Friday, November 27, 2009

Whatever happened to Monkey in the Middle? (a nice, wholesome game!)

Remember that classic game we used to play as pre-teens, the one where the purpose was to either coax outrageous confessions from your friends, or else cause them extreme mortification?  You know, good old "Truth or Dare"!  (although in my experience, this was usually played at middle-school slumber parties, so unless you were once an adolescent girl, you may very well NOT recall this rare treat.)

Well, my children were introduced to it yesterday (at Thanksgiving dinner, no less) by their cousins. It started with Haley (my niece, age 7) explaining the rules to her brother Zach (age 5), Derek and Riley. Zach then had the first turn, and he promptly asked Derek, with a wicked grin, "Do you have a girrrrl-friend?" To the other players' great disappointment, he answered, "No" in an offhand way, thereby neatly sidestepping the opportunity to be mercilessly teased by his family.  When it was time for a Dare, Derek picked his brother to kick a foam ball across the room (this actually did require some courage, since my mother, AKA "Grammy" was nearby and would not approve.)  You could just tell things were about to escalate when the next Dare involved the words "tackle" and "Uncle Royce".

But we didn't actually have to call a halt to the silliness until one of the parents overheard "Okay, I dare you to pick your nose, and wipe it on your shirt!"  Whoa, game over!  I think my brother's exact words to Haley (the Dare-ee) were, "Young lady, I dare you to go wash your hands right now!"  Hopefully by the next time we get together no one will have picked up "Spin the Bottle" from the street-wise elementary school crowd....

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Watch out, they're using their Powers for evil...

Most of the time, I admire and enjoy my sons' creative and artistic endeavors. I read their short stories with relish, no matter how silly or outrageous the topics (football-playing aliens, anyone?).  I listen to their songs, even if they are ear-splitting and nonsensical (their current influences include AC/DC and Michael Jackson, so you can just imagine...)

But sometimes, they take things a bit too far, as in their latest "project".  They proudly announced to me that they were designing a make-believe video game called: Twisted Tushie...2!  I was already SO pleased, but I had to ask, "Why '2'?  What happened to the first one?"  Without even a millisecond pause, Riley blithely answered, "Oh, that one's off the market."  Of course it is.  Silly me. Derek jumped in and very earnestly explained that "it's rated 10-and-up, because of (and I am NOT making this up) comic mischief and some mild inappropriate language."  Really?  We don't even own any video games for you to know this!!  It seems someone has been paying a wee bit too much attention to those pesky commercials again.

And, for the icing on the cake, if you will, they even wrote a theme song.  They haven't yet managed to play it all the way through for me to record (each rehearsal tends to be cut short by thrown drumsticks or a musical tantrum.  Tempermental artists!)  But here are the lyrics, for your amusement (I guess in the interest of delicate readers, I should give the Warning Label statement: contains Mildly Offensive Humor and Bathroom References.)

Twisted Tushie 2
My mom said "I will give gas",
but my dad said "I will pass."
It's Twisted Tushie 2,
and fun for me and you.
And the butts and farts times 2,
It's Twisted Tushie 2,
made for me and you!

(don't say I didn't warn you...)
My only hope is that someday they'll make a million with one of their crazy inspirations...and support their father and me in our Golden Years (those are the ones where we no longer have to hear songs about butts...)

Friday, November 20, 2009

Anyone have a virtual-Advil (for my techno-migraine?)

Until two weeks ago, I lived in a happy, safe little Computer Cocoon. My home PC chugged along, playing music, downloading digital pictures, cruising the Internet, getting my email, organizing my financial data, etc., all with minimal fuss. And I, a comfortable Technology User, felt fairly savvy about computers. Then...we were hit with the debilitating Virus That Ate Windows (announced, of course, by the dreaded Blue Screen of Death.) In a panic, I called my New Best Friend and Computer Whiz, (that's very wordy, so let's just call him:  Tom) who leaped to the rescue, vanquishing the nasty invader and restoring our data. I did have to re-download or re-install some applications, but since the alternative was "chuck the stupid machine out the window and buy a new one", it seemed a small price to pay (even AFTER Tom's fee). All was well in the Home Office.

This honeymoon lasted about a week.  Then came the catastrophic Windows Explosion. Oh, Tom?  This time he just took the thing back to his house, worked his magic on it, and called me when it was ready.  The diagnosis?  Windows had "corrupted" due to a bad "driver"...whatever the heck that means.  MUCH more important was what went unsaid, but I implied from his explanation: "YOU DIDN'T BREAK IT." So, again with the stinking re-downloading and re-installing of the same things I did last week.  Grrr.

