FAMILY UPDATE

This was originally a response e-mail to my baby brother about some school pictures I had sent of the kids. I will attach photos later, so this makes sense, but for now, here's an update.

Hahahah! Oh yes, Bradyn. Captain social. He, "LUUUUUUUUBS KINDERGARTEN!!!!". He informed me Thursday evening that he needed a quarter for Friday because they were having popcorn. SO, I give him 2 quarters and I say, "here's one for you and one for a friend if they forget their quarter." I always send two or three of everything to the kids' school because inevitably there are ALWAYS kids without so a few parents take up the slack. SO, when he came home from school I asked him if he was able to share his other quarter and he said, "yep, I gave it to Riley," and grinned. Okay, Riley is not a boy. She is this gorgeous little blonde creature who ALSO went ot preschool with Bradyn. I don't know her as well, but she looks like a supermodel at 5. Bradyn then asked me WHEN it would be Friday again because in kindergarten Friday is "Popcorn Friday" and that means he gets to munch popcorn AND watch a movie during snack time. His two most favortie things in the world! Hahaha! So, Kindergarten pretty much rocks for Bradyn.
Those are two girls from his Preschool class a year ago. The one wearing pink with the "demure" look on her face is Ellie (shorter one). She will one day be my daughter-in-law so go ahead and get to know her face now. I have already informed her mother that Ellie and Bradyn will make beautiful grandbabies for us ... And Ellie is the youngest of three, with two older brothers she frequently beats the hell out of. She is a spirtfire and I know she can keep my Bradyn in line as any good woman should. Most important, she loves me and hugs me whenever I see her. So I know I will have one daughter in law I like. Drew's current girlfriend is growing one me. Like Drew, she is quirky and a little strange, but she is incredibly intelligent and actually enjoyable to talk to. She'll be the griflriend I have always predicted he will bring home ... The one from Harvard with a black turtleneck on drinking coffee like it is going out of style and secretly exchanging glances with Drew to inform him of how insiginificant his familt is in scholarly circles. Fortunately, I will have my sister-in-law Sarah to talk about who will be some world renowned psychologist by that time, who has discovered her own personal psychological theory that everyone in academic circles will be buzzing about. Yep, I can say, "oh yeah Drew's snotty girlfriend, THAT is my SISTER!" hahah!
Drew loves middle school. He has decided that is fits his academic and social needs much better than elementary school ever could. His favorite part so far is that he has his own locker. Uh-huh. I asked if he wanted crap for his locker to decorate it (because that is what I did when I was in school!)and he sort of looked at me like I was some damned fool. I forget he is a boy some days and that what was cool for me as an 11 year-old girl is not so cool for him as a boy. His first school dance is at the end of October (think really, really, really, sad junior high stomp and you will get the picture). Of course, since we are not in Utah everyone thinks they have to have a date to take to the really sad junior high stomp. Drew told us he wanted to take Jacquie. Current girlfriend. Jon and I both stared at him and I stated the obvious, "Drew, that's sort of like a date and you know the rule, we don't date until we are 16 and you can actually DRIVE your date." He said, "uh, mom, no, everyone is asking someone." I said, "uh Drew, no, you aren't everyone." (As I thought to myself, holy crap, I sound like my parents.)Jon then stated the SUPER obvious, "Drew, how are you going to get there? Are you going to put some pegs on the back of your bike so you can have Jacquie stand on the back?" Then Jon started laughing hysterically. Jon is an idiot when it comes to these tender parenting moments where I am trying deperately to state to Drew the obvious reasons why dating is stupid before you are 16, ie:driving the date and not having your parents drive you. Drew, frustrated, replied with something that threw Jon into such fits of laughter he almost drive off of the road. A little background. Drew's lady friend, Jacquie, has a special talent. She rides a unicycle. Now, I have to admit, there must be some school in the ability to ride a unicycle and I am quite amazed that she possesses the abdominal strength to center herself on that thing and stay moviing in a forward motion without falling over. She has to have abs of steel for sure. At any rate, Jacquie, aka Pippi Longstocking, also doesn't give a damn what anyone thinks about her in the cruel, cruel, world we know as middle school. SO, she rides this unicycle from her house to the schoo (and has been for over a year now) despite some of the obvious jeers and jabs from her fellow classmates about the unicycle girl. Some of the boys have tried to ride her unicycle, with no success, and have therefore deemed it "stupid" like anything else an adolescent male cannot conquer it is then deemed, "stupid" and if you can conquer it you are also "stupid". So, Jacquie and her "stupid" unicycle. Drew PROCLAIMS to Jon, "NO!!!! Jacquie has her unicycle and I have my bike so I don't have to put pegs on my bike and "peg her" (terminology for having someone riding standing on the pegs on your back wheel of your bike), she can ride her unicycle! I know, I know. As Jon was almost driving off the road laughing I to burst into tearful laughter. Drew realized the "stupidity" of his own comeback and even he had to smile despite himself. I reiterated, "see Drew, that's why we don't date until we are 16. Can you imagine pulling up to the dance on your bmx bike with Jaquie in tow on her unicycle? I guess you could share a bike lock for ultimate romance?" Oh Drew.
Drew has become victim to fashion divadom and is rather insistent on two things. One item of his clothing has to be sporting some obvious name brand that everyone can see(Aeropostale, Abercrombie, American Eagle, etc.)so that whatever he has paired his ensemble with will cancel out the fact that his jeans, shirt, socks. Whatever, are secretly from Walmart, Target, or JCPenney's. Oh, this and his hair has to be "tipped" dyed blonde and messy spiked like an Abercrombie model. I have mastered tipping the hairs at home as well as the cut so we can save money on the little divas getting their hair done professionally at the salon. Bradyn also demands the same updo. It works pretty good. I shave Caesar's butt with the clippers, then I shave the kids heads, then I use one bottle of dye to tip both their heads and put a few streaks in my own hair all in the same day. Caesar, however, does not yet get his hair "tipped and dyed". That would require another box of hair dye.
