Chance meeting or destiny?

Every once in a while you're given the perfect opportunities to embarrass your kids.  And you have to embrace it immediately and fully or let's be honest, you're not being the best parent you can be. 

Sometimes they just sort of fall into your lap.  Those are the best kinds.

It began when I was stalking reading Aliya's text's the other day and ran into a picture a boy sent her of himself with his two younger cousins.  He's a pretty cute boy, as twelve year olds go, and he was wearing a green and yellow stripped beanie.  I showed it to hubby and we both sized him up, hubby more than me, and we chatted a little about him.

About four hours later hubby asked me if I wanted to go for a walk.  We told the kids we would be back and headed out for a quick stroll through the neighborhood.  As we're walking in between the houses we see a head pop up over the wall.  It was the same beenie.  So hubby books it over.

Hubby:  Hey! What's going on over here!

Kid:  (stumbling back)  What?  N-nothing.

Hubby:  (looking back at me) what's his name?

Kid: (clearly hoping this guy is not going to jump over the wall and attack him)

Hubby:  (pointing right at him)  We know you!

Kid:  (stepping back even more from the crazy man)

Hubby: I'm Aliya's dad! 

Kid: (relaxing for the first time, realizing it's okay to smile, might pee pants.)

Hubby:  Okay then, peace, see ya! 

As we walked away I commented on how scared the kid was and hubby was all no way, why and I was all yes, way, you're very intimidating and hubby was all what?! no I'm not and then I just looked at all six feet two inches of him, patted his arm and said okay baby, you're not intimidating at all.  Pshhtt.  Whatever. 

So the real fun began when we got home and were able to tell Aliya all about how we saw her love interest and now we're BFF's and we know where he lives and threatened him within an inch of his life if he ever touches her and then we laughed and laughed because of course we're kidding, or are we, and she just sort of sat there not knowing wether to chuckle or just die. 

It was so much fun.

being all responsible and stuff is awesome

Hubby has a new job.  This is fantastic news for a lot of reasons not the least of wich being income.  Because yay gainful employment! 

Don't get me wrong, I'm all for him working for free but after a while it gets all what do we really need in life?  Can we do without food?  And come on, the kids have been wanting to wear shoes everyday like some kind of over privileged uppities. 

So while it's a praise it's also an adjustment.  Hubby was working from home and was able to be with the kids all the time.  I may or may not have been a little jealous.  And he's the fun one.  How can I compete with that?  Because parenting is clearly all about competition.  Obviously.   

For the first few years I always won because I had the food source and was way better at knowing the difference between a hurt cry and a I swear to God I will hold my breath until I pass out if I don't get what I want cry.  Plus I always saw the upside of jammies and he didn't.  One case of a baby pulling off a poopy diaper and finger painting with it was all it took to win that argument.  Check and mate. 

But now instead of one exhausted parent at the end of the day they have two.  It can go either way.  Sometimes it's oh my gosh you are so freaking adorable right now of course you can have Twinkies for dinner but other times it's who left the garage freezer door open?!  All the food is bad!  Don't make me ground you!

Poor sad pathetic kids with bipolar parents.  And they still may or may not eat a well balanced dinner but only because that would require one of the legal guardians to get up off the couch.  So they conjure up big sad eyes and say things like mommy, there is a rumor at school that other kids' moms make dinner at night using a thing called a stove with real knifes and cutting boards.  And then they clank their metal cups along the walls in a sad little cadence while singing "swing low sweet chariot" in unison.

Are parents supposed to play rock/paper/scissors to see who keeps the children alive? 

Because if so, we're the best parents ever!

But just when I begin to question my specific decision to work outside of the home, a vision of me from six years ago shows up and kicks me in the face and starts in with oh no you didn't {snappy fingers in a Z formation} you did not work your butt off in nursing school with three kids to reevaluate your career choice now.  Get up off the couch, make some dinner and remind your family why you are the bomb! {head bob back and forth}

Isn't the me of six years ago sweet?  I love it when she calls me the bomb. 

I also love how hubby comes home so happy sans the exhaustion, because he's been around people all day and loves his job. 

You know what they say:  Absence makes the heart grow fonder.  And never trust a man in a wheel chair with dirty shoes. 

Wait. 

*thinky face*

That doesn't apply here.

Joy

I think Dylan is excited about his Christmas presents.

