Month: October 2014

One of the biggest challenges that every mother faces, is knowing how much free rein to give her children. How much independence is prudent at each age and stage of development? As conventional wisdom knows, every child is different. It seems as though, there are certain children who never let their mother out of their sight and no matter how much “Cling Free” you spray on yourself, these offspring stay overly-attached. But, there is, inevitably, one child in every family, that seems to seek any and every opportunity to shake -off the shackles of their mother, and strike out on their own prematurely. In our family, that child is Alex….

Like all my babies, Alex was in no special hurry to join our family . I didn’t think that much of it at the time. 10 days after her due date, they went in after her. She emerged dazed and confused. But to be fair, it was probably all the Demerol they gave me, crossing the placenta. As I, too, was dazed and confused, for a few years…

When Alex was 3, (By then, I thought I had my wits about me) we lost her at Chuck E Cheese. We took our eyes off of her for one second and she was gone in a flash. After we searched the premises high and low, we contacted the Manager and he put the place on “lock down”. That’s the Chuck E Cheese version of an Amber Alert. No one can enter or exit the establishment, until the missing child is located. By this point, we were frantic, to say the least. We had really scoured the place. At some point, while employees, managers and other parents were searching for the 2nd and 3rd time, in all the areas we had previously looked, Jimmy decided to expand the dragnet to include the private birthday party rooms. He carefully scanned the faces of all the happy little Party Guests sitting at the long rows of tables, enjoying their pizza and birthday cake, until he found Alex’s face. There she was, sitting by the birthday girl, wearing a cone-shaped party hat, tooting on her little party favor, joyfully celebrating the birthday of a TOTAL STRANGER. We didn’t know whether we wanted to hug or strangle the party child’s mother, who, handed her a goodie bag and assured us that they had “really enjoyed having her!”

(Parenting tip: If a random toddler shows up uninvited to your child’s party, someone, somewhere is probably searching for her!)

When Alex was 9 years old, a friend and I took our kids on a “Mother-Kids Road Trip/Adventure.” We thought it would be educational for the children, if we took a detour over to see the Hoover Dam. We had heard how extremely dangerous the Dam area was and had agreed to be hyper-vigilant with the kids, due to the unprotected, steep drop-offs. While I took the two older kids to gaze out over the miles of breath-taking, treacherous beauty, holding tightly to the hoods of their jackets, my friend took her daughter and Alex to the Port-a-Potties set up nearby. After everyone had “done their thing,” we drove at a snail’s pace in heavy traffic down the winding mountain road. About 15 minutes had passed by, when my oldest child noticed her sister was missing.

(Parenting tip: Always take a “Head-Count”or employ the fail-proof “Buddy System” if you:

A. Have more than one child
B. Have more than one thing on your mind
C. Have noticed your child is pre-disposed to WANDERLUST)

It took us an unbearable amount of time to get back up the mountain in heavy tourist traffic, to find Alex shivering, crying and mildly traumatized, still sitting in front of the Dam Port-a-Potties. I thought I would never recover from that incident and have, perhaps, overcompensated a bit in my parenting style, as I made a vow to myself, that I would never lose Alex again!!

Which explains why last Friday night was so exceptionally traumatic for me…

Jimmy and I were sound asleep when my cell phone rang at 1:30 am. As every parent knows, any phone call in the wee hours of the night is rarely good tidings. The caller was Alex’s boyfriend, who, “didn’t want to alarm me” (TOO LATE – I am awake and alarmed) He went on to explain that somehow Alex had gotten separated from their friend-group around midnight and he hadn’t seen her since. The “Buddy System” had failed us. I was immediately beside myself to think my little girl was wandering the streets of New York City, all alone and not answering her cell phone. (Jimmy and I were understandably never in favor of Alex going off to law school in New York City. But, because, at age 25, she is by legal definition, an adult, we found that we couldn’t forbid it.) A few minutes of sleuthing confirmed that Alex’s cell phone was left at her apartment, which explained why she wasn’t answering. I couldn’t decide if that made me feel better or worse. I immediately called the police. Perhaps I’ve watched too much “Law and Order SVU,” but I launched my own concurrent investigation “Law and Order SCU” (Silly Children’s Unit) In a moment of inspired maternal brilliance, I logged onto our bank’s website to see if it could help me track Alex’s whereabouts…

(Parenting tip: No matter what age your children are, always keep their debit cards linked to your bank account. You’ll be surprised at how easily you can track their every move, through timed and dated debit card transactions!!)

