Take this Job and Love It

D1 wants a job. Like most people, money is her motivation. The other day I took her and her friend down to the local car wash. She heard they hire 14 year-olds, so we decided to start early in the search for summer employment.

With D1 in the front seat and her friend in the back, I drove them down the street while coaching them on what to say, what not to say, and how to stand, and how to smile, and who to ask for, and all other things pertinent to this life changing occasion.

When we arrived, I sat out in the car while she and her friend ventured inside to the office. A few short minutes later they emerged with white paper forms in their hands, explaining the manager was not in so they were to fill out the paperwork and return another time.

As we drove home, D1 reviewed the two-page generic employment application. After a minute she turned around to face the back seat.

"I hope they don't put me inside and make me do the books," she told her friend, "I hate paperwork."

Her friend nodded silently, barely looking up as she reviewed her own paperwork.

"Hmmm..." D1 continued a bit concerned after scanning the application further.

"I really hope they don't ask me to manage sales. That would be so boring," she concluded.

Post Dramatic Stress Syndrome

Our family does not have an impressive track record with pets. In fact, we have inadvertantly caused premature death to a quiet helpless lizard, an adorable fluffy Guniea Pig, and countless fish.

Personally, I am tired of the burden of so much death and carnage.  Unfortunately, our lack of ability to keep the few creatures we have cared for, or at least attempted to care for, alive, has not slowed my childrens' intent to continue to beg for more pets. 

Recently D1 has picked up the oral arguments with me on this subject.  Apparently she wanted creatures that belong in lakes and rivers to live in her bedroom more desperately than I originally thought.  In exasperation she finally stomped out of my bedroom.  A little while later, she slipped this under my bedroom door:

Why I Should Have a Fish

by (D1)

1. It is a great responsibility lesson for me...and my future.
2. My friend has given me great advise about what fish are easy to take care of and how to take care of them, and she will supply supplies.
3. I would love the fish like my brothers and sisters and care for them always.
4. I know where I can get cheap but good fish and I'm willing to keep up with the fish.
5. I will do my best to find fish that are low maintenance but fun.

If I do not get fish side affects may include, thoughts of suicide, chronic depression, nausea, insomnia, post dramatic stress syndrome, and series of violent mood swings.  A serious but rare side affect may include schizophrenia resulting in multiple personalities and frequent conversations with imaginary objects, people, fish and places.  

If any of these side affects occur, do not operate machinery or perform manual labor of any kind.  If side affects do not lessen with in a few days consult your local Petco store for further advice.

She's Too Hot for Marriage

I have made a conscious effort from their infancy to brainwash D1 and D2 into believing that they should allow me, the one person in the world that has nothing but their best interest at heart, to plan their weddings. I make no secret about the fact that this would be an attempt to re-create my wedding day, but with better choices. And when I say, "plan their wedding", I mean everything. As in everything. From choosing the wedding dress to the paper mint cups, of course it will all be tasteful and perfect. Their young age does not temper the seriousness of my intent in this scheme.

For the most part D1 has accepted this enormous generosity as fact and has not questioned my motives. When she has begun to inquire, I have quickly reminded her that on her wedding day she is the Princess Bride. Once she makes the most important decision of all, on who will be her future husband, she should not have her mind cluttered with more choices. At this point in the conversation, D1 usually smiles faintly and lets the matter drop.

As D2 has gotten older however, her independent mind is becoming more apparent. And as such, she has become more of a problem in my planning-the-girls'-weddings conspiracy.

One evening D2 had gone to the Home Depot with me and, as usual, ran to the paint section to grab - er steal - as many paint chips as she felt she could - without me forcing her to carefully file them all back. On the way home, she picked two colored squares and placed them side by side. Shoving them in my face, she showed me what she called her "wedding colors." I gasped at the juicy orange and electric teal samples.

"Oh, Sweetheart," I lightly chuckled, trying to downplay the seriousness of the situation.

"You know that Mommy is going to pick your wedding colors."

