Guilt Monkeys

See this grossness? Do you have any idea what it is?
These are Sea Monkeys. But they aren't- they aren't Sea Monkeys at all, they are Guilt Monkeys. I bought these for Fiddle's birthday...in September. Both Fiddle and Faddle begged me to let them hatch them at my apartment. They (probably quite correctly) declared that they would never be able to raise them at home.

So I said yes. No big deal. It's just some shrimp in a container. The did, as advertised, provide the boys with a lot of amusement and some minor science education. But as mid-June rolled around I realized that with the boys away at camps most of the summer there was no way I could ship the Monkeys home with them.

Simultaneously, I began to approach the end of the magic Sea Monkey food pouch. Nine months is not a bad run for a single pouch of Monkey food, but now I had a dilemma.

Practical good sense said that when the boys finished school and were no longer a near daily visitor to my apartment I could ditch the Monkeys. Not my job.

But the fact is, I just couldn't do it. I could think of no good ending. Let them starve? Pour them down the drain? After 10 months of feeding these little gross fresh water shrimp I just couldn't do it. I mean, I know that they are probably generation 473, and not the original Monkeys but it didn't change the heartless killer thing.

Anyway, my karma probably couldn't take it. I need all the good karma I can get. I have no idea what I did in a past life, but it has seriously messed with portions of my karma in this life. Especially things to do with my car or me and cars in general...

So what did I do?

Yes, I bought more food. I searched high and low and finally found it at a shop in town. Of course it wasn't just food, I had to buy the whole package. Well, not the container, but the Monkeys, the food, the whole shebang. Like I would grow more Monkeys??!!?

So now the Guilt Monkeys swim happily in the gross container, procreating like crazy and eating Monkey food till their hearts content. Wait, do Monkeys have hearts? Must check Wikipedia...

On Piano Lessons Lost And Recitals Attended

As I mentioned, Faddle was not polite to his piano teacher two weeks ago. I had only taken him to one other piano lesson, so I was unaware that this was an ongoing problem. Oh, Faddle.

I had spoken with his mother, Tee, specifically about the events of that Friday. She wasn't happy with Faddle. She was also frustrated at the whole circumstance. The irony, Faddle likes piano- and he's good at it.

Fast forward to this last Friday and Tee called while having a horrible mommy day. They happen. You know they do. A lot. Those ungrateful wretches, better known as children, have no idea the havoc they wreak on the emotional well-being of their mothers. At least I hope they have no idea, because if they do- they're sadists!

In any case, one of the problems of the day was that Faddle's piano teacher had called and basically uninvited Faddle to any further lessons. Ouch. Man, this is saying something because that woman has the patience of Job! Also, she's an amazing teacher and it is entirely LAME that Faddle managed to blow this opportunity.

For heaven's sake, why on earth did he do it? He LIKES to play the piano. The teacher did all sorts of fun things, including getting him simple sheet music to his favorite music- Queen. He didn't even mind practicing. His 'issues with authority' are about to land him a boot up his ass by his mother.

He was going to have one more lesson and his recital on Saturday and then that's it. I feel really bad for Tee. She's frustrated and tired of trying to figure out the psyche of Faddle. She's no push-over and so I don't think he's a pain because of that. But this is a common problem with Faddle, he seems to get everything he wants in a situation and he STILL manages to be a total nightmare. He does it at school, with me, his piano teacher, his former sports coaches and even his parents. What is with that? Truly both the problem and the solution lie with Faddle, I think we can work to help him figure it out, but nothing any of us do is changing this behavior, this attitude, this suckitude.

In any case, on Saturday morning I got up and walked over to the recital hall. Tee and the boys were late- of course they were- they're late to everything. But luckily the recital was just getting started and the teacher (being no dummy) had scheduled Faddle well into the event. Also, this genius teacher split her students into two groups so that the recital only lasted 50 minutes. No lie! How awesome is that? No sitting through a billion precious snowflake recitals!

