Leanna Kay

The Word of the day is BLOT.

Blot is what you get when your brother whacks you hard enough in the nose with a baseball bat so that you're snotting and bleeding at the same time.

Drew made this word up by combining blood and snot.  I think he was trying to make his brother feel better.  Not in small part because he was the wielder of the baseball bat which accidentally came into contact with Chris's nose.

Let's hope there's never a need to use the word BLOT in our household again!

It stormed last night. At the first jolt of thunder, I heard the pitter patter of little footsteps telling me that Lauren would soon be jumping into bed with me so I could save her from the wrath of God - or the loud bangs. Whichever.

It’s amazing to me that my children think I’m capable of stopping a thunderstorm. You’d have thought in the last few years they would have observed enough incompetent behavior on my part to start an internet search for better parents.

There was the time when I backed out of the driveway without first checking to make sure no one had left any scooters behind the car. (Okay so it was me who left the scooter out - but whatever.) Then there was the day we went caving and I decided it was time to develop claustrophobia and have a little panic attack while trapped fifty feet below the Earth’s surface led by a geriatric guide whose fingers twitched as he TURNED THE LIGHTS OFF! What if he’d had a stroke while stumbling around in the dark looking for the light switch? I know I almost did.

I could go on and on with examples that should have clued my kids in that Mommy is less than capable. But for now, they seem oblivious.

I got Lauren settled down and back to sleep in her bed and not an hour later, Chris came in telling me he was scared. He crawled in bed with me and was instantly calm and asleep. I asked him later what scared him. Apparently there were loud bangs outside (caused by the dog). He made the obvious assumption that we were under full-blown alien attack and ran to me to save him. Because I’m capable of saving my children from green monsters that fall from the sky. They’re so innocent and naive.

And I love it.

School starts in just thirteen days, sixteen hours and two minutes. But hey, who’s counting? As I anxiously await the school bus to whisk my children away, I thought it might be fun to contemplate the journey the kids and I have taken this summer. Point A being the first day of vacation when all was warm and fuzzy and we enjoyed every minute of each other’s company. Point B being me surfing the internet for military camps for next summer.

DAY ONE OF SUMMER BREAK:

Me: Isn’t this nice having the kids home? We can spend our days swimming and visiting nature preserves so I can fill their little minds with knowledge. I can be just like those patient, loving home school moms.

Kids: Hey, Mom. We whipped you up a loving batch of hugs and kisses because you’re the best mom ever.

DAY TEN OF SUMMER BREAK:

Me: So what if they watch another episode of Spongebob? It’s about undersea life so it’s educational, right?

Kids: Hey, Mom. Could you please move away from the television? You’re blocking our view of Patrick Star.

DAY THIRTY-NINE OF SUMMER BREAK

Me: Turn off the t.v. and go outside before your brains rot.

Kids: Whatever.

TODAY – DAY SIXTY OF SUMMER BREAK:

Me: Home school? Why did I even think of that? What kind of crazy do you have to be to home school your kids?

Kids: Mom, you’re mean. Why do we have to do chores? We’re missing the 300 hour special on Nicktoons.

Many years ago when I had just two kids and time for ideals, I signed the twins up for a study through the Children’s Hospital. The study followed them for several years, checking in periodically to monitor their diet and their body mass index so the doctors could create uniform bone density and BMI numbers for kids.

The study ended several years ago and I expected never again for someone other than my mother to show such intense interest in the size of my boys’ bones. But apparently this year, the doctors at Children’s Hospital got a new grant and decided to do another check on the kids.

As we entered the study site, the boys were told they’d be weighed and measured and they were asked if that was okay. And if it was, they’d get twenty dollars.

"Twenty whole dollars?" Chris’s eyes lit up. "And all I have to do is be weighed and measured?" Clearly he was good with this. Drew thought it was a good deal too when it only took ten minutes and we were out of there with crisp money in hand.

"Wow, Mom. That’s like a hundred twenty bucks an hour," Drew commented as soon as his mathematical brain absorbed the enormity of what we’d just done.

