My Children love to Dance.

I'm afraid that they may have been switched at birth.

Add this to the fact that Little O does not believe in eating macaroni & cheese or (sob!) mashed potatoes, and I think I have a pretty good case for alien abduction. Fairies switching them? Robot children a la Spy kids?

Take your pick, but it's getting reaalllly hard to believe they are the fruit of MY loins!

Big O was in his 3rd quinceanera last weekend, and again, you could not get either of them off of the dance floor. Luckily every once in a while Little O would throw in a move like a cross between a Carlton and an Elaine, with a little sideways kick...



So I know she really IS my kid.

Little O had her dress rehearsal for her first ballet recital tonight. The cute in that room was overpowering. We all stumbled out slightly woozy from the chubby legs and dimply smiles--and the tutus, oh my stars the cute of those tutus!

Wrestling may be the end of my sanity.

It's possible that Big O got the haircut from hell from his wrestling coach at the tournament on the Weds before thanksgiving. We're looking into a Jack sponsorship deal.

It's also possible that I advised my son that his stepfather would have kittens if Big O knocked a tooth loose because he was not wearing the mouth guard I got for him (after his father was going to cover "all" the costs and we bought it all). It's further possible that I then clarified that while kittens sound cute, it would in fact be full grown hellcats emerging from the Honey's ass to consume us all. Which got the adorable grin I was looking for while still getting my point across that my boy had better WEAR his damned safety gear.

If he loses a tooth on top of the *cough* modified bowl haircut, he's not going to get to talk to a girl until college.

Sigh.

A nice cozy Sunday listening to my seven year old tunelessly singing along to her new Disney sing-it for the wii.

It's kind of my definition of a perfect Sunday except for the Honey being stuck at work and no Big O.

I am a fairly laid back parent. I don't do hysteria and drama. So my reaction caught me of guard when the Ex told me he was at the Urgent Care with Big O. He's got the flu. Yeah, the Dr. at the clinic says it's probably THE Flu. The Ex said he may as well keep him there to keep it away from Miss Priss and the Elder contingent on our side (Mrs. G & Mama Dina). I appreciate that. But. My boy is sick.


I want him here, logic be damned. The blogosphere is full of horrifying H1N1 stories. Feel better, Bubby. I'm busting the door down if your dad says you're still sick Monday.

A stunningly fabulous weekend.

I had the best weekend and it was brought to me by the most unlikely source.

One of the Honey's brothers.

Specifically his oldest brother, who has had a tendency to bring up every misdeed the Honey ever committed, and endlessly contends that the Honey broke his father's heart. The Honey feels that he did everything possible for his dad, including being the one to find him collapsed of a heart attack, and so those conversations tend to go downhill rapidly. I try to steer clear of it all--my family doesn't DO drama.

This Brother in law, however, sank into the bubbling, oozing tar pits of my esteem when he marched my year old daughter to me in the middle of a family party as if she smelled, and told me that his mother was OFF work and I could watch my own kid. As if I could pry my daughter away from his mom with a crowbar. As if it was my idea to use his mom as daycare in the first place. prick.

So you can imagine how thrilled I was when I got the call from the Honey on Saturday that we had spaced the party for this BIL's only child, and I'd better hustle to be there by 2--without him. Really? A root canal, no anesthesia, but a camera so I can see what they're doing? That'd be swell!

Packed up my O's and stopped at the store for a funny card, and stuffed some cash in it--who are we kidding, like I'd know what a bona-fide you tube star (don't ask) would want, or as if I would open myself up to BIL's scorn for choosing the wrong gift. Not gonna go there.

But lo, we walked into bizarre-o world. The niece tolerated Big O (those quince practices really helped) and so did her hip/thuggy friends. They were dancing in the garage with a black light all night. When it came time to go, at about ten, Big O actually begged to stay. I was beat and loaded him into the car, but..but he's NEVER asked to stay at ANY family party. He's never asked me to go to a party. When favorite SIL offered to drop him off later, I caved so fast it was embarrassing.

