It's a good day in the Boondocks

Son #1 had his Criminal Justice commencement ceremony this morning. Yes, I think the entire auditorium heard me cheer. I think Hubby may have gotten a few photos, too. And I got to witness Final Inspection, which was fun.

Sons #2 and 3 may call me Meine Fuhrer (to my FACE, even!), but the Sons do seem to be tidying up a bit more, and with fewer reminders, than they were 3 months ago when I first started full-time work. Yes, the Census is back to part-time, really, but I have also been doing some freelance stuff, so it DOES add up to a full work week.

Tomorrow I have a sort of interview thingy with the publisher of the local newspaper. They asked me if I want to take a part-time slot as a feature writer. I am interested, even though they pay in floor scrapings, because it is a foot in the door (and continued income, and would mesh well with the Census while I continue to look for full-time work).

And the Sears guy came back to figure out why our dishwasher STILL is not really working well and he concluded that the problem is, we eat too many leafy green vegetables.

Well, actually he suggested that we need to scrape our leafy green vegetables off the dishes before we load them in the washer, but Hubby and I agree that it just makes more sense to abandon all things our dishwasher finds challenging, and transition to an overcooked pasta and rice diet.

And the boss from my last temp job has offered to make good on his promise to teach me all about Photoshop and Quark, soon. I'm psyched.

Gay wants to know...

Am I working? Am I blogging? Am I still alive, even?

Actually, yeah, mostly. Here's a recap--and so dull you'll understand why I have not bothered to blog, of late.

Friday night I went to the ballet.
Ha!
No, really, Brick and I went, and it was lovely, although I must admit I did not feel like I understood it. Oh, well, one needn't understand to appreciate, I hope.

Saturday was my last day at the newspaper. I drove around the southern half of the county taking photos of Navy people donating their time to Christmas in April, an annual service day. People all over the country help those who cannot afford to maintain their homes. It's a good cause, but of course the motto for the paper is:

We Care About The World, As It Affects Pax River Naval Air Station.

So, ONLY Navy guys. Marines, maybe. Civilians with a tie to the base, OK. Everyone else, well, you will just have to gain satisfaction from some other source, because my photos of you were deleted as soon as I realized I could not use them.

On the cute side, one of the team captains was an older gentleman who said that he could only allow me on the work site if my Mom would sign me in.

Darn. So cute. This is the kind of thing you can say once you are Older. I shall keep that in mind.

Also Saturday was the Celtic Festival. I took Sons #1, 3 and 4. We had a good time, especially as we were making our way there.

Lemme set the scene.

We're walking towards the entrance, and of course my mind is swimming with images of poverty from the photos I'd taken hours earlier. I had also had only a normal person's ration of sleep, since I got home from the ballet at 1 a.m. and was on the road by 7:30.

Coming toward us was a family leaving the Festival. Big, harried mom and 4 or 5 rambunctious kids. They were all but brawling as Mom tried to herd them toward the car.

"Justin, slow down.
Justin, stop that.
Justin, be quiet.
Justin, leave your brother alone.
Justin, put that down."

At this point the child I can only assume was Justin lunged toward his brother, toy sword in hand, and faceplanted in the grass. Mom looked down, and without missing a step, said, "GOOD. I'm GLAD you fell down."

Son #3 looked over at the Mom, and said, "I'm glad you fell down?"

Sons #1 and 4 flipped. "Shut up. Shut UP. Geez, shut UP. Shut UP!"

Me, I just busted a gut laughing, and clearly I needed to. Made my whole day. Granted, I have 4 sons myself. I have had 4 small sons. And one of them is of the rambunctious, hassle-your-brother sort. I know for a fact that there have been times when I have seen Karma befall one or another of the Sons, and I have looked on and thought (and even said), "Yeah, well, you kinda earned that one, kid." It was just funny, though. Trust me. If you're not laughing, well, that's OK, too.

Sunday my parents & sister came down for dinner. Had a lovely time.

