My Real Life

Have you ever seen the episode of “Everybody Loves Raymond” where Deborah and Raymond are waiting each other out to see who will take a heavy suitcase upstairs?

They both are too stubborn to be the one to take it up, and finally, Ray’s Dad picks it up and on his way up the stairs, he actually falls through the stairs, and then they both feel awful.

Real Man and I have had similar wars throughout the years.

In our first home, before we had a dishwasher, the dishes in the sink would be a small war.

Not always, but there would be times when we’d let them pile up and pile up, neither of us wanting to actually do the dishes until they finally just got overwhelming and one of us would give in and do the dishes.

Usually Real Man would give in on that one.

Sometimes, after the laundry is done and the work clothes are hung, our t-shirts/underwear/socks will still be in the basket, waiting to be put away.

And they wait and wait and wait.

I usually lose that war.

Nick Mom recently did a one-minute video called Garbage Chicken.

Because marital games of chicken do, in fact, exist.

Our longest war, to date, is the war of “the box in the corner.”

This box.

We moved into our home in July of 2011.

The movers left this box in our bedroom because we forgot to label it, and when we opened it, it was a mish-mosh of stuff that belonged in our room, belonged in the office, belonged in a variety of other places throughout the house.

So, we dealt with the boxes that were specific and figured we’d come back to that one later.

I went through it and pulled out the stuff that belonged in our room, and Real Man said he’d deal with the rest later.

It’s now April 2013.

I’d say that’s later.

And the two of us continue to live with this box in the corner of our bedroom.

I don’t think either of us even know what is in that box, anymore.

We have now piled things on top of that box, and use it like a piece of furniture.

You can see there are some unmatched socks, a few books, and some other random things that the kids dropped in our room and we just set up there.

Once something is placed on the box, it becomes invisible, never to be touched again.

One day, archaeologists will find that box in the corner, and when they open it, they may find the mysteries of life.

They may also find two skeletons, each pointing toward the box, mouths poised to say “You do it,” and “No, you do it.”

But they will definitely find that box.

In the corner.

Of our room.

‘Cuz I’m not losing this one.

I know, I know…

Everyone is all “Whoo-hoo!  Spring is here!” and while I can share their sentiments to an extent, overall, I think Spring is a jerk.

A big, fat jerk.

But, a jerk like John Bender.

You know…John Bender.

Judd Nelson’s character in The Breakfast Club.

A world-class jerk.

But, you kinda liked him.

In fact, you kinda liked him a lot.

Yes, there are good things about Spring.

For example, the kids are outside and my house has at least a 47% more chance of staying clean since no one is inside messing it up.

This is a good thing.

Along with the clean house, however, is the fact that Spring is the time of year when I need to fulfill the clause in my contract as the mother of three boys that says I must display a level of athleticism which I do not actually possess.

A few days of good weather and we’ve already had tournaments in frisbee, basketball and driveway hockey.  Give us a few more days and they’ll rediscover the kickball, football and baseball.

Which would be fantastic, because I love that my kids want to be active and play outside.

However, according to my boys, none of these games, apparently, can be played without me.

I think my boys missed the stories about my complete and utter lack of coordination or sports ability.

It’ll be a long, long few months before the pool opens and chlorine and their friends can take over the task of entertaining them in the great outdoors.

However, the outdoor play is way more exhausting than indoor play, so it also means that the monkeys crash hard at night and our nightly game of musical beds is (blessedly) on hiatus for a few months.

Also, it means we can start cooking on the grill and that’s always a plus because it gives me a break from slaving over the stove and having to actually come up with something everyone likes for dinner.

But, despite the good, nay, the wonderful, things that Spring brings, it’s a jerk.

At school, spring means standardized testing which is nonsensical, illogical, and wrong.

Spring means the students are looking to the end of the year and need to be reminded that we are still in it for the long haul and there is still much to be done.

Senioritis hits 8th graders just as much as it hits seniors.

I should be grateful that none of my children play baseball, because Spring means baseball, and I am not a fan.

Even though I don’t have to go to any Little League games, it still corrupts my television screen and reminds me of the millions of games I had to sit through when I was a kid, watching Channel 11 with my Dad.

Cuz when I was a kid, we had one tv and my parents decided what we watched.

The worst part is that Spring brings allergies to our house.

We’ve only had a few nice days, but already, I’m stuffed, my skin and eyes itch, and I’ve had to pull out my inhaler.

Monkey Girl has started the weepy eyes, and we are in the days of eczema itching for Baby.

Spring is here and it’s Allegra and Benadryl cocktails all around.

So, spring has some redeeming qualities, but the bad makes me a little happy that spring was so late to arrive this year and has me hoping that summer starts early, despite the fact I teach in an un-air conditioned classroom on the second floor and the last day of school for teachers isn’t until June 28th.

Achoo!

Eat my shorts, Spring.

As a human, there are things that I do without thinking.

Blinking, breathing, digesting, etc.

As a Mom, there are things that I do without thinking, as well.

Sometimes it works out well.

Other times, not so much.

Whenever I am walking through a parking lot or crossing the street, I stretch my hand out behind me, reaching for a small hand to hold.

Always.

Even when I am alone or with my 12 year old, who really doesn’t need to hold my hand to cross the street, but is a big ole’ lovey and always holds my hand, anyway.

In New York City, I made the mistake of doing this while standing in a crowd waiting to cross and had a homeless man reach out to grab on.

There wasn’t enough Purell in the world that day, my friends.

I think it’s a combination of both the Mother and  the teacher in me that has me always asking kids (who don’t belong to me) to use their inside voice, or found me, on my honeymoon in Disney, telling someone else’s child that maybe they could pick up the bottle cap they had been kicking (very noisily and for the past five minutes as they walked in front of us) and throw it away.

I believe I also, on that trip, told a child ,who was in front of us in line, to be nice to his sister.

Here are some other auto-pilot Mommy reflexes I have:

I ask my 8th graders if they need to use the potty.

I have tried to cut the meat for people I have gone out to dinner with.

I have licked my thumb and reached toward the face of an adult to wipe something off of their cheek.

What about you…

If you are a parent, are there any things you find yourself doing on auto-pilot?

I’d love to hear your thoughts!  Leave a comment below!

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Don’t forget…Mother’s Day is just around the corner!

Looking for the perfect gift for that special someone?

Want to give the gift of laughter?

Buy them I Just Want to Pee Alone!

It’ll make my Mother’s Day AND theirs!

Yesterday was the last day of Spring Break, and the monkeys and I met my Dad for lunch at a local diner.

We passed my Dad in the parking lot while we were looking for a spot, and the monkeys hopped out to walk in with him while I continued to search.

When we got inside, my Dad immediately asked why I let Monkey in the Middle out of the house without a coat on, as it was only 54 degrees.

My response was “I tried to tell him, Dad, but sometimes, you gotta learn the hard way.”

As a teacher, I know that when trying to teach someone something, telling is hardly ever successful.

Showing is moderately more effective.

Yet, let someone try it out for themselves and they own it.

Same goes with life lessons.

Let’s be clear…I’m not talking about things like taking drugs, trying to outrun a train, or touching a hot stove.

I’m talking about the every day lessons that kids are learning each and every day.

So, if it’s not a “high risk” lesson to learn, I’ll give them my opinion, but let them learn on their own.

Using this approach my kids have learned:

hairspray is not a good de-tangler

peanut butter and hard-boiled eggs are not a good combination

mud pies are not delicious

spinning in circles directly after dinner will cause you to vomit

…and yes…when you’ve had a winter like we have, it’s too cold not to wear your coat while walking through town on a 54 degree day.