Soda Wars

I rarely buy soda.  We aren’t health nuts, as evidenced by my frequent baking, but the orthodontist recommended “no soda,” and when you’ve shelled out $10,840 for braces, it seems prudent to follow her directions.  My kids, of course, LOVE soda, and, when I bought some this Saturday, they actually had a “Soda War.” 

It was like “The War of the Roses.”  Over a carbonated, lemon-lime beverage.  

Seriously.  

First Tay took the case of Sprite (which I only bought because it was a REALLY good deal) into his room, joking that it was “all mine!”  (Yes, that was accompanied by a chuckle of glee.)   

I think the kid needs to get out more.

At lunchtime Rea realized the soda was missing, so I told her to go ask Tay for one.   He gave her three.

Which made her quite self-righteous.  “Only three?  Three isn’t half of twenty-four!” 

Good to know her math skills are on par, but, really, how many sodas does one need with lunch?  Especially since, when soda is “in stock,” the rule is one soda per DAY.

I needed to study and reminded the kids of the another rule: ”Do not interrupt me unless you are bleeding heavily or the house is in flames,” and headed to the solitude of my bedroom and my astronomy textbook.

Meanwhile, Reagan plotted a soda retrieval expedition and stealthy stole the cans from her brother and hid them in her room.   Taylor, discovering her devious ways, masterminded a counterattack, and, in the process, broke her door frame.

Reagan called her dad at work to complain about Taylor’s trespass and destruction; of course, she conveniently left out her role in the shenanigans.

Taylor sincerely apologized and attempted to fix the door.   All was good. 

Then Chris arrived home from work and, failing to consult me about subsequent developments,  read Taylor the riot act.

Then told me, “You shouldn’t buy soda.  We don’t need soda in the house.”

The soda wars were  to turning into their floral namesake.

“Of all the animals, the boy is the most unmanageable.” (Plato)

After my son turned in his biology project he was complaining “I didn’t learn ANYTHING making that cell”

I told him, “Yes, you did, you learned that your mother loves you enough to ride your ass to get it done.”

Taylor replied, eye-rolling and sighing huffily “But I ALREADY KNEW that!

Boys. They are wonderful, mysterious creatures.

Sometimes mysterious and not so wonderful.

For example, last night we attended Taylor’s National Honor Society ceremony.   The freshmen  were called up on stage one-by-one to receive a certificate.    I had a moment of panic when I noticed his name was NOT listed on the program, but remembered that he had attended a practice session that day, so surely it was just a typo.  

They asked the parents to rise when their child’s name was called and I breathed a sigh of relief when, last alphabetically, they called out “Taylor Wood”

followed by:

Child of

Chris Wood.

Yes, just “of Chris Wood.”

It was awkward.  Chris rose.  Then sort of pulled me up.

We returned to our seats, thinking, “Gosh, they are incompetent, first leaving his name off the program, then not listing his mother.”   Until the mother sitting in front of me turned and said, “H. (her son) told me Taylor FORGOT to list his mother.”

Forgot?   Am I not the person driving him to school everyday?   Making sure his homework is done?  Picking him up from chess?  Forcing him to attend the ceremony?  (While wearing a tie, no less!)

  FEEDING? CLOTHING? and PROVIDING SHELTER?!!!

And there is that whole “having given birth” to him business, too!  Plus breastfeeding, waking up with him EVERY NIGHT for two plus years, changing his diaper, for longer than he would care for anyone to know!  (3+ years of that, seriously!)

Today I also found out that Taylor not listing his mother was a topic of much conversation at the practice.  Other kids noticed and mentioned it to their parents (who mentioned it to me at work today).  Taylor could have easily requested a correction during the practice, but did not.

And Taylor didn’t think to mention any of this to me before the ceremony.  So I was totally blindsided. 

And left feeling bewildered and upset.

Partially from embarrassment, because I am sure the other parents in this small town are wondering WTF is up, that Taylor would choose NOT to list his mother, but mainly I’m left wondering if my child is just truly terribly thoughtless or if he really is that big of a jackelope.

Shouldn’t it really be “Approximately Pi Day?”

Last night my son sprung it on me that he has to make a t-shirt and poster for Pi day. Pi day isn’t until  March 14 but the project is due THIS FRIDAY.  Crap.

Why do children do that?

Anyway, the theme is…..

 

Wait for it… 

 

 

 “The Pi is the Limit.”

I love math teachers.  They are so willing to be silly. 

