We Wish You a Merry Kazoo

Who’s idea was it to put an anxiety afflicted little boy in front of hundreds of parents in a huge auditorium? Yep. We’re those parents.

Considering Mason’s fears and sensitivities we considered this a triumph.

The following morning at drop-off I can’t tell you how many parents approached me and said, “My husband and I just laughed hysterically watching your son.” Or, “We took more video of Mason than our own daughter.” I was actually late taking my other son to his school because there were so many parents who wanted to talk to me about Mason’s performance from the previous evening.

He was doing pretty well, until the kazoos started. Then he was in tight ear-plugging mode*. While I was laughing myself, my heart was going to him. The noise, the people, the commotion, the break from routine – all a little more than he could handle.

At one point I mouthed, “Are you OK?” And he sternly shook his head in a resounding, “NO!” that was clear from the last pew where I was perched.

On the evening of the program as we walked to our car reflecting with him on the awesomeness of his not singing, but not fainting achievement we asked him how he liked standing between his nemesis and a new boy we didn’t recognize. And he started with great enthusiasm and explained:

“Oh that boy is Lache**; but let me tell you: Do NOT ever call him Mache because he will freak out on you!”


*If you are connected to me on facebook you saw an excellent picture example of this earlier this week.
**Names changed for obvious reasons.

A Tale of Two Parties

The truism, "You know you have a lot on your plate when..." has never been more evident than the last day of school before winter break. I actually pine for the last day. No, no, no. I mean to say, I pine for the first day of winter break. I'm not good with schedules. Getting the kids to school in the morning is a drag.

On the last day, however, you still have all that crap to do but it's somehow compounded by all this extra stuff known in some circles as fun and educational distraction. Also known as Christmas pageants and classroom parties. And so, an account of the day begins:

9:05

Run Coop into school just as the bell is ringing. Was lugging his backpack full of snack closet crackers and a bag of non-perishable food items for the food drive. He had his lunch, I think.

9:15

Begin tenuous negotiation with Mason to eat breakfast, get shoes on, backpack in car, and GET TO SCHOOL on time.

9:40

Miserably late to school. All teachers breathe sigh of relief as they were afraid Mason would boycott participation in aforementioned Christmas pageant. Mason is still nibbling the 3 Ritz crackers he agreed to eat for breakfast. I am carrying his backpack and coat and a 20-pack of water bottles intended for after-pageant reception.

10

Run to car and speed toward home where I need to clean up for the cleaning ladies and leave them a check. Also need to stop at a store and buy kindergarten teacher a gift. Once past point of no return I look down and notice I have Mason's lunch. Resolve to get back to school a little before the pageant so that he can eat.

11:15

Rendezvous with husband -- ha ha ha. Anyways, we try to have a brief coffee date before the mayhem begins and on our way to the Christmas pageant. Steve's car (we're driving in separate cars) is dangerously low on gas, however, and he detours for gas while I detour to Starbucks for two Venti drips, cream and sugar. Lots of sugar these days.

11:45

Barely get to Mason's school in time to seat ourselves in sanctuary. (Forget his lunch, again.) Discover that drinking coffee -- or anything really -- is discouraged in the sanctuary. Apparently this crowd does not worship caffeine like I do. I down my venti, sling camera over shoulder, and by stealth sneak husband's venti into sanctuary.

noon

Program begins. Turns out painfully shy shepherds with Spongebob Squarepants sneakers are very cute even when they do not sing a note. Following pageant proceed to classrooms for a cookie reception. At which time Mason's teacher graciously thanks me for the opportunity to teach the class the true meaning of sharing. Quizzically I stare at her, mouth gaping, then realize she means that Mason had no lunch and his classmates all pitched in a crust of bread or something so that he could eat. Good mom moment.

1

We leave the school -- husband in his car and Mason and I in my car -- and head directly to McDonald's (I have more to say about this, so tune in tomorrow or something.)

2:00

Get home with just enough time to whip up some royal icing for Coop's gingerbread making extravaganza. Royal only because it is a royal pain in the arse, I suspect.

2:20

Check in to school dragging Mason, his duck-duck, a bag of gingerbread making supplies, my camera, a spare lens, and a gift for teacher. Walk into classroom in such a daze I don't recognize own child. Gladly kneel on floor for the next hour or so while trying to keep Cooper and Mason from eating too many of the candies intended for the houses, snapping pictures, and periodically being asked to hold Mason's duck-duck. Did I mention it is approximately 84 degrees in the classroom and I am wearing fur-lined, knee high boots, opaque tights, a wool skirt, a HUGE sweater, and from time to time a small child.