Caden loves his Nanny. She's 52, has red and gray hair, sounds like a high pitched sing-song cartoon character, frequently wears clothes sporting any and all Disney characters, and she watches Sesame Street with Caden and congratulates him when he poops, farts, or burbs. According to "my Donna" (the name we have given the nanny, Donna, since Bradyn has adoptd her as his very own and gets very upset when anyone else is here with the two of them (ie: Bradyn was home from school one day and Caden was pissed he had to share "my Donna". He was "off" all morning. The next day Bradyn was back to school and Caden was back to himself. Little Turd. So, we now call Donna, "my Donna" for Caden alone., Caden's favorite character on Sesame Street is a toss up between Elmo (Drew's favorite when he was a baby!) or some pink fairy that comes on occasionally and is "new" from when her kids (now in high school) watched Sesame Street, so "my Donna" isn't quite sure who the pink fairy is called, but apparently whenever the fairy comes flying in Caden freaks out and squeels. "My Donna" feeds Caden on demand and I think he might be looking into baby weight watchers before long. She is amazed at how much he eats, and Jon is already telling me he is worried Caden doesn't have the natural switch in his brain to tell him to stop eating! Hahahah! Wrong, he's burning calories like a mad man constantly moving ... He is strong as a freaking ox and almost crawling. I can't believe it. I sit him somewhere on the floor and come back and he is across the room either from scooting or rolling. AUGH! He's almost on the move! He has also discovered that Caesar's tail is a nice fluffy thing you can take a handful of and not let go. Caesar, fortunately, has lost his will to fight anymore and complies well with his new playmates abusive play style.
Jon is mourning the loss of his great Tom Brady to a first quarter, first game of the year, season ending ACL injury. How sports enthused did I just sound in that last sentence? I almost sounded like I knew what I was talking about! = ) I'm running for our local town school board, and elections are Ocotober 7th. Gooooooo Eldridge. I have the backing of the school board president, etc. and only one person I am running against. I am pimping out the kids to wear bumper stickers on their backpacks saying, "Vote for my Mom", etc. Wait for election day, I will eb the one with my WHOLE family, dog included, outside of the polls meeting and greeting in GOOOOOOO Eldridge t-shirts or something. There is a public forum on the 29th September and I am on the docket for that. Not sure WHAT that entails, but I think it is say a few words and answer a few questions. I am acutally looking forward to it and hope the campaign is successful. Our little town is failry economically challenged in a lot of areas, but it has a lot of revitilzation potential, and I would love to be able to be on the school board and make sure the kids in this town are getting every educational advantage possible. Wait and see.
Jon and I (how weird is that?) are still working for the same company. Jon still thinks he is my boss although we work for completely different divisions. My boss had to inform him that he was indeed NOT my boss and if he decided to jump ship and come to our division she would not hire him because I already worked there and had seniority in that division. Jon still says he's my boss ... An a multi billion dollar worldwide company with multiple divisions ... He's still my boss. Fool. I like the new job, it's interesting and entertaining. For those of you that don't know, I am the new wekk paid babysitter of 120+ engineers on the east coast and southern states. I am essentially like the den mother who manages play time which for them is work time. I make sure they use their purchase cards correctly, keep their finances in order, don't tick off the clients, actually work and stay on task, and then I solve their PDA problems which somehow occur multiple times a day. It requires dealing with millions of dollars and math. IT scares the shit out of Jon that his company (remember, he thinks he is my boss) trusts my math and their money. But, the computer (Excel)is pretty idiot proof and I don't have to use algebra (even though my teachers always told me when I had a job one day when I was an adult algebra would be required ... Liars.)I work from home, the epicenter of babysitting operations, which works well for me. I am set up with a laptop, to many programs to count on the computer, various expensive office type things like copiers, files, etc. From my office I can literally track my little darling's if I so desire (a really cool little function)to make sure they are working and not at home in their parents basment talking to babes on the computer. My new gig has proven to be much like parenting three boys. Sometimes I have to scold them and tell them their communication and work ethic is about two notches above that of a baboon. Notice I didn't say a rheese monkey, the one's that can do sign language? No, rheese monkey's are smarter than most of them. I said, baboon.
Engineers are an interesting bunch. They are very analytical, which you know I am obviously not, and we have to find a groove somewhere in between their lack of personality and my sarcastic overabundance. For instance, some have called me on occasion and they always start the conversation the same way, "uh, Cortney, I screwed up when I was entering materials into my PDA, I think it is all messed up now." On days I am feeling rather sarcastic, most days, I will sit there in silence for a moment (judging the timing of that moment is critical, wait to long and I have an engineer on the phone panicking going, "Cortney, Cortney, are you still there?!?!), then I will say, "I'm sorry. You're fired." Again, there is that awkward moment of silence where you have to wait just the right amount of time before you come back with, "Relax, I'm kidding!" BUT, if you wait longer than a millisecond longer than the precise amount of time for that "moment" you have a panicked engineer sputtering, "well, uh, it's this PDA, I don't get it and noone else does either and ..." It is then that I have to talk them off the ledge and explain the fine art of sarcasm to them and that they are NOT fired and we can get through this PDA disaster one step at a time. AUGH! A few of my engineers call me ... daily. I wasn't really sure why for the first week or so. They never seemed to have life threatening or relevant questions ... It was then that I realized they were lonely and using me as either a pseudo cyberspace girlfriend, counselor, or medical doctor. Oh yes, I have solved such ailments as, "my stomache hurts today, I think it is what I ate last night" followed by a 30 minute explanation about Stouffer's mini pizzas and how to "doctor them up just right with extra cheese and peppers", but "do you think hot sauce goes bad after it has been in your friedge for over a year" because "I used that on my pizza to and I think it made me sick". My response? "General rule of thumb, clean your fridge once a month. That's gross you have seomthing in there that is over a year old! You must be single, right?" This was met with a chuckle and a, "uh, yeah, how did you know ... So do you think the hot sauce was bad?" My response, "yes, it was bad, take a tums, drink some water, quit eating stouffers mini pizzas you doctor up yourself with refrigerator remnants over a year old."
