Christopher Bowman Hendrix July 6, 2009

So there I was.  On a Saturday night.  5 days overdue.  Jumping up & down during the commercial breaks of SNL.  Because my sister was getting married 3 states away in less than 2 weeks. 

It worked!

Christopher Bowman Hendrix was born in the wee hours of July 6, 1999. 

He was a busy baby but also pretty content.  He was often bruised due to his adventurous nature.  Before long he was riding a scooter with handlebars higher than his head around York Court.

He was the first 5 year old I had that actually went to Kindergarten.

And 4 years later in the 3rd grade he asked me how to spell his name.

Now he’s a skateboarding, surfing, class clown kinda guy and I’m ever so glad he was born.

Not in dictionary OR thesaurus June 1, 2009

I took my budding rock star daughter to her 2nd guitar lesson last week.  Her instructor has been teaching my hubby to shred somewhat for well over a year now.  He looks like the long lost brother of the WKRP in Cincinnati DJ–Johnny Flytrap?  Whazzizname?  50something rocker complete with ponytail & attitude.  He accidentally stepped in it last time w/my 13 year old daughter by assuming she wanted to play some Jo Bros or Miley. 

Uh. 

No. 

Make that Poison or GnR, please.

“Alroooooight.  Now yer talkin’.”

 

So I walked in with her, reminded him of the No Jonas policy and quick as a snap he hatched a brilliant plan to trick hubby who was coming in later for his lesson.  Well, can I just say, I’m all over that action?

He says he’ll tell Hubby that he found some underground bootleg early cassettes of Poison this week and does he want to try them out?  I say oh.  He’ll fall for that quicker’n you can say “Cici pick up that guitar and Talk Ta Me”

So a few hours later the two rockers-in-training arrive home and hubby is positively bubbling over that he picked up a never-before-heard Poison track and played it througout the whole lesson.  “Kinda blues-y” he says.  I put away groceries and muffle a laugh.  This was better than I expected. 

Meanwhile 13 year old accomplice says, “Dad!  I think I just found that song on YouTube!”  She plays it for him.  He recognizes it “S.O.S.” and immediately feels violated.  FISHED IN!

He said he felt like that scene after Ace Ventura kisses “Einhorn” where he’s plunging his face with a plumber’s helper.

Classic!

Balls: sparkly, splashy and otherwise May 25, 2009

So last week I was 15 minutes early to a lunch meeting and saw a store going out of bizness.  I went in twice in the next few days and “cleaned them out of Baby Jesuses”  by which I mean I got every last sparkly snowflake and 10 light up sparkly balls (glitter, not mirror) for which to decorate the EZ up tent for 5th grade Social Butterfly’s We’re-Done-With-SOL-Testing (random) party.  Older daughter begged a sleepover elsewhere.  Wise, that one.

Behold the beauty!

Also, my big’un scored numerous balls-in-net this weekend, even during the rain.  They won the hole dang tourney.  WhattaStud.

Yesterday at church I had to conference with 2 “helpful” teens “leading” small groups with 5-6-7 year olds.  The one told a kid, “If you take your nametag off then your mom will never come back for you.”  Nice. 

The other one said…to his group of boys…AT CHURCH…where we’re learning about LOVE and KINDNESS and RESPECT  “Only little dumb girls like Star Wars.”  Are.  You.  Kidding.  Me.

Dude.  I’m so firing all my under-20 volunteers.

Today we are bravely hosting some families-with-young-children.  They, too will need to summon the courage because, although  I am determined that no one will frighten them with sarcasm; sadly, we no longer have Kid Toys…and that’s a little terrifying.  We are all about the inappropriate Guitar Hero lyrics up in here as well as dangerous sports like skateboarding in traffic, bicycling with headphones, ripsticking down the front steps, canal swamp-wading and the ever popular break the fence/window with testosterone-induced soccer ball bullets. 

But I think I may go get me a Crazy Daisy and some splashy balls.  Because what’s more fun than unstable spitting foliage and pegging your friend with soggy polyester?

 

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Alphabetical Gratitude-modified slightly May 23, 2009

Alphatical gratitude is a helpful Anti-depressant I learned from my Adopted G’ma W.  Blessings are all around us at all times, even when we’re Cranky.  This is the Day that the Lord has made…  Everyone I meet today may have something to teach or show me.  Fajitas would be really good right now.  Gratitude is an exercise in discipline.  Health cannot be underestimated…ask the Infirmed.  Just when you think you can’t take another step, God shows his hand.  Krispy Kreme donuts taste best when dropped off at your front door unexpectedly by  Lovely, Mrs. Neighbor who Opts to Pool-the-car Quietly to Rush Soccer practice Twice a week Under Varying degrees of traffic challenges.  When I think about the Wonderful opportunities and Wise co-workers and Wacky family and friends I’m surrounded with I can’t help but be eXtremely humbled and filled with joy Yesterday, today and forever.  Zappos.com 

Amen

Because apparantly I feel the need for a 6th job May 20, 2009

I know, I know, we’re in a recession.  There’s a shortage of jobs out there.

