Summer Schooled: Oh My Goodness Edition

My 12 year old son has a summer assignment: Read and Annotate Oliver Twist. No, not the Disney-fied movie featuring adorable animated dogs and cats, but the real, honest to goodness 450+ page novel.

From my English major days, I remember that Charles Dickens wrote in serial form, publishing chapters in newspapers. His audience eagerly awaited each installment. London was abuzz. The See Household? Not so much.

Before you feel give me too much sympathy for having to shepherd my child through this miserable summer experience, I must confess I used to assign 16 year old students the likes of Emma, Pride and Prejudice, and Jane Eyre to read over the summer. Looking back, I can't believe I inflicted those works (my faves, natch!) on rowdy, hormonal 16 year old boys.

Payback is hell.

And speaking of hormonal boys, Oliver Twist, known for its extensive vocabulary, unwittingly illuminated a new one here in the See household.

I popped the Oliver Twist audio cd in the car yesterday, hoping to help get our Dickens mojo on, and within moments, Jake was laughing uncontrollably. Pleased that he had turned the corner and was now a Dickens-lover, I asked him what was so funny.

Bad decision.

We replayed the segment in question. Turns out there's a character named Charlie Bates. Who was referred to 4 times in a row as... Master Bates. Yep. Which to a 12 year old boy, and perhaps a 41 year old mom, is pretty funny stuff.

Problem is, my 10 year old was in the car and needed some 'splaining. Let's just say Molly learned a new word today, something her mom didn't hear about until she read it in Cosmo in at LEAST 10th grade.

Sheesh.

Advanced curriculum these days, I suppose.

Pump it Up? Shake it Up? Take a Nap?

Just got back from a fabulous Girls Day/Night Out with college friends. Because it was a mere 100 degrees, we hung out by the pool. Imagine my surprise, nay consternation, when all 3 of my friends were sporting bikinis and rock-hard bods.

In general, I am not one to begrudge (too much) others' fantastic bodies especially when they work hard at it. But when these girls and I became friends, in like, 1987, suffice it to say we weren't exactly hard bodies. Or at least I don't think so, although the big hair, Navajo sweaters and shoulder pads might have prevented ultra-close inspection.

And here we are, over 40, when I'm ready to throw on my comfy pants and throw in the proverbial towel, and they do THIS TO ME! Classic bait and switch I say.

So what would any self-respecting couch potato do when faced with extra summer pounds and insanely buff friends? Would she put down the apple pie (a la mode!!) and go for a fitness walk?

No, not this one.

I decided to take the kids to the glorified Dollar Store, Five Below, which basically means "We charge you $5 for stuff that should cost $1."

And what did I buy?

Something called Pump2Fit-- a plastic bar bell that promised me "Sexy, toned arms in just minutes a day!"

I could sense something was off, but I could have sworn I'd seen this miraculous product on an infomercial at some point and that it would transform my flabby, Cafeteria Lady arms (sorry Mrs. Winklebaum) into "ROCK SOLID ARMS!" as the box proclaimed.

Speaking of boxes, the kids suggested I might want to keep the box so it would be ready, intact, for our next yard sale. Such moral support, I tell ya.

I was reasonably confident this product would transform my arms, nay-- my life, until I came home and saw a CVS ad touting "The Shake Weight."

Crap.

That was the one from the infomercial I'd seen, and the one I had purchased was a flimsy, non-shaky imitation. I went to the Shake Weight website and saw some mildly erotic demos of how "The Shake Weight" could tone my arms. A quick glance pretty much made it clear that the only weight the "Pump2 Fit" was good for was a paper weight.

Oh well.

As I was reeling from the discovery that I had not found my own personal fountain of youth, 12 year old Jake, who will hitherto be referred to as Captain Painfully Obvious, summed it up thus: "So what you did was buy a cheesy dollar store imitation of a cheesy infomercial product?"

Grasshopper, you are correct.

Well at least Molly and her friend Kelly are having some good old-fashioned summer fun using my precious "Pump2Fit" to make fake infomercials. And to think that at their age, we used to play dolls.

I think I'll join a gym.

Fear Not

The kids were at summer camp last week. Outside in the blazing sun all day. With a heat index of 110. Sweating on top of nylon sleeping bags in screened-in "cabins" at night.

I prayed that they would have a safe, amazing, louse-free week and they did.

I figured Jake would enjoy it, because it's his 3rd year. He loves camp and says he feels closer to God there.

But if you remember Molly's... er... bumpy re-entry earlier this summer when she returned from a week with her cousins, you'll know that I was braced for a very tired girl with Linda-Blair-like tendencies. I wanted to tread lightly in case the whole summer camp thing was just too, too much.

Imagine our surprise and relief when, as soon as they got home, she and Jake were already talking about what they wanted to do at camp next summer. And dinner started with an unusual request from Molly, to lead the blessing of our meal. We held hands, and instead of moaning and munching through "God is great; God is good," Molly prayed a short, sincere prayer from the heart. Wow.

This morning she was up reading her Bible and highlighting passages that stood out to her.

Here's the thing: I don't think you are a "good Christian" for reading your Bible and a "bad Christian" for not. Truth be told, much of the time my Bible serves more as a bedside coaster than a life-line for me. Does that mean God loves me less? Absolutely not. I do know the life-giving, powerful words the Bible contains, but more often than not, I seek a million other forms of solace and counsel before turning to it.

So you can imagine how touched I was when she, of her own volition, started searching for key passages to guide her through life.

She said as she did this, the words "Isaiah 43" came to her. Now you know as well as I that Isaiah 43 could have ended up saying something about 2 donkeys costing x number of shekels, or something like that, but it didn't.