"But really we were doing it to help mankind," I pointed out, hoping to make this a teaching moment.

"But Mom, that’s good money. Do people do that for a real job?" Chris’s eyes were widening in hope as he saw his perfect career opportunity. "I mean some people get paid for donating blood, right?" Chris asked.

"Well sure. But this is really more about helping out the doctors. People also donate their bodies to science to help out others," I commented.

"Really?" Chris’s whole face lit up. "How much does THAT pay?"

Lauren hit a swimming milestone last week by jumping off the diving board. She stood midway back on the board for the longest time refusing to move her fingers from the rail. She looked as terrified as if the instructor had asked her to sky dive without a parachute, or jump into a shark infested pool, or skip the Hannah Montana 3-D special which airs on tv this Saturday and requires the purchase of special 3-D glasses because its not like that Miley Cyrus girl has enough money or anything. But that’s a topic for another blog.

I took pity on my terrified daughter and stepped up behind her on the diving board. I was wearing shorts and a t-shirt so this was probably not a great idea considering I was one terrified jerk away from ending up in the pool myself. But these are the sacrifices we make for our children to ensure that someday they’ll love us enough to wipe spittle from our wrinkled chins and put us in a nursing home where the staff doesn’t hate old people - much.

As I gently took her hand, I told her it was all right. Everything is always scary the first time you do it, but the only way to get rid of the fear is to take that first step. Then I resisted the urge to do what my dad would have done to me in the same situation (which was push me into the water and tell me to get over it. And this is the reason why my dad will someday be going to the Dr. Kevorkian Home for the Elderly - where the stay is short and there’s always a bed available.).

Lauren walked to the end of the diving board, clutching my hand and asking if she had to let go.

"Eventually," I told her. "But not until you're ready."

Finally she took a deep breath and let her fingers slip away from mine. She slid slowly off the board and the swim instructor caught her. Then she did it again and again and after the first three times, she didn't need to hold my hand anymore. I wasn't sure whether I should laugh or cry.

Earlier this week I was blogging about magazine tips for saving money. These articles are sprouting up everywhere as the economy takes a downturn. The problem is that those magazines aren’t written by normal people. On the one extreme, we’re told to stop buying two hundred dollar shirts (as if). At the other end of the spectrum, we’re told to raise organic vegetables and sew our own clothes (yeah right).

So I decided it was time for some truly practical savings tips. So here goes my top ten.

10. Clean only half as often. The environment will thank you and so will your pocketbook. Think of the endless amounts of money you’ll save on Pledge alone.

9. Resist the urge to buy the kids the latest hot computer game. When my parents were children, they played with sticks and hardly anyone ever lost an eye.

8. Save on electricity by turning off unnecessary appliances. Like the vacuum cleaner.

7. Stop mowing your grass. Tell the neighbors you’re creating a nature preserve to harbor wildlife. When they look at you like you’ve lost your mind, ask them why they hate nature. Then ask them if their children know about their Bambi hating tendencies.

6. Make your own mayonnaise. ... HA HA. Just kidding.

5. Turn those dust bunnies under your bed into delightful pets for the children.

4. When the kids beg for Webkins, paint them a rock instead. Then tell them the long involved story about how we didn’t have computers when we were kids so we had to make up rock pals to keep us company.

3. Don’t wash towels. Bob has a theory on this. Since you’re using the towel to dry off a clean wet body, isn’t the towel actually cleaner after you use it? And if not, maybe you’re not doing a thorough enough job in the bath.

2. Super size your meal and share those fries and tub of soda with your entire family (or an entire tribe of hungry Ethiopians. After all, who can really drink a gallon of soda on his own?)

1. Stop buying magazines that have stupid tips on how to save money.

I took my nine year old boys to the orthodontist last week. In my generation, orthodontic care didn’t begin until you were a teen and your parents had the need to make you look all gangly and unattractive so there was no possibility of you getting a date.

