Since, when did we limit our children to having stuff they “need”?

They don’t need DVD players in every SUV on the road, but apparently we have them.

Kids don’t “need” to go to Disney World, and yet apparently, parents still take them.

Kids watch TV.  We give them cell phones, and video game players when all they really need is love.

Well, love and 2,000 calories a day.

My eleven year old boy has a Facebook account.  He’s had it for almost a year.  He chats with his grandma and litters my stream with requests for cows and fencing materials for Farmville.

OK, I see her point there.

My rant is not specifically geared towards Mrs. Obama.  It’s “parenting experts” in general.  Parenting experts are EVER Y WHERE these days.  My particular favorites are the ones with either no kids, or really young kids.

We’ve all been there.  We’ve all swore we’d never screw up our kids like our parents screwed us up, and yet there are six year old kids who still have a pacifier.

American’s have the great luxury of giving their kids all of their needs and most of their wants.

I like that my tween has a Facebook, and I’ll tell you why.

There are things that I, as his parent, cannot teach him.  Sure, I can say “son, you are eleven, let me teach you about a budget.”

Oh yawn.  Do you think he’d listen?

No.

Bo-ring.

But, he plays Farmville.  He needs to buy a combine.  He’s got to figure out how to buy a combine.  He’s got to plant crops with a high yield so he can buy one sooner.   He needs friends to help out with his projects.  He needs to help them with their projects.  All very valuable lessons in my opinion.

Another valuable lesson that Farmville and Facebook has taught my son, is when you agree to do a job, and don’t do it, people get mad.  Seriously, someone got very upset at him for agreeing to participate in a farming job and not completing it on time.  He was upset, but I was able to explain why someone would be so mad about it.  Then I got on my own account and told the other farmer to chillax just a bit, he’s a kid, your farm is fake, shut the hell up.

But it was a good lesson for him.

There is a Farmville.com and he could certainly play the game there, but I cannot monitor it there.  When he interacts with his neighbors, I get an email.  Fred from Paducah has requested him to be a friend.  I get an email.  His grandma sends him a message.  I get an email.

We don’t have a lot of contact with our extended family.  We chose to move far away when he was young.  Facebook has given him an opportunity to get to know, at least by gaming, some of his relatives,  and family friends.

Does he need any of that?  No. When my grandmother’s family moved west her mother did not see her own parents for sixteen years.  She lived to be a ripe old age. She clearly didn’t “need” contact with her family, but I bet she would have enjoyed it.

Maybe my son isn’t out there playing with all the other kids.  He spends way too much time on the computer.  He is pasty and weak and lacks social skills.  You can blame Facebook, but you can probably get your answer if you shift your eyes 10 feet to either side of him and notice one or more of his pasty, weak, antisocial parents on one of their computing devices.

There are as many ways to raise kids as there are kids.  I barely know how to raise my own kids, and I certainly don’t know how to raise anyone elses.  Although, it is kind of my job.

Anyway.

I got to keep six kids.  With number one, I did some things right, I did some things wrong.  Same with two, although he has the benefit of me learning from previous mistakes.  Child three has reaped some serious reward from being the middle child, I’ve gotten better at some things, and still care enough to put forth the effort with him.  Also, he gets the hand me down iPhone in a couple of months, at which time I’ll explain why my 11 year old has an iPhone.  The last three are each completely different from the three completely different older ones.  Child number four WILL NOT have a Facebook at 10, even if it still exists.  He’s a different child, with a different temperament.  We may have to bribe him with cash and cookies to spend any time with us at all by that age.  Who knows?

Oh that’s right. I do.

So, thank you very kindly Mrs. Obama and all you other parenting experts.  I will do what I feel is appropriate for my own family.  And if I want your opinion, I’ll be sure to ask.

Get them ready the night before – Most parenting sites have this tip.  Pick out their clothes the night before.  If you want to be truly awesome, DRESS them the night before.  Why go thru the hassle of a wardrobe change at 7:00 a.m. when you can can completely eliminate it.  This will give the kids five more minutes of sleep, and I think we can all agree how important sleep is.

