Nuns explained

So, as a good Catholic girl, it is of utmost importance to make sure that I inoculate the kids with a good dose of nun respect. Due to the paucity of nuns in full habits in my local schools, raising the kids with the preferred dose of nun fear is, unfortunately, not possible so settling for the lesser nun respect has to do. Granted, the kids will never understand the evils of singing Meatloaf’s Paradise by the Dashboard Light at the top of their lungs in the school lunch room which is clearly a shame. As was made clear to me, such singing paves the road to hell. That is, except for the folks who have to listen to such warbling which is clearly considered an act of penance. I learned that those folks get to go to the front of the line while I’ll still be working on sleeping on it and praying for the end of time, oh, I’ll be praying for the end of time.

But, as usual, I digress. Due to my thoughtful parenting philosophy, I know it is not good to confuse eager young minds even if I have no clue how not to do so. I know that the nun life lesson should wait until the son is at least out of the severe nightmare phase before I thoughtfully and respectfully explain in my clear manner how women wearing robes, veils and clanking chains of rosaries and who may be inclined to come after you with a stick significantly differ from the ghost of Christmas past with all of his accoutrements. For the good of all, I put this little life lesson on the shelf.

However, the nun explanation task is taken off the shelf by my lovely mother, she of daily Mass attendance. Lo, she provides the son with the Catholic Readers Digest version of convent life and the religious vocation with a visual aid. Having been a teacher and all, it is clear she recognizes that the multi media approach to explaining Catholicism is the way to go. She pulls out and demonstrates Nunzilla, a windup walking nun dressed in a full habit that spits sparks out of her mouth as she goes. And, the mother further demonstrates to the son just how cool it is that nuns walk along just spitting fire until they somehow fall off a cliff as represented by the living room table. Apparently, a demonstration of their selflessness. Quite the education.

So, we are sitting in our designated pew in the church, the one which is the second from the front. As it is my policy that we need to sit close enough to the front that the kids think the priest or Jesus can just reach out and wop them if they misbehave, we are firmly planted in our seats when it happens. A nun appears in full habit and walks right in front of us to receive communion. And, as she prayerfully pauses in front of us, the son uses his yelling inside the church voice to ask, “Is that a nunny?” Upon confirmation of the same, he then gets really excited and asks if “THAT IS A REAL NUNNY????”

I quickly let the son know in my inside church, “you’d better watch it” voice that yes, it is a nun, not a nunny as nunnies only come out at Halloween with their cousins the mummies and, if she hears him, it is likely she will turn toward him and sparks will fly from her mouth. Sounded like a perfectly reasonable thing to tell him at the time as all good Catholic school kids know that sparks flying from a nun’s mouth is generally fair warning that she might be a tad bent out of shape and, as a result, might do some general nun damage and the kid would therefore take it as a cue to shut up and exit stage left. And, had he been a good Catholic school kid, it may have worked. One of those little, annoying details. As it was, he publicly communicated his desire to “SEE THE SPARKS COMING OUT OF HER MOUTH.” Although I also thought that would be pretty darn cool, I knew I must react quickly and decisively and I did. I put my hands on my hips, turned toward the husband and gave him my best "I can NOT believe what you have taught our son" look until the said nun was far enough away not to wop me with a stick. Better safe than sorry.

Working Vacation

Took the kids on vacation.

Had a nice place all picked out when it rained and I had to make alternative plans. After some thought, I figured that I could turbo charge their experience and turn it into working fun and it would be way, way better than just petting and feeding animals at a park. Not like the poor deer with three legs is going anywhere in the near future anyway. At least not very quickly.

I’ve read these articles about folks who are using their vacation time to go try out a new career and they sound like it makes them happy, happy, happy. Not that I get it, mind you, but there is apparently something to it to it in an entitled yuppie sort of way. You go play Chef for a week. Try out being a Park Ranger. Or wash cats. Whatever floats your boat. Apparently, the sky is the limit. Fun, fun, fun.

So I decided that denying the kids this right would be tragic. After all, we all know just how competitive today’s economy is. And, of course, they will have me and their father to support so there is no time like the present. So it was off to work.

