Kids these days

I must start this little ditty with an education in current teenage lingo. For those you who do not currently have a pre-teen or teenagers schlepping and moping around your abode, there is a current trend amongst their species to shorten words that don’t need to be shortened as there were perfectly effective and useful in their original state.  The latest causality to their assault on the English language is the affectionate term of endearment, babe.

If you’ve been anywhere near an Instagram account or tweeting on Twitter (Don’t dig around on Facebook. No self-respecting teenager would be caught dead there anymore. That’s where all the ‘old’ people are), you may have seen this pop up from time to time.

‘My two Bae’

‘Me and my Bae’

‘I love my Bae’

Kill me.

I was driving just the other day with my (deep breaths Kerry) 9th grader, when she made a statement about her ‘Bae’

Me – “Your what!?!”

Ridiculous 9th grader – “My Bae. It’s like Boo, Babe, Baby.”

Me – (Imagine me with a dumbfounded and confused look on my face.) – “Um, you don’t have any of those.”

Annoyed 9th grader – “Ugh. Mom, this just a thing people call their best friends, they are your Bae.”

Me – “Why would you call your best friend a large body of water? Sounds a little mean to me.”

Irritated by my obviously not being hip enough for her 9th grader – “Not B-A-Y, B-A-E. Bae, babe minus the second B.”

Me – “Well that’s dum, D-U-M, dum.”

Condescending 9th grader – “Um, dumb with spelled D-U-M-B. Your forgot the B.”

Me – “So did you.”

For this round….

Mom – 1

Put in her place 9th grader – 0

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The solution!

It’s a common experience.  You’re sitting in some location of your house, minding your own business, doing whatever to darn well please, because it’s your house and you can, when you start to feel the inner workings of nature calling you.  A quick scan of the area shows that all the little people you have brought into this world are actively engaged, maybe it’s in Frozen for the 800th time or they are texting that drama queen from school you’ve told them to stay away from, but it doesn’t matter at the moment. Screen time be damned!  They’re busy and the coast is clear for you.

Or so you think.

The minute you steal yourself away to take care of business, they find you.  They always find you.

I’ve experienced it. I’m sure many of you’ve experienced it. Heck, I’ve even blogged about it before.

https://kerrysorganizedchaos.wordpress.com/2012/06/15/super-radar/

What I present for you today friends, is a sure fire way to earn some peace and quiet and take back the sanctity of your thrown!

Warning:  The use of this method will require to leave your modesty and inhibitions at the door as you are about to intentionally embarrass yourself and mortify your children.  P.S. – You might also want to make sure those little rugrats don’t have a camera running, as no one will want to see this in replay.

Step on – Take off to the bathroom to do your business.

Step two – Complete said business.

Step three – Wait for the interrupting knock on the bathroom door from a child needing to ask you a completely useless question that didn’t need asking 30 seconds ago but is now a matter of life and death.  (Step three is slightly unnecessary as we all know there was no need to wait.  Said child knocked on the door the minute your cheeks hit the seat.)

Step Four – Tell child you will be out in just one minute.  (Use that sweet, singsongy, mommy voice.  It really lays the trap for what’s coming.)

Step Five – Emerge from the bathroom pants less and barrel towards your offspring at full speed in your underwear while loudly announcing, “I went poopy!  I went poopy!”

I have yet to have them bother me again while I’m in the bathroom.  Of course they don’t quite look me in the eyes anymore and might have to use some of their college money for therapy, but whatever….  All I know is, the bathroom it all mine right now!

 

 

 

 

Words

That’s one way

To me, it seems like God created the little webbed space between my pointer finger and my thumb as a perfect natural note pad.  On any given day, you can find me with little notes or reminders wrote there.

Bank

Mail

Store

I’ve actually joked about getting a ‘To Do:’ tattoo in the area just to give it a more cleaned up and formalized look.  But that would be silly…….

I’m always curious, as I watch my children grow, which of my obsessions idiosyncrasies will rub off on my them.

Apparently T-Dog is received my list making gene.

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I guess that’s one way to do it!

 

Not even technically

Everyday I require that my children each fruit with breakfast and lunch and veggies with lunch and dinner.  Trust me.  I do not live under any delusion that my children will come close to the FDA government daily maximum requirements, but my hope is, with all the nagging, they will at least cross the minimum finish line.  Does anyone hit the maximum?  And, if they do, do they own stock in toilet paper?  I mean, come on.  That’s a lot of fiber in one day.

Nearly every meal resembles some form of this conversation…

“I’m done.”

“Did you have fruit?”

Silence from the child.

The Look‘ (you know the one) from me.

“Fine,” the child grumbles as their drag their feet across the kitchen.

Today was no different.  About an hour after he had eaten lunch, T-Dog announced that he was hungry and made a beeline for the chips.  I stopped him mid stride, asking him if he had eaten his fruit at lunch.  He replied ‘no,’ mumbled something under his breath, then decided he wasn’t so hungry after all.

Not even ten minutes later, my super-duper mom radar picked up the distinct sound of a bag opening.  I came around the kitchen corner to find T-Dog guiltily reaching into a cabinet.

“I told you to have fruit.”

“I am.  I’m having strawberries.”

“Nice try buddy, but strawberry Twizzlers are not a fruit.”

Mom- 1

T-Dog – 0

Daily Fruit Servings – 0

Yup, me too

In between dropping T-Dog off at baseball practice and rushing back to the pool to watch Lil’ IP Butterfly her little heart out in a swim meet, I was stopped cold in my tracks by this bumper sticker.

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If you’ve read me for a while, you know I despise text lingo, but I literally laughed out loud at the site of this, so much so I forgot to press down the gas pedal when the light changed to green.