Truly the kids were both skilled and charming. I have no complaints. I thought I might need some sort of combat metal for agreeing to attend such an event for Faddle, but I actually enjoyed it. There were teeny kids who did one song and older kids who were quite talented and performed three songs. I totally loved the kid who not only played but sang- Jame's Taylor's Sweet Baby James. He even had everyone join in on the last chorus. Awesome. I really wished that we'd had a sing-along for John Denver's Take Me Home Country Roads as performed by a lovely little boy. I really would have rocked that one out.

Faddle did a good job. He also did a decent job of waiting for his turn and then sitting through the remaining performances. I don't know if Tee has informed him of the loss of his piano lessons yet. I'll catch up with her this week and see what the story is. What a waste.

Cleaning Greener: Meeting Mrs. Meyers

I have been trying to make my life a little greener. A few weeks ago I spotted this in the big box wonderland of Target. Mrs. Meyer's Clean Day counter top spray. I used to see this in the fancy-pants boutiques on occasion but I had never paid the price for the exclusive coolness.

I usually use Windex for cleaning the counter top or dining room table. Sort of odd, I guess, but it's simple, effective and not too harsh. It easily removes hot chocolate rings, popsicle puddles and the balogna residue that seem to follow the boys wherever they go. I often let Faddle do the post-snack clean up and he's very good if over-enthusiastic with the spritzing and I can let him since its just some ammonia.

But since there is clearly other stuff in Windex, even if I don't know if it is good or bad for the environment or my liver or anything I figured it was worth a try to make the move to Mrs. Meyer's.
At the top of the bottle it says 'aromatheraputic' and they aren't playing. This stuff smells great, but it is strong. My kitchen smells citrus-y fresh for a significant amount of time after I clean. Great for some, less appealing to others.

Mrs. Meyers contains only natural ingredients and everything is biodegradable. There are oils of lemon, lemmongrass, peppermint, clove, geranium and a vegetable protein. That's it, not big chemical names anywhere!

I was a little concerned that it might be oily or leave a sticky residue since it has so many essential oils in it, but no! I was also uncertain about its ability to power through the usual kitchen mess. I'm used to the brutal force of ammonia and in emergency cases the Formula 409 to blast away whatever disaster I have created. But I've been using the Mrs. Meyers for about three weeks now and I have been really happy with its cleaning power.

I can't remember what the price was when I had seen it before in the kitchen shops and other boutiques, but maybe with the mass power of selling through the ubiquitous bulls-eye it might be less pricey. Well, hmm. Less, probably. Inexpensive, no. I think it is usually around two bucks for most of my kitchen cleaners and this one rings in at a whopping $4.99.

The size of the bottle is decent and it usually takes me a long, long time to use up a whole bottle of kitchen cleaner. (I have like 2 feet of counter space, so that could be why.) Also I must say that I do not overuse this, just a spritz or two and I'm usually all set, so it isn't like I have to compensate for the 'natural' part by using more. Which means that five bucks isn't so big a deal for a bottle of cleaner that will last me for months. So far, so good. I definitely recommend to others who might want to try something a bit more 'green' and less harsh!

I Make Bad Nine Year Olds Cry

Sometimes children can drive you batty. They can be hyper and they can be unfocused or slow and dawdle- whatever you don't need in the moment they are ready to provide. Sometimes this makes you raise your voice and point fingers and sometimes it makes you roll your eyes and try humor and poking or tickling to get someone moving. But then there are they days when someone really just loses their damn mind and says or does something so far over the line that you can not believe it. Today was one of those days.

Today Faddle was off the rails entirely. I picked him up from school and he was whiny and crabby. Usually this is solved by food, but no. He continued. He walked a fine line of my tolerance by not quite talking back, not quite being a smart alec, not quite being rude. We had several brief exchanges of my reminding him that he may not be rude. He rolled his eyes.

Then I took him to his piano lesson. He was rude to the piano teacher. Oh. No. You. Didn't.

