Blood Before Dawn

The sun was just rising over her sleepy college town. She hobbled away from the incident, blood dripping from her wounds. She was so dirty she was not even sure where she was hurt--she just knew there was blood, and a lot of it. The birds were chirping, but no one else was awake yet. She needed help, but had nowhere to go.

After walking for a bit she started to feel stronger, and she began to run. She finally reached a seedy motel and went inside. The bored front desk clerk barely glanced at her as she entered, frantic look on her dirty face and the blood now dry on her wounds. She needed to get to a bathroom, and then she would figure out what to do next. Finally a kind soul directed her to the nearest ladies' room. She cringed when she saw the blood on the door frame, and then realized it was hers. She looked in the mirror to assess the damage ...

And the drama ends there. I was running early this morning, tripped on a bad section of sidewalk, and scraped my chin and my right knee. It's not pretty, but I'll survive. The "incident" happened before 6:30 a.m. I was near the Waffle Shop on West College, but it wasn't open yet (and I don't think they would have appreciated me getting blood in the public restoom in their dining establishment). I did have my cell phone with me, but because I was able to continue running with no pain (I ignored my throbbing chin), I soldiered on.

The "seedy motel" was the Quality Inn across from the Waffle Shop on North Atherton. Not exactly seedy, although the front desk clerk really just gave me a quick glance, despite the blood covering my arms from wiping my chin. Fortunately a guest at the motel directed me to a restroom. So I cleaned up myself and the doorframe, and ran the remaining two miles back to my car. And then I went to the grocery store. Couldn't pass up the opportunity to go grocery shopping by myself in an almost-empty store! My first stop in the store was the band-aid section. And yes, I pulled one out of the box and applied it before paying. Possibly my biggest crime.

So when I got home at about 8:15 a.m., I had already taken Alex to the airport (he is going on a trip with his grandparents), run 7.5 miles, suffered a mild but very bloody injury to my chin, and gone grocery shopping for the week. I am awesome.

Not Just Any Camping Top 10

Haven't posted in awhile, but I have a good one for you today:

Top 10 Ways You Know You're Camping in a PARTICULARLY Rural State Park

10. The signs in your cabin are full of grammatical errors.

9. Mullets and "tails" are still in style.

8. You don't have to worry about anyone stealing your hummus.

7. You DO have to worry about the assorted raccoons, groundhogs, chipmunks and squirrels that live under your cabin, not to mention the mice that live inside it.

6. You see men with enviable (for certain women) B cups.

5. You see women with tatoos that have stretched so much you can no longer tell what they are.

4. You have to drive miles to get cell phone service.

3. You can entertain yourself by counting the number of dead chipmunks in a one-mile stretch.

2. The only fruit-like item sold at the concession stand is strawberry ice cream.

And the number 1 way you know you're camping in a particularly rural state park:

1. You hear a father lovingly refer to his child as "Butt Crack."

OMG. What am I going to do with her?

I started a couple blog posts over the past few months, but did not deem any of them funny enough for public consumption. I'm not sure if it's because my kids were boring or my writing was boring. Anyway, I figured I could elicit a few chuckles with a post about my "mean girl" in the making.

My little Lulu Belle used to be sweet about 90 percent of the time. That percentage is decreasing at the same rate gas prices are increasing. I used to only joke that she was a "mean girl" in the making, but now I am getting seriously concerned.

I had been deluding myself into believing that Lauren was really only bratty at home. A couple weeks ago her preschool teacher told me Lauren said outright that she did not like a particular little girl and therefore did not want to play with her anymore. When her teacher told her that wasn't very nice, Lauren said she meant she did not like the apple posted on the bulletin board. I'm not sure if I should be proud of her quick although illogical thinking or embarrassed about her behavior.

Earlier this month I returned home from a quick overnight trip sans children, armed with a few small souvenirs. I presented Lauren with what I considered an adorable pink and white polka-dotted bunny. When I handed it to her, she scrunched up her nose and said, "I don't like this very much." I stared at her, willing myself not to yell, and then just grabbed the bunny and said I would keep it myself. So of course she changed her mind, suddenly fell in love with the bunny, and forced herself to cry big, fat crocodile tears until I gave it back.

I was sure--well, about 90 percent sure--that Lauren would not pull "I don't like this very much" with any other gift-givers. I was wrong. She said the exact same thing to her dance teacher when presented with a cute little ladybug toy as an end-of-semester trinket. My mom was the lucky one who had to deal with that incident. When I asked Lauren later what had happened, she said something about just not liking part of the ladybug. Whatever, kid. We're on to you.

Recently we were having lunch with some visiting friends. Lauren and my friend's daughter both got a mac and cheese kid's meal that included a yogurt tube. Lauren got strawberry and the other little girl got blueberry, but she didn't like blueberry. Lauren was unwilling to trade, even though she likes both flavors. I opted not to push the issue. Lauren, however, had to keep talking about her strawberry yogurt. She asked her friend if she liked strawberry or blueberry. I thought that might mean she was willing to trade. I was wrong, again. Lauren just wanted to drive home the fact that she was the one with the strawberry yogurt. The brat. Or maybe I should say "the sweet little girl doing something bratty."

