My boss: “Does Illinois have one ‘n’ or two?”
Me: (What? My boss was in the newspaper spelling bee for god’s sake and has lived in IL since she was five, is she totally brain dead today?)
“Um, one, Maria.”
MB: “Are you sure? That doesn’t look right.”
Me: “Um, yah, just one ‘n’”
MB: “No that’s not right, there are two ‘n’s’ in ‘annoy‘”
You graduate from 8th grade today, an accomplishment you seem to be taking in stride.
“Mom! It’s ONLY 8th grade promotion” was your exasperated plea when I ruled out basketball shorts, a white t-shirt and high-top tennis shoes for your graduation ensemble.
I’ve written about some of the less sterling parts of your middle school years. However, similar to the awful scent of a full diaper, the sleepless nights, and the seemingly endless trips around the living room while doing a jiggling, elephantine walk to stop the damn wailing- times that were trying- now seem like inconsequential parts of those wonderful baby years; I’m sure the memories of the eye rolling, the back talk, and the generally poopy attitude will fade and I will remember your stellar qualities. (Well, let’s hope so!)
You have opinions. You read the newspaper and pay attention to the news. We can discuss “real” issues, which I whole-heartedly enjoy.
You are intelligent, reading books at a rapid pace and pick up on math and science concepts easily, something your peers notice and envy. You kill me at Scrabble, something I should have predicted when you started beating me at checkers in the 1st grade.
Most important, you are kind and affectionate. At fourteen, you seem to view that as a weakness, but it’s not, and will serve you well in the future.
Taylor, I am looking forward to the next four years, full of school, football, chess, girls, driving, (okay, I’m not so much those last two) and family. While I mourn your greater independence, I will also relish each triumph and I am confident that you will grow to be a wonderful young man.
I love you, my little Tay-ly and I’m so proud of you.
Saturday night we (Taylor, Chris, Tay’s friend Wesley) were hanging out playing board games.
The topic of usernames came up. Chris said “My username on my fantasy league is Mike-Oh, I better not say.”
Taylor and Wesley started lauging hysterically.
Okay, what’s so funny about Mike? Mike What?
Chris finally admited that his username is “Mike Oxlong”
(If you don’t get it, say it three times fast.)
Am I married to a fourteen year old boy or what?
Turning to Wesley, “How did you know?”
His reply:
“Well, that used to be Taylor’s username on AIM.” (AOL Instant Messanger.)
Shit, I wonder what Ben Dover and Harry Schlong’s parents’ thought when their sons were online talking to “Mike Oxlong?”
I had a dream that I wrote this blog post:
“Men and penises, so silly. All that worry about size. Of all the men I slept with (pre-marriage, of course!), I don’t remember any significant differences.
Except for that one guy, he was pretty big.
Oh, yah…
and that one poor guy…”
*Actually, now that I think about it, this “dream post” probably has more to do with seeing a late ngiht “Vazomyne” commercial than my subconscious.
I had a nice Mother’s Day.
The highlight? One of my sisters text messaged my mom:
“Happy Mother’s Day! Sorry, can’t make it. Warrant out for arrest. Can’t drive. Love, M.”
I moniter my kids’ online activities, instant messages, cell phone usage, text messages, etc. They know it’s a part of being allowed to have an email address, having a Myspace page, and a cell phone.
Today I checked out my daughter’s Yahoo Answers! profile and looked at the questions she had answered. The first two were innocuous, a question about pets and “What’s the worst Hillary Duff movie?”
The third?
“What’s the wildest thing ur parents have done?”
Uh, oh.
Reagan’s respnse:
“hahaha we were at a hotel and i was in a different room. their room had a hot tub and i walked in on…….”
One, what happened to appropriate capitalization?
Two, OMG!
Three, at least she didn’t go into details!
A boy wanting advice on turning his girl friend into his girlfriend received this response from my daughter:
“aww that’s sweet. that happened 2 me once… i just kissed him and then he decided he liked me 2 lol.”
That’s an even bigger “OMG!”
But, I think she’s fibbing.
No, really, I mean it. Reagan like boys, but she’s not a “boy crazy” kind of girl (at least not yet!) and complains about her friends that are afflicted with that malady. She’s not lacking in adult supervision, has never been to a boy/girl party, so unless she’s kissin’ boys at school (highly doubtful), I think it’s pretty improbable.
Looking at her other questions, she answered a lot about pets. Her advice? “Name your dog ‘Jack,’ it’s a cute name for a cute dog.” “You don’t have to speak German to your German Shepard,” and, to someone who was still missing her dog six years after its tragic death:
“my brother killed my pet hamster a year ago. I still miss it!!!”
Um, we’ve never owned a hamster.
I guess my daughter’s online fantasy life includes kissing boys and sibling hamstercide.
I’m not sure which is worse.
Yesterday I had to take Taylor to the dentist for a follow up visit (cavity!). After signing him back in at the school, one of his teachers came up to me and said:
“What happened to Taylor’s hair?”
And she said it in the same concerned and bewildered tone one might use when asking someone about a broken arm or a black eye!
I wanted to laugh, but I was sympathetic; I’m well known for putting my foot in my mouth. For example, earlier this week my co-worker’s adult son emailed her and said he was making enchiladas for the first time and might be calling her later for advice.
I responded, “That’s so nice, kids always have fond memories of their mother’s cooking, even if the mom doesn’t cook well.”
Riding in the car yesterday Reagan said “Mom, remember when I went to that lock-in and the topic was abstinence?”
“Yah?”
“Well, one 6th grader asked ‘If abstinence is so great, then why are there prostitutes?’”
My son proclaimed this to be his new motto.
He wants to get bumper stickers and t-shirts printed and sell them; I’d love to encourage his entreprenurial spirit but I would also not like to be pariahs in our small, largely Apostolic Christian town of sixteen hundred (mostly) Republicans.
Her other tidbit of info:
“We’re making brochures in English class.”
Oh? For what?
“The Holocaust”
Yesterday’s post was just an example of one of the “commonplace” conversations we have at my office that would be bizarre to others. Part of the feel of living and working in REALLY small town.
There is a one-armed man living in an “apartment” two store fronts down from my office. This greatly amuses us, as 1. One armed man! (it’s insensitive, but what is more curiousity provoking?) 2. It’s a store front, for god’s sake! What idiot turned it in to an apartment?
A couple of days ago I was leaving the office to go to the pharmacy (also on our block), hoping for a pleasant encounter with the multi-personality clerk. In the middle of the street was a medium-sized black dog with a short, gruff-voiced man calling it. “Come back, damn dog!”
The dog promptly ran the other direction.
He would stop, sniff something, mark his territory. The man would get closer, the dog would see him and run another block, stop and sniff, repeat, repeat.
Later that day I saw the dog chaser entering the one-armed man’s apartment.
Yesterday he was there again.
Hence:
“I think the short, loud guy with the black dog is moving in with the one-armed man.â€
I just said to my boss “I think the short, loud guy with the black dog is moving in with the one-armed man.”