Today is Son #4's birthday. He is 14. Holy cow. He is right now calling friends to invite him to his birthday party next weekend, "So we can celebrate the inevitable tightening of the grip of death."

And tomorrow I start my new, part-time job as a Census Enumerator.

See? Lots going on, but not a lot that is really fascinating enough for all 30 of you who read.

Thanks for sticking with me, anyway...

Educational quote of the day

From Son #3:

"I think my English teacher knows more about football than he does about English."

Sometimes, Son, you just make me wanna cry.

Sons #2, 3, and 4 and I went to lunch at Wendy's today. Son #3 got some ketchup on his chin, and he didn't seem to notice. I mentioned it.

So he dragged a french fry across his chin, and ate it.

Unexpected Proof that I Am Old

"What time are you picking me up for the orthodontist?"

"A quarter to 9. Your appointment's at 9."

"Does anyone SAY that? 'A quarter to'? What is that, like 8:45? Why don't you just say '8:45'?"

Fiddlin' Writer confirms that her sons also ride her about "a quarter to" and "a quarter after". Apparently you have to have a mental visual of an analog clock to have that make sense.

Sonny, bring me my pills. And hush, I don't want to miss my stories.

It's the little things

Son #4:
"Going to school makes you appreciate the little things, you know? Like, now, I love coming home and eating dinner. Because no one here eats with his mouth open."

Why is Santa black?

About a decade ago, Hubby went to the hardware store looking for Christmas stuff. He purchased, among other things, a molded plastic Santa for outside the house.

He called in the car. "There were just a few Caucasian Santas, and a whole bunch of black Santas. I felt bad that no one was buying the black Santas, so that's what I bought." Here he is, with Jake* for scale.


Santa's been a regular part of our holiday decor ever since. Yesterday, I pulled our Christmas boxes out of the attic. Son #1 walked in, saw Santa, and asked, "Why's Santa black? Why am I just noticing this NOW?"

I gave him the whole story.

A few minutes later, son #2 walked in, saw Santa, asked, "Why is Santa black?"

Gave him the story.

Half an hour later, Son #3 walked in, saw Santa, asked, "Why is Santa black?"

Story.

The next morning, Son #4 woke up, walked into the dining room, noticed Santa, and asked, "Why is Santa black?"

Because you go to public school, Son. He was just Santa, until the public schools taught you to be racist.

*I realize Jake should not be walking on the dining room table. He is 14 and hasn't been feeling well. I'm cutting him some slack.

Stuff you learn in public school, these days

Son #1's history teacher: North Korea is not a nuclear power and we have no reason to be concerned about their nuclear weapons program.

Son #2's history teacher: Ronald Reagan was beloved by the American people because he was so liberal.

Son #3's class: Boys are not allowed to express pro-life opinions, because they will never give birth.

Son #4's class: getting pregnant in 7th grade is "awesome," because it means you have already had sex. And using words like "essentially" means your vocabulary is unnecessarily large.

Also: when you tell your parents this stuff? They basically have a stroke.

So, What Do You Do, With All That Extra Time?

That is, apparently, the phrase that pays, this week. Because all 4 kids are in school, all day, for the first time ever.

I have stopped freaking out about it, which is good. Sons #3 and 4 have classes they like and classes they don't and #4 has even befriended someone he described as "the only girl in the entire building who does not curse." Clearly, she is a saint among middle-schoolers. Son #3 has already decided he wants to take German classes over the summer, so he does not lose what he's learning. Initiative, man, he's got it.

Son #2 is settled in, I think, although he tends to brush off most inquiries.

And Son #1 has collected 7 girls' phone numbers, so far. I remind him, on occasion, that he also has some school work he should fit in, while he's there. And he says he'll get to that. Probably. At some point.

As for me? I am carving out a schedule of sorts. Mainly that means I am taking care of stuff around here and searching for work, sending out my resume and making plans to do some more serious writing at some point. I've also managed to go out to lunch with Hubby twice (he is cramming in the Thai food) and get back into yoga, a little, because I need something to counterbalance the cycling class.