Times have changed. Today, orthodontic care starts earlier. The dentists call it "pre-orthodontic" care and tout this as a way to prevent more extensive brace work later on. Supposedly if you move the baby teeth properly, then the permanent teeth will fall into place where there’s supposed to be. That all might sound good, but in my jaded view there must be an alternative reason kids who still believe in Santa Claus need brace work. I believe the rise of pre-orthodontic case really arose to fill the dentist’s need for both a new Mercedes and an annual trip to Europe.

Either way, the visit to the orthodontist brought home just how expensive it will be to raise these three kids. And more importantly, just how costly it will be to make these children unattractive to the opposite sex until they’re well into their twenties. So while the orthodontist was price checking his Mercedes (er, looking at my kids’ teeth), I picked up a women’s magazine claiming their cost cutting measures would save me a thousand dollars a year. I know a mere thousand won’t buy the tinted windows and custom climate control on a Mercedes, but it’s a start, right?

Or so I thought. I breezed right past the suggestions for me to do my own manicures and pedicures. I also skipped past the text on how much I could save by foregoing designer fashions. All irrelevant to me because last I checked, WalMart didn’t stock Liz Claiborne nor did the cashiers do nails. What I needed was a more realistic way to fund that gold Mercedes.

Down farther in the article were ways to save on food. The article promised me that Sue Gallagher from Minnesota saved a fortune by making her own baking powder and mayonnaise. Baking powder and mayonnaise? You can save a fortune by combining eggs and vinegar into mayonnaise? Or by mixing baking soda and flour? How much of this stuff does Sue Gallagher use? I did the math with the mayo. Considering the cost of the ingredients and the amount of mayonnaise I use in a year, I could save approximately twenty-five cents by adopting Sue’s frugality. That’s hardly even a rubber band spacer, let alone enough hardware to turn my cute boys into something grotesque enough to repel girls.

THE TOWEL POLICE

We stayed in a condo complex last week that had rules to "keep your stay as nice as possible." I understood why I shouldn’t be spitting on the grounds or muttering curse words within the hearing of Senior Citizens. I was also happy not to pee in the pool. However, I couldn’t quite understand the "no towels hanging on the balcony" rule. Were people really going to be offended by wet towels drying in the sun? Avert your eyes kids! It’s a T-O-W-E-L!

Bob and I laughed for the first few days as we saw the rule breakers living next to us flaunting the voice of authority in their pursuit of dry beach towels. By day three though, we saw IT. A large yellow citation hanging on their door threatening horrible consequences if their towel hanging continued. I’m not sure what the horrible consequences were going to be - probably they’d be forced to don the scarlet letters "TH" (for towel hangers) and be paraded amongst the law abiding citizens who don’t allow such horrible anti-social behavior. The consequence must have been pretty severe because the citation stopped their horrible law breaking ways.

CHICKEN FEET

Midway through the week, Chris was thrilled when we passed some locals hunting for crab along the boardwalk. They let him lower their net into the marsh and catch a net full of crabs using raw chicken as bait. Apparently crabs are so attracted to raw chicken that they flock to the net to be captured.

After the crab catching excitement, we went for a swim in the ocean. Not ten minutes after arriving, I dipped my toe into the water and got my foot pinched by a crab. The kids reached the obvious conclusion – Mom’s feet smell like raw chicken.

OFFENDING THE TURTLES

When we arrived at Hilton Head Island, Bob read that the rules of the island were meant to protect the habitat for the sea creatures. One rule prohibited businesses from posting signs so people could actually find them. Apparently the sea turtles are offended by neon signage. Or maybe they’re just offended by tourists stuffing their faces with Big Macs and carting souvenirs by the bagful from WalMart.

SHOT GLASSES

Speaking of souvenirs, we let each of the kids buy one thing as a vacation remembrance. Drew wanted a snow globe and Chris quickly picked a photo album. Lauren on the other hand spent long enough in the souvenir shop that I thought the owner was going to make us sign a lease. Finally, she decided on the perfect keepsake - a shot glass with dolphins swimming around the base.

