Archive | February, 2011

Raising A Generation of…

27 Feb

We’re raising a generation of overly sensitive, sniveling, weak kneed, spineless, lazy children.  We’ve exchanged the virtues of honor, discipline, fortitude, service, bravery, and loyalty with fun, excitement, whim, laziness, selfishness, and non-commitment.

By WE, I mean ME.  By WE, I mean probably YOU too.  And by WE, I mean US as a society.

If it’s not ‘fun’, they don’t want to do it.

I’ll let you in on a little secret, we will never be ‘fun’ enough.  Eventually everything loses the excitement of newness.

We can hire a team of gypsy acrobats who use strobe lights and the latest in multi-media technology, and after five minutes, our kids will look at us and ask to leave because they suddenly got bored.

Hello children!

We do things because we made commitments, because it’s necessary, because we have responsibilities.  Whether you like it or not, you will one day have a job, fix the car, help your kids with their homework, and repair the leaky toilet, not necessarily because it’s fun, but because that’s what responsible people do.  It’s called life.

Spoiler Alert:  We don’t live life because it’s FUN.

If we have fun, and we will, it’s a bonus!  Thank God for it.

Our kids can’t stand to hear they are wrong.  They are crushed if someone insults them, and heaven forbid we don’t drop everything and run to entertain them every time they need cheering.

What’s going to happen to these kids when they turn twenty-one and we kick them out of the house to fend for themselves?

Oh, that’s right, we don’t do that anymore.  We keep right on washing their clothes, paying their car insurance, and writing their college papers.  They couldn’t make it if we didn’t.

It’s time to make our kids stand up straight on their own two feet.  If we don’t teach them to be responsible contributors to society, no one will.  It’s time for our kids to grow a backbone and learn to stand up for themselves, to let insults roll off their little backs.  It’s time to be a man or woman.  It’s time to join the Army!

Just kidding about the army, but it probably wouldn’t hurt for our kids to get a good dose of military school.

After all, they are our future.

Scary, huh?

Forgive me for my little rant, but I’ve had it.  So I gave it to you. ;-)

I’m Clinging to Hope & Shoes

26 Feb

Yesterday a fierce winter storm ushered in extreme emotions and a foot of snow.  I’ve been to the depths of despair and back when I discovered that every photograph I took in the last three and a half years is gone.  Lost forever.  I may not take good pictures, but they are our life or at least moments of our lives captured on a 4×6 sheet of photo paper.

Part of my problem is that I waited too long to print them or back them up.  I’m giving you all good advice – Go to the store and buy a flash drive, cd’s, or an external harddrive and back-up all your photos.  Don’t wait!

All may not be lost.  I am looking into a recovery program as we speak.  I’ll keep you posted.

Tonight I am attempting to focus on the positive.  My computer is working again.  I did upload many pictures to both facebook and this blog.  Those are not lost.  I also like to think that spring is on her way.  The foot of freshly fallen snow and the sky spit flurries today made me doubt, but I am choosing to believe.

I even bought the cutest pair of sandals.

It all started with FringeMan needing some spit shine.  He’s due at a major conference for several days this week and well, his clothes are a bit worn.  Ok, that’s a huge understatement and I’m not one for understating the facts.  He looks a little like a rascal that’s been dragged through the mud by his black-eyed pit-bull and left to bake in the Florida sun for a season.

Correction:  FringeMan doesn’t look like that, but his clothes most certainly do.

We are not big on putting on a good show and giving off false pretenses, but the man simply cannot walk around in torn pants and shirts with frayed collars.  Not for a conference anyway.

So we rallied our true trailer park (no offense intended) inner class and went shopping.  At K-Mart.

You can scoff, but they have a wide selection of Big & Tall dress shirts for – hang on to your hair – $4.95 on clearance.

I said we were spit shining him, not taking him to a car wash.

He even bought new shoes, the kind that don’t claim to be waterproof and come to the knee.  Since shoes were Buy One Get One Half Price, I slipped a pair of cute wedges into the cart.

I would wear these around the house if my house weren’t so cold.  For now, I’ll set them on the counter and look at them with longing.

Aren’t they cute?

It’s Because of My Nose

25 Feb

Earlier in the month, I was over at Adding Zest to Your Zest talking about smelly things.  Since I didn’t have my computer, I couldn’t let you know.  So now I’m letting you know.