And after about 2:30, I am helping w/homework, printing stuff out, and signing rafts of pointless paperwork for the school, while making dinner and absorbing Teen Drama.

Don't get me wrong, I am grateful for the Teen Drama. It is good to have a front row seat on our Sons growing up into strong, young men.

Today, I am pinned to the house until Fedex arrives. Which probably means I'll get a lot done around here.

And yes, for those who are wondering, yesterday I did find myself scrubbing the fireplace grout with a toothbrush. I think I am safe to work on non-houseworky things, huh? My God. I could really obsess.

To Be Fair

Today Son #3 and I went back to the registrar and got him registered. And she handled it all, in about 45 minutes, with apparent competence and all that. So maybe she is good, once she puts her "working person" hat on.

Still have to go back next week to schedule him for actual classes, but at least they are expecting him, on some level.

See, now this is why we didn't want to be with you people

Sons #3 and 4 are entering the school system this year.

A few weeks ago, I realized, "hmmm, it is almost midsummer, I should register the boys." So I called the high school and left a message for the registrar.

"Hi, I have an incoming freshman who has been home-schooled since second grade so I need to make an appointment to register him. Give me a call."

No response.

A week or so later, I called again.

"Hi, I called last week about an incoming freshman who needs to register for school. Here is my home number and my cell number; I will come in with him at your convenience."

No response.

A week later, I called again, this time the main office.

"Hi, I have left two messages for the registrar, and the registrar's office has not returned my calls. Is there someone else I should call to make an appointment to come in and register my son, and make sure I have all his paperwork in order?"

No response.

I called the middle school and they said, "Oh, you don't need an appointment, just drop by." So I did. Got #4 all set up in maybe 15 minutes. Since they are in the same school district, I figured the paperwork the high school would need would be pretty much the same as the middle school. I had gone through this process with Son #1 and Son #2 in years past, as well. So I gathered everything, put it in an envelope, and this morning I said,

"Son #3, they are NOT returning my calls, so I guess we don't need an appointment, or if we do we're not going to get one, since school starts in less than 3 weeks. Let's just go."

So we did.

We went to the counseling department and the registrar was standing in the middle of the office, hand on hip, yakking about personal stuff with her coworkers. She looked up at me and said, "Do you have an appointment?"

"No, I've been calling for the past three weeks to request an appointment and no one has returned my calls."

"Sorry," she said. "I get, like, 20 to 30 calls a day."

(and three of those have been from me, this month, and could have just been ONE call, if you'd handled it the first time around, so I wonder how much of that phone ringing you bring on yourself by not answering the phone)

She said I could have an appointment. So I followed her back to her office, where she asked when I'd like to come in.

"As soon as possible. School starts in a little over 2 weeks."

She handed me a list of all the paperwork I need. Which I had, in my hand. I told her so. She offered to keep my envelope in her office, until our appointment tomorrow. Yeah, like I am going to give her my son's Social Security card and birth certificate to keep. Sure.

She reviewed the list of paperwork, again, and I again stated, "Yes, I have all of that ready for you whenever you are ready to process it."

A third time she pointed to the list, and enumerated the various things which I would need to bring...and...which...I...had...assured...her...were...in...my...lap...already.

Then she asked for transcripts-or-equivalent, and I explained to her twice why I have them in an unfamiliar format, but that I have the information required by the state, and that I would give it to her at our appointment.

So, tomorrow Son #3 and I go back for our appointment, which will probably take all of 15 minutes.

I swear, though, that woman should be ashamed of herself for accepting a paycheck.

I don't know him, I'm only driving him and laughing and we look alike

That is what I was thinking today.

Son #2 and I were in the car when we passed a guy in khakis and a dress shirt, biking down the road. He rolled down his window and shouted, "GET SOME SWEATPANTS!"

I just about bust a gut laughing. Because I am a bad mama.

