There is this tree on the boulevard in front of my house. It is going to fall. The city doesn’t think so but the general consensus in the neighborhood is that it will and when it does it will fall on my house. It has been ripping apart for the last couple of years and now the squirrels have made a home in the trunk. When the ground thaws and the leaves come out it will fall. This will be the fourth boulevard tree on this block that has fallen since I moved here three years ago. If it does fall it will not be the first time a tree has targeted me.

When my children were infants I played the game Imagine the Worst Possible Scenario. If you aren’t familiar with it, it goes something like this:

You bring your brand new baby home from the hospital and then you panic because even though you baby proofed the house with things like outlet plugs and doorknob doo hickeys that make it impossible for an adult to open a door, you haven’t secured the chandeliers. So what that they have been hanging from the ceiling for decades and have given no indication that they will suddenly fall? They are only held up there by a thin piece of wire and maybe some decorative metal.  Now that you have this brand new baby you realize you are so much more likely to be robbed at gunpoint, tied up and tortured by bad guys. The cat must go because everyone knows that cats sneak into the crib in the middle of the night and suck the life out of babies, which really isn’t a problem because as a new parent you vigilantly watch your child sleep for the first year anyway. The dog will think the brand new baby is a chew toy so he must be kenneled. You can’t place your slumbering baby, carrier and all, on the table because it will topple over and kitchen counter tops are a no go too. The refrigerator could kick on and the vibration which resonates through the cabinets (even though no one can actually feel it) will push the baby and carrier off and onto the floor. The only safe place for the baby is in the car because you have stuck a Baby on Board decal onto your back window.

Admittedly it has been a while since I played this game. The new kid smell is long gone and I don’t worry about those kinds of things anymore.

Until my neighbor pointed out the tree. Now it is all I can think about.

When the tree hits it will hit my daughter’s bedroom. So daughter has been sleeping in my room for the last few nights.

It’s been one big slumber party.

Last night I let her watch TV before going to sleep. I did it because I didn’t want to stay up all night and that was her plan since she didn’t have school the next day. Usually she falls asleep by nine but not last night. TV was the only thing I could think of that would have at least prevented her from writing another book or paper macheing the dog.

While she was watching TV in my bed she started to play with her loose tooth, I was almost asleep when she announced that she had lost another tooth. Thankfully the tooth letting has gotten easier since the first one finally came out.

In my half awake state I told her to put it under the pillow. I figured the tooth fairy would have a much easier time of it since she was already so close. My plan was to wait for her to fall asleep and then take care of business. Guess who fell asleep first?

At 5am I sprung awake. Tooth Fairy!

Shit.

I crept out of bed and went to my purse. I don’t usually carry much cash but I had a few ones and a five. I grabbed a bill and shoved it under the pillow. I searched for the tooth but couldn’t find it. It occurred to me that maybe she didn’t lose a tooth, I hadn’t actually seen the tooth since it was dark and I was half asleep. Maybe she was testing the tooth fairy. My son had done this, he lost a tooth, didn’t tell anyone and the tooth fairy didn’t come. This was actually very handy since I didn’t have to pretend anymore.

I searched for the tooth one more time, considered taking the bill back but decided not to risk it. I got up, got a cup of coffee and went into the living room.

Daughter woke up an hour later and came into the living room. She was pissed off.

“The tooth fairy didn’t leave anything” she said.

“Oh yes she did” I said as I stomped into the bedroom to investigate the situation.

I looked under the pillow, found the missing tooth, pocketed it but didn’t see the bill I left.

WTF?

I started throwing pillows all over the place in search of the money. I know I left a dollar. I couldn’t have dreamed it.

I lift up the pillow that makes up the headboard. A left over body pillow from when I was pregnant. It was under there thankfully. However, in my half sleep state I had grabbed a five and not a one, out of my purse.

Damn.

For a brief moment I considered making the switch except my purse was in the other room and daughter had just grabbed the five.

This just raises the bar for the next tooth.

When the tree comes down and the city is forced to replace my roof, I am adding the extra $4 on to the tab.

Related articles by Zemanta

• The Tooth Fairy Makes a Visit (lauramaly.wordpress.com)
• Catch the Tooth Fairy In th Act (budgetnomad.blogspot.com)
• How to Get Kids to Sleep in Their Own Beds (abcnews.go.com)

Remember Magnetic Poetry? It was big in the 90’s. Little words were printed on magnetic paper so you could write poetry on your refrigerator. At least that was the intent. What usually happened, at least in my house, was that lots of phrases were created but rarely were they poetic.

