Some Concrete Is Best Suited for Headstones

***Apologies now, I realize this is an old topic, but it never posted***

Moving on now.

I really am.  I'm not interested in whether anyone "believes" my position or someone else's position on any given subject.  It's obvious that I deal exclusively in facts and that hurts people's feelings sometimes.

They need to get over it.

The dude that owns the Clippers made some racist remarks.

And people....people that I KNOW?  They got all kinds of upset that people close to that old wrinkly nutsack set him up and coerced him into saying the N word.  And now we're supposed to feel BAD for him because....he has CANCER.

NO.  He IS A CANCER.

I digress.

I simply was trying to point out that despite anyone's shining public service, their years of planning a project, devoting time away from their family, their hours of volunteering and fundraising and whatnot....there were....rules violated along the way.  There were Idaho Open Meeting Laws that were sidestepped.  There were two sides of a fence played.  There were hands that were unclean when the table was approached.  There were statements made, on the record, then promptly denied.  There have been statements made and out there IN PRINT on the interwebz just BEGGING for someone to research for themselves that absolutely are in conflict with what is being said....but LO....it's easier to just say, "That lady is being a meanyhead and acting like a 6 year old."

Yep.  That's me.  The meanyhead who fact-finds for a living, who digs up truth, gets it on the table, and THEN formulates the best, most FAIR decision for everyone.  That's me.  I don't know any other way to do it.  I'm not in any business that forces me to sell my soul to the Devil to get ahead in life.  I'm not in sales, I don't advertise on my blog, I have like....3 readers....and I'm not out to win any popularity contests.  If you're gonna drop me as a friend for calling someone out on their bullshit, don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out.

I guess I got it from one of MY Grandmas...maybe because she wasn't rich...DIDN'T have a gold convertible....didn't have a car AT ALL.  But she COULD smell bullshit a mile away.

She also, likely without hesitation, fed a kid who tagged along home with my uncle, a kid who was getting the sense knocked out of him by his own grandma, his grandma who took him in when his impossibly heartbreaking parent situation left no other option.  My grandma did it up until my great grandpa heard the kid's grandma was looking for him and, that, along with his patience running thin at the already full-of-kids dinner table, ran him off one night, and I'll say it's likely her only regret was not standing up to her own father that night and keeping the kid there.

That kid didn't go home.  He hunkered down by the creek that night.  But not all night.  Hunger kicked in and he found himself, like other children of The Great Depression, a sudden burglar, breaking into the local store for something to put in his belly.  When the noise rousted the owners, events of that night turned south, and that kid cowered in a hiding place, pointed the gun borrowed from a friend's house out into the dark and squeezed, its bullet landing in the skull of the local Sheriff who'd come to check out the ruckus.

Oh, how influential we are if only by accident on shaping the path that children will follow.  How infinitely more important that influence is than any measure of self-important influence we may wish to have around our business associates or social circles.  How differently things could have been for everyone involved had one more adult been a bit more understanding, compassionate, patient.

I wasn't there, I can't imagine the hollow feeling that crept through everyone who'd had a chance to do the right thing and didn't.  But that was a different time.  Lucky for us, THIS is a different time.  We have a chance to stand up to those who don't really have the best interest of our children at heart, who have lost sight of the real cost of not taking care of our youth.  Because if we can't do that, and nobody uses that pristine chunk of concrete, it's essentially a monument, and in my book, a pristine chunk of concrete used as a monument is better known as a headstone.  It seems that those decision makers we have selected to run our show are more interested in having a facility serve as their own personal legacy landmark than they really are having it be a community spot for growth and recreation for our youth.

And if you look through history and what happens when we turn our backs on our youth, I believe the results speak for themselves.


Would it have killed you to let them have fun?

On a sidenote, if you're curious to know how things played out for that kid or you're just into local history, I really recommend you pick up a copy of The Boy Who Shot The Sheriff by Nancy Bartley.  Let me know what you thought of it, or if you've already read it, tell us what you think.  It's a great look into how our nation learned to face its deficiencies in facing youth crime and how ill-equipped we were to nurture the children they still remained despite their actions.  Anyone in the periphery of CASA, juvenile probation, foster care, or even our school system is well served to observe and learn from this piece.

The Night Clayton Helped Volbeat Rock Spokane

Most people know that we don't so much allow our kids to participate in things like organized sports because we have such crazy schedules and unless the boys happened to both end up wanting to play the same sport and be on the same team, logistically it's just not happening for them.  Instead, we opt to cram in concentrated family fun times, like Spring Break, where for a few days we enjoyed an indoor waterpark where Esten accidentally showed everyone his genitals and Clayton made quick friends with an online child predator who claimed to be an 8 year old girl named "PuppyLover" who was playing MineCraft and who wondered if anyone "was going swimming" that day.

