Coopy the Turtle

A few months ago, Deuce "officially" changed his name to "Coopy". No, he doesn't play with any kids named Cooper or saw it on TV. He chose to name himself "Coopy the turtle" because that is what he wanted to do and when a four year old sets his mind to something...well, you know the drift.

At first it was kind of funny. We'd all joke and laugh about "Coopy" doing this funny little thing or he'd be curled up in a ball and say he was in his "Coopy shell". Surprisingly, it took a few weeks before any children bellowed that Coopy rhymes with poopy, even though Cameron pointed it out immediately. (And I am thankful for his immediate grasp of the childhood taunts as this saves me from explaining my own behavior...) Heh.

Recently, "Coopy" has turned into "Coopster" or just simply "Coop". It has become so common that he responds to it now and we interchange it with his real name at will. However, we hadn't taken it publicly (IE: outside of our circle of friends and family) until last week. I took the boys to karate and this lesson was on confidence and respect. When the children came up to introduce themselves with the adults, Deuce was introducing himself as "Coopy". I paused, and looked at him and said, "Dude. You're name isn't Coopy."

Deuce: "Yes it is, mom. My name is Coopy."

Me: "No, that's your nickname."

Deuce: "No, mom. *sigh* My name is COOPY."

Bonus: "No, mom. His name is COOPY."

At this point, I was tempted to whisper, loudly enough for the other adults to hear me, "No, boys, remember what the policeman said? Your OLD name was Coopy," and then rush them out the door before the confusion wore off. But realizing that I had spent too much on this sport to never return, I sheepishly smiled at both of my sons, shrugged my shoulders at the confused adults and silently vowed to spend the next class waiting for them at the brewery next door.

On a positive note, Bonus told Dorkfish last week that he likes it when we call Deuce "Coopy". When Dorkfish asked why, Bonus said, "Because it's cute and makes me want to hit him less."

Yeah...I know.

Yes, I'm writing, but thought you might like this intermission...

The past two weeks have been crazy busy with two trips to Tennessee, a wedding in Maine, several dog fights between the boys (and some neighbors) and a few hilarious one-liners from my famous-only-on-my-blog-that-she-doesn't-know-about-because-she-doesn't-get-the-internet(s) grandmother. (Yes, it's plural to her. Hush.)

However, while I'm writing all that up and adding PHOTOS!, I thought I would share with you all the moment I just had in the bathroom....

Setting: Master bathroom, me on the toilet:

Me: "Hey, dorkfish. (Yes, I do in fact call him that at home.) I'll give you one guess as to what I forgot to tell you what to pick up at the store!"

Dorkfish: "Bread."

Me: *blink, blink* "Let's just hope you keep your looks."



And now, back to my writing...after a half a bottle of wine to wash that moment out of my mind. Hey, one positive is that now all of you know he can NEVER say Deuce isn't his son!

Sigh.

Two Weeks of Grade One and One Eye Patch...I WIN!

We're finishing up our second week of first grade and so far I have to admit that I think we may survive it.

Maybe.

We've finally solved the great "Where the hell is all your lunch money going?!" mystery from kindergarten. Bonus came home one afternoon and said, "Momma, why haven't you ever made me sausage on a stick wrapped with a pancake?!"

Me: "Because I care about your arteries. Where did you have such a thing?!"

Bonus: "At school."

Me: "They served you meat on a stick, wrapped in a pancake for lunch?"

Bonus: "No, breakfast."

*LIGHT BULB*

The kid has been eating breakfast at home, riding the bus to school, eating breakfast in the cafeteria, having snack, eating lunch, having another snack, then coming home STARVING. I swear I am not going to be able to afford to feed him much longer...or we need to get the 'lunch money protection program' up and running again. (Last year, he came home with a Ziploc baggie with three dollars in it and his name written on the outside in a woman's handwriting. When I asked where the money came from, he shrugged his shoulders and slipped it back in his pocket. I decided that somethings, like magazines under the bed in teenage boy's room, were better left alone.)

So, for all those neighbors who watched my kid get off the bus almost daily with what we lovingly call "The Sticker of Shame" (a sticker on his shirt that says "I need lunch money") almost DAILY, this is why. See?! It's not only my crappy parenting!

Speaking of crappy parenting...yesterday morning was a fun one. We were walking out of the garage just as the bus was pulling up. Fortunately, the bus stop is at the end of our street, so I yelled to Sheshe to hold the bus. She yelled back, "You've got a runner!" and I turned just in time to see Bonus stealthy backing up into the garage. I was stuck between that, 'Do you scar your child for life and force them to run for the bus KNOWING they will always remember this moment and will forever hate you for it?!' and 'Would you survive the embarrassment of having to sprint for the bus yourself there, little Missy?!' But yes, I did it. I drug a crying child to the bus and put him on it. Normally, I would have just waved the bus on and driven him, but we were running late because of him, so I decided he should learn the lesson of 'now means NOW' and if it meant running for the bus...then so be it.