I was instantly relieved to see that she had purchased a subway ticket shortly after she went missing, and then, because she got lost in New York’s complicated subway system, a transaction 30 minutes later, showed a payment to a taxi cab company for a ride home. She was found within the hour!!

(Parenting tip: “It’s so damn easy, when your feelings are such, to overprotect her, to love her too much – hold on loosely, but don’t let go, if you cling too tightly, you’re gonna lose control…” Sound parenting advice from 38 Special in 1981, still applicable today!)

“The weekend at the college didn’t turn out like you planned, the things that pass for knowledge I can’t understand…” (Steely Dan – 1972)

Last Friday afternoon, when we got ready to depart for “Arkansas-Alabama Weekend” at the University of Arkansas, Jimmy pulled out his laptop and settled into the passenger seat, casually saying, “You drive!”

I was miffed.

“I hadn’t planned on driving,” I responded.

“Neither had I!”

I ended up driving because he trumped me with the “work excuse“. But, I thought to myself, ‘No Matter- this won’t last long...

I had a plan.

We have been together since we were 17, as such, we employ some very “sibling-esque” approaches to Conflict Resolution. These solutions resemble the sophomoric ways a brother and sister would solve an issue, much more than a committed mature adult couple.

We have something that resembles a ‘Peace Accord’ in effect.  In dates way back to the early 80s and clearly stipulates, “Whomever is driving the vehicle at the present time, retains full control of the radio and the temperature of said vehicle.”

So, I cranked the heat up, (Jimmy HATES to be hot) and turned the radio dial to Christian Talk Radio. I knew it wouldn’t be long until he started craving both AC and AC/DC, but I was wrong.

All I can say, is that he would’ve made an excellent POW during one of the wars, as I was never able to “break him” and ended up driving us all the way to Fayetteville.

To amuse myself while driving, I planned my “Game Day Ensemble” in my head. I was a little distracted thinking about my limited fashion options. For starters,  I don’t own a lot of Arkansas-red clothing; as a Red-head, I was brought up believing that red garments clash with orange hair.

And, secondly, the Razorbacks really need a textile! At some point during the Bear Bryant years, the University of Alabama adopted the houndstooth fabric as their “signature fabric”.  The Alabama fans sport this print in everything from baseball caps to rain galoshes.

I was pondering the notion of a Paisley Pig or Herringbone Hog, and apparently failed to notice the “check tire pressure” light when it came on, at some crucial moment in the journey…

As we were checking into our hotel, I was preoccupied catching up with texts, (because – driving) when I overheard Jimmy having a discussion with the hotel clerk.

“Will you be selling those tomorrow?”

Hotel Clerk- “That depends on whether we sell them all today, Sir…”

Looking up from my phone, to see what they were discussing, I saw on the check-in counter, a basket full of hideous red plastic ponchos, with a sign attached that said,

Arkansas Razorback Rain Ponchos -$5

Fashion dilemma solved!

Now, if Jimmy balked at spending $400 money on a dog, you can just imagine how recalcitrant he is going to be to buy a poncho, on the off-chance someone else is going to be selling them cheaper somewhere else.  I can also tell he is thinking that it’s quite possible the weatherman is wrong and there isn’t actually a 95% chance of rain. What if we spend that money and don’t end up needing those ponchos?

He’s planning to sleep on this decision. So, exhibiting the financial recklessness he so often accuses me of, I boldly, with wanton disregard for our financial future, shelled out $10 for 2 ponchos.

The next morning, when it was time to leave for the football game, Jimmy reclaimed his manhood and got back in the driver’s seat. We had barely driven out of the hotel parking lot, when we noticed the flat tire. He spent the next two hours changing the flat, getting the tire repaired and cussing up a storm, (no pun intended) in the aforementioned rain.

But, honestly, you never heard such language.

While not necessarily wanting to exacerbate our delicate and trying circumstances, I couldn’t resist noting a few things out loud:

1. 4 hours of Christian radio the day before didn’t improved your attitude in the least

And…

2. Aren’t you glad I bought us those ugly rain ponchos?

“Hold the pickles, hold the lettuce, hold the touchdown!”

