Blended

Another Good Reason for Helmets

I just screamed, “GO SAM GO!  Knock him down!”

 

This is a little out of character for me.  So much so, that my husband turned to me with one eyebrow raised and asked, “Feeling ok?”

 

I generally try to steer my children down a peaceful path – biting, kicking and hitting siblings with hard objects is forbidden in my house and they all listen, most of the time.  Well…some of the time.

 

Occasionally.

 

The point is, I yell at them when I catch them doing it.

 

So what has changed to allow me to shout these words to my son?  Well first of all, a helmet and heavy padding…  and second – he has joined the middle school football team.   He’s watched a lot of football, but never played in any sort of organized way, so I was not 100 percent in favor of this decision when he first announced it.  But, he managed to talk me into it.  There was a slight setback in my backing of the plan, though, when he came to my bedroom at midnight the night before the first practice.

 

“Mom?”

“Yes…”

“Can I borrow your computer?”

“What?!?!  It’s midnight!”

“But Mom!  It’s really important!  I have to Google something!”

“What could you possibly have to Google at this hour?”

“Um…Football.”

 

Okay, when you know so little about a sport that you have to Google it before the first practice, I’m pretty sure it’s not going to turn out well.

 

I bit my tongue, handed over the computer and later googled "How protective are middle school football helmets?"

 

Last week was the first game.  He looked absolutely adorable out there in his cute little outfit, although I have learned enough about being a “cool mom” to know not to tell him that.   Or to call “Look Out Sweetie!” during a game.  Instead, after the game I said, “Looking cool out there, Dude.”  For this I was rewarded an eyeroll and a secret smile I wasn’t supposed to see.

 

So football has turned out to have several bonuses.  First of all, with 2 hour practices every single day, he is way too tired to argue with me (most of the time) and, although he has always been kind of a picky eater, he now eats everything in sight.  Even if it’s a vegetable.  He has also learned some discipline, made some great friends, and, most importantly, is starting to show some serious school spirit!  (This is good, seeing as his mother is the one who loves Homecoming Spirit Week so much that she wore a full blonde curly wig and a sparkly silver guitar to be Taylor Swift on Celebrity Day…)

 

That’s not to say I don’t still have my worries.  I worry that Sam, my four-foot-eight-hasn’t-gone-through-the-middle-school-growth-spurt kid will get paired up with some huge six-foot-tall-probably-smushes-little-kids-into-his-locker kid.  This brings me to my next worry that when he gets tackled for the first time there will be tears (mine).  But my biggest fear, by far, is that if I don’t learn any more about this confusing sport, I’m going to make a fool of myself and ruin my cool-mom status.  Oh wait – I already did:  At yesterday’s game, I thought I had figured it all out – I just cheered when everyone else cheered.  This worked really well… until I realized I was sitting in the other team’s section. 

 

Guess it’s time to spend some quality time on the couch with my husband this weekend watching the NFL…  Go Cubs!  (I mean….err…Bears!  That “C” on their helmets is so confusing.)

 

Hey!  By the way – did you notice how many cool football terms I learned?  I’ve been Googling.  Don’t tell Sam – he just thinks I’m cool enough to know this crap.

This is (Apparently) What COOL Looks Like

Tonight I took my 12-Year-Old son and his friend to the high school football game.  Sam wore the second most ridiculous outfit I’ve ever seen.  (It is second because today was “Superhero Day” at the high school and when I dropped him off, I saw a senior boy wearing tights…and underwear on the outside.  Plus a cape.  But until that dude, Sam took the prize)

  This is (apparently) what cool looks like.

I was dying to be the “Cool Mom,” but a little nervous about sending him off on his own.  So, I did what was necessary:

 Boys, It’s time for the Mommy Talk.  Brace yourselves.  

 I outlined some basic rules for survival:

     1.  Don’t talk to strangers.

     2.  Don’t do drugs.

     3.  Don’t drink.

     4.  Call me when the fourth inning starts.

                      Mo-om! It’s a QUARTER! Not an inning!  

                      (Whoops! I’m on a Middle-school-mom-learning curve.)

    5.  Don’t leave the stadium until I text you to say I’m there.

                      (Phew! Back on track with the cool texting abilities.)

