When Kids Grow Up: Some Days It's Not as Painful

It's Halloween 2013.  The kids dressed up...

Japanese princess

Ghostface

and we crashed a friend's neighborhood (like we always do) to go trick-or-treating.  The kids hauled home a couple pounds of sugar candy each, so they're set till Christmas or Valentine's Day or Easter or whenever I decide to throw out all the stuff they haven't touched in forever.

It's kind of a bittersweet moment in parenting when you realize that your kids are no longer dashing ahead to get to the next house first... because they're lagging behind, one of them dangling his mask on his wrist between houses and the other not wanting to be crushed among the people who are shorter than her.

And then you get home and the kids don't even care if you steal their candy because Granny sent them a couple bucks each for Halloween and they fully intend to hit the clearance candy aisle in the next day or two.  And at some point during the day, one of the children (and it's the younger one) actually says, "Mom, I don't know if I want to go trick-or-treating next year.  It seems kinda... silly."  And you say, "Well, let's wait till next year and decide," but inside your heart kind of thumps a little because you realize that if they don't go trick-or-treating it's kind of like Halloween is OVER.  Sure there might be Halloween parties that they want to attend, but they won't be the cute little-kid, take-lots-of-photos kind; they'll be the big-kid, drop-me-off-and-pick-me-up-later kind.

And then you realize that you won't have to worry about where to go trick-or-treating and you can stay home and drink beer or wine or whatever as long as you're sober enough to pick up the kids later.  And that you won't have to worry about what to do with all the candy because there won't be any unless you buy it for yourself like you did before you had kids.

Some days, having older kids isn't all that bad.

A Fairy Tale (With a Moral Twist), by Boo

All People Are Equal

by Boo

Once upon a time there lived a group of dryads. They lived in houses made in trees. The trees were magically designed so that there was living space inside. The dryads wore leaf dresses that were strung together with vines. They used magic to keep the leaves green. All the dryads loved to dance with all their hearts. Their music was made of hazelnut castanets and swaying trees. There were only girls in this tribe. They also loved to play tag because there were lots of trees to run around. Of course climbing was fun, too. The children liked to play hide-and-seek, and so did the grown-ups.

The queen of the tribe was named Flouresta. Flouresta had two assistants. One of them was named Rose and the other Daisy. The cook was named Maple. The dryads ate a small variety of things like acorn soup, hazelnut soup, and very, very rarely berry cream. The cream came from the cow that would escape from the farm next door.

The tribe was very happy until, very unexpectedly, a farm boy wandered into the woods. Nobody noticed that he was coming into their space because they were all playing a good game of tag. The farm boy didn't know what tag was, nor did he know why the grown-ups were doing whatever they were doing. Suddenly Flouresta noticed the farm boy and stopped, which caused everybody else to slowly stop, too

She started questioning the boy.  "What is your name?" she asked.

"Steve," he replied.

"Are you a boy?" she asked.

"Yes, of course," he responded.

Flouresta felt awkward.  She knew that boys weren't allowed, but she didn't quite know how to get him out of her woods nicely.

"Get out please.  I don't want to have to use magic to force you out," she said stoutly.

"What is magic?" Steve asked.

"You don't want to find out," Flouresta answered.

Just then Maple stepped up. "There is no need for magic, because we can push him out!" she said.

Flouresta contemplated this idea, then said, "Rose, Daisy, take this boy to the dungeon. Then we can decide what's to be done with him!"

On the way to the dungeon Steve escaped.  "GET HIM!!!" every body yelled.

"Rose, Daisy, Maple - it's magic time," Flouresta hollered. "First we fly, then we use tree magic."

They all shot off the ground.  First they made the tree in front of Steve bend down.

"Bet you can't catch me," Steve jeered. "I don't get to sleep in the house at night, so I come in here and find my way around."

Flouresta thought that Steve would be too busy talking to them and would trip and fall over the tree that they had just bent down. He didn't, though, he just jumped over it as if it were a crayon.  Steve turned a sharp corner and ran inside a tree and stopped.  When the tribe came in, he said, "All people are equal. If you are so peaceful all the time, why do you fight to get me out?"

"We used to only let girls into our wood, but you have shown us that all people are equal, even boys," Flouresta replied.

From that day forth the tribe always let boys in.  They taught Steve all their games. They even offered to let Steve lived with them, but Steve said that his home was on the farm.

The End

A Halloween Story, by Doodlebug

This started as a free writing exercise when I suggested the children write a scary or fairy story.  Enjoy!