Then there was the, "Cortney, I fired an engineer yesterday and this morning one quit!" "Um, okay." This segued into, "and you know what ... I can't believe the one quit this morning because I have known him for over ten years and there was no explanation no warning no 2 weeks (this is where I think I hear a little emotion welling up with a sniffle from the chief engineer of the southeastern division)." It was as if his girlfriend/wife had left him without warning. I spent the next hour and a half, not kidding, talking this guy through the firing and quitting of his two employees and how it was not his fault, he was a good boss, and there were lots of other engineers out there that needed a job and he would find two that would be perfect for his team. Can you imagine this conversation for one and one half hours. This was crisis intervention and thank the Maker I have a psychology background so I could use big words like, "self-esteem, coping, concerned, and "I" messages (I understand, I feel like, I am hearing, you know the drill)" The other day I received an e-mail stating an engineer was "no longer with the company" and his PDA would probably not be able to be "recycled" because it was in pieces. I read between the lines and just imagined an engineer reaching his wits end and threatening a small group of innocent bystanders as he threw his PDA to the ground and stomped on it repeatedly yelling out words not fit for retype. I don't know if this is what happened, but my imagination has told me that is what happened. Why the hell else is his PDA in pieces?
I have had to "break up" with two of my engineers. They know I'm married, they know I have kids, they have no idea what I look like, but they still started to cross the "weird" line. Ie: one called me from home at night, left me some message about calling him and did I know this was his home number he was calling me from and I furhter did I know I could call him ANYTIME and it didn't have to be about work? What the hell? The next day he called me in the a.m. (of course he did) and I said, "um, yeah, got your message, did you need something in particular?" He responded with, "no, but did you get that I was calling you from home, did you see my home number, did you know you can call me at home even if it's not about work, okay?" My jaw hit the ground as I imagined some lonely little fellow that lived in his parents basement calling me and leaving me a message on his speaker phone trying to act like a cool dude while his other 40-something fellow basement dwellers listened in. I tried to be kind given this image I had concocted in my head. "Um, you know I'm married, right?" Uh, yeah, I know that. "Uh, you know I have three, count them, THREE kids, right?" Um, yeah, I was just saying you know if you ever ... I finally had to just let him think his advances were not unwarranted and I said, "oh, so and so, you don't even know what I look like, what if I am a 600 lb cookie eating greasy red head?" He laughed and said, "Oh, Cortney, you're so funny. I am so glad you work here. You make our days brighter." Crap. I finally said, "oh so and so, I am so happy I can make your day brighter, but please know that I will never, ever call you at home because company policy prevents me from calling people at home ... Ever... Under any circumstance ... And I have three kids to feed, so I have to follow policy." I think it shut him down. Then I had a chief engineer call me and ask exactly "what" I had said to so "intrigue" his engineer that the engineer called to let his chief know he would be "driving to New Hampshire" tht evening to "meet Cortney in person". I recalled the conversation and thought, good hell. I think I told him to have a good day and maybe laughed at his stellar attempt at humor, not sure. Apparently I so beguiled him that he thought an in person visit was in order. I informed his chief that my husband was a large and jealous man who also worked for the company and was at the proverbial "top" of the company food chain and he would probably not appreciate some random engineer showing up on my doorstep to meet me in person ... Even if it was innocent enough. The engineer gave me a nervous laugh and said, "uh, okay, but I can't proimise anything with this one." What!?!?!? Fortunately, the New Hampshire roadtrip was cancelled and this engineer has limited our liasons to phone calls. I think we have to break up this week. He calls to often and I have to much work to do. My favortie part is when I END the conversation with them and I say, "well, I better let you go, my inbox is larger than my outbox, you have a good day!" and then there is this awkward silence where they start to stammer like a teenage boy and say, "uh, yeah, uh, I was just saying, uh yeah, I gotta get going to, I got a lot of work, but you know that!" Honestly.
So, I serve as counselor, den mother, doctor, financial analyst, computer specialist, and pseudo cyber-girlfriend for all the 40 somethings living in their parent's basement with the sweet shag carpeting and a speaker phone they share with friends to hear my voice. Uck. BUT, there is also a majority of engineers who serve as big brothers or father figures to me. They ask if the other engineers are "talking nice" to me and "acting like gentleman" and to "let them know" if anyone steps out of line and they will "take care of it". Some are grandpa types that ask about my boys, their ages, and if I got them all successfully off to school that morning and still kept my sanity intact. And some know my husband works in the upper eschalons of the company, even though I repeat it is a DIFFERENT division, and they kiss my butt thinking he can get them an interview with corporate if they are nice to me. My boss told me one thing when she hired me, "Cortney, you will never be bored." She was right.
That's about it for now. I have written far to much because it has been far to long. I sort of miss my old friend, the computer/counselor to vent my feelings to and throw out there into cyberspace. Haha!

