Time Flies …

I see it’s been a year since I last posted. That’s insane! Y’all have missed so much! I have no excuse for letting all this time go by so I won’t even try. I’ll just update you on the happenings of the last 12 months or so.

ImageCole started and completed the 1st grade.

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Cole got a new dog. He named her Cute.

Yes, seriously.

ImageHe joined the SWAT team, but I convinced him to trade in that gear for some baseball gear. It turns out he’s a helluva ball player. Takes after his mama, I guess. :)

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He just keeps getting bigger…2013-07-18 14.03.37He even went surfing (boogie boarding) this summer

2013-07-31 04.12.25Oh, and he started shaving the other day since he began 2nd grade and felt it was time… shavingOk, not really … but my guess is that time will be here before I even realize it.

But I Mean It…

   Is it wrong that this morning I told my child that if he didn’t use his lips (chew with his mouth closed) I would stop feeding him? Is it more wrong that I freakin meant it? You know, I don’t even care how wrong it may have been because I think he believed me and that’s all that really matters. ;)

   I do love to make idle threats, it seems. I mean, not on any real matters threatening legitimate consequence, but I like to mix it up a bit with extreme yet possible punishments. Here are a few, just to give you an idea of what we’re about around here. I’ve also told him

  •  (just as my mother told me) that I’d rip his arms and legs off and beat him with them.
  • Once there was a plant shaped as some kind of animal. My husband and I told Cole it was a reindeer and if he didn’t sniff his butt, Santa would not come this year. lol. We got that on video.
  • If he didn’t stop scratching (he has eczema and scratches unconsciously sometimes), I’d cut his hands off. 
  • If he didn’t quiet down, I’d debark him.

The list goes on and on… but I’ve never meant one of them more than I meant it this morning. If he can’t chew with his yap shut, he’ll either have to start eating outside or stop eating, period. I can’t handle that at all. I know I’m neurotic. I’m okay with it.

Let Go of the Rope

I keep having this recurring dream that I’m water skiing behind a boat. I’m using a rope so long that I cannot even see who’s driving the boat. I just know that it’s going way too fast and I’m very scared.

I’ve almost hit the rocks on the side of the lake numerous times and my rope almost took out a couple innocent people on jet skis at one point.

A voice in my head keeps telling me to “let go of the rope”, but I’m even more afraid of letting go than I am of holding on.

Now if I could just figure out why letting go seems to be so much more difficult than holding on while I’m being dragged through dangerous waters, maybe I can make the dream go away.

Some people live their lives by asking themselves what Jesus would do. Generally, in moments I’m unsure of which turn to take, I ask myself what I would tell Cole if he were in my position and needed my advice. Here, I wouldn’t tell him to stop swimming or even to stop skiing. But I would advise him to maybe let someone else drive the boat.

 

 

It Was Just A Little Bomb

For Christmas a couple years ago, my husband had a new stereo installed in my car. It has a DVD player and navigation and blue tooth and the whole shebang.

I love it.

So does The Cole.

In fact, he thinks it’s his and that he’s in charge of it and all that gets played on it.

One day, not long ago, when I picked him up from school, I forgot the change the video back to a kid friendly before hand. Instead, was an episode of Burn Notice, a personal favorite of mine. Now normally, I’d shut it off immediately and redirect his attention, etc. But for one, we literally live about 4 minutes (including school traffic) from his school. Secondly, Burn Notice is actually not too bad, really. They don’t cuss, there are no gory disgusting close up deaths of any kind… they pretty much do kung fu on each other (that’s how Cole will see it, anyway) and he already sees that when he watches 3 Ninja’s. Granted, I would not make a habit of him watching this show, but I figured this one, short time would be alright.

I couldn’t tell you exactly what happened in the 4 minutes of show he watched with me because I was too busy focusing on my finger next to the stop button ready to push immediately upon any blood… or talk of blood… or anything closely related. Well, I couldn’t have told you before yesterday.

Cole was playing in his dirt in the backyard (his favorite thing to do – ever) and there are some parts of random things back there in a section of the yard I call the useless crap section, that he enjoys making use of from time to time. He builds things like super fast race cars and sometimes cooks sushi (or gushi, if he tells it) for me if I’m hungry. Yesterday, however, he was building a bomb. Why do you ask? Because “Michael Weston makes bombs”.

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Mother of the Year, once again.

Crap.

Lesson learned. Nothing but Disney or Pixar in the car ever again whether he’s in it or not. Too risky. My bad.

Pre-K Grad Day

Do I really need to say anything? Is it just me or should I be making millions off my son’s good looks? Time to go to work, boy!

On our way to graduation

Nut Grass

So I have been putting forth massive amounts of energy trying to grow and maintain my front lawn.

Massive amounts of energy.

Seriously.

My husband hates grass for some reason I don’t comprehend and in his eyes, the dirt front yard set us apart from the rest of the block. Granted, he was right about that … but it was never in a good way. His favorite yard ornament is the huge effing cactus that does the opposite of welcome anyone attempting to knock on our door.

