A Little Christmas Cheer

It's amazing how quickly a mood can be turned around. Especially when you're as lucky as I am and your life is filled with such wonderful people.

I walked out of my front door yesterday and found this little bit of Christmas cheer...I mean, deer waiting for me. He was anonymously left as a gift by one of our neighbors.



I'm almost positive it is the work of the retired Navy man who lives on our cul-de-sac and loves woodworking. He's such a sweet guy.

I love my little deer. These kinds of small acts of generosity touch me more than I can ever say.

Today I got all of my Christmas chores done. The kids and I baked cookies all day. This was the first year where their "help" actually helped me. We had fun and I got twenty dozen cookies baked and packaged to send to our friends and family.

I hope that people accept our cookies as a sweet gift from our hearts. But what our cookies really say is, "We can't afford real presents this year so please accept these cookies which my kids may or may not have coughed all over."

(Just kidding. I was on serious germ patrol.)

We also spent a couple of hours cleaning the house and finally hanging our stockings by the chimney with care, in hopes that St Nicholas would soon be schlepping his or her big butt back and forth to the gift hiding place to drag out and wrap presents until he or she can barely see straight.

At least this year Santa will have help and she won't have to wrap it all up all alone.

And that makes me the happiest of all.

Happy Birthday to the Boy

Yesterday was my son's 7th birthday. That is so, so hard to believe.

Saying my kids are 7 and 9 makes me sound like an old mom. Or at least a mom who should know more and handle things better.

Instead of a party this year, we took the kids to Great Wolf Lodge. For the childless among you, it is a hotel with an indoor water park. It was a huge hit with the kids and we had a great time.

One thing I love about my kids is how much they appreciate the little things. They were thrilled to play miniature golf in the winter and they loved the lame trolley ride around the property. When I looked around the water park and saw hundreds of kids pouting and crying, I have to say that I was extremely thankful for my little family.

My son was happy with three gifts and a cupcake in our hotel room for his birthday.

My youngest is seven-years-old now and I am excited about it. I have no regrets about the first nine and a half years of my parenting life (except for choosing their current school) and I am looking forward to the next few years before the teens set in.

Besides, my son is just such a great kid. He's uber polite and very happy. He chooses good friends and smiles through life. He's so smart that it would be easy for him to be serious and alone, but he's always reaching out to people.

People always say that he's just like me and that is about the best compliment someone can give me.

Happy, happy birthday, baby boy! You are so loved.

Life Under Rocks

I found two cupcakes on top of my refrigerator.

Jackpot! Right?

But I didn't know if my husband had hid them up there for us or if he was saving them for the kids. So I was going to text him.

"I can haz cupcake?"

But I knew he wouldn't get it and I'd get a big ole' "What?" back.

Why wouldn't he get it? Because he lives under a rock.

I've always known this about him. I put up with it. But sometimes it's flabbergasting.

Just the other day I was telling him a creepy story I heard about Tom Cruise buying an engagement ring for Katie Holmes after their first date.

And my husband responded, "So, what? Tom Cruise is married now?"

What the heck? Seriously? Seriously? How could he not know about TomKat? Katie even lived in our former town while filming Mad Money and took little Suri to our Target.

My husband says that he has no reason to pay attention to anything not related to war or hockey. But how could you have ears and eyes and not know about Tom Cruise?

I wonder if he's warm and cozy living under his rock. Or is he cold and alone being the only person in the world to be buried that deep.

Left Behind

This morning I am baking, oh, about a thousand more cookies. This time for the my husband's division.

So I was preheating the oven just a bit ago and it started to smell like Thanksgiving in the house. I figured some turkey juices had dripped on the bottom of the oven, so I opened the door to check.

Nope.

Not turkey juices.

There was a whole casserole dish full of uncooked stuffing in the oven!

Sure we had the stuffing that actually fit in the bird, but I could have sworn we were missing the rest of it. But I was sick on Thanksgiving day and my mother and husband insisted that we were not, so I went with it.

I was denied a whole week's worth of stuffing leftovers!

Stuffing makes me happier than just about anything in the world! Someone is going to pay!

Do you think I'd get salmonella if I cooked it up and ate it now?

My Future Civil Engineer

I spent my afternoon in my son's first grade classroom helping him make his own personal little gingerbread estate. Although truth be told, I did very little helping. My boy is one independent kid.

I had fun. It is a really sweet little tradition. Seeing what the different kids came up with was amazing.

Before he took a little tour around the class and saw what his classmates had done, my son's house was pristine. Every little bit had a story like there was a bear family watching for Santa and a sled to carry presents.

But the other kids' houses were basically huge mounds of candy with arches and steeples. In a last ditch "Oh, I could have done that!" moment he dumped a bunch of candy on his plate.

The whole thing didn't even make it home before he was asking if he could eat it.

Thanksgiving Day

A Thanksgiving Joke:

Why did the turkey cross the road?

Because it was the chicken's day off.

My son, who wants to be a movie star when he grows up, tried this joke out in the kitchen today while we were cooking. When he didn't get a big laugh, he decided to try the joke out on Grandpa, but with rewritten lines.

Why did the turkey cross the road?

Because it didn't want to be meat-i-fied.

Maybe he will be a movie star. Directors will hate him anyway.

Let me take a moment to be a little corny today and reflect on the many things I am thankful for.

I am thankful for my husband, who stands by me no matter what. I am thankful for my kids and their good hearts. I am thankful for all those people who love me just for being me. I am thankful for the resources to live a good life while still doing exactly what I want to do on a daily basis.

And I am thankful for this little spot on the web where I get to be just who I want to be, and I am thankful for all of you who care enough to check in from time to time.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Show and Tell

My son was Student of the Week for his class this week. That meant he got to bring a show-and-tell everyday. On Tuesday he brought his violin and played for his class.

His teacher was so impressed she made him play for his music teacher and a bunch of other classrooms. "I made him play about twenty songs!" she told me.

He was very proud. Last night he told me he overheard someone in the bathroom say that he played better than the fifth graders in orchestra.

He does.

This morning I told him he had to pick something very special to bring for show-and-tell. He asked, "Can I bring my sister?" How sweet is that?