Feed them.  Or don’t.  I’ve had 24 kids.  Some eat in the morning.  Some don’t.  They all should, you can lead a horse to water and all.  You want to make your morning truly enjoyable (a total living hell) get into a power struggle with a five year old about the amount of milk there is or isn’t in a bowl of Cheerio’s.  #lose #lose

School supplies.  They should have some.  Unsure of what to get?  Things to write with.  Things to write on.  Maybe some glue.  If you feeling particularly self important get a binder.  I’ve discovered that it doesn’t matter what you send that first day, they always come home with a list, or 15 of things that are also needed.  I take advantage of the fact that everyone else is home filling out 72 pages of “who can pick up my kid” type paperwork and go hit the stores after I get the addendum’s. Plus, everything is on sale so I buy two and am prepared for next year. (as far as you know)

Get them to bed at a reasonable time.

Who am I?

God?

Can I perform miracles?  No.  Plus, if they have to fall asleep during math a couple of times to learn that sleep is important, so be it.  If they get left behind, not my problem.  I am quite comfortable with the fact that some kids do need to be left behind, maybe even mine.  Let’s be honest now, someone is holding your kid back, you know it.  Your little Susie is not that stupid.

Pack them a nutritious lunch.  Or if you live in my town, don’t.  I’m still begging Jamie Oliver to come to our town, which is the fattest city in America.  I have a bit of foodie crush on him, and after having been stuck in London during the Volcano thingy earlier this spring, Tech Support may not ever take me back.  Let’s pause a moment while I drool over the bruschetta again.

Expect the worst.  They may not miss you.  You’ll be fine.  Just think about how much cleaning you can get done when they aren’t following behind you squishing blueberries and chocolate into the berber.

Vomit before sunrise.

Three loads of laundry.

Breakfast.

Waiting. Whining. Wailing.

Last day of summer camp?

We Throw Frisbees?

and now the random

Where the hell did my summer go?  Hello, Twitter.  You know you owe me at least three weeks.  Dr. Pepper is following me on Twitter.  Coca-Cola however is not.  I can take a hint.  Not well.  But I can.

Have I ever told you that my neighbors named their dog after me?  Yes.   I hate going outside only to hear,

“ANNIE STOP POOPING IN THE NEIGHBORS YARD.”

sorry, but technically…it is MY yard.

We have a new CPS worker.  She is “sending” me paperwork that I need to enroll the orphans into school.  I’ll keep you posted.  Don’t hold your breath.  Feel free to cross your fingers, but I don’t want anyone passing out.

I just remembered I haven’t gone to a turtle release this year.  What the heck kind of coastal resident am I?  I’m calling them now….August 11-15 ish.  Yay.  I love to do that.  Why do I always wait until the last one?  At the end of the summer, when I’m tired and my hopes are dashed.  When my kids know less than they did three months ago…

Oh, to be young and hopeful again.

I will be almost 40 in about four weeks.  Not 40, that is a year away, I have a year of people saying “oh, you’re almost 40″ thank you math genius.  Let’s just skip 39 and be 40 because I think almost 40 is going to be worse.  I don’t know why.  It reminds me of high school.  Oh, you’re almost old enough to drive, vote, drink…not necessarily in that order, but never at the same time.  Yeah, I know.  There is something awesome on the other side of the curtain, thanks .

Anyway….I gotta get up early, there is a breakfast session at #HomeHer10 – I think it’s called, “Mom has a headache and I didn’t teach you to use the microwave for no reason.”

When I was a kid I had to wait for someone to drag their ass to a stove to cook breakfast for me, there weren’t no fancy microwavable breakfasts, not that we were allowed anywhere near that thing lest we become forever sterile and ridden with tumors.  My kids are lucky.

]]> http://annieology.com/why-do-i-have-to-have-a-title/feed/ 0 http://annieology.com/whose-idea-was-this/ http://annieology.com/whose-idea-was-this/#comments Thu, 24 Jun 2010 04:57:01 +0000 annie http://annieology.com/?p=4362 When you have multiples, you tend to think of them as a package deal.  The twins, the trips, the littles, whatever.  They are hardly ever Felpsy, Boog, and Princess.

