I cannot believe the kids are back in school and the holidays are around the corner. Shit. I just finished paying for summer vacation and now I have to turn into the fat man. I really want to meet this Father Time guy and kick him in his balls. 

Anyway, things are back in full swing in our household. Soccer is starting, t-ball is in a week, homework and school functions are back on the calendar. The weather is even changing, albeit not like most places since in South Florida a cool front just means it will be 88 instead of 95. But, there is no denying, Fall is in the air. Walk in any store and you will already see it. The seasonal spiced apple scented candles and room sprays and pumpkins and Halloween decorations. 

I am trying to get excited about the holidays this year and thanks to Wal-Mart and Toys R Us offering layaway, it might actually happen. I might actually get my shopping done early for the first time in four years. I won’t know how to act if I am not racing around trying to find the toy company’s latest ”bend me over”, oops I mean “wind me up” toy. I can’t help but make that mistake because it sure feels like we have been bent over. The holidays are definitely expensive. I guess I could save some money on those room sprays and just buy Ethan some fruit snacks. Problem solved. 

“I Don’t Wanna Be a Pirate.”

“I Don’t Wanna Be a Pirate.”  Jerry Seinfeld

My daughter is a dancer. OK, well she takes dance, shows up for all of the classes and has the costume for the recital, but she’s seven years old. That’s hardly old enough for me to label her a “dancer”, right?  But that is what I hear so many moms doing. You know the ones. You meet them at a party or the grocery store and they feel compelled to tell you “my little Bridgette is a dancer”.  I look down at a four year old girl with her finger up her nose and think, yup, there’s the next Alexandra Ansanelli (a famous ballerina I had to look up, since I don’t actually know any).

Since my daughter was three she has told me at least three things she would like to be when she grows up. First it was an aminal doctor (yes, I know it is spelled wrong, but that is how she said it) then it was a famous singer and then a teacher. There have been others in between, but those are the three that she was really serious about, for at least a week. Personally, I love that she is exploring her options and learning about what she likes and doesn’t like, especially when it doesn’t cost me thousands of dollars to figure it out. I am sure that will come later. 

If I follow some mom’s I guess my daughter would be a soccer player, guitar player, dancer, actress, sailor. That’s going to look good on her resume….which she will NOT need for another FIFTEEN years or so. Come on moms! Just because your little girl puts on wings, does not make her an actual fairy. I have to be honest, when I see my son playing with a toy gun, the thought never crosses my mind that he might want to be a police officer or a cowboy (I am just praying he won’t be a bank robber). I just assume he is playing and when he is doing a sport I don’t think about a future with him as a famous athlete, but rather enjoy how much fun he is having right here and now. 

I am so happy that my children want to try so many different things. I don’t want to push them in any one direction, but rather let their passion lead them. (Wow that sounded profound. Who knew?) It’s not my place to tell any mother how to think or act, but since I am pretty sure I am always right, they should probably listen. Don’t force your kids to do something they really don’t want to do and don’t live your unaccomplished dreams through your child. Yes, encourage them and support them, but never force them. There is a huge difference between “pushing” and “forcing”. Look it up.

When are moms (that I don’t know) going to learn to stop talking to me in random places?  I will turn you into a blog, you know.

Not Tonight, I Have a Headache

Now I know by the title you assume I am talking to my husband, but you would be incorrect (well maybe partially correct).  I often find myself falling backwards onto the couch in the old “Nestea Iced Tea” plunge style at the end of my day. My plunge, however, does not look nearly as graceful as the choreographed commercial one and it is far less satisfying. Nonetheless, I am a tired mess in a dress by 9pm. As for who I am directing my comment to, well, anyone and everyone who speaks to me after 6:00pm Monday through Friday and some Saturdays.

