She Said What?

That is the question that has most represented life with Littlest.

Since October is the month I originally began my blog and I'm lazy tired busy burnt out I thought it might be fun to look back a do a re-post from my earliest days and tell a story that No One Read, because I hadn't found any blog friends yet- I was so thrilled when I found Nicole at Help Mama Remote and she had a teenager too-even though her daughter wasn't grounded, and she returned my visit on Halloween becoming my first Blog Friend : )! At this time I think I was a better blogger. I was more tight, concise, and to the point. Why? Because no one knew about it in real life either and trying to do something privately at my house takes great powers of speed and precision.
 They still found out about it because they are just that nosy stealthy important in my life and I want to share everything with them.

But anyway, it's a back in time both on my blog and with Littlest story, about when she was actually still pretty Little.
This week we have a RE-RUN of a post from October 2009

 My Littlest was a child who wouldn't stand up for herself. This is not true anymore. Nowadays she could fill a resume with moments like this. In 5th grade her teachers didn't seem to like her much. She could be a little abrasive & perhaps was not worshipful enough. She seemed to be particularly annoying to her gifted class teacher,  which makes this even sweeter. The class was assigned to work in groups and create a "TV" show using fairy tale characters, that they would perform for parents of the class. These kids can be really clever so this is usually a lot of fun. My child was assigned with a partner to write commercials. "Glittery", we'll call her,  told Littlest that she wasn't allowed to give out her phone # so they couldn't work that way or meet up. This assignment had several weeks to be completed. Littlest worked on it. Every week "Glittery" didn't have anything to contribute.
 Just to clarify, I try to teach my kids responsibility by making them deal with situations themselves instead of Mom rushing in to save them.
Littlest wrote a couple of outstanding & hilarious commercials. I told her to tell her gifted teacher that the work was all hers. She kept putting it off. She was waiting to see if "Glittery" had something to add. I think she also sensed the teacher wasn't fond of her & avoided dealing with her. She turned the work in but didn't say a word about Glittery not participating, just complained to ME. I repeatedly told her that if she wanted the credit for the work she needed to speak up. Littlest didn't want to be the "kid who tells". She asked "Glittery" to admit that she hadn't helped. Yeah, Right.
 The day of the show arrived. The acts were introduced. Including: Commercials by; Littlest & "Glittery". After a very entertaining show it was time for a curtain call. The MC announced:   Commercials brought to you by.... Littlest, who stomps up on stage with arms crossed & PO'ed look on face and "Glittery", who floats up, smiling wide, her arms akimbo as she gracefully plunges into a curtsy, her long hair streaming forward to touch the stage as her forehead is bowed to the ground in humble appreciation of the applause of her fans.... And then a voice is heard above the din of parental clapping... SHE DIDN'T WRITE IT! I DID ALL OF IT. SHE DIDN'T DO ANYTHING! Glittery's curtsy wobbled a bit & her eyes widened. Confused parents looked relieved as the next kids were called up. Glittery's mom appeared frozen for a moment, then ignored the situation.  The teacher looked like she wanted to smack Littlest. I had my first Littlest experience of 'Oh My God what did my kid just do?' But I maintained my dignity.
 Immediately afterward I told Littlest and her teacher, "She could have picked a better time for that." "Yes, she could have ", answered her plainly annoyed teacher.
 But to be honest,
 I was Awed by her Beauty in that moment & Forever became her Biggest Fan!
(And laughed my butt off as soon as I got in the car)


© 2012 All Rights Reserved by MOTPG

Church Mom Blonde

For the past week or so I have been sweeping up shattered hearts.  The initial explosion flinging fragments into the corners of our world. I gather them up in my dustpan for mending. After the initial commotion all will be quiet for a time and then from the next room I hear a small clink. From behind a bedroom door a spray of tinkling chimes hitting the floor. I swoop in with my broom to carefully gather the pieces that I know will fit back together. The hearts will be made whole again. I know this. But they are never quite the same. On first glance the surface appears to be unchanged but to the makers eye the hairline fractures are visible. If you look inside you might see tiny chips left by minuscule moments disintegrated into dust and never retrieved.  The repairs will make them stronger in the end. Shore them up and add some reinforcement to guard against future blows.  I spun them too fine. Only fit for velvet upholstered cases with the word 'Fragile' carefully hand lettered on fine paper cards.
I should have used a machine shop. Crafted them with stainless steel. Easily bleached clean and scratches sand out. No dents. No rust. Just a little polish now and then and good to go. But I sweep. Endlessly gathering microscopic pieces returned to sand.

