When the kids teach the lessons...

In the spirit of the New Year, I am broadening my horizons and allowing myself to be interested in new things, even if those things may have been repulsive prior to this revelation.  As I type, I’m watching the Sugar Bowl on ESPN…and I’m cheering for OU.

Yeah, I know.  But…new year, new things.  My teen was in the living room with me when I cheered for a 4^th down conversion, and he looked at me with pure confusion mingled with disgust and asked me what in the hell happened to me.  I can’t say I blame him.  This is extremely atypical behavior, but I’m going with it.  I may be a pod person.

Speaking of pod people, my boys continue to surprise me on a regular basis.  Sometimes they even surprise me in a good way.  I have definitely learned a few lessons from them in the past few days.  At the beginning of the school year, N found a pair of wireless Powerbeats at school.  Rather than turn them in, he thought he might keep  them, but he must have forgotten that I am his mother and I notice when he brings home expensive earbuds that I know were not purchased by any of us.  When I asked him where he got them and he told me he found them, I told him it was ultimately his decision, but I hoped he did the right thing and turned them in to the lost and found at school.  He swore nobody would miss them, but I told him it could be someone’s most prized possession…we don’t know.  He turned them in the next day, and I told him I was very proud of him.  He never mentioned them again.

So, when I began figuring out what the get the boys for Christmas, I knew I wanted to see if I could find a pair of wireless earbuds for him because I felt he had made a mature decision.  I found a great deal, and when we finally opened gifts at my house, I made sure it was the very last gift he opened.  The look on his face is one I will remember for the rest of my life.  On a side note, B had only asked for one thing (a stunt scooter) which made Christmas shopping insanely difficult for him.  He was watching this scooter on several online stores, and saw that it had been sold out, so he was lamenting about how it was all he ever wanted and why didn’t I go faster?  That was the last gift he opened as well, another face I have filed away for the rest of my life…because I’d rather live in the moment than document with pictures.  Also, that is not my area of expertise.

Anyway, they were both thrilled with the assorted things they got, and especially the things they never expected, and life was peaceful…until a few days later.  N and I went to Academy to exchange a hoodie that he received but felt was too small. He had the earbuds with him, and when he decided to try on a sweatshirt, he handed them to me.  Now, I’ll stop here to ponder aloud: Why did he give them to me?  Why did he have them in the store when we were just there to run in and exchange one item?  Why didn’t he just put them in his pocket since he had pockets (and I did not)?  Why are they my responsibility?  I bet you can guess what happened next…

We wandered all over the store and when we got to the car, I realized I no longer had the earbuds.  We went back in and searched the store from top to bottom.  I asked everyone I saw, and left my name and number with the manager in case someone had a change of heart and turned them in.  The irony of someone walking off with earbuds that were given as a gift but also a reward for doing the right thing (even when it’s really hard to do) is not lost on me.  N was pissed at himself and at me for losing them.  I was pissed at myself (for losing them) and at N for bringing them into the store/not taking responsibility for his own belongings.  I said I would make it right, and he told me he didn’t want me to.  He said I did so much for him and for B that I didn’t need to replace them and that he was really grateful anyway.  And I got teary.

An hour or so later, I was still beating myself up about the earbuds, and I likened the situation to someone stealing my iPod out of my car years ago.  It was not the same, but it kind of was: I used the thing all the time, and it really sucked when it disappeared.  The boys started asking me questions about it: Why did you like that particular generation? (The 6^th generation Nano was small and I could clip it to my tank top.)  Did you like the pink one? (My dad picked it…and I liked it, but I would totally rather have red.)  What size memory did mine have, and was it big enough? (8gb, but I’d prefer 16gb)  And then they suggested I look around and see what I could find.  When I found one that met my criteria, N took over my computer and purchased it.

Yes.  You read that right.  My boys took their AMEX gift cards my sister gave them for Christmas and opted to use them to buy something for me rather than use them for something they wanted.  I burst into tears!  N told me I always do a lot for them and they never do anything for me.  B told me it wasn’t fair that I always gave them stuff they wanted and never really did that for me…except mani-pedis (because that’s true).  I told him that was part of being a parent, and he said, “Yeah, but you wanted it.”

