Visit to Santa

Know Santa? Know Christmas.

No Santa? No Christmas Presents.

That's how we roll in our house. I believe in Santa Claus. I always will. My children *will* believe in Santa too - or they won't get gifts.

Because of this belief, we go and see Santa every year at the mall. Usually, we wait in line for an hour. I bring snacks and games. It's a hunker down, handle it the best you can kind of situation. Because the line is excruciatingly long. Every. Year.

Except this one. I got smart this year. We went at 3:45 (right after Santa gets back from his break) on the Monday before Winter Break begins. We walked right up to the front of the line. It was almost anti-climactic actually. It was at the front of the line where I noticed Julia's application of eye shadow. Eye! Shadow! The 9 year old!! I didn't realize she even had access to glittery eye shadow. But there it was, applied (artfully) to her eyes. Seriously. I am in a heap of trouble with this one if she's putting on make-up for the Santa picture at 9 years old.

So after our quick line for and quick picture with Santa, we headed over to the Cinnabon where I purchased hot chocolates ("very hot! very hot!") and cinnamon rolls for the kids to enjoy. Because this is the only way I can get Colin to go take a picture with Santa. And God bless him, he still does. And always will too, if he still wants to get presents.

Monday

And the winner is...

This is the letter that Julia slipped under my door last night. I think I get the "Mom of the Year" award for it. I really like how she has counted 5 people in her tally - even though Brian wasn't home to be counted yet. Maybe someone was extra hungry?

Tuxedo pants and athletic supporters

Edwin and Aidan "received" (we paid out the wazoo for) their Tae Kwon Do sparring gear a few weeks ago. Edwin is especially excited about it. He spent several days sporting the equipment and trying it out around the house. When grandparents arrived last week for the fattening holiday, the first thing Ed did was run back to his room to don the equipment. As they were only going out to lunch, Ed didn't really need to wear head to toe sparring protection. When he was told to change, he did so quickly, getting back into his tuxedo pants that he had worn to that morning's pilgrim/indian (yes, they are still called indians at this kindergarten) program:

Edwin: "Mom, I have to wear dark colors. I'm a pilgrim."

Hence the tuxedo pants. What he didn't take off in his dash to remove the gear was his athletic supporter. Because I guess you just can't be too careful at lunch these days. Tuxedo pants and athletic supporter... outfit of champions.

Monday Musings

trip to the Cape

.org versus .com

I know it's not Monday. But I'll be on a plane coming home on Monday, and don't know if I'll get a chance to post.

I've been spending a wee tad too much time online. I'm sure the addiction will pass. Soon I hope (although I just found Animoto - thanks to Louise - so I fear I will have a new addiction soon. When I figure out how to post the videos to blogspot, then I'll share them here.)

I'm off to Cape Cod tomorrow morning at an ungodly hour. It's one thing to get up mega-early to exercise. At that time... it really doesn't matter what you look like. You put your hair in a pony, slap some deodorant on and you're good to go. Unless you are jump-rope girl. Then, well, I guess it takes a bit more effort. She's at the gym. Jumping rope. All. the. time. And she's very perky.

So not only will I have to get up early, I have to *get ready.* To get on a plane. Get ready to be treated like cattle. Potentially criminal cattle, at that. I will go against my upbringing and will wear the ultra-comfy velour sweatsuit on the plane.

You see, I was raised to dress up for plane trips. And for church too. And out to dinner. Pretty much anywhere, actually. Outings required outfits. But especially plane rides. I guess it was a hold-over from my grandparents. They still dress up to travel - perhaps because they do so on passes... but still, I think it's a generational thing. The only time my grandfather *isn't* dressed up is when he's working around the house: fixing the wiring, cutting and laying tile, etc. Since he's 90 now, most of that kind of work has ceased: hastened by his fall off the ladder last year when he tried to trim the hedges and wound up in the hospital. So now he's either in pajamas (both tops and bottoms, thank you) or dressed up. Nicely. (How I wish my husband would take a look at a page from this man's book...) And tomorrow I will get up and put on my "clothes:'" which I'm sure my grandparents will consider pajama-like.
I will feel a tinge of guilt at this. But after the almost 8 hours of travel, I will be one happy, comfortable camper.

