Writes for Kicks

It's that time of year when I have to put my foot down with my son Riley. 

"You have to wear your winter coat!  You really need to put some gloves on!  Where is your hat?"

This is an actual statement I made to him yesterday.  I actually wrote down what I said after I said it, because I felt a blog post coming on.  To give you some background, he was leaving the house for basketball practice.  He had on shorts and a long-sleeved hooded sweatshirt.  This was after I insisted that he was not going to leave the house in just shorts--he needed sweat pants and a winter jacket. It was snowing out and the windchill was below zero.

And I actually said: "The wind chill is below zero.  The roads are slippery.  Cars can crash when roads are slippery.  You'll get hypothermia and they'll have to amputate your leg."

I have to chuckle as I write this.  My son is the most warm-blooded human being you will ever meet.  He is always warm.  I will have on jeans, a turtleneck, a sweater, a scarf wrapped half -way around my face, a winter jacket and gloves and I will be freezing.  He will be wearing short-sleeves and be warm to the touch.

But there is a time when I absolutely have to put my foot down and when the wind chill is below zero I pick my battle and insist on winning.

I put up with the stares from little old ladies when it is 40 degrees out, and he is not wearing a jacket, because I know the kid is actually warm.  I let him play soccer or football in fall, when it is damp and miserable, and he is the only kid out on the field without a long-sleeved shirt on under his uniform.  I send him to school where he is the only kid in 5th grade wearing short sleeves.  But during our Wisconsin cold snaps I micromanage.

Now if only I could find a way to harness his body heat to heat up the house, then I'd really be on to something!

Time seems to be speeding up lately.  I think that is the general consensus I am hearing from time-starved moms.  There is too much to be done, and not enough hours in the day, at this time of year.

What we need is time out to have a good laugh!  If you are up for it, click here.  It is laugh-out-loud funny.  And this is after I walked out of Panera this morning, where I had breakfast with a friend, and found that someone had smashed in one of the tail lights on my minivan.  (Merry Christmas to you, too!  Thanks so much for not leaving a note.) 

It's hard to say for certain, but I think my favorite part is when the wife says to the husband: "Wow!  I'm married to you."

Normal school day:

6:15: Wake up Miranda.

6:16 - 6:20: Cuddle with Miranda and coax her out of warm bed.

6:20: Wake up Riley.

6:20 - 6:30: Miranda gets dressed; I help her do her hair.

6:30: Miranda starts eating breakfast.

6:30- 6:40: Some time in here Riley makes an appearance, hopefully already dressed in his school uniform.

6:40 - 7:00: Some time in here Riley eats, brushes his teeth, packs up his school stuff and packs up his snack (both of which should have been done the night before).

6:55 - 7:00: Miranda brushes her teeth, gathers up her school stuff.

Of course, I help or nag this whole time depending on whether or not we are having a good morning.  "Miranda eat."  "Miranda eat."  "Miranda, are you eating?"  "Miranda, you cannot talk and eat at the same time."

I make lunches, remind kids not to forget gym clothes, snacks, library books.  I help look for missing gloves, make sure they have their snow pants and that they didn't forget to pack their lunches...you know the drill.

7:00: Kids out the door. (Me too, the days I drive carpool.)

Snow Day:

5:30: Miranda wakes up.

5:45: Riley wakes up.

Enough said.

Out of the mouth of babes, as they say.

The other day I was driving carpool to basketball practice.  It's small, just three of us moms drive (actually two moms and a dad who is helping coach).  So I'm listening to three 10 yr. old boys chat, along with my 6 yr. old, and one of the boys asked Miranda if she was 6 or 7 yrs. old.  One of the other boys said, "you are not supposed to ask women how old they are.  They don't like it."

Boy number one said: "Yeah, I know they don't like getting older."

Boy number two: "I don't know why.  Guys don't mind getting older, but women do.  And women live longer than men anyway.  So men are the ones that should be upset about getting older, not women."

Too funny!  I was laughing in my head and thinking about the answer to the question.  (The reason I didn't laugh out loud is you hear way more interesting stuff if they kind of forget that you are there.) 

I thought, all you have to do is watch the news to get the answer to that question.  Guys are often balding (think Matt Lauer), have big guts (think many of the weatherman, not locally but Al Roker and Willard Scott come to mind), or are, in general, just really funny-looking (weird hair-dos or facial hair).  When is the last time you saw a heavy woman on the air?  It just doesn't happen. 

With these 10 yr. olds the conversations keep getting more and more interesting. I love the naiveté that these kids still have.  At other times, especially with the girls, they seem way too sophisticated for their own good. This conversation kind of got finished before it got started; but if I hear of anything else interesting, I'll keep you posted.