. You should have been more careful." But I don't want to bring a broken child back to her parents. "Oops, sorry!" just wouldn't cut it.

In conclusion: I sprained my ankle. Then I made it worse. Then I wrote side notes.

Lucky 13

Today is my daughter's birthday. She is ten-years-old.

I won't say that I can't believe she is hitting double digits, because it just wouldn't be true. Actually, I feel like it has taken forever for her to be this old. She's finally ten. Finally.

Unlike most parents, I am perfectly happy to trade my little girl for a big one. She may be hitting the angst of puberty, but she is finally finding some independence. She is finally finding herself and her self confidence. It is so very good.

I've had to push this one screaming from the nest. But they've got to fly sometime. And in two years she'll be able to babysit.

She's a great kid. She's as sweet and empathetic as a child could possibly be, and creative, imaginative, and talented to boot.

Happy birthday, sweet girl! I know this next year is going to be a great one.

Man, I've been a parent for ten years. That's the longest I've ever done anything.

Sarcophagus

Last week, the kids dragged a big moving box out of the garage to make a sarcophagus for my son.

Um, yes. They were making him an Egyptian coffin. Okay.

So they've been playing with it all week.

Last night when my husband came home from work he asked me, "Where's the boy?"

"Playing in the family room," I answered.

But we couldn't find him. Just as I was really starting to worry we heard snoring.

From the sarcophagus.

He had climbed in, closed the top and fallen asleep.

What's the scariest noise for any parent to hear?

Silence.

Even in Ancient Egypt.

What Ten Years of Motherhood has Taught Me.

Being a mom has taught me a few useful things. Just a few, really, but sill.

My favorite SuperMom skill is the ability to find a public restroom in the most impossible circumstances. Times Square? Bourbon Street? I can find a decent bathroom anywhere.

In fact the only time in the past ten years that I haven't been able to find a bathroom was at a gay beach that was a freaking ten mile hike from civilization. Through sand! Uphill! (Every time I tell that story I add a mile on principle.)

This Fourth of July I was SuperMom again when I decided that the kids might enjoy the fireworks better if they had designated seating, pre-fireworks entertainment, plenty of food options, and...of course...bathrooms aplenty.

We bought tickets for the local Triple-A baseball team and enjoyed the postgame fireworks (which were awesome), stadium food (which was expensive), a run around the bases (which the kids loved), and bathrooms aplenty (which were surprisingly clean).

By the way, SuperMom scores big by smuggling in glowing necklaces and bracelets bought for a buck a dozen months ago. (Next year Supermom could smuggle in more and make a nice little profit.)

Rage Against the Smallest Damn Thing

I am amazed and appalled by the amount of anger I am carrying around these days. It's starting to leak out all over the damn place.

I think, in an effort not to be a bitch, to keep the peace, and mostly not to be accused of being a hypocrite, I have buried an enormous amount of anger. I just haven't buried it very well.

That hasn't always been my style. In fact, that has been the complete opposite of my style for the majority of my last thirty-six years. But when you're trying to be all things to your family all the time, you start to change.

I'm not used to having unresolved issues in my life. I'm not used to carrying around hurt and anger. I'm not used to all this residual rage. I'm not handling it well.

Immersion

I'm finally back to the real world. I'm somehow surprised to find that not everyone plays a string instrument and I don't have to attend parent lectures every day.

Taking the kids to a Suzuki violin institute was well worth the time and cost. It was quite an interesting week. Not only were the kids inspired but I was reminded of the very important reasons why we started all this violin stuff in the first place.

It was a week of immersion. I haven't spent a week of pure immersion like that since my days of spring training for softball. It was...kind of freeing. There were no computers. I didn't take any phone calls. I didn't watch any television.

It was just me and my family. And it was good.

My mom met us there, to help me get two kids through four classes a day. She loved watching their group lessons and play-ins. Unfortunately she missed their solo recitals and concerts.

In the middle of the night on Wednesday she got a call from my father. My father lost his sight in one eye this past year due to diabetes. That night his other eye "blew". He had to have emergency surgery to try and save his sight, so my mom took off for the ten hour drive back to her home.

She was a wreck and the kids were sad.

My father is going to have to wait about three weeks to see if his eye heals at all.

But I'm back with a new sense of purpose and lots of decisions to make. And a weeks' worth of reflection to help make them.

Violin Mom

I'm off for a week of violin camp with the kids. I'll see you next weekend...with enough violin mom crap to make you puke.

Every Day for a Year!

I am absolutely riding high tonight. What a great day.

