Wednesday, January 20, 2016

Help, Someone's Calling, and I Can't Pick Up

I may, perhaps, be ready to entertain the idea, that there's a slight possibility, I might have a problem.

No, David, not that problem.

Nope, not that one either.

Oh alright already, so I have quite a few shortcomings.

This one's really more of a Mom addiction. Some Moms binge watch shows on Netflix. Some immerse themselves in love stories, forsaking the laundry or other chores. (I may have been guilty of this during the Twilight series). And still others take a spa day or visit a nail salon on a regular basis.

Mine is a slightly different escape from reality.

Quite a few Christmases ago, the kids got a Wii. I was quick to add Super Mario Bros to "their" game collection.  Except if they were playing it, I also had to be playing it. And if there was a level I was particularly stuck on, I kicked them off altogether so I could concentrate better.

Sadly, somewhere along the line, the Wii went kaput. And we got an Xbox.

I do not care for the Xbox.

I can't play any of the games, other than the Kinect games where your whole body controls your body on the screen. That stuff right there is brilliant.

Tate thought it was pretty cool that I had played Wii with him, so he assumed I'd also want to play Xbox.

We quickly discovered that's just not possible. I don't get it. I will never get it. 3D games where you are left to wander at your leisure but are still expected to complete certain tasks drive me bonkers.

Minecraft? Forget it.

Infinity? Not happening.

He even picked out a Disney game thinking that'd be more up my alley. Nope. I don't understand how to manipulate the controller to move around. I was always going the wrong way or running into walls. And I spent most of my time just trying to get myself turned back around in the right direction.

He would help me the best he could, "Over here, Mom. Get that star."

"What? What star? Where is it?"

"There, by the bridge. Nope, the other way. I see you. And you need to turn around."

"How are you seeing me?! I can't see you. And where's the blasted star?!"

"You can't see me because you're facing the wall."

I finally just gave up altogether. I let him down gently and explained that I just didn't get 3D games and they frustrated me too much. I can only play games that go from left to right.

He took it pretty well. "I guess 'cuz that's what you played when you were little, so that's what you're used to." Then he brightened up, "I'm going to invent a 2D game you can play Mom, and then me and you can play together."

And just like that, David became his chief gaming buddy. In fact, I think they rather enjoy retreating to their little man cave now and then.

I may have mentioned a time or 12 that I missed our Wii. And I missed Mario. So for Christmas this year, David got a Wii for the kids to give me. Thus the rekindling of my addiction.

David still prefers Xbox, which works out fine because our Wii games can only accommodate 4 players at the most. What happens in the game, stays in the game. The kids and I hoot and holler at one other and carry on if we accidentally get knocked into the lava or someone steals our power. But as soon as we shut the console off, we're back to being a civil little group of relatives for the most part.

Tate's skills have improved exceedingly. I now consider him an equal teammate. And at times, better than me. He'll sometimes sneak in when he girls are distracted elsewhere and say, "Mom, let's just me and you play so we can beat it." It didn't take us long to beat my Mario game over break.  But there's a bonus level that can only be played if you've collected all the large coins in the other levels.  So we went back and started working on those. All too soon, Christmas break was over and I had to send my little gaming buddy back to school.

That's when the first sign arose that I may have a problem. I pondered for a split second leaving the following voicemail for his school, "Good Morning, I realize it's the first day back after break, but Tate is running a little late today. See, there's this level we've been working on for awhile now, and, well, I just really need him here to help me beat it. As soon as we do, I'll run him right up.  If not today, then for sure tomorrow. Oh, and please send any missed work home with Drue. She's not very good at Mario so she should be there on time."

We've taking a hiatus from Mario Bros and have rediscovered Mario Kart. Which I guess is considered 3D, but because you're driving on a set track and not just free to venture wherever you please, I can do it. I was a little rusty at first. And the kids kept flying past me. Which is odd, considering I'm the only one of the four of us who actually knows how to drive. But I'm improving, and have no problem whatsoever leaving them in my dust and tossing a red turtle shell their way to knock them off the course entirely.

I'm beginning to realize my affection for Mario Kart has slowly taken root and is beginning to affect other areas of my life. A few weeks ago David was on his way home from Denver. I had already gotten his text saying he'd landed in KC so was a bit surprised when the Superman theme song resonated from my cell phone (his assigned ring). The kids and I were playing Mario Kart and I had raced myself into 2nd place. 2nd place! We still had about a lap and half to go and the others were coming up quickly behind me. So I kept going.

