But if I told you, then it wouldn't be a secret. So here's a star bullet point update, instead.

★ I keep having the same actor's nightmare over and over and over. Five times in the last three weeks, I've dreamt the same non-existent scene in the play. It has the same words, and the same actors (that I know, and that are not in my current production), and despite having dreamt this that many times, I'm still always wholly unprepared for it. This morning in the dream, the director told me to watch the movie that the scene was in to be better prepared. I wanted to cry. Stupid subconscious.

★ We're having a billion people for Thanksgiving. Or 32. Either way, I'm having to self-soothe... It'll be okay, it'll be okay, it'll be okay... on a loop. It's not the food, it's just having that many people in the house and making sure they're comfortable, etc. I was talking to a friend and fellow actress on the phone yesterday, bemoaning the state of rehearsals the telling her that I'm a control freak and that I kind of want to hide in the closet with a bottle of Crown, and she gave me some pretty sage advice:

Friend: You need to imagine one of those old time-y radios, you know? The ones with the knobs? And you need to envision one of those knobs being your 'give a sh*#' dial. And you close your eyes, take a deep breath and mentally turn that 'give a sh*#' knob way down. Or off.

Me: That's brilliant. Though, to be perfectly honest, I'm going to have to find that button before I can turn it down.

Friend: I'm not gonna lie. It might be in the closet with the Crown.

Love her. She makes me laugh.

★ Spent the better part of Friday refashioning a kind of crappy $40 JC Penney's dress into something sort of wonderful for The 39 Steps. And it only took 6 hours. :P

★ I spent over an hour this morning looking for a book my middle-schooler needed today, and we STILL didn't find it. Tell me this happens to other people, too, so that I don't sell the child into white slavery?

★ Pumpkins are still gross, and are still the devil. It's a fact. Look it up.

★ Due to the fact that I use my children to run lines, they now know how to swear in German. Mother of the year, folks. Right here. Please don't call CPS.

Supernatural spoiler? )

★ I really, really love Monday mornings, where the only noise in the house is Abbey the Lab snoring up a storm. Hope your Monday morning is as relaxing as mine. Happy Thanksgiving week! Or just Happy Monday, for those kajillion people of you out there not celebrating the American Holiday. :)
Someone recently asked the question, "So, have we become our parents?"

My first reaction? 'Oh, heck no. I'm still cool.'

Which is a dead giveaway for someone who is patently not cool to say.

I've noticed for some time that my behavior, what comes out of my mouth, specifically when dealing with my kiddos, sounds a lot like the advice that someone once gave me. I think I've even called my sister and said, "Oh, my gosh! I'm MOM!" I give you a list of examples, for your Wednesday evening perusal:

The top ten! )
persephone33: (dramatic headdesk)
( Apr. 8th, 2011 03:43 pm)
Incidentally, third grade is when math all started going to hell for me.

But I digress.

Yesterday, Aaron needed help with number sentences. When he needs help with actual math, he goes to his father. For sentences, mom is the one. In any case, AJ came up with the problem, 16 x 20 or something, and I suggested a word problem along the lines of 'he had 16 friends and gave them each 20 pieces of candy...'

Aaron. (looks surprised) Wow, Mom. You're good at math.

Carrie. (laughs, in a self-deprecating manner) You think?

Aaron. (considers) Well, you're getting better.

Carrie. Oh, thanks, kid.

Aaron. (yells from the other room) That was a compliment!

It's nice to know I'm getting better. I'd hate to stagnate where I am.
I have two stories for you. The first informs the second.

Story One )

Story Two )
So. It turns out, AJ was doing the same thing, buying ice cream and slushes as often as he could. They're both grounded. Ethan's taking his lunch for the rest of the year. Is that a punishment for me, too? Yes, it is. No, I didn't actually say 'crapload' to the kid. And no, we aren't making him take a Strawberry Shortcake lunchbox. It was a close call, though.

That's all the news that's fit to report. Be back soon, though, I'm sure.

And for the cherry on the cake of my day, I've been up since four thirty, and Ethan, Aaron and I are off to the dentist.
Eclipse has an MPAA rating of PG-13. I knew that going into this. But the boys have watched loads of PG-13 movies without incident. Off the top of my head - The Spider-Man Franchise, for one. And I am by no means a prude. But I was wholly unprepared for this. WHERE IS MY HANDBOOK?

Anywho, parenting is an adventure.

Are you a virgin, Mommy? )

In less horrifying news, my dad is here, and we're have a cool, laid back time. Love to all and happy new year, if I don't see you before.
(Carrie's family is having lunch at Saltgrass Steakhouse yesterday, and Ethan is particularly animated, telling us a story about what happened the last time he was at church)

Ethan. You know how you always tell us to eat whatever is put in front of us without complaining?