It was the simplest statement, but the gesture was anything but.  I used that iPod every single day.  I would take the boys to school, and then hit the marked paths by my dad’s house in Farmers Branch for an hour or so.  It was my time to decompress, to refocus, to get lost in the music blaring through my earbuds, to run like hell from the creepy ducks that chased me almost every single day.  And one night, my car was locked (I KNOW it was locked), but the next morning when I went outside, all of the stuff from my console was on the passenger seat, and my iPod was gone.  Nothing else was taken, and I am still significantly luckier than the other people on the same street who woke up to shattered windows and busted doors, but it was still really annoying.

So, now my iPod is on its way here, and I can’t wait to get back to that routine.  It’s been YEARS since I’ve done it, but that routine made me happy, and since I have marked paths literally across the street, I’m even more excited about it.

But, my boys, y’all.  I am floored by them on a regular basis.  Sometimes this is not a good thing, but this time it was.  So, SO good.  It makes me feel like maybe I might be doing something right, even if it doesn’t seem like it the vast majority of the time.  And the most humbling part of this whole thing is that N still wanted to do this for me even after his earbuds were lost.

I know it will not always be hearts and butterflies, and there are a lot more “meh” moments than happy moments, but I am so thankful for the good.  It makes me want to be a better person.

The parents are the ones who are supposed to teach the lessons, but this time, they definitely taught me.

Aubs

Mashup: Christmas Edition

If I were to create a mashup that fully describes my life at this exact moment, it would be “There’s No Place Like Home (For the Holidays)” and “All By Myself.”

“Oh, there’s no place like home all by myyyyyselllllllf.”

Today, I took N to meet B and his dad at the movies to see Assassin’s Creed.  I figured it would be terrible, which is partially why I didn’t want to go.  Also, I was specifically asked not to attend, so there’s that.  When N got home, I didn’t even get a chance to ask before he blurted, “Video games should never become movies, Mom.  EVER.”

Then we packed his bag (and Xbox One), and his stepmom came to pick him up.  He’ll be back on Monday or Tuesday, which coincides with when B returns, too.  What does this mean?  It means that, for the second year in a row, I’m all by myself for Christmas.  Last year, I gave up my holiday so it could be spent with other family members, and I was happy to do it.  This year, it’s simply not my year.  It’s one of the great joys of custody arrangements.  When they were younger, it really bothered me.  Don’t get me wrong…it still bothers me, but I know we’ll celebrate when they’re back. 

Plus, downtime is probably good for the soul.  Or so I hear.  So, once N left, I sat on the couch and thought about what I would do.  I wrapped the presents that arrived today.  I painted my fingernails.  I deleted some stuff off the DVR.  I browsed through Netflix looking for something intriguing.  And then I ultimately decided that I would go get Starbucks and look at Christmas lights.  So, I did, and I listened to 98 Degrees this Christmas and then Straight No Chaser Christmas Cheers while I looped through Coppell, hitting all of the houses I usually go to with my adopted family who still likes to look at Christmas lights. 

I’m not sure when my boys grew up to where they no longer cared about anything Christmas-related (except presents, of course), but it happened.  It feels very Grinchy around here these days…but not right now because I have a fire crackling in the fireplace, the Christmas lights in my living room are glowing, and I can hear the rain falling outside.  Now that the semester is over, the most difficult question I face is, “Should I binge-watch something on Netflix, or read a book?”

Choices, y’all.  Neither of which is captivating my full attention.  My little mind hamster is running for his life on his cute little wheel.  It’s even thinking about what New Year’s Resolutions I’ll make and not keep.

So you have to know…I’m desperate.

Aubs

Free-time Fixer

Since I have nothing left to focus on, school-wise, it's been pretty relaxing around here.  B gleefully turned off any remaining alarms on Friday afternoon when he got home, and we've been feeding the fireplace all weekend, thanks to a (WONDERFUL) arctic blast that pushed its way through North Texas for the last few days. 

And apparently I'm so boring that now the weather takes top priority when I blog. 

