Tag Archives: family

Life Is Like A Box Of Brown Stuff

Sorry Forrest, but you are wrong.  Like is NOT like a box of chocolates.

If it was like a box of chocolates, the worst that could happen is…well…getting chocolate.  Even your least favorite piece has some sweetness.

Even if you see what you are sure is a speck of Vanilla Buttercream  peeking through the chocolate coating but, after you pop it into your mouth, realize the white you saw is actually coconut.  Disappointing, yes.  But it is just coconut.  It is still not more than you can chew.  You may not enjoy it, but one big gulp and the worst is over.

Life is much harder than that.  Life is sometimes not sweet at all.  It can be downright sour.

Life has days that are too awful to swallow.  Days when the piece of brown in the box is not chocolate at all.  Days when you have been handed a shit day.

I’ve had a shit day.

All 4 kids are in trouble.  Usually it seems to work out that 1 or 2 kids cause me stress at once, and the others kind of give me a break.  Not this time.  Three are grounded, one perhaps until he’s 18.  And the 4th came home last night with his ears pierced.  Without permission.  Not professionally done, I might add.  He was told he can’t wear them in the house so he sat on the porch in protest.  He wasn’t “in the house.”  Damn technicality.  So 3 can’t leave the house and one can’t enter.  I won’t go into further detail but just suffice it to say the earring isn’t the worst thing that happened.  And Jim’s “help” with the situation is causing more stress than a 5th child.  Shit.  Day.

And Mr. Gump says life is like a box of chocolates because “you never know what you’re gonna’ get.”  But you CAN know what you are going to get!  You can totally cheat.  You can smush your grubby little finger right into the piece of chocolate.  Don’t like what you see?  Put it back!  (For future reference, you can even hide all evidence of the “peek” if you make sure you only smush the bottom and careful push the chocolate back into place. Not that I’ve ever done that…)

In life, smushes don’t help.  No matter what you see, you are stuck with it.  No give backs.  You will just have a shit day, plus shit on your hands.

Now, some boxes of chocolate even come with a “map” on the lid showing you what kind of chocolate is in each location.  Wouldn’t that be great in life?

“I need an easy day today…chocolate buttercream day, third from the left on the bottom row.  Perfect.” 

“I can handle some bumps in the road today…Almond Cluster day, top row in the middle.” 

“I could use a little pampering…where’s that chocolate truffle day?”

You know what sucks about the “map” though?  I usually end up with it upside down in relation to the box and end up getting Orange Cream instead of what I thought I chose.  Yeah, that does pretty much sum up my life sometimes too.  Orange Cream.  Who LIKES Orange Cream anyway???

In life, not only is there no map, you don’t even know what variety your box contains.  With a box of chocolates, you at least know your favorite kind IS in the box somewhere.  Usually at least two of them.  At some point, you WILL get to pick your favorite before your box is empty.  You know you have that to look forward to.  The best is coming.

In life, there may be none of your favorites at all.  You may have a box of nothing but Molasses Chew – tough and not very enjoyable.  Or you may have all Vanilla Buttercream – good, but boring after a while.  I would love to have a box full of Vermont Cream (best piece of Russell Stover ever).  But in reality, I just hope for at least a Caramel and a Maple Nut every once in a while.  And very little shit.  Please.  Not too much shit.

I think I will go buy a box of Russell Stover now.  While I don’t agree that life is like a box of chocolates, I do know that a box of chocolates makes me like life a little more.  Especially on the days when I feel like I really stepped in it.

Or stuck my finger in it.

In a Minute

“In a minute.”  How many times have I said that to my kids when they ask me to do something with them?  Way too many.

Last night, a minute was the difference between a scary situation and a disastrous situation for Jim and Greg.

As they waited at a stop light, they suddenly had front row seats to a high-speed car chase.   A car seemingly came out of nowhere, hightailing it into the intersection.  As the driver attempted to turn at the high rate of speed, the car slid sideways, jumped the curb, started to roll, and ultimately slammed into an embankment.

Almost immediately, a police car followed in hot pursuit.  The officer stopped and jumped out with his gun drawn.  Jim could hear him yell, “Get down on the ground!”  The driver put his hands up and flung himself out of the car, landing face down.  The officer stood as still as a statue – gun still aimed – waiting for backup.  (If you look closely at the photo, you can see both the gun and the guy sprawled on the ground.)

