Short Sheeted

My kids' rooms are their own.
That's not to say I would bat an eyelash at snooping if I thought it was warranted, but as for messiness...it's all them.  I figure I have enough to keep up with keeping the "public" parts of the house from catching the attention of the sanitation department.  Oh, occasionally I stand at the door and toss things that belong to them toward their bed because I'm tired of it being in "my" space.  And I put their clean laundry on the desk or chair.  When I manage to get it folded out of the dryer before it's being worn again.
And they take turns going through stages...alternately letting piles grow until they begin to take over the room and then cloistering behind a closed door and blasting the music for a few hours until it looks presentable again (and my laundry room suddenly looks like their closets threw up).
And let's face it...my own bedroom tends to grow piles in the corner and sport an unmade bed and several coffee cups.  So they come by it honestly...
But this weekend, as I was trotting to and fro in front of Parker's open bedroom door...toting laundry and dispersing fresh rolls of TP and gathering up dishes and putting away shoes...I happened to wonder how long it had been since he changed his sheets.
Turns out, not since he put them on there this SUMMER when he got his new loft bed!
Gross.
(eye roll)
I told him to take them off and wash them.
Which he did.
But they got no further than the dryer.
So I stood at the door and threw the clean sheets up onto his bed....assuming he would put them on when he got home from the movies with his friends.
You know what they say about assuming...
The next morning, when I went to wake him up for church, his (bare) bed was empty.  I peeked around the corner and there he was, sprawled on the couch with his comforter thrown over his lanky body.  I had a sudden flashback of my own 12 year old self sleeping on my mattress pad with a sheet thrown over me because I'd rather do anything than expend energy putting the clean sheets on my bed.
I shrugged....roused my lazy boy...and went to make the coffee.  (I know what's REALLY important!)
And if that were the end of the story, this would be a pretty lame blog post.
But it's not.
No.
Parker's sunday school teacher came up to me before the worship service started and said, "I am really enjoying Parker.  He made me laugh this morning."
Uh oh.
Polite smile.  "Really? How?"
"Well, he told the class how he got home late and couldn't even sleep in his bed because there were no sheets on it.  I told him I couldn't believe that and asked him who changes the sheets at his house and he said NOBODY."
Apparently he also told them that the sheets hadn't been off the bed since he bought it and he didn't really know how to put them back on.
There goes my mother-of-the-year award.  And my reputation at this church which we have only been attending for a short while.
Oh well, I guess it's not as bad as the time he told the sunday school teacher of his 5 year old class, "Sometimes my daddy goes WooWee!" To which she stupidly replied, "Why?" And he responded, "Cause she's NEKKED!"
I'm thinking maybe I should be nice and change his sheets for him after all...I'm pretty sure I remember how to short-sheet.  And if he happens to jam his toe in them?  Well, it won't hurt any more than my PRIDE.

To My Readers..

Ok...you guys are always asking me to put these stories into a book.  I am actually considering it.  So leave me a comment and give me your top 5 posts.

Tops

Sometimes a woman just wants to shop.
I was feeling the need for that little boost that only a cute new top can give you.  So I talked my husband into making it a "date" and we headed to the city.  We took the back roads (for him) and stopped by Starbucks (for me) and eventually ended up at a department store where I can still waffle between the juniors and the misses sections.  Arms full I headed toward the dressing room.
"You wanna come with me?" I asked.  "Or you can go look at something else and I'll call you when I'm done."  I know he secretly likes to look at fancy coffee pots and other kitchen machines that we can't afford and would probably never use.
He chose to go with me.  And thank goodness he did...
I wriggled into an extra small top that was really two shirts sewn together and somehow got the straps all twisted.  I came out to let him help me figure it out.  He took one look and said, "You're gonna have to go take that off and start over."
Easy for him to say.
I flounced back into the dressing room, wondering how I was going to get out of this filmy non-stretch shirt without ripping it when I heard his deep voice float under the door.
"You're in the wrong dressing room."
Oh.  I guess that would explain why the rest of my clothes had disappeared.
Now my face matched the bright red of the shirt that was causing all this trouble, and I sheepishly came out and went in to my own dressing room.
Where I tried pulling the offending article over my head.
I got it about half way and started to hyperventilate as I realized I was a bit stuck.
I lumbered around for a minute with my arm stuck out in front of my face like I was doing some kind of elephant impression (which I was starting to feel like, by the way) and finally popped out of the top, hair askew and breath coming in short puffs.
If my husband wondered why I was grunting and slamming against the stall walls, he didn't let on.
I peeked out of the dressing room.
"Could you get me a size bigger in this shirt?"
And off he went.
I did eventually find a few things and as we worked our way toward the check out I passed another woman who was critically eyeing herself in one of those square mirrored posts.  She was saying, "What do you think about this top?  I mean, it looks ok and I could wear it with jeans AND khakis..."  And the man standing behind her was smiling and nodding.
But I swear his eyes were saying, "Just let me go look at coffee pots and automatic toasters."
I chuckled to myself and gave my Man a big smile.  Cause he knows how to love me and he acts like its no trouble at all.
And when it comes to husbands...I think he's tops!

Pizza, anyone?

I've become the kind of woman who eats pizza in bed.
I used to be in control.
I was the CEO of this family.  The strategic command center through which all activities, responsibilities, thoughts and social interactions must pass.  The menu planner/grocery getter/bill payer/house cleaner/homework checker/play date planner/calendar master/marriage maintainer....
And that was fun.
Exhausting...but rewarding.

I eventually figured out that I wasn't doing anyone any favors by running the world for them, and I set the goal of working myself out of a job.  I gritted my teeth and squeezed my eyes shut as my kids picked loser boyfriends and got zeros on assignments they did at home but forgot to turn in to the teacher.  I just took deep breaths as my husband paid the late fee on the bill he forgot to mail.  And I tried not to think about the nutritional value of 12 bowls of cereal for supper versus a lean meat and three different colored vegetables.
And you know what?  Nobody died.

