The Great Kale Debate: Part Deux

I can't believe I'm having to revisit this, but here I go.  You see, the kale harrassment has continued at the Parsons house.  If you're saying, "Huh?", read this first:  Kale Blog #1

Last weekend my little guy had a friend spend the night.  Great!!  In the morning I went to the kitchen and in the sink there was green stringy vomity slime everywhere.  Not great!!!  I leaned in, fighting all my "stay away" instincts, to get a closer look.  And, by golly, I recognized that awful mess.  Yes, I'd seen it before.  So, when the kids got up, here's how it went.


Me:  "By any chance did you play a double dog dare game of kale tasting last night?"

Little guy:  "Uh, yeah.  How did you know?"

Me:  "There was disgusting evidence all over the sink."

Little guy:  "Oh, sorry.  That was me.  I almost threw up."

Little guy's friend:  "I swallowed mine."  Hey, this could be going my way...I may have finally met another kale fan.

Me:  "Did you like it?"

Little guy's friend:  "No, it was disgusting."


Round about now, my big guy strolled out.


Me:  "So, were you part of the kale double dog dare kale tasting last night?"

Big guy:  "Yeah, I gave it to them."


OK, if you know me, you know I'm a total germaphobe and I've been thinking in the back of my head, "Who reached into my kale container and what are the chances that they've washed their hands in the past week?"


Me:  "You took it out of the container?"

Big guy:  "I washed my hands first."  My kids know me so well.


Alright, that story aside, here's the stats on the kale like/dislike poll round these parts:

Me:  LIKE
Dave:  DISLIKE
Big guy:  DISLIKE
Little guy:  DISLIKE
Little guy's friend:  DISLIKE
Scout, our standard poodle:  LIKE (will do any trick to get a kale treat)
Hazel, our golden doodle:  LIKE (see above)
Pug, our tabby cat:  LIKE (was caught licking all the kale crumbs left in the container)

Go ahead, count 'em up.  Yup!  It's five to five...even Steven!


Alright, who's next?  We need a tie breaker!

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My Kid is sooooo Pimp!

Yes, I must confess, I spent part of my evening contributing to the "pimp"ness of my kid.  It all started when he wanted to share some of his music with me.  Goes like this on a very regular basis...

Little guy:  "Mom have you heard 'XX'"

Me:  "I dunno, play it."


He plays the video on his phone and I answer "yes" or "no".  Let me say that this is great for bonding.  I'm never critical (actually I rather like most of his hip-hop stuff), and I end up far more knowledgeable, dare I say "more hip," than I started.

Tonight we went through about five or so songs.  Three I knew, two I didn't...but now I do.  Then he played "Thrift Shop," a song I'm quite familiar with.


Me:  "Hey, close your eyes.  I'll be right back."  I ran to my big guy's closet to retrieve something amazing and wonderful and quite precious to me (I stash a few things in the very side four inches of his closet.  He's OK with this.)

Little guy:  "OK.  What are you doing?"

Me:  "Take off your hoodie."

Little guy:  "Um, OK."

Me:  "You could help me a little bit."  He stiffened his previously slack arm so it would go in one sleeve.  Then I slid his arm in the other sleeve, pulled it on, buttoned the front, turned up the collar. and..."OK, look."

Little guy:  "This is AWESOME!!!"


You see, he was wearing a fabulous double breasted, leopard print, fuzzy jacket I bought during the 80s in a Palo Alto thrift shop.  It's always been too big for me, but I wore it for many years anyway.


Me:  "It's yours now.  Enjoy it."


He ran into his room, put his green Afro wig on.


Little guy:  "Take my picture, mom."


I did.  He texted it to a friend.  Said friend very astutely replied, "Duuuuuude, that is soooooo pimp!!!"  And then quite likely forwarded the photo to a bunch of their mutual friends (at least that's what my kid was hoping for, he told me so).


Yup, I've officially contributed to the "pimp"ness of my kid.

...and quite possibly earned some "cool mom" points along the way.

P.S.  If you have no idea what I'm talking about, go to YouTube and search for "Thrift Shop".   Then you'll go, "Oh."

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Emptopus

Somehow we managed to get through over ten years of Standard Poodle ownership bliss with perhaps, maybe, one or two things/toys/etc. being destroyed...ever!  Well, along comes our delightful Golden Retriever/Standard Poodle mix and all that has changed in the past year-and-a-half.  Now, mind you, she has not destroyed any shoes or clothing or anything that really matters.  But she does have a distinct taste for all things that smell like butts and feet, and dog toys, of course.  Perhaps the "of course" was better placed after the "butts and feet".  Ah, well, put it wherever suits you.

