Our own Doogie Howser!

Yesterday, among the bills and offers for credit cards, I received a letter from the big ones school. He is the good kid, so I figured it was nothing too serious...when I opened it, I could hardly believe my eyes. It was the results of the PSSA test that he took last year. No idea if this is a national test, I guess I should know, but I don't. Anyway...the PSSA tests reading and math. It scores you against students across the state? Anyway...Big is advanced in both categories. No big surprise...but the big surprise was HOW well he did. Now...there is some argument that he was switched at birth...whatever...He looks too much like me for him not to be mine...and my husband is pretty intelligent. I can pass off reasonably intelligent if I have to, at least for short periods of time...so he is our kid. But it was amazing how well he did. He was at the high end of the chart. I have felt pride before. But never like this. Tears welled in my eyes. He works so hard. He is only 10. He loves school. He loves to read. I hope, beyond all hope, that he doesn't lose this passion in an attempt to be cool or to fit in with his peers. I hope that we can foster this passion and help it to grow. He is in 4Th grade. He plays football. At some point, getting good grades and being in the GATE program isn't going to be cool. He isn't real concerned with that at this point...but I want him to be OK with his intelligence...but also to just be a kid. I watch him sometimes...when he needs to make a decision...I can see that he is going to have trouble when he has to decide between right and wrong. He wants to do the right thing...even when it isn't the cool thing. He is going to have a hard time, I think. We're going to have a hard time.

The love that you feel for your children is hard to explain...and your wants and your hopes and your fears for them change at a moments notice. I hope we can do right by him...so that he can do right, as well. I know that every mother wants the best for her child. I wish someone could help you know what that is!!

football photo essay

From Sunday's game...only the little one...because I don't have any pictures of him...and I have an ass load of the big one! Fair is fair.

I have put comments on the picture, but it seems at this point, they are too small. Sorry.

stinky feet

Stinky feet...stinky feet...oh my stinky feet...tell me why do my feet stink? I swear it is the shoes...and not for nothing, but they DON'T smell like Fritos, like some people would have you believe.
PU My stinky feet.

It's monday...and I am crabby...

Just shoot me, please

PLEASE...for the love of God and all things good and holy. SHOOT ME.
My kids? Driving me nuts.
My husband? Driving me nuts.
The dog? DRIVING ME NUTS.

I have the husband trying to crawl up my ass and pitch a tent now...jesus. You go to couples therapy with someone and they all the fucking sudden can't get enough of you. I tell you...if you ever want someone to pay attention to you? Tell them you are leaving them. Fuck. It backfired. Now I have him lodged up my ass with no apparent plans to leave.
I have the oldest son...reading every article from every ever loving paper...about football. And? I just realized...we don't even get a fucking paper. Where is this coming from? We stopped getting the local newspaper when the headlines read "Bookmobile catches fire." Really? THAT is breaking news? The whole situation in the Middle East? War torn countries, starving babies? But the BOOKMOBILE? Yeah. Quality. So...someone is feeding my son the newspaper, and I am not happy about it. Yes, I hear what you are saying...HE IS READING. Yes. But ALOUD...about FOOTBALL.
The little one and the dog are in cahoots. The little one fucks with the dog...and he growls at him...then the little one yells...lather, rinse, repeat.
I am going to take a xanax and going to bed.

FUCK.

santa clause in Sept.

So. This is how the little one wanted to go to school this morning...(Shoot me, but I have just learned how to post pictures...and am loving it) Yes. Those are his brothers socks. Yes. That is a linen top from this past Easter that he wore under protest and only after some serious threats. He is a HUGE Rangers fan (hahaha...not really...I know you love that Ang...) Also...do you think I should take down the Christmas crafts? Or just leave them up now...it is Sept.

My dignity for a Starbucks.