They returned to school, but didn't finish out the whole week before I had to send a reminder email to both teachers that they'd be out on Friday as well so their father could take them to a concert:
*********************

Subject: Esten/Clayton attendance 4/11/2014

Hi Ladies,

As an official reminder (since I'm sure the boys have been nice enough to let you know) neither of them will be in school on Friday, 4/11/2014.

Their FATHER is taking them to Spokane to a real-live rock show at the Knitting Factory to see Volbeat.

I have been assured that there is some sort of child-friendly alcohol-free area and he's made arrangements with the management to get them in and settled early before the crowd arrives.

:\ I'm not sure how to feel about this. Anyway, please let me know if this email is NOT sufficient and if I STILL need to call the office in the morning, I'm happy to do that.

~Heather

I expected some backlash. A little bit of....something. No. This is what I got:

Esten has most definitely informed me of his SUPER FUN plans. You only get to be 9 once. I think it's wonderful that they are having a guys night.
I'm playing hookie tomorrow as well. Now I don't feel so bad.
Thanks for letting us know.

and....

Lol, oh boy! That sounds wild, they are going to have SO MUCH FUN! I will forward your email to our secretary, so she can count them as absent tomorrow.

Thank you and I hope you don't worry too much ;)

*********************
 

These gals got it.  They've known the boys long enough to know how they've grown to love this band and what this opportunity meant to them.  For those who maybe haven't heard of this band, a little background:

Jason had loaded a few songs on Esten's iPod after hearing them on satellite radio's Octane channel just because he wanted to use the smaller one for running one day and then forgot to remove them later.  One day in the car Esten made a random request from the backseat, "Can we listen to 'Heaven Nor Hell'?" and we exchanged confused parental glances.

 

 

"How do you know about that song?"

 

 

"It's on my iPod."

 

 

Esten's interest in the band continued to grow at that point, and he knew every word to every song he had at that point, and he began researching them and telling Jason about other songs and albums he needed to download.

Originally from Denmark, they are consistent metal chart toppers in Europe and have toured with Metallica.  It didn't take long for Volbeat obsession to take hold in our house.

The kids have Volbeat shirts that they insisted on wearing for picture day.  They have other Volbeat shirts that I felt might violate dress code because one has a noose on it that I thought may be considered a weapon or the shirt might flat-out scare a kindergartner.  I made Esten pack an extra shirt in his backpack and said if anyone told him to change he was not to be sassy.  Later on I asked whether anyone said anything. 
 

"Yeah...the Principal said 'Hey dude, cool shirt' and he gave me a high five."

I cornered the Principal about that and asked why he didn't call my kid out on a dress code violation.

"Trust me.  You have great kids.  Your kids are the absolute LEAST of my worries at school."

It became a running joke so much so that even our Elf was a Volbeat fan:



Esten, proclaiming a Volbeat song title reminds him of me.
This is boy talk for "I LOVE YOU", by the way....

So many fans are there in our house that Jason made a promise to the boys that if they ever toured the Northwest that he would take them.

Then they released tour dates including Spokane in March, 2013.  And he balked.  I bought him a single ticket for his birthday that year, albeit begrudgingly, because 1) I knew he would probably buy one for himself anyway, and 2) the venue they were playing was undergoing challenges at that time with violent activity including shootings during and after some shows.  The city almost shut the doors on the business but in the end did not.  I had a hard time letting my husband go there, but I certainly wasn't about to let my kids go.

After he and his friends attended, he was even more convinced the kids would have loved it.  The Knitting Factory had a designated non-alcohol area that was separated and elevated.  He made up his mind that if Volbeat didn't get too big for their britches and if they made another pass around through Spokane, the kids were definitely going.  When the dates went up for 2014 and Spokane was on the list, he bought 3 tickets.

Just to allay his fears, Jason reached out to the management at the Knitting Factory before buying the tickets to tell them he was considering buying the tickets and bringing two kids.  They were more than gracious to work with him and made arrangements to let them in early before the crowd, get them settled in the appropriate area, and took care of all their needs.  They really treated my guys like VIPs and they didn't have to.  They weren't getting any extra money and could have easily told him to pound sand.  They deserve recognition for going above and beyond for us.

Before we go in: don't talk to Shady Ladies,
and remember to wash your hands.



Horns, check.
Volbeat shirts, check.
Hearing protection, check.

They got to see the stage and Jason got to see the kids' eyes light up when they went in to check it out before things got busy and the bands were setting up.  Two other bands were there before Volbeat, Digital Summer and Trivium.  Let's just say I've never heard of them but from the sounds of it had I been there and witnessed it I'd have said "Get in the car boys.....we're outta here."  But again...concerts aren't really my thing.  Conway's still dead and other people usually suck in person.