Lauren's vocabulary is, well, advanced. Not in the sense of using sophisticated or scientific terms, but more in the sense of sounding like a teenager. Every conversation is peppered with "awesome," "that's SO cool" and even "OMG." When she sees her friends outside of school, they hug and squeal. At this point it makes me chuckle, but I know my mild amusement at her "valley girl-esque" behavior will not continue.

Especially if "OMG" is directed at me. That will NOT be awesome. Wish me luck. If her sassy attitude now is any indication of what is coming during her teen years, I am DOOMED.

Vomit, Fever, Sore Throat, Oh My!

The other day I did something I thought I would never do again--stand by while my companion vomited in the bushes. My companion was Alex, and he vomited chocolate milk shake into the bushes by my office. Sorry if I just ruined your lunch.

Alex had a fever on Monday and was just generally blah. Maybe a bit more than "blah" because he threw up. Fortunately the bug passed through him quickly--or so I thought. He went to school the next day seeming close to 100 percent. He had not eaten much the day before, but I really thought the vomiting incident was more a gagging thing than a vomiting thing, if you know what I mean. He has always had an "impressive" gag reflex that he exercises when he does not want to eat green veggies or, God forbid, an entire banana.

Anyway, I sent him to school. As of 12:30, I had not received a call from the nurse, so I assumed he was okay. Then the call came. Alex had thrown up in the classroom--per the nurse--and was waiting for me to pick him up.

I scramble to pack up some work to do at home and rush to his school. Where I find him sitting in the main office, WHISTLING. What sick kid whistles? And then comes home and plays the Wii for two hours? At least I was able to get some work done.

The next day comes. There is a two-hour delay due to snow. Alex seems fine. Even sets up a disco party in his bedroom (lights and all). Then he tries to brush his teeth. It's 10 minutes before we need to leave. And he gags. In 30 minutes we are at the doctor instead of our respective school/work locations.

So he has strep throat. Lovely. Fortunately the doctor says he can return to school the next day, because it would be approximately 24 hours since he started the antibiotic. I had no idea strep throat did not always involve a sore throat. I had it once, and my throat KILLED me. Strep can manifest itself as a headache, fever or tummy ache. Sometimes causes vomiting. And you can also get strep in places like your rectum. You needed to know that, right? (I hope you stopped eating your lunch by now.)

Anyway, Alex bounced back quickly. He has been good about taking his medicine. He is back to his smart-ass self. He's still milking this illness, though. Yesterday morning he requested ice cream for breakfast. Sorry, kid. Your "free ride" is over.

Snips and Snails and ... Sports

My son has been acting disgustingly ... male lately. Not in an endearing little boy way, but in a full-grown man way. Think obsession with sports and video games, dirty socks all over the floor, and an inability to clear his plate from the dinner table. I won't even go into what his bathroom looks like.

Last Saturday I returned home from running some errands with Lauren to find Alex and Brian camped out on the couch, bags of M&Ms and pretzels between them and fast food wrappers on the floor. They were alternately screaming at the TV (the Penn State bowl game was on) and stuffing food in their mouths. It was just so ... male. Until Lauren stripped down to her skivvies, like she always does, and started playing with her princess dolls. However, they didn't even notice her until she dared obstruct their view of the TV.

A few days later, I overheard my two "men" discussing the Sugar Bowl. Brian: "Arkansas threw a pass and then [blah, blah, blah]." Alex, who fell asleep before the game was over: "Really? What did the ref say? [blah, blah, blah]." I'm not sure how to feel about Alex's obsession with sports. He would go to a Penn State sporting event every day if he could. His knowledge of football, basketball, and volleyball, not to mention soccer and wrestling, is really quite impressive. He holds his own in sports conversations with adults. He also has a very "adult" way of yelling at refs when they make what he considers a bad call. No ref is safe from the "wrath" of Alex. If the refs could hear him, they would not believe his comments were coming from an 8-year-old.

At the risk of getting all scholarly on my half-dozen blog readers, I will admit I am wondering how I ended up with two children who exhibit just about every gender stereotype. Lauren even more than Alex, actually (Alex is afraid of 3D movies and roller coasters--decidely "un-male" things of which to be afraid). At the risk of sounding cliche, I suppose it's the ol' "nature vs. nuture" debate. I think a bit of "chicken and the egg" comes into play, too. Does a little boy develop an interest in football because his parents take him to games from a young age? Does he like football because that's what all his friends play on the playground? Or is this particular little boy just "wired" to love sports?

I'll save my discussion of "sugar and spice and everything nice" for another post, although here's a thought: since when did "everything nice" include Disney Princesses? I have yet to meet a little girl who doesn't love them.* I doubt I'm the only parent who resisted introducing her daughter to those questionable role models, and then gave in when it became clear that obsession has a mind of its own.

Anyway. Boys. Sports. Inability to clean up after themselves. Discuss in the comments.

*I know there are plenty of little girls who do not love Disney Princesses. They must just live in a different kingdom than my own princess.