 

Then I quizzed them:

    What will you say if someone offers you drugs?

        No.

    What will you say if someone offers you a beer?

        No.

    What will you do at the beginning of the fourth inning?

        Call you.

    When can you leave the stadium?

        When you text us.

    What will you say if a cute girl talks to you?

        ‘Sup.  (‘Sup?  Really? I’m not sure that’s going to work.)

 

Feeling satisfied that they had passed my test and would not be partaking in any illegal activities, (or having particularly meaningful conversations with girls), I dropped them off, said a little prayer and went back to the houseful of screaming girls waiting for me. (Nine-year-old sleepover parties are scarier than Walmart on Black Friday.)

When he called to say that it was the fourth quarter (from a friend’s phone because he had lost his…) I was ready.  I jumped into the car and hurried down to the stadium so I could be the first one in the Mommy Pick Up Line, and therefore the first one out of the parking lot.  I saw Sam’s group of friends come running out, all dressed like complete fools.  Sam and his friend jumped excitedly into the car. 

“Wow!  They Sucked!” said my well-mannered child. 

“Don’t say suck,” I replied. 

“Mom.  We lost 46 to 0.” 

“Oh,” I allowed.  “That sucks.”

 

Then they started talking about somebody being somebody else’s BFFLE.

BFFLE?  I’m racking my Cool Mom brain, but…nothing.

“You know,  Mom, Best Friend For, Like, Ever?”

 “Oh.”  Sorry I asked.

 

I gave them the post-test for their evening just to check in.

    Did you do drugs?

        No.

    Did you drink?

        No.

    Did you leave the stadium?

        No.

    Did you talk to girls?

        No. (You mean [gasp] ‘sup didn’t work?)

 

After we dropped off his friend, Sam rewarded my efforts with the biggest compliment I have received to date:

“You’re the coolest mom, like, ever.”

 So I guess he didn’t notice I picked him up from the game wearing my pajamas?

 

Copyright © Jody Hoffman 2011

The Return of Chaos

Chaos has returned to the Bunch Home – with a vengeance!  Bill and I drove to Missoula, Montana with his three kids to pick up my three kids from their Dad.  They’ve been with him in Seattle for the past seven weeks – the longest seven weeks of my life!  (In case you need help with the calculations, that means that Bill and I spent 22 hours in the car with three kids and then 22 hours in the car with six kids…all within 5 days.  My car will never be the same.  I may need therapy.)  I also realized something around the third hour in the car ride home – my “no” button appeared to be broken. 

 

Mom, can we stop for ice cream even though it’s 10am?  N…Yes.

Mom, can we listen to that awful rap station on the radio in the car?  Really Loud?  N…Yes.

Mom, can I have a cookie for lunch?  N…Yes.

 

So here’s the deal.  I’m apparently racked with mom-guilt over being away from them, even though it was out of my control.  Also, I’m not above buying my way out of it.

 

On the first night we were all together, we played a game called How-Many-People-Can-Talk-At-The-Same-Time.  It lasted about 3 hours days. The kids were all tripping over their own tongues to tell each other about all of the excitement of the summer.  I don’t think they were really listening to the actual words of the other people – it was mostly just mutual admiration of their ability to fill the air with noise.  I wish I had made a recording of it to play for myself next time I’m feeling sorry for myself because my house is too quiet.

 

After the little kids had been put to bed, the big kids were still yapping away, soaking up each other’s voices.  Hannah asked if she could speak to Bill and me in private.

 

I am a sixth grade language arts teacher.  One of the units I teach is on persuasive writing.  Hannah has obviously never participated in my class, but apparently she has been going through my lesson plans, because she presented organized point-by-point reasoning in an emotionally controlled persuasive speech which was impossible to rebut.  (Even if my no-button had been working.)

 

Unfortunately, the speech was entitled:  “The Five Reasons We Deserve to get Hamsters.”

 

Oh Qwap.