After we left, the cops showed up about twelve to talk about the noise. One of the kids opened up the garage door and they all stared at the cops for a minute and then bolted into the back yard. The cops thought it was hilarious, because true Stockton thugs:
A) would not have had sixteen grandmas and forty-two Mexican aunties wandering thru the garage to keep everyone suitably spaced and decently covered--school dances are not as well chaperoned.
b) would still freeze momentarily, then would have stared down the cops, if not making outright statements about sizzling pork.

But Big O gets to go to school on Monday and talk about the black light, the computerized music he got to help with, the live older girls, and oh, yeah, then the cops broke it up. No, man, my mom wasn't there.
It's a thirteen year old's dream come true.

So I had a little more love for the BIL this morning when the Honey said we were headed over there for brunch. I don't have to cook? hells, yes. We're there.

I warned Little O that all of the little kids she had played with the night before would be gone, so we packed some toys for a bored kindergartner. BIL was way ahead of me, and totally had me beat.

I don't think he expected it to get the kind of reception it did, but he had found something in the Niece's things that he thought Little O would use in years to come:




Oh.My.Dawg. Little O pored over it all day. We talked about alphabetical order, and looked up everything she could think of, We went thru the maps in the back, she started working on her ASL, REALLY wanted the pictures of the Braille alphabet to be raised. All day, she soaked it up. I think he was equally amazed, but BIL found the perfect thing for my girl.

He's out of the tar pits. Both of my O's had a fabulous weekend, and I owe it all to him.

Happy Birthday, Carolee

 

Big O's grandmother died a horrible death from breast cancer.

When people wear pink ribbons? It's because some beautiful brown eyed boy has one less source of unconditional love to draw on as needed. Buy the stamps. Lick the yogurt lids. Because the next blue/brown/green eyed kid to lose might be yours.

Holy guacamole, batman!

My eldest turns thirteen today.

He's a TEENAGER.

When DON'T you speak out of your Ass, Jennifer?

Okay, watching PBS later at night is never good for my brain.

Or it's very good.

Or I am confused.

or not.

Childhood bipolar diagnosises? IS that even how you'd spell that? On Frontline they were talking about the four thousand percent increase in bipolar diagnoses of children since someone noticed the similarities in symptoms between bipolar and ADHD cases. NO, that was not a jenism, they said four THOUSAND percent. Well, if it hadn't existed before, I could see it being a big number, but MAN.

I admit, I am talking out of my ass, the second most uneducated individual not currently an elected official. When I went to school, I studied fun things like writing, and early childhood education. I am not a fan of more meds in general. But I'm also not Tom Cruise. There really can be better living thru chemistry (That was a real book title, by the way). But anti psychotic drugs for four year olds? Two year olds?

I am not speaking, however, from that rare state of bliss, parent of the perfect child, straight A student, everything was NOT super peachy keen throughout my baby's life.
Big O was an intense child.
He still can be.

But when he was two, three, four, it was ROUGH, people. We had a battery of tests to see if he was autistic, if there was something we could pinpoint to make his life easier. He did not warm up to everyone, he threw magnificent, horrific tantrums, and let me tell you, it wasn't for lack of spanking. That was tried, too. They just pissed him off more.

I read a book when he was about four, I think it was called the Highly Explosive Child (?), and while the kids in the book were older, it really described him so well. It was so on point compared to other books I had read. The book offered solutions and strategies to help cope with these behaviors, but there was one problem- The book said, basically, that we should always offer Big O choices, to give him some sense of control, and avoid any situations where he might explode. By giving him whatever it was that he wanted. Anyone seeing the flaw?

Life doesn't work that way. Several of the strategies were useful and saved my ever-loving sanity. But a lot of it was, um, crap. My role as a parent/mentor/guide-- whatever you'd like to call it-- is to help my beautiful boy get ready for the rest of his life, dealing with the rest of the world, which doesn't always offer choices. Sometimes it just hands you a big bowl of shit and tells you to eat up.

