It was one of those grocery shopping trips.

Just me and the baby. He sat contently, spreading gooey sunshine via teething smiles through the store.  Chatting away in a language that resembles Vietnamese. Strangers tilted their heads and smiled and I just knew they were thinking, “Now THAT is the cutest darn kid in the world!”.

I was strutting my stuff, full of pride over my nutritious selections that filled my cart. Whole-grain goldfish instead of those “regular” ones. Gogurts that I still pass off as popsicles to my 5 year old. Lucky Charms that are “NOW with more fiber!”.

Then it happened. Like Christmas in July I spotted those fluffy, pure white goodies. All snug in that bag looking so comfy and delicious. Hostess powdered mini donuts. I toss a pack in the cart. One from the back of the display. Because those are fresher. And I’m all about fresh. I eye the big bag that is on sale…oh no no no. That would be glutinous.

I finish and load up the conveyor belt. The checker asks every-so-politely if I’d like that little pack of pleasure for my purse.

Um.

NO.

Because THAT would imply that I intend to scarf these down the instant I leave this store.  And someone with my obvious nutritional values would never do such a thing.

Instead I take note of which bag he just put them in. With the bananas. Good call sir.

Out the door we go, just me and my cherub, full of anticipation.

At the car I unload and, like a ninja, slip those donuts into my purse without any passersby noticing.

Because I DO intend to devour those  perfect, soft dinghies of delightfulness right here in my car. Why? Because I have 2 children at home that I need to hide these from. The baby in the back? He’s young and still distracted by shiny things that make lots of noise.

So he plays with some fake keys while I sit ever so carefully eating the powdered goodness, listening to Richard Blade on the New Wave station, and remembering a time when I could consume an entire box of these bad boys and never worry about what my behind would look like the next morning.

Yeah, it was a good grocery shopping trip.

Yesterday was Deet’s first day of Kindergarten, home-school style.

He will be attending a charter school learning center twice a week but that doesn’t start until next week. So this week is all on me.

The last two days have been full of CLUNKS.

A “clunk” is the sound of my jaw hitting the floor.

Just in case you needed a visual.

Let me preface this by saying I didn’t know my son as well as I thought. You know, when you have three kids you’re so worried about having enough love for all of them (which you totally do) that you forget about making time for all of them. And by “time” I mean one-on-one, get-to-know-you time. The baby and the teenager demand it and so, middle child has been lacking it. That’s the Reader’s Digest version, I’m sure I’ll be doing another post on how I’ve damaged my middle child for life.

Worst. Mom. Ever.

So when picking out curriculum I told his teacher, “We really need practice writing because he hates it and still can’t write his name.” We did a phonics computer game yesterday and he gets up, grabs a pad of paper and some crayons, comes over to me and says, “I’m going to write all of the letters I know.”. He proceeds to write the entire alphabet. Then his name.

CLUNK.

He randomly says, let’s think of words that start with “M”. OK….I say milk. He says metamorphosis. I had to use spell check just to type the damn word.

CLUNK.

I ask, “Do you even know what metamorphosis means?”. He says, “Sure I do! It’s like when a caterpillar turns into a butterfly!”.

CLUNK.

Today we do a math program online called Baseball Math. The kid answers basic addition and subtraction problems using numbers 1-10. When they get one right the program decides if they get a single, double, etc. If they get it wrong it’s recorded as an “Out”. When he got tired of doing it I checked the score box. 21 runs, 0 outs.

CLUNK.

Did I mention he can read?

CLUNK.

While I am THRILLED at the level of intelligence he is displaying I am ashamed to say I have had NO part in getting him there. Do you know what has? T.V. I’m not joking. More specifically channels like PBS and Qubo (since we don’t have cable). He also loves to watch old episodes of Blue’s Clues and Backyardigans on Netflix.

My only saving grace is that from this moment on I plan to have EVERY part in nurturing and growing that intelligence while really getting to know my little caterpillar before he turns into a butterfly and flies away.

I think I’m in the middle of my own metam…..(whatever). You know what I mean.

I’m THAT mom.

The mean one that doesn’t let her teenager have a Facebook account (along with other social media).

I’m not sure why any teenager needs one.

For one, teens these days have enough distractions. Facebook just opens up a whole world of new ones.

It also provides yet another opportunity for our teens to say or do something that they will regret; in a public forum. I read an article some months ago about the teenage brain and how scientists believe there is a portion of the adolescent brain that doesn’t fully develop until they are in their 20′s. The portion that can foresee consequences. When talking about teens parents often complain about how selfish they are, only thinking about themselves and making rash decisions without thinking about the effects of their actions. Turns out it may be mentally impossible for them. In the age of texting, tweeting, FB-ing, Skyping, and whatever else-ing, our teenagers are given ample opportunity to ruin, expose, hurt, and completely embarrass themselves or their “friends”. I see this lack of fore-thought every day in my teen. And while I understand that every person needs to make mistakes in order to experience the consequences, I would like to narrow down those opportunities for my daughter.