IT'S A BOY!!!

Nope, stop panicking, its not OUR boy ... my little sister Kati and her husband, Juan, are having their first little boy together the end of January. Yep, the family is all still laughing that it's another "he" to the fold. This will make THREE boys for Juan and Kati (2 stepsons for Kati from Juans prior marriage). I hope she's ready for the ride. I can barely stay sane at thirty .... grumble, grumble, sneeze, four!

NO GRANDDAUGHTERS! I guess my sister-in-law Sarah will have to begrudgingly step to the plate if I am ever to have a niece. They have girls in her family!

Girls versus Boys ...

As the mother of THREE, count them yes, THREE boys, people are always offering "comments". Most of their comments are things like, "wow, three boys ... my three sons, huh? (okay, stop it with that one, it was funny the first time, it's old by the 13,oooth time), boy you have your hands full ... don't worry I did it ... and finally, "consider yourself lucky, girls are worse, much worse." Up until this point I figured the latter comment was given to me out of pity. How could girls POSSIBLE be worse than three boys. After all, I have made it clear that although I love my boys, boys are indeed stupid. They don't think things through, they do then think (sometimes think, most of the time giggle at their utter stupidity) that whatever they did was funny, even if destruction lies in their wake. ie: refer to the large hole that is in my wall in the upstairs hallway from Jon and his friend trying to Pergo the floor ... where did the large hole come from ... not sure, but it was something like this, "bam! woops" giggle, giggle, giggle from both Jon and his friend. So, I rest my case on the boys are stupid part.