 

After saying yes, because we are spineless idiots, Bill and I were treated to our reward:  three squealing, shrieking 9-year olds who “love us SOOOO much.”  Then we were awarded, “Best parents in the WHOLE WORLD!”  The prize for this award turned out to be 22 hours in the car with 9-year-old girls shrieking and squealing about hamsters… 

 

So that is how I ended up at the pet store when it opened on Tuesday morning with four little girls (because Gabby wanted one too and at that point we had completely given up trying to keep any sort of handle on the situation).  I announced to the man behind the counter that we had come to purchase a cage and four hamsters to live in it.  The man surveyed the situation, including the squealing, jumping children and the bags under my eyes and decided he’d better hop to it before his store got “Blended.”   (Think birds flying, puppies running and fish flopping…)  He led us to the room where the hamsters were kept.  This is when I had a horrifying realization.  Hamsters are rodents.  They are kept in the same room with the mice and rats.  They stink!  What had I done?!?!?!

 

Realizing that the punishment for Worst Parent Ever was probably worse than the “award” for Best Parent Ever, I sucked it up and bought the freaking hamsters.  And the cage.  And the food, bedding, waterbottles, toys and tubes.  $200 later, our family now included two toddlers, three nine-year-olds, a 12-year old, two dogs, four hamsters, a mother with a broken No-button and a father on a business trip in for a big surprise.  And it was still too early in the day for rum.

 

Back at home, I spent 45 minute on the “Easy to Assemble Cage,” while the girls offered helpful advice like, “I think that yellow piece isn’t really that important,” and “The picture doesn’t look like what you made,” and my personal favorite, “Wouldn’t it be better if you were doing that faster?” 

 

Finally assembled, the cage was ready for the hamsters.  I picked up each of their little boxes and opened them.  Inside each one, I was delighted to find a medium sized hamster…and about 50 little bugs.  Super.

 

The lovely man at the pet store explained when I called him that these were mites, and were “harmless” and “no big deal.”  I’ll show you “no big deal” you derksace.  All I needed to do, he explained calmly, was bring the hamsters back to the store and he would treat them.  They would be fine tomorrow.

 

Great!  So you mean all I have to do is wrestle the hamsters away from the children, load everyone back in the car, drive back to the pet store, herd six kids down the sidewalk into the shop while holding a cage full of bug-infested hamsters and then figure out how to console the hysterical children who just had their “life-long wish” of hamster ownership granted and then smashed within an hour. Then I can return home and scrub the children’s rooms and the children.  No problem.

 

The kids were troopers.  Of course, they are also spoiled rotten – it seems the hamster fiasco had done even more damage to my already-suffering No-button.  Chocolate Chip Pancakes for dinner?  N…Yup.

 

The next morning we retrieved the rodents and brought them home.  The children played with them nonstop for about four hours and then promptly forgot they existed when the television’s force field erased their brains. The only trouble with that was that they forgot about the hamsters who were travelling around the house in the little plastic ball.  Unsupervised. 

 

Note to potential hamster owners:  The plastic hamster balls are NOT hamster-proof.  If left unattended long enough, hamsters CAN and WILL figure out how to pop the lid. 

 

“MO-OM!   My [gasp] hamster [sob] is [sniffle] GOOOOOOOONNNNE!”

 

Oh Qwap.

 

For the rest of the evening, it was my esteemed pleasure to look underneath every piece of furniture we own and inside any crack, crevice or cabinet that was large enough for a hamster to squeeze through.  No luck.

 

Around 2am, long after the children had given up and gone to sleep, I still hadn’t found the stinkin’ hamster.  I started Googling:

 

Google Searches I preformed:

-Find lost hamster

-Hamsters climbing ability

-Hamster – smallest opening fit in

-Where do hamsters hide?

-Fooling nine-year-olds with replacement pets

-Therapy cost for children lied to by their parents

-Where to buy a hamster at 2am

-Where to buy rum at 2am

 

At 3am, I finally gave up and went to sleep, after scattering flour in every doorway so that we might “track” the hamster’s nighttime movement. [shudder]

 

We haven’t found the little critter yet, but we keep finding bits of food and the flour is still getting scattered, so thankfully he is still alive (!) and wandering unattended through my home (?).  I’m sure he will turn up at a very convenient time like when I’m serving lunch to my grandmother, or in the middle of the baby shower I’m hosting next month. 