D2 shook her head furiously and an argument ensued. D2 asserted her rights to plan her "own wedding" as I attempted to convince her this was something best left to her loving mother. I could tell I was losing the debate, but that failed to dissuade me from continuing the heated discussion.

Finally, D2 threw up her hands in frustration.

"It doesn't matter," she confessed, "since I'm never getting married anyway."

"What!" I shrieked.

"Of course you will!" I tried to assure her. And myself. I was not ready to let my visions of her gloriously planned wedding slip away so soon.

D2 was silent.

"Love, what would keep you from getting married?" I questioned hesitantly.

With fingers up by her head forming quotes in the air, she replied,

"Duh!"

And then with finger quotes curling, she continued slowly and distinctly,

"Global. Warming."

I Am a Great Parent (BYKT)

Tonight I am the proud owner, or at least custodian, of two additional cell phones. While I already have a cell phone of my own, in this world of technological advances, three must surely be better than one. What I plan to do with them comes later. First, I must divulge how they came into my possession.

This afternoon D1 and S1 were specifically assigned to watch, tend, and otherwise care for precious, helpless, baby D3 during two one-hour shifts. When I arrived after their two hour split shift, I found the front hall table's contents strewn across the floor, adjacent to which were broken glass shards from a dropped jar candle. Piano books from the piano bench were placed along the stairs. I followed their path passed the kitchen where the pencil tray had been dumped out of the drawer onto the floor. Then I heard my D3's jibber jabber, so down the hallway I traversed into my bedroom. There she sat in a pile of pillows from my custom made (read expensive non-washable fabrics and trims) master bedding, smelling less-than-fresh.

After changing a diaper and enlisting S1 and D1's assistance in picking up the house and sweeping up broken glass, I sat contemplating a strategic response.

"I will take your cell phone now," I offered with an outstretched hand to S1 while he played on the PS3.

"Why?" asked S1 completely clueless as to how painful this was going to be.

"Because you failed in your responsibility to tend the baby, your cell phone privileges has been temporarily suspended," I explained.

A similar conversation was then held with D1 upstairs.

Now while this all happened only a couple hours ago, S1 and D1 have already asked if I was serious and when they get their phones back.

Naturally I am as serious. Completely serious. But that doesn't mean I don't plan to have a little fun. I understand that they are very concerned about their friends having no knowledge as to their unfortunate predicament. I assured them, that I will personally answer and respond to all calls and text messages. Somehow this has not had much of a calming affect.

I expect it to go something like this:

Friend Text: Where r u?
My reply on behalf of my dear child: DIKU
Friend Text: AYSOS
My reply on behalf of my dear child: Sorry OT. Have u heard of POS? PIR? PAW? PAL? or P911?
Friend Text: Yeah. WYP
My reply on behalf of my dear child: Oh, NP. BTW this is more of a PICOCP
Friend Text: PICOCP???
My reply on behalf of my dear child: Exactly! LOL. CYL.

IMHO, I am so on track for Mother-of-the-Year award, B4N!

Text Speak Dictionary
(for those of us not born after 1990):

BYKT = But you knew that
DIKU = Do I know you?
AYSOS = Are you stupid or something?
OT = Off topic
POS = Parents over shoulder
PIR = Parents in room
PAW = Parents are watching
PAL = Parents are listening
P911 = Parent alert
WYP = What's your problem?
NP = No problem
BTW = By the way
PICOCP = Parent in Control of Cell Phone (I made this one up, pure genius doncha think?)
LOL = Laughing Out Loud
CYL = See you later
INHO = In my humble opinion
B4N = Bye for now

Jock Talk

This evening, D2 sat at the kitchen table calling her friends to issue an invitation to a Friday night birthday celebration.

Part of one conversation I heard went as follows

D1: Hey, Smith. This is Gamble. I'm having a party Friday at 8PM.
(Pause for response on other end of the phone.)
D1: Yeah, Can you come?

I'm so old-fashioned.