     It was an old house. It had an old iron furnace that used coal. The main floor had been used as a funeral home. There were many works of taxidermy. There was at least one crack in every ceiling, and there was water damage everywhere. From the outside the house was dilapidated. Upstairs was the children's bedroom. In the bedroom Billy woke up, his heart thumping. He called out to his brother, Chris, and there was no answer. He lay back down with his teddy bear, Furry Ferocious. Then he noticed the exceptional silence.

     He didn't hear his brother's breathing, he didn't hear the bats in the attic, and it was colder than usual. He got up and looked over, but his brother was gone.

     He yelled, "Mom!!" but there was no answer. Billy resolved that he and Furry Ferocious would wait for Chris to come back. He waited, tossed, and waited some more, but Chris didn't come back. After that he got up, looked down the hall and gulped.

     He walked to his parents' room. His mind was racing. He thought that any moment now zombies would lumber out and eat his brains. He reached his parents' room, but they were gone. He went downstairs. It seemed to be empty. Then he felt it. The cold and silence were alive. Something was coming up the basement stairs.

     He wondered, "Did it catch my family?" Then he fled upstairs.

     He felt the silence come up the stairs toward him. Suddenly his bear was pulled away, and he was completely surrounded by the cold and silence. Next thing he knew light was streaming through the window.

     At breakfast Billy asked Chris where he had been during the night. Chris replied, "In bed of course."

     Billy's family said that it was a dream. After that night, though, Billy's bear was never seen again.

Girl vs. Hair

I don't know about you, but when I was little, my mom had the ultimate say-so about my hair.  I had long hair.  It was curled each morning.  I had bangs.  They were cut straight across my forehead, and they were also curled each morning.  When I was 9, I rebelled.  I insisted that I wanted to grow out my bangs.  My mother fought me for months, but I won when I would no longer let her get the scissors near my forehead.  I did this by shaking my head demonically.  She acquiesced, and I grew out the bangs.  As I got older, I kept the hair long for the most part, chopping it off only once in a horrid experiment that caused me to look like a poodle for many months.  I've only had it short once since then, and while it was not quite as horrid the second time around (since I actually knew how to care for my hair at that point), I realized that long hair is something I should stick with.  It simply works for me.

I have never employed any manipulation with Boo's hair.  I kept it in a bob when she was tiny, but when she was big enough to have an opinion, I allowed her to let it grow or trim it as desired.  

She's always liked it long.  When we'd go to get it cut, she'd insist on having only the most minuscule amounts taken off, leaving the majority behind.

This week, however, she suddenly got a bee in her bonnet and decided she wanted her hair gone.  ALL gone.  I'd been gunning for a trim for a while, hoping she'd go back to a bob or something, but nope... the girl wanted something between Michelle Williams and Carey Mulligan.  Not that she knew who they were, but she's kinda like her mother in that things are either all or nothing.

So tonight, we went to get her hair cut.  And I love the results.

She's awfully pleased, too.  My girl got her first major haircut.  It's a milestone!

Peaceful Monday

I don't always love Monday.  In fact, most of the time I am not a fan of Mondays at all.  They are, however, growing on me.  The primary reason for this is simple:  I don't have to go anywhere.  Every other day of the week, I have to get in the car and drive someone or multiple someones somewhere to do something.  Swim team practice, swim meets, yoga class, violin lesson, homeschool group, even going to the library - all of those involve me spending time driving back and forth across town.  I love to drive.  I just get tired of running the same routes every week.

This Monday has been particularly glorious.  Doodlebug and I went to a concert last night and didn't get home till 11.  It would have been later, but we left the show early because the poor boy is not a night owl at all and was nodding off in his seat.  He felt bad, but he usually puts himself to bed around 8, and even with a nap yesterday afternoon, he just couldn't stay awake any more.  Obviously getting up early was not in the cards today.  We managed to be up and around by 8-ish, though, which was a good thing because a photographer friend of mine came over after dropping her own munchkins off at school and proceeded to spend the next hour or so taking a million photos of my kids.  It was cloudy and a little drizzly, but not misty, so the lighting was perfect.  When we got done, she browsed through some of the photos she'd taken and made me tear up because the kids looked soooooo big.  Some of her pictures of Doodlebug reminded me of senior portraits.  Scary thought.  Boo had conned Speed Bump into being in some of the shots, so we have pictures of the girl and her dog.  Those are adorable, too.

