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.

We have nothing to fear but....how does that go again?

The Real Bloody Mary, image via

As I mentioned a few days ago, we are in the middle of The Remodel. Now before any of you hunt off to search for free p0rn, I promise this post will not consist of any before and after photos. I do not intend to give a daily play-by-play of what is happening in my home.

Though I could.

But I'd be the only one left reading this blog inside of two hours, I am sure.

No, this story only relates to The Remodel as it is the reason my children are now sleeping in the basement.

Which, according to them, is evil, dark, spooky, and/or haunted.

It's been a bit of a battle, most especially with Hannah, to get them to willingly fall asleep down there.

You know, in our fully finished, well-lit, not haunted or evil, basement.

Last night, I sat down to watch a little television in the family room in the basement. It was like a moth to the flame - instantly, all three kids were at my side, attempting to snuggle on the couch. They simultaneously all pretended that I was beautiful and began petting me on the head while cooing words of love.

It was like a flash mob of sudden and really weird affection.

Not actually minding that much Being a total pushover, I told them they could have 30 minutes with me, and then it was time for bed. We put on an old Seinfeld re-run and settled in for a few laughs together.

In the middle of the show, a commercial came on. For this movie. When the "Bloody Mary" scene appeared (watch at the 57-second mark, if you're very, very brave) they all three crushed me in a vice grip of fear. I peeled their fingers and bodies off me and told them it was just a stupid commercial for a very stupid movie. I explained who Bloody Mary really was and that it was just a superstitious joke about a terrible Queen in British history.

I even went so far as to say her name three times in the mirror, just to show them the stupidity of it all.

Fortunately, she did not appear. That could have been awkward.

But later that night, I was upstairs getting ready to crawl into bed myself. I heard the sniffles before I saw the feet shuffle in sheepishly. His eyes wide with fear, Chase begged to sleep in my room. Eight seconds later, McKay was at his side making the same request. Before I could weigh a judgement, I looked down to find Hannah tucking herself and five stuffed animals into my bed.

With a sigh, I caved again -- threatening that it would only be this one time. After all, the Husband was out of town and it seemed harmless.

And it was.

Until Bloody Mary appeared and killed us all. Until about 11:30 p.m., when we were all still WIDE awake. And feeling very, very unhappy.

McKay was coughing.
Hannah was yelling at McKay because he was coughing.
I was yelling at Hannah because she was yelling at McKay.
Chase was apologizing for everyone because he was afraid I'd send them back downstairs to their graves.

It was a disaster.

In hindsight, it might have been better if Mary had appeared.

At 11:30 p.m. on a school night, my children would probably have had less to fear from her.

Testing my patience

Today's lesson in the culinary arts comes from Chase.

When you want to make a shake after a long, hard day at school, it is wise to remember one thing before starting:

Make sure the bottom is put on the blender BEFORE you pour the #!@$ milk and it runs all over the counter and floor.

Also of note: The blender is hereby off-limits to sixth grade boys pending further notice.

Adorable new smiles notwithstanding.

This one will be family lore for generations

Last weekend, we had gloriously warm temperatures. Every day for a few days in a row, the mercury rose higher and higher, until it was resting comfortably spring-like in the middle of the 60s. I was down in my office, busy cleaning and organizing. I had packed Hannah off to a friend's house for the morning, and found my boys underfoot and full of the cabin fever.

When they approached and asked to play the bloody Xbox yet again, I told them in no uncertain terms that they were to go outside. I demanded that they get out there and enjoy the warmth while it lasted.

Their shoulders fell, as all technology-deprived children's do, and they started to head upstairs and outside. Just then, the tornado sirens went off. Having been out earlier in blue skies and sunshine, I told them it was probably just a drill and to GET. OUTSIDE. NOW. before I put them to work.

Or killed them.

Or both.

After about a minute, Chase came back in and asked if they could set their tent up in the backyard. Yes, fine, whatever. JUST GO PLAY.

About 20 minutes later, the tornado sirens went off again. I looked out the window and noticed the sky was now an eerie green color. Fearing it was NOT actually a drill, I went in search of the boys.

Their poor tent was being ravaged by the wind, and the rain pounded them from above. Were they not holding it down inside with their weight, I am confident some family in Indiana would now be the proud owners of a red two-man tent.

I immediately called them inside, and gave myself a few lashes with the belt made entirely out of guilt. You know that belt. We mothers all have one.

Come to find out, there was indeed a tornado. And it touched down only two miles from our home. And killed, oh, six people or so. Why, yes, child protective services, I made my children go play in it. Was that bad?

I'm thinking this story will be an excellent anecdote in my Mother of the Year speech. Don't you?

image via