Nolan. Yes.

Aaron. (Pipes up) You get what you get and you don't throw a fit!

Carrie. That's right.

Ethan. (glares at his brother) Anyway, we had cupcakes last week after the lesson, and our teacher's son asked for a cupcake with no icing. (playwright's note: This bit in italics is delivered as if it were "dropped the bomb on Hiroshima.")

Nolan. You don't say.

Ethan. Yeah! She knew that her son didn't want icing, so she saved one without just for him. She must really love him!

Nolan. Love doesn't necessarily have anything to do with that. The world isn't going to scrape the icing off your cupcake, Ethan.

Aaron. (pipes up again) That's okay with me. I like icing.

(There is a silence, in which we all ponder what's been said and the ramifications thereof...)

Aaron. Oh. That was a metaphor, wasn't it, Dad?

Carrie. (narrowly stops herself from swearing) What the-- A.J., what kind of eight year-old knows what a metaphor is?

Ethan. (preens) The kind with a ten year-old brother!

Aaron. (glares at Ethan) The kind that ignores his brother and listens to his mom.

I don't know of what I'm more proud: The fact that Nolan USED a metaphor, or the fact that the eight year-old listens to me talk enough to know what that particular figure of speech means.
Oh, my word. Pull up a chair and grab a glass of wine. This one's a doozie.

So after a day of deep cleaning in preparation for having folks over for the holiday, I made dinner this evening, a lovely pesto filled pasta in a creamy red sauce. After dinner, Nolan and I retired to the boudoir to watch television and have a glass of wine, and I, like the whimsical girl that I am, decided to paint my nails.

So far a pretty mundane evening at Carrie's house.

But then, I sweetly ask my husband if he would "go and get the clothes out of the dryer, and move clothes from the washer to the dryer," I asked, blowing on my nails, "so I don't mess up my polish?"

He grumbled as he got up, muttering something about "what have you done for me lately?" and reluctantly walked through the living room and kitchen, and into the laundry room.

When he got there, the noise he made can only be described as sonic boom-like.

Kids do the darndest (read: most dumbass) things... )

Only he's not getting paid. Oh, well.

Tom Sawyer's house looks a lot like a beach in the south pacific, doesn't it? Funny.

But seriously, it was if the kid was born to be on stage or in front of a camera. Of course, I think genetics plays a role. Nolan doesn't like to advertise that he has the exact same degree I do, and rolls his eyes about the boys being enrolled in musical theatre, but I know he's proud, too. Neither one of us are really stage parents, though. You know those mothers who are there every step of the kids' day? The ones that still wipe the kid's nose when they're perfectly capable of doing it themselves? I call them 'Alpha Moms.' I, to coin a phrase from one of my dear friends, Jayme, am a 'Beta Mom.' I'm hanging out, waiting for them to need me, but making sure they actually do before I step in.

And honestly? I tried to help him with line interp. It's one of the five things in life that I do really well, but true to ten year-old form, he waved his hand and said, "I got this, Mom."

Fine. But I'm standing over here waiting when I'm needed.
persephone33: (you have been found wanting)
( Feb. 8th, 2010 04:54 pm)
My little family unit plays a lot of games.

Not only the kind that you might think, although the boys did get Sorry! and LIFE for Christmas which is hours and hours (and hours) of family fun.

No. The games I like best are the ones we play because we always have. For example: The Slugbug Game. Some of you might call it "Punchbuggy." The premise of the original game is to yell out when you see a Volkswagon Beetle, name its color, and then punch your opposing team member in the upper arm.

We've modified the game for our purposes, because let's face it - My nine and seven year-old boys do not need another excuse to wail on each other.  So we don't hit each other, but it's still the most competitive game you've ever heard of.  Not only are the slugbugs worth a point, but Jeeps are worth one, and purple cars are worth ten.  People switch sides when it's convenient - no, sorry, only Aaron does that - and the screaming and flailing about is just a given.

There is also jinx - Jinx, for those of you who missed out on third grade, is enacted when two people say the same thing at the same time. Then the one who is on the ball, this meaning one of my stinking children, will say, "Jinx, you owe me a coke." If the jinx-ee doesn't want to buy the jinx-er a coke, and come on, I don't have that much pocket change on a daily basis, the jinxee cannot say anything until the jinx-er says their name.

I've been quiet a lot lately, as a result.

When I sat down to write this post I came up with four or five others. As a result of impending old age and/or memorizing lines and the dumping out of old information, I've forgotten them.

What games do you play?
I have a LOT to blog about. So much STUFF has happened in the last few weeks, but I've not the inclination to put my fingers to the keyboard or upload the billion pictures that go with it. This week. I will.

