And, the very end makes me giggle. A lot.

Maggie is a big fan of YouTube. Yes, it is even hitting the preschool set these days. She also has more friends on MySpace than I do! However, one of her favorite songs from YouTube can also be found here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aeK08o2qiSU

and looks a little like this:

She pointed to her own eyebrows and said, “I like his these.” Not long after I heard her running through the house singing the song and was finally lucky enough to catch it on video.

Direct link here

Parenting teenagers is, at times, like a suburban version of the “Cold War.” It requires dedication, stealth and the ability to constantly remind yourself that age and treachery triumph over youth and skill any day. Therefore, it is imperative to strike first, silently, and with great stealth.

As I write this, it’s still early in the evening on Tuesday night and in about 5 or 6 hours my children will be home from their tropical vacation. But, in their minds, they will still be on “Island Time.” Which, as it turns out, is not some bullshit Jimmy Buffet made up.

They’ll arrive home late, the luggage will be left in the entry way. They might be talkative for the first 20 minutes and then they’ll crash into travel induced comas.

They’ll slowly trudge downstairs in the morning probably tired and a more than a little grumpy over the prospect of returning to their normal and very un-tropical existence. This is where Maggie comes in since she’ll be bouncing around them like a Pomeranian puppy on crack. This, of course, will have nothing to do with Mike and I spending all day prior pumping her up and explaining to her that Bubby and Katie will be here when she wakes up in the morning. However early that may be. Don’t gasp and tell me how horrible I am, this child is an absolute necessity to my strategy of keeping the teenagers just a little off balance.

MY GOD people! We’re talking about my very survival here!

Mike and I will try to be patient until one of us trips over the afore mentioned luggage for the 10th time. But, it’s that moment when we ask them to haul their luggage upstairs and unpack that reality will really set in. That’s when the war will really be on. We’ll hear the huffs, we’ll see the eyes roll and I will look at Mike and quietly I’ll whisper, “Yeah, missed you too, you little bastards.”

They are teenagers, it is perfectly acceptable for me to refer to them this way. All is fair in love and war, people, now say it with me…

This is the part that can be just a little tricky. We’ll have to step carefully here, one sudden move and they’ll have us by our jugulars. I hear that can be pretty uncomfortable, so we won’t dare to suggest that they return to their normal chore routine lest we inspire a full blown mutiny. No, instead we’ll give them a day or two before we suggest that the empty soda cans and dirty glasses that are piled in their rooms be returned to the kitchen so that the rest of the family can avoid drinking out of their hands or left over McDonald’s cups or something.

By the end of the week it might be safe to remind them that there is a chore list for each of them on the refrigerator. Maybe. I’m keeping this option open as their may be more subtle ways of handling the situation.

By next week, provided they’ve caught up with all of their friends after their “long absence” from their typical social circles, we’ll suggest that they begin some basic summer projects like cleaning out their closets.

Of course, Ethan will be attending summer school so to suggest that he clean out his closet as well when he’s trying to balance a social life, a wonderful girlfriend, summer school, and all of his other hobbies would be akin to suggesting that one should store expensive cigars in a cookie jar with the Oreos.

And all of that hinges on whether or not we have eased them back into their chore schedule without waking up with pineapples rammed up our asses and tiny umbrellas shoved under our fingernails. Subtlety is NOT in the teenager nature, therefore any attacks from that side will include explosions, rash decisions and most likely, brutality.

That’s why the first attack must be from our side, it must be swift, clear, yet subtle. Some might say sneaky, because it could easily be mistaken as a crude attempt to lull them into a sense of false security. It’s not though, it’s a multi-leveled, well thought out plan of attack. They won’t know what hit them.

Don’t think they don’t have a plan of attack. They’ll come back with little grenades called “souvenirs” and “gifts.” They can be sneaky… sneaky, but never subtle that is.

Therefore, our plan of attack must be in place before they ever arrive home. While they were on a plane I was preparing for the arrival of my offspring much like I did before their births. Well, minus the pretty nursery and me still making their beds and putting their cutesy, teeny clothes away. I cleaned the house from stem to stern. Floors were mopped and vacuumed, dishes were put away, the kitchen was scoured from top to bottom, and all the towels were washed. I was even kind enough to tidy up their bathroom that is supposed to be their responsibility that they slipped out of town without taking care of.

