It’s not a huge secret that every once in awhile, I like to partake in an adult beverage.  I just do.  I’m not going to lie about it.  Margaritas are my favorite, followed by Mudslides, and then, of course, I like sissy beer… (Barcardi Silver).

A 6 pack normally lasts me the whole winter, if not more, but in the summer, it’s a little more frequent.  And by frequent, I mean one a week, maybe less.  It all depends.

There have been a few days after softball, that I would retire to my porch, sissy beer in hand, and just soak up the peace and quiet.  There’s just something about the end of a long, hot day and a drink.

Due to the high stress levels at home the last few days, I decided that when the kids left for their dad’s, I would relax a bit… you know, crank up Summertime by NKOTB, grab a nice, refreshing beverage of the over 21 variety and chill.

The problem was, I didn’t have any.  So we went to the store.

In hindsight, I should’ve gone to the store after they left, but typically by the time they leave on Thursdays I have no energy to do anything, so off we went.  We really did need dog food, and I thought that I would pick some up while I was there.

As I enter the beer and wine aisle, it starts…

Sam: Why does it smell like wine?

Me: We’re in the wine aisle.

Sam: Why?

Me: Because I need to get something.

Matt: You do know that it’s a sin to drink, don’t you?

Me: It is not a sin to drink, Matthew.  It is a sin to get drunk.  The Bible says “do not get drunk on wine”.  I am not planning on getting drunk. I am planning on having one.  Besides, what do you think Jesus served at the last supper?  I can assure you it was NOT grape juice.

Matthew: I know it was wine, but they didn’t put that much alcohol in it.

Me: You don’t put alcohol in it.  It’s not an ingredient.  The wine is made by fermented grapes.  Grapes that sit there a little too long.

Matthew: Well, it might not be a sin to drink, but our bodies are temples.  We’re instructed to take care of them.

Sam: Yeah… we’re supposed to take care of our temples, Mom.

By this point in time I was wondering WHY I was allowing this conversation to continue and WHY my children needed to make me feel like a heathen.  So I did what any self-respecting mother would do… I put them in their place.

Me: You know what?  You guys are right.  We are supposed to take care of our bodies and if it’s considered a sin not to, then I’ll just put back these doughnuts, the ice cream, and the chips.

Silence.

The looks on their faces was priceless… and the 20 minutes I enjoyed on the front porch, sissy beer in hand, was much enjoyed.

Until next time…

I wish I could sit here and talk about how much we are enjoying summer break.  Well, I guess I could say that.  But it would be a lie.  And I’m all about keepin’ it real.

And keepin’ it real would require me to tell you that I’m about to pull my hair out, strand by strand.

Because there’s some major adjusting going on here… and I mean MAJOR.

For example, I normally start my work day at 7am.  Since I don’t have to get the kids off to school at 7, I don’t get up at 6:30.  I set the alarm for 8, but that’s not when I get up.  It’s a little a lot later.

I’m used to having about 6 hours of quiet so that I can focus.  I don’t have that.  I have none.  And I’m constantly shouting that I’m on the phone (thank God not when I’m on the phone).

I used to have from 9:30pm until whenever I go to bed (1ish) quiet.  I don’t have that now.  I do believe in letting the kids stay up a little since it’s summer vacation, but last night I instituted a bed time.  But it’s two hours later than I’m used to.  It was so quiet and I got so much work done that I didn’t get to bed until 3am.  No biggie, however, it does mean that my day didn’t start until 10 today.

So we need to adjust.

But what gets me is how much I’m struggling with the kids and moreso with one than the other.  I’ll leave you to figure out which one.

I made it perfectly clear that the first full day of summer break would be devoted to cleaning their rooms.  And I’m not talking gut cleaning, I’m talking, I would like to be able to see the floor.  I don’t ask much.

I also made it perfectly clear that after rooms were clean, they would each have one small project to do each day that would take them no more than 30 minutes, and that these projects would be in an effort to purge their stuff.

