Smarty-Pants-ivity

School started 28 days ago, and I am 28 days behind on my sleep. I'm not even sure I could catch you up on what we did with the end of our summer... I'm too tired to remember.

This is the boy's last year of Middle School, so I may have had a "moment" after dropping him off that first day.  He is changing and growing so fast it makes my head spin.  I know all moms say that about all kids in every stage, but these time are mind-numbing for me.
Gone are the chubby cheeks and the crayons.  Now his voice is deeper than his dad's, and I don't even know how to turn his math calculator on.

There is, however, one thing I can count on no matter how big he gets. 
Make that 2 things.
His creativity and his sarcasm.  One is a gift, and the other is spoken like a second language in this house.

We were discussing an English test the boy took recently, and he explained to us he "disagreed" with the teacher about his answer.

The test question asked, "How can a letter be delivered majestically?"

The boy's answer?

"By a king or strapped to a unicorn."

I laughed for at least 30 minutes.  He is right... kings and unicorns are majestic.

We came to the conclusion the teacher was looking for a description or a definition of the word "majestically."

He does "think outside the box," and he is sarcastic.  So we talked about how his answer could have been perceived as both.  The "X" mark on the question will hopefully cause him to think before answering so quickly next time. 

I am still chuckling to myself about a unicorn delivering a letter.  I'm also praying a little harder for his teachers.

73 Days

Hey there!   Remember me? 

I was driving home a few days ago, and I was thinking about the old blog here.  I was considering shutting it down.  I wasn't sure if anyone really "blogged" anymore, and I wasn't sure if I was just writing for myself. (Which really isn't a bad thing.)
Then, out of the blue, my friend "L" mentioned she was waiting on me to post.  Really?

So to the 5 of you who visit here,  I'm sorry.  To myself (who finds this therapeutic),  I'm sorry.
A lot of things have happened since April 2nd.  "A lot" is an understatement.  73 days worth of stuff has happened.
Hold on tight... here we go.

In the past 2 and a half months...

1.  We ate, slept, and breathed soccer.  The boy and his school team placed 3rd in the playoffs, and the rec season ended with a pool party.

 

Now my car is mud-free.

 

2.  We celebrated Mother's Day.

 

3.  The school year ended.  Hallelujah.  We trudged through those last few weeks like zombies.  The kids had standardized testing, Yearbook Signing Day, Field Day, Awards Day, and 2 field trips to Nashville.

 

One of the field trips was to present a project, and the other was to tour the capitol building and the Legislative Plaza.  During the tour, a certain student saw a photo of the famous Tennessean, Ida B. Wells.  He asked if it was Paula Deen.  I won't tell you who that student was, but I will tell you our family obviously watch way more Food Network than the History Channel.

 

4.  Winter/Spring finally left us, and Summer arrived.  In case you don't know me, I was sad to see the cooler temps go.  Now we are mowing the grass and weed-eating the weeds.

And my neighbor found a baby snake.

Good times.

 

5.  We put in a pool.  I wish.  Our house is a rental, and I don't think the homeowners would approve.  Instead, we bought a kiddie pool.  It's fun to goof off in, and it beats the heat.  We also get a kick out of holding our puppy in the water and watching her doggie-paddle.

 

6.  We ended the AWANA year at our church.  The boy earned his book award, and the leaders had about 392 water balloons thrown at us.  I will not post the pictures of me, sopping wet and begging for mercy.

 

7.  We've slept past 5:30 am on as many days as possible.

 

8.  We've been to the movies, invited friends to the movies, watched movies at home, and planned the movies we want to see in the next 60 days.  We like movies.

 

9.  We went strawberry picking, put strawberries in the freezer, and ate enough strawberries to give ourselves hives.

 

10.  We just finished Vacation Bible School at church for the youth, and (late last night) the boy finished a week at soccer camp.  My car was mud-free for .8 seconds.  Now he's considering playing on one of the travel soccer teams.  I love having mud in my car.