If you are nine and are rude and disrespectful to me, you are gonna regret it. If you are nine and rude and disrespectful to other adults while I am watching you, you are seriously going to regret it.

We left the lesson and got in the car.

Fiddle: Giving a long explanation of how house cats and outdoor cats are different.
Faddle: Faddle! Shut up, you talk to much!
Me: Ahem. Faddle, you want to rephrase that? I was enjoying hearing Fiddle's ideas.
Faddle: Whatever.
Me: Faddle, what do you think I should do with you today?
Fiddle: No sugar! No snack! No popsicle! No TV!
Me: Thanks, Fiddle, but I want to hear from Faddle.
Faddle: Nothing.
Me: Nothing? You think you've been well behaved?
Faddle: I'm tiiiiiiiired. I stayed up playing my DS last night. And my fan wasn't on and I was hoooot.
Me: Well, I appreciate being tired. That is something that makes it hard to be happy and awake and pleasant, but it isn't an excuse to be rude to me, your brother and your piano teacher. And staying up and playing a video game you aren't allowed to use on a school night was entirely your decision and you have to live with the consequences.

We continue to drive towards my home. Faddle continues to be a pain. When we arrive he lies across the backseat of the car and complains that he's tired and doesn't want to climb the stairs to my apartment. I sigh. And leave him in the car as Fiddle and I leave for the door. He comes streaking up the driveway screeching that we left him aloooone.

The boys ask for a grilled cheese and so Fiddle helps me to make up a grilled cheese for them to split. The boys settle in with their sandwich slices and I do the dishes. Then Faddle just can't seem to stop himself. He can not resist. He can not just pull it together and get back on track. He's rude and obnoxious. Again.

Me: (removes plate of food from Faddle) Excuse me. That's enough.
Faddle: But I'm eating!
Me: (Using the very-quiet-you-are-in-trouble voice) I have tried to give you several opportunities today to regulate your own behavior. This is unacceptable. I will not be spoken to in that manner. And what's more, you have chosen to conduct yourself like this out in public. I am embarrassed for you.
Faddle: But!
Fiddle: (attempting to save his ungrateful brother) Oh man, shhhhhhhh.
Me: (continuing in the very, very, you-are-so-in-trouble quiet voice) The way that you spoke to your piano teacher. The way that you acted at your lessons was awful. Your piano teacher is a professional, someone who is an expert who is trying to help you learn. She finds interesting music and fun things for you to do and to play. She listens to you when you ask questions and she goes out of her way to make your lessons both good and fun. Today you were rude and disrespectful and you treated her poorly. You couldn't even be bothered to remember your piano music for your lesson. You acted as though you thought what she did was stupid and that her job was dumb. Your actions showed that you didn't think that her feelings mattered at all and you were dismissive of her efforts.
Faddle: Takes a shaky breath.
Me: (moving in for the kill) How do you feel about yourself right now? How do think that your choices have made you look today? Do you feel generous? Do you feel like a good friend and brother? Do you feel grown up? Do you think you have done anything positive today that makes this world, your friends, family or those who you have met any happier?
Faddle: Begins crying.
Me: I suggest that you find a way to get yourself back on track. You are too big to knowingly hurt people just because you're tired and cranky. You knew what you did and the things you said were hurtful, disrespectful and rude. I am not proud of you in this moment. You can do better. Much better.
Faddle: Sniffling.
Me: All right, you think about it and come and see me when you think you can behave differently. Until then, you may stay here.
Fiddle: Can I go?
Me: Indeed! Those who are not rude get to live a life of freedom and privilege, go forth and eat a popsicle!

Farting On Command And Other Skillz

I am an only child. Only! I had lots of friends and many cousins but it is not the same as being a sibling. And it is most definitely not the same as being brothers. There are certain things that you learn to do as a brother. Things like say, farting on command.

Fiddle and Faddle can both do this. I swear. Faddle is a damn artist at it. Amidst gales of laughter and shrieks of horror he finds a way to pin down Fiddle and fart on him. There are screams of 'Safety!' and 'Doorknob!' as the foul stench fills the air.