The Penalty Box (Three Hours for Roughing)

Just a couple of days ago my husband mentioned how the kids were bugging him because they were bickering. We have a zero tolerance policy on bickering, pouting and whining in our house (at least for the kids) so we are especially sensitive to them getting on each other's nerves.

So I told him my strategy for dealing with bickering siblings. I tell them they're not allowed to play together.

This morning I was awoken by sobbing kids and an incredulous husband. My daughter was playing a handheld game (which she's not supposed to because she is grounded) and she wouldn't share with her brother.

So he squeezed her arm.

So she bit his head.

She bit his head! What the heck?

My husband sent them to separate rooms. Then he told them they were not allowed to be near each other.

They could do anything they wanted anywhere in the house or yard, they just couldn't do it together.

And so we got to endure three hours of crying children. They sobbed. They wailed. They each sat in a bathroom and cried their eyes out. All because they couldn't play together.

Apparently they...like...love each other. And they are so sorry they hurt each other. And they miss each other so much.

It was hilarious. But effective.

And the girl is in even more trouble than she was when she cut her hair or ate her Easy Bake Oven mixes. I wish I knew of such an easy way to deal with all of her other issues too. I guess I just have to find something to take away from her that she loves as much as her brother.

A Long One Off My Chest

I was talking to a friend about the trouble the kids were having in school and he sent me this message"

"Umm...just a thought...but gifted children who aren't challenged enough (read: the school is "easy") are more likely to get into trouble because they are bored and are racing ahead to the next thing. I have a feeling your kids might be in that category and maybe it isn't hard enough for them. Easy is not a good thing for smart children. Maybe this isn't it...but it could be."

Well, I think my friend is on to something.

Here's the thing, and don't hate me for saying this, but having smart kids does not equal having easier kids. In fact, I think it can be quite the opposite.

So here's the deal. My son is having trouble staying focused in school. They don't have a math specialist so the extent of his math enrichment is to have extra work every day. But while he's suppose to be doing his extra work, the lower level reading groups are meeting feet away.

Apparently, he keeps answering their questions for them.

I really do think that he is bored. The class is still working on math facts to 10. He's doing carrying and borrowing and money related word problems. He's starting multiplication, but here's the kicker. He's not learning any of this stuff at school. The teacher gives him math sheets she finds online and I teach him the problem solving process at home.

Basically, I'm home schooling him in the three waking hours he has at home.

Oh, and I have to mention that the homework for first grade is to correct all of the mistakes from that day's work at home. He doesn't have any mistakes.

But my daughter is another story. She got demerits for forgetting homework at home or completing the wrong homework. Her problem is that she is incredibly messy and therefor unorganized. But that is fixable.

The real problem is that she isn't her happy self. She told us she is "nervous all the time". That is a huge red flag for an anxiety disorder.

Except we've known she's an anxious, sensitive kid since she was a newborn. There is a fine line between having a nervous personality and having an anxiety disorder. So her doctor, teachers and I have been watching it carefully. And she never has tripped over that line. She's matured every year.

We could chalk her anxiety up to the fact that she moved to a new school, but I sensed it was more than that.

So I met with her teacher yesterday. In our long talk she revealed a few things to me that I think sum up our problems. She is a veteran teacher but she told me that she has never had such a discipline problem in a class before. She said the kids are out of control. And I told her, "My daughter said that she feels like you're really frustrated and anxious."

An anxious kid can not have an anxious teacher. She needs her teacher to be a rock. A touchstone of sanity. It bothers my daughter a lot when other kids misbehave. When other kids are mean to each other, she can barely handle it.

Her teacher also told me that she has a major gap in the class. This is supposed to be the enrichment level course but she has only a few kids (my daughter included) who can really keep up. So she hasn't been doing the creative, engaging things she usually does.

Her answer is to get the literacy specialist to pull the smart kids out for some more enrichment.

But most of all, my daughter does not feel known. Her teacher asked me to tell her about some of the things my daughter really enjoyed at her old school. When I told her that she loved drama and music and had been the lead in the grade-level play she was astounded. When I mentioned something about violin, she said that she didn't know my daughter played.

(Never mind how she told me they used to do grade-level plays and they used to do a multicultural celebration--which made me want to say, "and some day we'll used to have gone to your school." We're paying $16,000 a year for used to!)

So, back to my point, we're sending my daughter to talk to a school councilor. I'm just hoping she'll benefit from the adult connection.

Her teacher did say one very interesting thing, though. She said that my daughter is "so mature and just on another level completely". Which is probably why adult connections are so important to her. What we always considered immaturity--not being interested in the High School Musical-type crap, not caring about clothes or hair, not making clique connections---although good immaturity (i.e. innocence) was really a level of maturity that so transcends her peers that she doesn't fit in.

Hmmmm. I wouldn't go that far, but it is something to think about.

So I have hated this school since the beginning. Not because it is a bad school but because it doesn't fit with our family. And because the level of education doesn't even come close to what we're paying for or what we had at Southfield. But I kept wanting to give it a chance. Just because I'm unhappy doesn't mean the kids are.

But I still knew we'd apply to the other two similar school (where we were wait-listed) for next year. We even looked into public schools which are excellent here.

Then I was leaving our violin practice last week and took a different turn through the teacher's neighborhood than I usually do. And I drove by a school we only paid cursory attention to when we were moving because it was so small.

Then we went to a violin workshop and I found out that one of the families goes to that school. I decided to call.

It turned out they were having an open house the next night.

And I have found a ray of hope.

Who are these children?

No one ever told me that parenting would be easy. But, dang. This is awful.

The kids are both struggling in school.

If they were struggling because this school is harder than their last one, that would be one thing. But, no. In fact they both think that this school is "easy". And, I think, therein lies the problem.

The boy has trouble focusing. The girl got three demerits this semester (two in the last two days).

Who are these children?

Coincidentally, we are going to visit a new school tonight. I don't blame the school we chose for our problems. I place all of the blame squarely at my own feet. (Well, mine and the kids themselves.) But I don't feel like I have any support or understanding at the "easy" school and that is making everything harder.

If it wasn't for the few moments of overwhelming joy, I don't think anyone would want to be parents at all.

