My mom and I attended Ethan and GJ’s “Back-To-School” night this evening. The teachers laughingly refer to it as the “great race.” You attend each class your child attends throughout the day, although, you only stay in each class for 8 minutes and you have 3 minutes to get to the next class. The teachers have to be very quick and on their toes to get through a quick presentation, questions aren’t really encouraged because there isn’t a lot of time. The entire evening’s events are based on a schedule form that your child has filled out for you, which is supposed to be a duplicate of his/her daily schedule. Let’s face it, if your kid likes you - he/she sends you to the right classes, if not, you are basically screwed.

I suppose I should stop this “child” business anyway. I don’t consider Ethan or GJ to be “children.” They are now part of a horrific species known as “teenagers.”

*side note - with my limited experience in parenting, it is my personal theory that God, the Universe, what have you, has your beloved child turn into the icky teenager so that you will begin to not like them so much, thus making it easier to kick them (by force if necessary) right out of the freaking nest. Many a former “child” has heard the words, “don’t let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya..” echoing after them in the driveway, I’m sure.

Looking at some of the parents that showed up tonight, I was fairly certain that many of them didn’t make it to the correct classrooms… after “meeting” a few of them (for me, it was like that Las Vegas commercial with the same girl giving herself a different name each time she met someone) I didn’t blame their kid, no matter how big of a punky, little jerk he/she might be.

The 8th grade class as a whole is reading the follow-up book to “The Outsiders” titled, “That Was Then, This Is Now.” The 7th grade class is reading the first book, “The Outsiders.” It will take about 3 weeks for them to complete the books and afterward the entire school is celebrating with a “Rumble Night” complete with Elvis impersonator, muscle cars, and music from the 50’s, 60’s, and early 70’s. I think it is awesome that they are making such a big deal out of this.

Since Ethan and GJ have all the same teachers, my mom and I decided to just stick together (Ethan and GJ only have 3 classes together) and follow GJ’s schedule. Our first stop was Language Arts with a lovely woman that we’ll call Ms. P - Ms. P is a widow who has been teaching for 16 years. She explained the books the 7th and 8th graders were reading and mentioned the Rumble Night. Then she went on to explain the curriculum, expectations, grading scale, etc. A copy of the book, “That Was Then, This Is Now” was in plain sight on the top of every desk where the parents were sitting.

Here is where it gets a little serious, hairy and I am going to get a tad bit preachy… bear with me, I think I have a valid, almost “Switzerland-ish” view point here.

Nearing the end of our 8 minutes with Ms. P, a gentleman (using the term LIGHTLY here) says, “I have a question.” (not that we were asked if we had any, but Mr. God’s Gift to Parenting, apparently likes to make a stink with an audience). He proceeds to grill Ms. P on who ok’d the book. After being assured that this was on the California’s approved literature list he snapped, “Well, I’d like to talk to someone about that. This mentions DRINKING in the first THREE pages!” Ms. P was quite polite (much more so than Loud Mouth Parent) and diplomatic telling him he could call and schedule a conference. He assured her, rather rudely, and the rest of us that he would be doing so.

Look… here is where I get a little preachy… in my oh-so humble opinion:

Nothing can be solved from sheltering or forcing a kid into a bubble. If anything, this is an example of truly, lazy parenting. Why? Well, I would much rather prefer to have my child read something I don’t agree with or even approve of, so that we could sit down and discuss is, rationally, and I could find out how he felt about it and I could tell him what his father and I believe. Open, honest, communication. If you keep your kid in a bubble - you never have to talk to them now, do you?

I was reading a non-fiction work of Stephen King and he basically said (I’m rephrasing here, can’t recall the exact quote) that when they start trying to tell you what you should not read, that’s the first thing you should run out and read. There is always someone somewhere willing to do your thinking for you - if you allow them to.

I don’t believe we protect our children by not allowing them to be exposed to things. Now keep in mind, I’m not sending my kids out to hang out with drug dealers… I’m talking about restricting the literature they read… in this case, I’m against it, obviously!

It is not my intention to raise lemmings, sheeple, or mindless followers. The people who think for themselves can change the world. I want my kids to educate themselves, develop their own opinion. It’s my job to provide a moral compass and I can’t do that if I don’t let them see the black, white and shades of gray.

Saturday morning we were all a little testy. The first Saturday after school had started and it should have been mandatory for us to be in our pajamas flopped in front of the television until at least 1 or 2pm. Instead we found ourselves up by 7:30am, showered, dressed and loading into the suburban by 8:45 to drive out to a new home release.