Back to girls. I assumed people telling me they were worse was pity. But. as my boys get older and I get to see some of their female counterparts in action I have made the following judgements. First, my mother should be entered into sainthood. She raised three girls. Second, boys ARE easier. Even though boys are dumb, they are predictable. Something doesn't go their way and the list is pretty short as to what their reaction will be. Msot of the time it will be something physical, either against themselves or their unsuspecting sibling or wall or door that stands in the way. If it isn't physical, it will ne emotional, but that usually is sulking and they go into their cave to do that and emerge angry at the world ... but that soon passes when they are offered to participate in something else dumb with other boys that will get them all in trouble again. The cycle is vicious, but it is what it is.

Girls ... mmmm. Well, this weekend I witnessed by niece (she's 8) have a meltdown. Now, girl meltdowns are different. Boys just sort of fall apart and let you have it in a 10 second tirade. Girls start slow. Okay, she didn't want to go home from her grandpas house ... and I'm not picking on her in particular, just was watching this particular girl moment from the sidelines and disecting it in my head. Anyhow, my niece starts off slow ... a few hours prior she places the "bait" to stay longer at her grandpas house. The plans have been set and there is no way she can stay any longer. They have been there for a couple days, her parents are exhausted, etc. so they are leaving for the long drive home. But, nevertheless, the bait ... "hey, could Uncle Jon and Aunt Cortney just take me home with them?" We were leaving the next day.

What?! Okay, I must admit the sheer genius in her manuvering skills was there. After all, we do have to drive past her parent's house on the way home, we do drive an SUV that has room for 85 people, and her cousins and she seem to get along okay. Hmmm. I even entertained the idea, but didn't want to step on her parents toes. They responded with a "no, that won't work", etc. It was pretty simple ... until ... until about an hour before they were supposed to leave. Then began the show. It started with my niece burrowing her head into the recliner in the front room as her family got packed up. She burrowed and wallowed and made large directed dramatic movements towards anyone that would watch indicating her complete and total sadness that her time at Grandpas was about to come to a close. By the 1/2 hour point we had full on tears that started to well in her eyes. Then there was this quiet little , "uhh,huh,uuuh, huhh" sort of pititful whiny cry like a cat that is jsut starting to go into heat. Then, without notice, a wail. A wail of pitiful in which would melt the coldest of hearts. The wail sort of downplayed itself back into the pitiful cat sound. It was genius ... I watched, actually a little but in awe, at how well she played this situation. She had to practice this for hours, no way this was off the cuff!

Everyone starts to say good bye and I am still sort of enamoured with the wailing little bundle in the recliner. By this point she had her cousin (my boy) trying to talk her off the ledge to no avail. He promised she could always come back to Grandpas, he would still live there, she needed to go get in the car or her, "pawents were gonna get WEALLY mad at her!", he tried everything. FInally, her exhausted and exasperated parents half heartedly cried up the stairs, "Erin, we're leaving, with or without you, let's go." People, I swear this on all that is holy, the kid smiled and nestled further into the recliner. I think she actually thought them leaving her was an okay plan and she had won the mexican stand off. The next thing you know the calvary was sent (Grandpa and her Dad). Grandpa managed to get her out of the chair and on her feet walking down the stairs in the general direction of the car ... her Dad managed to get her in the car ... the whole time wailing, then sobbing, then bringing it all down to a pitiful cry wiht words like, "never get to stay, but I LOOOOOOOOVE bepaw" thrown in for effect. Really, I was impressed. This was also when I decided my mother (and her mother) deserved sainthood for putting up with daughters and their drama.

We left the next day .... it went something like this, "Drew, Bradyn, get your crap, we're leaving." Drew responded with, "WHAAAAT?! But you said ... you SAID ... HEY WHAT?!?!?!?!" (see, full on tantrum right from the get go so one knows what to expect, no gentle wind up like a girl luring you into feeling bad for her). Bradyn tried to follow suit with, "HEYYYYY! I WANT TO STAY HEEEEEERE!" Nope, we're leaving. Get your crap. Drew said, "fine, but I'M PICKING THE MOVIE WE WATCH IN THE TRUCK!" Bradyn responded, "fine, BUT DREW PICKED LAAAAAAAST TIME!" Boys, get your asses in the truck now. We're leaving. They both got in, both still fighting about who got to choose the movie, and neither of them were barely able to look up from their battle stations long enough to give out their goodbye hugs to their grandparents. By the time we hit mile one of the journey, the DVD was in, the headphones were on, and they watched in silence for four hours. We only stopped onced to feed and water them. AND, did I mention boys are extra special because they can pee anywhere, no bathroom required, no squatting, and on command? Okay, not regretting all boys.

