Empty- Rambling Meditations on Parental Inadequacy

I feel like a phony. I think it's because this cold dark winter thing we have going on around here is getting a bit old. Worse yet, I feel like an empty phony. I know this is because I haven't seen the sun in weeks and I've been in the dark like a vampire bat. Seriously, I must hang from my toes at night. I'm pale and pasty and cranky and ugly and feeling like a big phony.

I'll get to the phony part: I have no business, no license, no reason on this earth to be attempting to raise two 13 year old boys to adulthood. Cripes, I can barely remember to pick up my dry cleaning. I can't possibly teach them all the right stuff in the next 5 years. My track record thusfar has been somewhat dismal (although to their credit, every once in a while, something appears to be sinking in. They haven't yet been driven home by the authorities)...

I present the following exhibits of my inadequacies to date which unlike your mutual funds are sure to be predictors, or in this case, harbingers of my future performance...

• No one picks up their dang clothes. Dirty clothes are 4 feet (or less!) from the laundry basket
• Wet towels are left to pollute the carpet
• Cracker wrappers are jammed into the cushions of my couch (This is NOT a fraternity house!)
• They make excuses and postpone things all the dang time.... I'll print my report in 15 minutes. Why the heck in 15 minutes? Are you expecting the world to end so you're saving on toner? What's wrong with NOW!?!?!
• No one is responsible for their own actions, or lack thereof. Seriously people. The Nobody character only exists in those crazy Family Circus cartoons.

It's pathetic. My attempts to teach them things are met with requests for cell phones and Mountain Dew. In a misguided attempt to make a point I pleaded with a boy to learn from his mistakes. Please, I begged. Just make different mistakes every time so I know you're moving on. At least be creative!

Life does not reward "E's" for effort. If they turn out to be bums and burdens on society, I'll be afraid to show myself in public. Life as that vampire bat is looking better and better. So is that empty milkshake glass. A milkshake should help right about now.

If the Boy Blogged

I'm fairly certain that we don't want to know what goes on in any 13 year old's head. Clearly, since I can barely remember being 13, the universe must have removed these thoughts (sort of like childbirth where you only remember the good stuff.) Good thing too or there might not have been very many humans. There are a few 13 year old humans that may not make it to 14. If I've said it once, I've said it 50 times since breakfast: I brought you here and I can take you out.

So if one of my resident 13 year olds were to blog, what might that look like? One of them is still nice, so that one might not be worth the effort. The cranky, surly one? Now that's some good reading.

Day 1: I need cash.
I need money. I have to work to get this money and this is a drag. I work here all the time- do this do that stuff all day long. I have a bank account with mysterious money I can't touch. I'm going to buy a Mustang when I'm 16 no matter what they say. My brother can pay for my gas. Did I have homework? Why does she keep asking me? Why am I here anyway? Junior High sucks.

Day 2: Ho-Ho's
I asked her 4 times to buy me Ho-Ho's. I was ignored. Again. No one in this family likes me. I should wear a belt because my pants are loose. I can't find it. This is why I need Ho-Ho's. I guess I could lift the weights that I got for Christmas but that's not very exciting. I'm out of PopTarts too. She never listens. I'm just air. I'm sure they hate me.

Day 3: My brother is a dork
Do you know what a pain it is being a twin? People call me "the Twin." That is so annoying. My hair is so much better than his and he laughs at all the wrong stuff. He walks weird. He took my shirt and ate the last ice cream sandwich. I need a TV for my room. I want to move to California.

Day 4: My IPod
When will my evil overlords give me the IPod back? I don't want to ask because they'll lecture me again about "inappropriate surfing." Everyone has boobs. What's the big deal? When I move to California, I can see whatever I want on the beach. What will they do, blindfold me?

Day 5: I hate Everyone
I am not slow. What is this crap they say "if you're on time, you're late"? Garbage. Why do I have to get somewhere first. It's so stupid. I need time for my hair.Whatever, they hate me.

The morale of this story? Be afraid, very afraid.

Thou Shalt Not!

This great big world is fraught with peril. Lots of different kinds of perilous things can befall us at any time and I'm not talking about rocks being dropped by roadrunners. I am talking about turning your back for a few minutes and stuff happens. E-gads! How does it happen?

We've had some snow. With snow, there are snow days. With snowdays, there are bound to be a few offspring left unattended out there. One would think that said offspring could be left home alone without short circuiting the dishwasher or eating 4 gallons of ice cream.

So, I have this "friend." This "friend" has twins the same age as mine. Imagine that. So, the "friend" goes to work for a few hours leaving the carbon copied offspring home alone. Everything seems to be fine with my friend and her offspring until the "friend's husband" figures out that someone, we' won't name names, has been downloading interesting applications onto the brand new IPod. The "friend's" kid, really, really, really wanted the IPod. Was it for music? The excitement of google searches for homework? My "Friend" is kind of dumb.