I truly do have a dang headache most nights lately and I haven’t figured out if it is the effects of the workday, the “not-so-smart” (nice way of saying stupid) people and their horrible driving, kids screaming, bill collectors calling (not that I answer), dance classes, class projects  or a combination of all of the above. IT IS also quite possible that I ate more than the normal daily allowance of chocolate or that I skipped breakfast and lunch that is to blame since both of those can cause a headache, so I have been told. Whatever. The bottom line is that I have become really good friends with Motrin and other than the occasional worry that my kidneys or liver may eventually give out, it is a great relationship.

Headaches are an unpleasant part of a busy life and unfortunately the way to get rid of them usually involves peace and quiet, which rarely happens in a house with children. Actually, it never happens in my house. I seriously think my kids have been pre-programmed, maybe even paid off by Motrin, to wreak havoc….daily.

The one great thing about headaches is that they can get you out of almost anything.  “Mom, I need….” “Not right now sweetie, I have a headache.”   “Honey, I was thinking….” “Not right now honey, I have a headache.” See how easy that is? There is nothing else to say. The headache implies that the conversation is over.  Just as a side note, however, I rarely use the “headache” on my husband, but it’s nice to have on standby.

I am sure that when our season ends down here in South Florida and all of the snowbirds, that cross six lanes of traffic to get to the early bird specials, go home and the kids are out of school for the summer and we have less directions to go in a day, the headaches will slowly subside. Until then, if you need to speak with me, I highly suggest you do it before 6pm.

You’re So Dang Perfect….blah, blah, blah.

I pulled up to my girlfriend’s house the other day and I was feeling really good about my accomplishments for the day. I had managed to brush my teeth (even floss) and I actually got out of the house with matching earrings for once. I hate to admit I have made that mistake more than once. 

Anyway, I checked in the backseat to be sure that I didn’t forget to take a kid to school and so far, so good, although I did notice that the juice box had fallen out of my son’s lunch…hardly a tragedy. My makeup was on my face (ok, I put some of it on at stop lights, but it still counts) and I was ready to start my work day. This was a good day.

I had to stop by my “shall remain nameless” friend’s house (mostly because I now hate her) to pick up some things for an event that we were doing together. I had not been to her house before, but I knew it was probably nice. She is almost always dressed impeccably with a fantastic wardrobe. I thought she was just really fashion conscious, I was not expecting what I found. At only 8:00am, she was completely put together from head to toe, her kitchen was already clean from the morning breakfast and lunchbox preparation and her house was truly immaculate. I mean, I could have dropped yogurt on the floor and felt comfortable enough to get down on all fours and lick it up. Ok, maybe comfortable is not a good word, but you get the point.

In my mind, I was thinking “she must have a maid and a nanny” and as if she could read my thoughts, she quickly pointed out how “she just finished getting everything cleaned up” and how “she was just too picky to let someone else do it.”  So next I thought “her husband must really help out a lot” and again as if she knew what I was thinking she told me that her husband leaves the house first thing in the morning and does not get home until late evening. Dang. She works (not full time, so score one for me) and she has children, her house is clean, her nails are done, her hair looks great, her clothes are pressed (and not just thrown in the dryer on the de-wrinkle setting), there is no dust on her picture frames (I don’t trust anyone that doesn’t have dust on their picture frames) and the real kicker is; her car looks brand new inside…..I really hate her. 

Suddenly, my accomplishments began to feel so meager. I needed to make some adjustments, step up my game. It was like a competition and I hate to lose. So, I finished my work in record time, drove to the car wash and paid them extra to remove the half-eaten lollipops and goldfish or whatever the heck was pasted to the seats. The manager came to me twice to negotiate saying  something like “we never expected to find…”. After that, it was off the nail salon. I was gonna win this thing. Half way through my manicure, I noticed the time and realized I left one of my children at school. I ran out of there with nails that looked like I was too lazy to remove the polish and too cheap to get them professionally done as only seven of them were finished.  As I drove through traffic like a mad woman, it began to rain. Of course it would rain. I haven’t washed my car in two years and it hasn’t rained in almost that long so it was destiny.