They will come into a house that is orderly, neat, tidy and they will mistake it to be a welcome home gesture. Ahhh. But it is so much more for clearly, the house is clean, no chores are required.

And that, my friends, is where it begins. Like a silent, ninja concrete filled boot from behind slamming right into their behinds.

Wish me luck!

I have been known from time to time to wake my husband up in the middle of the night whispering, “Michael!!!! Did you HEAR that?!?!?!?”

He wakes up, listens, doesn’t hear it, goes to check it out anyway, comes back to bed, teases me and goes back to sleep. Sometimes he acts grumpy and goes out to check and comes back bitching when he doesn’t find anything. Other times he says, “it’s ok, babe” rolls over and starts snoring loudly.

Except for the other night…

I woke up hearing some sort of drum beat that sounded very much like a tribe of cannibals were prepping for a feast. I shook Mike and watched as his eyes widened because, THIS TIME HE ACTUALLY HEARD IT!!! And, for once he was almost as scared as I was!

He crept downstairs (unarmed and wearing only his underwear) into the family room where nothing appeared to be disturbed with the exception of the keyboard that was on and playing a creepy (at least at 2am) drumbeat.

Liza must have been up torturing the bird and mouse partying and scared the living hell out of herself when she ran across the keyboard. Man, I wish I had a nanny cam in there or something!

The important thing here is that he finally heard the noise too.

My kids are in Oahu for 7 days. Well, less than that now since they’ll be back on Tuesday.

Tropical paradise… I’m trying not to envy the little bastards but it’s getting hard.
Especially when I receive things like this on my cell phone:

My lovely daughter sent me that their first night there. It’s the view from their hotel room.

*sigh*

All I know is that if I don’t get a couple of boxes of chocolate covered Macadamia nuts out of this someone is going to catch hell. In the meantime, it’s just Mike, Maggie and I. Oh, and occasionally Tim who we’ve sort of just adopted. I’m moving up from animals back up off me, man!

Tuesday night Maggie let the stupid bird out of his cage. He flew into the ceiling fan, got caught in the wind current, was thrown into the wall and landed on the back of the couch. He sat there looking rather stunned and shaking his head. Thank God Liza was asleep and missed it because I don’t think he’d have lasted long. I think that bird was not blessed with the normal brain birds get.

Yesterday we were going to take Maggs to the movies. Kung Fu Panda. Maggie got up around 9am and went back to bed at 11, slept until almost 2, woke up and went back to sleep on the couch until around 5 when she woke up and promptly puked. After that she was back in the game 100% - twenty minutes after puking she had let Sophie loose and I found Sophie standing up on her hind legs barking at Tim.

I think she was totally getting off on someone being intimidated by her! They (Ethan and Tim) both swear that Sophie has bit them… I don’t believe it for a second. My little angel wouldn’t ever do that!

I have a dog. I like him. But, I’m really not a dog person. Dogs are the animal world’s version of a suck up. They have the potential to like everybody (maybe that’s why I like my dog, he really doesn’t like everybody) and they will come up to you and roll over and act all submissive. Cats won’t do that.

When a dog walks up to you and barks, looking like he has something important to tell you, you say, “What is it? Did Timmy fall down the well again? Does Timmy need help?”

When a cat walks up to you and meows like that you say, “What? Did Timmy fall down the well? Do we need to go laugh at his stupid ass?”

That is how a cat rolls. There is no help there, just a constant stream of mockery and disgust.

My cat will hide at the top of the stairs (on the banister) and attack you as you go up or down the stairs. Do you think she cares if she scares the bejeezus out of someone and makes them fall down the stairs? Hell no! She’s HOPING for that! Broken leg? That’s ICING on the cake!!

Then there is Ethan’s cat. She’ll look very sweet and will actually walk up to you and lay down on the floor and stretch as if inviting you to rub her belly or something. Less intelligent people have tried. They have subsequently required band-aids and copious amounts of hydrogen peroxide.

Zander will wait cautiously for you to do something stupid, like leave your hot dog within reach. Liza will walk right up to you, leap onto the desk and decide to drink all of your iced tea and doesn’t care whether you are sitting there or not. In fact, she’ll stick her paw into your glass to ensure that you will no longer be using the damn thing. It’s the cat version of the old human trick of licking the last piece of pizza so no one eats it. It’s not a dumb thing - it’s a ballsy thing.