For now: I'll just give you these.

It's kinda funny stuff. )
Your kids inherit your sense of humor. And smart mouth.


(The family is in my dressing area, and I'm combing the boys hair for school. Ethan is waxing rhapsodic about what he wants to be for Halloween -This process starts in early summer at my house- to the point where Aaron and I are a little eye roll-y about it. Aaron makes eye contact with me in the mirror; he gives me an "I got this" kind of look and interrupts his brother.)

Ethan. But if I'm Indiana Jones again, I want to have his satchel, whip and hat, unless mom can find the Annakin Sywalker from the Clone Wars--

Aaron. If you don't shut up about it, Mom'll make you be a clown.

Ethan. (is distracted for 2 seconds) Ew. (Goes right back into rhapsodizing) Or maybe Commander Rex--

Aaron. (mutters) A clown with a bloody nose it is.


In other news, Safety patrol is KILLING ME.

Now that's ironic.
After a crapulous (personal) rehearsal last night, tonight's was much better. I DO not know how I'm going to do my 2 quick changes, though - I didn't even have time to change my SHOES tonight, let alone go from a dress to a negligee to a ball gown. Oi. It'll be tricky. Because unless I get naked for all of backstage to see, it's gonna be a tough one. And although I play a whore on stage, I am pretty modest in real life. If, indeed, you can call backstage real life.

In other news, we got a new mattress and box springs today. It's taller than our old one, so I feel like I'm perched up on a platform. I LOVED our old one - I mean LOVED it - so this one better not suck. Nolan got it for his back issues. He's currently snoring beside me, so so far, so good on that front.

When the mattress man (That's his name, by the by. He's got this mattress thing on the side; he actually owns a data forms business. I don't care if our mattress is black market or fell off a truck, as long as it's comfy, though.) took our old mattress, after I vacuumed up a spectacular amount of dust, I found my charm bracelet that I got for Christmas that's been missing since May. I thought I'd lost it in a hotel room, so that brought me a lot of joy. Woot! And I'd never told Nolan that it was missing. Dodged a bullet, there.

I should probably tell him that I ran into the garage wall last week, though, huh? And messed up the sheet rock and my car door. *nods* I'm just waiting for the right moment. Married girls, you know what I mean. *wink*

And, last but not least: I have minion(s) of my very own! My nine year old mowed the backyard all by himself today. I had to start the mower for him, but that's it. I cannot tell you how much that helps out. He was all proud (though trying to negotiate a salary) and I didn't have to haul my rear out there and do it. JOY all around.

That's it. I'm going into a coma-like sleep, now. See you on the flip side.
So we went to the cabin.

Y'all pull up a chair and have a glass of tea. This is a long damn story. )

You know what folks? THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME.

A truer word was never said.
persephone33: (if the kids aren't dead)
( Sep. 8th, 2009 10:58 pm)
Is an award that I will not be receiving anytime soon.

Nolan woke me at 6:00 this morning, informing me that he had to go to Nebraska this week. Today. Til Thursday. Which, ordinarily, would have me doing a little 'alone time' dance.

Not so, this morning.

After trying to find a sitter for most of the day, it became apparent that I would have to take my sons with me to rehearsal for The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, wherin (in case you aren't a faithful reader of this journal) I play a whore.

Luckily, they were spared seeing any of the real Graphic numbers. For today, anyway.

Two things, though: 1)Ethan asked, "Mommy? What was going on before Mr. Jason (Melvin P. Thorpe) came onstage?" (Answer I did not give? Sounds of the throes of passion. *facepalm*)
2) He was singing "Texas has a bleephouse in it! Lord have mercy on our souls!" at the top of his lungs on the way home. Please do not call social services. I really do try to be a good mother.

At least he has the good sense not to say the word 'whore.' Let's hope he doesn't let it slip at school.

Aaron? Fell asleep about an hour before we were done. I'm going to be grateful that he didn't see the whorehouse number, instead of taking it as a personal comment on the acting.
Three things.

1.) I just spent the last hour in the backyard playing catch with my nine year-old*. He's a pretty amazing athlete, especially considering his parents are not just liberal arts, but theatre performance majors. Ethan was catching the ball effortlessly, his feet unmoving, just snagging it backhanded from wherever I threw it. He even made a few jumping catches. Meanwhile, I'm huffing and puffing and flinching, sweating like a maniac an catching about a quarter of what he throws to me. It frustrated me because he was throwing short; the ball would hit the ground about a foot and a half before it got to me. So being the stupid girl I am, I say:

Carrie. Throw it harder, E. Come on, you can do it!

Ethan. (gives me a look) I know I can, Mom, but I don't want to hurt you.