I have one that, after a boatload of yelling, finally went in and cleaned the room.  That child is no longer grounded and is working on project one… cleaning off one shelf.

I have another child who has done nothing but attempt to wear me down in an effort to revoke the “you’re grounded until your room is clean” punishment.  And I mean it has been HORRIBLE.  But, every time we get into it, I pray that I have the strength to stand my ground and so far I have.  This is tough for me because I’m suck a sucker for a sob story and tears, but I’ve done it.  But we’re not making any progress.  This child is perfectly content to sit in the room and do nothing instead of cleaning the room.

And as mad as I want to be, I can’t be.  Because that’s exactly what I did when I was a child.  I don’t care what punishment my parents gave me.  I was stubborn.  And I didn’t care how much it hurt or bothered me, I would NEVER allow them the satisfaction of knowing that their punishment was working.

Sorry Mom and Dad.  I know you’re smiling.

I know that we’ll have a little rocky start.  But I so badly want to have a good summer.  One where I can work, knock off early and go to the park.  There are benefits to working from home and I want to enjoy some of them.

And again, in the throws of summer vacation, I’m still trying to find that balance.  I think that I’ve come to realize that I’m ALWAYS going to be working on finding that.  And that?

SUCKS!

But I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength, right?

And that child?  WILL CLEAN THAT ROOM BEFORE THIS SUMMER IS OVER.

Because Mama’s had it. 

This is going to be a memorable summer… it’s the summer that mom’s going to grow some balls and make these kids help out around here.

(And I apologize for that term, but hey!  Just keepin’ it real.. it’s how I feel…)

I’m tired of being walked on, over, and drug through the mud.  I’m not the only one that lives in this house and I’m NOT the only one who’s going to clean.

I am MAMA!!  HEAR ME ROAR!!!!

And then ask me how this worked out in 3 months… lol…

Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a certain child who just snuck out of the room that is supposed to be cleaned and I need to go attend to that.

Until next time…

6:30am:  Wake up for the last time at some unGodly hour to get to school… at least for the summer

6:35am:  Call to Samara to wake up.  Alert her that she has 25 minutes before the bus comes.

6:40am:  Call to Samara again.  Alert her that she has 20 minutes to catch the bus.

6:45am:  Call louder to Samara that she now has 15 minutes to catch the bus.

6:50am:  Samara cries that she has NOTHING to wear.

6:55am:  Find Samara in her bed, dressed.  Call out that she has exactly 5 minutes to catch the bus.

6:56am:  Find lost shoe.

6:57am:  Find lost glasses.

6:58am: Find bookbag

6:59am:  Tell Matthew that he HAS to wait for his sister and today is the last day that he has to walk to the bus with her for two whole years.

7:00am:  Scream that the bus is coming.  Kiss kids goodbye.

9:00am:  Watch Sam’s awards ceremony

9:45am:  Watch 4th grade awards ceremony

10:15am:  Watch my son wave goodbye to the 4th grade

10:30am:  Confession of a school mom stalker…

11:00am:  Head home

11:30am:  Blog about said stalker

12:00pm:  Kids parade in the door

12:25pm:  Leave for Chuck E. Cheese

3:25pm:  LEAVE Chuck E. Cheese and head home

3:45pm:  Hear two children arguing over the television.

3:46pm:  Turn tv off.  Hide remote.

4:00pm:  Hear “this is the worst summer vacation ever!”

4:01pm:  Pop open the wine….

we’re in for a long summer…

(click to enlarge)

Until next time…

My earlier post, at the time it was written, was so random. I even titled it “I have no Idea Where This Came From”…

A letter from the ex, a memory of my mother, an example of how I should be… it was just so completely out there…

For me. And maybe for you.

But not for my God.

Oh no. He had a plan, a purpose for that email that was written over six years ago…. a plan that I would find it… Monday… because that’s when I wrote that post… on Monday.

