Superhero

My firstborn is a superhero.  See?

She is every bit as intelligent, confident, funny and carefree as I hoped she'd be.  Even more so, actually!  I want to be like my daughter when I grow up.  Is that weird?

We've heard back from the colleges she applied to, and she was accepted by all of them!  So . . . now what?  I wish I was the kind who truly understood what I needed to do to ensure my daughter's future . . but I'm not.  And I never will be.  I feel panicked and overwhelmed and want to run and hide and I fear these opportunities will pass right by.  It will kill.me.dead if I manage to screw up her chances for a secure future.  She has worked incredibly hard these past three years . . . isn't it now my turn to get the scholarships and financial aid in order?

I feel awful at times that she has to be my experimental prototype.  I might (MIGHT) have half a clue by the time the youngest gets to college age.  But I make no promises.  I feel frozen . . . just about everybody I meet pours out buckets of very useful information on what I should do.  NONE of it assimilates.  By the time I return home, I sit at the computer and think, "what am I supposed to be doing, again????  I AM supposed to be doing something, right?"  And then the laundry list mentally unrolls and I, again . . . run and hide.

I barely graduated high school.  If I hadn't been ahead of the game before my senior year, I wouldn't have graduated at all.  Thanks to the "higher" diploma, I was able to eke my way across the stage.  A lot of circumstance - not much pomp.  So I have no experience to fall back on.  And there's SO MUCH we need to do to make sure she'll actually be able to ATTEND one of these colleges which has so readily accepted her.  And then there's so much to PREPARE for, and so much to DO and so much to BUY and so much to . . . 

::breathes into paper bag::

I'm going to bed.

Ouch

Not such a fun day, no.  Guy's back is out.  Waaay out.  He has a history of these issues and, as he said today, "this is getting old."  It was old twenty years ago.

It kind of makes me glad that all of my issues are in my head.

He's finally resting after a wheefun trip to the clinic.  It's quite a traumatic experience to ride in a car with me under the best of circumstances - pure hell to ride with me when every movement feels like your insides are ripping to tiny shreds and rolling up into a taquito.  (At least, that's how I imagine it is.  Surely it is.)  The man can endure a freakish amount of pain, but enough already!

Hopefully the meds will stop the spasms and he can have a relatively pain-free weekend.  At the least, I hope they'll dope him up enough that he won't care what condition he's in.

In the meantime, here's my brilliant teenager who is smarter than me and knows it.  I don't stand a chance.

Chapter 2012

One shiny new year.

One shiny new camera.

What more does anybody need?

So we have a fresh page for life, love, and pic-a-day.

Today was a pretty mellow pajama day filled with games, giggles and creativity.

Happy New Year!!

On High School and Psychotic Boyz

I never went to any homecoming dances.  Nor prom.  Nor the entire fourth quarter of Algebra III/Trig . . . but that's another story. 

At the time, I told myself I was vehemently opposed to the forced conformity and blatant social injustices imposed upon the sub-societal structure of the hell we called "high school."  Looking back, though, I see that it might . . juuust might . . have been the minor detail of my poor white trashy self without money OR a date.  (Well, I wasn't TRASHY!  Hehhehheh.  Okay maybe I was.  Just a little.)

(Apparently trashy enough to get kicked out of the car pool.  But that's another story.)

So, yes . . . . homecoming.  Imagine my surprise upon discovering that my firstborn is the type to throw herself into such events . . . and LOVE it!  I feel pangs of jealousy, I admit.  (Until I remember the forced conformity and glaring social injustices imposed upon the sub-societal structure of the hell known as "high school.")  I might really just love that her family life is stable enough, and that she is who she is - to be ABLE to enjoy such things.

And enjoy them, she does:

See those boyz??  The one in pink is one of her bestest friends, and that doppleganger of Elijah Wood is The Boyfriend.  And he's such a brilliantly GOOD guy that I'm beside myself with Mama Joy.  Because as it turns out, the PREVIOUS boyfriend (remember the pierced Buddhist?) is actually a mentally unstable, manipulative and controlling psychotic freak.  If you read between the lines, there, you'll find I wasn't exactly pleased with Mr. Buddhist and how he treated my Firstborn.  Oh no I was not.  And the mind games and harassment CONTINUES.  But that's another story . . . 

THIS story is happy!  And this Firstborn of mine deserves happy!  And that of course makes ME happy!  And it makes me want to leap onto tall structures and rip my shirt off and dance like Peewee Herman.  Like that time . . . at band camp . . . but that's another story.

True Colours

Can you beat this?  I mean really?

I truly, truly enjoy having another gurly in the house!  I braced myself - thinking the constant reminder of my sister would rip open the wound of her loss day after day.  But I am STUNNED to find the exact opposite to be true.  I feel more HEALED with the reminder.  I feel like a part of my sister has returned to me.  And I LOVE that we talk about her openly and freely - remembering and laughing - as naturally as we talk about the weather, shopping and the insanity of boyz.

And my "newest addition" is such a joy!!  I shall dub her Sprout and she shall be my Sprout and Sprout she shall henceforth be called.  I hope she's as happy here as we're happy to have her here.

So . . .  we're clinging to summer as long as possible.  ::clingclingclinnnnnnnnnng::  We don't begin school until after Labour Day.  But, as happens every year, once the second week of August hits, I start to feel that "back to school excitement" creeping in.  I think about meeting the new teachers - the fresh page of the new year - my "autumn resolutions," etc.  I'm particularly nervous about how I will handle this year because I'm sending off a student to preschool, elementary, middle AND high school.