We wandered upstairs and did school for the what was left of the morning before breaking for lunch.  Broken bowl, lentils and pottery shards all over the floor - sometimes that would have made the entire day crappy, but I just couldn't manage to be grumpy today.  It was - and is - still gray outside, so I asked the kids if they wanted to do the rest of their school work in front of the fireplace.  They did.  I dug out a fall-scented candle (What does fall smell like?  Apples and cinnamon and pumpkin, in my opinion) and lit that to accompany the heat of the fire.  I walked upstairs a bit ago and realized that our new logs are doing a fantastic job of heating the living room.  I may never leave this space.  It's deliciously warm.

Boo has finished her school work and practiced her violin, so she's almost done for the day; she only needs to fold and put away her laundry.  Doodlebug is on his last subject, math, and then will do his own laundry and give the Tom-lizard his daily bath.

As for me, I'm going to do my own laundry and make meatloaf for dinner.  Days like this make me wonder if it's worth having extracurricular activities.  I've been debating whether or not to make the boy take a break from swim team for a month or two this winter, just because he's been doing it for so long without one.  The idea is rapidly taking root.  It would free up a lot of time.  More things to think about another day.  Today... today is for relaxing.

It's Like 5, Only Bigger

So 11 is moodier than 10.  My male version of that age has mood swings that would happily do battle with any PMS symptoms a similarly-aged girl might have.  Some things, however, do not change no matter how old the child.

1.  The toilet issues.  I know that not flushing the toilet is a common problem among parents; we suffer from it here, too.  The next time I walk upstairs and get hit with eau de pee will not be the first... nor, I suspect, the last.  One day I hope that I can stop checking to make sure the toilet is flushed whenever I tuck the kids into bed.  I fear it will come the day after they move out.

2. The 'I'm tired/hungry/stressed' tantrum.  They weren't cute when he was 3, and they certainly aren't cute now.  I do feel more inclined to laugh at them rather than take them seriously, however.  Today we took a morning trip to the zoo.  By the time we left, both kids were feeling the effects of hunger and were getting snippy with one another.

Like this... in my car

We made it home, and I fed them right as the tears began.  Normally I don't fix lunches because they're old enough and capable enough to fix their own meals, but some days, it's easier to throw food at the ravaging hordes as opposed to letting them maul one another in their efforts to feed themselves.

After eating, Doodlebug disappeared upstairs, which is never a good sign.  He had to finish his schoolwork for the week, so I had to have Boo go retrieve him.  He wasn't quite asleep, but it was close.  There was much weeping and gnashing of teeth before he finally woke up fully and settled down.  I suspect tomorrow will be another Day o' Tantrums because of overtiredness.  It is what it is.  As long as he doesn't have any night terrors (and yes, even at 11, those haven't stopped, either... they're rare, but they're still frightening.  Imagine hearing a blood-curdling scream coming from your child's room in the middle of the night.  Yeah... that.  He goes back to sleep - because he was never awake - and the rest of us sit around and stare wide-eyed at the walls for the remainder of the nocturnal hours.)

3.  The odd noises and sound effects.  Life is still narrated.  Noises come out of the boy that no self-respecting girl would ever emit.  (This isn't meant to be a gender-biased statement, but I seriously have never heard a girl make sound effects to the extent that boys do.  The occasional, "KABLOW!" Yes.  The odd farting noise?  Sure.  Grunts and squeaks and groans and bomb sounds and car engine rumbles and everything else... I'm pretty sure those belong firmly in the male dominion.)

4.  Whining about chores.  It's actually getting worse with age.  To be fair, I'd whine about chores too if I thought it'd do any good.

There are lots of good things, too, but these are the ones that stand out as the most notable/amusing to me.  The more kids change, the more they stay the same.

What Nobody Tells You About Beardies

So we have a bearded dragon now.  He's about six months old - born in April, according to the breeder we got him from - which makes him a juvenile. (There are four stages of bearded dragon development - babies are 0-6 mos. old, juveniles are 6-12 mos. old, subadults are 12-18 mos. old, and adults are anything older than that.)  He's about 8-10" long, so he's about an average-sized lizard.  His name is Tom.

Tom is an adventure.

When researching bearded dragons, there are tons of web sites and books on the topic.  They all say approximately the same things.  They have lots of things in common, but the thing that stands out the most is that they are all written by beardie veterans.  They do not tell you what actually caring for a beardie is like, if you've never owned one before.  This will be that post.  Consider it my PSA for the month.