See, the problem is I have a really awesome story to tell, but I can't tell it just yet...because knowing my kid, he'd find it because...Google.  It's so hard to surprise them these days.  It almost makes me miss the years where they were thrilled to get ridiculously inexpensive toys that broke within three days.  Almost.  Not quite.

Today I went to Denton to do a gift exchange with my favorite former professor.  We meet for lunch every once in a while, and she had to be at school today, so it worked out.  When I walked in, she was on the phone.  She saw the blanket in my hand and shook her head, laughing.  Then she pulled a bag out from under her desk, a bag that contained the most beautiful cream-colored blanket.  We're such twinsies!  We had a great lunch and a really wonderful conversation and began a secret mission to locate someone we both care about who has dropped off the radar.

This year I don't have the boys for Christmas, and I've mostly convinced myself I'm okay with that.  I'm okay with trading; it's not their fault our family is split into pieces.  And although I have a part in that split, it's no longer anybody's fault.  It was truly for the best.  I'm so much happier this way, and so is everyone else involved...even if the boys DO want a man around sometimes.

Thankfully, I have a wonderful village of people who are willing and able to step up and be involved if I ask, and even if I don't.  I have a friend who said he would come give N pointers on skating, and another friend who tutored him in Algebra.  I have friends who let me vent about things with B and offer advise and suggestions, or even just let me rant endlessly.  I don't think it ever really occurred to me just how much of a village I had until last week.

Last week, I had lunch with a friend, and on the way back to her office, we had the most emotional heart-to-heart conversation.  I cried.  She cried.  She told me I always had her back and her husbands back and that I always showed up.  It didn't seem like a big deal to me because I don't even think about it...it's just a natural reaction, but she called me the exception, not the rule.  And then I cried some more.  And she cried some more.  And then the windows on her car randomly rolled down, so we both stared at her car in complete silence.  She is, honestly, one of the best friends I have ever had.  She has seen me at my best, worst, weirdest, most awkward...and she still shows up and loves me no matter what, and vice versa.  I would be lost without her.

I'm a fixer.  I always have been.  I want to help people.  I want to make others' lives easier, even if it causes my own to be more difficult.  I don't care.  I have seen so many people lose people they care about without getting a chance to let them know how much they were valued.  I don't want that to be a regret I have...ever.  So, when I have someone on my mind, in my heart, or a combination thereof, I'm going to speak up, even if it makes me seem a little nuts.

Needless to say, I've been pretty nuts these days.  Memory lane is running rampant through my brain.  And for a while, I wished I could turn it off...but now I'm not so sure.

Since there's nothing going on with school, there's nothing super exciting going on around here.  It gives the brain a while lot of time to wander.

I'm not sure how that will all pan out. 

Yikes!

Aubs

The arsenal in my bed

Before you let your imagination get away from you, let me explain.  You'll find that I'm actually pretty boring. 

Since I sleep alone, I get to sprawl across my bed at night, or in the morning after the boys go to school, or after school, or all weekend long.  I typically like to be in the middle with things that are necessary to life on either side.  On any given day, you might find glasses, multiple ponytail holders, pens and pencils (double duty as writing utensils and devices used to put my hair up), long toothpicks (again...for putting my hair up), chapstick (Baby Lips is my favorite at night), water bottle, books, notepad, several pillows, my phone, and remote controls.

Some of these will get kicked to either nightstand, but the ponytail holders, Baby Lips, water bottle, glasses, and lotion (Oh, I forgot lotion in my aforementioned list) usually stay within arm's reach...and since I have T-Rex arms, that means they stay pretty close.  If I ever opted to share a bed again, I'd have to upgrade to a King...and/or find a significant other who didn't mind Baby Lips shoved under his pillow.  A girl has her priorities.

But, as it stands now, I'm just flying solo, so it's just me and my arsenal all cozy in my purple paisley flannel sheets.

My mom is moving to the town where I live, so today I met her at her new house to meet a potential contractor.  The only downside to her house (aside from the atrocious lawn ornament adorning the side of her new driveway) is that it only has a concrete pad...no garage.  The layout of the house makes adding an attached garage kind of tricky, but I like puzzles, so that's why I went along.  The contractor, however, does not seem to like puzzles.  Nor does he seem to like explaining ideas or any possibilities.  He did seem quite excited about shooting down any possibilities, but that might just be my take on the situation because I was cold and he was extremely late...and then he blamed his dad for being late.  Also, his dad is almost 88 and he is probably a handful of years older than my own father and far too old to be blaming his father for his time management skills.  It was an interesting afternoon.