Biggest called. She wanted to know if she needed to scare any boys.

I said, ok......I mean I said, "NO PLEASE DO NOT DO THAT."

When the world around me seems out of control. When everything becomes scattered in all directions and I can't seem to get it together. I usually look in the mirror and find I'm looking pretty scattered too.  It always seems that outside turmoil takes root on my head. I'll look and realize my ends are scraggly and breakage is dancing about the crown and the color has gone dull or grown out to my ears and I am the poster child for the mess around me. So I take action.


I cut my hair.

Not short. Just to the shoulders. Short has never suited me but I don't think Hag does either so it has to be done. And afterword I feel a little shocked. And strangely more capable.

 It was time to redo my highlights as well. I knew this because I was in the store with Littlest recently under that wonderful lighting and she suddenly looked at me and then came very close peering at the top of my head and said,


"Wow, I haven't really looked at your hair lately. You are really getting old."

 I am that blonde as a child turned kind of Spanish moss color naturally with a good amount of gray thrown in. Very light highlights work best for me and I like them because they blend more naturally and my roots are more subtle as they grow in. But. I had to face facts. The fact is I still have some damage and the bleaching really fries my hair. The gray doesn't like it either. And It's also a pain in the butt to do and I didn't feel like messing with it. So. It wasn't a good idea.

I would have to completely color.

 I have done it from time to time but never have been happy with the result. A couple of years ago I was in the store with Middlest and looking at a box of color when she exclaimed, "No, don't do that!" When I asked why she answered,

 "That's Church Mom Blonde!"

She explained that when sitting in church she would look around and ALL of the blonde moms.. had the same color hair. She sweetly told me that she thought my hair was pretty the way I did it and I didn't look like everyone else. The next time I went to church I checked and Oh My Goodness. She was right. So that took care of that. I vowed to never become a Church Mom Blonde.

Being really smart I took Middlest to the store with me. I carefully scrutinized all the possibilities and picked up a box to read it. Once again I heard, "No, don't do that! It's Church Mom Blonde." I explained that it just had to be done and asked her opinion, "Which one doesn't look like Church Mom Blonde?"
To which she scanned the shelves and answered, "They all DO."

So.  I look at the boxes claiming color depth and glittering highlight and

I KNOW THEY LIE

But I convince myself that maybe technology has improved the results and I really will have that pretty blend of bronze and gold with silver strands gilding it. Look, on the box it says my dark blonde will will glow golden and my gray will shine with shimmering light.


I BUY THE LIE.


One of the reasons I color my own hair is that I actually know what I'm doing. Or at least I did 20 years ago so I figure I'm safe. Despite the green gray cast to my natural hair I know that hidden deep in the shaft are insidious red molecules generated by my Irish ancestors. So I choose a 'cool' shade to counteract brassiness.

"Champagne Blond."

They didn't mention it would be PINK CHAMPAGNE

which is what I saw when I was toweling my hair after coloring. I had a moment of total panic and ran outside to see if it could be true. Thank Goodness. It was only a dull flat shade of "Church Mom Blonde." Until I went back in the bathroom. Which is when it occurred to me that some time ago we replaced all our bulbs with fluorescent. Whoo, that was close. I will blend in with all the other church moms and not be noticed at all. As long as I never am under fluorescent lights again.

But that's ok. I decided it might be kind of fun. I little bit of rebellion. A little bit of kick to show that I'm Not Your Typical Church Mom.

Until this morning in the kitchen when Littlest looked at me sadly and said, "Mom, don't color your hair anymore. Face it."

"YOU ARE TOO OLD"


Moon Music For My Second and Third Phases of Child Developement.

My friend Nicole  may feel free to ROTFL at me and my hair ; )


© 2011 All Rights Reserved

Shop Till You Drop..Down Dead Of Humiliation.