First of all, as of this morning, my children and I have practiced violin every single day for an entire year.

Can you even believe that? My own mother can't believe it. When I told her I was getting up at 5:45 a.m. every morning for violin practice, she was speechless.

But, man has it paid off.

First of all, tonight my son graduated to the next level of violin training. We celebrated with a graduation recital and reception with his four fellow graduates. He played five solo pieces. He's been working his butt off to perfect them and he sounded great tonight.

The compliments were flying after his performance. There is something about my son...I don't know. I can't explain it, partly because I don't really see it myself. But people love him.

Yeah, sure, he played better than the other kids (ahem), but people just love his spirit. One mother wants to get him an agent and put him in movies. She went on and on about him. To me he's just my kid. My great kid, for sure. But I expect him to act and look and live the way he does.

People were also complimenting me left and right. To the point of embarrassment. But you know I love it. I took the initiative to organize the reception and people acted like it was a huge deal. All I did was send a couple of e-mails.

So I was feeling pretty positive when we got home. But then my daughter got the mail and things got even better.

My daughter was accepted into the orchestra she auditioned for! This is a huge deal. She'll be one of the youngest kids in the group. I'm so proud of her!

The audition was not an easy thing. For her or me. She worked for hours and hours on scales, sight reading and a solo piece. She was ready but she was nervous. Watching her walk out of the warm up room and into the judging room was a profound parenting moment for me.

She was all on her own. I had done everything I could do for her. She was all on her own.

Sure, she's performed solos in huge concerts, but I was always in the audience, watching and cheering her on. And helping her process it all in the aftermath.

This time she was all alone in that room. Just two judges, her, and her music.

She is very proud of herself tonight too. She was beaming!

Practicing together every single day for an entire year has made a tremendous difference in our lives. And not just with their violins. It has made us all believe that we can do anything we set our minds to. It has proven to my children that working hard is its own benefit. It has taught them that they can get anywhere they want to go, with enough discipline.

On Sunday we're heading to D.C. for a week-long violin institute. We're all excited. We'll be heading into another year of music with a song on our hearts.

Needing Knobs

Oh sure. I get locked in the laundry room and the whole family just laughs at me.

My husband gets locked in the laundry room and has to be rescued by a seven-year-old with a screwdriver and suddenly we have new doorknobs throughout the house.

At least I love my new knobs.

Survivor: Laundry Island

Last night I was locked in the laundry room.

The door knob has been acting up for a while, but I still shut the door behind me so the dog would stay with me and I could give her a treat.

Then I couldn't get out.

Between me and my television-watching husband was the laundry room door, the closed bathroom door (our laundry room is off of our bathroom...I didn't want you to think that my husband was watching television in the bathroom...although, I'm sure he would...actually I'm surprised he hasn't asked for a flat screen above the tub yet) and about ten feet.

First I knocked. Then I yelled his name. Then I banged and knocked some more. Then I yelled some more.

Fifteen minutes later when I had dissolved into hysterical laughter, he rescued me.

I had been envisioning myself spending the night in the laundry room. I had even been envisioning my children finding me days from now dead and curled up with the dog.

Okay, that's not true. I'd eat that damn dog long before I'd die. Sorry, but if it was me or her, well, I'd be cooking her in the dryer.

Oh, wait. I suppose I could eat her Purina ProPan before I'd have to resort to that. Heck, between her treats and the water in the laundry room sink, I could have a pretty sweet life in there.

All alone.

Ah. Alone.

And by the time anyone found me I'd probably have lost some significant weight. It would be like a vacation really. A vacation at a health spa!

Excuse me. I'm going to go get the dog a treat again. I might shut the door behind me. Maybe no one will think to look for me until school starts in the fall.

Like Pinned Butterflies

Every year when the kids get out of school, I have fantasies about spending our days sipping lemonade and playing badminton. And every year I am rudely reminded that life goes on and on and on. And responsibilities rarely take a vacation.

These last two weeks have been a bitch! And it ain't over yet, sisters!

Between soccer tryouts, and more soccer tryouts, and even more soccer tryouts (because she didn't make the first team), and a week's worth of speech evaluations, and an audition for an orchestra I feel like my kids have been under a microscope lately.

Oh, and never mind the two violin concerts, solos for each kid, and my son's six solos for graduation recital next week.

I feel like I've been in a ringer. I can only imagine how the kids feel.

One more week and we can crawl out from under the microscope. And soon you'll be treated to more sickening stories of my kids and our domestic life. Because no matter how any one else evaluates these two, I think they freakin' rock.*

*70 to 80% of the time anyway