At times like this, I feel like a sad kid at summer camp. All I can think is, I want to go home! I knew I loved their old school but I truly had no idea just what an excellent education they were getting on the bayou.

No Such Thing as Too Big

On Friday night, I opened my door for about the 20th time to a group of trick-or-treaters. But one little boy didn't hold out his candy bag.

He looked up. He looked at me. He shook his head.

"Your house is a mansion," he said in an accusatory tone.

I laughed a bit. My house is far from a mansion.

"It is too big," he added.

Well, thank you for the reality check little ninja boy. I guess it is all in the eye of the beholder. Now take your Whoppers and skadootch.

The Case of the Pumpkin Poop

A couple of weekends ago, the kids and I went to a produce stand and picked out the most perfect pumpkins I've ever seen. They were so excited to carve them. So last weekend we dug in.

Of course they think pumpkin guts are disgusting so I spent about an hour scooping and scraping those bad boys.

My son decided to freehand a jack-o-lantern face and some stars and it came out great (once I did all the cutting)

But my daughter really wanted to carve something more elaborate.

She had a book of patterns and she was considering some of the more challenging designs. I kept saying, "Are you sure, Honey? That's going to be pretty hard." But she was determined.

About an hour into her carving she announced, "This is harder than I thought it would be."

"Do you want some help?" I asked.

"No. I want to do it." And she kept plugging away.

I have to admit that once I put the candle in, I was incredibly impressed. How cool is this?

She was so very proud of herself.

I didn't want to put the pumpkins outside because I was afraid they'd get smashed. Or that wild animals would eat them. So I put them on the hearth by the fireplace.

But I made a mistake. When I went to blow out the candle before bed I thought for a second that the design had caved in. Or, I don't know, melted.

It took me a second to realize that the design on the pumpkin has been eaten off by our own little wild animal. Buffy the wonder puppy ate my daughter's pumpkin.

It never even occurred to me that a dog would eat a pumpkin. It certainly never occurred to me that a five pound dog would eat about five pounds of pumpkin rind.

In the morning I had to break it to my daughter. She was so upset. I felt so bad for her.

My husband took her to get another pumpkin and the two of them recreated another wolf design. It is now rotting high up away from the dog on my kitchen counter. But Buffy is still in the dog house.

Happy 4th birthday you pain-in-the-butt pumpkin eater. You're not coming out of your room until you stop pooping orange.

Cursing Geese

When I pulled into the parking lot at the zoo for my son's field trip, I had a hard time parking. The lot was filled with Canadian geese.

I thought as I drove slowly toward them that they would fly away, but they didn't even waddle. They didn't even shake their tail feathers. They just looked at me.

I managed to weave through the sea of Christmas dinner to pull into a spot, but I was wondering how the kids' school bus was going to get through.

I had to wait for about ten minutes for my son's class to arrive, but the zoo kindly provided entertainment. After just a couple of minutes, two big, working class-type guys came out in green zoo jumpsuits.

They started walking toward the geese, and the geese ignored them as well as they had ignored me in my car. So the guys started waving their arms. The geese deigned to turn their heads and look at them.

The guys started yelling.

The geese started walking. All in different directions. And slowly.

Before long these guys were skipping and jumping and screaming. I think one even managed to turn a cartwheel before the geese were finally annoyed enough to leave.

You may think that geese say honk, honk. But I swear, as they flew away to a nearby pond, those geese called obscenities to those guys.

Listen closely the next time you see geese flying overheard. I know you'll hear it too.

I wouldn't be surprised if the guys cars were covered in giant goose poo when they left work that night.

Another Weird Day

It's another weird, out-of-sync day. My daughter is home sick.

Yesterday I was on a field trip to the zoo with my son's first grade class when I missed a call from the school nurse about my daughter. So she stayed in the school clinic for a couple of hours until I checked my messages.

I felt so, so bad.

I also feel like the school nurse must think I send my kids to school sick and then she gets to clean up their puke. But she assured me that they are "the sweetest kids" even when they are vomiting on her, so that's good.

Of course my daughter feels fine today but she's not allowed back at school until tomorrow. It's funny because she doesn't know what to do without her brother around. I told her it was a great chance to watch any movie she wanted and play any computer game she wanted without her brother bugging her, but she wasn't impressed.

Nim's Island, Poptropica, EverydayMath games, and violin practice later, she's bored.

Can you imagine if we had decided to let her be an only child? I think I owe my son a cookie.

Only My Kids

My poor, little boy is home from school. The school nurse called at lunch time to tell me that he had thrown up in the cafeteria and I needed to come pick him up.

When I got there he was standing in the doorway with his backpack on his back looking and acting totally normal. So I asked him if he had thrown up a lot or a little and the nurse quickly piped up to say, "A lot!" She also informed me in the kindest way possible that he should stay home tomorrow too.

The boy isn't happy about that. He hates to miss school. Both of my kids have been trying desperately to have perfect attendance at school for the last three years. They're still mad at me for taking them out of school last year to come house hunting at the beach.

"Well," I told my son. "At least you're not missing soccer or anything. You don't have anything you have to do today."

"No," he answered. "I still have to do my homework."

I asked, "Did your teacher bring you your backpack with your homework?"

"No," he answered again. "When I got to the clinic the nurse wasn't there so I went to my classroom to get all the work I didn't do yet. I didn't want to fall behind if I had to miss school."

Only my kid. Only my son would think that way.

And my daughter? She's weird too.

This weekend we bought a new little CD player. While we were cleaning up the family room I put it on and searched for a radio station to play. Well, I cruised right by the classical music station looking for some pop music when my daughter stopped me.

"Mom! Put it back. I like the orchestra music!"

And the two kids cleaned happily listening to some classical music I couldn't identify if my life depended on it.

But when the orchestra music changed to opera music, I figured they probably had enough and I could find some decent music to listen to. But oh, no.

"Mom! That singing was beautiful. I find it soothing. Put it back!"

What the heck kind of roll reversal is that? All I want is some good Fergie or Maroon 5 and my kids are naming composers. (I couldn't even spell orchestra without the spell checker!)

Only my kid.