I think it may be my fault.

I can’t stop signing up to do things.  I just came this [ ] close to initiating myself into making thousands daily by becoming a freelance writer in my own home.  For the low low price of a mere $69.95 if you act now.  It was the old ego that caused me to click on the link.  I would write more if people paid me, right?  But I’m not paying them, now;  that would just be nonsense.  Right? 

So, alas, no additional job opportunity for me.

Instead I remain faithfully driving all across Hampton Roads, Virginia Beach, Chesapeake & NAWfik to various and asundry Hardee’s and grading their cashiers, cooks and managers for BOGO sausage biscuits & reimbursement.  Shhh don’t tell…it’s a secret.

AND also driving to numerous public and parochial schools teaching elementary students how to use a pipette.  (SQUEEZE while hovering in the air.  Place into beaker of water.  UNSQUEEZE (I’d like to trademark that word, please) slowly and do not I repeat do NOT squirt your lab partner or pipette go bye bye)).

AND trekking daily  to Spring Branch Community Church to change sets & props so that Macy Mixer can spring to life each weekend and help kids learn about Jesus.

AND long-term substitute teaching Special Ed down the street for the final 2 weeks of school if my fingerprints come back “clean.”  What are the chances of THAT?

AND Pampering Chefs across the neighborhood/city/state/world.  Maybe THIS will motivate me to clean out the pantry?  And cook an actual meal for my OWN family??

Not to mention negotiating referee jobs/babysitting/party planning/event security  for my teens & tweens.

It’s all good in the hood.  Like they say, “If you love what you do, you’ll never work a day in your life.”

Pass the bon bons.  I’ll take “She Works Hard For The Money” for 1000 Alex.

More Life May 12, 2009

So the 9 year old lost his first molar. He writes a letter to the “Tooth Fairy.” He even asked me “how do you write those [finger quotes]? So he knew what ” “finger quotes”" are but the concept of written quotation marks eludes him.  Riiiiight.

So of course I forget to “tell” the “Tooth Fairy.”

I “remind” the 4th grader that it sometimes takes “her” 3 or 4 nights to make all the “rounds” and deliver all the “deserved scrilla.”  He’s not disappointed, he’s downright mad.

That night at dinner he comes down to show us the $10.oo he got from the “Tooth Fairy.”

I know I didn’t put it there.

I KNOW his DAD didn’t put it there.

“Go get your letter and show it to dad.”  We are bewildered especially after seing this addition.

The tooth was still there in the tooth-shaped container from school.

I’m not positive it wasn’t THE REAL tooth fairy…

…but I tipped the cleaning ladies BIG TIME!

Over My Dead Body May 8, 2009

We were at the dentist office, establishing care, my wise 13 year old and me. You know how they hit middle school and suddenly they Know Everything? Yeah. That one.

The friendly paperwork goddesses were busy tapping away and filing all manner of documentation for the assorted Hendrii and passed my drivers license back to me.

Omniscient-ish Teen looks carefully at my ID and gasps:

“You are an organ donor?”

“Yes.”

She looks me up and down…and in complete and total seriousness asks:

“Which one did you give them?”

Ah, life.

Jesse! Now Jerome… April 30, 2009

You know that saying “a picture’s worth 1,000 words?”

 

Well, I’ll take words for 1,000 Alex.

 

My kids have trained me well this year as  they have completed the transition from excited lower-elementary shining faced darlings to grungy surly angsty bus snobs.  If/when I drive them to school they get to sleep in 20 more minutes (but then again, so do I) and so the bus is kind of acting as our alarm clock.  And by “drive”  I mean “floor it through the neighborhood/school zones” because if you’re gonna miss the bus, then why not walk in the door AS the bell is actually ringing?   Remember the scene in Ferris Bueller where the principal is running down the hallway and then walking 2 steps whenever he passes a door?  That’s me but in the Pilot slowing down when I see another car in the neighborhood or cop at the intersection where the light is turning yellow.