With the socks and underwear (not mine, I put mine in the bathroom hamper that closes, thank you very much) are her companion toys.  She carries them around, lays them upon her bed, holds them delicately in her mouth, but she does no actual harm aside from being just plain slobbery and nasty.

With the dog toys, well, that's a different story.  We've discovered that she has a super power.  She is able to puncture a plush toy with a very tiny hole and pull every bit of stinkin' stuffing out.  Now, she doesn't stop there, no way.  Once she's disemboweled them, she spreads the innards about the house, here, there, and everywhere.  So, what do we find?  One very flat, sad, and deflated toy skin and a veritable snow storm of white stuff.  The scene has "Yee-Haw!" written all over it.

Her latest victim?  A sweet blue octopus we've had for about eight years that went from eight tentacles...to five tentacles (after I did some repair work)...to just a skin.  Dave affectionately calls it "Emptopus".

Good thing we admire super powers in this family....

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To Grade or Not to Grade

I cannot imagine being a middle or high school teacher.  It's not just the age, and it's not just the HUGE number of students they have...to be totally honest, it's that they're SO MUCH bigger than I am.

I feel the need to pay homage to these teachers who consistently work evenings and weekends both planning and grading.  They so totally rock in my little elementary school teacher eyes.

But...I'd also like to convey to them how much not grading some things is also quite effective learning-wise.  You see, my little guy is in eighth grade and has been assigned a journal writing assignment that he is to do each and every day.  Does he do it daily?  No.  Does he even do it at home?  No.  Does he do it on the school bus on the way to school the very day it's due?  Yes.  Does he get decent grades on it?  Yes.  Does his teacher actually read all of her 150 students' journals?  Absolutely not.  (I wouldn't grade them either, would you?)  Were they all well written?  Absolutely!!!  By golly, they were beautifully formed sentences and fully formed itty bitty stories.  And, yes, I will be keeping this journal forever!

Anyway, how do I know the journal entries aren't graded?

Well...they mostly focus around one topic.  Seriously.  And what is that topic?  Why, it's all about how he hasn't written his journal entries yet and is doing them on the bus (by the way, I do read his entries, that's how I know all about this).  There was one delightful entry that showed up early this six weeks that was a clear departure from the usual topic.  It's one that, unfortunately for you, my kid has denied permission to put on this here blog of mine.

But, I will say it's all about needing to poo.  Yup, if you know my kid, you are not surprised.  And, just as his other journal entries were beautifully written, this poem, too, reads like the lyrics of a beautiful song...the stanzas melodic and the rhymes divine.  I kid you not.  Poo can be beautiful...in writing, that is.


So, I thank you, eighth grade English teacher, for helping to create the great writer that my little guy is!!!

Kudos!!!

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Sunday Morning Chats

There's a church in my neighborhood that lovingly provides a free breakfast to anyone who'd like to partake.  I've never taken them up on it, but on Sundays I do see a very small stream of people I assume are homeless making their way to and from the church.  Some, heavily laden with their backpacks and bedroll walk by, clearly on a mission.  Some walk by in pairs, chatting with their breakfast pal.  But the ones I find most captivating are those who walk alone for a few feet at a time, then stop to have a very animated chat with a character I'm not privileged enough to see, and then continue on their journey.

I'm sure that most folks who encounter them think they're crazy or mentally ill, which is likely true to some degree.  I find more peace thinking that they're enlightened, and a simple creature such as my self simply is not equipped understand.

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"Safety" and "Sex"

Sometimes those tactics you use as parents work really well...and then, after a while, their effectiveness wears off.  For example, this is what used to work:


Us:  "Clean your room."

Little guy:  "Just a sec!"

Us:  "Why are you always talking about secs?"  Yes, pronounced "sex".


And then he'd clean his room just so we'd shut up.



So, this morning:


Dave:  "Clean your room."

Little guy:  "In a minute."  Yes, the child has learned something.

Dave:  "'In a minute' means 'in a few hours' or 'tomorrow' or 'never' for you."

Little guy:  "No, I will clean my room, because I do have a friend coming over, and I can't until I clean my room."  Smart aleck.


Little guy:  ...pause...kid leans to the side..."Safety!"


OK, that may be meaningless to those of you who still have sweet little children at home, or have big ones who have already moved out, but to us that means that our kid just farted and now cannot receive any consequences as a result.  Now to work on this "safety" issue....

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Perfection

Dave and I were walking with our dogs.  We were talking about how perfect they were for each other.  That got us on to our relationship, of course.


Me:  "Well, you found a perfect mate."

Dave:  <sidelong glance>

Me:  "Me?  Not so much."

Dave:  "I let you think you're perfect.

Me:  "Oh, well I guess that does make you perfect!"


Ah, perfection....

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