After Trivium finished there was a bit of an intermission while Volbeat was setting up.  Jason stopped a security guy to ask about how to get Esten up on the stage.  He knew enough about Volbeat's concert habits that they play their set list, then during their encore set there is a song written for their fans called "Thanks" during which they will bring up any kids that are in attendance that want to come up on stage.  A second security guy told him to have both kids ready at the left of the stage after their encore and he would make sure they got up there.

He flashed them his best most excited devil horns.

"WHO'S THE BEST DAD?!?!?!"

"YOU ARE!!!!"

"WHO'S HAVING A GREAT NIGHT?!?!?!"

"WE ARE!!!"

"WHO LOVES ROCK AND ROLL?!?!?!"

"WE DO!!!"

Then the lights went down, the stage lights came up, Volbeat came out and Esten saw his music hero, lead singer Michael Poulsen.....and they were going CRAZY jumping up and down.




(photo courtesy: http://www.volbeat.dk/3/route666/11-apr-2014-us-spokane-wa-14--854-.html)

I imagine the feeling, at this point, being equivalent to how my sister in law Mandy must have felt as she tore holes in her pantyhose at the excitement of seeing New Kids on the Block.

"I LOVE YOU DONNIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!"

*Fun Fact: I was at the same concert and did not tear holes in my pantyhose.

Jason knew that getting up on stage would be right up his alley and it was getting to be time as their set list was winding up and was dreading dragging two little nuggets through wall to wall people who had, for the most part, been drinking throughout the performances of two and a half bands by this point.  It would be like voluntarily walking into a worst-night scenario on the job, except taking your kids along too.  He instructed them carefully, one to take a hold of his shirt, the other to hold onto his brother's shirt, so that they would not be separated in the crowd.

They each immediately grabbed ahold of their OWN shirts and pulled them straight out.  He redirected them.  Twice.  But with the ear protection and Volbeat blaring in the background it was difficult for them to understand.  Once they figured it out they snaked their way through sweaty and questionable fans to the checkpoint.  They were told to sit on the steps until it was time.

"Esten, I wish I was going up there with you."

Then Jason could see Esten's eyes tearing up.

"I don't want to do this, Dad, I never wanted to do it."

WHAT.THE.HELL.

Apparently bit by the stage fright bug or something, we finally got out of him that he was afraid that he was going to mess up.  He literally thought they were going to make HIM SING THE SONG.

OMG.  This band is just about all Esten talks about.  The lead singer, Michael Poulsen is his hero in the way most kids like sports figures.  It's crazytown.  He's a volcano of Volbeat trivia.  He just locked up.



Voted most likely to be what Esten wants to be when he grows up,
By Esten.
(photo courtesy http://www.volbeat.dk/3/route666/11-apr-2014-us-spokane-wa-14--854-.html)

Will only know lyrics to next released album 5 minutes before

Esten Lee knows lyrics to next album.

So Jason schlepped them back through the crowd, each with a fist full of each other's shirts until they got back to their spot where Clayton tugged on Jason's shirt.

"Dad.....but I wanted to go up on stage."

This is where having had some family there helped.  Jason planted Esten with a cousin and prepared to take Clayton back through the gauntlet....again.  Once they got back to the steps they waited a couple songs for the cue.  The singer made the announcement for kids to come up and the bouncer made a beeline for Jason.  He looked down at Clayton then back at Jason.

This is how a Rock Star looks when he's warming up.

"Where's the other one?"

Before he knew it, Clayton was being swept away, up onto the stage.  Jason went down in front of the barriers in the "no access area" with his cell phone out to document it.  He was looking around and waiting and finally he saw...his son....strutting across the stage like a BOSS throwing up his best devil horns.

Clayton - playing to the crowd, ignoring the bras hanging around
just like mom's on the bathroom doorknobs.

The video really speaks for itself.  With a dozen or so other kids who are living out probably a once in a lifetime opportunity (and everyone handles stages differently) Clayton is obviously in his own world.  He is oblivious to what's going on around him.  He has no idea.  He's just rocking it.  Hard.  Even the bass player is a little unsure of what he's looking at.  Afterward, he gave Clayton his wristband.

Do yourself a favor.  Stop everything and watch this video right now by clicking this link, then come back and finish the rest of the story...if you can stop smile/laughing/crying.  It's the coolest, even if I'm biased:

Click to follow link: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GI2Cz87_c9w

Belting.It.Out.

Inspiring the bass player to abandon his bass and try air guitar instead.

They're a real power house duo, he is so into it he has no idea anyone
famous is RIGHT THERE.

The guitar player wants in on this jam session. This kid is a natural.