If I didn't see with my own eyes that they waste time playing Nintendo and enjoy hours playing pretend I would think they were being raised like little, hot house freaks.

My son is currently sitting on the floor playing Lego's and watching Spongebob. And I'm sitting here thinking that maybe I should go back to school and get a degree in music appreciation just to keep up with them.

Reason I'm a Bad Friend #236

Every year I insist that I am going to get my Christmas shopping done early. Of course I never do. That would be...almost...sacrilgeous. Or unpatriotic. Frenzied late-December shopping is as American as apple pie and church gossip.

But still, this year, I tried again.

The kids' school made it easy with their fall fundraiser. They sold Virginia Diner peanuts, including Hokie Nuts.

Since one of my best friends back in Louisiana is a Virginia native and Virginia Tech alum, I bought her an assortment of Hokie Nuts. Even chocolate-covered peanuts.

They sat in their box on top of my kitchen cabinets until I got PMS.

Then I ate her chocolate-covered nuts.

I figured I'd just order more and complete the set again. But then I got depressed because I ate my best friend's chocolate nuts, and I dug into the other two cans too.

This resulted in a week full of nut innuendos and a lifetime of guilt for me.

So today I'm going to order more nuts. And hide them better from myself. (And order a whole set of backup nuts because I know myself too well.)

Are You Kidding Me?

I walked out of my house at 2:00 today to go gas up the car and pick up the kids at 3:20.

When I hit the little unlock button on my car door handle nothing happened. No little beep. I had left my "keyless" key fob in the house. Along with my house key.

As I tried the front door, I mumbled a plea. "Oh, please, oh, please, oh, please." To no avail. It was locked.

No problem, I thought. There are four other entry ways to this house that no one ever remembers to lock.

All locked.

There was a brief moment of hope when I found the garage door opener. But the door from the garage to the house was locked.

More hope when I found a set of keys. To our garage door back in Shreveport and my husband's Chevelle on Cape Cod.

No need to panic yet. My husband has time enough to get to the kids. Thank goodness I have my phone.

Twenty calls, e-mails and texts go unanswered.

Okay. I have a shed and a garage full of tools and glass in my doors. A hammer, crowbar and jumbo hedge trimmers will not shatter that glass. I am weak. I briefly consider using the circular saw to cut a hole in the door.

By now, an hour has gone by and I realize that even if I got in now, I could never get to the kids on time. I call the school and ask them to put the kids in after school care.

Finally, FINALLY, my husband calls me back.

"Did you try the back door?" he asks.

Is he kidding me!

He is on his way to get the kids. I am on the back porch blogging from my Treo.

At least it's not raining. At least I know it would take a criminal more determined than me to get into my house.

No criminal could be more determined than I was to get to my children today.

Tonight we get a spare key made. My heart can't take this again.

Who's Minding the Store?

My husband did the sweetest thing this weekend.

He surprised me on Saturday by taking me to a piano store. He was going to buy me a piano, probably used, maybe even a used digital, but still. A piano.

He did a bunch of research and found this place online. It was highly rated and they also donate pianos to the kids' music academy which provides music education to underprivileged children.

I expected to be accosted by a sale's person the second we walked in the door. But the bing bong didn't seem to attract anyone.

Then we realized that there was a man snoring at his desk in the back of the store.

We tried to surreptitiously wake him. We cleared throats and spoke to the kids. We bing bonged the door one more time. But he kept on snoring.

We checked out the inventory but the longer we were there the more afraid we became that when we finally woke him up, he'd have a heart attack.

Even in sleep he looked about one juicy steak away from a heart attack anyway.

I was started to get the creeps and decided that we must leave right away.

We did stop at the kitchen design shop right next door, though. We were worried that the guy would get accosted and robbed.

And so I didn't get my piano. But I did pick out some awesome Black Galaxy granite counter tops.

It never pays to sleep on the job.

Home Sick

I am sad.

I miss my old friends.

I miss sending the kids to a school I felt good about.

I miss having a purpose in my life outside of raising my kids and building my marriage.

I miss who I was back in Louisiana.

Mostly, I miss my friends.

A couple of days ago my husband regretfully informed me that there is a possibility we will be heading back to the bayou in two or three years.

I wasn't sad about that. Can you believe it? It is quite telling.

So, today, I post myself a sappy reminder of what it is all about.


When I can't give them the world, it hurts so much.

Who is this woman?

Sometimes, simply because I am a parent, I find myself doing things that I never imagined I would.

I had this thought last night as I was working to change the chinrest on a violin.

My life A.D. (After Daughter, as opposed to life B.C. or Before Children) has including a string of out-of-body moments where I look down on myself happily doing something completely out of character.

It started in the very beginning when I changed my daughter's first diaper. I had never handled another human being's poop before. I couldn't even imagine myself doing it until I did.

Now that my children are older I find myself doing even more out-of-character things. Designing costumes, tuning violins, organizing fundraisers, substitute teaching and interacting with other people's children. These may seem like such ordinary things to every one else but when I catch myself doing them, sometimes I step back and say, "Who is this woman? I don't know her at all!"

I think the rate of change is all out of whack. One day you're suddenly a parent and your world is completely different. But over the next few years, you so gradually change from the parent of a baby, to the parent of a toddler, to the parent of a kid, to the parent of a preteen...

It happens so slowly on a daily basis but sometimes you stop and look back, shocked to find that your offspring aren't still in diapers.

What's most amazing to me is that, generally speaking, I am so happy with who I've become. I could never have imagined back in college that I would one day be this person.

Last week I was seeking some advice from the people who know me best. And without fail, every one of them said the same thing to me, in almost the exact same words.

"You've been doing for others for so long. Isn't it time you did something for yourself?"

I thought and thought about it and I finally came to realize something. It has all been for me. This...thing...this motherhood thing is what makes me the happiest. I've been "doing for myself" all along.

And doesn't that just make me one unbelievably lucky woman?

Your Beeswax, Mind It

One thing I like about our new digs is the conveniently located shopping plaza in our neighborhood. I'm not sure I've ever lived anywhere where it was so easy to quickly drop off some dry cleaning or pick up a few groceries.