First, you do your research and you try to figure out what you need, but the sources all conflict on that and so you wind up at the pet store buying The Kit.  The Kit comes with a tank, a heat lamp, a UVB bulb, a mesh cover, a food bowl, food (pellets and mealworms and papaya), water conditioner, calcisand (which is calcium carbonate... more on that later), etc., etc., etc.  You sigh and think, "Oh, good, that's everything."  

Except... no.  Then you go find a Reputable Breeder.  We went to a local reptile show to pick out our baby, and the lady there was really, really helpful.  Very informative.  And also very frustrating because she promptly picked apart the kit we'd bought and told us what would and would not work with Doodlebug's new pet.

The mesh lid?  No good.  Because it blocks the UVB rays from reaching the lizard.  (Plus our giant cat that we've lovingly nicknamed Fatty Boomsticks had already jumped on the mesh lid and squashed it, and even though we put it back together... well, those things are never quite the same afterward.)  Oh, and you have to make sure to change out the bulb every six months because the amount of UVB emitted will diminish over time.  The thermometer/hygrometer?  Probably good initially but won't be entirely accurate.  Get a temperature gun for better accuracy.  The calcisand?  Throw it out.  Paper towels work.  I've read since that outdoor carpet is fine.  Our breeder uses - and now WE use - slate landscaping tiles, because #1: you don't have to replace them like you have to replace sand; #2: you don't have to worry about the lizard eating it and getting it impacted in its intestines; and #3:  it keeps the lizard's nails from growing too long.  

I had not even THOUGHT about trimming lizard nails until that precise moment.  I can assure you it wouldn't have happened.  Ever.

Right.  So we take the baby - Tom, now - and a care sheet and a bunch of tiles home, fix up the cage, add the lizard.  Then comes the question of feeding it.  I picked up some turnip greens while I was at the grocery store on the same day we got Tom, and he ate those.  He ate some of the papaya.  What he wasn't eating was the mealworms or the pellets that came with The Kit.

Turns out if you buy from a Reputable Breeder (and I do recommend doing that, by the way... her babies were gorgeous, and we got to pick a really cute one... if lizards can be cute), they like live food.

Right.

Back to the store.

Buy some live superworms and crickets.  Oh, and you have to make sure that the crickets are the right size, because apparently you're supposed to have used calipers and measured the space between the lizard's eyes so you don't get crickets that are too big for your new lizard to eat.  The helpful girl at the pet store will also happily inform you that superworms can eat your lizard from the inside out if they're swallowed whole.  The internet will thankfully dispel that as myth.  What nobody mentions is that after you dust mealworms with calcium - because you have to do that once a day and dust the food with vitamins a couple times a week - and add them to the food bowl, they don't exactly stay put.

Escaping food

Now, if the lizard is hungry, this isn't a problem because he'll chase them down and nom them before they get away.  If your lizard has tanked up on other bugs, though, or greens, or simply isn't hungry, you're left to chase down the rest of dinner before the buggers slip into the cracks and crevices between the tiles and get stuck.  This is why, starting this evening, Tom will be eating dinner and breakfast in a separate container.  Doodlebug and I are tired of chasing down leftovers.

Something nobody else mentions in the care-of-reptilian-creatures pages is that you have to clean poo.  I mean, duh, right?  But apparently if your lizard doesn't poo every day, it's a sign of impaction.  And you know what happens if your lizard gorges itself on too many crickets and/or superworms and gets impacted?  It can die.  And ain't nobody got time for a dead lizard.  To clear an impaction, you fill the sink or a tub with warm, 100-ish degree water, and you let the lizard soak.  And while it's soaking, you have to massage its stomach.  Because the impaction will make itself felt on the left side of the abdomen.  And then your lizard will take a giant crap and feel better.  Please don't ask how I know.

At that point, you clean up the poo before the lizard tracks it all over the cage, and regardless of how quick you are on the poo-cleaning draw, you still have to wipe the cage down with a diluted bleach solution every week or so.

Speaking of water, lizards are also picky drinkers.  Tom seems to be especially picky.  He will not drink from his water bowl.  He will not drink if water is dripped onto his snout during his daily misting.  He likes his baths.  Specifically, he likes to drink from his baths.  But because lizards need water just like the rest of us, he will apparently need a bath... every day.

I swear he's mocking me and all the care I'm putting into
making sure he doesn't bite the big one.

I'm sure that Doodlebug and the rest of us - Tom included - will settle into a routine soon, and then feeding and bathing and cleaning and all of that will become habit.  Right now, though, we're smack dab in the middle of the learning curve.  I just hope there aren't any casualties.

