Tired Mama.com

Ouch...

My son is writing a set of high school exams this week. It's been a long week and he's been studying hard.

On Tuesday night, my son's hockey team had a game. My boy had written an exam at 8 am that morning and had another to write the next morning, but he was burnt out, glassy eyed and fidgety so we decided together that he should play the game with his team, get rid of some excess energy then come home for a good night's sleep before his next exam.

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

My husband was out of town so his little sister and I went and watched the game. All was well, until the last minute of the third period, when my son was tripped, fell backwards landing on his stick with all his fifteen-year-old weight and managed to squish his pinky finger between the stick and the ice.

I could tell from the stands that it hurt like uh, heck.

He skated off and the game ended, but there was a huddle of helpful coaches and trainers around my boy on the bench, so his little sister and I wandered over to see what we could do to help.

Helping meant we packed up all his equipment then drove him to the ER for x-rays and splinting.

Did I mention that the game seemed like a good idea at the time?

Sigh. 

PS. He is fine today, five days later, the swelling is down and he was able to continue to write his exams even with the pinky finger of his writing hand black, blue and swollen. It's true - hockey players are tough. :)

 

Yes, I do have expensive tastes.

I was driving my son home from school today when I spotted a lovely little blue car stopped at a stop sign as we drove by.

'That's a nice car,' I remarked to my boy.

I've been trying to really look at cars lately because I need to replace my van. My teen son knows more about cars than I do so, when I see one I like, he tells me what it is so I can consider it as a possible replacement vehicle.

This time he looked at me as if I was an idiot. (Yeah, he does that all the time sometimes.)

'Mom, that's a Maserati,' he said, his tone implying that I should know this.

'Oh,' I replied. 'Those are expensive, right?'

'About 150 grand,' he replied.

Right.

When I got home, I looked it up. My boy was right; the local dealership has a 2011 Maserati for sale for $140,000 CDN.

Okay, then.

Let's just say we're probably not going to be buying one of these, especially not as an even trade-in for my six year old mini-van, any time soon. 

But, it's still a nice car. 

Rugby Smells

I've had a son now for fourteen years. He's a good son too so we've decided to keep him.

He's a typical young male though, he's fearless, he takes stupid chances and most days he treats his body likes it's unbreakable.

So, I wasn't totally surprised last fall when he came home and told me his wrist hurt. After icing a suspicious bump for a day, I finally took him in for an x-ray and we came home with a cast on his arm.

Yep, the boy broke his wrist the very first day of gym class playing rugby.

Therefore, when this spring rolled around you can imagine that I was less than thrilled when the same son came home and told me he wanted to try out for the school rugby team.

Yeah, football with no equipment.

Lovely.

I mean didn't he LEARN anything when they told him he was BROKEN last fall?

Obviously not.

My son is now playing on his school rugby team.

Now that he's played a few games however I must admit I have another problem besides the roughness of the sport.

The smell of his shoes.

Have you ever smelt rugby cleats?

You don't want to.

They smell like uh, barf or um, rotten meat or decaying bodies or something vile.

Something very very vile.

So, this is why I now have a bottle of Lysol Fabric Mist in my van at all times.

Because it's only AFTER my kid's cleats are sprayed that my son and his shoes get a ride home.

And if I'm carting several kids home from practice, EVERY single pair of shoes get sprayed and sometimes I spray the team's shirts and shorts too because then, and only then, can I stand the smell of these young men.

Yeah, it works and it kills 99.9% of bacteria on fabrics, therefore eliminating the root cause of odours caused by the bacteria and that's a good thing.

A VERY good thing. 

Thanks Lysol Fabric Mist, you make my nose much happier.

Disclosure: I am part of the Lysol Healthy Families Ambassador Program by Mom Central. I received compensation as part of my affiliation with this group.  The opinions on this blog are my own.

Cleaning and wiping and disinfecting. Oh, my...

I love my family. I really do, but you know what? They can be kinda gross.

