Oh Dear. Mama's in the Cooking Wine

     So. I had some downtime at work recently, and the new crock pot to break in. Which equaled thinking up recipes to try out in it, which equaled a phone call home and the request that Jasin go hit up the local Liquor store and inquire about a nice white cooking wine. Possibly some red cooking wine too, while you're at it. Just ask them for suggestions and buy whatever they give you, I instruct.

     I arrived home  to 2 inexpensive bottles of wine on the kitchen table, and the next day off, and, being a sucker for white wine, decide to give it a try. OMG. It was the best wine ever. Anyone following Facebook will know that, the next morning I stayed in bed, trying to think up a perfectly rational and acceptable reason for drinking wine for breakfast. Before church and a baby shower for my niece later that afternoon. I wandered downstairs to the noise of duck and squirrel calls their Father had so thoughtfully bought them the day before (The joys of living in the Boondocks and being surrounded by almost constant Gun and Sportsman shows. The deep South Rednecks have NOTHING on the WNY Southern Tier's gun/hunting/sportsman obsession.) and opened the refrigerator and had to really talk myself out of a perfectly respectable little sip of wine. I mean, really, when you think about it, it was going to be a busy day, I was going to have to wrestle with George through church, I was going to have to cook dinner, run errands, go to a baby shower, and my truck was not running right again. Who wouldn't blame me for a little tiny jump start to the day? A pick-me-up, if you will. Why NOT start the day all relaxed? I wouldn't even care about the ducks and squirrels that were bound to be descending upon my house en mass any moment now. I would WELCOME the adorable little creatures even, if I could just have a glass sip of that wine. But, I did not. And because of that restraint, I may or may not have impatiently told George there were monsters under the pews at church who eat little boys who do not behave in church. Paving my way DIRECTLY to hell, I imagine. (The health insurance does indeed pay for counseling, for those of you who wonder if  we shouldn't book an appointment....)

     For several days, I managed to just look at the cooking wine, sitting tantalizingly on the top shelf of the refrigerator. I had things to do, and children I was responsible for. There was only a glass left in the bottle anyway, after using it for my crock pot chicken in Sunday. No harm there, right? But, then there was the bathroom. And the fact that I had decided to clean and purge my entire house of 10 years of accumulation, starting with the smallest room; the bathroom. And, after 3 garbage bags of junk, and at least 12 years of memories, and having to make myself throw out baby barrettes, baby washcloths, journals of weight and exercise from when I was thinner, and suddenly doubting my worth as a housekeeper, mother and ever reaching skinny status, I was a miserable wreak who called Jasin and informed him it would be better for my mental status if we just left the house as is, and moved to a different one with new stuff. Then, I won a treat basket from the Library basket raffle. With lots of things, including chocolate inside it.

     If that wasn't a sign, I don't know what was. The universe could not have been any clearer. Does no one else see the connection of misery/wine/chocolate here? I thought so. So, not one to ignore the Universe, I poured half a glass of the magic wine, and grabbed a 3 Musketeers bar from the treat basket, a trashy novel, and snuggled into my recliner last night.
  
    Before I knew it, I was feeling soooo very good. I was relaxed and feeling on top of the world, completely okay with life in general, and having the urge to look through my phone contacts and see who I could look up and get in touch with. Instead, I decided to announce my wonderful elixir on Facebook, and how amazing I felt. At which several people demanded to know the name and brand of my magic cooking wine. I had to think long and hard, about telling anyone what it was. I could not possibly imagine letting ANYONE, ANYWHERE, EVER touching my wine. It was all mine, and I was not feeling up to sharing it. Ever. Seriously.
    
      A small part of my brain told me I needed to wander to the refrigerator, and type in the name and brand of the wine. And then, after posting this on Facebook, I may have followed it with a threat to people not to go buying all the wine. I have decided to go and buy 2 more bottles first thing tomorrow, when the liquor store opens. It's already in my head. "Drop this kid off at the Birthday party, that kid off to the Cub Scout thing, and then I can stop at the liquor store, grab a few bottles, and stock up, before I pick the other kid up from the sleep over...."

     Cheers everyone! Have a great weekend!!