The 12 Problems of Christmas

I am SO over the holidays. The music, the treats, the fake cheer, the kids at home ALL DAY LONG. Bring on 2011 and the general population's return to everyday surliness.

Since my kids' Christmas break started, I have posted a daily Facebook status spoofing "The 12 Days of Christmas," and I thought it would be appropriate to extend that theme to my blog. So I present to you, "The 12 Problems of Christmas":

1. Christmas break. Kids at home for 11 days. Need I say more?
2. Last-minute gift-buying, wrapping, hiding, transporting, etc. I frequently slip a little something for myself into the cart to alleviate the stress.
3. Food preparation for your holiday "feast" when you have already eaten so many Christmas cookies that your jeans no longer fit.
4. Going to the madhouse, a.k.a. grocery store, in the days leading up to Christmas.
5. Holiday music. Sure, many of the songs are beautiful, but when you've been hearing them since November 1, they get a little old.
6. Getting the kids to bed on Christmas Eve. And then making 100 percent certain they are asleep before "playing Santa."
7. Tacky holiday decorations. Blow-up life-size Santas and the like. Although if I found a blow-up dreidel, I would be tempted to buy it.
8. Christmas sweaters. Santa, reindeer, gingerbread men, etc. do not belong, in any way, shape or form, on an adult clothing item.
9. Santa. Yes, I have a problem with the fat, jolly man with monochromatic fashion sense. I just can't get behind all the trickery required to keep the story alive (although I do it anyway). And besides, why should he get all the credit? I work hard to make Christmas happen for my kids and I want some of the credit, gosh darn it (even some credit from my husband would be nice ...).
10. Gifts for teachers and non-family members. It's not the gift that's the problem--it's remembering who "needs" a gift and making sure that person gets the gift before Christmas 2011.
11. Christmas treats. Unless you have amazing self-control or absolutely no sweet tooth, these are definitely a problem.
12. New toys. New toy packaging. Playing with all the new toys when all you want to do is lock yourself in your bedroom and count down the days until school resumes.

I am really not a scrooge--honest. I get into the holiday spirit as much as any central Pennsylvania Jewish girl. I enjoy spending time with my family, although this loooong "vacation" reminds me why I am not a stay-at-home mom. I am admittedly not good at "playing," although I do get a kick out of watching Lauren innocently put naked prince and princess dolls into compromising positions. Did you know how flexible Cinderella is? I also get super-exited (probably too excited) about the after-Christmas sales. I'm probably one of the few Jewish women out at the crack of dawn on December 26, snatching up holiday-themed tableware and miscellaneous half-price crap. It comes in handy when I'm dealing with #10 above.

So now Christmas is over, my kids are happy with their "haul," and I've gotten my shopping fix. Time to move on. The countdown to summer has begun.

His Stage Name Would Be Alejandro

If any male strip clubs are looking for an 8-year-old exotic dancer, Alex is a shoo-in for the job. That boy can SHAKE it, and I don't know whether I should be amused or horrified. He gyrates his slim hips in a way that would make grown women blush, and shakes his bootie like there's no tomorrow. You'd think he had dancing in his blood, but his parents can barely do the "Electric Slide."

No one on my side of the family can dance--at all. I cringe at the memory of the few times my family members have taken to the dance floor. It's not pretty. Brian can't really dance, either, although he has more rhythm than I do. We actually took ballroom dance together during our senior year of college in preparation for our wedding. However, Brian dropped the course part-way through the semester because he did not want it to hurt his GPA. I ended up with an A-, which ruined what would have been a 4.0 for my final semester of college.

Anyway, back to the bootie-shaking. Since Lauren was old enough to understand the concept, she and Alex have been putting on "shows." They used to be totally innocent affairs, with them donning funny outfits and swaying to Disney movie music. Sometimes Alex would put on some Blue Band music and pound on makeshift drums while Lauren shook some pom-poms.

But since the disco party, the dancing has taken a different turn. Maybe the disco ball is to blame. Or the CD I made of what I THOUGHT was totally appropriate dance music.

Now the shows include Alex--usually in just his underwear--standing on a stool and dancing so, uh ... intensely you'd think he was trying to get the ladies to stuff dollar bills in his tightie whities. I have not seen anyone dance like that since I crashed my mom's 40th birthday party just in time for the surprise "pizza delivery man" who was delivering more than pizza.

Alex's favorite dance tunes are the "Macarena" and "I Like to Move It" (from Madagascar). He will dance to both songs over and over again, adding new "moves" each time. Such as twirling a small towel above his head while he swivels his hips. That move, admittedly, is what brought exotic dancers to mind. Rest assured that Alex will NOT be replicating that move with his undies.

While Alex is gyrating, Lauren can often be found singing softly into a microphone or doing what we like to call her "interpretive dancing." Her moves are more reminiscent of ice dancing. She also likes to prance around on her tippy toes. Totally innocent, thank goodness. Although if she continues to watch her brother, that will not always be the case.

Fortunately Alex has a few years before he will be attending school dances, so he has time to tone down his moves. For now, I have decided to be amused--not horrified. How can you NOT chuckle at a scrawny 8-year-old movin' and groovin' without a care in the world? Maybe he'll be able to teach ME something!