 

I think I'm going to need a summer break to recover from summer break.  And now I'm tired from all that catching up.  Maybe I won't neglect things around here again.  Maybe. 

 

Stay cool, friends.

Happy Birthdays To The Boy

In typical fashion for our family, we have celebrated the boy's birthday 4 times.  We have 2 more "parties" to go.  Whew.  We can drag out a birthday.
In sanity's defense, they haven't all been real honest-to-goodness parties.  One celebration was dinner with grandparents; another was doughnuts at school.

I could celebrate every day for this kid.

Happy 14th Birthday to the most awesome son a mom (and dad) could ever have!  Your kindness, goofiness, humor, and honesty make us so proud.  Rock on, kid!  We love you!!

All Things Soccer

Soccer season has cranked up again, and it may kill me.
Since the boy was about 6 years old, I've spent countless hours on the sidelines and driving back and forth from games and practices. 
This year, in addition to the Recreation league he plays on, he tried out for the Middle School team.
He made the team (Go, E!), but being on 2 teams translates to a lot more hours on the sidelines and in the car.
He has at least 2 practices a week, and there are times he has 3 games in one week.  That is a lot of back and forth in the car.
I'm tired from just typing it out.

Two of last week's school games were played in sub-zero temperatures with a little rain/sleet thrown in for good measure.  The parents all huddled on the sidelines and contemplated lighting a fire in a big metal trashcan.  The players' lips were blue.
Even when we got home, I was afraid to take off my boots for fear my toes would break off and stay in the boot.  Brrr.
 I've vacuumed mud out of my car seats about 14 times. There's even mud on the dashboard.

One of the weirdest things about teenage soccer players is their ability to sweat in 36 degree weather.
When your sweet little 6 year-old soccer player turns into a 6-foot soccer player, the smell is just as large.
Who knew shin guards could stink?  How much can a shin sweat?
I make the boy hang his shin guards in the garage.  When he takes them off, he sprays them with both Lysol and Febreze.  And they still stink.  The shoes are another story altogether.
In the last few weeks, Winter has decided to dig in and not leave; it's been COLD.
But I am riding home from practices with my windows down and my shirt pulled up over my nose to try and keep my gag reflex in check.

Good times.

All the hours in the car and all the hard work in bitter cold practices must be paying off...
The boy's rec team has won both of their games, and the school team has won all 3 of theirs.
I want a trophy for all my hard work, too.
It can be inscribed:

"For your driving around,

Sitting in the cold and sitting

in your car,

Cheering loudly when you can't feel your face,

And enduring the smell

of a thousand stinky shins"





More than likely, it will be 97 degrees in two weeks.  I just think those shin guards stink now.
I'll trade my windburn for sunburn, and I'll still be driving all over town for games and practices, but I will be sweating as well.
It's a good thing I love the boy.

In other news, it's the first day of Spring Break, and our yard is covered in snow.  More snow is in the forecast for tonight.  I'm one of the rare people who enjoys the Winter season and its companion, snow.  But now?

Dear Snow,
Why did you wait until Spring Break to pay us a visit?  Where were you on that sleepy Monday morning back in January?  We could have used you then.  We would have loved you more then.  Now, you are a cold nuisance.
Love,
Me

I'm waiting for my phone to ring and one of the coaches to tell me we have an impromptu practice... because it's snowing. 

Baby Jesus Goes To School

As a family, we don't usually celebrate Mardi Gras.  We don't live near one of those beautiful Deep South cities that holds a parade, and I can honestly say I've never shown any part of my body for a strand of beads.
We do, however, take any and every opportunity to expand our knowledge of the world around us eat cake.
We want the boy to know what other religions, cultures, and communities believe and how they celebrate.  If that includes food, then we're all a little happier.  And educated.  And fat.