We were on the priority list of 100 people, the builder was releasing 5 lots, and we had to be out there by 9am and hope we might get a shot and reserving a lot. (We didn’t get one this time… but we’ve moved up to the top 30 on the list and considering Saturday’s turnout… we’ll probably get a lot for sure next time. )

I was a little antsy and Mike, as usual, seems to have this sick desire to see how nervous he can make me. Ok, maybe that isn’t 100% accurate, but it sure FEELS that way. Instead of taking the fastest route, he chose the route with the most traffic and lights. The fact that we drive this way every morning (and he doesn’t) didn’t seem to make any difference to him whatsoever.

Sitting in the passenger seat as we poked along behind some moron going 20 miles UNDER the speed limit my patience finally broke. “Why didn’t you just take that last right and cut around all this crap?” I snapped.

“I couldn’t! There was an assh*le next to me that I couldn’t do anything about!”

Before I had a chance to say anything Ethan pipes up from the back and says, “Don’t say it Mom!”

Great minds…

I was just thinking the same thing. I couldn’t do anything about the… eh, hem… guy sitting next to me either.

The heat was back… making one last stab at triple digit temps before being banished to wherever it goes for the fall and winter. Next week we should be back to normal temps (low 90’s) for this time of year. Still the low 90’s are a welcome break from triple digit weather.

This year Katie has a new friend that walks home from school the same way Kate does. She’s a cute little girl who is new to the neighborhood. Today Kate came in red-faced and breathless. Before we could ask her where her brother and uncle were (they walk her home every day) she announced that her new friend lives in the white house around the corner. My mom and I perked up immediately…

Could it be?

No!

Yes.

It was, indeed, the two story white house with the curving hedge that lined the front walk all the way up to the large porch with the adorable railing. This house looks like something out of “Leave It To Beaver” - it’s a VERY nice house… but it has an old-school charm to it, even though the house is only about 10 years old. It’s gorgeous and adorable all at the same time.

As we chatted with Kate about her new friend and the house around the corner, Ethan and GJ walked in. They had been a few minutes behind Katie (apparently something had distracted them from their duty of walking their sister/neice home from school) assuming we were discussing neighborhood gossip Ethan announced, “Kelsey McJunken has black widows on her trash cans.”

It was as if for a brief, shining moment, we were all transported to Mayberry and instead of a tall, dark haired, 13 year old, I was looking at a short, freckle-faced Opie. It must have been the combination of the name McJunken and trash cans that just had an old-fashioned twist to it. Mom and I just looked at each other and started to laugh.

I thanked Ethan and told him that he had just given me my blog post title…

Ok… one more day until Friday and I cannot be the only one (whose children are already back in school) who feels as if school has been back in for 3 weeks! I’m freaking tired!

Corby the bug-dude came today. I’ve signed up for a service… every 30 days Corby will arrive and spray down my house for bugs and assorted nasties. He also sweeps out all the cobwebs under the eaves… YIPPEE!

I like Corby!

Especially because he will do things around the house that neither my husband or I have time or the inclination to do.

That could have all sorts of twisted meanings, couldn’t it? ;o)

After finding black widows in the backyard and a skunk in the alley (Ok, Bonanza, laugh at me…) we decided it was time to bring in a professional. I’m still trying to figure out where the heck this skunk came from. We live in the middle of the city… there is a park a few blocks away but there is no wildlife there. How might a skunk find its’ way into the middle of a city within blocks of Barnes and Noble, Borders, and The Outback Steakhouse? It sprayed something a few nights ago… the smelled wafted through the house… eeewww does not begin to cover it.

Mike and I panicked worried that it might have sprayed the dog. Thank goodness it didn’t, I don’t keep a supply of tomato juice on hand. Maybe it got “Daddy 9 Finger’s” dog. That would be worth it.

Notice anything different?

I have changed the background of my template. I like the blue much better. I really prefer blue to some of the pinky/peach tones I’ve used here.

We hit the ground running this week. The kids started school on Monday, Monday afternoon we were at the local office supply store picking up school supplies. Why didn’t I do it earlier? Believe me, I wish I could have. Unfortunately, we had to wait until Monday to get the school supply lists from all the teachers. With Ethan being in Junior High (8th grade) we had at least 5 different teacher’s lists to comply with. Most wanted the same or similar things, it was actually Kate’s list that threw me for a loop.

The list from Kate’s teacher included

• a set of dry erase markers (red, blue, black, green)
• highlighters (not too unusual)
• a FINE TIP Black Sharpie Marker (?!?!??!!!?!?!?!)
• a pencil sharpener
• graphing paper

and a few other not so unusual items. The dry erase markers were the big shock, well, those and the sharpie marker. My son acted as if the teacher asked for us to pick up a baggie of cocaine to keep in Kate’s pencil box. Apparently, Sharpies are a HUGE no-no for the junior high set.