However, today I made up for that by driving him. More importantly, when we were late today, (hush) I walked him into the office and when the secretary looked at me and said, "You know, he has a minute until the bell, if he runs....." I cut her off mid-sentence and said, "No ma'am, we will take the tardy," and I walked him to class.

Because I don't always suck at this job.

I say that, but then Deuce just walked in like this:



So maybe this day isn't going in the 'win' column after all....


*Yes, Deuce is FINE....He just likes to play with bandages. No, it did not hurt coming off. No, I do not know why he has the sad panda look but I PROMISE he is fine. Honestly, the look goes quite well with the eye patch and I'm really hoping for a career path here....

Dare to Repeat It

Last month, my neighborhood book club read Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight: An African Childhood by Alexandra Fuller. I had a busy month and had missed the previous meeting, so I hadn't read the book. I went to the meeting regardless because I wanted back in the loop (and let's be frank, it's an opportunity to have some adult conversation with some well-educated women, rather than the usual blather from two irrational bosses.)

At one point in the evening, the conversation turned to whether our past dictates our future. Granted, it wasn't as clear-cut as this, but in the essence of privacy I'm going to paraphrase. The mother in the story had become an alcoholic and the concern was that the daughter was doomed to have the same fate. Being the smart ass Southern Belle that I am, I raised my Riedel, holding approximately half a bottle of cabernet, and toasting the air proudly stated, "Being raised by an alcoholic mother, does not make one an alcoholic mother."

The room politely chuckled, used to my quips by now, and moved on, but something about that night stuck with me. In many ways, we spend our lives struggling to be the polar opposites of our parents. There are the occasional situations where children are raised by The Brady's and that's just swell, but honestly wolves would have a better sense of humor...

Like most, I have spent the better part of my adult life and most of my adolescence, striving to be a better person than my mother. The more time that passes since her death, the softer I've become toward her memory and the pain of the inferred inadequacies lessens. I will always catch myself and wonder if I am destined to be 'just like her' as some would claim. I look in the mirror and contemplate the similarities in our faces. There will always be a part of her living in me and I am tempering my rebellion towards it.

The irony of life is just when you feel certain that you have a handle on your life, reality has a way of seeking out your arrogance in the form of a phone call from the power company that employees your husband to let HIM know that your power will be shut off TOMORROW because your dumbass wife doesn't know the difference in the gas company and the power company and has been paying the wrong bill SINCE MARCH and therefore will have no POWER....eventhoughyouworkhere,sir.

And it's times like that when you raise your Riedel, take a big swig and toast the air toward heaven; because, yes mom, I dare to repeat it...but it will not become me.

The Green Mile (or the last day before First Grade)

Bonus' first day of first grade was Friday. In anticipation of this BIG! DAY!, I had asked him what he wanted to do all week so that we could spend the day before focused on doing whatever he wanted to do on his last day of being a 'little boy'.

"I want to make Jello and do something that doesn't suck."

*blink, blink*

So I took him to the planetarium and bought him gelato.

What?! He's a smart kid. He likes science stuff. His brother is still fascinated by the shiny so I figured he'd like seeing stars and crap. Gelato kinda rhymes with Jello and no one has to complain about the whole 'waiting for it to set up' part. Done. Sold.

In all it was awesome! Well, until I embarrassed the family when we were watching the moon phases in a time-lapse thing and they asked home much time had passed and like a dumb ass I yelled out "A YEAR!" and it had been a month. Before I could pat Deuce on the back and say, "It's okay, sweetie. Good guess!" Bonus put his arm around me and said, "It's okay, Momma. Good guess."

Sigh.

Safety First, Kids!

Last week Dorkfish was on vacation. Typically, our vacations involve a trip SOMEWHERE, ANYWHERE and we play hard, barely sleep and return home absolutely exhausted and thankful to still be speaking to one another after a week straight of me yelling at all three of them.

Naturally.

This time, we decided to stay home and save some money as the Mazda hasn't sold yet. (As an aside, who isn't waiting with baited breath to pick up a sweet little ride like that?! It's a sedan, people! Think of the great gas mileage!!! My next tactic is "Buy this car or we'll shoot this dog"... Wonder if PETA checks Craigslist? Hmmmm.)

Anyhoo. So, Dorkfish in his typical Type-A fashion decides we need to spend some time working around the house and tries to force me to organize the boys room...