And the Cat Makes 5

Football ... week two.

All I have to say … he’s STILL alive and I stayed in my chair. Alright, Drew successfully made it through day one WITH PADS. We are taking his new football playing in milestones. As in, he GOT THROUGH week 1 conditioning, he is still alive after day one with pads, he still wants to play after day two with pads… at least he doesn’t mind taking Motrin like a “big boy” … and “well, the bruising HAS to go away eventually, right?”. Drew still claims he “loves it”. I am stunned, amazed, and at the same time very happy. It’s good to see my “no contact” little boy suddenly in the throng of crushing helmets and pads and even better watching him get up, dust himself off, and go in for more. The only mistake I have made thus far is the “marble” analogy. I was trying to explain to Drew that tackling (hitting as they call it) was like marbles. If you take a marble and shoot it at a standing marble, the standing marble will shoot across the room. BUT, if both marbles are shooting at each other at the same time, they will either stop one another when they meet, or equally bang off of each other. SO, with this logic, I tried to tell Drew football is the same when he comes off the line. He needs to come off of the line FAST and with the same speed as the other kid so when they hit the other kid doesn’t have more power and can bash Drew. SO, I was thinking I was a GENIUS. Until yesterday … when Drew was participating in “West Points” (the kids bash each other two at a time), I was on the sidelines and watched Drew’s first “hit”. He didn’t seem aggressive enough to me and he sort of got his butt kicked. SO, I hollered, “Drew, lower, lower, wrap his legs!” A few more hits and Drew was doing a little better getting lower, but he still seemed a little less aggressive so I hollered, “Drew, MARBLES, MARBLES!” After practice Drew told me I needed to not yell about marbles anymore because when I did a kid standing by Drew said, “dude, is your mom talking about your balls?” Ugh. So yes, as my friend Amy indicated, Drew will probab;y need a lot of therapy for the “Pee Wee Football and Mom years”. But, for now, we’re both surviving. And yes, I have become the crazy parent that sits in the chair on the sidelines with my drink and hollers at my child telling him to hit harder and lower and cheering him on when he bashes another kid. The transformation process was pretty fast from non sports mom to sports mom the first time I heard the helmets and pads crushing. I think the mommy in me took over as well as a little adrenaline and it’s been all down hill from there. Gooooooooo Drew!

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And the Cat Makes 5

Drew is Playing Football

Yep, the rumors are true. Drew is playing "football" this season for the Franklin Tilton Falcons. I suppose the "who" he is playing for is not nearly as important as the fact that he is not only playing ... but liking playing. He "endured" the first week of conditioning (2 hours night practices for 5 days week), and tonight he actually puts on the full gear to start "hitting", "tackling", etc. He tells me he isn't nervous, and he's, "excited". Me ... I'm not so excited. I think it will take every ounce of personal self-restraint I have to sit in my chair on the sidelines and NOT get up and rush the field the first time I see him get "hit". Let's be honest ... he isn't the "biggest" kid on the team, and he certainly isn't the "fastest" (I'm praying the chubby kid on his team doesn't quit because he is the only reason Drew is never last in the running drills.). Being small and not so fast he can't even run out of the way ... he has to just take every bone crunching smack down the bigger and more experienced kids deem necessary to offer to the smaller, less experienced new kids. I know, I know, if I rush the field and beat the hell out of the kid that knocks Drew over the first time there could be ramifications. Drew's friends could make fun of him until the end of time ... the police could possibly be called to arrest the crazy lady, (and the Franklin police only know me as the crazy plant lady right now, no need to add crazy overprotective mother to the list), and/or Drew could be banned from all future organized sports ... or at least his mom would be asked to find a new hobby other than spectator when he DOES play. Honestly, I'm weighing them all out and none of them really sound THAT bad?! I'll be the parent on the side of the field tonight trying to look tough, secure, and supportive as I smile at my oldest boy, my poor skinny frail oldest boy, and holler, "don't worry honey, you have pads on, it won't hurt!" Lies, all lies. Then I will hear the crunch of pads hitting, boys grunting and hollering, and hopefully from somewhere on the bottom of the proverbial dogpile Drew will emerge still liking football and not flipping off his coach and anyone else within eye shot as he exits the field. Pray for him. Pray for me. Updates later.

