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!!!"