Selective Reading

On Friday,   Rob was out of town, and Grandpa was in charge of picking up all three kids after school while I was at work.   Quinn called me while I was with a patient, and left a message on my phone, saying "Aidan wants me to come over to his house after school.  I can just ride the bus with him."

OK.  It's a school phone he's calling on.  I can't call back. He didn't have his flip phone with him (it was sitting, uncharged, in my purse), so the only way I could  get ahold of Quinn BACK was to email him at school, and hope he had a class with access to a computer. 

This is what I wrote:  "Have Aidan's dad call me if its okay for you to spend the night.  I need to hear it from him first."

So, you tell ME.  Does anything about that email  say "go ahead and ride the bus home with the kid who wants you to come over?"  Because apparently, all Quinn read was "...its okay for you to spend the night..." and nothing more. 

He responded thusly:  "Ok good i will ride with them to their house after school"
And... just to be on the safe side.... "i called u to times to make sure".

But I didn't GET the email until after 5 pm, because .... you know.... I was working.  So it all went down without any communication to the appropriate parties.  Grandpa was waiting for three kids and only found two.  Colby had no idea where his brother was.  Grandpa called me, but only got my voicemail.  Then he called the school, and got voicemail.  Then he called the superintendent's office and got voice mail.  It was after school hours on a Friday.  No one was sticking around to answer phone calls about missing children.   When I finally had a free moment at work to see five waiting voicemails, I knew something was up.  I began frantically trying to figure out how to get ahold of Aidan's dad but he had an unlisted number.  Luckily, I didn't have to wait long before getting a phone call from him. 

"Do you happen to have an extra child over at your house?" I asked him.

"Yeah.  That was quite a surprise."

MMMMHMMMM.  Aidan had never asked his dad if Quinn could come over.   Or rather, he had casually asked his Dad the previous weekend, to which his Dad said "we'll see", but then the subject was never brought up again.   Aidan's dad had never contacted ME because he had no idea Quinn was coming over.  Resulting in poor Grandpa and Grandma being worried sick about losing one of my kids (It's okay.  We have a spare). 

Child is in trouble.

But he called me!!  Right???  And when he got home, he insisted I had told him it was alright to go to his friend's house!!  Because... that middle portion of that sentence!! 

UGH.

I called my husband down in Lansing to ask how to handle the situation.  What is the appropriate punishment to get our son to read an ENTIRE sentence, and not just the part he wants to hear?  My husband was unconcerned.  "I'm too far removed to have an opinion about this at the moment."  Seriously.  Which translates to "nobody died, everyone is accounted for, so what's the big deal?"

DOUBLE UGH.

Single parenting is for the birds, I tell you.  I don't know how people do it.  And once again, I have come to the conclusion that the 6th grade, and general Tweendom, is going to kill me.  Or something.

First Middle School Semi-Formal Dance

This was considered "dressing up" for their first semi-formal dance.  Anything that's not t-shirts and sweats is dressing up in our house.  They reportedly didn't have all THAT much fun, but did dance with one girl each.  It amazes me that they have no qualms asking girls to dance.  I remember that whole process as being earth-shattering and anxiety-filled, but they take it all in stride, the little cassanovas.

UGH

ME (walking into the boys' room to say goodnight last night): "Boys, this room is a mess!  There's clothes everywhere!"

Colby: "I know!  I love it!!  I can belly flop literally ANYWHERE and have a cushioned landing!"

And then he demonstrated.  Threw himself up in the air and landed flat on his belly.  On a pile of clothes.

Nope.  Didn't hurt.

My Son

8:00 pm on a Sunday, getting ready for bed.  I mention that Monday is March 14... Pi day. 

Colby: "OH YEAH!!  That's right!  Pi day!  I told my teacher I'd bring a pie to school tomorrow to celebrate Pi day!" 

Seriously?? NOW you remember?  As we're getting ready for bed???

Colby: "Mom, you know I have a selective memory."

OH how I know you have a selective memory, Colbyman.  He can recall the name and superpower of any mythological character.  But thinking ahead for school???? Nada.

So both boys stayed up late, and baked a last-minute pumpkin pie, well beyond bedtime.  Which, of course they LOVED, and wasn't nearly the "natural consequence" I was hoping it would be. 

Oh well.  At least he didn't remember on Monday morning in the car on the way to school!

The Root of the Problem

Mom: "Colby, for the fifth time... PRACTICE YOUR DRUMS!"
Colby: "Why now?  I've got lots of time left in the day."
Mom: "If you do it now, it's done, and you can relax the rest of the day."  (side note... "relaxing all day" is not something either one of my boys struggles with in the least).  "Then I don't have to nag you for the next six hours.  Just get it done!"
Colby: "Mom, that is future me's problem.  Not my problem."
Mom: "Well, present me needs to start kicking it into gear, so future me isn't grounded."

UGH.  THAT is the problem.  There's always a procrastination clause in everything.

Conversation In The Car

On the way to school today, with the winter bearing down on us all a little too hard:

Quinn: "Reagan, you're just annoying."
Mom: "Quinn, that is such an unkind thing to say.  That's not ok."
Quinn: "How is that any different than you calling me a picky eater?"
Mom: "You are a picky eater.  That's an objective, quantifiable and verifiable fact.  'Annoying' is a subjective opinion."
Quinn: "You can use all the big words you want, but calling me a picky eater is just as unkind as calling Reagan annoying."
Mom: "I can quantify what percentage of dinners you refuse to eat, because you do not like them.  It's like 95%"
Quinn: "Mom, I like lots of foods.  It's just the stuff YOU make that I don't like."

AND.... there it is.  Maybe I should give up cooking altogether.  The boys would be perfectly happy to survive on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the rest of their days.

Dad may have a thing or two to say about that, though. 

I get NO RESPECT around here.  NONE, I tell you!!!  I am the Rodney Dangerfield of mothers.

Quinn Aho: Regional Freethrow Champion

So, on a last-minute whim, Quinn decided to participate in a local Knights of Columbus Free Throw competition.  We arrived late at the gym, which was already full of really tall high-school players shooting around, slam-dunking and the like.   Quinn looked decidedly nervous.  The coach looked him over as we walked in the gym.

"What are you here for?" he asked.
Quinn didn't answer, so I did for him.  "The free throw contest?"
"And how old are you?" coach asked.
"Uhhhh..... eleven." Quinn muttered.
"Eleven?" coached asked.
"Yeah," Quinn replied.
"What's your name?"
"Quinn," he said, staring down at his toes.
"Well, Quinn," coached announced.  "Congratulations.  You just won."

HUH????

Apparently, he was the only eleven year old in his category.  So.... SCORE!  Literally!

Despite making only 3 of 15 free-throws, Quinn won a leather basketball, a certificate naming him the Regional Free-throw Champion, and a patch with his new title that could be sewn on to his jacket.  Suprisingly, he has not asked me to sew that on for him just yet.

He now moves on to the area-wide competition in a month. 

Maybe we should practice a little.

Quinn got a kick out of all of this.  On the way home, he said "So, if I go to area-wide and no one shows up, then I move on to state-wide.  After that is nationals, and the world-wide.  I could get a free trip, if no one shows up!!

Can't you see the headline, Mom?  'Quinn Aho.  He Showed Up.'"

hee hee hee.

That's a new life-time motto.  He. Showed. Up.  Yes he did.