The Wedding

As an American living in England, I felt it was my responsibility to try to cover a little bit of THE wedding excitement over here...
I take my blogging responsibility very seriously and wanted my post to contain verifiable facts, so I opened up Firefox and began my research.

However, I was instantly alerted by a blinking (vibrating?) window that I was a WINNER (being the 999,999,000 person to enter the site), and my concentration was blown.
I started picturing all of the nice things I could have won, and quite honestly, Kate and William's little soiree didn't seem so interesting anymore.

I mean after all, what's the big deal? I got married back in 1996 and the only newspaper article available about that blessed event was the one I wrote myself. The photographers on hand were either related to me or some private investigator hired by my future father-in-law.
No one speculated on my dress, who it was made by and whether it really was a size 8 or if that 8 was a European 8 which really meant an American size much bigger-- say, possibly the size of a European window dressings.

The husband admitted to someone last week that he's quite interested in the whole Kate and William thing and a little surprised that I'm not trying harder to get in the mood of it all. Same husband who has been married to unromantic me since 1996...

For a few seconds I thought he may be right. I toyed with the idea of driving towards London, catching a tube...  but to where? Would I stand outside Westminster Abbey so that I could stare at the sea of people in front of me, or wait outside Buckingham palace so that I could stare at the backs of people's heads and hope news would filter down to me that the big balcony kiss had happened?

I could tell my grandchildren that I attended the King of England's wedding back in 2011...

Instead, we gathered around the telly like millions of others and enjoyed the closeup view of a very gorgeous bride and groom. The hyper kids watched up to the point of the couple signing the register and then all ventured out into the (unexpected) sunshine.

Ok, they were forced outside after I got tired of the "I'm hungry"s and fights over Lego pieces and arguments over who stole whose seat.

As the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge entered the carriage to begin the procession back to Buckingham Palace, a horrific scream rocked my back garden. The older boy and the youngest boy apparently clashed over a footy challenge and the younger, who was NOT wearing shin guards, lost. Luckily I won't be spending the rest of the afternoon in A&E, but he will be off the leg today.

Yeah. I'm now regretting the missed opportunity to be staring at some stranger's back. I'm sure it was a lot more peaceful out on the streets of London.

From The Independent live

Best Wishes to the young couple!

What's The Point?

I dreaded the upcoming Dark and Dreadful Day and I prepared for it in earnest...

When one knows there is suffering and pain ahead, it helps to mentally prepare as well as physically.

I am all about preparedness,  I made my "72-hour kit" (of sorts).

First, I had to charge the iPad (which I am REALLY enjoying btw. Thank you blogger peeps who convinced me to just shut up and keep the gift).

Next was updating the software.

I then transferred Gen. Conference and the new Harry Potter onto it (Harry and General Authorities go hand in hand, don't you think?).

I felt prepared for my crown.

Or so I thought...

Did you know that just any headphones will not go into an iPad? Yeah. I discovered it as soon as I confidently sat down on my throne. Imagine the panic that set in when I realized that I would now be facing HIM 

...without my much needed distraction.


And of course he said what every dentist before him has...

"You have a really little mouth, it's difficult to work in".

 Take that! All you teachers and mean kids of my past, I do NOT have a big mouth thankyouverymuch.




So after two and a half hours of having my mouth propped open (one would think with all of the talking I do, my jaw would have been in terrific shape for this marathon opening),

I now have a temporary crown.  One that is very fragile and should not be used to eat chewy, hard or crunchy items (is there anything left?!).
The best advice I got,  "Do not grind your teeth at night".

Oh, ok.

My crown will be here in....
SIX to EIGHT WEEKS. Got to love military medical care.

My jaw is bruised, my cheek and tongue are cut and I have to subsist on applesauce, bananas and oatmeal for two months (exaggerate, me?).

The best bit? I usually grind my teeth when I'm worried or stressed. I'm worried and stressed now that I might grind my teeth and end up choking to death on this temporary crown.

Just shoot me now.

Image is Everything

I'm glad I'm older.

I'm glad I'm not the spacey, distracted girl I was in my youth.

Maturity= being in control, being organized is power.

