Mom's Sordid Past

Living with growing kids has its challenges - seems like they're always hungry, fighting, or wanting every minute of every day, and just when I think this is a new phase they're bound to grow out of, it stays put until I'm near crazy. And as they have been growing up, they don't act or say those cute things like they used to when they were small. It's tough, but I can accept it, even though I think about how things used to be not so long ago.

What they're doing is asking questions about when I was their age. I answer to the best my memory will allow. It still amazes my daughter that when Mommy was a child there were no cable or satellite dishes, no videos or DVDs, no Internet or MP3s, and, especially, no cell phones.

"What did you do for fun?" she asked while we were eating dinner, "play with your pet rock?"

"Well, yes," I replied. "There used to be Pet Rocks for sale when I was a kid, but we were so poor," I said, using The Old Prospector voice, "I jes had ter go outside and catch me a wild one to play wit."

(Yes, I'm that funny.)

"Yeah, sure, Mom," she said. "Do you think I was born yesterday?"

"Kind of," I replied. She didn't appreciate that comment and went back to her plate.

Actually my sister BB and I did have pet rocks. We went outside, found some rocks, and named them. Voila! Pet Rocks. We even made beds for them to sleep in and had lots of adventures, but that is the subject of another posting.

My son wasn't as preoccupied with what I had to play with, instead he jumped right into my immediate past and began questioning me like an experienced interrogationist.

"So," he said slowly, sizing me up out of the corner of his eye, "just how many times have you been in jail exactly?"

"What!" I exclaimed. I couldn't decide if I should ground him for a week or laugh. I chose to laugh because if you don't find a way to laugh, you're gonna cry, and who wants to go through life crying? "Why would you ask me a question like that?" I asked.

"I just wanted to know, that's all."

"For your information, mister," I said, "I have never been in jail!" Jeez, what kind of mother does he think he has anyway? "Eat your dinner!" I grumped.

Meanwhile, daughter was choking on her meatloaf and not because I'm a bad chef. Her face started turning red until she couldn't help it and laughed outright. I tried to resist, but couldn't help myself either. Pretty soon we were all laughing, especially when my daughter began ad-libbing.

"Yeah!" she exclaimed, "Mom went to jail for ten years for stealing grapefruits from the store! No! It was a stick of gum! Yeah! And when she tried to get away she peed her pants and fell down in the mud and the police chased her and she fell down again and then...then she ran into the street and got hit by a garbage truck and died!"

Brother's milk went shooting out of his nose. Sister nearly fell out of her chair. Mom was getting perturbed at all the tomfoolery. The dinner table was breaking into complete and utter comic chaos.

It could have gone on and on, ad nauseum, but I broke it up.

"Actually, it was for robbing the bank," I added dryly. Their eyes got really big then. When I knew I had them I added, "Haven't you noticed why I never want to go into the post office?"

"No!" they said, "Why?"

"It's 'cause my picture's up on the wall."

"Huh? The wall?" son asked.

"Yeah, what does that have to do with robbing a bank?" daughter said.

"Never mind."

A joke loses its funny when you have to get into lengthy explanations and my dinner was getting cold.

Just like Front Porch Dude said in It's a Wonderful Life, "Youth is wasted on the young!" Ain't that the truth?

Skool's Out for Summer

Today is the first official day of summer vacation.

And what's happening at Merry's house?

We have been watching movies all morning! First it was daughter's movie, something about Part II of Little Orphan Annie, and then son's movie, Space Jam. I missed LOA, but tuned in for Space Jam, and have to say it was pretty good and funny. I look at it this way, if I didn't watch many movies ten years ago because I had little babies, then I get to watch them all now because I have big kids.

So, what's next on the day's agenda?

The Mother of all Projects ... CLEAN THE KIDS' BEDROOMS!

That's one project that's at the tippy-top on my list of Personal Favorite Things To Do. (yuck!) But upon Impending Doom of Death by toys, stuffed animals, clothes, books, shoes and you-name-it, all of which could topple onto my children at any moment, I must clean their rooms. After all, I do love them, even if it's just a little bit, especially now that's it's Officially Summer Vacation and I am facing three months of hard time and being driven into Swirling Vortex after Swirling Vortex of Confusion by them... The least I can do is clean their rooms. (hehe)

So, after I finish blogging this, checking my email, watching the Newz at Newn, making lunch, oh, almost forgot, letting the dog inside, talking on the phone and, uh, doing whatever else I possibly can do other than cleaning the rooms, I will go upstairs directly, with the kids, and begin!

Sounds like a plan doesn't it?

I thought you'd agree with me.

So, other than the Bedrooms Project, what am I planning to do with these kids all summer long?

I have absolutely no clue.


<< Suffering from a lack of ideas, Super Mom declares an Emergency Brainstorming Session where she draws up a Plan of Action to SAVE SUMMER!

Hooray for Super Mom! [Cheers and Applause]

To be continued... >>

Getting Long in the Tooth? Not This Girl!

This month marks the 9th anniversary of my 29th birthday. Yes, I'm still 29. Well, at least in my heart.