Maybe.

Happy Birthday Jesus!!!

For that much I could have gotten myself a nice little round of lipo

So one day I thought to myself, self, lets go spend five thousand dollars. 

But wait, not just on anything because it would be way too much fun to buy, lets say, super cute outfits at trendy mall stores or a lifetime supply of cotton swabs or shoes that scream I hurt so much but who cares because I'm sparkly!

No, no, instead hubby and I spent five thousand dollars to put sparkly braces in Aliya's mouth, although they do hurt.  A lot.  So there is that.

And they came with one condition.  See, her teeth were never crooked.  She had straight teeth, just a bite that needed to come together. 

Enter in the BANDS.  Dun, dun dun!!!!!!!!

Three teensy but super tight bands pull her braces toward one another and ever so slowly over time they bring her jaws together.  It's like magic.  The same kind of magic that makes vacuum cleaners work.

Only. . .she doesn't wear them.  Like ever.  Ever.  So, instead of letting the magic do it's job, she just sort of lets the braces sit on her teeth and do absolutely nothing. 

This is how I imagine the last orthodontist appointment conversation going.  If I had been there and not sitting in the waiting room reading a book.  But that's besides the point.

Ortho guy who makes big bucks:  Well, I can tell you're not wearing your bands regularly.

Aliya: You're using really boring words right now.

Ortho guy:  Bands.  You need to wear them.  All the time.

Aliya:  Booooorrrrriiiiinnnnnngggggggg.

Ortho guy:  Okay, here's the deal.  If you wear them all the time you can get them off in five months.  If you don't it will be a year.

Aliya:  So...five months, wearing them sporadically?

Ortho guy:  No.

Aliya:  *squinty eyes*

Ortho guy: No.

Aliya:  *hopeful eyebrow raise*

Ortho guy:  No.

Aliya:  But I hate wearing them.  They hurt.  And I'm not really about pain. 

Ortho guy:  Wear them except for when you're eating.

Aliya:  Oh, so like two hours a day.  Got it. 

In fact, I'm almost positive that's how the conversation went down because she just gives me a look when I politely suggest that she put them in.  So I'm past politeness and have moved on to threatening.  And slightly raising my voice.  Slightly. And feet stomping and hair pulling {mine, not hers.  Geesh} and just general irritation at most tweens I see.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to use the restroom and I have some twenties that have just been dying to be flushed all day.

Reality isn't as much fun

I just came up for air after reading an insanely good book. 

I kind of go into a weird depression after finishing a novel.  Not like my life is over how shall I go on kind of depression but more like now what am I supposed to do with myself?  Cook and. . . other motherly and wifely duties?  When did my children bathe last? 

I've been ignoring my family.  Allegedly. 

I don't know that I've been letting hubby know how much I appreciate him as a spouse/life partner what with all the page flipping and lack of general greeting when he comes home. 

So I guess I need to clean really well and stock the freezer because the second book is about to be opened.  Oh yes.  It's a trilogy. 

I'm going back to 1789.  And yes Daymon, everyone was that dramatic back then.  She has a thorn in her heart.  Some people just do not get it. 

One more than eleven.

You know what's weird about having a twelve year old? 

Having a twelve year old.

I can clearly and precisely remember being twelve and what I thought and the emotions I had and most of all the emotions I had toward boys. 

And oh holy cheese grater, what am I going to do.

She doesn't have a phone yet but she does text on the ipad and I've made it very clear that I'm allowed to read every one or she doesn't text.  It works well.  Mostly for me.

So far there are two boys who love her.  Or at least think they do in their little thirteen year old brains. 

And can I just say for the record that thirteen year old boys are odd, quirky, weird, and kind of stupid.  In a freshly teen sort of way.   

I won't share the conversations because I want my daughter to continue to trust me, but how I would love to.

They are all over the place, taking crazy turns and then ending on odd topics.  Oh and they all have signatures.  Aliya's is EXPLOSIVE TACO!!!!!!!!  So a "normal" text will look like this:  "Hi mommy, I love you, when will you be home?  EXPLOSIVE TACO!!!!!!!!!!" 

Wow.

I ALWAYS FEEL LIKE SHE'S YELLING AT ME!!!!!!!

I guess texting is just like passing notes only I get to see all the notes.  Score one for the parents. 

