We're not in Kansas Anymore, Toto.

Take me out to the ballgame.

Having grown up in Kansas City, I have always been a Royals fan.  Oh sure, I've lived in other cities with decent baseball teams, like the Pittsburgh Pirates, and Texas Rangers - I was living in Ft Worth when Nolan Ryan pitched his infamous no-hitter.  I was also living there when the players went on strike and there was virtually no baseball season, at all.  I'm not sure the MLB has ever recovered to it's former glory before that nightmare.

Anyway, The Royals have always been my home team.  When I was a kid, it was Frank White, and Dennis Leonard, and Dan Quisenberry, and ohhhh, George Brett.  Every little girl in town, and some not-so-little-ones had a giant crush on George Brett.  He was KC's most eligible bachelor for many years.  It was heady times. It was the 1985 World Series win, pitched by Donald Duck himself Brett Saberhagen.  (Whose kids I babysat for a time or two, he lived near my parents.)  The man was 21 years old when he pitched and won the World Series, I can't imagine the pressure.  Or the millions.

I loved going to the baseball game when I was a kid.  It was as magical as all the books meant for little boys you ever would have read had you believe, and even I knew it - Little Miss Total Lack of Athleticism that I was.

Of course, it all went to shit after that, but I didn't care anymore because I wasn't living in KC then. But, its starting to get better, I hear.

This Sunday afternoon, for Drew's eighth birthday, my husband and I are taking a gaggle of little boys to their first Royals game.  We will sit in the cheap seats.  We will eat hotdogs, and peanuts, and popcorn, and drink Cokes (and some of us, shitty beer.)  We will hunt down and cheer for the Royals Mascot, Sluggrr . We will fry our asses off in the 95 degree sun.  And we will watch The Royals play baseball.  Against the Yankees.

Please don't suck, Royals.

How to survive your 4th of July vacation.

Chapter One: Don't take one.

Moving On.

I don't know if you can tell, but that is not a river.  That is a flood plain, flooded to the max, very near the Mississippi River.  We saw a lot of this.

Seriously, I guess the only amazing thing about our quick and dirty trip to inner depths of the state of Alabama is that nothing really eventful happened.  Nobody puked in the car on the 12 hour ride down or back, not even the dog.  No one blew off part of their body playing with fireworks, although the dog did have to tolerate little boys throwing those little pop rock things at him to try and get a reaction.  They were frustratedly not successful as he was too busy panting his little tongue off laying at my feet. (My Uncle-In-Law: "What, is that dog on Quaaludes or something? Dang."

It was also quite amazing that apparently it was actually hotter in Kansas while we were gone than it was in Alabama.  Not more humid, but hotter.  It doesn't get anymore humid than Birmingham, Alabama in July.  And don't say Florida does! Because Florida has a beach and that's where normal people go on vacations, and I don't want to hear about it.

These are flowers from my MIL's garden, that my SIL planted for her which got her some kind of fabulous gardens of Birmingham garden tour award or something. Am jeluz of my SIL's mad gardening skills, but I guess she deserves it since she actually studied and took a test and earned a Master Gardener status, like, God. Over-achieve much? (I already said I'm jealous.)

Southern flower garden, with poodle.  Watch out for the bees, poodle!

Also to be found in Birmingham, is a life size chess game.  My 9 year old nephew totally schooled me on the rules of chess.  Me: Wait, what is that a rook? No, the knight! He moves diagonally, right? What's the horse guy called? Geez it's been a long freakin' time since I played chess. (That's me and my fat leg trying to escape the picture.)

Max would like you to know he's been very, very fucking patient with those kids dropping toys and food on him for the last 12 hours, and when are we going to be home so he can sleep in peace? *Yawn*


Will falls asleep just as we reach the outskirts of Kansas City. Perfect.

Item #6137 for the prosecution: Why my husband cannot go grocery shopping with kids.

Funny Face.

You may remember this post, a conversation with Cagey in which I showed her the photographic evidence of my youngest's eating habits.  Were you wondering if he's gotten any better, now that he's five and a half?

That would be a no.

Losing My Religion.

This morning in the car on the way to day camp.

