November 10th, 2008 by Jennine

Pulling off the perfect Christmas requires an understanding of the nuances of giblet gravy, the ability to manipulate unwieldy pieces of wrapping paper around ungodly angles and most importantly, the talent to convince an eight year old that all he wants for Christmas is his two front teeth.

The truth is that children will NOT settle for their own teeth for Christmas. Neither are they satisfied with an orange in their stocking or an American Flyer wagon as their coveted single gift. No, today’s children want the moon, creating holiday wish lists that require not only a table of contents but thumb tabs as well.

Even if you could give your children the moon, good luck wrapping it and keeping it a secret until Christmas morning.

When I was a child, my mother would grow weary of my constant begging for a clue as to what my Christmas gifts were. She would sometimes distract me with a small hint in exchange for a moment’s peace and, more or less, it was effective. For a while, I would get lost in my thoughts of her clues.

Her clue “Your gift begins with an S,” in my mind, meant that I would soon have a guest appearance on an episode of Sesame Street. Another clue “It rhymes with mess,” was somehow code that Cinderella herself was handing down her dress to me, in person.

Cinderella was my moon.

With such high expectations, it is very difficult to become excited about a Slinky if you were quite certain that Elmo was going to tickle you for real. Still, my mother was able to keep my Christmas presents under wrap until December 25th.

Children these days are becoming far too clever for our own good. Without a “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy, children have become very adept at figuring out what lies under the tree for them on Christmas morning. Santa had it right by delivering gifts at the last possible moment. This may be the most convincing evidence that Santa has raised children of his own.

My children have grown up in the cynical “CSI” and “DiVinci Code” generation where nothing can be taken at face value, everything has a hidden meaning, and the way to truth is not always the shortest path. Even Blue’s Clues, a television program for preschoolers, teaches them to “look for clues!”

This makes Christmas present secrecy nearly impossible.

I have gone to extensive lengths to assure that my children are surprised on Christmas morning but have not fully achieved my goal. Legos rattle. Bath salts smell. Guitar Hero boxes are obvious. Puppies whine. Electronic toys come alive with the vibration of the vacuum cleaner.

Not to be outdone by my own offspring, I developed what I thought was a foolproof plan. I created a list of random words, like “Ames”, “Bond”, “Mata Hari”, etc… and assigned them to each child. This way I could trick the youngsters by writing the code words on the Christmas gift tags rather than their actual names. I also placed their actual gifts inside of huge boxes- the likes of which you would only find at an appliance warehouse. Then I proceeded to wrap with more wrapping paper than I have ever used in my entire life. To top it off, in an act of pure genius, I sprayed each package with my perfume.

I stood the seven giant packages around our decorated tree, folded my arms and gloated with pride. For once, my dear children would remain clueless ’til Christmas.

It would have been the perfect plan had I not lost the list of names and code words.

In the end, I have decided that the element of surprise is highly overrated. If it truly is the thought that counts, then my children should feel greatly loved.

It will come as no surprise that this year they are all receiving gift cards.

November 7th, 2008 by Jennine

Darren’s work email has a spam filter unlike any filter I’ve ever experienced. I’m envious since I’m always receiving spam about enlarging certain body parts whereas those kind of messages automatically end up in Darren’s quarantined file.

Knowing how sensitive his email can be, I decided to proposition him very carefully.

“Darren, if you leave work now it will give us three whole hours before the kids arrive home and I can think of the perfect way to spend them.”

And then I cyber-flashed him.

(* Y * )

After I sent the message, I realized that I had just participated in false advertising.

I made a few changes and resent the email.

“Darren, if you leave work now it will give us three whole hours before the kids arrive home and I can think of the perfect way to spend them.”

( . Y . )

If his spam program has an honesty filter, my second email should arrive just fine.

October 31st, 2008 by Jennine

Our kids ride the same bus as the kids from the group home. For the most part, other than learning how to use swear words in context, this has not been a problem. One of the benefits of sharing a bus ride with inner city kids is being up-to-date with one’s gang signs.

