Friday, September 27, 2013

Can of Worms

I found this post in my drafts. It is at least three years old and probably written on a spur of aggravation which I don't always post. But I liked it so much I am sharing it now. I must have gotten a lot older and wiser in the last three years.( On second thought I think my level of tolerance for other parents might have just gone down.) Lol.

      Many parents are finding out that a pat on the back helps develop character - if given often enough, early enough, and low enough. Author Unknown. Yes, I'm opening a can of worms. Deal with it.

Yesterday a mother in the store was appalled with me. (Why is it always me? Is it the age? or the number of kids?) A complete stranger felt the need to grab my arm and tell me it was best to do that behind closed doors. Ummmm....I'm fairly certain an hour from now or even a minute from now my two year old isn't going to remember why she is in trouble. Not that it's her business.

Why was she so appalled? I dare give my two year old a swat for throwing a screaming, kicking, biting fit in the middle of the store. Why was this angelic child throwing a fit? I took the mushrooms she was bruising away from her. I happily handed her a bottle of tea, and she threw it and started screaming.

That girl is so strong-willed. I dread her being a teenager. I picture a fifteen year old walking in with a fresh nose ring, and a guy whose hair covers his face with pants down to his knees. Lord help me. So I do what every parent does, I try my very best to teach her control, and self awareness. I'm failing miserably some days. Other days I feel like I am winning the war.

Only time will tell for sure. But why is it people constantly feel the need to interfere in my parenting? I homeschool, I swat on occasion, I make them do chores. Horrible has all that is. And to think we bake, we read stories, we do nature hikes, we cuddle, we stay up all night when the night terrors are bad. I don't know, with that list is it any wonder people fear for my children. (To bad there isn't a sarcastic font)

Do we all parent the same way? Heck no. Do I parent all four of my children in the same fashion? Heck no, like that would even work. So my two year old gets a swat, okay. My six year old gets a dirty look, and absolutely falls apart. My boys? We won't even go into some of the inventive techniques for those heathens. Does swatting make me any less of a parent than those that don't? Personally I think the parent that never ever has to discipline their child, isn't a parent.

I say that because there is a message here. To each their own, leave people alone.

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

Levels of Hello can you say that again

      Fall is here. I love it. Windows open. Temperature just right for sitting outside with a campfire. Warm days sedge way into chilly nights perfect for throw blankets and cuddling. And of course the change in temperature makes it feel like my ear is being stabbed repeatedly by a screwdriver. Yay, fun for all.

     Okay so that's whiny. But seriously. I either feel like a rabbit that has had cotton shoved in their ears, or a goat whose friend was head rubbing and accidentally caught it's horn in your ear and is trying to to jerk it out. Anyone whose ever had an earache or toothache can relate. I whine for a reason though. (And no I don't mean just cause I wanna.)

       Frequently, without reason, my already impaired hearing decides to fail altogether. There's actually many levels of failing. There's Charlie Brown level where I hear noise or voices as noises. Specifically the adults talking in Charlie Brown-waaa wa waaaa wa wa. There's the hilly almost out of network getting half a bar phone call Here's where I am trying to figure out if I misheard, misread the lips, totally missed someone behind me changing the subject or if I have just been insulted for unrequited love statements. Let's not forget the WILL SOMEONE JUST PICK UP THE DARDBLASTED PHONE or equally annoying TUNE THE STUPID RADIO levels. I think those one are pretty obvious.

     I tell y'all this because of course my woe filled tale is one about my hearing being gone. I hear nuttin'!!! There's the slight buzz of a distant fly and a certain ache. So I sign to Honeybear I was heading to bed. (I tend to be all over the place in volume which greatly annoys him so signing is normally the way to go.) He said he'd let out Gypsy Rose and be right in. I am in our room, in the bed, adjusting pillows. When out of the corner of my eye I see our curtain shifting. I start screaming and beating at the head. I can only assume that Honeybear will come running to my rescue....till I feel the beard. Honestly my first coherent thought was not a ladylike one so I will just let y'all imagine what I was thinking. I do know what was coming out of his mouth...laughter. Thinking about it even now my one word unladylike thought comes back.  Forgive me mama.

        But this morning Honeybear still couldn't keep a straight face. So I didn't keep a straight face when I took a page out of the kids' book and addressed him as poopyhead all morning till he apologized. Now I am sitting here faint muffled noises all I hear. Hiding from my husband cause I know as soon as he comes home and figures out I can't hear him he'll do the kids classic. Sneak up on mommy. Oh thee well. Til' next time y'all.