"Mom," Reese said as she sped through the course, "Daddy's calling you."

"I know. I'll call him back," I replied.

"What if it's important?" she asked, growing a little concerned.

"Well, then I'll find that out after I cross the finish line," I continued as I dodged some banana peels.

Turns out, he had stopped at the store and just wanted to know if he needed to pick up anything. Of course, he proceeded to ask what we were up to because Reese hadn't picked up her phone either. I vaguely answered that the kids and I were spending some quality time together. "You guys are playing Mario aren't you?" he deduced.

Fast forward about a week. Drue had a meeting after school so she was going to be a little later than usual. David was taking some conference calls from home, answering work emails, etc. I normally  keep the front door unlocked in the afternoons when I'm home because the kids each trickle in at different times. I don't know if he thought Drue had already come home or what, but he locked the front door. Tate and I were racing through a course when the doorbell rang.

"What in the world? Who's at the door?" I hollered. "It's freezing outside!"

"I don't know. It could be Drue," Tate offered, never looking away from the TV screen.

She rang again, shimmied the doorknob, then started knocking. George was going c-r-a-z-y and David was on a call in the basement.

So I yelled, "Pause it! Pause it!" and raced to the door. I hope I greeted her with a warm hug and a "How was your day?" but who can really remember that far back?

I do remember when I returned to the couch, Tate hadn't paused the game in a timely enough manner and I was now in last place with no hope of catching up. I reviewed our no locked door policy in-depth with David later that evening.

Not all my behaviors have a negative impact, however, when it comes to my Mom addiction. Yes, I may have missed a phone call (or three) and let my daughter stand outside a bit longer than necessary, but there are also positives. Knowing that the kids will be getting home by a certain time each day, I'm motivated to get my errands and housework done even earlier so I'll be available should they want to take a spin around the ol' racetrack. I use my crock pot a lot, especially on nights they have practices, so each person can dish out their grub when they get home or before they leave.  But it also comes in handy on the rare nights they don't have practices. I can prepare the meal during the day and plop it in early so I won't have to be watching pots boil and peeling potatoes during prime gaming hours after school.

Never fear, homework is being completed, actual books are getting read, sports activities are continuing. But I do look forward to little breaks from time to time as we retreat into Mario World. Oh, and if you're planning on calling me, kindly do so before 4pm.





Thursday, January 07, 2016

Midwest Girls in a West Coast World

When I run into friends I haven't seen in a few months, the first question they ask is, "How was California?!" To which I look confused and say, "What are you talking a--- oooohhhh! Yes! I did go to California!" So I thought I'd better document it lest I forget the entire trip altogether.

After we decided to take each of the kids on a trip to begin their teenage years (thank you, Jen Hatmaker, for the idea) I sat down to plan one with our first teenager...Reese.  

I immediately thought of a nice, relaxing, beach vacation...except...Reese abhors everything about the beach.  Seriously, it's like a chore to her when we bee bop down to Gulf Shores in the Summer. The sun, sand, saltwater, tiny little fish swimming around her.  She's a little trooper and endures it for the sake of the family, but I didn't want to subject her to that for her own personal celebration.  

Drue and Tate have ideas for everything.  Places they want to go, food they want to eat, presents they'd like to receive.  But not Reese.  She just shrugs her shoulders, smiles sweetly, and says, "I don't know."

Next, I thought about the Mall of America.  An easy trip.  Somewhere she's never been.  But David suggested I go bigger.  (He and Tate are kicking around the idea of going on an African safari in 3 years.)

One of my all-time favorite shows is Full House.  And I've gotten the kids hooked on it too.  We regularly have Full House marathons when David's out of town.  So I came up with the idea to try and attend a taping of Fuller House.  Turns out, tickets are actually free online.  BUT they're only released 30 days before a taping, and you have to be online at a certain time to snatch them up.  So each time I went to check, they were already "sold out". 

It was coming down the wire, and I still hadn't planned what we were going to do.  Reese's birthday was in 11 days.  I checked tickets one more time and it showed there were some available for November 5th! I filled in the info for us with shaking hands. When I checked again, it said "sold out" so I'm pretty sure we got the last two available.  As I continued reading about it, it said, "This ticket does not guarantee entrance into the show" and I panicked.  What if we got all the way out to California and couldn't get in?! That right there almost stopped me from going any further.  But I decided to put my practical self behind and take a chance.  Completely unlike me at all. 