He needed me to see that email. He needed me to remember that time of my life, the sadness, the hurt, the pain and how my mother came to my side because I needed all of that to be armed for Tuesday.

Tuesday. The day that my daughter found out that her big sister (from the Big Brother Big Sisters Program) is moving. The day that my daughter felt the pain. The day that my daughter needed me… just to be there. To hold her. To offer her tissues and tell her that everything was going to be okay.

She found out after our game… in which we lost and to some very snobby, stuck up coaches who thought the game was a sure thing. We gave them a run for their money. They weren’t so smug toward the end.

She was quiet when she got in the car. She didn’t say much at all. The car was somber. Even though I knew what had just happened, no one else did. And she didn’t know that I knew.

And then, faintly over the sound of the radio, I heard her fight back the tears. I peeked back there and saw her trying to wipe them away so that no one would know.

This is when I knew something was wrong. Because Samara is a top notch drama queen. Real tears are quiet. These were real tears… tears she didn’t want to show because that would admit true hurt.

She’s more like me than I thought.

My immediate thought was “let’s go get ice cream” because ice cream fixes everything. Even she wasn’t excited. Not even when she found the new flavor “playdoh”… but she ate it… quietly.

When we arrived home, I shouted for them to get their crap out of my car. Quietly, she did as I asked and then came inside.

As I stepped through the door of the house, I felt it… I felt Him speaking to me saying… “You know what you have to do for her.”

And I did.

We cuddled on the couch to watch American Idol. She laid her head in my lap and was still… so unusal for her. I rubbed her hair and handed her tissues as needed.

Occasionally, she would ask who I wanted to win… claiming herself as a member of the Archie camp. She had my cell phone poised and ready to go. Quietly. Respectfully.

I expected the events of my memory to happen a few years from now. I expected it to be over a boy.

And now?

She’s tucked away in my bed. Sleeping peacefully and for the time being, not aware of the sadness that she faces in losing her big sister.

And I feel horrible that I gave her David Cook’s text in number when she asked for Archie’s.

Until next time…

The science fair is done. Awards were given today and tonight, we parents can go and ooh and aah over our children’s projects, bring them home and then find a time when the kids won’t notice to trash them because they are taking up space.

(You do that too, don’t you? Surely you don’t save EVERY project?)

But because I’m behind the 8-ball, I never got to show you the finished products.

Let’s start with the dreaded potato clock. Here is what my porch looked like Sunday afternoon…

But we pulled it off and created this…

I think it looks pretty good… especially since the kid doesn’t have a design bone in his body… ok, so maybe i helped a little… but seriously, just with the typing. They were his ideas.

Nice title, don’t you think?

And my kid has a sense of humor… just read that last line on the materials…

What I don’t have a picture of is his conclusion… which started off with this… “Don’t believe everything you read on the internet…”

The kid’s a riot I tell ya!

And then there was the floating egg project by my lovely and talented, anal, perfectionist daughter…

The title isn’t creative in and of itself, but it’s what she wanted and she didn’t want to hear any suggestions…. and the entire project was made with my scrapbooking supplies…

It WAS my idea to replace the ‘o’s with eggs. It took me 20 minutes to explain to her what I meant and she finally agreed that it would look cool…and yes, I realize that there are only 4 cups there instead of the 5 that we used… that’s because after the SECOND trip to get photos developed I realized that I forgot to copy cup 0 on the disk… I said screw it, she didn’t complain, so I didn’t make a big deal out of it.

Everything… and I mean EVERYTHING is color coordinated on this including the brads that she used on the sides. It really did look nice…

Today, in the door they came with news that I, the best mom in the world, Sam won best effort. Can you believe it? (Personally, I think Matthew put forth more of an effort, but hey! I wasn’t a judge.

And no, that wasn’t an award for me, but this one is….