Since my kids are old enough to read my blog I won't bore you, or embarrass them, with the specifics but let it just suffice to say that my home and my car often seem to be splattered in some sort of body fluid, food, outdoor substance or some other unidentifiable liquid.

I don't even know half the time what I'm wiping away and honestly? I don't want to know. It's just too gross to think about.

So, under every sink in my house and in the driver's cup holder of my car you will always find disinfecting wipes. Yep, I LOVE these things. They work well, they kill germs and basically they are one of my main quick cleaning go-tos that I use to keep my family clean and healthy. I use wipes constantly and I've often wished I had stock in Lysol because I use so many.

So, a few months ago when I was asked to join the Lysol Healthy Families Ambassador Program I decided that, for my family, this was a perfect fit.

As an Ambassador, I'm excited to share with you the link for The Lysol Mission for Health. Lysol understands health matters to us all; especially to mothers. Lysol's Mission for Health is not just about making better products to help moms protect her family, but also about contributing to the health of the communities we live in. That's why Lysol started the new moms program, healthy habits initiatives in schools, the cold & flu prevention program and disaster relief efforts. You can learn more about the programs at Lysol.ca.

I'm happy that Lysol is doing what it can to contribute to the health of my community and I'm ecstatic that I've got their wipes to try and keep the grossness (yes, that's a word) of my family under control.

How about you? Do you have any tips on keeping things clean and less gross at your house that I can use? Other than getting rid of the pets? Or the kids? 

Disclosure: I am part of the Lysol Healthy Families Ambassador Program by Mom Central. I received compensation as part of my affiliation with this group.  The opinions on this blog are my own.

Postcards (not) from the Edge...

I'm at a conference. I've been away from my husband and children for two days.

Since I've been away, I've texted my older two children and my husband several times, I've messaged my youngest daughter many times and I've called home at least three times on my cell phone.

We're connected.

Very connected.

But I'm wondering, do people still send postcards when they're on vacation?

Real postcards, I mean. The type that you use an ink pen to write on, that you attach a real stamp to and that get delivered by a LIVE mail-person to your house.

Do they even SELL postcards at American hotels anymore?

I'm going to check tomorrow and if I find some? I'm going to send some home to my kids.

I remember it used to be exciting to get a postcard in the mail.

So, my three on-line savvy kids should be thrilled. Right?

Or if they're not thrilled, at least they might be amused.

Greatly amused.

And yes, they might possibly think that I'm old too.

Really old.

Sigh.

 

Brace Face

I took my son to get braces put on his teeth today.

He doesn't really want braces but he needs them and so he now has them.

He has told me more than a few times today that he doesn't like them and that they hurt.

'No kidding, I don't think anyone really likes them,' I keep replying as I offer him soft foods.

I never had braces as a kid, mainly because my family couldn't afford them.

My older sister got braces put on her teeth at the age of forty and lately I've been considered getting them as well. 

But my son, at fourteen, doesn't want to hear that he's lucky to have a father with a good job and insurance that will allow him to get braces, he just wants nice teeth without the pain and the two year wait.

I get that.

But at some point? 

I'm probably gonna have to let him know that he's lucky too.

Sigh.

600 Reasons why Moms Drink - Reason 102

We have a rule in our house that things should get packed up for school the night before so that in the morning we're not running around looking for school stuff when we're trying to get out the door. 

For the record? I get nasty when I have to run around and find the kid's stuff when we're trying to get to school on time.

My kids hate this rule. They think I'm nagging them. Well, I am.

 

Because, no matter how hard I try...

I tried to draw my head exploding here too, but it just looked kinda strange.

Sigh.

Twelve things my son needs to know....

There are all sorts of lists on the internet that document the things we should teach our children.

These lists tell us to teach our kids to believe in themselves, to dream, to dance, to sing, to be polite and to do all sorts of other good things. However, there are other things my teenage son needs to know too. 