Monday, September 23, 2013

Honeybear Problem Solving

     Once again Honeybear has managed to throw people off. I really believe our neighbors question our sanity. I say our because obviously I married him. They aren't even slick about their obvious amazement. I counted two at a window, three in a garage doorway, and two standing in the middle of the road watching with mouths open.

     Let me back up and set up the scene. Our new house has a driveway light, one of which that hasn't worked since we moved in. Honeybear got out of our truck and stepped on Bella's mislaid bike. Cursing might have occurred but since I was not present there is no guarantee.

      All I know is the kids come running in the next afternoon Daddy is up to something. Great.....I wipe my hands and walk outside. Honeybear comes out of the garage carrying...a ladder. Ha gotcha. This is my hillbilly sweetheart. He was carrying his climbing stand. (A climbing stand goes around a tree and with some maneuvering it slowly is worked up the trees to hunt from.)

       I obviously don't put two and two together and ask dumbly what he is doing. He just grins and starts putting it around the rickety and decrepit light pole. Oh no he isn't right? That thing is barely a foot in diameter. But alas he is. And that's when heads started peeking out.

      After he got the blown bulb out and came back down the neighbor kids took turns sitting in the stand. Parents turned away and everything went back to normal...except in the neighbors heads I'm sure. 

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

Immature Adults

    WARNING: A made up disease is mentioned at the end and might be found graphic. But no worries no one was harmed cause it is fake.

   Have I mentioned that my kids have new friends? I thought so. But today is not about kids. Shocker I know. Today is about Leigh's mama. Leigh and family moved to our sleepy little hamlet a month after we did. They are self proclaimed "city folk straight up from the hood".  I love Leigh. I love her sister. And I tolerate their brother. (You get Martin and Gingy together you would only tolerate them too.) But I love and adore their mama.

      Why? Why would a woman I barely know have my devotion so quickly? Well, for one she's a strict mama. (Part of the reason I love her kids.) For another she is of the same philosophy that while our kids are not angels, take their side till we have reason to not. And that last statement is what cemented our friendship.

      It doesn't really have to do with us defending our broods from offensive gestures or languages. Or standing together against an immature corrupting influence. It has to do with what happen after the confrontation.

      As we walk back from the site of detonation we are very quiet. That is till we get to my front porch. And as we chat about how corrupt the world has become and our ideas of raising kids in this world our kids come around the block on their bikes. Of course this is with purpose. They stop to tell us two of the neighborhood kids are making out on the church steps. We shoo them away with the advice stay away from the teenagers.

       But now a new topic has been introduced...sexuality today. Of course as parents of young children we start discussing this. And she gives me the most awesome saying she tells her fifteen year old. "There is no cure for herpitisis sypillitis of the throat." I spit tea everywhere and ask her to repeat that. And now all six adults are rolling in the grass giggling. So remember bad choices stay, there is no cure for herpitisis sypillitis of the throat.  

Monday, September 16, 2013

Bumps in the Attic

      Things going bump in the night is nothing unusual in the country. We hear all kinds of animals howling, scratching, and making other assorted sounds. Even the occasional car driving by in the night which sets off the "neighborhood" dogs in the country. Here in town it's a different kettle of fish. Mostly cars driving by and actual neighborhood dogs barking, but there is the distant howling of beagles on the hunt with a few coyotes even farther out. 

        That's why when you hear bumps coming from your attic it makes you nervous. What in blue blazes could possibly be up there making all those noises? Rolling over to get your husband's attention and finding nothing but more bed does not make you feel better. Of course it happens one of his three long work days. You have at least twelve hours of listening to bumps and thumps before your husband gets home. Oh wait there's a new one scratching coming from above your bathroom. Yay.

        What do you do? Call the police? Call animal control? Call your dad whose two hours away who can't do anything at all? Well of course I did the latter of the three. Leaving a message on his voicemail was the best I could do and then I do what any other woman in my position does. I grab my husband's 45/410 handgun and go take Gypsy Rose out to potty so that I can check no one is on my roof. What my neighbors thought of my walking around with a bigger than Dirty Harry's gun I find irrelevant. But the most important part is no one was on my roof.

        A little while later Daddy calls back. The whole time noises are coming from the attic. Here's a snippet of our conversation.

Daddy: Well, it could be a coon.

Me: Yeah, but I guess it'll have to wait till Honeybear gets home. Why else did I marry such a big country boy if not to run critters out of my attic.  (Yes, I really said that.)

Daddy: Well, at least he's good for something. (No, Daddy did not say that.)

Daddy: Alright just be careful. Is there access from the outside to the attic.

Me: Only if something went under the garage door through the classroom ceiling and into the main part of the house.

Daddy: So it's possible. Could be anything mice, cats although cats usually go under.