Amy at Permission to Peruse awarded me with this award and tickled I am.. Especially since I’ve not mentioned awards, at all, on my blog and I didn’t have to pay her for her to give it to me.

This one really is mine… unless I have to share with the kids, since it is they who give me the most of my content…

Until next time…

I am a HUGE fan of sports, but I much prefer playing over watching. The reason is simple, really, and it had everything to do with my inability to sit still. Ok, and it might have something to do with how I think I know it all and could do it better than those, you know, actually playing.

Hey, I’m just keeping it real.

The first year that Samara cheered, I ended up being a helper. I couldn’t stand just sitting there at practices and while I know that I am not a cheerleader, I could do enough to help the girls with their candlesticks, high and low v’s and all those other moves that have the weirdest names.

Then last year, I ended up as the assistant coach and it was fun. But I never had to sit still. I was in the stands getting the parents motivated, doing the cheers with the girls because inevitable one of the girls would forget, or get distracted or something.

So when I was asked to coach softball, I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. I would much prefer to just be a helper. Then I’m not watching but I don’t have to take the responsibility of everything… heaven forbid that I would have to take responsibility for a win or a loss… or how well they play the game.

I’m also very competitive. That never got in the way when I was coaching cheerleading, but with softball? Oh. My. Word. It’s starting to come out and I have check myself before I wreck the image of myself that I want the girls to have. Because today? I wanted to go off on the other team.

And really? It’s just because they felt threatened, I’m sure… lol

We lost today, by the way. We played the team that spanked us last Saturday. But today? We only lost by 2. (If you don’t remember, last week we lost by 8.) If we could’ve played just one more inning, we would’ve won.

But back to this coaching thing. I wasn’t sure if I would like it. I wasn’t sure if I could stand just standing on the side lines telling the girls when to run or where to throw. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to make line ups and field rotations. I honestly didn’t think that I would like it all that much.

And we all know how chicken I was when it came the first game.

But, over time, and after we logged our third game today, I’ve realized that I love this. I love helping the girls. I love seeing them thrive and I love offering encouragement when they don’t.

I love seeing those who aren’t the best players actually get the ball and the look on their faces when they realize they have the ball and don’t remember what to do with it.

I love the looks on their faces when the bat makes contact and they are so in shock that they forget to run. I love yelling for them from my place on the sidelines and telling them to get ready to book. I love telling the batters when they step into the box that I want them to come visit me at 3rd base.

And those are the ones that are quite as good as the others.

I love seeing the good ones strive to do better. I love seeing their passion and drive. Like this one girl we have. She’s amazing. She has such passion. She’s the type of kid that gets the ball at the pitchers mound and then runs it herself to first (and gets the runner out because she’s just that fast). And when I tell her that she really needs to throw it to the first baseman, I love it when she tells me that she can’t because the first baseman never catches it.)

And do you know what else I love?

I love watching my daughter thrive up close and personal. And I mean, THRIVE.

This morning my assistant coach called to remind me that he wasn’t going to be there today and talk to me about the line up and unprompted, emphatically he told me how good my daughter, who has only been playing for a month, is.

But seriously, she is!

And it’s so amazing! She has a passion for playing. She loves this game. And I can only imagine that I am looking at her the way that my parents looked at me.

The look on her face when she is up to bat is the same look that I had. When she swings, she swings to smack the crap out of that ball and today?

Oh. My. Goodness. I couldn’t even believe it.

The first two balls were a miss because she wasn’t keeping her eye on the ball. After some gentle reminders about it, she stood up there, her stance darned near perfect, and the ball came across the plate and I heard the crack.

And then I watched that ball sail over the pitcher and land in the outfield. Did you get that? It landed in the outfield. Not hit and rolled past three players out there. It LANDED in the outfield.

That doesn’t happen often with our girls and this is the second time she’s done it.

And I love hearing the other team’s coaches telling their players to “watch her” and I just want to look at them and say, “that’s my girl”.