So in honor of Fat Tuesday, I headed over to the local Publix to buy a King Cake.  The traditional King Cake has the baby Jesus baked inside, but in the Publix version, he comes taped to the lid.

My friend, M, went on a similar quest for a King Cake with a plastic Baby Jesus.  For some crazy reason, her cake box had no baby.  She sent her husband back to Publix for 3 more cakes.  None of them had a Baby Jesus.  Several people had theories, but I think someone went through those boxes and cleaned out the babies.  Sicko.

Before we ate our cake, I un-taped the plastic baby, flipped the cake over, and smashed him into the layers of sugar and cream cheese.  (The more I think about it, the more bizarre the entire ritual seems.)  We devoured the whole thing in about a day and a half, and the boy got the piece with the baby in it.  Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he stabbed into every area of the cake with a knife before he actually cut a slice.  (More and more bizarre by the minute.)

The plastic Baby Jesus hung out on the kitchen island for a few days, and then I saw him in the boy's bathroom... sitting on the counter.
Almost a week had gone by when I realized I hadn't seen him.  We were getting in the car, and the boy shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and said,

"Wheeeew!  I thought that was Baby Jesus in my pocket."

"Ummm.... why would Baby Jesus be in your pocket?  Where is he, by the way?" I said.

Without any hesitation, he said, "He's been going to school."

"He's been doing WHAT?" I asked.

"Going to school."  He said it like you might say, "I have a math test."  Or, "I need pencils."

"Just how many times has Baby Jesus been to school?"

"Lots.  Don't worry, though... He only comes out at lunch, because we don't want him to be taken away."

Truthfully, I wasn't worried about Baby Jesus being taken away.  I was worried about the phone call I might receive from the school office.  Or the school Security Officer... whose main station is the cafeteria. 

"What are you going to do if Officer B sees him?" I asked.

"Oh, he already has.  He came by our table, and we showed him Baby Jesus, and he even held him."

The boy rolled his eyes as I said, "Baby Jesus needs to come home."

"He can't right now," he said.  "I don't exactly have him."

"Who exactly has him?" I asked.

"My friend has him at his house,"  he said.  "He's making him some clothes.  We were feeling bad because he's naked."

"Well, as soon as he gets some clothes and comes back to school, I'd like you to bring him home."

He rolled his eyes again, protested, and tried to convince me the tiny plastic Baby Jesus would not get him into trouble.  He said something about Baby Jesus being the highlight of lunch, and he probably said something about me ruining all his fun.
I reminded him it's my job to ruin his fun, and I take it seriously.

It's been a few days since that conversation, so I asked the boy last night about Baby Jesus.  He is, apparently, still at the friend's house.  He's still naked, but I have a sneaky suspicion he has been back to school.  How do I even begin that phone call with another mom? 
"Hi!  I was wondering if our naked plastic Baby Jesus is at your house?  Could you send him home please?"

My poor friend, M, finally did get her Baby Jesus.  Another friend who knew of the missing Publix babies was at a (real) baby shower and stole a plastic baby from the centerpiece and brought it to her.  I guess it's not technically Baby Jesus, but my friend, M, was satisfied.

I may have to make a surprise appearance at lunch to confiscate Baby Jesus.  There's nothing like your mom walking into Middle School lunch to take away your plastic baby. 
While I'm there, I may take lunch to Officer B.  The man who is the first line of protection in the school took a few minutes to goof around with a table full of 7th grade boys.
And their mascot, Baby Jesus.

No Shirt, No Shoes, No Pants

The boy and I have some of our best conversations in the car.  We also have some of the strangest. We spend a lot of time in the car, so there's no shortage of words... good or bad.

While driving home from karate a few days ago, he asked me,

"Why do stores have that sign on their doors... the one that says
 NO SHIRT, NO SHOES, NO SERVICE?"

I said, "Well, believe it or not, some people would try to go into a business or a restaurant without shoes or a shirt.  Gross, isn't it?"