And the Cat Makes 5

And the Cat Makes 5

TURF TOWN

Left: Turf Town complete with grafittit art

Above: Weapons stash in Turf Town

Turf Town, Fight Club, either way you say it, a group of 5-11 year old boys with weaponry like "giant plastic dinosaurs" and rules of engagment being, "if you cry, you're a baby!" Ahh, I love raising boys ... click to read more.

And The Cat Makes 5 ...: TURF TOWN

Boys of Summer

Smilebox Show! Click below!
And The Cat Makes 5 ...: Boys of Summer

And The Cat Makes 5 ...: MY MULLET HUNTING FASCINATON ...

I'm not really sure where my Mullet fascination began ... living in NH, amongst free roaming mullets, my interest has yet again been ignited! Business in the front, paaaarty in the back ... read on

And The Cat Makes 5 ...: MY MULLET HUNTING FASCINATON ...

Where Do Babies Come From?

BRADYN J. ELDRIDGE ...
WHERE DO BABIES COME FROM?
A number of weeks ago Jon and I were discussing in vague details the birds and the bees with Drew. He has come home with some interesting thoughts on the subject, so we have started to open a dialogue about the whole thing ... (to see the rest of the story click below)

And The Cat Makes 5 ...: Where Do Babies Come From?

Boys of Summer

And The Cat Makes 5 ...: Boys of Summer

MY MULLET HUNTING FASCINATON ...

I'm not really sure where the whole fascination with Mullets began for me ... I think it started when my little sister, Kati, introduced me to the "phenomenon" that I just knew as a haircut sported by every football player/cowboy etc. in my school during the late 80's early 90's time frame. My younger sister (10 years younger) informed me that this coif' was not just a way to do one's hair, but a lifestyle with dedicated followers AND hunters. So began my fascination with the mullet, it's mullet counterparts, and all things mullet. Here in New Hampshire, the mullets roam free across their natural terrain,

NH MULLET AS SEEN IN THE WILD ... HUNTED UNDER DURESS

(I think the state logo,"Live Free or Die" should be changed to "Sport Mullet ..or Die".) A NH mullet is often seen in any type of store that sales bait and hot dogs in the same locale. In NH, there is usually also a handmade sign that states, "WICKED GOOD WHOOPIE PIES HERE!".

I have, unfortuantely, witnessed the child abuse of mini-mullet coifs at school functions where the little abuse victims have no idea their mullet (matching mommies AND daddies mullet) is really an indicator that your family loves pork rinds and RC Colas, or whooppie pies and fluffernutters (another blog for another day ... yes, fluffernutters are a food, and yes, only a Yankee could have invented such a foul concoction), as in Yankee land.

I have not hunted the mullet in quite some time, Jon tells me it has something to do with me being a mom now and maybe going to jail and setting an example or something like that. Kati (little sister) has carried on the torch and she and I occasionally will call one another via camera phone to show a particularly stunning mullet worthy of hunt status, roaming free in the wild. Recently, I came across a NH mullet that insisted it was a "shag". The mullet was so obviously NOT a shag and so very stunning that I had to revisit my love/fascination of the mullet via the web to make sure my mullet sighting skills had not been depleted after years of being mullet hunting free. Yes, this mullet was seen in the wild and the picture was taken under duress.

To the web I went. Mullet sites have come a long way in a few years. There are pictures, classifications, descriptions (in detail from the femlet to the mulletino) and many tips and tricks to hunting your own mullet. Please see below some tips and tricks I gathered from the web if you would like to enter to world of professional mullet hunting. The link above will take you to a professional mullet hunter's experience in case you need more pointers.

Happy Hunting ...


Cortney - aka "retired mullet hunter"

Hunting Techniques

These are the techniques that have worked for hunting thus far.

STEALTH: The pic is taken from a distance or behind an object (tree, car, etc.) The mullet usually has no idea you have hunted him. It's a really good technique to use when you sense the mulletude and you need the pic.

RESULT: Pictures are usually too far to be useable (unless you have a good zoom) but you walk away unharmed.

BAIT: (Most common) You have a friend stand next to the mullet and pretend like you're taking a picture of a friend (the bait). This works well because you can get a nice close up of the mullet. You might get a few strange looks from the prey...but whatever, that's part of the fun of hunting.

RESULT:Decent pics with minimal risk of physical harm.