I can’t imagine why.

So sorry for being so lax in my posts lately. At the risk of sounding like another one of those “mommy blogs” - I have to blame it on the time of year. The week or so before school starts is usually pretty crazy. My son is going into the 8th grade, my daughter is going into the 5th (with a male teacher she’d prefer not to have) - and we’ve been trying to clean out the house and catch up laundry. It hasn’t left much time or inspiration for witty or thoughtful posts, I’m afraid.

While I’m on the subject of so-called “mommy blogs” I have to say that I don’t understand the way people look down their noses at mommy blogs. I’ve never really thought of my blog as a “mommy blog” although it has been labeled as such by other bloggers. I am a mom, I am at home with my kids and they are my top priority. Doesn’t mean there aren’t other facets of my life that I enjoy exploring and writing about. Unfortunately, when you choose to be home with your kids at least 75% of your current life experiences revolve around your offspring.

I admit that the majority of my posts center around my family. I can’t help that they provide a lot of good material to work with. But, I’m not immune to my own feminist instincts, I don’t like the idea of being seen as Mrs. Cleaver or Betty Crocker. I don’t see myself as that kind of mom. After all, I’m an aquarius… that makes me more artistic, open-minded and unstructured. Which somewhat loosely describes my parenting style as well.

That seems like an odd place to sign off.

Did anyone crack even the smallest smile when you heard Madonna fell off a horse?
(not that I think it is funny when people get hurt… most of the time.)

I mean… come on. Doesn’t it just conjure up all kinds of funny thoughts and images?

You know it did.

Tammy Wynette was said to have maintained her license as a beautician “just in case” her singing career didn’t work out.

My husband has the same idea. Only he’s not a beautician and he doesn’t sing. In another lifetime my husband obtained his Class “A” commercial driver’s license. He has maintained this license without fail for as long as we have been together. He truly has no use for it as a real estate appraiser, but he keeps it just in case.

That is the background information for the following conversation that happened just last night:

“Have you scheduled my appointment for that DMV physical yet?” Mike asked me as we sat at the kitchen table talking after he had just gotten in from work. Ethan was rummaging through the kitchen for a snack and was half-listening to our conversation… how very male of him.

Upon hearing the words DMV and “physical” Ethan’s ears perked up. At 13, even though his intellect is gaining backward momentum (according to my late grandmother-in-law’s theory) Ethan was well aware that in just three short years he was going to have to become very familiar with the workings of the DMV.

“Not yet.” I replied.

“Hey Dad? You have to have a physical to drive a car?” Ethan asked, nervously.

“No, you have to have a physical to drive a semi.”

“But, you don’t drive a semi.”

“I did a long time ago. I like to keep that license current.”

“Is it one of those ball holding physicals, Dad?” Ethan asked almost choking. He was obviously having flashbacks of his last visit to our pediatrician, which Ethan felt was beyond abnormal and more than a little intrusive. In fact, he still thinks there is something very wrong with his doctor - even though I was in the room with him and have sworn to him that there was nothing wrong with his physical.

“Yep.”

“Are you SURE you don’t need those to drive a car?” Ethan asked again, obviously nearing a nervous breakdown.

“Yes, Ethan. You only need it for a commercial driver’s license.”

“Oh, GOOD.”

Between you and I, Ethan did sound a little less than completely convinced.

I have two younger siblings. Megan, my sister is almost 4 years younger than I am. I don’t talk about her much because for the last 5 months she’s been a little strange. I’ll have to post about that later.

My brother, GJ, is 15 years younger than I am. I adore him. I adore teasing him, giving him a hard time, and occasionally pinching his rear end. That may sound strange, I know, but he’s 14 years old and turns the coolest shade of red when you pinch his rear. Plus, he hates it when I do that, which is definitely an added benefit. It’s hilarious what you can get away with where family is concerned, isn’t it?

GJ is shy, introverted, and tremendously insightful when it comes to other people. He’s very clean cut, and prefers GAP to any other trendy clothing store. He’s gorgeous and looks like a model. Sandy hair, blue eyes, thick eyelashes, and a trim, broad shouldered, tall build. He also has this annoying affliction known as “being a male.” His male-ness makes him annoying and occasionally, well, stupid. Not that he’s stupid, he’s a brilliant kid… he is just very, very male.

On the occasion that he does something very… ummmm… well, stupid, it seems to take him a very long time to realize just how dumb it was, if he ever realizes it at all. On many occasion I’ve watched my mother’s eyes narrow into a beady glare, her face begin to turn six different shades of purple, and steam begin to waft out of her ears. GJ will sit there with a very blank look on his face and shrug his shoulders or have the not so bright idea of asking, “what?”