Its the end of the 4th quarter, we are losing the football game, but not by much. The Coach calls an obscure play, “The Wedge”. While it sounds like a salad to you, you know its a football play, because your son has talked about it. They’ve gone over it in practice. The Quarterback hands off the ball to your son, to run it in, for the greatly needed 6 points!! YOUR SON!!! The fans (parents and grandparents, all) are cheering from the bleachers! A win against the Middle School down the block is within our grasp! Because YOUR SON has the ball. The very ball he has never touched in the 6 years of playing football, except to snap it to a boy named SOMEONE ELSE’S SON… The ball your Other Son never touched in HIS 9 years of playing football, except when he tackled the boy who did have the ball, also named SOMEONE ELSE’S SON, and then deftly handed it to the Referee after the whistle.

Two things I’ve never quite understood – Football and Women who Understand Football. There are basically two types of women in the United States. Women who understand football and women who don’t understand football. My entire family falls in to the latter group. In fact, we have actually gone out-of -our-way in recent years to get at least a remedial knowledge of the sport, so that we can enjoy time with the men in our lives who live, eat and breathe football. I didn’t approach anything that even resembled caring about football until my sons started playing. Bear in mind, at this point, I had been a Mother for almost 20 years and a Person for 40….

I would go to the little boys’ games and ask Jimmy a million annoying questions. These were questions about the very basics of the game, but laced in to those questions was an undertone of concern, as it started to become apparent that MY SONS weren’t getting their turn with the ball. It just didn’t seem like “sharing nicely,” which had been emphasized over and over in my house full of women and girls. It sure seemed like my boys were having fun tackling the boys that did have the ball, but, it seemed to me, it would be more fair, if they tackled the boy with the ball, that it should then, logically, be their turn to run for a touchdown… But no, there they were tackling again. And what about that boy who catches the ball? It would be fun to be his mother. As the Quarterback throws the ball, and it spirals through the air to HER SON, everyone’s heart stops beating for a moment…and then….he catches it!! First Down!!!

About that time, in my boy’s football careers, as I was starting to put it all together, I started noticing a few other things. There seemed to be a group of Dads, who drove their kids to football practice and stayed. They weren’t actually Coaches, but admittedly, it was hard to tell at first, because they dressed in team colors, wore a team ball cap and ran up and down the field yelling and red-faced spittle-screaming at their son and everyone else’s, too. In an on-going effort to explain this phenomenon to Jimmy, I coined the term “DADVOCATES”. It seemed to me that these Dads had made it their business to help the Coach decide who got to play each and every position. This appeared to be done, before practice, during practice and over a beer after practice, at Buffalo Wild Wings. I beseeched and beseeched Jimmy to get on board with the New World Order for today’s young athlete and go dadvocate for our boys. But, Jimmy would not be budged from his position (pun intended) that he better served our family’s needs by going to his paying job.

Jimmy – “I’m not pandering to those coaches. Our boys are either going to make their bones on their own, or they’re not!”

Me- “Okay Don Corleone” (Seriously? Pandering? Make their bones? Am I married to the Mob? I’m trying to get a football position, not a Consigliere!!)

So, I did for my sons what any Red Blooded American Mother would do. I bought a push-up bra and stayed at those practices my damn self. And, I think it helped. All-in-all, the boys have both had pretty distinguished runs at the sport of football. As their Sports Agent, who doesn’t really speak the language of football, I never got them any “touch” on the ball, but they contributed well in a variety of other positions. Which takes us back to last night…

Picture the beautiful October evening, you drop your surly, hormonal son off at the gate, so you can go park the car.

You say to him in your chirpiest cheerleader-mom voice, “Have fun!!”

As he struggles with his pads he says, “It won’t be fun, I’m sick of football!”

You respond, “It’s the second-to-the-last game, GO MAKE IT FUN!!”

‘ It hasn’t been easy always being the positive one,’ you think to yourself, as you navigate a parking space. You should probably leave a little early, during the 4th quarter, and run through Braum’s drive-through to get him some dinner. He’s always too keyed-up to eat before a game and ravenous after!!