Thanks to David's travel points, our airfare was $22 and he booked us at a Hilton overlooking Universal Studios. Hogwarts was right outside our window! Harry Potter world doesn't open 'til Spring but it was still fun to wake up to.

I was so excited to plan the trip I left out one of the most important details...how we were going to get around once we got there.  In the back of my head I feel like every major vacation destination is all inclusive and shuttles you from place to place like our trip to Disneyworld a few years back.  I frantically began comparing airport shuttles and taxi prices when David suggested matter-of-factly, "Just rent a car." So that's what we decided to do.

We landed at 10:30pm (12:30am our time) and drug our weary selves and luggage to the rental car counter which was a long haul from the terminal. "What kind of car would you like?" was the first question.  "Oh...I don't know...something small." Something small?  This was my first mistake.  I haven't driven "something small" since 1998. I've either had little suv's or a van.  But he found me something small...a tiny Ford with a windshield the size of a matchbox car.  "The keys are in it," he smiled as he handed me the agreement with the parking spot number on it.

Well, that turned out to be a bold-faced lie.  No, the keys were not in it...because it had a keyless car start! Did he not know a middle-aged Mom from the Midwest, who up until last Spring, drove a minivan, would have no clue how to start this vehicle?! Let alone, I'm unable to process any new information past 9pm.  I grabbed the key fob and started running my hands all over the dashboard and steering area.

"What are you doing?" Reese asked, confused.

"I'm trying to find where to stick this in!" I may have answered a little impatiently.

"You don't stick it in anywhere. You press that button that says 'start'."

So I pressed it.  And nothing happened.

"This. Is. Not. Happening." I picked up my phone to call David but remembered what time it was and put it back.  I was on my own with this one.

After about 5 more minutes of me searching the dash, and saying unkind things about progress and technology, Reese said, "Just go ask them how to start it."

"That would be totally embarrassing!" I replied. (Not unlike my retelling of the whole scenario). I pressed the button again and we started rolling forward slightly.  But the car wasn't actually turned on yet.  Part of me was tempted to jump out of the car and catch the first flight home to Kansas, but I paused, took a deep breath, and noticed a little tag on the key fob with directions on how to start it.  The engine revved and we were on our way.  But I was afraid the entire drive to the hotel that the car was just going to stop suddenly in the middle of the road and turn itself off.

We finally made it and pulled into the parking garage.  Another fear inducing trigger for me.  Even though we were in the tiniest car known to man, I still ducked my head as we drove through.

We collapsed into bed and I made a mental note to send David (lover of all things Harry Potter) a picture of our view of Hogwarts from the 21st floor.  Then my "Mom Worry" hit me full force.  21st floor?! We're in California!  If there's an earthquake I had no idea what to do.  Great, I drug Reese out here for a fun time and we're both going to perish in an earthquake.  I made another mental note to Google what to do in an earthquake the next morning also.

The next day was the show taping.  We set out ridiculously early to get there.  I was a nervous Nellie driving in California and my phone GPS seemed to be working a few microseconds too slow. My co-navigator certainly wasn't much help. She has no idea where she is if our destination isn't near the Chik-Fil-A in Olathe.  No matter where we drive in the KC area she'll say, "I have no idea where we are...are we by Chik-fil-A?" Now, I can zip around KC highways no problem, but the thought of getting on one in California freaked me the heck out.  I feel intimidated when I get out of my zip code bubble. Any time the GPS said to "take a slight right on such and such highway" I panicked. "Nooooo! I don't want to get on the highway!" Reese tried half-heartedly to comfort me, "Mom, you drive on higways all the time back home." "Yeah, but they don't have songs written about them! Ohhhh...Ventura Blvd! Quick, take a picture!"

Needless to say, we missed a crucial turn to the WB studios.  No biggie.  We were super early.  I would just turn around up ahead.  Only "up ahead" ended up being miles and miles away.  And it involved me getting back on the highway.  We finally made it to the parking garage where we needed to be and found a spot in line to wait on some benches.  There were only a few people ahead of us.  And there we sat.  For four hours. Looooong story short, we made it in.  Since it was the taping of the season finale, the VIP guest list was long and not many people with regular tickets got in.  I didn't relax until we were actually sitting in the studio.  Then an usher came over and told me to come with him.  I'm sure you're sensing a theme here... I panicked.  "But she's with me!" I signaled toward Reese.  "She can come too," he explained.  This was it.  We'd come all this way and were getting kicked out to make room for a VIP.  But it was actually the opposite.  A few VIPs didn't show so we got moved to the front row.

