Friday, September 30, 2011

Foiled Again

Will called his dad over.  Sternly … when he had to call again.  “Dad come.”  Will handed him his iPad.  (Delete, delete, delete.)  Will says, “Moo, Baa, La La La.”  Will’s dad starts to type.  Will grabs the iPad.  (Delete, delete, delete.) 

Brianne helpfully gives her father some advice.  “Add spaces between the words.”

The app comes up.  Will pushes the button to buy it and hands it over.  “I don’t know the password.”  His father tells him ruefully.   Will looks at him in disgust and types in “password.”  It doesn’t work.

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

There Goes the Exercise Plan

I told Cheryl that if Will stopped by her house again when he was out for a walk and asked for a ride home, not to give him one.  She looked at me, her face equal parts aghast and concerned.

“… um, never mind.”  I said

She looked at me.  “And even if I wouldn’t my husband would.”  She stated flatly.

Friday, September 23, 2011

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

“Girls like boys who have skills”

I cajoled Brianne into taking Will for a walk around the neighborhood as part of our “Reduce the Mass of William” Campaign.  (Don’t give me grief – you would do the same if your twelve year-old was about double the size of your fourteen year-old!)  Will does not love to go on walks.

They had walked up the short hill and down the long when Will took off across the lawn towards a house.  Bri saw that the TV was on in the house and was worried that Will was going to burst through the door and sit down!  She grabbed hold of his arm.  “Will stop!”  She commanded.  He ignored her command and dragged her towards the door.  (He also has about 50 pounds on my fifteen year-old.)

He ran the doorbell.

Bri was embarrassed until my friend Cheryl answered the door.  Will looked at Cheryl.  He walked over to her car, opened the door and got in.  When Bri followed him, Will locked the door.  Cheryl looked at Will and went to get her purse.  She drove him home.

Brianne – point, set, match to Will.

Friday, September 16, 2011

Dating … it’s come to that

My husband called me while he was driving back from wherever he was this week.  No, I rarely know what state and/or states he is planning on being in during a given week.  It’s something that happens when your spouse travels a lot.  You stop paying attention caring.

Anyway he called to ask me if I was busy tonight because he wanted to go on a date.  He missed me because I’m fantastic.  {Well, he has to think so because I slipped a legal clause into our marriage contract.  I plan for contingencies (if not for camping).}  He asked if I wanted to go out.

I said, “No,” because I have to finish my possibly 40 minute thing for a church training program tomorrow morning. (He did not put a non-procrastination clause into our marriage contract.)  We discussed watching a movie.  Then I said, “Yes, I do want to go out.  I need cat food and milk and bread.”

We are going to BJs for a date night.  And it was my idea … I suspect it’s a good thing that legally he is required to think I’m fantastic .

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

“Do really scary stories give you nightmares, mom?”

Well, actually they can.  There is a reason I have an irrational fear of sharks.  The reason is the nightmare I had the night I saw Jaws.  I also have an irrational fear of the women who cry bloody tears.  Thank you Vincent Price.

But even though Elizabeth was worried that she would frighten me by recounting the Scooby Doo movie she watched earlier that was in her own words “freaky!”  I was pretty sure I’d be ok.

Monday, September 12, 2011

Camping Part II

We went camping last weekend.  I was much better prepared this year because I camped next to the Raskells.  Our friend’s Tiffanie and Don go all out for July 4th in Boston and I merely show up late and ask them for cold drinks and a snack.  So my brilliant plan for camping success was to 1. Camp with Don and Tiffanie and 2. Bring the High School Musical and Transformer blankets.

I am happy to report that camping was better this time, but wet and cold.  Because naturally shortly after being hit by Hurricane Irene, Vermont seemed like the best place to go camping.  (Meaning we had planned it prior to the floating away of half the state.  Have I ever mentioned that I can be rigid about plans? If I haven’t, let me mention that now.  I can be rigid about my plans even if they only exist in my head.)

Status Updates:

Husband:  Told he looked like someone ran him over with a truck while camping.  Talking into driving the kids an hour away to tour Ben and Jerry’s, while there was talking into buying the kids an obscene amount of ice cream to eat.  Currently in favorite parent spot.

Me:  Remembered to bring paper plates this time (was feeling pretty good about myself until I realized I forgot serving/cooking utensils.  Can’t you do everything you need to with tongs?)  then realized I didn’t need to bring them because the Raskells were next door.  Wimping out of the tent and moving to a cabin for the second night was the BEST. DECISION. EVER.

Brianne:  Sad at the lack of teenagers.  Talked father into a two hour drive in a fantastic display of “wrapping your father around your finger because you are his little girl and he wants to make you happy.”  Awww.  Slept in swimming suit and pajamas the second night and we aren’t sure why.  A three-year old followed her around for two days.

Jake:  In his element.  Had a posse of 6 and 7 years-olds following him around the whole time.  And there were sticks.

William:  Still hates camping.  The first morning he wouldn’t talk to my husband for an hour.  Then Will looked at his dad.  “No camping!”  Will said.  Pausing for a moment, he thought of the only thing worse than camping.  “No two airplanes!”  He added.  On a positive note we now know where camping rates.  It’s better than flying.

Elizabeth:  I have no idea.   I barely saw her.  Trying to keep track of her was like trying to keep track of a unicorn.

The Raskells:  Just grateful for the opportunity to set up my tent, drive me around and feed me dinner …  And you’re welcome!

Friday, September 9, 2011

Living with a serial killer

Brianne’s kitty is a homicidal maniac and proof that instinct exists!  Because I sincerely doubt that any of my children taught her how to hunt.  I do, however, suspect that one of them taught her how to count.  I think she’s working overtime to feed us because “we are so many.”

Yesterday, Brianne saved a chipmunk from Kitty.  Two hours later I had the pleasure of walking into the garage later to find feathers and a dead bird.  And today I found some kind of chipmunk-like rodent.

I need to figure out a way to explain to the cat that A.)  Humans go to places like stores and buy food already packaged.  B.) I would have to be starving to eat something she killed.  C.)  I don’t like dead things around my house.  D.)  It’s not her job to feed me because I have something called money and even if I didn’t I have something called a husband.

Note to self:  Next time say no to getting a cat.

Monday, September 5, 2011

Mary, Mary


We sat down for dinner.  My husband asked Will.  “Do you want some green beans?”

“No green beans.”

“Do you want a hot dog?”

“No hotdog.”

“Do you want salad?”

“No salad.”

At this point I chimed in.  “Do you want a million dollars?”

“No million dollars.”

“Do you want a unicorn?”

“No unicorn.”

“ Do you want a pony?”

“No pony.”

“Do you want refried beans?”

“Yes refried beans.”

Sunday, September 4, 2011

I sat on the plane playing Angry Birds with tears dripping down my face


I wasn’t sure exactly the best way to explain death to William but I knew it would wait until we got home.  My friend Cheryl called me while we were on our way to the airport with some awful news.  Will’s therapist Joan had died while we were on vacation.  She had been in a motorcycle accident four weeks earlier but I had talked to Joan twice before we left.  I thought she was going to be fine.  She told me that the doctor said it would take a year for a full recovery and that she wouldn’t be able to work with Will for a while.

It is possible to have a therapist come to your house four hours a week for a year, work with your child and not become friends; but often you do.  And we had.

I took William to the wake, hoping that he wouldn’t do anything inappropriate.  He pinched someone.  But she said it was alright and I decided to take her at her word. He pinched me a lot while I was talking to Joan’s mom and we quickly left.  I didn’t bring him to the funeral.

I don’t know how much he understood.
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