 

I’d welcome any ideas on how to find a lost hamster.  I’d also welcome anyone who wants to reassure me that I’m not the only one who gives in to ridiculous requests because of mommy-guilt.  And if you know of a way to fix a broken No-button, please help me.

 

Help.

 

I’m living in a houseful of children and rodents running rampant and I’m out of rum.

 

Copyright © Jody Hoffman 2011

 

 

Another Silver Lining

* Facebook - In the past 4 days, my husband has installed a ceiling fan, an invisible fence and a doggy door. I think he's worried that if he stops moving, he might disappear. Don't get me wrong - I'm not complaining, I'm just wondering how many more walls he will cut through before he takes a break.

 

Everyone keeps asking me if I’m excited for school to start again.  Excited?  I’m not sure that’s the word.  You see, the school year means complete insanity for our family.  We are a wake-up-at-5-am, keep-going-till-9-pm, figure-out-how-to-sit-down-together-for-10-minutes-for-dinner kind of family.  Last year we had kids in 4 different schools and almost 20 different after-school programs, activities and sports.  Basically, we spent all of our time running around like chickens with our heads cut off. 

 

So no, I’m not really looking forward to it.  Don’t get me wrong – I love being a teacher.  It is just a difficult transition from the summer!

 

And what a summer it has been:

 

My children were at their dad’s house for seven whole weeks this summer.  That is the longest I’ve ever been away from them.  I missed them like crazy, but the summer took some interesting turns because of that.  First of all, Bill was working from home, so he was with me for the whole summer.  We spent every minute together for weeks on end. 

 

And I still like him!

 

But the really big deal about this summer was Bill’s kids.  Last year I moved to South Dakota and into this house, and walked blindly into the role of Step-Mother.  All I knew of step-mothers were the wicked ones in every fairy tale and I was determined to be better than that.  There’s no book to read to learn how to be a step-mom.  I made somes mistakes.  I cried sometimes. I mean, I didn’t feed anybody any poison apples, but I was clearly winging it.

 

But this summer something amazing happened.  We changed Bill’s kids’ schedules in June. Now they spend an entire week at our house and then an entire week at their mom’s.  It has been an unbelievable difference!  We’ve all been able to spend so much more quality time together.  We’ve been able to settle into routines, have a structure to our days.

 

We spent a lot of time on the boat fishing and tubing, and also at the waterpark:

  How to get a Gabby-shaped tan line

 

Levi and I have become closer.  He is a Daddy’s Boy 100 percent, but as he told me this summer, “Dody, I decided I like you.”  That was worth the wait!  We have long conversations about race-cars and marshmallows and I think I sealed the deal with him when I took him to see the new Cars movie…in 3D.

 

*Facebook - Levi just asked me to go tubing with him. I am possibly more excited by this 4-year-old's invitation than I was by my prom date's.

 

But Brianna and I had the biggest changes of all.   When I moved in, I know it was difficult transition for her.  She had been the “woman of the house,” and I was taking time with her dad away from her.  It’s been a long, bumpy road, but it seems we’ve come out the other end as friends.  Last week we went shopping, had pedicures, baked cupcakes and scrapbooked together.  We genuinely enjoyed each other’s company and she smiled more than I’ve ever seen her smile before.   When my children were not around, I was able to see more clearly what Brianna needed from me.  She didn’t need another mother. She already has a great one of those.  She certainly didn’t need another person telling her what to do.  What she needed was undivided attention and to feel like I cared and listened to her.  I had ample time this summer to work on that.  Now she sees me as a good shopping buddy, (especially when she wants something her dad would say no to), and a good bet if you’re looking for someone to say yes to late night baking projects or pedicure sessions.  I think she’s starting to appreciate my fashion sense and is definitely looking forward to the time when she can borrow my shoes.  She sees me as a person willing to watch every ridiculous Disney movie and know all the names, and once she even saw me as the “Fairy Step-Mother,” when I made a special wish come true.  Mostly, she sees that I’m someone who loves her, loves her Daddy, and is here to stay. 