His school was okay about his issues at the beginning, but as he got a little older and became more resistant to authoritarian commands they got fed up quick. The fact that he's big for his age just exacerbated the issue. My third grader got asked to leave his school and all of his friends.

I wonder, if I had been offered those magic pills would I have given them to him? Because his grades? Rotten, but I blame myself and his father for not instilling the study skills he needs. He struggles. But I sure love the kid he's become. I wouldn't change him. I do not judge the mom of that four year old I saw on TV, because I was the mom of a four year old a whooole lot like hers. But I'm sad for her. What if she misses out on a kid like mine?

We'll talk about horrifying effects of untested drug regimens on tiny bodies on another post. You may have guessed my opinion.

The other day I got an email from someone that I adore, but have lost touch with. She asked me why I hadn't ever told her how much FUN she'd have being a mom. Gawd, that killed me. Because to me, I gushed about my kid. I had to consciously refrain from talking about him nonstop. He was(is) magic. Even throughout the exhausting drama of tantrums, night terrors, and pure chaos, Big O was my everything--easily the best thing that ever came of my meeting his father (Big O's aunties are also a glorious gift, though).

I sometimes wish the Honey could understand how far my boy has come. He sees those flare ups of temper and sullen moods as huge disrespectful slaps in the face. Having lived through true drama, I write a lot more of it off to the hormonal tidal wave that is hitting Big O. I worry more about his small circle of friends and the bitter cold loneliness of being different in junior high. I feel the need to give him a lot of leeway emotionally because I was a lonely kid, too. But I always had a best girlfriend and I just don't know how boys function. Does he NEED a best friend like I did? His dad's life is such a yo-yo course of ups and downs, and it seems like he's been walking the dog on a low patch for quite a while now (whew--that was a yo-yo reference that just fell totally flat, wasn't it?). My boy needs me to be up for him. I'm not saying I'm blind to his faults, or that I have no expectations of him, but there has to be a place of balance. Somewhere between military school and walking him into junior high every day and reciting his affirmations together.

Sunday the Honey figured out why I don't blog as much anymore. It's because he's home at night now, and I'm not alone. He's right. But I'll make time for this, eke it out of my day somewhere, because it was really nice to have this chat with you. I've missed it.

m'kay, now I'm creeping MYSELF out. Must.get.life. or sleep. something like that.

I need your help, friends!

So my twelve year old boy, light o' my life and the one that I lectured about classic rock while he was still in the womb, can totally kick my ass on guitar hero.

I bought him guitar hero in hopes of breaking the Pokemon fascination, and giving him something to connect to kids his own age. Well, Pokemon is not entirely gone, but GH is definitely IN. My happiness is only compounded by the fact that most of the GH songs are, in fact, kick ass, and far far away from the dreck I was afraid of my children getting into. (Little O may yet be my corporate-generated-band-of-the-week girl, but I will fight it for as long as I can...)

SO here's my dilemma. Big O has loaded his MP3 with the songs from the game. He has come to me, mortified, at the lyrics to one of the Rage Against the Machine songs, and confessed that he thinks I would not like it if I knew he was listening to it. (tee hee--Love my O) I want to build him a library of CLASSIC, EPIC albums that he should be familiar with.

Please, if you are normally a lurker, leave me something in the comments.

I started a debate in the office as to whether I should give him The Wall, or Dark Side of the Moon, or if Pink Floyd is just Smokin' music and I should keep it as far away from him as possible.

Which Rush album (can I pick 2, pleeease?)

In terms of a twelve year old, don't you think WAR would be more appealing than Joshua Tree?

Bob Marley, the Doors, even the Beatles can be greatest hits albums. But what MODERN albums belong (Other than Nevermind by Nirvana)? I would think Green Day would have to be in there--Are the Beastie Boys just an 80's sentimental favorite or a noteworthy reference?

