Anger management.

Before I begin, I need to apologize in advance to my son Grant. Should this blog live another 10 years (it’s already been around longer than that) he will be an adult and will hopefully be able to laugh at what I’m about to tell.

Perhaps I should also apologize to Grant’s father, but he’s seen this day coming and knows there is only more to come. (The reason for this will be clearer later.)

So, okay. On with the story.

Grant loathes bedtime. I mean really deep down in his bones just absolutely hates going to bed at night. The kid can outlast his mother, which is saying a lot. This poses several problems, not in the least sleep deprivation, but let’s just say we’ve been dealing with this for the past two years and seem to have made very little progress. No matter how many chapters of Harry Potter he reads, no matter how many warnings of [fill in the blank] minutes before lights out we give him, he just can’t shut down until we start to threaten him with potential punishments that bring on tears and then finally he gives up.

Tonight was no exception. I thought we had success at 9:00. Then came 9:30 and he appeared beside me while I was walking on the treadmill (headphones blasting) and scared the crap out of me to tell me not to forget to wake him up at 7:00 in the morning. I told him that I’d wake him up at 7:30 since he was awake 30 minutes past his drop-dead bedtime. (He knows this rule, by the way.) He doesn’t like my response but goes back to bed.

At 10:00 I end my cool-down and all of a sudden there’s Grant again, complaining that he can see Dean’s light on in the room next door.

I’m about to remind Grant of all the punishments that will begin to mount if he doesn’t get his little butt back to bed immediately when Eric appears on the scene and takes the words right out of my mouth. And none too gently.

Eric takes bedtime very seriously. He gets up early. That means he goes to bed early, end of story. So at 10:00 at night he is all business and out of patience.

Then Grant loses it. He already weighed the outcome before he came down and figured we would take his side, so he’s outraged that we’re yelling at him. He can yell too. And at that moment he dug deep and screamed, “ARRRGHHH! I WOULD BE IN BED IF DEAN WOULD TURN HIS DAMN LIGHT OFF!!!”

It’s a very good thing he followed this with a very quick retreat back up the stairs. I took one look at Eric and we both cracked up.

This is the second time I can recall Grant slipping in a little profanity zinger. The first time was very memorable, indeed.  (This is where I reveal he learned all the profanity he knows from his father, not his mother. Ahem.)

At any rate, I let him stew in his tears before I went up to his room with a piece of paper divided in two. One column said “Things that make me angry” and the other said “What I can do about those things.”

What the heck, we’re already way past bedtime.

Turns out, this little exercise was just what we both needed. I know for him, it’s most important that someone listened and we even had a laugh or two at the idea I wrote down in advance that we install an on/off switch on the back of his head.

Oh, the joys of parenting.

And now it’s way past my bedtime.

Signs that make you go “Hmmm.”

I’ve compiled a mental list of signs I’ve seen lately that make me scratch my head. I’ll add more (and possibly photos of them) as time goes on. Here’s a few:

Taco Bell’s “If asked to pay a different amount call this number.” (Read: Yes, we have been known to hire really dishonest people, so let us know if you encounter one.)

Two directional signs coming off the Glen Highway exit ramp: 1) Public Waste Collection and Campground 2) Camping and Correctional Facility (Read: I wouldn’t camp here if I were you.)

Custom license plate on a sports car: “Buzzed.” (Read: I’d do anything to get pulled over.)

Any others you’ve seen? Feel free to add them below.

Figure the odds.

So, I’m turning into the parking lot of the Holiday Inn Express in Fayetteville after a not-so-bad-but-long-enough-to-be-numb drive from Little Rock to our NW office and I pull into the closest parking space to the lobby — only to see the “Guest of the Day” sign at the last minute. (Adam Birkner is with me, by the way.) Adam says, “I wonder what you have to do to be guest of the day.” I have no idea. I back out and find another space. During check-in Adam starts laughing and points to a sign placed prominently in the lobby that says “Guest of the Day: Julie Hoover.”

Other than getting a conveniently located and labeled parking space, what does one get as Guest of the Day? Well, let me tell ya! A small white shopping bag with a (1) can of diet coke, a (2) Hershey’s milk chocolate bar and a (3) snack size bag of Fritos.

Suddenly I feel less numb at my abundant good fortune. We throw our things in our rooms eager to claim the so well deserved parking space only to find that during the 15-minute interval some other [normal but still appreciated] guest has brazenly parked there!

Hmph!

Something that rhymes with Venus.

No use keeping it secret any longer. The love affair with my new car officially began one week ago, today.

Amazingly enough, it’s Halloween night and 80 degrees outside. Even Grant declared “Man, I’m sweating!” as we turned up our street on the way home from trick-or-treating. We went two whole blocks and turned around. Apparently, at that temperature, half a little bag of candy was enough for both of them.

A little humor, thanks to our old friends Doug and Cindy Swank.

Top 10 Polite Ways To Say Your Zipper Is Down:
10. The cucumber has left the salad.
9. Quasimodo needs to go back in the tower and tend to his bells.
8. You need to bring your tray table to the upright and locked position.
7. Paging Mr. Johnson. Paging Mr. Johnson.
6. Elvis has left the building.
5. The Buick is not all the way in the garage.
4. Our next guest is someone who needs no introduction.
3. You’ve got a security breach at Los Pantalones.
2. Men may be from Mars, but I can see something that rhymes with Venus.
And the #1 way to tell someone his zipper is unzipped…
1. You’ve got your fly set for “Monica” instead of “Hillary.”

Snickers, my favorite.

We got our first Christmas card in the mail today. It was exciting until I opened it and saw it was from our home security system office.

I’ve been slow getting out the decorations this year. Grant and I went to this sprawling home decor center called Garden Ridge today. I wandered around looking for something to inspire me. Finally I gave up and went to purchase my box of glass votive cups and votive candles. Grant usually chooses the checkout line to start acting like he’s being tortured, but to my relief he was being really well behaved while I was at the opposite end of the cart paying the cashier. Then the moment of truth arrived when I pulled him toward me to push the cart from the front. There he was with an unwrapped Snickers bar half eaten, licking chocolate off his fingers. While I was otherwise occupied he reached over to the candy shelves and helped himself. Of all the choices he could have made, he picked a Snickers. That’s my boy.

My computer (presumably the bearings in the fan) is making a chirping noise. I’m finding it most annoying.