The downside is that it is easy to pick up that food you're craving but know you shouldn't have. And they sell 100 Grand bars. I love those damn things.

We also love the doughnuts in the bakery there. Well, I love doughnuts in general, just on principle, but theirs are especially yummy.

Yesterday I gave in and went and bought four doughnuts. It's bad enough that the doughnuts are so easily accessible to me. I thought I was doing pretty good to buy just one for each of us.

And then the cashier lady yelled at me!

She was mad that I bought four when I could have a dozen for less money.

At first I laughed it off, "Oh, I know. But I don't want all those doughnuts in the house."

But she scoffed at me. She scoffed! She yelled and rolled her eyes and told me I was wasting money.

What the heck, lady? You're not my mother. I don't remember asking for your opinion. If the eight cents I wasted means that much to you, you can have it.

Our friendly neighborhood grocery doesn't feel so friendly anymore.

Not Old Enough

I busted my husband last night.

I was waiting for him to come home with my daughter after soccer practice so I kept watching out the front window. So I saw his car pull into the cul-de-sac. And I saw my daughter sitting in the front seat.

He beat my daughter into the house so I asked him, "When did your daughter turn twelve?"

Oh, maybe it's important here to note to you non-parenting types that you're not supposed to let a child under twelve sit in the front seat because it is not safe with the passenger side airbags most cars have today.

Well, that interrupts the flow of a mediocre story. Suddenly I feel like a late night talk show host whose story has gone nowhere. Anyway...

He gave me a sheepish look.

Of course it took my daughter forever to get into the house, because she's...well...her, so I both teased him and let him know that I didn't like that at all. He was so busted.

I decided not to say anything to her because I knew she would feel so guilty.

My son wasn't privy to any of this. But this morning as we were pulling though the drop off area at school he loudly pointed out, "Look! That little girl is in the front seat. That's not a good idea!"

My daughter got instantly silent.

But my son went on and on. "That's dangerous. Her daddy should know better."

I swear my son and I aren't in cahoots. We're just two peas in a rule following pod.

Old Enough

Any kid who turns seven-years-old today--or any kid younger than seven--was born into a post-9/11 world.

In fact, I think any kid who will turn seven between today and nine months from today belongs to a special group of 9/11 babies.

There is a whole subset of women out there who were pregnant on that day. The women who were pregnant and lost husbands and lovers on that day will always belong to a group of amazing women who have a special place in the heart of America. But there are American women everywhere who bore babies into a world they hadn't thought they would have to.

I'm one of those women. I was almost seven months pregnant on September 11, 2001. My son was born in December.

Those 9/11 babies are starting first grade now.

Those 9/11 babies are old enough to ask questions.

Those 9/11 babies are old enough to realize that something is...different.

One day this summer I took the kids to a little New York-style pizza place near our house. They have a huge mural on one wall of a pre-9/11 Manhattan skyline.

My son who is fascinated by all things New York-related was naming the buildings. But he didn't know what those two tall, "twin" buildings were.

My daughter, oh-so-sophisticated and educated on the matter, told him that they were the Twin Towers that were knocked down by terrorists. And he started to ask questions.

So I sat there in a little dive pizza place and told my son all about it.

I told him how much had changed in the world. I told him how many people died, how many kids lost parents. He was taking it in and I was doing okay, until I told him about how it had effected us.

I told him that this was why his father has had to go away so much. I told him that this was why Daddy was gone for most of his baby years.

I couldn't help tearing up. Those were the hardest words I had ever had to say. Kids born into the post 9/11 world, especially those born those few months right after, especially New York kids, and especially military kids, are different.

Maybe they are better than they would have been. Maybe they are worse. But they are different.

And now they are old enough to understand, to learn about it in school.

Every year on this day I have one prevailing thought. We were so lucky. Lucky that my husband was here for his son's birth. Lucky that my husband wasn't at the Pentagon that day. Lucky that the chain reaction of political events that eventually sent my husband to Baghdad did not kill him.

Most of all, lucky to have our post-9/11 and our pre-9/11 children in our lives. And lucky that they feel secure enough to talk to us about it.

What's Up with the Girl

My daughter and I spent yesterday together. It was nice to have time alone with her. She is growing up so amazingly fast and our times alone are few and far between.

She's been up to so much lately.

First of all, a few weeks after we arrived here this summer she tried out for an advanced soccer team. And she made it. I was so proud of her. I wasn't sure how she would hold up here in a new soccer system, but she's been doing just fine. Tonight she starts a special clinic that is supposed to prepare her to try out for the next level up (the travel team) next year.

She's also been rocking the violin. We're on day 81 of our 100 day practice challenge. Her goal is to graduate this level (Book 2) this year and she's right on track.

She has been fitting in well at school so far. She made a best friend and talks about one boy all the time. Those two kids actually won the student council elections so it sounds like she wormed her way in with the popular kids.

She was tested last week to be placed in the right level math and language arts classes. She ended up in Intermediate Math (Yay! All that summer work paid off.) and Intermediate Language Arts. (Boo. She's been testing in the 99th percentile up until now.)

Yesterday we got our hair cut. She sat patiently and waited for my stylist to finish my cut for over an hour and a half. Then we had lunch on the patio of her favorite restaurant. She couldn't stop telling me how happy she was.

We concluded our day with a trip to the bookstore and The Talk. You know...The Talk.

She really is growing up fast.

She's such a good kid. Completely good hearted, empathetic and kind. She wants to be a veterinarian when she grows up, but she's also been writing novels in her spare time. (She's done more writing in the last few months than I have.)

She can drive me completely nuts, but I love her and appreciate her more than I could ever say.

The Best Excuse

Today my husband opened up the washing machine, took out his wet flight suits, hung them up, and left all of the other laundry in there.

When I asked him about it he said, and I quote, "I didn't know what you wanted to do with that laundry."

Well, my plan was to let the wet clothes sit in there until they started to mold and made the house smell like we were hiding dead people in the crawl space, so I'm glad he didn't do anything as radical as put them in the dryer.

Clothes Make the Kid

Now that public school is in session here, I realized something.

The public school kids here don't wear uniforms.

In Louisiana, every school--public or private--had uniforms, except for ours.