So, today I thought I would share that list:

1. Be kind to little children, one day that gawky little girl next door will grow up to be gorgeous and she’ll tell all her beautiful friends how sweet you are. Women remember everything.
2. When a girl gets her period at school? You notice nothing, you say nothing, you offer no help, you just quickly and quietly walk away. Trust.
3. Don’t fart in small enclosed spaces. This should need no further explanation but, when you get a minute, could you explain it to your father for me? Thanks.
4. Nothing good ever happens after 2 am.
5. Don’t pick your nose in public. Ever. That includes when you’re alone in a car.
6. Never ask anyone else about their salary or their grades. Feel free to share this one with your friends.
7. If it's already on fire, put away the lighter fluid. And I'm not just talking about BBQ's or campfires here.
8. Pull up your jeans! No one really needs to see the brand name of your underwear and years from now you're going to be mortified by the pictures.
9. If you wouldn’t say it to EVERYONE in person, don’t post it on a blog, on Facebook, tweet it or put it anywhere near cyber space. One day you will need a job.
10. Never take incriminating pictures of yourself or anyone else on your cell phone. One day you will be drunk.
11. None of this hard work counts, if you don't graduate.
12. And always remember, even though I don’t always like everything you do, I will always love you. Yes, always.

Your,
Tired Mama

TGIF

My teenagers think they have me all figured out. 

You know what I think?

I think horrible teen attitudes have nothing to do with hormones.

I think teens just figure that if they are rotten enough to us that we'll let them stay out late at night just so we can have some peace and quiet.

What they've forgotten however is that they still need us to pick them up from where ever they are hanging out.

And teens? I need my sleep more then I need peace.  

So, pester away, cause the curfew?

It's still there.

 

Up and up and up.

My oldest daughter is two years and ten months older than her brother and my youngest daughter is two years and six months younger than her brother.

As my three children have grown there has always been roughly about a head difference in height between them.

I must admit I always thought it was cute that when they stood in birth order there was a step pattern by age in terms of height. I have literally thousands of pictures, taken through the years, of them lined up from oldest to youngest - girl, boy, girl - tallest to shortest.

Until now.

I was looking at them yesterday from a distance, as they did something with their father, and I realized my thirteen year old son is now much taller than his ten year old sister. In fact, my son is quickly catching up in height to his sixteen year old sister.

And you know what? It made me sad.

That height spacing is now gone - forever. It won't be long until my son is as tall and then taller then his older sister. That step pattern might come back at some point but it will no longer be by birth order because soon my middle child will be the tallest of my children.

They're growing up and up and up.

And I know it's a good thing and it's something that has to happen, but honestly? Tonight it's just making me sad.

Pass the wine.

Sigh.

Rules are meant to be broken

We have a rule in our house that you can't curse until you're twenty-one.

You can drive at sixteen, drink at nineteen and swear and vote at twenty-one. That's just the way things roll around here.

And yes, I did make up this rule when I swore once and was good and ready to swear again until my young children reminded me that I had told them that swearing was illegal.

Really? I thought at the time, I said that?

But the rule has stuck.

Tonight as I was cooking dinner I managed to burn a hole right through the oven mitt I was using and I scorched my hand.

Yes, I admit that while I was rushing to put my hand under cold running water a few choice words may have escaped my lips.

My daughters were upstairs doing homework and were oblivious.

My son, who should have been upstairs doing homework but wasn't, came to investigate.

'What did you do?' he asked.

I filled him in.

'If I burn my hand, can I say what you just said?' he wanted to know.

'Yes,' I replied. 'If you are making dinner for the entire family and burn your hand badly enough that you have to throw out the oven mitt that was supposed to be protecting you, and if it's bad enough that you're thinking about driving yourself to the hospital then yes, you may say a few four letter words.'

'Cool,' he replied and sauntered away.

Really?

Cool?

My son thinks that it's worth getting a second degree burn just so he can swear in front of me without getting a lecture?

I guess I'm stricter than I thought. 

I may get my picture yet.

I went Christmas shopping yesterday. I was being totally indecisive so I didn't get much done, but I did have a nice time looking at all the decorations and listening to the Christmas music. My local mall has a particularly nice looking Santa this year, he's plump, friendly and his beard even looks real.