Instead of agreeing with me, (because all 13 year-old boys agree with their mothers) he said,

"The next time I go into a restaurant, I'm going in with no pants on.  The sign does NOT say
NO PANTS, NO SERVICE 
 I want to see if I will be served.  They have to serve me."

"You'll be served with an arrest warrant," I said.

"Then they need to be more specific on those signs," he said.

My friend, Y, also has a 13 year-old son.  She and I often talk about the strangeness that comes with having 13 year-old sons. 
We have no answers; we just hug and pray for each other.
We've promised to call each other if one of us sees the other's son anywhere without clothes.
Mine will be obviously be trying to buy some lunch.

Decision Day Doughnuts and Bully Scientists

A day of no school makes me so happy.
Sadly, my bladder woke up at the normal time of 5:45 am, but I crawled right back under the covers and thanked Mitt and Obama for the extra sleep.

I tried to bribe the boy into going with me to vote by offering to stop for doughnuts.  It didn't work.  He was lounging around in his pjs and finishing up a big research project for school.

He's been working on this project for a while, and the scientist he's studying is Robert Ballard.  Mr. Ballard discovered the wreck of the Titanic in 1985.  He's a very accomplished man.  His awards and discoveries are plentiful, and this morning, the boy was listing them.  That's when I heard him yell,

"AGH!  Robert Ballard discovered EVERYTHING!  He is a bully scientist.  Hi... My name is Robert Ballard and I left nothing for anyone else to discover!"

I'm glad this project is due tomorrow. If Robert Ballard were running for President, the boy would probably not vote for him.  He's fascinated by his work, but he thinks Mr. Ballard is a genius bully.

So get out there and vote today, friends.





 

 

I did, and I noticed the stickers were very tiny.  Downright dinky. Whoever runs in 2016 needs to campaign for bigger stickers. 

I also ended up stopping for doughnuts anyway.  I may or may not have eaten 2 on the way home.



Welcome November

Halloween 2012 is in the history books, and as soon as the calendar hits November 1, I start stressing about the Christmas shopping I haven't done.
We are waking up from our sugar coma, and I am also stressing about the lack of chocolate in the boy's loot from last night.  I count on that chocolate to get me through to the New Year.  I blame the tight economy on all those Sweet Tarts.

The boy went as Tony Stark... a.k.a. "Iron Man."
"I am Iron Man."

 

 

In the Avengers movie, Tony describes himself as a "genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist."  All good things... minus the "playboy" part.  I am - after all - still Iron Man's momma.

I told the boy he should consider a real goatee one day when that facial hair hormone starts working correctly.  If an eyeliner beard and moustache look that good, imagine what real hair can do.

 

Go pick up the jack-o-lanterns and fake spiderwebs, friends.  Thanksgiving is right around the corner, and you haven't finished Christmas shopping.

Happy November!



Missing My Little Punkin'

We went to the Pumpkin Patch this weekend with our Youth Group from church.
I am the mom of a teenager, and that harsh reality really hits home at the pumpkin patch.
Small children are everywhere, and they are so stinking cute carrying those pumpkins around.
My friend, C, said
"I'm really missing my boys being little this year."
Ouch... I know exactly what she means.
Every year since the boy was a toddler, we've hit up the patch to pick a pumpkin.
I have pictures of him knee deep in bright orange pumpkins, riding in a hay wagon, and petting goats.
I knew it wouldn't last forever.

Little boys turn into big teenage boys.

Instead of climbing through pumpkin vines, the boy ran through the corn maze with his big teenage friends.
Instead of taking pictures, he zoomed all over the farm... acting like the goofy 13 year-old he is.
And instead of walking home with a pumpkin, he limped to the car.

He limped to the car because he was injured, and he was injured because he went with me through the "haunted woods."
You see... teenagers don't come to the Pumpkin Patch to sip cider; they come to go through "Scream Creek" in all its gory glory.
So because I am a  brave chaperone and a crazy woman, I went along.