I could contain my excitement no longer.  "We made it!  And we're in the front row! I can't believe this is happening!" Reese looked around to make sure no one was watching my bubbly display of happiness. Oh, she was excited too, she just shows it less enthusiastically.  The whole experience was surreal. The curtain went up and there was the Tanner's living room and DJ, Stephanie, and Kimi all grown up.  And they were real people.  Who danced to the music in between takes, got their makeup and hair touched up about 282 times, and laughed at their own bloopers.  No wonder I feel like a frumpy, middle-aged Mom...I need someone to follow me around with a little caddy of makeup products and hairspray and do a few touch ups after every conversation I have. When DJ walked by, I leaned over to Reese and said, "She's my age!" in disbelief. Reese looked at her, then looked at me and said (in equal disbelief) "She is?!"

It took over 4 hours for them to shoot the show.  No spoilers here, but in one of the last scenes, the girls are eating cake.  They had to do a few takes.  And a brand new cake was brought in each time!  So we all got to eat a piece of the leftovers.  It tasted heavenly. We also got a rose from one of the scenes from Becky and Jesse's apartment.  

The next day we ventured out to see the Hollywood sign.  Made another wrong turn, ended up at the top of the mountain and had to turn around in someone's driveway.  I guess so cars don't slide down the mountain, the driveways have weird curbs at the end of them.  And I crunched the front of the rental car backing out.  I felt so guilty, I called David to confess and he found the whole predicament hilarious.  "I rent cars 24 weeks per year and have never damaged one.  You rent ONE car and have a mishap!" Thankfully, the bumper was just whacked out of place and the rental car company was able to whack it back into place. 

We spent the rest of the day at Universal Studios.  I even sprung for a late afternoon snack at the park since I just had one kid to buy for and it wouldn't break the bank just to get ice cream. We both had on our Royals shirts and people were congratulating us for our well-deserved win.  
We took a tour of some movie sets and saw where Three Amigos and Jaws were filmed.

Reese kept looking around at everyone and finally announced, "I'm the palest girl in California!" And she wouldn't let us walk the few miles from our hotel to the nearest In-and-Out Burger for supper in the dark, so I braved the roads yet again.

At one point, as I quietly concentrated on maneuvering our hot wheels through the traffic, she looked at me and said, "Are you shutting down?". "What?" I cried. She continued, "Daddy said you would probably shut down at some point during this trip." Good ol' Daddy. "No, I am not shutting down! I can't! I'm the only adult there...oh gracious day in the morning...there's a highway up ahead!"

I will say one nice thing about California.  It has beautiful scenery.  I positioned Reese just so against a lovely sunset reflected off the mountains.  I may have gone a little crazy with the pictures, because she finally said, "You've taken a picture of me next to every Palm tree in California!"


As we got ready to leave for the airport the next day, I thought aloud, "Should I wash my hair? Or just wear a hat?"

"A hat? To the airport?" Reese questioned. "You don't want to look suspicious!"

Yes, because I'm pretty sure most terrorists sport baseball caps and ponytails.

I've mentioned before how Reese is extremely time oriented.  And always wants to know the exact times events are happening and the exact time of our departure and arrival somewhere.  When she'd ask me what time our plane would land in such and such a place and what time that would be back home, etc I really tried at first to figure it out.  But since we were landing and flying through multiple time zones I finally gave up and said, "We'll get there when we get there!"

As we compared tickets at the airport she groaned, "Ugh...I have to save you a seat on both flights!" when she saw she would board first.  "I am so sorry to put you out like that.  How inconvenient for you to have to come on this awesome trip to the West Coast and be burdened with having to save your own Mother a seat," I sympathized sarcastically.

When I finally plopped down beside her and thanked her profusely for bearing that burden, she confessed, "I'm just saying, if a Royals player had come on this plane, I would have sold you out and said to them, 'Sure, you can sit here.' You would have been on your own."