If you care to read, click HERE.

Did you miss me?

24 Feb

My computer was released from the hospital tonight and I’m throwing a party!  I never realized just how much we all used my computer until we lost it for two weeks.

I’m sure you’re wondering what’s been going on around here.  Ok, you probably didn’t even notice I was gone, but don’t tell me that.  I may feel bad.

Not much has happened around here.

I gave FringeBoy twenty bucks to go buy a rocket yesterday, because it is his goal for the eleventh year of his life to build and shoot off a rocket.  Who am I to stand in the way of space exploration?

He and his friend with a matching flannel jacket took off to a boy’s model shop/toy store in town.  They ran the entire way past the school, the library, the police station, a pizza place, and a salon.  The arrived with red cheeks and frostbitten fingers only to be told they cannot buy a rocket until they are eighteen.

Mr. Storekeeper,

I wouldn’t sell two runny nosed boys with eleven hundred freckles between them a rocket either, but you’ve gotta help me.  I realize rockets can be misconstrued as weapons; however, these boys turn everything into weapons.  Have you seen the way they’ve been throwing ice-balls for the past three months?  Please don’t ask our neighbor about the baseball turned weapon last summer.

Here’s my problem.  If my kid can’t be kept busy blowing up rockets, he’s going to blow up my house, accidentally of course.  Just last night my husband came up the stairs to ask me if I knew what my son was up to.  Turns out he was mixing household products to create an organic homegrown acid that will burn through concrete.  Sadly my maternal radar didn’t pick up an ‘acid alert’.

He needs that rocket or no concrete sidewalk in town will be safe.  I’m going to come down myself and buy it, but I won’t run.  We’ll have a launch party Saturday afternoon right after we shovel the foot of fresh snow predicted to fall.

You’re welcome to come.

Warmly (actually quite coldly),

Your neighbor with the rocket boy.

While FringeBoy has been up to his elbows in concrete eating acid, FringeMan has taken to wearing 3-D Buddy Holly glasses while he’s driving.  The snow glare has been fierce in those in those three minutes a day the sun is out.  He about jumped out of his new shades this afternoon when an oversized yellow plow truck came from all three dimensions and into his eyes.  He’s getting quite the thrill from his new glasses.

FringeGirl made the papers once again.  This time with her doll, Molly.  That girl cannot be kept out of the line of a flash.

And me, well I’m being me, the wash woman.

I’m certainly glad to be back in blogland, but I need a favor from you all.  My bookmarks ran away and took your blogs with them.  Please leave me your url in the comments section so I can once again bookmark you.

Thanks!

Have a Happy Weekend.

Yes, My Kid Did Say That.

18 Feb

“Did you hear what your son did in Awana Sunday night?”  My friend asked.

“Uh, no.”

I pulled out a chair from my kitchen table and slumped down waiting for the bomb.  Why my kid?  I knew in my stomach, the place that flip-flops with a mother’s sixth sense, that my son ‘said’ something, not ‘did’ something.

A virus runs through the FringeFamily that is immune to anti-viral medication.  It’s called diarrhea of the mouth.

I hope your children don’t catch it.

If you’re not familiar with the program, Awana is a children’s club.  Kids memorize Bible verses, play games, and enjoy competitions with other clubs.  Churches usually run the program and my kids have been attending for the better part of their childhood.  Two hours without children is the best part of Awana.  I hope my kids can attend until they are eighteen.

During assembly time, the leader asked the large group of children to tell him some Bible verses about love.   It was the eve of the largest love campaign in America – Valentine’s Day.

I know the leader expected the children to say, “God is love.”

“For God so loved the world…”

“Love your neighbor…”

My son, the preacher’s kid, stood up.  With Bible in hand, he read…

“Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth:  for thy love is better than wine.”  Song of Solomon 1:2

Every adult doubled over in fits of laughter.

My son, my son.

-FringeGirl

P.S. I still don’t have my computer.

 

Call 911, My Computer is…

13 Feb

My computer is in the hospital for about a week.  She needs triple bypass surgery and possibly a new kidney. I feel like sitting at her bedside in ICU, holding her hard drive in my hands, and whispering life saving code.

She went in several days ago and sadly, I feel as though I lost a portion of my brain.  My computer runs my life.  This is a testing of my faith.  I am Peter standing on the water about to look down.