And I don't know if she's told the boys that I'm reading everything they write but if she hasn't, well I'm impressed.  They keep the hormonal imbalance to a minimum. 

But they still need to keep they're distance. 

She's only twelve after all. 

SO DON'T MESS WITH MAMMA BEAR!!!!!!!!!!!
 

Like my new signature?

Do they still make those?

December.

A brief period of time when I alternate between procrastinating and panicking. 

I miss the days when my kids were ecstatic about a stretchy lizard from the dollar store. 

Although one of our cats ended up eating the lizard that led to an obstructed bowel and had to be put to sleep after a slow and agonizing three days of torture. 

But, you know, other than that, that lizard provided endless hours of stretchy fun.

Now it's all can I please have the remote control helicopter with the attached camera?

Obviously my child needs to know what's going on down the street but only from a birds eye view. 

Or but the video game I'm asking for is different from all the other video games with the SAME name.  I mean, duh.

But I think Hubby is asking for the silliest thing.  Only he doesn't think it's silly at all.  He wants a Flowbee.

After I got done laughing, because those aren't even real right, he informed me that he is not joking and he wants one yesterday.

Since he's the one who cuts the boy's hair most of the time, except when they beg me to take them to get it done, I figure he should get what he wants.  And because he's the only one who actually grooms the dog.

The reason the boys don't like hubby cutting their hair is because we don't exactly have the sharpest scissors and sometimes they pull.  If by sometimes you mean all the time.  And he also may or may not have nipped their ears on a few occasions.  The hair cutting sessions usually end up with a crying sniveling, sad little boy with very cute hair.  Which they never notice because they're too busy holding tissue to a slightly bloody ear.

And apparently all this could be avoided if he had a Flowbee.

I mean, just look at how happy this little boy is. 

He's not afraid at all as his hair us sucked up into a vacuum and sliced off.  He's not worried about it getting tangled into what I can only assume are mini blades of death waiting to ensnare and rip every hair it sees out of a person's scalp.  What a brave little guy. 

I'm not saying I don't trust the thing I just knew a woman who was under some farm machinery at the wrong time and had her entire scalp ripped off.  And a Flowbee kind of reminds me of miniature farm machinery. 

Of course the box does say "As seen on TV".  And nothing ever goes wrong with that.   

I'm in this weird state of feeling like my blog is taunting me

You can't think of anything funny. 

Yes, I can.  Anytime I want.

Then do it. Right now.

I can't.  I have socks to count.  It's imperative that I know exactly how many socks are in this house.  And after that I have light bulbs to dust, so it goes without saying that I'm swamped here.  Swamped. 

Or you're ignoring me because nothing funny has happened in umpteen weeks and you're stalling.

OR I'm saving all my funny for. . .Tuesday. 

Well you better be.  It's a little embarassing how you've been asking the kids leading questions in hopes they say something cute-ish. 

I would never.  How insulting.

Face it.  All you've got are topics like "Holiday weight gain" and "Weird people who take their pets to see Santa". 

They ARE weird, right?

.......

Right? 

If you put a picture of one. . .

Someone please adopt me. 

Wordless Wednesday

Speaking of sleep

A strange thing happens to me at night.  I walk around all day not thinking about large terrifying spiders and successfully not running into them in say, the bathroom or kitchen and even the garage. 

But when I sleep they are everywhere. 

And unlike a normal person who may have a dream about them and wake up and probably not remember what they dreamed and carry on with normal human activities, I on the other hand have complete freak outs.

For some reason when I dream about tarantulas {even typing the word gives me the heebie jeebies} or large scary bugs that don't exist in real life, I can still see them when I wake up.  As in, I have my eyes open and I can still see them in the room, or on me, or on hubby. 

This results in me jumping out of bed and throwing objects at them.  Or taking pictures off the walls because I saw one crawl under there or flipping on all the lights and hitting the walls to kill them.  Only there is nothing there.

For a long time hubby would try to convince me that I was sleeping and that they weren't actually in the room, but that resulted in me becoming even more agitated because I can see them. 

Now hubby just reassures me that they are gone and that's it's safe to get back in bed.  But if he saw what I just saw there is no way he would stay under those covers. 

I always thought I was just a weirdo and then I was talking to my SIL about it and she said that my brother does the same thing!  It used to scare the crap out of her but now she's used to it. 