So, this summer, needing constant entertainment, as well as choreographed dance routines performed to the likes of Justin Bieber and Miley Cyrus, I signed the trips up for Latchkey.  Daycare at the local school.   Because, given the choice of choreographing a dance routine to songs sung by people I deny even exist or allowing someone else to,  I chose the latter.

I’ve been keeping one of the kids home on non-field trippy days.  Monday, Boog and I bought Lego-opolis and he learned new swear words.

Today, I took Felpsy shopping.  He’s the big boy so he’s always in need of clothes, while Boog, always seems to have some,  hmm?  Also, his water shoes had shrunk over the past year and he needed a new pair.  He, however, had envisioned new tennis shoes.  That little breakdown in communication turned into a screaming, crying fit in the middle of the mall.   Leading me to wonder whose idea it was to have kids in the first place.  While quickly resolved, only reminded me that they do not have individual behavior skills.  They are used to group regulation, and with the group gone….mayhem.

We ended up getting a cheap pair of flip flops, and a pair of water shoes.  Both super satisfying, and you’ll be proud of me for not being mean to the Payless person when she asked if I wanted to get a pair for myself.

Umm, have you met me?  Imelda Awesome?  Thought not.  I do not buy shoes at Payless, thankyouverymuch.

On to the shirt buying.

What do you think of this shirt?

I don’t know.  Is it  a cool kid shirt?

I like it.

Can you call Sk8rboi and ask him?

I am uncertain what the “cool kid” shirts are.  I just went through this with Radical.  He does not wear clothing that is not Sk8rboi approved.  So, I am no longer necessary in the clothing department.

In the words of Forrest, Forrest Gump…”I guess that’s one less thing.”

Speaking of shirts.  I got a new one, and there is a bit of pinkish material that sticks out on it a bit, in an interesting location.  I don’t know how many times today I caught a glimpse of myself somewhere and immediately panicked at the thought I was having a “wardrobe malfunction”.   Only then to wonder why I would think that I had left my nipple in the northeast quadrant of my boob.  duh

Still.  Got my heart racing more than once.

One of the other activities Felpsy wanted to do on his special day was to “play cooking show”  or as it’s called in most parts of the world, “cooking.”

In rounding out the all things Felpsy day, he wanted to work the remote in the living room.  Usually he has as much chance getting the remote as he does getting the keys to the nice car.   Sure, it happens, but only when I’ve been drinking.

Anyway, he surfed channels like a guy, approximately 12 channels per minute, and so as not to say a word I took a nap.  All in all it was a good day.  He even held my hand while we walked around town.

Feeling all close and not, I grabbed his hand in the parking lot of the school when we went to pick up the other two.

REJECTED.  He could not get his hand away from me fast enough.

Alright.  Point taken.

Tomorrow is a parenting recovery day.  All kids will be cared for by college students and I will be going for burritos with my friend.  All in preparation for her highness, Little Miss Sunshine herself.  Princess will be staying with me on Friday.  Guess I should get some sleep.

Speaking of Felpsy, he’s graduating from Kindergarten.  Hey sport, way to master the ABC’s and the 123’s which you already knew, and since buying a cap and gown for Kindergarten graduation would be STUPID we just need to go and buy you some “Sunday best” which is discrimanatory against heathens.  I’m not a heathen, “thank you Jesus” but we wear our swim suits to church.  A by-product of living in a coastal community and the possibility that someone may need baptizin’.

Now, over the years the school has compelled us to attend these stupid infant graduations by holding them DURING school hours.  We can’t keep our kids home from them or we’ll go to jail for intentionally allowing our kids to skip school where they (get funding) are learning (although the test is over lurnin is done).  So, if we don’t show up (skip WORK)  we look like horrible parents.  Even worse,  WE look like horrible foster parents.

So, we go.