Committed to the craft. Focus. Drive.

Clayton gets the bassist's wristband. Probably the first time he even
realizes he's there.

Can't leave without a high five from Michael Poulsen.

With his sweet wristband, which has the initials AK on
the back, for Anders Kjolholm. Clayton promptly wanted
to wear it outside to play basketball the next day.

Afterward they made their way back to Esten and all the way they were met by new superfans who were smitten.  Justin Bieber had nothing on Clayton that night.

And Esten?  Regrets horribly his decision.  A life lesson, this.  Never pass up an opportunity out of fear or misunderstanding.  Go for it, balls out.

Outside people were continuing to cheer Clayton on.  As they crossed the street and they were calling out he turned to face them (while still walking backward), threw up his devil horns at them again, and said, "Dad....I've got swagger like a jaguar."

Later, a friend would text Jason to say  "Just walked by a group of ladies on the sidewalk saying that little kid with the headphones? Cute as shit! He was the best of all of them."

As is customary, their tour posted pictures on their website and linked them to their Facebook page marking their latest stop that night, and wouldn't you know....

Clayton's cute mug was right there to even out our running count for media coverage tit-for-tat that we all know my kids scratch each other's eyeballs out over while they eat their Lucky Charms in the morning.  Clayton had still been licking his wounds after the last City Council meeting when Esten and I had gotten up to tear ass about the scooter ban situation but he had been.....

TOO SHY TO GET UP AND TALK.

He was super pissed that Esten ended up on the news and said he would have rethought his position if he had that info in the beginning.

Some of the fans took to the Facebook comments:

And that kid rocked it, too!! He'll be heading up his own band in no time :)

That kid rocked it! Great concert Volbeat!

(photo courtesy: http://www.volbeat.dk/3/route666/11-apr-2014-us-spokane-wa-14--854-.html)

(photo courtesy: http://www.volbeat.dk/3/route666/11-apr-2014-us-spokane-wa-14--854-.html)

 The greatest part of all this is that our kids got to experience this truly amazing thing and the next day they were just up and out the door and playing with the neighborhood kids and back to normal life.  It probably won't hit them for a few years until Volbeat gets even more mainstream just how awesome this was and then it will hit them like a ton of bricks.  They.Were.There.

Clayton.Did.That.

And he did it like a champ.  And I'm super proud of him for giving it his all like that.  I hope it's not long before they come this way again and Esten will remember how this went down and they'll be up there together next time.

I've Got Your Bird....Right Here

Monday

Greetings Friends! As you know, I am an AVID birdwatcher, but my friends and I keep getting into trouble when folks catch us sneaking a peek at the chickadees perched in the dogwoods in their backyards.

Tired of returning to court to deal with restraining orders, we decided to start a fundraiser to install Birdwatching Benches by the ponds where a perennial mix of ducks and Canadian geese gather to fluff their feathers so that the whole community can share what we have grown to love over the years.

Tuesday

OK people, so apparently nobody's going to kick in any money and the City says in order for them to donate the land that the benches would sit on and to justify tax money supporting any part of this project, SOMEONE has to come up with at least 50 grand to break ground.  I guess I'll do it myself. I SINCERELY would appreciate some backing here.  I am seriously getting tired of being harassed by my neighbor every time he catches me in his yard. The cops know my birthdate by heart. Let's make this happen. Oh, and they said since I'm putting in so much of my own money the bench grouping will be known as the "DayLeeFix Dirtybird Depot". Sweeeet! Stand by and be looking for a sign you guys!!

Wednesday

Found a way to help the process along. Volunteered for the Advisory Board, because apparently nobody at the city knows ANYTHING about birdwatching benches. Who has never heard of birdwatching benches?? Jeebus I hate this backward town. CANNOT WAIT TO MOVE, YO. On the plus, they're going to go with whatever I say. Lolz, for real has this town ever heard of Google??? Whatevs, though. They like don't question ANYTHING I tell them. AT ALL.

Thursday

Great news!!  Birdwatching benches are installed, complete with built in hooks for binocular straps. They are thee coolest.  Super super sick.  Come check them out everyone, for real.

Friday

Super bad news guys.  I went to enjoy the birdwatching benches and every one of them was being sat on by like....just regular PEOPLE. And...like....KIDS....and they were just....eating ice cream and they weren't even LOOKING at the birds. In FACT, they were being so noisy with their joyful laughter that half the birds flew away. One kid was even standing on the bench. With his SHOES on. And some of them were wearing bluejeans...like really gross MOM JEANS with metal rivets that were scratching the benches and some of them were fat so the scratches were really deep. WTF? Everyone knows birdwatching benches are not to be sat on in bluejeans, they're meant to be sat on in khakis.  I won't stand for this. I invested a LOT of my personal money so that this COMMUNITY could ENJOY these birdwatching benches. That kind of comes with the understanding that I get to be in charge and make the rules. This is BS.