So...last night I did something I am not so proud of. Don't get all excited...it really isn't that bad...but still...I am not proud of it at all.
The night started out ok...although we were all running late...and by late, I mean an hour behind schedule. Mine? Due to kids taking FOR EVER to eat dinner? Trish? Due to the fact that her ailing mother requires more care than before. David? He just goes with the flow...his flow is just later than others...
Anyway...we hit a cute little Mexican place near by...I only wanted Guac. David only wanted food. Trish? A Double Margarita...So the waiter wasn't so good...so the salsa wasn't so authentic...so the air conditioner wasn't so working...we had fun...laughs...whatever. This lead us to another bar in a cute little snobby town. I never blend well in those situations. My Target shorts stood out like sore thumbs among the high end labels and the Prada handbags. In fact, my 4$ flip flops almost had me owning the joint...as I slipped on some spilled beer and pulled a "Dorothy Hamill" across the floor. The Russian judges gave me a 4.8. Mother fucker. Anyway...we bailed on the pretentious...and went to hang out where you can get away with 4$ flip flops and you are never going to be the worst dressed! Wow. I just realized...I am no where near the point of this story...
Anyway...We are hanging out...and really, the crowd is quite thin...and low brow at the same time...just the way I like it. Our one friend is recently divorced and losing a wife has caused him to gain a drinking problem. I don't really think it is that bad...but I exaggerate a little. So...as the night goes on, a woman is playing pool. I noticed this woman RIGHT AWAY, because she wasn't BORN a woman. She is most certainly harboring a penis. Fine. What ever...the Bon Jovi look went out in 1989 anyway...She certainly could have benefited from our fashion advice (I refer you to my Target shorts and 4$ flip flops) but she is playing pool, and beating our friend. This is turning our friend on. He is pretty buzzed and clearly doesn't realize she is a he. There are some close conversations, which prompt me to ask some of the others to save him. Everyone else agrees that he is amusing and thinks they will let it go, just to see what happens...as T and I are singing karaoke (Thank you for being a friend...for those keeping track at home...) I notice he is leaving with her...so...I stop singing and try to get David to go and stop it. I don't notice until too late, that my frantic arm motions are causing others in the bar to take notice of the departing couple...anyway...he doesn't go home with her...he comes back in...and goes on about how pretty she is. Clearly, he needs to a) find his glasses and b) lay off the crack pipe. We encourage him to sing...and off he goes. As we are talking, it somehow comes up that I should kiss him. No. Not going to happen. Then there was talk of $. Now it is half way between paydays, I would sell my soul for $50. So...as the kitty grows, I contemplate. The pot rose to a week of Starbucks. All I had to do was walk over and kiss him and David would buy me Starbucks for a week. I really tossed this around. That is $25. I have done worse for less. But I didn't think I could. I mean...you don't feed a stray dog, right? I knew I couldn't shake him. Well...the kitty goes to $30 worth of Starbucks. No. Still can't do it. So. David looks at Trish and says..."I knew she wouldn't do it." OH. NO. YOU. DIDN'T. I looked at him...said "Fuck you" walked over and stuck my tongue in Gary's mouth. Then, walked away. Everyone was just standing there...Brian had his yap wide open...he couldn't believe it. I am a 12 year old when it comes to dares. Don't dare me. So. I have Starbucks coming for the next 6 days. I told Gary we could never talk about that again...as he came at me for another kiss. I knew that would happen.
Now...I am wading through the texts from everyone...because you know? Everyone is a comedian.

You are the sunshine of my life...

the master card commercial you don't want to see...

Something I learned...the hard way...

1 6 year old boy + a football uniform with pants that lace up AND a belt + diarrhea = A BIG EFFIN MESS.

Yes. Thank you VERY much.
I do appreciate the coach who spends a lot of his time teaching my kids the finer points of football...but honestly? When a 6 year old says he has to go to the bathroom? It is already long past time. Should I pick the currently soiled, but soon to be clean, uniform in question up at your house, coach? Or will you just bring it to practice? Yeah...incidentally? I have to go change loads...he didn't offer to do that laundry.