 

Now that we’ve had a chance to develop our “step-relationship” outside of the craziness of school and with plenty of time for undivided attention, we will need to move into the next phase – my kids are coming home and school is starting up.  I will need to work extra hard to show Brianna that I’m still that movie-going, pedicure giving, shopping buddy that loves her and is there for her.  I’m sure I’ll continue to make mistakes, and neither one of us is done shedding tears.  But I’m a firm believer that everything happens for a reason and what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.  I thought that being away from my own children for the whole summer would be unbearable, but Brianna was able to show me the silver lining.  (I’m sure she gets that from her dad.)  Maybe while I was trying to give Brianna what she needed this summer, she was doing the same for me. 

 

 

 

What's in a Name?

I am a mother, a step-mother, a wife, a sister, a daughter, a granddaughter, a niece, a cousin, a daughter-in-law, a sister-in-law, a teacher, a writer, a friend and a basketcase. My children are at their dad’s house.  My step-children are at their mom’s house.  My husband is working with his dad in another state, and I am home alone thinking how quiet it is when nobody is yelling to me!  Aside from cleaning obsessively and playing Words With Friends until my fingers hurt, I’ve also been watching a lot of television.  In fact, I had such a TLC, Bravo and Food Network overdose that I’m thinking of inventing a new TV show that involves triplet toddlers throwing cupcakes at brides. 

 

I need everybody to come home.

 

Until then, I’ve been compiling a list of names I’m called on a regular basis.  For the sake of keeping this blog family-friendly, I will exclude the names that other drivers call me when I cut them off.

 

Jody:  This is the name my parents picked for me a week before I was born.  I was almost Laura.  Jody sounds better in the banana-fana song though:  Jody Jody Bo Body, Banana-fana fo Fody… You get the idea.

 

Dody:  The name Levi calls me because he can’t pronounce J’s.  He also pronounces F’s like S’s with a lisp, so when those other drivers give me the finger, we call them Derksaces. 

 

Joey:  This is the name Gabby calls me.  She is perfectly capable of pronouncing the D, and will tell you that my real name is Jody.  She uses Joey like some people use titles.  You know, I have a mom, a dad, and a Joey.  Unfortunately for me, when she uses that name I am rendered powerless against anything she asks of me.  It is that cute. 

 

Jode:  This shortened version of my name is only used by a few people. I don’t think it sounds particularly flattering, but I’ll answer to it as long as it is at the beginning of the following sentence:  “Jode, would you like a Pina Colada?”

 

Fairy Step-Mother:  This name was only used once, but I have held on to that memory.  Brianna wanted something that no one else could pull off but me.  I did it and was rewarded with a smile, a hug and a thank you that had no “step” about it.

 

 

Big Jo: My great grandmother was Julia.  She was the most amazing human being I’ve ever known and dearly loved in our family. She lived to be 100 years old and all three of my children knew her.  Sam even remembers!  In the Jewish religion, we do not name our children after living relatives.  Still, it is interesting to note that my cousin, Joelle and I both have “J” names and parents who were particularly enamored with Grandma Julia.  Joelle is several years younger than I am, so she was always Little Jo, and I was Big Jo.

 

Jodily Odily:  A silly name my father used when I was little.  It seems harmless enough…Except that in our huge extended family we have a card game that we love to play called Eights.  Each member has an “Eights Name” that is used both during the game as well as anytime anyone wants to embarrass you.  Guess what my Eights Name is?  I’ll give you a hint, it rhymes with Nodily.

 

Snooky Head:  From my mother. Thanks, Mom.  I’m not really sure of the spelling, but if I asked her, she’d just make it up anyway.

 

DeeJo:  A nickname created by a toddler I used to babysit for who had a small speech problem…and carried on by my 30 year old sister, to this day.

 

Jody Pody:  What my grandfather says every single time I call his house.  To this day.  “Hi Grampy, it’s Jody,”  “Jooody Pooody!”  I love it.

 

Mrs. Hoffman: Used only by my students and telemarketers.  Both have me occasionally looking for my mother-in-law.

 

The Cookie Lady:  During the month of March I lived and breathed (and ate) Girl Scout Cookies for the sale.  As the leader, it was my job to pick them up, count them, eat them, deliver them, exchange them, eat them and basically fill my entire house with them.  One of the Girl Scouts had a little brother who now calls me the Cookie Lady.  Even now – four months after the end of cookie sale.