Monday

Whew.  Crisis averted.  Got my birdwatching buddies together and went to the Council and explained to them the situation, about how dangerous it is for kids to be on those benches because one might sneak up on me and if I lower my binocs too quickly I might elbow one in the head and I just have their safety in mind, and how those jeans are damaging my investment and sometimes a rogue cameltoe appears in my lens and distracts from my birdwatching experience and whatnot, and how they were NEVER MEANT or designed to be used for ANYTHING but birdwatching (HELLO they're called BIRDWATCHING BENCHES for a reason, not SITTING BENCHES). So they passed an ordinance banning children or anyone wearing jeans or anyone too fat or eating ice cream from just sitting on the benches effective immediately.  I feel so much better now that we can get back to the community enjoying the birdwatching benches. If those people want SITTING BENCHES they should do their OWN fundraiser like I had to and get their OWN in another area, instead of complaining after the fact that they can't sit on mine anymore. Sheesh. What is WRONG with people. I paid the most....how is this complicated??

Twenty Year...Wait, What?!

A friend of mine from Facebook land is pretty consistent with her Throwback Thursday posts.  Oh, how I do enjoy having friends who don't take themselves so seriously that they can take us with them down memory lane, scrunchies, perms, and all.  One day some of us were feeling supportive of her and didn't want her to wallow alone in the tears of our laughter, so we ponied up our worst on her thread to show our sisterly solidarity....though most of us were strangers.  That's how it works.

That picture of me, however, just like the pictures of all of us...were pretty serious business at some point in history.  Mine?  I was sixteen years old.  SIXTEEN. YEARS. OLD. And it was my Senior picture.  WTF?

I don't know if this should be more embarrassing for me (then or now) or Ralph Lauren and/or the entire United States of America (then or now) but my sweater....well....it....coordinates with the monstrosity that our athletes are to only wear inside the official Olympic village and nowhere else, lest they be assaulted.  Yes.  Obviously.  Anyone, anywhere would beat someone up for wearing that outfit.  I would beat up my OWN kid for wearing that outfit.  I'm joking.  I wouldn't let my kid wear that outfit.  I'd make him drop out of the Olympics.

 

Red, White, and Bluetiful.

What's Black and White
and
Permy all over?



Lucky for the world that I'm taken and that MY sweater is long gone because can you say "POWER COUPLE"?  Kidding, again.  He's probably what?  Nineteen?  And he looks humiliated, like when you put a sweater on a dog that's just not that into it.

Unlucky for him this pic is gonna haunt him for a long time.  Like mine did.  First willingly when I was being a good sport, then, when I joined a lovely group of ladies planning out our 20th class reunion.

Urk.  Just typing that out makes my throat swell up.  Da hubs had his last year, which was fine because there were like 29 people in his class, they feel like family, and, well....he's OLD.  This is getting personal.  And there's like 330 give or take from my class.

This group has been fluid and flexible, opening up the "committee" to whomever cares to show up at the posted venue at the posted time, allowing decisions to be made by the majority showing up there and putting some things to a vote on a Facebook group wall, and somehow organized with the help of one amazingly together lady who doesn't even live here.  I've missed all but the last meeting because of our crazy home schedule, but I finally made it to one, to scan through our yearbook and through the list of names of classmates we had yet to reach to see if we could, as a little group, get our feelers out a little wider than before.

 

This giant group reaching far and wide that we could barely get our minds around, let alone our arms around.  We even tried to fit them neatly into the categories we knew they never belonged in to begin with, attempting to bully the one "cowgirl" at the table to track down anyone wearing a cowboy hat in their picture.  We laughed, acknowledging that the labels of high school didn't fit then and didn't define us as people any more than the jobs or spouses we have define us now.

It stymies me what twenty years will do to a group of that size, blowing us the 4 directions of the wind, making us parents, grandparents, married 20 years to one person, divorced, remarried, still single, sinners, saints, and angels.  We've had tragedy, success, love, loss, and laughter.  We've stayed together, lost touch, reconnected, remembered, and forgotten.  We are graying, coloring, balding, fat, skinny, angry, happy, confused, and content.

As we flipped through the pages I began to wonder whether the publisher just made up some of the names or whether I had actually attended school with these people at all.  There were faces I knew but their names I did not.  Names I had heard but faces my eyes had never seen.  It was obvious what twenty years had done to me.  It had turned my brain into my Grandma's.  The one that doesn't know anyone.