Will: Mom, what are they building there?
Drew: Probably another bank. (this is a long standing joke, construction in our area means a new bank on almost every single corner.  Its bizarre.)
Me: ...
Will: Mom, what is THAT building?
Me: That's a Jewish church.  They call it a Synagogue.
Will: Oh!  Mom, I forgot to tell you.  Me and Drew want to be Jewish.
Me: ...?
Drew: What? I do not.
Will: Yes! Remember, we talked about it with that boy who was playing on the swingsets at Suburban's.
Drew: Oh yeah.  Okay.
Me: Uh, okay.  Why do you say that, honey?
Will: Because when you're Jewish you get to speak all kinds of different languages.  That's what Jacob told us, he was a kid we met at Suburban's when you were buying new plants.
Me: Hmmm. Alright.  Well, yes, they have different languages they speak, its called Yiddish, or Hebrew.  But you know, Jewish people don't believe in Jesus.

Drew and Will: WHAT?
Me: Yes, well, they believe he was a man, a teacher, who lived about 2000 years ago, but they don't believe he was the Son of God.
Will: Why?
Drew: Oh yeah, they don't celebrate Christmas.
Me: (getting into unknown territory) It's just not part of what they believe.
Will: Oh. (thinking.)
Will: Mom, can we learn other languages at our church?
Me: Well, you're learning Spanish at school, aren't you?
Will: No, at church!
Me: We don't really have other languages at our church. 
Me: (turning up the music...)

Proof is in the pictures.

This is my sideyard before:

I know, right?  totally ugly, foundation concrete and weird fireplace box sticking out.  Yuck.  We know there was enough room to make a daylight basement here, the builder just didn't to save money (house was a spec, not sold before build out...)  Eventually we may add daylight windows if we finish the basement.

Anyway.  Moving On!

And now. Yes, I rock, I know. Literally. Its better - you can still see the foundation and all, but the garden and wall distracts the eye, at least.

(Too be fair, the first pic was taken before spring had kicked in so things look much less lushy than now, with all the rain)
I'm rather proud of myself.  In other news, Look!  A poodle, playing in an unfenced yard, without a leash!

A rather tired poodle, I might add, since I'd been throwing the tennis ball in the 80% humidity until he couldn't run anymore and just laid down.  He's such a wuss.  Anyway, POINT IS, he hung out with us in the yard, and didn't bolt.  I'm a big proponent of remote control shock collars now, people.  I have the dog I wanted - one who obeys.  Its wonderful.  By the way, Max had his one year Vet check up while I was off last week.  He weighs 65 lbs.  He was supposed to be no more than 55lbs.  Oops.  Monster Poodle!

Also, the tennis ball throwing?  If you don't have one of these, you are totally working too hard. Genius.

And finally:

Drew and Will saying cheese from World's of Fun/Camp Snoopy.  This picture snapped shortly before daddy (behind them) was asked to exit the ride. "You're supposed to have a child riding with you, sir."  That's right, my husband got kicked off a kiddie coaster.  He rawks.

(Company employee day at WoF, everyone had matching corporate logo shirts, if you're wondering why everyone is yellow.  The logo itself I will not show you.  Remember, I toljoo no blogging about new job.  Am a good girl.)

Anyway, I tend to dress my kids alike when we venture out into such a sea of humanity, because it makes them easier to spot and also if I lose one, I can show the police "he looks just like this one right here!"  But as I knew everyone in the entire company got a yellow t-shirt, which did sort of make me hyperventilate, I made them wear red hats for higher visibility.  I also quizzed them on my cellphone number the entire walk into the park from the car.  Am a spaz, I'm aware.  But, its happened before, It could happen again.

Pop and Circle Stands.

I always kind of thought graduation for little kids is rather silly, but cute, and some days, I'll take cute.  It reminds me that I love being a mother to these two little monsters.  And occasionally, I need such reminders, like when they've been driving me to the crazy like a semi truck shifting up.

So last night we went to Will's little pre-k/kindergarten graduation.  He's been in a private kindergarten program this year, but will be doing kindergarten again in public school next fall, because he's a September birthday and his misses the August 31 cutoff for this year.  If we still lived in California, where the cutoff is December 2, he'd be going to first grade next year and my boys would be two years apart in school.  I kind of would have preferred this, as now I fear he'll be hitting milestones so far ahead of his class that he'll be difficult to challenge, and when little boys are hard to challenge academically, they become a challenge overall.  But, it is what it is.

So square hats and official graduation song, which if you didn't know is called Pop and Circle Stands, they marched up the the risors and proceeded to charm us with singing a song and counting, literally, to 100.