I nestled our In-and-Out burger carton containing our John Stamos roses securely under the seat in front of me and said, "Oh yeah?  Well if they hadn't let us board with these roses and I would have had to pick between you and them...I would have had to think about it.  Really hard."


We made it home around 10pm to our excited family who couldn't wait to hug us and hear all about our adventures.  Or that's how I imagined it would be. We actually let ourselves in to a completely dark and quiet house because everyone had already gone to bed.

All in all, I had a great time with our first teenager. Hopefully it will stall her turning crazy on us for a little bit.  I'm already looking forward to my trip with Drue in 2 years.  She has her sights set on Hawaii. But I'll probably try and trick her and take her to Florida instead.  I'll just make sure she has her earbuds in when the flight attendant announces where we're headed.  



Thursday, December 03, 2015

Believe it or Not, Ripley's Back!

Let me just say, when it comes to this whole Elf on the Shelf tradition...I'm killing it.  No seriously, I want him to meet his untimely demise falling out of Santa's sleigh this year.  I am so bad at this whole thing.  I forget to move him, I forget to write back and answer the questions the kids leave for him, and our "countdown to Christmas" is really my own personal "countdown until I can pack the elf away".

He showed up late this year.  And he never made a special appearance during the year like he'd promised last Christmas. He didn't even come until this morning.  I was going to have him arrive in a sink full of marshmallows, but there were only like 5 left in the bag, and they were stale.

Next, I was going to perch him on the counter and spell out "I'm Back" in skittles (yes, I steal all my ideas from my FB friends). But that greeting was taking too long, so I tried to shorten it to just "Hi" this morning at 0-dark-thirty. Except Reese came out of the bathroom sooner than I thought, so I had to abort that mission altogether.

Which was crazy, because I only have one child left who even still believes in the elf and he was sound asleep.  Reese doesn't pay any attention to Ripley anymore.  He could be rappelling down into our entryway on a licorice whip and she'd just walk around him and say, "Come on, Mom, I'll be in the car."

The magic is gone for Drue also, unfortunately, but she hasn't come right out and said so.  She just gets a little sneer on her face and says mockingly, "Shouldn't the elf have been here by now?!" within earshot of Tate and myself.  This morning, when he finally made his appearance, she said in that same tone, "I'm going to write Ripley a letter to give to Santa telling him what I want." She seriously looks like the grinch when she says it.

But I lugged myself out of bed this morning before dawn, searched the hall closet 'til I felt Ripley's jingle bell hat, and planted him downstairs for one person...innocent little Tate. I really want to try and make this an epic year for Ripley because I'm 99% sure it will be his last year a Hollaway child believes in him.  Tate is definitely on the verge of figuring it all out.  He almost put 2 and 2 together a few weeks ago as we were standing amongst the beautiful Christmas lights at Silver Dollar City.  I quickly redirected the conversation, only because there was no way that was going to be the setting where his little dreams would be crushed.

He has started randomly stating facts about Santa and the Tooth Fairy out loud.  "The Tooth Fairy has to be real, because what would parents want with our teeth? That'd just be creepy." Another sign I know the magic is nearing an end. He will soon run out of rationalizations.

So, no marshmallows and no candy messages for Ripley's grand reentry. He was simply thrown under our little tree in the entryway with no salutation whatsoever.  Where I discovered George had already left a fragrant gift under the tree, as the overwhelming smell of dog pee greeted me when I bent over to place Ripley just so.

Tate has already written him a note and left him some cheezits.  Which I promptly picked up after Tate left for school so the dogs wouldn't devour them. I know what's coming next, Tate will ask Ripley to make breakfast one morning.  In years past, Ripley has whipped up donuts out of cheerios and pancakes the size of quarters.  I'll pick up marshmallows today and try the sink bath again tomorrow. 
As you can tell, I'm not quite putting forth my best effort because I was too cheap to even buy the real elf in the first place.  I picked Ripley up for a few dollars at Kirklands years ago. Which actually worked to my advantage.  Since he didn't look like everyone else's, the kids thought he must be authentic.

I really want to be good at this.  I love looking at elf pictures from my creative Mom friends.  And for those of you who may also be struggling with this tradition, keep going.  Persevere, sweet Moms.  (I say Moms because the Dad of our house has maybe moved Ripley once in 5 years.  And I think I was half comatose with the flu at the time). Make those sweet memories and keep that magic alive for as long as you can for your kids because one day their little feet won't come bounding down the stairs in excited anticipation to find the elf. And another chapter of their childhood will close.  