Both boys think that this is the funniest thing to ever happen. Fiddle has been known to say, "Now that is comedy gold!" while holding his nose and pointing at Faddle.

Generally I evacuate the room and leave them to their revolting game. Eventually they run out of firing power.

This must be a skill only learned by brothers. Well, I guess I'd buy that there is some talented sister out there who can decimate her brother's nostrils at will, but I've never seen it.

The fabulous and horrifying pie graphic comes from an Aussie news site partnered with Dr. Karl, author of Begone With The Wind- a whole book of farts.

The Hypnotic Powers Of Donna Reed

Yesterday I called Tee, mother of Fiddle and Faddle, to go over the details of my not having a car this week. Let me say that for all the numerous manifest good things about Tee and her family, organization is not one of them. Not even a little bit. So, upon mention of the possible Tuesday schedule, the conversation goes:

Tee: Oh, well, the boys have a half day anyway.
Me: Really?
Tee: Yup.
Me: You know you have to tell me this stuff, right?
Tee: YES! I just, you know, it gets lost.

OK, moving on. Having established that I have the guys for approximately five-and-a-half hours I begin reviewing my options. Usually I make some good plans for entertainment and activities, but I was swamped and the short notice and lack of a car conspired against such good planning.

In the end I decided we would just go with the flow. I had done a bunch of laundry and had a subsequent pile of ironing to get through. Fiddle and Faddle both surrounded me and the ironing board, staring in fascination.

Faddle: How do you do that?
Me: Iron?
Faddle: uh-huh
Me: Demonstration, explanation
Faddle: Can I do it?
Me: You betcha. Don't burn yourself. Here's how you don't burn yourself (demonstration). Don't drop the iron on your foot or leave it on the edge of the ironing board so that it falls on your foot. Now, go!

Faddle irons. Faddle irons well! Go, Faddle!
Fiddle irons. Fiddle irons well! Go, Fiddle!

After much fun was had with the iron, the hissing steam and the spraying nozzle I take back control of the ironing. The boys are forced into doing their homework. Faddle is a pain in the ass. He was up late the night before and is overtired. He is whining, complaining, carping and bothering his brother.

Me: Faddle, what is your dang issue?
Faddle: Idunnowhatever.
Me: Can I get you something to eat, drink, read, draw or play?
Faddle: IdunnowhateverImbored
Me: Why don't you go sit in the comfy chair and chill for a few?
Faddle: Why?
Me: Humor me. Try it. If you want we can make pudding later.
Faddle: Finewhatever

5 minutes later, Faddle is sound asleep. He sleeps for the next two hours solid. Tired much? Next, Fiddle gets a book and curls up on the coach while I work on the ironing. Soon he, too is drifting half asleep.

Who knew the soothing, hypnotic powers the hiss of the iron and the image of domestic Donna Reed style afternoons? Nice.

On Fiddle

Fiddle is a sweet boy. Seriously, very, very sweet. He likes to read and nothing makes him happier than if everyone leaves him alone for an hour and lets him curl up with a book. Although we aren't related we share this in common, this need to have a book within arms reach at all times. When Fiddle reads he disappears into the book, no sound can reach him and if you want his attention you have to actually physically touch him to break that connection to the book.

Not in the least interested in athletic pursuits, Fiddle would always rather sit than run. He's actually quite coordinated and athletic, but his interest is just not there. I have to persuade or bribe him into joining in our sporty pursuits and he does not love them. He likes to play, but unlike his competitive and blood-thirsty brother, he doesn't have the killer sports instinct.

Fiddle is a little more high strung and sensitive than most kids and it can be hard for him to just go with the flow. There are moments when his need to have things a certain way, in a certain order just drive those around him crazy. We're all in a hurry all the time, racing from one appointment to the next, trying to squeeze in as much as possible for every day and sometimes that does not work for him.