As far as I knew the only people that referred to each other solely by their last names were high school athletes trying to be cool. The ones that thought they were so tough, wearing little white towels in the locker room, after showering from a game or practice.

Since when do young Jr. High girls act this way? As in girly girls that straighten their hair, wear mascara, glitter eye shadow, and shiny lip gloss?

Thou Shalt Have No Other Dogs Before Me

WARNING: EXPLICIT IMAGE

D1 is typically an early riser and more than once has presented us with stunning morning news.

When she was seven she gleefully announced at 5:30 AM on a Saturday that Chewy - the Guinea pig we had been duped into getting for "free" only a week earlier - "Had her babies!"

A few years ago, she was the first to alert us to what would be a weeks long restoration nightmare when she told us the kitchen hardwood floor had turned into a swimming pool overnight thanks to a clog in the kitchen drain.

This morning I realized D1 was up when I heard tearful, soulful moaning about her, "poor dog." Thinking that something awful must have happened to Cookie, I was terrified to hear the news. Choking in between sobs, she presented me with her latest toy that DH purchased for her at a gas station yesterday afternoon.

It used to be small dog in a dog bed. I thought its long hair made it look like a creepy mouse, but to each his own.

Apparently I was not the only one that found the gas station toy repulsive. Sometime in the night our real dog Cookie escaped from the mudroom and tracked down the creepy, mouse-dog, beloved treasure. Using her superior canine sense of smell - that is if you can count obstinate, prissy Shih Tzu's as part of the canine phylum - she embarked on a skillful game of search and destroy.

Cookie was victorious. The creepy mouse-dog never had a chance.

Why I Can't Buy Oreos

I bought a package of Oreos yesterday. Such a vacuum of nutrition is a rare treat for our family. They were supposed to be for S1's and D1's sack lunches. (S2 and D2 eat school lunch which is delivered from various local restaurants and the menu sounds so good I wish I could dine in their cafeteria.)

Yesterday after everyone left for school (except D3, of course) at approximately 8:43 AM I purchased the package containing 36 chocolate sandwich cookies. It was not opened until sometime yesterday afternoon when the wolves children came home from school. Today at 4:18 it was completely empty. That is only part of the problem.

The real problem is the fighting discussion that ensued:

S1: Who ate all the Oreos?

D1, S2, and D2 (in perfect unison): Not me!

D1: I only had four. (And then belatedly...) Not counting the three in my lunch today.

S1 (shouting overly defensively): I had none until this afternoon. I didn't even know we had them until today! How come no one told me?

D2: But how many did you eat S2?

S2: How many did you eat? You probably ate them all.

D2: Nuh uh.

S2: You and your friends - I bet you ate a ton.

D2: We did not. We did not eat hardly any. Probably only sixteen.

S1, D1 and S2 (simultaneously): Sixteen!!!

D2: Um, not really. I mean like six or three. Hardly any.

Sisters are Like Bras: Close to Your Heart and There for Support

Yesterday we went to Target (pronounced Tar-shay) to purchase the first bra for D1. When we came home, this was the exchange:

D2: Hmmm, you look different.

D1 (dripping with her usual sarcasm): Gee. I wonder why.

D2: You just look weirder because now you have boo boos.

You Can't Fool Me

A couple years ago, my younger sister Kim and I took our kids on a road trip from Utah to California. We had started out later than planned, and ended up pulling the Yukon over around 1 AM to sleep at a hotel in Nevada for a few hours, before continuing on at sun up.

In an attempt to save money, we decided to share a room at the hotel. However, with Kim and her three kids, as well as me and my three children, we knew most hotels would frown at eight people in one room. So we devised a not-so-subtle plan. I would check-in with the boys and the luggage, and Kim would enter a few minutes later with no bags, just the girls, and we would all meet at the room.

For the most part, things went according to plan. I registered at the front desk and then proceeded through the lobby up to the room with S2, Kim's two boys, and all our bags. I called Kim on her cell phone and told her our room number, and she delayed a few minutes by the car before proceeding through the lobby empty handed with D1 and D2 as well as her own daughter.

