Big Mack

Last week, I registered my baby boy for high school.

It brought a great deal of anxiety to our home. There were tears and panic attacks. Late night worry and lots of stress.

And all of it mine.

It is a marvel to me, this child of mine. Where I am worry and uncertainty, he is all confidence and cool. His junior high experience was (thankfully) nothing like mine. He breezed through halls that are fraught with angst and cruelty, and has come away unscathed.

He has aced all of his honors classes and still finds time to shoot a few hoops with his friends in the back yard. He loves freely and laughs often.

He likes the girls, we are discovering, but not overtly so. He's a fierce competitor, but not a poor sport. He wants to be just like his father and he loves his brother more than anyone else in the world.

Quite frankly, he's got us all wrapped around his not-so-little-anymore pinkie finger.

And, in spite of my protests otherwise, he will turn fourteen in just three days.

The clock is ticking on our time with this one. Here's hoping it slows down long enough for me to enjoy it.

It's a win-win for everybody

A few days ago, McKay asked me to pick up some new shoelaces for his sneakers.

Being the responsible, loving parent that I am, I forgot.

And forgot.

And, yes, child protective services, I forgot again.

Yesterday, when he was nagging reminding me yet again, I told him to write me a note and I would BE SURE to pick them up.

And, since I am all kinds of awesome, I completely forgot all about it.

Until, I opened up the fridge and saw this note taped to my beverage of choice:

In case you can't read his terrible chicken scratch, it says, "Buy McKay black sport SHOELACES."

When I asked him about the unusual location for his reminder note, he simply said, "I put it where I knew you would be going the most times in a single day."

I think that means one of three things:

a) I have a serious diet coke addiction and my children are left in no doubt of it
b) I have an awesomely creative son who knows how to get the job done
c) all of the above

What do you think? I'm voting C.

Either way it's a win-win: Kid gets his shoelaces; mama gets her brown liquid drink on. Happiness all around.

At least he doesn't inhale

Last night we had our church Trunk-or-Treat party.

Which, as many of you know, is basically just 75 kids running around on a sugar high begging for that which they do not need: more candy.

As I watched my friend Beckie (whose son, Jack, is a diabetic) administer his nightly insulin shot, I asked her if we ought to maybe just give every kid that walked by a little dose with the insulin pen.

She thought it was an excellent idea, and a possible way out of ANY and all future church callings.

Instead, we handed out candy and opted NOT to drug other people's children.

I know. We're boring like that.

Today, as I'm trying to control my the kids' consumption of the candy we brought home, McKay introduced me to a middle school phenomenon known as smoking the smarties.

The theory behind it is that you crush up a tube of smarties until they resemble a fine powder, keeping the wrapper intact. Holding the smarties like a joint between your thumb and pointer finger, you open one end of the cigarette candy wrapper and suck some of the powder into your mouth. You then blow it out in a sugary, billowy smoke that, honestly, resembles something far more grown up and sinister than candy.

He tells me the key is to not inhale the smartie smoke, to just take a little bit in before blowing it out again. And that his new goal in life is to be able to make the smoke come out of his nose.

He also claims, "It's not bad for you. And it won't hurt you one bit."

Where have we heard that before, hmmm?

I am thinking that in 20 years, there will be Anti-Smartie campaigns and DARE to Keep Kids Off Smartie parties at school.

Anyone know of a good smartie cessation program out there? It's probably best to wean him now while he's still young and pliable.

Having the want to serve

This afternoon, my boys came begging to have a lemonade stand. Seeing as how we had zero lemons in the house, and I had zero desire to drive and buy the aforementioned lemons, that business idea fell flat on its lemony face.

Next they wanted to have a bakery.

Tragically, it was a half hour before dinner time. And since I am a complete OCD freak an organized household coordinator, I nipped that one in the bud, too.

You know.

Seeing as how treats take at least a half hour to bake, another half to cool, and a third half for me to stop eating them long enough for the kids to sell them to the maybe one person who would be wandering our street at that hour. Our neighborhood? Del Boca Vista. Everyone is sound asleep in bed around here by five o'clock.

Hearts heavy, and all the business acumen nearly drained from their souls, they thought of a third potential business venture.

Internet, I give you the Fall & Leaves Co. Which is apparently very strong in religious acts.

Interesting question to ponder (aside from how one goes about becoming very strong in religious acts) is exactly where the business plans to acquire two leaf blowers, a dozen rakes, and hundreds of leaf bags. Because I'm pretty sure that I own none of those things.

Seeing as how our neighborhood does most of our lawn care for us and all.

Details. Getting in the way of budding entrepreneurs every day.

Mama's melancholy smile

The morning started smooth and easy, a familiarity to the long-forgotten routine of showers, lunches, and backpacks. It was maybe an exceptional morning in that they were served a hot breakfast, instead of fending for themselves with the cold cereal and the eggo waffles.

They seemed so comfortable with what lay ahead. No nervous chatter. No endless questions. Their serene state and happy attitudes filled the air like a thick, warm blanket.

Yes, they both answered for the fourth time, they had everything.



The oldest boy politely inquired about exactly where the first-day photos would be taken. He smiled and shrugged his shoulders, embarrassed and slightly worried that he'd hurt his mama's feelings. Knowing the bus stop has been off limits for several years now, she reassured him that all the photos would be taken from afar.

The boys laughed at each other, and hugged their mama tight. Glancing nervously around to be sure there were no witnesses, they posed for the obligatory photos outside.

They turned without another thought and walked to the bus stop, chatting together.

Their mama's heart broke just a little bit.

One boy forgot his schedule and came tearing home to get it with a sheepish grin on his face. His mama laughed and told him to hurry, shaking her head in just that way mamas do when they know they were right.

And then, the big, yellow bus came and took them away. As it seems to do with increasing frequency every year.

The little girl was surprisingly easy to rouse from her sleep. In spite of her pleas to be home schooled forever, she was ushered downstairs and fed a hot breakfast of her own. She moaned and complained, worrying needlessly about lunch table assignments. She debated out loud about various hair styles for the day. She happily slipped into her new clothes.

She sat on the driveway waiting for the bus, not afraid to take the pictures with her mama. She posed in several spots and offered suggestions for the best angles. Her mama smiled, hugged her, and laughed at the little girl who seems to know it all.

They talked for a few minutes, and then in the distance, a familiar rumbling was heard. The squeaky brakes left no doubt that her turn was soon upon them.

She hugged her mama one last time, put on her very best smile, and climbed aboard.

With summer freckles on their noses, excitement in their toes, and melancholy in their mama's heart, they begin another year.

The one in which I have failed to train him properly for his future wife

The other night, I was in my bathroom washing the make-up off my face. McKay came in and a conversation ensued that went a little something like this:

McKay: "What are you doing?"

Me: "Washing my make-up off."

McKay: "Do you even wear make-up?"

Me: "Um, yeah. I wear a lot."

McKay: "I don't like it when girls wear a lot of make-up. You should just be natural. It would look better. Don't wear it anymore."

I finished washing and showed him the horror that is me au naturale. He wrinkled up his nose, made a face, and said:

"Um, never mind. I think you should wear some. Maybe even a lot."