I can see it start. His hands begin to clench and unclench, he looks away to the side and sort of stutters, trying to untangle his anxieties and find the words to explain himself.

He hates to lose, far more than your average bear of a kid, he gets cranked up with higher and higher levels of emotion with every turn of the card or roll of the dice. He takes Monopoly, Trouble, Mastermind and Zooreeka seriously, freaking out if he hits a run of bad luck or if someone else seems to always win.

Fiddle hates to not be perfect. Sometimes his anxiety overwhelms him and it can result in any number of dramas. Most of the time it is the form of tears. He freaks out most often while working on math - when the numbers just won't come up right. Frantically erasing until the paper tears, chucking the pencil sharpener across the room, he makes a wordless shriek. Speaking calmly to him can help, sometimes not. Sometimes the tornado of his freak-out will just spin faster and faster until he burns himself out or crosses the line so that I have to physically guide him to a chair and demand that he sit until this stops.

You can't reach him at his peak frenzy. He is untouched by words of rational, calm thought, lost in a frenzy of feeling upset, angry and a failure, all you can do is wait for him to find a way to calm himself down. Sometimes I hand him a book, sometimes he hides behind my living room curtains, usually a fifteen minute cool down works wonders.

It is a challenge to manage him sometimes and never made easier by Faddle's brotherly need to egg Fiddle on. Why are brothers like that? I never had a brother, it's a bit of a mystery to me. I so want Fiddle to relax, to know its OK to screw up. You can't hold yourself to a perfect standard, none of us can, we do our best. You can ask yourself to always do your best, and if that means that you don't quite make it to number one every time, that's OK.

We've spent a lot of time covering this issue this year. We never stopped playing board games even when they consistently resulted in Fiddle quiting or knocking over the board. He got a consequence and we tried again. And again. And again. Eventually we've seen changes. He still freaks out sometimes and still cries occasionally but he hasn't knocked over a board in months. He has been able to both win and lose games and actually enjoy the process rather than just the result.

Baby steps. Baby steps. Eventually they can get you where you need to go.

My Favorite Combo: Mini-golf and Ice Cream!

Fridays are an early dismissal at Fiddle and Faddle's fancy pants school, and usually we have a slate of pre-scheduled activities to accomplish, but this Friday was event free. Cool!

Looking around for a low-cost high-fun option I settle on some mini-golf and ice cream. Sweet!

I had never been to this particular mini-golf facility and as a grown up with an unnatural love of mini-golf I was looking forward to it. This is one of those spots that has mini-golf, a big driving range and batting cages all in one sprawling former-farm location.

Fiddle and Faddle did really well! Arming two brothers with metal sticks can really be a daunting proposal, and it could end bloody, but not today! They listened, they cheated only marginally and did nothing mean to each other.

Also, to my surprise and happiness no one was in tears at any point. Fiddle is particularly inclined to allow his frustration with himself or his brother to overwhelm him so that he winds up in angry tears. To Fiddle's credit he stayed calm when the ball took a bad turn and wound up in a bad spot. His reward- he tied me for first place!

The course was kickin' it old skool with just simple, plain greens using bumps, rocks and angled boards to provide the challenges. The landscaping was pretty, and the course wound around a waterfall and pond as well as gazebos and shrubs. My only problem with this mini-golf course, and really, isn't it a universal problem, was that it was in a blazing sun-scorched sahara of open field. Whhhhhy are mini-golf courses always built with not one scrap of sheltering shade?

I am a pasty, pale, fragile blossom of a girl and by the time we had wrapped up our trip through the course I was starting to turn pink. Blech. I try to carry sunscreen around, but I happened to be out at the moment. [Note to self: Restock Sunscreen, pasty]

To wrap up our afternoon we enjoyed some delicious local ice cream. Yum. My favorite thing ever. I could eat ice cream ever single day. Every. Single. Day

Sunrise, Sunrise

I am not a morning person. I am a night owl. Last night was a late night, which really isn't a problem for me, but this morning was an excruciating 5:15 wake up. Ouch. Don't get me wrong I know lots of people do this all the time. But I don't, and for good reason. I am not very bright first thing in the morning, so if I plan ahead I can execute, but I can not problem solve for a solid hour after I get up. If the apocalypse comes before 8:30 AM I am so going to be caught snoozing or standing while staring in befuddlement at the unfolding drama. However, if it arrives in the middle of the night, no problem, I'll have the reactions of a ninja.