The interesting applications are all BOOBS. Yes, you read that correctly- BOOBS. Free Boobs. Boobs for boobs. Boobs for people wanting to look at boobs. Seriously? My "friend" has died 1,000 deaths since finding the Boob-a-liscious applications.

I made my "friend" a martini- or twelve- and then gave her some advice about locking down network access to BOOB sites. My "friend's husband" had a conversation or two about the objectification of women who are dumb enough to put their boobs on boob sites.

My "friend's" kid is a good kid who likes boobs. Wow. I'm going to bed.

When in Rome

I don't mean to brag, but I find myself rather amusing. Hilarious, actually. It was one lunch hour last week that I decided that conversational phrases in a supposedly dead language would lilt me through my afternoon. This dalliance into dead linguistics has kept me amused for several days now. It's just too fun not to share.

Have I ever told you how smart my husband is? He's one of those people that knows way too much stuff and will kick your butt at Trivial Pursuit even if he's in a coma or beer induced stupor. Believe me, I've tried (the beer, not the coma, that's a little cruel don't you think?) Anyway, Mr Smartypants took Latin. I did not. I'm jealous. I want to be smart and be able to use e pluribus unum in business meetings. How handy is that? I bet people would run from my conference room and never come back. Something to think about, don't you think?

But, I needed more than a run of the mill phrase like e pluribus unum. Yea, I'm ready to spout "how much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood." Take that! (It's
Quantum materiae materietur marmota monax si marmota monax materiam possit materiari? Just in case you needed to know that. And why wouldn't you?

How about...

Aio, quantitas magna frumentorum est (Yes, that is a very large amount of corn.) Useless? No! The county fair? Your local grain silo where Roman immigrants have congregated?

Or...
Recedite, plebes! Gero rem imperialem (Stand aside, little people! I am here on official business.) Do I even need to tell you how to use this? Everything said in Latin sounds more important. Try it next time you're in the back of the line at the bank- sure shootin' you'll be up in front before you know it (or on your butt in the parking lot).

Here's a good one. You're at a cocktail party and you don't want to sound rude so you say...Re vera, potas bene (Say, you sure are drinking a lot.) Instead of being thrown out on your ear, your friend thanks you for your thoughtfulness and immediately hands over the keys. Beautiful, it's almost like Oprah.

And now, for my personal favorites. Are you ready? I don't think they need any explanation...

Catapultam habeo. Nisi pecuniam omnem mihi dabris, ad caput tuum saxum immane mittam.
I have a catapult. Unless you give me all of your money, I will fling an enormous rock at your head. (This gives me such admiration for the Romans!)

Certe, toto, sentio nos in kansate non iam adesse (You know Toto, I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore.)

Now what will keep me from losing my mind this week?

13?

A&P are 13 today. Actually, they will be 13 at 6:00pm and 6:03pm respectively, but I won't be picky.

They're taller than me, but I still hold the record on mouthy, I think. Andrew told me in the car on the way home from the orthodontist the other day that he was "pissed" about something. And so it goes- you're taller than me and now you talk like a drunken sailor.

I could spend today thinking about all the ways that I've screwed up in the last 13 years- letting them roll off the ottoman and feeding them bacon. We let them watch "The Simpsons" too early and they play too much Xbox. Neither of them can spell worth a hoot and I'm sure that's my fault.

One day about 8 years ago I finally got over the fact that A&P were twins and they were here to stay. After a long day of negotiating with gypsies to take them off my hands, I finally gave up. Those gypsies are smart. They knew A&P would turn 13 some day.

So today we'll have loads of chocolate cake and various forms of deep fried sea food when we go out for dinner. We'll have presents and singing and then tomorrow it's down to business. What on earth do you do with a pair of 13 year olds? Surely it's different than when they were 12. I wonder if they've figured out that I make this up as I go along yet?

March!

March? I know it's February, probably my favorite month. We've got the groundhog and A&P's birthday and Valentine's Day and my nephew's birthday and sometimes the 29th. What could be better?

March, I suppose. But, I have to confess, I have no idea why.

I got to work this morning, groggy as ever, on a midwinter's Monday morning, Toledo, Ohio. I'd had some coffee and I was la-la-ing through my morning. I made it into my office and switched on my computer and there was a note. Mind you, this note is in my handwriting. So unless my evil twin Refinnej has been wandering around again, I'm pretty sure the note is from "last week me"to "this week me." Apparently LWM really wanted to tell TWM that March was important. Hmmmm. TWM is totally stumped.

LWM could mean the month of March or maybe I'm supposed to practice my fierce "I'm at work" march or some such thing.

LWM even underlined the word March two times- and rather emphatically at that.

I'm so screwed. Is someone coming to visit in March? Am I supposed to turn in a fantastic proposal for world domination in March? Am I arranging a kidnapping of a competitor in March?

No clue. If you see me highstepping and singing along in a tune vaguely reminiscent of Sousa, you'll know exactly why. Or not.