It is time to go school shopping again. When you have daughters. When you hoped for daughters. When you are thrilled and thankful that you were given daughters. You have fantasies. At least I did. You look forward to them becoming teens. Teaching them to use make-up. You visualize fun shopping trips together and going out for lunch. Having nice chats about their lives. And do you know what? All of those things happen.

And when you're the Mom of the Perpetually Grounded. Sometimes more.

  When you pull up at the store everyone is excited and they laugh because they are matching, wearing the really funky big yellow sunglasses they both bought . Or one of them does and the other one gets ticked off and says, "no I was wearing mine first, take them off." And then they argue about it in an obvious way all the way in to the store and in to the restroom where they get distracted by the fact that only one of them has a brush and won't let the other use it until she gives her a hug which results in a mock slap fight which is when you say act your age and the youngest holds up 4 fingers and says, "I'm this many." They then emerge from the restroom with their arms around each other and skip into the store. Ahead of you. While you follow a little behind and smile because you don't really know them but think they are kind of cute.

  They pick stuff out and go in the dressing room and they show off their outfits and they look adorable and you smile and tell them so. They come out wearing something a color blind hooker with delusions of actual dress size would choose and you frown (or if you're me laugh) and shake your head no and they roll their eyes and say "why-not?" They beg a little bit and then finally give up when their sister tells them they look like a freak and they have no taste. Or they tell their sister "shut up, I hate you, you suck" and then they give up. Sometimes the middle one will pick out a dress she really loves and it looks nice but kind of "different" on her. You tell her it is a nice dress ...but kind of different. She says she knows, that's why she likes it. When the youngest (the one who was born with no tact) sees it she says, "No. Do not buy that dress. Just don't. It's awful. Mom, tell her, don't let her buy it. Think, she tells her sister, what would Stacy and Clinton say about that dress, they would shame you!" And then the middle one tears up and has a tantrum in the middle of the store, flinging the clothes around, announcing, "I freakin hate her, she's a jerk, you both hate it, fine I just won't get the dress." And you have to take her out in the aisle for a whispered lecture about her mouth and acting her age and then console her and tell her the dress is fine. Because it is. It's just...different. The youngest ( one who was born with no tact) then follows this up with a loud proclamation in the tightly enclosed changing room hall that a skirt she tried on looked "gay". (she didn't mean cheerful) Disregarding the fact that she not only has good friends but a beloved family member who are Gay and that I pointed out to her before that using this as derogatory slang might hurt someones feelings. "But no", she says,  "I mean it looks gay", in a special tone meant to explain to me that she meant "gay" in the "I don't like it sense", not the "people who are fine with me" sense. So yeah, Dense and Tactless. So I resort to "just don't talk anymore today, please."

  You tell them to head to the underwear section while you grab notebook paper and when you return they are all aflutter because they found cute undies with elephants and peacocks on them. The hold them up and then the youngest says "look, peacocks" and then puts them over your head and at that moment you hear "Hi there" and turn around and it's your neighbor. Luckily the one who has lived next to you a long time and is still willing to speak with you and acknowledge you in public. You make yourself feel better by forgetting she is the neighbor who will talk to anyone, about anything.... forever but she is very sweet so you really don't mind when she stands there for 15 minutes discussing her dogs sensitive stomach and that she ate grass this morning but never did throw up. (the dog that is). You finally get away and somehow have arranged for a play session for the dogs even though you missed that part and don't realize it till she shows up at your house that evening. It may have been while you were distracted by the girls dancing past you wearing polka dotted rain boots with the elastic still holding them together. You let them get the cute underwear even though they are more expensive and are so glad you did when the next day during the middle ones birthday dinner, which includes their dad, your son-in-law and her boyfriend, the youngest tells the middle one to watch how she's sitting in her skirt and the middle one announces "I don't care if you saw them, they are awesome, they have Elephants" and the youngest answers "well I have Peacocks" and then the oldest who didn't even go shopping with you chimes in with, "Oh yeah, well I have Seahorses". And then smiles like she won a contest.