Thankfully, Christmas will always be a joyous season for us since my kids know the real meaning we celebrate.  And Ripley will definitely stick around even when no one believes in him. We'll all just take turns (yes, even you, David) cleverly moving him around the house.  I got dibs on the marshmallow bath, however. That may become my stolen signature move.

Tuesday, October 13, 2015

Saved by the Boy

Yesterday afternoon will go down in KC baseball history as one of those, "Where were you when....?" moments.

"Where were you when the Royals rallied in the 8th inning of game 4 of the ALDS and beat the Astros 9-6?"

Since it started right smack dab in the middle of the day, most people were at work. And if you were one of the lucky ones at home watching it, you had to make the tough decision to either let your kindergartner walk home from school for the first time (hoping he/she finds their way before dark), or peel yourself away from the screen, be a responsible parent, and pick them up.  

And then there were people like me. Ok, I was probably the only one like me.  

I was busy till about 1, and then had some more running around to do.  So I asked Siri periodically what the score was.  It wasn't looking good.  

David was stuck in meetings in Philadelphia so I texted him around 3:00 to say we were losing 2-6, complete with a crying face and a baseball emoji.  

By this time, I was asking Siri about every 52.8 seconds what the score was.  I'm surprised she didn't get snarky with me.  

My next 2 texts to David were about 6 minutes apart: 4-6 and Tie ballgame!

At this point, I said to heck with my errands, thanked Siri for her helpfulness, and dashed home to watch it on the big screen.  

I flew in the door, tossed the groceries on the counter, hunted for the remote (which I eventually found in the dog toy basket...that's another story).

Pressed the power switch...and some weird error message appeared.  

I'm only going to embarrass myself with this next part, but this wouldn't be much of a story without it, so here goes:

I have no idea how to work our TV. There. I said it. And it sounds even more ridiculous in my head as I type it. 

It's not even a new TV or a new cable company.

I just never sit down to watch TV by myself.  Ever. The kids have taken it over and one of them always has a death grip on the remote or is guarding it like a precious stone. Either that, or it's lost. Its' favorite getaway is snuggling deep into the lining of our couch. Sneaky little fella. I certainly have days I wish I could hide in the couch lining for some alone time. 

If the kids aren't in control of the TV, David is. And he could probably turn on the whole system and get to a specific channel with his eyes closed. I have no doubt he'll at least try it when he gets home after reading this.  

I was thrilled to figure out how to delete his iPhone from our Toyota and connect mine this week so I could listen to my phone music through the speakers.  When I excitedly relayed to him my success, however, he said, "That's great honey...it only took, what, 8 months? I thought it'd be a solid year at least." 

It certainly doesn't help matters that we have 3 remotes (that I know of) for this TV. And one of them is about as big as my index finger. Whoever invented Apple TV did NOT have kids. They couldn't have. They're probably a bachelor who keeps a pristine apartment and has a little basket especially for remotes. And the remotes actually stay in that basket when not in use.  

Don't ask me anything about Apple TV. Just...no. I don't know what it is, or why it works, but it's magical. The kids can pull up all sorts of movies and shows. 

So when I first turned on the TV yesterday and got the strange message, I remembered we'd watched a movie on Apple TV the night before. I panicked. I had no earthly idea how to get it back to regular TV.  

"No. I can do this. I'm a college graduate. And I can do this," was my feeble attempt at a pep talk.  

I started unplugging wires and plugging in other ones. I finally got it on "TV" and there was just snow.  

David texted to check the score and inning number, and I had to confess I couldn't get it to show up. He suggested I try the downstairs TV. Of course!

Down the stairs I flew, turned it on, same thing. I finally got a show to come on. But when I tried to change the channel, it said that it couldn't be done in that mode.  

I pleaded with Siri to give me the score one more time and we were up 7-6! 

Then...I waited.  

It was around 3:30. School would get out in 10 minutes. Some of the longest 10 minutes of my life. The girls both had after-school activities so it was up to Tate.  

I finally heard the front doorknob turning and screamed, "Tate!" as I ran toward him with the remote in my outstretched hand.  "Fix it! Fix the TV!"  

He sensed the urgency of the situation, dropped his bag, and quickly raced to the living room.  