Then I picked B up from school and we headed off to the wonderful world of allergy shots.  Can I just take a moment to say how much I adore our doctor?  Not only is she wonderful and super-accessible, but her staff is also delightful.  They are so accommodating and fun to talk to...and they find B hilarious, although I think you'd be hard-pressed to find someone who didn't think he was funny at least some of the time.  He's a character, and he definitely comes by it honestly. 

On the way to his weekly appointment, he was telling me about the holiday party his class had today since they have early release tomorrow.  He told me about how they made mugs, but then he dropped his on the sidewalk and it shattered, so he just walked in the other direction (whistling) so nobody would know it was his.  He also said they did some karaoke, but he and his friends were annoyed because they were only allowed to do Christmas songs, and he really just wanted to drop a beat.

What?  It's like my precious elementary schooler suddenly morphed into the freshman.  Please.  No.  I can't deal with another one of those right now.  He's completed 4/7 finals, and has his most difficult core class final tomorrow, followed by what should be his easiest core class final, so that should be fun.  He did enjoy getting out of school at 12:30 today, and is looking forward to the same tomorrow.  B gets out at 12:50, and then our break officially begins.  I'm not sure I'm ready for all of the together time...

Add a 50 degree temperature drop on Saturday, and all signs point to me barricading myself in my room by Sunday.  In other words, it's another typical weekend in our household.

My overachiever self is really struggling with my final grades.  Although, points-wise, I have all As for the semester, the professor in one class only counts 93 and above as an A.  I'm below that, so I'm struggling with a 3.5 gpa instead of what I feel should be a 4.0.  It really bugs me.  I know I'm not the only one; there are several in the same boat I'm in, but it still stinks.  I had much higher expectations, and although I thought I enjoyed this professor, now I'm dreading taking another class of hers (no other option) in the spring.  I'm also not alone in this...but I guess I'll just suck it up and take it.  It could be a lot worse.  I know that.  I just really wanted the 4.0.

Don't worry.  I already called the whambulance, and it's coming to take me away.

Which I'm totally fine with...as long as the EMTs are cute...and they let me bring the arsenal in my bed.

Aubs

Surrounded by Scrooges

I'm not sure what's going on with my precious gifts from above lately, but they have formed a mutiny against me...or decorating for Christmas.  N said he didn't even know why we bothered decorating the Christmas tree because it just meant we had to take it all down in a few weeks.  B wanted a decorated tree, but he wanted me to do all of the decorating.  I was done with both of them, so I divided the ornaments into four piles: N's, B's, mine, and those ornaments not dedicated to any particular individual.  A lot of the ornaments in the last category come from my childhood, but I'm equal opportunity about who hangs them on the tree.  And it's not like the boys are super old, so they only have as many ornaments as years they've been alive...so clearly, it was pure torture to put 14 and 11 ornaments, respectively, on the tree.

We laughed over N's unfortunate choice of ornament when he was in Kindergarten (Jeff Gordon), then laughed harder when the string broke and he crafted a noose instead.  We laughed even harder at the candy canes B made when he was younger, and an ornament with a picture of him with a shaving cream Santa beard.  My yellow fro angel, also with a golden noose around her neck, is an all-time favorite, as is the crumbled up aluminum ball with a pipe cleaner hook sticking out of the top.