So…it’s about 9 pm, the sun has set in a beautiful Oklahoma sky, the stadium lights are shining on the field, the parents are on their feet; Hell, even the grandparents are on their feet. YOUR SON is running toward the end-zone!!! It’s the very moment you dreamed of ever since the sonogram first showed a you a boy-part. The announcer shouts, “TOUCHDOWN!!! CHEYENNE!!! WITH TOMMY BLANCHARD ON THE CARRY!!” Where are you?

….In the drive-thru at Braums.

“I’ll take the Bag-o-burgers, please, No lettuce, no tomato, no touchdown.”

The Good Times were Rolling 2-ply (inside and outside)

Remember the story about that little girl, Goldilocks, who theoretically trespassed on the private property of those 3 bears, while they were away, unmaking all their beds and eating all their porridge? And, remember how that Mama Bear came home and knew instinctively that there had been some unauthorized crap going on in her house while she was gone? Well, the longer I’m a mother, and the more I really think about that story, the less plausible it seems….Do we really think some Random-Little-Blonde-Girl wreaked all that havoc on her own? Or- Isn’t it more likely that those idiot bears left their Teenaged-Son-Bear home unsupervised? I’m betting, that just like me, Mrs. Bear arrived home, after a lovely weekend and bearly had time to set down her purse and overnight bag, before she noticed the tell-tale signs that something was amiss.

A more believable story: Once upon a time there was a family…. A Mom, A Dad and 3 little Girls. Were these girls drama? Of course they were! Did they cry over spilt milk? Every stinkin’ day! But -they were clean little darlings, who prissed  about wearing coordinated outfits and following rules. But, they didn’t like football and they didn’t watch Zombie shows on Netflix and they couldn’t carry on the family name, so the father told the mother, “We are missing some people – our family lacks testosterone.” And so, just like that – they added some boys.

At first, the boys were no problem at all. But, they learned to walk fast, talk loudly and throw things… No matter though because their sisters were bossy little tattle-tales by nature, and helped the mother keep the bros in line throughout the early years. All went smoothly, until the girls grew up and moved out of the house. The parents soon found that, if they wanted to go absolutely anywhere together, there would be no one home to supervise the boys – also known as “holding the fort down”.

And that is when the Goldilocks story started to unravel a bit for me…

We took a risk, this past weekend, when we decided to go to The University of Arkansas to visit our daughter  for “Dad’s Day.” Obviously, it’s no problem to prevail upon a friend or two to keep our middle-schooler while we’re gone.  And, actually, it’s not really a problem to have the teenager bunk over at a friend’s house either. The problem arises, when ALL THE OTHER HIGHSCHOOLERS find out that ANYONE ELSE’S parents are out of town, they immediately spread the word, “Let The Good Times Roll!!”

We farmed our 14 year old son out and made arrangements for our 17 year old, but in my gut, I knew, this was not sufficient damage control. We’d no sooner crossed the Arkansas-Oklahoma state line, when I received a text from the mother of a high-school girl, asking if I was home, as her daughter and several friends were looking forward to a lovely evening at my house. Needless to say, those young ladies never made it over here this weekend…

Friday night passed without incident, as we proactively asked another Dad to patrol the premises. A quick “drive by” was all that was required. The following night was a different story, however. Like an errant stone rolling down a hill, by Saturday night, this one had gathered some moss. The good news had spread, through the Teenager-Underground-Railroad, that the Blanchard Parents were out of town!! By the time our friend made his rounds, The Good Times were definitely Rolling! As we heard it, our friend, walked right in, and, without so much as a “last call,” had the place cleared out in no time.

Thus, the only issues I actually had to deal with when we got home, were some minor casualties.  The first thing I noticed as I walked in the door, was a plant knocked over…

Me -“Why is my plant knocked over?”

Boy- “I think that was already like that before you left!”

Me- “That’s right Son, I went out of town and disregarded a plant the size of a small tree, tipped over on its side, because that’s who I am – I’m literally that CHILL”

He then changes the subject by complimenting me on my RENT-A-DAD program, sarcastically adding , “thanks for trusting me by the way! ”

I explained it like this, “James” I said, “If I were a Farmer, I’d know Farmer-type stuff. I’d seek out the experiences, wisdom and advice of my fellow farmers on when to plant and when to harvest. Likewise, were I a Hairstylist, I’d know all the new products with which to color your hair. I’d spend my spare time hanging out, with other hairstylists discussing the latest trends and styling tools. I’m in the Mom-business, Son, and when I spend time with other mothers, we ‘talk shop,’ and its widely agreed upon by me and my Colleagues that, as a general rule, we don’t trust anyone whose age ends in the word, ‘teen’…”

“So, I think I’ve seen everything that there is to see downstairs, and I’m about to mosey on upstairs…. I’m going to give you a 5 minute head start; I strongly suggest you get up there and make sure there isn’t any porridge mess, or EVEN WORSE: a Random-Little-Blonde-Girl!!