Is it evil of me to make him write a report on each of these bands over the summer, one a week, as punishment for crappy grades? Mom's Version of summer school, since I WENT to summer school when I was a kid, and I know that he would meet all the WRONG kids and bond with them and become the central valley pre-teen I've been raising him NOT to be? Did that even make sense to you?

Help me, people-- give me your recommendations for a well rounded rock education.

I heart my boy.

Santa is coming to little O's preschool today, and she has been STRESSIN' over what she can wear to look her prettiest for Santa.

 

She talked me into letting her wear her new skirt we'd been saving for Christmas eve.

 

Big O looked at his sister this morning and told her,

 

"You know Little O, Santa would think you're beautiful no matter what you wear."

 

I called him on that one right away, and told him he'd just earned an extra present from Santa for saying such a sweet and wonderful thing.  Then I shot him down that no, Santa would not be bringing him an Xbox or a Wii based upon a lovely compliment to his sister, but he should remember lines like that when he gets older. 

 

 

Hoagies and Grinders, Hoagies and Grinders...

My dumpr
Originally uploaded by supa_jen_10.

Big O loves his new junior high, and I know it's only been a few days, but it's such a refreshing change from last year.

As a seventh grader, he is taking Engineering and Criminal Law/Ethics as his two electives. I hope the euphoria doesn't fade away altogether.

He called me on his second day (It was his Dad's week) to tell me that he got his PE locker, and he hated it.
My heart just sank--I thought he hated changing in front of everyone (hmmm, project much?). Then he went on to say that everyone hated it, because only like three kids could open their lockers. He hated the LOCKER, not PE. Oh, just wait, son....

The picture is apropos of nothing, I just made it from a toy I found at Michelle's

Bre lent me the best of Adam Sandler, and I thought Big O would love it--ack. There was a whoooole lot more innapropriate stuff than I remembered. Bre sent it to my house because I could remember the lunch lady song easily, but I had no recollection of Chris Farley AS the lunch lady. Those were some HIGH kicks!

Happy Birthday, Big O!

I don't know which of these pictures he'll hate more, but I'm saving them both for prom...


Happy 12th birthday, Bubby!

How many years ago?

When Spiderman came out, we took Big O to see it on the big screen, and in the middle of the movie, I looked over to see how he liked it, and he was flashing his wrist up at the ceiling. It took me a minute to recognize that he was trying to get webs to come out.

Now he's almost a teenager, laughing at jokes that I think he probably shouldn't understand, and growing up. He has a new buddy, and this guy is into Pokemon, so Big O is totally back into it. I enjoy the dorkier side of my kid.
( I appreciate his wit, but he is still learning when he can BE flip. Know your audience, grasshopper--And don't push your luck.)

The other day, driving his buddy home, we passed some girls walking. Buddy rattled on about Pokemon, oblivious. Big O's head was firmly trained on the girls. On a swivel.

sigh.

I am so not ready for this.

I am proud of the young man he is becoming, but I miss the little guy who panicked when he read "monster tacos" at Jack in the Box, and tried casting his own webs.

Girls? I am not ready for his heartaches and unrequited crushes. Who is going to explain sex to him?
Because it definitely should NOT be his father.

I'm just sayin'.

To answer Stewart:

I have a question. I'm asking this with genuine curiosity. As a parent, exposing an eleven year old is a concern to you. What about violence? Does your child play videogames? Watch violence on TV? What is his exposure to that?

