A handful

Things I hate:

People who do not know how to "keep to the right". Please stop making me do that awkward dance with you and try to be polite as you weave side to side, faking me out each way as we try to pass each other getting on/off an elevator, traveling a crowded hallway, mall etc.

People who throw gum on the ground/floor: There should be a special place in hell for people who do this, I decided a couple of summers ago as I walked barefoot at a community fountain onto a melted glob of someone else's saliva soaked, melted hubba bubba. It is bad enough when it ends up on the bottom a shoe and then you make that sickly, clicking sound with every step you take until you get a chance to scrape it off, only by that time, the gum has attracted a giant scab of dirt, pine needles and sundry other unsavory cling-ons. This was worse. Throw it away! If there is not garbage can, put it in a piece of paper and into your pocket- or swallow it for crying out loud! Choke on it for all I care, but don't, under any circumstances, spit it onto the ground!

Napkin withholding: You know who you are, Subway and KFC... seriously- two of the messiest places in the universe to eat and they keep the napkins behind the counter and dispense them grudgingly 1 or 2 at a time! Is the secret to their fiscal success... they money they save on napkins? That's OK Subway, I'll get my revenge by sneaking FREE refills on my soda (see next thing that I hate).

No free soda refills: Come on already! The only two places left in the world that don't just let you drink your weight in complimentary soda refills are; 1) Subway, 2) The Sea Hag in Lincoln City Oregon (stay away- star FAR away unless you like hair in your Gorton's, being passed off as fresh, fish & chips). Trust me Subway, you do not want to have your good name encrusted in barnacles by being the Sea Hag's partner in soda withholding stinginess...until you change your policy, I will be forced to continue my life of crime, one bogarted Diet Coke refill at a time.

When people say to me, regarding my kids, "Wow, it looks like you have your hands full...". Nothing nice is ever truly meant by this. It is in the same obnoxious comment genre as the ever popular, "you look tired..."

Please do not attempt to commiserate with me about my OWN kids! This is like saying, "I am sorry your kids are brats, how hard it must be for you." The reason I know this is true, is because nobody ever says it when your kids are sitting nicely at a restaurant, or, say, helping an old lady across the street. No, it is snooty salespeople, nervously glancing over at my kids, who are probably poking each other, and flinching every time they touch something, or old ladies standing in line behind us at McDonald's while my starving, cranky children behave like... starving cranky children.

When this happens, I usually turn to my husband and say something like, "we are NEVER babysitting these kids again!" When what I should really say is, "really, you look like you need your teeth kicked in by my gum covered shoe, because your oh so astute observation about the fact that my kids are out numbering me right now, is not helpful, kind or, let's be honest, well intentioned.. oh and by the way, you look tired." Then I would push past her (on the right) to run and refill my Diet Coke and then discreetly stuff a 2 inch stack of napkins into my purse just in case of future emergencies, like, say, lunch at KFC?

It's a bird, it's a plane, it's Supermom? (Nope, just me)

I yam what I yam and that's all that I yam. (Yams are loaded with vitamin C you know).

I remember the days leading up to the birth of my first child, Lindsey. I was nesting with a vengeance. I had not only cleaned the house top to bottom, I had sewn coordinating bedding and window treatments for Lindsey's room, ironed and organized by color the cloth napkins, lovingly stained a rocking chair for her room (OK- Ricky might have done that one)and purchased every parenting/baby advice manual book written in the English language.

I can be a bit of an overachiever and usually excel in those things that interest me. As far as I was concerned, I was getting ready to begin AP Parenting, and had every intention of acing it WITH extra credit. I had graduated from NW Nannies Institute and been a professional child care provider for several years... this was going to be my crowning achievement.

Fast forward to the 8 months later when she stuck her hand in the baseboard heater which I hadn't thought to baby proof. Then to the time I spaced the Valentine party at our Mommy n Me preschool, or the time I forgot to send a pillow with her to the overnight at Girl Scout Camp. Suffice it to say, she is 11 1/2 now, and between her and Trey and Logan, I have plenty of red circles and X's written all over my AP Parenting exam. We eat way too many meals at places that serve french fries as the main side dish, watch too much TV and don't always pick up our dirty socks... but I am far from failing.

I don't believe that I have lowered my standards, but rather reorganized my priorities. I am great at some things (My kids have rocking' birthday parties)and not so great at others (do potato chips count as a vegetable?). Our house could be cleaner and our car could be newer, BUT, we pray every night, we eat dinner together every night, we laugh like crazy together and my kids are amazing people that do well in school and excel in things I never had the chance to do when I was their age. They know without a doubt that I have their back and still snuggle with me...(nirvana).

