Warning: This could very well be a rambling tangent of thoughts without any coherence whatsoever.

Or as the cool kids now call it..."a mashup". (See? I'm down with the trends. If it's good enough for Miley and 50 Cent, I'm good wit' it.) 

Why do kids (upon exiting the house) either leave the door open completely, or feel the need to slam it so hard that the Febreeze smelly thing in the bathroom comes unplugged?

Why, when the number of children exceeds one, do they gather in my front lawn and feel the need to scream? Do they all lose their hearing after slamming the door after leaving the house? Are sign language classes needed?

Why can my 10-year-old tell me random facts about Demi Lovato, including her birthplace and the story of how she met Selena Gomez, but can't remember to tell me when every piece of her clothing is dirty? (Don't know who Demi and Selena are? Google is your friend.)

Why are boys so loud?

Why, when I say "Get ready for bed and brush your teeth", do my children hear "Before changing into your pajamas, go to the bathroom and camp out for 20 minutes, then wait for me to ask you if you're in the bed yet. Then change and spend 15 more minutes playing with your sister in front of the mirror before brushing your teeth. Get as much water on the mirror as possible, and please leave little pieces of green goo toothpaste on the vanity so you can put your hairbrush down in it. Then when I pick it up and get sticky on my hands, I will be SO happy." 

Why can I call my children's names at the top of my lungs if I need help with housework and they can't seem to hear me, but never have a problem understanding me if I'm discussing possible Christmas present ideas for them?

Why are boys so freaking loud?

Why do magazines and yarn seem to take up residence in my floor, multiplying like 20-somethings after a night of oysters and Jello shots?

Why can't I seem to locate the want ads looking for people to get paid to listen to new music, knit cool stuff all day, and sample new batches of Nutella?

Why does the back seat of my car become the dumping ground for everything from half-consumed milk and ponytail holders to the library book that should have been returned two months ago?

Why do people think simply "friending" someone on Facebook is the same thing as keeping in touch?

Why do some folks refuse to teach their kids home training, then get upset when they get in trouble?

Why are boys so $%@^@* LOUD???

There. I feel better. 

Today marks Day 3 or 4 of a week of my working the overnight shift. (I appear confused on the day due to two reasons: the first is a severe lack of sleep because my body clock just isn't good at doing a 180 degree turnaround for the sleep schedule. The second reason is because while everyone else is finishing their Wednesday, I'm getting ready to start my Thursday.)

I only bring up the schedule thing because I have learned the hard way that all those doctors and scientists who talk about problems related to a lack of sleep really are on to something. In my line of work, I read a LOT -- A lot of news stories, press releases, blogs, Tweets, magazines, etc. And one of those health stories that comes up every so often is about the ills and aftereffects of sleep deprivation. They say people who don't have enough rest are on the same mental level while driving as someone who'd had a few too many drinks and got behind the wheel of a car. Lack of sleep is also a contributing factor to diseases, including things that lead to diabetes and other fun stuff like that.

I, however, have done my own research and have come up with a few tried-and-true axioms as well:

1) Things always seem much worse when you haven't had enough sleep. No kidding. The smallest thing can really make me mad and bring me to the verge of tears. (And yes, it really WAS worth needing tissues when Lunchbox ate the last Lofthouse cookie. Those things are like soft, buttery crack.) 

2) Important phone conversations should probably not take place when you're sleep deprived. You may possibly agree to things you wouldn't have under normal circumstances. ("Sure, honey, that tractor pull sounds like a great reason to get a sitter for Saturday night." "No, sweetie, I promise a hot dog from the Target snack bar will be fine for dinner. Texas de Brazil is probably too crowded anyway.") Just don't do it.

3) Rule number 2 also goes for emails, especially those directed to people you work for/with. But if you insist on "sending while sleepy", at least get a proofreader first. (They can probably talk you out of sending that half-cocked rant to your boss...or at the very least hit the "delete" key while your sleepy self is dozing off in the middle of typing it.)