Generally, Will pretty much goes with the flow of these things, but a couple of the kids were absolutely terrified to be up in front of a mass of parent paparazzi, as you can see:

Funny enough, little guy to Will's right is normally the loud, wild and talkative one in class, but apparently suffers a mean case of stage fright.  He didn't look up the entire time.

This is Will's teacher, whom I like to call "The Boy Whisperer", Ms. Nicole.  She has three boys of her own, her husband is a trainer with the Kansas City Chiefs, and she has like five brothers or something.  She knows how to communicate through the testoserone, and she was a Godsend this winter and spring after we moved him to this school in January.  He had a rough fall semester at his other school, to the point where he was so overwhelmed, he was hiding under tables and in corners to escape the chaos of 22 kids and a revolving door of teachers, and she got him back on track. She gave him the award for Most Kinesthetic Learner, which is a really generous way of saying He Who's Body Never Stops Being in Motion.  Good Luck with that, Ms. Public School Teacher of Next Year.


Oh, and not to leave out my other charmer, Drew had his Cub Scout pack's Raingutter Regatta Monday night. 

"Hi Mom!"

Here they are receiving instructions on the rules of the boat race:

"WTF? Is this making any sense to you?"

 

Also, not to be left out, Max would like you all to know that he understands the rules now, if we'd been clearer earlier none of this would have happened, it's not his fault we didn't know how to properly communicate.  But he's willing to move on, and when we're all playing in the backyard and Mommy whistles and says "Max, go home" he gets his ass up on the deck, pronto, thanks for playing, please don't push that button. 

Good Boy.

Like shaking a can of Coke.

So last night we scrambled to get dinner on early since we thought Will was going to have his Very! First! T-Ball! Practice!  Except I'm not allowed to call it T-Ball, it's BASEBALL, Mommy, T-Ball is for babies.  Disregard the T-Ball stand in front of the catcher's mound, woman, it does not apply here.  Right.

Anyway, T-Ball got canceled due to the spitting on/off rain we were getting, as if a little wet grass and mud would really make it a miserable affair, but whatever.  This meant, since we had already finished dinner, that we had a full two hours until bedtime.  So daddy took the kids outside to play basketball on the neighbors driveway, which was a little strange for all our neighbors because it happens to be the house we used to live in  and should have just rented out instead of selling when we moved to California four years ago, but I digress.  So they played basketball on our old driveway for a while, then a nice little rainstorm came down and everyone scampered, wet, back into my kitchen.  Which I had just cleaned.

This is when my husband decided ice cream would be a good idea.  It was now 20 minutes to bedtime.
And what do you do with two little boys who've just eaten a bowl of ice cream right before bedtime?  Why, yes, of course, you crank up the Beastie Boys and play air Guitar Hero and do some hip hop breakdancing, and close your eyes and cross your fingers that nobody goes through the glass top coffee table.  Yes, that's exactly what I would do.

 

I wanna be a free range mom.

So I saw this article the other day, about the anti-helicopter parenting of New York freelance writer Lenore Skenazy as she allowed her nine year old to ride the subway home from Bloomingdales, alone, and got an uproar of both supporters and haters.  So she started freerangekids, a new blog which promotes the idea that our children will not probably die if not wrapped in bubble wrap and constantly watched like a hawk.  I...I like this idea.  I like it a lot.  I am one of just a few mommies in my neighborhood that allows my kids play outside without being out there with them.  They have a pretty wide swath of freedom, within 10-12 houses in either direction mind you, and they know to call if they go inside someone else's house to play, they know to let me know where they will be.  Sometimes they forget, and pay a consequence.  They learn from it.

I live in the suburbs.  In Kansas.  No, its not Mayberry, but it ain't Gary, Indiana either.  It's green lawns and big, fenced yards and lots of Keeping up With the Jones, with a little splash of Desperate Housewives.  It's pretty safe.  Yet there are children who live within direct line-of-sight of my yard who are not allowed to come play in my backyard, even while a parent is outside doing something like lawnmowing or washing the car, because then that parent doesn't have an eye trained directly on that child.  This, I do not understand.

I was a latchkey kid in the 80's.  I went to after school care when younger, but by the time I was in 4th grade, I had my own key to the house on the same chain as my bike lock key.  I was responsible for my 1st grader brother, and I came home every day after school and watched TV and beat him up and ate white chocolate baking squares for snack out of the pantry.  My brother and I called my mom at work half a dozen times every afternoon to tattle on the other one (the rule was we could not leave the house, she could call us at ANY TIME and if we didn't answer our butts were toast.  This was before caller id and even answering machines, at least at my house.)  It may not have been the arrangement my mother preferred, but it was the arrangement that fit in her pocketbook at the time, and we all survived. 