I don't have a problem with aging. As one grows older, one grows wizer, or so they say. But something in my head can't help but think things like, Half of your life is over; It's all down-hill from here; Pretty soon you'll be in a home wearing diapers, and other such nonsense like that. And it is nonsense considering I've always considered myself the Glass Is Half-Full type, or have always tried to.

I guess it's normal to start thinking of life in those terms. We do have to be realists and see (and accept) things for what they are. People age, people get gray hair, people forget their underwear, people die. (hee-hee)

While I could allow myself to start treking down the wrong path, I won't do that. Instead I try to focus on the positives that celebrating a birthday bring:

I have completed another year of life.
I am healthy (most of the time if you don't count for things like the Swirling Vortex of Confusion and going Half-Nuts - they fall under the mental health category, and it's in that department where I'm lacking).
I have family and friends who love and appreciate me.
I am intelligent and good looking (hey, ego-boosting never hurt anyone).

Well, this list could go on and on, but I think you get the main idea here. It's all about being thankful (and grateful) for everything that you have, and I'm going to go into yet another birthday doing just that.

So, Happy Birthday to me! I'm so thankful for having completed another year and hope that I will be here to celebrate many, many more!

Merry's New Year's Resolutions 2007

or Why I’m Still Just as Lazy as I Was in 2005 and 2006
and Still Just as Nutz
and Now Almost Officially a Super-Procrastinator

Resolution #1
Eat More Chocolate. Hey, you only live once! Why should I give up something that is potentially healthy for me?

Resolution #1.5
Relax More and basically Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff. Believe me, the older I get, the smaller stuff gets.

Resolution #2
Blog More. Last year I resolved to blog daily, but since that never happened (It’s a wonder why! Can you say, Circus Ringmaster boys and girls?) I think this year I shall endeavor to just blog more frequently. Is it working?

Resolution #3
Eat Better. (yadda-yadda-yadda…) This should not be read as “more” but “healthier.” I will continue to make “smart yadda choices” like smaller yadda, quality yadda – no junk, no sweets, no fast yadda – more water, and no snacking in between yadda. Exceptions to this resolution are for beer or chocolate (please see #1). I consume these products liberally and whenever available because, besides wondering what the horrendous side effects could be if I didn’t consume them, life’s too short and a girl’s gotta have fun. (yadda-yadda-ditto)

New Year’s Resolution #4
Exercise. Ummm….no comment at the present, but I have been walking more.

Resolution #4.5
Take overall better care of myself: get more sleep, pamper myself more, take advantage of each opportunity to laugh and have fun, paint my nails, be a girl, drink a cup of tea, read a book, burn candles, spend time with the people I love, and just enjoy life! (Okay, so color me an optimist. Have I really been taking better care of myself? I hardly think so, today I fell asleep while watching Shrek III at Mega-Movie Theater. For cripes sake, you’d think I was an eighty-year-old by the way I’ve been passing out!)

Resolution #5
Get writing! I am trained. I am ready. I am an artiste! Whassamadder already!

Resolution #6
Get organized! (hahahahahaha) This resolution is a permanent joke! To date I have done nothing and I think the Health Department will be paying me a visit soon.

Resolution #7
Have a Nervous Breakdown, Go Completely Crazy, Whack Someone, or Jump Off a Bridge while trying to achieve Resolutions 1 through 13. (I have been contemplating playing with matches as opposed to cleaning the house…)

Resolution #7.5
Be an all-around better person.

Resolution #8
(Recycled from last year…but still just as pertinent) Play with my children more, do more activities with them that are low-cost or free, focus on helping them to develop their creative and athletic abilities. I will continue attempting to read to them at least once a day. I will continue to try to set a good example by being a good role model. And despite spinning through potential Vortexes of Confusion I will try not to shout unless completely provoked and utilize my reasoning skills even when they are being completely unreasonable. Overall I will try to spend more quality time with the screaming, fighting little heathens. Lord help me!

Resolution #9
Continue keeping a journal, but dang, if it doesn’t take up so much time! And I would keep doing it if I could only find my journal (what did I do with it?) and a pen that works (drat those kids!). It must be around here someplace, if only I could start Resolution 6.

Resolution #10
Ditto: Work on all my creative projects like poetry, screenwriting, short stories, and artwork in between laundry, dishes, cleaning, and cooking while trying to live up to Resolution 8 and experiencing Resolution 7.

Resolution #11
COMPLETED! Graduated from Grand Valley in April. I am no longer a Perpetual Senior, and now must jump into…

Resolution #12
Get a Real Job in the Real World after completion of Resolution 11. I have been scanning the Morons Wanted column in the local Swamp Valley One Wipe (hey, my Dad coined that one, so I’m gonna use it!) and there are jobs out there for writers, believe it or not. Now to apply and convince someone that they need to hire me. I still want to work as a Best Selling Author, and wonder, if anyone out there is reading my blog, could they please offer me a job doing freelance? It would be nice to be able to work from my Domestic Dilemma Command Center.

