Lost in Pronunciation

Did you ever have an experience where you know what you wanted to say, but you just couldn't find the right words? Well, something like that just happened to my six year old.

To say this week has been busy so far is an understatement. We're currently trying to redo the kids bedrooms. This has been no easy task since it's the same bedrooms they sleep and play in. Aside from hanging caution tape across the threshold, I've had little luck at, shall we say, recycle their toys. Kids have a hard time parting with everything.

I was sitting in Potter's room with him trying to help him clean when he comes out with the following statement: "Scooter's room is such a whore." He said.

I froze. My head immediately began to spin with thoughts of "What have I done?" "Where did this child learn to speak like that?" Then suddenly I broke into laughter.

Potter was unsure whether to run or hide since only a moment before he witnessed my head about to explode.

"I think the word you're looking for is horror, Potter. You're brother's room is a horror, not a whore."

I didn't bother going into the definition of either word. The look on my face told him everything he needed to know.

It's Official; My Kid's Are Smarter Than Me

I consider myself to be of average intelligence. Like every other parent, I hoped that my children would one day grow up to be smarter than their Mom. I did not expect however that it would happen so early.

At ages 6 and 5, my children have turned into geniuses. This is the part where I guess I should break out my "Proud Mommy" shirt, but I must pause for a quick breath. For I realize sometimes the things we pray for are the exact things that will scare the hell out of us.

Take for instance the other day when I had to rent a car while my minivan was in the shop. As usual my children took the opportunity to beat on one another while I was forced to hold onto the wheel. I would glance into the rear view mirror only to find a flying arm, a hand full of hair and a child in a headlock. After a few threats and a million prayers for a Calgon, I decided to take it to the next step.

"If you boys don't quiet down now," I said. "I'm going to push the eject button."

All was quiet. So quiet in fact, I thought I may have been the first Mother to kill my children with a threat.

But not to worry. Like most pleasantries and tranquil moments in my life, they were quickly sucked out the window by the sound of laughter.

"This thing has an eject button?" The older one asked.

"Sure does." I said with complete certainty.

Again, silence. Then finally, my defeated moment began.

"Push it, Push it, Push it!" They yelled.

Car manufacturers should hang their heads low. For years their focus has surrounded such things as heated seats, anti lock brakes, video monitors and GPS systems. Had they only spoke to a Mom first.

When Life Gives You Lemons

If you read my blog regularly, you already know my luck with cars. I received my license when I was 17. I am now 35, and I have owned (drum roll) 7 cars.

I love the "new car" smell. I salivate when I walk through a showroom and a salesman gives me a decent price on a vehicle I've been eyeing. But the excitement is generally short lived.

I will begin with my purple Chevy. This was the first car I bought with my own money. It was my favorite color. I am not counting the "brown bomber" as my first car since that was so nicely handed down to me while I was in college. Hence the name; you can image the issues that car had. After graduation I gladly handed that sweet ride down to my little sister (that's what family is for).

The purple Chevy however was a dream come true. Nothing like turning the ignition and having a car start on the first try (something I wasn't privy to with my first car). Then it happened. One day on the way to work I got stuck in a police chase (so Hollywood of me). And yes, the front of my Chevy was pulled off. Although it was fixed, it never quite ran as well. And so we parted ways.

I moved on to a Hyundai. While it wasn't top of the line, it had more options than the Chevy, and I really liked it for a while. Then the transmission went (not even a year on the road). Shortly after that was fixed some Bozo decided to make a left turn in front of me. I made it out with just a few scratches. But the Hyundai was sent to the big scrapyard in the sky.

Car accidents are never a good way to get rid of a car you don't want. However, because of that previous accident, I was able to buy my Monte Carlo. Hands down, this was one of my favorite cars. But once again, it didn't last very long. Although this time it was good news.

We were expecting our first child. We soon realized that getting a car seat in and out of a Monte Carlo was considered an Olympic Event. So I traded cars with my husband. I was down graded to a Ford Escape while Hubby rode off into the sunset in Monte.

After the transmission blew in that (a few times) we bought a Chrysler Pacifica. What can I say...beautiful. This car was wonderful. And aside from the small hit and run it was involved in, it remained a dependable car. Unfortunately at the time, we could only afford to lease it. So after three wonderful years they had to pry it from my grasp.

And that is when the minivan entered our lives. It was a nightmare on wheels. It literally rained in the backseat because of poor sealing issues. It was in and out of the shop. Of course, it was also involved in a hit and run......but we got that girl.

When I finally couldn't put up with the problems any longer, I began to visit dealers again. Let's just say the smell of "new car" makes me break out the checkbook.