  But anyway. Let's return to the store where in typical fashion the middle one finds everything she likes within a half hour. She knows what she likes when she sees it, grabs it up and is good to go. Which may be why she came home with red pants, a yellow and purple floral print skirt, a gray and white plaid dress with ruffles down the front and neon green Converse. The youngest one tries on 50 things and picks out 3. They will be great looking outfits put together with excellent style. 2 of them will be worn once and never seen again. The other will be seen once a week and the rest of the time she will appear in jeans and tank tops.
  The middle one is becoming bored and antsy...and a little frisky. She starts riding the shopping cart when I'm not looking, rotated with complaining about how long it takes her sister to find things, telling me she is horrible and she hates shopping with her. The youngest finally makes her small selection informing me that we will obviously have to go to another store because this one has "nothing". We are walking towards the front. I am momentarily distracted by a cute blouse. I hear the words, playfully uttered, I'm going to run you over and turn to see the middle one revving up the cart behind her sister to a good clip just as the youngest stops beside me. And yep. That's when it happens. And the youngest for the Second time in public, that I know of, the first time being in 8th grade math class.  LoudlyYells Out.....
you got it.....the F Word .
when her sister rams the cart into the back of her ankle. The middle one quietly says, "I was joking, I wasn't really going to hit you, why did you stop?"
As for me and the circle of elderly people who just happen to be surrounding us, we are aghast. And none of us can escape because they are blocking the aisle. The angry looking gentleman behind the middle one can't get past and the gray haired lady with very red lipstick looks like she would know how to handle this if it were her kid and at that moment I would be happy to oblige her with a new child. Everyone is frozen in place by my kids and it's like a slow mo movie moment. The youngest finally looks up from holding her ankle and nonchalantly scoots off to the side so everyone can get their highly offended selves out of there.

I am a study in the other F word; Flabbergasted. You would imagine after dealing with my oldest, who once went through a period where she refused to wears shoes or wash her clothes and told people to F off if she thought they looked at her funny, I would be immune to this. But no. I am not. All that I can get out of my mouth is "Excuse Me?"

  Obviously it is time to go and to top off our trip I am so busy with the under the breath lecture in the checkout line ( in which the one with no tact actually tried to defend herself with the reasoning, "but it really hurt bad" ) that I don't notice it's my turn until the cashier has to call out ma'am several times before I realize he means me. Which the long line of people really appreciated. Even better when the middle one blocked the aisle with the cart again and someone had to say excuse me, ( very snottily I might add, the rudeness of some people, geez ; ) to get past. Oh yes, we were a big hit!
 And the youngest actually had the guts to ask, "where are we going next?" when we hit the parking lot.
That would be home.
 Forever. Because I'm Never leaving the house again.
Or at least not with them.
Until tomorrow.
Because the youngest one didn't buy anything to wear back to school but two tops......
 and some Peacock underwear.


© 2010 All Rights Reserved

An A in Math and an F in Language

   First of all, I am not lenient about bad language. If my kids use "freakin" or other substitutes I tell them they might as well be using the real word,  it's the same thing, and they will get the same response from me. I've discussed modern day desensitizing of curse words and told them that using them repetitively  has taken the power of the words away and if we get in the habit of using them regularly it diminishes who we are and what we are saying without our even realizing it. I've told them that, for instance in literature, they are sometimes appropriate to the work. I've told them using bad language in a gratuitous way is too easy. And of course my REM CD that has a bad word in it is using it in context to show powerful emotion : )

My Mom told me, " Using ugly words makes you look ugly and you're too pretty for that" : )
Wasn't she Awesome?! Somehow I still had a filthy mouth for awhile in Junior High.

    Littlest  is easily stressed by distractions in class. This is most apparent in her math classes. In 8th grade she was in a class that was out of control. This is an unusual situation in the school she goes to. It seems that some how the class had a high level of kids who were disruptive and openly disrespectful to their teacher.  It was so bad that a veteran teacher was brought  to tears more than once and by the 2cd quarter a male teacher was asked to join the class to try to maintain order. They even had a special meeting with the principle, teachers & parents to try to get the situation under control. All to no avail. The class continued to have problems with these students.  I had contacted Littlests' teacher shortly after the year started because Littlest was coming home very upset about it & telling me she was having meltdowns from the stress. Her teacher was a wonderful woman and tried to address the situation by moving Littlest and a handful of other students to one row in the room where they were as separated as possible. Sometimes she would let them sit in the hall so they could focus on their work  because she knew they would behave. Littlest has to concentrate and work hard in math, this teacher had been very understanding & helpful with her and for the 1st time ever she was getting A's in the subject.