And now...
.COM VERSUS .ORG
In this corner: .org.
We received a girl scout update from Julia's leader last night. She suggested the girls look at several websites to help choose the "cookie patch" for the event they (as junior girl scouts now) are hosting in January. As the girls get older, the activities get more girl-driven: or at least that's what is supposed to happen. One of the sights listed was www.girlfirst.org. I tried clicking on the link and got nowhere. Thinking maybe a letter was missing, I added an "s" and re-typed in the url.
Aaaannnddd...In this corner: .com
What I didn't do was double check to see if it was supposed to be .org or .com. It's supposed to be .org people. DOT. ORG. *NOT* DOT. COM Because .com will take you to the adult poster site of "girlsfirst:" a site that doesn't offer the right kind of cookie patch... seriously people. Thank goodness Julia was not with me when I found this. Brian was. {edited here to protect Brian...} He already knew of the pitfalls of .org vs. .com. I guess that until VERY recently, FDA.com was a site of colorful nature also...

So we cleared that right up. And now we know where to look for the correct cookie patch. (yes, I'm acutely aware of how that sounds.)

Facebook

I had lunch last week with a dear friend whom I had not seen in a long time. It was fantastic to reconnect with her and catch up with the craziness that our lives endure these days. She's one of those technology people: designing websites long before it was easy to do so. Has all the techie toys - and knows how to use them. And while she's younger than I, she's not a teenager (the generation who apparently is DNA wired for all new technology learning) which makes her grasp of it even that much more impressive. She told me to get on Facebook. Facebook. I laughed at her. She said, no really - you need to get on. So I did.

Holy Smokes. Wow. How cool is that world.

For those people (like me) who mock it: just stop now. It's cool to see people you haven't seen in forever (says the woman who flew half-way around the world for her high school reunion... and yes, I still haven't forgotten those people who DIDN'T come, and who still owe me. Big.)
I was able to find people I've been looking for for a *long* time. Old roommates and friends.

Technology is truly amazing. I don't think that "kids these days" will appreciate the connections they have to the people in their lives. They are always connected, and perhaps *will* always be connected in ways those of us not tied to the internet in high school and college ever were. For them, it's not a question of losing addresses and changing phone numbers and losing touch. They just assume that they will always be accessible. Don't know if that is a good thing or not...
But for me, seeing old friends has been great. Seeing my sister on there... the one who refused to even check email until VERY recently... well, that just made me feel even more behind the times (but not like the loser I felt in step class. No, I haven't gotten over it yet.)

Ultimately, like it or not, those people and those connections in my past have helped shaped my life and the way I live it. Some were fleeting acquaintances (part-time coworkers.) Some friends by lottery (roommates) and chance (childhood neighbors.) Some friends by association (boyfriends of roommates, friends of my sister.) Some by birth, some by choice. Others who were going through similar lifetime experiences (new motherhood, elementary school friends.)
I have all of these people (and more to find...) to thank for the person I am today. And those friends who I share my life with now - I will thank for the person I strive to be tomorrow. And I don't care what it looks like to be on Facebook.

Because I'm almost 40 ("...someday!") and it's becoming less and less important to me what others think. I'm the opposite of junior high school Aidan - who burdens himself too much of what other people think. As he edges to the extreme of those feelings, I'm backing away from them. And to those of you Facebook naysayers, well, I guess you won't be on my friends' list - which I can tell you is a pretty great group that I'm blessed to have known.

ps: dyed my hair bright, vivid, dark red last week. It's my goth look - so I've been told. Part of it was for kicks, and part (as was pointed out by a very shrewd woman) was to *not* blend in. Life's too short people. Go and have some fun and be the person you want to be.

Perfect: 23 years later

I joined a gym on Saturday.

Yeah, it's still sinking in for me too. A big, shiny box of a place. I never thought that I'd be the type to join such an establishment. It's full of highly sculpted machines and people. That's so not me. But I'm determined - sort of - to at least give it a shot. The impetus of the change was the dissolution of the bootcamp I've been attending for a year and a half.

I didn't think that I'd be as distressed as I'm finding myself at the closure of this chapter of my life. I wasn't an original "bootie" but feel I've earned equal member status with the rest of the remarkable women who have dedicated themselves to arising at an inhuman hour to work out. We exercised and bitched and moaned (sometimes all at once) together. We became a family - in ways that are understandable, really, only if you have a uterus.