I bought a set of these magnetic words when ex#2 and I were dating, and before my son had learned how to read.

I bought the box for lovers. All kinds of words that while not dirty or obscene alone, when paired with other words could make a sailor blush.

I think ex#2 and I used these little words once and forgot about them. When my son was able to read I removed any questionable words and put them in a plastic container and hid them in the junk drawer. When we moved, I took all the magnetic words off the fridge, placed them in the container and shoved them in a box marked “kitchen”.  The box had remained unopened in my new basement for the last three years.

The other night my daughter announced that she is writing another book and needs some staples to bind it. My daughter is nothing if not prolific, she writes a book a night with illustrations. So what that my book has been in the works for the last three years. I’m not jealous or anything.

Anyway, we needed staples. I knew I had a box of junk in the basement that probably contained a box or two. I knew this because when I was employed by the corporate world I always made sure to raid the supply cabinet when it looked like lay offs were coming. I haven’t had to buy office supplies in at least a decade.

We found the box in the basement marked “kitchen” and as I was searching through it for the staples, daughter found the plastic container with the Magnetic Poetry. She opened it up and her eyes practically bugged out of her face. Words! Words on magnetic paper! Daughter can read and write now so this was quite a find for her. Somewhere in the back of my brain bells were going off . I grabbed the box before she could look too close to the words. I started pulling out words that I didn’t want to define to her just yet.

Words like clit, genital (which I found funny because when writing sexy notes to a significant other I rarely use the word genital. In fact I don’t think I ever use that word, it’s way too clinical), horny, fuck, pussy, and cock. Every time I found a questionable word I pulled it from the container and shoved it in my pocket. I gave her words like is, she, are, and, it, and was which didn’t give her much to work with.

I looked at the pile of words I had pocketed and noticed they were regular words but my mind was now in the gutter. Words such as pink, beg, big, tremendous, throbbing, rubber, satisfy, come, explode, head, fill, shaft, part, ram, bush, mound, shower, and grind. Words that are used everyday without causing any trouble. I also found some that were just head scratchers, ugly and death. We might have found those useful when we got divorced.

My daughter saw the pile of words I was keeping from her and asked why she couldn’t use the words come, sausage, finger and head. I had no good explanation for her except I knew if I put those words up, the teenage boys who frequent my kitchen would be all over them and not in a good way.

Censorship squelches creativity.

This is what is written on my fridge:

I ate chocolate with fat

the car is white

I hate winter

She used eggs on (that thought wasn’t completed)

I need more words. Words like puppy, kitten, boat, jump rope, girl, and boy. I need individual letters, numbers and colors. I need words for kids whose minds haven’t yet been corrupted.

This is not a paid post or advertisement. I really do have a box of smutty words that I can not put on my fridge. While researching this post, okay, I Googled Magnetic Poetry for the link, I learned that the creator of Magnetic Poetry is a local boy. Dave Kapell came up with this wonderful idea that allows people to creatively use their fridge. He even has a blog.  Dave, if you are reading this send me some kid words. I’m sure they will be used for writing juvenile phrases and sentences too but at least give me something to work with.

Not too long ago I was talking to my ex husband’s wife, my son’s step mom. This is not a rip on the new wife post so don’t get all I hate my ex husband’s new wife on me.

I like this woman. If I was going to be replaced by anyone I couldn’t think of a better person to replace me.

Of course, she didn’t replace me, at least not in my son’s life.

Anyway, I was talking to her not too long ago and we were discussing my son. Let me backtrack just a bit. When my son started school I needed a before and after school daycare for him and his step mom offered to do just that. She never asked me to pay her or reduce the child support her husband was paying to me. It saved me tons of cash and tons of worry. I am eternally grateful to my ex husband’s wife.

So we were talking about my son. I don’t remember what the conversation was about, probably my son’s current hair color or something. In the midst of this conversation my ex husband’s wife says to me:

“You did a great job raising the boy. It couldn’t have been easy on your own but you did a wonderful job raising him into a fine young man. You should be very proud.”

I responded by telling her that she and ex#1 had a big hand in it as well and they should be equally proud.

Credit is also due to ex#2 who played a huge role in my son’s development.

Her words meant a lot to me and they roll around my brain at times.

When ex#1 left us I was terrified. I had no idea how I was going to raise this child on my own. Honestly, I don’t think I have ever been as scared as I was at that time in my life. In addition to getting a divorce I had to move. Our life was constantly changing and I worried all the time that my son would have all kinds of issues because of our unstable life.