The "Scream Creek" haunted woods were dark and scary on their own, and then all sorts of creepy things started happening.  We ran from werewolves, psychos with chainsaws, meat butchers, zombies, and a few clowns.  We tripped over roots, pushed through dark sheds with hanging body parts, and slid down a 75-foot slide.
I did it all... all while holding a death grip on the back of the boy's jacket.
He kept yelling,
"I can't breathe!  You're choking me!"
When I let go of his jacket, I held onto his arm until he wrenched it away and yelled,
"You're cutting off my circulation!!"

The worst part of the whole "trail" was a section winding through a corn field.  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a dark figure chasing us. 
Being the sane, calm person I am... I whispered to the boy (who was in front of me),
"There's something in the corn."
When he didn't panic to my standards or speed up, I screamed,
"THERE'S SOMETHING IN THE CORN!!"
Then I tried to run.
Being the graceful, agile person I am... I fell.  I took the boy down with me.
One of the other chaperones behind us tried to help, but he couldn't stop laughing.
We rolled around for a second until my adrenaline kicked in.  I stood up and grabbed the back of the boy's jacket, lifting him onto his feet with superhuman strength.
I suppose we looked like prey, because the black thing in the corn burst out of the corn right at us.
Let's just say I'm glad I went to the bathroom before we got there.
Let's also say my son may never forgive me.

No matter how many times I told myself, "It's not real," I couldn't stop jumping and screaming.

The rest of the trail is kind of a blur to me.  I let go of my wounded child, and I clutched the arm of my friend, C, for the remainder of our trip through Scream Creek.
I may or may not have pulled her into a wall at some point.

When we finished the trail, everyone had a great laugh at my expense... including the boy.
As much as he fussed and complained, I know he thought it was hysterical.
It was a blast.
Except for the bruises all down the left side of my body.

I do miss the boy being little.  It seems like I miss it more every day.  He has such a fun personality, and I have enjoyed all his "stages" of growing up.
He may be a teenager, but he let this momma hang onto him all through the haunted woods.  He laughed with me and at me, and he says I wasn't even embarrassing.
He's been telling people I was the scariest thing in the woods.
As much as I miss my little punkin', I wouldn't trade these bruises for the world.

Sick Days With The CTU

I think I may be about 11 years behind the curve with this post.
Thanks to back-to-back illnesses and streaming Netflix, the boy and I are hooked on "24" and Jack Bauer. 
It all started when he had strep throat.  The boy... not Jack Bauer. 
We were stuck at home and decided to do something useful with our PS3 besides play hours of violent video games. 
We decided to watch hours of a violent TV drama. 
Now we've been sucked into the world of counter-terrorism.
I vaguely recall watching the first season way back in the day, and I remember enjoying it.  I don't know exactly why I stopped watching.  Maybe it was the toddler claiming all my time, energy, and freedom to watch adult television?
Now that toddler is a teen and we are well into Season 2.  Thanks to the stomach virus, we knocked out the rest of Season 1 in a day.

Living in Jack Bauer's world for hours at a time does have its negative effects.
The line between reality and "24" has blurred on more than a few occasions.

In the first Presidential Debate, I was surprised when President Palmer didn't walk out on stage.

The boy has started showering with the curtain partly open. He told me terrorists are known for walking in on people while they're showering.

We got excited when the pouring rain cancelled soccer practice. It meant we had time for a few episodes.

I was kissing the boy good night last week and he asked me to "un-tuck" his covers from the sides of the bed.  In case he had to make a quick get-away.

Last night, Dan/Daddy worked late, so the boy and I ate dinner in front of the TV and burned through 2 episodes.  There was a scene where Jack kills a federal witness and hints at the fact he's going to cut off the dude's head.  He said,
"I'm gonna need a hacksaw."

The boy and I both cheered and high-fived.  I think we might need counseling.

What Does A Bear Know Anyway?