I guess I should be glad that it isn’t “Ruby in the Pi with Diamonds,”  or ”Slumdog Pionairre.”  

“American Pi” might be interesting.   (I heart Stifler’s Mom.)

Anyway, I’m seeking any and all t-shirt/poster suggestions , because  Taylor’s and my brainstorming session was more like a brainovercastday.

I pity her future husband.

Everyone in my family seems on edge. I don’t know if it’s just that time of year-end of summer vacation-or all the changes that are happening.

Chris started a new job (Yay!) with long hours (Boo!).

Taylor started high school today. (Yay! Sob!)

Reagan has her first “boyfriend.” (Okay, they talk on the phone and don’t actually do anything together, but still, it’s a first for her.)

Lots of new stuff going on. But still… I’m beginning to worry…

Maybe they’re just dicks?

Every one of them is driving me CRAZY. Okay, I take that back, Chris is too busy to drive me crazy, (*but “I taste like white chocolate!”); however, the kids, the kids have driven me up one wall and down the other.

Yesterday Taylor said “I hate Reagan. When I’m an adult I’m never going to see her.”

Wow, talk about heart-breaking.

And, again, Reagan didn’t do her chores. I’m frankly really sick of this-almost to the point of wanting to give up. We spend more time arguing about cleaning her room or loading the dishwasher than it would take to just do the work.

I’m frazzled. I’m like the mom in the grocery store with a toddler that keeps trying to stand in the cart seat over and over again. You see the kid trying to stand, see the mom’s gritted teeth, the lips barely moving to say “Sit. Down. Now.”

Thinking “Why is she so upset? What’s the big deal?” Not realizing that the battle has been going on since the produce section.

The constant repetition of the same misbehavior, saying the same thing, first light-heartedly, “Don’t forget to clean your room today.” Then sterner, “Why isn’t your room clean?” Followed by “Clean. Room. NOW! ” With a final, “Holy Shit! How many times do I have to say ‘clean your damn room?’”

It’s wearing me down. We’ve tried punishments; we’ve tried rewards. Nothing seems to work. I’m beginning to ponder some sort of room cleaning boot camp experience. They’ll smuggle her out in the night… take her to a cabin, force her to hang up laundry and to make her bed. Hell on Earth.

Back to reality, last night we had a serious family discussion about chores and our expectations.

“You MUST do your chores before you use the computer, the phone, play video games or watch T.V. Do you understand?”

Taylor: “Yes.”

Reagan: “Yes, I understand, but that doesn’t mean that I agree.”

That one always has to have the last word…

*Shout out to my fellow “Weeds” watching peeps!

The saga continues….

At lunchtime today I just happened to stop by the neighbor lady’s house where Taylor was doing his football-auction induced labor, ostenibly to bring him a drink, really to check up on him.

“X.” had already sent him home for the day, after a few hours of weeding. He’s going back tomorrow to trim bushes.

While I was there I had an interesting conversation with “X.”

First she said, “Oh, ‘S.’ (who happens to be the village clerk) is outside mowing her lawn during her lunch break.” I expressed my amazement at “S’s” energy; “X,” countered with “Oh, but she had to; I saw her the other day and told her her lawn is looking bad; the village is going to send her a letter.”

Then she brought up the football player auction.
“My husband, ‘M,’ and I were at the fair and he saw our friend ‘R.’ and waved to her. The next thing we knew the auctioneer was telling him he had won Taylor. ‘M.’ told ‘R.’ ‘I’m never waving to you again!’”

She continued “Some of those boys went for a lot of money. One was auctioned off for $400, but we didn’t spend that much on your son.”

Well, thanks for letting me know that you didn’t really WANT to bid on my beloved son and that YOU DIDN”T PAY THAT MUCH FOR HIM!

Spy Guard

Yesterday at work, my officemate, Mari, says to me:
“Oh, a message just popped up that I have a virus.”

Me: “Is it from Norton anti-virus?”

Mari: “No.”

Me: “Oh, don’t click on it! It’s a virus.”

Mari: “No, it says I have a virus.”

Me: “No, it’s the virus. Don’t click on it.”

Mari: “I already clicked on it.”

Me: “Ugh. It’s a virus!”

Mari: “I know, it told me I have a virus.”

Me: “No, IT’S the VIRUS!”

Mari: “Now it wants me to buy a program to get rid of the virus.”

Me: “It IS the virus, it has infected your computer and now wants you to pay to get rid of it.”

Mari: “No, it’s the one that told me I had a virus.”

Me: Bangs head on wall and spends the next hour removing* said virus.