 (Noises right above me start up again.)

Me (looking up): GO AWAY!! *noises continue* Well yelling at it doesn't work Daddy.

Daddy (I believe their was a hint of amusement in his voice): Imagine that.

       We spoke for a few more minutes and got off. Looking around Winchester caught my eyes ,Honeybear's persian cat I have yet to mention since we've only had him about a eight months, so I grabbed his food and filled his poor empty dish. (He's a cat so anything less than overflowing is empty of course.) And that's when the noises above went into full on meltdown mode. Scratching at the top of the recessed light fixture and thumping.

       I grabbed the gun. And started to climb to the attic access. But couldn't quite reach it so turned to get the step ladder. When I turned I knocked the cat food off the shelf. And the lull that had come from my movements intensified. And it was accompanied by...meowing.

      Apparently Madison's cat had gotten loose yesterday and not being able to make it back into the house her usual way climbed into the attic. Good thing she has nine lives, too bad I don't. I think she took a couple of years off my life. Til' next time y'all.


Tuesday, September 10, 2013

Men's Oblivious Good Intentions

  Hinder's Lips of an angel

  Today it's all about Honeybear. I love my husband. I ADORE my husband. Sometimes though I just laugh at my husband. He has the best of intentions, but oh my what can happen when he's oblivious.

     Why am I saying this? Well ,of course, most woman would say the same thing. The two sexes think in different ways. But the newest proof all started with a cell phone. My hubby has had his cell phone for a year and a half. And until Friday he had ringtones set for everyone important...except me.

     As we set on the front porch with two neighbors I was fiddling with my laptop. I had put in a cd to burn to my library-Hinder to be exact. The song Lips of an Angel came on and Honeybear looks at me and says, "Hey, I should make this your ringtone."

    Me and my girlfriend both bust up laughing. Honeybear and his buddy exchange the GUY LOOK. You can tell they really don't want to know. And Honeybear starts typing on his phone. Fearful he was looking through his ringtone app for the song I asked him. His reply, "Not now!"

     I laugh and ask him if he knows why. Of course he doesn't get it even with the song on a loop play on my laptop. I say Honeybear, LISTEN to the lyrics. Third time on I pause it and say word for word the lyrics. Light bulb moment! He gets this shocked look and goes, "That song is about an old girlfriend." Yes honey that song is about an ex. Thank you for not putting it on me. Lol.

      After that what ringtone did I get? None. Now he is scared too. Oh well it is the thought that counts. My hubby thinks I am an angel.  My daddy always said so to. He even had a cute little saying. "Sheena your horns are holding up your halo." Tell next time y'all.

Monday, September 9, 2013

Ha I Say

        My girlfriend at A Belle, A Beane, and A Chicago Dog wrote a post earlier that reminded me of a few of my earlier posts about Motherhood (shouldn't that always be capitalized to show its importance?) Her youngest started school and she was talking about the next step of motherhood.She put it so well, better than I had defined it ever.  Actually Cameron Garriepy was talking about sending her baby off to school too. But it got me to thinking about the step I am on....early puberty.

         We are a family of genetically mutated early bloomers. Honeybear had a full beard in ninth grade. I, er, blossomed by fifth grade and apparently our offspring is following suit. So what do I get. Proven a liar. I said puppy pms was training me for this. HA! I can't imagine the giggles mothers of teenagers got reading that. I had no idea what I was in for.

         Case in point. I thought Madison would be sweet and quiet when hormones started surging. Once again I say HA! My daughter who wouldn't say boo to a ghost, is a raging sassy britches. Quick to correct and throw sarcasm at anyone in her path. Where she got that I'll never know. Example: Her friends said Madison I think your getting bigger your pants aren't falling down. (Okay that sounds bad from her friend but Madison is notorious for having problems with being so skinny that leggings start to sag on the girl.) Her reply: Hmmm I hadn't noticed maybe they'll get so tight I can't walk like yours. Yeah my jaw dropped too. Her little foursome of best friends had been picking on her skinniness for a week straight and she never said a word. I couldn't believe my ears.

       Martin isn't much better. His buddy Ty is 13 (Lord help us) and about as all American and adorable as Devon Sawa was in my day. Unfortunately he is a boy left to his own devices a lot. And his girlfriend lives up the road, at 14 she is no angel.    They tend to stand across from our yard making out for all the world to see. Actually the 10-14 age group kids around here are all nuts switching "boyfriend" and "girlfriend" every couple of days or weeks. My kids so far being the exception, but we have told them and their little friends you're too young and you never date a friends sibling. (Smart move for us, they're friends with everyone so they'll never date. Here I will say HA! in a different tone.) But Martin taking exception to walking out our door to the sight of them again hollered, "What are you cannibals?! Go eat each other somewhere else." To which the girl then thoroughly cursed him up one side and down the other. (As I said no angel.)