As I stopped for a minute to watch all the little children go up for a visit with Mr. Claus I found myself remembering my own children's visits to Santa. My girls were always a little scared but they usually went bravely up, handed over their letters and smiled for a picture. 

My son? He simply refused to go near the dear old man. My boy was having nothing to do with the mall Santa's and he would pitch a fit whenever my hubby or I would try to encourage him to go up with his sisters for a visit. 

So, in my family album I have many pictures of Santa Claus with my daughters and none at all of him with my son.

But yesterday, as I stood watching all the little children line up for their visit with the red dressed guy, I noticed that this year my mall has fairies working as Santa's helpers.

These aren't just any fairies though; our local Santa has cute, teen-aged girl fairies working for him this year. He also has these adorable teen girls all decked out in short skirts, glittery wings and tight-fitting low-cut tops. These young ladies all had long legs, brilliant smiles and gorgeous floaty hair.

Did I mention my son is now thirteen?

Hmmm.

I may have finally found a way to convince my son to visit Santa.

Hello fairies? Can I ask you for a favor?

And could you get him to smile for a picture too? 

It's not that type of limb!

We spent the last two weeks up at the cottage.

Yes, it was very nice. Thank you for asking.

Our cottage is on a lake and it has trees right up to the sides of the cottage which means we have many many many branches and twigs lying around the property.

So, part way through the first week of our vacation I decided that my son, hubby and I should get busy and cut up some of these branches for firewood.

Yep, I was on a clean up mission.

And yep, two hours later we were on our way to the ER so my son could get four stitches put in his hand.

The new saw I bought to cut up all these branches into firewood?

It's um, sharp.

And yeah, he's fine but he's not using that saw again anytime soon. 

Anyone know how much a bag of firewood costs?

Sigh.

Big sigh.

Snap, Crackle, Pop. Pop. Pop.

My boy eats cereal.

The reason I even mention this is because he's decided at the age of twelve to grow taller and he seems to be hungry. All. the. time.

Unreasonable child.

But, that said, cereal is perfect. It's easy to prepare, he eats the reasonably nutritious stuff and he can get it himself whenever he wants.

What he can't seem to figure out however is how to put his cereal bowl and spoon into the dishwasher when he's done eating.

He leaves them everywhere. On the table, on the counter, on his bedside table and today? He even tried to shove it under the family room couch.

Growl. 

Have you ever seen cereal and milk harden on a bowl after it's been left sitting out for a few hours? It turns into cement. It just gets um, disgusting. 

So, I've threatened and I've nagged him about it. I've even talked about it in front of his friends to try and embarrass him into cleaning up after himself.

Nothing seems to be working.

I should probably just give up and find myself another battle.

But I don't want to.

I've never considered myself a crazy OCD kinda Mom so I should be able to just let this one go.

Right?

Nope.

Tonight these dirty cereal bowls are really annoying me. 

Really, really annoying me.

Sigh.

Spring Fever

Spring fever has hit our town and it's not good.

Nothing is getting done.

Reports from the school are that my boy and his friends are all acting silly. They don't want to be indoors learning math and verbs, they want to be outside. These kids are thinking about swimming and baseball and lying around doing sweet nothing.

I can't say I blame them. I didn't even bother talking to my son about it.

When I reminded my daughter yesterday that she had to practice her music before she could go out and play she gave me a look that would have led you to believe that I was torturing her.

I'm supposed to be working today too.

But here I am.

I'm also looking at the flats of flowers sitting in the sunshine outside my window and thinking I should go out and garden.

That's work isn't it? Sort of?

Sigh.

How many days until summer vacation starts?

Cheshire Cat's Sweet Revenge.

My son loves our family cat just a little bit too much.

Every once in a while my son will just hug our cat to smithereens and when our  independent feline meows in protest my son often just holds the cat all the tighter.