In a minute, the light would have turned green and Jim and Greg could have been in the middle of that intersection.  In a minute, they might have been more than witnesses.  In a minute, things may have turned tragic.

Greg got in trouble this week and I was lecturing him about it again last night.  One of the last things I said before we parted was, “I’m so disappointed in you.”  I meant I’m disappointed in that specific behavior.  But I said “in you.”  I shudder to think how those words would have haunted me if, in a minute, something terrible had happened.  How I would have re-played in my mind every single time I responded “in a minute” to a request.

Mom, will you play Battleship with me?”  “In a minute.”

“Mom, will you make cookies with me?”  “In a minute.”

“Mom, may we go to the mall?”  “In a minute.”

Jim said when it happened, Greg just kept saying over and over “That was unexpecting.  It was really unexpecting.”  Then later he added, “We’ve had some unusual Daddy/Greg time before, but that was the most unusual-est!”  When I asked him if he was scared, he replied “No!  It was awesome!”

I love that he is still unjaded and innocent enough that he doesn’t comprehend what could have happened in that minute.  That he doesn’t realize that life can change in a minute.

To rephrase a common quote, live each second to its fullest; you never know what the next minute may bring.

Greg, you are so right.  Life is unexpecting.  It is really unexpecting.

“Live simply, love generously, care deeply, speak kindly, leave the rest to God.” ~Ronald Reagan

Bombeckoned, Beyond Wit’s End (DP Challenge: Stylish Imitation)

Erma Bombeck is remembered as more than just a brilliant writer.  She paved the way for wives and mothers to openly admit the difficulties encountered in every day life.  She broke away from the status quo and embraced imperfection.   She is legendary for her ability to tell the stories of her life with incredible humor and unwavering honesty.   The following story is my tribute to Erma.  While Erma’s gift to “tell it like it is” is exceedingly difficult to replicate, she will always have a huge influence on my writing.

BROTHER BRAWLS

I don’t understand why siblings seem to make it their goal in life to be cruel to each other.  Sometimes I think they do it just to get a reaction out of me.  And they usually do.  The meanness will make my blood boil faster than a pot of water.

One day, Eric and Jake were having an argument that escalated to the point that I felt I needed to step in and ask “What happened??”  Both started spewing out responses at the same time.  “He started it.” “I didn’t do it.”  “It’s his fault.”  “It’s not my fault.”  I interupted, “Woah, wait a minute.  From the beginning!”  Eric responded, “Well, it all started when I was born and…”  Maybe you are on to something Eric.

Jake enjoys looking at videos on Youtube.  I saw his most recent search on the computer.  “How to annoy people.”  I don’t think any instruction is needed for that topic.

Jake got in trouble for calling Eric a nerd for reading the newspaper.  When I reprimanded him about it, he concocted the answer “That was a compliment.  It means Not…Ever…Really…Dumb.”  Good save.

Jimmy and Jake were having a pretend fight as we were leaving a football game.  Jake rolled on the ground while Jimmy “kicked” him.  An elderly lady came up and yelled for them to stop fighting.  Jimmy tried to inform her that it was ok because they were brothers but Jake interjected, “No we aren’t.  I don’t know him.  He’s bullying me!”  Jimmy couldn’t convince her otherwise and they both ran to the car while she yelled after them.  Jimmy and Jake still quote her sometimes.  “Don’t make me have to go get my badge!”  To this day we can’t figure out what kind of badge she would have had.

The game “punch buggy” involves punching someone in the arm every time you see a VW Bug.  During an intense “punch” game, Greg was getting frustrated because he was in the back row of our Suburban and couldn’t reach anyone.  I saw him kicking and was ready to scold him when he yelled “Kick buggy, no kick back!”  All I could do was laugh.  The game eventually got out of control and the punching was banished because of too many injuries and complaints.  A few minutes later Greg exclaimed, “Say buggy, no say backs!”

Eric came to inform me that Greg called him “dumb.”  Greg ran in and defensively responded, “I did NOT.  I called you dork.”  Yes, that is much better.