We are 5 days into my most favorite month of the year.
I am dragging out the spooky decor this afternoon.  We've had cooler weather, and we've had a few pots of soup. 
We've also had strep and a stomach virus.  So far, only the boy has been sick.  I am praying like a saint that Dan/Daddy and I stay puke-free.
But I still love October.

One of my favorite Fall things is a fire... fire pits, Halloween cookouts, s'mores, and warm cozy fires in the fireplace.  I even enjoy grilling out more when it's cool outside.
Apparently, the love of a good fire is genetic.
It's passed down from one generation to the next like blue eyes or dimples.

I was picking up some clutter last week, and I reached to put a ruler back into the junk drawer.
That's when I saw it.

Look very closely.  You may have to click on the picture to see it best.

It's a freebie ruler... It's a little beat up and colored on.  It probably came from a preschool visit to the fire department.

It says, "Smokey's Friends Don't Play With Matches."
It's what's penciled in underneath that makes me worry.  Can you see it?

"Then I am not Smokey's friend."

I'm not sure when my little pyromaniac wrote it.  The handwriting looks a little shaky.  He probably wrote it a few years ago. 
He may have written it the day the firemen gave it to him.

I am so proud.
Happy October and happy fire building, friends.

Halloween Logic

Here in our town, a sure sign of Fall is not the cooler weather nor the changing leaves.
It's the gigantic inflatable costume shop that looks like a 2-story pumpkin sunk into the ground.
I'm not sure why the costume people don't rent a building or a store.  I plan on asking them when we go in.  When we go in.

The boy and I drove past the ginormo pumpkin a few days ago, and we had this conversation:

Me:  "Are you dressing up for Halloween this year or not?"

The Boy:  "Ummm... candy."

Me:  "Very true."

The Boy:  "All these people think Halloween is for babies.  They think they're too cool to dress up."

Me:  "You aren't worried about that?"

The Boy:  "You know what I think is cool?  Coming home with a sack full of candy."


That's my boy.

School Daze

Well. We are back in my least favorite routine. The routine that involves setting an alarm, putting on something besides pjs, and making a ham sandwich... All before 6:00 am.
Blah.
I would like to have the cool weather, the pumpkin patch, the yummy soups, and the football games without the school, please.

The boy started 7th grade a few days ago, and I have been a little bit weepy. He also went to his first big "Youth Group" event with the kids at church. Sniff, sniff. He's having a blast, but I just wonder where the pudgy-faced baby went.
If you want to avert your eyes from my teary trip down memory lane, now is your chance.
I warned you.

Here are the last 8 "First Days of School." They have zoomed by entirely too fast...

I put this last picture on Facebook, and a few of my friends commented on the boy's apparent lack of self-confidence.
He is fearless. That is one trait he did not get from me.

I said maybe if I had a backpack you can see from space, I would have better self-esteem, too.

Hug your babies tight as they head out the door for school this year.

Pretty soon you will be hugging one who is taller than you who insists on the Day-Glow accessories.



Be Ready For Anything

The boy and I went to the pool with some pals this week.
He was swimming; I was chatting.
When I looked up, he was dragging himself out onto the side.  Pulling and hauling his whole body out of the water with only his arms and upper body strength.
So I asked him what he was doing.

"I am practicing pulling myself onto shore in case a Great White bites off my legs.
I want to make sure I can get out of the water with no legs."

The boy has this theory that every time we go on vacation, something happens to him.  He is partly correct... he had a string of incidents and trips to the ER for a few summers in a row.  I think he thinks he's cursed.

He is definitely a "planner."  He likes to know what is going to happen and he likes to be prepared.  It makes him feel like he has some control.  I can't fault him for that.... I know exactly how he feels.  And I think I know where he gets it from.

So now he's training for an attack by a Great White.