But there may be a Silver Lining to this experience. I had to figure out how to locate executable files, re-initialize programs, re-sync some data, create desktop shortcuts...by the time I was finished (admittedly, HOURS later) I felt somewhat less like a raving idiot, and a bit more like a Tech Goddess.  Then Tom checked in to see how I was faring (see why he's my new best friend?  a computer genius with social skills!) I asked a few follow-up questions about minor glitches I had encountered when attempting to locate and transfer some data from Old-Bad-Windows to New-Well-Behaved-Windows. I was feeling quite intelligent and pleased with myself...that is, until he launched into an earnest, detailed recommendation that I "set up an Internal Backup Drive and configure it to make an exact copy of your C: drive (and some other inexplicable phrases in Advanced Computer-Speak)" .  Oh, Tom, just when I thought we understood each other...I'm retreating to my Computer Comfort Zone...you can find me on Facebook.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

A Crash Course in Biology 101

Any parenting book or child development article (which we all read diligently, right? in our spare time?) will tell you that as kids grow, they start to look to their peers for approval and acceptance. Mommy and Daddy, formerly at the top of the pedestal and the sole providers of information and moral guidance, slip down a few notches (in my house, this means we end up somewhere below upstanding-religious-family-man Jeremy Guthrie, but above post-steroid-confession Alex Rodriguez).  In real life, this translates to a very real anxiety on my part:  that my son will start hearing stuff on the playground. And knowing his 4th-grade-boy crowd as I do, I can assure you that "stuff" will probably be: a) inappropriate and b) incorrect.

So, in the back of my mind, a little voice has been nagging me for a while that it's time to present The Talk (okay, I was planning on starting small:  maybe The Intro).  But on Saturday night, during a pleasant dinner with some friends, Royce mentioned that Derek had asked him "how a sperm and an egg make a baby." (Note for future:  DO NOT casually throw this into conversation when I am sipping my drink.)  After I finished gasping and sputtering, I asked what his response had been. "Oh, I told him he'd hear about that in 5th grade Health Class."  Then, after I was done calling my husband a big fat CHICKEN for ducking out of this, I mentally moved our Discussion to the top of the to-do list.

The next day at--you guessed it--the good old breakfast table, Derek suddenly asked "Is it true that if you don't want to have a baby, you just don't?  And then when you do want to, you can have 2 kids, or 3 kids, or whatever?"  I kept my cool (thank goodness I'd already had some coffee) and told him I'd definitely answer his question, when we had a chance to talk "privately." (I delivered this with a wink that only he saw, and he nodded sagely, having totally understood my clever signal.)  On the other hand..Riley, who was sitting beside him, leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "Is it because Daddy hasn't gone to work yet?" (again, not a good time to be drinking...) Yeah, buddy, Daddy can't handle these delicate topics just yet...

When Derek and I did have some "alone time" later that day, I explained sex (VERY briefly) and becoming pregnant (in COMPLETELY clinical terms).  "Oh," he mused, "I thought the man peed out the sperm, the doctor got an egg from the woman, mixed it up in a blender, and she drank it."  Oh. Good. Grief.  Well, I'm sure glad we cleared that up!  Anything else? (I asked with only a small wince, thinking "please let that be all for now.")  He replied, "Yeah, can I have my dessert now?"  Whew! You betcha! Saved by the cookies!

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Aging...gracefully?

My Uplifting Moment of the Day came to me courtesy of a lovely co-worker (you know who you are) who paid me an unexpected compliment (aren't they just the best kind?).  Somehow--through a convoluted and confusing maze of conversation that I can't even recall right now--we were discussing the various ages of the assembled Lunching Ladies. Suddenly someone fired the Dreaded Question my way and, since we were being truthful (darn it) I was forced to own up to all of my 42 years.  My new favorite co-worker turned to me, eyebrows arched quizzically, and said (wait for it...this is my favorite part...) "But I thought you were about 31!"  Well, then YES, yes I am.  That's what I meant!

Now, I'm certain about two things: 1)she knows this could not possibly be true, and 2) she was deliberately underestimating, because she's a kind, thoughtful person and wanted to spare my feelings.  But you know what? I don't care one bit! Because for the rest of the day I felt...refreshingly younger. So very shallow and vain, but there it is. Of course I know rationally that "age is just a number" and blah, blah, blah (how often did I preach that to myself when I hit 40?) but just for today, hearing a smaller number lifted my spirits. Don't get me wrong, I have no desire to actually be 31 again, if it would mean giving up my life and all the experiences of the past 11 years...but it was a welcome relief to be reminded that other people (unlike me) may not be focused on the gray hairs and the wrinkles (each and every one of which I attribute to my children, by the way.  Nothing I did, no sirree!)  And really, laughing with girlfriends results in a MUCH better facelift that Oil of Olay any day!

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Lunch Lines (or Lines about Lunch)

Some mothers fondly reminisce about when their children were babies. Their eyes become misty as they recall the tiny, helpless bundles, who needed to be cared for every minute of every day.  And me? Not in this group.  Diapers?  Don't miss 'em. Navigating mashed carrots past wildly waving baby arms?  Glad that's over with. Sponging mudpie-remains out of hair (and every crevice of body)? Well, that still has to be done, but at least the boys are old enough to shower themselves these days.