Just when I was about to lose all hope of them ever getting along, the following conversation happened on the way to the first day of school for Greg.  Eric asked if Greg knew where to go and Greg said he couldn’t remember.  Eric put his hand on Greg’s shoulder and reassured him, “Don’t worry.  I will show you the way.”

With moments like that, maybe brotherly brawls and parental peace actually can coexist.  Hopefully they will show me the way when I forget.

Blogging For Idiots

Text conversation after I discovered Jim’s accidental post on my blog (see “Publish = Blog Entry, Not Comment” for the story).
Me:  You have made me laugh for the past hour.  You MUST read my new blog entry.  It is an explanation of “my” blog entry from this morning.
Jim: OK, but I have that look of horror on my face again.
Me: You should. Let’s just say I found your “comment.”  And so did the rest of the blogging world.  Go to momopolize.com to read it…NOT wordpress.com.
Jim (after reading blog): Does that make me a blogger?
Me:  Sure.  You are now a blogger.
Jim: Yeah!  Maybe I’ll get that book deal.  Blogging for idiots.

__________________________________________

Sorry, Jim.  Looks like it’s not in the cards for you.  Maybe “Commenting for Idiots?”

(photo from nulledtemplates.com)

Publish = Blog Entry, Not Comment

Important warning to all bloggers:  One must be sure to log out of WordPress on husband’s computer when finished.  Or one may find a new mysterious blog entry next time one logs on.

My husband, Jim, finally decided to read Momopolize.  “Gee honey, it only took you 3 weeks.  Thanks.”  Oops.  I forgot, I promised to play nice.  I meant “Gee honey, you took the time to read 3 weeks of blogs in one day.  Thanks!!”  After reading, he decided to post a complimentary comment about my new blog.  Only he didn’t post a comment.  He put his comment as a new blog post.  And PUBLISHED it.  For the world to see.  So for everyone who viewed the new blog entry from earlier today titled “I hope no…”, now you have an explanation.  I’m sure you’ve been wracking your brain all day trying to figure out the mystery.

At least now I know I’m not the most technologically challenged person in the family.

This was Jim’s “comment” blog entry seen ’round the world.

“I hope no one sees how long I’ve been reading this. I never realized how much I miss of my own family. What an interesting time from 2:30pm to 6:00pm each week day. I know I don’t say it enough, but thank you for all you do! Love you.”

I hope this dispels any rumors that I am narcissistic for posting my immense appreciation and love for myself.

Honey, repeat this 3 times:  Don’t click “add new post.”  Ever.  Thanks for the kind comment though.  I really do appreciate it.  And for giving me my laugh for the day.  And material.  Lots of material for my blog.  Writing my blog is easy.  I simply regurgitate the antics of my family!

I’m not really a writer. I just play one in real life.

Tales of a Tattle

Greg: “Eric called me a snitch.”
Me (to Greg): “Just tell him that’s not nice.”
Me (to Jim): “He is snitching about being called a snitch.  Do you see the irony here??”
A minute later…
Greg: “Now he called me a tattle-tale for telling that he called me a snitch.”
Jim:   “Greg, what is the definition of a tattle-tale?”
Greg: “Someone who tells on someone else that isn’t doing something very bad.”
Me:    “And what are you doing now?”
Greg: “…oopsie…”
_________________________________________
  • Greg: “I’m going to go play Jake’s PS3.”
  • Me:    “Did Jake say it is ok?”
  • Greg: “Yes, he owes me time because he punched me but I didn’t tell.”
  • Me:   “Well…you kinda’ just did.”

Brother, can you spare a dime? Or quarter?

  • Me: “So did you and Greg decide to switch chores?”
  • Eric: “No.”
  • Me: “But I’ve seen Greg feeding the pets a lot recently”
  • Eric: “I know.  I give him a quarter to do it.”
  • Me: “But we pay you more than a quarter.”
  • Eric: “I know.”
  • Me: “So you pay him PART of what we pay you, and he does it??”
  • Eric: “Not exactly.  I usually find a quarter he left lying around and just give him the same one again.”

(7/30/12)

Welcome, Day of Sweet Repose

Yes, officially it may be Labor Day.  A day intended to celebrate work and also the symbolic end of summer.  However, for me today is a day to recover from the first week of school, and to mourn the end of summer.