I told him if  a Great White eats my legs off, I will just throw the rest of myself to the shark.
I also told him he was smart to train, but a little bit paranoid.  It takes one to know one.
I told him I was impressed with his upper body strength.  I wouldn't be able to haul myself out of the water like that... legs or no legs.
And then I told him we may skip Shark Week this year.

The Final Countdown

There are so few days left of school that I have lost the will to rise at 6:00 am-ish and pack a lunch. I actually lost that desire around Halloween, but I muddled through.

Our kitchen chalkboard has been a source of comfort...

Well that 21 isn't very comforting, but it's where we started counting.  It felt like 121.

19 days... a tiny bit better.  2 days better.

Now 6.5 is lots better.  I know you're wondering about that half day that appeared.  It was there all along; I just hadn't been counting it as an actual day of school.  The boy?  He wanted it in there.  He's a stickler for details.

This was sometime last week.  The summer fever is so bad around here, I can't even muster the strength to update the chalkboard.

So the end of the first year of Middle School is upon us.  By the middle of this week, I will be the mom of a 7th grader. Wow.

Bring on the lazy mornings, the popsicles, the fire pit parties, the beach, the movies, and the freckles.

Just leave out the snakes and the 99+ degree weather.

Please.

To Cheer My Soul

Phew.  It has been one of those weeks.  Everything that's happened will make a great blog story, so I am only posting a picture today.
It's a picture that cheers my heart, and I hope it will cheer yours.

I think I mentioned the cat has been getting piggyback rides.
I think I may have even posted a picture last week.
Well that ol' picture just didn't make the experience come alive like I needed it to.
So I took another one, and oh my word...
I cannot stop laughing.

So I made it my screen saver, and I laugh every time I look at it.
Her face just says it all.
Her face is saying how I feel today...

So, enjoy.

And yes, I am worried she may come to kill me in my sleep.

I Love Funny

So many funny little moments roll past me.  I always laugh and think,
"I need to write that down."
or...
"I should blog about that."
But then I forget.  Or I get distracted by all the not funny little moments.
I even used to scrapbook all the cute and amusing things that came out of the boy's mouth.  Then when I started blogging, the cute and amusing things he says became blog posts.
I wish I still had the energy/time/desire/urge to scrapbook again.
I wish I would take the time to have a blog book printed.
While I find my energy, time, desire, and urge again, here are some of his latest funnies...
before I forget.


While driving home from church a few weeks ago, we were listening to Michael Jackson.  I was singing along to Thriller, and I asked the boy,
"Does it embarrass you that your Momma knows all the words to Thriller?"
He said, "Nope... I think it's cool."
(Score: 1 for the boy.)

On a ridiculously hot day, I was wearing a tank top.  The kind of tank top I never wear alone... always under something else.  But, we were at home, and I was hot.
The boy asked,  "What kind of outfit is that?"
(Score: -1 for the boy.)

We were headed to school this morning and had to wait for a horse trailer to pull out in front of us.  The boy said,
"That horse trailer is full of cows.... and those cows are MOOOOOving."
Not laughing was not an option.  That kid cracks me up.
(Score: 1 for the comedian.)

I hope and pray your day is more funny than not funny.  I like funny so much better.

Berry Picking

The boy and I went strawberry eating (I mean, picking) Saturday.

At first he was a little hesitant about eating them from the field... There might be rules.  Or bugs.

After a little encouragement from his criminal mother, he was popping them in.

It was a beautiful day, even though getting up early on a Saturday is not something I enjoy.  I'm glad we did.

Pancakes and Proms

I aged about 10 years over the weekend, and it had nothing to do with my child.  For once.
On Facebook, I was able to see all the Prom pictures my friends were posting.  Prom pictures of THEIR kids. 
Let me say this another way...
People my age have children going to the Prom.
Lord, help me.
And them, too, Lord.

We did "wait" a few years before jumping into parenthood, so I could technically be the mom of a Senior.  Ugh.

The Prom pictures really got me, though.