When you see reunion scenes in movies or on TV, there's always the lady sitting at a table passing out name tags, and she's the only who seems to remember everyone, right?  No.  I realize now it's only because, through the planning process, she reacquainted her brain with everyone that she SEEMS to remember everyone, but I know now that lady is just like me, humped over a hardback full of black and whites, thinking "Who the hell is this?  Did this guy REALLY go to school with us?  He looks FORTY...look...he has a full-on moustache.  He must have been the janitor."

We apparently didn't do a great job distinguishing our foreign exchange students either, because we integrated them so well we had to just go off "memory" for which ones they were, and I, not wanting to hurt anyone's feelings or purport to know how they'd like to spend their summer holiday, suggested that we SHOULD, in fact, send an invite to Spain.

OK....so I might NOT have been the most helpful person at the table, obviously.  I also mistook alive persons for dead persons and vice-versa.  However, I would never make a definitive declarative statement without validation first.  Like, you know...obituary level verification.  You have to admit though....zipping through your mental Rolodex for 330 people you may or may not have seen for 20 years when you may or may not be able to remember the names of your maybe or maybe not three children that may or may not be yours is....difficult.

In all, progress was made, assignments given, and fun....yes fun was had.  I'm happy that I had the opportunity to share in this stage of what's "officially" just a weekend later this year but is really extending, for me at least, into more than that.  To dip my toe slowly back into the hot tub time machine, so that perhaps by the time the summer rolls around, I may be the crazy lady who hands you a name tag and knows who you are.





Part Two of: My Crappy Parenting < Your Crappy Parenting

I'm standing by for the inevitable shitstorm this will create, but regardless:

Part II of: My Crappy Parenting < Your Crappy Parenting

I wish this were a followup to the first part, an update of where that story has gone, but sadly, all I can tell you is that the guy didn't show for court, a warrant was issued, but I don't think anyone's going to make a big fuss about finding him because it was a misdemeanor anyway.

No, this is a different parent I'm getting judgy about.  But again I'll preface it by reminding you that I am, by all accounts, inadequate myself.  However lacking I may be, there sometimes occurs crappy parenting that seeps over into my home that causes me to pause and reflect.  THIS was just another one of those times.

After the first of the year I got around to taking down the Christmas decorations.  The tree was last, as I dreaded dealing once again with the partially non-functioning lighted artificial tree that I'd sweet talked into lighting up after Thanksgiving.  I grouched about it giving us ONE MORE YEAR but swore that this would be its final holiday as, while it did serve us proudly over the years, it's a little short for our ceilings and needs desperately to be replaced with a taller version.  As I approached removing the decorations I prepped for organization. Ornaments get sorted by color, glitter ornaments alone in a zip lock bag to keep from fairy dusting everything else in the box, and a separate place for all the homemade ornaments that the kids have made and brought home from school.

 

As I sifted through the kids' creations I noticed one that had made it to the tree without my prior after-school inspection.  It was a wish list written on a scroll made out of a thread spool painted red, tied with a ribbon and had a scrap of tape attached with a name on it.  The name didn't belong to my kids.  Even if no name was attached, the items made it evident none of my kids wrote this list to Santa.  It contained camo, five firearms, a crossbow, and ammo.  What it did NOT contain was ANY TOYS.  No Legos, not a bike, no electronics, and none of the guns were of the NERF variety.  The firearms were specific and I'll picture them here for your reference.  The photos are benign and not sensationalized or modified or pictured with bleeding animal carcasses to get a rise out of anyone.  They're just so you have an idea of what this kid, who is SEVEN YEARS OLD, was asking SANTA to bring him.



This gun is described as useful for taking down
BUFFALOS AND ELEPHANTS



(big5sportinggoods.com)

TWO different, specific shotguns.
(big5sportinggoods.com)

 

 



Ammo. I assume for all of them.



A Crossbow, for when a gun is too noisy.
(deeranddeerhunter.com)

 

 

OK.  So now that we have digested that.  This is where I say my crappy parenting is not as bad as your crappy parenting.  This kid's mom is missing the point.  In a big way.  When your kid's Santa list contains NO toys, you have failed a little as a parent.  I'm sorry.  I'm not anti gun, I'm not anti hunting.  I'm not beating a path to the Principal's office to have this kid hauled off to jail or counseling.  I AM concerned that THIS kid at 12 is going to be someone to have a conversation about due to his obvious obsession with firearms should a variable get thrown in, like any instability at home, or raging teenager hormones or an anger problem....so don't think I'm taking my eye off him any time soon.  In the meantime, my kid is not allowed to go play at this kid's house.  The only salvageable thing I can think to pull out of this is A) at least he was asking Santa for this stuff, so she's not COMPLETELY a monster to me, and B) he's my son's friend, so I am hopeful for the time that they spend together because I know that my kid has redirected him as to the acceptable rules of the school.  I'm incredibly proud of both of them for that.