Not only did our kids not wear uniforms, they were encouraged to wear "play clothes" because learning is a "dirty business" and no kid should have to worry about their clothes.

And let me tell you, wear play clothes they did. My kids wore jeans and t-shirts daily.

Our new school has a new dress code. No jeans and all shirts must have collars. But since the policy is still new, you can tell that a lot of parents are stretching its limitations. But I'm a rule follower so I have spent an inordinate amount of time trying to find clothes that fit my kids' personalities but still fit the dress code.

I hated wearing a uniform to school as a kid. In sixth grade, when I was well into puberty and had the body of an eighteen year old, I had to wear a jumper. And my uniforms always had...gulp...buttons and so grossed me out.

What about you? Did you wear uniforms to school? And did it affect you at all, because let me tell you...

After all those years of Catholic school uniforms I broke out in college. Nothing but soccer shorts and sweatshirts for me. With Teva sandals. And socks.

You know, come to think of it, I still dress like that today. Damn plaid jumpers.

How the Olympics are Ruining My Life

I've noticed that I'm not the only person out there looking haggard and worn this week. I've been staying up late, just like everyone else, watching the Olympics.

I don't mean to. Every night I tell myself that I've already read the results, I don't really care about ping pong, and sleep is more important than yelling at yet another judge.

But I keep watching. I keep getting sucked back in. I can understand staying up to watch Michael Phelps win gold, or the drama of teenage girls contorting themselves on a balance beam, or even the bevy of tight muscles so well displayed on divers, beach volleyball players and world class runners.

But last night I stayed up all night watching walking.

Walking!

I stayed up all night watching men swivel their hips around a sidewalk for four hours.

What the heck?

Why are the Olympics so compelling?

I'd like mornings better if they started later.

The world is an entirely different place at 6 in the morning.

I rarely see this hour.

This past weekend, my husband took the kids on an unexpected little road trip to see his mother. Over my three days of alone time I totally messed up my sleep. Without anything or anyone to wake up for I slept until I wasn't tired anymore. Which meant that I slept until almost 3 in the afternoon last Friday. (I must have been really tired!) Which meant that I couldn't fall asleep at all that night. And the damage was done.

But when I felt unexpectedly tired at 9 last night, I followed my husband to bed and hoped that my problem was solved.

But I was wide awake by 1 a.m. and couldn't stand to stay in bed another moment.

I so fervently wish that I could be a morning person. This morning I got to hang out and chat with my husband while he got ready for work. I got to spend some quality time with my son who is sickeningly happy in the morning. He was even dancing! And I got to sip coffee while the men in my life had bacon and eggs. It was nice.

I feel like if I could just wake up at 6 a.m. every morning my life we be so much better. All of my problems would be fixed. I'd be the kind of person who exercises and folds laundry right out of the drier. I'd be the kind of person who saves money and has a hobby. I'd be the kind of person who has a clean house and...does stuff.

My teeth would be white. My hair would blow in a constant wind. And I'd wear...outfits!

I could star in my own pharmaceutical commercial!

But, alas, even typing this entry has taxed me too much. A morning of penance for a long weekend full of sloth could never turn me into what I most certainly am not; a white-teethed, blowing-haired, non-slothed exerciser who folds laundry whilst scrapbooking and balancing my checkbook.

I pretty much am the stereotypical housewife who sits on her butt eating bon bons all day and it is time I embrace it! After I go have a nap.

This morning sun is killing me.

Update on House

I'm still only about 40% unpacked in the new house. I'm still living out of a suitcase. Pathetic, I know. I guess I forgot that I still had to live life while I was unpacking.

So last night I spent an house really scrubbing and organizing the kitchen, breakfast area, and family room just so I could take a picture of that space and stick them in a blog post entitled Light at the End of the Tunnel.

But when I came downstairs this morning, the family room looked like this:

Must remind myself:

a) Train tracks are a great toy for kids

b) My son is developing his mind as he plays

c) I'm lucky my kids will play so quietly and happily together

(The tracks are his doing, the animals and people are her doing.)

Check out those wood floors though.

Clean and nice homes are only worth so much. Even if I am going to kill the dog for peeing on our brand new (expensive) area rug AGAIN!

I'll Be There for You

I know my husband goes to work everyday. I know he works in a cubicle farm.

I couldn't tell you what he was doing if my life depended on it. And neither could he.

I'm married to Chandler Bing!

Oh, he could spew a bunch of meaningless Air Force jargon and acronyms at you, but even he doesn't know what that stuff means.

And he's already planning on doing this stuff for the rest of his life. Or, as he corrected me, "Not the rest of my life. Just until the kids are out of college." Which is (twelve plus four, carry the one...)16 more years!

He says he likes it here so much that he's willing to do whatever it takes to stay here until his military retirement in seven years. Even if it means taking a year tour of Iraq or wherever.

I find it hard to believe that my warrior can truly be happy working in a cubicle. I'm worried about him.

His work used to be all consuming. He was about family and the mission, in that order. Now I'm worried that he needs more.

For the first time in years and years, I'm worried that I need more. It's funny because he'll do anything to make me happy. And I'll do anything to make him happy.

I hope we're not cancelling each other out!

Slipped the Surly Bonds of Earth

We lost three friends in Sunday's B-52 crash.

An old friend we went through aviation training with
An old friend who was a squadron-mate for four years
And a young student of my husband's

My heart is breaking for their families, especially their young children. And the other three crew member's families as well. It is a sad time in our corner of the world. It all hits very close to home.

May they live on in the hearts of their fellow aviators.

High Flight

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long delirious, burning blue,
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew -
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high untresspassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand and touched the face of God.

Pilot Officer Gillespie Magee
No 412 squadron, RCAF
Killed 11 December 1941

Happy Birthday with Vertical Drops

It's hard to believe that I am the mother of a nine-year-old. That's only one year away from being the mother of a ten-year-old. And that sounds very old.

Since my poor baby girl hasn't had the chance to make friends yet, we decided to take her on a day trip instead of having a party for her birthday. But first we let her open presents and pick a place to have dinner the night before.

