I’m Through. Finished. Done. Kaput.

Last Day of Middle SchoolYesterday marked the end of an era.

As of 2:45 p.m., I was finally, officially, irrevocably and irreversibly done with middle school.


If you count Jolly and Miss Jacki (and I do) I have had a child in middle school for thirteen consecutive years.  And if you’ll excuse my gratuitous use of the “F Word” French, that’s a long fucking time to deal with kids going through puberty.  I don’t know how middle school teachers do it, I really don’t – if I had to deal with that many 13-year-olds for that many hours every day, I’d have taken up residence in a padded room long before now.

Because, as Bill Cosby so eloquently stated, those people are BRAIN DAMAGED.

This week has already been stressful enough, but The Young One alternately whining about the time dragging or bouncing off the walls with nervous energy has simply made it worse – even the fish shy away when they see him coming.  But the very last day of middle school finally came, full of pizza parties and water balloon fights and yearbook signings and walking home with friends, and – thankfully – went.

Now the summer stretches before us, but before we know it August will be here and we’ll be going to freshman orientation, also for the last time.  In fact, the new school year will be replete with firsts and lasts, new beginnings and bittersweet farewells.  The end of high school for Miss Jacki, the beginning for The Young One.  The first grandchild.  What could very well be our last holiday gathering with all of our kids in attendance, at least for awhile.

Somebody pass the Geritol, please.  Or at least a bottle of scotch.

And on that note, Beloved and I are taking Miss Jacki and The Young One to Washington D.C. for five fun-filled days.  I’ll be gone from Sunday through Thursday but both Beloved and I will be taking our laptops with us (we take our laptops everywhere), so I’ll try and hop online for a few moments every day to leave a line or two and show off my new photography skills if I can.  I’ll even try to check in with all of my wonderful bloggy friends if at all possible.

Have a lovely weekend, y’all.

RTT: Marketing and Mayhem

Random Tuesday Thoughts

I almost always wake up before Beloved does, especially during the week – I like to make sure The Young One is up and ready for school (he’s actualy pretty good about it for a 14-year-old boy).  Yesterday, after he left for the bus stop, I went back to our bedroom to wake Beloved up.

Still more asleep than awake, he said to me, “I figured out what’s wrong with the Captain Morgan rum advertising.”

“Oh?” I asked, completely unsurprised the man was working in his sleep.

“Mmm-hmmm.  There’s no girl on her knees in front of him.”

I laughed for five straight minutes – that was just so…male.  And so Beloved.  I’ll never be able to watch a Captain Morgan commercial again without bursting into hysterical giggles.

Why, oh why, does the dog insist on standing directly outside my bedroom door at 2 a.m., licking the tile?  I dribbled coffee on the kitchen floor, too – go in there, it’s on the other side of the house.  You can start on these floors after I’m up.

Speaking of the dog…does it make me a bad person because when he got loose yesterday and pooped on the crazy woman’s lawn across the street, I pretended not to notice and waited to call him in until after he was done?

The Young One may have another piece published in the school’s literary magazine.  I am so glad the kid has decided to take journalism next year in high school.

The Cliche Plot

by The Young One

On a dark, stormy night, a generic, overly-beautiful girl is kidnapped by the over-sized, green, scaly dragon of some random cardinal map direction.  They only person who can save her is some loser who turns completely awesome and slays the dragon with some magic sword from a “wizard”.  He gets the girl and lives happily ever after.

And after THAT is divorce, child support and IRS back taxes.

The End

The child obviously has a brilliant future writing cheesy youth fiction about sparkly vampires.

For more Random Tuesday Thoughts, visit The Un-Mom.

Boy, Howdy!

It's A Boy!Well, Friday we got the phone call we’d been waiting for for the last several weeks.

Jolly went to the doctor.

Had a sonogram.

It’s a boy.

I bet you never guessed.

I even have pictures to prove it!

I guess.

It's a boy?

That’s a penis, there.

If you say so, doc.

Actually, I like this pic much better – it’s kinda cool, actually.

It's definitely a baby!

It’s a baby!  Really!


Oh, and if you think your kids won’t say just cute-as-a-button things once they’re teenagers, I’m here to say “You are SO wrong!”

You are SO wrong.

When we picked The Young One up at the airport Saturday after he spent the entire week living off of microwavable chicken products had a fun-filled Spring Break with his paterfamilia, Beloved asked him, “Guess what sex Jolly’s having!”

To which the boy replied:


They’re just so darn cute at that age.

This Touching Moment is Brought to You by Puberty

This morning, while perusing all of the blogs I subscribe to in Google reader, I came across this post by Nothing Fancy, in which she talks about how her pre-teen son managed to lose a plastic container of sliced oranges at his soccer game this weekend.  I began to reply, but then it just started to get out of hand, so I decided to bring it over here, because heaven knows I’ve had enough experience with this sort of thing.  I don’t understand it, but I’ve had plenty of experience with it.

Girls, for the most part, would not only have NOT lost the oranges, but would have passed them out along with the decorative party napkins they would have convinced you to purchase and pack as well (this is certainly not universally true, but after 3 teenage girls…yeah.  It’s more the norm).