 

Babycakes:  Because Jodily Odily and Schnookie Head were just not embarrassing enough. I have no idea where this name came from, but Bill uses it on a regular basis.  Once in front of my boss.  I do like cake…

 

Mommy:  The best name ever.  Used less and less frequently now that my kiddos are nine and twelve, but still pulled out anytime they want something…  I’ll admit it.  It works. 

 

Mom:  A name I answer to at least 100,000 times a day.  Except this week.  This week I’ve been answering to Mom when other random children say it at the mall or the grocery store.  I don’t do it on purpose, but it does create some awkward situations.

 

Mo-om: Used in times of distress as in: “Mo-om, all the OTHER kids are doing it.” Or “Mo-om, you are so embarrassing.”

 

Ma: Used in front of friends in order to appear cool, as in: “Ma, we need more food down here.  Yo.”  This form is not usually met with a willingness to grant whatever demand they are making.

 

This week I haven’t been called much of anything except “That lady buying wine again.”  Next week, when the kids and Bill are all home again and there is complete chaos in my house, would somebody please remind me of how horribly quiet it was when they were all gone?  And for goodness sake, would somebody please turn off my freakin’ tv?

 

Copyright © Jody Hoffman 2011

 

Holy Qwap

My 12-year-old son and I do not always see eye-to-eye.  Show me a mother who says she DOES see eye-to-eye with her 12-year-old son and I will show you a faker….or a really short woman.  He is irritating, frustrating, scary, the spitting image of his father (which is confusing), and has a sense of humor that is almost impossible to understand.  And every now and then…he’s still my little boy.

Last week my father treated Bill, Sam and me to a Boston Red Sox game at Fenway Park.  On the way there, while sitting in the traffic we are no-longer accustomed to, Sam started playing the ABC game with the signs on the highway.  I decided that he would not think it was “cool” if I started crying about the idea of him remembering this game we used to play when he was little.  So instead I played.

As usual, A-R were easy to find aside from a short pause while we waited for a Jeep to go by since we couldn’t find the letter J anywhere on a billboard.  But man, did we get stuck on Q!  When it was clear we weren’t passing a Qdoba or Quiznos anytime soon, we decided to cheat.  Everyone in the car started looking for things that started with Q, since we clearly weren’t going to actually find the letter.  When even that failed, we started changing the names of things to make them sound like Q words.  (Perhaps I wasn’t the only one hanging desperately onto this rare mother-son moment free of eye-rolling and the dreaded 12-year-old shrug.)  Our conversation deteriorated until we were all giggling.  Sam pointed to a sign on a passing truck and read it in a ridiculous, Elmer Fudd voice: “Mom!  Wook!  That twuck says 'Wowld Headquwatews for Wefuwbishing!' "  (“Mom!  Look!  That truck says 'World Headquarters for Refurbishing!' ”)

Having successfully found the elusive Q, we moved on and finished the last 9 letters before we reached the ballpark.  The car game had done the trick, though, and we had an amazing evening watching the Red Sox cream the Padres.  Sam was talkative, expressive, funny…and happy.  Really happy.  That part was even better than the fact that we had seats 10 rows behind home plate.  (Thanks Dad!)

Of course, the next day, he went back to being a regular 12-year-old:  buried in his ipod touch, talking on the phone to his friends, rolling his eyes at his uncool mom.  I even got the 12-year-old shrug. 

A few days later we were again driving in Boston and were stuck in a horrendous traffic jam.  Since my parents do not own a car large enough to transport my entire family, Sam and I were riding in separate cars.  As we approached the front of the jam, we could see the source of the trouble:  construction vehicles and pavers were working on the highway.  My phone rang Sam’s dedicated ring tone and when I answered he was giggling. 

“MOM!  Bill says he figured out why there’s so much traffic!  They’re [giggle] wefuwbishing the road!” 

For once in my life I pulled out cool-mommy just in time and responded in a way that kept him laughing until we reached our destination:

“Oh Qwap.”

© Jody Hoffman 2011