Resolution #13
Resolve to do all the things and reach all the goals (even those I have forgotten to include) listed in Resolutions 1 to 12, and probably end up repeating them all for next year! Wish me luck, this gal’s gonna need it!

The Kindness of Strangers

I took the kids shopping for groceries the other evening at the local Waldo’s store, which is a feat I don’t normally undertake. Any parent could tell you that taking children to any store, for any reason, is like taking on a suicide mission. It’s something nobody wants to do because Real Life isn’t like the movie The Bridge On the River Kwai. But because I couldn’t go during school hours and because there was absolutely nothing to eat in the house and just as William Holden had to blow up the bridge, I had to go to the grocery store.

Typical to my kids, they were shouting, arguing, and jumping all around and that was just in the car on the way to the store. Once our feet hit terra firma, my son commandeered the cart and proceeded to crash it into the Exit door as he tried to enter Waldo’s. Once corrected he nearly ran over a little old lady, two kids, and a dog as he steered toward the Entrance in his haphazard way. Fortunately for us (and them) we made it in unscathed and, upon doing so, he announced, “Now, let’s see…what’s on my list?”

“Your list?” I asked, surprised.
“Yup! I have a list in my head.” That was news to me.

The children immediately began their scavenger hunt, tossing items like chips, candies, and sugar cereal into the cart. General Mom stepped up and brought the troops to attention, “One item per recruit!” I barked.

“Aw, Mom!” they moaned. “Can’t we get more than one thing?”
“I have three things on my list!” says son, disappointed.
“No, just one,” I said firmly. I had to stand my ground.

We commenced shopping and because each child had already selected their one item (from the first aisle), they were bored with shopping and began running to and fro, singing, tussling over who was going to bring which item to the cart, and generally just being themselves: two out-of-control maniacs. (Can’t you tell how patient I am?)

When we rounded the corner of the second aisle – the aisle filled with gadgets and other child-enticers – they ran amok in ecstasy, picking things up, drooling and begging me to buy them. General Mom was close to losing it. The troops were going A.W.O.L. in a bad way. I issued commands in rapid-fire succession, “Company, halt! Forward, march!” They tried to follow orders, putting the coveted extra items back on the shelves, moving their over-excited feet to my chant of “Hut, two, three, four!” but the temptation was too much. They kept breaking formation to pick up another item, and then another, and another, all the while begging and pleading. Fifteen minutes had passed, the General was sinking into a Swirling Vortex of Confusion, and we still had two and a half isles to go when a man in Army casuals stepped up to attention.

“Permission to speak, General Mom,” he requested.
I eyed the stranger warily, then sighed. “Permission granted, soldier,” I said. “At ease.”
“If you would allow me, Ma’am-Sir, I have something that will calm the troops.”
Even though my head was throbbing, I was intrigued. We had been sidetracked on our mission and were close to losing The Battle of The Waldo. A diversion might be the saving grace and as nothing could hurt at this point, I acquiesced, “Fire away,” I sighed.

In the meantime, the kids were running in circles around me, passerby were having difficulty navigating past, we were receiving those “looks” from most everyone, and you know what kind of looks I’m talking about. The situation was embarrassing, to say the least.

The man opened his shoulder pack and extracted something long and skinny and rubbery. He stretched it back and forth rapidly between his hands as he said, “Hey, kids, look at this,” and placed one end of it to his lips. The kids rallied to attention and watched with wide eyes and gaping mouths as the soldier blew up a black balloon.

Once inflated, he knotted the end and twisted it into shape, producing a mighty sword. He turned to my son and said, “Do you promise to use this sword only for good? To defend the universe against the powers of evil? And not to hit your sister or anyone else with it?”
My son nodded, dumbfounded.

He extended his hand, and just as my son grabbed for it, he bopped him on the head, “You promise?”

“Yes!” he shouted overenthusiastically, “I promise!” It was almost too much to take for his six-year-old self.

All the while, my daughter, who had ceased running in place, was watching the transpirations, eyes wide and mouth agape. The man rummaged in his pack again, producing a pink balloon. We watched, amused, as he proceeded to inflate it and twist it into shape, producing a princess wand.

“You,” he said, handing it to her, “have my permission to hit your brother as many times as you’d like with it.”

“Really?” she asked (it was way too good to be true), and just as she was reaching for her prize the Soldier added, “I was just kidding!” Then she knew it was too good to be true, and being the trooper she is, my daughter shouldered her disappointment, and sacrificing her desires for the greater cause, accepted her trophy.

And General Mom, what did she do? Well, I just stood there flabbergasted and amused and pleased, looking on.

“You deserve a commendation, Soldier,” I said.

The Soldier replied, “It was the least I could do General Ma’am-Sir to save your mission.”

“Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it.”

That day, thanks to the kindness of a stranger, the Battle of the Waldo was a success. The Soldier faded into the distance with his shopping cart and I finished my shopping in peace because the kids were happily busy with their new prizes. It wasn’t until I was checking out and exiting the store that I noticed the Kind Stranger once again, this time fashioning another sword for another wide-eyed and open-mouthed boy whose joy was apparent by the bliss written across his face.