After a short protest, the cat will give up squirming and just wait passively in my boy’s arms until I intervene or my boy gets his hug quota and sets the cat free. 

Our cat is truly the most laid-back, patient and well, BEST family pet anyone could ever ask for.

But today, while my son was on the computer typing up his homework, the cat jumped up on the desk and sent a baseball, that was also on the desk, rolling towards the floor. The baseball fell off the desk and landed smack on the PC's power bar's off switch.

Yep, the son lost his homework and had to start typing it all over again.

Yeah.

Hee.

Hee, hee, hee.

And I swear, when I look at our cat right now? He’s smiling.

I think they've forgotten who they're talking to.

It's not what they say, it's how they say it.

It's their TONE.

It's their ATTITUDE.

Yeah, I have a tween, a teen and my ten year old? She thinks she's twenty-one.

Sigh.

My kids are not being very polite to their parents these days so I've decided I need to clamp down a bit on my kid's 'tudes.'

Yeah, I know this is not going to go well and that I probably won't change much, but I have to try and do something - their sneering is getting out of control.

I truly do everything for my kids and, like all kids, they don't appreciate it. And the reason they don't appreciate it?

Because they are spoiled rotten brats.

There I said it.

How's your week going?

Growl.

What's the difference?

I have a daughter who loves theater and a son who loves hockey.

I do everything I can to support both my children as they pursue their activity of choice.

As I was watching my son play in his hockey play-offs today all the parents were yelling directions at their kids from the stands telling their offspring what to do and how to play better.

They were uh, lunatics.

As I was listening to my fellow hockey parents 'coach' their off-spring  I started wondering what would happen if I was to yell directions at my daughter when she was on stage performing in her school musical.

Could you imagine me acting like a hockey Mom at the theater while she was on stage? I could have directed her from my seat, telling her where to stand and how to sing. I could have helped her!

Ah, no.

And no, of course I didn't do it.

If I had several people would have wanted to kill me. Actually had I yelled at any of the young thespians I would have been escorted from the building.

And you know what?

I think we should start considering doing this to those helpful parents at the hockey rinks too. 

Just sayin'.

More rules

At six-thirty this morning my younger daughter marched into the kitchen and announced to me that her older brother was out shoveling the snow off the driveway in his pajamas.

Youngest daughter had gotten a lecture from me this past summer for going out to play one morning in her nightgown and I guess she wanted to make sure the lectures were going to be fairly distributed.

'That's okay,' I replied. 'It's still dark out and he has a coat over top of them.'

'So, it's okay to be outside in your pajamas when it's dark out?' she asked.

'Yes,' I replied, 'but only in the mornings before seven and only when you're working and have a coat on.'

'Oh,' she replied. She left the kitchen satisfied with my answer.

My baby is now almost ten years old, I wonder how much longer I have before she realizes that I'm just making this stuff up as I go along?

Ah well, at least the walkway is cleared.

Hockey Nights in Canada

Over the Christmas holidays Tired Papa and our son built themselves a hockey rink in our backyard.

It's nice. They built boards and put a heater in the pool house to work as a little warm change room and they even put up nets to stop all the pucks from breaking my kitchen windows.

My hubby and our boy go out there when it's dark and cold and they shovel, sweep and flood their rink.

The kids of the neighborhood and my younger children have been using the rink a lot. It's great exercise for everyone and they all have a great time outside.

Me? I've been making a lot of hot chocolate and popcorn this winter.

Do you know what I like most about the ice rink though?

I like looking out my kitchen window and watching my two boys working on the rink and then playing hockey together.

They're not just making an ice rink, they are creating memories. Memories of a father and son working together, creating something together. 

It's good.

Really, really good.

And all the dead grass I'm gonna have back there in the spring?

Totally worth it.

Facebook is good, bad and other.

My son wants to be on Facebook.

Sigh.

His school decided to have someone come in and talk to all the kids about being safe on Facebook and guess what? Now everyone in his grade wants to be on there. Most of these kids didn't even know it existed until the 'talk' and now it's the place to be.