4) When you DO finally lie down to rest after days on end of sleep deprivation, remember to move your phone away from your reach. While we're on this subject, I'd like to apologize to friends and family members with whom I've had a conversation and no knowledge of it afterward because I was asleep the whole time. 

These simple tips will help you, too, overcome the inconvenience that is being sleepy. 

An all-night Starbucks wouldn't hurt, either.

Copyright December 2009  All rights reserved

To my fellow sisters in the female gender: just because a woman calls your house, it does NOT automatically mean she's out to get your man. (I will also be the first to say that if it happens over and over, you might need to start asking some questions. And maybe get tested. And brush up on your target practice. But for the sake of this blog posting, we're talking about just the one phone call.)

I volunteer with my daughter "Bedhead"s school (No, her name is not really Bedhead. It's just a nickname she has to keep potential soccer and sports agents at bay.) In my position as a volunteer, it's my job to call a group of male volunteers and remind them when they're supposed to show up for their day of helping at the school. I was making my calls when I dialed a number and a woman answered. She was not a woman who seemed happy to be hearing from a fellow female, either. It went something like this:

Me (in my cheerful voice): "Hi! May I speak with Vinnie Volunteer?"

Grumpella: "WHO?" (semi-loudly)

Me (little less wind in the sails at this point, fearing I've got the wrong number): "Uh, Vinnie Volunteer?"

Grumpella: "Um, yeah."

(This is where she stops herself, and her voice immediately goes from "you've-just-interrupted-my-Maury-show-right-before-the-paternity-results" to "What the heck kind of trollop is calling my house??!")

Grumpella: "WHO may I say is calling?"

It is around this time, while I'm introducing myself to Grumpella, that Vinnie Volunteer picks up the phone in another part of the house, rescuing me from any further audio probing by Miss "I'm Suspicious of Everyone". Now, it has been my experience that a woman who has this kind of reaction when a female calls the house is one of two types of women: either she is the mother of a cute boy in middle school whose female classmates have crushes on him and have gotten ahold of his phone number or she is a jealous woman whose husband is either very outgoing, or is going out...if you get my drift.

Since I am not in middle school and wasn't calling to talk to her son, I can only draw the conclusion she is in the latter group. 

Ma'am, with all due respect: CHILL. I'm sure your fella is a wonderful guy, but unless you're with George Clooney or Brad Pitt, the entire female population isn't out to get him. It's not a good idea to assume every high-pitched voice on the other end of the phone is a she-devil, armed with a skimpy red outfit, pitchfork and thigh-high boots. 

Dial it back a notch. And while you're at it, would you remind him he's supposed to volunteer at the school on Thursday? Thanks.

Copyright October 2009    All rights reserved

It's gotten to be an almost daily occurrence: My 10 year-old daughter, "Lunchbox", gets into the car after school and answers my question of "How was your day?" with either a list of the mean things done/said by a bullying classmate or tears that say it with no words necessary. This has been going on since the beginning of the school year. Actually, if you want to get technical, it's been going on longer than that. She had the misfortune to be in class with this same kid (we'll call him "Billy", since I can't call him what I'd really like to) last year, too. He was the same way then, too: calling kids names, making fun of them, and in general, being a real, um, pest. Sadly, matriculating to the next grade up hasn't mellowed him in the slightest. It's only given him more time to learn ways to torment those who have the misfortune of being stuck in the same class/grade/planet with him.

"Billy" has called Lunchbox everything but a child of God - rude, mean things that warrant washing his mouth out with soap. Needless to say, this makes me extremely mad. He's knocked books off her desk, slapped a book out of her hands while she was reading, and recruited others to join in the practice of blaming her for everything that he does behind the teacher's back. And this isn't the worst of it - the rest I won't go into here. Even worse, evidently her teacher either seems to witness none of this (he's clever enough to do his worst when she's out of the room) or doesn't care. I'm still trying to figure out which. 