It is the hardest thing about being a modern parent. I try to ensure that he isn't over-exposed, but he's also a curious kid, and there is a lot out there!
I DO try to monitor which video games we bring into the house. When Big O was in the second grade, we took he and a buddy somewhere in my car. The longer I listened, the more appalled I became. Because this sweet cheeked, velvet painting-eyed adorable child in my backseat was spouting absolute garbage from his newest video game, one of the early versions of Grand Theft Auto. gaaaaaah. I was biting my tongue and forming the discussion for later, when my own sweet boy, missing teeth and all, said "really? you get extra points for killing policemen? hah-that's funny!" At which point I pulled the car over and probably scared the other little boy to death explaining how and why that was so NOT funny.
In spite of that lovely vignette, I don't forbid Big O from going over to houses where those games are played, because it IS the modern world we live in. But he knows my feelings on the issue, and knows that those games won't be coming home. (Ask me how bitter I am that Jak & Daxter changed from an adventure game to a cartoon shoot-em-up. No, don't -that would be a whole 'nother post.)
Big O is dying to play games online, and is still forbidden. He hasn't really expressed an interest in a My Space page, thank dog. Is that more of a girl thing? My other attempt at monitoring what he's exposed to is that we don't have cable. Saturday morning is still golden for my kid because that is his weekly dose of cartoons. I don't want to give the impression that he's living in a purity bubble or anything--his father buys him the occasional crap game and takes him to movies that I don't approve of. In a way, I think that's a dad's role, and especially in the case of a divorce, kind of par for the course. I am fortunate that I have a pretty good relationship with his dad still, so when he called me to ask if the 300 might be too much, I could just say "Ya think?" and they chose a different movie. You have to pick your battles.
He doesn't watch medical gore, and the sci-fi violence of Supernatural and Smallville are his favorites right now. I can't keep him cut off from everything, and I'm not sure it would be fair to make him a total social pariah, unable to discuss anything on television except Ugly Betty. He is a big Simpsons fan, and I really debated that, but again, can't keep him away from everything, especially when our local Fox affiliate plays two episodes a day, before I am home from work.
I just want to make sure that I give him age appropriate but still challenging stuff. He has the sense of humor that is sooo ready for Adams, but I got him watching the holy grail not so long ago, and I had forgotten the virgins and the spankings. Not incredibly raunchy by today's standards, but I had forgotten all about it. He's eleven. There is far worse on MTV, I guess. There's such a short window on being a kid anymore, though.
sigh.
There you have it.

HELP!

Do you read Sci-fi?

Help! Was there sex in Hitchhikers Guide? I want something new for my eleven year old, and I don't remember any, but it has been oh holy mother of dog twenty years since I read them. If he picks up Captain Underpants one more time, I may burn them all. He has also taken to reading My Side of the Mountain over and over again--this, I totally get. He can read Harry Potter with no real problems, and I think he would love Adams.
But is there sex? My dad handed me 1984 when I was in the fourth grade, and man, just because I COULD read it doesn't mean I was ready for it. I'd like to avoid doing that to Big O.

Thursday Thirteen #18 13 Circles of Heck.

Thirteen things JEN could have done without this week:

1. Phone message left on my voice mail at work: "this message is for Jennifer, this is blah blah, there was an incident on your son's walk home after school, blah blah blah, the paramedics are here...blah blah blah"

2. Call the school, and it turns out Big O was was bullied by two classmates, and when they began kicking his backpack (the kind on wheels), he threw a book at the bigger one. (This all began with them teasing him for reading a book as he walked home)

3. What should a big boy do, when a book is thrown at him, but knock the other boy to the ground and start kicking him in the face? I mean, really, what other choice did he have?

4. grrrrrrrr. So I come flying up to the school expecting the worst, I mean how can you not? Big O is in the Principal's office, and he has a giant goose egg on his forehead, and this huge dark line across his nose, and his eye looks like he might have a shiner. But you know what? He's fine. I mean, remember, I AM the queen of the worst case scenario, and at this point I am so grateful to see him whole and coherent I'm ready to cry. That is why this post is about the circles of Heck. Not Hell.

5. The School district police officer tells me that I really need to file a report with the City cops, especially if I am planning on pressing charges. He tells me that the PD has been called, but it may take a while.

6. The paramedics have me sign their paperwork and tell me I should still probably take him to the ER to be checked out. (Is this why people use ER's inappropriately? I asked if I couldn't just take him to his primary care physician, and the EMT was flummoxed. It had never occurred to him.) I couldn't get us in until the end of the day, but we were still out of the DR's about ten hours sooner than we would have been out of the ER.