*Special thanks to my good friend Lee for his advice and help in this matter.

Rare Form

Both of my kids were needlessly and endlessly aggravating last night.

Reagan, who has pleaded with me not to attend her Scholastic Bowl meets (“You make me nervous!”), upon hearing that I have a hair appointment tonight said “You aren’t coming to my Scholastic Bowl meet? I feel really special. I guess you care more about your hair than your daughter!”

To which I responded “Yep.”

Taylor, when questioned about homework responded, “*Jesus! MOM! I didn’t even have class today!” (They had gone on a day long trip to the Lincoln Museum).

His Game Cube, PS2 and X-Box are now residing in my closet, not to be played for many a week.

Sometimes it just makes me think, WTF is wrong with my kids? They rarely get in trouble for their actions, it’s almost always their attitudes that are the problem.

Really, how hard would it have been for Taylor to say, politely, “I don’t have any homework today?” It would have saved him a scolding and a technological grounding.

Or for Reagan to say, “I’d really like you to go to my Scholastic Bowl meet?” (Of course, I think she didn’t say that because she doesn’t actually want me to go to the meet; she just wants me to feel bad that I’m not going.)

Recently I asked my mom if I was as difficult a teen as Reagan and even she said “Well, I don’t think you were as dramatic.”

To be honest, I wasn’t that well behaved, I went to parties and drank underage. I smoked pot (once), smoked a cigarette (once), lied about my whereabouts (thousands of times), skipped school (a few times) and generally was pretty foolish.

However, I was PLEASANT about it. I lied with a CHEERFUL demeanor. And, in an effort to stay under the radar, I had a GOOD attitude.

Again, I ponder, WTF is the matter with my kids?

*Despite our lack of religion I hate it when my son says “Jesus!;” I find it disprespectful to those who are religious and Taylor is reprimanded for saying it. (Of course, the reprimands haven’t worked yet, so we might need to work on Plan B, maybe a substitute word of annoyance, like Harold!”)

And I’m sure tomorrow I will regret having pushed “Publish.”

I’m drinkiing generic Kool-Aid, the red flavor.

Eating generic cool-whip from the container.

I was grumpy at both kids after work today.

I suck at Monopoly.

I have $1.92 in my checking account (after a $2.00 deposit.). Which, sadly, feels like a victory, because it’s better than a negative balance.

The mere existence of my dog is pissing me off.

I’m feeling whine-y and bitchy and put upon.

And guilty about feeling whine-y and bitchy and put upon, when there are people with actual tragedies occurring in their lives….

Sibling Rivalry

My daughter was in quite a mood this weekend. In her defense, she was recuperating from being sick most of last week. On the other hand, gosh, she was being awfully, awfully awful.

Saturday Chris was gone most of the day. During his absence she started referring to him as “The MAN you CALL my FATHER.”

WTF?

What does she know that I don’t?

Will I soon find myself on an episode of Maury getting the results of a DNA test?

Had she suddenly noticed her resemblence to the mailman, Randy? (Ha ha, randy Randy?)

But she wasn’t questioning his parentage as much as his parenting. Her brother had told her that “Dad loves me more, that’s why I never get in trouble and you always do.”

I really wanted to respond that “Taylor doesn’t get in trouble because he doesn’t go around maligning his parent(s).” But that would be childish. And untrue. Taylor does get in trouble.* Just not as often as his sister wishes he did.

*For example, he was sternly talked to for his role in this drama, for what we call “instigating.”

Reagan is a bright girl. She knows Taylor likes to aggravate her, so really, why would she believe such BS? It’s confounding.

My sisters and I fought as children (I have the scars to prove it, thank you M!), so I expected some sibling rivalry. But the constant jealousy Reagan has regarding her brother has been shocking.

And I don’t know what to do about it.

Valentine’s Day Wishes

Yesterday I wrote this entry, but didn’t get around to finishing it:

“For Valentine’s Day I wish I had:

a clean car

a clean bedroom

a clean bathroom

Noticing a trend? Apparently we are slobs. Especially me.”

Today I’m a bit sad because my husband didn’t get me anything, WAY WORSE, he didn’t do anything for the holiday at all. And, no, we never had a “let’s not celebrate Valentine’s Day” discussion. He knew that I was planning a special meal, that I had researched recipes, shopped for the supplies, and that the meal was more elaborate than my normal cooking. (Anyone ever made risotto? The stirring’s a bitch.)

He didn’t forget. He just chose to do nothing.

And I’m pretty bummed about it today.