Ok.  So maybe I dramatized my separation anxiety a bit, but it’s unsettling not checking my email every hour.  If you email me with earth shattering news, I may not be found!

FringeMan has a computer – the great grandpappy of my laptop.  It rests on an old desk in the little space off our bedroom.  I can’t sit in that room for more than ten minutes or I run the risk of frostbite.  There’s no heat in there.

Besides, all my bookmarks are in ICU with my computer.  If you don’t hear from me for a week, you were bookmarked.

I am trusting the doctor, FringeMan’s friend, with the past six years of my life in photos.  Turns out my pictures take up more real-estate than both kids, their toys, my clothes, and FringeMan’s guns.  I had to buy my pictures a home of their own – an external hard drive.

Yes, I trust the good doc.  He is the computer man for the school district and he knows my laptop well.

I just love her more.

Thank you all for the birthday wishes.  I’ll tell you all about my birthday soon.  It was a very, very good day.  And, it only snowed a little. ;-)

-FringeGirl

One Request On My Birthday

11 Feb

Happy Birthday to me,

Happy Birthday to me,

I’m not a monkey!

I live on the Fringe and I’m about to binge.

Saturday is officially my birthday.  It’s too bad Lincoln was born first or else my name would appear on your calendar.

Friends are watching our children while FringeMan and I enjoy a nice dinner out.  Not at Friendly’s.

I’m going to say this once, please DO NOT REPEAT!

Thirty – Six

It’s closer to 40 than 30 and that freaks me out, but I feel like I am only twenty-six.  The girl at the coffee shop in town doesn’t believe that.  She claims my children are too old for a twenty-six year-old.  My youth, betrayed by the fruit of my very womb.

What is a mother to do?

Leave her kids home.  That is what she is to do.

What do I want for my birthday?

Thanks for asking.  I want you to leave me a comment telling me where you are from.  I recently received an intriguing comment from a woman in Persia.  She said Persia is Iran.  I’ll just take her word for it, because I can’t even find Wyoming.  That’s why we have GPS.  Well, I actually don’t, but I should.

So, I would love to wake up tomorrow to a hundred comments naming exotic locations all over the world.  Imagine how good that will make me feel.

You can lie.

Blessing to you!

-FringeGirl

You Know You’re a Rookie Mom

10 Feb

You know you’re a rookie mom when…

  • You get sprayed changing your son’s diaper.
  • It takes you twenty-five minutes to install the car seat.
  • You sanitize (boil) everything within a mile of your baby’s crib.
  • You page the pediatrician for the first fever.
  • You call the ambulance, fire department, your neighbor, and page your pediatrician (again!) when your baby rolls off the couch during a diaper change.
  • After said fall, you refuse to be consoled by any of the sixteen people now in your house or the doctor on the telephone, because you are certain your baby has a concussion, a cerebral hemorrhage, and permanent brain damage.
  • You believe everything in Parenting, Today’s Parent, and Baby Talk magazines.
  • You read Miriam Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary to your infant in hopes of building his vocabulary.
  • You schlep around a thirty pound diaper bag with enough clothes, food, and diapers for a month.
  • You fully expect to leave the hospital in your pre-pregnancy jeans 24 hours after birthing your 9 1/2 pound baby.
  • You still remember how if felt to sleep through the night.
  • You think a well-decorated nursery will actually make your infant feel happy and loved.
  • You underestimate the mood enhancing powers of chocolate.
  • You spend your evenings putting up and breaking down the pack-n’-play in order to gain speed.
  • You’ve sworn off a year’s worth of dinners out to buy a jogging stroller.
  • You think you’ll actually jog with your fancy new stroller.
  • Wearing shirts with spit-up  on them make you shudder.
  • You’ve read six books on “How to Potty Train” and truly believe it will be a cinch.

Those are my twenty.  Not that I did any of those things.  Oh, no.  You wouldn’t catch me reading to my baby from Miriam Webster.  I read from the American Heritage Dictionary!

Feel free to add a list of your own  in the comments.  I’m participating in a writing prompt over at Mama’s Losin It.  You can go visit her for your own writing prompt or to do some more reading.
Mama's Losin' It

Jumping Tiger Mom Ugly

9 Feb

I jumped tiger-mom ugly on my kids this week.  Ok, maybe more like house-cat-mom, but much more ferocious than I was in holly jolly December.