As his fingers flew furiously over the buttons, he began sweetly explaining my errors. "Mommy, you had it on 'TV', it has to be on 'HDMI'."

When he switched it to the correct setting and it still didn't come on, he looked perplexed for a minute.  He gave all the components a once over then said, "And Mommy, you have to turn this box on." 

The heavens opened, a bright light shined down on the TV, and beautiful Disney channel characters appeared.  (Some of that may have been embellished for dramatic effect). 

But we weren't there yet. I have no idea what any channels are. All I know is 688 plays Full House reruns on weeknights.  At this point I grabbed the remote from him and started going through all the channels. All bazillion and 20 of them.  Where are the days of just 4, 5, 9, & 41?

Finally, after multiple screenfuls of channels, Tate yelled out, "MLB! I see MLB!" 

I clicked it and could have kissed the screen. I've never been so relieved to see the boys in blue. For some reason the picture only took up about 1/3 of the screen. I didn't even care. Tate and I collapsed on the couch with our eyes glued to that little picture.  

And Hosmer walked to the plate.  

The crack of the bat against the ball, the camera angle showing it go up...up...within the foul marker. I reached out my hand to grab Tate's leg and the ball disappeared!! We squealed and I released his leg to text David about Hosmer's 2 run homer!

"I'm SO glad you made it home to watch this with me, " I told Tate. 

"I'm glad I made it home too, to turn it on for you!" he said between handfuls of chips. 


Thankfully, Wednesday night's game is in the evening. We have 3 different practices that night and I'm helping Drue sell candy grams at conferences, but we should all convene at home around 8 to catch the rest of it.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to search technology classes for dummies.  And perhaps a support group as well. 

"Hi, I'm Kristen, and I can't work our TV..."



Thursday, October 08, 2015

In Sickness and in Super Powers

As the kids have gotten older, our conversations have evolved from, "If Cinderella's slippers fit so well, why did one fall off?", into deeper, more meaningful topics such as the one that follows:

They decided the best place to display this fun book order poster was our refrigerator.
As the girls and I were milling around the kitchen after dinner,  Reese pointed to it and asked, "If you could marry any of those Superheroes on there, which one would it be?"

I was pretty sure she was just trying to redirect my attention from the fact she wasn't helping with the dishes, but decided to see where this conversation would go.

"Ummm...your Dad?" I answered as a question.

"No," she corrected, "One of the guys on there!", she reemphasized.

Still thinking this might be a trap, I continued, "Don't I have to say your Dad?"

"No. Not for this," she said authoritatively.

She took the lead and answered herself, "Like I'd marry either Captain America or Thor.  They're cute."

Drue chose Captain America or Arrow.

(I saved my parental lecture about not marrying someone based solely on looks, etc.  But it will resurface.  Trust me.)

And I forced myself to consider my Superhero husband prospects.

"Hmmm...well...Captain America is way too young for me..." I began.

Both girls snickered and said, "What?! No he's not.  He's like 100 years old!"

And while his old-fashioned gentlemanly ways do appeal to me, I pointed out, "Yes, well, he was preserved a little too young for me!"

#imnotacougar

"Hulk's temper creeps me out a bit," I continued.  "Soooo...I'm gonna have to go with Ironman."

This appeased them both and they went on their merry way. Sneakily dodging dish duty altogether.

Still feeling a bit guilty about even considering marrying someone else, I hastily hollered out, "Don't tell your Dad!"

Tuesday, August 25, 2015

Times with Tate

Tate has a lot to say.

I mean a lot.

When he was a toddler I thought he'd never talk. Having 2 older sisters, he never really got the chance.

But he's more than made up for it. 

You just have to get him by himself. When we're all piled in the car running hither and yon, the girls are abuzz with singing, giggling, or storytelling. Tate does join in, but he also tends to tune them out and stare out the window. 

On more than one occasion, I've had the sinking feeling we forgot him, so I'll holler, "Is Tate back there?!" 

Thankfully, he always is.

My new favorite activity with just him is going up to the 7-11 by our house and getting slurpees. Or to the pet store to get crickets for Google, Drue's gecko. 

We rode our bikes up there this Summer. The last few times we've gone, however, he suggested we walk. I quickly discovered he prefers walking because it gives him more time to talk. And I think that's absolutely precious. 

Twice in the past couple weeks, when the whole family was running errands, we've made a stop at the pet store before heading home. And both times he said excitedly, "Mommy, let's me and you walk home!"