Apparently, Code Enforcement agreed with my perception of the situation because we were given a notice stating we needed grass or bark decorative crap spread around or plants throughout the space or just something other than dirt. Weeds were even acceptable provided they were decent looking weeds (I assume this to be true after looking at my neighbor’s yard a little more closely). Apparently we live in a historical district. That sounds cool – but it really just means we can’t do shit to our house without special approval and, as the notice warned, needed to have a presentable exterior area. They threatened fines and further actions not specified. I think my husband thought they were bluffing.

We paid $300 in fines before he agreed to let me grow some damn grass.

$300.

And even then, he wasn’t completely on board with the idea.

Anyway, I’m getting distracted from my main point here. What I’m saying is that it was tough to begin growing grass on this particular dirt. It doesn’t absorb water well at all (that’s an understatement). It’s uneven. It is hard as a rock. It is unwilling to change for me or anyone else who tries to give it life and oxygen and a reputation as anything but tough and unmanageable. But I have been working since Feb. to change its mind about cooperating. I grew some pretty great grass on my 3rd try (not bad considering it was Feb.). I even grew a tree in the front strip of dirt by the curb (I know that has a name, but I don’t have a clue what it is). I am far from a green thumb, let me tell you. I remember growing a Lima bean or some shit in the 2nd grade. That is about the extent of my planting/ growing/ maintaining experience. I was not in a comfort zone. But I was prepared with tools and strategies and books and of course, Google. I made that grass my bitch.

And then … just when I thought I had it all figured out … I saw several weeds trying to infiltrate my beautiful masterpiece.

I was not having it. Not even a little bit. Had I spent so much of my time and energy and money getting things exactly the way I wanted them just to be showed up by some wild fucking weeds? No. I had not.

So I went and bought the best weed killer you can buy to show those assholes who the boss was around here. I sprayed them vigorously with the super powered killing juice with a victorious smirk on my face. I was going to show those bastard weeds who was boss.

A week later, nearly every bit of grass I’d grown had died. My whole yard was no longer the bright green color I had loved so much, but “fire-hazard-yellow” instead. I even managed to somehow kill 1/4 of my neighbors grass/ weeds in the process. I really did get the best killer.

I have since attempted to reseed and reignite the determination and drive I had the first time around. I am just so frustrated that I had it just how I wanted it and with one wrong move, I ruined everything I’d worked so hard to have. I did my best… and made a rookie mistake. I don’t know that I have the ability to try as hard the 2nd time or the 3rd time as I did the first. I don’t feel so sure of my abilities and all the flaws in my yard? You know, the dirt and its unwillingness to yield to become what I think it should be… those flaws are no longer small things I can work through. They’re huge defects that throw out red flags and cause me pause. Should I really invest more time and energy and money into something that’s failed me already? Sure, I know not to buy that strong of weed killer next time, but how do I know I won’t do something else equally as lame to screw it up should I ever even get it to where it once was?

Do I even have the ability to give as much of myself this time around? Or am I still a little bitter about my lack of gardening skill? Will I do it half ass so I am not forced with the reality – again – that my best is not good enough?

How can I be sure that the foundation on which everything is built is not defective?

The most ironic part of all this grass drama is that I’ve felt the same way about my life and relationships lately. If I can’t give the grass an honest do over, how can I expect myself to even entertain the idea of doing so with my personal relationships?

Holy Hell, Batman

Can someone please explain to me why McDonald’s Happy Meal toys are so effin special?

Cole will have his new hand-held video game thing on one side of him and like … a puppy or something as equally awesome on the other side of him, and he will choose to play with the stupid Batman figurine that doesn’t even move by itself that he got in his Happy Meal  a couple of weeks ago.

Friday is “share day” at school. He gets to choose one toy from his millions to show off to his class. He used to pick a different Matchbox car every week and then he’d hide an extra one in his pocket. He thought I didn’t know. He’d have this little grin on his face and when I’d ask him what he was smiling about, he’d giggle a little and say “nothing, Mama”.

Anyway, he picks cooler toys now that he’s an official pre-schooler, and in the oldest group of kids at his school. He took his robot he got for Christmas from my aunt one week. It shoots foam discs and has a remote control. That was a big hit. Another day, he took the walking dragon he got from his Grandparents. That was a huge success. The kids crowded around him as soon as he walked in the classroom to watch as he gave a demonstration. He was the coolest kid in school that day.

Last Friday, he wanted to take the Batman figurine that doesn’t even move by itself. Sadly, one of the requirements for sharing on share day is that he turn in his completed homework packet. We finished the majority of it throughout the week, but there was just one page left to finish that morning before we left for school. He refused to finish it. He was not having any part of it. He literally put the pencil down on the table, crossed his arms, looked away, and said, “hmmpphh” with the attitude only a 4 year old could pull off (without getting his ass kicked).

He finished getting ready for school (with quite a push from me) and as we were walking out the door, he turned to run back in the house to pick a toy to take. I already told him he wouldn’t get to take one if he didn’t finish his homework but apparently he thought I was joking or something. Upon reminding him of the rule I had to stand by at this point, he quickly burst into tears and sobs and slobbers and snot bubbles. I drove him to school just like that – not even acknowledging his fit in hopes that negative reinforcement may be the trick in this particular situation.