Old and Decrepid

     Who knew. I am old. Not even middle aged. I mean, ELDERLY, old. I am reminded of it constantly. From my children:

     "Mom, was color invented when you were a kid, or, was everything still black and white?"

     "Did the dinosaurs die before, or after you were born?"

     "You were born in the 1970's??? Wow. You are soooo old, Mom."

From my poor arthritic body that creaks and groans when standing, making the first 5 steps not unlike those of a gangly newborn giraffe. The same body that can accuritely predict incoming rain and the severity of it days before any satalite or the National Weather Service can. (Sorry, to my Dad who was a highly educated Meteorologist and predicted weather for 30+ years. Arthritis wins over college here, Dad.)

     People in the public sector, as well. A patient of mine the other day, when a student nurse was tagging along with me for her clinicals:

     "Oh! We have a young one in here!" Comments the 70 something patient.

     "Are you implying that I am old, there, mister?"

     "Well, she isn't as old as you and I are, you know."

Or the kid at K-Mart yesterday. All I wanted to do, was replace my crockpot. I use it constantly, esp when I work, so that dinner is done for the kids, with minimal effort from the sitters or Kaila. The ceramic pot cracked awhile back, so I haven't been able to use it lately. My kids have eaten a lot of pancakes, spaghetti and fish sticks. Nobody in my household (and probably the sitter, too) wants to ever see any of these foods again. And, no names here, (SARA RALEY CECCHIN!!!) but someone recently posted a bunch of crockpot recipies, reminding me that I really needed to replace my crockpot. Here I am, dropping the the ball, depriving my kids of decent meals, because I can't seem to even remember to buy a new one. (Another sign of old age.)
     So, yesterday, I do my hair, get all dressed, I WORE EARINGS, for heaven's sake! I never get to wear earings anymore. When I do, my kids and husband become all suspicious.

     "Where are you going?"
    
     "I am going too!"

     "Are you going someplace we don't know about?"
     "You're going to be gone a long time, aren't you?"
     "Are you SURE you're just going grocery shopping?"

     "Why are you wearing those? I mean, REALLY, why are you wearing those?"

Nothing like your family, making you feel like you are are reformed hooker, about to fall off the wagon. So, anyhow, I get all dressed up, because I get to go all the way to Olean, just George and myself, to do fun shopping. I get to buy stuff to make baby presents for several people having babies, I get to buy a crockpot, and browse through the garden dept of K Mart and checkout herb and veggie seeds, and buy stuff to repot my plants. Plants that I rescued from a dark corner at work, struggling at death's door, and smuggled home to revive. They deserved new pots. All happy, earings jingling cheerfully at my earlobes, I go to the checkout, where the young man cashing me out starts off with:

     "And, would you like the extended warranty for your new appliance, Ma'am?" (Let's be honest here. Unless it's a hot Southern man with a sexy drawl, born and raised to call everyone 'Ma'am', immediatley making you  want to, you know, wear earings for him.... we all cringe a little when the word 'Ma'am' is used.)

     "No thanks"

     "You sure?"

     "My last crockpot lasted almost 17 years. I'm not too worried."

     "Wow! That's like, only 2 years younger than I am! That's like, OLD!" The shocked little darling bursts out. I went home and took the earings out.

     But, there is hope. I bought workout DVD's. With the assurances of the commercial, a lot of imagination, some hope, and the desperate wish for pixie dust, and four magic wands,  I can absolutely look like a Brazillian swimsuit model in only a few short weeks. Which will absolutely make me look young, solve all my problems, make me healthy, wealthy and afford me the ability to wear earrings without interogation. Ha!

Living With Sheldon Cooper

     I live with Sheldon Cooper. He is masquarading as my (almost) 8 year old son, Joe. I feel bad for poor Joe, as George seems to get most of the lime light. The guilt I felt, when someone told me they didn't even know I had another son, was terrible. Joe is a beautiful boy, with enormous blue eyes, a mop of thick hair that seems to grow faster than I can have my sister cut it. He is a smart, handsome kid, who only sees the world in a literal sense. For example;

     We were recently watching 'The Fox and the Hound'. Kaila was sighing over this being one of her favorite movies, because the backround is so beautiful. Not Joe.