Optimism - When NOT to Share

The boy has been on the lookout for the tiniest signs of puberty ever since he started reading about adolescent 'symptoms' in various books about the topic.  It's like he can't wait to grow up and get out of here or something.  (The girl, however, will live here as long as someone will subsidize her decor and clothing accessory habits.  I have a surprise for her... all subsidies end at the age of 18 unless the child in question is enrolled full-time at a college/university.)

Occasionally the boy will be peering at himself in the mirror, as he does for long periods when he's supposed to be showering, and he'll think that he sees something.  At this point, even though this is supposedly what he's looking for, he freaks.  And then he gets giddy.  And then he gets embarrassed.  And then he feels the sudden urge to run downstairs in his underwear and share whatever revelation he's just had.

A few weeks ago I was asked to inspect his upper lip for signs of facial hair.  Well, of course, there's vellus hair.  Which he had just apparently noticed.  And which he was mistaking for an actual mustache.  No, son, I will not buy you a razor for something that *I* have and don't even shave off.  It's the same color as your face.  When it starts looking like you have a porcupine growing out of your upper lip and I'm freaking out and crying because OMG MY BABY IS GROWING UP, that is the appropriate time to think you are capable of growing a mustache.

Once or twice, his throat has been itchy from either allergies or being rudely awakened from one of his infamous midafternoon naps, and he's asked me if that means his voice is cracking. D'awww... no, son, sorry, it doesn't.

And once, he came downstairs and wanted to know if all that 'other hair' would match the hair on his head.  And I said not necessarily.  And then he said, "Well, what if you have really bright hair?  Like... red hair?"  And I said I had no idea because quite frankly, I'd never asked anyone.  Ever.  Nor did I intend to.  And please walk away now.  Thankfully he dropped the subject.

I don't even want to imagine what symptom of adolescence he's going to invent next.  I just want to take his face in my hands and look him straight in the eye (well, as straight as he'll look at anyone in the eye.  You have about 0.2 seconds to get your message in before he's elsewhere) and say, "Y'know what?  Make ya a deal.  You quit telling me about imaginary pubertal symptoms, and I'll let you know when I notice something."  Because I love that he's excited about getting bigger, and part of me is really, really glad that he comes to me with these sorts of things because it means he trusts me with his body and its issues, but sometimes... sometimes Mama just doesn't wanna know!

Hoodies FTW

Oz designated this week "Hoodie Week" for me in our house.  It's probably a good thing, because while wearing hoodies may make you a target for law enforcement (the Unibomber, Trayvon, take your pick... the two are in no way linked in my mind except for hoodies), they also make me feel cozy, and when I feel cozy I'm less likely to lose my shit at/dismantle the 11-year-old who thinks the hour of school between 8:30 and 9:30 is a warm-up hour in which he's supposed to roll around on the floor and annoy everyone.  The gray weather, a giant mug of coffee, Sinatra playing in the background... these are also things that make me feel sane.  It's the little things, folks.

Anyway, hoodies.

It started innocently enough.  Last year I complained that I didn't have any hoodies, and Oz bought me a San Francisco 49ers hoodie because my love for that team predates my love for my husband, and what kind of husband is a Bears fan, anyway?!?  He didn't even like football when I met him.  Traitor.

He also got me an Eskimo Joe's hoodie because my love of their food also predates my husband.

But it wasn't enough.  And when I was feeling down in a funk a few weeks ago, I felt it.  The Urge to Buy Hoodies.  It spoke to me through the medium of the Interwebz, and it said, "Buy the hoodies..."

And so I did.

I started at SnorgTees, who are not paying me to write any of this but if they wanted to send me free stuff, I certainly wouldn't object.  And I found these:

I found lots more than that, but at the time, I felt like I should stick to some sort of budget.  So I ordered two.  Then I went to Facebook and let the enablers there tell me that there's no such thing as too many hoodies.  Who am I to argue with the masses?  So I went to NoiseBot (who are also not paying me, but since I bought even more from them, should send me a thank-you note or something) and found three more designs that screamed BUY ME.  I'd show you what they were, but NoiseBot doesn't have happy little images that I can paste, sooo... sorry about that. 

Between all those hoodies, I now have enough hoodies to get me through an entire week.  Theoretically this should be enough cozy to keep me from losing my mind.  Bring it, Winter!

Now We Are 11 - A Photo Post

Silly String fight - a new tradition begins 

MUST you take my picture, Mother? 

The cake was a bit dense... 

Gifts from a loving sister 

The baby beardie, Tom