The Dangers of Texting While Mom Is Talking

Last night I told my son I'd blogged about him (he was holding his cell phone in his hand waiting for another text) and he was shocked. Shocked!

He wanted to know what I wrote and his sister said, "Texting and fast forwarding." I assumed she'd read the blog, but she shook her head and said no. My son wanted to know how she knew about it if she hadn't read it yet.

Um, I totally told him I was going to blog about his texting on Sunday night. Didn't he remember? His sister remembered.

He smiled and said, "Sorry. I must have been texting."

UGH!!!!!

New Laws For Texters

We all know the dangers of texting while driving, but I'm here to warn of another serious consequence to texting while doing something else.....

Texting and fast forwarding DVR shows.

You're cruising along with three fast forward arrows rocking the commercials when a text comes in. The next thing you know the show is half gone and your family is yelling "Too far! Too far!"

Then you rewind it to the end of the commercials and start of the show, but that doesn't work so you just push play and your family has to watch those blasted commercials.

All so you can text while being in charge of the remote!

Dangerous business, my son. We might have to create new laws to govern the use of cell phone texting in relation to family life.

First law: No texting while in charge of the remote control. Second law: Umm.....actually, other than the remote thing, your texting is not a problem. Curiosity provoking, making a mother practically drool for wanting to know what you could possibly be texting about every 30 seconds, but otherwise unobtrusive.

Okay then. Carry on, just leave the remote control out of it. Those poor innocent shows being forced to fast forward or fast rewind will thank you for it. As will your family.

Snooze Button Rant

Whoever invented the snooze button for alarm clocks must have felt very pleased with himself. What a concept! Hit the button and have nine more minutes of sleep before the alarm goes off again. Everyone is going to want this feature on their alarm clock!

As much as I hate the button, I do use it. On occasion. Okay. I set my alarm specifically for 5:51 so I could hit the snooze and get up at 6, feeling like I've got to sleep in.

It's a trick my body does not appreciate. For as soon as I hit snooze, I fall back asleep. Like sound, having dreams, asleep. Nine minutes later I am once again jerked awake by that beeping, and do not feel rested at all.

I tell myself to just jump out of bed. Ignore that easily pushed button that stops that terrible noise. Instead, fumble for the right button to turn the alarm all the way off. Do I do what I tell myself too?

Sometimes. But usually I fall for the old trick of just needing to rest nine minutes more. Snooze....ZZZZZZZZZZZ

And let's not get me started on who made alarm clocks beep in that heart stopping way.

Okay Boys....

Fess up. No one is in trouble, but I want to know who took apart a pen, took out that wire spring, and shoved it into my butter.

My lovely, barely used, cube of golden deliciousness.

This blog is called BUTTERed Toast Rocks. The key word in that is BUTTER!

Don't mess with Momma's butter, boys.

My son insists that he and his friends would never, ever do something like that. My husband says that the boys are 14, that's the sort of thing a 14 year old boy does without thinking, almost as instinctual as breathing.

I know it was them, I know I can't prove it, and I know I must let it go.

Deep breath in, hold it, hold it, hold it, let it out. Whoosh.

It has suddenly occurred to me in that bit of calm breathing that the solution to my unhappiness is to get out a fresh stick of butter and open the sourdough bread and treat myself to a piece of toast. Or two.

Buttered toast makes my world go round.

And, it turns out, no guilty party coming into this house can withstand my Mom eyes. I have a confession and a half apology (he meant to take it out before I got home...) and I laughed and said he got me. I'd been ready to call the manufacturer and demand a refund for making butter with metal in it.

Now if only my toaster wouldn't be so temperamental. Burned toast is not what I need today!

What's That Smell?

Let's play that fun and delightful game, What's That Smell?

Usually played in the kitchen were you wander around the room asking yourself, is it the garbage? Raw chicken left in the can never smells good. Is it the sink? Let's give it a scrubbing with bleach. Is it the fridge? Let's toss any leftovers that look questionable. Is it the fruit bowl? Check to make sure a plum hasn't fallen behind the bowl.

I am now playing that game in our car. I get in every morning and roll down the windows in spite of the cool Fall weather. It smells bad, and I can't figure out why! It's not as easy to track down as the kitchen smell, especially when the car isn't that cluttered. Today I will pull up the seats and look in every crevice.....

What I'd like to find is an old mocha cup, with just enough coffee left to go bad but not enough to spill onto the carpet.

Like the bag full of moisture and two pieces of bread wedged up into the canned foods in our kitchen. The bread was 100% blue gray and the bag could have poured out 1/4 c of liquid. I'm not positive that was the smell in our kitchen, but since I found it and tossed it, I can breath easier.

Game on car smell. I have never lost a round and I don't plan on starting now!

A Point For Short Hair

Four months ago, my daughter cut her hair short. Like, short short. Sometimes people think she's a very cute boy.....one time that was me. I thought her friend was walking home with a boy, until they got close to the house and I realized that boy was my daughter!

My daughter marches to the beat of not just her own drummer, but the entire marching band. I am very proud of her and her choices and her desire to be her own person. I am! Although, if I'm honest, the short hair has been an adjustment for me.

She has stopped wanting to dye her hair hot pink (thank goodness!) because she is actually the only girl in middle school with short hair. She stands out in a crowd, in a good way.

Which is actually a huge point in the favor of short hair! At the cross country meets, when all the girls running look alike in tie dye shirts and dark shorts, there is only one girl without a bouncing pony tail. I don't need binoculars to see my daughter.

I have never been prouder of her than I am in that moment, watching her run the distance, put on a burst of speed and cross the finish line going as hard as she can.

Good job, my lovely, short haired, beautiful daughter!

Five Feet Eight & One Third

For weeks I've been noticing how tall my son has gotten. He's shot up over the summer and is dangerously close to being as tall as me. People like to tell me he's gaining on me. But a few days ago someone said he is taller than me.

Taller? No way. I quickly said he's very close, but I'm still taller.

But since we were at the doctors office, we made it official and measured him. He is 5 feet, 8 and 1/3 inches tall. And yes, that is officially taller than me.

I was struck speechless. I couldn't believe it. It really doesn't seem that long ago that I held that 7 lb 1 oz, 19 1/4 inch long, brand new baby boy. Or had a skinny three foot tall three year old asking for a 'snuggle up'.

Yet, here it is. Fourteen years later and he is taller and funnier and smarter and just all around better than I ever imagined our baby would be. Life is pretty amazing.

And that's all I have to say about that!