     "I hate this movie! It is so WRONG! Black bears are not that big! They do not have red eyes! Todd is at a Game Preserve. No one can be running around with guns and traps - the Game Warden would be arresting him. WHAT?? WHAT??? The BEAR dies going over the waterfall, but the small little fox WALKS AWAY?? Who puts all these lies in a movie??? Owls are nocturnal. This is either wrong, or Big Mama has rabies. Either way, it is NOT good that she is awake."

     "SHUT UP, JOE!!!" screeches Kaila, "You're ruining the whole movie!!"

     "Mooouuummm! Kaila said a bad word! She said shut up!" Informs George "Beat her!"

     "Mom. I am only telling the truth. This is not something little kids should watch. This is teaching them wrong things. No parent should let their kids watch this stuff." lectures Joe.

     "Oh look! Bedtime!" I announce with relief.
Or:
  
     "Mom. Do ducks have feathers or fur? Baby ducks."

     "They are kinda downy, as they grow their feathers, I think. I really am not 100% sure."

     "No fur?"

     "No."

     "Then WHY is a baby duck in a baby book titled "Furry Babies''??? This is all wrong."

     This is from the kid who is obsessedd with Trans Formers, and now The Avengers. The difference being, that these things are possible, with some scientific work. Which, he is prepared to do. If only his Mother would put in a science lab for him, he could get started. Preferably with a secret entrance, so George will leave him alone. He is not sure what his first project will be. It could be a Force Field. He cannot believe no one has invented one yet. He inquired last year where Wal Mart keeps them. It seems the girls at school just WILL NOT leave him alone. At all. He matter of factly announced the other day at dinner, that he gets marriage proposals daily. He says this in passing, and continues on with another subject entirely, but, I interrupted him.

     "Beep beep! Back up, Joseph. You get proposals daily?"
  
     "Yes. WHY am I cursed this way??"

     "Yeah, he really does, Mom. This one girl is always finding Me and Kaila in the hallways, and telling us how much she is on love with Joe. She is going to marry him. She says she will wear him down sooner or later." Lexi fills me in.
    
     We ran into this little girl at the local grocery store recently. Her older sister smirks at Joe, and says,

     "I know you! You are Joe, and you are in love with my little sister!"

     "No, I am not." Joe enunciates, "SHE is in love with ME. I am going to invent a force field very soon for this problem."

     "JOSEPH!!!"

     Joe is not sure if it will be the Force Field, or the Time Machine first. He REALLY needs a Time Machine. It is endlessly frustrating to him, that he does not already own one. It would come in handy on a regular basis. For instance:

     "What is for dinner, Mom?"
 Heeeeere we go. He hates almost everything.

     "Slop. I am cooking slop. AKA roast beef."

     "Do I like slop?"

     "Yes. Yes you do."

     "Can you hurry up and build my lab? I need my time machine right now."

     "Why?"

     "Because then I could go into the future 10 minutes, and try dinner, so I know if I like it or not, so I know if I am eating tonight. What are you doing?"
     "Getting Tylenol."

Or, there is the other reasoning behind the immediate need for a Time Machine:

     "Guess what?"

     "What?"

     "I have not decided if I need to build the Time Machine first, or the Force Field first."

     "Because...?"

     "If I had a Force Field, I could build things uninterrupted by girls.... But, if I had a Time Machine, I would know for sure. I could go into the future, and see if I need to get started right away on fixing George."

     "And what is wrong with your brother?"

     "Mom. Come on. He is going to end up in jail some day. He is crazy. He is upside down all the time, always flipping up the couch, or doing somersaults, he is into everything, including my stuff, he is aways changing his pajamas - it's a sign there is something seriously wrong with him. And, he never leaves me alone. I have to lock myself in the bathroom, to do my homework! And THEN he says he has to go potty, and I STILL cannot get it done. He's a problem. If you build me a lab, I can fix him. And keep him out of jail."

     "Or, we could build a second bathroom. Just saying...."

     Or, there are the one liners, delivered without any pause:

     "If I were to be a bird, I would be a swan. Because my middle name is Grace!" Lexi announces the other day.

     "More like DISgrace." Snorts Joe.

     Or the other day. I sneezed.
 
     "Ha! It worked! I made you do that. I have been working on mind control. Don't mess with me, Mom." He was soooo serious about it.

