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Category Archives: Amy

About the oldest

Your kid sucks

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Harsh, right?

Normally I’d agree and be all:


But really?  You parents who haven’t taught your children to treat others with respect, who haven’t required it, who haven’t gone out of your way to ensure that it’s happening even when you’re not  around? You and your kids suck.

My children aren’t perfect.

I’m not delusional.  But they’re decent human beings. They’re polite, they don’t go out of their way to make y

our child miserable.  Not only would their father and I NOT let them, they wouldn’t let themselves. You know why?


and my children aren’t mean.

This is my daughter.

Really? Fat and ugly? Has the definition changed?

She is sweet and kind and sensitive and smart. She’s good to her family and her friends. She has beautiful eyes, gorgeous hair, a pretty smile, and an infectious laugh. She comes home in tears because of the abuse hurled her way.  She is starting to believe the whispers and incorporate the cruel words of others into her internal script.  “I know I’m not pretty.”

I don’t know why these cruel children would care about someone else’s appearance so much. I don’t know why they’d make a sport out of hurting someone who has done nothing to hurt them.

For the first time in my parenting life I am powerless to protect her and it’s killing me.  I will not lie and say I’m not disappointed that she chooses to hide and avoid rather than face them head on. She says drawing even more attention to herself would make things 10 times worse.  I guess since she lives in this world of jr. high a*holes she would know. Still, I can’t help but think that if she didn’t accept their abuse, if she spoke up and made them look her in the eye and repeat their whispers and own them, that they might see that she’s not someone they need to be messing with. But what if she followed my advice and things did get worse? What then??

So parents of “populars,” check in with your kids.  Listen up as you drive them from party to party and practice to practice.  Take the time to remind them how they’re expected to treat others, remind them how quickly the tide turns and how one day they might find themselves on the receiving end of some pretty emotionally brutal treatment. Repeat after me, “Compassion is Cool.”

Let’s hope this tide turns for my girl, but until it does she and I will be here:


Oh yeah. She needs me.

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Interior: Chez Rosie – Kitchen. Afternoon.

ROSIE and ELDEST CHILD  are  at the kitchen table sharing an after school snack. ELDEST CHILD is nattering on about how cool 7th grade is so far. We join them mid-conversation.


…and it’s so awesome that I sit right in front of Camille in World Studies because we’re like best friends and I didn’t think I’d know anyone and OHMIGAWD! You have to drive me to school right now!!!




Because I totally forgot my homework and it’s due tomorrow and Mrs. S is like totally scary.

Close up of ROSIE banging her head repeatedly on kitchen table.



The first day of school, people. The first day of school and SHE FORGOT HER HOMEWORK. This does not bode well.


School House Rock – ku!

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Knowledge is power!

As your body grows bigger

your mind must flower


Last night I nearly made a fool out of myself and cried in front of my fifth grade daughter’s class.  I’m glad I didn’t because socially it probably would have ruined her and I’d be the butt of all those, “Remember when Amy’s mom did the ugly cry at our spring performance? Yeah. Amy’s mom is such a loser” jokes.Last night the entire fifth grade performed School House Rock Live! and just hearing those songs threw me back in time when yeah, we did ride our bikes across town to buy Popsicles without fear of being kidnapped. Back to the time of shag hair cuts, The Donny and Marie Hour, my mother wearing long dresses and my dad sporting a fro. Back to the time when cartoons weren’t available 24/7 and Saturday morning meant getting up early, pouring yourself a heaping bowl of Cheerios and sugar and settling down in front of the television to watch Tom and Jerry, Isis (isisisisisisis), and Speed Racer. I tolerated a lot of dumb cartoons just to hear “as your body grows bigger, your mind must flower. It’s great to learn cause knowledge is power!” So yeah, I enjoyed School House Rock! probably more than most. It had everything I loved, great 70’s animation, peppy music, and it really did make learning fun. If only geometry had been School House Rocked!

More importantly, it was a time in my life when I had settled into my new home and my new family. For the first time I was secure and knew that this was my house and this was my bedroom and this was where I would wake up and go to sleep today and tomorrow and forever.  These were my toys, and I had a mommy anda daddy.  Some people smell baking cookies and are instantly back in their grandmother’s kitchen. I hear the opening strains of Interjection! and I’m back in our avocado green and harvest gold t.v. room wrapped in the crocheted blanket, sucking down sugar milk and laughing at the animated butt getting a shot (Hey! That’s not fair giving a guy a shot down there!).

So as my daughter and her peers hit the final, glorious notes of Interjections! (Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallejuiahhhhh, yeaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!) I felt the goosebumps on my arms spring up and the familiar sting of tears behind my eyes. In some weird and wonderful way our timelines had intersected and I was so happy that she got to experience a bit of something that helped make her mother who she is. I waited until she went to bed before I cried.

Ahhh, the folly of youth

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Amy got irritated with her father tonight and flipped him the “loser” sign.