Eventually, it stabilized.

Last night my son and I were in the kitchen eating guacamole. Avocados were on sale and I had picked up four of them. I used two to make a fresh batch of guac. As I was making it my son opened a bag of chips and started dipping the chips into the guacamole. We were discussing a rave he is going to this evening. This discussing included talk about drugs, drinking, driving under the influence and doing other stupid things. A discussion we have had too many times to count.

I trust my son. He is a smart kid and he knows I trust him. He also knows he doesn’t want to lose that trust.

While we were talking we finished the guacamole. Instead of finding something else to do we continued to talk in the kitchen. I have a hard time just standing still so I made another batch of guacamole. We stood around talking and eating more chips and guac.  We both had things we wanted to do, I needed to do some work on the computer and he wanted to clean his room so he could go to his rave tonight. We both made our way to the couch and collapsed in a heap of guacamole and lime chips overload. We watched a little TV together and then called it a night.

My son is 17, he has one more year of high school and then he is off to college. Days, or nights, like these are numbered.

As a single mom I have given up a lot, and a lot was taken away from me. I don’t have much of a social life anymore. When I got divorced the first time, all of my married friends dropped me like a hot potato. I was no longer invited to any social gatherings, which probably hurt more than my ex husband leaving me.  I was suddenly broke so even if I had been invited out I couldn’t have gone, though it would have been nice to be asked.

I pissed and moaned about it for a while and then found a new life. I started a business, I met my future ex#2, and made new friends.

Rinse and repeat.

I gave up a lot for my kids and I wasn’t always happy about it. Had someone given me a crystal ball, to show me how it would turn out, it would have been much easier to accept. Looking back it was all more than worth any sacrifice I made.

There are only two pictures of my son and me together. That’s what happens when you are a single parent. There are few pictures because there is no one there to take the picture.

I wish there had been more pictures to document our life together. It’s not too late to get a tripod and start taking them but that little boy has grown into a man and there won’t be anymore pictures of me carrying him.

Which is probably as it should be, he can carry himself now.

Do you text, or txt, message? If you are under the age of 30 you probably do and don’t think twice about it. If you are over the age of 30 you probably struggle a bit with the whole thing.

I do text message. Reluctantly. I don’t really like to but in some cases it is the only way to communicate with people in my little world. My son has a cell phone but the school scrambles the phone lines during classes. They aren’t able to do the same with text messaging. So if I want to get a message to him during the day I have to text him. Ex#2 is not allowed to talk on his phone during work so I also have to text him if I need to get a message to him. My brother just prefers to use text messaging so if I want to talk to him I have to text him to call me.

I am one of those people who writes out every word in a text message. This is probably why I don’t care to do it all that often. typing with one or two fingers on a tiny little screen takes patience and concentration, two things I lack.

Today I had to text Ex#2 to remind him to take our daughter to an after school activity.

Me: Will you take M to her music lesson today after school? Let me know, thanks, J

His response: k

Just “k”. Presumably that means “okay” but who knows, he could have hit the keypad incorrectly and sent it off on accident. Not likely but you never know. This is my baby and I want to know that she is “k” at all times. I don’t think communicating in English is such a bad thing. Lord knows her father and I don’t communicate all that well to begin with so I don’t think I am asking too much.

Of course I am, that’s probably the biggest contributing reason we are divorced, we are not able to communicate, but I can always hope can’t I?

My son is a different story altogether. I text him something in full English and he knows he must respond the same way or I will not respond to his text messages in the future. I have taught him well, if I do say so myself.

Me: Did you hand in that note I gave you to the office today?

Him: Yes, mom. I did it as soon as I arrived to school.

Me: Thank you, honey.

Him: You are welcome, mother.

There might be a little sarcasm in his text messages but since I can’t hear his tone of voice I am assuming he is just a lovely and polite son.

He doesn’t text this way to his friends. He is bilingual.

Him: r u driving 2 robotics?

Friend: no rn’t u?

I can’t even make a decent example of real text messaging. My fingers and my brain just won’t get on the same page, but you get the drift.

I know why I can’t text like a teenager. I’m not one. I learned how to type in 7th grade with all the other girls in my class. Boys didn’t need to learn how to type since they would have women to do that for them. I type faster than I think. This should be obvious if you have read any of my posts or comments. I get ahead of myself and if someone talks to me while I am typing I have to hit the backspace key until I find where my thoughts were interrupted.