We were careful not to let on to the children about the plan, because we did not want them to think we were being dishonest. And we thought we had been discreet with our sneaky plot. But D1 who was ten at the time, was too smart for us and sensed something was up. As she walked through the smoke filled lobby adjacent to a casino, she realized, "I know why you and my mom don't want anyone to see us go to the hotel room all together. Kim grimmaced, knowing we were going to have to explain our dishonesty, but replied innocently, "Hmmm? What?" D1 nodded, "Yeah, you're afraid if we all go up together everyone will think you guys are gay."

Back in the Olden Days Before Will Smith Made Movies

Tuesday evening D1 came upstairs excitedly telling me about a television program she had just watched. “It was a TV show," she began, “with Will Smith.” Then she further clarified, “Back in the olden days before he made movies, he made a TV show.” And in mistaking my shock-induced silence for ignorance, she continued, “It was called The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.”

So as I sit here pondering this, I’m uneasy. How could my otherwise bright 12-year-old not know about the olden days? The real olden days. The days when children would dip candles and churn butter for chores. Girls always wore dresses and boys all wore suspenders. You attended the one-room school house for learnin’, and attended to 'business' in the one-seat outhouse. Pa drove the horse and wagon while ma, with her hair in a constant bun, held the baby. Those, without question, were the olden days.

Will Smith’s legendary television show was still gracing the airways in 1995. I’ll admit back then Martha Stewart was an icon, not an ex-con. However, I can not sit quietly while anyone calls the year Sheryl Crow won a Grammy for Best New Artist the olden days. In the year of the remarkable Super Bowl win performance of the Steve Young led 49ers, 32 cents stamps dotted first class mail and dot com companies dotted Silicon Valley. It was also the year 150 million of us watched O. J. Simpson’s not guilty verdict being read. Bill Clinton was playing President while Newt Gingrich was remaking America. Seal was singing Kiss from a Rose, and Tom Hanks held us in suspense on his ill-fated space mission.

We all remember it like yesterday, because it practically was yesterday! In less than two years Will Smith went from a Philly teen in The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air to Agent J in Men in Black. But apparently those were a ground breaking two years, as we managed to shake from the shackles of the olden days to finally emerge into modern day. And luckily for D1 and her iPod, instant messaging, and cell phone, we pulled it off. Perhaps it was even more miraculous than Tom Hanks safely returning from his Apollo 13 mission.

“A Verbal Contract Isn't Worth the Paper It's Written On” (Samuel Goldwyn)

This weekend D1 and Friend of D1 decided to play a game with S2 and Friend of S2. This is a game they have played before. It involves D1 and her friend owning and operating a business establishment, a.k.a. a restaurant, and S2 and his friend patronizing said restaurant. Sounds simple enough.

However, far too many times the game has run afoul. Allegedly, D1 and her friend have laboriously created a four-page printed and bound menu, set out the table cloth and candles, donned aprons and prepared gourmet omelets, only to have S2 and his accomplice, in an act of reckless abandonment, give up in hunger, grab a microwaved pizza, and in bad faith, without notice of cancellation, leave minutes before they were to be seated at Le Gamblet (the official name of the swanky French bistro that occasionally occupies my Orem, Utah kitchen).

When called upon to judge, I am forced to recuse myself due to personal conflicts (namely being parent to both defendant and accuser). When pressed for a verdict, I must side with the defendants as case law has shown that without a contract, the girls have no recourse to recover damages. And so, too often, the boys exit freely without being found legally liable for any wrong doing.

It was S2 and his friend’s idea to play the game this time. But D1 and her sidekick were cautious. So, they presented the boys with The Contract which was to ensure completion of the game, referred to hereafter as “FOLLOW THE RULES!!!!!!!” and a form of payment, referred to hereafter as “the Keychain”. Here it is, in its entirety, exactly as I found it Sunday afternoon:

CONTRACT
We agree to play a game with you that involves a restaurant. You can do whatever you want but Friend of S2 must give Friend of D1 the Keychain.