She was so cute because she wanted to tell the waitstaff that it was her birthday but she was a tiny bit too shy. My husband did it for her so she got her special dessert complete with singing waiters (good ones too).

Then I helped her make her own cake. She chose to make a French Vanilla cake (from a mix, because I'm not a masochist) with chocolate fudge frosting.




She's quite the decorator.

Making and sharing the cake might have been her favorite part of her birthday especially since it was delicious. But the roller coasters may have topped it.

We went to Busch Gardens Europe and my little scaredy-cat rode every single roller coaster there. Including the Griffon. Which has a straight vertical drop. That they suspend you over for about five seconds. And we were in the front row.

My throat hurts from screaming.

It was nice to see my daughter so happy. Both kids claimed it was the best birthday of their lives (even though it isn't my son's birthday).

Next year...she'll have friends and a party. Hopefully, I will too.

The Prank

Yesterday I took on the biggest job in the house. I unpacked the kids' bathroom.

It was the room with the boxes marked "Upstairs Closet". In our old house, the upstairs closet was the place we stashed all those things that had no other home. And so I found pillowcases from college (gross) and prenatal vitamins (aww).

Occasionally I would knock on my son's bedroom door and deliver things to his room. The kids were in there playing and every time I entered they gave me little smirks and looked at me all squinty and weird.

Okay. That's usually best to ignore.

When I got to my very last box (woo hoo) my son came in and offered to help me. That's not so unusual. I was trying to figure out the size of a fitted sheet and he helped me locate the label. Then he helped me fold it.

As he backed up to have enough room, he casually shut the door. I looked up and caught him with a huge grin on his face, which he immediately wiped away when we made eye contact.

"What?" I asked him, suspicion in my voice.

"Nothing," he replied. "I just like helping you."

And then my daughter ran by giggling like a maniac.

"What are you guys up to?"

My son shook his head. "Oh, man. She ruined it by coming back all silly."

At the same time my daughter called out, "Don't go in your bathroom!"

My son just shook his head more.

Well, I had to go to my bathroom then. I knew what they had done.







Peeing with a fake lizard staring at you is creepier than you would think.

My son cracked me up by being so serious about his deception. He's such a little actor. I think it takes a certain amount of intelligence to pull off a prank when you're six. He had to make a plan and use teamwork. Plus, the fact that he volunteered to be the distractor is too funny.

Tonight I'm going to wait until they fall asleep and put the lizards on their pillows. They'll get a kick out of it.

It's a MoBlog!

Sort of.

I'm blogging from my back deck while I watch the kids swim in the pool. (One of those cheap above ground numbers you can buy at Target.)

I'd be blogging on my husband's laptop and our spiffy new wireless connection but he took it with him on his week-long trip back to Barksdale.

He left me here with two bored kids who only want to swim. I can't leave them in the pool unsupervised so I'm stuck out here on the deck.

Meanwhile, I got two boxes unpacked in the last two days. That's right. Count 'em. Two.

Thank God for soccer camp next week.

I guess the forced rest is kind of nice. It is beautiful here. Too bad gazing at the beautiful landscape only makes me stress about maintaining it.

And there are a lot of bugs. Bugs ruin everything. I'm such an indoor girl.

In other news, I've realized that my skin is more pale than a BandAid.

Maybe some time comuning with the bugs and plants wouldn't kill me.

Update: How about a picture?

The umbrella that my daughter's class decorated and we won at our auction has found a home here.

Square Pegs, Roundish Holes

It is taking us a ridiculous amount of time to unpack here at the new house.

It took me the entire three days between dropping my kids off at my parents and heading back to pick them up just to unpack the kids' bedrooms. Of course unpacking my daughter's room also meant throwing away mounds of stuff I couldn't get rid of when she was around.

The poor packers must have been horrified to have to pack her room. There was a whole box of stuff that they found behind her beds when they moved them. They also packed up a big green garbage bag very neatly in a box.

Unpacking the rest of the house has been an exercise in frustration, like trying to fit a square peg in a round hole. The house is so different from our last one. There are tons more kitchen cabinets, but no medicine cabinets. We lost a playroom and an office, but gained a bedroom and open living room/dining room combo.

I swear it is going to take me a month just to get the essentials unpacked. I'm still living out of a suitcase and after three days of unpacking the kitchen, I still haven't found the plates and glasses.

Complain, complain, complain. I know. I'm in a horrible mood and I wish I could have just stayed in bed all day. (Considering I just got up, I practically did.)

Mouthes of Babes

Yesterday as I was heading out the door to pick up some lunch, my son called out, "Why does Mommy always have to do all the work?"

Heck, yeah, kid! Why is that?

Let's all just ignore for a moment that my husband does more before 9 a.m. than I do all day. Let's ignore his trips to the dump, manual labor, lawn mowing and multiple frustrating fix-its around the house.

Ignore it! Ignore it!

In the eyes of my kid, I do all the work.

And kids always tell the truth, right?

(There's a cookie in the cupboard just for you, Buddy.)

On Swan River

While much has happened in the last couple of weeks, nothing was more noteworthy than my husband's attempt to collect my life insurance policy.

I mean, I know things have been tight lately, but I'm not sure the $300,000 I'm worth dead would be quite enough incentive for him to try and kill me.

You see, while we were on Cape Cod, we had the brilliant idea to take the kids kayaking on a small waterway called Swan River. For only fifty bucks, we could rent two tandem kayaks for an hour and a half. In that amount of time we could either head upriver to Swan Pond or downriver to the ocean side beach.

I was leaning toward Swan Pond.

I was a little nervous about kayaking, as I have never done it before. But when I saw the retired couple gearing up in front of us, I felt a little better. The women overheard my husband ask, "Which way do you want to go?" and piped right up to tell us that the tide was going out so we should head upriver toward the pond.

"You don't want to have to fight the current back up when you're tired," she said. "If you head to the pond, you can practically float back here on the tide." Sounded good to me.

"Did you hear that?" I asked my husband.

"Well, yeah, but I really want to go to the beach," he replied.

"Are you sure? I'm not in very good shape, you know," I felt the need to point out.

"You'll be fine," he assured me as he always does. And we set off.