Recently we turned another corner in our house: my 9-1/2 year old has been letting us know he wants more responsibility.  His latest request was, "Mom (not Mommy, mind you, so I instantly knew he was quite serious), I want to pack my own lunch for school."  Have I whined in this space about how much I HATE that task? I know it takes all of three minutes, tops, but I just can't stand the daily grind of throwing lunches together.  So inside my head, Ecstatic Mommy was yippeeing and boogieing with joy. Outwardly, Rational Mommy pretended for a few long moments to weigh this idea, giving it the careful consideration it deserved.  After an appropriate pause, I grinned and blurted, "You betcha!  Have at it!"

As he gathered his materials, Derek chatted about what his classmate (and best friend) Billy puts in his lunch every day.  Juice pouches, Goldfish crackers, fruit snacks, cookies (nothing wacky like a sandwich)...I was already starting to regret my hasty decision to allow this crazy freedom...especially since it came out that Billy was Derek's inspiration for wanting to pack his own lunch. I was just beginning the self-recrimination ("What were you thinking?  He's only 9 years old!  Bad Mommy!) when Derek stopped rooting in the refrigerator for a second, looked up at me wide-eyed and indignant, and said,"Mommy, he doesn't even pack fruit!  Or carrots!  And (he paused for dramatic effect) his drink is NOT made with 100% juice!" 

As I breathed a sigh of relief, he proceeded to quickly and efficiently gather: applesauce (no high fructose corn syrup), oatmeal chocolate chip cookies (no partially hydrogenated oil), a Capri Sun (yes, 100% juice), a cheese stick (reduced fat), and multigrain crackers (high fiber), and spinach leaves (just...green).  My responsible, health-conscious little man.  Now THAT will bring a tear to my eye!

Friday, November 6, 2009

Think before you leap! (off the stairs!)

As the mother of two rambunctious boys (is there really any other kind?), I consider myself extremely lucky that we have not yet had a reason to visit the Emergency Room (everyone please pause and knock wood with me. okay, continue).  In fact, the way my children throw their bodies around and pound on each other, I try to remember to stop every few days or so to silently offer my own Mom's Prayer: "thank you for another day with no broken wrists, sprained ankles, or cracked skulls".

Luckily I was in the same room with them a few mornings ago, when I happened to catch Riley asking Derek, "do you think I can leap down all the stairs?"  I didn't wait for the answer (which I knew would probably be "sure, go ahead!") but instead glared up from the bottom of the staircase and started in on "let's think about what could happen in this situation".  I proceeded to explicitly described the various traumas that might ensue from this stunt (all scenarios of course ended up in the aforementioned ER). 

Then I made my fatal Mom Mistake:  I suggested that if they MUST jump off of something, they try the two steps leading down from the foyer to the family room.  Adrenaline Junkie--I mean Riley-- immediately did so, then declared in a tortured voice, "this is sooo bo--ring!"  Derek chimed in, "yeah, that's the worst thing about adults, they have no idea what kids like!"  (Are parents allowed to roll their eyes at their children? Oops, too late.)  And did they thank me for all of the Parental Wisdom and Protection?  Ha!  Instead, after Mean Mommy squashed all their fun, they amused themselves by dramatizing the horrible injuries I had saved them from...such as using their hands to drag themselves around on the floor, moaning "Oh, I must have broken my leg, take me to the hospital!"  But my absolute favorite was when Riley staggered into the kitchen clutching his forehead and muttering "I hit my head!  I can't think!  I'm losing my mind!"

Yeah, I know EXACTLY how you feel...Drama 101 class is dismissed...you both get A's.

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

My Halloweenies...

By now everyone has survived, and recovered from, Halloween, or as I like to call it:  Sugar Overload Day.  Whose brilliant idea was it to have kids dress up and beg for candy anyway?  I imagine someone sitting around their house, bored and hungry..."hey, Myrtle, there's nothing in the pantry...let's throw on some old clothes so the neighbors won't recognize us, and go ask for some Hershey bars!"

In my house, we had Costume Angst this year. Actually, Derek was completely easy. He knew he wanted to be a Ninja, so we went to the Ginormous Party Superstore (or something like that) and wandered back past the spooky talking skulls and creepy glowing spiders to the costume aisle, where there were approximately a million pictures to choose from.  In less than a minute, I spotted a Red Ninja, asked the ever-so-helpful teenager to get Derek's size from the stockroom, and he was done.

Then, there was Riley.  He couldn't decide, despite many suggestions and all of the photos, what he wanted to be.  We shuffled up and down the rows, pointing out options (Look, a police officer!  You'd make a cute Jedi Knight!  Wouldn't you love to be a Ninja like Derek?) and becoming increasingly frustrated.  Riley's head hung lower and lower, and his lip pouted out further and further as this tedious process wore on.  We even went to another store across the parking lot for inspiration...and it must have worked, since he FINALLY decided that dressing up as a vampire would be acceptable.  I pointed out that we have a black cape at home from several years ago, when Derek was a King.  Riley already owns black pants and a dark shirt.  So we had to go back to the Party Emporium for: one pair of vampire teeth (99 cents...finishing Halloween shopping after an hour and a half:  priceless). 

After that traumatic experience, I had to hit the "secret stash" of mini Heath bars that I'd been saving for trick-or-treaters.  Now that's what Halloween is all about!