So this group is picking up and moving to the gym. We took a tour on Saturday - given by the lovely and self-depricatingly skinny, young sales manager - and the five of us all signed on the dotted line. Some with more reservations than others.
We are trying out the early (5:15... that's AM, people!) classes this week as a trial run. Yesterday, we did our own improvised workout in the yoga room that no one was using. (Well, the one gal did come in to jump rope and watch herself in the mirror. We just ran around her...) Today was the horrendous torture of step class. A fad I missed in the 80's and 90's: I was not at all prepared for the combinations of steps.

I felt like a moron. I don't like to feel like a moron. I like to think of myself as a fairly coordinated person with some sense of rythem. Not so today, friends. I left disgusted. The only saving grace was the friends I was with: at least I wasn't alone. We all had difficulties (and obviously all of them handled it much better than I...) and I was convinced (?) to give it a few more tries before giving up. Maybe. The next class of torture will be the spin class, which I'm already warned hurts your crotch.
Those are my choices: feel like a moron, or have a sore hoo-ha. Yeah, it'll be great!

So I'm taking out my unsettled feelings on Edward, Bella and Jacob and the greatness that is Twilight. Bought the soundtrack today. Fabulous stuff. It's helping with some of the difficulty I have with change.

NB: Found banned (by me) book number four in the Twilight series "hidden" on Aidan's desk. He went behind my back and checked it out from the junior high school (!) library so he could finish reading the series. I don't know whether to be angry or impressed that he was so resourceful... And really, all my credibility went out the door when I let him read The DaVinci Code instead of Breaking Dawn. So much for trying to shield him from mature (sex) themes. Says the woman who read Forever in the 6th grade...

"Back...back...back to school again"

I went back to high school a few weeks ago. It was "Parent Shadow Day" at Colin's high school and I enthusiastically signed up to shadow him for the half day of school. It wasn't until we were on our way to school (after having arranged for the little two to be at a friend's house at 7:15 AM and after dropping the arguing junior high kids off at their school) that I asked Colin if he minded me coming with him. He said he didn't mind, but let me know that I would be on my own for brunch, as he had things to do and people to see. Lucky for me, there was a parent reception at brunch, and I was able to grab a quick cup of coffee.

I was quite concerned on the attire for the day: really, can there ever be a bigger concern than what to wear? My intent was to look like a mom. I can tell you that not everyone else there shared my intent. Check out "Real Housewives of Orange County" if you want to know what I mean. And for the record: just because you can pull off the skin tight rhinestone jeans doesn't mean you should.

The principal did a nice welcome (as Junie B. might say) and then we were off to math. Math. Colin, in his first year of high school, is in the last level of math that I took in high school. On this particular day in Honors Algebra II/ Trigonometry the class was learning how to use graphing calculators - and since it was new to them, the parents could participate as well! I left with such a brain-ache. The memories of being overwhelmed by a lesson came flooding back to me. It's probably good that I experienced this sensation again. It may, perhaps, make me more sympathetic to my kids when they whine "but I don't get it!"

The highlight of my day was in English class. Colin has quite a few cheerleaders in his Freshman English class. I have very fond memories of this class - but I won't share them here. It is the internet, after all. And these are other people's children - and after this past Saturday's girls U10 soccer game fiasco, I have re-learned that you just don't ever mess with anyone else's kid. Ever. Never.
Let me leave you with a mental picture of my English class experience: a purple inked smiley face at the end of sentence. Because, you really just can't have enough of those. Sadly, I had no other parent around me to share the fun.

So going "back... back... back to school again" was a trip. I learned a lot. Got to see the campus (and my kid) in action. It's a beautiful campus - it's a relatively new one. Last year had the first graduating class. They seem to be doing well for the 2600+ kids who call it home. Home of the Wildcats (And YES! I have seen High School Musical 3. In an auditorium full of 1000 screaming kids and tweens. The tweens squeed for Zac Effron every time he showed his face on screen. And THAT was after the 10 minute Karaoke SING ALONG.) For putting up with me, he got a nice lunch out of it. I'll be back next year.

Bested by a Hunk of Metal (with a pretty ringtone)

My perfect record is now broken. I used to think of myself as "smug driver" a la the Bridget Jones "smug married" character. For 22 years, 3 months and 11 days, I was a perfect driver. Or so my record (or lack thereof) would say. Sure, I had a few times when I was pulled over, but I always drove away WITHOUT a ticket. Until yesterday. I guess I knew that it would happen to me someday. Until yesterday I happily drove along as "smug driver," even with screaming kids in tow.