So what I want to know is what the heck happened to me and Mike that we do this?  He did used to own two tarantulas when we were kids and we would put them on our jeans and let them crawl up our legs.  I had no problem with them then at all.  Now when I go to buy crickets for Fuzz I can't even be in the same vicinity as the spiders.  The owner of the store is convinced that if I would just hold one I would like them.  Then he witnessed me mildly hyperventilate at the mere suggestion and he backed off.  Oh and I also may have threatened to break his arm if he brought one over.  Or something like that.  I was in the middle of not breathing.

It was a few days later that I discovered that one of those pet tarantulas of my brothers had escaped and they never found it.  It was just loose in our house.  As in just crawling around who know where most likely contemplating which one of my legs to chew off.  They can totally chew.  Don't let them fool you. 

If that happened to me now I would move.  Immediately and probably just burn the house down.  It would  clearly be way safer that way. 

I hesitate to share these fears though.  I'm always afraid that if I do, people will take it upon themselves to "cure" me and try to put a spider on me.  If you want me to pass out or get really stabby and murdery, then by all means go ahead. 

Once our little neighbor girl had her hands cupped around a pretty flower she wanted to show me but I saw her hiding something and automatically assumed it was a spider and locked myself in my car until she went away. 

And that is what hubby is dealing with.  Give him a hug next time you see him. 

Either you're speaking Dutch or the apple juice fermented

Me: Hey, did you have a good day at school?

Aliya: itwassofunwemadeacoolthinginscienceandjaysaidhelikesthatonegirl.

Me: wait, what?  Are you even speaking English?

Aliya: {exasperated sigh}  hfeiowiehflkahgoihlkghalkfh.

Me: OK, now with the food in your mouth I really can't understand you. 

Aliya: Yes. My. Day. Was. Good.

Me:  Glad to hear it, what do you want for dinner?

Aliya: ohcanwehavethatchickenthingand, aldkfoasdifgaogialkj.

Me: For the love of. . .I can't even tell if you're putting actual words together.

Aliya:  Mom.  I asked if we can have the chicken thing and algjoaigalknghahfoweuirhlk.

Welcome to my world.  Either this is normal tween speak or she no longer has a frenulum and her tongue has lost power steering. 

But in the end it comes down to that little phrase uttered to me by my mother when I was a tween.  "I hope you have a daughter just like you." 

The good thing is that not much of it stuck.  She's so much better than I was.  But the lack of breathing while speaking and not putting articulated sentences together that are clear, concise and understandable. . .well, she gets that from me. 

So I guess this is payback. 

Or what I can understand of it.

Booger Blaster

Call me overprotective, but I have this thing about liking my kids to be able to breathe.  Pink kids equals awesome.

So I take Daymon to his allergist/asthma doc every few months to make sure he can still blow the leaves off the tree to reveal the cats hanging upside down.  I'm not sure who makes these tests up but I think they must have been high.  Or genius's.  It's a tossup. 

I already knew that air does not move either direction through his nose.  I'm pretty sure he doesn't taste food.  But the doc had him try a booger blaster a.k.a. Netti pot and the results were drastic.  More disgusting than I can possibly describe, but he could breathe. 

Needless to say he was not excited about the whole idea when the doc brought it up, and it took a little coaxing to get him to do it, but now he's decided the booger blaster is the best invention ever. 

Walking home from school that day he was marveling about how he could smell the grass.

"Mom, I had no idea that the soap at my school smells so good.  I just stood there for the whole recess washing my hands and smelling the soap." 

On the one hand I'm excited for him.  This is a splendid discovery and now I get it when he just gives me a blank stare as I talk on about the aroma of coffee being the equivalent of heaven dust in a cup.  Or he just thinks I'm odd.

But on the other hand I feel awful for not realizing that his problem was so bad. 

Yes, his hands are super clean now but no soap is worth a whole recess.

Unless it's Bath and Body Works but I doubt the Tempe school district is springing for that. 

Aren't you glad you came here to read this?  Where else are you going to get news about boogers and gravity defying cats? 

I do what I can. 

Who was in that one again?

I have seen the first half of too many movies to count. 

Because the later it gets the crankier I get and then my eyes glaze over and you mix that with being snuggled up next to hubby and it's the perfect storm. 