My Mom
(I’m not the only one with an IPad)

My 75 year old mother just pulled out of my driveway this morning, headed back to Texas, after a short visit here…

The great thing about Mom, is that she doesn’t arrive with an expectation to be entertained. Coming here is a pseudo-business trip for her, so there’s no need to wine and dine her. I’ve come to realize that, while Mom allows her children to live out in the world on their own, she really believes that she is the Chief Operating Officer of this corporation we call a family. She works exhaustively while she is here evaluating our operation; she probably writes the trip off on her taxes. She rides alongside me as I run my errands and perform my daily activities, offering an Audible-Audit with suggestions on how to improve our overall functionality. We are graded on categories ranging from primarily minor issues, such as profitability (“Why do you buy straws at the grocery store when you can simply grab a handful at Subway?”) to potentially major and life-threatening, (Good parents don’t let their children play football!!!) Here are just a few of the oversights from this week, in which we fell well below the expectations of CORPORATE…

DRIVERS ED GRADE: FAIL

Just because YOU are behind the wheel of the car, and, at a glance, appear to be the driver, one must understand that if Mom is anywhere in the car, SHE is the actual driver. Doris is the original Siri and and in most cases puts Siri to shame. She doesn’t have to hide in your cell phone like a coward to tell you which way to turn. She’s an “upgrade” in that she also tells you WHEN to turn your blinker on, WHEN to execute the turn, WHERE to park once you’ve mastered the turn sequence, and how close to get to the other cars around you.  She expresses white-knuckles-on-the-dashboard concern each and every time I pull into my garage (a relatively unchallenging maneuver that I manage to perform successfully several times a day, even when she isn’t in town.) As we are driving down the road, she will often shriek loudly if another car gets within several hundred feet of us, I’m sure that’s to check my responses and reflexes. “Driving Miss Doris” is truly an interactive experience and definitely not for the easily intimidated.

CHILD PROTECTION/CHILD ENDANGERMENT GRADE: NEEDS IMPROVEMENT

In addition to our typical schedule of football practice & games, basketball practice & games, carpool, groceries and other Mommy Minutia, this week provided the added challenge of an MRI on my son’s recent football injury, along with the requisite orthopedic consultations and discussions about whether or not to have a surgery, which would allow him to continue to play football in his Senior year. This afforded Mom the opportunity to assess our competence during a real- life “parenting dilemma” and grade us on our overall handling of this situation. We seemed to score slightly better here, than in the driving category, but that’s because My husband was involved, which I’m sure falsely inflated my score… (Mom is enamored with Jimmy and it’s quite obvious that somewhere through the years, her memory twisted around and she genuinely thinks she raised HIM and didn’t meet ME until our wedding) Every conversation we had about the pros and cons of the shoulder surgery, prompted Grandma to shake her head in disappointment and offer Pearls of Wisdom, such as, “If he injures himself again, he won’t do well on the ACT and get into a good college!” Rebuttals such as, “Grandma, his shoulder doesn’t affect his brain functioning” were dismissed as excuses and further evidence of weak and inept parenting skills.

HOME SECURITY GRADE: FAIL

There was a ton of controversy a while back over security at the White House, culminating with the resignation of Julia Pierson, Director of the Secret Service. They simply had the wrong person in charge. If you really want to keep the White House safe, fire all those Secret Service Agents and hire a widow in her 70s- like Mom. She is positively convinced that someone is attempting to break into our home, all day, every day. To steal exactly what, she won’t say. She was appalled by our constant breeches of security. She kept telling me to lock the doors and finally I said, (exasperated) “But Mom, Tommy is out on the driveway shooting baskets – won’t we then be, in effect, locking him out there with all the Bad Guys???” ( I should get a few points added back into my Child Protection /Child Endangerment category for this vigilant maternal observation!)