Most of his conversations are completely random and not connected in the least. But he almost always starts out talking about when David and I are older and ways he's going to take care of us. Then a bunch of randomness. And finally he'll fit in a good 5 minutes discussing Minecraft, Infinity, or Mario Bros. 

The other day as we started on our walk, he assured me that if David and I run out of money when we're old, he'll go to the ATM and take out $1000 of his money to give to us. 

And a few weeks ago he was concerned about trash day:

"I'm always going to live close to you so I can take out your trash for you."

"Awww...thanks, Buddy."

"Yeah, because you'll probably lose your mind sometime. So if I see that trash day has already come and you left it by the curb, I'll bring it back up for you."

"That is so sweet. I'll appreciate that."

"I know old people can be forgetful sometimes."

I'm sure at that point he made a smooth segue over to which Infinity character he wants to save up for, or what he wants for his birthday in May. 

And I didn't mind one bit. 

Because we still had a few blocks to go together, just us. 








Friday, August 14, 2015

Revenge is Sweet...and Makes me Sleepy

Well, it happened.   

Reese got me back.

It was an accident. 

But I'd say we're even nonetheless.

After I set the time zone on Reese's phone ahead by 6 hours for April Fool's Day, and she came darting out of her room at midnight to get ready for school, more than a few people said, "You know she's going to get you back someday."

I laughed it off because I knew I'd be ready and waiting. 

Not so. I wasn't ready nor was I waiting. 

I got Reese an old-fashioned alarm clock this year for school mornings. After cycling through the entire 24 hour period quite a few times, she finally got it set for her first day. 

"What time is it right now?" she asked.

"It's like 9ish."

"No, exactly. What does your phone say."

"Ugh. 9 on the dot."

"Let me see."

I showed her the phone so she'd believe me.

"How do I know if it's a.m or p.m.?" 

"P.M. will have a dot."

"There is no dot."

"Then it's still a.m. Keep going."

"Nope. No dot. Oh wait, there it is."

"But now you've passed the time you wanted so you have to go all the way back through again."

"What time is it now? Still 9? Or 9:01?"

Reese is extremely precise with times. Down to the minute. She sets her alarm for 6:28 a.m. and doesn't snooze. She leaves the house at 7:20 a.m. if she rides her bike and makes us leave at exactly 7:22 a.m. if we drive her to school. 

I could tell she was nervous to rely on her new alarm, so I set my phone as a backup. We tuned hers to a radio station and all went as planned.

Last night I reminded her to turn her alarm on again. I saw her fiddling with it but still set mine just in case. 

It took me a little while to fall asleep and when I finally did, I slept hard. So hard that when I heard her alarm go off I could not believe how fast the night had gone. I leaned over to turn off my backup and wondered why my room was so dark. I checked my phone. 

It wasn't 6:28 a.m.

It was 12 a.m.! 

Of course, she has the kind of alarm that gets louder the longer it goes off. 

I jumped out of bed and raced across the hall to her room. She propped herself up and the first thing out of my mouth was, "I didn't do it!"

"Huh?"

"It wasn't me!"

With the music still blaring, she grabbed the cord and yanked it out of the wall. "What are you talking about?" she asked groggily.

"It's not time to get up! It's midnight!" I explained. 

"Ugh. What in the world? Will you help me reset my alarm? I don't know how that happened."

I was pretty sure it had something to do with her ripping the cord from the wall the day before setting everything back to 12:00 but I can't coherently explain how electronic devices work during the day...let alone in the middle of the night. 

I turned up her light a bit and plopped down on her bed. My glasses were still in my room. I held the clock close to my face and tried to feel my way around it to reset it. 

Nope. Off I went to retrieve my glasses. I turned her light up even more and plopped down again. 

I still couldn't make out one single button on that thing. Seriously. Who makes white alarm clocks with such tiny writing?

"Here, just let me do it," she said grabbing it out of my hands. "Is it still 12:00? Or do you think it's 12:01 now?"

I'm pretty sure I left without answering. 

Thankfully Tate and George, the 2 occupants of my bed, didn't wake up with all the commotion. Typical guy response.

I settled back in and drifted off. Until 6:28 a.m. When the sound of radio static filled the entire upstairs because she'd forgotten to retune a station. 

Then she yanked the cord out of the wall and all was quiet once again. 







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