In my head I can’t make the switch to text messaging lingo. I can’t say R when I mean “Are”.

I blame Prince and his Revolution for this. He started using U instead of “you” decades ago. His song “I Would Die for U” is probably the first record of text messaging making it into everyday language, and we didn’t even have text messaging back then.

Damn you Prince.

Related articles by Zemanta

• Can Texting Work As a Marketing Tool? (mpdailyfix.com)
• How To Send MMS Messages On iPhone (yearn2blog.com)

Last week I was surfing around the web and came across Margie and Edna’s Basement. I’ve been reading their blog for ages and love it. Last week they had a little video montage of classic shows from the 60’s. I played it while the kids were in the room with me since I knew there would be nothing they shouldn’t see. As I was watching it I came across shows I had forgotten and some I really missed. Of the many shows featured there were only two I hadn’t heard of.

I was a kid of the 70’s. The first generation to spend gobs of time in front of the boob tube, as they liked to call it back then. I assume they called it that because it made boobs out of the people watching rather than that there were boobs all over the place. Of course it was the 70’s and there were a lot of boobs. Clothed boobs rather than the naked boobs we see all over cable now.

Anyway, as I am watching this montage an image of Gilligan’s Island is shown. My son was standing next to me watching the video and asked what that show was about.

I was stunned. My son has not seen one episode of Gilligan’s Island. This disturbs me to no end for some reason. Worse, he is not alone. I polled several of his friends this weekend and none of them have seen an episode of Gilligan’s Island.

I didn’t raise my kid in a barn. We have several TVs in the house. There is no reason he couldn’t have caught an episode. It’s still in syndication and I’m sure he could find an episode on YouTube if he searched.

I watched a lot of TV when I was a kid. When I got home from school I watched TV until the evening news was on and then I went to do something else because the news was just a big buzz kill. I watched, in order, Gilligan’s Island, The Brady Bunch, The Partridge Family, Hogan’s Heroes, Love American Style, and Room 222.

Gilligan’s Island had a huge impact on me. At first it just taught me the basics about how to get along with a bunch of people you don’t necessarily like. Ginger was a diva and MaryAnne just irritated me but the Professor was cute and Lovey was the kind of grandma I wanted to have. Not too bright but really rich. The guest star episodes were always special. As I got older I understood more of the underlying themes of the show and I had my first taste of Shakespeare from Gilligan’s Island. Who from that era is able to read Hamlet’s famous soliloquy without singing it to The Toreador Song? Probably no one.

Gilligan’s Island also taught me to questions things. The Professor was a brilliant man, I don’t think anyone can dispute that fact, but yet he couldn’t get them off the damn island. He could power a radio using coconuts but just didn’t have the skill to fix the boat. This realization was an eye opener for me and led me to question just about every authority figure I have met since those days. They might think they know everything but can they get everyone off the island? Until they can they can’t pass themselves off as an authority.

I’m bothered that my son and his whole generation haven’t seen Gilligan’s Island. I’m on a mission now to ensure that this generation doesn’t continue down the path they are on. I will find a way, at least in my house, to make sure these kids see this wonderfully educational show.

Related articles

• What’s the best TV theme of all-time, Happy Days or Gilligan’s Island? (tvsquad.com)
• Retro TV trays feed cravings for nostalgia and comfort food (thestar.com)
• What Four Year Olds Know About Media (debaird.net)
• The Best Night Of Television (over40andstartingover.blogspot.com)

I do. It is so obviously apparent that I have not gotten the memo on what it takes to be a good mother.

Case in point:

Valentines Day Cards

I did what I thought was the right thing to do. I grabbed the first set of Valentines Day cards that didn’t have trucks or Transformers on them and bought them. I gave them to my daughter to sign and address, one for each classmate. All 35 of them.

This process took three days.

But she finished, I didn’t have to write any of the names myself and I thought we handled it pretty well.

Apparently not.

Tonight, as I was frantically searching through her backpack for the worksheet that is due tomorrow, I found a large grocery bag filled with Valentines that my daughter received. Not just Valentines cards but candy, pencils, erasers, nail polish (wtf?), and stickers.

I just sent Valentines cards.

Who has the time to put all this crap together? One of the little trinkets was actually wrapped with a bow on it! Did I mention there are 35 kids in her class? I will never have to buy pencils again. My son might get a little crap for using a pencil with little hearts all over it in his physics class but still, we have enough to get both of them through college.

I want to know who these mothers are. I want someone to point them out to me so I can smack them. They are making me look really bad.