keep passing the open windows

Now that my daughter is a cheerleader, instead of hearing me say:

Uh, yah, right, cheerleading is a sport. A sport where you cheer for others playing a different, better sport.

And:

Cheerleaders? A bunch of uck-stay up-ay iches-bay.

And:

God, their skirts are way too short, inappropriate for thirteen-year-olds.

I’ll be saying:

Oh, cheerleading is very athletic. As the cheerleaders say: “In football a whole team tries to catch one ball. In cheerleading two girls try to catch a person!”

And:

Cheerleaders aren’t mean. My daughter is friends with some MUCH less popular girls. (The cheerleader version of “I have a black friend.”)

And:

The skirts aren’t too short. They cover more than what most people wear to go swimming! (Yes, because cheerleading takes place on a beach?)

Obviously I have my concerns about cheerleading but am attempting to be supportive. They just have so many dumbass picky rules, such as: “You must be wearing white no-show socks; any other type or color of sock will cause you to be pulled from cheering at the game or event.”

WTF? Is cheerleading like the miliatary? Is my daugther going to be torn down, only to be built back up, part of a pyramid of pubescent peppiness?

And the drama, oh, the drama has already started. One girl called all the 8th graders to let them know who made the team. Well, “all” meant everyone OTHER than my daughter. Nice.

Plus there’s the inevitable sour grapes of some of those that didn’t make it.

Nevertheless, you can guess where I will be spending my fall… cheering for my cheerleading daughter.

Last night my son asked me, “What do you have to do to ride a motorcycle?”

Shit!

“Umm.. take safety classes, pass a test, wear a helmet. Wait for your mother to die. And even then my moldy rotting corpse will haunt you.”

I’m in a good mood.
Despite the .30 in my checking account yesterday (that turned into a -$7.53 over night!).
And the fact that I ran out of gas today after dropping Taylor off at football. At a four way stop. In the center of town.
Not one of the four people I waved through the intersection stopped to help.
Oh, and I had to push the car, in neutral, a half block so that I wasn’t blocking the intersection or a driveway.

My back aches.

BUT, I”m in a good mood.

I am reading “The Road” and I love it and hate it. I love the writing, very mental picture-inducing, but it’s heartbreaking. Extremely bleak. Nevertheless, I can’t seem to put it down.

I would definitely recommend reading “The Road” but would also suggest NOT reading it before bedtime.

My next read is the “Dexter” series of books and I actually think those-about a serial killer-will be lighter in tone.

No new developments on the Reagan boyfriend front. Actually, no development is a development, because I offered to have him attend the maroon and white scrimmage with us this Friday night and Reagan declined, saying she “just wants to hang out with friends.”

I think my assumption that she likes the idea of having a boyfriend (more than the boy himself) is right. Which is VERY good news to this mother of a headstrong thirteen-year old. (MOM! I’m almost fourteen!)

Taylor’s first day of high school went well. But yesterday, the first that involved going to the cafeteria for lunch, didn’t. Nothing disastrous, no dropped-tray-on-the-foot-of-a-brutish-senior-football-player-resulting-in-a-ruthless-pantsing. He just didn’t eat. Because he “didn’t know how the line works.” And he was unwilling to ask anyone. Poor kid. Apparently just following someone through the line and doing whatever they did didn’t occur to him.

He also had a couple of hours of homework last night, on his second day of school! Including an upcoming geometry project; he was assigned a shape, diamond, thank god, not an octagon, and has to take three photos that show a diamond shape. Two have to be outdoors, diamonds in architecture, nature, or art, and one can be from inside our house. He has to make a poster that includes the three photos and a description of “why the shape is interesting, using geometric terms.”

And the photos are due on Tuesday.

That’s the hard part; he has football practice everyday after school, a game Friday night, a practice Saturday morning and a football fundraiser Saturday afternoon.

Sunday will be not be a day of rest.

The project does sound like fun, other than the time crunch, or if we get the forecasted rain and end up taking pictures in a storm. (Hmm.. maybe my mom is right and Virgos are negative!)

We will likely go to the riverfront; there’s a bridge, a fountain, an interesting building, a playground and artwork. Lots of possiblities.

Good news! My work received “through the grapevine” word that we have another year of funding. Yay! My kids should be thrilled, as my most viable job alternative in this little town is lunch lady. Mom at school in a hairnet? Funny, if I weren’t the one wearing it!

Everyone in my family seems on edge. I don’t know if it’s just that time of year-end of summer vacation-or all the changes that are happening.

Chris started a new job (Yay!) with long hours (Boo!).

Taylor started high school today. (Yay! Sob!)

Reagan has her first “boyfriend.” (Okay, they talk on the phone and don’t actually do anything together, but still, it’s a first for her.)

Lots of new stuff going on. But still… I’m beginning to worry…

Maybe they’re just dicks?

Every one of them is driving me CRAZY. Okay, I take that back, Chris is too busy to drive me crazy, (*but “I taste like white chocolate!”); however, the kids, the kids have driven me up one wall and down the other.