We have a very classy Christmas tree.  In fact, they both gave me crap about how it wasn't just solid colored balls and plain lights and simple.  Is that the purpose of a Christmas tree?  I always thought it was supposed to be a delightful hodgepodge of ornaments, handmade or not, each with a specific memory attached.  When I look at the tree, I don't look for symmetry or a color scheme...I look at the elf with a cell phone attached to her hand (my sister has one, too) and think of how I miss my sister.  I look at the little chalkboard with my name on it where the boys write whether I have been naughty or nice each year (Newsflash: It's always naughty).  I look at the handmade ornaments from each of our preschool "careers" and laugh at how imperfectly wonderful each of them are.  I look at the rollerblades ornaments made out of stocking material each of the boys got the year they went ice skating for the first time (it was a disaster...which makes their collective desire to play ice hockey all the more entertaining), and remember their faces when they saw my sister and me doing synchronized moves around the rink, totally dry, while their pants were dripping in puddles around them from falling down so much.  I look at the first ornament I ever got, then the first ornament I got as a mom...and I realize THAT is what Christmas is about.  Imperfection.

I am far from perfect.  I put on a great show, trying to pretend I am, but let's face it...I am a mess.  And that's okay.  Because I'm closer to not being a mess than I was when all of this started.  And each day I move forward is another day I move further from the horrible chaos that was once the "norm" and into the beautiful chaos that I have chosen.  And, begrudgingly, they began to hang their ornaments on the tree.  N clustered all of his together, which makes me crazy (and he knows it), so I'm trying not to let it bug me, even though we both know I'll probably go move all the ornaments tomorrow while he's at school.  B started, but didn't finish...so he'll help me finish tomorrow (and probably move the ornaments for me because it'll piss his brother off) when he gets home from school.  And that's about the extent of my decorating.  The stockings are dangling from the mantle (except mine because my stocking hanger is M.I.A.), the peanut Baby Jesus, Mary (with the alien eyes), and Joseph (with the weird beard) are prominently displayed (I think I was five...max...when these were made), and we're just going to keep our holiday cheer on the inside this year.

Speaking of holiday cheer...tonight was B's Christmas musical about the North Pole.  It was cute, but I kept catching my B yawning.  He kept catching someone's eye and smiling and making weird faces, too.  Afterwards, he told me he thought he was rolling his eyes at me, but it turns out it was someone else wearing gray and purple with dark hair and "a white face."  Good times, that B...never a dull moment.  My favorite part was the group of snowmen who sang as they did the Thriller choreography, and then the head snowman moonwalked across the stage.  High quality entertainment, right there.  As we left, we celebrated never having to do that again, unless B decides to be in theater moving forward.  He would be EXCELLENT in theater.  The kid has a natural flair for the dramatic...as he told me SIX hours later that he thought his leg was broken after a kid kicked him in the shin with his basketball shoe.

We ended the performance with Chipotle for them (Blech!) and Mooyah for me...because it was next door.

After B went to bed, N and I watched the last period of the Stars game and co-existed fairly peacefully.  It was a pretty good second day of the week, even if they were all Scrooge-ish about the Christmas tree.  I guess if they want to be Scrooges, then I can be Scrooge-y with the presents, right?

Isn't that how it works?

Aubs

My people

Do you ever feel like you're in some kind of alternate universe?  I don't know what the hell is going on lately, but everything is just...off.

Like tonight: I gave the boys three choices for dinner: leftover stew, leftover spaghetti, or eggs.

And B chose spaghetti.  B hates spaghetti.  I giggled with glee after I asked him at least three times if he was sure.  It's like it was a Christmas miracle!

After I heated the spaghetti and made some vegetables to accompany spaghetti, N asked if it would've been JUST eggs.  I said it clearly would've been accompanied by bacon or turkey bacon, and they both looked at me like I had broken all of the video game consoles in our house (I think there are five...no, six).  I reheated a baked potato, and B asked why that wasn't a choice.  And that, my friends, is how I wound up with half a potato, a leaky dishwasher, and a pile of hand-washed dishes, and a portal that will.not.update.with.my.final.grade.

Tomorrow is B's Christmas program at school.  Check that.  Holiday musical.  Check that again. North Pole Extravaganza.  I have no clue what I'm supposed to call it anymore.  B has already decided that we should go to dinner at a place of his choosing after his outstanding performance which means Chipotle.  Blech.

Remember when you were in high school and THE place to go was Taco Bell?  No?  Was that just me?  I find that hard to believe.  Tripping down memory lane can be a lot of fun, but sometimes it's a lonely journey.  I drag my boys down it with me on occasion, but they just don't get it.