I made sure they were well fortified for the day ahead and made sure to get them the breakfast of champions at the local gas station. Mia liked the corn dogs and Aidan liked the drink I got him in the little free-sample cup. After all, wouldn’t want to actually buy him the barrel-o-coke. That was for me. Robert passed on the six-pack of beer which I thought was probably ill advised. Just a glutton for punishment, I guess.

Took them to a kid’s museum where I had Mia try out shoe sales. She got the hang of it and demonstrated her product all around. Only problem was that she wouldn’t hand the shoes over to the customer. Her love of shoes just shined too bright and caused some work place conflicts.

So, we moved on to putting her to work in the general store where we had sent Aidan. Put him on cashier duties after we had him unload the truck. Assigned Mia to stock girl. Both seemed to greatly enjoy their duties although Mia did seem to have a bit of an attitude about her brother being the boss which she eloquently expressed by throwing a tomato at him, one at me and then one at a former shoe customer. Fortunately, she does throw like a girl. Then, it was on to fishing and heavy equipment operations........

And Save us from Polar Bears

Educating the little ones about the environment is a big part of fulfilling my responsibility as a certifiable "green" mom. Certified as what I'm not sure, but as it is part of my mom duties, I've been fulfilling it with gusto, most recently at 10:30 pm when the son asks some question about polar bears that I didn't quite hear. But as a top notch mom, I didn't need to actually hear it to know what the question was. My heart fills with joy as it dawns on me that he has again made the mistake of giving me the perfect lead for my informative discussion on all things socially responsible.

So, its off to the races as I regale him with all the fine details and facts he needs to consider when formulating an accurate answer to the polar bear question. Including, but not limited to, the melting glaciers in Peru, the polar ice caps, why polar bears don't eat penguins but do like to eat, eat and eat, the Amazon rain forests and all the wild animals of the world. I show him the whole world in my hands. And on and on. I do such a fabulous job that he actually suggests I stop talking so he can go to sleep. I know that is a clear sign that he thinks I have described the facts so perfectly and so clearly, no further erudition is necessary. As I give him a good night bear hug, he mentions something like he still doesn't get why the polar bears' mom lets them drink soda whereas his mother doesn't and where in the world is the justice in that.

Next day, it's church where we do our weekly lighting of a candle for any special intentions. The son carefully considers what he has learned over the past week and what his concerns are and then asks "Dear God, please do not let the polar bears eat us this week." Pretty sure we got a "yes" on that one. Four days into the week and we are all still good.

Next time, probably shouldn't cap my earth day talk off by telling him, as I left the room, that I had just heard that Coca Cola cut those disobedient bears off when they found out they didn't have their mom's permission to drink the brew and the bears were now a tad bit hungry and cranky as a result of coming off the stuff, especially since they had been out of penguins at the north pole for a while which is why they had turned to a high fructose caffeinated beverage in the first place and were now in time out for their crankiness, each on their own ice floe, floating around.

Mom, Mia cut her leg off...

Clearly, the son got his sense of humor from his father. His mother would not even think of something so demented as anyone who knows me would certainly testify. For a small fee, but testify they would.

Turns out the son has now enlisted his sister as a willing co-conspirator in his plots. Apparently, "Hey Mia, want to see what happens when mom comes running down the hall in her socks and tries to stick the landing?" just sounded like too much fun to pass up.

After executing a 10-point banister stop which consisted of expertly positioning the hall banister in the dead center of my chest for impact and then decelerating from 60-0 in .5 seconds, I quickly assessed the situation.

Let them know that the glass was clearly half full. Although the leg had been handy and would be missed, the current configuration would make it measurably easier to find sparkly shoes, especially at Disney sales. The glass was also half empty as Mia's social worker was scheduled to come out in short order to do her 6 month post-placement visit to assess our awesome parenting abilities and watchful behavior.

For some reason, Mia found this to be funny. The social worker part. In fact, she quickly moved on from laughing to outright chortling. Meanwhile, the son looked for the glass. Said he was thirsty.

