annieology

Every new mom worries that despite the fact that her newborn sleeps 23.5 hours a day that some ill fate will befall her cherub while she takes a quick shower.  By the time she realizes that the little rug rat will be okay, the kid has become mobile, and it’s over for her.

Having five year olds you would think I was past this.  So did I.  But with the milestone of being five, came the privilege of being allowed to play in the front yard, loosely supervised.  As long as you tell Mom, Dad or Sk8r Boi that you are going out, and stay within these limits you can play outside.   If you chose to go play in the yard of your friends across the street, you have to stay outside, and within shouting distance.

They love this new rule.

So do we.

However, having the limited imagination and cunning of an adult, this is how it played out for us.

Tech Support was away for the weekend at a disc golf tournament.  We were three weeks into a plague wherein someone in the house had puked at some point during every one of those days.  Nothing cures the pukies like 7-Up so for a while we had said that they could also get a 7-Up if they were feeling sickly under yet another set of rules.

It was Sunday morning.  Tech Support was gone, we were headed to our fractal group for church, I kind of wanted to shower.  So, I did.  Of course all mom’s know that once the water starts so does the banging on the door and the questions.

Knock.  Knock. Knock.

“Mom, something, something, blah blah blah.”

I CAN’T HEAR YOU I’M IN THE SHOWER, I’ll be out in five minutes.  OKAY?

“Blah blah blah mumble mumble OKAY!”

So, I wrapped things up and when I got out of my room, couldn’t find the boys.   Hmmmm?  The front door was wide open.  Okay so they went outside.

Now, remember, I shower first in this house, so we have two unwashed five year old boys.  Boys who had picked out their own clothing for the morning.  Boog in pants that were about two sizes too big and Felpsy in pants that were two sizes too small.  Boog was walking on his pant legs, and Felpsy was sporting some capris.  They were marching up and down the sidewalk singing songs.  Each boy had a can of 7-Up and were guzzling it as fast as they could between verses because they knew they would be confiscated upon discovery.

Tech Support wanted me to remind you and the neighbors that he was out of town.

I am blessed with brilliant children, and by blessed I mean “gotta stay on my toes”.  Yesterday Felpsy turned six.  As you know, Boog was ready to dec-o-rate.  He woke up at the crack of early asking to go to the party store.   I told him the store didn’t open for a long time, but we would go.  After 487 questions about when they opened, why they weren’t opened, blah blah blah, I told him the people who worked at the party store had to get their kids ready for school and then had to go home and get ready for work, so they wouldn’t be there until about the time I was ready.  Yes, I know I shouldn’t lie, don’t worry, I paid for it.

Several hours pass and we hit up the party store.  Greeted of course by the (why the hell are you bothering my txting with showing up at my job) employee mumbling something about “welcome to Party Universe blah blah blah”  Boog of course tells her we are here to get decorations for his brother’s birthday, that he was five yesterday just like us and now he’s not, asks her if she likes Sushi and then asks her if she has kids.

Yes.  He.  Did.

No.  She didn’t.

“Well then why couldn’t she get to work on time?”  he asked me.

Crap.

“Oh look, streamers.”

We got our Star Wars paraphernalia and headed to Target.

Boog shot off in the direction of the toys at 100 mph while Little Miss Sunshine strolled at the breakneck speed of a Hoveround.  We past the make up aisle and the girl asked me why they didn’t make a lipstick that lasted longer than a “Spongebob” (our standard measure of time for 15 minutes) while commiserating with her I heard the walkies  going on about a lost boy and “does he know his mommy’s name”.  Urging the girl to walk a little faster, figuring I was said mommy, we round the corner to find Boog standing in a hazmat zone having puked the length of the Lego aisle.

“He’s mine, thanks.” (you totally know that puke is not my domain inside a Target store right?  I am the mayor after all.)  And I hurried out of there with my ill child, at the breakneck speed of a Hoveround.  All while dodging two calls from CPS and the therapist, plus the knowing eyes of those with walkies judging me for not being more active in vomit clean up.

“Hey, I saw that look.  I’m the mayor around these parts, I totally have no power over you.”

Other than that it was a gorgeous day here in north Mexico.  Mid 70s and if Tech Support had the time to windsurf anymore, it would have been a great day to do so.  I feel the outdoor pool is within our grasp here shortly, (pending results of the skin cancer biopsy and a ton of SPF).

We ate cupcakes decorated like dogs and petit fours.   After of course a dinner of pork tenderloin and spinach.  (Felpsy’s choice)

Then we hunted for presents.  I would excuse my not wrapping birthday gifts as the “green” alternative buy you know that’s a bunch of bull.  But I don’t wrap birthday presents.  We scavenger hunt for them.  This year I let the twins give their own clues as to where they had hidden their gifts.  There was wailing and gnashing of teeth.  Finally it was revealed that they were “on my bed”.   When it got to be my turn I told him mine was hidden “not on top of my bed” to which a major fit was thrown.   “Fine it’s under my bed.”  Happiness.

Then a big fight where someone may or may not have ended up with a gaping head wound.

Blood.  Tears.  Timeouts. Chocolate.  Awesomeness.

Sk8r Boi takes after me, which doesn’t necessarily make him academically successful.  Being 16  has it’s share of distractions as well.  So, I was not surprised when his guidance counselor called this morning and asked if I had seen the “progress report”.

I hadn’t.

“Well,” she says, “he’s failing six classes.”

Dang, if you’re going to fail six, you might as well go for all seven.

She asked if I wanted to have the teachers contact me by phone, which was a nice offer.  I knew she didn’t read the blog.  Me. And the phone?  “um no, have them email me. ”

Which they did.

First one came in from the English teacher.  He explained that Sk8r Boi is bored and probably should be in Honors classes.

Well, that’s great.

So, tomorrow I’m marching into the Guidance Office and insist, no DEMAND, that my son, who is failing 6/7 of his classes be moved immediately to the Honors program.