It's that time

Two weeks ago, I was doing an early morning Walmart run when I stumbled upon...school supplies. I was doing a little happy dance instantly and it turned into a little jump-up-and-down when I saw the bright orange, green, blue, magenta, and red post-its.

Of course, I know my weakness well enough to take a deep breath and reassess.

Right before I turned back around and grabbed some post-its and a couple of Sharpies...um, for work.

Yesterday I decided to go and actually get stuff for the kids as school starts tomorrow. It was chaos as every parent in town was thinking the same thing, but I know that over the course of this week, I'll be fielding "but I need it for class rightnowrightnowrightnow" every night when I get home from work. While a smart mother would wait until her kids go to class and THEN go get the supplies, I started thinking about it and decided that I didn't want to face the aisles at Target and Walmart every night after work this week for yet-one-more-item. I've been down this road before, I know what they will need.

And so I have my little chest of drawers full of composition books, folders, crayons, spiral notebooks, paper, markers, glue, glue sticks, index cards, colored pencils, highlighters, regular pencils, and notebook dividers. There's a towering pile of binders, a box of page protectors, and a 3 hole punch on top of it.

It sounds like a lot, but I guarantee by the end of this week, most of it will be distributed into the older kid's backpacks.

If not...I'm prepared for any school supply shortage.

You know, the ones that happen at 11 pm, the night before a project assigned 2 months previously is due?

You never know when the cosmos is listening

One morning, about a month ago, I turned off the alarm. I didn't really want to get up, and the sigh on the other side of the bed told me I wasn't alone in my procrastinating to get the day started. I was idly scratching my husband's back, running my wardrobe through my head when I absentmindedly said, "I don't know what to wear today."

He rolled over and thoughtfully looked at the ceiling, all calm, as he said quietly: "I know. I have that same problem. I think that today I'll wear the blue one. Or the blue one. Or.....the blue one."

I smacked him on the arm. "That's not fair. You have a uniform, and you don't have to think about it."

He started listing all the reasons why he did have to think about it, something about different vests require different shirts, different pants, different this, different that, blah blah blah, and just as I was about to smother him with a pillow, he got up and started getting ready for work, so I snuggled the pillow for 15 more minutes instead, wardrobe forgotten for zzz's.

It's funny how the universe works. You meet strangers who know the same people you do at the playground; you run into relatives when you're on vacation; you say or wish something and suddenly, it happens.

That Friday, I got the news at work that the company decided that all lab personnel were going to be required to wear scrubs. They would buy them for us, and by the next Tuesday, we were trying them on. And they arrived about 10 days later.

They are black--we are a lab full of geek ninjas. And in spite of the fact that they are comfortable and it's like wearing pajamas to work, the first day I wore them, I felt as asexual as a sack of potatoes. Even though I was the first one to say that scrubs, with their utilitarian opacity, offered the perfect opportunity to wear wild underthings, I just couldn't get my groove on.

I'm hoping the zebra print clogs I am currently lusting after will take care of that.

Girls are made of...

I'd just gotten in from work the other night and as I passed Audrey in the hall I was overcome with "gosh, she's so adorable." She was looking at me like she had really missed me so I stopped to give her a squeeze.

I held her face in my hands, rubbing her cheeks, "My lovely, my lovely, my lovely..." and she grinned up at me right as she said:

"Fire in the hole!" and promptly farted. Nothing silent or dainty about it.

Somehow, I don't think that hot air was supposed to be the "spice" in "sugar and spice."

Anyone got some scissors?

Of all the things I do for my spouse, I never thought I'd be asked to publicly humiliate myself. (Although, writing in a public forum like this, I risk it all the time.) I did something today that my husband has been teasing me about all day, something I am certain to never live down. You'll see.

My oldest, who is now 16, asked us a while back if he could go to a concert with his older cousin, who is 19, in Tucson today. Because I knew that Nolan would just be finished with band camp, and down to his last week of freedom before school starts, I agreed.

This morning, while we were getting ready to leave the house and meet his uncle halfway between Tucson and Phoenix, I started to get a little worried.

**He's not really been down to hang out on his own in Tucson before.

**His cousin, while he's a good kid, does get a little distracted easily.

**I just handed him a chunk of change larger than any I've sent him with before out in public. ($50...which amounts to a windfall, especially when it's simply handed to you, regardless of what you're supposed to use it for).

**What if he gets separated in a sea of bodies from his cousin at the concert? He doesn't know Tucson! Who will he call? Will he think to call?

**What if he decides a mosh pit is a good idea?

**What if he spends his money on hookers and blow? (Okay, I know, $50 is not enough for that, but I'm his Mom, and occasionally, I have leaned toward the dramatic when I'm having a nervy spaz attack.)

In between the admonishments to "stay with your cousin--don't get separated--be polite to your Tia Emma--yes, you might have to go to church with her--no, your blood won't start to boil when you dip your hand in the holy water--make sure you eat something--say thank you" I decided to add "Don't be waving your money around--be mindful of your surroundings--hide some of it from yourself in your wallet so you don't spend it all in one place--maybe it would be a better idea to go into the bathroom, take out what you need, and then go buy your tshirt or whatever--"

At this point, my husband is looking at me like I am insane, and I'm realizing that it's quite possible the boy has put his headphones in and is not listening to me at all. With a roll of his eyes I am certain he saves only for special occasions, my husband does not miss a beat: "That's stupid."

"What? I'm just telling him to be cautious! There's nothing wrong with that! Shrimpy Nana does that all the time! She leaves her basket with me, and goes into the bathroom because she hides her money in her bra! It's not so crazy! You've had lots of money in your wallet at Disneyland, you don't open it up like an idiot and wave it around, do you? You've been behind people in line who pay stupid, with a giant wad of money that screams "rob me" and that's annoying! I want him to be careful!"

My husband shakes his head and right when I think he might be about to agree with me, he starts to mock me:

"No, when I'm at Disneyland, I don't wave it around, I just..." at this point, he starts semi-shouting "Hey everyone, I've got a TON OF MONEY! I'M GONNA PAY NOW! WITH ALL THIS MONEY!! I'VE GOT AN ATM CARD, TOO, BUT I'M NOT GONNA USE IT! BUT I HAVE ONE! JUST SO YOU KNOW!!!"

I'm laughing so hard I'm crying, because it's one thing to realize you're overdoing the parenting, and another to realize that yes, that was something completely ridiculous that not only came out of your mouth, but you were absolutely serious about it at the time. There is just no defense, no way to save face and recover from that. So I laughed at my own advice and figured it wouldn't matter anyway, he's a teenager and it's in one ear, out the other.

Geez. It's too late for me to consider loosening the apron strings, I need to cut them and be done with it. He's 16, and I need to let him experience some of the world on his own, bit by bit, beyond walking to Circle K by himself, before I kick him out the door in a couple of years.

My husband will have to answer any phone calls that might come in the middle of the night tonight.

I'll be in the bathroom, ripping out the seams of the pockets in my bras.

Because you never know! What if the man behind you in line wants to steal your purse! You'll be left with nothing! Cochinomaranos!

Shrimpy Nana. Sometimes, I wish the things she's said to me over the years would fade from my brain, like long division and the Pythagorean Theorem....instead of digging in, waiting for the right moment to come out of my mouth and confirm the truth about my precarious hold on sanity.