This morning Kait came over before the kids went to school so that she could help Elly put on her make up for the Halloween celebration at school since Kait’s apparently an expert at achieving the Wraith Queen look and the only thing Elly wants to be this year is a “Age-sucking wraith queen”.

If you aren’t a Stargate Atlantis fan, you have no idea what I’m talking about but let me assure you that I am just as confused by the idea that my sweet, nine year old, princess-loving, Hannah Montana wanna-be, feminine daughter has a dark side. And now I have to remember to check under her mattress for baggies of marijuana.

After Kait helped Elly prepare the age-sucking look, all the kids were sitting in the living room waiting for the bus to arrive. Logan and Daniel were demonstrating their vast knowledge of gang gestures when Kait said, with a certain longing in her voice:

“Awww…I used to be so good at gang signs but now I can’t remember.”

If anyone else’s children said the same thing this morning, will you please contact me via email?

omg@wheredidigowrong.com

October 30th, 2008 by Jennine

Elly came home from school today with a story her teacher told the class.

“My teacher was making her bed and her little boy came into the bedroom with brown stuff on his hands. The brown stuff, upon closer inspection, was smelly! She called her husband to help and they discovered that the little boy had POOPED in his diaper and stuck his hand in it!”

I imagine the classroom erupted with laughter as she told her story because fourth graders LOVE poop stories.

Hearing the teacher’s story reminded me of one of the worst days of my life. It involved poop.

You can read about it here.

October 11th, 2008 by Jennine

We spent the day at my parent’s home, celebrating fall by picking apples from their apple tree and harvesting grapes from their grapevines. Mom made the best tasting chili I’ve ever had, made homemade caramel sauce for the apples and served hot apple cider to everyone.

After spending the day being pampered and spoiled by her hospitality, I admit to having an urge to move back home.

Who could blame me?

October 6th, 2008 by Jennine

The tooth drama continues as I’ve had the unfortunate experience of suffering from a “dry socket” after my tooth extraction. Dry socket is Latin for torture of the mouth and is a result of a blood clot failing to form in the space my tooth once was. The pain stems from the bone and nerves being exposed to air, saliva, etc…

So I spent my weekend in oral misery while covering a cross country meet in Duluth, MN and then taking in a college football game at the University of Minnesota-Duluth, where one of Kait’s friends was playing in the game. And by “Kait’s friend” I mean, the boy I want her to marry. So really, the pain was small in comparison to my desire to play matchmaker for my daughter.

Eating is definiately a challenge with dry socket. Hot foods were out as were cold. This left me very few choices but while I was in the grocery store trying to find something tolerable, I ran across this:

I opened it the moment I got home thinking that there was surely a way I could have just a small bite if I negotiated the spoon just right and avoided the left side of my face completely.

Imagine my shock and awe when I discovered that wasn’t possible.

Not wanting to recreate that cold pain EVER AGAIN, I stuck the ice cream back in the freezer for a day when eating it wouldn’t make me want to end my life.

This morning, the moment the dentist’s office opened, I was on their doorstep waiting to be treated. According to google, it’s just a simple matter of placing medicated gauze in the wound and relief would be instantaneous.

And google was right.

I smiled and waved at complete strangers on my car ride home, knowing that I could finally eat. Not only that, I could eat my beloved Ben and Jerry’s ice cream! I was happier than a jackass eating thistles.

But then, as I turned on a little Air Supply and lit a few candles to create the right atmosphere for my Ben and Jerry’s threesome, I realized that someone had beat me to it:

See the soft-looking ice cream on the right hand side of the container?

That’s where someone tried to stir the ice cream so it wouldn’t look like they ate so much, as if aerating it would somehow make their sin less sinful.

And because I am not allowed to “share food” for fear of infection, I can only stare at my violated container of delight.