My youngest son is turning 8 next week. His only request was to have a football party. So, we booked the venue. We tried to order a cake, but the commissary said they couldn't do anything special, just a plain cake...that they could charge me and arm and a leg for.
No thank you, I can bake.

So I did.

I made yellow and green cupcakes and frosted them with yellow and green icing (Norwich City colors). Eight of them held soccer ball shaped-candles.
I bought the loot for and packed Norwich City party bags. I also purchased and delivered 20 Cadbury eggs for him to share at his weekly Saturday morning training with his team. All before 11.30 am.

Since my sister-in-law was arriving (from the U.S.) to stay with us sometime after the party, I vacuumed the upstairs and did a quick once over on the house and threw in a last load of laundry. 

We all ran out the door, cupcakes and party bags in hand and began the 20 minute drive to the party place.

This is power.  "The efficient, well-organized Mom", that's going to be how people describe me.

It was only as we were nearing the building that I thought to look down at my feet.

Imagine my surprise to see my blue, furry slippers still there.



Yes. It's good to be older... people don't think twice about a harried, worn-out mom walking around a sport facility wearing fuzzy blue slippers.

Le Coup de Foudre

You know those people who tell you they're married to the love of their life? I know lots of them.

I have to wonder if they've met enough people.

I mean, was he the love of her life because her parents locked her in a closet and didn't let her come out until the day of the arranged marriage?


I have to wonder, because it's what I do best--speculate about other people's lives there were several points in my life where I thought I was with the love of my life

and they were all very different people.

There's Scott, my kindergarten boyfriend that would sneak "gifts" from his sister's dressing table to bring to me at recess. I knew he would forever be the love of my life.

Then came The Brown boy (yikes, memory!-- I remember his brothers names but not his) whose tight-lipped kiss made my knees go weak. He was the love of my life until I dumped him and went out with his brother, another Scott. 6th grade was worse than a soap opera.

High school's David C... sigh. How my heart fluttered around Dave. His skin smelled like coconut and we listened to Michael Jackson while holding hands. HE was the love of my life.
Until he moved away.

Pat. The older boy I crushed on from 8th grade through high school (yes, same time as Dave, and?). Occasionally he threw me a date or two and when I came back from college, he suddenly had a change of heart and decided I was worth pursuing. Even though I had believed he was the love of my life, I didn't think we had the same goals for our future...

Chuck.  Toothpaste model looks, sweet little-boy innocent heart. I have never cried so hard and for so long as when we had to go our separate ways. In different circumstances, we would have grown old together. In my future dementia, I may believe that we did.

Dana, made me feel alive! He had charisma overload. There was never a better dancing partner and laughter felt good again, did I mention he was the love of my life?

Of course there were others because I am pretty stinking old, including the bloke that I'm now married to.
 
What if I had stopped on love of my life #1?

Surely his sister would have run out of fingernail polish eventually and then what would we have had to talk about other than dodge ball?

For some reason I feel like breaking into a chorus of Mambo #5

"A little bit of ____ in my life,
A little bit of ____ by my side.
A little bit of _____'s all I need,
A little bit of ____'s all I see...."

Are you married to the love of your life?

Are you sure?

You Can Find Me in the Corner of the Lovely Padded Room

I thought...

that I couldn't wait for the Easter Half-term holidays.

I envisioned the mornings I would be lying in my bed doing full body stretches sometime around, say 10 am, to be followed with lots of playing and picnicking.

I had a dream (Tangled reference)

of an overflowing bread box with no packed lunches being made.

BUT

Some idiot scheduled all of the boys for the first three days in a soccer school, so lunches were packed and bed stretching was postponed. With boys away, I was blessed with some insight of Miss Ky's future hoarding practices since she had more time to drag all things belonging to everybody downstairs.

The same idiot forgot the chant heard 'round the world during school breaks, "I'm bored! I'm bored! She's looking at me!" Fun times.

The biggest slap in the face?

Having Miss Ky home is different than having four boys home. 

This afternoon as I ran upstairs to brush my teeth (compulsive tooth brusher).
I hesitated to have a look at the brush-- thank the Manufacturer that I did!

My toothbrush is brown.

Not at the top,
no,  
someone rinsed it carefully after using it to do who-knows-what,
but down at the bottom of the bristles there's a new color that was not there this morning.