Yesterday, I took the trash can out to the street and was literally locked out of my house, when I attempted to re-enter just 2 short minutes later. I stood there knocking on my OWN door and ringing my OWN doorbell. Eventually, she came to the door and yelled in a terrified voice, ” WHO IS IT?” To which I respond (admittedly agitated). “It’s Me, Mom, your daughter, The Homeowner”. She let me in…

I can’t imagine how difficult it must’ve been for her to leave here this morning; abandoning her grandchildren to be recklessly driven around to football games, whilst people are breaking into our home stealing our belongings. But, alas, she can’t spend all her time in Oklahoma…. I have a sister in Dallas and a brother in Louisiana, who must be doing God-Only-Knows-What down there to their kids, homes and cars. I wonder if I should call them and tell the to lock their doors?

Adoption day – likely stoned on Benadryl

Sooner or later I was bound to blog about the adversarial relationship I have with my dog. Recent events prompt me to do so at this time.

It seems that Hazel “made a break for it,” as my son so eloquently stated it, last Sunday. Apparently, when The Hubs took Hazel along to pick up our son  from a sleepover, Hazel jumped out of the window of his moving vehicle! Visibly shaken, my guys rescued her and brought her home, relaying the entire story to me.

I instantly saw this as the shameless ploy for attention that it so obviously was. But- before I attempt to explain our relationship, let me explain how we came to have Hazel in the first place….

We weren’t really in the market for a dog when we got Hazel. Have you ever bought anything you didn’t need because you couldn’t resist a BARGAIN??? The simple explanation is that we were trying to help our daughter get a small “apartment sized companion.” One Saturday morning, we went around to local pet stores; my spouse, (who rarely shops for anything) was appalled at the prices they were charging for puppies.

In my husband’s  experience, you don’t PAY for a dog, you are doing the world a FAVOR by taking a dog off of someone else’s hands. Anyway, we saw these two adorable Chihuahuas in a small cage at Rich People’s Pet Store. There was a sign above them that said, “Chihuahuas – $400”.

My husband can read, however, he said to the clerk, “how much for one of these Chihuahuas?”

The clerk, looked dispassionately over at the sign, and responded, “$400.”

My husband can also do math, but his next question was, “How much if we take them both?”

The clerk nodded over at the sign and responded, “$800.”

The Hubs was incredulous. He said later, “There has to be a Chihuahua Rescue somewhere in this city!”

Fast forward a month or two: We were driving home from church and as we passed Petsmart, I read a sign aloud, “Chihuahua Rescue -here today!” If I had been staring out of the other window, I would have read, “Milk on sale at Braums, $3.50 a gallon!” But, alas, fate was not my friend that day….

The Hubs (whose love for being right is second only to his love of a bargain) said, “I knew it!” and whipped the car into the parking lot. Before you could say, “think this through,” we were holding the little Mexi-mix and picking out a name. There was about 24 hours of joy knowing how we “put one over” on Rich People’s Pet Store. We showed them all right! We got 4 1/2 pounds of LIVING HELL absolutely free!!

Throughout the adoption process, that morning, she was a docile, grateful and timid little creature, shivering and humble. I have since come to believe that they must dope those dogs up on Benadryl, because within 24 hours of bringing her into our home, she bore no resemblance to her pre-adoptive self. When the drugs wore off, the REAL HAZEL emerged….

Much to the consternation of all my friends, who insisted that I would grow more and more attached to her with each passing day, that is not the case…Hazel and I have a complicated relationship. Have you ever watched the show “Sister Wives” and puzzled over how two alpha-females can live under the same roof, and remarkably BOTH believe that THEY have the upper-hand?

While it’s true that there were many years that I pined for a “Live-in” (another female to occupy the extra guest room and share the load) this is clearly not what I had in mind.

On any given day, Hazel appears to have the better end of the deal . She lays around, eating and sleeping and yapping at anything/anyone that gets within 300 feet of our property.

She doesn’t cook, clean or do laundry, and yet, when my husband walks through the door, you’d think she had been working her puppy-ass off all day in service to him. She gets so excited when his truck rolls in the driveway, that she literally pees on the floor. Undoubtedly flattered, he has commented several times that I am never quite that enthusiastic to see him….

Which brings me back around to Hazel taking a flying leap for herself out of a moving vehicle. I have always subscribed to the popular life philosophy “If you love something, set it free…”