Softball was always my thing. And now? It’s my daughter’s.

and the love of this game just got greater.

Who knows? Maybe she’s finally found a way to pay her way through college.

We can dream, right?

And one

Until next time…

Although we got spanked big time on Saturday, and our game Monday was washed out, we did better tonight… MUCH better… like 11-3 better.

My girls ROCKED those A’s (although they turned a couple of really good plays…)

So that made me happy.  I was much more together tonight.  I knew what I needed to have.  I had enough copies of everything and my assistant coach was back to keep the score book (PTL!!)

However, the neatest part of the night was when Samara was awarded the Player of the Game award (good for a free pretzel from the mall) for 2 hits, 2 runs, 2 RBIs, and 2 outs.  Rock on Sam!!!

Until next time…

In Roanoke, Virginia’s war on good parenting, the worst crankiest criminal offenders kids are pursued by the detectives of the Mom Squad. These are their stories.

dum dum

Monday, April 28, 2008

3:34pm

Jacobson Residence

Me: Samara, I’m moving your bedtime back 30 minutes.

Samara: Why?

Me: Because on at least 3 occasions in the last week you’ve fallen alseep after school which, to me, means you’re not getting enough sleep at night.

Samara: I DID NOT!

Me: Yes, you did.

Samara: I think you’re wrong.

Me: Oh yeah? Well, look here…

and then I proceed to show her

exhibit A - Thursday

Exhibit B - Friday

Exhibit C - Monday

Case closed

Until next time…

In my 11+ years of mothering my children I have made many grocery store trips. I have had my ankles run over by my children who wish to push the cart and SWEAR they won’t hit anything with it.

I’ve shushed them way too many times because they were being too loud in the store or were arguing.

I’ve calmed crying babies.

I’ve said no to all the sugary cereals (ok, well not ALL of them.)

I’ve allowed them to help pick out fruit and showed them where to find the “clearance” foods.

I’ve pretty much done it all…

except…

…causing a store employee to pipe over the loud speaker that some retard spilled something all over the place.

that is, until Friday night.

And the worst part about it?

I was that retard who caused the spill that required a clean up.

Not my children who were fighting over which $2 12-pack of soda to purchase for the week. Not my children who were not happy to even be at the grocery store. Not my children who argued and pushed one another from the time that we set foot through the electric, motion sensored doors…

No. Not them….

Me.

And it was so careless that I’m embarrassed.

Well, not as embarrassed as I would be if someone actually saw me, but still.

When we still, after 5 minutes, had not come to a conclusion on the carbonated beverage of choice, I grabbed a box of Diet Dr. K. After all, if they couldn’t chose, I would chose for them.

But when I did, I knocked over the Big K that was sitting right next to it.

And when it hit the floor?

Spew. Fizz.

I thought about just walking away. It was such a little leak that surely the next person would report it. I mean, no one was there to see that I had caused the spill.

And really? That box looked like it had been through the mill and had been on the shelf for a gazillion years, so no one was going to buy it anyway.

But, the kids were there. And if I EVER found out that they broke something and didn’t report it, I would skin their hides. So I felt it was best to find a store employee and let them know what I had done.

Except I didn’t have to. Samara darted off before I could process the direction in which I wanted to move.

I waited to hear those dreadful words on the loud speaker, but when Samara returned, they still hadn’t proclaimed that some doofus knocked a box of soda over in aisle 10.

Thinking that she got lost and never actually told someone, I asked her, “Did you tell some one?”

“Yes.” She replied.

Still no word from the overhead voices.

“Well, what did you tell them?” Knowing her, she probably just darted up and said there’s a spill and darted off.

Very loudly, with new inhabitants of aisle 10 within earshot she said, “I told them that my mom had a meltdown in aisle 10 and now there’s a huge puddle of the cheap soda all over the floor.”

And at that moment, I heard it.

“Clean up in aisle 10″

Until next time…