So there I was with a brand new minivan. This was April 2009. It is now June 2010, and my minivan is a little over a year old. You probably won't be surprised when I tell you its been towed twice, the automatic doors have closed on my children, and I sometimes find the doors open in parking lots when I return from a shopping adventure. Needless to say, it will be going into the shop tomorrow.

You're probably also wondering why it's not considered a lemon. Apparently, in order for your car to be considered a lemon, the same problem must exist three separate occasions within a certain period of time.

So until I can convince the dealer that I have been sold a lemon, I will have to be satisfied with owning a lime.

The Man, The Myth, The Legend

I know what you're expecting. Some superhero blog featuring a fictitious character who once again is "here to save the day." What else do you think of when such a title is given?

The truth is, the following post is about my husband. While I had plans of writing about another subject, he took me by surprise when I found him sitting downstairs this morning instead of on his way to work.

You'll understand my dismay in a moment. Right after I explain that my husband doesn't call out of work....ever!

While many people are already speaking to the boss before their first sniffle, my husband would have already worked out, logged into his computer, made calls, filled out paperwork and consumed about 5 cups of coffee. Referring to him as a work horse is actually an understatement. And to top it all off, he has over an hour commute both ways.

While he does catch the occasional cold, most of the time, you wouldn't even know it. Because he also suffers from allergies, it's sometimes hard to figure out when he is really sick. But lately I saw the signs: glassy eyes, chills, an uncontrollable cough and boxes of tissues lined up in every room.

To see him finally give in today and make a doctor's appointment was actually a relief. No fighting, no "it's just a cough." I was shocked.

Sometimes we all need to take it easy. I think he is long overdue. Get well soon Hun!

The Ones They Forgot To Mention

You may have heard about the uproar in Major League Baseball last week. A bad call made by umpire Jim Joyce prevented Detroit Tigers Armando Galarraga from making baseball history.

On his way to throwing a perfect game, Galarraga made the out at first base. Only it wasn't an out. At least that is what Joyce saw. He called the runner safe, and like that, it was all over.

After further review, Joyce realized he had made a mistake. And here is my favorite part: He apologized. And Galarraga accepted.

All too often a play in baseball ends in a coach yelling at an umpire, a player throwing a bat, a fine and an eviction from the game. This time it was different.

Mr. Joyce could have easily stood behind his call, and baseball would have went on as normal. But instead, he made the tougher decision. He listened.

Talk about a life lesson. It's not often we get to witness history being made in such an eloquent way. If you ask me, both men should be inducted into the Hall of Fame simply for rising above adversity.

And maybe that's where this story should end. But I think there are two people that still need to be recognized.

Three cheers for the women that these two men call Mom. Ladies, you raised some outstanding men. But based on what we've seen so far, you probably both have already received your thank you calls.

Blame It On The Dog

I've began to notice a common theme in our home lately. Whenever someone doesn't want to fess up to their accidents; they blame it on the dog.

Our dog Harley is eight years old this year. She was once the baby of the family. But in the past 8 years she saw us through a new home, a wedding and the birth of two boys. And although she may have slowed down over the years, she still has her wits about her.

Harley has been trained since she was a puppy. But whenever she feels she is not getting enough attention, the dining room becomes her mine field. She waits until we leave the home before she begins her work. After all these years, I have never caught her in the act.

And now it seems, the kids have caught on. No, they're not peeing in the dining room. However, whenever there is a mystery puddle or smell, guess who gets the blame? Harley has become the default button at our home.

Just last night I asked: "What's that smell?" At first, there was dead silence. It was as if everyone needed that minute to take a deep breath and figure out exactly what smell I was referring to. Then I got my answer: "Maybe it was the dog, Mommy."

So there you have it. These kids may not realize it now, but someday they will have to fess up to their criminal activity. Until then, I guess it is Harley who will have to explain that "funny smell" coming from the kids room. And it is I who will have to trust that Febreeze will help keep things under control until the real culprit gives up.

Tinkering With The Blog

"Don't fix it if it isn't broken." Those words were running through my mind as I was editing my blog last night. I spent Memorial Day weekend searching for a program that would help me make my blog a bit more personal. I've come to the conclusion that my talent ends with my writing.

Luckily I only spent $20. I was hopeful that the $20 would also include a direction manual...no such luck. Funny how that frozen pizza I cooked for the family the other night was coated with directions. Just in case an overscheduled Mom such as myself should accidentally forget that cardboard is highly flammable.

I often spend my mornings admiring some beautifully designed blogs. I've spent hours on the Internet trying to avoid buying some of the more expensive programs. But apparently it's those exact programs that I need. I thought by reading a few tutorials I could magically give my blog a professional touch. No such luck again.

So I'm off to find a blog designer this week. Someone who's mind doesn't turn to mush when their handed a series of directions.

Hopefully soon, Mommy Maestro will have a new look. Until then, I think I'll stick to making pizza.