But I have been bested by the mighty cell phone. I wasn't hands free, and I got caught -- on a Sunday morning pulling away from the drive-through coffee stand. And there's my defense: I hadn't had my coffee yet.

The only benefit from the situation was my ability to use it as a teaching moment(well, more like a teaching lecture as it lasted the whole drive down to Pasadena...): Aidan and Colin were in the car with me when it happened. As they near the ages when they will want to be behind the wheel, I'm certain it helped for me to model appropriate behavior when confronted with an officer at your car window. Because as much as I'd love to believe that my sons will be perfect drivers (like I WAS), I have read the insurance fine print and I'm no fool: boys and cars = trouble. Hopefully, the trouble will be minor. But I'm fairly certain that one of my boys (Aidan..) will more than likely be pulled over sometime in his early driving days. So really, if you spin it the right way, I was just being an extra-thorough mom by modeling appropriate ticket-receiving-behavior.

Today I had to take over the high school carpool (just temporarily, thank goodness.) It took me almost 1 hour to get all the kids to school (not counting Julia, who had to walk.) Then it took another hour to pick everyone up and drop them off after school. And guess what I wasn't doing the whole time I was driving?

Talking on the phone.

Junior High Angst - 25 years later

I wasn't a particularly big fan of junior high when I was first there 25 years ago. I consider myself lucky to have passed through that tumultuous time and made it to the other side: the side of *not being in junior high.* And yet, here I sit doing it again. Yes, I'm less removed this time; but I'm there just the same. Colin's experience had its trials, no question. But he weathered the storm well, and came out quite nicely.

Aidan's experience is transporting me back there with disturbing clarity. He's miserable. I'm miserable. His grades are suffering alongside both of us. Sadly I have to sit back and watch him make his own mistakes most of the time. It's a struggle to find the right balance on my part of "help" (interference) and patience. We've implemented a few organizational changes to help with the grades; but he's mostly on his own when it comes to the friends/bullies/junior high angst. Hitting puberty later than your peers is not something I have experienced personally, so all I can really do is reassure him that yes, it will happen *someday.* And we both hope it will be a soon-day rather than a later-day.

So he's typing part of his book report now. The report that is due tomorrow. The report that (miraculously) got mostly done on his own - until I looked it over and made him redo the parts that he skipped/forgot to follow the instructions on. It's one of those "project" reports - Ugh. The bane of a parent's existence. (I really don't understand the concept of these. Does making some kind of board game or TV interview or whatever else really make reading a book more interesting? I'm betting some killer project could be done with the right blend of Cliff's notes and creativity. And get an A. Is that really the point of these things? It's a tempting idea...) The kind that need to be done, and done well if your kid has any hope of passing the class - and that's iffy at this point with him. If I never see one of these reports again, it will be too soon. And we have 7 more quarters left of junior high school. And that doesn't even count the 2 kids who haven't even gotten there yet.

So he'll be missing Tae Kwon Do this afternoon. Edwin gets to go, because his homework is done. Julia and I will be off to the store to find an appropriate "non-food-item" birthday treat for her to bring in to school to share with her classmates tomorrow. It will probably be something that requires assembly.
Another project.
Goody.

The morning exchange

The morning exchange:

"Everyone get up, right now!" as I walk in the door, home from boot camp.
Colin comes out to the kitchen rumpled but dressed.
"Colin, make your lunch."
I start the pot of necessary coffee.
"Aidan, get up!"
Aidan comes into the kitchen
"Aidan, make your lunch."
Julia comes out. She gets sent back to her room.
"Julia, you have Girl Scouts today - put your bathing suit on under your clothes and wear something old that can get wet. I'll give you your $3 dues in the car. And you can buy your lunch today."She replies cheerfully that it's cookie day at school lunch.
"Edwin, get up!"
Edwin walks out and down the hall dressed(!)
"Edwin, did you go to the bathroom?"

"Ba dum bum," he replies (as if we're in a bad comedy club and I've just cracked a joke) "No. I have not," as he runs down the hall to the bathroom.

