The Beginning of Something ... (insert adjective here)

And yes, those goggles are upside down

"Your brother is sooooo cute!" squealed Tweenie's friend.

We threw a "School's Out!" pool party for Tweenie's Girl Scout troop - eight giggling 9 to 11-year old preteens. Husband dutifully passed on his usual Saturday morning office run to look after Rascal and Kye while I handled the pizza and lifeguarding assignments.

Rascal and Kye were supposed to play nicely in the sandbox or playroom far from the girls as per Tweenie's express request, but apparently they didn't get that memo. Instead, they batted their long lashes (as only little boys have) at the girls and acted uncharacteristically sweet and well-behaved.

At some point, Kye got hold of a pair of swim goggles and wore them for the rest of the afternoon. Swimming. Eating pizza. Watching SpongeBob. It didn't matter. Eventually I had to confiscate them because they were grooving red marks into my baby's tender skin-- it didn't go over very well.

The sight of a diapered boy wearing goggles and eating watermelon prompted Tweenie's friend's comment, and I realized that eventually such a comment will lead to similar, less welcome breathy announcements.

"Oh my gosh, your brother is so cute!" As in date bait.

This hits a little close to home, because you see, I married my best friend's brother. I know where this is going. My then-BFF constantly waffled between 3 trains of thought:

1. Ew! Like, he's my brother! Don't tell me about how he kisses, seriously.

2. Thank God-- I guess we don't have to compete over Dale anymore :)

3. Well, if my bro has to date somebody, it may as well be someone I trust and actually get along with...

Geez, it starts earlier than I thought.

Other People's Children

An open letter to 80% of parents out there (or at least, living in the southeast US)--

To Whom it May Concern,

I'm writing this letter to voice my frustration with your current practice of parenting my children, particularly in my presence. While I completely agree with your intentions of protecting your own brood and the general public, I must take offense at the excessiveness of your paranoid concerns.

The following recent events may give context to my comments:

1. Splish splashing with Rascal in the shallow end of a swimming pool while your child is safely wrapped in a padded life vest-style Diego swimsuit plus arm swimmy things AND seated in an inflatable is not dangerous. Especially while I'm standing within arm's reach. And let's be clear: both our sons were splashing (even though Rascal started it - I can admit that much).

2. Running around the playground at a public park should be an automatic invitation for my children to holler like cowboys. That is what a playground is for, so if you're looking for a quiet place to play, allow me to give you directions to the library.

3. Children have a tendency to weave around on the road while learning to ride a bicycle. Since the stretch of road in question is within 100 feet of my driveway and a dead-end cul de sac, maybe you should rethink your speed while traveling said road to allow for more stopping room. Our street has maybe a dozen homes and at least half of those house kids aged 2-14.

4. When kids play together, they will give each other bad ideas. This is (a) part of growing and learning, (b) a teachable moment for you, and (c) inevitable. If your kid starts wanting to use the slide all by himself or maybe even say "stupid" (which I agree is not a good word), is it wholly my kids' fault? I will also take this opportunity to mention that time my son learned about Doritos from your son. Before that, he was perfectly happy eating Wheat Thins.

In any event, most of these problems stem from (1) kids being kids and (2) our slightly more relaxed parenting style. If anything, the fault is mine. Please direct all future bitching to the source, not at my children.

Actually, please feel free to bitch about it with your friends behind my back instead. You will not only have the satisfaction of voicing your complaints, you will also have a receptive audience. I will simply stare blankly at you as you list off all the non-life threatening issues you have and then promptly forget them. What I will remember, however, is to not arrange any more play dates with you.

I appreciate your prompt attention to these concerns, y'all.

Regards,

Mama

It's Gettin' Hot in Here

Whew! It's the dog days in southeastern US and we are broiling. Husband set up our aboveground pool and it's the only thing that makes this weather bearable.

It's also time for my kids to display never-before-seen levels of silliness as they all turn another year older this season.

Tweenie starts to worry about her physique when confronted with her bikini-clad bod. "Oh my gosh, mom! I'm fat!" She totally isn't, but it horrifies me to see she's picked up on what goes for societally acceptable body image these days (despite the Dove ads).

"I'm gonna run 1 hour on the treadmill, plus half an hour biking, plus 15 minutes of soccer drills every day!"

Five minutes later: "What? We're having grilled veggie kabobs? I want chicken nuggets!" And that exercise regime was in place for ... 20 minutes. It's never been spoken of since.

Now, I must say that I've seen the obesity issue much more prevalent in the south. No one can accuse me of being bone thin, and I would personally love to lose 5 pounds especially in the spare tire area. In comparison to many around me now, though, I am the thinnest by at least 50 pounds.

How did we get here? For starters, it's the fast food - driving down the interstate, every exit has signs for Wendy's, McDonald's, and Bojangles (fried chicken). Second, there are no sidewalks or large shoulders on the roads except in downtown, and with the speed limit on country roads set at 50mph, it is not remotely safe to go for a family bike ride or a jog. Our bikes have lain dormant in the garage since we moved in almost 3 years ago, except for the occasional ride around our backyard or up and down our short residential street. Third (and this really ticks me off), it is cheaper to eat Kraft Dinner or Hamburger Helper than to cook something half-decent from scratch. My grocery budget is at least 25% more than most of my friends because I cook almost everything we eat myself.

(ok, now I'm done with ranting and raving)

Rascal is turning into textbook boy, even more than he already was. His main source of hilarity is farting on purpose and mooning his sister. "Did it again!" he crows with delight. Did any of you read the Judy Blume "Fudge" series? Soooo worth it. We just bought it from the Scholastic book order and Tweenie is eating it up. She comments constantly on how she identifies with fourth-grade Peter suffering the existence of rascally little brother Fudge.

Kye is transitioning from being my baby to a real little person. He started speaking in full sentences suddenly about 2 months ago, and yesterday counted to 10 without prompting (I didn't even know he knew how). He's also decided to start defending his rights and personal property with respect to Rascal's attempted appropriations.

Discipline gets complicated now, because until recently I could safely assume that Rascal "started it", pushed, bit, yanked, stole, etc. Now, if I'm not present during the altercation, I have to try to sort it out by relying on this supposed inability of a young child to lie.

"Did you spill Kye's Cheerios?"

"No. He did it hisself."

Kye turns his huge blue eyes on me, welling tears shimmering. I'm stuck because I want to believe Rascal, but who can punish that little sweetie? They've both got my number, that much is certain.

This hot weather is getting to us all. With my baby growing up and bio clock ticking, I am oohing and aahing far too much over my friends' babies. Starting to think dangerous thoughts. Husband had at one point wanted 6 kids, but now we're outnumbered has rethought that strategy. We've now swapped positions on the family planning issue, and the debate on permanent (though presumably reversible) birth control is on.

I mean, I know it's probably a bad idea. But still.

Still.

Maybe when the weather changes I'll come to my senses...