Is that Appropriate?

Peter had some homework this weekend. He forgot his math book, but remembered the homework. This is progress.

The main project was a "History of Me" project- in any media format he chose. Rather quickly a Power Point presentation seemed to make most sense and then it was off to dig through boxes to find baby pictures. I tried to get him to start the presentation with his ultrasound picture noted "Twin B." He had other ideas as I guess it probably wouldn't be cool to throw in your ultrasound. Whatever.

When the presentation was complete, he set out to find music to go with his slides. I left him alone on ITunes only to return to find him on the verge of downloading a currently popular song. It's a rather catchy, stick to the brain kind of song. However, it's about a prostitute.

Me: Um, I don't think so.
Kid: It's a great song.
Me: It's about a hooker- a woman of ill-repute. Seriously.
Kid: So that's a problem?
Me: For 7th grade Social Studies? Um, ya.
Kid: Oh.

Off he went to school with the silent presentation on the thumb drive- absent the song about the lady who needs to make better choices.

That was a close call...

The Mouser

A few months back, I realized that my life lacked something fuzzy.

I don't wear fur and I am not particularly furry. My boys are not particularly furry or fuzzy and would probably object to sitting on my lap. Come to think of it, I would object to them sitting on my lap because they would smush me.

Not only did I lack something fuzzy, no one comes to greet me at the door when I get home. When I get home, there are three people with eyes as wide as saucers staring at me because I am the only person who can (pick two)...feed them... find their socks... fix the broken zipper...turn on the lights...find lost things....make time stand still. I need someone who is happy to see me and who really just needs a pat on the head and someone to shed on.

Enter- the Mouser, or as he is formally known, Duncan Kitty.

He's a happy two year old rescue kitty from the Humane Society. Want to hear the best news? He has not eaten the squirrel (our guinea pig), yet. Besides that, he is very happy when I come home and never, ever asks me to find his lost stuff.

I attached a little collar to him with a bell so I can hear him sneaking up on me. He has objected and I often come home to find the collar on the floor. This morning I noticed that he was appearing and disappearing at will and without my express knowledge. Alas, the collar was gone again. He followed me around while I looked for it without ever letting on that he might know where it is. As of this writing, it is still missing and I'm certain that he did it purposefully to make sure I know who's actually in charge.

Regardless, I have my furry, fuzzy door greeter even if I can't hear him.

7th Grade- Then and Now

A&P start 7th grade tomorrow. I have several problems with this, not the least of which is that Peter is as tall as me. I need to get a stool and really high heels so I can still appear authoritative even though I know for darned sure I'm not.

In honor of their 7th grade inauguration, I will reflect on differences in my life from when I was in 7th grade and today. Sounds deep, doesn't it?

Then: Lots of clothes and shoes
Now: Lots of clothes and shoes (hmmmm, that's exactly the same except I am pretty sure nothing I currently own has a rainbow on it)

Then: Mean girls suck.
Now: Yes, they still suck, but I just don't care anymore. Chances are, I'm meaner.

Then: A boyfriend would be handy.
Now: A boyfriend would be handy for picking up the kids or giving me cash. However, I'm sure my husband would object. Ho-hum.

Then: Gym shorts make my butt look funny.
Now: Enough said.

Then: Lunch = Twinkies.
Now: Were I to eat Twinkies for lunch I should sooner put one in each pocket (front and back) because that's where it ends up.

That's about all I can remember. In order to protect itself, my brain has eliminated as many 7th grade memories as possible while still maintaining vital function.

Happy 7th Grade A&P!

What do you do with a drunken sailor?

In a more or less quiet moment over the weekend I shouted at my kid...

Me: HEY! What do you do with a drunken sailor?
Kid: Put him in the long boat til he's sober.
Me: That's scary. OK, when do you do this?
Kid: Earl-eye in the morning.
Me: (Hysterical laughter) I used to sing that to you when you were in the tub when you were like 2 years old.
Other kid: Used to? You sing that song all the time.
Me: I'm that predictable?
Kid: Yep.
Other Kid: Yep.

At least they'll have something to remember their childhood- drunken bar songs. There has to be some award I can get for this crack job of parenting I've got going.

Have Two, Call Me in the Morning

After a long day, I'd say one of these is in order.

After two days in the car with your closest loved ones, however misguided the road trip, I'd say two of these is a requirement.

We saddled up to the bar at the Union Oyster House in Boston. We ordered clams and oysters. We channeled Daniel Webster.

When called for dinner, we ended up here... in JFK's favorite booth.

I recall the drink, the clams and the lobster while cooped up in my office or having the following argument...

Kid: why must I wear a bike helmet?
Me: Because thousands of people every year lose one or more of their faculties when conking their skulls on the curb, oak trees or parked cars.
Kid: I am very careful.
Me: Tough. I like all of your intact faculties. Wear the helmet.
Kid: No one else wears a helmet and I look like a dork.
Me: Your brother wears a helmet.
Kid: You hate me. I want a cell phone.

Oh Waiter......

Where Fraser Fell- 1777

Once upon a time, a girl got married. That went something like this...

Him: Should we get married so your Dad doesn't kill me?

Her: Sure.

Him: I like battlefields and history.

Her: Fabulous. You're cute.

Love blinds and allows silly things like a honeymoon trip involving revolutionary war battlefields. Eventually, A&P got sucked into the revolutionary war battlefield habit, and I am surely the victim.

Flash forward to a week ago- Saratoga Springs, New York- the first victory for the Americans in the War and where Benedict Arnold still had his head on straight.

Him: Hey! This is great.

Her: Yep. Ho-hum

Kid: Yep. Ho-hum

Him: Hey! You're supposed to like this.

Kid: When do we eat?

Other Kid: You're interupting my movie.

Her: Yep.

Him: You people aren't into this at all.

That was a challenge. At our next stop, Andrew and I ran down the path- me on my Monty Python style imaginary horse while belting out The Battle Hymn of the Republic. We happened upon the marker designating the spot where British General Fraser was picked off by an inventive sharp shooting American from a near by tree.

After my lousy pretend shot from 20 paces, Andrew whirled around, moaned, hollered and slowly fell to the base of the monument. "I am shot!" Fraser, er Andrew, flopped to the ground.

Applause!

We clip-clopped back to the car slightly triumphant, Tim shaking his head.

I can't wait to go to Yorktown.

I'm coming back, really

Sorry about the hiatus. I have lots of excuses, including, but not limited to an alien abduction, the growth of some extra toes that had to be removed and a small situation I like to refer to as "the incident." No one was seriously hurt with "the incident" but therapy is needed.

Bear with me, I'm getting my typing fingers out and composing my stories. Thanks for sticking with me.