 

Now let the political finger pointing begin....I'm sure.  But before that happens, I'll let you in on what I was doing at 8 years old.  At 8 years old I was writing a cease and desist letter to the local newspaper demanding that they immediately stop making fun of President Reagan via political cartoons (which I had recently discovered at that time and was appalled and disgusted about) or I would PERSONALLY tell him what they were saying about him and they would be in BIG TIME TROUBLE WITH THE WHITE HOUSE.

 

And wouldn't you know?  The newspaper did NOT stop.  Instead, they just printed my letter in the opinion section.  My Grandpa was super proud.  He cut that out and beamed at me and read it over and over again.  Those ay-holes.

 

I wrote that because I was taught that we had to respect the Office of the President, and by virtue, The President.  That you were not to say bad things about The President.  Granted, this may have been presented in the way that less "Freedom of Speech" countries operate, as in "do not speak ill of the President, lest they come lop off your lips"....or I may have just interpreted it that way.  Nonetheless I had a healthy respect for him and behaved as such.  It translated and trickled down into RESPECT FOR OTHER ADULTS.

 

So I look around now and I see so many of the same people who say things like "Kids these days have no respect for adults and just need a spanking" are the same ones who are saying things IN FRONT OF THEIR KIDS wishing a range of outcomes from impeachment to death upon the leader of the free world.  I know this to be true because my kids are coming home from school with furrowed brows asking who I voted for and then relaying that "Little Johnny says Obama's a jerkface because he's making it so nobody can afford insurance and he should go back to Africa."

 

I understand that people are polarized by politics.  Everyone is entitled to their opinions.  Everyone should educate themselves and their families about what's best for them.  It's not okay, however, to have age inappropriate conversations with and around your children that ultimately, whether you like it or not, is teaching them to behave disrespectfully.  The rest of us are trying to do the best we can and would appreciate you not screwing your kids up in that process because whether you believe me or not, I care about your kid too.  And, well....Roswell happened yesterday.  And other schools before Roswell, and realistically, other schools will happen after Roswell.  So I get to have an opinion about this.  That's why your kid's ornament is in my garbage.  A move that normally would never happen at my house...where misplaced homework always gets returned to owner.  Not this time.  Sorry.

Christmas Past and Christmas Presents

In a big family it's hard to cram everyone's festivities within the allotted days on a standard calendar.  I was only issued 31 days for December this year, not sure about you.  As we inch closer to the big day within a brood that puts an importance on both old and new traditions, this year I have had a few moments to take pause to soak in some things that transcend time.

Christmas Past

There exists a series of home movies that my husband converted for his mom and contains what I would call....priceless footage of he and his sisters and cousins doing what all children of the 80's did: using a giant video camera without parental supervision to entertain themselves for hours and in doing so preserving, like a time capsule: trendy outfits, questionable haircuts, and evidence of days gone by when they may not have gotten along as well as they do today.  They also display their tremendous performing arts abilities, choreography and lip-syncing skills across all genres, including music from artists such as:

Vanilla Ice
The Judds
Dolly Parton
Joan Jett....lots and lots of Joan Jett.

With a groan and an eyeroll, the two youngest sisters who are the stars of the "Best Christmas Performance Ever" object but are overruled when the crowd requests that the DVD be crammed in the player for us all to laugh at to get us in the holiday mood.

So we see a younger version of the youngest sister, hair wild from over-teasing and following the instructions being given by the oldest sister running the camera, we watch as she headbangs on the bigscreen and aren't really at all surprised when her son, not yet in school, starts to shake his bonbon to the music he hears and it becomes apparent that he definitely gets his moves from his mother.

Yessssssss.  But later, in addition to Dolly "Walkin' In A Winter Wonderland" and after I wipe my tears of laughter away from the preteen girls screaming at their brother to "GET OUUUUUT!!!!" after walking through and ruining ANOTHER take, I notice something different in one of the clips.  One of the cousins is huddled in the corner with a smirk, just like a couple boys in the room with us today.  Our "boys" (18+), we know are giggling over something on one of their phone screens and we know it's probably not appropriate.  I ask what the cousin on the video is doing.  Jason laughs. 

"Drawing dirty pictures with an Etch-a-Sketch."

New video footage was made this year, including some sledding action that was pretty awesome.  I look forward to the day that our kids will groan with embarrassment when we force them to let us watch them over and over again too.  I hope they're the good sports that my sister in laws are (really, you guys are good sports, and you're awesome, and I love you).  Sorry, rest of the world that's not our family, the old video series is not available on YouTube....yet.