All I could think of while sitting in my cute little SUV, windows down, sunroof open, music up a little too loud, was me too honey, me too.

I used to be the shiz-nit, the bomb, hip, happening, cool beans….  You name the phrase, I desperately lived under the delusion I was it.   At one point I was known to believe that I was all that AND a bag of chips.

I used to stay up late to watch Friday Night Videos, than tape the videos on my VHS, playing them back repeatedly to memorize every dance move.

I used to tear out every Benetton Colors add, dreaming of the day I would be able to convince my mom to buy me just one of their over priced items.

I used to buy each BOP and Teen Beat magazine, then spend hours in the mirror attempting to perfect the latest Alyssa Milano hair craze or Madonna make-up magic.

I used to sing into my hair brush, knowing one day, not just ‘Only In My Dreams’, Donnie Wahlberg would find me and we would live happily ever after.  (Who am I kidding.  I still have that dream.)

Then I had kids and vowed that I would not relinquish my cool crown.  “From my cold dead hands!”  (Imagine me channeling Heston here.)

Yet, I found myself doing all the uncool, responsible things that used to make me roll my eyes and mumble ‘I’ll never make my kids….’

I set schedules, bedtimes, and limits.

I made rules about screen viewing, number of vegetable consumed, and days you can wear socks before they must be burned.

I’ve said things like: not on a school night, because I said so, and I’m the Mom, that’s why.

I’ve been gripped at, mumbled about, eye-rolled, whined at, and stomped away from.  I’ve probably ruined a few lives along the way.

Luckily, I’ve also…

Built fort mansions in the living room, kissed boo-boos and dished out countless band-aids, spent hours being the Guinea Pig – I mean customer – in the beauty salon, said yes to Ice Cream first, allowed multi-person sleep overs (I’m still recovering and that was 6 years ago), spent hours vacuuming sand out of my truck after park adventures, cheered at sporting events and music performances, celebrated successes, picked them up when they were down, and wiped away numerous tears, both theirs and mine from sadness as well as joy.

Now, they might not think I’m as cool as I still believe myself to be, but I think, when you weigh my cool category accomplishments against the uncool responsibilities, I believe come out on the winning side.

(Plus, I still memorize dances from the latest music videos and then bust a move when necessary!)

 

 

 

Walk a mile

They say you should never judge someone until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes.  Well, I’m offering you the rare (ok, not so rare) chance to spend a mile in my shoes (ok, not really shoes, more like flip-flops…it’s summer time.  The shoes are in the closet until fall!)

Well, after a long night of sleeping and waking up without an alarm, it only makes sense to ease into the day.

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Now this is how you enjoy that first cup of coffee.

After a few hours of stressful ‘yard work,’ I realized it was time to feed those pesky children.  (Again with the eating three meals a day garbage!)  After a year eating in a boring school cafeteria, they forced me to change up the scenery and serve them their requested meal in a little more enjoyable lighting.

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Since I can’t having my children feel like spoiled, pampered babies, I put them to work to provide the family dinner.

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I’m only kidding.  I’m a true Nebraskan.  I eat meat, real, red meat.  Meat that used to moo and get tipped over.  I might love going fishing, but I won’t eat fish or any seafood for that matter.  Don’t judge.  It swims in its own poo.

After all that grueling chaos of the morning, it was time to FINALLY pamper myself.  Hey, I’d earned it.

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Yep, that’s the ticket.

Sidebar ~ I have terrible feet.  No really.  I actually feel bad for the poor lady who has to work on these clubs.  Just look at her.

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After all the power grinding, she needed a nap!  Apparently IP shares my sentiments.

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He’s currently looking for a couch to crash on….

Well, as you can imagine, after making it through all the chores on my schedule, it was time to finally put these ol’ dogs up for the day and give them a proper rest….FINALLY!

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Now, there’s my mile, judge away….

 

Best Mom Ever

Forgive me, but I must take a moment to brag.  My beautiful, talented, smart, intelligent children locked themselves in a room the other day and made this video for me.

Best Mom Ever.

WOW!  Amazing right!

Whenever Mother’s Day or Father’s Day rolls around, I’m reminded of the scene from Seinfeld where the two old men in the hospital are fighting over who is truly the ‘World’s Greatest Dad” and for a while, I was really cynical when I saw all these ‘#1______ ‘ or ‘World’s Greatest _______’  I mean seriously people, you all can’t be the best.  Only one of you can, that’s what #1 means after all.  All those awards are empty sentiments.  What a joke.

Then, I had my own children and began the never-ending cycle of joy, worry, elation, pain, wonder, stress, and absolute amazement.  I also began building my own collection of ‘Best Mom’ paraphernalia.  Little sticky hands would toddle over and pass me a sticky #1 Mom drawing.  Grinning ear to ear, energetic elementary kids would run to me happily waving the ‘World’s Greatest Mom’ flower pot they proudly painted all by themselves.  Too-cool-for-school tweens shyly pass me a heart-felt poem they agonized over, trying to get the rhyming and meaning just right.

And I realized something, all of these ‘Best Mom’ awards are all true.  We were all created to be the mom (or dad or care giver) to the beautiful creatures that God chose to give to us.  We were made specifically for them and are the perfect fit for their needs.  The fact that we try to be the best and do the best for them everyday, the fact that we care about all the little things they do and say, the fact that we love them during their failures as well as their successes means that we all have earned our ‘World’s Greatest’ awards.

So as you sit back this morning, eating your specially made and questionably edible breakfast in bed, remember you truly are, without a doubt, the #1, the BEST, WORLD’S GREATEST MOM!