Lunchbox has reported this behavior a couple of times, but it's easy for a 10 year-old to get intimidated by school staff who seem to have a "we aren't going to put up with anything out of anybody" attitude than one of helping students who need it. She has been taught to respect people in positions of authority, but sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't have included a section on "when it's okay to question everything". 

As a mom, I'm incensed that "Billy" (who has a consistent history of bad behavior and the detention slips to prove it) is allowed to stay in the class and torment not only my daughter, but other kids as well. I've been assured by the school that there is a "protocol" for dealing with bullying, but haven't been made privy to exactly what that plan is. 

Having been around this kid on a limited basis, I have a theory about why he acts the way he does: It's a classic case of "I'm going to make you feel insecure so you won't notice I'M insecure".  

If Lunchbox were a boy, the bullying would probably be more along the lines of push-him-down-and-take-his-lunch-money. And it would be simpler to deal with, too. I could at least give her the advice a lot of dads give their sons: "Don't start anything, but if someone else does, you finish it". In other words, if some punk takes a poke at you, knock his lights out. 

But since she's a girl, it's mostly emotional. A black eye or bruise is easy to label as bullying, but what about name-calling and remarks that leave other kinds of scars? And it's not like bullying is new. It's been around since little cave-children made fun of each other in class, taking specific note of who wore outfits made of ferret skins instead of the more trendy mammoth hides. Only now, instead of occasional nasty remarks and ugly looks, bullying is treated more seriously, thanks to horrible tragedies like Columbine. 

Lunchbox's school has an anti-bullying policy. But how can you really stop it? Aren't some kids just predisposed to being mean? 

Google "school bullying" and you'll get more than six million results. A lot of those are stories from parents whose children were bullied, and whose deaths were a result. 

I watched a report this morning on ABC news' web site called "The Quick Fix". (Link here: http://abcnews.go.com/Entertainment/QuickFix/ )

It included an interview with Karla Good, who is a bullying prevention trainer with the Olweus group, which is an anti-bullying group whose program is being used in 5,000 schools in the United States. She says the way to stop bullies is to make bullying uncool, and the way to do that is to get bystanders involved. Good says if students who witness the incident come to the defense of the person getting bullied, it lessens the "power" of the bully. And if the bystander doesn't have the courage to do that, they can tell an adult what they saw. Or simply go up to the person being bullied and be friendly to them. Good says it's working - her group is seeing success with fewer incidents of bullying. Not only that, but the kids say they feel safer at school, and that the adults seem to care more about them.

Amazing, huh?

I'm saddened my daughter is going through this, much like any parent would be. While I have confidence in her ability to shrug it off and go on being her honor-roll self, I still don't like it one bit. It remains to be seen what the school will do about this problem.

But you can bet on one thing: I will not stand by and let it continue. 

Copyright October 2009 All rights reserved

Too Famous For Manners?

I'm surprised at myself for getting so worked up about the horrible behavior of a "star" at the MTV VMA's last night. Seriously, who among us is surprised at the tirades Kanye West takes us on whenever he takes a mind to? I mean, really? It's not like he hasn't made a complete idiot of himself in the limelight before. (I would go into other examples here, but you can Google it and get more than I could list.) I feel really bad for Taylor Swift, and at the same time, pleased that Beyonce showed she has WAY more class than Kanye.

But I think the whole issue goes further that a bad choice of stage entrance and/or alcoholic courage here. 

When did manners become something that is optional? When did it become okay to engage in behavior that makes you look like a three year-old and makes your momma bow her head and hope nobody remembers that's "so-and-so's" boy/girl?

What happened to home training and common decency? Maybe it's my Southern upbringing, but when I was a kid, you didn't talk back to adults (not more than once, anyway), you didn't mouth off to teachers, and you didn't embarass your parents (Lord help you if you did). Mind you, this is NOT to say my generation is perfect. Far from it. We are the ones who have yearbook pictures with hair that was so big it got to 1987 before we did. Proud high schoolers in the "me" decade. Suffice it to say we have our own issues (and probably a Cabbage Patch doll or Rubik's cube in the closet somewhere). But for the most part, respecting others was not an option. 