Happy Easter

So were going into Easter weekend and an Easter photo shoot is on tap. Not that a photo shoot isn’t on tap every weekend. After all, the motto in our home is “If it isn’t recorded, it didn’t happen.” The kids have gotten quite adept at knowing that all spontaneous activity and discoveries are to be instantly halted until Mom returns with the camcorder to record all of the spontaneity, albeit with their heads cut off at the top of the frame due to her amazing photographic skills. But, it’s Easter. Cute dresses, bunnies and all that.

So we are meeting at my folks and the husband is late. He finally shows up with the little one and the son. He is holding Mia and as I approach, the husband starts moving in a circle. I take a step, he matches it. Another one, ditto. I briefly consider that perhaps he is making sure Mia shows me her good side but then rule that out as she doesn’t have a good side. Both are great. So, I finally get the wheel to stop and discover that Mia has a major scrape on the side of her face which is sort of bleeding and a funny shade of white having been treated with diaper rash ointment which apparently is the treatment of choice for anything duct tape can’t fix.

I ponder the situation and am quietly thankful that it didn’t happen on my watch as I would never live it down. Unlike my spouse, I understand the restraint necessary to ensure good familial relations when it comes to these things. In fact, I didn’t even mention the time the husband locked the son in the van while locking himself out of it because the dear husband allowed the son to put the keys in the ignition and lock the van's door right before he snapped the soon to be imprisoned son in his car seat. This, of course, one week after the husband solemnly agreed with me not to do the same ever again due to the danger presented. At least the son enjoyed the fancy fire engine and police cars.

The caring son fills me in on the facial damage. Explains that Mia almost cracked her head open which, to him, is solidly up there with almost putting her eye out. Very serious. Informs me that there was an apparent disconnect between the weight of her head and the weight of her body and that she apparently was testing how fast she could run downhill while waving her arms and that the answer to the same was not apparently fast enough to counteract that toppling over thing. Makes sure I understand that her father let her. Wouldn’t want her to get in trouble for almost cracking her head open when she had the tacit approval of her father I guess.

I think about asking her what she was thinking and then decide that I might not want the answer to that given that fact that my best thinking is what normally gets me in trouble (Let’s see, I’m grounded and am not getting shocked by this shorted out thing, wonder what would happen if I touch this other piece of metaaaaaaaaaalllll.)

So we all consult and decide it is merely a flesh wound and that the answer to the problem is chocolate. For mom, of course. After all, disaster was narrowly averted. Got to have steady nerves when pointing a camera.

Luck O the Irish

You know how it is. You're just standing in line at the pet store trying to buy cat litter when an employee begins to amuse the kiddies by eating one of those pink dog Oreos from the doggie bar.

As I'm watching the show, I get a bit concerned that this employee is somehow of my gene pool and might be a long lost relative as his behavior clearly indicates. While I try to figure out what side of the family he looks like, he shares with us that the fuchsia cookies are made out of the same high quality ingredients that one finds in those glow in the dark Halloween Oreos. Genuine trans fats. But, the doggie version costs a tad bit more. So, I stand there and calculate that an Oreo sized package of the things would cost roughly the same as one month's mortgage at a sub prime rate. I continue to stand there and notice a kid who decides he wants to play along. And, remarkably, it isn't my kid. When his mom isn't watching, the kid steals a dog nugget from the doggie bar and pops it into his mouth. Turns out it isn't the equivalent of people nuggets. Just priceless.

Of course, I get giddy by it all and begin to admire the various items that the well dressed dog must have when he goes bar hopping. I have the only logical thought possible - that hat sure would look good on my kid. With a green outfit. And genuine leprechaun boots expertly crafted from his father's dress socks. I revel in the the joy my kid will experience looking back on his first celebration of his Irish heritage and eagerly fork over the $40 dollars or so for the high quality felt cap. And, as is clearly evidenced by the unadulterated joy in his face, it was money well spent.