It was not.

There was a scene at the school I won’t even get into because I’ve never actually had a worse morning with that kid. I honestly was at the very end of my rope. I’m so glad I was in public or I may have had a mental breakdown right there in front of the place.

His favorite teacher came out to help me distract him from his horrible reality and I kissed his cheek as he pushed me away to walk with her to his classroom. Of course, I was in tears on the way back to my car. I knew I had done the right thing… but it was so hard to see him that upset.

I returned home to find Dexter, my pit bull, gnawing on the remains of Cole’s Batman figurine. I spent hours that day searching for a McDonald’s who had that specific character available. No such luck.

I’ve been cleverly redirecting his attention ever since when he asked about Batman. Until this morning, when he found a piece of the Batman’s wing under my bed.

I am in for a fun day.

I’ll Pencil You In

I loathe schedules. Even if I make the damn thing myself, I hate having to do things at or by a certain time. Obviously, this can be an issue while dealing with oh, I don’t know, everyday life.

As an adult, I am expected to live by a certain kind of social contract. One that involves treating others the way I’d like to be treated. I will say that if I’m waiting on someone for more than 5 minutes past the agreed meeting time? I’m pretty irritated. It makes me think that they must think their time is worth more than mine or they must not respect me enough to keep their word or some other irrational conclusion that leads back to me and how it makes me feel because I’m so self centered I can’t think for a second that maybe – just maybe – there was an accident on the freeway or something else as simple and legitimate.

When it comes to meeting people in a situation that relies on me to do my part, I rarely disappoint. This is why I’m finding myself in an identity crisis at the moment.

Part of the awesomeness that is me is the fact that I’m somewhat of a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants type of girl. Granted, The Cole hindered my gypsy lifestyle quite a bit, but at least I still felt as though I could act on impulse and without purpose every now and then. These days, however, I couldn’t possibly get away with anything of the sort. I feel slightly guilty for even posting this right now because I should definitely be handling matters that need my attention in my work world.

I love what I do and have chosen to be as involved in it as I am. I don’t HAVE to spend 10 hours a day (at least) getting this off the ground. But I committed myself and I’ve seen the results. They are great. Better than anyone before me, at least. And I know that anything worth having is not easy to attain. I know that it’s always rough and demanding in the beginning, but if I lay the groundwork correctly, it will run itself in just a couple of years. I know all these things – but I sometimes look at the schedule I’m forced to keep track of, with all these circles and highlights and yes, even color coding, and wonder what the hell happened to my life.

I guess I grew up.

No one saw that comin’.

Part Two

It’s so easy to take life for granted. We go about our day-to-day routines and complain about traffic or work or the girl at Starbucks who can’t seem to remember to go easy on the foam. We assume there will be a tomorrow. And there will be. But who’s to say you’ll be around to bitch about it?

I saw a woman die before my eyes that day. I’ve seen death before. I’ve seen death on people I knew and cared about before. Only one before this has ever had a comparable (and far greater, even) effect. I won’t talk about that death here because it is not my place to share the life and death of a child taken too soon. But this woman – the one I’d never known before that day – her death has impacted my life significantly.

That day I was driving back to my home to pack my things. My husband and I had been fighting non-stop for too long and we decided it just wasn’t worth it anymore. Then I was given a reality check on what “it” really is. It is this short time on earth that allows us to love and to laugh and to learn. To let go of the small stuff and sometimes even the big stuff is not always simple, but it is always necessary. To forgive is to let yourself be free. Letting go is one of the hardest things to do for me. I hang on too long to things or people who are not worth it. But as I watched that woman in her last seconds, I wanted only to feel safe. Safety lies, for me, in my husband’s arms and in the home we made.

I am not thankful for that woman’s death; but I am eternally grateful for my life.

The Boss Of U

Earlier this week, Cole had his remote control robot in the kitchen with me while I did dishes. He was controlling the robot’s every move with his control box.  The robot would walk. The robot would dance. The robot even began to fling tiny foam discs at me, per Cole’s request. It made little robot noises as it performed these actions and every one – especially the flinging of the discs – made The Cole giggle hysterically. When the robot ceased to make it’s little sounds and Cole continued to giggle hysterically, I took notice of what was happening here.

Cole had given up on the robot and switched his focus onto me. In his 4 year old mind, he was now controlling my movements. Every time I moved, he’d give himself credit for it.

Eventually, I started moving more robotically and he got a real kick out of that. Then I started talking with the robot voice and he started to get up off the floor and really get into it. About 30 seconds later, he was on top of a chair and throwing out demands to me and moving his control box with authority.

Get Colebert a snack!

Stop putting dishes away now! Colebert needs a snack!

No, Mommy! Not carrots again! Colebert needs cookies!

You get the idea.

When I stopped acting and talking like a robot, Cole proceeded to punch and throw his control box, infuriated by its uselessness. He then looked at me and said,

Mommy, pretend? Pretend I’m the boss of you.

And that’s when I remembered how much I enjoy writing about our little incidents here on the Boss Of U.