Sometimes I pretend that I've been awake the whole time and say things like "Yeah, I totally saw that coming" and then I remain completely confused until I fall asleep again. 

I've had conversations about plots wherein I have said things like "Oh, um, yeah I was surprised by that too!" all the while I'm thinking I didn't even know that actress was in it, let alone one of the main characters. 

When people know that you can't stay awake in movies they brand you as lame.  Oh, maybe not out loud but I can see it in their eyes. 

And now hubby has started to depend on my inability to remain alert.  He told a friend the other night to give him an hour and he would be ready to hang out. 

But, I thought we were starting the movie now.  The movie is longer than an hour.

Oh, well, you know.

Hey, wait a minute.  Are you saying I'll be asleep in an hour?

. . .

I'll have you know that I am perfectly capable of staying awake for an entire movie and furthermore. . .oh who cares, I'm going to bed.

But me and my lame-ness enjoyed a gorgeous sunrise the next day.  So take that all you night owls. 

Yes I know you don't care.  And yes, there is a 5:30 AM. 

Party time! {aka complete nine year old chaos}

I think I'm officially too old to host birthday parties at my house. 

About twenty minutes in I knew I was in deep.  Hubby and I gave each other that "look".  The look that says, "yes, I believe we do have adult beverages for when this madness ends, meet you at the couch."

Daymon had a great time.  Therefore it was a success.  That boy can party hard.  He definitely dropped it like it was hot.

I pumped those kids so full of sugar they'll never sleep again.

Hair. Can't live with it. Would look a little silly without it.

When I get bored I take it out on my hair. 
While it was short I was forever cutting it, reshaping it, putting in my own high lights and then crying about pretty much all I had done. 

I'm super brave when it comes to my hair so I don't really have a filter when I sit down with the hair stylist. 

But somehow when I say "I want to try something really fun, flirty and sassy, about to there and shorter in the back"  they hear "Please make me look as stupid as possible and as homely as you can and I really want to cry.  So make that happen." 

I decided to grow my hair out and after two long and frustrating years I'm finally there!  It's getting long and most days I really like it.  Except when I don't and then I fight the urge to cut it.  So instead of cutting it I decided to dye it darker.  Only for some reason I didn't suddenly look like Megan Fox when I was done.  Which was highly disappointing.

I think hubby is impartial to what I do to my hair as long as he doesn't have to cough up a bunch of money for me to go get it fixed or listen to me sob for two days.  I think the thing he dreads the most is the aftermath of the bathroom when I'm done.  I swear I try to be as careful as possible but somehow the dye ends up on everything.  It's really quite amazing.  I should invest in some black towels or just start dyeing it in the backyard because that wouldn't be weird. 

Once when Aliya was about four she was in the bathroom with me and when I turned around I saw a little glob of dye on that beautiful golden hair and freaked out.  I shoved her head under the faucet and scrubbed like a mad woman.  Later I discovered that I had completely terrified her because she thought she was hurt.  I mean why else would my mom scream unless there was a big fat hairy spider on my head or unless I was bleeding profusely. 

Lucky for me it did come out.  I can't say the same for my shower curtain or towels or counter tops or well you get the idea. 

Let's just say I'm fortunate to still be married.  He is a patient, patient man. 

And he never knows what his wife might look like in the morning.

Why yes, my hair was lighter yesterday and no you don't need to go check the bathroom.  Let's just enjoy this moment shall we?

I start with fall and end with poop. My mind is one big bunny trail.

Fall is my favorite season.  Not that we really have fall in Arizona.  It's mostly me just creating a false environment of apple cinnamon smell in our house and pretending it's cold outside while over heating in my sweater and scarf.  But dang it if the scarf isn't super cute.

I keep half expecting my kids to boycott dressing up for Halloween but so far they still want to.  Free candy from strangers and it's actually encouraged by parents?  Heck yes. 

But those costumes are not cheap.  When they were little I always felt like I got my money's worth because they wore them all the time.  I was forever running errands with Batman or Wolverine or Cinderella.  Then they grow up and realize that, wait, I'm the only Superman at this store right now?  In June? Odd.

So this year I'm attempting to steer them in the cheaper direction.  Of course no one wanted to be a toilet paper mummy.  Dang it. 

I also thought Daymon was going to have a dress up birthday/Halloween party but he decided against it.  He was attempting to incorporate Star Wars, Halloween and Sponge Bob into one theme. 