The first week of school is really tough.  Adjusting to rising early, making a good impression on the new teachers, getting all the homework done.  No, not the kids.  ME!

The horrid beeping of the dreaded alarm aside, the first week is full of assignments for the parents.  This early in the year, I’m still trying to give the illusion that I have it all together.  By the end of the year, it is unquestionably apparent that I do not, but I start out each year using slight of hand tricks to cover the truth.

Monday started out well.  I got all 4 of the dreaded “first day packets” filled out.  It even seemed less time consuming this year.  Maybe after 12 years, I’m finally getting it.  I even filled out the “describe your child” sheet for Eric, which I find extremely difficult.  “Five adjectives that best describe your child.”  OK Miss Teacher, do you want me to describe my child or really describe my child?

Abrasive, Combative, Volatile, Obnoxious and Selfish.  No, that’s is how his brothers would describe him.

Argumentative, Whiny, Defiant, Forgetful, Lazy.  No, that’s only when asked to do chores.

Brilliant, Enchanting, Enthusiastic, Responsible, Dazzling.  No, too kiss up.

Kind, Bright, Funny, Happy, Stubborn.  Simple, with a negative thrown in for a reality check.  Bingo.

Truthfully, I don’t remember which adjectives I ended up using.  I know stubborn stayed.  The rest were probably barely legible because I changed my mind so much I almost erased right through the paper.  Immediately I put the paperwork in the kids’ backpacks to be returned the next day.  Put one in the win column.

Eric came home Tuesday with all the papers still in his folder, exactly where I had proudly placed them.  Are you kidding me??  “Teacher, teacher, I did my homework.  I did it all.  I did my best.  But…my dog ate it?  Well, my kid ate it.  Or forgot to turn it in.  Something like that.”  Come on Eric.  Let me look good past the SECOND day of school!

One of my other homework tasks for Eric’s class is to sign his agenda every day.         Simple enough.  Illegible initials in the signature box.  Check.  On Thursday I notice – in bid red letters – a note from the teacher.  A note that was written on TUESDAY.  In addition to not turning in my homework, he didn’t turn in his time capsule.  Apparently I’m not JUST supposed to sign the agenda.  I’m supposed to actually READ it first.  Maybe the teacher needs to add flashing lights and sirens next time.

In the backpack the time capsule went, to be turned in first thing Friday.

Sigh.  First homework assignment 3 days late.

Friday afternoon I notice an envelope on the couch.  That looks similar to that troublesome time capsule envelope.  No way.  Are you kidding me??  No, really.  Someone must be messing with me.

Sigh.  First homework assignment 4 days late.

If it actually gets there tomorrow.

Trying to keep the illusion going this year is going to require some smoke and mirrors. And maybe a rabbit. 

Once In Two Blue Moons

Bummer.  I just realized that tonight is the rare second full moon of the month.  The Blue Moon.  I missed out on doing all those things I always say I do once in a…well, you get it.  Now I have to wait 3 more years to do them!

Since I get manicures once in a blue moon, I guess the Caviar Mani isn’t in the cards for me.  I’m sure that trend will be gone by 2015.  On the bright side, I guess I’m also off the hook for cleaning my windows

.I tried explaining what a blue moon is to Greg, but as soon as he heard the words “Blue” and “Moon,” he yelled “So the SMURFS are coming tonight???”  Oh Greg, get your facts straight buddy.  The Smurfs didn’t COME to the Big Apple during a blue moon.  They get to go back to Smurfville tonight.  What Greg?  No, it’s not an actual big apple.  That’s what people call New Yor…oh, nevermind.  I feel like I should come up with a witty explanation.  But I am only clever once in a blue moon.

Since I missed my opportunity tonight, I guess for the next 3 years I need to change the saying to “once in two blue moons.”

“We hit bullying hard”

At a school orientation meeting a couple of years ago, during the guidance counselor’s spiel to the parents about the wonderment of middle school, she proclaimed “we hit bullying hard in 6th grade.”  At the time, I was the only one who chuckled out loud at the irony of that statement.  Later in the year though, the erroneousness of the same statement wasn’t funny.