Boys on the other hand?  Oldest Son is now 25, so I *know* they are capable of growing up to be reasonably responsible human beings – he hasn’t seemed to have misplaced his furniture or caught his kitchen on fire and he’s been on his own since he was 18 (although I understand he has a dandy beer bottle collection under the sofa).  However, if his younger brother’s behavior is any indication of how he was a teenager – either menopause has really kicked in or I’ve just blocked it all out of my memory – I’m not entirely sure HOW he managed to grow up at all.  Surely I would have killed him…if he didn’t walk out into traffic and take care of the task himself first.

The Young One is 13, and to say that I’m amazed he hasn’t walked out into traffic – or left his head laying around on the dining room floor – is something of an understatement.  I would welcome something as simple as a lost plastic container of oranges.

We get up in the morning and I remind him to do things like dress, comb his hair, eat breakfast, go to the restroom, blink and breathe while I make his lunch.  Yes, the kid is quite capable of making his own bologna sandwiches, but not while he’s blinking and breathing and since I prefer him sighted and conscious (things are just easier that way), I do it for him.

I place the sack containing his lunch next to his book bag.  I then remind him, “Don’t forget your lunch.”  Every day.

After he’s eaten breakfast and I remind him to brush his teeth, I tell him, “Don’t forget your lunch.”  Every day.

After ascertaining he’s blinking, breathing, and wearing underwear, I tell him, “Don’t forget your lunch.”  Every day.

After he’s found his shoes and jacket, often retrieved from such inexplicable places as the top of the refrigerator, under the back porch or – gasp! – the front hall closet, I tell him, “Don’t forget your lunch.”  Every day.

After he’s wrestled his library books away from the dog and remembered that he had 37 forms for me to fill out and sign for school, I tell him, “Don’t forget your lunch.”  Every day.

He then walks straight out the front door.  And I run after him, waving a brown paper sack in the air, yelling, “YOU FORGOT YOUR LUNCH!!!”

Every day.

Friday Randomness #3

It seems I have something going on here doesn’t it?  Friday just seems to be such a good day for randomness, though.  And it relieves me from all sorts of pressure to write something that has “substance.”

Oh, shut up.  I’ve a right to my delusions of substance.

This week has been full of ups and downs.  Here’s a sample of the “ups”:

If you’ll recall, in an earlier post I talked some about how The Young One is growing up more quickly than I care to deal with, and how Beloved decided to handle it.  Well, the first Playboy arrived earlier this week, not to mention a “free gift” in the form of a DVD titled “Sexy Nude Coeds.”  (Oh, boy – I see more disturbing fun search terms in my future…)  The whole thing was amusing, I have to tell ya.  When it came in the mail, The Young One wasn’t even aware of it, because the damn thing was wrapped in black plastic and sported nothing other than a mailing label to indicate what might be inside.  Of course, Beloved called dibs on it, stating he had to make sure the content was all “okay” for a young teenage boy to view.


He sort of wandered off with it, and I forgot all about it until I found him, a few minutes later, standing in the kitchen with the gatefold hanging open, a slight frown and concerned expression on his face.

“What’s the matter?” I asked, wondering if Miss September had some sort of permanent disfigurement that couldn’t be airbrushed away.

“She’s just a kid,” responded Beloved, sounding bemused.

I stepped around and took a peek myself.  A shapely young woman wearing nothing but ballet shoes stood in front of a mirror.  I lifted up the gatefold and peeked at her profile on the back while Beloved continued his worried perusal of her pictures on the opposite page.

“It says here she’s the same age as Darling Daugher and Thing One,” I said, shrugging.  Old enough to have her picture taken sans tutu, if that’s what she wanted.

“Oh, my GAWD!” declared Beloved, horrified, as he dropped the magazine.  “She’s just a BABY!!”

Which explains why the “Sexy Nude Coeds” DVD is still unopened, laying on the dresser in our bedroom where it was carelessly tossed.  Yes, indeed.

As for the downs, I am sharing some of mine with the rest of the country, riding the economic roller coaster, wondering how the hell we’re going to get ourselves out of this fix.  If we can get ourselves out of it.  I spent nearly an hour on the phone this morning with my whacky-but-lovable sister, who is also the mother of AKJ, lending moral support while she deals with his very deep depression and continues her fight with the insurance company and Medicaid, both of whom are giving her the runaround.  Darling Daughter took a Greyhound back to Texas last week after a messy break-up with the boyfriend du jour and has moved back in with Oldest Son, against my advice, but we’ll see how it goes.

And today, as I cracked open a fortune cookie after devouring a huge portion of Kung Po Chicken in a Prednisone-driven feeding frenzy, I got this:

I shit you not.  This is the genuine article.

And it makes me very glad I’m not the superstitious type.

So now I’ll leave you with more amusing search terms used to find my blog.

– Because

Yes, someone searched the word “because” and found my site.  Don’t ask me why.

– Naturist family camping

All I can say is, the family who camps nude has no teenagers.  Or, at least, any who will be caught dead in public with them.

– How to deal with your child who found out there is no santa claus

I hope THAT visitor wasn’t too terribly disappointed, because heaven knows I completely botched the job.

– Crush the hope out of

The most disturbing thing about this term is that it was used more than once.

– Sushi suck bar

I get a lot of searches for things that include “sushi” and that one just cracked me up for some reason.

– Housewives who don’t wear shoes

People are just odd.