GUERILLA:(My favorite) Walk straight up to the mullet and snap the pic in their face (3/4 head shot is best). This will cause a reaction of confusion and bewilderment. It's totally legal, so don't sketch. It's up to you how to handle the post-hunt reaction. Your main focus should be to somehow distract/confuse the mullet. (Fortunately, mullets are easily distracted and not difficult to confuse) You'll need to divert their attention from what has just happened. You will have to make quick, instinctive and reactionary type decisions. For example, if you're sensing that the mullet is not going for the whole distraction angle, you might have take off running. Keep in mind that every case is different, therefore each post-hunt reaction will be also. Obviously, this is a very dangerous technique that should only be practiced by the most CONFIDENT of hunters.

RESULT: Almost ALWAYS, this technique gets you the best pics. Unfortunately, there is a REAL possibility you could get your ass kicked.

My sister Kati has been known to employ this hunting tactic as seen below... the CALL OUT.

CALL OUT: It involves going right up to the Mullet and Calling him/her out.

Hunter: " Hey Dude, that's a stylin' Mullet"
Mullet: "Huh?"
Hunter: "Yeah man, it takes balls to sport that hair"
Mullet: "Huh?"
Hunter: (Say it fast for confusion) "Oh Yeah, It's the Mullet, Camaro Hair, The Charlotte Mud Flap, The Kentucky Waterfall, Hockey Hair, the 10-90, the Achy-Breaky- Big-Mistakey, the Ape Drape. You know, the only hair style that has web pages devoted to it."
Mullet: "Huh?"
Hunter: "Do you mind if I get your photo? I'm going to put you on the Internet. You will be famous."
Mullet: "OK"
Hunter: "Please turn sideways so I can get a good shot" Click. "Thanks."

DIRTY TACTICS: First hold up the camera, then turn and ask a friend if the flash is on . Your friend answers that he/she doesn't know, and for you to try the camera to see. Quickly aim the camera towards the mullet you desire to capture on film and snap the picture in their face. Say "oops! sorry dude. by the way, nice mull!" Walk away calmly, leaving the mull in confusion, as though nothing ever happened.
Mullet Junkies -Jessica & Liz, VA

* One more thing: Always keep your camera with you. I'm sick of hearing the, "I saw this GREAT mullet at the supermarket, but I didn't have my camera" story.

Happy hunting,
-Me

Boys of Summer

Make a Smilebox photobook

Where Do Babies Come From?

This exchange I wrote about happened during my pregnancy, but I was going through some old e-mails and thought I would share on our blog page ... Bradyn WILL need thereapy in his later years for the stories his mother posts on the family blog page for the world to see. Let's hope his "baby" theory sticks around for as many years as possible. Kids grow up WAY to fast these days!

BRADYN J. ELDRIDGE ...

WHERE DO BABIES COME FROM?

A number of weeks ago Jon and I were discussing in vague details the birds and the bees with Drew. He has come home with some interesting thoughts on the subject, so we have started to open a dialogue about the whole thing (good heavens, he is only 8, I am NOT ready for this!). At any rate, we didn’t want to scare the kid, but wanted to make sure he knew SOMETHING. So, somewhere in the conversation he understood that babies somehow come from the mommy and the daddy and in his mind, “daddies put the babies in the mommies tummy when they hump like Caesar (our Shitzu)”. Okay, that was more information than I wanted to hear from my 8 year-old and we put that topic to rest. Well, somewhere in there his 3 year-old brother was all ears and heard a portion of the conversation. Today I found out where babies come from … according to Bradyn.
Bradyn and I have “car chats” wherein I turn the rear view mirror to the back seat so he can see me and I him. He has been requesting this for over a year now and I oblige. These are the times that Bradyn will be absolutely ridiculous, cute and charming, or even philosophical. Well, as philosophical as a 3 year-old can be. Today was one of those days. Bradyn exclaimed to me in a very serious tone, “When I grow up and get big, I am going to be a daddy just like my daddy.” Okay, so that was cute and I was thinking what a great influence Jon must have on this kid for him to want to be just like his daddy. SO, we went further down the road and I said, “A daddy, huh? So are you going to have babies?” Bradyn again turned very serious and there was a long pause … “well,” he said, “fiwst I have to find a giwl … so she can be the mommy and I can be the daddy.” I responded, “Oh, okay.” I then looked into the rearview mirror to see Bradyn making a stirring motion with his hands like he was stirring a big bowl of something. “Yep,” Bradyn said, “I’m gonna stir up some babies and put ‘em right up in the mommy so she can have some babies!” I almost drove off the road laughing. So, if you ever wondered exactly WHERE babies come from it is apparently a mix that you can get at the store. I will ask Bradyn later exactly where the baby mix is if you really need to know.