Then tonight Son #1 and I went to the River Concert again (Rogers & Hammerstein) and he beat me in our weekly "how many people do you know here" game, 21 to 18. That was actually pretty impressive, for me.

I'm Going to Hell with Tomato on My Breath

As part of our Mother's Day celebration, the Total Waste of Time Gang saw the new Star Trek movie. We all enjoyed it.

Sons #1 and 4 and I stood on line for popcorn & soda. A few people ahead of us stood a boy with particularly shaggy facial hair. He looked kinda like Wolverine. Son #1 said "Oh my GOD!" under his breath and whipped out his cell phone, to start fake texting. He does that to tell me what is REALLY going on, without tipping off anyone else.

Turns out Wolverine Jr. is a kid from school. A kid who tells everyone he is a dog. He barks at people. Always. It is a story Son #1 has brought up more than once.

"I'll pay you $8 if you make cat noises," he said.

I pointed to the sign taped to the Coke machine: "Free Kittens".

"Look! They're giving away kittens! Meeeeooooowwwwww!"

Son #1 was both horrified and in awe.

"You're worse than I am, Mom!"

Which is probably true.

After the movie I bought one of those upside-down tomato planter things. It is hanging above the deck, where I will see it from the kitchen window so I remember to water it. And I put "water the tomatoes" in my Yahoo calendar. We shall have BLTs, this summer, with T from my own hand.

So, I may be going straight to hell, but at least I'll arrive there with tomato on my breath.

Oh, the disappointment: Pig Edition

Son #1 heard a rumor that a student at the next school over has swine flu. "And if they have swine flu there, they'll close all the high schools in the county for TWO WEEKS!"

Naturally, I checked. Looks like the first swine flu case in our state is one county over....close enough to cause rumors, but not so close that the Sons get an automatic vacation.

So sad.

Oh, and to the lady in line at Wal-Mart: When your son walks up to my cart and starts shouting and hitting the poster board I bought Son #2...and your other son puts his box of Whoppers on the belt in the middle of my stuff...and your daughter grabs the pen on the credit card machine and starts pushing random buttons...

YEAH, you need to rein them in a bit.

I think today I was the entertainment/babysitter so you and your friend could hang out and ignore the chaos. The kids sure got a kick out of it, anyway...

Random Thoughts

Flax seed oil and Texas Pete make the world's most awesome salad dressing. As in, I am sad when my salad bowl is empty, every day at lunch. Unlike Caesar salad, which makes me sad when I see it on my plate. Totally different experience.

Painting your nails makes you realize your head itches and you need to brush your teeth.

It also makes you think that maybe all that flax seed oil is making your nails grow.

Today, a dear friend and fellow gigwidow called me so I could hear her guy practicing in the basement. It was a private concert, just for me! I love that.

I also love YouTube, because I can get all obsessy about Simon & Garfunkel or Amy Winehouse or whomever else, even if I can't find my CD. Which is a sadly frequent event.

Watching some woman in her 50s get all giggly and stupid over my 17-year-old son was as creepy as it was amusing. For me and the Son.

Today, Son #2's U.S. Government teacher showed the kids a political cartoon unlike any other she has displayed this year: It illustrated a conservative viewpoint. According to Son #2, two students gasped when they saw it.

I don't care if April showers bring May flowers, I am tired of rain.

The house is mostly clean, the Sons are fed, I submitted two articles today; I feel good.

If you put ground flax seed on your chocolate ice cream, it instantly becomes a healthy food. Especially with some banana slices.

I like the sound of the dishwasher, the washer and dryer, the snorty, sleeping dog. Sounds like home.

Hubby and I loved Slumdog Millionaire, no matter what Salman Rushdie says.

I've been productive enough, today. Some days, it is OK to decide you've done enough and want to take the evening off. I'm going to go read Hard Times.

Who's that musician?

Son #1 wore this shirt to school today. He's a musician, and a huge fan, just like Hubby.

An African-American classmate saw the shirt and said, "Bob Marley? You don't know anything about black people."