 

So the ride to Three Oaks Elementary takes place from 7:50- 7:54 while the middle schoolers are still getting ready.  (I know.  They’re spoiled.  Shut up.  These are not your children).  The ride to Princess Ann doesn’t take place until 8:45- 8:55 so there’s a bit o prep still undone (by me)  ((namely hair)) on the elementary run that reaches completion by middle school run.  But not on Tuesday.

I walk in the door ‘tween trips on Tuesday and immediately hear some weird shuffling sounds coming from over my head.  Instead of looking up, I am distracted by the site of my daughter digging around in the hall closet where cleaning supplies are kept.  “What is this strange site?”  I ask myself.  “Why on EARTH would she be looking for something to CLEAN with?  I’m confused.”  Then the shuffling/flapping sound overhead again.  While daughter is frantically asking me:

“WHERESTHELONGSTICKWITHTHEREDPUFFYTHINGATTHEENDWENEEDALONGSTICKTOGETTHEBIRDOUT…”

..which I completely tune out while I look for the source of the sound and discover it in the window over the front door.  “Ohmygosh!  There’s a bird in our house.”  The three of us run around looking for long sticks and step stools or chairs for the next 97 seconds and then we formulate a plan.

“The walking stick won’t reach.  Stand on the chair.”

“I can’t.  I’m filming this for YouTube.”

“Want me to get the ladder?”

“Sure.   Good idea.  Get the ladder.”

flappityflappitypeckpeckflap  -feather shower-feather shower-   EEEEWWWWWW x 3 

Then we start talking to the bird.

“That’s a window, bird.  It’s like FAKE sky.  YOU CAN’T GET OUT THAT WAY.  See?  Still not working!”

“Come on, Birdie.  You can do it.  A little lower.  Trust the humans.  We’re trying to help you.”

“OHMYGOSHOHMYGOSHOHMYGOSHOHMYGAAAAAAAAAAAAAHSH”

The walking stick we’re poking at the bird is clearly not effective.  So 14 year old son helpfully announces.

“I’MONNA GET THE SURFBOARD!”

Sidebar:  This SAME brilliant-plan-making son has been unsuccessfully attempting to convince me all morning that he has contracted SwineFluenza and why did I not get him vaccinated back in the fall?  He has been moping around making sad little pitiful coughs and looking at me with eyes that won’t open all the way.  I’m not buying it.  Especially now that he’s found miraculous strength and the mental sharpness to formulate Project Surfboard Avian Rescue.

8th grade SupaStah shleps the previously unused (by us) Christmas present surfboard in from the garage.  7th grade Spielberg is still recording on her blue Rumor phone and I’m barking directions. 

“Get it up under her.  That’s it.  A little more to the right.  Don’t crush her tail!”

“Ah my Gah…that’s its butt.  THAT’S.  ITS.  BUTT.  NAYstee!!!”

We quickly realize that holding a surfboard straight up in midair and attempting to aim the other end  quickly becomes tiresome so we each take unsuccessful turns.  When it rotates back to 8th grade Stud Boy he ungracefully but with pride knocks the poor balding bird to the floor and she promptly shakes the “dust off her boots” as it were, and flutters away with a great story to tell on the telephone wire.

I turn to “sick” boy, call him a hero, and tell him he HAS to go to school now so he can tell of his daring rescue.  He reluctantly agrees and all is well with the world. 

 

After I sweep up the feathers.

 

True Confession April 28, 2009

Sometimes? When my 4th grader is having a difficult time with homework, I give him hints and then walk away so he can try & figure it out by himself. As I climb the stairs, an image often comes to mind of a darling little 10 year old girl working swiftly through the same assignment.  She looks up from her neatly organized Trapper Keeper, poises her rainbow pencil with eraser intact under a replenished eraser topper; and smiles with adorable dimples at her pearl-wearing, aproned mom who is pulling the savory pot roast from the oven saying to her, “This [Science/Math/Word Study] is fun, Mom!”

Then I imagine sneaking into their home after midnight and spray-painting her hamster.

After which I may or may not make myself a roast beef sandwich.

I SOOOOOOOooooo       DO.  NOT.  HEART.  4th grade.

Not much, how ’bout you? April 15, 2009

Hi there.

It’s Spring Break and I’m 3 miles from the beach.

However, it’s rainy and cloudy, high of 50 and all anyone wants to do in my house is play Lego Star Wars 2.  I can’t even get a good glimpse at the Today Show without all manner of begging, whining and gang-up-ishness.

So I’m going to work.

I love that my kids are old enough to sleep in and feed themselves (who knows what they’ll eat, but still).

The youngest one is even old enough to do this:

 

 

Happy Spring Break, ya’ll!