The Call

I had set my cell down and lost track of it so I was concerned when I saw a voicemail with a school number. Oh no, was there an emergency and I missed the call?
I listened and my stomach dropped when I realized it was The Call. One I never thought I would get with Littlest. The male teachers voice saying, Mrs. Grounded I am calling because.... we had a little incident today with Littlest....
What????
There was some disruption in class and.....well.... she used some language that was ...not appropriate....
What????
Mrs. Incredibly Patient Teacher and I have talked with her though and I think she understands....that she can't be doing that. We aren't going to take any further action....but we did want to make you aware of it.... You have a nice afternoon..
What???

I could not believe this child was in trouble. I was so embarrassed, Oh My God, what did she do! This was the one kid I thought would, if not make me look like a good parent at least not leave me looking like a totally irresponsible one. And what was with "not taking further action"? What exactly did she say? What on earth was going on?

Despite her sometimes smartass  mouth in her private time, Littlest has always been a very serious kid when it comes to behaving in school. Even if she loathes a teacher she would never dream of being disrespectful or disrupting a class.  When it comes to peers she has problems with, she tends to keep to herself and tries to avoid them. One of the girls in particular had singled out Littlest to pick at because she realized Littlest had a problem with her behavior. Littlest is really good at just giving people blank stares if they mess with her, but unlike most, this one didn't get tired of not getting a reaction and give up. (She's keeping it up this year so keep your fingers crossed that I don't get another call at some point)   If Littlest is pushed too far she will stand up for herself and has a scathing tongue.  I'm not naive enough to think she hasn't used bad language when she was angry with an antagonist, (or because I wasn't around, but that's beside the point.) But this was a little different. I tried texting her but the bus driver didn't allow them to use phones.

Finally she was off the bus and in the car
What happened today?

Oh, did they call you?

Yes, what is going on, what did you say?

Umm, well that girl, So&So, I told you about her. Well, she just wouldn't stop today. She kept talking and interrupting the teacher and making comments. I asked her to be quiet, I was trying to listen  but she just said,"No, why don't you shut up" and then she started in on me again. And I just couldn't take it anymore....She kept going on & on & she wouldn't stop.

Alright, so what did you do?

Umm,  I got mad and I yelled something at her and then she was all like "ooh did you hear that, did you hear what she said?"

What did you say?

I don't want to say.

Tell me now!

I'm not allowed to say it. Am I in trouble?

Littlest, just tell the letter of the word it was, I can find out anyway.

        "Sigh"

...Itoldherto...Shut The F--- Up...... but I ......

You What?!!
What did your teachers do? You didn't get sent down? What happened?

Well they took me out in the hall, and I started crying and I told them I was really sorry but I just couldn't take it anymore.

And what did they say?

She said she was really sorry I had to be in that class and put up with that.

Thinking....Seriously? You're kidding?

Mr. Back Up Teacher said he understood how I felt but I shouldn't let that happen again.

But you didn't get a referral, they didn't do anything?

Well..... she gave me a hug.

What?! And then what?

I couldn't stop crying so they sent me into the sixth grade class to sit for the rest of the period. It was the same teacher I had in 6th. You remember her.

Yes, did she ask what was going on?

I guess they told her, Ms. IPT talked to her..... and then she gave me a hug too.

? OK.
She maintained that A average all year.

Ever wonder what teachers might really be thinking, but not saying ?


© 2010 All Rights Reserved

Who's Raising You?

The other day I took my 14 year old to the doctor for a check-up. The nurse handed her the paper gown and left for her to change. My youngest sighed, gave me the I hate this and them and you look, pulled off her shirt, flung it across the room into my lap ,waited her perfect timing moment and announced  "What....no one's  throwing dollar bills ?"
I have to admit the kid cracks me up but what on earth happened to all my careful censoring over the years. Everything on my TV over PG 13 is still blocked. As my darlings tell me," we learned it at school you might as well give up". Well I won't do that but I guess I will have to unblock comedy central some day so that I can watch my child perform.

I can hardly wait!

She Said What!

Three times I have been secretly tickled at my kids for being awful!

My daughters tend to be very quiet, especially away from home. The following are 3 of my favorite examples of moments they snapped. And also surprised me into not knowing what to think, or do, except laugh to myself.