The first forty-five minutes or so of our trip were quite fun. I was even thinking about buying our own kayak to use on our own much larger river. Then we passed under a bridge. And we saw the ocean.

"I want to turn around!" my son yelled over his shoulder to me.

I have to admit, I was of the same mind. That ocean looked awfully big from that little kayak. But suddenly, we had no choice.

I knew if I stayed broadside against the current for too long that we would get swept away. So I used my paddle as a rudder to make the sharpest turn possible. And then we were headed broadside out into the Atlantic.

My son, clearly the smartest of the whole family, decided he wanted to bail out before we hit the big surf. I agreed. As I screamed for my husband (who had steered himself and my daughter onto a sandbar) to help us my son gracefully climbed out. My husband was able to grab onto our kayak as we passed, and I took a full on header into the water.

We rested for a while on the sandbar, but we knew we'd have to get back upriver somehow. And the tide was going out fast.

After walking the kayaks upriver twenty feet at a time for well over a half hour, my husband decided I was ready to paddle. I lasted for all of about two minutes before I had a total breakdown.

If I stopped paddling at all, we'd start drifting backward toward the ocean again. In my panicked mind at the time, I was fighting for my son's life. Though I kept paddling, even though my arms were on fire I was also sobbing and alternating between crying "I can't do this" and yelling "I'm so mad at your father!"

My husband and daughter ended up towing my son and I back to the rental place. And I haven't been able to life my hands above my waist since then.

I don't know. $300,000 is a lot of money, but my husband should have considered that he'd have to pay for the lost kayak. And that retired woman could have been a witness should my husband have been brought up on murder charges. I'm just not sure if the risk was worth it.

Plus he had to pay for an extra half hour of kayak rental time.

Next time, we head toward the pond.

Safe and Sound

And she posts, at last!

I can't believe it has been about two weeks. That means it's been two weeks since they started packing up my house. It has been two weeks and my life feels completely different. I feel...in flux.

My life that last week in the SBC was absolutely crazy. I turned thirty-five, my friends through me a lunch, we had a million social obligations, my girls finished out their softball season in second place, and my kids bid farewell to the only home they have ever known.

It was pure emotional upheaval. But through it all I was mostly happy. And excited. I really feel like we're headed to bigger and better things.

It took us two days to drive up to our new home. My husband pulled the U-haul with his truck and I schlepped the kids and the dog. I have never been so happy to arrive at a destination.

My parents had planned to meet us here and entertain the kids while we received our household goods, but our plans got all mucked up. First the movers took a few days longer than expected and then my parents had some doctors appointments they had to keep.

So I continued schlepping the kids another ten hours north to my parents' house. They are ecstatic to be keeping them for a few days while we get started setting up the house. My father hadn't seen the kids in almost a year. Of course I had to drive ten hours back home too.

Our stuff finally arrived yesterday. I wouldn't say it was a smooth move, but at least everything we own is in our new house. Everything we have tried to do, from fixing a leaky faucet to installing new hardwood floor has been a challenge. Nothing is going right.

But everything is great. I am so happy to be in this town. I miss my kids terribly but I dread driving even more to go up and spend some vacation time with them. If I never drive long distance again, I'll be happy.

My husband is dying to get a little vacation time, but I just want to hunker down and make my new house a home.

The State of Homes

I just got the following message from our lawyer about our house closing:

"Everything went great. I'll put your keys and your copy of the documents our front for your Realtor."

So, it's official. We're homeowners again! Yay!

We also had our initial base housing inspection this morning. In the past, before base housing was privatized, you basically had to remove any evidence that humans ever lived in your home before they would let you sign out. We always paid professionals to do the cleaning for us.

But the new private company swore to us that it wasn't necessary to clean like that. I just had trouble believing them. I've done this too many times before.

And so I was up at 3 a.m. this morning to clean our two and a half baths.

Incidentally, it took me an hour and twenty-three minutes to clean them all. It is official. My family is disgusting. And my fingertips are red and raw today.

I took the dog and went to pump gas while the housing people were here. I just couldn't bear to watch them walk through and judge my house.

Their conclusion? "It looks much better than most."

It is official. I am a domestic goddess. Just one who makes big messes before I clean them up.

I finally feel like this move is really happening. I guess I better start packing, huh?

Where's Moses when you need him?

My kids are darn lucky I love them.

This morning just as we were getting ready to leave for school, my husband got a call that the base was closed due to flooding.

Of course this happens on a day when my son has a field trip he's been looking forward to for a month and my daughter has her dress rehearsal for her play.

Oh, the joys of living on base!

So I loaded us all up into the car anyway and headed to the base gate. I had to plead my way off base by basically promising not to come back. But besides having a meeting at school this morning, I figured I could meet up with my son at SciPort and make a day of it.

Well, it turns out the field trip was canceled. The meeting was short. My daughter darn well better have had that dress rehearsal or we could have just stayed home!

I spent a couple of hours driving around flooded streets just waiting for them to open the base gates so I could get home. And just as I drive through them I hear on the radio that they are closing all the public schools. I figured our school wouldn't be far behind. Especially since they had three feet of water in commons area.

My husband came home right then too, as his building has no power and he is locked out of his office. Since his truck keys were in the office, he got a ride home from a friend.

Ten seconds after he walked in the door, every phone we have rang at the same time with an emergency message from our school. They are closed now too.

So I drove my husband back to his truck with spare keys and he is off to pick up the kids. They say the base is closed until noon now. I had a hard time just getting back though the flooded streets of our neighborhood.

I really hope he can make it home with the kids. It wouldn't be fun for them to be stuck out in these horrible conditions. The waters are rising fast.

Man, if only I didn't love my kids so much, we all could have slept in and avoided it all!

Under Construction!

As we move on from Barksdale Air Force Base, this will be the the home of the Continuing Adventures of Major Mom.

After spending a year blogging as Major Mom at RedRiverMoms.Com, it is time for us to PCS and relocate to beautiful Virginia Beach, Virginia. I was a little sad to leave my old blog behind since it served as a great connection to so many of my friends and family.

So why not start anew?

Check back for updates as the Fisher family takes off for the wild blue yonder (or at least the blue skies of Virginia Beach).