I had always told my kids that they couldn't be on Facebook until they were thirteen but that's still ten months away for my son. 

I'm on Facebook. My fifteen year old daughter is on Facebook. When my son tells me EVERYONE he knows is on there he's not kidding. I've looked and most of his buddies really are on there.

I don't know what to do.

I do know enough about the privacy settings on FB to limit his activities. I suppose I could demand my son's password and go on there regularly to check on what he's up to.

My son is going to get on Facebook eventually. I'm afraid that he may go on there without my knowledge if I clamp down and so no to him now. But he still seems too young to be on there for my comfort. I'm afraid of who my son might meet on the internet and what he might learn.

But I also realize that my boy is smart and I also know that I have to trust him and let him grow too.

Blah.

I still don't know what I'm going to do. I'm really torn on this one.

Double blah.

Reality Check

Two days ago I was reminded that I can go from being a totally exasperated, snappy and impatient Mom to being a totally protective, paranoid and smothering Mom in less than a second. 

In the blink of an eye.

In the moment it takes for one's heart to skip a beat - to stop.

It happened when a Doctor said to me, 'I don't like the look of this and I think we should run a few more tests. I want you to take him over to the hospital. Now.'

Everyone is fine.

But ah, the guilt will live on for a while yet - a long while yet.

Sigh.

No. Just no, okay?

I knew that parenting would be a challenge. I knew I would make mistakes.

What I didn't realize before I became a parent was how much negotiating I would have to do.

And I'm okay negotiating with my husband and for work.

It's the negotiating with my kids that is starting to drive me crazy.

There's the bedtime negotiating. That whine for just five more minutes.

There's the homework negotiating. The plea for putting it off for a while.

There's the 'who gets to sit in the front seat' fight that I seem to always be negotiating.

There's the ' yes, you HAVE to wear your winter coat to school' discussion I must negotiate EVERY flippin morning.

You know what? It is wearing me out.

All this negotiating, and the bickering that goes along with it, is driving me crazy.

I need a vacation. A looooong vacation.

Where should we go?

Today

I've got a child home today who is not feeling well enough to go to school. I hesitate to say he is really sick but he's not one hundred percent either so the school doesn't want him there.

So, he's here with me.

And this means I get to spend the day at home.

Which is okay, because I kinda like the kid and when I spend time at home I get things done.

Like uh, cleaning out the fridge, or sorting the laundry because those things need doing.

Or, writing something to help pay the bills. Those need to be looked at too.

But first?

First, I'm gonna go and bug my son. He's lying on the couch watching TV and bugging him sounds like more fun than cleaning.

*** Ten Minutes Pass ***

And now that I've done that, I have discovered that my son is running a fever and he is now telling me that his stomach hurts.

Wow, I made the right call when I decided to keep him home. I was right. Did you hear that? I was right. That doesn't happen very often.

And you know, when it comes to thinking that my kids are brewing something and about to get sick? I wish it wasn't happening today either.

Sigh.

I wonder how much Tylenol I have in the the house? I wonder if he'll keep it down?

Double sigh. 

Roses are red...

We live close enough to the small center of our town that I sometimes let my twelve year old son bike or walk with a group of his friends downtown to get ice cream.

Last weekend they stopped on the way home and picked up hamburger buns at the bakery for me. So, this weekend I asked my son and his buddies to stop at the fruit stand and buy me some flowers.

Yep, flowers. I asked four twelve year old boys to stop and pick up flowers.

They were quite willing to run the errand since I was paying for the ice cream, but  they weren't that sure on how to buy the flowers.

'What kind of flowers?' one asked.

'Do we have to pick them?' asked another.

'How do you buy flowers at a fruit market?' asked the third.

My son, who has picked out many flowers for our kitchen table in the past, simply wanted to know what colour I wanted.

So, off the boys went and a short time later they returned with lovely yellow tulips for my kitchen table.

Perfect.

Then today I went into the fruit shop to pick up some things. The lovely lady who works there was happy to tell me that she had seen my son and his friends come in to the market to buy flowers on the weekend.