Maybe it was because I could see in those sweet faces the faces of their moms and dads.... my childhood friends.  It was only yesterday we were all dressed up and headed to our Prom, right?

Maybe it was because here in our house, we just crossed into the Land of Teenagers.  (Sniff.)  I've had a rough time with the boy turning 13. All those pretty pictures were just one more reminder that my time is coming.

Maybe I'm just old and sentimental.

I was curled up on the couch with the boy Saturday night.  We had pancakes for dinner in front of the TV.  We watched our DVR'd episodes of "Swamp People."  I couldn't stop thinking about how few of those kinds of nights I have left before it's my turn to post the Prom pictures.

The pictures, the girls in beautiful dresses, the tuxedos, the flowers, the fancy dinners...

Maybe the boy and all his friends will come back to our house after the Prom. 
Maybe they will stay up and raid the pantry.
Maybe they will crash out on the floor.

One thing is for certain... I will make pancakes for all of them the next morning.

My Adorable Juvenile Delinquent... What Would You Do?

A few weeks ago, the boy was "arrested" in the middle of a math test.

There had been some sort of a fight at his school, and one of the culprits "escaped." (The culprit didn't leave school; he just didn't get caught by a teacher.) We will call him Suspect #1.

Suspect #1 was wearing a brown shirt that day... and so was MY son.
See where this story is going?

The School Security Officer (who wears a uniform and carries a gun and a taser) and a teacher who'd seen the fight came looking for Suspect #1.
They came into my son's math class, looked around the room, and pointed at my son. The officer motioned for him to get up and walk over.
The boy (my son), bless his heart, thought the officer was talking to someone else, so he started looking around. That's when the officer mouthed the word, "You," and pointed again.

The boy said when the whole class realized WHO the officer was talking to, there was an audible gasp throughout the room... including his teacher.

You see, the boy NEVER gets in trouble at school. Never. I'm not sharing this to brag on my child... I can do that anytime. I am sharing this to explain why everyone in the room was shocked. The boy is the kind of student that helps teachers, tutors other students, makes the honor role, and gets nominated for citizenship awards. He's NOT the kind of kid who gets into fights in the hallway.

So when the officer and the other teacher led him out into the hallway, he was totally confused. The officer asked,
"Were you involved in an altercation after 2nd Period?"

"No," said the boy.

The other teacher said, "That's him! That's him! He had on a brown shirt and he took off running!"

Again the officer asked, "Was it you that got into a fight and then ran?"

Again the boy said, "No. It wasn't me."

Once again, the other teacher said she was certain it was him.
After a few minutes of talking, the officer told the accusing teacher he believed my child. The officer realized they had the wrong kid.
They let him go back to class, and they continued their search for brown shirt Suspect #1.

The boy said when he got back into class, the room erupted with questions and noise... including the teacher. No one could believe what had happened, and they were amazed the boy was even considered a suspect. They all got a big laugh, and they finished their test.

When he got in the car that afternoon, the boy told me all about it. He was still amused, and he really didn't seem bothered by it at all.
I asked him if either the officer or the accusing teacher came back to apologize to him.
"No. They didn't," he told me.

Now here is my dilemma.
I would have appreciated an apology to my child for the case of mistaken identity.
Is that too much to ask?
Am I being unreasonable?

Part of me wanted to march into the school and demand an apology. (I know some of you would have fired the principal by now. Or egged the officer's car.)
I definitely do not want to embarrass my son. I also know how teachers feel about parents who "fight their kid's battles for them."
Actually, I know how I feel about people fighting their kid's battles for them.

I want the boy to know that sometimes in life, people make mistakes. They may even accuse you of something you didn't do.
I want him to know that people often don't apologize... even grown-ups. Even if they should.
I want him to be able to do what he did. To stand up and speak the truth... even if he's scared.
I also want him to know we are here to support him, and I know he knows that.
How would you feel if it were your child?
What would you do?