Many of you know I made the radical decision to homeschool my children this year.  I say radical, and it is for some.  Others were born to nurture their children through phonics, times tables, and biology.  I was born to put my kids on the bus, pick them up at three in the afternoon and give them milk and cookies; however, I adjusted my thinking and gave myself (heart, body, and peace of mind) to educating my children.

I won’t go into my reasons, I’ve talked about them HERE.

We studied the ancient world, made Egyptian cat statues, created solar systems from flour and water, painted a few chickens, learned about predicate adjectives, and joined a homeschool group for socialization.  Socialization seems to be the buzz when you talk about homeschooling.  If anyone thinks my children need more socialization, you are free and welcome to come take them for a day and socialize till your heart’s content.

Everything moved along smashingly.

Then came January.

I admit, January almost brought me to my knees and made me scream uncle.  I felt a little like when I was seven and my uncle Wayne would half put me in a headlock, half sit on me and make me say something stupid like “I have slug cooties, toxic breath, and glowing freckle orbs all over my face.”

We had enough snow to build an army of icy men and saw the sun maybe twice.   Besides, after Christmas vacation, who wants to get back to school?  Not me.  We pushed through the month like the plows push snow through our street, with slow determination, bribery, and hot cocoa.

I knew we needed a change.

I developed cheetah spots and grew my nails.

No, not really.

I did buy a package of Spanish flash cards and we are learning a new language together.  I’m actually brushing up on the language that almost made me spend five years in a four-year college, but we are having fun with it.  My son wants to learn more than how to say “I went to the store and bought a blue and white sweater.”  He want to say things like “You are fat and smelly.”  I think I’ll dangle insulting phrases like a carrot in front of a donkey just to keep him enthused.

We also started playing more games like Banangrams.  We need some fun to break the monotony of our four walls and three grumpy faces.  Thankfully we accomplished more than necessary in our first two quarters of school, so I don’t feel bad about spending time playing games, reading fun books, and watching episodes of Liberty’s Kids.

I jump Tiger Mom ugly now.

We started an afternoon exercise routine that would make Jillian Michaels pat me on the back and say “Burn those buns Baby!”

Before you applaud my trembling fat, understand, this exercise regimen is for my children, not me.  I am the couch coach, cheerleader, motivator, and sponsor.  They need to dispel their excess energy and playing in the snow is not enough.

Yesterday my daughter pierced my heart with looks that would make a mommy grisly shudder, but today she managed a total of fifty-five sit-ups without once shedding a tear.

I applaud her.

She’s praying for a new mommy right this minute.

It’s a new month of homeschooling, and we will not only find ways to survive this winter’s cabin fever, but we will also attempt to enjoy ourselves.

How do you made it through the winter’s long days?

Are you also jumping Tiger Mom ugly in some area of your children’s lives?

My Dog Does Chicken Voodoo

8 Feb

By Laura Conley

I passed out on the bedroom floor near the doorway from being super ill.  I awoke hearing my dog, Hunter, whimpering over and around me.  I couldn’t raise my head, which was face down on the blanket I was wrapped in, dampened from breaking my umpteenth fever.

With all the voice I could muster I called out, “Ray! Can you let Hunter out?”

His reply, “I just let her back in!”

So I realized her cries were the Lassie come rescue type.  She worried about my positioning on the floor, facedown and barely breathing.  I raised my hand and patted her on the head, assuring her I was still alive.  With my face still on the floor, I raised my hand to feel some strange thing by her mouth.  In my dazed and confusion I didn’t think much of it.

Maybe the kids did something funny to her collar and something was dangling from it.

That’s been known to happen.

Maybe her collar frayed.

I felt it again.

I hadn’t even opened my eyes yet that morning.

Hunter continued to make weird noises and prance around my head.  Ray walked toward the bedroom and yelled, “Ohhhhh!  Hunter has a full chicken leg in her mouth!”

It was not the kind your dog might drag out of the kitchen garbage you see.  It was part of a torn up chicken she killed outside.  It was the chicken leg and foot dangling from her mouth.

Ray says Hunter was performing Chicken VooDoo over me.

I am too tired and ill to even be grossed out.

Laura is a friend of mine and she agreed to be a guest on The Domestic Fringe.  She’s full of funny stories, but she’s got her hands full with a husband, three energetic and creative children, and a multitude of pets.  She doesn’t have time to blog herself, but she’s always welcome to share her funnies here.

Feel better Laura!

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