While I joke around about the state of our house or yard or other elements of our three ring circus, it is not out of shame and embarrassment. It is out of the confidence that I have come to feel in myself as a great parent regardless of what the Jones are doing. I no longer feel the need to have extra credit in every area.

When a mom at school asked me how I do it all (work on a gillion committees and take care of the kids etc) I quickly told her, "Easy, I don't do it all... I have a pile of dirty dishes and another of dirty laundry!" I volunteer a lot at school, church and with organizations my kids are involved in... so to the casual observer, it could look like I have it way more together than I do and although it's tempting to let people believe that, I have seen first hand how our era of mommies can feel the need to compete and I hate it and don't want to be a catalyst for that. I'd rather be honest. This Super mom's cape is plenty full of holes and in need of a good washing.

Looking back on my childhood, I recall a home that was perfectly picked up at all times. I also remember that my mother never played with or read to me or took me to the playground. I remember feeling like an imposition. My goal is that when my kids are grown they will look back on their childhoods with fondness, remembering that their Tooth Fairy, Santa and Easter Bunny kicked a**,tickle fights, magical birthdays, hugs, and that their mother prized them above all things.

So yes, I yam what I yam... I am an imperfect lady who doesn't always get the dishes done and sometimes (often) sticks her foot in her mouth, but loves her kids to the moon and back and is definitely getting an "A" if for nothing else than for effort.

The Flamingo Incident

As you drive down our street, you will notice nice, tidy, little house after house, with well-groomed lawns and clean cars parked in the driveway. And then you approach our house. Yes, ours is that house... the one in almost every neighborhood with the garbage cans out in PLAIN VIEW from the street, the lawn that consists of approximately 3% actual grass, 95% dandelions and 2% toys and the 15 yo minivan in the driveway badly in need of washing and body work. Sorry neighbors! We really are nice people, I promise!

So far, the neighbors have tolerated us. When asked if we were willing to advertise for a fundraiser for a local youth cheerleading club by having 25 or so orange flamingos planted in our front yard- I figured, why not? Maybe they'll distract from the duct tape on my side view mirror, camouflage the weeds in the grass, or better yet, come to life in the middle of the night and eat them! No such luck. The truth is, my colorful little brood, was an eyesore. An adorable, community minded eyesore- but hey- I have more important things to worry about, like how to remove floam from couch cushions and hoping the sun won't melt the adhesive on the duct tape causing my side view mirror to fly off while I am driving!

Horror of horrors, I woke up this morning to find my little flock gone! Gone! Each and every one of their blessed wire legs, and paint chipped beaks had disappeared! This was no lone prankster, this was an organized flamingo-napping. There were 25 of them! No one, baggy pants, sideways baseball cap wearing juvenile could have pulled this off alone... it was a conspiracy!

My friends are convinced that is was a pack of skateboard riding hooligans, but I am not so sure. I think it very well may have been a conspiracy hatched by a pack of BMW driving, lawn edging, dockers- wearing just to wash the car, suburban status quo vigilantes at the latest HOA meeting. I can hear them now as they plotted against me... old guy with a sweater tied around his shoulders says," Isn't it bad enough that they leave their trash cans on the curb well past evening on trash day." "Yes," says the woman who keeps her spices in alphabetical order, "I also hear they only clean their house if they know someone is coming over!" "We have been more than tolerant", says sweater guy,"these flamingos are more than we should be asked to bear, think of our property values!"

Battle won, self conscious neighbors... but be warned, I have a lawn gnome laying in wait in my garage and I am not afraid to use him! Or, in case my theory is off base... come back here with my flamingos you pesky teenagers!!! (yes, I am shaking a cane right now).

Sad, but true

Had the loveliest dinner out on the deck this evening. The weather has been so great, we have eaten out there almost every night this week. OK- the truth is, the dining room table is more cluttered that the recipe for a church potluck salad, with game boy cartridges, sunscreen, handouts from VBS, markers, hair pretties, and probably even crushed up ramen noodles, just like the real thing, and I am so wiped out from having recently gone back to work, that rather than clean it off so we can eat in the dining room, we've been dining AL fresco instead.