She also told me that the boys had declined her offer to help them pick out the flowers and had only smiled when she accused them of buying the flowers because they were in trouble for something.

She had then proceeded to ask the boys if the girl they were buying the flowers for was pretty. She reported that my son had answered, 'yeah, she's not bad'. Now this woman wanted to know who the lucky recipient of the flowers was.

Uh, that would be me.

But, not bad? My son thinks I'm 'not bad' looking?

I can't decide whether to be insulted or simply amused. I am, after all, his mother and he is twelve. I can't help but wish he would still think I'm beautiful like he did when he was two years old, but at least he's not telling the lady that I'm coyote ugly.

So, if you'll excuse me I'm going to go and smell my tulips. The ones my son bought for me.

Thanks, buddy.

Good Grief

I have a public service announcement.

Children everywhere, listen up!

It is NOT appropriate to EVER leave the house in your pajamas unless it is pajama day at school or the house is on fire.

Honest.

And it doesn't matter if your PJ's look like shorts and a t-shirt and it's warm outside.

And it doesn't matter that no one will care, you should care and your mother cares.

And it doesn't matter that you're wearing them under sports equipment and no one will know. Put a t-shirt and shorts on under the darn stuff.

Rolling out of bed and heading out to play in pajamas is just not cool.

There, my beloved offspring, you've now been told.

Sesh.

I'm wearing mittens in July.

I made a mistake.

I asked my son what he wanted to do this summer. I suggested camps, volunteer work, baseball, soccer and all sorts of things.

But all my son wants to do is play hockey.

Ice hockey.

And where I live there is a lot of hockey available to be played in the summer months.

Which means that now that it is sunny and warm out I am spending my time freezing in cold, smelly dark hockey rinks.

This is sort of how I spend much of the winter months too.

I really have to learn to say 'No' better.

Sigh.

Neat Freak I am.

Dear Son,

Yes, I am a neat freak.

If that means that I want your crap picked up off the floor and your laundry put away then yes, I am a neat freak.

If being a neat freak means I want you to clean out the guinea pig's cage weekly so that I can't smell it the minute I walk in the freakin front door then yes, I am a neat freak.

I am also a neat freak if it means I don't want your sports equipment spread out all over the kitchen table. I mean come on, it's a JOCK. 

Neat freak.

At first I was sorta upset when you called me that.

Now? I like it.

Now, go put your stuff away. Quickly. Before I decide I don't like it again and get mad.

Love,
Tired Mama

I was a better Mom before I had kids.

I used to look at Moms doing certain things or saying certain things with their kids and think to myself, I'll never do that.

Yeah, right.

Today another one of those things I said I would never do with my kids got done.

I always thought I would never have my kids so over-scheduled that they would have to eat in the car as they went from one activity to another. Today my son had a swimming lesson from 5 to 6 and a baseball game that started at 6:30. Yep, he ate his dinner in the car as I drove him from the pool to the field.

I want him to play baseball this summer. So far he's having a great time too. I also want my son to learn to swim though. Why everything had to happen at the same time today was just a schedule glitch. Next week his baseball game is on a different night. So I'm hoping this eating in the car is only a one time thing.

The good thing about it was my son did tell me that Subway sandwiches taste better in the car than they do at the plastic tables in the restaurant.

Who knew?

Reality Check

As we were driving home from school yesterday my son asked me where he was going to park his car.

'Um, your car?' I asked.

My son is eleven.

Yeah, he wanted to know if he was going to have to park it outside.

I told him he'd probably park it at his house.

'My house?' he replied, obviously confused.

My son assumed since he could get his driver's license at sixteen, he could get a car at sixteen too.

I then explained how car payments, gas charges, insurance and repair bills worked.

My son then figured out he's probably got enough money saved for a couple of tires.

He was very quiet and I felt sorta bad for him. A little.

TiredMama - destroyer of dreams.

Or perhaps just an advocate of working hard to achieve them.

It works both ways I hope.