Wednesday, February 24, 2010

I passed the fourth grade awhile back...why do I still have homework?

So here I sit at the age of forty looking at interesting facts on North Carolina so I can get a good grade on my state project. After all, I am in the academically gifted class for the fourth grade in my school...WAIT...THAT ISN'T ME!!! I do believe that I finished that grade back in...well, let's just say it was a bit ago and leave it alone. Let's rephrase. So I am HELPING my nine year old son with his research so HE can get a good grade on his project. After all, tomorrow is Accelerated Reader night and on Fri/Sat/Sun we will be having a "marriage retreat" which will be interesting since ALL the kids are going with us. HOW can he get it all done in time? Teacher says that we can HELP our children, but the work has to be his. Ya think? I love his teacher. She has taught two other of my children God help her. This child actually DOES his work and LIKES to learn. But I still feel like I am having a flashback, but am smarter this time...Perhaps it is my advanced age, but I don't remember having to do a significant project on my state. When I start reflecting on my youth, I tend to say things like, "I remember the blizzard of '79. Our house was buried up to the top of our doorway. Mom and Dad had to take the sled and walk to get milk." I don't mean to bore my children, but as soon as the "I remember" part comes out, a glazed look enters their eyes and drool starts to pool at the corner of their lips... I only want to share my life experience. Like when I rode the Mammoth to school until my parents got rich enough to buy the Conastoga Wagon all the uptown families were buying. It was handy having the Mammoth though, because we used his tusks to rub together to start fire in the family cave. I had longer hair back then was necessary since my husband needed it to drag me around by. Ahhhh the good old days. When I didn't have to do a state project and my main objective was not to be noticed by the teacher. Deep sigh..MEMOOOOORRIIIIIESSSSS, Like the WRRIIIITTTING on the WALLLLLL....I know..Don't quit my day job. Don't worry I won't. I still haven't finished the STATE PROJECT.

Monday, February 22, 2010

The things your teenagers teach you

This evening has been a very enlightening one for me. After eating dinner, which my lovely daughter prepared for us, I cleaned the kitchen while the little kids, (what I call the children under middle school) did homework.My daughter and I have a deal that when she cooks I clean. Sounded like a good deal until I realized that when I cook, I clean....and when she cooks I clean??? Hmmmm...not such a good deal After that, my husband and two teenagers (16 and 17) watched some Olympics. Michael Phelps was being interviewed about the next summer Olympics coming up in two years in London. My daughter was wondering why he was being interviewed. After all, he is known for his human fishiness, not anything involving snow.

We talked about how he won so many golds and the fact he was going to try to make the team for the London Olympics. Then she asked me this question. "I read in an article somewhere that Michael Phelps has some kind of mutation that makes him a good swimmer." I gently told her that what the article said was that IF they were going to genetically DESIGN a swimmer, it would be him because of his body ....long torso, short legs with flipper feet etc...She INSISTED that she read that his cells recover faster than other peoples which is why he can swim so many races. When I tried to convince her otherwise she would have none of it. Finally, I used my sarcastic nature, which I have an abundance of and said this.

"Yes Laney, you are right. Michael Phelps DOES have a mutation that makes him a better swimmer."

"I KNEW it..." says my darling daughter. "What is the mutation," she innocently asked.

"It isn't one that many people know about," I tell her. "If everyone knew he might be kicked out of the coming Olympics and stripped of his medals he already won."

Totally captivated she leaned forward. "What is it Mom? TELL me."

I also leaned forward and said in a low voice, "He IS a mutant. He has breathing gills. The reason no one knows is because they are hidden underneath his testicles." Then I sat back. With one look at her face I started laughing and laughing and laughing. After a moment of shocked silence in which her mouth hung open she too laughed and laughed...eventually shaking her fist at me in righteous indignation.....

Perhaps it was not the most APPROPRIATE humor to use on her, but I couldn't help myself. TOO funny....

Sunday, February 21, 2010

This morning when I woke up I decided that I was going to get all the laundry done. For the entire last week I had done loads of laundry every day, but had not folded or sorted nor put away anything. As a result, there were at least four fifty gallon tubs of laundry sitting around that had been pawed through by clothes pillaging children. God forbid they put some away without being yelled at to do it. So I rose for the day, ate some toast, have a bracing glass of mellow yellow with ice, and started my adventure of folding...I thought.

On the way to the laundry room I had to pass through the travesty that was my son's room. The biggest room in the house is also the "bunk room" as we call it with a triple bunk and regular bunk in the room. It looked like a bomb went off...and I had the disturbing feeling the puppy had found a poopie spot under the bed. With a sigh, I had the boys who live in that "room" (and I use the term loosely) start to clean it. Did I mention that I use bleach with a venegance? Soon my house smelled like a Clorox factory. It was true that the puppy poo'ed under the was true that Matthew snuck strawberry pop tarts into his. Both left evidence.

My quest for laundry fullfilment? So close, yet so far away. But on the other side of things, laundry will be there tomorrow I am sure...and the next day and the next....something to look forward too...

Saturday, February 20, 2010

I lost my own blog

If there is any proof that I am not computer savvy, the fact that I created my own blog, then lost it, then came back to make a new blog to only find my old one, should be enough.

So much has happened since I posted my one and only blog. We got the amended birth certificate of our son whose adoption was finalized on November 12th after a years long court battle, I have almost completed my first romance novel called "The third sister," I have had my sixteenth wedding anniversary and realized that I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up.

There are days where I just feel so stuck in a rutt. I love being a mother. I am not the best wife in the world but it isn't because I don't love my husband. I just think that I am an a different species than him and it is difficult for me to figure him out. I also found out I will need surgery sometime in the near future. I need a hysterectomy full or partial yet to be determined. I gave birth to five children, but for me to be without a uterus will make me feel very unfeminine. Yes, I have been told a million times how stupid it is to feel that way by alot of different women. But for me the largest difference between a man and a woman is our ability to bare young. With the vessel that holds the young removed from you how feminine are you really?

I have also fallen in love with a very special young boy available for adoption in Russia. He has a genetic birth defect that makes him look very unusual but his eyes just burn right through me when I look at him. I would love to bring him home, but my husband and his military career make it difficult to do that to say the least. There are so many gorgeous "normal" looking kids available for adoption who is going to want a small little boy whose eyes bulge and has a funny looking head? I have images of this little man quietly dying with not a soul to notice or care...all because of how he looks. I asked my husband, "If a Russian orphan dies in an orphanage and no one notices, does it make a noise in the world?" Kind of a take on the "if a tree falls in the woods and no one is there to hear it does it make a noise?" I believe if the world looses this very special baby boy it most certainly will make noise. It would be the silent noise of a breaking own.

I have tons more to say, but am hoping I can find my way back to this blog later to add to it.