Mothering Mayhem: Life with the Wild Boys

Hola, Wild Boy friends and family, and a very happy Independence Day from la Casa de Testosterone. We are spending today recovering, since our happy little town does it's celebration on the 3rd of July to allow the more adventurous souls out there that want to be crammed elbow to elbow with strangers and trapped in cars for traffic snarled hours to see larger shows in bigger cities that opportunity. Me? Not so much. I like our small town show. I like being in the park, and seeing everyone, and by the end of the evening expanding our blankets to allow for whatever tribe of children settle down with us. This year was only slightly different. The Wild Boys are old enough now that girls rarely settle down with us anymore (although they do manage to casually walk by giggling with frightening regularity). Also, my attention is divided between two different dangers - Gabe and his friends courting finger loss and major burns, and Gavin and his friends being pulled in by the lure of t...

Hola, Wild Boy friends and family, and welcome to summer vacation. As much as I thought we'd be settled in to a nice, relaxed rhythm by now that is definitely not the case. And why, you ask? Because I'm a helicopter mom, that's why. I know, all of you that have tracked the evolution of the Wild Boys and their injuries are thinking I'm not a very good helicopter mom, right? Well I'll square with you. It was never my intention to helicopter at all. But once they started stacking deck chairs to form diving platforms for their wading pool I realized that if I didn't hover obsessively they would die. So it wasn't necessarily me wanting to live their lives vicariously, it was more just wanting them to live. It's worked out pretty well so far, because between the cop and I we have paranoia to spare so I can anticipate and usually head off anything that banshee shrieks "danger" well in advance. But this week brought the moment I was in no way prepa...

Hola Wild Boy friends and family! It's been a long time, I know. And let me give you a hint why: baseball six days a week, a timeline project, a wax museum project, a magic workbook, an artifact, a costume, a test on the states and capitals, a state float, a pool party, a school play, a talent show, cub scouts, boy scouts, a yard sale, four birthday parties, two field trips for school, one field trip for scouts...you get the idea. Anyhow, suffice it to say the cop and I are sufficiently exhausted. Tomorrow marks the last day of school, Saturday is the last day of baseball, and Sunday is when I plan on settling in with a giant bloody mary the second I stumble out of bed at noon and not washing any laundry because my kids can survive in swim trunks for a week while we recover. Today was the talent show, emceed by Gav and his buddy Tess.  Yesterday Gabe had a play. Tonight was a baseball party, and tomorrow the Cop is barbecuing about a million hamburgers for field ...

Hola, Wild Boy friends and family, and welcome back to a very special birthday edition of the blog. That's right, we're celebrating survival for another full year for the one, the only, the indomitable Wild Boy Gavin! Tomorrow, Gavin turns 11, and while I really thought last year would be difficult because it marked the transition to double digits, this year is so much harder. First off, my little man is transitioning to big kid things. All of the sudden it's majors in baseball, its Boy Scouts instead of Cub Scouts, and it's junior high in a matter of months. These are all really hard transitions for a Mommy to make. But I think what's made it even more difficult is that my kid is kind of a punk. I know, I know, no parent should ever admit this except in hushed whispers to other parents who are hiding from their children behind the cover of a pedicure or grocery shopping. Because really, we all have to feel obligated to blow up social media with how wonderful ...

Hola, Wild Boy friends, family and followers! Welcome back to another super exciting update from La Casa de Testosterone.  We are neck deep in baseball season and all the exhaustion that accompanies it (also, one emergency dental visit and one emergency room trip for xrays, so hopefully both Wild Boys have now established that we catch with our glove and hit with the bat...) The weather continues to vacillate between delightfully sunburnish and freak snowstormish, and my patience has been worn as thin as the toilet paper in the public restrooms at each ball park.  Know who is handling it like a champ, though?  The cop. He's so cool. He's a borderline saint. Look at how cute he is with these little howler monkeys: I want to be like him one day, for reals. Know what's equally amazing? He puts up with my borderline insanity on a daily basis. I'm working on self improvement, and I'm pretty sure I need a little bracelet with WWCD (what would the cop do) to keep me s...

Hola Wild Boy friends and family, and Happy Easter from la Casa de Testosterone! I have a very, very brief minute to check in but I'm taking full advantage because writing is cathartic, and this Momma had a really, really rough Saturday. Don't get me wrong, I'm not looking for sympathy. I just think that one day, when someone finds me curled up in the fetal position clutching an empty bottle of vodka and mumbling something like "the horror..." you may all be able to figure out what drove me to it if I testify now. Here's the thing. I slacked off, to an epic extreme, and suddenly it was Easter Eve and I had NOTHING. Literally, nothing. So after two baseball games the Cop volunteered to take the extremely filthy, tired, and cranky wild boys home so I could do the shopping. And somehow, in my stupor, I thought I got the better end of that deal. No kids, no problem, right? So I drove right on over to the very portal to hell itself - Walmart. I don't do W...

  Hola Wild Boy friends and family! I know, you're all in shock. It's only been a week and here I am again...what's next? End times? Maybe. Gav told Gabe yesterday that the Rapture was imminent because Gabe took a pack of fruit snacks without asking, and those kids are way more religiously savvy than I am, so I suppose the end of the world may be at hand.  But that's not why I'm back. Mainly I'm back because blogging seems SO MUCH MORE FUN then laundry, and those are my choices this afternoon. I got to thinking, and not just based on my children citing Revelations to frighten one another, that sometimes my kids just aren't like normal kids.  Now, part of this is my fault I know. Because from the days they were born I refused to indulge in baby talk. I loathe it, and so the Cop and I always talked to them as tiny humans in full sentences.  This immediately backfired because they started talking back in full sentences, and before preschool were already ...