It seems to be one these days. It's not only evident in episodes like Kanye's "watch-me-show-my-ass" display, but in the kids I meet/have met in my children's schools. A few weeks ago, I heard one come out of school, and yell to the teacher across the parking lot, exclaiming to her (and everyone in earshot) how fine she was. And I'm not talking about a "Gee, Mrs. Smith, don't you look professional today!" sort of way. He was yelling at her like she WAS a "professional" (if you get my drift). If a boy had tried this in my middle school, the coach would have made him run laps until his ears bled.

Contrary to the belief of some, manners are not some antiquated notion that died off with New Coke. (Younger readers, you'll need to Google that, too.)

They are one of the things that keep our civilized society "civil". 

 

Mother of the Month

I haven’t always been an “eat dessert first” kind of person. It’s just not the way I was brought up. Coming from a Southern farm-raised background, I was always taught that you work first, enjoy the rewards later. 

However, in recent years, I have decided this is simply not always right. 

Case in point: school. The only acceptable reason for missing a day of classes (or, hell, even ONE class) was because you were knocking on death’s door. And usually that brought about a trip to the hospital to see Dr. Elliott. And, because my mother worked at the hospital, you’d better REALLY have something wrong with you. It wouldn’t do to be faking and found out with mom’s co-workers around. 

Yet recently, I not only checked my daughters out of school early (no doctor’s appointment in sight!), I drove them three hours away to attend a Jonas Brothers concert with thousands of other screaming girls. My mother certainly did not approve, but to her credit, she managed to get a handle on most of her disappointment with the rebel she had raised, and merely come off sounding concerned for our safety on the drive. 

I didn’t tell the girls about the trip until I checked them out of school....even though I had bought the tickets and booked the hotel weeks before. I just knew the tops of their little heads would come off if they knew where they were going. I also knew that they would lord the trip over their friends who weren’t lucky enough to have the Greatest Mother on the face of the planet. (Sorry, kids, there’s only one of me.) 

Actually, it’s because I’m anything BUT the greatest mom that led me to do such an impulsive thing. I like to think of myself as a cool mom who does neat stuff with her kids like making our own paper and knowing the names and shows of all the current “Disney channel” stars, but that isn’t always the case. For the last few years, I have had the sleep schedule from Hell: waking up at 3:30 a.m. to go to work, getting off around 1:00 p.m., and only getting about 4-5 hours of sleep per night. After a while, this will drag you down. (Think having a newborn for years on end.) It tends to make one grumpy and quick-tempered. And, unfortunately, my children have been on the receiving end of this more than once. So, to make up for it, from time to time, I will do things that are really out of character. (Hence, the Jonas Road Trip 2009. Damn, I should have had shirts made up. That would have been REALLY cool...)

And truth be told, to them it was a great time. To me, it highlighted all the things I’ve done wrong over the years that I feel I must now make up for. Not to channel my inner Carrie Bradshaw, but I wonder: Do we parents ever get to live guilt-free about the choices we’ve made for our kids? I’m thinking no. Whether it’s the parent that lives without their kids because they’re in some other state with the other parent, or the one who has them and craves a trip to the bathroom without company, I think we all have our moments. Because my children visit their dad every other weekend, I know what it’s like to have the “grass is greener” thoughts. On weekends when they’re with me, we run to soccer games, grocery trips, Chuck E Cheese excursions (or as I like to call it, “The Beloved Shrine of the Rat”). When they’re with their dad, I oscillate back and forth between “Ah, listen...silence” and “I want my babies home now!”. 

Maybe it’s just part of being a parent: the constant wondering if you’re doing it right. I’d like to think that one day, we’ll get to know the answer, but I wonder about that, too.

Meanwhile, I’m enjoying each day I have until they cross over to the dark side of teenagerdom and decide I’m the dumbest thing God ever put on the planet. And at that point, I’ll sit back, hold the car keys, and encourage them to go visit their dad. :-)

(All rights reserved - Copyright 2009)