THE BLIND SIDE

A little while back I attended something called SEPs.  It's one of those parent teacher conference things.  I often missed these in the olden days when I worked.  We went in and met Emily's teacher, who also used to teach Jared's little sister.  She is a wonderful lady.  Emily loves her.  She was doing great in math and was doing well in all her other areas, but Mrs. Pollock indicated that we needed to read a little more with her. 
"Do you have any suggestions for books?"  I asked.
Amelia Bedilia or Junie B. Jones were her suggestions. 
"Wow.  Mary didn't start reading those until she was in second grade."  I said.
Jared shook his head and Emily's teacher sort of laughed and we went on with our visit.  I don't know exactly when I noticed in big bold letters WELCOME TO SECOND GRADE! 
I seemed to have missed an entire year.  When did my baby grow up?  Well, we said our goodbyes as Jared made his usual explanation that I had hit my head or encountered some bad fumes at the pharmacy, or some excuse for my strange behavior.  I left determined to spend more time reading with my first second grader. 

We got home and started reading and I noticed something.  Emily would occasionally come to a word like rabbit and she would say something like rhinoceros.  She also kept moving the book closer and closer which didn't really work for me because I am over 40 and I need the book to be at least 2 feet away before I can make out the words.  This went on for a few weeks without me really putting the pieces together, and then one day Emily came home with a note from school.

"Dear bad parent.  Your child failed her eye test.  What is wrong with you that you didn't notice this?"  or words to that effect.  Bummer.  I didn't really see the point on spending hard earned money for glasses when she couldn't even read yet, but I took her in anyway.  After the exam the doctor said,  "Mrs. Heaton.  Your child failed her eye test.  What is wrong with you that you didn't notice this?" or words to that effect.  Emily picked out Hannah Montana glasses and we were on our way.  She was so excited.

The following Monday Jared went in and picked up her glasses and brought them home.  YIKES!!  There they were.  The tiniest glasses I had ever seen accompanied by a list of instructions on how not to destroy them.  They can't be serious.  This is Emily we're talking about.  She broke a dining room table when she was five.  All she has to do is look at something and it will break and now she has to take care of glasses?  They might as well give her a baby bird and tell her to keep it alive forever.  She was so excited when she got home and put them right on and ran out to go roller blading.  Two hours later they were still in one piece.  Amazing. 
                   
That night at reading time I noticed something else that was amazing.  She was able to read.  What a wild coincidence.  She learned to read just in time for her new glasses.  The rhinoceros changed back into a rabbit and we could both see the book because she could hold it more that two inches away now.  It's been two weeks now and the glasses are still in tact.  Every now and then I notice Emily looking at things like she is seeing them for the first time.  Glasses...$104.  New books...$24.  Snuggling with your SECOND grader in bed and reading...priceless.

                                                                                    

THE PERFECT STORM

Have you seen that movie, The Perfect Storm?  It's based on a true story about a once-in-a-lifetime set of circumstances that led to an epoch disaster. 

I have a sequel. 
1.  Mid terms at school.
2.  NCIS marathon.
3.  My lack of mad housekeeping skills.
4.  Telling my kids to get all the crap off their floor and out of the closet and in the living room so I can sort it.
5.  The fact that I have to sort crap.
6.  Solitaire.
7.  I lost my mop...seriously.
8.  Tuesday is not only pajamas day, but is also bra optional.

You know, earlier today I started cleaning up, and then I realized that I couldn't find my mop.  I don't know what happened after that.  All I know for sure is that we were all sitting in the disastrous living room watching NCIS when the door bell rang.  The kids ran to get the door as I lunged to get out of sight.  Then I heard it.  It was grandma saying,  "I just came to get visual proof that my daughter in law is a lazy no talent failure who plays solitaire all day and doesn't do laundry."
Ok, she really didn't say anything like that.  She just wanted hugs from the grandkids, but I know the truth.  I fled.  I ran.  I hid.  Up til now, we have gotten a call mere seconds before an attack a visit.  Not today.  This visit was a skud.  One of those you don't see until it's too late. 