I thought of a million reasons why I didn’t want my seven year old commemorating a trip with a glass used to down alcoholic beverages. But there was a better reason to let her have it - so we could avoid repeating the laborious souvenir selection process. So I did what I’d like to think any other good mother would have done in the same circumstance. I lied to the child and told her it was a tiny juice glass. And then I bought it for her. Hey, maybe that does make me a bad mother, but at least I’m not one of those horrible people who hang towels off their balcony.

I’ve just returned from my five state bathroom tour of 2008. Anyone who has ever vacationed with children will know what I mean when I say we spent more time last week focused on finding bathrooms than we did on sightseeing. I now know where the bathrooms are in two Krogers, three WalMarts, a small food shack in Beaufort, South Carolina labeled for use by "employees only", a beach changing area on Hunting Island, the county assessor’s office in Savannah, Georgia, and ... well never mind. You get the picture.

Why is it that children who can hold their bladders through a ten-hour Spongebob marathon suddenly have pee emergencies every half hour when there’s no bathroom to be found?

We spent most of the week vacationing on a private beach on Hilton Head Island. The beach was advertised as a "short five minute walk across a boardwalk." A "short" walk became an adventure to rival the Lewis and Clark expedition when you added in three kids in flip flops, beach chairs, a boogie board and a bag loaded down with sunscreen, water bottles and snacks.

Knowing that it was a long walk back to the condo, every time before we left for the beach I’d tell the kids to use the bathroom.

"But we don’t have to go," all three of them would say because they never have to go when there’s a bathroom nearby. But if we have to stop a tour bus and race into a food shack to use the "employee only" toilet, then they have no problem emptying their bladders.

"Pee anyway. There’s no potty on the beach." So under protest, I’d march all three kids into the bathroom just to be safe. And wouldn’t you know it? As soon as little feet hit hot sand, one of them would start doing that familiar dance universally recognized by all parents.

By day three, I did something I’m not proud of.

"Mommy, I gotta go bad." Lauren told me just as soon as we sat down all the crap we’d hauled to the beach.

"Just go in the ocean," I whispered. She blinked and stared at me like I’d suddenly morphed into a form of evil she couldn’t quite wrap her seven-year-old brain around. In her defense, I’m the Mom who carries hand sanitizer, lectures the kids on germs and dodges the crab poop for fear of ending up with sea creature feces on my bare feet. Yet, I’d just told the child to go swim around in her own pee.

"I can’t do that." Lauren was looking at me like I’d just suggested she pick her nose in front of the cute second grade boys.

"It’s the ocean," I said, eyeing that "short five minute" walk back across the boardwalk. Using my most convincing Mommy voice, I said, "Pee is good for the sea turtles." (Hey, it might be true. Don’t judge me until you’ve walked a mile across a marsh in my flip flops.)

"But Mom." This child was still wailing and dancing. "I have to go number two!"

Well darn. That can’t be good for the sea turtles.

We’re getting ready to leave on a week long trip. As I’ve been preparing for this vacation, it occurred to me that there’s a reason why I’m so tired at the start of the trip.

My Jobs: do all the laundry, shop for sunscreen (go to five stores to find the right type so no one complains.)

Kids’ Job: Point out things that need to be done. I.E. "Mom, the car needs cleaned out."

Bob’s Job: Program the GPS unit.

My Jobs: Find the address for Bob to input into the GPS unit, map out the area and plan fun stuff to do, clean out the fridge, vacuum the car.

Kids’ Job: Remind me of essentials. "Mom, did you buy Little Debbie cosmic brownies?"

Bob’s Job: Still programming the GPS. "Honey, can you look up the zip code for South Carolina again?"

My Jobs: Pack the clothes, load the suitcases into the car, search the internet for fun car games, find someone to feed the pets, make sure the pet food is well supplied, get snacks for the car, find movies for the DVD player, make sure the player is charged.

Kids’ Job: "Mom is it about time to go yet? We’ve been waiting FOREVER. We need a vacation!"

Yeah, me too.

See you in about ten days!