7. Told the school I'd keep Big O home the next day, and waited for the cops. and waited and waited.finally decided that if we'd waited that long, Big O could probably hit the hay, cancelled the request.

8. The next day, called the cops to again have a report taken, and oh, right around 4 pm they finally showed, and then the cop tells me that this is nothing that they can help me with and why didn't I call the school district cops that day? THEY WERE CALLED, and they told me I needed to speak to you. At this point, the officer is climbing into his car. I had to force him to take my report! Big sigh. "All right, what happened." Um, would you like to talk to my son, since he was the one who was there? yeah, okay, go get him. sigh.

9. lovely. Then the school calls to tell me that Big O is being suspended right along with the boys, because HE was the aggressor, by way of throwing the book. The kicking of his backpack was not bodily contact--never mind the two on one. Big O initiated physical contact and escalated the situation. Five days.

10. The mother of the second boy dragged him to our house by the ear, absolutely horrified. He had not participated in the actual assault, and had been trying to get the other boy to stop. Mom wanted to hear from Big O that this was true, and not her son trying to make himself look better, and they wanted to check on Big O.

11. These are boys in Big O's Class. The big thuggy one that kicked him in the face was a guest at Big O's fourth grade birthday.

12. I am so grateful that it was not worse. I mean fall down on my knees, thank you lord baptist revival grateful. I am pissed that Big O is being treated the same as the other boy. and by the school district definition, why did they suspend the second boy at all? If the kicking of the backpack wasn't assault, then why is he involved at all? grrr grr grrr.

13. So I am now fighting with the school district. Guess what? Even after all of the stories in the news, no Bullying policy is in place at our school district. I feel better (still not great) about the suspension, I'm told it's what happens first before they look into expelling certain kids who have had other problems. Big O is totally disgusted that his karate never came into play. I feel bad for him on that score. We're gonna have his shi-fu work with him on that one....

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Big number 4!

I wish I had one of those touching stories about giving birth. I was standing in line at the city, trying to get the water hooked up to my new residence. Municipal utilities are much like banks, and never have as many people at the counter as they have humming around behind them, distracting the overworked clerks by TALKING to them--While I go into labor waiting.
But we waited all through the line (I love my mommy), got everything turned on (hee-hee-hoo-hoo--I heart lamaze, too), and my mother drove me to the hospital. After that it's a druggy haze.

Little O was face down, not face up like they like,and they gave me so many drugs that I was asleep until the contractions peaked, when I woke up screaming (not like the lady down the hall, thank you--I don't do horror movie drama), and then would pass out again. My doctor was gone, so I got the wise cracking partner from his practice. I remember looking at the Honey, horrified, when the Doctor swung the bloody afterbirth around, whistling at the size--and then he dropped it.

She was tiny and perfect, and I wanted my mommy (who was watching Big O), and it seemed like (hello, DrUgS) two minutes after I gave birth, the Honey's sister and family hit. I was still fairly new to them, and a little disconcerted, but the drugs helped tremendously--and the fact that the afterbirth had been retired. I think I even gave up waiting and told them all I had to pee now. I wanted to go home, but the hospital insisted that I stay at least one night, and I thought, Okay, a little help would be nice.

I got the bitch from hell roommmate who was not breastfeeding, and would heave big dramatic sighs and fluff her pillow and toss and turn dramatically whenever Little O fussed. Her baby, you understand, was in the nursery, only to make occasional appearances. I looved that Little O was with me, but finally wanted a break from the cow's drama, so buzzed the nurse and asked if she could take little O to the nursery so "we" could rest, and bring her to me when she got hungry. I was told that breastfeeders are never away from their moms. Thanks for the help, ladies.

The hospital advised me that I could stay another day, and I refused. I went home where there were people to help. I hope that big cow stayed away from her crack pipe, but I'm sure she didn't.

