The Rebellious Name Game

I was a bit of a rebel many years ago.  I acted out.  My parents and teachers weren't amused.

Anyway, as part of that rebellion I was absolutely determined to keep my last name should I ever marry.  And at the age of twenty-five I did just that.

Now, some twenty-two years later for some reason I feel compelled to take my husband's name.  What makes the entire thing ridiculous is that my maiden name is exactly the same as my husband's last name.  So, yup, I'm Kali Parsons Parsons.

Seriously, I don't know how to reconcile all of this.  Ideas?


P.S. Don't call me "Mrs." Parsons...I'm still rebelling against that.  It's "Ms." Parsons, thank you very much. 

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That's Gotta Smart!

"WHAM!!!"

Silence.

Yup, no mom wants to hear that combo.



The guys all pour into the house.

Little guy:  "Man, I hope I didn't fracture it."

Little guy:  "It's already bruising."

Little guy:  "That's gonna really hurt."


Me:  "You should go take a shower and wash it off."

Little guy:  "No, I'm OK."


And off he went.


It's a funny thing.  When he was really little, every time he got hurt I'd wish I could take on his pain rather than have him deal with it.  Clearly these days he handles it so much better than I ever would (though I'd still take on his pain given the choice).

Little dude's way more a stud than his mom!

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Hippie Chick Fail

A funny thing happened at the store today.  I was walking around, holding my phone, checking off items on our shopping list that Dave and I had entered (we're geeky, we can both enter things and it combines it as one list), and a nice super market guy asked me, "You need any help finding anything?"


Me:  "No, I've got it, thanks."

Super market guy:  "I just noticed that you were looking at your phone for a while."

Me:  "My shopping list is on it.  I was checking things off."


And then I realized that while my goal was to be a hyper environmentally conscious paperless, canvas bag carrying mama, in reality I was just one of the masses who walks around not engaging with others because they're so focused on their hand held technology.

Hippie chick fail.

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Hooked on Mints

My kid has a problem.  And I suppose I only have myself to blame.  While I can't control what he thinks and does (like ever!), I was likely the one who first exposed him.

Yes, my little guy is apparently hooked on mints.  It started with Tic-Tacs, then moved to those curiously strong Altoids.  Around Christmas he switched to some organic vegan mints that I gave him.  (At least that's a little better, right?)  Yes, I'm officially his supplier, it seems.

And all of that would be just fine if he consumed perhaps ten or fifteen a day.  But, no.  The kid has consumed up to fifty in an hour.  When one mint is just down to a wee little nub, he pops another in his mouth.  He's a chain minter, that fresh breathed, goofy kid of mine.

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The First Time I got Busted by the Cops

For some reason, lately every time I see the color green, this old memory comes flooding back.


I must've been nine or ten.  It was a perfect summer day, with perfect weather, in perfect Palo Alto, California, in my grandparents' perfect neighborhood.  I was riding my beyond amazing green banana seat bike with tall handlebars.  Proudly printed on the frame were the words "Dill Pickle," and the playing card I had clipped near my spokes was making the most satisfying purr.  My brother was seated behind me.  No helmets.  No worries.  Wind in our hair.  Bliss!

And then a police officer pulled up beside us and demanded that we stop immediately.  Which we most certainly did.


Police Officer:  "Only one passenger per seat."


I looked at my banana seat that clearly provided ample room for my bottom, my brother's bottom, and at least one more friend's bottom, and looked back at the cop.

I think it was at that moment that I realized that not all laws made make sense...or at least the bad ones shouldn't apply to me.

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A Monster at the Door

So the other day our kitten got the baheckadies scared out of him.  Really it should have been OK.  Really it should have been safe.  And really it was...but it seemed like it so wasn't.

You see, one of my little guy's friends was at the door.  He'd come to hang out.  But this kid is delightfully wonderful and quirky, and he showed up at the door with a big brimmed Chinese hat, large blue goggles, and wiggly, wiggly arms.  So when Dave opened the door while holding our sweet little kitten, the kitten caught sight of the monster at the door, dug all ten of his claws into Dave's back and shoulder (through his jacket) and took off running.

And then we laughed.  And then I did wound care on David's ouchies.  And then we made sure that the kitten's sweet little heart hadn't exploded out of its ribcage.  And then we laughed again.

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A Mom's Advice is Rarely Heeded

I bribe my kids to get them to hang out with me.  It's a fact.  Just the other day I told my little guy that I'd buy him lunch at Chipotle if he'd walk there with me.  He negotiated on the walking bit, of course...and off we went, I walking and he riding his bike...I in a scarf, gloves, and two sweaters, he in a T-shirt and sweat pants even though I asked him twice if he wanted to dress more warmly.

And it was groovy.  He stayed right by me, conversed with me the entire way, ate his way-too-big burrito, and we started walking back.  The wind picked up a bit and suddenly he was riding closer to me.  Way too close.  And then he got behind me.  Right behind me.


Little guy:  "You need to eat a lot more, mom."

Me:  "Why?"

Little guy:  "Because you're a lousy windscreen."

Me:  "Wouldn't it be easier if you'd just worn a hoodie?"

Little guy:  "Why?  I'm fine."


I'm pretty sure that someday I'll be right. 

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