Christmas Presents

My kids love getting gifts from Grandma more than Santa because they actually get what they want from Grandma.  Maybe because they don't ask Grandma for things like an iPhone5 or a laptop.  At any rate, it's a win-win situation and they love it.  Plus, there's nowhere else you can get an endless supply of sugar, exactly the present that you wanted, and each family walks away with a tetherball pole to say "Hey Chuck....I'm the only one in my neighborhood with my own personal tetherball pole, so suck it".

The grownups get very personalized gifts as well.  As the hubs and I sat next to each other and unwrapped our respective boxes and held up our treasures, he examined my purple sweater with the oversized jeweled button and proclaimed in his outside voice [which he insists is his inside voice and that I should just calm down], "That looks like a grandma sweater."  Then he promptly pulled teenager clothes out of his box.  Two hoodies and a puffy vest.  They each were exactly our clothing personalities, hilariously.  I think we need a stylist who can get us each a bit closer to the midline.  I dress like an old lady who sometimes wears yoga pants and he dresses like a teenager who sometimes has a job requiring a uniform.  We have to get our act together (but I'm keeping the sweater).

Overall such a fun time crammed into too short of a day, our family busting at the seams, and Grandma Bucky making doing it all look so easy.  We are so fortunate to have her willing to wrangle our herd and put up with the shenanigans that take place there....they won't admit it now but I know for a fact my children treasure the time and memories even more than they treasure the presents, and if you know my shorties, they treasure presents a lot.

Elf OFF the Shelf

My Facebook friends are annoyed with me this month the way that my husband gets annoyed with his friends in November.

Not the ones posting the pictures of the progress of their facial hair projects.  Those, I believe he's pretty jealous of.  He tried to put his big man-foot down over a long weekend trip we took for his buddy's surprise 40th, probably to honor that friend who makes it a practice to not shave whenever he's off the job...a "stick it to the man" gesture while we're on vacation together.  My guy didn't make it very long...but he made his point.  A couple days without a razor was good enough.  Also I told him either he could shave himself or I would do it for him in his sleep but that I could not guarantee that I wouldn't cut him...or take off an eyebrow.

The posts that annoy him (hilariously) are the 30 Days of Thankfulness.  All that positivity really puts him in a lather.  You'd think that my ball-and-chain bubble of negativity would counteract it and soothe him, but alas...no.

So I spare him the stroke and I keep what I'm thankful for to myself in November.  But really every day it's the same thing, and every year the people at dinner get sick of hearing about it.  I'm thankful that none of our lives worked out the way we thought they should.  If they did, almost NOBODY at our Thanksgiving table would be sitting there.

Cheers to screwed up plans!!

So this month my friends have been unwillingly subjected to a daily picture of the incredibly nerve wracking phenomenon that is: THE ELF ON THE SHELF.  Or, as ours is usually: The Elf OFF the Shelf.  His second appearance in as many years, he joins the ranks of other creepy minis out there terrorizing children and forcing them to behave.  Apparently the appropriate behavior for this guy is to just move each night from one location to another to be found by children in the morning.  Ours is a bit more....interactive.

Fred wanted to be part of Movember too. Too late!!

Actually hiding. Daddy is the worst finder in the house.

Telling Nutcracker not to peek at the presents.
Casualties: Nutcracker's right eye and eyebrow. Oops.

Super glad the MOM stocking wasn't up yet.

It should say: "From Fred, with irony".
We have no stairs. What a joker.

The map lead to the Toys 4 Tots barrel.

Elves on Strike
"What Do We Want?
SNOW!!!
When Do We Want It?
NOW!!!"

Fred doesn't care about what's appropriate...
or the environment.



A stranger called me a bad mother over this.
She obviously doesn't realize that other
people's opinions of me don't matter....
whether I know and care about you or not.
Just kidding. The people I care about thought
this was hilarious, and that matters to me.

 

There are consequences.

 



On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me...
three anatomically correct sock monkeys.
Fred is a lousy "Toy Maker" Elf.



So that's it for now, I'll update when the month is over if he sticks around but things are about to get busy and if you didn't notice, it was May when I posted about Fred's 2012 antics.  Anyone with an Elf should feel free to rip off any ideas they see anywhere on the interwebz or from their friends because, after all, lack of sleep that comes with being a parent of any shape or size sometimes zaps our creativity.  But I have found that the best reactions from my kids are to those things that are personalized to them, that make them feel that Fred dances closer each night to that blurry twilight line between their life and his, where dreams come true and where anything is most certainly possible.  The fact that there have been some adults along the way who have been pulled kicking and screaming into our Christmas Spirit-sprinkled fantasy land?  That's a plus.  Or they've blocked me.  My friends who have their own Elf?  Know that I love them, I love that you share, and I love knowing that your shorties *whom I also love* are going to remember this for a long, long time.