3:40

Learn from teacher that Coop has complained of a stomach ache the better part of the day and that when she excused him use the restroom he was gone for the better part of half an hour. Decide I want to get him home and a little closer to a toilet bowl. Check us all out of the school at this point dragging Mason, his duck-duck, a bag of gingerbread making supplies, my camera, a spare lens, an actual gingerbread house precariously perched on a flimsy paper plate, a gift bag full of the stuff Coop made in school this month, his backpack, two water bottles, all while chasing Cooper in the parking lot while he darts in front of school buses, and swings his lunchbox and coat around his head.

I think we can commence the dialogue concerning the series of events that fuel my dislike for the last day of anything. Merry Christmas.

PHOTO NOTE:

Please note the picture of Mason affixed to the ornament he made in school. His teacher actually apologized to me in advance for that one. She claims he WILL NOT smile if she asks him to.

Walcott, And Other Places I Scorn

Here's something you probably didn't know about me, once I get a bee in my bonnet, I gotta do what I set out to do, even if it's against my better judgement. In other words -- or rather less words -- I'm stubborn. That is how we came to start a multi-state road trip at 4 in the afternoon. 4 p.m., people. That stubborn.

Actually it went down something like this...

4 p.m.
Pick up Cooper from school. And while hoping that we can avoid socializing and get on with ourselves I see the teacher wave me down. I flash between, "Should I pretend I didn't see her." and, "Ah shoot, she knows we skipped homework."

Timidly approach her to find out that Cooper didn't eat lunch because his lunchbox was switched with another boy in school. And according to Cooper the mother of said boy packed "rotten chicken soup" that made, "me and Spencer went like this (motions to make gagging noises and retching faces)."

4:17
Arrive home where car is dangerously loaded to the gills and children pile in. We stop for gas. True to the questions I've had since the boys woke up this morning I hear, "I'm so excited, when do we get to grandma's house," at least 47 times.

4:45
On the road, only to slam on brakes in bumper to bumper traffic. Oh that's right, people work. And then they drive home from work at about 5. Oooops.


5:20
Mason is making non-stop machine gun sounds. I'm over it.

5:30
Cooper asks when we're going to be at the airport. Clearly he's over it.

6:57
Cross into Wyoming and the temperature instantly drops. We're travel weary already. Nothing is where I want it and I'm feeling cross. The kids seem smashed into the backseat. And to top things off, the new video games that I bought to surprise them? One of them doesn't work. So, planning fail and we're setting a 10 minute turn timer so they can switch back and forth between one Nintendo DS. (Does anyone have a used DS they want to sell?)

7:27
While at a Wendy's in Wyoming an anonymous patron belches in such a way I am reminded of demon hounds being released from Gehenna. Which you might think would make my husband and I make gagging noises and retching faces. But no, we had an exchange including eye contact followed by hysterical laughter that will be legendary. Mark my words. In this house, we are quick to find comedic relief in errant eructation. Never did figure out who the culprit was. But it was either the grease ball in leathers and a Yellowstone t-shirt and a very loose idea of personal hygiene or the teenage girl in a soccer uniform enjoying dinner with her family. Toss up. (There is an outside chance it was a large woman who was 75% bald. But I'm unconvinced.)

9:17
It's really dark outside. And remarkably cold, 37 degrees. And we see a mile of red lights ahead of us. Uh oh. An absolute standstill on the freeway and we don't have much gas. The night's about to get hugely interesting. Make panicked phone call to family in Idaho for a little OnStar. Learn that I-80 is closed due to an accident. I-80 is THE only route. We pull off the freeway at Walcott hoping for an open gas station. None! Everything is closed. Doesn't 9 p.m. seem a little early to close a gas station? We are literally faced with the decision to sit and wait and hope we don't run out of gas, or drive all the way back to Denver. Hmmmmm... looks like we are aborting this trip.

9:29
Make phone call to Wyoming Highway Patrol (if you would like the number let me know) and discover that at least 1 lane is now getting through. So we turn on the car and pull onto freeway (at this point the inside of our car is freezing). It's slow going, it's raining, but we're moving. This is when everyone falls asleep. Everyone, except me because I'm driving and eating. I do this very well. Especially the latter of the two.