Luckily, today, all went smoothly.

Fiddle and Faddle live a surprising distance away, nearly an hour's drive, and they needed a lift to school. So, at the unholy hour of 6:00 I departed for their far distant home.

Then, the most lovely thing happened, the sky was light and the sun just rising above the hills turning the sky peach, lavender and rose. The sun sparkled off the heavy dew that coated the newly green fields, while mist clung to the hollows in the meadows and the orchards were in full leaf.

My iPod seemed to be in tune and Norah Jone's Sunrise, Sunrise came on as I cut across the countryside. Now the lyrics themselves don't exactly suit, but the chorus of Sunrise, Sunrise seemed to be the perfect morning music.

So although I would never choose to be up and about at that terrible early morning hour, I was richly rewarded with an incredible, beautiful sunrise that would have gone unseen. My only regret is that I didn't have my camera. Of course, tomorrow's sunrise is on its own, I'll catch the sunset.

The Adventures of Fiddle and Faddle

Three days a week I watch two boys after school. I attempt to fill their bottomless pits that they call stomachs, oversee homework that they don't want to do, remind them that they are humans and not wolves and attempt to keep the brotherly love outweighing the brotherly homicidal tendencies. It has been a fun year with more than a few frustrations along the way, but today was one of the good ones.
It did not start out on a good note, the boys should have had swimming lessons but they both forgot their gear. Really? Both? Ugh. So, we headed to the Y anyway to burn some time since the guys didn't have any Friday afternoon homework.
Fiddle, the oldest by 18 months, and I struck a bargain where he was required to happily participate in vigorous physical activity for 45 minutes. No whining, no quitting and no complaining and then he could go to his nirvana, also known as the youth lounge. Faddle, the younger, would be stuck with me for any additional time I deemed necessary. Lucky him.
We got a basketball and hit the courts. We had an excellent game of 2 on 1 and worked up a sweat.
Fiddle and Faddle played together well even if Faddle hogged the ball as usual. Passing, an art he has not mastered. After the 45 minute mark I released Fiddle to nirvana and kept Faddle busy on the courts. After whipping me but good at HORSE and another skill game we grabbed some floor and recovered. A bunch of slightly older kids came in to play basketball and many of them seemed to know each other at least a little bit but it wasn't a closed/cohesive group. Faddle looked longingly at the scrambling group playing basketball.
"Wanna play?" I asked. Faddle shrugged. "Well, they might say no, and that would kinda suck, but they might say yes, and then you get to play a pick-up game of basketball and that would rock." Faddle shrugged. And watched. And watched. And watched.
Finally he stood up and tried to nonchalantly catch the eye of one of the players. Taking slow steps forward he edged to the side of the action. When there was a break in the game, he stepped closer, angling for one of the oldest boys until he was able to quietly ask if he could play. I didn't hear the exact exchange and it mostly seemed to be a silent ritual of ducking his head, waving a hand and pointing at himself.
He was in! Definitely the youngest and smallest, but not by a huge margin and he was oh-so-brave to ask! I love to see that bravery rewarded. It can't always be so, but it was this time! He did a great job, made a few shots, passed the ball, defended, got rebounds and even made a steal. They played for 25 minutes before finally seeking refreshment and I extracted Faddle as it was time to go home. He didn't want to leave but was lured with the notion of prying Fiddle from nirvana. His jealousy of Fiddle's access to nirvana knows no bounds!
Oh heavenly day, it was actually a lovely afternoon! Treasure it, treasure it and remember it next week when they try and turn my hair grey.