A couple of years go by but clearly due to high quality craftsmanship, the felt hat stands the test of time. This year, I pull it out of the drawer and immediately know that Mia would just be deprived if her brother got to wear the hat for St. Pat's and she didn't. Sibling rivalry being what it is and all. I snap into action, crafting some genuine leprechaun boots out of my brown hiking socks. Mia takes issue with the booties, clearly due to her appreciation for authenticity. She communicates the same to me by pulling the booties off her legs, examining them and then tossing them down the stairs. Seeing how she really respects all things leprechaun just warms the cockles of my heart so I enthusiastically explain the whole St. Pat thing to her and the hat goes on. Mia exhibits her ability to run while simultaneously shaking her head, a quite impressive feat and then raises her hands in praise to show me just how joyful she feels.

I'm sure the kids can't wait for next year.

Punch & Mints

So, our oldest apparently got married two weeks ago without any prior notice or public ceremony. This, of course, is a big downer for me for many reasons but, most importantly, because I have been practicing the mother-of-the-groom mantra since he was born; Show up, shut up and wear beige. Show up, shut up and wear beige. No one looks good in beige which is, of course, the point but I ask least wanted an excuse to get my hair and makeup done and perhaps some new shoes. Not shiny glittery ones as it would look weird with Mia chasing me down the aisle while trying to take them off my feet but new shoes nonetheless.

So, the lovely bride and my darling son apparently began to bond over punch and cookies during their morning preschool break and solidified their relationship on the monkey bars and swings. I knew nothing about it. I had taken him to Monkey Joes, a cavernous play palace with multiple inflatable jumping things for a party and the lovely bride was there. He studiously avoided her. I suspect that the reverb of the children's screams bouncing around the place may have given him the same shock and awe feeling that I had. Don't know who Joe is but we should unleash him on our worst enemies. During the Monkey Joe outing I sat with the rest of the defeated parents in the center of the chaos at the cheery orange picnic tables trying to figure out why they didn't have a bar as it would certainly be profitable and why Mia kept trying to pick up the patterns in the carpeting. Gosh it was fun. In a Clockwork Orange sort of way.

So, several days go by and his father goes to get him at school. The kid wants to stay a while and play in the playground with his friend from school. Says his little sister never gets to play and they should stay for a while. It's for Mia's benefit, of course. The little friend's nanny agrees which, I suspect is problem number one. After taking him to the mega birthday party for last year's love interest, I've been quite diligent in explaining to him that he will need to support his wife in a manner to which she has been accustomed. Having full-time house staff is certainly shooting quite high. But hey, its young love in the spring.

So, he and his love are circling the playground hand in hand and then go romping around picking flowers for his sister, I'd guess so that he can show his sensitive side. They were the church's daffodils from their garden but as we all know, churches are all for marriage.

And then the nanny, who has been standing by, breaks the news to the husband who was attempting to follow Mia around. She had been told by her charge that the lovebirds had gotten married the week before. Just like that.

Imagine the surprise. So, the husband waited until the shock had passed and got our oldest securely fastened into his booster seat and started the car. As we all know, it is best to question children while they are securely strapped into a car seat and the car is moving to not allow for escape. I use the method often, even though he does get a bit curious as to why I am circling the Walmart parking lot over and over at 3 miles an hour, muttering "we're going to the truth, we're going to the truth". He capitulates and then asks why, if we are going to Duluth, I appear to be driving in endless circles in the parking lot. He isn't generally satisfied by my telling him that there are some things that are just too complex to understand but he does seem to have the ability to know when to placate his mother so that he can go home to play.

So, he considered the question of his marriage quite carefully and then quite simply confirmed by stating, "She is not supposed to tell you that. It's a secret."

Two days later, outright denial. But then, I have to go to school for his parent teacher conference and run into my mother-in-law once removed who greets me quite warmly which was a good thing as I wasn't sure what to expect as it does not appear that my son followed the protocol and asked for his love's hand in marriage. Comes up behind him and next to me and states "so that's the husband". The husband, meanwhile, is hightailing it to the car. Then the mother-in-law once removed tells me that she hopes he can keep up as her daughter is high maintenance. Guess so, boys always marry a gal like dear old mom.

I guess some punch and mints are in order.