::ups her meds::

Chase, I'm thinking, will most likely be expelled after a week or so.  See, he's supposed to be a peer MODEL in the reverse mainstreaming program.  He's supposed to TEACH many of the other students by example.  One of the biggest things he's supposed to "model" is that it's a fabulous, fun, woo-frickin-hoo thing to be out of diapers and going to the "big kid" bathroom.  More fun than Chuck E. Cheese!  Alas, however, Chase is ::looks around and whispers:: a panty pooper.  He will.not do the doody in the spelunker no matter WHAT you say or do or try to bribe him with.  I might or might not have resorted to blackmail. I ain't sayin'.  But desperate times call for desperate measures.

Even desperate measures won't work on a poo-potty paranoid preschooler, however.

Perhaps he can charm and distract them all with his purtified painted piggies?

::hopes::

Week in Pictures and Notes to Self

• An adorable 3 yo at Chuck E. Cheese's will adorably sit in the 3 yo-appropriate section for about 3 adorable minutes.

• And then he will have had his fill and race off for the big guns.  Literally.

• A 10 yo can blow through 100 tokens in about 10 minutes.

• For about a candy bar's worth of tickets.  And the child who registered at the genius level of the perceptual reasoning section of his IQ test will NOT understand the illogical nature of this entire process no matter how many times one tries to explain it to him.

• Force myself out of the house more often.  I could have stayed home (again) and agonized (again) over where I SHOULD have been and whom I SHOULD have been with on Memorial Day . . . but I didn't.  I was invited, and so I accepted.  It wasn't nearly the same, but it was nice.

• Beware the sun glare.  From a teen who just returned from a three day trip that morning, and hadn't slept at all the night before.  I got off easy, really.

• Get over to this house and schmoochschmoochschmooch this baby!  Every day!

• Wasn't MY little gurl just that small?  And I blinked and now she's already had her last band concert . . . ever.

• Band picnics are hell.  Maybe it would be better if I actually knew somebody - anybody - beyond the "smile and nod" stage.  I haven't been able to connect with any other high school parents, and my high schooler enters her third year in a few months.  ::clutches heart::  I'm beginning to wonder if we're all just TIRED by the time our kids are in high school?

•  First boyfriends intent on impressing girlfriend's Daddy come in quite handy.

• This first boyfriend will probably never know just how freakishly amazing this entire scenario is - taken two days after Daddy discovered he even existed - two weeks before Daddy's little girl is officially allowed to date in the first place.

• Lucky stinker rat owes me.  She owes me big.

• Exciting new "big boy" room has been met with approval by one and all.

• ::Clings to precious baby theme just a little bit longer before getting new curtains and bedding::

• Watch where you step the first night of a new bed.

• A blankie can be used as warmth and comfort no matter how big your big boy is getting.

• It can also aid and abet a big boy who happens to be a mischievous snack thief.

• Sunday Morning Grumpitis is contagious.

• A sure antidote for Sunday Grumpitis is a healthy dose of games.

• And Ice cream for dinner.  Every now and then you just gotta.

• CAUTION: Ice cream for dinner sometimes causes disturbing side effects.

• An adorable 3 yo will sit for about 3 hours while being read to.  Again.  And again.  And again.

• Check out more "butt books" from the library.  Because they're just too funny, that's why.  "Big butts, Mommy!  One, two butts!  Yook!  Yook!  So many butts in the water!!  Oooooooh, shiny butts!"

• Find a book on "rainbow colour boats."  No, wait!  "Noisy boats!"

• Houseboats?  "Do these plants make my boat look big?"

• Yyyyyyeah . . time to go to bed when I start typing stuff like that . . . 

Notes to Self and Lessons Learned This Week

• Strawberry-topped blueberry waffles are heavenly.

• Strawberry-topped blueberry waffles splattered majestically all over the floor beside the computer desk are a tragedy.

• The dogs will not eat the strawberry topping from strawberry-topped blueberry waffles.

• Strawberry topping will not, will NOT come out of carpeting.

• Think of a good explanation for the massacre that surely took place right here at my feet.

• Eating at the computer is dangerous bidness.

• When my child wakes up from his nap and brings me his bagged soiled diaper in one hand and a fresh one in the other - it's probably time to consider potty training.

• Cheese that has become too brown (read that: black) in the oven can be covered by more cheese and served to hapless missionaries - and they will actually wolf it down.

• Missionaries really WILL eat anything.

• Although now that I think about it, they later tried to set my middle child on fire.  "Object lesson in faith" they called it.  I'm thinking they were really trying to sacrifice him in some bizarre "vengeance from the burnt cheese" missionary ritual.

• Squirrels will eat anything, too.

• If you sit still long enough while at a picnic in the park, they'll sit on your lap and tell you their squirrelly woes.

• Or maybe they'll just scootch up beside you and swipe a cracker or two.

• The "ideal thermostat temperature" will feel FREEZING when you're outdoors on a cloudy day and a chilly wind is involved.  Oops.

• Kids are completely oblivious to cold when a playground is involved.

• There's nothing quite so cute as two little men looking like two little old men.

• When you're three, there's no hurt a bandaid can't heal.

• Irony rawks.

• When you're running late, poo shoe happens.

• In a pinch, no-wax floor cleaner will work to clean a poo shoe.

• I'll never get tired of the facial expressions exhibited by a deep-thinking three year-old.  Never.

• I now have proof of just how mentally damaging video games can be.

• Send out a search and rescue for the teenage gurly of the house.  I swear there's one around here, somewhere.  I haven't seemed to really catch her in ages.

• I wonder if I could lure her to the kitchen table with strawberry-topped blueberry waffles?