Coffee is now ready, and I pour myself the first of the cups needed to make it through the morning.
Aidan and Colin fight over which cookie is theirs - one is broken and therefore inferior. Aidan tries to justify a lunch bag full of junk and one tiny mini-bagel sandwich for the healthy factor. ("But I'll put a lot of meat in it! he claims)
"No deal," I say.
"But I can't find the bread," he says. I make sweeping hand gestures.
The bread is on the counter in front of him, and is also on 3 of the four shelves in the fridge he has just opened(grocery shopping happened yesterday.)
Aidan makes a sandwich.

Julia comes out with the carefully planned outfit for her Girl Scout meeting after school which will include earning a swimming badge and will involve jumping in the water fully clothed.

Colin goes outside to retrieve the newspaper.

"Everyone eat!"
Eating commences, not quietly.
"Did you hear that the Stanford football coach's wife was in labor during the Stanford/ Notre Dame game?" Colin muses.
"I know someone who went to Stanford. Mae Jemison," Julia pipes in.
"The astronaut?" Aidan replies.

Julia eats half of her breakfast sandwich ("But I'm full!") before escaping to the bathroom to do her hair.
"Ed, finish Julia's breakfast."

Knock Knock on the kitchen door.
Diego, Devin and Drew walk in, ready for school.
Diego proudly displays his USC shirt to me - one of dozens he owns and likes to torture all of us with.
"Do you all have lunches today?"
"Yes," they all reply.
Drew shows off his newly applied braces while simultaneously asking if we are fans of Green Bay.
"My mom can't pick us up today," Diego announces.
"Does anyone have homework club today?" I ask.
"Yes" and "No" answers are given at the same time. Much discussion ensues about whether homework club is, in fact, meeting today. Collectively, we figure out that it's not, so Devin goes to call his mom to find out if she can drive home.

Ed finishes spiking his hair - gelling it up for the most dramatic effect.

"Aidan, leave your cell phone at home. You are grounded from using it for 24 hours."

"Everyone! Get. In. the. Car. Now!"
And off we go, at 7:15, to the various schools and drop off points.
Me and SEVEN kids.

The House Is Not a Kleenex

"The house is not a Kleenex"

Sadly, this is a phrase I need to drill into my kids' brains. Over and over again apparently, as they believe that the house, is in fact, their personal kleenex box.

And here's how I know this:
Monday morning is pick up time around the house. I attempt to corral the clutter into manageable piles so that my angels Maria and Francesca can help me clean the house - a fact which I have had to justify many times over the years and as recently as two days ago when I explained, again, that I have four kids and being a mom is a full-time job in itself.

So while I'm doing this corralling, I'm noticing streaks on the walls of the boys' bedroom. Small streaks, but streaks just the same. All at around Edwin's arm height. A closer look confirms what I already guess is the origin of the streaks. Eeeuuwww is all that comes to mind. So I instruct Ed to grab some babywipes and start
scrubbing while I go hunt down the Mr. Clean eraser - a product I firmly stand by despite the horrible internet pictures of the one kid who was supposedly burned when he scrubbed his face with it. Ed quickly figures out that the babywipes don't cut it and goes for a more abrasive washcloth (which he does *not* wring out, thereby
creating wet spots in the carpet that I keep finding with my socked feet) to scrub the boogers *Off the Wall.*
(I'm pretty sure Michael Jackson did not use this scenario when he made that title into a hit. Then again, he was once a little boy, so maybe he did.) And a little abrasion is what we needed, because they become glued to any surface they are wiped on. Glued on. Take-the-paint-off glued on.

When Ed decided to put his washcloth down on Aidan's bed (see washcloth description above) it was time to change the sheets. And the mattress pad beneath them. As I stripped the bed, I noticed more streaks about Aidan arm level high on the wall next to his pillows. Because *this* is the kind of behavior that I want all my kids to share.

In the past, I have had to do scrub downs of Colin's room, but those have been met with some pretty severe "discussions" so out of curiosity I checked to see how his walls were faring. Apparently those discussions paid off as he won't be scraping boogers off of his wall this afternoon when he gets home from school.

I'm not looking forward to checking Julia's room, but sadly, I'm thinking she will have some scrub time too.

I have kleenex boxes galore around the house. Obviously, I need to buy a few more. And have a few more "discussions."

Starting with, "The house is not a Kleenex!!!"