I'm a little relieved that he's sticking to just Star Wars because I was having a hard time coming up with games aside from Luke Skywalker killing Sponge Bob in a light saber duel and then everyone eating his brains shaped cake.  I don't even begin to know where to find a brain cake mold. 

And I also don't really need a bunch of parents questioning my party tactics.  Some people just don't get awesomeness at all. 
It's not easy coming up with games and food and entertainment for a bunch of nine year olds who are used to constant entertaining stimulation.  Get distracted for one minute and it's balloon popping madness and a cat that may or may not ever emerge from behind the washing machine again. 

So if your child ever comes home from one of my parties and tells you that they ate cat litter and dog food, it was just cake people.  Relax.  But don't tell the kids that.  They'll figure it out someday when they're reminiscing about their childhood and realize that other people didn't eat baby poop out of a diaper. 

Why take that moment from them?



P.S. After a little research, I found one!

hooligan

This one time, at band camp. . .

Wait, that's not how this story starts.

One time as recently as June, I was driving to work super early and I happened upon a yellow light.  I had that do I have time to screech to a stop or do I just keep going moment and decided to just keep going because I don't really like ending up in the middle of the intersection at a complete standstill. 

And I got flashy-thinged.  Or, you know, camera caught.  I'm not up on my spy terminology. 
I was giving myself a mental beating while at the same time praying that I wouldn't get a ticket.  And I didn't.  For three months. 

After my initial shock of getting it after so much time had passed and also realizing that I look mad when I drive, I reluctantly paid the stupid thing and went about my merry way.  But then I got another letter saying that not only did I get a really expensive ticket for running a red light, I was also forced to take the special class that only red light runners have to take or lose my license indefinitely. 

So because it's too far to bike to work and also because carrying groceries on a bike is really cumbersome, I was left with no other choice than to spend my day off with a group of super happy people.

As I sat there feeling very criminal like, I was observing the other trouble makers and it has made me realize some things:

- Stereotypes don't always match with those given a DUI. 
- There are people out there who actually drive 95 in a 35 and then argue that they thought the limit was 45.  Because that somehow makes it better.
- I multi task way too much.  But not as much as some.  Happy to report that I have never shaved in the car.
- I don't ever want to use my cell phone in the car again.
- There are some serious adult jerks out there.
- Everyone has a story and it involves a lot of whining.
- How do this many people hate police officers.
- How do police officers not shoot more people.
- Oh my gosh, you guys, how do these people have a license??

And I'm one of the whiney people with a story about how I'm a good person and I don't run red lights, it was yellow.  But I only whine to hubby because the teacher could have made Hitler cry.

So now my spotless driving record is tainted.  I'll be forever labeled a "red light runner". 

You better watch it.  I just might jay walk next.  You just never know with me. 

Where can I take Mom101

I'm not a firm believer in the whole "birth order" thing.  While I do hold that people act a certain way due to life circumstances and family influence, I don't think that all of our actions are solely based on when we were pushed from the womb.  I don't think that all middle children have issues or that the oldest will always succeed in life or that the youngest is doomed to be the least self motivated.

Only. . .

Is it believed that the youngest will try to get away with things the others won't?

Because I think that my youngest has been playing me from day one.

He has always had this uncanny ability to read me.  He's very aware of my emotions and feelings and can detect when my mood is even the slightest off.  He'll ask me what's wrong when I thought that I've been doing a pretty good job of maintaining a smile but feel like crap on the inside. 

All along the other two have said things like "Mom, he did do it but then he cries and says he didn't and you believe him!"  And I look at that angelic face all crumpled into a sob and it's true.  I do believe him.  And then I find myself heart broken later when it's discovered that he was lying to me.  His mother.  How could he, my baby. 

And that's how they get you.  The big eyes, the sweet face, the endearing hugs out of nowhere. 

All along I have thought he was a little guy still in need of his mother's help and it turns out he's extremely capable and self motivated.  That little booger.

While we were away he apparently made his lunch everyday after school.  Not only that, he was the first one done.  I have never seen this child make his lunch. 

So I declared that the children shall now make all lunches, and the lunches will be made by the children.  The mother will no longer make the lunches, she will only supervise and if a lunch is forgotten, the child shall go hungry, but only until three o' clock, as that is the time of the end of school and the child shall then eat freely of the food. 