Yesterday Taylor said “I hate Reagan. When I’m an adult I’m never going to see her.”

Wow, talk about heart-breaking.

And, again, Reagan didn’t do her chores. I’m frankly really sick of this-almost to the point of wanting to give up. We spend more time arguing about cleaning her room or loading the dishwasher than it would take to just do the work.

I’m frazzled. I’m like the mom in the grocery store with a toddler that keeps trying to stand in the cart seat over and over again. You see the kid trying to stand, see the mom’s gritted teeth, the lips barely moving to say “Sit. Down. Now.”

Thinking “Why is she so upset? What’s the big deal?” Not realizing that the battle has been going on since the produce section.

The constant repetition of the same misbehavior, saying the same thing, first light-heartedly, “Don’t forget to clean your room today.” Then sterner, “Why isn’t your room clean?” Followed by “Clean. Room. NOW! ” With a final, “Holy Shit! How many times do I have to say ‘clean your damn room?’”

It’s wearing me down. We’ve tried punishments; we’ve tried rewards. Nothing seems to work. I’m beginning to ponder some sort of room cleaning boot camp experience. They’ll smuggle her out in the night… take her to a cabin, force her to hang up laundry and to make her bed. Hell on Earth.

Back to reality, last night we had a serious family discussion about chores and our expectations.

“You MUST do your chores before you use the computer, the phone, play video games or watch T.V. Do you understand?”

Taylor: “Yes.”

Reagan: “Yes, I understand, but that doesn’t mean that I agree.”

That one always has to have the last word…

*Shout out to my fellow “Weeds” watching peeps!

I love the show “Weeds.” And this season, the fourth, I have developed a crush on a character, one I previously didn’t find attractive.

Silas, the son of the main character, Nancy, is totally not “my type” but somehow this season, he’s just so appealing; maybe it’s the haircut and his burgeoning sense of responsibility. I just don’t know. I was assuming he must be 18 or 19, as he doesn’t seem to be attending high school, but in the last episode his age is mentioned and he’s 17! 17!

Gross. Creepy and Gross.

When I thought he was 18, and merely 1/2 my age I wasn’t as creeped out. But 17? Next month I turn 37. That makes me 20 years older!

Somehow 2x=36 seems less egregious than x + 20=37.

(Oh, and I did search for him on IMDB and he is 21 in “real life…”)

I’m eating one of thirty Lean Cuisine Meals I bought this weekend. (Sale at Krogers + natural hoarding tendencies!)

Pizza Margherita.

I sprinkled on some red pepper flakes. Well, what I thought was red pepper flakes, until I glanced down at the jar. Salsa en polvo. WTF?

It smells really weird, kind of sweet, sort of like a cross between cinnamon and ginger, with a tinge of something that’s “un-foodlike”-mothballs?- so I babblefished it.

“Dust sauce.”

Yum.

I’m sure when my co-workers return they will be amused.

*Isn’t this right up there with “blogging about work” on the list of “things not to do on your blog?”

Over the weekend I took my fourteen-year-old son, Taylor, shopping for school clothes. Walking in to Old Navy he says, “I only want black t-shirts this year. It’ll make getting ready in the morning easier.”

What?

The kid wears the same thing everyday, come winter, spring, summer or fall, a pair of jeans, tennis shoes and a t-shirt. So does it really matter if the t-shirt is red, white, blue, gray or black?

I didn’t argue; I didn’t try to use reason, which seems to work as well with teenagers as it does toddlers. (You don’t get temper tantrums-well, not usually-but you do get an equally exasperating eye-rolling, sighing and “You just don’t understand!” combo.)

On the topic of bad behavior, over the weekend I learned from my thirteen-year-old daughter that I am:

“Mean!”

“Ruining her life!”

“Unfair!”

and that I “Love Taylor more!”

Because, yes, I MADE HER CLEAN HER ROOM.

She spent three days bitching about cleaning her room.

By day three I had had it. When she posited: “I hate it here! I would rather live on the streets!” I responded, “FINE! Sleep in a field! Eat dinner out of the trash! Get molested by random strangers! See how much you like home then!”

Yes, I think I may have crossed the line a bit with that last one. And those of you with tiny kids are probably shocked, thinking “I would never say that to my sweet, precious baby.” And I’m with you, I really am, ten years ago I couldn’t have imagined it either.

My little office has three employees. My boss, my co-worker Mari (who really works for another program and shares space with us) and me. My title involves our database but should really be “head lackey.”

We are grant-funded and have an uncertain future, funds-wise, thus we were recently discussing our resumes and how we could “beef them up” with all the stuff we do around here.

I could be “head of customer service” (I usually answer the phone), “head of human resources” (I call people’s references), “head of the sanitation department” (I take out the trash) and “head of tech support” (well… I am the one that has to call them for all tech issues!).

I suggested to Maria that she is “head of custodial services” as she cleans the office. And to Mari that she is “head of landscaping” because she waters the plants.

Umm.. maybe not the best job titles for my hispanic co-workers. Talk about stereotypes!