Which brings us to the 5th grader, who is also graduating.  A bit more of an accomplishment, but I would rather mark it by tossing out all of the Sponge Bob undies than attending YET ANOTHER graduation.  But whatever.  I attended the orphans’ I will go to yours too.

The only kid still at home that is not graduating is Sk8rboi, our 17 year old.  Who is going to school, and doing as well as he ever does, and working 25 or more hours a week and doing it all without so much as a “get your arse outta bed” from me.  He’s accomplishing something.

I need to write the school board.

He’s going to feel left out and develop a complex and end up in a clock tower.

Dear school board,

It’s not fair that not everybody gets to graduate from everything.  4/5 of my children will be graduating this year and my 1/5 is being discriminated against.  Either cancel all graduations or include everyone.  It’s only fair.  Also, I would like to recommend that each year you change the colors of the caps and gowns so that I have a broad color spectrum and no one is subject to hand me downs.  I also think that $30 is a good price point to start at.  The end of the year is a good time to hit us with these extra fees, because the kids are also going to lots of field trips and such because, as you know, standardized tests are over by the end of April and teaching kids after that would be pointless.

I’m not trying to tell you how to run things, just a concerned parent.

Sincerely, Annie

Also too, dear readers, don’t tell me to homeschool.  I cannot homeschool the orphans and homeschooling my “real” kids would seem cruel and exclusive.  Besides, the only thing I’ve effectively taught them is the “f” word and even that, I got wrong.

Dagan.

It is barely 8:00 a.m. on Day 1 when she asks “So, after (2/4) of the small kids are in school, that’s about all?”

Yeah, even with the half assed job I do, you still got about 12-14 hours left in your day.  Welcome to my world.

It’s been a while, but I think the scorn means she’s not too happy.

Luckily, Tech Support has left the building.

He’s not a fan of the scowl.

So, I’m off to train the 19 yodd (year old darling daughter) how to be a mom to four small children and a teenager.  I think we’ll start by tossing the 17 yods room for contraband.

If nothing else, this will serve as a reminder that sex has consequences.

One problem.

Well, make that five.

Now, I am quite certain that my (lazy) awesome parenting has prepared the many small children to fend for themselves for much longer than six days, but because there are orphans in the mix…..somebody has to watch them.

And not just anybody.  Body’s that have been certified by the FBI to not have been caught doing anything nefarious in their past.  Which makes the hiring process so much fun.  Yeah, “I’m going to be paying you about forty cents and hour to watch five children, first I need you to run yourself downtown and put your fingerprints into a gov’ment database.”  NEXT.

So, I figure with enough Dorito’s and Mtn. Dew in the house, we could just skip the child care portion.  Plus, think of how much money it will save us.  Everybody can walk themselves to school, sure that means about two miles one way for the youngest amongst us, but really the whole world is screaming about how kids don’t get enough exercise anyway.  So really, I’m just being a good parent.

***Disclaimer for the trolls.  It’s called sarcasm.  Like I’d buy Doritio’s for the kids.  Nacho puffs taste exactly the same.

Also, how cool is it that my title contains more words than my post?

We did go on a weekend out of town.  I totally made sure all kids were wearing shoes before we left the house and did not discover 85 miles later that one of them did not have shoes with him.  That would totally be a parent #FAIL  If I had left the house with only 3/4 of the kids wearing proper footwear, I would not think it was totally funny.  I would not try to pretend to be upset to back up Daddy Awesome who really did not think it was funny that we had to go shoe shopping.

I did not let the kids wear their clothes in the pool because I had forgotten that this is south Texas and is now pool season.

I also did not forget my toothbrush on our weekend getaway.  Dental hygiene is very important and I brush twice daily, even on vacation.

I did not find it hilarious when, with windows open, my kid yells at the car next to him “Hey, that guy is drinking and driving just like you  mom.”  Yes, me and the guy in the Honda drink and drive and have an affinity for Sonic.

Well, I will have to get back to you tomorrow, right now I have three kids and a bear to put to bed.

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.

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.