Here are the verses she felt guided to in Isaiah 43. For Molly, for me, and maybe for you:

"But now, this is what the Lord says-- he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: 'Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are mine.

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze."

And you know what she said after sharing this with me? "Mom, I'm so glad God led me to those encouraging verses, but it makes me nervous because I wonder if that means I'm going to go through a lot of hardship in life and REALLY need them to lean on."

I hear you, daughter, and I understand. You are your mom's little girl, all right.

And the Winner is....

vzavala8!

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Wordy Wednesday and How Blogging Messes With My Mind

The kids are away at camp all week. Although you might think that Tom and I have been walking around the house naked and I've been painting, gluing, and staple-gunning everything in sight (Tom excluded), my week has turned out differently than expected.

For one, Tom and I didn't coordinate our "free week" very well, so it meant he spent part of it in NYC and had obligations some of the other nights. We tried to go to a movie or a play, but there's nothing out that we want to see. Good news? We've started watching "Friday Night Lights" from the first episode and are hooked. It's so nice to be able to start a show before 10 pm!

And the painting projects?

Waah!!!!!!!! I have a new curbside find called a Pier Chest, which is going to knock our socks off (I hope), but I can't finish painting it because it's almost 100 degrees in the the carport. The paint ain't sticking, people.

I know it's pretty lame to feel sorry for myself about the heat when my kids are sleeping on plastic mattresses and nylon sleeping bags in un-airconditioned cabins, but they haven't written me a single letter yet, so how would I even know to be sympathetic?

Also, the reality of this week has been that I miss the kids a ton and feel kind of mopey. I know I'll be yelling at them within hours of their return, but for now they are my precious angels who are too darn far away.

I've decided that next summer, I will plan my free week better to take FULL advantage of it (cool weather, lunch dates with friends, and ample nudity).

Now for the "blogging messes with your mind" part of the post:

I don't know if this happens to you, but I find myself thinking about blogging quite often-- even in my sleep. In the midst of a crazy dream, for instance, I'll think, "I need to tell my blog friends about what just happened!"

When I wake up and realize it was all a dream, I feel disappointed. That's why you haven't heard about the time I tried to use a Chinese urinal, or the time I peed in front of Richard Gere and J. Lo at an upside-down nightclub. Am I the only one who is surprised I don't ever wet the bed?

I also think about blogging a lot during the day.

Today, for instance, I had 2 things I wanted to take pictures of and share with you, but I just couldn't do it.

One was in an "antique store"--and I'm using that name liberally-- where everything was piled together willy nilly. I was DYING to take a picture OF A PICTURE in a little silver frame. The subject? 2 middle aged people cavorting in a hot tub. We'll call them Tawny and Big Ron. Gross. Gross. Gross. Could they not have removed the photo???? Alas, no picture for you, as the "antique store" proprietress was watching me the whole time. She offered me 30% off, but I didn't bite.

The other thing I wanted to photograph was my dear next door neighbor's house. They are moving on very short notice and I am giving her my somewhat-solicited advice on staging the house.

Let me tell you, I'm putting the TOUGH in Tough Love. I wanted to take before and after pictures for you, since a lot of you are into houses like I am, but I didn't want to put any more pressure on her than she already feels.

Her husband is out of town, her daughter got her wisdom teeth pulled yesterday, they have to drive 20 hours to drop off their 4 pets halfway across the country, and the house goes on the market in 5 days! Needless to say, my friend is up to her ears in packing and probably would not have appreciated being a "before" picture, you know?

It has, however, piqued my interest in staging, and I'm toying with the idea of learning more about it. I'd love to get advice from any of you who have tried staging as a career. Thanks!

Well, I've got to go, Tom gets home from his softball game in 20 minutes and "Friday Night Lights" is calling my name!

Big Smokey?

The kids are away at camp all week. Thus, I had cereal for dinner last night, and then again for breakfast and lunch today. Seriously considering having cereal for dinner tonight since Tom won't be home until late.

I'm looking forward to sharing a brand new furniture project with you in the next day or so, so please stay tuned!

Until then, I'll leave you this.

Molly and a friend were in Target with me doing some pre-camp shopping. The friend showed Molly a Slim Jim and said,

"These are gross because they are made with the ears and hooves and butts of cows."

So Molly proceeds to pick up a mammoth, shrink-wrapped smoked sausage and says in a loud, faux whisper,

"Does that mean this is the Cow's penis?"

All I can say is, "Who knows?"

Subject Line: Panic

So my father-in-law sent his three kids and their spouses an email a few weeks ago.

Subject Line: Mom

When we opened the email, we learned that Tom's mother had won an award for her artwork. Yay.

But of course we were too busy trying to backpedal from the fatalistic mental gymnastics we'd done (Tom's mom in ICU, Tom's mom hit by a car, Tom's mom with flesh-eating bacteria, etc) to care much about art awards.

Tom's father obviously doesn't think there is anything wrong with sending an email with the subject line "Mom," because each subsequent email this summer has been part of the same darn email thread. Hooray, we get to have little panicky moments in our inboxes with regularity!

This got me thinking about subject lines. For instance, since becoming a mom, I have dreaded emails with the subject line: "Today" as in:

From: Your Child's Teacher
Subject Line: Today

Nothing good can come of that, I tell you. Nothing good.

So what about you?

What would be your most dreaded Subject line, real or imagined? How about?

From: Your High School Friend
Subject Line: Bought a scanner! Sleepover pics on Facebook!

Hmmmm.

I'd love to hear from you!