When my kids were younger, yes, I watched them outside more carefully, I wanted to be there in case they fell off a bike, or to make sure they weren't riding out into the street in front of a zooming teenager in a giant SUV.  But also, I wanted to be out there because I didn't want to be the mommy letting all the other mommies watch my kids, since they were all out there being paranoid anyway.  Although, the mommy  camaraderie, and for a few blissful minutes of not doing anything else but standing around, was fun in a busy world.  But now, I have shit to do, people.  My kids, 5 and 7, are quite capable of taking care of themselves outside.   

This despite that sometimes one of them comes running into the house to tattle on some behavior I would have interfered with had I been out there.  Or for that matter, someone comes in bleeding and crying.  That's called, Oh I don't know, BEING KIDS.  It's why we have Bactine and Band-Aids and kisses for making it all better, and tissues to wipe away the tears.  And we then give them a cookie and send their asses back outside.

And yes, sometimes I come out of my front door screaming because I walk by a window and see them doing something I don't like, for instance, shooting a nerf gun too close to someone's face or sitting on the top of the playset roof, or trying to reach down in the sewer out by the curb with a long stick.  I'm sure my neighbors think, "Well, if she were out here watching she would have noticed that before it became a problem!" 

Look, I do have helicopter parent tendencies.  I am right now questioning my judgement in allowing my oldest to go to a laser tag birthday party coming up soon.  I don't like them playing with guns, at all, but I have forced myself to chill out on that as they've gotten a little older and can understand rules about shooting near the face, etc.  They are boys, and I have to let them play boy games and not suppress the natural tendencies.  I am the first one to react when I hear that something has happened at school, either with a teacher or another student.  And I have always been rather hyper about self-esteem and ADHD issues that may affect my kids negatively, as I don't want them to go through what happened to me as a kid in school along those lines. 

But in the end, I think I'm a pretty easy going parent.  I want my kids to know that I'll always be there for them when they need me, but they have to learn their own way.  I don't want them to go off to college and think they can do what they want, I'll always rescue them.  I want them to have the right decision making skills, and kids don't get that by being told what to think or do, they get it by learning it the hard way.  By being allowed to get into those tough spots and making a choice, right or wrong. 

Would I let my nine year old take public transportation, alone?  Can't say.  But I don't live where that's even an option.  If I had grown up in NYC, knew the city and subway lines and how it worked, I would probably be more comfortable. 

Friday wine goodness: Heart Healthy Linky Love.

So, we've all heard the reports that red wine is good for your heart.  There are many (try google, or digg).  But this one is the best I've ever seen:

Drinking wine can maintain heart health, prevent cancer and even settle a mean case of diarrhea. Research now shows it’s also good for your teeth and throat.

Sore throats! Gingivitis! (Er, nevermind the teeth staining part, that's why they invented Crest Whitestrips, yes?) And lo, diarrhea!  I KNEW there was a reason I love wine.  Maybe that will offset all those FiberOne bars I've been eating to try and lose weight.  Thanks to Bob Green and Oprah, who knew their world domination plan included keeping people in the bathroom all damn day.  Ahem. 

Anyway, other things are good for the heart, too, of course.  This is the part where I shamelessly plug my kid's fundraising efforts, Jump Rope for the Heart, sponsored by the American Heart Association.  If you're bored and feel like donating to his little online fundraising page, be my guest.  The online donation has a minimum of $25 though (greedy bastards) so if you want to do something but not that much, email me and I'll do it manually.

Also, speaking of links, you may have noticed a new little bauble up in my left sidebar, Feel Your Boobies!  (Yes you can say that on TV, as Heather says)  A breast cancer awareness site.  A friend of mine was recently diagnosed with breast cancer, and this site is awesome.  I've long been a supporter of the Susan G. Komen Foundation, but hey, the more awareness we can get for this disease, the better.  Click away.  Feel free to drink and click, in fact!

(Could I get more links in this post?)

Its going to be rainy and stormy all weekend here, so it looks like no soccer or planting bushes for me .  I guess I'll have to stay in and drink wine and let Wii parent for me.

(Anybody love that Wii song as much as me? Lordy.)

(Although this one is hilarious!  Wii goes all Tarantino on your ass! Ha!)