Which he saw in the rearview mirror.

I will miss her.

Snippet of life with tweens

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So Amy and all of her eleven-ness is completely convinced that every thought, action, and turn of phrase that she has/does/says is entirely unique and ohmigawd, can you believe I just thought/did/said that?! How clever am I?! Honestly!  It’s a phase most kids her age go through, but gack! Stop it already.  Get a blog like I did.

“I do this thiiing,” she’ll say while twisting the ends of her hair around her finger. “Where I breathe in? And thenIbreatheout really fast.” And yes, she does sound like a Canadian when she’s on one of her can you believe how unique and awesome I am?! kicks.  Yeah, sweetie, it’s called respiration. All us lucky ones do it.

So anyway, yesterday in the car she’s all, “Ohmigosh! My throat was dry and I just totally swallowed without thinking about it. I do that a lot.” The because I’m amaaazing hung there, unspoken.

So I spoke it.

“That’s amazing! Wow! You swallowed without thinking about it?! Wow!  I. Am. Im.Pressed!!! Wow!”

She giggled. “Mo-om.”

“No,” I continued. “Amazing. You. No one has ever done it like that before. That’s incredible!”

“Actually,” Amelia chimed in from the back seat. “It is kind of amazing. It’s pretty cool how our bodies do things without us thinking about it. It’s efficient.” She nodded seriously and then went back to reading Harry Potter. Geek.

“Yep,” I agreed and then looked pointedly at my eldest (and therefore almost rear ended the Yukon in front of us). “We all do it.”

She nodded and looked down at her notebook -covered by the way with I *heart* Neville – a little bit of a blush coloring her cheeks. “But no one does it exactly like I do,” she whispered.

I’m Not Ready

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I’ve hesitated to mention anything here because saying it makes it real, but for the past 2 weeks BOYS have been showing up at my door asking for my daughters. Shaggy haired boys on Razor Scooters barely glancing at me as they mumble, “Is Amy home?” or “Can Helen play?”

“Who are you?” I ask, being careful to keep my voice as hostile as possible. They may just want to play in our woods now, but I’m training them for future more nefarious visits to our front door. You will address me as Mrs. Rosie and you will dress in a coat and tie. Reproductive organs will be left at home as you will have absolutely no need for them.

You guys! Boys! At my door! Asking for my daughters! Kill me now.

And they don’t so much play as stand around in an awkward group. The boys flip their scooters back and forth and the girls hang on each other and kick the ground a lot. Then they go into the woods and even though I can see them and their muted, ironic sweatshirts and they’re mostly climbing trees and lifting up logs so they can throw sleeping snakes at each other or whatever it is they’re doing, I always find a reason to call the girls inside after a few minutes. I’m just not ready.

A Confession

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I can’t wait for this poetry unit to end.  5th grade poetry y’all? In a word? Painful.  

Her assignment? To write a poem. And she did. She wrote a poem, and it was bad. Very, very, very bad. 

I like my cat because she has fuzzy fur

and I can rely on her

her and her fuzzy fur.

Rainbows remind me of my colorful cat (her cat is black and white)

My sister bugs me, but my rainbow kitty doesn’t.

Clouds and butterflies are my cat and I love them too.

Clouds are fluffy like my cat.

My cat eats butterflies because she is NOT a vegetarian.

I love my cat.

You guys. I couldn’t let her turn it in. I was all, “Honey? This is your poem?”

And she was all, “Yep.” 

And I was all, “Hmm. Do you love it? Does it express how you feel… poetically?”

And she was all shruggy and, “Well. Yeah. I love my cat. That’s how I feel. And sometimes I rhymed, but poetry doesn’t have to rhyme all the time motherrrrrrrrrrr.” 

And I was all sage-like with the nod and the, “That’s true. But usually? Poems either rhyme  or they don’t. It’s… unusual to have a poem that does both. Like this one with the rhyming and then the not rhyming. All in the same poem.” 

And she got that look on her face that says when are you going to die already old woman?! and said, “It’s MY poem. It’s how I feel. And it’s finished. And I’m NOT writing another one because poetry is stupid and expressing how I feel about something in rhymes is dumb.  What’s wrong with just saying ‘bad weather makes me sad because it means we can’t go outside?’ Why does it have to be all, ‘the rain spoiled my life. Now I’ll never be a wife. Instead of love I’ll have… whatever rhymes -ife.’ Seriously.”

And you know what? She’s right. “You’re right,” said I. “But I think your teacher wants you to rhyme. Or not rhyme. But not both.”

In the end we came up with this little gem.

I wanted to write about my cat

but it was to0 hard to rhyme

the words that all describe her

and it took a lot of time.

So I won’t write about my cat.

Instead I’ll let you know

that writing poetry isn’t for me

The Bible tells me so.

I can’t wait to see what she gets on this one.