Big O was thrilled until he found out she didn't DO anything. Then he went back to Bionicles. But at school he proudly introduced her to everyone, right down to the daycare receptionist. He said This is my sister, Little O. She's Little O Garcia when she's good and when she's bad She's Little O Bee (her middle name). Yep, I'm that mother. Your middle name comes out when I'm good and mad.

Little O hears her middle name a lot these days, but I wouldn't trade her for the winning lotto numbers. Today she is NOT getting a big party, but she IS getting to dress up as a princess all day, complete with rhinestone tiara, and visit all of her adoring subjects.

Love my O's!

Oh, Big O.

My son has been given the curse and blessing of an unusual name. It was my grandfather's name, it is a fine name. It is not the name of your
average bear.

In the course of a boy's life, certain temptations are almost irresistible.

One of these temptations is a pristine piece of wet cement.

Oh, Big O. When your name is as distinctive as yours, a nom de plume is in order.

****

One of the Honey's chief complaints about the Ex is that he does not ever make Big O suffer any consequences. I find that the Honey can be a little Draconian in his notions of discipline, and overall, I find that I am usually more in line with the Ex. You can imagine what a big hit this is at home.

My first instinct is to drag Big O by the ear down to public works and make him perform some sort of penance, like dumping out their trash cans or SOMETHING to show him that there are consequences. But wait...in this day and age, they could thank me for my honesty and then slap me with a bill for the signed concrete art.

I'm honest, and I'm civic minded.... and I'm poor.

So I called the ex to ask what he thought an appropriate measure would
be, and sure enough, he thinks a lecture would suffice. Boys will be boys.

I understand that it's a temptation beyond measure to a boy walking home alone from school.

But when he walks by it in the future, I want Big O to wince, and wish that he had not done it, NOT discover the joys of sharpies and start making his mark everywhere. (And may I say that I am terrified that they are going to ask the school about the name and bill me anyway.)

Any recommendations for consequences of boyish behavior? Less than a beating but more than a lecture.

I hate it when the Honey is right.

Happy Eleven, Big O!!!

collage, originally uploaded by supa_jen_10.

August 4, 1995

8 lbs 3 oz, 20 inches. Big cocoa brown eyes, little pug nose, beautiful smile... and Frog Fur hair that stood STRAIGHT UP.

He starts the sixth grade this month.

Mom Moment 2

My kids are so different. Big O (my boy) was into EVERYTHING. He analyzed everything mechanical and took everything apart.
When he was two he locked himself in the bathroom with the with the water running in the sink so he could stop it up and play. I didn't want to panic him when I couldn't get the door open, so I just kept talking cheerily to him as I unscrewed the doorknob. Naturally, the doorknob fell off the other side, and the stupid door stayed locked. I eventually had to chip away at the solid core door (and doorjam) with a hammer and screwdriver until I could get the damned thing open. We had just moved in, and my brother always shakes his head and wonders why I didn't call the fire department. They are for EMERGENCIES, life and death, not stupidity and lack of foresight. (Aren't they?) My hallway was flooded in about two inches of water. We had to have the bathroom floor ripped out. It was a lovely way to begin our tenure as homeowners.
When he was four he went out into our childproofed (HA!) back yard and flipped the breaker for the house. I was thirty before I touched one!
But that's Big O.
Little O is going to talk me to death. At three and a half, her bigest joy is roleplaying like a chipmunk on speed. okayyoubeBeauty,andI'llbeBeastOkaynowI'MBeautyandyoubetheBeast. YoubethemamaandI'llbethebabynowyoubethebabyandI'LLbethemama.
Little O, It is now 11:30. Please go to sleep. Please, please go to sleep. She has not taken anything apart, unless you count my sanity. I relay this to my mama-san and she laughs. One of my strongest memeories of childhood is sitting behind her in the car, and she always said the same thing.
"Jennifer, I want five minutes... Five minutes of Complete silence. Not a word, not a peep. No. Shhhh..." I averaged about two minutes before I felt compelled to argue the fairness of this sentence or spotted a license plate that everyone needed to see, or wondered why we had TEN toes, not twelve.
Aaah, payback.