I arrived at the school and really began to panic. I didn’t see her anywhere. Where could she be? I rummaged through my bag for my phone with my tacky, now completely smudged nails. Then it hit me. It was my husband’s day to pick her up.  Dang.

I really stink at this “being perfect” thing. It’s not me. I am chaos and superhero all wrapped into one. My kids love that I will do anything in my bare feet. I will dance in the mud and you can’t do that with a fresh pedicure. I wear a dress and heels all day. I want to be in jeans and flip flops at night. My kids know that I am their champion.  I will attend every dance practice, volunteer in the classroom, but there will always be a towel on the bathroom floor at the end of the day. I will wake up early, pick out clothes, make lunches, get myself ready, but there will always be a dish in the sink when I leave.  I will kiss boo boos, hug away sorrows and turn on lights to scare away monsters, but I will probably forget to wash your favorite shirt once in a while.

So, I guess I am not dang perfect, but I am dang original. I think that is better.

P.S. I still hate “shall remain nameless” just because.  She has to have some flaw, like irritable bowel syndrome or something, so I will just hold on to that.

I Think Your Pants are on Fire

Lie / Spelled [lahy] noun, verb, lied, ly·ing.

noun

1. a false statement made with deliberate intent to deceive; an intentional untruth; a falsehood.

2. something intended or serving to convey a false impression; imposture: His flashy car was a lie that deceived no one.

3. an inaccurate or false statement.

4. the charge or accusation of lying: He flung the lie back at his accusers.

I went to bed the other night pondering at what age we learn to lie; when exactly our minds know to respond to a question with an answer other than the truth or to make a statement that is knowingly false?  Is it something we learn from other people or are we just inherently programmed to spew falsehoods or half-truths at any given moment?

I ask these questions only because my seven year old has, as of late, turned this into an utter art form.  I can look right at her as she is doing something and when I ask her if she did it, she can look me right in the eye and say “I didn’t do that”.  She is so good, I almost believe her for a split second.  It’s like the Jedi mind trick. She tilts her head a little when she says it almost as if she is trying to hypnotize me “No, I didn’t, DID I?” 

I assume it is not before the age of four, at least in my house since my four year old has a speech delay. I guess I cannot base it on him since it is entirely possible that he would also be a lying little bastard if I could understand everything he said.  He may be lying to me right now and I am just so happy that he is speaking and improving his language that I don’t really care. 

So I started doing a little research (well, a lot of research) and I learned that it is lying is directly related to intelligence. Lying is considered to be a more advanced skill and more intelligent children can begin lying at age two to three.  Lying requires cognitive and social skills that plain old honesty does not.  Studies show that children begin lying to get out of trouble at around age four and can continue to master the craft if the parent does not intervene. It will not go away on its own.

Now it was all beginning to make sense. My daughter is incredibly bright, I mean truly intelligent and boy can she lie! But she is not the only one. She comes home almost daily with a story from one of the little girls in her school, who by all accounts, must be a genius if the studies are correct. She has told my daughter the most off the wall stories; she has a four story house with an elevator, she has more than twenty animals and that she is rich, to which my daughter quickly points out that she wears the same shoes every day. I then have to explain that we cannot judge anyone by what they wear…yada yada yada. So now the lies cost me an hour of conversation about being respectful, not making assumptions and not always believing everything you hear.

On the other side of the coin, my son has a little delay right now and I truly believe that he would not lie. I can ask him if he did something  and he will say “yes, I did it”. So, what do I do; hope that he will become super smart and a big fat liar? Or hope that he remains a little behind the rest of the group, but always tells me the truth? Tough call. I guess I would say, I would like both of my children to have wisdom and knowledge and to control the lying I will just have to tell them that if they keep lying all of their hair will fall out.  I really wonder who they learn all of these bad behaviors from?