My daughter is attending college and making new friends.  She has a job and her own checking account.  And she has chosen on her own to take a hiatus from dating until she knows who she is and what she wants.
My son has As and Bs this quarter, despite his dyslexia.  He has a fun group of friends and is the kind of kid other moms tell me they WANT their kids to hand out with.
My husband has learned to cook more than taco salad and actually checks the account balance from time to time.  He even does a little laundry!

And me?
Well, the other night, after working all day then going for a run, I rushed home from my women's bible study in time to catch one of my favorite tv shows.  During the commercial, I ran into the kitchen to check on the non-nutritious frozen pizza I was having for supper...past Parker who was doing dishes by hand.  "Grr!" I growled, as the pizza was a little too crispy.
To which Parker responded, "Yeah, I've given up trying to cook while I'm watching TV.  It never goes well."
Thank you Mr. Belvedere.
I took my blackened pizza to my room and climbed into my bed to finish my show.  I knew my husband would be up in a few minutes to cuddle me as I fell asleep.  My phone buzzed and Hillary said, "Hey mom.  I'm hanging out at Jen's.  I'll text you when I start home."
I was happy.  And the world spun madly on...
CEO's are efficient, but not very much fun.  So I'll settle for being just one member of this small group of humans who love and take care of themselves AND each other.

Bouncing Back

"So what are your plans for Thursday night?" my husband casually asked me.
"I don't know.  Why?" I respond.
"Cuz Parker thinks you're going to read to him.  He has 400 pages left in his book and its due next week."
What?!  Like I have six hours to do nothing but sit and read out loud to him when he is perfectly able to read to himself.  Yes, he hates to read.  Yes, it's painstakingly slow for him.  But he's in HIGH SCHOOL now.  And he's known about this all semester.  Mom NOT to the rescue this time.
A couple of "parent-y" lectures, a few daily reminders, and 27 questions later, he had actually read 9 out of 12 chapters on his own, and did as much of the writing assignment as he could over what he had read.
Sometimes I have to push him.
But other times he can be amazingly persistent.
When my brother sent us his old ping-pong table, which happened to be in many pieces by the time it arrived, Parker set out to put it back together.  There were no directions.  Just a bag full of screws, some metal legs, and two large pieces of wood.
Parker laid it all out and started piecing things together.
He found a pic of a completed table on the internet.
He tried a piece here and a screw there.
And just as it looked like it was going up perfectly...it collapsed onto his friend's head (who had wandered over to see what was happening and was promptly put to work helping Tom Sawyer).
Undaunted, Parker laughed...and started over.
I left to have dinner with my sister.
And by the time I got back with Parker's SuperSonic-no pickles-onion rings-and a Rt 44 sweet tea, he was playing ping pong on a perfect ping pong table.

Because this is what he EXCELS at...solving a problem...putting a puzzle together...working with his hands.
And that's why I don't worry.
Life won't always be easy for him.  And he will make mistakes.
There will be hits and misses.
But I know he will always bounce back!

My Happy Place

I love my hammock.
It's the place where I go to quiet my mind and take in the sun and the sounds of blowing leaves and chirping insects.
It's my Happy Place.
I headed out there on Friday afternoon with my bowl of soup, and was followed by Hubby.  And then Parker.  And then Hillary.  Until there we all were, in various swings, hammocks, and lawn chairs, having family dinner together under a chandelier of leaves.
And I hadn't even tried.
Take THAT We-never-have-dinner-as-a-family-anymore lie.
And then later this weekend, after 17 of us had enjoyed a local festival together, we trickled back to my house.  My sister claimed the hammock.  And like fire-flies to a flame, we were soon gathered out under the trees...laughing, swinging, and petting the neighbor's dog who thinks she's a part of my family.
My mom ran to the grocery store for hotdogs and the Men built a fire and an impromptu party was born.

Family of all sizes...by blood and by blend...filled the yard.  Children with flashlights bobbed between trees and toddlers went from grown-up to dog, alternately begging and giving treats.

And in true Provider fashion, my Dad loaded up his roasting stick so no one would have to wait for their hot dog.

We ate and we laughed and we played with fire.  We stayed up late basking in the love created by this hodge-podge of imperfect people we call family.
And it was a Happy Place.

Wine Not?

I drove home with my windows down...letting the wind whip the stress out of my head and neck and blow my hair all to crazy.
I pulled in to my empty driveway, mentally ticking off all the things on my list that still needed to be done today.
What was I going to cook tonight?  Oh, yeah...crispy chicken and veggies.
Sort through the mail.
Unload and then Load the dishwasher.
Get a snack first because I'm STARVING.
But the sun was streaming so tantalizingly.  In that perfect golden way it has when fall has just begun and the sky is unnaturally blue.  And I couldn't stand the thought of missing it.
So I grabbed my snack and I headed to the hammock.
And I swayed silently and felt the rays soak into my skin.
And listened to the crickets.
And then...looking for some excuse (ANY excuse) to prolong staying outside, I decided to paint my toenails.  That's on my list...somewhere...I'm pretty sure.  So it counts, right?
The name of my chosen hue was "Wine Not".
Perfect!
After all, my family wasn't home, and wouldn't be until later in the evening.
Why not skip the cooking and let them warm up left-over potatoe soup just for tonight?
Why not leave the dishes and laundry and mail sorting until after dark?
Why not sit here in the sun and paint my toenails.

Why not take time for my own soul?
Why not notice how the spider webs sparkle in the grass?

So I did.
Because, really...Wine Not?