And there was great gnashing of teeth.  For real.

I'm talking head in the hands and a look of "Seriously, how could you do this to me?" 

And you know what?  I'm over it.

My "baby" is turning 9 on the 26th and the last time I checked that was totally old enough to be doing a lot more.  I have coddled this child way too much and it's time to let him show me what he's made of. 

Hey, I bet he could even do laundry.  And cooking.  And hold a toilet scrub brush. 

I think a whole new world just opened up to me. 

I can hear the hallelujah chorus.

Parent validation week

I have to admit that I kind of dread parent teacher conferences each year.  I almost always hear only good things, but I'm paranoid that maybe I won't.  Plus teachers never liked me and I automatically feel like I'm in trouble as I sit across from them. 

But this week's meetings were truly great. 

Of course I think my kids are awesome but that sort of comes with the territory.  There's just something about squeezing out a 6 or 7 pound-ish wrinkly complete person that makes even the most irritating things seem adorable.  {oh how cute, he's licking the floor again}

So getting that validation from a stranger who doesn't have to like my kids and probably wouldn't think their face freckles are super kissable, makes me so happy.

It's like getting a pat on the back in the parenting department.

One of their teachers in particular was laughing about how she was excited to see a certain one of my offspring move up to the highest level math class, until he wasn't so sure he wanted to accept the challenge because her chairs didn't have the fluffy cushions that the lower math class had.
 
Well that makes perfect sense.  I mean, I myself am a firm believer in only pushing myself when I am at the optimal comfort level. 

Reason prevailed and it's a good thing that not only does his teacher have a good sense of humor but is flexible as well and provided a fluffy cushion for his ever delicate bottom. 

It reminds me of that saying "Always do your best, but only on a comfy chair." 

Or maybe I made that up.  I think I need to cross stitch that on a pillow.

Travel tips. Take as you will

Interesting facts about traveling internationally.

Fact number one: If you state "I have intestines of steel.  I don't get diarrhea on trips, I'll try it all!"  You will end up deeply regretting the mango juice from the random guy selling it on the street out of a possibly clean glass but probably not.  Although I will say that juice was amazing and kinda worth it. 

Fact two: Having the above mentioned problem while only having "squatty potties" available sure does make for an interesting experience.  And using way too much hand sanitizer. 

It's useless to get upset about people not understanding that you just want an eggplant sandwich when you are a visitor in their country at their restaurant and you didn't bother to look up how to say eggplant in Arabic.  Just take what they give you, it will still be good. 

Don't judge the elevator and it's cardboard floor that may or may not work unless you hold the door and jump to get it started.  It's way better than three flights of stairs.  And, incidentally, it's kind of fun when you can stick your arm out as every floor passes, just don't forget to pull it back in. 

Remember that cats there are a little different than cats here and if it looks like it has 47 diseases, it probably does. 

Don't be too upset when your husband won't let you go get a closer look at the very loud and chaotic demonstration that just erupted.  Safety shmafety.  It looked amazing and I've never seen one in person! 

If you dress modestly, it will challenge their perspective on American women and they will respect you more.  Yes it's hot but get over it.

Do pray before crossing the street as it is a game of frogger and you could possibly die.  Pedestrians do not have the right of way.  But they do pause for children so always cross next to a woman holding a baby. 

Never underestimate the power of a smile.  And don't be afraid to laugh at yourself.

If that purse at $10.00 sounds too good to be true, it is.  It will most likely fall apart in a week. 

Don't believe them when they say in a shocked tone "You're not Egyptian?  But you look Egyptian!"  They want you to ride their camel. 

Eat what is set before you in someones home and never complain.  They do hospitality a million times better than we do. 

Don't get too hung up on how we do life.  Just because they do it differently does not mean they do it wrong.  Women subway cars and men subway cars are seperate for a reason and it's okay. 

Be prepared to fall in love with the people. 

And last but not least, do not ever drink from the public water jars.  Unlike the mango juice, it's so not worth it.

pics

These are just a fraction of the pictures we took but I still need to organized them.  Here are a few I thought you might like.  More to come when the jet lag goes away!

Jason and Firas

Seriously yummy food

Quick update

Cairo is amazing.

Loud, chaotic, overwhelming, sensory overload, friendly and busy.

But really, really amazing.