Many a day I have walked into my mom’s house and will here her yelling at him from the other room and he will come around the corner and look at me, furrow his eyebrows and exhale in a half-whistle through his mouth which has a combination meaning of “whew, boy, that was a close call,” and “that was a BIG one.” It reminds me of Dick Van Dyke playing Rob Petrie on the Dick Van Dyke Show… in fact, it looks A LOT like that.

I’ve been told that my husband’s grandmother used to have a theory that men spent their first 12 years acquiring knowledge and from 13 - 20 losing it. After seeing it first hand with both Ethan and GJ, I’m beginning to believe it.

A few years ago, my mom was sick in bed. GJ, being a sweet son, went in and asked her if she needed anything. Mom said that a sandwich and a glass of milk sounded really good. GJ nodded and ducked out of the room. He returned several minutes later to ask, “Did you want anything other than bread on that?”

I decided to post this after reading one of ZubeGirl’s latest posts. If you haven’t read her blog, it’s probably one of the funniest blogs out there… it’s definitely worth reading and coming back to read more.

Anyway, I’m sure that after “Friends” (ugly, hairy, naked guy) - nicknaming neighbors became popular. That’s not where we got the idea, in fact, we saw it on Friends later and it cracked us up because that’s what we do.

We’ve nicknamed our neighbors no matter where we’ve lived. But, for the last 8 years we’ve lived in a strange little neighborhood that we are trying like mad to get the heck out of now.

We have “Son of a Bitch” - because he is… for starters. But, we started saying this whenever he drove by. Remember the sequel to “A Christmas Story” with Charles Grodin and Mary Steenburgen? They were going to the World’s Fair and there was a cop in the intersection and as they drove by Charles Grodin says, “Son of a Bitch” in a really funny way, but kept looking straight ahead the whole time. That’s what we do whenever S.O.B. drives by…

Then we have “Neighbor Bill” aka “Godfather of the Neighborhood” - Bill is the one who will call some city agency if you leave your water running, don’t mow your lawn, have a broken down car on the street, etc. He sounds obnoxious, but he really is a cantankerous sweetheart.

“Daddy 9 Fingers” - a bum, never holds a job, lives off of his “wife” - and was attacked by his own Rottweiler which injured one of his fingers and he couldn’t go to work, thus got fired (again).

My all time favorite, until they moved, were the little newlywed couple in their early 20’s who rented the house next door to us. They were naive and thought they knew everything… they adopted two mutts and named them “Buzz” and “Woody” after the characters in Toy Story. The first time we encountered Tom, he was sitting on his back porch cleaning something. Mike said, “Hey, how’s it going?” and Tom replied, “OUTSTANDING!” just like that, loud and proud and very marine like. He liked guns… and illegal fireworks… he was probably one of the Dungeons and Dragons or Hobbit guys in High School.

Their nicknames? “Outstanding Tom and Girl Genius”

Our neighborhood is just sounding so “quaint” now, isn’t it?

See why we want to move?

Quickly.

“Little pitchers…”

Remember that phrase from “A Christmas Story” - well, that’s a pretty popular phrase anyway. The full version being, “Little pitchers have big ears.”

In our house the biggest ears (not literally) belong to Kate. Doesn’t matter where she hears the news or how confidential it sounds like it should be, Kate (aka ‘The Informer’) is going to spread it some how.

Prior performances include:

“Daddy, I’m not going to tell you that your Christmas present is in the laundry room.”

“Ethan has a girlfriend and her name is…”

When I was pregnant with Maggie, Mike attended all of my doctor’s appointments. At the first appointment the nurse asked if I smoked. My husband is quite the comedian and looked at her solemnly and replied, “Only pot.” I turned 9 shades of red and became quite flustered as I explained that I have never smoked, anything, at all. The nurse was cracking up and Mike was quite pleased with himself.

So pleased that he later had to tell my mom the whole story…

A few weeks later the kids were spending the evening over at my dad’s house. They were watching TV and a commercial for the show COPS came on, as usual, people were pulled over with pot in their car. Kate says, “Is that pot? Oh, mom smokes that.”

Ethan said, “No, she doesn’t Kate!”

“Yes, she does, dad said!”

So, there you have it, Kate overheard Mike telling my mom all about his comedic moment at my doctor’s appointment and Kate decided she should tell the rest of the family about it. Fortunately, Ethan had the good sense to explain the story so that I didn’t look like the 2005 version of “Mommy Dearest.”

I, of course, was mortified and spent several long minutes giving my husband a serious talking to.