Carrie.  (looks over the top of  sunglasses and glares at  progeny)  Just throw the darn** ball, Ethan."

He shrugs and fires a couple off, and I'm flinching like CRAZY now because I'm essentially afraid of the ball.(With good reason, as it turns out. I'm gonna have nasty bruises this afternoon.)

In short, my nine year-old owned me at catch. *sigh*

2.) I redid my livejournal layout! (All by myself! *puffs up*) Some of the pink is a little too Pepto Bismol, but I'll fix it. I saved my old one, too, 'cause I loved it. But I'd had it for about a year, so it was time for a change.

3.)  I got some mail this week that pissed me off and horrified me at the same time.  One of the funeral homes in town sent me a brochure soliciting my business for their services.  What the hell.  I'm thirty-six.  Do they know something I don't?  I do not want to go shopping for coffins,*** thankyouverymuch.   I digress; Schooler-Gordon funeral home; keep your glossy pictures of final resting places to YOURSELF.

*He's the kid in the icon
**Language censored for the ears of said kid.
***Or in my case, urns, because I've got this irrational fear of being buried alive.
Here's an exchange that Nolan and I had this morning via email. And this is a pretty good example of our relationship, too.

Not for the faint of stomach. Enjoy. )

We totally deserve each other.
Instead of complaining that I awoke with a headache that felt like an army of pissed off badgers cavorting to a John Phillips Sousa march in my skull, I'll say that I'm thankful for an assload of Advil and a comfy bed, with time enough to lie back down and rest.

When I'd like to say that I was disappointed that Aaron didn't want to go to Vacation Bible School so that I could have some quiet, I'll instead be grateful that my seven year old still likes to cuddle and hang out with mom.

While I'm grumbling that there is a metric ton of laundry around here, and that you cannot see the charming checkerboard pattern of the laundry room floor for all the soiled clothes, I'll instead be glad that I have a laundry room, and fantastic appliances to to the washing for me, so that I'm not stuck out on some river, pounding my batik print dress on a rock.

While I wanted to be crabby about having to attend a church picnic, I'll be glad that the kids (well, Aaron) had a good time and it got rained out after an hour and a half.  PERFECT length of time to be there.

Because I'd like to scream from the rooftops of the injustice that 90% of my home is tile or harwood floors, yet my child picks one of the THREE carpeted rooms in the house to be sick upon (as well as the bed, bedding, pillow and bedside table), I'll change my tune and be thankful for Chem Dry Carpet cleaner and Febreeze.  And the aforementioned washer and dryer.

There are days when you just don't want to be grateful, you know?  My headache did go away, but in the light of all the stuff I had to clean up (FYI  - that's the kind of stuff no one tells you about being a mother.  I swear, if there was some sort of an informative packet, there wouldn't be nearly as many people getting pregnant.) I'm gonna call Wednesday, July 29, 2009 a draw, folks.

Sometimes that's all you can ask for.
(Ethan and Nolan are playing the Nazi Zombie level at the End of Call of Duty : World at War, and this was the conversation they just had:)

Nolan:  Guard the door, son, guard the door!

Ethan:  Okay!  (Sounds of gunshots, zombies growling)

Nolan:  Guard the window!

Ethan:  Dad?

Nolan (Groans from the exertion or WAR) Yes, son?

Ethan.   If the zombies are dead, how do they know where we are?

Nolan.  Because they can smell our brains!

Ethan:  That is SO gross.

Because THAT's not going to give him nightmares.  And I have to agree with Ethan.  That is SO gross. 

They're having a GREAT time.
Nothing good can come of the phrase, "Hey, Mom?  It's okay; the chandelier didn't fall, but..."


*heavy sigh*

Will not barricade children from house.

Will not call husband and say, "This is all your fault!!  YOU wanted BOYS!"

Will love children even they are destructo-bots.

Carry on, my lovely friends.  Carry on.

75 days left until school starts.  *whimper*
So I was going to do a thought-y post about friendship and not giving up on people vs. dumping the toxic people in your life, which the Smitten blog had me thinking about, but  I'll shelve that and save it for another day.

Instead, I'll tell you about an exchange that just happened in my living room.

(Ethan, Aaron and Nolan are watching Transformers, which is evidently rated PG-13.  At one point the main character is running from one of the evil Transformers, and is swearing up a storm, using the 's' word.)

Aaron.  (looks at Nolan) We're not supposed to say that word.

Nolan.  No, you're not.

(they watch a bit more)

Nolan.  You know what, AJ?

Aaron.  What?

Nolan.  If you're running for your life away from a giant, evil alien robot, you can say that.  You cuss up a storm.

Aaron.  (big grin)  Awesome.


Parenting is a journey, folks.  :D



persephone33: (Default)


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