Liza has convinced the parakeet that she is his friend. I kid you not. That bird hates ALL of us except Maggie and Liza. Liza will go up to the cage and start purring and the stupid bird DANCES for her and runs over to the side of the cage chirping happily as if she is a very good friend. We feed that stupid bird, we clean up after it and the little bastard still runs from us every time we go near the cage. If the vacuum cleaner is ran too close to his cage he falls of the damn perch.

The rest of us clearly understand that Liza is totally hoping to score her first kill and this is all one long, well thought out plan of attack that has very unique (and obviously successful) emotional components. That freaking bird TRUSTS her. He makes kissy noises at her.

Which tells you smart that bird is. He kisses the cat, imitates the coffee grinder, and falls off his perch at the first sound of the vacuum.

This was supposed to be posted last Friday but I couldn’t get anything to work right. Now, here it is. Enjoy!

Amy Making Margaritas from Amy Doran on Vimeo.

Last night there was a cool breeze blowing and Mike and I sat out on the deck to enjoy the sunset. Maggie soon pranced her happy butt out on to the deck and began doing the “I really have to go potty but I’m so happy to be enjoying your company that I’ll put it off for a bit” dance.

I have to admit to briefly considering watching her prance to the point of no return and then calling Ethan to step out on the patio below for an impromptu evening shower. What? Shut up. You all know that I have an evil streak.

Instead I told Maggie to go in and go to the bathroom. She ran into our bathroom that has a small water closet with a window just above the toilet. The window overlooks the deck. Wow that sounds strange, but go with me anyway on this one.

Mike got a sort of evil grin on his face and since I was really enjoying the beer I didn’t feel the need to inquire and/or possibly stop him. He tip toed over to the open window.

“Oooooooo, oooooooo, I’m the bathroom ghost… woooooooo.”

I heard a scream and two little feet slam down on the tile. I guess that’s when she looked back and saw Mike at the window.

“MIKE!!! You don’t say bathroom ghost!!!!”

Mike laughed and I guess that made Maggie mad.

“I’ll kick your ghost ass!!!!!!”

Yep, you can go ahead and overnight that Parent of the Year trophy, folks.

Remember when it was all fun and games because MIKE was the one who got it?
Allow me to refresh your memory…

Continue Reading »

Look, I’m a super protective mother. Violently protective if properly provoked. I will do almost anything for my children (except make their beds and clean their bathroom).

So it took me by surprise when Maggie tested me yesterday.

Maggie was playing with Brie (that would be the mouse, named after the cheese, isn’t that cute?). Maggie had been playing with Brie ALL AFTERNOON, while we cleaned out Brie’s cage, Sophie’s cage, and other assorted icky, having to do with poop, outdoor chores.

Brie was getting tired of it. For a mouse, the little thing is very docile and patient. Hard qualities to find in a mouse. But, even this mouse has limits and Brie reached hers. She bit into Maggie’s finger in a clear attempt to let Maggie know that she had no intention of going head to head with Maggie’s rubber lizard.

I don’t blame her because this is how the Lizard ended up the LAST time Maggie played with it:

So Brie bit Maggie. Maggie FLIPPED out. You would have thought she had just survived a grizzly attack in the backyard or something! But, I grabbed her, Kate rescued Brie and I ran Maggie to the downstairs bathroom to wash her hand and put a Dora band aid on it.

Only I was stopped in my tracks. Er, well, the DOOR stopped in its tracks.

Something was in the way. It was my CAT, Liza, crammed into Molly’s cat carrier and then locked in the dark bathroom!!!!!

And, there is only ONE person who would do that. The one person who might be a bit fed up with assaults on her beanie baby animals, her bird, and her mouse. Maggie.

Needless to say, I did what ANY good mother would do. I left Maggie screaming in the hall to rescue my poor baby who had been trapped for at least TWO HOURS in the bathroom, probably longer. Do you have any idea how hard it is to console a child who has it in for your favorite person in the house cat? It’s DAMN hard. In fact it comes out a lot like this:

“Margaret Kay!!! WHAT did you DO to Liza?!?!?! Maggie! How many times have I told you NOT to do that… stop crying… do you hear me STOP crying… look what you DID to her!!! Stop crying….”

Which is why I let Mike do the consoling.

Yeah, yeah, I washed her hand and got it bandaged. The paper cut I had last week was way worse anyway.

Damn kids.