12:31 a.m.
Mandatory stop at Little America. LA claims to have the cleanest bathrooms in Wyoming and this could be true. It's a balmy 42 degrees and I'm questioning why we elected to leave a city that was enjoying temps in the 80s. It's cold enough that we consider buying blankets in a gas station. Then we come to our senses and turn on the heat. I'm telling you, we're a little out of practice.

I'm starting to question my decision to let Mason get his immunization this morning. He's groaning in his sleep and complaining that his leg hurts.

1:30
We cross the Utah state line, I'm listening to Ted Nugent, clearly I'm chockfull of this road trip for I am listening to my husband's playlist. Everyone else is ... naturally... asleep.

2:38
Arrive. Creep by tippy toe into in-laws' home and crawl into bed. Sleep. Sleep very deeply.


I will eventually have fun stories to tell you of our adventures in Utah. Don't worry, none of them include The Browns of Sister Wives fame. Stay tuned.

Oh, I Get It: The Husband Version

My husband is a few years older than I. Not a big deal, however, we tend to have a problem when it comes to movies and music.

He'll say, "Remember that one movie..."

And I'll blankly stare at him and think, "Remember it from what? Fifth grade?"

Anyway, I had the opportunity to see Footloose for the first time. And now, I get it. I now understand why he dances the way he does and tends to dress the way he does (but only when he's lounging and positive no one will see him). I also instantly fell in love with him all over again. That movie came out when he was in high school, so I'm sure it influenced him just a little bit.

Much the same way I was influenced by backward pant wearing, lipsinking, chubby girl in the bee costumeing, scrunchies in the hair type pop references during my high school years.

The other thing I realized when I watched Footloose. My son has Kevin Bacon hair.

Pour Some Sugar on Me

It’s a rare occasion when I get to grocery shop alone. I of course prefer to shop alone. I can actually look for the items on my list without the constant barrage of begging for Fruit Loops and Oreo Cookies.

Following the much-anticipated parent-teacher conference I rounded out the evening with a solo-shopping trip. I was already in a funk thanks to the conference (more on that later) and doubly funkified to be shopping to the sounds of what I can only describe as the Top 10 Van Halen Songs of the 80s. When I pulled a gallon of rocky road ice cream out of the freezer the lyrics of Jump almost forced me to pick up two more gallons.

Anyway, I get to the checkout and am greeted by a sweet, if perhaps over-energetic checker. She appears to be about 20, but could be as young as 18.

And then I hear it, the familiar opening bars to "Pour Some Sugar on Me", a song by Def Leppard. As the song starts blaring from the overhead speakers the girl pauses, cocks her head as if to listen just a bit more intently and squeals, “Oh my God! This is my mom’s favorite song.”

This is where I cringe. Not because I hate the song, but because I once loved it. As does her MOTHER, not her sister, not her aunt, her MOTHER. Am I that old? If I had kept up with some of my high school peers I could have a child who is a checker at the local Kroger. Instead I’m actually buying another box of pull-ups for my baby.

To be clear, Pour Some Sugar on Me is from Def Leppard’s Hysteria album, released in 1987. I was only in seventh grade back then, so no I could not have a child who is 20. BUT, my husband graduated in 1986, so HE could have a child who is a checker at the local Kroger. And that freaked me out. Is this how it begins? Next I’ll be wearing Pull On Polyester Pants from Sears.

PS -- This girl had to ask me what each of the vegetables I bought was. She couldn't tell a zucchini from a butternut squash and had no idea what ginger root was.

Music Is

I find that music has a way of finding its place in our home. And so I've concluded it's meant to be there and I will just back off and see what happens. My husband and I -- once adolescents with music lessons and aspirations to play our way to fame -- have the relics of musical dreams scattered around the house. Though neither of us play our instruments much anymore you would be hard pressed not to find a piano, or a guitar, or a bass guitar, or a drum set, or a flute, or a something in every room of our house.

And yet, it always takes me by surprise when my kids gravitate to these "toys". Is it something amazing when your baby reaches up to the guitar hanging on the wall and starts to strum it? (We finally took it down and let him try to play it.) Gosh, it's not a bombshell that they would be interested. It's something they can wail on, screech with, bang away, even strum with skill without using their voices. I hear them. They feel like they are expressing themselves. But there are no pesky questions from mom. And no showboat answers from the precocious set.

Music is here to stay. Peace out, Colorado!