I’m STARVING and someone who lived in my womb, rent-free, helped themselves without asking. They don’t tell you about this kind of stuff in Lamaze class.

This… this right here… is why some mothers eat their young.

September 18th, 2008 by Jennine

It’s Homecoming week at our high school and I’ve been taking pictures of the special events surrounding the celebration. Monday was coronation. Tuesday was Camo/Farmer day, Wednesday was Fashion Disaster day and today was my favorite of all: 80’s day.

My 20th class reunion took place this year. I graduated in 1988, at the peak of all things Madonna, so when I walked into the high school this morning, it felt like walking into the movie set for The Breakfast Club and I felt like I had come home after being in a foreign country for far too long.

When I saw this girl wearing EXACTLY what I used to wear to school, I seriously fought off the urge to ask her if she saw what Denise was wearing in last night’s episode of The Cosby Show. Because who wears electric blue mascara with green eye shadow?? Only Denise Huxtable could get by with that kind of fashion forwardness. Totally.

I wanted to ask her to borrow her cassette tape of Dexy’s Midnight Runners so I could play it in my boom box. I had an overwhelming urge to point over her shoulder and say “Oh. My. Gawd! Like I totally just saw Gopher from the Love Boat!” Then when she looked, I’d say “Sike!” And then she’d say “As if! Can I borrow your jelly shoes?” and I’d say “Neon green or neon pink?” and she’d say “OMG! Green? Gag me with a spoon!” and accuse me of being an Aqua Velva geek.

Of course every sentence we spoke to each other would end with a rising intonation. Duh!

I guess the sound of my camera’s shutter snapped me out of my 80’s-induced delusion because I remember thinking, “She’s only pretending, Jennine. This isn’t real.”

Which is why I didn’t ask her if she thought Joani really loves Chachi.

I realized, as I drove away from my faux-eighty’s experience, that I am now an old woman because the only  thought running through my head was “I wonder if fishnet stockings would work to store onions…”

Like, oh my God.

September 2nd, 2008 by Jennine

2008 First Day of School

2007 First Day of School

Notice the joy on Kevin’s face as they headed out to the bus this morning.

On the other hand, I had a HUGE smile because chances are good that my refrigerator door will not be opened for the next eight hours.

August 21st, 2008 by Jennine

“So what if we used it in the barn,” he argued. “The fire will kill all the germs.”

How do you debate that kind of logic?

It’s the same logic that prompts 11 year old boys to jump off tall ladders with open umbrellas, or to put their full weight on tree branches with diameters no larger than a pinky finger.

Youth affords him a notion of invincibility and I find myself constantly standing in the gap, armed with a tirade of maternal warnings.

“What if the fire kills all but one of the billions of bacteria on that pitchfork?” I asked. “And then you start writhing on the ground in pain, foaming at the mouth because some strain of antibiotic-resistant bacteria has taken up residence in your intestines.”

“Yeah right! Like that would ever happen!” he laughed.

“Or worse, what if I ground you from Xbox for the rest of the summer for not listening to me when I tell you to put the pitchfork back in the barn?”

“Either way I would end up writhing on the ground, foaming at the mouth.”

“You have one minute to get it back in the barn.”

“Great,” he said as he walked towards the barn, shaking his head. “My intestines are now infected with a bunch of stupid rules.”

That’s right.

He’s got an acute case of inflammatory momsrightis.

August 17th, 2008 by Jennine

Today Elly made her singing debut at an Art and Music Festival in Central Park. She sang in front of her peers, not to mention the several hundred people walking through the festival. I was so proud of how well she did! People clapped for a long time after she finished her Taylor Swift song.

Afterwards I asked her how she did such a brave thing.

“I just said to myself ‘If mom can golf real bad in front of people then I can do this.’ Hey, Mom. Did anybody clap for you when you were done golfing?” she teased.

“No, Elly. But only because clapping isn’t allowed on the golf course.”

She thought about it for a minute and then said:

“Then why would anyone want to golf?”

My thoughts exactly.