It gets worse.  There is something that I sometimes do, not often, but sometimes, called "pushing the litter box envelope."  You can use your imagination on that one.  It wasn't bad, but with Alice's ninja nose, I was pretty much screwed. 

I really don't quite have the rules down, or understand the points system in this game that I play with my mother-in-law.  She would deny any such game exsists. Some of you out there might even think that I am imagining the whole game thing, but I assure you, it exists and we are aparently playing dirty now, so I must soldier on and try to break even.  Today, my worthy opponent got a butt-load of points.

I was hiding in the shower when she left,so I didn't see her, but I know that where ever she is, she has the evil grin of victory on her face. 

Curses!

...BUT I NEED THE EGGS

"Mom.  You need to shut off the computer and take me to the store to get eggs, please." 
Long pause...
There is a joke I heard a long time ago.  This guy goes to a psychiatrist and says, "Doctor, I don't know what to do.  My brother thinks he is a chicken.  He clucks and pecks at his food.  He even tries to fly."  The Doctor replied very concerned.  "You need to get him some professional help."  "I would," said the man,"but I need the eggs."

In my previous life as a working mom, my family learned to make do in my absence.  My oldest daughter, Mary, had a lot of responsibilities from an early age.  When I quit my job there was a brief period where I had to put our roles back in place and be the mom again.  Things went well for a long time and she seemed to be happy to exchange all that control for a semi-normal home.  For a few years now, Mary has pretty much planned her own birthday parties.  When she was ten she went online and booked a place called Laser Mania for a party of 12, gave me a list of things she needed and we had fun.  This was the norm for a while.  It worked well for both of us.  About a week ago I found her looking at me with her lips moving saying some words and some more words and some numbers, and then she kissed me on the cheek and said she loved me and took off.  This week, as I went about my business around the house, I noticed that it was really clean and organized.  Wondering what was going on I asked who was responsible for this.  Mary said, "I am, and I need you guys to try not to mess it up before my party on Friday."  Hmmmmmmm.  That must have been the words.  The numbers were, four friends coming over for a sleep over and a barbecue.  Great.  At that moment I didn't notice that my child was treating me like one of the kids.  I didn't really care, the house was clean. 

I think some of us may have reverted back to our old ways in the last little while.  I won't mention any names, but last night I suddenly became aware of more words and more words and Mary's lips moving again. 
"MOM!  you need to make those kids clean up after themselves.  This is the third time this week I have cleaned the kitchen!"
By this time Jared and I had looked up from our computers and were looking at her with a blank stare.  I am usually at the receiving end of the blank stare.  What was happening?  The Old Mary was back and I was very afraid.  "Ok,"  we said and promptly chastised "those kids" for their messiness.  I'm sure many of you are rolling your eyes wondering what my problem is, but isn't step one to realize you have a problem?  So, back off.

Today is the day of the sleepover.  Mary came in with her list of demands errands she needed me to run for the party.  she also requested that I take the car to have it cleaned, so it would be nice and tidy for her friends.  I still really wasn't very appalled by the way she was treating me, after all, these were reasonable requests.  Who cares if she talks to me like I'm ten.  I talk to her like she is 40, so we are even.  Besides, I didn't have to do any of the thinkin' part of the party. 

Mary is home from school now and is getting the last minute things ready.  The house is clean and the car is clean so I think she won't mind if I play on the computer for a little while.

"Mom.  I need you to get off the computer and take me to the store to get eggs, please.  We need some for breakfast tomorrow."

I don't want to get off the computer.  After all, I paid for the computer and the electricity and EVERYTHING!  Who does she think she is?  I am the mom, It's my house.  I am in charge.  I quickly jumped up and marched over to her, stepping over the laundry she had folded, and into...into the really nice clean kitchen...with the yummy stuff that she had just taken out of the oven.  Wow.  Awesome.

I really did need the eggs.

"Ok," I said boldly..."but I get to drive."