I also do not “friend” the friends of my teen. First of all, I don’t want to expose them (on purpose or accidentally) to anything inappropriate. I am prone to rants and some occasional foul language. And while I understand that they are exposed to this every day, I do not want to be the guilty party. Secondly, I am an adult. You are a child. I am Mrs. Cole. We are not “friends”. Social media and texting has blurred the line between adults and kids; giving teens the illusion that they are on the same level as the adults in their lives. Don’t get me wrong, I love the girlies in my daughter’s life and I have a blast with them. But I’m the adult, you will respect me and my rules and you will know when you’ve crossed the line. The rudeness of some kids astounds me. Frankly, I don’t blame them (although I will set them straight), I blame their parents. If a child is never taught to respect the adults in their life, how can we expect it from them?

I used to laugh when my daughter was little and would yell at me, “You’re not my friend anymore!”. Child, whatever gave you the idea that we were friends to begin with!?

So no Facebook, no Twitter, no Skype, and her phone is subject to “text-checks” at any given time. She will have plenty of time to be an adult when she’s an adult.

Until then it is my job to protect her, not be her “friend”.

Way before I even thought of having children I had decided that guns would have no place in my home. Not real ones; not toy ones.

I was surrounded by girls growing up so gun play was never really introduced. I also taught pre-school for years and it was always a rule in the school. “No playing guns!” us mean teachers would tell the little boys and watch them walk away sulking. I watched countless after-school specials where the moral of the story was “guns are evil” sometimes accompanied by “say no to drugs”, “be careful of eating disorders”, and “people with handicaps are bitchin’ too” themes. Then there was Beverly Hills 90210 (or ’90210′ for us avid watchers). We all know what happened that first season with David’s best friend.

All of these things helped form my opinion of guns…they were a no-no.

So, my second born is a boy…you know where I’m going with this, right?

My thought was, we have an 8 year old girl, we don’t expose him to T.V. shows with guns, we don’t discuss guns, so no guns! Until one day when he was two and I turned around to see him holding the nozzle of the garden hose and making shooting sounds. Say whaaaat? Where in the world did he get THAT from!?

Turns out there is part of little boy DNA that carries the gun gene. I’m not sure that’s the medical name for it, but I’m telling you it exists.  We did everything in our power and he still would pick up a twig and make sounds like he was blasting a machine gun. Insanity!

So when we took Deet to Disneyland for his 5th birthday and told him he could pick ANY toy (first mistake, that ‘any’ word) he went straight for the guns. Because that’s what you think of when you think Disneyland, right?…Guns!

We (meaning I) compromised and allowed a laser gun of the Star Wars variety. I really went against every fiber of my being to permit this. I just kept telling myself, “it’s not like it shoots bullets, it’s a laser!” Never mind that a laser can sever someone’s extremities…

He was thrilled!

There is no hope for our one year old. I mean, what chance does he have with a gun-toting older brother? Because EVERYTHING that brother thinks is cool is most definitely cool. And brother thinks guns are cool.

Now we have a five year old that transforms every toy into some form of a death machine. Trio blocks, Legos, Wii remotes, USB cables…yes, when your dad is an IT professional USB cables become toys. And to make it all even more authentic we can’t forget the falling to the ground with the tell-tale tongue sticking out of his mouth (definite sign of death). Or going up to his baby brother and pretending to shoot him in the back of the head with all sorts of lovely sound effects.

When I freak on him he typically says, all nonchalant, “Don’t worry mom, it’s not for real!”. With a little added eye roll, ‘pshaw’, and a sigh for flavor.

Ugh….shoot me now.

It’s been so long….so very long…

But I’m back! Aren’t you so happy?!

I don’t have any clever excuses. I had to take a break from the blogging world.  And I’m coming back a little lighter!

Ha ha ha…..ha……ha….

Get it? You did notice the chance of scenery, right?!

I’m trying to simplify, and that includes this bloggy baby of mine.  I gave her a little “mommy makeover” for her first birthday and I think she looks FABULOUS! A little nip here, a tuck there, and she’s all shiny and pretty!

But enough about her, let’s talk about me. The biggest news in this mommy’s house is that both Cheek and Deet will be home schooled this school year. The decision was not made lightly. I mean, this will seriously impact my timeouts! And I know what you’re thinking…”Whaaaat? Home school? Does this mean they’ve moved out to the prairie and they’re churning their own butter and shearing sheep?!”

Yes. That’s exactly what it means. Except, not really.

Both kids are enrolled in charter schools, two different ones, but that’s a long story. It seems that home schooling your kids is growing in popularity and there are actual WAIT LISTS to get into charter schools. Cheek will have most of her schooling at home while taking some outside classes, and Deet will have two full days of school on site at a learning center while learning math and language arts at home. I mean, as much math and language arts as a Kindergarten kiddo can learn. But that’s the beauty of it! They will both learn at their own pace, which (not to toot my kids’ horns) is pretty accelerated.  Come to think of it, Deet may just be the next Doogie Howser! Cheek has decided that she wants to fulfill some of her writing standards by penning her own blog. She came up with the name of it on her own and I must say I’m pretty proud of her. Trying on Homeschool will be her take on this new experience and it should make for some interesting reading!

I’m also looking forward to blogging about this next year. I’m sure it’s not going to be all sunshine and rainbows so I’m going to need to vent. Aren’t you excited?!

So that’s it, Timeout 4 Mommy is making a comeback with a face lift (but a cute one, not a Joan Rivers one) and I’m THRILLED! I missed you!