Unbeknownst to me, my own son spent the second half of his 6th grade school year being bullied by a group of classmates.  I like to think I’m pretty involved in my kids’ lives (too involved if you ask them), but had NO clue.  None.  Nada.  Zip.  Zilch.  Looking back, maybe I should have given more thought to the fact that he stayed home a lot and didn’t do much with his friends during that time.  But as the saying goes, hindsight is 20/20.  I just thought he was being a typical tween that gets moody.  It never once crossed my mind that he was being bullied.  I bought into the false perception that kids who are big for their age don’t get bullied.  I was guilty of stereotyping the victim of a bully as a scrawny, small child.  Never considered it could be a 5’8″ eleven year old.

The bullying was mostly verbal, with occasional shoving.  The saying “sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me” is just wrong.  Very wrong.  Words hurt just as much as punches. It wasn’t until the school year was almost over that I received the “come pick me up NOW” text that started the conversation during which I discovered what was wrong.

He said he hadn’t told me sooner because he was afraid I’d go to the guidance counselor.  He didn’t want to be labeled a snitch which would make the situation worse.  I finally was able to drag out a bit of vague information, after promising not to go stomping into the school, demanding punishment for the bullies. It was one of those parenting moments where I truly did not know what to do.  I did not want to betray his trust, but was devastated that he had been silently suffering for months.

Since there were only a few days of school left, I bit my tongue.  I’m surprised I didn’t bite it right off, considering I was also clenching  my teeth in anger.  Fortunately, summer break seemed to heal all (most) wounds (some may never be healed) and the bullying stopped in 7th grade.  As far as I know.  I don’t have the illusion anymore that I know exactly what is happening in my kids’ lives.

On Monday, a horrific incident happened in Maryland.  A 15 year old took a gun to school and shot another student.  As is often the case in situations like this, the boy was bullied.  And as is almost always the case, the student that is fighting for his life was a random target – in this case a special needs student who greeted everyone with a smile – completely uninvolved in the situation.  A lot of people are very quick to judge when something terrible happens.  The parents should have raised the shooter better.  The school should have intervened.  Peers should have seen warning signs.  Bullying is to blame.

I feel a lot of things about this shooting but judgement isn’t one of them.  I feel incredible sadness, and intense fear.  Heartbreak for the victim, his family and everyone involved, including the family of the shooter.  Anxiety that I have two teenagers – plus 2 that will be teenagers before I turn around- and the realization that something like this could happen anywhere, at any time.  But not judgement.  I don’t personally know anyone involved.  Even if I did, I still couldn’t judge.  No one – let me repeat, NO ONE – knows everything about this situation.  So no one can really pass judgement.  You can argue about how the teen dressed or what he posted on Facebook or the parents’ past or how he got the gun or even that he was bullied.  And those may all be valid points .  But the fact remains that the reason this teen decided to take a gun to school and open fire may never be known.  There are many other teens that have a bad family life, that have guns in their home, that don’t dress “the norm,” that post gloomy thoughts.  And, yes, very many that are bullied.  Probably more than we know.  Because they are afraid to tell.  But those other bully victims don’t decide to turn to violence against others like this one did.  There is some part of the story that is missing.  Something beyond the headlines that made the teen make the devastating choice he did.  Something we may never know without getting inside his head.

Don’t point fingers.  But keep that sadness and fear.  Use those emotions for good.  Pray for the victim and his loved ones when you feel sad.  Come up with ideas of how to prevent this in the future when you feel afraid.  Instead of condemning and placing blame, praise those that were heroes in this situation.  The faculty and counselor that got the gun away most likely prevented this from being a worse tragedy than it was.  But it is still a tragedy.  An awful, horrible tragedy.  An unexplainable, unblamable tragedy.

Bullying is an inexcusable act.  It is unacceptable that we live in a world where tweens, teens and even adults live with the feelingof knots  in their stomach because of another person intimidating them.  Even if it isn’t the sole cause for what this teen did, bullying did probably contribute to his downward spiral that ultimately led to his desperate act.  We all need to continue to “hit bullying hard” until it ends.  Completely.  Forever.

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God bless and heal you Daniel Borowy.  May you soon be back at school greeting your classmates with waves and high fives.

Daniel’s friends are making a plea to his favorite singer, Lady Gaga, to come visit him.  Send her a Twitter or Facebook message to help with their cause.  I truly hope that wish comes true.