N and I had a rough morning this morning.  He was tired and cranky (it WAS Monday morning, after all), and he took it all out on me.  I slammed the door to the garage when he left and everything.  But that boy of mine sent me a text message around lunch time because he got a 96 on his math test (and the same grade on a quiz), and he was elated.  So was I, for two reasons.  One, my kid did well on a test in a subject that is not our best.  Two, he text me to tell me about it because he was so proud of himself. 

My heart kind of exploded.  Later, I stopped by my big sister's office on the way home from the grocery store and randomly burst into tears.  When I got home, she had reloaded my Starbucks account for me because that's my love language.  And I burst into tears again.

And then I went to the library to get some books to read while I have nothing of any significance going on, and also to meet my B because he was doing homework (read: shenanigating in the library).  While in the library, I ran into my 12th grade English teacher.  Since I've subbed for her, I said hello and we talked for a while...about kids and schedules and life and school and everything.  Y'all, she is so great.  It makes my heart so happy to see someone who's been at this teaching gig for so long and still just loves her students.  At least one other person (that I saw) came up to her at the library to say hello and fill her in on what they'd been doing.  To me, that's the mark of a great teacher.  I only hope one or both of my boys have her someday. 

I've been wavering on what I want to do and how I want to do it, and she just helped in more ways than she will ever know.  And when I got home, my sweet professor sent me a sweet message, reminding me that all things are possible and asking me if I wanted to have lunch tomorrow because she has a better line to my brain and heart than anyone in a long time.  And it just made me realize that I have some really wonderful people in my life, people that I realize I have seriously taken for granted, and it made me realize that I have to change that.

Like...NOW.

Aubs

We're not savages

I had an "Alexander" of a day, for a variety of reasons.  My afternoon included sobbing on the phone to my mother for close to an hour (I think...okay, I just checked and it was 31 minutes, but I bet it felt like hours to her...sorry, Mom!).  Aside from tearing up during a sappy movie or those damn Hallmark commercials, or COUNTLESS  "this is what matters" stories, I cannot even tell you when the last time I flat out sobbed like that.  It was ugly.  It was brutal.  I felt my eyes get smaller and smaller until they were little slits, and that's when the hiccups started.  Hot. Mess.  Emphasis on the "mess," with none of the "hot."

Without assignments keeping my brain busy, I have entirely too much time to think about things I've been avoiding for several weeks.  When I woke up this morning, I even thought to myself, "Self?  You should probably just not aim too high today.  I can tell it's going to be a day."  But what did I do?  I tried to prove myself wrong.  And that was stupid.  So, later on this evening, I was recapping it all (brief-ish-ly) to my sister via text, and started crying all over again.  N asked if I was crying over the Cowboys game, but they were winning (also brief-ish-ly), so I think he was just trying to diffuse the situation.  Bless his heart.

In search of the ultimate comfort food, and since the potato soup recipe I tried yesterday was a complete failure, I scrubbed some potatoes and threw them into the oven.  When they were done, I got a normal plate out of the cabinet and prepared my potato.  N grabbed a paper plate and did the same, then kept shifting uncomfortably as he balanced the plate on his lap while he watched the Cowboys.  I looked at him in disbelief and said, "Use a real plate.  We're not savages!"  He just stared, and since my eyes were still funky from my sobfest, he won the staredown.  This does not usually happen, folks...not with my boys, not when I sub...never.  By the time halftime rolled around, we were done with together time, at least for a while.  He opted for video games while I opted to unplug.

I have a stack of books I have started at various points in my semester when I needed an escape, so I picked up the first one I found tonight...and hit the tub.  Reading about killer whales in the wild vs. killer whales at SeaWorld while in the tub hit a LITTLE too close to home, so that was a short-lived relaxation technique that pretty much did nothing to relax me, so I opted for second best: rainbow fuzzy socks and pjs that creep my kids out.

  

What? You mean you DON'T want me to take you to school if I'm not willing to change my clothes or put on a jacket?  Oh.  That's sad.  (Evil laughs for days)  On a side note, I've had this particular night shirt for years, and there have NEVER been new boys.  I think it's defective.

Or I am.  

I've heard it both ways.

Aubs