     "GEORGE!!! You better be glad I do not have my lab yet! I am THIS close to hooking electricc up to my stuff, so you would get electrocuted every time you touch it!!!!" I recently overheard.

During dinner the other day, we were discussing a veggie garden we want to put in. (Read MOM will put in, plant, water, weed, etc....) And where we could put it. We were all tossing ideas around the table, when George lets out an impatient groan.

     "That is all a big waste of time, energy, work, and water. You are doing it all wrong." He says around his hot dog, "You need to build a green house that has solar panels, and a rain collection system that could be rigged to water the plants at a certain time. It would be energy efficient, have lights, be used year round, save money on food all year, and still be good for the planet." O.M.G. I was speechless. He did not understand why this was even an issue. To him, this was just a no-brainer, and a waste of conversation.

     Joe keeps me busy. I spend a lot of time on my phone, Googling things for him. He has an endless barrage of questions that I just do not know the answers to. And it is not just 'one' question. He will continue to shoot them off - for days if needed - until he is completely satisfied with the answer. His teacher mentioned that he is in a group in her class, that spends a lot of time digging deeper into things, and researching them in books, or on the Internet. I was a little nervous, going into parent teacher conferences with his teacher this school year. I was worried what I would be told. I definitely thought for certain, they were going to tell me there were problems with my kid. He does not MEAN to sound condescending, when he thinks someone is wrong. He is so laid back and easy going - except when he isn't. And then, he can have a melt down in seconds. And argue for HOURS, about whatever the problem is. (For instance, snacks, if he doesn't eat his dinner.) I wasn't sure what the teacher would tell me. His teacher just loves him, and told me, "I don't know how to put it, what words to use, but there is just something different about him. Something special. He has a lot of potential." Lets just hope he uses his powers for good, and not evil, right?

     He will also grow up to be very financially savvy. The arguing and lectures we received this past Christmas, while picking out a tree, were unbelievable. He marched matter of factly around the tree lot, checking out prices, until he found the least expensive tree on the lot. A scrawny, tiny, Charlie Brown of a tree. And then spend half an hour following us around, arguing WHY we needed this tree. It was cheap. It would only be in our house for a month. We did not need a huge tree. It would shed less. We would not have to move many things in the living room. It was cheap. We should not be wasting money on a tree that we would only have for a month. It was cheap. It was more responsible with money, to buy a cheap tree. It was cheap. It would be easier to get it home..... it went on and on. The other 5 of us finally settled on a nice, medium sized tree. Which, a mile down the road, flew off the top of my truck. "SEE?! If you would have bought the SMALL tree, I could have carried it, and this would not have happened. If you only would have listened to me...."

     "Sounds like somebody needs nap, right mom?" Pipes up George.
It will be so interesting, to see how my own little Sheldon Cooper grows up. To see if he invents a Force Field, a Time Machine, or figures out how to give toys an electrical charge.... It will also be interesting to see how his little brother fares, sharing a room with the Mad Scientist...

Home Schooled Mom vs Public Schooled Kids

     I am waiting to see where this post goes, before I name it. What excitement has occured in my household this week, that is worthy of a post? Well, there is the usual Traumatic Thursday. Anyone who follows my Facebook may have caught my Thursday rant, about how much I hate them. Please understand, this comes from a formerly Home Schooled person, who is experiencing public school along with my kids. When I was growing up, we were told what our daily assignments were, we did them, and we were done. We could sleep in, do our school, and be on our merry way. We had such a free spirited youth, that sometimes I hate sending my kids off, to be cooped up in school all day. And sometimes, I happily toss them out the door, and drink tea in my pajamas while snuggling George. Depends on the day.