My gag reflex is in overdrive now.



Ten days and fifteen hours until that child returns to school, I think I'll start packing her lunches now...



If there were no schools to take the children away from home part of the time, the insane asylums would be filled with mothers.  ~Edgar W. Howe

 

Sugar and Spice

This sweet, 

delicate flower...

just imagine an angel and songbird chorus, 

while butterflies dance in her hair 

as she floats, 

fairy-like,

through our garden...

and then watch this:

 Karate Ky

really loud, 

Karate Ky.

The reality.

Under the Haystack, Fast Asleep

Tomorrow,

I'm all yours.

It's ok if the sink is full and the laundry is wet (and souring)
in a basket.

You can bring all the blankets and pillows you want and spread them any way you please,
as long as I am still the guest of honor.

All stuffed toys are welcomed in the car and to any tea parties.

When you excitedly retell your story about how you've given new names to everyone in your class because your brother is challenging you to say them all again (to see if you just made all of it up on the spot), I will listen just as attentively as if it were the first time.

We'll dance, we'll sing, we'll make the brownies we've talked about all week.

This week,  I will try desperately to remember my own childhood as I'm more fully enjoying yours. I will imagine looking out of your eyes. What expression will I see looking back at me?


Tonight while you sleep,

I will wonder,

at what age do kids stop wishing they could fly?

and I'll reflect

on your sincere, innocent nighttime prayers...

and how many times you weren't able to finish your sentence because of interruptions.

I'm going to forever remember that this morning,
as I tried to gently prepare you for the possibility of failing,
you looked at me and asked, "Do you think I can do it?"

I believe you can do anything and will be there for the times
when you forget you can.



Just do me a favor,


if in the morning,

your special wish comes true,

don't fly away too soon

or too far,

because you and I...

we have a lot of playing left to do.

Mean Mom

Anyone considering jumping ship and coming over to be adopted by us, you may want to think again.

We're the meanest parents ever. We believe that if you're not old enough to register for something, then you're not old enough to have the account. There's a reason there are age restrictions on things.

But, I got suckered. I felt bad that we were restricting our kids in their internet use when everyone else around them had thrown caution to the wind. Kids as young as my 7 year-old have a Facebook account. (MY seven year-old doesn't!)

I started asking around. One group of moms told me that yes, they lied on the registration for their kids to have an account, but that they have full control of it. The kids have to come to them to get signed in.
I want to raise a child with integrity--something that seems in short demand with the youth that we come in contact with--would getting him an account before he's old enough to register on his own send a mixed message?

Well, I gave in. I put a lot of faith in my boy who will turn 13 this summer. I argued his case to his dad, and against his concerns, the boy got an account. Several days were spent in a giddy cloud of friend requests and silly messages. I helped him upload some photos. We kept a close eye on him, but he had the control. All was going well and we've even had some great teaching moments about conversations, internet etiquette and privacy protection.

And then I suggested he try to find his best friend that he had while living in the states.

Big mistake.

This morning, I happened across one of the nastiest, most vulgar conversations I have ever read. I was mortified. You know the saying, "You kiss your mama with that filthy mouth"?
Yes, yes he does.

Some gangsta wanna-be had attacked him while he was chatting on a friend's wall. He was threatened not only by the little moron, but the friend he had only re-found and was trying to reconnect with was "liking" the gangsta's remarks to the boy.

Boy was sent to school with a firm telling off and all of his afternoon plans canceled. I then erased all of his nasty retorts (his grandmother could see these!), which only baited the little gangsta jerk more as he taunted (who he thought was still my son) about erasing his comments. I completely un-friended the little nasty creature that he once enjoyed playing baseball with.

TWELVE. These kids are twelve years old.

Am I swimming upstream? I want my kids to be honest, trustworthy, non-materialistic human beings, how do I do that when their peers have so much handed to them and seem to possess very little parental intervention? Why does it seem (to me) that parents aren't more protective of their child's childhood? If I kill his communication ability, I make him a joke. If I continue to support it, I am telling other parents that it's ok to rush your kid into adulthood.

I'm at a loss as to where we go from here...

Ssssssad Friday

I'm ssssorry to ssssay they've found the New York Bronx Zoo Cobra. I'm going to miss his Twitter updatessss.