___________________ ____________________
Sign Here

Now D1 and her friend, as I mentioned, have been through this before and in addition to The Contract, also presented the boys with an addendum. It is as follows:

ADDENDUM
Now play talk will be involved. No laughing for any weird reason. FOLLOW THE RULES!!!!!!!


__________ _________
Initial Here

Surprisingly, both parties signed and initialed The Contract without seeking representation.

Happily, upon execution of The Contract neither party was found to be in breach of said contract at any time. The girls put on a fabulous meal, and the boys enjoyed their cheesy bacon omelets so much they even left a fifty-cent tip, along with said keychain.

Whether or not the girls will choose to adopt a set of bylaws for Le Gamblet and its future participants, is yet to be determined. However, if they don’t make it in the restaurant business, I’m confident they would do well to opt for law school.

Fond Memories Like Being Abandoned on the Roadside

Twelve-year old daughters are a blessing. And a pain in the keister. The latter is why D1 was almost dumped out of the car on the way to Sunday dinner at Grandma’s house. It was nothing specific that nearly caused me to send her packing, just her general preteen conduct coupled with my hunger pangs. If it were not for traffic, serial killers, and DCFS, I probably would have invited her exit from my vehicle. Oh, for the good ol’ days when parents could boot their daughters out of the car to hike home…

It was an especially warm summer afternoon as our station wagon traversed the 15-mile route from church to home. My younger sisters Jackie and Christine had been aggravating me for miles. It reached a point where, despite my mature 13-years of age, I could restrain myself no longer.

The sweltering temperatures aided me in developing a pristine plan. With no air-conditioning in the car, we traveled with all the windows rolled down, our long strands whipping around in the tornado-like winds forming untold numbers of hair knots. And so I put the plan in motion, with fingers wide and straight I inserted my hands into their tangled tresses, one on the left, one on the right, simultaneously pull, and listen to them howl! I tried to suppress the wicked smile that formed across my lips, but the pleasure was too great. Naturally, payback was not long coming. In went their fingers into my mane, and thus the fight ensued. Stern motherly warnings from the front seat did nothing to temper our turmoil. We were at war by now and even Mom could not stop this battle. Dad on the other hand…

The 1974 grey Dodge station wagon came to a sudden, neck-jerking halt and so did our fighting. “What was he thinking?” we wondered. “Outta the car girls,” Dad spoke matter-of-factly, opening his car door. Okay – that was not expected. With nervous stomachs we slid off the sticky, black vinyl seats, terrified of the punishment awaiting us. We were standing on the side of the road presenting our most innocent-looking faces when Dad told us to shut our car door. Then he climbed back in the driver’s seat, and in the most unexpected move of all, drove away.

We stood there in brief amazement and then dashed after the family vehicle that was growing less and less significant in the distance. Panting and out of breath we finally stopped when the station wagon vanished over a small hill in the distance. Looking around, trying to hold back the tears, we realized that having just reached the edge of town, we were probably two-miles from home. After spending a fair amount of time blaming each other for our unfortunate situation, we grouped together to determine a plan. They were just trying to scare us, we assured ourselves, our parents would be back for us soon. So we seated ourselves on the roadside gravel and waited.

Some time passed and then, without saying much, we finally stood up and started the inevitable trek home. A two-mile journey in the afternoon sun in your church shoes is pretty bad. But not as awful as the embarrassment you feel when your school friends whisk by with their loving families that drive them home from church. “Do you think they saw us?” I asked. “Ummm, three girls walking all alone on an empty road,” Jackie sarcastically reasoned, “How could they not.”

We learned a few things that afternoon. Among them included, 1) If you are going to fight with your sisters while in the car, do so only when wearing your tennis shoes, 2) Even normally predictable parents can sometimes surprise you, and 3) A long walk in the muggy Iowa heat can turn enemies into best friends.

Too bad for D1 that overcrowded roads, criminals, and government agencies have ruined those types of teaching moments.