*blink, blink*

For those of you who don't know me in person, let me just explain something. I am one of those people who considers "organization" synonymous with "being able to get the closet door closed even if you have to use all your body weight". So when my husband lovingly suggests I go through my sons dressers and pull out the clothes that no longer fit and put the in the attic, I was suddenly hit with amnesia...or was it the flu. I can't remember.

Fortunately, I couldn't remember where the knives were kept either.

But he did wise up and give up on that plan and suggested a day trip to the beach would be more appropriate. The boys had more fun than they have ever had and not once did anyone complain about sand in crevices. (Except me. Naturally. Not a beach girl.)







Ah, the shorts. My latest comedic GOLD. No, dear reader, your eyes are not deceiving you. THAT, is Dorkfish with Deuce in that last photo and he is wearing his new prized possession.... You see, the boys and I were shopping when they picked these out. Normally, I would convince them that 'daddy wouldn't like them' or something along those lines, but these were just too obnoxious and I just could not help myself. So I grabbed them and agreed to let them be a Father's Day Surprise for Dorkfish. Oh, were they a surprise. *snicker* I assumed he would thank the boys, hide the shorts in the closet and I would return them the following week. However, once he tried them on (with his black work socks, I have to add) the boys thought they were AWESOME! So being a good dad, he actually wore them TO THE POOL THAT NIGHT. I would say thank God the pool lights were off, but it wouldn't have mattered; these things are day-glow. My friend Cameron nailed it when he asked if you could play games on them. His wife, T-Racy had to look away as she snorted and mumbled something about Mike Brady wanting his shorts back. She-she tried to make him feel a little better by saying that they wouldn't look so bad once he tanned the other eight inches of his leg. (She's also the one who nicknamed them the 'Safety Shorts' because of their color.) However, that is a two-inch inseam, my friends. Let me just say that there is NOTHING safe about that...

I have to say, the amount of entertainment I have gotten out of these shorts has FAR outweighed the money paid for them. Not to mention the boys are really proud that daddy wears their shorts EVERY! TIME! WE! GO! SWIMMING! *snort* Honestly, Dorkfish is THE ONLY man I know who would proudly wear these and not care who sees him in them because his sons chose them. (Although, he did actually wear them to the grocery store which leads me to believe that he secretly likes them...)

**As a disclaimer, I have to tell you that Dorkfish approved me sharing these photos with you and as long as I said that he is a GOOD MAN for wearing the gift that his sons picked out. Since I have always been honest with you all, I have to admit that I might have persuaded Bonus and Deuce to choose this pair of shorts... But in all fairness, they did have a white pair picked out first and I do love him more than that.

Because sometimes tucking them in isn't enough...

Dear Bonus,

I was more proud of you today than I have been in a long time. Today, you showed us your compassionate side while standing up for your beliefs. It took a lot of strength to tell that older kid he was doing the wrong thing and I am proud of you for doing so.

But just in case you don't remember what happened by the time I actually get the nerve to tell you about this blog, here's the short of it:

Your father and I took you and your brother to the beach today. You found a decent size crab in a tidal pool and were so proud. It was about the size of your hand. You scooped it up in a sand pail and drug it up and down the beach in that bucket of water on your boogie board to share with all the other kids while Dorkfish and I sat on the beach towels and watched proudly.

A little while later, you marched back up to us and announced that you were very angry because the big kid had killed your crab with your bucket. He had squashed it and then laughed when you told him that was wrong and you weren't going to play with him any more. You were so upset over it, but held it together so well. You didn't shed a tear, though you wanted to so badly. (So did I.)

Your father and I stumbled for the right words to tell you to make it better. We wanted so badly to explain that it would be okay and that things like this happen. But really, there was no fixing it and you knew it. Being the strong boy you are, and realizing that your father and I were grossly inadequate for the job of candy coating this issue, you changed the subject and suggested we investigate the lifeguard tower instead.

Son, I just want you to know that later when that same kid came up and wanted to play with you and you looked him in the eye and told him to get lost...my heart swelled. I have never been so proud. Because despite the "forgive and forget" attitude that I am expected to teach you, the truth is, some people (kids included) are just assholes sometimes and there is nothing we can do about it. I'm sorry he killed your crab. I wish I could have done more for you. I wish I could have marched over there and dunked the little jackass in the ocean and shoved the blue bucket over his head. I would have loved to have at least been able to have a 'nice little talk' with Johnny about disrespecting animals and how they come back to haunt us...jackass.

But your mother did the right thing. I did the thing that you will do one day when your son comes crying to you when another kid is mean to them. You will hug them, you will kiss them and you will remind them that kids like that end up in prison one day.

I love you, Bonus.

Momma