       I at least have been spared verbal assault. But their sneakiness and temper tantrums with each other I have to intercede quite a bit. I wonder daily where those sweet little children who taught their brother and sister to tie their shoes, ride bikes, and write their names went...along with my groceries. They're all bottomless pits it seems. I wrote a new ad (if you remember I wrote out help wanted ads for motherhood in my post Wanted)

       Wanted: Someone who is deaf to slamming doors, insults, and meltdowns. Must feed an army on scraps, cause one soldier ate a weeks groceries at one sitting. Be able to soothe hurt feelings, and take no sides while strategically teaching life lessons. Quick on your feet a must. Tolerance of dirty looks not necessary. Rocket scientist with minor in philosophy would be helpful but not absolutely necessary. Nerves of steel helpful.  Basically a war hardened general that is a genius please only apply.

HA! Good luck finding that.

Friday, September 6, 2013

RIP Norbie sorta

     Norbert is our dragon. Yes, I said dragon. He is the friendliest, funnest reptile you would ever meet. The kids love him. And believe it or not he shows he loves them in return.  Hard to believe I know he is a cold blooded creature.

     Norbie used to sit on the table through school hours. After school he would nudge hands for his treats, follow the kids with his eyes, try and jump from the table to follow them out of the room. (Cause goodness knows I am chopped liver.) So can a reptile show affection, yes I believe so.

     He had came to us "fully grown" (I use quotation marks cause like so many of our other rescues he was malnourished among other things.) He has made it far for such an animal. He never reached a normal size but he was still amazing. And at this point geriatric. His age at time of rescue was given as 5. That was 7 years ago. Given that people tend to lie when giving up an animal Norbie could have been anywhere from 3 to 6. So that puts Norbie in the same level of geriatrics of Sid's grandmother in Ice Age.

      Why am I telling you all this? Norbie has gone to that great habitat in the sky. Two nights ago I went to turn off Norbie's light and he was on his side. Poor guy. He had been going down hill for a few months now. We knew it was coming. Life span is 8-10 and Norbie was definitely over the limit. I called Honeybear over. He wrapped Norbie in a baby blanket and tied him in two trash bags. We wanted to let the kids say good bye and make him a marker.

      The next morning the bag was on the floor. Thinking maybe Norbie was just deeply hibernating instead of dead we checked him. Unfortunately no change. So we placed him back on the shelf and tried to make everything to prepare him. Except when we went to get him for burial. He was gone! Honeybear and I conferred quickly and decided the most logical explanation was it being trash day one of the kids had unknowingly discarded him.Upon questioning it the boys confirmed throwing a bag out from the classroom. Case closed.  And we went on about our business upset but what are you going to do.

     That was yesterday. This morning we are going about our morning routine. I walk over to let a dog out and turn around....and there's Norbie walking across the floor. What the heck!?!?  So Norbie rested in peace and now is refreshed. We have a zombie dragon according to the kids. *sigh* Only at our house.

Thursday, September 5, 2013

Mother's curse

     I got an urgent text today. My mother..."Sheena...please blog." Yes mama. I will get on that. Teaching your grandchildren, but I will do that after I am done. Couple hours later another text comes in. My mother again. "Still waiting...." At the in laws for Honeybear's birthday let me get home and I will do it. "ooo okay"
I notice as I make her wait the message gets shorter and capitalization and the punctuation goes bye bye.
By the time I get this up I am likely to get this "gr".

      At least at this point her communication skills will be so lacking and she'll be so put out I won't get a lecture right? Nah it will probably just transfer to my daddy being the one to "talk some sense into me". Lol.
Everyone knows what I am talking about. Everyone has that moment. You have annoyed the calm parent to the point they turn it over to the stern one. You are now assuming the position. Puppy eyes cast to the floor, shoulders slumped in contrition.

      At this point you are casting dubious glances upwards to see just how bad it is. If you see arms crossed and leaning against a counter nonchalantly RRRUUUNNNNN! You are so busted. If you see a twinkle and non crossed arms you might survive.

      My brother was a master of getting out of either situation. His magic key? Make mom laugh. He could accidentally detonate an atom bomb but if he made mom giggle he was good. Me? Mehhh not so lucky. Usually cause I would not admit defeat. But hey come on points for gumption right? And what was that curse bestowed on me by my mother...."Just wait someday you'll see. You'll have a kid just like you." I must have been horrible. Karma didn't give me one it gave me four!!!