OK- so it is true that I recently returned to work, but the other truth is that the condition of my dining room table and countless other areas of my house is like this regardless of my schedule, unless of course I realize someone is coming over, in which case this ordinarily laid back mama suddenly begins freaking out, barking orders at every able bodied family member to pick up their socks, Polly pockets, chess pieces, fruit roll-up wrappers etc off of the living room floor so I can vacuum. Then, I have the audacity to react with surprised annoyance when the kids ask me who is coming over, as if that is the only time we clean (it pretty much is).

Survivor, Hollister

OK- so my eldest daughter is going into middle school this fall and while she will still try to leave the house wearing a turtleneck and shorts, or muddy tennis shoes with a dress, I can see the future clothes horse/fashionista in her slowly beginning to emerge. She wouldn't be caught dead in the precious, stripey, Hanna Andersson dresses I used to buy her (fortunately, my 6YO loves the hand-me-downs!) and refused to even set foot in Gymboree when we were looking for a swimsuit- they carry her size... "we can at least look!" Not a chance!

SO, I have recently begun venturing into Hollister. I have been informed by various teens and pre-teens who are cooler than me, that it is one of the only acceptable places to shop. The truth is, I still carry the scars of being the only girl in the 6th grade who did not have an alligator, polo shirt or a pair of Lawman jeans. Not because our family couldn't afford it, but because my mother would only shop at the Emporium. For those of you not familiar, it is a NW department store, now out of business, I believe, that was essentially a backward JC Penney that carried a dizzying array of embellished sweatshirts with collars sewn into them, dickies, Levi "Bendover" slacks (poly stretch- Mom's fave) and "comfortable" shoes. Basically, it was an old lady store with a Juniors department. Aaanyway, I ended up with a "blouse" that, while it did have a polo shirt collar, it also had a stretchy, elastic waistband.

Fast forward 25 years and I am now willing to do whatever I must to spare my daughter the unnecessary anguish of going to middle school dressed like a dork. I mean, isn't being that age in this day and time hard enough without your mother dressing you funny? SO- back to Hollister. I am no marketing or retail guru, but, wouldn't it help the customers to make their selections if the FRICKIN LIGHTS WERE ON IN THIS PLACE!!! Also, assuming you can make your way past the giant, fake palm trees that are blocking virtually every aisle to ask one of the "too cool to actually make eye contact with you" sales people a question, they would never be able to hear you because the MUSIC IS TURNED UP SO FRICKIN LOUD YOU CAN"T HEAR YOURSELF wondering out loud if it is the bad lighting, or are they really asking $30 for a paper thin tank top! This is ridiculous, I mutter to myself as I make my way to the clearance section, which, to their credit, has some pretty great deals. From what I can tell, in all of my hipness, the clearance items look exactly like the recently released items at the front of the store, only at about half price- although I suspect the discerning middle schooler can spot last month's tank top from all the way across the cafeteria.

Finally, I must make my purchases, not so much because I am done looking, but because a 36 yo woman can only take so much shopping in the pitch black, listening to blaring music and trying to breathe the "Hollister" fragrance that they mercilessly pump into the air. I secretly believe that cologne is formulated to keep us uncool old people out... sort of a bug spray for parents. As I swipe my debit card, the "too cool to make eye contact" sales person casually asks if I would like to sample their cologne... evil little...

Finally- purchases in hand, I am ready to escape Hollister, and as I am blinded by the mall lights after emerging from the "mood lighting" in the store, the alarm sounds. I am told that they accidentlally left a security tag on one of the shirts, but I secretly suspect that this "alarm" is really more of an "uncool" detector that is designed to go off anytime someone over the age of 18, or wearing anything purchased at Target walks through the door.

The things I do for my kids!

The miming accident

So, the other day, we are at Jack in the Box eating our free tacos (promo where you bring in your gas receipt and get two, withered, soggy, mostly lettuce filled tacos) and Trey wants to have an annoying song sing-off. What else is new. He has a giant head start and was clearly going to win as the the kid three booths away plugged his ears and the cashier, clearly fatigued to the point of exhaustion by making free tacos all day, glared at us. I recently began teaching Gymboree play classes, so I thought I might have a chance to take him this time... Trey takes a pause from singing the "doomie song" from "Gir" (don't ask) to inform me that there is no way I will win because he has the advantage of having "lost his dignity" already. "Oh really", I hesitantly query. "And just how did you lose your dignity?" (I was pretty sure mine had just taken a sabbatical, since I was sitting at Jack in the Box eating FREE TACOS!!!). "Oh", he immediately chirps, "I lost it in a miming accident." As I choked on my free taco, I realize that, yes, now that I think of it, miming accidents must surely be one of the leading causes of dignity loss, especially in France... You just never think it will happen to someone you love...