Son #1's response? "I know enough about black people to know this is Jimi Hendrix."

From Son #1's World History Class, Today

One of the students turned to Son #1, and said, "Screw you Republicans, because the day Bush leaves office and Obama takes over, you white people are going to be in trouble."

Son #1 said, "I've got news for you; Obama's been president for a month."

The other guy, and his friends, disagreed. Finally, Son #1 enlisted the aid of his teacher.

"Mr George? Who is the President?"

The thing is, our school system had off for the Inauguration. How these kids--16- and 17-year-old kids--had no idea, well...Let's just call me stumped.

I would like to torch today, and start fresh

Last night:
Our cat got stoned and peed all over my bed.

Our son told me he'd been dealing with a guy at school who wants to "make me his bitch" -- and that the teacher who supervises them is this guy's weed-smoking buddy, so he is on his own on that.

I fell asleep before Hubby got home.

Then this morning, I woke up to my more-trashed-than-usual house, and a Son who is so stressed about school that he is sleepless and ill, and could not find the uniform shirt he needs to wear each Wednesday.

I called the principal of the school, and after being on hold for quite some time got a vice principal instead, who says the Son should not have complained to the teacher, but rather directly to him...and that he will talk to both The Bitchmaker and Professor Weed, thereby ensuring Son #1 will return to school tomorrow to two angry potheads.

And then I went to take photos of twins. Only I left my big CF card on my desk. And the CF card I had only had room for one photo on it. And when I went to take that one picture, the girl bit her brother.

I am tired. My head is foggy. Things are going to crap in an undramatic, drizzling way. I think I am going to just pick one thing and make it work, and build from there.

WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME?

Son #2 is 15. He is smart, and sweet, and a great writer (although not entirely committed to the concept of turning his work in on time, at school. He'd rather work on whatever is on his mind, for fun. The school system is only there to destroy him.)

He is also 6'4" and still growing. His hair falls to his collar in glossy, chestnut curls. And he has a very deep voice. For years, I've been telling him, "Don't you worry. You hit college, and the girl thing is going to get very easy for you." He does not believe me. But, trust me, I have complimented him on his appearance. I have encouraged him to go out for theater. I have told him he has a very attractive voice.

But I am Mom.

Last week, the Sons were playing around with a video recorder. First time in years Son #2 had heard himself, recorded. He ran up the stairs, swathed in fake seriousness.

"MOM! Why didn't you TELL me I have such a buttery, man-muffin voice?"

So, there you go. My second son is a buttery man-muffin. Pass it on.

Son #1 Has Advice on Women, Too

The other day, I posted some advice on guys, from Son #1. Coincidentally, yesterday he offered some advice on us women, too. And although it pains me to say it, he is, again, correct.

Long story slightly less long: Son #1 has a friend--a friend who is on the edgy end of the spectrum, but who seems to have cut back on much of his wilder behavior, in recent years. This boy also has been polite to me and loves my cooking. So, you know, he's OK, even though I know his sordid past.

Unfortunately, Son #1 has started dating this guy's ex-girlfriend. The girlfriend, and her friends, have started some nasty rumors. The other day, Son #1's edgy friend believed all the rumors and assumed they were coming from Son #1, so he sent a group of kids to jump him in the school parking lot.

Son #1 has used a mixture of bravado ("Beat me up? You're half my size. You're not beating NOTHING. Stop sending your friends and fight me like a man.") and reason ("Dude! I don't know anything about these rumors. I don't want to fight you!") to smooth things over.

Last night, I think he settled it all, with one more phone call to Edgy Friend (who, all threats aside, skipped school yesterday). This is what I heard:

"Man, they are teenage girls. They are going to make drama. They are going to start rumors. They are going to blow things out of proportion. You can't let what they say change what you're doing. You can't make them stop spreading rumors and going crazy. You just have to let it go."

I'm proud of my son for his surprising store of wisdom, but just a tad embarrassed for my gender.