     Thursdays are the bane of my existance, because my three school children all need to be picked up from various places at different times. In the nicer weather, they can walk. We haven't had a whole lot of that lately, so, slopping through the snow, slush, mud and general misery, we go. Lexi at 2:30, Kaila at 3:00, and Joe at 5:00. For Lexi, we can just sit in the truck and pull around, and the nice school ladies shove your kid in your vehicle and happily wave you off with a smile. For Kaila, one must park, be buzzed into the school, and physicaly see the tutor monitor. Seeing you outside does not count. Seeng you in the front door, does not count. Sending one of your other kids in to get her, does not count. Texting Kaila that I am parked out front, in full view 'See? I am waving from here - see me?', you guessed it; does not count.  "I must see the whites of your eyes!" She sings out. (She may have seen extra white in mine, due to all the rolling they do, as I drag George out of the vehicle AGAIN, or he will sit there in full tantrum mode), then buckle him back in, while the inevitable fighting over the front seat ensues, as I stand in whatever slop Mother Nature has shipped our way that particular Thursday, so I can drive half a mile back home. The homework and chore portion of our day begins then. It's terrible.

     This past Thursday, I assisted Lexi with a project due the 11th. I was actually pretty proud of myself for getting it done early. It really wasn't optional. According to the 3 page list of directions sent home, along with an E mail, and a letter detailing that we the parents understood this project, it's due dates, it's requirements and our needed particapation in it, that we had to sign and send back the next day, which Lexi forgot,  so, thusly recieved a 'strike' for. No stress, right?
      The project was suposed to be about France. It could be on a poster board, in a box, or done as a Power Point Presentation. God Bless the parents that do a Power Point for their 3rd grader's school project. We bought a poster board.
      Lex did so much research for this project! I was so proud of her, as she had gone to the library and taken out several books, and printed out lots of information from the internet. I had to load a french/english dictionary into my phone, for one part of it, but, overall, she knew her stuff. We put the whole thing together, and wrote out a color coded presentation, to go with it. We were pretty proud of ourselves, umtil I realized I had forgotten to pick Joe up from Cub Scouts, and make dinner. And Lexi hadn't even STARTED her regular homework yet.

     Thursdays are hardest on poor Joe. Joe tends to get up between 5:00 and 6:00 AM, so he can have his quiet time, uninterupted bathroom time, and watch Transformers, while snuggled in my chair, without getting screamed at by his sisters, who do not want to ever watch Transformers, and by George, who does not like anyone besides himself and myself in my recliner. After school, he has Cub Scouts, and comes home at dinner time. After which, he has his homework. Which includes a book report and spelling test every single Thursday. It is a miserable experience for both of us. He is overtired, George is overtired, I am stressed out, and nobody wants to do spelling tests or book reports. When his pencil broke for the 5th time with only 15 spelling words the other night, we were both frustrated. At 2 minutes before bedtime, his book report wasn't done, Lexi's spelling test was not done, but we were all DONE.
     "But mom!" reminds Lexi, "We still have to practice multiplication problems!" 20 minutes past bedtime.
     "NO! I am so DONE with homework! We are ALL done. Enough is enough. Skipping one night of multiplication will not affect your college GPA; it is bedtime; no more homework tonight!"
     "My teacher says, that when parents sign our homework, it is because you are saying that all our homework is done. You signed the homework, and now, if you don't do multiplication, it means you are LYING, Mom. And the teacher asks us, too. And we have to tell her that it doesn't get done, because you cannot LIE, Mom...."
     "I. DO. NOT. CARE. GO. TO. BED!" And, up the stairs we trooped, with my kids now thinking I am not only a shrew, but a liar, too. Splendid.

     Baseball/softball starts soon. I realized during our fun Thursday routine, when I picked up all the paperwork Jasin had brought home from signups, that all the fund raising orders and money were due Saturday. Of course.
     It's my own fault, for not looking at it before then. Kaila and Joe each needed to sell 5 things, in a town where every other kid is selling the same stuff. I mentaly calculated bills and my paycheck, and told the kids they were going to have to wander out after school Friday, and sell magazines, wrapping paper, cheesecake, cookies and frozen pizzas. Have fun, kids! They made their goal, sold 10 things between them (Special shout out to both of the babysitters, who, between them, bought 3 things, using different names... awesome girls, they are!) Here we come, baseball season!

     Unless getting the house cleaned, and laundry caught up makes anyone else beside myself excited, that is about the extent of anything amazing at our house. Supermom here really outdid herself, proving to the school that I am a liar, forgetting my kid at scouts, having a homework induced meltdown, and trying not to over roll my eyes at the tutor monitor. I rock, right? We can always try again next Thursday - but the Mom of the month trophy isn't going to me this month.